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sugako · 3 years

Text

backseat care

kyotani x f!reader sum: getting elbowed in the face at a concert isn’t new for you, but at least this time it’s by a hot guy cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, minor accidental violence (reader gets a bloody nose/split lip from kyo), mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol (but no one is drunk), slight public sex/car sex, oral (f!receiving), slight overstim, creampie, strangers to lovers wc: 2.4k a/n: i have had such bad writers block lately, but i’ve been wanting to write more kyo content for so long and i miss going to loud basement shows so why not combine both also there’s a longish intro just an fyi

the amount of pain from the limb crashing into your face isn’t all that different from what you’ve felt before. things get messy in the pit, you know that, but when you reach up to wipe the sweat from your upper lip you realize it smells a lot more like copper. just as your nose starts to leak the assailant spins around, looking as if he’s about to tell you off for getting in the way of his arm before his expression drops.

kyotani can’t believe he just gave the prettiest girl he’s ever seen a bloody nose and split lip. your head is tilted down, desperately trying to catch the blood in your palms as you cover up the bottom part of your face. the lights are flashing and it’s dark, but he feels like he can see all of you.

“i’m sorry.” he huffs over the music.

“it’s fine, i’m just gonna, uhh...” you choke out, lightly pinching your nose with a little wince.

“c’mon,” he sighed, “let’s go see if there’s a first aid kit around.” he was already grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the mess of people before you could respond. his firm grip made your mind wander, momentarily distracted from the mess that was your face.

after scrounging the dingy, cramped space for close to five minutes, he gives a defeated huff.

“nothing?” you asked nasally, the blood finally slowing to a crawl. he shakes his head, eyebrows tightening together even more.

“i have a kit in my car if you’re okay with that.”

“tell me your name and promise you won’t murder me?” you breathe out, already texting the friend you came with about your little injury and that you were stepping out with a stranger. “you don’t really look creepy, but you never know.”

“kentarō kyōtani and no.” he quips back, still guiding you with his hand clamped around your arm out of the building.

the cool night air runs right through your body, quelling the hotness that’s built up in your face. thankfully, his car is only two spots away from the exit. it’s tiny and black with two thin silver stripes that remind you of the ones that run through his hair, giving him a pseudo-mohawk.

he opens up the rear door, grabbing a box from the floor and motioning for you to sit, of which you happily oblige. under the dim light the car gives off you can clearly see his honey brown eyes and the way his eyeliner is smudged around.

“does it feel broken?” he asks about your nose, cautiously grabbing your chin to inspect the injuries.

“no, i don’t think so. my mouth really hurts though.” you mumble out, heart racing under his calloused touch.

“good, it doesn’t look broken. and your lip is a little split.” he rummages through the kit, pulling out a wipe that he carefully rubs along your face where the blood has caked and dried.

“you’re pretty good at this, go to lots of rough shows?” you awkwardly break the tense quiet, trying to not move your lips much as you talk.

“no, i play volleyball.” he says simply. it’s impossible for you to really tell whether it’s a joke or not, but out of gut reaction you laugh. “i’m not kidding,” he sighs, tossing the dirty wipe in a small trash carrier inside the car and pulling a tiny pad from the kit to press to your open lip.

“oh, sorry, really? that’s pretty cool. didn’t realize volleyball was really a big contact sport. though i guess you could get hit in the face with the ball a lot.”

“don’t get hit a ton in the face in Division 2 volleyball, but you can fall hard.”

another moment of silence passes when he takes the padding away from your lip and inspects your face once again. although your heart hasn’t slowed, it seems he’s just realized how close you’re faces are and how he’s kneeling between your thighs that keep twitching every time he leans in a little closer.

“i wouldn’t expect a, uh, a professional volleyball player at a place like this.” voice all spluttery like you can’t control it.

“you shouldn’t assume things about people.” he says simply, not moving a muscle. “your lips look better now,” he’s whispering now, the smooth vibrations of his voice echoing around in your head like a bouncy ball, “wanna try them out?”

part of you wants to laugh at how cheesy his words are, but more of you is interested in how his lips would feel against yours. he doesn’t move a muscle, the needy feeling that’s burning inside of him can’t be seen through his eyes, but you catch it in the way his jaw tenses while he patiently waits for your answer.

“that’s a great idea,” you whisper back as his face closes in on yours.

his motions are gentle and measured, it’s easy to tell he’s holding back by the way his hands twitch against your waist. carefully, he’s avoiding the edge of your lip where it’s still bruised and open, but as he presses harder and harder into you, the pain grows. nothing about the kiss is nice - everything tastes of cheap beer, blood, sweat, and disinfectant, but it feels good.

it feels as though his clawing fingers are burning into your sides, forcing you further into the backseat of the car. letting yourself willingly move back, he clumsily reaches up to snap the automatic light off in the roof, not quite closing the door all the way behind him.

when his teeth scrape against your wound, you let out a small yelp against your own will. before the noise is even done coming out of your mouth, he pulls away, adjusting so he isn’t crushing you so hard into the seats, and cradling your face.

“sorry,” you pant out, “just hurts a little.”

at this angle he can see how little tears have pricked in the edge of your eyes, purely from the gentle stinging pain. it hurts his heart a little that he’s caused you some pain, but you look so pretty like this with your teary eyes and pink tongue sticking out as you quietly gasp for air.

“let’s give you a little break, huh.” he chuckles, sitting back on his heels and grabbing your knees to hook over his shoulders. it takes a minute for your foggy brain to realize what’s happening, but as he lowers himself between your thighs, the sight makes you clench around nothing and everything clicks into place.

suddenly you’re glad you wore a skirt. he nips up your already shaking thighs, eyes locked between your legs groaning at the pretty panties that were clinging to the slickness of your folds. he flips your skirt up, pressing your knees tighter to your body when his broad shoulders lift your legs higher.

“please...?” you whimper when you feel his breath against you.

“need to cum?” he questions, teasingly, mouthing over your clothed cunt.

“yes, please, wanna cum.” hips barely jerking under him, desperate for anything.

“pfft, i can tell. so wet already.” kyōtani mumbles into you just before he reaches his arms around your legs and rests them just above your pelvis, using one hand to pull aside the thin fabric. before the cool air could even hit your exposed flesh, his mouth came down on you, messily lapping up your slit, tasting you completely before he began to circle your clit.

when he finally arrives at your sensitive, little bud your hips involuntarily twitch against him, begging for release. hot breaths and moans filled up the space of the car, barely escaping through the tiny crack where the backdoor wasn’t completely closed, just resting against the hinge.

the small fear of being caught or seen urged you on, encouraging you to cum as fast as you could. not that you really needed to do much when he had such great control of his tongue and two of his fingers easily slipped past your entrance, curling against your spongey walls.

“k-kentarō!” you squeaked out, waves of relief edging up on you, “gonna cum, please, gonna cum.” the words came out like a broken record, separated by little hiccupped moans.

“asking permission?” his low laugh vibrated across you skin. “that’s cute.” as soon as the words were out, he went back lapping and sucking your swollen clit.

it only took moments for you to fall into your high, body squirming under him, limbs twitching in time with the way your cunt clamped around his fingers that just kept pumping into you. all the while his mouth didn’t stop, he didn’t even hesitate.

he just kept lapping up your clit until your nails were digging into his wrist that was resting on your tummy, sobbing out moans. you didn’t want him to stop but the feeling was overwhelming, like you couldn’t stop cumming. briefly, you wondered if it was always supposed to be like this, body and brain turning fuzzy as he finally slowed enough for you to rest.

the little whine you let out when he took his fingers from your pulsing hole made him grind his hips into the seat. you let out a low groan as you watched him stick his fingers into his mouth and suck them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

“feel good?” he grumbles out, languidly flattening his tongue against you to take another slow lap.

it’s nearly impossible to focus with the way he’s touching you, but you manage out the words you want to say. “uh-huh, want...want more.” you shyly make out.

“more?” one of his angled brows shoots up before he shrugs and roughly laps against your clit. body betraying you, it crumbles under him, hips already bucking up into his nose again before you can reach down and drag him off of you by his short curls.

“no...no,” you gasp, “want your cock.”

his eyes soften for a second before the expression is replaced with something a little more feral. “why not just say so.” he hums, pants already unbuttoned, pulling them down just enough so his cock can slip out.

you can’t help the gasp that breaks past your lips. it’s embarrassing, but he’s beautiful and you’re sure that his pretty cock could fill you up two times over. before you bask too much in the pleasantness of the moment, he reaches down to tear at your panties.

“hey!” you yelp, unable to do much with your ankles still propped up on his shoulders.

“eh, there was a pull in the seam anyway.” he says back lamely, leaning back in so he can loom over you, smirking when his cock slaps against your folds and you squirm under him.

“i...i liked them.” you pout, trying to ignore the burn between your legs. he presses a hot kiss against your jaw and licks up the shell of your ear. admittedly, he liked them quite a bit too.

“go on a real date with me sometime and i’ll get you a new pair.” his hips rut against yours, rubbing the tip of his cock against your still sensitive folds.

“oh, uhh- okay, yeah.” surprised by his proposition, but already hoping you’d meet him again, you quickly agree.

“good.” he says while he lines himself, pushing in and trying to ignore how tightly you were clenching around him. his thumb comes down on your clit, rubbing tight circles to get you to settle as he bottomed out.

your eyes didn’t deceive you, he certainly filled you to the brim and he knew how to use his entire body. still so close from his prior ministrations you found yourself already shuddering under his touch, the coil in your belly snapping even more harshly this time as you came undone around his cock.

he shallowly pumped into you, getting you used to the size while you squeezed and sucked him in.

“feel so good,” he grunts, “want me to fuck this pretty pussy?”

it’s not a real question, not when you’re arching into him, whimpering and moaning incoherencies, but you quickly nod to answer anyway. his grin makes your heart race, and he hurries to pull out nearly all the way before slamming back into you, setting a quick pace from the start.

you have the brace the back of your head to stop it from crashing into the car door as he rams you into the seats, body at the will of his harsh thrusts. mouth open in a silent scream, only choked whines crack out from your throat that he quickly swallows up with a messy kiss.

pent up from the entire day and the ghost of the taste of your cunt still on his lips, he feels himself getting close, encouraged on by the way you keep fluttering around him. as if sensing, by the way his kiss tightens up and his arms tense, you pull away and nod up at him.

“want you to cum in me.” you quickly assure him.

he lets out a sharp gasp, hips already stuttering against yours as he nods back in silent agreement. swallowing hard, he rests his head against your shoulder, letting his hips fall against yours, cock twitching against your aching, gummy walls, filling you with cum.

after his labored breathing slows and you relax under him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek and steadily sits up and pulls out. the gasp you let out when you’re empty is nearly enough to make his cock twitch again, but he holds back. he watches as your poor cunt quivers around nothing, eyeing the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you.

achingly, you sit up when he lets your legs slide off his arms, leaning against the car door closest to you to get a good look at him while he tucks himself back into his pants, ignoring the messy, stickiness between his legs for now. you feel the mix of cum between your legs start to seep out, tightly closing your thighs to keep from making a mess on his car seats.

grabbing your phone from where it had fallen onto the floor, you toss it at him before grabbing your destroyed panties off the spot in the bench between the two of you.

“put your number in. we can go shopping this weekend.” you sigh with a soft smile. for once, getting a dumb injury at a shitty show was worth your while.

#kyotani x reader #kyotani smut #hq smut #kyotani kentaro x reader #kentarou x reader #maddog x reader #maddog smut

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Hello i would kill for some awkward Connor attempting to comfort Chris during training please and thank you

Follow-up to this piece from yesterday

CW: Pet whump, implied whump of a minor, bruising, some dehumanizing language, BBU, facility whump, creepy comfort, The Moral Standards of Monsters, some implied conditioning due to ableism (blink-and-you’ll-miss-it)

“Hey, Manning.”

Connor looks up from his lunch - he’s at his desk in his training room, a sandwich, bag of chips, and bottle of his iced coffee set out in front of him while he finishes up paperwork from the last trainee’s fitness reports - and sighs. Fucking Luke goddamn Petrus. “Yeah?”

For a second, his stomach flips. Linda swore up and down that the complaint would be anonymous, and Connor isn’t the only person in the hallway who has brought up the screaming being… irritating… but still.

Luke is Director Renford’s favorite in a big way, her loyal henchman, and he can make a handler’s life a living hell if he wants to.

Luke leans against the open doorway, giving him a bright smile. Above the expression, though, Luke’s blue eyes stay cold as ice. Like the Director, Connor thinks sometimes. Two fucking peas in a pod, and Connor’s always a little bit on the outside.

Lately, though, he’s been feeling kind of grateful he’s on the outskirts. The Director’s approval is something everyone works for, but having her focus on you too long and too thoroughly sounds as terrifying as her anger.

“I just got called up to a meeting with Renford.”

Renford. Like they’re buddies. Like he’s equals with her. Connor keeps his mouth shut, but he wonders how the Director would react if she knew he calls her Renford when she’s not right in front of him. “Good for you. I don’t see why that should affect my lunch break.”

“The meeting could last a few hours. I know you’ve got the afternoon off from trainee work. Would you mind keeping an eye on one of mine? He’s just out of a week in solitary, so he’s needy as fuck.”

Connor perks up a little at that. Needy trainee and unscheduled afternoon sounds like just the pick-me-up he needs today. “He need any training work?”

“Nah. Do whatever you want with him.” Luke gives Connor a wink. “He’s got some top notch fucking flexibility. Just saying. You can twist him into pretzels. Tell him he’s being good and he’ll do it all himself. Kid’s eager as fuck now that we’re past the halfway point.”

Kid?

Connor swears internally but keeps his expression carefully the same. “What do you mean, kid, Luke? Wait a sec-”

“I’ll bring him in, hold on!” Luke’s already gone from the doorway.

Connor has a sinking feeling of realization that Luke didn’t just randomly decide to leave a trainee with him. He must’ve figured out who put the fucking complaint in. And he knows that Connor hates the screaming, if he knows that.

Which means…

Luke reappears, and sure enough, the little redheaded trainee who is the cause of all the wailing and sobbing is right beside him.

No weights hanging from his hands this time, but there are deep red marks around his wrists and bruises at his upper arms just below his sleeves that suggest he’s done plenty of training work this morning, whatever Luke says.

Jesus, this kid is eerily beautiful. Pale skin, flushed in the aftermath of tears, with a smattering of freckles all over like constellations of stars. His hair’s that rare shining strawberry blond, with eyebrows pale enough to make him seem faintly inhuman. Connor wonders exactly which piece of shit with a thing for teenagers put the order in.

He wants to make sure he doesn’t vote for the guy.

Not that Connor Manning votes.

But maybe he’ll start, and then start purposefully voting for someone else. That's probably way more effort than he'll ever put in to anything that isn't work or Socks, but it feels kind of nice to think about it.

The trainee keeps his eyes carefully down on the floor. Connor notes he’s not even wearing the shock collar any longer - just your average band of black leather, buckled at the side, no padlock. Not only not being shocked, or not needing it, but already far enough along not to try and remove his own collar.

“Luke. I’ve told you how I feel about the underagers-”

“Yeah, and I’ve told you that you can judge me when you're an angel, numbnuts. You’re not better than me. You just have different victims.”

“Oh, the Director would have a shit-fit hearing you call the trainees victims.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m the only one who really grasps exactly what it is we do here, Manning. I just also happen to enjoy it. Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life, right?"

“Go fuck yourself, Petrus. I enjoy my job just fine.” Why is he defensive about this? Connor doesn’t quite understand the surge of irritation within him. Why does he give a fuck what Luke goddamn Petrus has to say about anything, anyway?

“Yeah, for now you do. We’ll see how it goes. I’ve been at this gig for a long time, I see the ones who flame out, and you’re one of them. Anyway, I’ve got to go meet with Renford, I’ll be back by three. If you get tired of him, just put him on the mat and I’ll pick him up when I’m done.”

“Yeah, okay.” Connor frowns, pushing himself to his feet. “I do like my job, Petrus.”

“For now. Bet I’ll be the only person here totally unsurprised when you quit one day.”

“I’m not going to quit.”

“I’ll bet you a thousand damn dollars you do, and I’ll raise the bet to fifteen hundred that it’s over your fucking conscience making a reappearance.”

“Don’t have one."

Luke just sighs, and gives Connor a patronizing little smirk before he turns and leaves. The trainee looks over his shoulder to watch Luke go, pleading with his eyes but not saying a word. The door shuts, and Connor and the trainee are alone.

Connor clears his throat, picking up the sandwich but finding he doesn’t really want it any longer. “What’s your number, trainee?”

The boy’s eyes snap back to him, briefly, before they drop to the floor. Connor notes with vague professional detachment that they’re red-rimmed. He’s been crying again, but then, when isn’t this fucking trainee crying?

When he’s screaming instead, Connor’s thoughts answer him.

God, he wishes these trainees didn’t get to him so much. He can’t talk to anyone about it, either, word will get out Connor Manning has regrets. Questioning the company is a good way to find yourself on the wrong end of a shock collar.

“223499, sir,” The boy says. His voice is low and soft, and each number and word is deliberately placed, as if he’s carefully pacing himself as he speaks. “Designation… Romantic-”

“Yeah, I knew that already. That’s all Luke does.” Connor leans his chin on his hand, looking the kid over. There’s solid muscle in that kid, he thinks, legacy of whatever life he lived before. It’s wasting away under the carefully calibrated malnourishment they’re all subjected to, but the memory of strength is in there, still. An easy, unconscious grace that didn’t have to be taught. “You’ve already done training work today?”

Those green eyes flash up at him again, nervous. Frightened. The boy shifts from foot to foot, then goes still. His fingers twitch before he pauses that, too. Connor watches it all with a kind of slightly repulsed interest. “Yes, sir. But… Handler Petrus said that… that if you want, you can-... can test me-”

“I don’t want,” Connor says heavily, cutting him off with a gesture. The boy’s mouth snaps shut instantly. “Not in the mood.”

There’s an expression of genuine confusion - when is a handler not in the mood? - that flits across the boy’s face. It’s a look of such comedic bafflement that Connor ends up laughing, shaking his head. He doesn’t even put his sexy, dark laugh on, but just snort-laughs naturally, before he walks over to the kid, watching him pull into himself, shoulders hunched.

“Relax, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The kid’s nose wrinkles. It’s adorable. “But… all you do… is hurt us.”

Luke’s fucking technique, Connor thinks. Luke’s trainees don’t forget anything he’s taught them, to be sure, but they never quite learn how to act like they’re in love with it, either. Connor can turn out a trainee who genuinely thinks he’s in love. Luke turns out trainees who hate everything they can’t stop themselves from doing.

Some perspectives are into that, he supposes. Connor thinks he’d rather have the act.

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to do that today. Come on,” Connor says, and his voice gentles a little. “I’ve got plenty to keep myself busy with. Why don’t you lay down on the mat and get some sleep while I work?” He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling him trembling slightly through the thin cloth of his white trainee t-shirt. The boy moves when he’s nudged, carefully stepping across the room, tense as a wire about to snap.

“Are you-... are you going to, to, to, to, um-” The boy flinches back from an expected punishment when he stammers. "Silence is, is better than stammering, try again, silence is better than-... try again." The kid mutters to himself, takes a deep breath, tries again. "Are you... going to... give me a pill?"

Connor pulls his hand back, frowning. Now it’s his turn to look confused.

What the fuck is even going on with this kid?

“Nah. I don't even keep them in my training room. No worries, kid.” He pitches his voice low, soothing, reassuring. “The only thing I intend to do is finish up some papers, go take a smoke break outside, and then come back and get set up for my next rounds at seven before I head out. This is a real break. Okay? I’m not even interested in whatever it is Handler Petrus is doing with you. I just want to do my job.”

The kid looks at him. He’s almost always seen him drugged out of his gourd, barely able to focus on anything not right in front of his face. Right now, though, there’s a sense that the boy is considering his words, actually able to think about them. “Yes, sir. I can-... I, I can lay down?”

“Yeah, go for it.” Connor waves his hand again, moving back to his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” The kid’s gratitude is pathetic. Connor has to give Luke that, he does know how to make a trainee say thank you for just about anything. Connor’s method takes more work to get to that than Luke’s.

But Connor doesn’t have to drug his trainees to do it. And he doesn’t work with kids.

Shit. Maybe I am going to wind up with a conscience. Handlers get fired over that.

Or worse.

After a pause, watching him go, the kid kneels down, then lays down on his stomach, making as much contact with the heated mat as he can. There’s a soft exhale, something almost like contentment. Connor watches those tensed, probably painful muscles slowly relax. His bare feet start to rub against each other, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a blanket nearby, and the boy hesitantly grabs at it, pulls it over himself. Breathes out, eyes fluttering shut as warmth surrounds him utterly for what’s probably the first time in a while. Or at least warmth that doesn’t come with certain conditions.

Connor’s eyes trace the line of the boy’s jaw - there’s a bruise there, too, like a thumb pressed too hard into delicate skin. Coppery eyelashes lay flat, long enough to just brush his cheek. His hair falls over his forehead and eyes.

It’s like looking at a fucking painting.

“Jesus, you’re pretty as hell, aren’t you?”

The boy’s eyebrows furrow, briefly, but he doesn’t open his eyes or pull back from the mat. He curls up tighter under the blanket, disappearing up to his chin.

Connor turns back to his work, filling out a questionnaire. He’s still working at it when he hears, just barely, the boy’s soft reply to his question.

“I, I, I wish I wasn’t.”

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @eatyourdamnpears

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titan-fodder · 3 years

Text

Prima Vista Part VII

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni)

Warnings: dramatics, gaslighting, pining pining pining, drinking, attempted drugging, blacking out, vomiting, Nile and Hitch hook up, did I mention pining, one Greek word (thank you again, @cynnyc .)

It’s nearly ten PM as you climb the steps to the PKA house. The brisk October air makes you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and move toward the door faster. You probably should’ve texted your target first, checked to see if he’s even here, but you’re not about to stand outside and wait for a reply, not when you can just knock and ask a living soul.

It’s Reiner who answers, looking extremely tired with dark circles under his eyes. You idly wonder if he and the other new kids are being kept awake as another stupid fucking hazing ritual, but you don’t really have the time for small talk.

“Erwin here?”

The blond nods and steps out of the way. “His room. Might already be asleep.”

Shrugging, you walk inside, mumbling, “Just gonna have to wake his ass up then.”

Which you do, climbing up to the third story after Reiner tells you which room he’s in now. You knock on the door a couple times and almost feel bad when Erwin answers, clearly rumpled in pajama pants and bedhead.

He squints at you, and you snort. “Sleep before ten? You some kinda nerd or somethin’?”

“What do you want?” He gruffs, voice a little scratchy.

You can see part of the room behind him, looks pretty similar to the one from last year. That had been the only time you’d really gotten a close look into his space, and it had not ended well. You hope this time will be different.

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

Erwin scrubs a hand down his face then rests his head against his doorframe. “I’ll take a wild guess and say this is about Mike.”

You push your lips out in a pout and respond, “Maybe.”

He lets you into his room, catches you off guard when he asks, “Door open or closed?”

“Depends. You gonna come onto me again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I learned my lesson last time.”

“You can shut it then.”

Taking up the chair at his desk, you watch as Erwin just crawls back under his covers and fixes cerulean eyes on you.

“Why haven’t you been talking to him?”

Something in your stomach flips, eyes growing as you splutter, “I haven’t been talking to him? He hasn’t been talking to me!”

Erwin frowns. “What? He’s been bitching to me incessantly.”

“And, I’ve been bitching to Hitch incessantly.”

Groaning into his pillow, Erwin holds out his hand, and you hear a muffled command, “Give me your phone.”

You do without hesitation, rattle off the passcode then sit and wait as Erwin scrolls through what you assume to be your settings or contacts. The thought that you should be a little scared crosses your mind—you do have some compromising photos in an unlocked folder—but judging by Erwin’s current mood, he doesn’t seem interested in anything except sleeping.

“That motherfucker,” he grunts.

“What?”

“You blocked his number.”

“What?” This time is much louder and panicked. “No, I didn’t! I swear I didn’t.”

He tosses you the device back and gestures in a ‘see for yourself’ manner. “Someone did.”

Your blood begins to boil as you stare down at your short list of blocked contacts, Mike’s name right on top.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You quickly tap to remedy the problem, hands beginning to shake. “I don’t even know how—”

“My money’s on the shitty boyfriend,” Erwin mumbles.

You want to text Mike, but you have no idea what to say. Sorry we haven’t talked in over a month. Zeke figured out my phone password and blocked your number haha. You doubt that would fly.

If you had just come to Erwin sooner, most of this could have been avoided. You don’t know if you’re more upset at Zeke or at yourself.

