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starstruckkittensweets · 1 year

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“Everything” Pt. I | Dabi x Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Part I | Part II

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re safe with me.

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. I’m so sor—”

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

“But… I don’t want to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everyone leaves sooner or later, dollface.”

Oh.

That’s where his mind is at right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still have that shitty hoodie, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…C’mere.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too long—too fucking long.

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

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

“Better, doll?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh I plan to, Touya.”

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

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

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

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

“Doll…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Answer me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dabi, wait—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dabi!”

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

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

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

Like he needs to be told twice.

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

A doll. His doll.

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

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

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

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

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

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, yes—fuck, I’m ready!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D-Dabi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“W-wanna see you…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, so tight…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“N-none…”

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

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

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

“Say it again. Say my name.”

“Dabi, Dabi—”

“Not that one, doll.”

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

“Touya!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, cream all over my cock—”

“F-fuck, Touya!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’m not.”

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

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

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

Love you.

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

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

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

Actions seem to speak louder than words, anyway.

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

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

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

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

And I’m never letting you go ever again.

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

I love you.

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

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

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

“We’ll see about that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me love you.

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

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

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

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

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

“…Love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

“To—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

“…I’m sorry—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…I…I think I do, but…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not if I can help it—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Wish I had a cigarette right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, I guess we’re back to this.

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

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

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

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

“Stay with me.”

You nod at once. “I will.”

“Say you love me.”

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

I love you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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jenanigans1207 · 4 months

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Hi, please accept me being weak and sharing even more of this fic that I'm working on because I'm too impatient to hold onto this until the fic is done.

For context, the whole point of the fic is that Dean gets hit with a curse that forces him to tell the truth if asked a question.

(enjoy the angst of me projecting onto Dean Winchester!)

----

“You don’t get it.” Dean grinds out, all frustration and sharp edges, words cutting his own throat as much as they’re cutting Cas.

“Dean—”

“Ask me.” Dean says, throwing his arms out to the side. “I can’t fucking lie so ask me.”

Cas stares at him for a long moment and it’s not hard for Dean to read the expressions on his face. Up until this point, Cas had been very carefully and delicately choosing his words every time he spoke to Dean, careful to not accidentally phrase something in a way that would come across as a question. He has been diligent in his attempt to respect Dean’s privacy and Dean’s wishes, steadfast in his belief that Dean should not be forced to tell them things, but should only volunteer things willingly. Even though Sam had been practically chomping at the bit to finally get Dean to talk about his feelings.

But Dean was giving Cas permission to ask, to force the curse to bring the words to the surface. This was about as willing as Dean got when it came to feelings and Dean could see the exact moment that Cas accepted the permission he was being granted.

“Why do you always push me away?” Cas asks after a moment, his voice quiet, like he’s afraid of receiving the answer as much as he’s afraid of what delivering the answer will do to Dean.

But Dean doesn’t need the curse to bring up the answer. At this point, everything is such a fucking disaster that Dean’s willing to answer that honestly all on his own.

“It’s easier.” He says, and he notices the way Cas steels himself for whatever else Dean is about to say, as if he’s prepared for repeated blows to the heart. “If you leave because I push you away— because I’m a short-tempered asshole who crosses the line and says shit he doesn’t mean, I can live with that. Because that— that’s my fault, Cas. And at that point, just add it to the list, you know? Everything is my fault— Sam being back in the life, everything that’s happened to him, everything that’s happened to you, the fucking end of the world was my fault! So yeah, if you leave because I pushed and pushed and pushed until you couldn’t bear it anymore, I’ll just add it to the list of reasons I hate myself and cope with it the same way I cope with all the other reasons— too much alcohol and even more denial.”

Cas’s lips part, clearly surprised by the answer he’s getting. “That’s—”

But Dean isn’t done. “I’ve spent my entire life hating everything about myself, Cas. And yeah, I’m not sure I ever hate myself more than I do when I hurt you that— that is a new low, even for me, but it’s still in the realm of things I understand. But if— Cas, If you—” Dean’s throat is so fucking tight that it hurts and the words almost can’t get out. He clenches his jaw, swallows, and decides to put himself out of his fucking misery. “If I asked you to stay… If I told you how badly I always want you there, how nothing is ever right when you’re gone, how I never want you to leave and you— and you left anyway? If I told you the truth and you still chose to leave despite that? Cas, that would kill me. It really would.” Dean can’t look Cas in the eye now that the words are out in the open. “So instead, I push. If you’re going to leave no matter what, at least I can blame myself for it. It at least makes it a little easier to breathe in those lonely moments. Gives me something to do, too, you know? Instead of missing you every second of the day, I spend at least a few of them kicking my own ass for what I’ve done and continue doing to you.”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows the words and Dean honestly doesn’t know how he expects Cas to react.

“And you—” Cas’s voice is as strained as Dean’s had been and Dean glances up at him briefly, unsurprised to find the pain reflected in his face. It’s not like Dean’s unaccustomed to hurting Cas, he shouldn’t be surprised that even his honesty manages to do it. “You think that I would leave either way? You think that I— I want to go? That I would choose to go even if you didn’t push me away?”

It’s several questions all jumbled together, but it doesn’t really matter because they all have the same answer anyway. “Yes.”

Dean had hurt Cas a lot of times in the past, he knew that. He wouldn’t say he’d come to terms with it, wouldn’t say that each and every time he had said something intentionally harsh, cruel, or uncalled for wasn’t tied for number one on his list of reasons he hated himself more than any other creature on earth. But still, he knew that he had done it and he often replayed it in his head, hurting himself with the memory of hurting Cas. But despite that, nothing prepares him for the way Cas’s face crumples at his answer, for the way he looks more dejected, more hopeless Dean has ever seen him. Suddenly every other time Dean has hurt Cas barely even makes the list of reasons he hates himself because this— this just took every spot in the top one hundred.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get the image of Cas’s broken, faithless expression out of his mind.

Dean almost expects Cas to try and school his expression into something a little more neutral, something to disguise the hurt in his eyes. He usually does, just to spare Dean the pain— or maybe Cas thinks it’s the satisfaction— of knowing that he’d landed another winning blow. But Cas doesn’t do anything to cover up the agony in his expression, doesn’t even attempt to pretend that he’s not breaking to pieces right before Dean’s very eyes.

Dean fucking Winchester, the man cursed to save the world that does not love him and to break the only actually precious thing he’s ever been given.

“Why?” Cas finally chokes out. “Why would you think that?”

Dean answers his question with a question, “Why would you stay?” Cas stares at him with eyes that are impossibly blue and unfathomably sad. For someone who knows only disappointment, Dean’s surprised to find that it hurts so much to find it reflected in Cas’s eyes. “I’m not— I’m not a fucking joy to be around, Cas. I’m not shining sunshine out of my ass, I’m not Mary freaking Poppins. I’m an asshole— clearly— and I… Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking disaster, a basket case. There’s more wrong with me than there is right. Me constantly pushing you away is an example of that!”

“Dean, if you’d let me, I would—”

“Let you?” Dean repeats, somehow incredulous despite the absolute trainwreck of a situation. “Let you? Cas, I may push you away, but I don’t physically shove you out the door. And I’ve never once locked it behind you, never once stopped you from coming back. You get that, right? I may push and push and push but you? Cas you leave.”

Somehow this is getting worse by the second and if Dean weren’t so unbearably miserable, he’d be impressed that he’s managing to fuck everything up further with every word that comes out of his mouth. Looking at Cas now, he’s honestly not sure which one of them hates the situation they’re in more, which one of them feels worse. Cas looks like he’s about to collapse in on himself, like the only thing he’d ever been fighting for just gave up and surrendered the battle. He looked like his entire purpose had just been ripped away from him.

“I don’t ever want to leave, Dean.” Cas says brokenly.

“Then why do you?” Dean asks, just as broken, just as quiet, just as desolate. And when Cas doesn’t immediately answer, biting back a reply that he clearly knows, Dean laughs, bitter and humorless. “Right, ‘course. Forgot, I’m the only one who has to be honest, here. Fucking fantastic, Cas, that’s just great.”

Cas takes a tentative step forward. “Dean—”

Dean has always hated how much he loves the way Cas says his name. Cas, a former Angel of the Lord said Dean’s name reverently, like a prayer, like it carried some sort of holy meaning or importance. Cas said his name like it was a blessing to be able to speak it at all, like it was the only name he ever wanted to say again.

And Dean can’t take that right now, can’t let Cas say his name like that while refusing to meet him in the middle on this. “No, just—” He’s breaking, he’s breaking, he’s been broken for so many goddamn years at this point and yet somehow he’s still breaking. “You— you were supposed to fight, you asshole. You were supposed to come back and see that the door was still open. You were supposed to— to try. And you never did— do. You never do. So I keep pushing and you keep leaving and it’s easier for me to blame myself than it is for me to blame you but god, Cas, it doesn’t matter whose fucking fault it is because it hurts every time you go.”

Dean doesn’t know if angels cry. But if they do, he’s certain that Cas would. If there were only ever one angel in all of history that cried, Dean would know with absolute certainty that it was Cas. And Cas isn’t even an angel anymore, technically. He’s just a stupid human with stupid human emotions and the even stupider human inability to deal with them. But he looks like he might cry, like he might prove to Dean to that all of his celestial holiness was just a rouse and that he’s always been harboring this deep seated sadness underneath.

“I—” Cas starts to say, but whatever response he had is lost to the sound of Sam opening the door finally.

“Hey,” Sam says hurriedly, and there’s a smear of blood on his cheek. He stumbles into the room, the hand on the doorknob stopping him from toppling over completely. Once he makes it in the room he pauses, seeming to notice the tension that’s suffocating them. His eyebrows rise as he glances between the two of them. “You guys good?”

“No,” Dean answers immediately, the curse beating Cas to the punch. “We’re not.”

That seems to catch Sam off guard and his hand slips off the doorknob as he regards Dean. He probably wants to ask some question that would make Dean rehash this entire thing, probably wants to do something stupid and sentimental like sweep him up into a bear hug and tell Dean that everything will work out. But he seems to sense the severity of the situation, the levity of the expressions on both of their faces. He shuts his cakehole.

“No,” Cas agrees after a moment, and his voice is thick with emotions and whatever words he was forced to swallow back down when Sam barged in. “But we will be. Right, Dean?”

Even the curse doesn’t have an answer to that one, leaving his throat completely dry as he tries to swallow, letting him give whatever kind of response he wants. “Yeah.” He chokes out after a moment, not meeting the gaze of either of them. “We always are.”

#i keep skipping ahead to write the really emotional scenes #because i can't get them out of my head #so enjoy this #and know that the fic has a happy ending #whenever we get there #i actually already wrote the confession lmao #anyway #as usual i can't keep shit to myself #destiel #spn #supernatural #angst

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 1 year

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The Prettiest Star

i started writing this last night but finished it today so it’s kind of both Song-fic Saturday and Smutty Sunday for my 250 Followers Writing Event

Song-fic Saturday 🎶 song: The Prettiest Star by David Bowie

pairing: Sirius Black x plus size! reader

tags / warnings: NSFW (minors do not interact!), smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, oral, p in v (unprotected — use condoms y’all, this is fantasy), fem!reader, plus size! reader, reader insecurities about her weight, body positivity, non-magical au (couldn’t have them just apparating out of the rain, right?)

notes: i’m a huge music fan and love Bowie and have been listening to Aladdin Sane a lot because it’s just had its 50th anniversary, so hence the song inspiration (“The Prettiest Star”)

word count: 8.1k (yike, please enjoy)

“Does this look too tight?” you ask Lily as you look at your reflection in your favourite jumper, tugging it down repeatedly. You’ve never been particularly thin, but you’d gained a noticeable amount recently, and it was increasingly making getting dressed the worst part of your day. “It looks fine, Y/N,” she says, a bit dismissively, then catches herself (and the look on your face), and adds, “Really. You look beautiful. Don’t ever let the scale tell you different,” giving you a warm smile. It was the “right” thing to say, perhaps, and you were grateful for what a sweet friend she always was to you, truly, but it didn’t make you feel any better. And… if you were brutally honest, it kind of annoyed you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, and the feeling made you feel guilty on top of everything else. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, she was just genuinely trying to help, or perhaps even just genuine in what she said. But somehow, when it came to any comments on your body — especially specifically about your weight, negative or positive, you grew irritable even more than uncomfortable. You felt as if no one understood the mix of self-consciousness and self-confidence that you felt. As if everyone projected either how they felt about themselves or how they assumed all fat people felt onto you. Worse, you felt that you could never express your true feelings to anyone. Even when you tried, things came out muddled, or things you said were directly contradictory — yet equally true. It couldn’t possibly be that no one else felt contradictory things about themselves, about their bodies, could it? Were you just shit at articulating your feelings, or were your feelings that atypical?

You opt to keep the jumper on even though it hugged your chest a bit more tightly than usual. A twinge of regret went through you at the thought that usually winter was your favourite time in terms of fashion in general and your wardrobe specifically. You loved your winter clothes and winter aesthetics overall. You really didn’t want to let a little weight gain get in the way of that, but it had a way of making itself known no matter how much you tried to avoid it.

On cue, it whispers in your head, “You probably only like winter clothes more because they cover more of you. None of those pretty sundresses Lily, Marlene, Mary, or Dorcas wear ever fit you. Not to mention any summer outfit that involves no bra or a visible bralette - not a chance.” You shake your head at yourself, trying to convince yourself that comfort was a complicated thing, that you didn’t have to overanalyze everything in such an accusatory way.

You finish getting ready and head to the pub with Lily to meet the others. Remus and James greet you, and James can’t say enough times how lovely Lily looks. It makes you happy for them, two of your best friends so in love, but you can’t help but feel a little funny, a little longing at the lack of those comments ever made about you.

The thing is, you didn’t dislike yourself. In fact, there were many times you genuinely thought you were beautiful, or that you wouldn’t trade yourself for anyone else. But those thoughts came more easily when you were alone, and not wanting to be anyone else did not include not wanting to be yourself, minus a bit here or there.

You feel a pair of arms come around your middle from behind you, and there’s no time to be freaked out because you immediately know who it is. It’s like a sixth sense. Sure, you recognize his intoxicating smell, can feel and hear the texture of his characteristic leather jacket, but there’s more to it. Before you even consciously register these things or hear him whisper in your ear, you know it’s him. Sirius. Your best friend in the entire world. “Hello, darling girl,” he greets. “How is my finest friend on this finest of evenings?”

“Hi, Siri,” you smile, leaning back into him. “I’m alright; you?” You turn your head up to look at him. “Just alright? Oh, we need to remedy that, love. Urgently.” He looks around a bit, registering your other friends, sharing greetings here and there. “D’you have a drink yet? Let’s go get one, yeah?” he asks, unwinding his arms from his hug but leaving one around your shoulders, where it stays as you walk over to the bar together.

“You’re good then?” you ask again, giggling a bit - sometimes it was as if you couldn’t help it; his presence made you giddy. “Me? Oh, I’m wonderful. I’ve been having the greatest hair day, which is truly saying something, and now I’m with you,” he squeezes your shoulder a bit, “What else could I possibly ask for?”

You roll your eyes, your smile never fading, wrap your arm around his waist, and say, “Two rum and cokes, maybe?” You nod toward the bartender. “You always have better luck getting their attention than I do. It’s like they only see the attractive girls, honestly.”

Comments like these came easily to you when you were around people you trusted. It was strange; they weren’t really intended as self-deprecating. And you weren’t fishing for compliments either, especially not with your closest friends. Part of you wanted to be able to make comments like that freely, to not have to censor your thoughts and feelings when it came to your appearance, thinking that such things really shouldn’t be taboo in the first place, and especially not with people you loved. The other part, well, you weren’t so sure what the other part wanted.

“You’re attractive,” Sirius responds, matter-of-factly, your heart rushing a little at the sound of it. You knew you had feelings for him, had for ages and had no use in denying it, but there was also the lack of pity in his comment. He never treated you as fragile; his voice never took on the tone of a motivational poster. “Maybe not to everyone,” he adds candidly, “but no one is attractive to everyone. And,” he pauses, looking down at you conspiratorially, “a lot of people have shit taste anyway.” He pauses again, considering you intently. Then something shifts in his expression, and he adds, speaking more quickly than before, “I mean, not everyone likes Bowie, for example. Bowie, Y/N, Bowie. Why should we ever put stock in what other people think if some of those people can’t see - or hear or whatever - beauty when it’s right in front of them?”

You grin but shoot back, “You’re attractive to everyone.”

Raising his eyebrows, looking straight into your eyes, he responds, “Does that include you then?” A careless group of girls bumping into you saves you from having to decide how much of a joking tone to put on your response. You didn’t find Sirius attractive. You found Sirius the most beautiful person you’d ever met, in senses that went far beyond his impeccable hair, his striking grey eyes, his pronounced cheekbones.

He holds you closer protectively at the jostling crowd, turns to ask for your drinks, and begins absentmindedly stroking your shoulder as he does so.

“No wonder you always wear this,” he says, pinching your jumper, “It’s so bloody soft.”

You had no idea he ever remembered or even noticed what you wore. Marlene, sure. Marlene was making a statement every time she stepped out of the house. And her face and body punctuated that statement with a big exclamation mark. But you? You hardly ever got that kind of attention. Maybe a “nice shirt” when you wore a particularly fun pattern, but that was about it.

You notice him looking at your torso as he says this and swear his eyes linger on your chest. You’re worrying he can tell it’s tighter than usual, so you tug at the hem, but when he looks quickly away, you try not to make too much of it.

You’re having loads of fun with your friends, swapping stories, sharing shots, occasionally shouting the lyrics to the good songs that come on. You and Sirius — who’s standing next you, his arm perpetually around you, much to the dismay of the many girls and few guys who come flirting — have a habit of turning to each other every time a new song comes on, deciding in unison whether it’s a good or bad one. The very occasional disagreement yields the most fun arguments, always along the lines of “You think this isn’t rubbish? You’re making me question our entire friendship here, love. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore.” (Sirius) or “Oh, come on. This sounds exactly like every other song in the genre but mediocre. Not everything has to be original, but it’d be nice if it weren’t typical and trash.” (You)

Then some new Bowie comes on. And Sirius looks as though he’s just received the greatest news of his life.

Cold fire, you’ve got everything but cold fire / You will be my rest and peace child, rings out Bowie’s electric voice. “Come dance with me!” Sirius bursts at you, hardly asking, dragging you by the hand to where a few (mostly quite drunk) people were dancing. He’s holding both your hands, and you’re moving together organically, falling into a languid rhythm with each other and the song. By the next line, Sirius is singing along, and as he sings with Bowie, “I moved up to take a place… Near you,” he shuffles closer to you seductively, looking nowhere but into your eyes as he places your hand on his shoulder and moves his own to your hip.

He’s theatrical with every lyric, each of which he knows by heart; “So tired,” he swoons; “It’s the sky that makes you feel tried,” he belts looking up toward the ceiling; “It’s a trick to make you see wide,” his eyes come back to yours, open wide and full of mirth; “It can all but break your heart…,” he steps closer to you again; “… In pieces,” he swoons again, this time onto your shoulder, leaning on you and holding you close. You’re too busy laughing both with and at him to be able to sing along yourself.

“Staying back in your memory… Are the movies in the past,” he continues, acting less and dancing smoothly with you, spinning you around and catching you close afterward.

He’s staring into your eyes, his face very close to yours as he sings, much more softly now, swaying slowly more than dancing, “How you moved is all it takes… to sing a song of when I loved… the prettiest star.” His hands squeeze you as he says those last three words.

He gives you another playful spin and goes on, “One day… though it might as well be someday… you and I will rise up all the way… all because of what you are…” Then, for the first time in the whole song, he and Bowie don’t synchronize. As Bowie finishes the line over the speakers, “the prettiest star,” you distinctly hear — and see, since his lips are so close to you after all — Sirius finish, “my prettiest star.”

The rest of the world has all melted away by this point; all that’s left is Sirius; all you can hear is the song, his voice, your frantic heartbeat in your ears. His hand comes to your face, caressing your cheek then resting there.

You have no idea how to react. Sirius flirted with you often. But Sirius flirted with everyone often. It was just a quirk of his personality. And Sirius touched you often. But it was never this gentle, this intimate. You don’t want to get your hopes up. Because as much as — or perhaps because of how much — you love him, you can’t really believe he’d see you that way. You’ve let yourself entertain the idea many times, sure, even suspected from time to time over the years of your friendship that maybe just maybe your desire was mutual, but ultimately, your fears and doubts — doubled every time a girl half your size who could so easily be on any billboard flirted with Sirius — would win out and push those thoughts and feelings down.

Your rhythmic swaying, your prolonged eye contact, your bursting heart and muddled mind continued through the end of the song. Though you knew it must have been about a minute and a half, it had felt like hours, time expanded by both bliss and trepidation, by the time the music changed and you broke apart. As you do, Sirius just watches you, as if searching for something.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of your jumper when you whisper, “That was fun,” and give him a quick hug, not letting yourself linger and pulling back before his arms were comfortably around you.

You have plans with Sirius the next day, and as you’re getting ready, you can’t help but remember back to his comment on your jumper last night, more worried at your appearance now that you think he noticed it more than you did before. You’re standing in your room in just your underwear stressing out over what to wear. You’ve put on your best bra, the one that does the most to help your figure without being too uncomfortable, and you’ve made a mess of your knickers drawer looking for a clean pair of high-waisted ones.

There was a time you would’ve avoided looking in the mirror at this stage, but now, you stand in front of it and give yourself a serious look. You suck your stomach in, and pull a bit with your hands on your hips, then let it all go, contemplating the difference. You turn to your profile, admiring the curves of your chest and your arse, but wishing there was less of your thighs immediately after. Arching your back and grabbing your arse, you wonder whether anyone — you close your eyes and admit to yourself: no, not anyone, Sirius — whether Sirius would find this, would find you attractive. As you take a deep breath, you lament how thinking of others’ opinions always made it so much harder to look at yourself with loving eyes. You didn’t hate your body, but your frequent worries that others would brought you down on more days than you wanted to admit.

You put on your favorite jeans, but as you go to choose a top, you remember one you’d borrowed from Lily a few months ago that had looked good. It was quite loose on her and a bit tight on you, but you each pulled it off differently. You ask her for it, and she happily obliges, but when you put it on, a knot turns in your stomach. It’s way too tight. The pattern is stretched; your boobs look huge; it somehow brings out rather than covers the fat on your sides. Taking it off in a hurry, you have to take another long, calming breath to keep tears of frustration at bay.

After finally finding something of yours that worked, giving the top back to Lily with a quick “Thanks, but it didn’t look as good as last time,” and giving yourself too many “final” glances in the mirror, you bundle up as you head into the windy afternoon.

You meet Sirius at the record shop near his flat. You see him before he sees you. He’s browsing the racks, and per usual, he looks effortlessly cool and unreasonably attractive. His long fingers are accentuated by his several silver rings as he flips through the records. He pushes his long hair out of his eyes in a careless gesture, and you’re almost angry at how it falls so perfectly he might as well have just spent an hour in front of a mirror.

You’re approaching him when a cute girl in a hot crop top walks up to him. She steps closer to him than any normal interaction would warrant. “Anything I can help you find, handsome?” she asks, and you wonder whether you’re imagining the twinge of a double meaning in the question. Maybe she’s just a flirty person doing her job. “We have a few special ones in the stock room I could show you…” Nope, not just doing her job. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I’m waiting for someone.” As he looks away from her back toward the records, he catches you in his peripherals. He smiles a beaming smile at you and gestures you over.

“You’re not going to believe what I found,” he begins enthusiastically. You hug; it lingers, and he squeezes you lovingly. “Mm, you smell nice,” he adds, as if it’s a normal thing to say. Is it a normal thing to say? Maybe it is. Maybe you’re overthinking, especially after the moment you shared last night.

“Thanks, new shampoo. What’d you find?” You look toward the records to ease the tension you were probably creating.

“Check this out.” If he noticed any awkwardness, he definitely doesn’t show it. He pulls out a record you had recently had a long conversation about.

“Brilliant!” you react, snatching it from him and turning it over in your hands, reading its contents eagerly.

He chuckles at you, and if you’d been looking at him instead of the record, you might have seen the accompanying adoring look.

“I know. It’s our lucky day.”

You browse around the shop together, chatting easily, both about music and all sorts of random things that came to mind. Talking to Sirius is always easy, always gives you more than the contents of the conversation to hold onto, to fill you up.

You go to pay, and the girl from earlier is working the till. Sirius goes to the loo, so it’s just you and her when you hand her a couple of records to ring up.

“Cool choices.” “Thanks.” “Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, nodding behind her toward the toilets.

“Oh, um,” you stutter. You’re not exactly sure why “no” doesn’t just easily come to your mouth. “I don’t know how you managed it. Lucky bitch,” she half laughs. You’re mortified; you can’t tell for sure, but you think she is trying to be friendly, just in a very strange record-shop-employee, rock and roll kind of way.

Sirius comes back around, and you hope to hell he hasn’t heard anything.

“All good, darling?” he asks, putting his arm around you. This wasn’t unusual for him, the nickname, the contact. But you’re already in an uncomfortable headspace, and your first thought is that you hope he isn’t doing it as an act for her benefit. You don’t even know if he’d heard, and your anxiety is taking over anyway. You keep running the woman’s words over in your head. How had she meant it? Did she mean she couldn’t believe you had managed it? As in specific, chubby, you? Or was she just making girly conversation? Would she have said the same to any woman, no matter how attractive, who had come into the shop with Sirius?

“You alright?” Sirius’s voice breaks you out of your spiraling. You look over at him, and his gaze is gentle but concerned.

“Yeah, fine, sorry,” you reply quickly. “It’s all good,” he smiles comfortingly at you.

Once outside the shop, you debate your next move. Normally on weekends when you’d get records, you’d then go eat, then go to his and listen to some of them, sometimes sharing a blunt, sometimes just getting high on the music.

You’re both looking up into the newly drizzling sky when Sirius says, “How about, we get take-away somewhere close, then just eat at mine? It looks like it’ll get worse soon, but I reckon we can make it before it really starts up.”

“Yeah, great.”

You’ve made it only a few blocks, though, when the rain pours down in sudden torrents.

“Oh, shit!” he laughingly yells, protecting the records, taking your hand, and sprinting to the nearest protective awning. By the time you make it, you’re both already extremely wet, and the weather is so windy the cover hardly helps in keeping it from getting even worse.

You’re squeezing as close to the wall as possible, standing chest to chest, the records between you, his arm around your waist, your faces close enough for you to see each individual drop as it travels down his face. His eyes match the sky behind him, and you silently marvel at his beauty. He looks up for a second then is overtaken by heartfelt laughter.

“Didn’t quite gauge that one right, I guess,” he chuckles. You’re laughing with him when a particularly strong gust blows freezing water forcefully at you, making you gasp and stiffen.

“Shit,” he laughs. “Let’s make a run for it.” He takes your hand again, and you both jog the few blocks to his flat.

You’re both still giggly when you step inside, leaving a puddle in the doorway where you stand. You take off your shoes and outer layers, but you’re drenched all the way through.

“Bloody hell, it’s freezing,” he amusedly complains, stripping down to only his jeans, leaving his clothes in a pile by the door. He hugs himself and rubs his arms, trying to warm up, and you’re glad your soaked demeanour is already such a mess he probably can’t tell how flustered you are by how attractive — and bare — he is. He reaches over to you and rubs your arms like he had been doing his. “Fuck, you’re freezing too. Come to my room, and I’ll lend you something to wear.” Your giddy mood dissipates immediately. There was no way in hell his clothes would fit you. He was obviously leaner than you, and your hips and thighs hadn’t gotten along well with men’s clothes even in your thinnest of states. He’s halfway to his room already, and you’re frozen by the door. “Y/N?”

You look over. You hope he doesn’t notice your eyes quickly travel his bare torso. “You coming or what?” he keeps on casually. When you get to his room, he’s bringing some towels out of the bathroom and throws you one. You start drying your hair as he rummages in his drawers. “Um,” you start. You sound more nervous than you mean to. He clearly notices because he immediately turns back to look at you to see what’s going on. “What is it?”

You hate worrying him like this, especially over something so stupid. Why did you always have to make things uncomfortable? Or better yet, why couldn’t you just be a girl who would fit in his clothes. “Hey, what is it?” he repeats, gentler this time, coming over to rest his hands on your shoulders. Your self-deprecating, cruel inner monologue is clearly showing more than you’d hope. “You alright, love?” “Yeah, no, I’m fine, sorry,” you try to laugh it off. “Don’t apologise.” It’s gentle, not scolding. “Just talk to me.” His hands continue rubbing your shoulders lovingly. “Just that I think I’m fine like this is all. Don’t worry about finding stuff for me,” you try. “Don’t be ridiculous; you’ll freeze to death. It’s fine; I don’t mind.” He goes back toward his dresser.

Ugh, how do you say “It’s not about your minding, actually. It’s about my stretching and ruining anything you could possibly lend me” without sounding weird and embarrassing?

“Thanks. Um, I’m not quite sure anything of yours would fit me though.” “We’ll find something,” he says relaxedly, opening another drawer. “Here, this one is really warm and comfy, and it’ll definitely fit,” he says, tossing you a sweatshirt. You recognize it, have seen him wearing it before. He only ever wore it while lounging at home, and it was quite big on him, so maybe it would be okay.

“And… uh,” he rummages, “try these. They’re a bit small, but they’re stretchy.” He hands you a pair of sweatpants. You’ve never seen him wear these. They would probably be too big on him. He grabs his towel and some clothes for himself.

“I’ll go change in the living room. Just come out when you’re ready. Grab whatever you want.” His tone is friendly, at ease. Unlike your feelings. You are freaking out. As soon as he closes the door, you strip down to your knickers, which thankfully aren’t very wet, at top speed, thinking you should hurry in case it takes you time to figure out the clothes. You don’t want to take too long and make things awkward. You towel yourself off and slip on the sweatshirt. It fits fine. It isn’t loose like it is on him, but it doesn’t look too weird. And it is indeed warm and comfy. Now for the more concerning part: you try pulling the pants on, a repeating “please, please, please” playing in your head. Fuck. No luck. They stop a bit above your mid-thigh, and there is no way you’d be able to pull them all the way up. You think of putting your jeans back on, but they are drenched, and it would’ve been like trying to get back into a heavy straight-jacket. You start panicking, unsure what to do, already worrying you are taking too long to come out. You look through his drawers, but all his other bottoms look even smaller. You try just wrapping the towel around your hips, but you look quite strange in the mirror.

You’re pacing in his room when he knocks. “Y/N? You alright? No rush, really, just making sure everything’s okay?”

You brace yourself, go to the door, and crack it open, hiding your body behind it, just popping your head around. He’s standing there, his wet hair half tied up, a dry t-shirt and sweats on.

“Um… the sweatpants don’t fit,” you whisper, embarrassed.

“Oh. Uh, that’s okay. Um, how about…,” he looks around, as if bigger pants would magically materialise somewhere in his living room. “Oh, perfect.” What could possibly be perfect right now? “Your favourite blanket is already on the sofa. How about I turn around, and you can just go get under it, and I’ll hang your trousers on my heater.”

You nod timidly, the warmth in your cheeks from your embarrassment blazing even hotter at the thought of how sweet he always is to you.

“Great. Uh, ok,” he chuckles, awkwardly turning around. You scamper to his sofa in your underwear, quickly covering your legs with his big cosy blanket.

“Ok,” you let out softly. He turns around and looks you over. You can’t tell what’s in his eyes as he does so, but there is an intensity there that you’re not used to. He blinks quickly and gives you a strange, strained smile. He disappears into his room, and you hear him sorting your clothes out to dry.

You’re fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt when he returns.

“You alright? Comfortable?” he asks, seemingly back to normal.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I didn’t meat to, uh, well, sorry I’m a bit difficult,” you reply a bit awkwardly, not knowing what exactly to apologise for but feeling the need to. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. You have nothing to be sorry for. Really. If you’re okay like this, then we’re all good, right?” You can’t help but worry what will happen as soon as you have to get up. Would you wrap the blanket around yourself like a weirdo? As if reading your thoughts, Sirius goes on playfully, “I’ll wait on you like royalty so you don’t even have to get up.” You make an odd half laugh, half relieved exhale sound in response, and he just chuckles. “Starting with…” he fast walks over to the door, grabs the bag of records and brings it back over to the sofa, sitting next to you but not getting under the same blanket like he usually does. “Which do you want to listen to first?” he asks, bringing them all out to look at together.

As soon as you started discussing it, it’s like waking up from a nightmare, realising all is well and returning to a calm normality. You debate and joke, decide on a record, and he gets up to put it on and make some tea, still chatting casually to you throughout.

When he’s back on the sofa with you, he looks down, smiles, and says, “Looks better on you than on me.” You tug on the sweatshirt self-consciously, smiling shyly at him. You fall into your easy rhythm, listening, talking, laughing, and before you knew it, the whole record’s played. Sirius gets up, walking toward his collection rather than the small stack of new records on the table. He picks one easily, and puts it on. The quirky piano of Bowie’s “Time” begins, and your heart speeds up. You love this album. So does Sirius. But this isn’t the first track. It’s the first track on the B-side, and the next song after this, you remember, is “The Prettiest Star,” the song you and Sirius danced to just last night. He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated next to you again. “I know we usually listen from the beginning, but the B-side is better on this one, and I didn’t feel like being patient.” His tone is playful, but there’s a heaviness to it. He glances away from you and leans toward the table to take a sip of his tea.

“What’s your favourite track?” you ask, smiling. You’ve asked him this question innumerable times over the years, but you’ve never been as excited for his answer as this time, and you have a feeling you know what it’ll be.

“‘The Prettiest Star,’” he replies immediately, looking toward you again. As quickly as he had, he looks away again as he adds, “Because it reminds me of you… even before last night…” After a beat, he ventures a glance toward you, that same searching look from last night taking over his beautiful features.

Unlike last night, you don’t feel panicked — nervous, sure, but more than that, loved. “Last night felt pretty special,” you say. “Yeah?” He seems hopeful. “Yeah, it was.” His voice is serene, like he’s contemplating something utterly peaceful. “It’s funny, though,” you say, and he looks at you, his eyebrow quirked. “It’s really about you, isn’t it? Not me.” You laugh. He looks like he wants to laugh with you, a twinkle in his eye, clearly happy that you are happy, but confusion holds his expression. You explain, “Well, you’re ‘the prettiest star,’ aren’t you? You’re obviously prettier, the prettiest… and the brightest in the night sky in fact… ‘Sirius.’” You say his name with all the love you feel for him.

He leans toward you, taking your hand. He’s smiling, but there’s a sadness to it.

“You might not be named for a star, but you’re my prettiest star, Y/N.” He looks into your eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” His eyes scan your face. “It’s almost too bright to bear sometimes, to be honest, your beauty,” he adds, smiling more vividly now. He brings his other hand to your face, just as he did last night. But this time, his fingertips begin by taking their time tracing your features: your eyebrow first, your nose, your cheekbone, down to your jaw. His thumb grazes your lip, barely touching it but lingering there, before moving to caress you cheek. “You’re so beautiful, my prettiest star,” he repeats, as the song begins in the background.

“Sirius,” you whisper, squeezing his hand.

“Darling girl,” he responds, moving closer to you until your foreheads meet. Your nose nuzzles his, and you stay like this for several seconds. You bring your hand to the crook of his neck, and holding him, you lean forward. The song goes silent, the intro ending, the anticipation built, and right as Bowie’s voice comes in, your lips meet.

Sirius’s hand slips from the side of your face to the back of your head, holding you firmly, leaning into you hungrily. His hand holding yours goes to your waist, pulling you close to him until your chest is flush with his. You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your fingers into his hair.

He moans into your mouth, and you deepen the kiss, pushing his tongue with yours, breaching into his mouth. He lets you, and as you explore him, he pulls your body until you find yourself kneeling on the sofa in front of him, the blanket fallen to the floor.

You pull back momentarily, and he stills his movements, watching you, waiting for your cue for what to do next. His eyes are lidded, his pupils blown, his lips parted, but you know that if you sat back down and told him you just wanted to listen to the record, that’s exactly what he’d do. But that’s not what you want. So, you lean forward and pick up your exploration right where you left it. He groans appreciatively and sucks on your tongue in his mouth, before pulling you on top of him.

You’re straddling him, and you’re so attracted to him you’re drowning in it, but even still, your nerves are there. You feel heavy. Too heavy to be sitting on top of him like this. He keeps his hands on your waist and strokes your back, not venturing any further down, pulling back to look at you. You shift clumsily, trying to put more of your weight on your knees on the sofa, but not being able to without spreading awkwardly wider or ending up lopsided. He holds you firmly, centering you again, hugging you close. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you whisper, trying to explain what he’s already figured out.

He can’t help the chuckle that escapes him before he says, “Trust me, darling, I’m about as far form uncomfortable as a person can be right now.” He squeezes you lovingly, clearly careful to squeeze all of you and not just any specific place, which might make you uncomfortable. “I’ve been going absolutely mental this whole time just knowing you weren’t wearing anything but your knickers under that blanket.”

“You have?” you ask, surprised, your eyes wide, your voice soft. He giggles again, always adoring, never mocking. “Fuck, how can someone be so adorable and so sexy at the same time?” It baffles you how someone can say the word “sexy” so seriously and not sound silly at all, give it so much confidence that it just sounds so, well, so sexy. He pecks your lips. “You’re going to kill me, woman.” Now you laugh.

“Oh?” “Mm,” he groans affirmatively as he runs his hands up your sides and back and kisses you ardently. He moves to your jaw, kissing languidly down to your ear, where he nips playfully and sucks on your neck another moment before looking into your eyes again and saying, “Fuck, Y/N, tell me you want this too.” A kiss. “I’m desperate for you.” Another kiss. “But only if you want me too.” Another kiss, longer this time. “I want to make you feel good, darling. Fuck, I can make you feel so so good.” Your hips grind down on his at his words, and he throws his head back in a lustful groan, and his hands squeeze you tightly where they hold you. He recovers, stroking your back again and resting his forehead on yours as he asks, “Can I touch you, Y/N? I’ll stop anytime you say so, but I’m dying to worship you.” You kiss him deeply, holding him close, grinding your hips down again. “I want you to touch me, Siri.” At this, his mouth immediately devours yours, and his hands come down to squeeze your arse. He kneads it roughly, pulling you into him with each motion, inadvertently pushing his hips up a bit each time to meet yours. You feel the hard, evident bulge in his pants underneath you, and it turns you on even more to feel wanted in such a visceral way. There is no missing how much his body wants yours, and that surprises but arouses you to no end.