Zeke. Definitely Zeke. That is some wildly possessive behavior. That’s isolation. The idea makes you nauseous. This is just another instance of him showing what you believe to be his true self. Between all the fighting and grudges, you’re at your wit’s end. Just the other day, the two of you had gotten into yet another argument when you happened to get a glance at the Tinder icon in his app list.

“Why do you still have that?” You’d asked with a frown. You really hadn’t planned on it turning into an ordeal.

“Have what?”

“Tinder.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then, right in front of your eyes, he had deleted the app. You saw it, but that didn’t stop Zeke from looking at you with a straight face and telling you, “I think you’re just confused, babe.”

That’s when it turned into an ordeal. That’s when you got defensive and incredulous. That’s when he just kept telling you that you were wrong, that you were just seeing things, and after a good thirty minutes once you were nice and high strung, he actually had you halfway convinced.

Because he always sounds so sure of himself, always makes it so that his word is law. You had doubted yourself—you’re still doubting yourself.

“Jesus, I can’t believe this,” you breathe, leaning back in the rolling chair and staring up at the ceiling. You can believe it, actually, you just hadn’t expected him to sink that low. “What do I even say to Mike?”

Erwin finally pushes himself into a sitting position and stretches. Seems like he’s just resigning himself to being awake. “Whatever it is, you should probably talk it out in person.”

“Probably.”

“Might be a little difficult now, though.”

Heaving a sigh, you mutter, “Yeah, I assume he's pretty pissed at me.”

Erwin hums, but his voice comes out a little unsure when he says, “Well, that, but also…”

You're suddenly sitting straight up. “Also what?”

Making a face, the man across from you enlightens you to the fact that, “Mike is kind of seeing someone. I think.”

You blink at him, trying to process what he’s telling you. Mike is… With someone? You feel sick.

But, you shouldn’t because he’s allowed to branch out. You surely did, and you hurt him in the process.

“It, uh… It gets worse.”

Swallowing, you try to hide the lump in your throat when you rasp, “How?”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. You have no right to cry.

“I’m about ninety-nine percent positive it’s Zeke’s ex.”

Every muscle in your face suddenly relaxes, but it isn’t in a good way. Instead of frowning, your brow softens into its normal position. You release the tension in your jaw, the teeth that were just clenched falling away from each other as your lips part. Erwin moves in and out of focus as your gaze becomes blurry, hot tears gathering at your waterline, and now you don’t even try to stop them from falling.

Fucking Rhi. She had been nothing more than an annoyance before, a peppy little annoyance trying to grab your boyfriend’s attention. But, now… Now, you’re ready to fight. Parking lot brawl, throwing fists and pulling hair, and screeching—you want to destroy her.

“Oh.” You sniffle then wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “That’s good. I mean—” a quiet cough, “—that’s good for him. I’m glad.”

Erwin snorts. “No, you’re not,” his volume rises a bit. “So, don’t pretend like you are. God, why are you guys so bad at this?”

You let out a humorless laugh and shrug. “‘Cause I have shitty timing, I guess.” You bite your lip and look back to the ceiling, trying not to weep too openly, but your lungs are burning, preventing you from breathing, and your heart is bruising your ribcage, and you think your bones just might shatter inside of your chest.

There’s a rustling on the bed, and when you look back at Erwin, you find him laying down again but holding the blankets up in front of him.

“Come on.”

“W-what? Erwin, that is literally the last thing we—”

“I’m not trying to fuck,” he says, eyes heavy as he stares at you. “You need to relax, and I need to sleep, so just come on."

You consider for a while, looking from Erwin to the mattress. You’re really not that close, would barely even call him your friend, but you did come to him tonight. You had chosen to confide in him. He makes some pretty questionable decisions sometimes, but you still believe that ultimately he’s a good person.

“Fine, but put a shirt on.”

“Then, grab one. Second drawer. Make sure it’s soft.”

You roll your eyes but do as you're told, running your hands over a few t-shirts until you find one that he should be pleased enough with. He tugs it on then collapses back on the bed, and you kick your shoes off then slip out of your jacket and under the covers.

You’re facing him, trying to keep a few inches between yourself and his chest, but as you think about the position you’re in—why you’re in it, the tears start flowing freely again, and you’re holding back little whimpers, shoulders shaking at the effort. Erwin breathes in deeply then uses the arm he isn’t laying on to pull you to him, shushing you as he rubs the space between your shoulder blades with a warm hand.

“We’ll get it sorted out,” he promises, voice quiet as he starts to doze.

It’s not how you expected to end the night, but you suppose there are worse ways.

Mike learns a lot of information in a very short amount of time. Nile meets him outside of the fitness center to give him the scoop, trying to look casual as he walks, but Mike can tell he's nervous.

He starts by asking if Mike has talked to you at all recently, and no, he has not. So, Nile tells him that you broke things off with Zeke and apparently it got messy.

"Something about him being a manipulative bastard," Nile waves a hand.

"Doesn’t surprise me. Took her long enough."

You've been hanging around the Pike house again, sometimes by yourself and sometimes with Hitch—"Who's really fucking cute, by the way." Obviously Nile and Marie are in the 'off' portion of their relationship cycle. "And, you would know all this if you would just start coming around again. It's stupid to pay dues and not actually engage with the frat, dude."

"I've just been busy with school," Mike tells him. It's only a half lie. His senior courses are kind of kicking his ass, but he's also been busying himself with Rhi who is… tolerable.

"Whatever. Halloween party is in, like, a week. If you don't show up, I'm gonna be real pissed."

"I'll be there, Nile."

"Okay, then lemme prepare you for one more thing."

Mike stops walking and looks at the smaller man who inhales deeply then blows air out through his teeth.

"So, uh, she's hanging around again, right? And, you're not there, so it seems like she's sort of, uh, latched onto…" He makes a face, and Mike leans back.

"Don't fucking tell me."

Nile cringes. "Yeah. I don't think they're fucking or anything. I haven't heard them in his room like I used to hear the two of you."

"She goes into his room?" Mike has to flex his hand by his side, but the brick wall of the library they've stopped in front of is looking mighty nice. Break a few bones, bleed a little, it'll feel good.

"Yeah, but, like, they're nowhere near as close as you and her."

"How close we used to be. It's been so fucking long since we've even talked, dude. And, any time I try to catch her on campus, the dickbag is with her—"

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Yeah, now I just have to worry about her fucking my best friend. Fuck, she just—" Mike growls in his throat, contemplates turning to go back to the gym because he needs to get this energy out somehow. "She drives me fucking crazy."

"Yeah, I know, man. I just didn't want you to be surprised at the party when you see 'em all buddy-buddy."

"I'm gonna punch him," Mike states. "Just lay him out in front of everyone."

"Please don't," Nile sounds genuinely worried. "Maybe use the party as a way to, I don't know, talk to your girl? Like an adult?"

"Obviously not my girl, and I've been screwing around with Rhi anyway. Maybe it's just time we went our separate ways or whatever."

It physically hurts to even suggest, but he's trying to put on a brave face for his friend—act annoyed rather than fucking crushed, but god, he is aching. His stomach has opened up into nothing, his chest feels void of everything that was once inside, and he knows he's being dramatic, but fuck fuck fuck, first Zeke and now Erwin? What is it that Mike doesn't have? What can't he provide you with that they can? Just tell him, and he'll fucking fix it.

"Yeah, I think we both know that's not gonna happen. Plus, you do realize Rhi is probably just using you to make Zeke jealous."

"I'm not fucking stupid, Nile, of course I know that." But, Mike is really tired of his love life revolving around that asshole, like he has to wait for Zeke to call all the shots. "I'm using her as much as she's using me, so—"

"As a distraction?"

Mike lets his head loll to the side, peering down at Nile from the corner of his eyes. "What do you think?"

The other man gives him a light punch to the shoulder and once again suggests, "Talk things out. Just pull her aside at the party."

It's easier said than done. When Halloween rolls around, it's a little insane. It's too big and too loud with a flashing strobe that hurts Mike’s eyes. There are all sorts of costumes, making it hard to recognize anyone. The jungle juice is a mystery, one Mike doesn't plan on touching but that many people will. He has a feeling that more than a few party-goers are gonna end up sick, probably passing out in various locations of the house.

Mike has opted for an easy costume, the tacky tourist complete with his pink Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, sunglasses, and a fanny pack. It's so awful, it actually made him laugh, but Rhi, clad in a spandex tiger suit, is not nearly as amused. She probably wanted him to go the sexy cop route or something equally as cringey, but Mike just doesn't have it in him tonight.

Nile is a shirtless cowboy, Hitch is a Catholic schoolgirl, Gelgar is Freddy Krueger with a pompadour, Reiner is a werewolf, the list goes on and on. Sexy, bloody nurses, superheroes, Harry Potter, and so on.

When his eyes land on you for the first time that night, Mike comes close to drooling his drink. Lola Bunny in her skimpy basketball uniform and a rabbit ear headband. Your face is painted, and you're carrying around one of those foam balls kids use to dunk into Fisher Price hoops, and he has no doubt the prop will be lost by the end of the party.

Mike thinks back to Spring Break, to you wincing at his movie choice then trying to sleep through it. You had woken up to him flipping through the photo album, then chose to finally open up to him.

So, why this costume? Why "torture" yourself like this?

And, speaking of torture, you're sticking to Erwin just like Nile said you would. The blond is in a tailored suit, his face painted like a skull. It's both classy and creepy, and Mike hates him for it. In fact, it calls for another drink.

Rhi finds him in the kitchen after making her rounds, taking up her former place on Mike's arm as he uses the counter to pop the lid off a fresh bottle. They watch the game of beer pong playing out in front of them, but Rhi doesn't seem content to just sit.

She has to stand on her tip-toes and shout into his ear, "Wanna walk around some?"

No. He really doesn't, but he can placate her, especially if it means getting laid later tonight.

They trek back to the main room, observing the debauchery taking place. People are grinding and stripping to Monster Mash. Several couples are spread out in the chairs or up against the wall getting pretty close to full on exhibitionism.

They stop to talk to "Officer" Marie for a while then move on to Nile and Hitch to whom Rhi spills everything she just heard from the busty redhead. They joke with Gelgar and his catch of the day, some of the pledges—Jean, Reiner, and Eren—who are just trying to survive, and then at last… you and Erwin.

Mike sees the way your chest rises with a deep breath, how your fingers tighten around the little basketball. Your eyes flit from Rhi to Mike, flashing when Rhi greets you.

Oh, you don't like her.

"Love the costume," she tells you. "Who are you supposed to be again?"

Mike chokes on his drink, and you suck your teeth before replying, "Lola Bunny. The Loony Toon."

"Oh, is that, like, Bugs Bunny's girlfriend?"

"Kind of?" You try.

Rhi looks to Erwin who visibly cringes when she asks, "Why aren't you dressed as Bugs then?"

Mike wants to turn around, to put as much distance between all of you as possible.

Erwin clears his throat. "Because that would be a couple's costume, and we're not…"

Mike knows his expression is skeptical, cold even, and when he settles it on you, you give him a little shake of your head that he doesn't really believe.

"Oh, alright," Rhi concedes only to chime, "'Cause I heard—"

"Wrong," Erwin cuts her off. "You heard wrong, Rhi." A hard, blue stare lands on Mike, unforgiving when he tells him, "I think it's time you two talked."

"I don't think that's really—"

"Oh, fuck," your swear gets everyone's attention, and Mike takes in the shock written all over your face then follows your line of sight to the entry way where Zeke god damn Jaeger is making his way through the crowd.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Erwin spits.

"You and Nile decided this should be an open party, dumbass," Mike reminds him with a roll of his eyes.

"Oh, so we're name-calling now? Jesus Mike, grow up. You're just assuming shit!" As he rants, Erwin takes hold of one of your arms and pulls you behind him, snatching the furry headband from you so the ears don't stick out.

For a split second, Mike thinks he's trying to protect you from him, but then he nods to bring Mike's attention to the approaching figure behind him, and Mike understands.

He turns his body to face Zeke who's walking over, fragmented by the strobe, his icy eyes piercing straight through his glasses. Mike, despite his anger toward you, feels the primal urge to protect you.

"The fuck do you want, Jaeger?"

"Woah, calm down, bud. Just looking for a brat—about yea high, spreads her legs for any athlete she comes in contact with. You guys seen her?"

Mike steps toward him, but he's stopped by a hand that fists in the back of his shirt.

"Ah, there she is," Zeke smirks, and Mike looks over his shoulder to see you now in front of Erwin with your fingers clutching the pink material across his back.

"He's not worth it, Mike."

Mike thinks he is, though. He feels like he keeps getting whiplash, going back and forth between who he wants to hit at any given moment because it seems to change by the second.

He's just been so incredibly frustrated for the past few months. Lacrosse doesn't help, and the gym doesn't help, and fucking Rhi doesn't help. Mike has just been stewing, letting everything fester during the radio silence between the two of you. He's mad at so many people including himself, and all he wants to do is shove his way out of this stupid fucking party and take off his stupid fucking fanny pack and be alone in his apartment under his dumb fairy lights.

He shrugs out of your grip, figures the best thing he can do right now is get away from all of you. Zeke stumbles when Mike shoulders into him forcefully. He's not even a little surprised when Rhi doesn't follow him, choosing to vie for Zeke's attention instead.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that Mike gets another drink in him.

He tries not to watch the way the heated conversation turns out, the way you bow up to Zeke and Erwin has to once again put himself in between you and the other blond. He tries not to smile at the fire in your eyes, that blaze he's seen so many times (usually when you're annoyed at him), and yes, there's that pain again, barely overshadowing Mike's anger.

You yell something at Zeke. He yells back. Erwin feels the need to add his own opinion, but the music is too loud for Mike to be able to make any of it out. Whatever is shouted makes Zeke huff and walk away. Rhi prances after him, and Mike resigns himself to the fact that he probably will not be fucking her after this shit show. He could always find someone else, but that takes effort (not much, but still), and then they usually get clingy afterward, and he just can't be bothered with all that right now. Mike can't be bothered with anything right now.

So he drinks.

He keeps an eye on Zeke who doesn't actually leave the party, and he drinks. He stares at you from across the room, bunny ears back in place, and he drinks. Somewhere between Boom and Beer Pong, he loses the fanny pack, looks down at some point and finds that it's just no longer there. All he had in there was a lighter and a couple condoms, so he isn't too broken up about it, but he does wonder—

Mike isn't sure what makes him look over at the counter where all the different drinks are set out, but he does, and it's just in time to see Eren hunching over the bowl of jungle juice like some shady motherfucker, and when Mike makes his way over, world spinning just a little bit, he sees the younger Jaeger brother emptying a little plastic bag of green pills into the punch.

"What the fu—" Mike has him by the collar before he can even finish his own question, tosses the kid away from the counter so that he actually falls to the floor. It causes a few people to hop out of the way, their drinks sloshing and spilling on the tile. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Eren looks up at Mike with wide, panicked eyes, like he's scared and waiting for someone to save him.

"I—I don't know what you think you saw, man—"

"I know exactly what I saw, you little creep!"

Everyone in the kitchen is looking at the two of them as more people trickle in.

"What even was that? You trying to roofie the whole fucking party or something?"

"No!"

"Just one person, then? That one special girl," Mike hisses.

He walks back to the counter and grabs the large bowl of juice, carrying it over to Eren who's still on the ground. The kid covers his face just in time for Mike to empty the contents over his head, drenching him so that red drips from his hair and trickles down his arms.

"Drink up, bitch," Mike snarls before throwing the bowl so that it bounces off Eren's head.

Naturally, a bigger crowd has gathered, and Nile shoves his way through, shouting over the music, "What is happening?"

Mike leans over to yell in his ear, "Saw him pouring pills into the punch."

"Are you serious?"

Mike nods but steps away when Eren pushes himself off the wet floor and nearly throws himself at Nile.

"I didn't do it! I don't know what the fuck he's talking about!"

Nile arm-bars Mike when he tries to move toward the little twerp, lips pulling back from his teeth because it has been a shitty night. A shitty week. Shitty month. And, now his fury has shifted yet again.

"Did anyone else see it, Mike?" Nile asks.

"Probably not since everyone is fucked up—"

"Including you."

Mike looks over at his friend in genuine surprise because it's starting to sound like Nile doesn't believe him.

"Why the fuck would I lie about something like this?"

"Maybe because he's Zeke's brother," Nile suggests.

Mike is heated. He can feel the blood underneath his skin cooking his god damn insides, frying his brain so that all he can think about is throwing a punch or two (or twenty).

Jaw sliding, Mike shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath to steady himself, to stop his hands from shaking as he tries to figure out when his friends started looking at him as some unhinged freak.

"What are you doing—the fu—dude, stop!"

Opening his eyes again, Mike sees that Gelgar has inserted himself into the situation and has Eren pinned against the counter as he shoves his hands in every one of his pockets. He's growling something at the younger man, keeps shoving his face down against the linoleum any time Eren squirms, and after about a minute of people watching and gasping and making crude remarks about the position the two are in, Gelgar straightens up with a plastic bag identical to the one Mike saw Eren emptying into the jungle juice.

"It's just Adderall, I swear!"

Gelgar scoffs. "This is definitely not Adderall. Believe me, I'd know." He tosses the pills to Nile who takes a long look at them before glaring at Eren.

"Get the fuck out before I call the cops."

He should call them anyway, Mike thinks, but he understands Nile's hesitance. There's a lot going on at the party—underage drinking, party drugs in various rooms, etc. Eren wouldn't be the only one taken into custody if the police showed up.

Another voice rings out, asking the same question everyone else has, "What the hell is going on?" and Mike comes close to hurling the closest bottle at Zeke as he makes his way to his brother. "Why are you…" He gestures nebulously as his eyebrows pull together. Rhi is close behind him, and further still, you and Erwin are peeking into the kitchen.

"They think I drugged the jungle juice!" Eren looks at Zeke with puppy eyes that probably worked when he was a kid, might still work judging by the way the blond whirls around to face Mike and Nile.

"Have any proof, or are you just trying to—"

"Pipe down, Jaeger," Nile cuts him off, holding up the bag and explaining, "Mike saw him dropping these in the punch."

Zeke is silent for a few solid seconds before rounding on his brother again and grabbing him by the shirt right where Mike had previously held him, and everyone watches in rapt attention as he steers Eren through the crowd, shouting at him the entire time.

Having both of them leave is a relief, but Mike is a little disappointed that he didn't get to fight either of them. It would have been nice to feel a nose break under his fist, but he supposed it's better this way.

"Hey, thanks for catching that, dude," Nile says, slapping Mike's back.

It doesn't make him feel good. If anything, it pisses him off. Mike would understand if his friend had been skeptical of one of the pledges or second years making the accusation he had, but Nile is one of his best friends. They were inducted at the same time, were hazed side by side. Mike never would have thought Nile had such a low opinion of him, that he’d believe Mike’s little broken heart would cloud his judgement to the point of slandering someone without cause.

"Whatever," he shrugs before grabbing another drink.

He should just go back home. He isn't having a good time. He's angry at just about everyone he looks at. When Rhi decides he's worth her time again, Mike actually tells her to fuck off. He's lost the accessories to his costume, and he's about to lose his mind.

It's getting late. Mike isn't sure how late because as the night progresses, he gets steadily inebriated. He tries to avoid anyone and everyone in his fraternity, hanging out with people he knows from lacrosse or his classes instead. They play a few drinking games, take body shots off some sorority girls (or maybe it's the same one, he can't tell anymore). The music becomes bearable, and the strobe light stops hurting his head, and eventually, Mike just… forgets.

He forgets about Nile's lack of faith. He forgets about the fuckhead Jaeger brothers. He forgets about you and Erwin walking around and laughing together oh, ha ha we're so close now. He is finally spared from all of his negative thoughts.

Mostly because somewhere between shot number seven and beer number who knows what, Mike pukes into a plant (maybe?) and blacks out.

"God dammit. Erwin," you tug on his jacket sleeve and point to the corner that is home to a fake ficus that Mike is currently throwing up in.

Erwin groans, "Oh, Jesus Christ," and starts making his way over with you hot on his heels.

A few people are making faces as they glance at Mike, moving away as he coughs, straightens, then bends over again.

"Mike, come on, buddy," Erwin pats his back, waiting for Mike to pause in his retching so that he can duck under his arm and support him. "Gotta get you to a bathroom."

"No bath," Mike snorts. "No green there, no…"

You take a place on his other side, not that you can help much in getting him down the hall and in one of the downstairs restrooms, but you at least support his other arm and steer him in the right direction.

"Why is he talking about green?" Erwin grumbles as you both lower Mike to the tiled floor in front of the toilet where he promptly pukes again.

"The leaves maybe? I don't know, dude. Just…" You cringe as you notice the way Mike's shaggy hair hangs down into the toilet bowl, subject to all kinds of splash back. "Do you have a hair tie on you?"

"Literally why in the fuck would I have a hair tie on me?" Erwin asks incredulously, and you laugh because a couple weeks ago, he never would have used that word in this context since it's wrong, but the more you spend time with him, the more he picks up on your vernacular, and that really doesn't matter right now because—

"Water," Mike croaks, voice echoing off the ceramic.

"I don't think you'll be able to drink any right this second, man," Erwin tells him, squatting beside him.

Mike shakes his head. "Wanna feel—feel water. Cold."

"He sounds like a fucking caveman," you snicker.

You're really just trying to stay calm, masking the sick feeling in your stomach with amusement, but you've been watching Mike all night as he downed beer after beer, mixing various liquors as he took shots and licked salt off some chick's stomach. You figured he would get sick, but there wasn't really much you could do about it. He had made it pretty clear he isn’t interested in speaking to you. Still, you had purposely remained mostly sober just in case something like this happened (also because you make bad decisions when you get fucked up at frat parties).

"Yeah, he definitely won't remember any of this."

"Waterrr," Mike tries again, and you look at the way his arm is dangling over the side of the tub, the faucet on the opposite side, and glance at Erwin at a loss.

He shrugs, eyes darting around until he sees the plastic cup upside down on the shower rack. He grabs it, turns the water on and fills the cup, then dumps it over Mike's hand.

Mike groans, slowly wriggles his fingers under the stream, and drawls, "Thaaaank."

You shake your head and motion for the cup, talk loud enough to be heard over the faucet, "I can handle this. You go back outside."

"What? No."

"There's no reason both of us have to be in here. He's just gonna puke his guts out for a few hours and then pass out."

Erwin doesn't seem sold on the idea.

"Come on. You've gotta go back. You're vice president or whatever."

"So?"

"Erwin."

He stares at you for a while then deflates. "Fine. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Always." You gesture to the elastic waistband of your shorts, phone pressed to your hip as it hangs on the inside of the material.

"Text me if you need help, alright?"

"You got it, boss."

He leaves just in time for Mike to violently retch into the toilet, one hand clutching the bowl as his spine curves. You fill the cup back up, pour it over his hand once again, and repeat the action over… and over… and over.

His face and hair are gonna be a mess, probably his shirt too which is actually a blessing because you'll finally have a legitimate reason to burn it. Pepto Bismol pink and sketched palm trees stare at you as you sit on the edge of the tub, and all you can think of is the first time you saw Mike wearing the terrible shirt, how that had ended up, how you left with it the following morning.

How had the two of you gone from that to this? Sure, you weren't super fond of him at the beginning of it all, but he grew on you. A lot. He's your best fucking friend. Through the last couple months, through this weird fight you're having, he is your best friend. It's why you're here right now taking care of his drunk ass.

It'll pass. This phase will pass, and you'll make up, and you'll get your chance to be honest with him, to tell him how you feel about him. It may have taken you a little too long to arrive at your destination, so to speak, but better late than never. Soon, you'll both be able to look back on this and laugh.

People knock on the door here and there, and you scream at them to go away, eventually getting tired of it and just clicking the lock into place.

Any time you stop pouring water over his hand, Mike whines and attempts to say something, choppy words that don't make a ton of sense. You wonder if you need to call an ambulance, look for the signs of alcohol poisoning, but he doesn't feel cold, his breathing is even between bouts of vomiting, and his arms aren't curling in that tell-tale way.

More than likely, he just made himself sick. He knows better, too. He's been partying for a long enough time to be well aware of the mixing rules. Beer before liquor and all that shit. He may have just not cared tonight, though. From what Erwin has told you, Mike has just been in a generally bad mood for a while now (and Erwin has not tried to be subtle about why). He's barely around the Pike house anymore, he keeps getting called for personal fouls in lacrosse, and he's sleeping with Rhi which is nobody's business but is also strange considering her history—some kind of mutualistic symbiotic relationship that nobody is a real fan of.

Not my circus, not my monkeys, you think to yourself, emptying another cup from your place on the floor now. The ceramic was starting to hurt your ass, and you know your arm will probably be a little sore tomorrow, or later today since it's nearing three.

Fatigue is beginning to set in, and you know Mike is exhausted because he keeps dozing off on the toilet seat so that you have to nudge him back awake. Until he can speak in mostly coherent sentences, he's not allowed to sleep.

Sitting in the bathroom gives you ample amount of time to think. You go over some mental flashcards for a while, notes you took with the help of Mike's magic textbook. Then you think about going to your mom's for Thanksgiving and how much you aren't looking forward to it. Then you think about Zeke showing up only to have to escort his shady brother from the house. God, you had not been happy to see him. You'd been a little afraid, if you're being honest.

After figuring out that he had, in fact, blocked Mike's number on your phone, you had stomped into his apartment and initiated a screaming match. You got loud, he got louder, called you a stupid bitch and punched a hole in the drywall. You had decided that was a pretty good time to leave, both the apartment and the relationship. He's been lurking on campus around your most frequented spots—the science building, the library, but you've been doing a good job of camouflaging yourself in groups of other students. Even if he can see you, he can't do much about it.

You've thought about reporting him to campus police, but you know nothing will come of it. The golden boy can do no wrong. It's why you've been spending so much time at the PKA house again. You know most of them have your back, and you are absolutely not above asking any of them to walk somewhere with you to fend off your angry ex.

You can't wrap your head around what his fucking deal is. Surely he didn't treat Rhi like this after they split. There's no way she would still be so infatuated with him if he had. Is it just because you're the one who dumped him? He had to have seen it coming once you started putting the pieces together, the way he constantly tried to make you feel guilty, isolating you from your friends, invading the privacy of your phone to not only block Mike but also to turn your fucking location on so he could track you (you had found that out after that first trip back to the frat house to talk with Erwin. It had not been pretty).

It's hard to believe you put up with it for as long as you did. It was only five months, but that's still five months too long.

Mike is quiet for several minutes, and you sigh when you see that his eyes are closed once again. He makes a noise of displeasure when you use your foot to gently shake him, grumbling, "Sto-o-op."

"Nope. Gotta stay awake, Miche. Can't have you fallin' into a coma or something'."

"Nooo. No Miche."

"Yes, Miche," you laugh.

He scrunches his face up, shakes his head, but the motion seems to make him sick again.

When he finishes gagging into the toilet, he lets out a deep, "Gu-uuh," then sniffs. "No Miche. Jus' she—she—...Jus' her."

You can figure out the rest, but you can't decide if you want to smile or cry. Only you can call him that. Well, you and his mom. You miss her. And his dad. And Scout. You hope to see them again.

"Okay. Just Mike then."

He hums in confirmation then shakes his hand in the tub so that you'll douse it once again.

"You're a needy drunk, you know that?"

Mike doesn't respond to that, just takes a few deep breaths as his eyes close yet again.

"Sleep now," he mumbles.

"No, no sleep now."

"Sleep now."

"Oh my fucking god."

His mouth drops open a little, and the first thing you think to do is splash him in the face with the cup of water.

He spits and splutters but doesn't shift much, still wrapped around the toilet. You try not to look inside when you stand and reach to flush what's already gathered, trying to shield some of Mike's face from any flying droplets. Then you wash your hands and sit back down. You figure you'll be here for at least another couple of hours. The sun will be coming up soon. Thank god it's a Saturday.

Both Erwin and Nile knock on the door for an update, and you yell that you're okay. Mike isn't throwing up as often, and when he does, nothing is coming up anymore. He's gonna be in a world of pain when he returns to his normal self.

So fucking stupid. He's so fucking stupid.

He mutters nonsense on and off. Sometimes you can translate what he's trying to say, but other times not so much.

"President… dumb boyyy."

"Hy-poc-risy an' jealous… Hypocrite… I…"

"Hand… wanna hold…" but when you grab it, he just gurgles, "Waterrr."

There's really no pleasing him.

"Why-y-y… dick… Erwin."

"Volcano books… n' space jam… come an' sam… an'... to the jam."

You laugh too loudly, and Mike cringes at the noise, but the corner of his mouth still lifts. You don't think he knows what he's doing or saying yet—isn't downloading any new memories—it doesn't matter because you will remember this for the both of you.

"You're fucking ridiculous."

Mike pushes himself back from the toilet to sit against the wall, hissing and clumsily rubbing his chest. His shirt is wet and disgusting, and he must know on some level because he says, "Shower," and starts pulling himself over the tub.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

He's too tall, dangling an arm and a leg over the side and sinking lower.

"Water, pleeeease."

He apparently isn't aware of the faucet that is still on. Whoever has to pay these bills… You feel sorry for them.

"No, dude. I am not letting you drown."

Mike fucking giggles, "Lifeguard," then tries to take his shirt off. He doesn't have the motor skills to handle buttons and looks to be confused by them anyway, so his next solution is to just rip the material down the middle.

"Yeah, okay, I guess that works."

The showerhead is turned on, and you sit on the edge of the tub again, shivering when the cool spray blows toward you while keeping an eye on Mike. Reaching over, you turn the temperature up a little, knowing that the alcohol has dropped his body temperature some. You're almost tempted to slide under the water with him, but there's no room, and you're not about to just make yourself comfortable on top of him.

So, you just sit and stare and think about how tired you are. Physically and mentally and spiritually tired. You just need some time to not exist—just a few days. It feels like this semester has been nothing but drama so far, and it is exhausting. Maybe that's why Mike did this to himself. Maybe he just needed to not exist.

He starts to sit up a little in the tub, but his hand falters and sends him sliding back down. "Fuck."

Not caring about getting wet at this point, you simply stand up between his spread legs, the shower drenching you immediately, and grab his hands to tug him upright.

"ευχαριστώ."

"Come again?"

"Means thanks," he mumbles, slumping forward.

You think of his family again, how he and his mother had just fallen into Greek as soon as you'd stepped into the house, leaving you surprised and impressed and warm in several different ways.

Squatting, you tilt your head to catch his half-lidded gaze.

"You back with me yet?" It's been nearly four hours—Fuck, why is there music playing still—but he might need more time.

"Dunno."

"Can you tell who I am?"

Mike does his best to roll his eyes. "'m drunk, not a amnes—amnesic—"

"Amnesiac," you supply with a smirk. Smartass.

"That," he nods, pointing at you with a finger gun.

He can actually understand you now, so that's good, don't have to worry about him dying anymore since he's making progress.

Opening his mouth, Mike catches some water in it, swishes and spits. You expect him to tell you that you can leave. He can take care of himself, doesn't want to see you, all manner of hurtful things he has every reason to feel.

Instead, he blinks at you, extends his arms, and makes grabby hands.

"Can I help you?"

He doesn't say anything, just keeps reaching for you. He could grab you without issue. His fingers are already brushing your knees, but he either doesn't notice or wants to wait for you.

"Mike, I can't get any closer," you laugh.

Switching tactics, he pats his chest.

"Oh, no. I am but about to put myself in the line of vom just 'cause you wanna cuddle or some shit."

Truthfully, you would also like to cuddle, to feel Mike's body against yours again, trace your fingers over his skin and listen to his heartbeat, but…

Not like this.

"Please. No more vom. Promise."

"I don't think you're in a state to make promises like that."

He says your name followed by one more, "Please," and you give in, letting out a long breath and grunting as you find a way to lay between his legs with your head on the lower part of his sternum. You're curled a little awkwardly, one foot up against the ceramic while the other is curled beneath you. It is not by any means a comfortable position, but it's what Mike wants.

A few months ago, laying like this would inevitably lead to other things. Talking and joking would lead to giggling, maybe some well aimed prods to your ribs. You would bite in retaliation, his shoulder or, if the angle was right, his nipple, until he pulled you up further to sit in his lap, hot mouth finding yours, and so on and so forth.

This is different on every possible level. Neither of you are speaking. Your hands are unmoving on each other's bodies. There's no heat save for the water that's pouring down on both of you, plastering your silky costume to your skin.

Still, it's enough to lull you into a drowsy state, the ache in your eyes urging you to close them, but as soon as you do, Mike speaks.

"'m mad at you."

Your stomach drops. His words don't come as a surprise, but they still sting.

"I know," you sigh. "I'm mad at me too."

Your head moves with his chest, a gentle up and down that could—and has—put you to sleep.

"Still love you."

You bite your lip, fingers lightly digging into Mike's warm skin as you remind yourself that he's drunk, and he hates you, and he probably won't remember any of this when he wakes up anyway. There's no reason to get emotional over it. No reason.

"I love you too, Miche."

Silence closes in around you once more. You drift in and out for about half an hour until a loud knock jolts you awake.

You scramble off of Mike and hop to the door, leaving puddles and drops behind you. Both Nile and Erwin look panicked in the hallway, the shorter man nearly shouting, "Is he fucking dead in there?"

"Not deeeead," Mike calls from the tub.

Erwin peers over your shoulder at him, then at you, then takes on a disappointed expression. "You didn't. Come on, he's so drunk."

"What do you—" You frown as you piece together his implication, then squawk and shove Erwin with two wet hands. "I didn't fuck him, you perv! What is wrong with you?"

He chuckles and bats away your hands. "I never know with you two! You can't blame me!"

"You're disgusting."

"Look who's talking. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" Erwin raises his eyebrows. "Less bunny and more… I don't know, ghoul?"

God, you had completely forgotten about the face paint.

"Shut up, yours isn't much better." His black and white paint is smeared in several places like someone ran their fingers through it. The collar of his shirt is stained, and his hair is tousled. You can't tell if it's the result of getting frisky or falling asleep.

"Stop flirting in front of meeee," Mike whines loudly, sitting up and pushing the shower knob a little too hard to shut the water off.

"We're not—" You and Erwin start at the same time.

Nile interrupts with a drawn out, unconvinced little note and informs both of you, "You guys get a little flirty sometimes. Sorry to break it to you."

You frown at the blond and he frowns back, then you both frown at Nile who shrugs. "I'm just saying. There's a reason people are thinking things."

It's not important, and you'd rather not dwell on it because you know the truth, and Erwin knows the truth, and Mike will if he'll just fucking listen, but he's fucked up right now, so that's a problem for another day.

"Whatever, we'll work on it, but for now…" You watch as Mike tries and fails to pull himself out of the tub.

"He looks like the girl from The Ring," Erwin snorts.

"Yeah, if she was giant. And, a guy," you add.

Wet hair is hanging over Mike's eyes, still sopping wet and dripping. He's all awkward angles as he hoists himself up, kicking a leg over and swearing.

"We should probably help him," Nile says, fighting his own smile.

"Probably."

Between the three of you, you manage to transport Mike from the bathroom to Erwin's room on the third fucking floor which is no easy feat. Nile waits for his friend to be dumped onto the mattress, then announces that Hitch is waiting for him to come back to bed. You don't know how long that will last, but your friend falling into the same frat boy trap you did is mildly hilarious.

It leaves you and Erwin to make Mike comfortable. You wrap his head in a towel you found poking out of the hamper, murmur, "Hope this doesn't have anything gross on it," to which Erwin responds with an unamused look.

You peel the ruined, tacky shirt from Mike’s shoulders and toss it into a corner but you let Erwin take care of the rest. You've seen everything Mike has to offer, but that doesn't stop you from feeling weird about seeing his dick when he can't really stop you. So, like Mike did last year when he spilled water on your shirt, you turn your back to allow him some privacy.

There's some rustling and grunting, but when Erwin tells you it's safe, you look to find Mike in a pair of gym shorts, hair still wrapped, looking more disgruntled than you've ever seen him.

"'m still wet."

"You sure are, big guy," Erwin agrees, slowly guiding him to lay down on his side and explaining, "You need to sleep like this, alright? Otherwise you might choke and die."

"Erwin!" You throw your hands up in the air. "Why would you even—?"

"Know how it works, dumb… butt."

"Oh, dumb butt. That's a good one," Erwin grins. "Very creative."

"Don't panotrize me!"

You have to cover your mouth to keep from cackling, and Erwin shakes his head, corrects, "Patronize, Mike. Patronize."

"That's what I said!"

It takes a while to get him relaxed again. Apparently, Mike's favorite thing to do while drunk is run his mouth to Erwin, so while he's busy dealing with that, you raid Erwin's closet for a shirt and then his dresser for boxers. Once you are mostly dry, you snatch the towel from Mike's hair to wipe your face and toss it away, then step up onto the bed near the pillows, urging Mike to shift so that you can sit against the headboard.

He immediately rests his stubbled cheek on one of your thighs, then wraps both arms around the other, his fingers melting into the fat just below your ass as he grunts, "Mine."

"All yours, buddy," Erwin assures with a grin before glancing at you. "I'm gonna pass out in the chair—" he gestures to the one in the corner of the room, "—if you need me for anything, just wake me up, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." Then, "Hey, Erwin?" He hums in response. "Don't tell him about tonight, like, me staying with him."

"Why?"

"I don't want him to stress out about what he may have said or done. 'Cause I know he will."

"Whatever you say," Erwin shrugs, collapsing in the chair without even changing or washing his face. All three of you are gonna look like characters from a horror movie whenever you wake up, and the thought makes you smirk as you card your fingers through Mike's damp hair.

It's getting longer. He could probably put it up if he wanted to. He's been letting his beard grow a little too. You aren't sure if it's laziness or just trying a slightly different look, but whatever the case, it's hot.

He keeps your leg clutched tightly to him like some kind of stuffed animal until he drifts off to sleep. It's nearing five, and you know you probably won't get any quality rest while you're here, so you figure you'll just doze for a while until you can safely extract yourself from Mike's grip. He probably won't appreciate waking up like this anyway. No matter what he's said to you and Erwin—declarations and staked claims—it'll all be worthless in just a few hours.

A symphony of snores plays through the room, Erwin splayed out in his chair like he's passed out in a cheap Vegas hotel while Mike drools on your thigh, and if it was anyone else, you'd be disgusted and shove him away, but since it’s Mike, it’s weirdly endearing. He can slobber on you all he wants, it won’t bother you in the slightest.

Eventually, the sun shining through the window becomes too bright for you to even fall into a light sleep, so just as you planned, you gently untangle yourself from Mike, pausing when he grunts and frowns, but when he doesn’t stir any more than that, you manage to slip out of the bed.

Grabbing your phone and costume, still a little wet and cold because of it, you leave as quietly as you can. Your shoes are still in the downstairs bathroom along with Mike’s shirt, and you have a legitimate mental debate over whether you really should just toss it, but as much as you hate it, you decide against it.

You have to step over several bodies to get to the front door, more than usual which is concerning since the punch Eren spiked was thrown out (or really, thrown all over him), but you’re able to make it out without tripping.

The drive to your dorm feels too long, sun beaming right into your itchy eyes the entire way. You nearly cry in relief when you finally fall onto your mattress, already well aware that most, if not all, of your day will be spent under the covers. You’re more than fine with it, allowing yourself to just not exist for several hours exactly how you wanted to.

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw manipulation #tw vomit

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babybottlepop96 · 3 years

Text

Rumors (Eren Yeager/F!Reader) 18+ only

Warnings: SMUT! minors DNI! Mommy kink kinda, overstim. Sub!Eren, Dom!Reader.

This is the most graphic smut ever, but its still there.

You awoke to a loud bang at your door. You jumped upright grabbing your blanket as if it was the only way a potential robber wouldn’t harm you. Suddenly, you felt the weight of something right on top of you, you squeaked quietly and heard a muffled, slurred voice apologize. But the weight didn’t move, obviously the voice wasn’t speaking to you. As you were about to say something, a female voice moaned out, causing your cheeks to redden. You were shocked, who in their right mind wonders into someone’s room and starts fucking on their bed. Especially when the owner of said bed is trying to sleep in it. “Excuse me!? No fucking in my bed!” You shouted above the mess on top of you. Some weight was lifted off you and the light switch turned on, illuminating your pale green bedroom. “Armin?!” You squeaked as the small blonde boy’s face reddened and his ocean blue eyes widened in horror.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry (y/n)!” He quickly apologized, but as it was, you were in no mood for apologies. You pointed to your door and he hung his head and quickly left the room, the girl he was with right on his tail. With the door still open, you hear the boom of the loudspeakers and the voices of many people in the lower level of your parents home.

“Jean.” You mumbled as you stood up, the silky fabric of your nightgown reaching just above your knees and one strap falling off your shoulder, you marched down the steps in search of your obnoxious twin brother. “Where the fuck is that bastard?” You asked yourself, looking around the sea of all the other college kids home for summer vacation. Suddenly you see a friendly freckled face and march up to him. “Marco, it would be in your best interest if you told me where your boyfriend is.” You glared and he visibly gulped when he saw you. He pointed to the area where a group of people gathered around cheering and making drunken bets. “Thanks.” You pushed your way through the group and stopped when you reached the beer pong table. “Jean!” You shouted above the cheering causing the game to pause and everyone to look at you.

“Hey! What are you doing here? I thought you had to work tonight?” Jean asked, setting his ball on the table.

“I told you this morning that my manager was sick and gave everyone the night off.” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest, inadvertently making your breasts look fuller.

“Cool! Join the party then!” He smiled and you frowned as he began to toss the ball, you grabbed his arm as the ball was about to leave his hand, causing him to miss. “Hey! It's rude to interrupt someone during a game!”

“It's also rude to be awakened by your drunk friends trying to get laid in my bed while I’m trying to sleep in it!” You snapped back, clearly frustrated by the lack of sleep you had. All that earned you was a laugh coming from Jean and his competitor.

“Oh, come on, (Y/n). I bet you're into watching people get off. I bet that's your secret kink.” You slowly turned your head to the boy across the table. Eren Yeager, the school's bad boy, the man bun, cigarette smoking, tattoo covered bad boy that all the girls seemed to swoon over.

“That is entirely none of your business, Yeager. But to satisfy you, no. I do not find watching Armin fuck another girl to very satisfying.” You glared daggers at him, turning your head to the side quickly, facing your brother once again. “Keep your friends off the second floor. I would threaten to cut your dick off, but we all know Marco’s the one who does the dicking in the relationship.” The earned laughs from everyone except Jean. You walked away and headed back to your bedroom. You closed the door behind you and turned off the lights. The music from below muffled, but you were already too far gone to go back to sleep. You couldn’t help but to remember the way Eren’s beautiful green eyes darkened when you saw him looking at you. The way his bit his lip slightly, the way his arm muscles tensed when he listened to you talking. Your door slowly pushed open, slowly illuminating your room. “If your here to fuck, this room is off limits.”

“Then how about we take this to your parents room?” A deep voice answered back.

“Eren?” You asked sitting up, “What the fuck?!” He closed the door behind him and came to hover over you. “You know if Jean catch us, we will both find ourselves in a well in the middle of nowhere, right?” You asked as he started to kiss your throat.

“Jean is too drunk to notice anything, babe.” You giggled as his breath tickled your skin. You then flipped yourselves around, straddling his waist. You slowly licked from his exposed collarbone to the shell of his ear, earning a shaky moan in response.

“Now, Eren. You know you have to ask for what you want.” You teased by slowly grinding your hips against his hardening cock.

“Please, Miss.” He whispered out.

“Please what, Eren?” You asked, grinding once again.

“Please, touch me.” You loved how much control you had over this God like man under you. Having to keep your relationship secret in fear your brother would do something horrible, you heard a lot of talk about how other girls think Eren would be in bed. Most would say that they thought he was a beast, rough thrusts and a grip that would leave bruises. Bite marks and hickeys everywhere. That he would be the biggest dom in the world. And how you wished you could tell them the truth. In reality, Eren was very much a sub. He loved when a woman had enough courage to dominate him. Leave him a mess in their wake. He loved when a woman took control, god it got him hard. Not to mention that his orgasms were more powerful when they got him to cry. Overstimulation and orgasm denial were a couple of his favorites. He also loved when a woman would sit on his face. Controlling him on how he should use his tongue to please them. He loved it.

“If that's what you want baby, then momma will deliver.” You slowly slid off his sweatpants, his dick popping up. “No boxers baby boy? Hmm.. seems like someone really wanted momma’s attention didn’t they?” You asked, a smirk on your face as he nodded quickly. You licked his dick, base to tip, tip to bottom.

“P-please!” He hiccuped, not being able to take your teasing any longer, he had to put up with it all week, everyday, multiple times a day, you had given him blue balls. Telling him that if he touched himself once, he wouldn’t get sex for a month. And he wanted to be your good boy. Oh how he wanted to be your good boy. “I-ive b-been such a g-good boy! P-please!” He begged, tears starting to cascade down his sun kissed skin. You stopped and smiled at him, wiping some tears from his cheeks.

“You’re right. You have been my good boy this past week, haven’t you?” You straddled his hips once again, hiking your nightgown up, revealing the hidden fact that you were not wearing anything underneath. You align yourself with him, his breathing picking up before you begin to sink down. “But you do not cum until I say so, I know you can hold it, right?” He nodded again, just wanting to feel you. You fully seat yourself onto him, both of you letting out a loud groan. You immediately began to bounce, you wanted and needed this just as much as Eren had. He always filled you perfectly, always hitting your special spot no matter what position you were in. His hands gripped your hips tightly, moaning and groaning with every bounce. He watched as your breasts bounced in front of his face.

“F-fuck!” He moaned, trying so hard to keep himself from finishing, he knew he didn’t obey, his punishment would be much worse. You suddenly clenched around him, your orgasm coursing through you, like a damn breaking.

“Cum for me Eren!” That was it, one last bounce from you and he decorated your inner walls with pretty white streamers. He cried out your name, tears still falling from his beautiful green eyes. You collapsed on top of him once you rode out your highs together. “Fuck babe, that was hot.”

“Shh… Naptime.” He mumbled. You giggled as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to lay on his chest. You smiled as you heard your best friend and wonderful boyfriend fall asleep. Oh how you wish you could put those rumors to rest, but for now, you were happy. You closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

#eren x reader #eren smut #eren+x+reader+smut #reader insert #eren aot #minor jean x marco #you are jeans twin

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elmidol · 3 years

Text

Noah of Pleasure [Tyki/Reader] NSFW

originally written October 27, 2013

A/N: As stated, I am going to be posting a few of my older one-shots on here from DGM. I do plan on writing some new ones rather soon here, beginning with Tyki/RC. I am scheduling a batch of them now, which will all include this A/N.

These ones are unedited and include (y/n), which I no longer use in my current writing. Nothing wrong with it; just a personal preference. I do also want to state that there may be instances of mentions of face reddening and such, which I now know is not inclusive.

Fic Warnings: drunken sex; tentacles; some bloodplay; enemy sex

It had started as a friendly game of cat and mouse--that is, as friendly as any game between an Exorcist and a Noah could be. The two of you would chase one another upon discovering the other was nearby. Your weapons would collide, your Innocence and his Teaze. The Noah of Pleasure never once missed a chance to mock you, his voice always containing a slight lilt. He would waggle his tongue at you when your attacks missed. Sometimes, when he was in an especially pleasant mood, Tyki Mikk would back off without injuring you at all. He would leave you red in the face with the way he would brush his body against yours before departing; those times, he had managed to collect an Innocence from you and destroyed it with a green flash of light.

You had been on a small vacation after having discovered that the rumor of Innocence was false. A group of adolescents had merely been practicing magic tricks and pulling pranks around the area. In the bar that evening, you had sipped on your favorite alcoholic beverage. When the bartender had given you another and stated that the tab had been covered by an interested gentleman, you had thought nothing of it. Men in those parts were known for such acts. You had felt a light buzz upon leaving the bar. Your fingertips had run along the walls as you walked by various buildngs on your way back to the hotel.

When the gentleman had wrapped his arms around you, placed a kiss on your neck, your toes had curled in response. You turned, unsure whether you would reject his advances or accept--it had been so long since last you had given into such carnal desires. The Order did not give you enough time off to seek out pleasure.

Drunk as you were, you easily recognized the face of the Noah. You stiffened in his hold and opened your mouth to--what, you did not know. His lips immediately sealed over yours, his tongue sliding past your lips and dancing deliciously in the contours of your mouth. You moaned into the kiss. It was so wrong yet felt so good. "Just this once," he whispered in your ear prior to licking it. "Let's play just this once~"

And he had grabbed your hand, leading you in a different direction, all the while a sultry smile played on his lips. You had found yourself acting like a lamb being led to the slaughter. You followed him, undressing as he undressed. Climbing onto the bed with him. Straddling his hips and feeling his hardening cock pressing against you. His hands felt as though they were everywhere at once. The two of you humped at one another. Two of his fingers slipped past your lips, and you greedily sucked on them. Your tongue wrapped around the digits, which began thrusting in and out of your mouth in time with the rhythm of your hips.

His mouth was hot and moist on your breast, his tongue flicking at your nipple, rolling it. Your toes curled and you threw your head back. Tyki's fingers slipped from your lips, trailed down your body, and entered your moist cunt.