His hands come down to your thighs, and you gasp and stiffen a bit. He stops but leaves his hand there, stroking you cautiously.

“Y/N?” He bumps your nose with his. “I…” You peck his lips. “You really don’t mind my body?” you ask, your voice small.

“Darling,” he breaks a little. “Mind it? I adore it. Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he half jokes, thrusting up into you. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip at the addictive friction. “Y/N. Look at me, love,” he whispers. You do. “I think you are the most gorgeous, sexiest woman in the world. Of course it’s all intertwined with how much I love you, but that just makes it even better. God, you have no idea how much you turn me on.” He kisses you short but hard. “I never want to tell you how to feel, love, but I just wish you knew how beautiful you are, how you are the most beautiful to me.” You kiss him again and become immersed in it fully. Your tongues are dancing with each other, your hips, your hands, moving in tandem with each other, melting into each other in a perfect push and pull.

His hands slip under his sweatshirt, and he whispers, “Can I?” You don’t hesitate, entrusting yourself to him, and detaching yourself from him only enough for him to slip it over your head. His hands come to your breasts, and you hear him say “fuck” again as he kneads them and keeps kissing you. His hands keep massaging as his mouth moves down your jaw wetly. He takes his time moving down your body, sucking your neck, licking across your sternum, kissing delicately down to between your breasts. He buries his face there and moans, and it’s so hot you pull him to you and scratch his scalp where you’re holding him by his hair. He kisses there again then his fingers move to pinch your nipples. He mixes pulling it with massaging your whole breast with one hand, but the other just grips your tit as his mouth wraps around your nipple. His tongue licks around it a few times before he sucks on it, and his groan is drowned out by your pleasured yell.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you say, your voice a rasp.

“Mmm,” he responds, not letting up, switching breasts after sucking a bit harder. Once he’s satisfied (for now) and your nipples are hard and sore, he grips your tits again with his hands and licks into your mouth.

“Fuck, baby, you have the most incredible tits.” He squeezes them. “You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of taking your shirt off and touching you.” He goes back down and gives each a quick but delicious suck. “Let’s go to my bed, yeah?” You nod heatedly.

You’re a bit self-conscious as you move to get off of him, more aware of your body beyond the pleasure again though you had been so lost in it just a moment ago you’d forgotten about everything else. Sirius helps you off and up, his hands on your hips, and he pulls you into him as you both stand, making out with you before squeezing your arse as he pulls away to walk to his bedroom. You wrap your arms around yourself as you walk with him, but when you’re standing in front of the bed, he takes each of your hands in his and kisses you while holding them, bringing his body flush with yours. You break the contact to pull on his shirt, and he eagerly obliges, removing it and tossing it aside.

He guides you onto the bed, his body following on top of yours, your mouths connected the whole time. You shuffle up the bed then tug his sweats down when you’re settled. He helps you, shimmying out of them. They get caught on one of his ankles, and you both laugh as he curses and contorts awkwardly to pull them all the way off.

You’re both left only in your underwear as he starts kissing you again, slowly making his way down your body. He spends a lingering amount of time on your tits again as he goes down then keeps kissing down your stomach to the waistband of your knickers. He looks up at you for any hesitation, but you just bite your lip and lift your hips. He smirks in excitement as he pulls your panties off of you. He does it slowly, teasingly, and he licks down your thigh tracing where the fabric passes. Once they’re off, he pushes your knees a bit further apart and starts kissing and licking his way back up. He sucks at the top of your thigh, and it makes a pop as he separates from you.

Kneeling between your legs, massaging your thighs on either side of him, he says, “You drive me mad, Y/N. You’re so fucking delicious, I could spend eternity between these thighs.” You squirm at his graphic words, already exceptionally strung out. He chuckles lowly down at you and kisses you quickly before adjusting himself with his head between your thighs.

“Today really is my lucky day,” he says, face lined up with your cunt. “This is the second time I see you drenched today, and I fucking love being the cause of it this time.” Without further ado, he licks a sopping stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Even this first motion sounds wet. You’re sure you’ve never been so wet in your life.

Sirius buries his face in your cunt, groaning as he licks into you then sucks on your lips. He goes back and forth between sucking on you and fucking you with his tongue. He keeps playing with you until you’re squirming before bringing his mouth directly to your clit. He’d grazed it as he licked you before now, bumped you with his nose, teasing you, but now he gives it his full attention. He’s licking and sucking, moaning all the while like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten, moving his whole body with the passion of it, and it takes very little more for you to start cumming on his mouth. You make a yelping sound you’ve never made before in your ecstasy, and with your eyes closed, you feel as if the world is a million miles away; all you feel is your body and where it is connected to Sirius’s. He keeps up his motions and fervor until your pleasured squirming turns into overstimulation squirming. He gives you one last lick and suck then shuffles up your body, kissing it intermittently as he does, until he’s face to face with you, smiling a smile you’ve never seen before.

“Hello, darling,” he says, clearly satisfied with himself, kissing you.

“Hi,” you sigh, sounding completely fucked out. He giggles at you and kisses you again.

“Feel good?”

“Mmhhmm.” You stretch underneath him and languidly wrap your arms around him, licking his lips slowly before kissing him again.

“Fuck,” he responds.

“Yes, please.” Your voice is high, blissful. You rut up into him. He chuckles at you and strokes your hairline, kissing your forehead.

“You want to? You’re alright?” “Of course, Siri. I’m brilliant.” “That you are, my love,” he beams at you then pushes his pants off. “My prettiest star,” he says, as he pecks your lips then your nose then lines himself up with your entrance.

His eyes penetrate yours as he pushes into you. You moan in unison, and his mouth lingers just above yours, grazing your lips, your foreheads touching, as he slowly pushes deeper and deeper. When he bottoms out, he kisses you eagerly, stroking his tongue into your mouth as his cock ruts deep inside you. Your hands grip his back. His hands come down to your thighs one at a time, squeezing passionately before pushing your legs up and out, wrapping them around his waist.

Normally, you’d feel self-conscious in this position. Almost bent in half, your stomach protrudes between the two of you. Your thighs are thick at his sides. But the look on his face, the feel of the movements of his body is all love and adoration and ardor.

He kisses you as he thrusts a bit harder, keeping it slow at first but vigorously punctuating each thrust. One of his hands rests beside you, holding him up, but the other stayed on your leg, stroking your thigh and gripping your arse or hip bruisingly with each forceful motion of his hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps, “You’re fucking perfect.” He thrusts hard, a gentle kiss on your forehead contrasting it seductively, then begins picking up his pace. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking on it as he pounds repeatedly into you.

You’re gripping him tightly to stay in position, your arms and legs tense around him. You can’t move much, but his movements are enough for the both of you, especially as he brings his knees up a bit to get a new angle. He’s hitting your spot with almost every thrust, and you’re whining in pleasure in time with each. You squeeze hard around him, not just your arms and legs but the soft walls around his cock as well, and he groans animalistically into your skin. His hips stutter in response, but a moment later he’s pounding rhythmically again.

His breathing gets heavier, his muscles tighter, and with a broken gasp, he shifts sideways a bit to snake his hand between you to where you’re connected. He rubs harshly on your clit, not bothering to start slow, clearly aware he doesn’t have time for that. His hips piston even faster; his hand presses harder, and a few seconds later, you feel fit to burst. You let out a yell as you release around him, the most intense orgasm of your life making you see white stars.

“Sirius,” you half yell, half sigh. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to?” he rushes out, his hips still moving fast in and out of you. You tighten your legs around him, and clench your cunt, pulling him into you. “Inside, Siri. Cum in me.” His immediate groan sounds strangled as you feel the warmth of him inside you. The words “cold fire” play in your mind. He thrusts a few more times then goes limp on top of you, panting loudly, kissing your neck and cheek between heavy breaths.

He rolls off but stays close, never fully breaking contact with you, and he wraps his arm around your waist, lightly stroking your back, as you both lie on your sides facing each other. You feel the urge to cover yourself up but resist it, trying to melt into the vulnerability. The utter adoration in his eyes when you look into them helps.

“I love you,” you whisper. He smiles a smile that makes his stormy eyes shine, leans in, and kisses you tenderly.

“And I love you,” he says matter-of-factly, his voice smooth and sappy.

You pause, contemplating, reveling in the joy of the moment but unable to ignore a tug in your stomach. “I’m sorry I was too… I don’t know, scared? to really show you before.”

“Don’t be, darling. I’m sorry I waited so long to really show you too, but I’m even more sorry if I ever made you doubt how much I do, how loved you are.” “You didn’t.” You shake your head then nuzzle his nose with yours. “I just sometimes didn’t understand. It’s confusing, how someone like you can love someone like me so much.” “Darling. It’s the least confusing thing in the world. You’re the most beautiful person I know. In all kinds of ways. And I’ll show you every day you’ll have me; you’ll see it clearly too; I’m sure of it. I’m just worried when you do, you’ll realise the real wonder is you loving me.” He laughs a bit, but you can hear the truth to his concern, his own insecurities surfacing.

You stroke his cheek, kiss him, and say, “We’ll both keep showing each other then. For always.” His smile is subtle, full of love.

He nods, kisses you again, pulls you into his body, and, hugging you close, repeats, “For always.”

P.S. notes: I try to keep my reader character inclusive, and this is a bit more specific than I usually do. I just want to acknowledge that everyone relates to their bodies, especially if they’re bigger, in different ways, and I in no way think of anything I write as a generalized take on being plus sized (or any other experience really). These are just things that I have felt in my life, and it has always meant a lot to me to see and hear stories about bigger characters, both when attention is brought to that specific aspect about them and when it isn’t. So, this is my way of adding to that and to write something for myself in that vein.

#marauders #marauder x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #smut #fluff #angst #friends to lovers #plus size!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #david bowie #ria250 #fanfiction

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quillthrillswriting · 1 month

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wow, i am on a writing spree today! new chapter of my aged up aang au fanfic should be coming at all of you weekly on wednesdays or thursdays, and the following is an excerpt from my draft of ch2 of "the teenager in the iceberg"

without further ado, enjoy water tribe sibling chaos

for context, this immediately follows aang being hauled off by zuko and the rest of his ship.

---

Katara felt a little piece of something inside her break with the click of the ship’s hull closing.

There was something so unsettling about being given so much hope and having it all ripped away from her only over the course of one day. She watched the ship push off from the ice and turn away, moving toward the imprisonment of the boy Katara had just realised could save the world. Her gloved hand stayed clasped over her mouth, her body frozen in shock, as she watched the ship fade. After a few minutes, she became aware that Sokka was tugging at her coat. She blinked, shook her head, and turned to him.

“Katara,” Sokka said urgently, and Katara knew what he was going to tell her before he said a word.

“I know. We have to go after him, somehow.” Katara bit her lip, absent-mindedly playing with Aang's bracelet, still woven around her wrist.

Sokka nodded sharply. “He’s our responsibility, no matter how much I berated him when we met earlier. We need to find that sky monster of his, it’s the only way we’ll be able to catch up with the ship.”

“Aang called it a sky bison.”

“He also didn’t tell us that he was the Avatar, so I’m not sure if we can take everything he says at face value,” Sokka pointed out as Katara rolled her eyes. He cocked a grin. “C’mon, let's go get the little guy.”

“Aang’s taller than you!” Katara called after him, rushing to keep up with Sokka’s longer strides.

“Sure, in his dreams!” The decidedly-shorter-than-Aang boy called back.

When they did manage to find Appa, he was sitting at the rear entrance to the village, peacefully napping and ignoring the flood of small children poking at his fur. When he raised his head to look up at Katara and Sokka as their footsteps approached, the sky bison looked less than amused.

“Here’s the deal, bucko.” Sokka said matter of factly, accompanying his words with sharp gestures and exaggerated syllables, as if Appa was deaf. “Your friend needs your help, and WE need YOUR help to get to him. You get the picture?” Without waiting for any kind of affirmation, Sokka nodded briskly then scrambled up to Appa’s back, settling into what appeared to be the driver's seat.

Appa did not move, didn’t even blink.

Sokka blinked, utterly bewildered. “How do we get him to, y’know, go?”

Katara scoffed, stepping closer and resting a hand on the creature’s nose. Appa huffed and leaned into her touch, then sniffed, making a sad rumbling noise. Katara’s brow furrowed in confusion until she followed Appa’s line of sight to Aang’s wood and linen bracelet, clasped loosely around her wrist. She clumsily reached for it, sliding it off awkwardly to hold out to Appa.

“He needs you.” Katara breathed, “Aang needs you.” “He’s not gonna-” Sokka started, but as Katara slid onto Appa’s back, they felt him begin to levitate. Sokka huffed, crossing his arms dramatically. “Spirits, I hate when you’re right and I’m wrong.”

♥ check out the first chapter of this (ongoing) fic & my ao3 here! ->

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ofthecaravel · 7 months

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You Get Everything You Want

A 'You Don't Go To Parties' AND 'You Know How To Haunt' Halloween Special/ Mini Fic/ Oneshot SEQUEL

Summary: One year after the events of You Know How To Haunt and six months after You Don't Go To Parties, Sam sets the stage for a very happy and healing Halloween

Tags: POST confession YDGTP Sanny, reference to YKHTH, SMUT PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF YOURE A BABYCHILD PLEASE, M/M oral and handjob, dirty talk, hair pulling, teasing, idk the works, happy ending