In the back of your mind, as he fucked you with his fingers, you asked yourself just how wrong this was. He was a Noah and you were an Exorcist. Mostly likely he was thinking something similar; he suddenly tensed and his movements stopped. You moaned at the lack of contact, the lack of friction. A groan of pain caused you to knit your brow. Your alcohol-impaired brain could not quite grasp what was going on. Nails drug into your sides, and you grit your teeth. They seemed to sharpen, to blacken. You looked down at Tyki in slight horror mixed with awe and lingering arousal.

Placing your hands on his, you tried to gently push him away, but he only bared his teeth, the canines resembling something of fangs. He was growling out his pain, practically yelling and screaming. And you could not blame him. Tentacles branched out from him, and despite your drunk state, you knew to be afraid. Your once more tried to move off of him, only to have two of those dark tentacles wrap around your ankles, pulling you back down. You both groaned as your lower lips slammed against his erection. His eyes were covered by a mask, yet still you knew he was watching you.

As the change continued and his grin grew, your heart pounded faster and faster in your chest. You cursed yourself, your mind starting to sober as Tyki completed his transformation into his Noah from. Tentacles held your legs, wrapped around your waist and brought you closer, and prevented your hands from pushing against him. His hands ran up the length of your body, his grin almost feral. The limbs stopped on your shoulders, and you were pushed roughly onto your back. He ground his hips into yours--hard. You moaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

Those same hands moved to your neck, his fingers lacing around and constricting on your throat. You tried to move your hands to grip his, however the tentacles spread them on either side of your head and pinned them against the bed. Tears welled in the corner of your eyes and your vision grew blurry. The muscles in your legs tensed. You could hardly breathe. You closed your eyes for but a moment then opened them wide as you felt something slick and wet travel along your face. His tongue.

A whimper escaped you as he positioned himself at your entrance and slammed inside. Your back arched off the bed. You tried to move your hands again, but failed. His grip on your throat loosened the slighest bit simultaneous to the moment he shuddered. He rocked his hips into yours. Your eyelids fluttered. The tentacles abandoned your ankles and slid up your legs. His hands moved to your collar bone. Able to breathe, you gasped greedily for air. You were panting, and when one tentacle dipped between your nether lips and pressed experimentally against your clitoris, you inhaled deeply and loudly.

His nails bit into your flesh as you rocked your hips into his. Joyd moved the tentacle that was pleasuring you and settled his hips tighter against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands gripping at the parts of him that bound them. He leaned down and pressed his mouth aganst yours. You immediately granted him access, his skilled tongue dancing along the roof of your mouth before sliding under your tongue. You moaned, meeting his every thrust, which were becoming harder and harder the more he pounded into you. You were under no misconception that you weren't going to have bruises on your thighs the next day--if you managed to live that long.

Joyd ran his hands up and down your body, his thumbs rolling your nipples, finger tips ghosting over your belly. You grew wetter with every touch, your juices acting as a lubricant that helped him to slide in and out of you faster.

When he pulled out of you, you nearly sobbed. He released your hands, which shot out to grip his shoulders. Grinning once more, the Noah dug his nails into your hips, drawing blood that pooled down onto the bed below. You ignored the pain as he rubbed the head of his cock against your clitoris. Wet from your juices, he moved against you, up and down, at such a delicious pace. You found yourself groaning and moaning, repeating his name like a mantra. You rocked against him, trying to touch more of him while his tentacles wrapped around your breasts and squeezed.

Throwing your head back, you came, gasping out and panting to catch your breath. Joyd continued to shove his cock in and out of your outer lips, pressing tightly against the opening of your vagina and your clitoris.

He shoved you away, and you shuddered and the loss of contact. On your hands and knees before him, you sighed in ecstasy when you felt his hands wrap around your hips. He pulled you backwards to meet his thrust and he plunged inside of you. While two of his tentacles continued to play with your breasts, a third slid along the length of your body. It pressed against your clit, which was rubbed against it with Joyd's every thrust. The tip of the tentacle pressed against your lips, which you opened, and moved into your mouth. It teased your tongue, which lapped at it greedily.

One of his hands entangled itself in your hair and jerked your head roughly. You whimpered then moaned as his tongue ran along your spine from your tailbone to the back of your neck. His cock continued to move inside of you, and you could feel your inner walls clenching around it.

He came inside of you, his nails biting into your upper arms as he enveloped your body with his. More blood fell onto the bed below the pair of you, more injuries you ignored. Joyd nipped lightly at your lips, riding out his orgasm. You closed your eyes and kissed him, and he returned the gesture, this time, surprisingly, he was gentle. The tentacles moved off your body, sliding completely away until all you could feel was his cock inside of you. When your eyelids fluttered open, you were once again in Tyki's embrace rather than the Noah that dwelt within.

Sweat dripping down your forehead, you bit your bottom lip and stared at him. He was grinning at you as though he had just had the time of his life. Tyki turned you over, laying you on your back with your head on the pillow, after he pulled out. He settled between your legs, holding his torso up. He kissed you gently, his lips and tongue creating a trail along your jawline to your ear, which he sucked on. Your toes curled at the feel of it.

The pain of your body was nothing compared to the pleasure running through you. Tyki had once more buried his fingers into your depths. The heel of his hand cupped your pussy, pressed lightly against your pubic bone. You could feel his fingers wriggling about inside of you, curling and uncurling as you started to move in time with him.

"Just this once," you heard him whisper. And you knew, without him needing to tell you, that he was saying it to himself--as though he were trying to convince himself.

#tyki mikk x reader #tyki x reader #joyd x reader #dgm fanfic

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shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

Heartbeat

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 6.0k

[ ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] bitta fluff, mostly smut oop

themes : doctor/healer!reader x pro-hero!shouto, mild temp play (quirk use), confession, dirty talk

bio : You ditch your boring dinner date to tend to your favorite coworker’s latest battle wounds... though upon healing him swiftly, you find an excuse to stay.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “hero x doctor” slot ;) bingo masterlist here! special thanks to @fanfic-me-up & @savagetrickster for beta’ing! tysm lovelies <3

side note: this fic is dedicated to my special peony @shoutodoki for her birthday!! val honey i love you so much. you’re my oldest friend in this fandom and every time we talk you fill my day with sunshine. please wish this sweetpea a happy birthday!!!

also available on AO3 here

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Sparkling droplets of rain run off the plastic of your umbrella and onto the marble floor in the hallway. Setting the drenched thing against the wall, you wipe the soles of your shoes against the doormat. Stretching your lungs with a fresh breath of air, you push the handle until the door opens soundlessly, allowing you entrance into the shadowy apartment. None of the lights are on; the only source of luminescence is from the soft glow of the street lamps shining through the downpour on the sidewalk far below. The silence of the seemingly empty place is only interrupted by the steady rainfall outside, and you fidget with the strap of your purse on your shoulder, suddenly feeling like you shouldn’t be here. Sure, you’ve been to Shouto’s apartment, but it’s always been daytime before, and somehow the storm outside makes you feel even jumpier than usual.

A soft groan rips you away from your overthinking, and your feet immediately slip out of their shoes, taking you toward the source of the noise without hesitation. As you round the entryway corner, you can see his figure slumped on the end of the leather sectional. He’s bathed in a gloomy grayish-yellow hue from the dim light that pours through the ceiling-tall windows, red and white locks looking tousled and hero suit plenty disheveled.

“Shouto!” you gasp his name when you register the scarlet on the front of his jacket, your body moving to kneel before him without so much as a thought.

The pro-hero Shouto coughs as he tries to sit up, a large hand clutching his ribs when he starts to sputter out a greeting. You hope he cannot see the flush that blooms in your chest and cheeks as he murmurs your name, his voice gravely and low, as if he hadn’t said a word in hours. How long has he been sitting here like this— how long has he been waiting for you? Before you can talk, he forces himself to speak. “It’s not my blood,” he says, meagerly attempting to comfort you.

His eyes are barely open, squinting at you through what must be quite some discomfort— his face is contorted into a grimace and his hand still covers his side, his breath ragged. His fingers feel cold as your hand lands on top of his, thumb stroking across the surprisingly soft skin on his wrist. “Let me help you,” you whisper, and he nods, your locked gaze sizzling as he takes your hand in his.

Shouto bites back a whimper as he moves his other hand to burn off the material of his hero costume, head falling back onto the cushions of the sofa in pain. His palm is cool atop yours as you examine the purple and red tainting his pale skin, a frown forming on your lips.

“It’s not broken, so that’s good,” you say quietly, fingertips dragging along the tight muscle. When you prod the flesh along the top of the bone, he sucks in harshly, which only causes him to yelp, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “It is bruised, though…”

He exhales an icy breath, nodding at you when you give him a look for permission. Placing your palm on top of his battered skin, you close your eyes and concentrate. You let yourself envision his healed body, the pale muscle of his obliques rippling on his healthy physique. The image makes you feel hot, and you try your best not to let the thought of his naked body distract you from the task at hand.

Meanwhile Shouto watches you work, his gaze glued to you as your eyelashes flutter on your cheekbones, your lips a flat line in determination. There’s a soft, golden glow beneath your hand, bathing his flesh and your face in an heavenly light. Shouto wonders if you know what you look like using your quirk— if you know that you look simply angelic while illuminated in gold and tending to his wounds, taking away his pain. It’s over swiftly, and he’s not sure if he’s more relieved that the pain has stopped, or reluctant his time with you is over already.

“You could’ve gone to the hospital, you know,” you sigh, the light from your palm fading as you lean back, nails brushing against his abdomen before you take your hand away.

He frowns as your touch leaves him, sitting up and breathing deeply. His lungs stretch and empty without any pain, and his lips curl into a thankful smile. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you.”

You wonder if he notices the effect his choice of words has on you— if he sees how you bite your lip and turn away, too flustered to look at him in all his handsomeness. You don’t need an excuse to see me, you think, hands folding together in your lap.

It’s then that Shouto notices your appearance is even more gorgeous than ever— your earrings dangle and sparkle in the moonlight, your dress hugging your figure snug and hanging just low enough to show a stretch of cleavage. Your collar bones stand out against the thin, plum-colored straps, and your hair falls perfectly on your shoulders. Wow, is he glad he called you tonight.

“Speaking of, you look… stunning. I thought you looked cute in your white coat and everything at work, but this is really something else,” he comments, eyes trailing down your chest to stop on the gemstone pendant shining brightly between your breasts. He feels heat rise to his cheeks, tearing his stare away and instead examining your bashful expression. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your evening.”

You laugh at that, a short sigh falling from your lips. “Don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting much of anything,” you say, playing with the sparkling bracelet on your wrist. You chance a glance up at him to see him looking at you, curiosity shimmering in those captivating, mismatched orbs. “Date was a bust, the guy would not stop talking about microbrews the whole time, and then— get this— he ate my lava cake when he said he didn’t want dessert!”

Shouto laughs at your clear display of upset, a hearty, rich chuckle sounding from deep inside of him. The sound causes butterflies to flurry in your stomach, a grin conquering your pout as you watch his laughter come to an end. “That’s definitely a red flag,” he smiles, pink lips turning up and warm eyes falling on you once again. “The lady has to have her own dessert. Shame on him, screwing up his chance with you.”

“He never had much of a chance anyway,” you mumble, your gaze tracing the shadows stretched across the salt and pepper rug in faux interest. Before Shouto can ask what exactly you mean by that, you cut him off, standing up and brushing off your thighs, smoothing out your dress. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. You don’t feel any more pain, do you?”

“No I’m—” his lips part before he closes his mouth, brow furrowing before he sits upright, hand coming to land over his chest. “Actually right here is a little tight, do you think you could look at it for a second?”

You blink owlishly as he moves, lithe fingers unzipping his shirt and exposing his chiseled torso to you. Desire stirs between your legs at the sight of him, half naked and gazing up at you expectantly. If you didn’t know any better… you’d think he’s trying to make a move on you. Hesitantly you sit on the edge of the couch cushion, reaching out for him. The muscles on his chest jump when you make contact, his flesh warm and smooth beneath your skin. “Here?”

Shouto watches your eyes widen as his other hand slides around your waist, pushing your body toward his. His fingers wrapping around your wrist, he steers your stretched palm across the expanse of his pecs, stopping when it’s positioned on top of his heart. “Here,” he replies, feeling the muscle start to move rapidly underneath your caress.

“S-Shouto, I—” a part of you wants to believe he really is coming onto you, while the other side of you knows that first, you two work together, and second, he could have any woman he wants— he would never choose you. “What are you..?”

“Is it supposed to beat this fast?” He tilts his head, expression earnest, his fingers dipping into your flesh through the silky fabric of your dress. “I always feel like this when you’re near.”

You don’t know what to say— you don’t know if you can even speak at this point. It’s so hot in here, and his gaze, his touch— the frantic thumping of his heart beneath your palm— it’s all completely overwhelming you, so much to take in.

“Is something wrong with me?” Shouto asks, and his arm around your waist tightens, causing you to tumble into his chest. Your soft breasts press up against his firm chest, both your hands splayed open on the expanse of his pecs. You can feel his heart pounding underneath your hand, leaping in his chest like it’s trying its best to reach you. It’s the exact same as how your own feels at this very moment.

You start to tremble in his arms, your face so close to his. You can see each shade of blue and gray in his eyes, every freckle and scar on his skin. He’s never been so close to you before, and you can feel your composure melting away rapidly, his flames licking your body and warming you to the bone. “No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

Then he’s leaning into you, cologne faintly wafting off his throat. His head is tilted slightly, eyes dropping to your lips— oh god, he’s going to kiss you. “So this isn’t all in my head, then, is it?” His voice is low, so low— as if he fears he’ll scare you off if he raises it even just a hair. “The lingering glances, the touches, the flirting— you want this, too, right?”

His hold on you finally breaks through the layers you’d built so carefully, your hesitance slipping away like smoke in the wind. There’s only a brief moment that the two of you stare into each other, questioning if you really want to cross this line or not. If you’re ready to drop the charade, the game of cat and mouse.

There’d be no going back once even just one toe sneaks over that threshold.

But it doesn’t matter, because just like that, you’re kissing him, a muffled moan sneaking out from between your lips and reverberating through his. Shouto kisses you back with fervor, eager hands gathering your body closer to his— fingers kneading into your flesh and rubbing over your dress. Your lips slot together perfectly, his soft and plush as they move in synchronization with yours. When you push, he pulls— and when you moan, his tongue roves over your lip before dipping inside your mouth. You’re panting, fireworks exploding underneath your skin with every caress, mind and body completely drunk off of him. Your heart is pounding furiously in your chest, any inhibitions good as gone. Todoroki Shouto is kissing you, ravaging you on his couch in his apartment— and he’s shirtless, and he’s touching you, and he’s holding you so tight and so close that you can barely even think to kiss him back.

Shouto breaks away from you, breathing slightly labored as a bright grin morphs his mouth. “I’ve wanted that for so long,” he confides, pressing his forehead to yours. One of his hands wanders up and down the curve of your spine, smoothening the fabric of your dress. His bottom lip shines with a mixture of your saliva, glistening brightly in the dimly-lit room.

“Shouto,” you whisper his name, cautious not to shatter this perfect moment. You take a second to gather your courage before you secure your arms around his neck, your thigh slipping over both of his as you position yourself above his lap. Shouto’s eyes are wide as you shyly meet his gaze, tingles zipping through your limbs when your panties brush along his muscular thigh. “I can’t… I can’t pretend that I don't want you for another second…”

You can’t bear to look at him, so you close your eyes and press your lips flush against his once more, your fingertips twirling in his messy locks of red and white. There’s a temporary pause, Shouto laying still beneath you as you kiss him, petting his chest and his hair as your legs tighten around him.

And then you’re on your back, hair fluffed out on the pillow behind you as Shouto hovers over you, his strong arms holding himself upright as his lips attack your own with ferocity. He’s in between your legs, a large hand cupping your jaw and guiding your face so your lips can dance flawlessly, tongues swirling together with ease. A wave of lust crashes over you, Shouto’s hand wandering beneath your waist, your spine curling to arch your chest into his. He groans as he feels the plushness of your breasts against him, hugging you tighter as his tongue traces the bottoms of your teeth.

“You dunno how happy I am to hear that,” he pants, tracing the wet muscle along your jaw and down your throat. He starts to suck on the sensitive skin there, and your hips jerk up into his instinctively, a strangled whine tumbling from your mouth. He kisses your neck messily, trailing down to the soft skin at the neckline of your dress. “So responsive,” he purrs, and you can feel your pussy clench tight beneath your lace thong, excitement gathering between your legs. “How long have you wanted me?”

You close your eyes, swamped with anticipation as you feel him shuffle between your legs. His hot mouth nips at more and more of your skin, shuffling the dress down so your tits spill out of the ensemble, nipples stiff and begging for his attention. “So long, Shouto,” you moan as his warm mouth engulfs the pebbled bud, the tip of his tongue rolling around it easily. He sucks gently, and your legs twitch together, your thighs desperate to create some kind of friction to relieve the wetness gathering in your panties.

Shouto smirks at you, lazily lapping at you as a hand wanders down the front of your dress. He takes your nipple between his teeth teasingly, cool breath only making the poor bud harden even further. His fingers gather the bottom of your dress at your hip, pushing the fabric up so your cunt feels the cool breeze of the air conditioning, your thong not offering much protection. “All that time, I could’ve been touching you like this,” he sighs, fingertip running along your slit through your underwear. He tugs at your nipple when he pulls his hand back, rubbing the ample, sticky evidence of your need between his fingers.

You squirm underneath him, flustered and impatient, sinful embarrassment surging through you at how slutty you must look in his eyes. “I— I’ve thought about you… l-like this, on so many nights,” you squeak out, your cheeks bursting with heat from the mortification. But you need him to know that you’re only like this for him… because of him.

He groans in response, letting your nipple free before he moves to devour the other one. His hands grow impatient, fingers looping under the sides of your panties before he slips them down the length of your thighs, flinging them off into the darkness of the apartment as soon as they’re around your ankles. Immediately he cups your dripping folds, peeling his digits apart so you’re left completely exposed to him, revealing your glistening hole and puffy clit. “You touch yourself and think of me?” he reiterates, a dangerous tone lacing his low voice.

He slips two fingers vertically between your folds, coating them in your ambrosial slick, and rubbing the pads of his fingers over your twitching entrance. His mouth suddenly turns cold, and he grins as he feels your hole quiver violently in response. “Yes,” you breathe out, the word slipping through your lips like a snake. “Oh, yes!”

Shouto slips the fingers inside, each two knuckles deep as his fingerprints rub along your shivering, slick walls. He washes the bud in his mouth with his searing tongue, his quirk tossing you left and right in the throes of pleasure. He allows you time to stretch, casually pushing his fingers out and then back in, never going deeper than that initial thrust. It’s not long before you’re gasping, your body trembling underneath his, and aching for more of his touch. Your tits fall from his face as he cranes his neck back up to look you in the eye. “And did you ever make yourself feel this good?” he queries, and before you can answer, he thrusts the digits all the way inside of you, his knuckles grinding against your quivering entrance.

Your eyes roll back as he begins to move his fingers, the tips of them reaching places you’d never been able to reach yourself. He’s so long, and thick compared to the equipment you’re accustomed to; his genetics blessing you and filling you better than your own hands ever could. “N-Never— oh, god— Shouto!” you cry, just as his lips capture yours again. You whimper and whine into his mouth, legs switching between spreading wider and tightening around his ass, trying to pull him into you. His tongue dominates yours, claiming your mouth as his own. You let him lead— too lost to try and fight him— happily submitting and allowing him to guide you through the pleasure. His fingers work diligently inside of you, alternating between pumping into you, curling to press into your spongy walls, and sliding out all the way to tease your sopping hole.

His mouth leaves yours as he moves to kneel on the floor, gathering your frame to sit upright with his free hand. His slender digits still pressed deep inside of you wiggle, and you bite your lower lip as he begins to kiss along your inner thighs. “Did this tight little pussy cum around your fingers, wishing they were mine instead?” he asks, words rumbling against your skin.

Your thighs shake as he holds them open, his wide shoulders pressing against one and the other in his white-knuckled grip. “Yes, yesyesyes,” you mewl as he ducks down, lips pressing a sweet kiss to your throbbing clit. “I imagined you between my legs, ah!— f-filling me so many times!” Your confession seems to be exactly what he was waiting for, for his mouth sucks in your clit and he starts to shower it with attention— licking and rubbing the flat of his tongue up against it for complete stimulation. You cry out, his fingers continuing their assault on your tender walls deep inside, bending to put pressure against just the right spot.

“Come on then,” he gasps for air, your clit buzzing as his cool breath washes over the aching pearl. His lips shine in the low lighting, glossed with a generous film of your essence while his dual-colored gaze burns into yours with fiery determination. “Don’t you wanna cum for the real thing?”

He attacks you again, this time less merciful than the last— his fingers pummeling into your gummy insides with determination, his tongue lashing over your clit and sucking on it so hard that his cheekbones stand out on his handsome face. The intensity of it all is too much, your body feeling electrified by another’s touch— it had been so long since you’d been satisfied by a man. And this was no ordinary man, not to mention— it’s Shouto who’s pleasuring you— the man who makes your heart race and your stomach burst with butterflies. The pressure heightening in your stomach, your walls flutter against him, attempting to suck his fingers even deeper. You’ve wanted him for so long; gazed at him from across the conference table or tended to his wounds with extra care, even spent who knows how many lunch breaks by his side. Now that you have him, here between your legs, here for you to touch and hold and kiss, your body falls apart for him. Just for him.

Shouto moans as your orgasm ripples through you, the tip of his tongue twirling your sensitive pearl as his digits press against your slick, quivering walls, only delivering more pleasure to you and intensifying your climax. His cock throbs along his thigh, wondering how heavenly you’ll feel wrapped around his length and clamping down around it instead of his fingers. You’re still entranced by your orgasm, ecstasy coursing through your veins like fire and ice combining explosively, just like the quirk of the man who had caused such a phenomenon. When your grip on his disheveled hair finally unfurls, he pulls his fingers out of you, mouth making quick work of kissing your dripping, twitching cunt all over. With one last kiss to your pulsing clit, he moves back onto the couch, hovering over your fatigued body.

Your head already clearing of the static, orgasmic fog, your fingers slide around the back of his neck, underneath the cool fabric of his hero suit and along his broad shoulders. The muscles adorning his back are firm beneath smooth skin, the heat of him radiating through and greeting your fingertips pleasantly. Shouto gets the message, sitting back and shrugging off the jacket. Just as he does so, you make your move, pushing his shoulders back just hard enough to get him off balance, falling back onto his ass with wide eyes. Instantly you take your place before him, your knees hitting the carpet as your hands travel up his slender thighs, sinew twitching beneath your caress.

He doesn’t say a word as he watches you undo the top of his pants, your lips trailing along the prominent contours of his abdomen. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the outline of his cock struggling to be freed against his inner thigh, aching to be released and touched by you. You share a heavy look with him as your hands pull down his pants, his boxer briefs going with them. His length springs out of its confines, standing thick, long, and deliciously hard against his pelvis. You can’t help but stare at it, your tongue wandering out to wet your lips as you take the sight of him in before you.

When you glance up to catch his expression, you’re shocked to find his cheeks slightly darkened, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at you. “Y/N, you don’t have to—” he gasps as your mouth envelops the head of his cock, the hot, wet suction enough to steal his breath away. “F-Fuck…” Shouto sighs as you begin to slide even more of him into your mouth, your tongue gliding against the underside of his throbbing length. You make it halfway down his length before you lean back, pressing a chaste kiss to the very tip of him, just as gently as he’d kissed your clit moments ago.

“I want to,” you murmur, your words reverberating against his hard cock, a coy smile curling the corners of your mouth as it jerks against your lips. “I wanna take care of you, Shouto,” you hum, your hand wrapping around the base of him and beginning to pump, “Let me taste you.” His head falls back onto the top of the sofa, a muffled groan trapped in his throat. It’s ripped out of him as your mouth descends onto him again, your spit allowing you to take him deeper and deeper into your throat. You do your best to keep a steady tempo, bobbing up and down on his cock as you suck in your cheeks, tongue swirling and massaging the bulging veins along his shaft. Beads of pre-cum stain your tastebuds, bittersweet and urging you to continue your ministrations. The head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat and he groans loudly, lithe fingers gripping your hair tight.

Shouto tenses beneath you, his abs straining as he holds your head flush against his pelvis, his cock sheathed deep into your throat. “You feel… so good,” he moans, pulling your head back and letting you catch a fresh breath of air. You take the opportunity gladly, wasting no time before you take his engorged length back into your mouth. Carefully you suck on the tip of him, your hand moving to jack off his length as your other hand cradles his balls, your thumb rolling them easily in your palm. The effect is immediate, Shouto’s laboured breath coming out in harsh pants as your fist slides along him flawlessly. He bites his lip, his free hand pushing his snow and scarlet locks off his forehead as he chokes out, “T-Too good— slow down, baby.”