Words: 5.7k

A/N: Don't look at me bro I don't even know. A treat for all my wonderful citizens of Caravel Nation who have been so so so so sweet to me about everything I make so BOOM here's some porn

~~~

“Is it…the astronaut?”

“Danny, we were 7 the last time I wore that costume.”

“I don’t know, I’m running out of options!”

“Well, keep guessing then!”

Danny sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the bed. Their bed, which was something he’d been really enjoying dwelling on. Danny had stayed true to his promise and followed Sam after graduation, which had led them two towns over and into a sizable apartment and jobs that they both actually enjoyed. A summer spent moving and acclimating had eventually cooled down into a nice, comfortable autumn, and now that Halloween was around the corner, Danny was watching in complete confusion as Sam took a spontaneous interest in it. Since the very first day of October, Sam had been teasing Danny about how great his costume was going to be, despite Danny’s repeated reminders that they a) had absolutely no friends in the area to show it to, b) Sam promised that they wouldn’t go to parties anymore and c) Danny wasn’t really planning on dressing up at all.

“I am reminding you once again that our current Halloween plans are to get drunk on the couch and watch The Exorcist,” Danny laughed, lolling his head on the pillow as he desperately tried to guess Sam’s costume.

“And I am reminding you once again that I also want to watch Young Frankenstein,” Sam shot back, finally peeking his head out from the bathroom. “Also, I don’t care. I’m dressing up and you’re going to lose your mind.”

“Just tell me,” Danny whined, putting on his best pleading face. Sam met it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, completely unaffected by Danny’s begging in a way that Danny wished he could be when it came to Sam.

“No,” Sam said with a click of his tongue. “If you haven’t guessed it by now, that’s on you, buddy. You have to wait until the 31st.”

“I despise you,” Danny replied dramatically, flopping a hand over his forehead and sighing deeply.

“Yeah?” Sam laughed, peeking his head out from the bathroom again and tossing a crumpled up foam wedge at Danny. “If you hate me so much, then why am I covering up a hickey before work?”

“I know nothing about that,” Danny hummed, sitting up a little bit and giving Sam his best, most innocent smile.

“Well, someone got a little carried away,” Sam groaned, smacking his neck with another little, white sponge and sighing. “You’ll pay for this.”

And pay for it he did. Just not in the way Danny expected.

Danny didn’t see Sam on Halloween morning, knowing that he had an important project in his lab that had been keeping him for more mornings than Danny preferred, so Danny enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in a little bit and doing some general tidying around the apartment. In the afternoon, he decided to run out and grab some last minute Halloween candy and other tacky goodies to appease Sam’s sudden lust for Halloween spirit, enjoying raiding the aisles of their Twix and plastic spider bounties.

When Danny got home, he announced his presence and saw Sam’s satchel on the kitchen island accompanied by the sound of the shower running.

“Hey!” Danny called down the hallway, dropping the paper grocery bag on the counter and starting to pull out its contents.

“Hey!” Sam echoed in a higher pitch, his voice dampened by the rush of the shower. “How was your day?”

“Boring!” Danny yelled back, loudly crinkling the bag of candy in his hand. “Got you some treats for our spooky evening!”

“Ooh! Thank you!” Sam replied. “You don’t have a costume, right?”

“Fuck no!”

“Good!”

“Why?”

“I have one for you!”

“Aw, man, Sam!” Danny groaned. “I hate costumes!”

There was a single beat of silence before Sam replied.

“Yeah, I know!” Sam answered, a weird tone in his voice that made Danny knit his eyebrows in analysis. “I’m remedying that! You’re welcome!”

Danny groaned again and Sam made a loud kissy noise, carrying on with his shower while Danny dumped candy in one of their only big bowls and read the instructions on a pumpkin shaped frozen pizza.

Now, Sam was always one to take a really long time in the shower, but he was usually pretty ready to go once he was out of it. However, this time, Danny was sitting around for much longer than he anticipated. When the blow dryer turned on, he started getting suspicious.

“What the hell are you doing in there, Kiszka?” Danny yelled down the hall again.

“I don’t want wet hair for my costume!”

“You and that damn costume,” Danny muttered to himself, shaking his head and grinning fondly. As much as it bugged him, Danny absolutely loved it when Sam dedicated himself to a cause, especially when it was ridiculous.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing, dear!” Danny replied innocently.

“Yeah, right!”

10 more minutes passed and Danny let out an exasperated sigh and hauled himself off the couch, making his way down the hallway towards their bedroom.

“Hello?” Danny sang, rapping his knuckles on the closed door. “Is my boyfriend there? He promised he’d do shots with me.”

“He’s busy!” Sam sang back, his voice accompanied by the slight sounds of clothes rustling. “Can you come back later?”

“It is later,” Danny complained, leaning his forehead on the door. “Come on, Sammy, I miss you. I bet your costume is amazing how it is, now come on out and eat all this stupid candy with me.”

“I need to finish my hair,” Sam answered plainly.

“You started doing your hair half an hour ago!”

“Well, it’s not done!”

“Oh, my god,” Danny responded, a genuine irritation starting to pull at his muscles as he gently banged his head against the door again. “Seriously, Sam, come on. Halloween is wasting away!”

“5 minutes, baby, I promise,” Sam obliged, his voice taking on a gentle quality that always brought Danny to his knees. Danny sighed and murmured an “okay, love you” before trudging back to the couch. He knew that any sort of relationship with Sam meant working on Sam’s time schedule and nobody else’s, so he decided to just wait it out like he always did. Until, of course, curiosity began to overtake his annoyance. He’d spent this whole time being frustrated over Sam’s mystery costume instead of wondering what about it was so damn important, and suddenly Danny felt the minutes passing even slower as his mind started to race with images of Sam in a myriad of skimpy costumes.

So when Sam finally called out “Okay, come here!”, Danny’s knees banged into the couch’s table and he jerkily sprinted down the hallway, bursting into the bedroom to see…that Sam wasn’t there.

“Sam?” Danny asked the empty room.

“Go sit on the bed!”

Sam’s arm peeked out of the bathroom door and waved Danny in the direction of the bed, and Danny obeyed with a confused and wild grin on his face. He smoothed his pumpkin orange sweater and spread his legs casually, his knees swinging back and forth in anticipation.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Sam’s voice piped up again, this time with an unusual nervous tinge. Danny laughed and Sam made a noise of frustration. “Just do it!”

“Fine, fine,” Danny giggled, closing his eyes and smiling.

Without his eyesight, Danny relied on his hearing to guide him through the next few minutes. He heard the bathroom door open again, and after what he guessed was a moment of Sam checking to see that Danny had in fact closed his eyes, he heard Sam’s soft approach. Danny felt the pressure of Sam’s legs between his as he stood in front of him, and he relaxed when Sam’s hand softly came up and smoothed Danny’s hair lovingly.

“Thanks for being patient with me,” Sam said quietly, and Danny’s smile split into a grin when he felt the welcome warmth of Sam’s lips giving him a quick kiss on the crown of his head. “I just thought this could be a fun little surprise for you.”

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Danny asked.

“Mm, not yet,” Sam answered, and Danny could hear the smile in his voice when Danny let out a dramatic sigh. “You only have to be patient for another minute. I want to see if you can remember without looking.”

“Remember?”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered shyly. Danny felt Sam’s hand grab Danny’s and move it to the smooth skin of Sam’s thigh, and Danny immediately flushed at the contact. He’d thoroughly enjoyed having a whole summer of Sam in the little shorts he exclusively wore, and Danny was happy to get a taste of it back after the past month of jeans and joggers. Danny grinned further as he gave Sam’s thigh a squeeze, wringing a chuckle from Sam before he went quiet again and slowly moved Danny’s hand further up. Danny wrinkled his nose in thought as he finally felt a brush of fabric on his wrist, his hand venturing upwards of his own accord now and grasping the soft fabric of what he assumed was Sam’s boxers as something else blanketed his hand and wrist.

“Is this…” Danny finally said. “A skirt?”

“Ding, ding,” Sam answered cheerfully, continuing to play with Danny’s hair with his free hand, his other still firmly gripping Danny’s wrist as his thumb swiped over Sam’s hipbone.

“Freaky,” Danny smiled, wiggling his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever-”

With a jarring rush, a memory long buried came crashing down on Danny and stunned him into silence. He was about to say he’d never seen Sam in a skirt, but he had. On one, horrible Halloween night that he’d desperately tried to forget back when trying to forget interactions with Sam was a daily activity. Danny first and foremost remembered the fight that neither of them could pinpoint an origin to, as well as the miserable, slow ride he had driven alongside Sam on the sidewalk, refusing to get into Danny’s car and hurling obscenities while Danny pleaded with him to get in. But what Danny also remembered was the costume that Sam had worn and nearly driven him insane with: a simple cheerleader outfit. Still keeping his eyes shut, he tilted his head up at Sam.

“No way,” Danny breathed, his hands now roaming freely over the skirt and crop top as Sam hummed at his touch. “You kept it?”

“Of course I did,” Sam chirped, giving Danny another kiss on the head. “I had this sick determination that it’d get some proper use one day and, you know, lo and behold.”

“Did you wear it just to rile me up?” Danny asked hurriedly. “Can I look now?”

“Yes, and yes,” Sam giggled.

Danny’s eyes shot open and sure enough, there was Sam, standing cocky and gorgeous in that same cheer outfit from a year ago. It seemed like forever and no time at all at the same time. Sam had let his hair grow out over the spring and summer, and it swung gloriously in a ponytail with the same tacky blue scrunchie. A few stray pieces framed his face as he smiled triumphantly down at Danny and Danny thought for a moment (and deep down he really believed) that Sam might be the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And here, standing barely clothed in a cheap costume he’d been hyping for a month straight just to turn Danny on, Danny thought he might also be the hottest person he’d ever seen.

“You just gonna sit there with your hands under my skirt?” Sam teased, shimmying his hips slightly to make the pleats of his skirt flip and brush against Danny’s hands.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Danny countered, moving backwards a little bit and using his grip on Sam’s hips to pull him forward and down onto Danny’s lap, which was already sporting a considerable tent in his jeans. Sam’s cheeks started to glow pink and his grin grew even more sly as he settled in Danny’s lap as Danny’s semblance of restraint started to slip from his grasp as his palms slid over Sam’s soft sides and up and down Sam’s thighs. Danny let out a rattling sigh as his lips finally met Sam’s neck, eliciting a quick whine from Sam as Danny breathed in his sweet scent and began to leave long, lingering kisses, which were really more of an excuse to lap at Sam’s skin and keep him as close as possible. He babied the sensitive spot under Sam’s jaw that always drew the most noises from Sam, who he could feel was quickly hardening as he clung to Danny and giggled faintly.

“No more hickeys, thank you, so keep those teeth away,” Sam hummed as Danny’s pace started to pick up, his fingernails now digging into Sam’s skin and his teeth grazing Sam’s throat as his mind melted into blank bliss. Danny just laughed against Sam’s neck and nudged Sam down to meet him, finally giving him a heated kiss that made Sam exhale loudly through his nose and grasp Danny’s jaw as they sank into a familiar rhythm.

“Can I ask you something?” Danny rasped, pulling back and yanking the scrunchie from Sam’s hair, causing it to fall all around them in a silken curtain.

“Sure,” Sam answered, his eyes still greedily glued to Danny’s lips as he squirmed in Danny’s grasp to chase any kind of friction he could get.

“What did you want to happen at that Halloween party?” Danny asked, arching a questioning brow at Sam while beginning to push his skirt further up. “Did you think I was gonna lock the door and have my way with you away from listening ears?”

“Maybe a little,” Sam mumbled shyly, his voice barely audible as he watched Danny’s hands grip and dig into his thighs, revealing his thin underwear with the skirt out of the way.

“You probably wanted them to hear, though,” Danny murmured, giving Sam a kiss on his neck while his thumbs slowly hooked Sam’s underwear, the pad of his right thumb just barely kissing the very tip of Sam’s member. “Right?”

Sam answered with silence, still watching Danny’s infuriatingly slow movements. Danny smiled and kissed the apple of Sam’s cheek before removing a hand from Sam’s groin and sweetly sliding it into Sam’s hair before firmly tugging. Sam’s head jerked up to meet Danny’s eyes and Danny gave him a look.

“Right?” Danny repeated, brushing his nose against Sam’s so their lips were just barely touching. “Tell me.”

“Right,” Sam echoed obediently, his eyes glazing slightly as he swallowed and Danny knew he had him right where he wanted him. “I always wanted you to just do something. Anything, really.”

“Aw, you’ve always liked being my pretty little thing to fawn over, haven’t you, baby?” Danny cooed, nipping at Sam’s bottom lip and pulling away before Sam could return the favor. “Although I admit I’m a little surprised that you’re into the whole slutty cheerleader thing. Kind of basic.”

“I am not basic,” Sam scoffed, and Danny laughed appreciatively at his disgust.

“Fine, fine, maybe you’re just into the whole slut thing in general,” Danny hummed, shifting Sam off of his lap and tossing him onto his side on the bed, where he landed with a laugh as Danny rolled next to him and started attacking his neck with kisses again.

Eventually, they ended up with Danny straddling Sam’s lap as he pinned him to the bed, his affection growing increasingly aggressive as all of Sam’s perfect little noises urged him on. Danny finally reached down to tear off Sam’s dizzying little skirt, but in the process of yanking it down his legs, he felt the cheap material rip in his ironclad grip. Immediately, they both froze and looked at the chunk of fabric in Danny’s palm, the both of them breathing heavily before Sam looked up with round, pleading eyes.

“You like that?” Danny asked, a little bit of cockiness lacing his voice. Sam instantly began nodding and scooted his hips further against Danny, pressing into him.

“The rest, rip the rest,” Sam begged unabashedly, tossing his hair off his shoulders and staring him down. Danny smiled haughtily and obliged him, reaching up under Sam’s top and grabbing the collar before yanking down, keeping firm eye contact as the thin garment ripped loudly in his fist. Sam’s chest started heaving even more as Danny lazily tossed it aside and settled over Sam’s reclined figure again, letting Sam reach up under his own sweater and grab desperately at him while he kissed and sucked on Danny’s jaw and neck.

“Not gonna let you rip this one,” Danny joked softly, working the sweater over his head and dropping it on the carpet. “Not that I think you could.”

“How rude,” Sam muttered, not stopping even as he spoke.

“Someone’s greedy tonight,” Danny pressed on, allowing himself a moment to start to unbutton his pants and slide them down while Sam was lost in his haze. “I’m starting to think you never wanted to watch a movie.”

“My plan was if you forced me to start the movie, I’d just start sucking you off,” Sam chuckled, the warmth of his breath in Danny’s ear setting every nerve in Danny’s body alight as he began to picture it. Sam was obsessed with keeping his eyes on Danny while he did it, blinking and batting his lashes like it was nothing at all while Danny gripped his hair and writhed at Sam’s touch. The more Danny focused in on the feel of Sam’s lips on his neck and face, the more he began to crave the soft, spit slicked pressure somewhere else.

“You should show me how you would’ve done it,” Danny purred, grinning when Sam pulled away with his eyes lit up and his hands already beginning to brace on Danny’s hips. Danny moved off of Sam and shifted to the side of the bed again, letting out a small laugh when Sam scurried off the bed and immediately sank to his knees in front of Danny, looking up at him in patient awe. Danny’s stomach fluttered at Sam’s unfettering devotion, and he cupped Sam’s cheek lovingly, pressing his thumb against the soft indent in Sam’s bottom lip to give him something to suckle on while he eagerly pulled off Danny’s boxers. Without even a moment of hesitation, Sam was on him, drawing a rare shocked whine out of Danny when Sam immediately sank his mouth over Danny’s dick and hollowed his cheeks, his tongue pressed firmly and his eyes fluttered shut. Danny tried to say something, anything, but the overwhelming and unrelenting sensation of Sam’s perfect, expertly trained mouth rendered Danny speechless and reduced him to loud, shuddering breaths and hums.

“Sam, come on, slow down,” Danny finally choked out, lacing his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulling him off of him. Sam’s eyes met his, looking frenzied and nearly crazed as spit rolled down his chin and his flushed lips stretched into a lazy smile while he caught his breath. He went limp in Danny’s grip as he always did when Danny touched his hair in any capacity, giving Danny a moment to think when he remembered the glittering scrunchie on his wrist. With shaking hands, he pulled it off and smoothed Sam’s hair back, tying it up with a snap of the elastic and tightening it just rough enough for Sam to wince and flush. Firmly, Danny kept his grip on the scrunchie and guided Sam back down, unable to help his own smile when Sam kept his eyes on him when his sweet smile closed over his cock again and welcomed it readily. Danny set the pace this time around, keeping Sam slow and steady as he sucked and lapped while Danny’s breathing picked up and he felt his release approaching far sooner than he wanted. In moments of pure pleasure and connection like that, Danny wished time could stop and they could stay in frozen ecstasy forever, only restarting and stopping again to give Sam his own turn. With Sam on his knees with the remnants of the cheerleader costume, Danny thought for a moment about Halloween night the year previous. He had erased and rewritten the ending of that night a thousand times in his head, and this felt like the ultimate redemption and the perfect ending he had dreamed of. God, the only thing he’d wanted to do was lock the door and make Sam pay for all the tension and frustration with his hands and cock, and the memory of those emotions made Danny’s grip tighten and pick up the pace. Sam seemed to notice this, his eyes going soft and dopey as his neck bobbed faster and faster and he started to choke out spit slick whimpers and gags in response. The pleasure was overwhelming and it wasn’t long before Danny realized he was a goner.

“It’s all yours, baby, all yours,” Danny breathed, his mouth dry and his hips now bucking into Sam’s mouth as he felt his muscles contract and his adrenaline buzz. “Take it, take it, take it, take it-”

Sam let out an unexpected, needy whine and Danny’s hips bucked one more time before he was pushed over the edge, letting out a relieved, stuttering groan as he came hard and painted Sam’s throat. Sam, ever the obedient angel, only waited until Danny was finished to bring his hands out from behind his back to give Danny a few last pumps that made Danny cry out and fall flat on his back, his spent cock leaking one last time. Sam cleaned him up dutifully as Danny heaved and stared at the ceiling, his breath rattling in his throat as he swallowed and came down from his high.

Danny was only shook from his delirium by the warm, gentle presence of Sam kissing the still shivering insides of his thighs, which made Danny smile as he wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. But Danny only sat up when Sam’s usual kisses turned into gentle nips and suppressions of stilted breaths and moans, looking down curiously at Sam as he realized that Sam was grinding down on the ground with his eyes closed and his mouth pressed feverishly to Danny’s skin.

“Hey, bunny,” Danny said quietly, as if not to disturb Sam from his haze. When Sam was in this state of mind, it was hard to shake him from it until he came. “How are you?”

Danny softly put his hand on Sam’s cheek and Sam nuzzled into it, kissing his palm and trying to suck at his fingers as Sam’s hips rolled and pressed down into the carpet, his movements practiced and shuddering. Danny got a chill watching Sam try to relieve himself in such a desperate, mindless way, and he suddenly felt a loving mercy. Sam’s pleasure was really Danny’s, and he always wanted to help.

“Come here,” Danny urged softly, shifting back on the bed to give Sam enough room to sit on his lap again, which Sam did quickly despite his wobbling legs. He straddled Danny’s wide, toned thigh and let out a content sigh, his cock still restricted by his underwear as he started grinding again. Danny let his hands settle on Sam’s hips and he applied just enough pressure to give Sam a lot less freedom to rock, keeping him flush and anchored as Sam frowned petulantly and his hips struggled to jerk.

“Not gonna be that easy, honey,” Danny smiled, kissing Sam on the cheek and looking down at the visibly dampened fabric of Sam’s tented underwear. “But you like that, don’t you?”

“It hurts,” Sam mumbled, his words soft and whining as he fought for friction. “I’m close.”

“I know, I know,” Danny whispered soothingly. “But you haven’t earned it, have you? Kept me waiting all month for a costume that got ripped in 20 minutes, and now you’re almost ready to cum without me doing a damn thing. That’s no fun.”

“Sorry,” Sam whispered back, his motion slowing as he shrank in shame. But his cheeks were still rosy and his arms lifted to circle Danny’s neck and Danny knew that he was still more than happy to be where he was.

“You better be,” Danny replied darkly, his nails digging into Sam’s skin as he pushed him down even harder on to his thigh. “Did you like having the control for a little bit? Stringing me along like you used to, you little fuck?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered honestly, his voice soft and hoarse as he kept his head down, his eyes glued to where his knee was pressed to Danny’s flushed cock.

“Fuck you for that,” Danny hissed in Sam’s ear, biting hard on Sam’s earlobe and releasing his grip ever so slightly to allow for Sam’s jerk reaction. He jumped a little before grinding down again, his movements incessant as his throat leaked a pathetic whine, swallowing a little like he was about to cry. When Danny grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up, he could see the tears glossing Sam’s sleepy doll eyes as he stared pleadingly at Danny.

“Isn’t it so much easier to just let me do everything for you?” Danny pressed further, falling into his old habit of talking Sam through it with a barrage of questions that scrambled him into a babbling, empty headed little toy with a thousand buttons for him to press. Sam nodded immediately and Danny grinned victoriously.

“See what happens when you try to take over?” Danny purred condescendingly, fully removing his hands from Sam’s hips and smoothing them down Sam’s legs and then up over the curve of his ass, pulling Sam closer and causing him to cry out from the sudden friction.

“Danny,” Sam whimpered, his voice cracking as he wordlessly began to reach his peak. “Come on, you’re being so mean to me.”

“But that’s what you wanted,” Danny assured confidently. “It’s always you being my sweet thing to love on. But there’s a reason you picked that costume to remind me of that night…that fucking night. You don’t want to feel like you’re my perfect angel.”

Danny paused for a moment, and Sam watched him as he let the tension stretch and thicken. It was delicious, and infuriating, and Sam was dizzy and tearful and horrifically in love.

“You want me to feel like how I did that night,” Danny continued, his words like a revelation as he shook his head slightly at Sam, his lip curling a little. “And you want to feel like I fucking hate you.”

Sam didn’t answer, his back arching inwards as he buried his head against Danny’s neck and gave a pathetic little buck, his body communicating what he couldn’t with words. Danny chuckled lightly, taking in this new information and letting it sink in. He expected to be uncomfortable with the thought of talking to Sam like he had always wanted to when they had been in that frustrating space where Danny was never sure whether he wanted to fuck or fight him more, but he wasn’t.

This night wasn’t just a fun tease.

It was a catharsis.

Maybe Sam hadn’t been entirely aware of the ground he had laid with this plan, but Danny was a little impressed. Honestly, it made him love Sam all the more. But those warm feelings were not what either of them needed at that moment, and Danny was going to take advantage of this while he could.

“I did hate you,” Danny whispered, hooking his fingers over the waistband of Sam’s underwear and finally pulling it down, drinking in Sam’s immediate gasp as his stiff dick met the cool air. “You hated me too, probably. Unwarranted, but I get it.”

Danny pulled on Sam’s ponytail to free his face from Danny’s neck, holding his palm under Sam’s mouth and suppressing a loving smile as Sam immediately spit, still unable to look Danny in the eye. Danny finally put his hand to Sam’s dick, pumping slow and hard and Sam fell into the warmth of Danny’s shoulder again as he let out a long, low groan. Danny loved all of Sam’s high pitched squeals and cries, but there was something about the sounds from deep in Sam’s chest that gave him a different thrill. He kissed Sam’s neck and leaned his head against his, his ear in the perfect spot to hear every tiny sound.

“You were such a fucking bitch,” Danny growled, his speed picking up ever so slightly as he let his mind wallow in the dark places he hadn’t touched on in over six months. “I used to think about you bending over those randoms like you gave a fuck and just fume. That’s not what you needed, that’s never what you needed. You needed this. To shut the fuck up for once in your life and just take it.”

Mirroring Sam’s frenzy from early, Danny took his grasp on Sam from zero to 100 in a moment’s time, his wrist aching as he stroked and pulled despite Sam’s sharp cry in his ear to slow down.

“You wanted me to fuck you, so here I am, fucking you,” Danny smiled, cupping the back of Sam’s head and pushing him back against his skin, muffling his whines and gasps. “Fuck, fuck you, baby. Fuck. You.”

With a cresting sob, Sam arched and came in Danny’s hand, his chest heaving as Danny’s frustration melted in an instant and he immediately began a stream of whispered praises into Sam’s wild hair. Danny began to panic slightly when Sam’s small sobs into Danny’s neck continued. When he leaned back to assess Sam, he worried that he went too far when he saw Sam’s face flushed and streaked with large tears that still pooled in his pale waterline. Sam sniffed and gave him a little smile, chuckling scratchily while Danny kissed his face and held him flush to his chest, fervently asking if he was okay and apologizing profusely.

“No, no, I’m fine, Dan,” Sam insisted, his voice very fond as he pushed Danny’s hair back and pressed his cheek against Danny’s as he leaned into him. “Great, actually. Just got overwhelmed. s’good, baby, it was really, really good, I’m okay.”

“My poor baby,” Danny cooed, twisting to keep kissing Sam’s cheek and then migrating to his lips, still whispering sweet nothings between hot, wet kisses.

“Stop, I’m gonna cum again,” Sam giggled as Danny kissed his neck. “Where are my boxers? Lemme off.”

“No, stay here,” Danny complained, locking his arms tight around Sam’s torso and falling backwards again, sending Sam sprawling on top of him and making his ponytail smack Danny in the eyes. They laughed as they struggled against each other, with Sam finally rolling off of Danny and the both of them laying in the silence following their laughter for a moment before Danny spoke up.

“Happy Halloween,” Danny grinned, turning to look at Sam. Sam smiled back at him and Danny felt his heart flutter. At the end of it all, it was all just Sam, wasn’t it? He was everything. It washed over him in the wake of the tired old anger he’d tapped into that he realized was really, truly gone from his heart. He accepted it with a sigh and it seemed like Sam had heard each and every one of those thoughts, knitting his brow sympathetically for a moment before smiling wider and scrunching his nose at Danny.

“Happy Halloween indeed,” Sam said with a teasing flair. “We need to throw this blanket in the laundry immediately. And I might need to be thrown back in the shower.”

“Roger that,” Danny sighed. “Are we really not gonna watch a scary movie?”

“We can!” Sam assured, looking over the edge of the bed for any stray shirts or sweatpants. “I just want to be clean first.”

“No blow drying this time,” Danny instructed, rolling onto his stomach and grabbing his sweater from off the floor and tossing it onto Sam’s head. “Here.”

“Yes,” Sam said excitedly, finally standing up and then swaying slightly when his knees threatened to buckle. “Woah, shit.”

“Yeah, man, you had quite a ride,” Danny teased, which Sam received with a disgusted scoff and a kiss on Danny’s forehead before he set off towards the bathroom. “Wait, bring me a washcloth!”

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied in a mocking, breathy tone, and Danny rolled his eyes fondly at Sam’s immediate return to attitude. “Wait, oh my god!”

“What?”

Sam let out a little laugh and walked out of the bathroom as soon as he’d ducked through the doorway, holding his hands behind his back with a barely contained laugh.

“Hold out your hands,” Sam said with a grin. “I forgot to give you your costume.”

“Oh, right,” Danny replied with a curious lift of his eyebrow, cupping his palms and closing his eyes again. “Forgotten in the heat of the moment, I guess.”

“You’re gonna love it,” Sam giggled, letting something cold and something fabricky settle in Danny’s palm. “Surprise!”

Danny opened his eyes and immediately scoffed with a laugh when he saw the glasses and bowtie in his hand, giving Sam a “Really?” look.

“Dang, this was going to be a full blown roleplay, huh?” Danny teased, making a grab for Sam, causing him to try and snake his way out of Danny’s grasp while he blushed.

“Maybe I think you’re cute in glasses,” Sam flirted, playfully swatting Danny’s shoulder before turning towards the bathroom door again. “Plus, you are a nerd.”

“What are you, 9?” Danny joked. “You’re literally a scientist, I’m pretty sure that makes you the king of nerds.”

“Bow down, then, biatch,” Sam said with grandiose. Danny immediately started booing him and Sam slammed the door behind him, his laughs muffled by the wood. Danny stared at the door, the smile still heavy on his face as he listened to the shower turn on and the curtain rustle, finding it almost unreal that it was Sam in there. In this apartment, even. With Danny. And on top of that, with him in the way that he’d always dreamed. Whatever nightmare they’d endured had melted into what Danny was convinced was a dream, and as he sat stripped and sore, he prayed for the first time in a long time that he’d never wake up.