When you don’t adhere to his instruction, he reaches down and touches your cheek, guiding your mouth off of him before he leans forward and pulls you into his arms, your knees dipping into the soft cushions of the sofa on either side of his hips. He wastes no time snagging your dress over your shoulders, leaving you completely naked on top of his lap.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he nearly whines, eyes raking over every curve, his hands coming to rest along the top of your hips before they wander around your back, cupping an ass cheek in either palm. He guides your body forward, your dripping folds dragging against his slick cock. Your hand lands on his wide chest, the other coming to rest on his cool cheek to steer his gaze unto yours. His eyes seem alive with passion, boring into you with unrestrained desire, filled with emotion as he whispers, “I want you so damn bad, Y/N.”

You smile and touch your lips to his, enjoying the moment of tenderness between the two of you, your bodies finally pressed flush against each other, with nothing to separate your skin from his. “Then take me,” you reply, voice hushed and gente, your thumb stroking against the edge of his scar, “I’m all yours, Shouto.”

A simultaneous moan overtakes the silence in the room as his cock sheathes completely inside of you, your sticky, velvet walls stretching wide around his intruding length. He’s so big, and hard— you can feel every single inch of him, all the way to his swollen tip that nearly brushes against your womb. Your pussy struggles to accommodate him, pulsing and clutching onto him as every time you think you’re adjusting to his size, more pleasure flows through you and you clench onto him again.

“H-Hot,” Shouto groans, face buried in your shoulder as his fingers dig into the plush of your ass. “So hot, and wet… and you— you’re so fucking tight.” He takes a few deep breaths before his biceps flex, and he pulls your body up slowly before he allows gravity to take it back down, your sweltering cunt swallowing him inside again.

His length pushing into you elicits a loud moan from you, the feeling of your walls stretching so deliciously around his width only causing further bliss. Not to mention how the head of his cock prods into a sacred spot as your ass meets the top of his thighs, his length disappearing completely inside of you as your toes curl behind you. Your body tingles, electricity zipping through your veins as you strain your thighs, pushing yourself back up so his cock slips mostly out of you before you fall back down, spearing yourself onto his waiting length. “S-Shouto,” you gasp, trying to find a tempo as you repeat the action, your slick dribbling out to coat his cock even further, “you’re so big, I— your cock, it—aha nnn— it feels so good!”

Shouto’s hands stray from your ass, traveling up your spine, your waist, your thighs, your tits. He’s examining your body, his lips parted as heavy pants tumble out between them, eyes soaking in every part of you and committing it to memory. A hand cups your breast, squeezing and flicking a nipple back and forth with his thumb. He notices how your cunt squeezes around his cock when he does that, and he licks his lips as he continues to toy with it, pinching and rolling the hard bud between his fingertips.

Meanwhile you can barely keep your eyes open, your jaw fighting the opposite battle and losing, quite frankly, as it hangs unhinged, choked moans tumbling out from the bottom of your lungs. Your hips fire relentlessly, his cock pushing in and out of your slippery walls as easily as a hot knife slipping through butter. With every meeting of your hips against his, his cock drills into your sweet spot, stars dotting along the corners of your vision. You’ve never been so full, your body nor your heart, certainly not both at the same time— nothing like this.

This is something else— incredible, ethereal.

You’re with Shouto, and he’s with you.

The lewd, wet slapping of your pussy against his pelvis fills his living room with noise, the sofa wheezing ever so slightly with every roll of your hips. You cry out when Shouto takes your other nipple into his mouth, sucking and tongue writhing against the perky bud mercilessly. Your fingers curl into his two-toned locks, securing a harsh grip while your other hand stays on his shoulder for balance, your body rocking itself onto his hard cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. You want to reach down and rub your clit, the pleasure already beginning to build up in your stomach.

Shouto can feel your cunt fluttering, your desperation to cum clear as day. You squeak as his arms envelop you, one curling around your waist and the other up your back as he plants a firm grasp around the bend of your shoulder. With his grip secured on you, he starts to thrust upwards, his cock slamming into your trembling pussy with vigor.

You cry out, his hips drilling into you from below faster, harder than you’d been able to provide. The brutal onslaught catches you off guard, leaving you breathless for a moment as you allow the sheer pleasure to take over. “Shouto! You shouldn’t— ohh, god yes!— fuck, y-you should— your ribs!” you try to say, but he doesn’t give you a second to think, nor to catch your breath. He just keeps hurling your body down onto his waiting cock, spreading your walls with his thick length and driving into your pussy without relent.

“That’s okay Doc,” he chuckles, sucking in a short breath through his bared teeth, his lips tracing along the column of your throat, “You fixed me up, so— hah, fuck— just… let me make you feel good t-too.” He begins to sloppily kiss your neck, marking your skin and stating his claim on you for all to see. His cock easily glides into you, despite your tightening walls as your impending orgasm draws closer and closer. The bouncing of your body onto his allows your clit to be stimulated too, rolling against the firm muscle of his pelvis as he thrusts up, meeting you halfway.

The inferno in your belly only grows more powerful as his cock continues to plunge into you, your pussy sinking down onto him willingly while your excess slick drips down onto his lap. You’re so turned on that the only thing you can focus on is Shouto, hammering away underneath you as he sucks on the fragile skin on your neck. Surely there’ll be hickeys there tomorrow morning, but you can’t find a single fuck to give, too occupied with the thought of being his and everyone knowing it. You find your pussy gripping onto him tightly at that, desperate for you to seal the deal, your months of yearning coming to an end as his hips stutter against yours, his fingers digging into you as he clutches onto you. You want to feel him finish inside of you, for him to coat your walls in his essence and claim your body as his.

Shouto seems to be on the same page, for his arms lock around your waist now, pressing your chest flush against his. Your eyes find his for a brief moment, all that pent-up longing shattering as you look at him and he looks at you. He closes his eyes as your lips meet, ragged breath mixing as your tongues ravel, and it’s then that you let out a sinful moan, the rubber band in your stomach snapping.

Euphoria floods through your system, every nerve in your body lighting up like the night sky on the fourth of july. Tidal waves of pleasure crash through you, your body trembling in his arms as your cunt wrings snug around his cock like a vise. Shouto groans against your mouth as your walls clamp and flutter, milking him for everything he’s worth. His own orgasm hits him too, his seed spurting into your womb as thick, white ribbons spray deep inside of you. Your fingers nestled in his hair, you keep your lips on his— the only anchor you can keep ahold of as your body is cast out to a sea of ecstasy. His hands slide down to cup your ass again, leisurely rocking your body against his as you both ride out your highs and cling to each other.

As you catch your breath, you lean into his strong frame, nose buried in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. His palms trace your spine up and down, one cool and one warm. When you finally lean back to look at him, you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your lips, tired laughter bubbling up in your throat. Shouto smiles back at you, a large hand coming to cup your jaw and bring your lips to his once more.

You sigh into the kiss, content blooming in your chest as bliss from your orgasm still lingers, simmering on the backburner gently while you bask in his embrace. This kiss is sweet and short, unlike the ones from earlier that were all-consuming and overflowing with passion.

“Can I take you to that restaurant you went to tonight sometime?” Shouto whispers, words barely loud enough for your ears to catch, even though you’re right before him.

Blinking at him curiously, one side of your mouth quirks upwards at his proposal, your eyebrow following its lead. “What? Does it have to be the same one?”

Shouto frowns. “Yes. So I can order you your lava cake,” he states nonchalantly, expression completely serious. His biceps flex on either side of you, chest puffing out slightly. “I promise you can have every bite to yourself.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at his bluntness, unable to stop yourself from absolutely beaming at him, and shooting him your gooiest heart eyes. He feels his heart skip a beat, his cheeks flushed with pink at being the target of your affectionate gaze.

“If it means you’re taking me out… I guess I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

as always, thank you for reading <3 villain!denki coming tomorrow~

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#todoroki shouto smut #todoroki shoto smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki shouto fic #todoroki shoto fic #bnha fic #mha fic #my fics

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

We’re Leaving (Carlisle Cullen x Reader)

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: The already infatuated Carlisle Cullen and reader are faced with their next challenge, but this time the danger is within their own family. Edward needs his father as he pulls away from Bella over the course of NEW MOON, but this means Carlisle must make the choice between his own happiness and that of his son’s. No matter what he chooses, someone’s going to get hurt.

Word Count: long

Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Warnings: Heartbreak, abandonment, sex, drug abuse

A/N: Technically this is a fourth part of my ‘Dinosaur and the Vampire’ series however you don’t need to read it to understand. Plus, in my head this part functions better as a oneshot.

Dinosaur and the Vampire:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

MY MAIN MASTERLIST

Y/n gasped, the pain was rippling from her chest now, ricocheting through her muscles as she collapsed on her bedroom floor. She could already guess his next words.

‘We’re leaving.’

***

The past couple of months had been glorious. Following the disaster that was the ending to y/n’s junior year where she somehow managed to get tangled up in a high speed car chase with a vampire named Victoria (who had promptly taken her hostage in order to track down y/n’s best friend Bella) - things had begun to look up.

Her infatuation with the town’s local medi-hero Carlisle Cullen had surprisingly taken off, after of course he revealed himself of being a 300 year-old vampire who had a taste for bunnies. Most days she met up with him at his mansion in her brand-new white Ford Bronco, that which Carlisle had bought specifically to save her life and, following the destruction of her own car, decided to gift her - that was an interesting conversation with her parents.

Of course that accident hadn’t just left her with a beautiful new mechanic baby but also some battle scars. The largest of which was a crescent white line arching over her left brow, not to mention the faded lines circling her waist. Her arms had healed up nice enough, the rope had caused them to double in size as blue and green bruises splotched on the surface for the first few weeks but they eventually died down. The story went that after being in a lot of stress and anxiety y/n had lost sight of the road and crashed into a car and it was stunning how no one thought to question it.

It was difficult being around her personal doctor for the first few days after the crash. So often would she catch him staring mournfully at her scar and bound hands, evidentially blaming himself for her battered state. Y/n spent most of the time convincing him she was fine and reminding him that she would go through so much worse to be where she was today.

And where she was, was a few weeks into her affair, unbeknown to all apart from Carlisle’s family and Bella. Together, Carlisle and her would often circle around the endless abyss of wood and glass that was the Cullen house, or drift up and down the small forest of a garden they had out back. Talking, always talking.

Carlisle was fascinated by every aspect of her previously thought mundane life. She could watch as he made mental notes of her favourite bands and books, what colleges she wanted to go to, her dream job. Y/n so often hated talking about herself but only because she felt that her life paled in comparison to that of Carlisle’s. He had of course explained his entire existence to her, right from its origins in 17th century London, and yet there was still so much he mentioned off-hand that left y/n floored.

Of course with the cat being out the bag, y/n’s and Bella’s friendship felt like it was flourishing for the second time. Now Bella was able to be honest with why she had been so distant, she didn’t have to lie when she explained the intensity of her and Edward’s relationship or why she kept disappearing with him after school. Y/n was able to confine to her about her relationship with Carlisle, about the way he always seemed to be looking at her through his soft amber eyes and the way he was so comfortable in touching her. Constantly brushing his fingers over her wrist or stroking her hair out of her face. All in all y/n had never been happier, of course until Bella’s tragic 18th.

***

For a night that would be so monumental to y/n’s life it seemed strange she wasn’t even present. Her parents had somehow dragged her on a holiday in Florida. And after giving Bella her early birthday present and a promise to Carlisle that she would be careful, she hadn’t thought much more of her time away. She spent most of the time on the beaches, reading and reliving all her memories with the doctor.

He had kissed her only a few nights ago. It came quite literally out of the blue. She was only stopping by his house to pick-up Edward’s copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ when he was at the door waiting for her he seemed somewhat disturbed, as though he had had a rough day at the hospital. She had smiled at him as she got out and he in turn had pattered down the front steps.

“Hi.” Was all she managed to get out before he had caught her lips in his, his body flushed against hers as she was pushed against the car.

“Sorry.” He whispered breathlessly when the kiss had unfortunately come to a close and he rested his forehead against hers, gently rocking her in his arms. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Yet she couldn’t stay on holiday forever and inevitably she returned to the mess that was life back at Forks. When she got home the first thing she wanted to do was see Bella, to ask her about her birthday, if Alice got her that necklace y/n helped pick out, but Charlie was no help.

“I’m sorry y/n...” He looked incredibly stressed. His shirt old and stained his hair sticking up at the back, heavy set bags hanging below his eyes. “Bella...she’s...she’s not good right now.”

Y/n assumed Bella had come down with something and so she shrugged it off, blaming Charlie’s appearance on well, Charlie stuff. It was the next day at school when things started to feel really wrong, when the pain began to dig it’s hole.

***

“You looking for the Cullens?” Angela asked. Y/n snapped her head around, embarrassed that she had been caught glaring at the completely empty table near the back of the cafeteria. She would have never guessed it was related to Bella’s illness.

“Something happen?” Y/n tried to appear disinterested, picking at her food. It was September and not sunny so it didn’t make sense for them to be away perhaps they were in need of a feed or maybe they had family business...

“Yeah, they moved away.”

Angela said it like someone would talk about the weather and yet she might as well have leaned across the table and shoved her fork through y/n’s chest.

“What?” The word squeaked out. Y/n felt the colour drain from her face.

“The dad...you know the doctor one...well apparently he got some big time job offer down in California and...”

Angela’s words dissolved into the air, muffled by some invisible blanket. Distantly y/n was aware of her arms going limp, her fork clattering out of her hands as her body tingled numbly underneath her. The worst feeling was the shortness of breath, the way air couldn’t seem to move through her lungs anymore as her chest was weighed down with what felt like a sphere of lead.

The rest of the day couldn’t pass slowly enough. In history it seemed like y/n was watching the clock forever her mind racing a million miles an hour. Surely they hadn’t left properly, Carlisle couldn’t leave without saying goodbye at least. No, it had to have something to do with vampirism, maybe an old friend called or maybe they were in danger, 5 more minutes then gym and then she would find out.

In the end she decided to skip gym altogether jumping in her car and racing home, still in her daze. She needed to see Bella and then she would head up to the Cullen’s, there was no way they had really moved away. Maybe it was just so the humans weren’t getting suspicious, a strange feeling pulled at y/n’s gut as she remembered that technically, she was a part of the ‘humans’ or supposed to be at least.

“Charlie is Bella in?”

“I’m sorry y/n-”

She pushed past him, muttering an apology as she went but Charlie appeared too exhausted to stop her. Turning left she raced up the stairs two at a time before exploding into Bella’s room, she would know from Bella, she would get her answer.

Bella sat on her bed, her face white, her eyes glossed over. She didn’t even look at y/n as she walked in.

“Bella?” Y/n’s voice was shaky, the tears already bubbling in her throat. She knew deep down that she already had her answer. “Bella?”

Finally she turned to her, but there was no recognition. Nothing. Complete emptiness behind her eyes as she stared back for a few seconds before her eyes flickered forward.

Y/n left, apologising to Charlie under her breath as she jumped back in her car. But it was too late, the pain had already settled in her chest, her mind was already convinced. They were gone. He had left. Without even saying goodbye.

It was inescapable now, it spread like fire across her body, consuming her whole. She tried to start up her car but her body doubled over and she grit her teeth in pain. It had begun.

***

She didn’t know where to go, what to do. Most of her wanted to go to the Cullen’s house but she already knew it was most likely empty, devoid of all life. Could she really handle that?

Y/n went to start up her car when she realised that this car was all Carlisle had given her besides her own memories. She raced out of it, turning away from the sight of it and running into her house.

When she got to her room she shut her curtains with so much vigour a few hooks snapped off the edge, she knew she would see the pale car in her drive if she left it open. Before she knew it she was crying, trying desperately to control her emotions before they consumed her whole. Then she saw it.

Resting on her bedside table was an ivory note with her name etched onto the page in rich navy ink.

‘Dearest y/n l’n,’

A letter. He had left her a letter. She opened it carefully, if what she assumed was true this, as well as her car, might be all she had left of him; her sobs still hiccuping in her throat, she raced her eyes over his calligraphy. Five paragraphs. That was all. Five paragraphs loosely explaining how Edward was in a rough place, how people were judging Carlisle for his youth, how he needed to put his family first - five paragraphs.

Y/n gasped, the pain was rippling from her chest now, ricocheting through her muscles as she collapsed on her bedroom floor. She could already guess his next words, the words to conclude the letter.

‘We’re leaving.’

The worst feeling was when she read ‘we’, she knew from this word alone she was to understand that Carlisle did not group her with his family. The letter gave no insinuation that he was deeply sorry for their departure, or that he would in any way return at all. How, in the space of a few hours, could her world be turned completely inside out?

She went from giddily planning a small future with Carlisle to believing he had never cared for her at all. If he did, it certainly wasn’t as much as she had cared for him. Another wave of pain beat her down. She was just a stupid kid with a crush. Another wave. She was a fool, an embarrassment to assume that he wanted her even half as much as she wanted him.

Her tears got too much then, the letter shaking out her hands as the pain, now unbridled, exploded out of her. The waves of heartbreak crashing into her again and again, her stifled screams bouncing off her walls and ringing back in her ears, haunting her with her own pain.

He was gone, and he had taken her heart with him.

***

“Y/n we’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” Y/n laughed loudly, pushing her untouched pasta around on her plate. Angela glanced at her through tense eyes. “I already have a mum, Angela.” The words came out harsher than she meant to, not that she cared.

“But seriously, Mack?” Angela whispered, her voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. Y/n rolled her eyes.

“We’re not a thing, we just hang out and he...helps me out.”

“He’s a druggie.” Her voice was low, accusing, incredulous. Another roll of y/n’s eyes.

“Duh Angela. What do you think I meant by ‘helping me out’.” Angela just shook her head disappointed. Y/n didn’t care, she couldn’t. Technically sitting at that lunch table on that Friday she was still coming down from her high this morning, her brain soft and fuzzed around the edges and, most importantly, the pain in her chest non existent.

The drug scene in Forks was nothing to be impressed by. It was only by luck that y/n had met Mack, a guy a few years out of high school who had never made it to college. Y/n was pretty sure he was crushing on her but she didn’t mind exploiting that a little if it meant she got high for free.

It had been four months since they had left. They might as well have taken Bella with them considering she was a shell of a human being: unresponsive, uncooperative. There was nothing behind her eyes, just like the day y/n had come searching for her. That had been one of the last times y/n had stepped foot in the Swan house. Partly because y/n’s new found drug habits wouldn’t go down well with Chief Charlie Swan, partly because y/n couldn’t stand the sight of Bella.

The emptiness, the hollowness, the pain. It was just a reminder to y/n of what was waiting for her the day she became sober. In the beginning, after a few days of wallowing in the pain, feeling as though she were unable to move, y/n had forced herself to go to the beach where she had ran into a bunch of La Push boys. They were smoking green and it was clearly their first time, they called out and invited y/n over clearly expecting that she wouldn’t accept.

But she surprised both them and herself by walking over. After sitting and smoking them with a bit she found herself smiling and laughing at their jokes as her head became warmer and fuzzier, moreover, the pain of his abandonment warmed into nothingness. She had asked them where they got the weed and they had pointed her in the direction of Mack.

“Down for tonight?”

Y/n read the text as it flashed across her screen.

“You bet :)″

She sent back. Two more lessons and then her high could be refreshed and the cycle could continue.

***

Y/n gasped as she awoke. Nightmares had been more common the past week. They were a regular occurrence when he had first left but going to bed high had always numbed it out. But recently his ivory skin and ribbons of muscles were becoming clearer through the haze.

Rolling over in the dark with some desperation she flicked on her phone and dialled his number.

“Hey Mack, I just called cause-”

“You have a bad high?” He murmured over the phone, distantly she could hear his TV playing in the background. She could picture him, half-dressed surrounded by trash as he got himself high for the third time today. Y/n pushed the image away - no, I’m not like that. It’s different for me, I have a reason.

“Yeah.” She muttered, “I just didn’t know who to call.”

“Usually bad highs are a sign you’ve been smoking too much.” She had basically been smoking consistently for four months now and if she wasn’t smoking she was drunk and if she wasn’t drunk then the pain began to settle.

“Ugh, are you going to tell me I have to stop?” She laughed quietly over the phone, trying to cover the slight desperation in her voice. Distantly she was aware of her parents sleeping in the next room, it was stupid, she was eighteen now and it felt as though she had been through enough trauma to move out, to get away from school. On the other hand school seemed to be the only thing holding her together now.

“No, you don’t need to stop smoking but maybe try something else?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Something else?”

“I stock more than green but it’ll have to be sooner rather than later.”

“Sooner?” Y/n murmured robotically. She had bought enough to get her through the week.

“This weekend?” He asked, almost as if he read her mind.

“See you then...your place?” She rolled over in the dark.

“See you then?” She could hear the enormous grin settle on his lips and it sent a shiver down her spine - she hung up. She had promised herself to never do anything more serious than weed but now she was faced with an ultimatum: break her promise or embrace the darkness.

***

“Hi Mack.” Y/n smiled when he opened the door, he didn’t say anything just grinned and stood to the side letting y/n into his dingy apartment. Y/n had used the same lie to her parents that she used whenever she came here - that she was sleeping over at Angela's. Not that they ever checked.

Of course she wasn’t sleeping over at Mack’s, to be honest she didn’t trust him enough for that, normally she left late and would drive her car up to the Cullens house, it wasn’t too far and the road was easy enough to follow when intoxicated. It was the only time was she was able to wander around the house without feeling any guilt or remorse.

Mack’s place was tiny, made worse by the clutter and rubbish. A small corridor lead to a small living room which the tiniest of kitchens looked out into. Mack had a strip of lights around the top of the ceiling that were constantly flashing multi-coloured as loud obnoxious music played, somewhat muffled in the smoke.

“Hey y/n.” Danny, Mack’s roommate, smiled from the couch, clearly already lost.

“Hey Dan.” She smiled before collapsing at his feet, her knees propped against the coffee table where booze and skins cluttered the surface.

“You’re in for a treat.” He slurred, his arms limp by his sides as his eyes flickered back and forth, his mouth ajar. Y/n felt somewhat excited at the sight of him, so out of his head - this excitement no longer frightened her.

“He’s not lying.” Mack laughed, full of energy as he jumped up and grabbed something off the kitchen counter before holding it in front of her face. A small white square was compressed in the middle of a tiny plastic bag. “These things pack a punch.” He laughed, y/n laughed. “You’re still down to do this right? I’m not going to pressure you or anything.” He said, and for a moment it looked like he was actually concerned for her.

Y/n thought seriously about it for a moment. There was nothing stopping her from getting up and walking out, telling him that it was a mistake to come here, even just telling him that she’ll run the risk of sticking to green. Except the weed wasn’t enough anymore, she was realising that. To keep him away she would have to go further, and she was more than willing. It seemed somewhat funny, that to escape her doctor she had to pollute herself.

“Of course.” Y/n heard her voice laugh as she shuffled out of her jacket and pulled her hair out from it’s knot. If Mack and Danny could, she could.

“Awesome.” He grinned before sitting down on the coffee table in front of her so that her head was somewhat between his knees. “This is how you take it.” He said, clearly enjoying being a ‘teacher’. Y/n could see him properly then.

Mack was in his early-twenties, the same age he was supposed to be. A short brown beard tufted around his jaw whilst shoulder length brown hair was pulled into a low pony at the back of his head. He was sweet really, just lost.

“Stick your tongue out.” Y/n obliged, picking up on the moment of tension as he placed the white square on her tongue with his forefinger. She felt no guilt as she lapped her tongue back into her mouth slowly, gazing into his dark eyes as his finger rested on her bottom lip.

The rest of the night was a blurry mess; mistakes were definitely made and y/n was definitely going to have to find a new dealer. It was strange how that night only happened because she was so desperate to escape Carlisle Cullen, and yet for most of it, it was his icy face that she was picturing instead of Mack’s.

***

Weeks had passed and y/n’s drug exploration was starting to get a little out of control. She was sure her parents were picking up on her strange behaviours: never home at weekends, always fidgeting, bleary eyed and always tired. Perhaps she was just being paranoid, Mack said that could be one of the side effects.

But it was lucky she was high one specific Friday as she parked her car outside Mack’s apartment complex. She glared at the Bronco, she had seen Bella ripping the radio (Emmett’s gift to Bella) out of her own truck, removing all traces of the Cullen family’s existence. It wasn’t so easy for y/n.

She was thinking of him again. It had been quite obsessive these past few days and that’s why when she first saw him, leaning against his black Mercedes in the shadows, she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“What the hell.” She was so sure she was hallucinating, she blinked fiercely.

“Y/n.” He said her name and she felt her eyes flutter closed, how good it felt to hear her name dripping from his lips. She wasn’t aware she had memorised his voice so well. She audibly hummed in response to the sound before snapping herself out of it and ignoring his form. Mack was just upstairs with something new to try and then he would go away. “Y/n.” He said her name again as though he were sure she hadn’t heard him.

Y/n ignored it. The sweetness of his presence was quickly turning sour, and the corners of the hole in her chest were beginning to sting.

“Y/n, it’s me.” That stopped her. From the corner of her eye she could see him step out of the shadows, his pale skin iridescent in the street light. He looked unsure, pleading, desperate. “Y/n.”

“No.” She gasped suddenly. There was no more guessing, she couldn’t even try to deny that it was truly him. She stumbled slightly in the street and he was by her side in a second. When she was stable in his arms he held a lock of her hair between his fingers inhaling deeply. “Your blood smells different.” He murmured. She had forgotten what it was like to be around people who could move so quickly. “Y/n, what have you been putting in your body?”

“Leave me alone.” She murmured, her head still fuzzy and numb from the sight of him. Was it a dream? No it couldn’t be. As she got over her shock, anger pooled in her gut.

“Are you high?” His eyes were confused and worried.

“If I am what would you do about it?” She smirked. “You have no right to critique my lifestyle.”

“Your lifestyle?” He asked somewhat incredulously, his eyes were slowly melting darker and darker. “Poisoning yourself with LSD is a lifestyle for you?”

“It’s a coping mechanism.” She spat suddenly. “To deal with the pain that you left me with.” That shut him up.

“I would’ve never left if I knew you would do this.” He grimaced. Wrong move.

“Stop!” She gasped suddenly, her arm snatching to her gut where she was sure the pain would brim over. She thought seeing him again would melt her troubles away, instead his presence seemed to intensify them. “Stop talking like you get a say in what I do! You lost that privileged the day you left! Left with nothing but a stupid note Carlisle!”

“I left to protect you. I didn’t want to cause you pain. Remember Victoria?” Was all he could say in response.

“Victoria...” Y/n spat. “What Victoria did to me pales in comparison to what you did. You’re the one whose hurt me the most Carlisle. Do you understand?”

She was still in shock at the sight of him. A million questions were racing through her head but none of them seemed as important now. Her shouting must have alerted someone’s presence because she heard movement near the apartment steps as someone walked up to them.

“Are you okay?” It was Mack but he seemed a million miles away now, unimportant.

“Are you her dealer?” Carlisle strode forward, his voice pure steel.

“Carlisle stop it!” She spat, jumping forward and pushing against his stony chest but it was like trying to move a mountain.

“Are you the one that did this to her?” Carlisle ignored her, still towering over Mack.

“You did this to me!” She suddenly exploded. Carlisle was past listening.

“If I ever see you near her again. I will break you myself, I promise.” His voice was calm meditated, as if every word had weight.

“What are you, her boyfriend?” Mack asked venomously. “Well then maybe I should let you in on a secret.”

“Mack shut up.” Y/n felt fear bubble into her throat. Sure she could swear in that moment she hated Carlisle but that’s all it was, a moment. There was no point in ruining her future.

“Your girlfriend ain’t too loyal.” Mack drawled out, a coy smirk slipping on his lips as he rocked back and forth on his toes. Carlisle tensed. “At least...she wasn’t last night.”

An animalistic snarl snapped from of Carlisle lips like a whip and within the second he had Mack pinned against the bonnet of a car. Then, just as quickly as he moved, he remembered himself. Letting Mack drop Carlisle’s breath heaved before he turned and stalked towards his car without sparing y/n so much as a glance. Always the pacifist.

“Carlisle.” She called, rushing after him but Mack caught her elbow.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in a relationship?” He asked and if y/n wasn’t mistaken he sounded somewhat heartbroken, all his previous anger evaporating.

“I’m not.” Y/n gasped struggling to get out of his grip.

“You’re in something.” He murmured, letting her go.

“I’m sorry Mack, I really am. I’ll...call you.” The words were falling over her shoulder as she escaped, but he was already gone and distantly she could hear his Mercedes ripping into the night as he drove away.

***

“It’s not his fault.”

“I don’t need this right now Edward.” After jumping into her Bronco y/n had followed Carlisle’s black Mercedes back to his house. During the drive she couldn’t decide whether her anger was riling up or fizzing into the air and thus, nothingness. He had been so close, she had put her hands against his chest, he was right there.

“Please I just...” Edward’s eyes were tentative as he blocked her path on the house steps, “It’s my fault why we even left, all he was trying to do was be a good father to me.”

“And you think that’s and excuse?”

“No, of course not.” He added hurriedly. “It’s just, I love him, and I know he loves you. Please don’t walk away from him.”

“Walk away?” Y/n gasped, angry tears pricking behind her eyes. “I never wanted to walk away. I never even considered it. You were the ones who left and you took everything with you.” Tears spilled and she hurriedly wiped them away. Edward grimaced. Y/n took her opportunity and stormed past him into the house. To her surprise there stood Rosalie and Emmett; a few hours ago and she would have run into their arms laughing, overjoyed to see her friends again.

“Where is he?” Was all she spat and to her surprise they looked somewhat intimidated as they pointed loosely in the direction of the kitchen. She stormed past them and up the stairs swinging a right to find Carlisle waiting for her, leaning over the counter his head in his hands, he glanced at her.

“Y/n I-” He began.

“Shut up.” Was all she said. Distantly she was aware that Emmett and Rosalie had followed her along with Edward. At the far window she saw movement and assumed Jasper and Alice had come to see what the fuss is about. “You had your chance to talk the day you left but you chose not to, so, what you’re going to do is you’re going to sit in that chat, patiently, whilst I stand her and say what I got to say...understand?”

Carlisle stood now, an internal battle dancing behind his eyes as he glanced from y/n to his family. Y/n was aware of them staring now, watching the leader of their family, the alpha male be challenged, all tentative to see what he would do next. Slowly and with weight, Carlisle walked a few paces before he slid down into a chair, leaning forward and resting on his knees as he looked up at y/n through his lashes. This sent a tremor through the family and within the blink of an eye they were all gone, giving Carlisle and y/n their privacy.

“Carlisle...” Now she was here, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I am...sorry...about Mack and what we...” She trailed off, maybe it was not the best idea to start with this. “But you can’t judge me. You just can’t.”

“I know.” He whispered, his brows furrowing apologetically.

“All this...the drugs, Mack, everything, all of it’s just me trying to cope. And it’s not an excuse but-”

“Please don’t apologise.” Carlisle whispered and within the second he was standing in front of her cupping her cheeks in his hands and brushing his thumb under her right eye. “Never apologise.” He kissed her forehead. “You did nothing wrong.” He kissed her nose. It seemed like he went to go kiss her lips but he hovered, as if he remembered himself and he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved. It was foolish and embarrassing of me.” He decided to say. “Back at the apartments. It’s just...”

“Just what?” Y/n murmured, now in a daze.

“I could smell it.”

“What?”

“Your scent...on him. On his neck, his shirt. Deep down I already knew what had happened but then hearing him...say it...and gloat.” His teeth gritted.

“If it’s any consolation, if I knew you were coming back I would have never-”

“But you didn’t know I was coming back. Because I left you here with nothing.” He was talking to himself now. “I...” He began. “I knew I was hurting you the day I left, the idea alone tormented me for months but I kept lying to myself, telling myself I would put you in more danger, more pain if I came back. But seeing the reality of what I had done to you, coming back to your blood smelling different and...” He trailed off.

“I know.” Y/n filled the silence, overwhelmed now at the feeling of him flushed against her body.

“I’ve got to hand it to Edward.” He chuckled to himself. “He’s more persuasive than he looks.” They stood like that for a moment, just comfortable at being able to be around one another again before y/n scrunched up her eyes.

“God, I've just been so caught up in being angry at you that I don’t think it’s really settled that you’re here. I feel like I’m going to wake up and this is just going to be a cruel dream.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He cut her off gently, his eyes steely. “Not because I’m afraid of what you’ll do to yourself if I leave, not because you necessarily need me. But because...I don’t know how many chances I’m going to get to love someone like this.” He chuckled slightly. “And I mean, I have an eternity stretched out in front of me...but to love someone the way I love you...completely and utterly and with every piece of my heart and soul...”

His words fizzled into the air, the greater meaning behind them understood by them and only them.

“I’m sorry about Mack.” They were swaying slightly now, as if there were some soft unheard music. “He’s sweet...and he’s just lost...I guess I was for while.”

“As long as it was...consensual.” Surprisingly this made y/n laugh, a noise he had missed with his whole soul.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

And they didn’t. From an outsiders perspective no one could have guessed anything was ever wrong between y/n and Carlisle. Just as before things gently shifted back into place, old routines were picked up and recent habits died out. Carlisle made good on his promise, he spent the rest of eternity doing everything in his power to make y/n happy, for that was all that mattered for him.

“To love someone the way I love you.” Became their phrase. Before long journeys apart, before what felt like impending doom when it came to Victoria, or the Voultri. He murmured it to her before she slept and shouted it after her car when she pulled away - an ode to their relationship, and all that they had been through. Y/n and Carlisle, the Dinosaur and the Vampire.

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@imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl

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cripplingaddictions · 4 years

Text

Haikyuu boys when you get injured playing your sport pt.2

Oikawa, Tsukishima, Tendo, Asahi, Kageyama

Summary: The first one was really fun to write, so here is part 2! This is some others and how I think they’d react when you get hurt during sport!

Warnings: Explicit mention of blood and open wounds

A/N: I’d like to thank everyone for over 100 followers! Yes, I know that doesn’t seem like many but it’s a big deal to me, so thank you!! I also appreciate the patience with my messed up writing schedule <3 ...Tendo’s got really long and Kageyama’s got a little angsty whoops

Oikawa:

As one who suffers from a sport injury himself, Oikawa is constantly aware of the possibility

Reminds you before every game of hockey to stay safe

His tone may be lighthearted when he says it, but he’s very serious

He knows the ins and outs of stretching and the recovery process for injuries

Usually, he doesn’t come to your games, mostly because he’s busy or he's afraid of getting recognised

When you get home or see him next, he’d ask out the game and listen with excitement and interest

He definitely does research on the game too

This time, he was so glad he went

To avoid being recognised, he wore a cap and sunglasses, standing at the back of the spectators

His height allowed him to easily watch you from the crowd

You were really hyped for the game, knowing your opponents were going to be tough

Unfortunately, your team was struggling with the game

The other team was scoring goal after goal, and you couldn’t keep up

You ran back to defend the goal, in the way for an approaching player

They were ready to score, and you were ready to dive in

The urgency and pressure of the situation got to your head, and you ran towards them with anger

You let out a cry, charging towards the hockey ball

In the back of your mind, you knew Oikawa wouldn’t be impressed with how you lost your patience

And you were right

He treaded closer to the game, his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed

“Y/N... Don’t get ahead of yourself”

He whispered, wishing you could hear him

Your opponent placed the ball in position to swing for goal

But you had gotten too far ahead of yourself

They swung their hockey stick

Your ankle was in the way

Usually, you wouldn’t be too bothered, bruises littering your ankle for a week after

This time, the stick was made of aluminium

The impact and pain that shot through your ankle brought you to the ground

Pain unbearable, you dropped your own stick and held your food

“Ow, ow, ow”

You mumbled sloppily, tears, saliva, and snot dribbling over your lips

You wanted to stand up and keep playing but the pain continued like an unforgiving clamp tightening on your ankle

Suddenly aware of how you look, you wiped your mouth from the fluids

You heard a whistle blow, but the pain caused for stars to dance in your vision

“Y/N-chan, eyes up here”

The stars from your eyes cleared, the sight of your boyfriend crouching next to you on the field shining through

You couldn’t form words, not that they would have helped

He immediately moved to take your shoe off, seeing how it had already started to swell

It blew up like a balloon before your very eyes

“I’ll carry you”

Oikawa whispered, sliding an arm around your back and the other securely under your knees

Lifting you up, he escorted you off the field

He didn’t let you ride in the ambulance your coach called by yourself, holding your hand the whole way

It was definitely a bad break, being a pain through the recovery process as you could hardly apply any pressure on the foot

You were in a cast, and Oikawa wrote a lovey-dovey message on it that took up half the space

Once you were out of it Oikawa knew all the right physiological stretches in order to get you back on your feet to play again

He did a great job taking care of you, and you couldn't thank him more

Tsukishima:

Doesn’t effect your relationship that you were into swimming as that was not why he loved you

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like how you are training so hard for it

It’s the passion and love for swimming that he wishes he had for volleyball

To be honest, Tsukishima wouldn’t be worried about you getting hurt

He thinks swimming is not a very hazardous sport

Which is fairly true, so you don’t get injured during a specific race or anything

Your injury shows up slowly over time

Originally you shook it off, expecting that the soreness in your shoulders was just your muscles tired after a long two hours of lap after lap

However, it started getting worse, and you began to tell Tsukishima your concerns

He’d say something like, “Then just take your time at training. I can’t do anything about it. What did you expect me to say?”

Let’s be real, he’s kind of worried

Especially as he began to notice how you would wince after taking your bag off your shoulders, or if you reached up to the top shelf

The day he realised that you needed to get them checked out was when you had walked to his place after training

The whole walk there the straps of your bag felt a lot heavier

Your shoulders hurt, but the left was the worst one by fair

Shifting the weight of your bag to your right shoulder, you gave the left a rest

Soon enough you knocked on Tsukishima’s door and he opened quickly after

You dropped your bag inside the door and rubbed your shoulder

“Oi, Y/N, are you okay?”

Tsukishima asked, the way your sighed making his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly

“Yeah, but my shoulder is pretty bad”

You tell him, hoping that he’ll show some sympathy

He scooped up your bag and called for you to follow him to the couch

He left you there, leaving momentarily to drop your bag with your wet swimmers into the laundry

Soon, he plopped down on the couch beside you and turned on the tv

Carefully, he pulled you onto his lap and you instinctively dropped your head onto his shoulder

Instead of huffing slightly like he usually did, you pushed you forward

“No, sit towards my knees”

You obeyed him, and he hovered his fingers over your shoulders

Smiling once you realised what he was going to do, you let him work his nibble fingers into your shoulders

He stopped if you whined, asking where to go from there

It really helped, you never realised how good Tsukishima was with his fingers (no... not like that)

You were putty in his hands, completely relaxed as you watched the tv

Once you felt the tension was mostly gone, Tsukishima scooted out from underneath you to book a scan

When you had it, you discovered you had Bursitis

(A/N: I have this in my shoulder and it sucks)

This required for lots of rest, icing, and careful exercise

You were off swimming for almost three months before Tsukishima was convinced that you could handle tending to it afterwards

When you got back to swimming, you wore a sling on the worst days and Tsukishima carried your bag for you

He raised his hand in class if you needed to ask a question, and made sure you never had to overexert your left arm

His favourite thing to do was tease you even more about having to get him to get stuff off the top shelves

You were shorter than him, but now you need him even more

When you use your condition as a counterargument he always says “aww, poor baby Y/N”

No doubt, he does certainly cared for you, but get ready for a long road ahead for the both of you

Tendo:

You’re a figure skater! And how he loves to watch you skate!

He gets so excited, you have no idea

Whether you are in a competition, or if you are just practicing, he gets so giddy and proud while watching you glide across the ice

Thinks you look so good in the costumes, no matter your body type

If you were to have to travel internationally for a competition, you bet he’d be coming with you

Tendo does get into trouble when he disturbs your practise at the rink

But you always invite him to watch any time, not caring what your coach thought

Super supportive of you, it’s not funny

However, what is funny is that he has no idea all the technical terms or how the point system works

So, when he watches you during a comp, he’ll greet you off the ice with:

“BABE, THAT FANCY THING YOU DID WITH YOUR ARMS AFTER YOU LANDED FROM THE SPINNING-TOP-JUMPY-THING YOU DID WAS SO SEXY! YOU’VE GOT TO WIN! YOU LOOKED SO GOOD, MY PARADISE”

You double over in laughter every time he says something like that

You only just manage out a “Thank you, Tori” before you’re ushered off to get your score

The score you were appointed is half decent, placing you in third place

When you go to find Tendo so you can sit with him while watching the rest of the skaters, he appalled

“PARADISE, YOU DESERVED MUCH BETTER THAN THAT! I’D HAVE GIVEN YOU A 634.53!!”

“Satori, that’s basically impossible for a short program”

“I DON’T CARE BECAUSE IT IS WHAT YOU DESERVE”

It’s kind of embarrassing, in a large rink of people, for him to be yelling like that

But... it’s all because he thinks you are incredibly talented

Which is very sweet

Anyways, you injure yourself at practice

Tendo had just got of his volleyball practice at Shiratorizawa and decided to swing by the rink

You were staying in late, your coach and the rest of the skaters had gone home, so it was just you and a few workers at the rink

Tendo burst in, the goofy grin on his face that cases his eyes to be forced shut by the adorable purity of it

You were focusing on a quadruple axel that you hadn’t perfected when he arrived

“Good evening, paradise! How are you-”

You had been halfway through the jump when you peeled your eyes open

Immediately happy to see him, you smiled brightly

But, your excitement cost you the landing

You slipped, landing harshly onto the ice on your hip with a thud, the water soaking into your tights

“Y/N!”

Tendo dropped his bags, running and sliding his lanky body across the ice on his knees to where you had sprawled out

There was certainly going to be really bad bruise there, you could tell

But the coolness of the ice made your hip numb to the pain

“Are you okay? I scared you, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way Tendo was leaning over you, now having soaked knees too

“Yeah, you did”

“Let’s take you home and have a nice warm shower, hey?”

You agreed, leading him off the ice with both of your hands in his, because the psycho had run onto the ice with no skates on

The two of you walked home, the whole time you noticing the numbness leaving your hip

While having your shower, you checked your hip to find a dark purple bruise the size of your hand, raw to the touch

You took a shower, afterwards putting on some underwear and one of your boyfriend’s large shirts

Leaving your room, you enter the living room find Tendo sprawled on the couch

He made a comment about how good you look, leaving you giggling

You grabbed an icepack from the freezer and a tea towel to wrap it in

Laying on top of Tendo, you rolled on your side to have your bruised hip facing the ceiling

“Whatcha got there?”

Tendo asked

You flashed the icepack in front of his face, before quickly wrapping it up

Pulling the oversized shirt over your hip, you exposed the bruise to your boyfriend

“This is what you did to me, you scary man”

You joke, poking him in the cheek

The colour drained from his face in a split second, and he let out a cry of agony

“No! I’m so sorry! How can I make you feel better?”

He leaned over you, pressing scattered kisses over the bruise and mumbling sorry between each one

You knew he was trying to be feathery with his kisses, but the slightest pressure hurt

So, you pushed his head away

“Ow, Tori, that hurts. You can hold the ice for me”

He does as he’s told and you thank him, kindly

He has eagle eyes on you constantly after that, acting like your personal bodyguard

Makes sure he’s always on the side that is bruised at school, so that no one can bump it

Lines your bed with pillows, as to not accidentally bump it on the wall

Stops you from walking if you don’t have to, in which you tell him he’s fine

You try reassuring him by saying that it could have been worse, but that makes him even more wary when you skate knowing that worse could happen to you

Asahi:

He’s adorable, constantly being supportive during your games of netball

Out of everyone, he’s the most likely to be worried about possible injury

Even though it’s a fairly safer sport, Asahi makes sure that you are reminded of every possible scenario that he had made up in his head before a game

You’d shut him up with a kiss to the lips, but he’ll be trembling when you walk away

Understands the game, not needing much help with keeping up with points or rules

He’ll calm down eventually while watching you play, focusing on silently praising you

Secretly a fan of the uniform, don’t tell anyone - he’d be so embarrassed

Doesn’t come to practice often because of the clashes with his volleyball training

When you got injured during a game, thank goodness Nishinoya had joined him to cheer you on

The energy Nishinoya brought to the sidelines motivated Asahi to cheer more too

Usually, you’d wave to him after getting a point and he’d wave back

But you could actually hear him because of Noya

You had in the back of your head to thank him for bringing him out of his shell

Have of the reason he never went to your practice because he was scared the other players would have thought he was some creepy middle-aged man there to stare at them in their uniforms

That’s why he always came to your games without fail, to make up for it and because he felt safer from a distance

However, Nishinoya had dragged him to the front, which he was hesitant about at first

But when he saw how excited you were to see him so close made him smile

You were in perfect position to receive the ball in order to shoot

Your teammates passed back and forth, approaching you slowly

“I’m free! Guys!”

You gained their attention, and they sent the ball your way

You caught it and immediately shot for the goal while the opponents were distracted

“Come on, Y/N!”

Both Nishinoya and Asahi shouted, Noya obviously the loudest

The first shot missed, but you quickly caught it and shot again

This time, the ball landed through the hoop and the whistle blown to confirm that it was a point

You could hear Asahi and Nishinoya celebrating on the sidelines

Pumping your fists in the air, you brushed your forearm against the goal post

A nail had been sticking out of it, slicing through your skin

You immediately hissed, the pain stinging dramatically

You grab your arm, searching to find a massive gash down the length of your forearm

Blood poured from the wound and you called your coach

They immediately brought you off once they saw the red liquid

Asahi was worried, slipping around to where you were holding a towel to your arm

Hissing in pain, you found Asahi approaching

“Y-Y/N, what happened?”

He could see the pain laced into your face, shaking nervously

You wanted to hide it, afraid of how he would react

Carefully, you removed the damp cloth from the wound with a hiss as the air hit the tenderness

“I’m gonna need stitches”

You hissed through your teeth, turning to show Asahi

By then Nishinoya had arrived by Asahi, and at the perfect time

One look at the way your arm had been split open with blood gushing from the open wound...

And Asahi had fainted

Luckily Nishinoya was there to catch him and lower him to the ground

Now you were more worried for Asahi than yourself, to be honest

With Asahi out of commission, your coach had to take you to get you almost twenty stitches

Nishinoya stayed back to make sure Asahi woke up safely, and when he did, he was anxiously asking where you were and how you were

Asahi dropped into your place after finding out you were out of hospital, pulling you into a hug

Of course you made sure he was okay after his episode too

Constant tender touches while you healed, and soft kisses over the patch on your arm

He treated you like an absolute princess, especially after Nishinoya had scared him again by saying “I think she’ll need to get it amputated” right after he woke up

Fainted again when he went with you to get the stitches removed

Kageyama:

This boy does not get rugby at all

He tries, because he’s smart enough to pick it up if he wanted to

But, he’s more impressed with sports that involve more ‘thinking and skill’

What is impressive to him, however, is how fit and strong you are

Even though he is still taller than you, he almost feels like you are the bigger person in the relationship with the muscle you have

Likes being small spoon with your figure

Silently admires your athletic ability, and thinks you are really cool whenever you make a massive run down the field

Kageyama likes to watch when you win

He gets so blushy and excited when you bound into his arms after a good game

Unfortunately, he’s very busy with volleyball, unable to make many training sessions or games

He tries his hardest to be at your training grounds in time to walk home with you

He tries to keep his Saturday’s free to be with you or at your games

Recently, he had been even more busy, and this week he couldn’t make it too

This team had been tough, with a lot of bigger players

You were sort of struggling to break past them, unable to score any tries

All you remember was receiving the ball, trying to break through the wall they had created

You had run headfirst into the players, and the next thing you knew...

You woke up in hospital

Your head was wrapped up, and it thumped painfully

Trying to sit up hurt your head, so you laid back down

With how fuzzy your head was, you failed to notice Kageyama sitting in the corner with a carton of milk

He had been anxiously twiddling his thumbs while emptying carton after carton

When your eyes opened, he shot up, hurrying to your bedside

You finally noticed him, smiling softly at the pout on his lips and the shine of glossiness in his eyes

“Tobio...”

Even speaking hurt your head

“Don’t speak if it hurts”

Kageyama basically read your mind, taking your hand in his and placing your open palm on his cheek

“You’re such a dumbass, scaring me like that”

He rested his head on the bed next to you on the bed

You glided your thumb over his cheek, watching as the pout on his lips began to tremble slightly

Whining slightly in order to awe at him, you whispered

“I’m sorry...”

“Why did it happen the one game I can’t make it... damn it... I should have been there”

You shifted your head, ignoring the pain, in order to get a better view of him

His dark blue eyed were sparkling with tears, and you mumbled

“No... baby...”

Kageyama ignored you, turning to press his face into the white sheet on your thighs, blinking back his tears

“I was scared...”