~~~

#PLEASE NOBODY LOOK AT ME I AM ALREADY BLUSHING UP A STORM #THIS IS FILTHY IM SORRY #gvf #greta van fleet #danny wagner #sam kiszka #karoufiction #greta van fleet fanfiction #myart #greta van art

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piratecaptainscaptainpirates · 6 months

Text

Aaaand it's finished! If you're in the mood for a sweet, super fluffy Ed/Stede fic with lots of hurt/comfort, emphasis on the comfort, check this fic out! This is a 55k E-rated modern AU in which our boys are herpetologists, and snakes may be scaly but this fic is very fluffy.

Sweet little excerpt under the cut if you'd like a taste of what to expect!

The New Year’s party was great, at first, but as the night wore on, Ed noticed Stede spending more and more time sulking quietly near the walls, instead of actually hanging out with the crew.

“Hey.” Ed nudged Stede’s elbow. “You know the best place to see the fireworks? You can actually get up onto the roof if you have a key.”

“Really?” Stede still looked a bit distant, but he nodded. “That sounds nice.”

“C’mon.” Ed gave him a quick, playful peck on the cheek before taking his hand and leading him to the door.

Someone - probably Lucius - wolf-whistled at them at they were sneaking out, and Ed shot a good-natured middle finger to the room in general.

Ed led him upstairs to the fire escape, then ushered him onto the roof of the facility with a flourish.

The accessible portion of the facility roof was small and simple, just a concrete ledge that really wasn’t tall enough to have a good view of anything except other buildings and dirty streets. There was an old folding chair and a cardboard box that served as a table, upon which sat an ashtray and a faded, half-full box of cigarettes.

“I used to come up here all the time.” Ed patted the folding chair fondly before leading Stede to the edge of the roof, plopping down and sitting with his feet dangling over the edge. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

“Hm.” Stede sat next to him, craning his neck up to see the stars. It was a clear night, and despite the city haze, they could still make out a few little pinpricks of light.

Ed used to sit up here, looking at those same stars and wishing he was different. He was almost surprised to notice he didn't really want that, not anymore. “Gonna tell me what’s up?”

Stede’s breath steamed in the air.

“I just…” Stede sighed, faltered, started again. “This is another year gone, isn’t it? And it’s making me think - Ed, I’ve wasted so much of my life. I wish we’d been able to meet each other sooner.”

Ed heard what he meant, which was I wish I’d loved you longer.

“Sure,” he said. “Me, too. What do you think it’d be like now, if we’d met each other - I dunno, twenty years ago?”

“We’d probably be married by now,” Stede said.

“Oh, definitely,” Ed nodded. “But I think sometimes that things had to work out just the way they did, for everything to turn out right. I think you came into my life at the perfect time.”

As much as he loved Stede, he wasn’t sure Stede would have loved him, back when he was younger. Or maybe thinking about all that missed time would make him go insane if he dwelled on it for too long. Either. Both.

“Maybe,” Stede said thoughtfully, as if he’d been able to hear what Ed had been thinking. Sometimes Ed half-thought he could. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine knowing you and not loving you. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve loved you since you were born, I just didn’t know it yet.”

That was so fucking sweet, Ed had to kiss him, and he was a bit startled when he pulled back to see tears in Stede’s eyes. “Aw, babe, what’s the matter?”

Stede scrubbed at his eyes with a knuckle, letting out a frustrated little sigh. “It’s not fucking fair,” he said. “We’re not young, Ed. And we don’t know how much longer we’ve got left, or…”

“Oh, babe.” Ed wrapped his arms around Stede, pulling him close and letting him rest his head in the crook of his neck. “We have time, Stede.”

“You don’t know that, though,” Stede said, his face crumpling. “We don’t have any idea how much time we’ve got and - Ed, it scares me so much I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We don’t know, sure, but…” Ed sighed. “I don’t know about you, Stede, but I love our life too much to waste what time we’ve got left worrying about when it’s gonna end.”

The first firework made them jump. If Ed listened, he could just make out the sound of the crew cheering inside.

“Oh, look at that,” Ed whispered. “Happy new year, Stede.”

Stede rested a hand in Ed’s hair, pulled him in for a kiss. “Happy new year.”

It really wasn’t the best place to see the fireworks, but Stede still gasped and oohed at them like it was.

“Hey, Ed?” Stede shrugged one arm out of his coat and wrapped it around Ed’s shoulders. He’d noticed Ed was shivering before Ed did. “What’s the plan now?”

“The plan?” Ed raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I reckon we kiss a bit more, then we go back in, party with the crew for a while longer, and manage to kick everyone out before three a.m. if luck is on our side.”

Stede nodded. “And…then?”

“Then…” Ed twined their fingers together, looked down at their joined hands. “We’ll go home, sleep in super late because we’re not built for staying up like this anymore. And then we’ll go back to work, and you’ll teach and I’ll be here, and we’ll spend time with the crew and when we get home you’ll fuck me so good it’ll blow my fuckin’ mind. That sound about right?”

“Mhm,” Stede nodded. “What else?”

“We’ll get married,” Ed went on, “and we’ll look out for our friends, and they’ll look out for us. We’ll go visit my mama when we can. And we’ll do loads of boring shit and it'll be amazing. We’ll go grocery shopping together, and you’ll pick up my meds when I forget to go to the pharmacy, and I’ll remind you to drink water when you’re in your office and you forget. And sometimes you’ll be a giant bitch over something trivial and it’ll piss me off, and sometimes I’ll forget to eat lunch and then act like a total dick, and it’ll piss you off. One day, you’ll decide you want to paint the kitchen teal, or some shit like that, and we’ll get into a big stupid fight about it before we realize we’re both being total dumbasses, and we’ll talk about it. And we’ll figure things out together. Because we’re on each other’s side, always.”

Ed leaned into Stede’s side, tucking his face into his shoulder. “One day, we’ll finally retire - probably later than we should, because you love teaching and I don’t know how not to be working, y’know? But when it actually does happen, it’ll be okay, because we’ll still have each other. Maybe we’ll move somewhere where we can see the beach. And we’ll die in each other’s arms.”

Ed kept his face buried in Stede’s neck as his silly speech tapered off abruptly. When Stede spoke, his voice was tight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ed nodded, pulling back so he could meet Stede’s eyes. “I think we’ve been through enough that we won’t have to be without each other. I won’t lie, man, it scares me too, not knowing how things are gonna shake out, in the end, but I love what we’ve got. I don’t want to waste a single second worrying about things we can’t control.”

Stede managed a watery smile. “We’re in love. Fuck everything else.”

“Damn right,” Ed whispered. Ed held out his pinky. “What do you think? Sound like a plan?”

Stede hooked his pinky around Ed's. “Sounds like one hell of a great plan.”

Ed stood, reaching down a hand to help Stede up. “Then let’s get to it.”

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

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idontplaytrack · 7 days

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Can I request lilette x reader where reader is Robbies sister and lilette and her have to like sneak around bc they don't want him to find out about their relationship

Got A Secret, Can You Keep It?

Lilette Suarez x fem! reader

Warnings: angst, coarse language, closeted reader, implied homophobia, anxiety, mentions & description of death, make-out & smut. Very long fic ahead.

In which, you’ve got a secret to keep from your brother— the only who knew you as well as you did yourself. And you were terrified.

“Okay, I’ll see you for dinner tonight. Can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Me too.” Lilette says, your phone was held between your shoulder and ear while you went around the apartment tidying up. “See you soon, babe.”

“Bye.” You said and hung up. Robbie comes home. “Hi, sissy.” He greets you with a bright smile. In a panic, your phone just flies from your hand and falls onto the couch, thankfully. “Hey, how was practice?”

“Good, but tiring.” He tells you, “How’s your day been? What have you been up to for the past couple hours?”

“Uh, well.” You started, “I got home from school at 3:30. Did my homework, got a snack and now I’m just watching a bit of TV while scrolling through my phone.”

“Very chill.”

You shrug, “Hey, I would hate to bother you but could you give me a ride to the diner at like 7? I’m meeting Lilette there to work on a project.”

“The diner at seven? Yeah, sure. No problem.” He agrees quickly. That was partial lie— you weren’t there to work on a project, you were there for your bi-weekly dinner date. Though yes, you have been paired up with Lilette for a project. You guys just didn’t need to work on that right away.

While he went ahead to take a shower, you laid on the couch reading a book to pass the time till you had to go get ready. Well, you also had to wait until Robbie was out of earshot to leave Lilette a voice message. You called her ‘babe’ usually, so, that’s why. Lilette was currently working her shift— she went to work directly after school and would be right there to meet you for dinner that evening.

You put your phone up to your ear to listen to her reply, “I miss you too, cookie. All yours tonight.” You couldn’t help but laugh. She’s always called you by that nickname— Lilette claims it was because you were ‘obsessed with cookies’. And at first you thought she was calling you like, crazy, kookie. But she was horrified by that assumption and immediately told you otherwise. But ‘all yours tonight’…that got you a little excited. Maybe a little too much.

You set an alarm to remind you to get ready in time. After reading some pages of your book in hand, you dozed off. When you woke up again, it was right before your alarm went off. So, you turned the alarm off and went to get ready. “What time will you want me to pick you up?”

“Uh, I’m not sure.” You admitted. “I’ll keep you updated?”

“Okay, yeah. Don’t forget otherwise— how are you gonna get home?” He jokes.

“Probably walk.”

“When have I ever let you walk alone. After sundown?” He chuckles, “If you’ll be out late, call me. I don’t care how late it is, I just want you to be safe.”

“You know we’re the same age, right?” You bit back a laugh, checking your hair in the mirror by the front door.

“I’m still older.” Robbie retorts.

“Whatever.” You shoved him playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go.” He nudged you towards the open front door.

You got into the front passenger’s seat as per usual, he puts on his playlist and started to drive. It was a pretty quiet ride to the dinner, so your mind just wandered for the duration of it. Thinking about your Dad, how both yours and Robbie’s relationship was great but they constantly clashed. You hated that they yelled so much, it scared you. Unlike Robbie, your Dad never apologises for raising his voice. Instead, his way of an apology was quietly stocking the fridge with your favourite fruit or the pantry with your favourite snack. Sometimes, just sometimes…he’d take you to go get ice cream. You liked that way the best because you actually got to spend time with him. He liked spending time with you, but he wad almost always too focused on Robbie. How Robbie was doing at his sport, were his grades okay, are rehearsals going well, will they interfere with practice? You couldn’t blame him. Either of them, actually.

Robbie was the boy, the wished-for child, of course he was favoured. Your Mom however, you were her favourite— she always joked about this to make you smile. But now, you rarely saw her. But only because it physically hurt you to see her so sick. You were always thinking about her as much as you wished that that wasn’t the case…thinking and wondering how much time she had left. With you.

Lilette was no doubt the nicest person you’ve ever met. She was such a sweetheart. You didn’t have a lot of friends— you liked it that way, keeping your circle small. Lilette was your closest friend. Now, you were dating her. And have been for the past four months. There wasn’t actually a specific moment the two of you declared that you two were in an exclusive relationship, it just naturally happened evolved time. Everything felt comfortable with her, with her you felt like you had no worries, no fears, no nothing. You simply felt like you were in a little bubble of safety and so much love.

————

“You alright?” Robbie’s voice and the vehicle coming to a stop, snaps you out of your thoughts.

You cleared you throat, “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Hey, just enjoy yourself tonight, alright? Don’t worry about Dad, don’t worry about Mom. I’m on my way to go see Mom— we’ll go together tomorrow too, okay? The two of us. She’s okay.”

“Okay.” You agreed with a nod.

“Okay.” He says, “Go on, have a good time. Remember to update me what time you want me to pick you up later and where.”

“I will.” You tell him before getting out of the car. As you entered the diner, you turned to look over your shoulder and he waves. You wave back, stepping into the diner. He drives off seeing that.

Once inside, you see Lilette walking out from the back, her hair down and wearing a flannel and her favourite pair of jeans. Her gaze finds yours and her face lights up. Lilette nearly squeals, rushing over to give you a hug. “Hi!”

“Hi.” You said with a smile, mutually breaking away a few seconds later so you two could sit down. Quickly placing your orders, Lilette started chatting with you. “What’ve you been up to since I last saw you at school?”

“I got home, did my homework, read a book then fell asleep.” You nearly snorted, “How was work?”

“It was good, actually.” Lilette says, “Better than yesterday, thank goodness. No rude customers today.”

“Good.”

“Can I…ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nod, seeing from the corner of your eye that a waiter was walking towards the booth with your food.

“Would you…want to go somewhere private after we’re done here?” She asks shyly, a deep red dusting her cheeks.

You nearly drop your fork, blinking profusely while looking at her, “Uh— you mean like get…

“A room?” She completes your sentence, nodding her head.

“Actually.” You swallowed your mouthful of your sandwich— your eyes…they were just fixed on her, tracing her features with your gaze, “Yes. Sure.”

Thank God Lilette's mom wasn't on this shift so she wasn't anywhere near here.

————

And so you and Lilette ended up getting a room at a cheap hotel nearby, paid for in cash. She had her arm around you and you were already beginning to fantasise…feeling a certain rush of something going down south. Shit.

“Oh, my God.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I have to text Robbie and let him know he doesn’t need to pick me up.” You realised, rummaging through your pocket for your phone.

“Oh.” She laughs, gently pushing you onto the mattress. You sat down, shooting your brother a text to tell him that you were going to be spending the night with Lilette— you did not however, tell him where. You put your phone aside, focusing on Lilette again. “All good?”

“Yeah.”

She shifted closer to you, barely a couple of inches away from your face. You feel her fingertips on your face as she brushes the stray hairs out of your face to get a clear view. Her hand settles on your cheek, cupping it and she leans in pressing a gentle little kiss to your lips. Lilette does it a few times over before the connection deepens. The kisses became heated and wet, lingering for longer and longer each time. You eventually fell on your back, Lilette went along with it but was careful of how she moved around. Her hand rested on your chest, just shy of your breasts below. She smiled, eyes opening to look at you for a second.

“Are you sure you want to?” She asks, breaking away from the kiss. Her eyes study your face. You nodded eagerly, kissing her back first. “Have you ever done this before?” She asks, voice muffled by your constant kisses.

“No.” You hummed, feeling her knees bracketing you on either side.

“It’s okay, me neither.” She reveals, pressing her first kiss along your jaw. Then, her lips were kissing a trail down your neck, trying to learn what it did— to you and for you. You whine when she kisses a specific spot, she does it again, and again, then harder. Your whine increases in pitch, you feel your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment.

“It’s alright, cutie.” She assured, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, “It’s alright, you don’t have to be quiet.”

Through your breathlessness, you nod, agreeing to what she’d just told you. Then, she started back up again. Kissing that one sensitive area on your neck to keep drawing out those noises and build up your arousal. She’s learnt about something you liked and decided to keep to it. No complaints, though— you were going in blind and absolutely loving it so far.

You feel her hand caressing your hip, over the area that was the waistband of your pants. Your breathing hitches, wondering what she’d do next. "Can I take them off?" She asks you in a quiet voice. All you could manage was a nod, it was as though you didn't know a single word anymore. With that, your pants and underwear were slid off by Lilette. Her eyes meet yours to ask, "Are you comfortable? With me hovering over you like this? Or would you rather...kind of just sit and lean back?"

You took a deep breath and swallowed your spit harshly, "Maybe— maybe we try this first."

"Okay." Lilette smiles sweetly, lips reattaching to the spot on your neck.