He mumbled in a cracked voice into your thigh

You took his face in your hands and carefully pulled him towards your face

Giving him a kiss to his nose, you let him lay his head on your chest

“Don’t cry... I’m here”

You croaked, threading your fingers through his raven hair

The recovery process was long and hard, having received severe head trauma

You were in hospital for another day after you woke up for tests and to make sure you could stand without fainting

Kageyama stayed with you the entire time, only leaving when your parents insisted he get some sleep

After this, your parents were certain you could marry him, not kidding

He treated you like glass whenever he saw you, especially when you took the time off school

He would accidentally yell at you if he saw you up and about, but immediately took it back and apologised

Poor Hinata got all of Kageyama’s pent up anger about everything, being unable to yell at you

When you return to school, he’s like your shadow, following you around and making sure you’re drinking enough water

Reassure him that it wasn’t his fault and that you’re not going anywhere

284 notes · View notes

olivinesea · 3 years

Text

A Mixed Blessing

Chapter List

chapter three: counting up the exits

a/n: Alright, fun’s over. We’re getting into the thick of it now. Warnings for substance use, abuse, panic attacks, vomit, scars (idk let me know if I need to be tagging more things please, I really don’t know. I feel like if you’ve found your way here you probably know what you’re getting into but I could be wrong.) Love you all <3 ~5k

It surprised no one when Aaron started cutting class in high school. He didn’t usually have any plans, just headed toward the fields, trying to stay out of sight. He may already have been considered a lost cause as a freshman but that didn’t mean an adult wouldn’t stop him, demand he return to whatever class he was missing. And that wouldn’t do, that would only ruin his good mood. At first he had been leaving class to better enjoy the high his mother’s pills provided but when that ended he continued to wander. It was much nicer outside than in the building where people stared at him, whispered about him, called him names. He kicked at rocks as he slunk behind the portables in the field. They had been put up during a population surge, only to sit empty, waiting on some future use or someone to be motivated enough to tear them down.

He slowed when he caught sight of a group of students standing next to the last building. They were circled together, backs to him for the most part. He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to approach. If he'd learned one thing, it was to avoid situations where he stood out. Walking up to a group of random older kids was definitely something to steer clear of. As he was trying to decide, a boy on the far side of the circle looked up and made eye contact. Aaron’s heart beat faster, breathing became short and though he wanted to run, he couldn’t get his legs to cooperate. The boy smiled slowly, his mouth a little too wide.

As if he was being pulled by some unseen thread, Aaron took a step forward, then another. Even though his mind was telling him to turn, to leave whatever this was alone, he found that he wanted to know more. No one ever smiled at him and it made him feel both uncomfortable and something else he couldn’t quite name. He twisted his fingers in the fabric of his sleeves that he’d pulled down over his hands. A chill air current danced across the back of his neck, whispering words he couldn’t comprehend. The cold made his ears ache.

He was close enough now to hear them talking, laughter and some grumbling from whoever was the butt of the joke. No one had noticed him yet aside from the boy who’d smiled at him. He felt his heart in his throat, worried he might throw up from the anxiety of this choice, this incredibly foolish choice. The boy looked at him again with that same peculiar smile. He seemed amused by Aaron’s nervous, stilted approach. Still several feet away from the group, the urge to flee overwhelmed him. His muscles tensed, preparing to run, half a thought went towards how ridiculous he would seem when they finally noticed him as he raced away. Just as he was turning, a voice called out, raised above the rest of the conversation.

“Hey kid, come here.”

Aaron’s shoulders rose up to his ears, bristling at being addressed like that but also helpless to the attention. Normally he’d do the opposite, flat out refuse to acknowledge this stranger’s demand, but the voice sank into him like a hook. He looked back at the group, now all eyes staring at him, questions clear on their faces. He bit his lip before he could stop himself. There were too many people looking at him and he hated it. He could imagine how he looked to them—too skinny, too pale, drowning in his own clothes and the bruising that shadowed his eyes. He’d gotten taller but barely looked old enough to be a high school student even though he would turn fifteen in a few months. This had been a stupid idea.

“What’s your name?” The other boy’s voice cut through the air, pinning him in place.

“Aaron,” he mumbled, suspicious he’d been dragged into this only to be mocked (or worse).

“You a freshman?” There were chuckles around the group. He nodded reluctantly, eyes darting to the ground, unable to look at any of them directly.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” A different voice, this one female and clearly irritated by the interruption he’d caused.

He looked up to glare at the speaker, not enjoying being teased. “Shouldn’t you?”

While the girl directed a bitter scowl at him, the first boy snorted, holding up his hands. “Fine, fine, we all make our own choices I guess.”

Aaron frowned at that statement, unsure what to make of it. The rest of the group lost interest and returned to their previous conversation, widening the circle just enough to leave space for him. He shoved his hands in his pockets to stop from fidgeting and took the few remaining steps towards the group. He couldn’t bring himself to completely join them so he hung back half a step, always ready to make a quick getaway. When he looked up, that same boy was still watching him. Up close Aaron could see he had freckles, which felt out of place somehow. They suggested a sort of innocence that the rest of his face, all sharp angles and dark, calculating eyes completely contradicted.

The person next to him handed the boy a joint. He continued to stare at Aaron as he took a drag, closing his eyes only as he inhaled the smoke deep into his lungs. He reached across the circle to hand the joint to Aaron, skipping several people who muttered in annoyance but no one complained too loudly. Their fingers touched as he passed off the half burned joint. Aaron had never smoked before but he was more than willing to try. He was certainly not going to turn it down in front of half a dozen upperclassmen.

“Make sure you inhale all the way,” he instructed.

Aaron did, coughing as the smoke came back out, scraping his throat. There was some laughter but mostly they were indifferent to him. The only one paying any attention to him was the boy with the strange smile; it wasn’t friendly and it unnerved Aaron. He tried to hand the joint back as he smothered another cough.

“Again,” he said, eyes intense.

Aaron blinked at him. The boy waved his hand in encouragement or impatience. Aaron flinched at the unexpected movement but tried to hide it by doing as he was told, bringing the joint back to his lips and taking another drag. This time was a little easier though he wasn’t sure he liked the way it made his face feel hot and his eyes water. The other boy accepted this time when he tried to return it. Already the edges of his vision were softening, his chest felt like it was being wrapped in something warm. He hugged his arms around himself, feeling very out of place, the sounds of the others talking fading in and out like a stereo speaker with a bad connection.

He looked up again moments or minutes later and the older boy was still watching him with that same expression. Aaron was finally able to place it, the narrowed eyes and too many teeth self-satisfied grin of a cat who’d caught a bird. He laughed at the absurdity of this thought. He laughed and he found that he couldn’t stop laughing. He crouched down, hugging himself tighter to try to stem the laughter that way.

“Oh no, you got the baby high, Cole,” he heard someone say. He wondered who they were talking about. Who was the baby and who was Cole; he was unable to make the association. There weren’t any babies here. Sean was a baby and he was at home. He had almost managed to stop laughing but thinking about Sean being here, so out of place with his golden curls, his innocent smile, made him start to giggle again. He started coughing as he choked on his own saliva, muscles lazily not performing their assigned tasks of conducting fluids where they belonged. He felt a hand pounding his back and he tried to roll away from the pain it caused, unsuccessfully biting back a moan. He closed his eyes, vaguely embarrassed but also not fully aware of his surroundings anymore. He knew he was outside because he felt the damp grass beneath him, pressing against his cheek. How did he end up laying on the ground? He tried to breathe but his lungs didn’t seem to be taking directions anymore. He grabbed at his chest with frantic fingers.

“Hey,” this voice was quiet, much closer to him than before. He felt a hand placed carefully on his shoulder, barely any pressure this time, a dragonfly lighting on the water. He was too confused to open his eyes, too afraid he’d made his way back home somehow—why couldn’t he remember? Why couldn’t he just get his lungs to expand?

“You’re fine.” The statement was more command than reassurance. Aaron tried to place the voice, thoughts flashing through his mind at an alarming rate. Each time he tried to catch one, they sped by faster. He’d almost gotten it but he was so distracted by the chill transferring from the individual blades of grass, the water drops becoming wet patches on his shirt. He should have more layers on, the weather was changing already. The hand shook his shoulder a little, bringing him back to the present.

“Look at me.”

He cracked his eyes open reluctantly, unable to disobey even though he was terrified he’d be met with the dark eyes of his father, that he’d find this was only the set up for something horrible. He didn’t know what to think when his vision was met with that freckled face, no longer smiling, a slight frown of concern along with a clinical curiosity. He touched his fingers to Aaron’s exposed collarbone.

“Inhale,” he said and Aaron wondered if time had made a loop—how many times had this happened already? The cool pressure on his chest distracted him from the thought and he did as he was told. The flood of oxygen immediately relaxed his constricted limbs. The boy, Cole, nodded encouragingly. “Again.”

Aaron closed his eyes to focus better, all he felt was the air filtering into his lungs and the fingers splayed against his chest, guiding it there. A few more breaths and he knew where he was again, finally locating himself in space and time. With this awareness came the full force of his embarrassment. He blushed as he pushed himself upright, curling his fists so tightly his nails dug deep into his palms. Cole looked at him from his position squatting beside him, hands on his knees, trying to be certain the younger boy wouldn’t collapse again.

“Are you coming?” someone called. The group had moved down the field, heading someplace more interesting. They’d had enough of the small drama of some inexperienced kid overdoing it. It was time to get away from campus before a teacher took notice. Cole ignored them, watching Aaron’s slow recovery. Aaron felt dizzy, still lightheaded from lack of air. His sides ached from laughing but he couldn’t remember what had been so funny. Cole stood and extended a hand down to Aaron.

“Come on.”

Aaron couldn’t decline even if he’d wanted to.

From that day forward Aaron found himself trailing this group around whenever he couldn’t stand being in class anymore. He’d sneak away from the building and down to the field where he’d find a few of them lingering. Sometimes only two or three, sometimes more. They never said much to him but no one told him to go away. Cole was usually there and while Aaron would swear he could feel his eyes watching him, he didn’t speak much to him either. When they’d leave campus, he would follow them to the woods where they’d taken over an abandoned shed. Over time teens with the same ideas had dragged logs and old couches around to lounge on as they got high and drank warm bottles of malt liquor. Aaron always tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, half-certain they would yell at him to leave if they realized he was tagging along, leaching off their pot and alcohol. At first he only took sips, pretending to drink but wanting to stay alert to the people around him, not trusting any of them. But eventually, as they continued to ignore him, he relaxed into the habit.

After the first panicked experience of getting high, he had a much better time, taking smaller hits until he built up his tolerance. Sometimes it made him giggly but mostly he liked to just lay on one of the stained couch cushions and stare at the branches above, eyes unfocused, colors blurring. He listened to the birds and the voices around him and the way they blended together, layering to make a song only he could hear. He didn’t notice the dirty looks he got from one girl, Amy, whenever Cole sat beside him, passing him a bottle of something he certainly didn’t need more of. He’d gotten better at drinking than when he was a child, no longer as prone to getting sick, but he still didn’t eat enough not to need to be careful.

On a Tuesday later in the year, a couple months since he’d started hanging around with the older kids, he didn’t find anyone when he went down to the field. But he’d already left class so he decided to go on to the shed on his own, perhaps they’d left early that day. The day was overcast and starting to drizzle. He pulled the hood of his ratty sweatshirt over his head while the mist collected and dripped off his dark bangs into his face. When he got to the clearing, he didn’t see anyone there either. It was too wet to sit outside so he pushed the door to the shed open. It was dim inside and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he heard scuffling noises.

“What the fuck!” a girl’s voice shrieked.

Aaron realized what he’d walked in on and stumbled back quickly. He knew he should run but he just kept backing up slowly, heels sinking into the soft forest floor, unable to take his eyes off the partially closed door. Less than a minute later it swung open again, a tall shape emerging from the dimness. It was Cole, pushing his hair back off his forehead with one hand, adjusting the waist of his jeans with the other. They locked eyes and that smile was back, the one that made Aaron’s skin crawl but drew him in at the same time.

“Come here kid.”

Aaron hated that he gave in so easily but he changed direction, retracing his steps. Once he was within reach, Cole grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside. A camp lantern had appeared from somewhere, throwing shadows and providing just enough light to see the scowl on Amy’s face as she finished straightening her top. Cole pushed Aaron down onto one of the cushions on the floor. She curled her lip in distaste at Aaron before turning on Cole. “I don’t understand why you let this kid hang around. He’s a total creep.”

Aaron frowned and tried to shrink into his sweatshirt. He didn’t want to be there either.

“Now that’s not very nice,” Cole replied, mockingly stern. He dug around in his worn backpack, pulling out a bottle of cheap whiskey. “Look you made him feel bad. Better say sorry.” He still sounded like he was teasing but there was a hard edge in his voice, his eyes were watching her reactions, unblinking. “Maybe a little kiss will help.”

Amy scoffed, looking between Aaron, who was wishing he could disappear, and Cole, who was unscrewing the cap of the bottle.

“Fuck you Cole,” she spat and then stomped out of the building. The thin walls shook as she slammed the door. Cole shrugged and flicked the cap away. It vanished into the shadows beyond the range of the lantern. He took a gulp then pressed it into Aaron’s hands as he sat down alongside him, leaning against the wall. Aaron hesitated, he’d never been alone with Cole, with any of them, and he wasn’t sure what to expect.

Cole noticed and smirked. “Need help kid?”

Aaron’s pride flared, he hated it when they called him that, the way they acted like he was so young, too young to know anything. But he knew plenty, far more than they could ever imagine. He lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed, wincing down the sharp gasoline fumes. It had been awhile since he’d had any real liquor. The others always showed up with beers and forties that they were able to steal or shoulder tap from the bums in the liquor store parking lot. He wasn’t surprised to find Cole watching his reaction closely. He was always watching. Silently, he nodded his chin, indicating the bottle, so Aaron drank again. He tried to ignore the feeling of discomfort, the voice in his head mocking him for becoming so compliant.

He’d spent the last few weeks watching Cole out of the corner of his eye, seeing how the others treated him differently. They might tease and rough house with each other but never with him. And when Cole said an argument was settled, that was the end of it, regardless of whether the parties involved felt their complaints had been satisfied. There was something about him that was both frightening and compelling, sending a shiver up Aaron’s spine when he thought of him. He had been trying to figure it out and thought it must be related to the way Cole’s eyes never seemed to blink as he stared so intently. It always made him uncomfortable, made him assume he was in the wrong somehow. The part that confused Aaron the most though, was that he’d do anything to fix it. Even not knowing what was wrong, he felt the need to make it right, to win the older boy’s approval. Cole silently took the bottle from Aaron’s fingers as he was lost in contemplation of this stranger he was suddenly in such close quarters with. It felt like being too close to a wild animal. Something with too much intelligence that was just biding its time until it could strike.

Cole leaned his head back against the wall, letting the bottle hang from his fingers in between his bent knees. He closed his eyes and sighed, tired of the world already at seventeen.

“Hotchner.”

He said it so quietly Aaron almost didn’t catch it. He flicked his eyes over to Cole who hadn’t moved. Maybe he was hearing things now.

“That’s you, right?” He was looking at Aaron again, expression impossible to interpret beneath the rippling shadows cast by the tree branches as they swayed in the wind.

Aaron nodded slowly, unsure where this was going. He’d never told any of them his last name but there was no reason to think that they wouldn’t be able to figure it out. The town was not all that large. He passed the bottle back again. Aaron couldn’t even taste it anymore. His head was starting to swim.

“Your dad’s the lawyer right?”

“Mhm,” Aaron didn’t really want to answer but didn’t see how he could lie about it either. Cole laughed at the scowl on his face. Defiantly he took another swallow.

“Not too fond of the old man?”

Aaron lifted a shoulder, noncommittal. Even drunk he was not about to start talking about his father with anyone.

“Mm, not sharing. That’s alright.” He pulled rolling papers and a bag of pot out of his back pocket. Aaron hoped that would be the end of that line of questioning. It was quiet for a few minutes as Cole focused on breaking apart a bud.

“I don’t have a dad,” he said as if continuing some conversation they hadn’t quite started. “Or a mom, really.”

Aaron snorted, too drunk now to be careful with his reactions. “‘fcourse you do. That’s stupid.”

Cole looked up from his task, amused by this outburst. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

The way he said it suggested something dark and twisted but Aaron shied away from the bait, opting to drink more rather than wade deeper into whatever that was. Cole resumed rolling the joint, placing it to his lips and lighting it when it was ready.

“Who—“ Aaron wanted to ask who takes care of you but that sounded too juvenile. He was already annoyed with how they treated him like a little kid. He settled on, “Where do you live?”

Cole exhaled, blowing the smoke into Aaron’s face. “My grandma’s got a basement where I crash sometimes.”

Aaron didn’t ask what he did the rest of the time, just accepted the joint that was being passed to him. He brought it to his lips with unsteady fingers. He was just aware enough to know this was a terrible idea, but Cole’s steady gaze on him wouldn’t let him stop now. He could do anything the other boy could do. He would do anything the other boy wanted him to do. It hardly made sense but this older boy—who didn’t know him, who he had nothing to offer to— nevertheless, this boy was paying attention to him in a way that no one else did. The only other person who was ever this aware of his existence was his father and that was never a good awareness. They continued smoking and drinking in silence as it started to rain in earnest.

“I hate him.” Aaron’s voice was raw with fury, the feeling so strong he was on the verge of tears. Cole nodded lazily, too stoned or too disinterested to form a reply. But now that he’d started, Aaron couldn’t stop thinking about every bad thing that had ever happened to him at the hands of his father, of how his mother just let it happen, of how no one had ever bothered to notice. His breathing sped up. He needed Cole to understand, to believe him and to acknowledge that his life, his experiences were real. He felt a sudden intense certainty that if he couldn’t have just one person look at him and see what was really there, he would disappear completely, never more than an irritation, swatted away by a distracted hand. He leaned forward on his hands, swaying unsteadily as he tried to make eye contact with Cole. For some reason he wouldn’t stay in one place, his image swinging from side to side. Aaron shook his head, hoping to clear it. The other boy lifted the nearly empty bottle to his mouth, lifting an eyebrow at this behavior, eyes bloodshot and hollow.

“I—“ Aaron couldn’t finish his thought. His stomach muscles seized and everything he’d consumed over the past day forcefully came back up, spraying across both Cole and himself. He coughed, nearly choking as he doubled over, forehead touching the dirty floor, scraping against it with his fingernails, trying to find purchase on the violently tilting horizon. Cole swore loudly, dropping and breaking the bottle in his attempt to move away from the mess. The smell of the spilled alcohol, so close to Aaron’s nose was too much and he threw up again, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t remember what had been so important just moments before, all he could do was pray he would be forgiven. He didn’t have a lot of hope.

“Goddamnit,” Cole muttered, moving away from the broken glass and liquid mess. Aaron felt a hand pulling on the back of his sweatshirt and cowered, putting his arms above his head, unable to operate on anything but instinct. Cole tugged a little harder, dragging him away from the mess he’d created.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron sobbed, wishing he didn’t exist, regretting his earlier insistence on being noticed. Cole pulled him to his feet none too gently and Aaron braced himself for the hit he knew was coming, the hit he knew he deserved. Instead he felt fingers pulling up the hem of his sweatshirt, he snapped his arms to his sides and tried to back away but stumbled back into a broken and worn office chair someone had lifted from the school. He sat heavily, barely saving himself from falling onto the floor as the chair rocked unevenly. He gripped the sides of the seat so hard his knuckles turned white and, though he wanted to close his eyes, he also wanted to see what was coming, wanted to prepare himself.

Cole stared at him for a minute, incredulous, then shrugged. He pulled his own soiled shirt off in a single motion, hooking the back of the collar to bring it over his head so none of the vomit came into contact with his skin. He balled it up, wrapping the clean fabric around the outside and dropped it on the floor. When he was finished he noticed Aaron staring at him, staring at his chest. He looked down, tracing a finger over the long purple scar that ran from the bottom of his ribs almost to his hip bone, dark against his exposed skin.

“Like it?” he asked mildly. “It’s got a partner,” he said as he turned, showing another dark scar, not as long but thicker, near the middle of his back. There were other, smaller scars, some Aaron recognized as the circular prints left by the lit end of cigarettes. When he turned back around, Aaron’s eyes were large and round, unable to comprehend what he’d been shown. Cole scratched at the long scar a little self consciously.

“My mom was real into meth and uh…well she thought I was trying to steal from her one time.” He shifted from foot to foot, pressing his fingertips against his scar. “It was a long time ago,” he added.

“You said you didn’t have a mom,” Aaron said stupidly after the silence became unbearable.

Cole’s eyes grew dark. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

Aaron shivered, promising himself he’d just shut up from here on out. Cole ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, it appeared brown in the dim lighting.

“Are you going to take that off or what?”

Aaron looked down at himself, he was covered in vomit. Seeing it made him aware again of the smell and the nausea and he raced to pull it off, forgetting that he too had something to hide. He was too intoxicated to be coordinated and his shirt came off along with the sweatshirt and he was left exposed from the waist up, just the same as Cole. It was the other boy’s turn to stare, to assess the range of injuries inflicted by the marks left behind. Aaron might not have anything as dramatic but he made up for that in quantity. Aaron forced himself not to close in on himself, to allow the other boy the same time to observe that he’d been given. He couldn’t meet his gaze though, looking out the window as his cheeks burned red with humiliation.

The silence stretched out and he started to think that he would be left standing there forever. That he was too broken, even for someone who knew what Cole knew, who had experienced a similar kind of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop the tears, telling himself he was stupid, so stupid to have thought it was at all the same. He was startled when he felt cool fingertips on his chin, turning his face.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He said it quietly, like he knew this was Aaron’s deepest, most shameful desire. He left him for a moment, walking in a wide arc around the mess. Aaron stood chewing on his lip, trying to remain composed. He came back with a sweater he’d pulled out of his backpack. Instead of handing it to him, he pulled it on over Aaron’s head, carefully guiding his arms into the sleeves. It was too big, but clothes were always too big on him, and the fabric was soft and warm. When Aaron was dressed again, Cole pulled on his jacket, a dark canvas, faded at the elbows with frayed drawstrings. He left the zipper undone and Aaron could just see the edge of his scar. It pulled his gaze like a magnet. He couldn’t help staring; too much had just happened for him to process and he hung on this one detail, this proof that he wasn’t alone.

He believed the scar was evidence that there was one person who had lived a life like his and still managed to move through the world unbroken. He didn’t know yet how scar tissue, like icebergs and secrets, grew larger and more twisted the deeper one looked. He wanted to believe in a life with simple answers, with safe endings to stories like his. See, here’s proof. He wanted to touch Cole’s scars, absorb them through his palms as if he could absorb a resolution to his own pain, as if it would make everything stop long enough for all his own wounds to heal over, to scar and become long ago stories instead of the next act waiting in the wings.

Cole zipped his jacket closed, blocking Aaron’s view and breaking off his feverish train of thought. Cole looked at him with a complicated mix of emotion. There was tenderness but also hunger. Aaron couldn’t decipher what that meant but he didn’t care, he was already lost to this idea, a belief he was too ready to attach to this person he barely knew. High on the revelation, he would believe what he wanted: he’d found someone who understood, someone who would stay with him, not leave him struggling on his own. And he would follow him anywhere.

chapter four

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #tw substances #tw abuse #tw vomit #young hotch #a mixed blessing #criminal minds fanfiction

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possiblypeachy · 3 years

Note

Helloo, so i loooved your last sam drake fic. & I wanted to ask you if you could write a really angsty fanfic about sam with a younger female reader, like 20 years younger (she would be 23) ? I know its a huge age gap so if that makes you uncomfortable you can leave it out but make it hella angsty still (with a fluffy ending) ? thanks in advance ❤

btw im an infp too ;)

infps rise up!!

thank you muchly for the request! i had to make some interesting google searches for this and i always count that as a win in my book!

y’know when your brain feel like a static TV? yeah, that happened to mine while writing this so i apologise in advance if this is in no way what you asked for :( HOWEVER i do hope you enjoy nonetheless! i do love sam; he’s just a little bastard :,)

warning: this details a heavy injury + a hospital trip so please don’t read on it that makes you feel horrible or anything! also, the reader is younger than same (as requested) but it’s not a like huge aspect of the plot.

if others like this too, feel free to request something from me!

― ❊ ―

You had always been interested in the hidden corners of the world. For a species that boasted about being the most intelligent, humans knew so achingly little about the world in which they lived. So, when you decided adventure called to you more than any kind of degree could, you put out a few ads in a couple of places and a certain Drake wrote back, enlisting your help with… artefact recovery. You hadn’t expected so many gunfights or bruises or those dreaded mosquitos but you certainly didn’t regret the job, coming away with a few pirate-branded gold coins and a 40-something-year-old partner-in-crime.

You probably could’ve set up for life with those coins alone-- lived a quiet life in a suburb somewhere, joined a dating app and found the love of your life, adopted a puppy, maybe-- but when Sam had called you a month or so after your Madagascan escapade, that same excitement in his voice that you’d become so accustomed to, you didn’t even need a few days to consider before asking him when the next flight was.