"Mm— my God—" You panted.

"So that's good?" She questioned, breath tickling you.

You confirmed, "Mm— mhm, yeah." She tries something she hasn't done to you yet: her teeth grazes your skin just ever so lightly to see how it made you feel. "How's that?"

You shook your head, "No."

Humming, she resumes working on the spot on your neck. She sucked harder and harder over time, you were eventually left with a pretty obvious mark over it. Her hand begins moving down south, stopping just before the mound. "Do you want me to try?" She inquires seriously, her eyes filled with concern— as were her words.

"Yes." You told her, looking at her too, "Yeah."

She moves slowly, fingertips circling the overheating and swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You whimper, she watches you, you look back at her. It made you grow shy, cheeks blushing as you averted your eyes from hers very briefly. When you grew louder and wetter, she decisively picks up her pace. You feel a finger ghost your entrance and you flinch, then was clenching around nothing. "I'm gonna try, okay, baby?"

Shit, that petname. She's never used that before on you. Oh, boy...

You whined needily at the new petname, giving her an affirming nod to slip a finger inside. As wet as you were you felt every bit of this completely new sensation, it reflexively makes you taking in a deep breath and lift your hips a little. Then, it was as if all of that ignited something in Lilette: she begins moving her finger in and out of you, at the same time, she kisses you...peppering kisses all over your face and down to your chest. She discovers a few other sensitive spots she could take note of for future purposes, too. You feel the tip of a second finger at your entrance several minutes later, and you let her try adding on to the first. But quickly, you learnt that you would rather she didn't do that. It hurt. "Ow!" You cried out as if on reflex from what you were feeling. Lilette removes her finger from you, the second one retracts too.

"Oh, I'm so sorry baby." She says a little scared by how you were affected by it, though a bit apprehensive, her hands found their way to your inner thighs as she sat down between your legs. "Do you want to stop?"

You shook your head 'no'. Her hands then started to massage that erogeneous zone, you relaxed, telling it was okay, "No, no it's not your fault. I'm alright, okay? I promise. We can keep going." Lilette nods her head, kneeling then smoothly bending down towards your cunt. You saw what she was trying to do, "Oh, fuck. Yes, go for it." Your bluntness had her shooting you a look of bewilderment but she quickly recovers and started using her tongue to stimulate your clit. They were slow and almost a little hesitant at first, but you moaned feeling the sheer closeness of you and Lilette. Her being so careful and loving, telling you that you looked beautiful. You were on cloud nine hearing her practically worshipping your body. That was all she needed to gain the confidence and momentum to keep going, picking up her pace gradually to allow for build up of arousal and pleasure.

“Feel good?”

“Fuck— fuck— so good.” You breathed out shakily, voice almost strained. You were clenching your fists and licking your lips, unsure what to do with your hands. However, your natural instinct was to run a hand through her hair and without any thought, that’s what you did. A smile forms on her face, and yours, seeing her happy.

Lilette contently ate you out until she felt you throbbing against her tongue. With her brows raised slightly, she pulls herself away from your cunt to look at it. “Oh, baby.” Her hands massaged your inner thighs again, “So pretty. So, so pretty~” Her eyes flicked up, catching your gaze. It makes you squirm out of frustration, though you weren’t exactly sure why you were feeling that way. Her thumb rubs your clit and you back away just slightly, a whimper falls from your lips as your head rolls back. She decides to test something— she rubs your clit again. You whimper. The back of her fingertips ghosts your clit. You whine. Grinning to herself, she got back to rubbing your clit consistently all while feeling the throbbing intensify and watching you begin clenching.

“Oh God—” You breathe in deeply, the fluttering in your core stops and spreads immensely, “Oh. God! Shit. Lilette, fuck— oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Each exclamation came out in a pant, with you whining through the whole thing.

Lilette slows down progressively to help you come down from your climax and then detaches her mouth from you once you started to seem more relaxed. She scooched upwards to sit right by you, her palm rests on your abdomen, stroking it, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, and felt a sudden urge to burst into tears. You don’t know if it was the realisation of the whole act of having sex, or it specifically because of the intensity of your climax, but the urge…was strong. Too strong. Lilette repositioned herself and was laying on her stomach while face to face with you. You licked your lips and pursed them together. It quivered anyway, and Lilette brushes her thumb over your cheek watching you with worried eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You managed. “Nothing. I promise.”

“It’s okay.” She squeezes your cheek slightly, “It’s okay, I’m right here with you. Cry if that’s what your body feels like doing.” The feeling was dying down until she said it, then the waterworks began with virtually no warning. She guides you onto your side to hold you in her arms and rub your back to soothe you. “You’re alright, hm? I promise.” She said softly, planting a kiss on your shoulder, “You did good.”

————

Early the next morning, you and Lilette were getting ready to leave the hotel and go back to the diner for breakfast. Holding onto the wall to steady yourself while you put your pants on, an obscene noise startles you and you cringe.

“Oh, geez.” Lilette realises too, “Bit early, huh.”

You moved away from the wall and finished getting dressed. Once freshened up, you two checked the room to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Lilette was holding onto your hand, fingers intertwined together. But you were a step ahead, pushing the door open you step outside first. “Robbie’s picking you up from the diner at 7:30, yes?” You confirmed with a nod of your head. Looking left and right on reflex but locking eyes with none other than your father. You tried pushing Lilette back into the room but he saw you immediately. Someone was with him— someone familiar but you couldn’t see their face.

Your feet were rooted to the carpeted floors out of total fear. “My Dad.” You turned your head to whisper quickly. Lilette successfully pulls you back into the room but he was too fast, coming face to face with you and Lilette. “Why aren’t you at home?” He bellowed. You flinch, backing up against Lilette. A cry was caught in your throat.

He yells at you until you all leave the hotel, following you around right beside you.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Why aren’t you home?’

‘Does your brother know about this?’

You started to zone out, your heart was slamming in your chest as the sound pounded through your ears. Your breathing…it quickened to the point where you couldn’t feel much of anything going into your system. Behind his shoulder, a car driving by catches your eyes. Robbie. You ran, Lilette ran with you as you desperately waved to catch his attention so he could stop. “ROB!” You screeched.

“You’re screwing with my mother and you don’t know who I am?!” You hear a voice behind you yelling right as Robbie slows down his car to a stop, “You’ve met me multiple times. I’m your daughter’s best friend.” Seeing how upset and flustered you were, he quickly unlocks the doors so you could get in.

“Fuck you.” Lilette spat, her words filled with venom. You’ve never seen her so angry.

That. That was why your father didn’t chase after you anymore. He got caught too— it was becoming a complete shit show in this driveway. Your father looked at Robbie, as though trying to apologise, but he was gripping at the wheel so tightly that his knuckles became pale. Next thing he did? He drives away. So fast.

————

The car ride was silent, but the tension was high. None of you knew what to say. But you feel a sickening feeling bubbling in your stomach. “Pull over.” You spoke up. Sensing your tone, he does so immediately. You opened the door and leaned over the grass patch to throw up. Lilette rubs your back, obviously worried and startled by how abrupt it was. But, she had an inkling why you were like that.

By the time the three of you arrived at the diner, you had calmed down. Or so you thought. Your mind was still racing, trying to piece together an explanation for your brother. You didn’t want him to be mad at you as well.

“Rob—” You sniffled. “Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you. That’s the last thing I’ll be feeling. I saw enough to know who to be mad at.” Robbie assured, “Did he hit either of you?”

“No.” Lilette answers, “I almost kicked him in the crotch, but I didn’t.” You shook your head.

You knew he was waiting for a full rundown of the events, and you were going to tell him— despite how terrifying it was. “After we had dinner, we went to the hotel and spent the night. Because—” You stopped yourself, “We wanted…privacy. That’s why I said you didn’t have to pick me up last night. Everything went fine until we heard people going at it in the room next to us this morning. We leave the room to check out, it was Dad he started tailing me demanding an explanation as to why I was there. Couldn’t tell him— nothing came out of my mouth. I almost passed out in front of the hotel.”

“So that’s when I drove by and you stopped my car?”

“Yeah. And while I was making my way to the car, Lilette was screaming behind me. That’s why he stopped chasing us. He got caught too.”

“With my mother.” Lilette adds on.

“Can you not tell Mom, please? A-about me and Lilette.” You requested quietly, feeling the tears pricking at your eyes.

“Hey, you have my word, okay? I’m not gonna tell mom or anyone. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.” He promised. “I’m just…glad it’s Lilette and not that creepy chess club guy that tried to take you to the dance last time.”

You chuckled at the memory, “Thanks.”

“Okay, eat your breakfast. Don’t worry about Dad, I’ll handle him.”

“But— where can we go? What if he gets violent? We can’t stay at Lilette’s either.”

“I’ll take you two to go spend time with Mom. Alright? Stay there until I come and get you— we’ll figure something out if the time gets too late. But you should be okay, the staff knows us. They’ll let you guys stay longer.”

“Okay.” You agreed. Lilette holds your hand, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. Breakfast went by uneventfully, then the three of you were on your way to your Mom. Though it was early, your Mom was awake, smiling so brightly at the sight of you. You let go of Lilette’s hand and rushed to her side, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, mama.”

“Good morning, ladybug.” Your Mom says back, caressing your cheek weakly, “Who’s that pretty girl you came in with?”

Oh, right.

You looked over your shoulder, silently asking Lilette to approach. She walks over. “Hi, Mrs. Thorne.”

Your Mom laughs breathily. “Too formal. Rhea.”

“This is Lilette, remember her? My best friend.”

Your Mom sighs, “Of course. Oh, goodness. I’m sorry, sweetheart. My memory’s all over the place. I used to call you little lily.”

“That’s right.” Lilette cracks a smile.

“Lilette’s my girlfriend now, mama.” You revealed.

“Oh, that’s so great.” Your Mom gasps softly, “I’m so happy for you, ladybug. I’m so happy you found love in your best friend.”

That was it, you were crying like a baby having received your Mom’s blessings. Lilette pulls a chair closer for you to sit, no— fall back on. She rubs your back and held you close while she stood. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Please don’t cry. Mommy’s happy for you, don’t you worry about things like that. I love you. You’re my baby.”

“Thank you, mama.” You swallowed your tears, “Thank you, I love you so much, mama.”

You and Lilette stayed with your Mom for hours, chatting and laughing. You wanted her to sleep and get some rest since she’s been up for awhile, but she refuses and there was no fighting her. So you just let her stay up. “Hi, y/n. Good to see you here again.” A nurse who recognised you came by to check on your Mom.

“Hi, Iris.” You gave her a smile.

“Oh, who’s this?” She asks, curious.

“That’s Lilette. Her girlfriend.” Your Mom answered before you did.

“Aw, that’s sweet.” Iris sighs, “Young love is beautiful.”

Once Iris leaves, you told your Mom, “Dad doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t even come by. He doesn’t need to know anything.” You mom tells you calmly, “What matters is you’re safe, healthy and happy. How’s school for you?”

“Very good.” You reply, Lilette nodded too. “Great friends, teachers are great too. My grades are good. I got a 95% on my last quiz.”

“That’s my girl.” Your Mom praised, “I’m so proud of you.”

Lilette couldn’t help but smile seeing you and your Mom interact. The love was so, so apparent. “Robbie’s coming later.” Your Mom says.

“I know, Mama. I know. He dropped us off, he just has to go run some errands.”

You could never tell your mom what your dad’s done. You couldn’t do that to her. She didn’t need any of that right now. She was on her literal deathbed.

“Thank you for coming to see me. Both of you. It’s so nice to have you both here.”

“Of course, mama. I’ll always make the time to come see you.”

Robbie came to the hospice in the evening. Lilette taps him on the shoulder once and he flinched, seething. Uh oh.

“Robbie, hi, baby.” Your Mom’s face lit up again just like when she saw you.

“Hi, ma. Here I am.” Robbie chuckles, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Your sister said you had to run some errands.” Your mom mentioned, almost suspiciously but also with an undertone of worry.

“Uh, everything’s fine. Dad’s just being difficult.”

“Don’t let him affect you. Focus on yourselves, that old man can take care of himself.” She says, “I’m serious. You all are graduating high school this year and going off to college, working next…whatever. Life’s gotta keep going, don’t let stuff like that hold you back.”

What?

“Take care of yourselves. You can’t rely on your Dad. You, take good care of my daughter.” She looks at Lilette at that moment. “I promise.” Lilette answered seriously. “Good.” Your mom smiles.

“Mama.” You mumbled. Holding onto her hand, you looked at her— incredibly worried. You couldn’t shake this feeling once you’d heard all of that. She squeezes your hand and gave you a smile. You didn’t say much of anything else for the rest of the night. The three of you decided to hang around for way longer even though your Mom initially wanted you all to go home and get some sleep. You just couldn’t leave her.

“Kids.” Your Mom says breaking the silence and looking away from the TV screen. The three of you focused on her, she sighs. “Remember to take good care of yourselves. Always stand up for what’s right. Don’t ever change yourselves for others. Remember I love all of you and will always be around in whatever way possible. Don’t worry about me. I know I do not have to worry about you kids. Don’t worry about college, both of you. Lilette, thank you for making my baby girl so happy.”

“Ma—”

“What—” Robbie paused the the movie. Ghostbusters. You guys watched this all the time at home.

“I have to go, okay? Mommy’s tired, I’m very sorry. I’ll be back. Every time you see you a sunset, I’ll be there.”

Tears streamed down your face as the realisation hit and denial went away. You clung onto her hand for dear life, as did Robbie. Lilette had her arm around you. Suddenly, everything felt like they were going in slow motion.

Your Mom’s gaze looking between the three of you.

Her smiling, her eyes welling up with tears.

You hear Robbie trying to hold it together but quickly failed, choking on a quiet sob. Lilette was breathing heavily beside you, sniffling.

Your mom’s eyes, her eyelids begin to droop.

The sound of the heartrate monitor going lower and lower, slower and slower.

Then, the flatline. It echoed, her eyes closed. Her hands, let go. You went limp in Lilette’s embrace, but you were soon escorted out by a nurse. Lilette hugs you, and since you were facing the direction of your mom’s bed you could see them drape a blanket over her to cover her up. You were a mess, tears soaking her shirt, mumbling incoherently as you cried.

Lilette was speechless. Nothing she says would be right. So she just held you to keep you steady. Robbie tries to get you both to leave but you resisted, not wanting to leave your mom.

“y/n, let’s go. Mom said to take care of ourselves.” Robbie says quietly, hand on your shoulder. “Let mom rest. She’s been fighting for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmured.

“Don’t be sorry, let’s go.“

————

Once home, it was another fight. A very angry father was waiting for your return. “What are you crying about?” He snarked.

“Mom died.”

“Mom’s fine.”

“She died.” Robbie repeated, “Took her last breath right in front of us. She’s been there for such a long time and you haven’t seen her more than three times. Leave y/n alone, leave Lilette alone. If you think it’s right to get mad at your daughter for being herself, I get why you’d think it’s acceptable to cheat on your dying wife. You are a sick bastard.”

Your Dad swung on Robbie, but Robbie was agile, he successfully defended himself by dodging and your Dad’s fist slams into the wall. “Why didn’t they call?!”

“Ask yourself that. Ask yourself when the last time you saw her was. Even Lilette’s been there more than you have. Her name’s always in the visitor log. Ask yourself why felt that it was okay for her to go, without you around.” Robbie responded lowly, his whole frame trembling with anger. “You know what? It’s no use talking to you. You need to leave the house and never come back.”

“How dare you ask your father to leave his house!”

“This is mom’s house. And now, it’s mine. Mom left it to me. She left you nothing. She may have been very sick, but she was more clear-headed than you have been.” Robbie continues. “LEAVE!”

You all watched him leave, finally defeated. “Burn in hell.” He says as the door slammed.

“Go to bed.” Robbie urged, “It’s late.”

You gave in, Lilette heads up to your room with you.

“Good night. I’ll be up with you in a minute.” Robbie says softly. Entering your room, Lilette shuts the door behind the both of you and turned the lock. She picks out a change of clothes for you and herself then handed your stack to you. Till now, not a word’s been said yet. You got changed, so did Lilette. She took your clothes and tossed them in the hamper before pulling your covers off the bed enough so you could get in comfortably. Lilette knew you were hurting and grieving. It didn’t take a genius to know that, but there was hell of a lot more going on. You needed her and she knew it.

“I love you.” She holds you tightly, both arms wrapped around you. You laid on her chest, trying to empty your head and focus on the steady beat of her heart. Lilette stroked your hair to lull you to sleep, eventually she resorted to singing. The door, having been unlocked by Lilette righr before you both got into bed…creaked. It opens up, you hear Robbie’s voice. Indistinctly.

“I got her, go rest.” Lilette tells him, “You’d better keep a close eye on your shoulder. If it gets worse, get it checked out.”

“I will.” Robbie says, “G’night.”

“Night.”

Robbie exits, closing the door again. “I’m sad.” You mumbled. “I know, honey. That’s okay. Let it out, I got you baby. You’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be okay.” You repeated while she rubs your back and pressed kisses to your head every now and then, “Thank you. For being here for me. Always.”

“And forever.”

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

#auli’i cravalho #lilette suarez #nbc rise #drama high #wlw romance #gxg #wlw #wlw fic #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #female reader #lgbtqia #queer #angst #requested fic #anon request #thanks anon!#alternative universe

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

Hi hi Kaia! Just wanna say, that soft nsfw Kidd fic you wrote legit just made me want to cry 😭😭 Soft Kidd is something I didn’t know I needed, you wrote him so well tbh! Following that note, if it’s alright could I ask for a nsfw request for Kidd but with a reader smoler than him? In my own headcanon I like he’d def have a size kink and be damn teaser because he’s like 7ft tall👀 lool If not, no worries! Thank you either way!

awww i’m glad you liked it, i had so much fun writing it (who knew i needed soft kid in my life like hello 😭👋🏾). also yes yes yes yes, a billion times yes, i gotchu ♥️ the way that man lives rent free in my head is unreal 🥵

2.3k words, fem reader, nsfw (it's kid, idk what to tell u), 18+ mdni pls, a little playful banter, some alcohol, other cute stuff includes spitting, size kink (reader is short), clothes ripping (what can i say), kid being a general menace; i tried to keep it short but *washes hands*

you know better than to distract him while he’s in the middle of a project, but you have very little self preservation when it comes to eustass kid. it’s late at night when you find him tinkering away in his workshop; with his music blasting, head bobbing along as he wordlessly mouths the lyrics to the song, you walk in undetected. even as you close the door, he doesn’t turn around — and while, you should make sure to lock it, you don’t bother. everyone for the most part is asleep or far enough away that you’re not worried about being interrupted.

this is your first mistake for the night.

sauntering around like the mischievous cat you are, you loosely hold a bottle of rum in your hand; you picked it up on the last island the ship docked at, someone gifting you the whole thing as thanks for assisting them. you unscrew the cap and take a big swig, the dark liquid flooding your senses as it glides down your throat with ease. one of the smoothest drinks you’ve had in a while, if you do say so yourself.

the thing is, while you might think you’re being stealthy, kid has been aware of your presence this whole time. he’d be a shit captain, otherwise, right? still, his curiosity rivals yours, and he wants to see what you’re up to. pretending to jam to the music, kid catches you sidling up to him and smirks to himself, but purposely keeps his focus on the wrench in his hand. the smile on your face is evidence enough of your misdeeds — that you truly believe you’ve gotten away with infiltrating kid’s space, but before you can announce yourself, kid bursts your bubble quickly.