Now, to say that going on this rodeo was a good idea could’ve been a lie; you were still young and sprightly, and many would beg (if they even got the chance) for you to reconsider-- oh, but you have such a long life ahead of you, why are you taking it for granted?

Screw them. You’d seen more beautiful things in the past year than they would in their entire lives. So what if you had a couple of scars and scrapes to prove it; it simply adds character.

Well… perhaps this particular scrape would change your perspective on that.

You and Sam had encountered one of those forsaken puzzle things; a series of statues and corresponding paintings behind them. Each held a dagger and held their hand out to shake, a conniving little smirk etched into the grey stone. You had been so achingly confident of the answer-- nothing had gone wrong so far and you were feeling chipper. So, when you called out to Sam that you’d solved it before him, that cocky little quirk to your lips that made him huff out a laugh and shake his head, you didn’t expect his face to drop so quickly, eyes darting from your smile to your abdomen.

There was a sudden, burning pain, and you lurched forwards toward the statue, placing one hand on its shoulder to keep yourself upright. Everything seemed to blur when you looked down, the jewelled dagger now withdrawing from your gut covered in blood. The statue looked as if it had never moved, if you discounted the bloodied weapon it held and the small pool that had accumulated at the base of it. Your free hand, shaking, came down to try to stop yourself from bleeding, fingers almost immediately red and warm. “Sam--” His name was coughed out, the tension it caused making you cry out in pain.

He had seen your smile drop, your eyes widen, the blood bloom across your shirt. He had watched the statue withdraw, that grin it held now dangerous. Oh, fuck. This couldn’t be happening. Sam had promised everyone-- he had promised you that nothing like this would happen. Of course he had fucked it.

He was already there. He had been there immediately but, beyond the pain and shock, you hadn’t realised. “Holy shit! (Name)?” His hand came to your shoulder and, at the contact, you nearly crumpled, as if his touch had brought you back to reality. Unfortunately, along with that came the more acute realisation of how much fucking pain you were in.

“Oh, fuck! God--” You curled over and vomited. Fuck, it hurt. The movement made you grab at your wound more, muscles trying to tense but just searing with pain instead. Lifting your arm to wipe your mouth felt so much more difficult, lethargy already settling in it seemed.

Sam muttered something to himself, tucking his shoulder under yours and using his arm to help keep you propped up. “We’ll be alright-- you’ll be alright. We just have to get back to the car and--” he cut off, swearing, at least you thought; everything sounded like it was underwater-- muffled and slowed.

You let your head drop a little, face contorted in pain with each step you took. This wasn’t supposed to happen-- this was never supposed to happen. These trips were meant to be all beautiful vistas and treasure. You didn’t mind the occasional gunfight and, while being punched square in the nose didn’t feel great, you’d let it happen more if only to walk into more of these preserved pieces of history all over the globe. But, this? Fuck this. You should’ve been more prepared.

“Everyone said--” you groaned again and, when you were finally able to muster the strength to look at Sam, he glanced down at you with such panic in his eyes that it almost made your chest churn more than your stomach, “They said this shit would be bad for me.” The laugh you gave was painful and you regretted it immediately, stumbling over your own feet when you tried to hold your abdomen-- as if that would provide some kind of relief. It did not.

Sam furrowed his brows, moving you slightly to make sure you didn’t slip from his grip. “No, no-- it’s alright! You still got life in you.” He tried to laugh but it didn’t sound like him and that just made you spiral a little faster. “There are still places that are out there waiting for you, okay?” Sam’s voice was rushed, like he was torn between trying to comfort you and just trying to get you both the fuck out of here.

The light of the outside was blinding, the sun bright and unyielding overhead. Sam fumbled with the keys in his back pocket and then there were the telltale beeps of a car being unlocked. The sound made him flinch but you were beyond that, wanting more than anything to just sleep. It was hard to focus on anything else, actually.

Sam bundled you into the back seat and you groaned at the way your body had to twist and curve into the backseat. Every breath hurt; it was like reliving the injury each time you inhaled. Your hand was blood-covered now but your shaking had died down. It took too much energy to shake-- Hell, it took way too much to even lift your eyelids again after each blink.

When the driver’s door slammed, you jolted slightly-- like someone had dragged you out of the very early stages of sleep. “Sam,” you began, voice quiet; it was as though you were in another universe entirely, “are we gonna…” you trailed off, forgetting where you were. It was strange: you felt like the pain was subsiding. It was almost… peaceful.

The car lurched into motion and you saw him glance at you through the rearview mirror. You thought he might’ve been saying something to you, his free hand reaching back to get your attention. Black encroached on your vision and your head lolled backwards briefly but you pulled it forward again soon after as though it were attached to some kind of bungee rope. Is this what dying felt like?

Maybe you were okay with this. It was calm-- quiet, even. It was almost like the pain had become an afterthought-- a dull thrum in your abdomen. You would miss this, though: the adventures. You would miss the fact that everything seemed more colourful in other countries. You would miss the sweet tang of sea air and how free you felt on the open sea. Despite the blur in your vision, you tried to focus on Sam and his helpless mumbling. Tears welled in your eyes. God, you would miss him too.

The next time you blinked, your eyes stayed closed.

---

A steady beeping woke you up. That and a horrible white light beating against your eyelids. You tried to groan but even that was difficult with how… disused your voice felt. A chair creaked to your right and then--

“(Name)?”

It was him.

“Sam…” Trying to sit up was like an instinct but a hand came to your shoulder to keep you down. It was then that you finally opened your eyes, pupils struggling against the light. “Did you find the treasure?”

He breathed out a laugh-- almost like relief. “If you count shitty hospital coffee and the most uncomfortable chair ever as treasure, then yes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Hospital?” The strain on your voice made you cough. This was a bad reflex on your part. An ache flared up again in your lower stomach, and your arm flew there to support the injury. Now, everything was starting to come back. “Ah, shit. I remember. God.”

Beside you, his lips pursed. “Yeah. Almost got bested by a statue, honey.”

You gave him a look and he smiled. Despite his words, the normalcy of it all was comforting. “I may be bed-ridden but I’ll still hit you, old man.” There it was: that smile of yours. He struggled to even feign offence with how relieved he felt at seeing it. In fact, if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, he might’ve welled up a little. “Sam?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” He rubbed his face before leaning onto your bed. “I was just worried, is all.”

He looked like he had done more than worried; the dark around his eyes told you of that. Quiet fell over you for a few moments and Sam took to rubbing your leg over the array of hospital blankets piled atop you. It was nice, comforting, and for a time you just allowed yourself to be.

That was until he swallowed loudly-- nervously-- and withdrew his hand. “(Name), I, uh--” he cleared his throat-- not because he needed to but just so he could have a couple more seconds to think about what he was going to say, “I’ve been thinking about what happened, and I know that you’d disagree, but I’m not sure you should--”

You groaned as you shifted yourself up the bed, cutting him off. You knew what he was going to say: that you shouldn’t come on the next trip with him. That would turn into only the occasional call between the two of you, asking about his most recent escapades-- if had any spots open on the crew next time, to which he would decline. Then, there would only be texts-- a barren waste of white space between messages and timestamps that began to highlight the weeks and months between each text. “Don’t, Sam.” His brows furrowed and you pointed a finger at him, accusing. “I know what you’re going to say and I’m not going to listen to you.”

He pursed his lips briefly then pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. “You could’ve died. You can’t just fuckin’ die--” he leant forward so his ranting wouldn’t disturb any other hospital dwellers, “You can’t die yet; you’re-- what?-- twenty-three?”

“Oh, fuck off, Sam! I’m not a child; I can handle myself!”

In one gesture towards your injury, he had messed up. “Obviously fuckin’ not!”

Silence. Your mouth was agape and he flinched back immediately. For how many times people told Sam to think before he spoke, he hadn’t seemed to have learnt. When the words settled in, you leant away from him, back into the cushions behind you. “I think you should go.”

He blinked once. And, then again. “What?”

You couldn’t even look at him. “Get out. I’ll call a nurse if i need help since I obviously can’t look after myself--”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, (Name)--”

“How did you fucking mean it then, Sam?” He stood from the chair and it creaked-- the only noise in the room. You didn’t even want to give him the chance to give an excuse. “Or, am I too much of a child to understand what you mean?” In the middle of his pacing, he turned to face you, simply staring despite your ceaseless ranting. “Sorry that I’m such a huge fucking inconvenience to you! It’s not like the same kind of shit has ever happened to you or anything, huh?” He watched as your eyes began to well, face etched with frustration and betrayal, words spat out of your mouth like they put a bad taste there.

He had to cut you off or else you would carry on; you shouldn’t feel like this right after… everything that happened. God, he was such a dick. He shouldn’t have brought this up-- not now at least-- and now look at you: almost crying because of him in a hospital bed thank to stab wound that you got because of him and-- “I don’t want you to get hurt again because I fuckin’ care about you, (Name), okay?” It was his turn to rant now and your turn to stare at him. “And-- and, I have no idea what I would do with myself if you-- if you had fuckin’--” the noise he made was a mix between a sigh and growl, like he was annoyed at himself, then he leant against the end of your bed. A few moments passed; you didn’t know if you were supposed to say something to him during this or not but all you could fathom doing was to just stare at him, dumbfounded. Then, he breathed out a simple: “I’m sorry. For being a dick.”

You swallowed, gaze flickering away from him briefly. Then, you huffed out a laugh-- a terrible mix of amusement and disbelief. “Glad you can recognise it, Sam.” He blinked at you, then shook his head; that certainly wasn’t the response he expected. Something more biting-- venomous--perhaps, but not that. You gestured back to the seat that he had pulled up beside you and, with some degree of caution, he sat down again. You held out a hand and he took it, rubbing a thumb over the underside of it, touch light on your skin. “You can’t prove that this isn’t the painkillers speaking but,” it hurt to lean closer to him but you thought he was worth it-- even with the deer-in-headlights look he had, “I care about you too.”

It was then that he smiled-- grinned, even-- and you finally heard him laugh again. “Oh, I’m definitely holding that against you, (Name).”

“Will you hold this against me, too?” You pulled your hand away from his, only to place it on his face instead, thumb tracing a line over his cheek. His eyes flickered down to your lips, obviously unsure on if he should close the gap, that worry still bubbling in his lower stomach that he was daydreaming again. So, you did instead, the ache in your gut less pressing than your want to kiss him. It was short but to say it didn’t make your heart soar and a faint colour flush Sam’s ears would be a lie. You hand stayed there after, fingers reluctant to move away-- to lose him; the thought scratched at the back of your mind.

He let out a sigh of relief-- a little ‘hoo’ noise coming with it. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted that.”

#super worried that this is subpar but PLEASE continue to have faith in me #*worries incredibly hard*#sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #uncharted #writing

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emy-loves-you · 3 years

Text

Have Your Name (And Your Back) Chapter 7

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

Summary: Prince stops by to ask a few questions, and Patton's fears have been confirmed. Or have they?

Warnings: discussions of beating, taking away food and clothes, and other serious topics. Also mentions bruises and aftermath of a traumatic event, along with a lot of negative self-talk from Patton

After his first day of lessons with Logic, Patton's first few days at the manor weren’t very interesting. Even though he didn’t have any chores or much that he needed to do, his life had quickly developed into a simple schedule to follow. He would start his day each morning by getting up early and taking a long bath. Then he would get a new outfit from his closet and twirl around in it for a few minutes before settling down on his bed. He would then grab Logic's notebook and they would go over whatever chapters Logic had assigned the day before. After that was breakfast with Prince, along with that delicious jam that was quickly becoming Patton's favorite food. Then he would practice either math or English writing. After that Logic would assign him some chapters to read on Fae rules and customs. Prince would end the lesson with lunch and Patton usually took a nap afterward. He would then read over the chapters until dinner, and after that he would change into pajamas and go to bed. It was boring sometimes, especially in the hours between his nap and dinner when it only took an hour or two to read his chapters. He was used to always having something to do, and he could only sleep for so many hours before that became boring as well. He tended to spend that time rereading earlier chapters, since it tended to make Logic happy and made Patton feel useful.

Things were already beginning to change, however.

It started almost 2 weeks after Patton’s arrival. He had just finished eating lunch with Prince (well more like he ate and Prince read his book. Did fairies not need to eat or did he just eat at a different time? He’d have to find a way to ask Logic about that later) and was being escorted back to his room. Patton had expected Prince to say farewell before leaving him to his own devices until dinner. Instead, he stood in the doorway and rubbed his neck, appearing… nervous?

Patton tilted his head to the side, trying not to let his own nervousness show as he silently watched. What could make Prince nervous? Prince was never nervous. The thought made the pit in Patton’s stomach worsen with every second.

Eventually, Prince cleared his throat and looked up at him. “May I come in, Heart? There are quite a few things I’d like to discuss with you.” Patton nodded shakily and his Fairy Godfather quickly stepped into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Patton was nervously shifting from foot to foot but Prince didn’t seem to notice, instead carefully observing the room around him. “Has Logic been teaching you about Fae culture?”

Patton nodded, bouncing on his toes. “I’ve been learning a lot about negotiation magic and what the most common types are from a human’s per...pers…”

Prince chuckled and Patton jumped, startled. “Perspective?”

He giggled, trying to hide his nervousness. “Yeah, that!”

Prince smiled softly, his gaze turning back to the empty room. “Has he taught you how to properly defend yourself yet?”

His smile fell. “Well, not yet. He says he wants to wait until I can write well in English before teaching me, so I can actually respond to his questions.” He looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling queasy as he tensed up. This was a test, wasn’t it? It was a test and I failed. He had wondered why Prince didn’t make him clean or cook. He was good at it, Prince had even complimented him on how clean Hart Manor was the first time they met! Patton had assumed it was just because he had magic instead, so Patton’s skill set was rendered useless. He knew why now. The expectations set on him weren’t to cook and clean. They were to learn as much as possible and defend himself against fairies. And Patton had failed his expectations.

It had been so long since Patton had last been punished, he’d almost forgotten the terror he always felt leading up to it. The ice that traveled through his veins, making his muscles stiff and his mind run on a loop. All he could do was sit there and wonder how he would be punished, hope that he would be able to keep his clothes and bed and bath. Maybe if he was lucky Prince would use his fire magic to heal him after his punishment. It probably wouldn’t happen, but at least he could hope-

“Patton, breathe!” Patton’s eyes snapped up to meet Prince’s gaze, gulping down air as his mind cleared slightly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been hyperventilating. When the black spots in his vision went away and he was finally able to focus, he turned his attention over to his Fairy Godfather’s panicked yet sheepish expression. “My apologies, Heart. You couldn’t breathe properly and you couldn’t seem to see or hear me, so I did what I had to do to calm you down.” He raised his hand and Patton flinched, waiting for pain. There was a moment of tense silence, and Patton barely suppressed another flinch when Prince broke it with a whisper. “Oh Heart. I will never purposefully hurt you like that. Don’t you remember me telling you that?”

Patton blinked quickly as he tried to focus on Prince’s shoes, tears blurring his vision. He didn’t speak up, not wanting to upset his caretaker. A part of Patton knew that Prince would never hurt him, that he didn’t want to cause him harm. But after years of knowing that he was worthless, of being beaten everyday for not meeting standards, it ingrained the idea that he had to be perfect. And he had thought that he was doing it well. He didn’t have any physical chores, but Prince seemed to relax when Patton smiled and twirled around, so he assumed he was meeting his expectations. But he wasn’t. He was dumb and couldn’t even do simple tasks like reading and writing! Maybe the little voice in his head was right and he should be punished-

Patton shook his head, letting in a shuddering breath. Those bad thoughts were wrong! He didn’t deserve it! He deserved to be happy and loved, just like Prince said. But Prince doesn’t deserve me. He deserves a better godson, not some broken kid who can’t even hold a conversation without breaking down-

‘Just because you have bad thoughts doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken.’ Patton forced more air into his lungs, trying to clear his head while he remembered what the Duke had told him on his first day here. He had seen some of Patton’s punishments, and he’s said that Patton didn’t deserve them. That had to count for something, right? Two different people telling him that he didn’t deserve to be punished?

Patton let out a shuddering breath. “I-” His voice cracked and he flinched, but forced the next few words out before Prince could worry more. “I know. I trust you. It’s just… I feel…” He groaned and flopped back on the bed. “Words are hard.”

His fairy godfather chuckled, easing back to lay down next to him. “Words can be such a fickle thing, can’t they?” They laid there in silence for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “Can you tell me why you started panicking?”

Patton starred at his ceiling, the twinkling fairy lights calming his nerves. “I could…”

Prince made an odd sound, and Patton couldn’t tell if it sounded humorous or irritated, or maybe something else. “Alright, will you tell me why you panicked, Hart?”

Patton sighed, the long sleeves of his shirt getting bunched up in his tight grip. “...Promise me you won’t be upset?”

He felt Prince shift next to him, probably to look over at him, but Patton couldn’t tell as he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t bear to see his fairy godfather’s face right now. There was a moment of silence, and Patton was sure that he would refuse to promise, or ask why he wanted a promise out of him in the first place. Patton had read a few chapters ahead to please Logic, and he had read about how much promises mean to the Fae. A promise wasn’t as powerful as an oath or vow, but it was still nothing to scoff at. When you promised something to a fairy- or, in turn, if a fairy promised something to you- it couldn’t be broken easily. Not without the person who made the promise suffering some form of consequence. Oh, why did Patton have to be so greedy, asking for something that he knew meant so much to the Fae? He opened his mouth to apologize.

“I promise.”

“I’m sor- wait, what?” Patton looked over at his fairy godfather, who was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

Prince maintained eye contact as he took a deep breath, steeling himself as he spoke. “I promise that whatever you say next will not make me upset with you.”

Patton shuddered as he felt the promise wash over him, fueled by his fairy godfather’s magic. It seeped into his skin and made his insides all warm and fuzzy, like a warm hug etched into his very soul. It gave him a feeling of safety and support that gave him the confidence to continue. “I’ve been wondering why you didn’t want me to cook or clean, and at first I thought it was because you could do it better with your magic. But now I think I know why.” He carefully wrapped his arms around his middle, belatedly hoping that Prince didn’t notice the movement as he shielded his sides. Even though it had been almost 2 weeks, the bruises on his legs and sides from where Lord Hart kicked him were still there, the marks appearing like smears of jam against his skin. They still hurt often, and he just thinking about them made his sides throb. “My par- Lord and Lady Hart, they expected me to cook and clean for them. And when I didn’t meet their standards, I got punished. You don’t expect me to cook and clean. You expect me to learn all that I can about the Fae from Logic. And I should know more now, but I’ve been struggling with writing in English. Logic’s explanations leave me all dizzy and confused. Not that it’s his fault, please don’t be mad at him! I just struggle to understand what he means sometimes, and it’s hard to ask questions when you can’t speak or write to them.” He felt his sides ache in reminder as to what would come next. “I know you said you wouldn’t hurt me, but I also know that there’s more than one way to be punished, and that I’d rather get smacked than lose what you’ve already given me. The baths, the food, the clothes… they’re more than what I could ever hope for. And I know I don’t deserve it, but could you use your fire magic on me afterwards? It feels really nice and makes the hurt go away.”

Prince stayed silent the entire time, periodically clenching and unclenching his jaw as Patton spoke. When he finished, his fairy godfather took a deep breath, nearly growling as he spoke. “I wish to go downstairs and break those monsters down piece-by-piece until they’re left begging for death. The only reason I haven’t already done so is because the laws of Fae won’t let me.” His hand reached up to touch Patton and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, Heart.” Patton nearly flinched again, this time at how utterly broken his fairy godfather sounded. Prince’s hand cupped his cheek and Patton shuddered at the touch, nearly sobbing at the heat (he couldn’t even tell if the heat came from Prince’s skin or his own, but it still burned in just the right way). “Look at me please.” Patton shuddered and forced his eyes open, tears blurring his vision. His fairy godfather was smiling at him, his eyes watering as he spoke. “There’s those adorable blue eyes.” His expression suddenly turned… sad? “Patton, I swear that as your godfather, I will never purposefully deprive you of common necessities. That means I will never take away your clothes, bed, bath, food, or anything else that you may need. I also swear that I will never touch you with the intention of harming you.”

Patton bit back a gasp as the magic sunk into his skin, validating his oath. Earlier, his promise had been comfortably warm, like your blankets when you first wake up. This, however, felt like he was literally on fire. Every part of him tingled with an intense heat that somehow didn’t hurt. It made him feel more protected than he had ever felt in his entire life, and Patton embraced the feeling like a moth would an open flame.

When he was finally able to focus beyond the new heat running through his veins, Prince continued. “Let me make this clear, Heart: there are no expectations beyond trying your best. And even if there were expectations, you wouldn’t be punished for not completing them. Instead, we would sit down and discuss what you struggled with before trying again.If you’re trying your best and still can’t understand the material, it’s not your fault but ours. And I want you to know just how proud I am of you. You’ve been through so much in so little time, and you’ve still managed to defy any expectations that I could ever imagine placing upon you. You are amazing, and smart, and brave, and so, so kind.”

Patton let out a sob at that, and Prince gently pulled him into a hug, slowly so Patton had plenty of time to back out if he wanted. Patton all but collapsed into the warmth, sobbing uncontrollably. When was the last time that someone had said they were proud of Patton? Had anyone ever been proud of him before now? He didn’t know, but one thing was for certain; his fairy godfather was proud of HIM. And that was enough to bring in a new wave of tears as he clung to his godfather’s chest.

Eventually, the heat became too much for the touch-starved boy, and he weakly pressed against his godfather’s chest. Prince immediately let go and Patton scooted back to his previous spot on his bed. “Now,” Prince began, “I came here to discuss something, but I understand if you’d like to wait until tomorrow before we talk about anything else.” Patton shook his head and Prince smiled softly. “Alright. I had already suspected that you were struggling with reading and writing in English. When I was younger I also struggled with it, and I also know that it’s extremely difficult without help. And while Logic can help you somewhat, he isn’t here to physically talk to you or see what you’re doing. So, I was wondering if you wanted me to help you. I would take over your English studies everyday after lunch, and after we finished I would help you with the verbal side of fairy magic.”

Patton stared for a moment in shock before looking away, blushing slightly. “You don’t have to do all of this.”

Prince chuckled. “But I want to. I want to help you learn as much as possible, so one day you can explore this manor on your own instead of staying in your room all day.” He gestured to the room around them. “There was something else that I would like to discuss with you. I was wondering if you’d like any new furniture for your room. A desk for writing, a reading chair, anything you could think of? I’m afraid I tend to think on the extravagant side, so whatever I come up with might overwhelm you.” Patton opened his mouth but Prince beat him to it. “And before you say it, I know I don’t have to give you this stuff, but I want to. And trust me when I say that there’s nothing you could come up with that’s out of the realm of possibility.”

Patton bit his lip as he thought about it. Should he ask for it? He looked up at Prince’s encouraging smile and pushed the words out. “You can see my thoughts, right? With your magic? The Duke told me that he could see my bad thoughts while you could see my good ones.”

Prince chuckled softly. “That’s an oversimplified way to put it, but yes. If I wanted to, I could read your thoughts. But I don’t do it unless I have your permission.”

He looked away, another blush forming. “Well, a few months ago I saw this really pretty desk at the market. I couldn’t touch it or anything because then I would get in trouble, but I’m pretty sure I remember what it looks like. Can you use your magic to take a look at it?”

He nodded. “I can, but I’ll need to touch you in order to see it clearly. Just a finger to your temple should do.” Patton nodded and closed his eyes, feeling a finger against his head a few moments later. His skin burned and itched with oversensitivity but he ignored it, instead focusing on the memory. It had been a short but wide wooden desk, with drawers on each side to hold stuff. It was a pretty off-white color, and the place where your legs went had a pale blue cloth in place for Patton to hide behind (that last part might’ve been subconsciously added, but Prince didn’t need to know that).

When Prince pulled away Patton yawned, utterly exhausted. When he saw Prince’s worried look he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, this isn’t boring I promise! I just usually take a nap right after lunch.”

Prince frowned. “Why didn’t you say so? I could’ve waited until afterwards to talk to you.” Patton shrugged and he sighed. “Well, go ahead and get some rest now. We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow afternoon. Just call my name after you’ve read whatever Logic’s assigned to you and I’ll appear to start teaching you. And Heart?” Patton looked up, already starting to fall asleep. “If you ever feel unsafe around one of us, don’t hesitate to speak up. Even if you think you deserve it, bring it up to someone first. You have me and my brother, and when you master writing you can talk to Logic too. Just don’t let yourself hurt for our sake, alright?” Patton nodded and he smiled softly. “Thank you. I’ll let you rest now. Goodnight Heart.” Patton couldn’t respond, already drifting off to dreamland.

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