“you’re shit at sneaking around, y’know that right?” he turns his head, tilting it a bit, features morphed to denote a faux-bored expression. he leans his elbow on the worktable, and props his head up with his large hand.

mouth open — because, how else are you to react to him saying that? — words jumble around in your mouth, and you start stuttering. before you can make more of a fool of yourself, you jab a finger at him, hitting his chest on your first attempt. amusement blooms onto his face with ease, disrupting the game he wanted to play with you.

“shut up, you’re the worst,” you say before pouting at him, brows furrowed as a wave of childishness takes over you. “now i don’t even want to share this with you.” he drops his gaze down to the bottle in your hand but grabs it before you can step away.

“rum? really.” he’s a scotch kind of man, with gin and vodka being suitable alternatives. you know that he’s not into rum like that, but you figured you’d ask him to try this brand for fun. now all you feel is residual embarrassment; cheeks burning, you lunge your arm out to grab it, wanting to just go sit somewhere on the deck and drink alone, but kid doesn’t let you. instead, he pops the cap off, tosses it somewhere and drinks from the bottle.

you blink several times, watching in shock as he drinks for longer than you think he will. “kid!” you yank on the bottle, annoyance building slowly as you struggle to take it back from him. “don’t drink it all,” you whine helplessly, not wanting your big brute of a captain to ruin your night. kid acquiesces, leaning back in his chair, dark orange hair falling messily over his forehead, eyes drifting down your body, drinking in the sight of you. despite the rum being a bit sweeter than he’s used to, the quality of it impresses him, but he won’t say that. not yet.

ignoring the way your body reacts to his heated looks, you pick up where you left off, taking another swig of the rum, swaying to the music that carries around the room — the notes wrapping around you, coasting along your skin as you hum along. he watches you, amusement never dwindling, tongue running along his bottom lip before he decides that enough is enough.

“c’mere, you’re drinking it wrong,” he says, voice dripping with intent, as he pulls you to him and plucking the bottle away from you again and setting it down. for safekeeping. before you’re even able to protest, before you’re able to fuss at him over pestering you like this, kid’s hand drifts lower and grabs onto your ass playfully. you smack his chest, face burning, thighs pressing closely together, an ache shooting through you faster than you can stop it.

before you know it, he has you seated on top of the table, whatever he was working on is momentarily forgotten and haphazardly pushed aside. you lean back on your hands, head tilted as kid stands in between your legs, anticipation crawling down your arms, wrapping itself around your chest with familiarity. breathing slowed, long lashes fluttering as you fix your eyes on him, a little tipsy and giggly, but mostly drunk off of him and his presence. “i’m waiting,” you say, voice lilting, words coasting and caressing him softly. he almost asks you what exactly you’re waiting for, the way you inadvertently short-circuited his mind for a brief second made him forget why he took the rum from you in the first place.

he reminds himself to focus, to not lose to you, because losing is absolutely unacceptable, obviously.

“open,” he instructs, and you don’t have to ask him for clarification; on command, your lips part and you leave your mouth open for him. the corners of his lips twitch as he pours more rum into your mouth; some of the tawny liquid spilling down your lips and onto your chin. you don’t mind it though, completely mesmerized by the experience, entirely too giddy over the way he hulks over you like that. his height used to intimidate you, until you wiggled your way into his life and the two of you gradually became closer; now, you can’t get enough of it.

kid places the bottle down again, fully prepared to ignore it as he leans closer and runs his tongue along your skin, lapping up the runaway drops of rum, until your lips meet. when kid kisses you, it’s as if time stops and then speeds up. it starts off short — his lips pecking yours once, twice, tongue swiping against your lips, demanding entrance. on your next exhale, he pushes closer, your breasts pressing against him through your thin shirt, nipples hardening on impact.

if it were up to him, he’d drink the remainder of the rum from your mouth. you taste sweet, forbidden, and hypnotic — plush lips inviting him to nip them needlessly, sparking a small flame deep within your abdomen that slowly spreads to the rest of your body. with shaky hands, you tug on his clothes, wanting to feel his skin on yours sooner rather than later; and kid obliges, also helping you with your own clothes, ripping your shirt accidentally through the haze of lust.

“whoops,” he says, laughing darkly at your annoyed expression. you don’t believe for a second that it was completely accidental, but kid likes pushing your buttons anyway, so did it really matter what the truth was?

sensing a retort building inside of you, he kisses you again, hand roaming along your soft body, liking the way you feel against him; all that softness will be the death of him, he’s sure of it.

likewise, you get lost in his kisses, small hands gliding along the hard planes of his body, the dips, sharp ridges of his muscles, only make your hunger that much more intolerable. you whine against his lips, your pussy wet from the sloppy kisses you exchange, his own cock hardening excitedly, precum spilling down the thick head as it leans against your stomach.

“kid,” you breathe, lips ghosting his, “just fuck me already, damn it.” the need you have for him might actually make you lose your mind at the rate he’s going. normally, you’re the one telling him to slow down — but for some reason, it’s like your body is entirely too eager. maybe it’s the rum, or maybe you’ve just fallen deeper inside whatever trap he’s laid out for you tonight. you’re not sure, and you don’t actually care to know the answer; so you forget about it, focusing on getting kid to move.

it’s laughable, the way you’re begging him, when he knows once he gets started, you’re going to sing an entirely different tune. he runs his finger — thick, rough, impatient — between the folds of your pussy, admiring the way your arousal drips onto his skin, before plunging the finger inside of you without warning. you arch your back, mouth falling open at the intrusion, panting lightly when he inserts another finger shortly after. nails digging into his skin, your hips moving forward, as if his fingers are controlling your movements, a small voice in the back of your head reminding you that you’re playing with a fire that’s much too big for you to handle.

you ignore it; when it comes to eustass kid, your self-preservation goes right out the window.

plunging his fingers in and out of you recklessly, your head spinning from all of the rum, the kissing, and him — you maybe consider that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. “w-wait, kid slow down,” your voice barely audible, drowning behind your moans and the music that’s still blasting through the room. when he finally does manage to pull his fingers out, you only have a brief moment of reprieve before he’s rubbing the tip of his cock against your pussy, positioning it right in front of your entrance, he winks at your wary expression, making you even more suspicious of his motives. another complaint lodges in the back of your throat, stuck when kid pushes his cock inside of you, his girth ripping a loud moan out of you.

kid, meanwhile, is floating above the clouds, thoroughly enjoying your pussy’s feeble attempts at strangling him — those attempts do work, by the way, he’s just prideful and stubborn. snapping his hips against yours, kid pushes his cock into you deeply; the pain is worth it, though. it’s terribly addicting, the way he pulls back and thrusts into you harder, his balls slapping against your skin from the devastating pace he’s set.

“kid, fuck, wait, wait,” you breath comes out in small pants, eyelids fluttering from the rough way that kid is fucking you. this is what you wanted, though, isn’t it? to tease him and let him have his way? if kid wasn’t so used to your subtle tricks, he’d actually be concerned. but he knows how much you like how rough he is, he knows how you like him to hold you firmly, so you can feel the full brunt of his thrusts, and he knows that no matter what, you’ll still ask him to fuck you like this again, and again, and again.

and he’s right. you can’t deny it; even if you wanted to you wouldn’t. when his hips meet yours, you wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to completely lose yourself in him, sweat already gliding down your neck, onto your clavicle, breasts bouncing against him.

“that’s it,” he coos, none-to-kindly, his tone dark, sinister, mocking, “see how well you’re taking me?” he shifts and pushes you down onto the table, your back arching off of it as he drives into you repeatedly, his thrusts turning your body into something helpless and pitiful, your words unintelligible, voice hoarse as you call his name out. he pulls out of you suddenly, much to your displeasure, folding your legs against your chest and instructing you to hold onto the backs of your thighs.

your pussy is a pretty sight to see, so naturally he slaps it hard before spitting on it. he’s so romantic, isn’t he?

you can barely think as his cock invades your pussy all over again — your warm, plush walls closing in around his length, as he angles his hips in a way that has your toes curling and a bit of drool creeping out of your mouth. it’s so tragically embarrassing, except you can’t be bothered to feel any bit of shame right now.

with each brutal thrust, you find yourself teetering on the edge, ecstasy coloring any logic you have left in your mind, and when he kisses you again, tongue caressing yours hotly, an orgasm crashes into you. kid groans against your lips, thrusting fervently, strokes sloppier and shorter, wanting to hold out but finding himself unable to. if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that your pussy is absolutely lethal when provoked. it’s not often that you squirt, but when you do it drives him wild. “oh fuck, look at how much of a mess you’ve made.” his laughter should grate your nerves, but it doesn’t, it only makes you want to cover your face, because you hate how good he makes you feel. although, his laughter is short-lived; he powers into you, his own orgasm finding him much quicker than he anticipates, his cum is thick and hot, dripping out of you when he pulls out, spilling down onto the wooden surface of the table.

both of you sort of stay quiet, trying to catch your breaths; he runs a hand through his hair, feeling properly refreshed, almost as if a bit of weight has been lifted from his shoulders. you drop your legs, struggle to sit up, and look at him accusingly. “you’re such a damn beast,” but there isn’t a hint of venom or malice behind your words. if anything, you almost sound impressed. he chuckles at your act and just kisses you to keep you quiet.

#it's done; so sorry this took forever #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece smut #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #eustass kid smut #eustass kid x y/n #‘i can change him’ 🥴#kidd x y/n #kidd x reader

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inkblot22 · 6 months

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The Clasping Jaws Of Conjoinment

Well. It was bound to happen one day. I was bound to project my derangement onto my bae character. I am currently in Chapter 6 and while this does not have any spoilers it does confirm my previously held belief that Idia is not some sweet, soft boy, and is, in fact, a huge asshole. Anyway, onto the degeneracy. A certain concept in this fic was made by the author of ensorcelled. I absolutely love this fic please give it a read if you like pwp. Also! This is dedicated to @mermaidfan76. If you want me to untag you, I can do so, just let me know. This is part five of Pants on Fire.

This fic is aimed towards mostly afab readers or gender neutral readers. Although no explicit mention of body parts (other than Idia's) is made, there is still a certain implication that will be made if this ends up getting a part five. If you're okay with that, I hope you enjoy!

TW for heavy dubcon PLEASE don't read if you're upset by coercion, noncon, ignored request for contraception, captivity, abusive relationship dynamics, Idia being a huge pervert, fetishization of virginity, talk of virginity (it's very brief,) Virgin! Reader, allusions to electric shocks

Real talk, if anyone in your circle hits you with anything that Idia says in the last half of this fic, please register that as a HUGE red flag. It's fun and whatever here because you can click away from this fic, but you cannot click away from real life. Practice safe sex and self-respect folx.

The time has somewhat blended together. All you know is the present, and presently, you’re sitting in Idia’s lap, with Ortho out, again. It feels like he’s always out.

Ever since Idia knocked you out via triggering your collar, you have no choice but to admit that you’re far more inclined to “hang out” with him. It’s a safety thing. If you don’t hang out with him, he gets annoyed… and even though you’ve only really annoyed him to the point of doing something once, you’re smart enough not to put your hand in the dog’s mouth again.

So you’re sitting with him. Honestly it’s very benign, but your back is beginning to hurt and you’re kind of hungry, so you shift a bit and stand up.

“Do you want some cup noodles?” You ask. If you’re going to be stuck here, you may as well make the best of it… and you don’t want to hear Idia complain about you being cold-hearted.

“Nah, I ordered in some stuff. Come sit back down, it’ll be here in a moment.”

So you do. You take a seat on his lap and you are not deaf to the thrilled noise that escapes him. You don’t acknowledge it though.

“So… we’ve been together for a while.” He starts, “Did you know that today is our four month anniversary?”

You didn’t, but you do now. You nod, well aware that you look convincing either way.

“Ah, I’m so lucky that I have such a cute partner.”

Idia is kind of hard to read at the best of times, but right now, attempting to figure him out is the equivalent of reading someone’s Russian grandmother’s cursive handwriting. You give him a blank, wide-eyed stare, and he gives you a toothy smile.

“I’m lucky…” His thumbs slide under the hem of your shirt and he presses his lips against the corner of yours, “So, so lucky…”

“W-wait-” You begin.

Idia cuts you off. You hate it when he does this, “But… I think you could stand to be a bit more affectionate. I mean, I know I’ve got your affection at level three, at least. And I get that you’re like an ahodere character, so I’ll spell it out for you.”

“Aho-”

“Shhh, shh. We should do more couple stuff. I already got us matching pajamas, but we have time now, while Ortho isn’t around…”

You pause before talking, just in case he wasn’t finished, “Idia, I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Seven, you’re slow. I’m telling you that we should fuck since my little brother won’t be back for a while.”

This time you pause because the air left your lungs when he said that. It’s okay. It gives you time to weigh your options.

If you go along with it, there’s a chance he’ll just leave you alone afterwards. If you don’t go along with it, you’re possibly going to get zapped. You don’t really want to let Idia see you naked, much less allow him inside of you, but… you also would prefer not getting shocked.

When you finally speak, it’s measured, “So… if I go along with this… do you think you’d be okay with taking the collar off of me?”

Idia’s face brightens. He obviously thought you’d outright decline, but he squeezes your waist and taps his nose against yours as he kisses you again, “That sounds sensible. Are you gonna stay put?”

You nod. Idia lets you go and you awkwardly sit on the bed as he stands up, motioning towards your legs. It takes you a second before you realize what he wants. You take off your pants and underwear, watching as he simply reaches a hand in the fly of his sleep pants and frees himself. You have to focus all your energy on not shrieking when he does so.

The head of his cock is a bright, cobalt blue, same as his lips and eyelids. It’s proportional to his height and you jump up to your feet when he wraps a hand around the base and a inky substance oozes from the tip.

“What is that?!” You can’t help yourself.

“Listen, you can’t act surprised that I’m riled up after you’ve been acting all cute and shit. Sit back down.” He snaps.

You obey immediately, for fear of getting shocked, and Idia grabs you. You find it funny, he isn’t exactly traditionally strong, but he still just will manhandle you sometimes. Is it because you actually don’t mind him treating you like a toy? You jump as he shifts you, his cock pressing against your inner thigh. It almost feels like a red-hot poker.

“N-no, wait, hold on. Do you have a condom?” You ask.

“Are you usually this picky when you have sex?”

“You’ve had sex before?”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer. The answer is that you really haven’t. You’ve never even tongue kissed someone. The most experience you’ve had is with toys and your fingers, but you’re not really sure how to explain this. His eyes stare into yours and you think he gets it when he smirks, wide and deranged.

“Wow… I knew I was lucky. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have a good first time with your senpai… whee hee hee…”

He uses his nimble fingers to adjust himself so he’s pressed against your entrance, ignoring your previous plea for a condom, and slowly, slowly eases his manhood into your walls. You have the sense to bite your tongue at the sting, the stretch causing a dull burn in your ring of muscle. Your body isn't used to this type of intrusion.

As he supports you with a hand in the small of your back, his hips begin to slowly pump. Cool air hits your neck where the collar once was, and Idia presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth again. When he pulls away, you can see the pink, peachy tone in his hair and on the apples of his cheeks.

“Ah, I’m so lucky…” He mumbles.

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n00dl3gal · 6 months

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My New Favorite Nightgown - Noco Sleepytime Collab

HEYYYYY IT'S TIME FOR @starryluminary'S SLEEPYTIME NOCO COLLAB AND I'M DERANGED SO LET'S GOOOOOOOO HAVE SOME NOKEL Yep, Kelsi Anderson isn't going anywhere. Enjoy. Read the fic on AO3:

“It’s a bed, Kelsi. That’s it. You just- you just have to lay down in it,” she told her reflection. Her reflection was still quivering. “Why am I nervous? Maudite, it’s just a bed.”

Her hands gripped the ceramic edges of the sink. The sleeves of her nightgown draped onto her hand delicately. Her hair hung loose and shaggy around her cheeks. Her breath was sharp and forced between freshly brushed teeth.

It was just a bed, but it was Noah’s bed.

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t slept together before, in either sense of the word. But both times, it had been in Kelsi’s room, in her bed. This was the first time that she would be sleeping in her boyfriend’s bed.

Boyfriend. That was still so surreal to her.

Said boyfriend knocked on the door. “If you don’t get out soon, I’ll go to bed without you. And lock the door.”

“Coming!” Kelsi squealed, cringing at how her voice echoed in the bathroom. “Just- just washing my face!” She turned on the faucet and began splashing water, just to sell it.

She did end up washing her face if only to help ground her and give her hands something to do. She was also pretty sure Noah would notice if she hadn’t washed her face, because he's observant and awful. The water did help. It snapped her out of whatever fugue state she was in.

Nevertheless, Kelsi was still trembling as she closed the door to Noah's bedroom behind her. He was already lying in bed, reading. “You don't have to be nervous,” he said without looking up. “I get being anxious, I do, but you don't have to be. It's not like we haven't done this before.” He placed a bookmark in the book and set it on the floor. Then, he patted the bed before rolling on his side. His face was towards the wall, leaving his back exposed to Kelsi.

She smiled despite her jitters. “You want me to be the big spoon?” she asked as she climbed next to him.

“Well, the last time I was the big spoon, I ended up kissing someone's ear on national television,” Noah replied dryly. As if sensing Kelsi’s expanding grin, he added, “That's not an invitation. I don't- getting my ears wet is a no-no.”

Kelsi settled onto the pillow, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” Noah answered, leaning into her touch. “I like… having pressure on me. Owen sleepwalks and he'd end up laying on top of me.”

“I thought he only sleepwalks after eating beans,” she commented.

“He used to, but at some point, he graduated to sleepwalking after consuming any protein.” Both shuddered in unison. “Whatever. I ended up getting used to it. Beat out having to buy a weighted blanket.”

“You don't have to explain if you don't wanna,” Kelsi reassured him. She rested her forehead against the back of his head. “Just let me know if I do anything that pushes your boundaries.”

“You’re not Sierra.” Kelsi couldn't argue with that. Instead, she burrowed herself further under Noah's comforter. “...hey. Are you still nervous?”

Kelsi watched Noah's back rise and fall with each breath. “Could you talk to me for a little bit? About anything. Like- like what is okay to do, and what isn’t. In our relationship,” she babbled.

She was met with silence, and she momentarily thought she managed to piss him off. Soon, though, she heard “Kissing is alright, as long as you give me some sort of signal. I like hugging and cuddling most of the time. But if I tell you to stop, do it. Don’t touch my chest, especially if I’m not wearing my binder. I’m serious about the wet ears thing, never give me a wet wi- are you falling asleep already?”

Kelsi’s eyes were already drooping. “I listen to music to fall asleep,” she mumbled. “Or Sierra’s rambling. Yours is nicer. Hmm…”

“If you want a lullaby, you gotta sing it yourself. I left my singing back on that godforsaken plane,” Noah said dryly. Kelsi could hear the affection in his voice, too. In his own roundabout way, he was asking for her to sing.

She hummed. She watched the vibration of her lips move Noah’s hair slightly between lidded eyes. “The stars lean down to kiss you, and I lie awake and miss you. Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere,” she sang softly. Noah moved her hands over his stomach. She smiled. “‘Cause I’ll doze off safe and soundly, but I’ll miss your arms around me. I’d send a postcard to you dear, ‘cause I wish you were here.”

She fell asleep to the smell of Noah’s 2-in-1 shampoo and the heat of his body, and Kelsi had never slept better in her life.

The song Kelsi sings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=pIz2K3ArrWk

#noco sleepytime collab #noco #total drama #total drama fanfiction #td noah #td cody #kelsi anderson #nokel #transfem cody au #transgender #noodle writes

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daboyau · 27 days

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C, F, K, Y, and Z :)?

C: What member do you identify with most?

I’m assuming member is referring to characters. So TMNT related, with Rise I relate most to Raph. Every other iterations, it’s Leo all the way. We all have eldest child syndrome and I live for that. That said, when I write Donnie I do tend to give him more of my own traits and habits. (And I project my sister onto Leo all the way.)

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Mmm I answered this one earlier, but here’s a different bit, from this story here. (Some parts cut out for brevity.)

“It’s so much easier here. We were always safe in the tunnels, but the world is so big,” Raph whispered like he was telling Leo a horrible secret. “And there are so many things that want to hurt us.”

“Oh. Listen, you don’t have to worry about that. Those guys are all gone!”

“They hurt them. Hurt…hurt you. It’s my job to keep everybody safe, and I couldn’t do it. I failed! I messed everything up over and over and—“

“Hey, no. No, no, we are not doing this.” Leo sank to the ground, sitting cross legged and shifting his little big bro around so they could look each other in the eye. The darkness glittered. It felt hungry. “Listen to me. You did the best you could, which is what matters most. You kept us all alive and got us out of trouble again and again no matter how many stupid things we did to make that harder on you. But — and this is important — that burden should never have been on your shoulders. Do you hear me, man? You were a kid, just like the rest of us, and I….”

“I’m sorry,” Leo croaked, and he covered his face, not wanting this version of Raph to see him like this. Still, he forced the words out through hiccuping breaths and a tight throat, hating himself a little more with each one. “I made things so much harder on you. I was such a little shit, and I hurt you so many times. I helped put that burden on you, and you never even complained even though I never helped you carry it. I should have done more, I should have told you how much you meant to us, but instead all I did for so long was find ways to tear you down. You were never alone, but we made you feel like you were. I don’t know why— I never really felt— ugh! I want you to know that I never—“

Sooo mostly I like this one because it made me emotional and felt sort of cathartic to write lol.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Another one I answered already, but The Loyal Remains is pretty angsty and only gets worse….

Y: A character you want to protect.

Rise Raph 100%. I’m ready to throw myself in front of a truck for him any day.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

Sooo it isn’t something I write often, but I do in fact write major character death, and it is a large part of current fics I’m writing and planning. I don’t seek it out when I’m looking for things to read, but it isn’t something that would scare me away from a fic.

#Hiiiii #thank you for asking <3 #Asks #Rottmnt #tmnt #Ask game

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mostmouse · 1 year

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Hello! I found your blog from AO3, and I really like your NSFW Alphabet with Diavolo. I like your dia the most because of love, from a king to an ordinary person.

can i request diavolo x reader for Obey Me! Nightbringer? I want to know what the story will be when the future reader meets the past diavolo

hey! i love the NSFW alphabet too! its such a fun little pet project :) i wanted to get this out even thought nightbringer isnt out yet. its not as cute or warm as my other dia fics but here's my interpretation of past dia!

No Longer Your Demon (Diavolo x GN!Reader, rating: suggestive)

Everything around you was dark. You couldn’t tell which way was up, or if your eyes were open or closed. Did you even feel the weight of gravity pulling on your body?

You were beyond confused, however, you weren’t scared. Worse things had happened to you in your bizarre life. Deciding to wait it out, you relaxed, hoping if you were trapped in some sort of haywire spell, not fighting would get you released quicker. If it worked for quicksand, why not in other completely unrelated situations?

Finally, you found yourself being pulled downwards, the familiar feeling of your body weight coming back to you. Breathing deeply, you watched as your vision became fuzzy and blurred, then finally clearing up. Looking around, if you’d had to hazard a guess, you were in the Demon Lord’s castle.

Standing up, holding onto the wall to gather your bearings, you took inventory of where you were. You were very familiar with the Demon Lord’s castle, considering how much time you spent there. But somehow, it seemed different. Things weren’t as bright as they usually were, the once lavish and ornate gold seeming more oppressive and heavy.

Beginning your way down the corridor, you reached out and stroked the curtains as you slowly made your way. What was wrong with this part of the castle? Had Barbatos neglected it? No, that didn’t seem right. You thought hard about where you were, but the decor didn’t seem familiar to you at all.

Up ahead, you saw a quick flash of black. Picking up the pace, you called out softly, “Little D! Hey, come back here!” To your disappointment, however, the lesser demon didn’t appear before you. Usually they fawned all over you, not only having Diavolo’s favor drawing them towards you, but also just being kind to them made them flock to you.

Whining slightly. You slowed down before stopping. Something wasn’t right... You grabbed your D.D.D. and turned the screen on. It seemed to be working just fine, except the time and date wouldn’t display. What was that supposed to mean?

Grumbling, you slipped it back into your pocket, taking a step forward before the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Suddenly, Barbatos appeared before you, very much in your personal space. You jumped, but then smiled, “Barb-” Before you could even finish your sentence, suddenly you were in his room.

He regarded you carefully, his eyes raking over you slowly. “What are you doing here?” His piercing gaze met yours finally, and you saw confusion in them. Feeling a tad bit nervous, you fidgeted. Barbatos was never confused.

“I- Well, I don’t actually know. I don’t remember what I was doing before, but suddenly I was sitting in the hallway. I tried to flag down one of the little D’s but he totally ignored me. What’s going on anyways? Something isn’t right here...”

The demon before you sighed, a chair suddenly appearing behind you and he pushed you into it. “You’re in the wrong timeline.” He kneeled before you, “You belong thousands of years to the future. Where- well, when we are now... My Lord has only just debuted as Prince of the Devildom. The Demon King fell into his slumber not too many centuries ago. And the angels- well, demon brothers, they’ve fallen only just recently.”

Your mind reeled as his gaze never left yours, never blinking, watching you intently. “You... Okay, what? I don’t think I’m following. At least, you know who I am, right?” Suddenly you were desperate to hear his voice comforting you. How did this happen? You had a million questions, but none seemed to come out.

“Don’t panic, please. I’m sure there’s an explanation for this, but I wanted to let you know your situation. I’m sure there’s a way to fix this. But as of this moment, I can’t find a path back to your own time. Please, bear with me as I try to figure out a solution.”

Much to his frustration, your gaze seemed to grow more and more curious. “Do you think-”

“No.” His voice was finite. He knew exactly what you were going to ask, he didn’t need his powers to tell that much. You were about to be an unending thorn on his side, you already had no self preservation in the present, but he was confident that you didn’t understand how much danger you could be in in this situation.

“You didn’t even-” Your mouth snapped shut as he glared at you. In your time - apparently - he would never act like this. He was strict, yes, and hid behind a sometimes scary smile, but he was seldom ever outwardly aggressive. You could count on one hand how many times he had been so severe looking.

“You are to stay here until I can find a solution to this predicament. Do not leave, and do not touch anything. I shall bring you refreshments shortly.” He got up to leave, a door appearing suddenly before him. Turning to look at you once more, his tail flicking behind him, “I will know if you leave, consider yourself lucky that you’re not already restrained.”

With that, the door snapped closed behind him, disappearing as quickly as it had materialized. You sighed, shoulders slumping. What were you supposed to do here, then? It wasn’t as if he had any gaming consoles or art supplies, not even a damn window to look out of forlornly.

Standing up, you wandered around in the seemingly vast but small space. All the stairs and doors were intriguing, but you couldn’t seem to reach any of them. It was rare to ever be alone in his room, you weren’t quite sure how to navigate it. Closing your eyes and focusing on your magic, you were pleased to find it hadn’t diminished, considering you were so far back in the past.

As you called up your teleportation magic, you wondered about Barbatos’s words. The brothers had only recently fallen? The Demon King just went to sleep practically years ago? What did that mean for your demon? Was Diavolo completely different back then- or well, now? You knew he had always had a penchant for peace, he had met with Lucifer countless times when he was still an angel.

The familiar pull of teleporting within the Devildom to Diavolo’s room was as natural as breathing, and without thinking too hard about what Barbatos would do to you once he found you, you let your magic take you.

The sound of rushing wind overwhelmed you then stopped. Silence spread around you as you cautiously opened your eyes. It was the same dark drab atmosphere of the hallway you had appeared in. Walking forward slightly, you held your tongue as you kicked something.

Grabbing your D.D.D., you used your flashlight to look around and collect your bearings. Well, this was the same room you and Diavolo spent all your time in, but it wasn’t his room. Uncomfortable, you made your way through the makeshift storage room, various furniture items covered in sheets. Finally reaching the window, you dragged the heavy drapes to the side, and observed the luxurious royal gardens below.

They were beautiful, of course. But it seemed to be lacking the exotic foliage of the human world and select items from the Celestial Realm. Humming thoughtfully, you made your way to the door before pausing. How soon until Barbatos realized you weren’t in his room? You were sure his punishment would be severe, probably borderline torturous. He didn’t seem to be as forgiving and warm as the Barbatos from your time.

You tucked your D.D.D. away, meditating on your position for a moment. You had always been able to locate Diavolo after the two of you had become so close, years together reflecting in your magical abilities to seek him out.

As you opened your eyes, breathing slowly and calmly, a small thread appeared before you. Smiling gently, you reached out to it, twirling it around your fingers and palm before teleporting yourself to the end of it.

The sounds of Diavolo’s office were muted as he worked. He had large blueprints in front of him, something he had been eager to begin construction on. Now that there were angels turned demons in his realm, he felt he could finally begin stitching the three worlds together.

Barbatos had helped him come up with a sort of educational facility. He planned to call it the Royal Academy of Diavolo. Not to toot his own horn, but considering it was his goal to unite the worlds, he could be a little selfish and name it after him.

He wanted to have the angels- or, demons now, get to know about the culture in their new home. They had separated out and gone on differing rampages, not that it bothered him any. The Devildom was vast; countless lost souls, tortured beings, and lesser demons populating the place. He could let the newly transformed brothers have their fill, after all, he was known to go on large hunting trips as well.

On such trips, he was able to survey his kingdom and lands, as well as indulge in a bit of temptation. He had taken a few demons as concubines, slaughtered others, and consumed lesser demons and lost souls more times than he could count. However, he had no concubines at the moment. All of them bored him sooner or later, their fear of him rapidly becoming exhausting to deal with, or their lust for power annoying him.

He wanted to find someone to be his equal. He had made a deal with Lucifer, the strongest of the brothers, but he had yet to come around and spend quality time. Diavolo enjoyed watching them raze areas of the Devildom, he knew in the long run it would bring them closer to him.

Golden eyes suddenly darted up, something - or someone - was appearing before him. However, it wasn’t Barbatos, and none of the brothers had been permitted past the magic barrier that surrounded the castle. So who was audacious enough to materialize directly in front of the Demon Prince?

Slowly but surely, a human appeared. Your build a dead giveaway, considering you had no demonic adornments or a glamour he could sense. He could feel his fingers twitch as he held them at his sides. Finally, you became solid, your body and soul joining together after your teleportation and you opened your eyes.

Molten gaze met your own and you grinned. Waving a hand, you called out to your demon. “Hi Dia! Or, well I know you don’t know me yet, but I just couldn’t stand to stay away from you. Please don’t call Barbatos!” Your hands clasped together in front of you as you begged.

Bewildered, he simply regarded you in silence. Dia? Was that supposed to be him? You spoke so familiarly, and you mentioned Barbatos with hardly any fear, and an almost equal amount of familiarity. Just who were you? And most of all, “A human?”

His voice was deep, and without the warmth you were so familiar with. Your smile strained for a moment. “Yeah! I- uh, I’m sort of... Well, we’re very close in the future. Something weird happened and uhm, here I am! Thousands of years in the past...” You looked sheepish, and he couldn’t sense any deception from your words.

Your trailing off at what you were had him slightly on edge. Who were you? What were you doing here? You knew him well enough to call him by a nickname - there were only a handful of others that called him by his name, most referring to him simply as ‘your majesty’.

Even with the Demon King asleep, the demons in the Devildom wasted no time in the pomp of addressing him as true royalty. Afterall, he hadn’t been in the public for very long, only recently mingling with his denizens. But you... You weren’t a part of the Devildom. You were from the human world, but most of all you were still alive.

“What are you doing here? You’re not a lost soul, so you must have a reason for being here.” His gaze was unwavering, you weren’t even sure if he had blinked yet since you appeared before him. He walked around his large desk, his wings flaring behind him as his glittering jewels caught the light.

You couldn’t help it as you took one step backwards, and his intense stare immediately went to your feet. You stood straight, holding your ground as he stopped in front of you, molten gold eyes staring deep into yours.

“I-” You cleared your throat, “I don’t know why I’m here, specifically. But in my timeline, you invited me here. The exchange program, you know?” His eyes didn’t move, watching you closely as you spoke. When he didn’t answer, you licked your lips nervously, continuing out of nervousness. “We were close, you and I. I lived at the House of Lamentation with the brothers. I’ve been in the Devildom for years now.”

“Lived. Where do you live now?” His voice was deep and it had your heart fluttering. At your confused look, he reached out, hand under your jaw and tilting your head up, eyes examining your face, neck, and shoulders. “You said you lived with the angels- the demons, I mean. So, where do you live now, where you’re from?”

His eyes found yours again, intense curiosity in them, yet lacking warmth. “W-With you. We’re together, romantically, I mean. You had asked me to move in with you and so... Well, I did. I went to our room but it doesn’t seem to be used as your bedroom now, which I thought was interesting.” Your weak laughter brought no love to his gaze, his eyes wandering around your body again.

His nail beneath your jaw was sharp, and you felt if you moved even an inch, it would cut into your soft skin. “You went there? Did you use your teleportation magic?” You nodded slightly, feeling his claw press into you sharply, but as far as you could tell, there was no blood yet.

Suddenly, a sharp tap echoed against the large heavy wooden doors. Barbatos entered quickly, glaring at the back of your head before regarding his master. “They had express directions to not stray from where I put them. My apologies, My Lord. Please, allow me to escort them back.”

You shuddered at his tone. He was very not happy with you. Swallowing, you could feel his piercing gaze behind you. Humming in thought, Diavolo finally looked at his friend, “I think I’ll keep them here, Barbatos. Would you bring us some tea and snacks? I’d like to entertain them.”

Flinching as Barbatos left, the door closing sharply, you gazed up at Diavolo. Finally, his hand left you, and you resisted the urge to rub at where his nail had scratched you. He turned back towards his desk, and with a wave of his hand, the papers began to roll themselves up.

You moved to sit in the chair before him, looking up at him with caution. You were stiff in your spot, and Diavolo watched as you fidgeted slightly. “So, tell me more about your time here in the Devildom. I’m very interested to hear it.” His hands steepled in front of him as he rested his jaw on them.

“Oh, well, I was one of the first human exchange students. It was rough in the beginning being here, but you made every effort to make sure I was comfortable and safe. I’ll always be so grateful to you for that. Over the months and years, we grew closer and closer, and well. We sort of, uh, well, fell in love.”

Your words were hushed towards the end, a bit embarrassed and something else you couldn’t quite describe. You weren’t afraid of him, but there was a seed of doubt planted in the bottom of your belly. Barbatos returned to lay out an afternoon spread before you. Without speaking, or looking at you, he poured tea and promptly left once more.

Pursing your lips, your eyes flicked up to Diavolo who was still staring intensely at you. “You were a student? Then surely you were attending the Academy that I’m going to build.” You smiled softly, nodding your head as you reached out to grab a small sandwich that you recognized to be safe for human consumption.

He made no move to eat or drink, and continued to watch you. “I’ve always been fascinated by humans. Tell me, how intimately do I know you?” Swallowing your food, you cleared your throat, looking at him and then down to your lap. “Since you mentioned we are romantically involved, I simply assumed we are also lovers. Is that incorrect?”

He could tell by your suddenly bashful attitude that he was right. He wanted to know everything, was he really intimate with a human? He had lusted after them more times he could count, yet he always ended up breaking those he took. Demons were sturdier, but he couldn’t deny how soft a human felt. They held a special place within him. He would say in his heart, but he had never felt anything more than a passing curiosity about them, so he couldn’t say whether or not he was actually fond of them.

Chewing your lip for a moment, “Uhm, yeah we are actually. It's, well, it's very nice.” Your smile was timid, and your shoulders pressed forward, making yourself smaller in the chair. His tongue traced over his teeth as he watched you move around.

“Are you afraid?” His question was simple, but your feelings were anything but. You didn’t think you were afraid of him, but you couldn’t help but feel unsettled. It was as if you had no barrier between what could possibly go wrong, and you understood now why Barbatos was so insistent that you stay in his room.

This version of Diavolo didn’t feel anything towards you, wasn’t kind or courteous. Your Diavolo had been socialized around others for countless years, learning to not be so serious, and how to interact. The Diavolo before you didn’t have those types of bonds. Didn’t have the regality you loved.

You shuffled in your seat, breathing deeply as you addressed him, knowing full well he would be able to tell if you lied to him. “No, I’m not afraid of you. I’m scared of the situation, of the unfamiliar environment I’m in. But I’ve never been and never will be afraid of you, my little prince.” That had him blinking in surprise. You weren’t being dishonest. And he could understand your trepidation at the situation at hand, objectively.

Little Prince... What a charming pet name to be called. He had never guessed that he would have a lover, and a human one at that. You were kind, he could tell that much. You looked soft and warm, and he yearned to sink his teeth into you. He wanted to feel how you felt under him, how you would beg him to be gentle.

Grinning at you suddenly, he felt the excitement in his blood, “Well then. It's settled. You’ll be staying here with me in the castle. Barbatos will solve the issues at hand when he’s able, but you,” He stood, imposing body towering over yours, and you felt your breath catch in your lungs. “You shall stay with me. I look forward to the ways you’ll show love to me, human. And please, for your sake, I hope you don’t hold back.”

You felt cold all of a sudden, as the demon who appeared to be your lover rounded the desk. The tea had gone cold and the food was forgotten. Gripping your hand tightly, enough to make you yelp and grab at his wrist, he hauled you up out of the chair, dangling you by your feet slightly.

“Let us make our way towards the bedroom. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. Should you have any tales of our time together, I’m very interested in hearing them.” Dread pooled in your belly, feet tapping at the floors as he dragged you swiftly through the hallways.

Passing by the kitchens, you saw Barbatos’s dark gaze in passing. How badly you wanted to reach out to him, ask him to help you, to save you from this demon. But your inner pleas went unanswered, powerless to work against his Lord. He had warned you after all, but you simply refused to listen. You’d have to deal with the consequences, and the prince’s insatiable curiosity with humans in every possible way.

#diavolo x reader #OM diavolo x reader #obey me #omswd #diavolo obey me #obey me diavolo #no source canon yet - we die like lilith

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