#it’ll be cross posted to here and ao3

[stars-inthe-sky]

if there's solid ground below

It's been five years, but I wrote a whole fic this week thanks in no small part to the singular @iphyslitterator!

[Cross-posted to AO3]

“H—hey, Tommy?”

Tommy startles and bangs his head on the hood of his truck, recovering fast enough that none of the oil he was nearly done changing spilled but not so fast that it would have escaped Evan’s notice. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just surprised,” he says, grabbing for a spare rag to wipe his hands on. “Hi.”

“Got a sec?” Evan rocks onto the balls of his feet and back again, hands shoved deep in the pockets of a hoodie that, in southern California in May, it should really be too warm for. But he runs cold, and the layers always have the added bonus of making Tommy want to rip them off in some kind of Pavlovian response.

Had. Last summer, they’d had that effect. This summer was shaping up differently.

Evan tilts his head, a little quizzical, and Tommy realizes he’s been frozen in place for a few beats too long, dazedly dragging the rag between his fingers.

“Sorry, yeah, go ahead.” He glances down at the car, which hasn’t moved, then back at Evan, who’s still rocking but who looks, Tommy’s now realizing, noticeably lighter than he has in a while—certainly since the funeral, but maybe even more so than that night in the bar all those weeks ago. His smile is far too small, but it’s there. “Although if you need another helicopter, I’m gonna have to start charging you at some point.”

“That’s okay, I heard your fees are competitive,” he chirps, and if his grin isn’t yet lethal, it’s shifted to shit-eating. Which, for Tommy, is lethal anyway, and Evan knows it. “But no, I just…just wanted to talk this time. For real, for once.”

Oh. “Okay…?”

“You can keep doing whatever you were doing; I know you like to have something to do with your hands.”

“Uh, thanks.” He stuffs the rag in the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the oil canister out of his car’s innards. This might be easier without eye contact. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from the LAFD,” Evan says. Tommy freezes again, more of a twitch than a full stop, and makes himself continue the actual task at hand. “Three months. Mostly thanks to an insane amount of unused PTO, because I realized I kinda haven’t taken a vacation that wasn’t just medical leave in like…ever. And I need a break, you know, after everything? Like, I spent a bunch of my twenties driving around, odd jobs and stuff, and the world is—is so much bigger than the firehouse, or this city, and…yeah.  I think I need that space for a bit. Just got it approved today. And then I came here.”

He pauses for breath, and Tommy stares unseeing at some perfectly intact wiring he could reconnect by touch alone if asked. “That’s great they’re letting you do that, Evan. I’m sure it’ll be good for you. How’d the others take it?”

There’s a little sigh. “I haven’t told them yet. Battalion chief said I’d always have a job to come back to, but they couldn’t hold my spot indefinitely. Depends on the new captain and how they want to staff up. Makes sense, obviously, so.” His sniffle is nearly inaudible, but Tommy’s never been able to tune out Evan’s frequency.

He gives up on the car, closing the hood with a quiet click and resuming with the rag, even though his hands aren’t especially dirty. “Never thought you’d voluntarily leave the 118.”

“I know, right?” Evan’s mouth twitches, and it’s not quite a smile now, but there’s something genuine growing back. “I mean, I guess I might not be, but. Things change, and it’s…time, maybe. I’m doing this, in any case. I—I—I just need to clear my head for a while. Go visit Minnesota, never been there, but then…I don’t know, maybe touch the Atlantic Ocean again. Camp out in some national parks. Go see the sky in Montana—it’s so big, Tommy, I’ve never seen anything like it, not since those years, and the last couple of months…it’s like the smog is just in everything right now, you know?”

Tommy nods. He can relate, despite how often he gets to soar above the chokehold of Los Angeles; smoke is smoke, and heat still rises. “I get it. So…this is goodbye, then?” He swallows, bites his lip, stares down at his fingers and the rag still entwined in them.

“No!” Evan leans forward for a breath, arm lifting, but he seems to stop himself, like he’s remembering they don’t know where they stand with each other, if he’s allowed to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “No, no, I’m coming back. LA is still home, my—my stuff’s going into a storage unit next week, my sister and my niece are here, and the new baby—the job—no, yeah, I’m coming back.”

“That’s good,” Tommy muses. “So…”

“So, I wanted to ask—I—I—I’m asking if you’d maybe be up for thinking about coming with me.”

Tommy freezes so suddenly, and so thoroughly, that the rag drops to the ground. “You—you’re going on a three-month road trip to get away from it all, and you want me to come with you?”

“Yeah, I do,” Evan says softly, surely, ducking his head in that bashful way he pretends not to know is so damn effective. “I need a break from everything, and everyone—but you, you’re not everyone. I meant what I said about being together, before. I still mean it.” Tommy feels both arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp like emptied hoses, and the air jerks out of his lungs as his throat closes tight.

Evan plows ahead. “I—if—if you don’t want to, or you can’t swing it with work, or whatever—I get it, that’s why I’m asking and not—not telling you what to do. I don’t—even if you don’t come, I’d wait. And, and text or call, maybe? If you wanted to? Even if it’s just as friends, my life is always better when you’re in it. Kinda hoping that goes both ways here.”

Tommy croaks, “And when you get tired of me before we hit Reno?”

“I won’t,” he says, no hesitation. Tommy’s slack face must do something, because he repeats, “Tommy, I won’t. I won’t. I just want time with you, more time, all the time. I want to try again, so, so bad. And if we fight, we can talk, and not just think the worst, and keep going, be—because I want to eat crappy gas station food with you and not think about the inside of a gym for weeks. I want to drive out somewhere where it feels like we’re the only people on the planet, and fuck in the back of your truck, and then figure out a map that’s older than either of us because there’s no cell service. Maybe rent a chopper in Montana so we can see that sky up close—there’s, there’s so many stars, and you’re the only person I’d want to see them with like that. I want to be locked in a moving vehicle with you all day, except for bathroom stops, and see your face when you realize it’s been 16 hours and we still have more to talk about, and we’ll just keep going, because I’m never gonna get tired of you.”

He pauses and swallows thickly, and Tommy can’t look away. For all that Evan Buckley wears his heart on his sleeve so easily for anyone to see, actually opening it up and offering to hand it over to someone else—that’s still work. “So—that’s what I came to say. That’s what I want. J—just think about it. No rush, I’m not—I’ll wait. If it’s what you want. You…you get to want things, too. So. Yeah.”

Evan nods to himself, rubs the back of his neck, and turns to walk back to his car, parked on the street. Tommy has to move, has to say something, but the soles of his boots are melting, fused to the cement of the driveway, his throat is still closed, and Evan—Evan is walking away.

Tommy wants things, too.

He forces a breath, in and out, on a four-count, licks his lips, and asks, “When do we leave?”

Evan radiates a warmth that scatters out, tangible and visible like a sunrise before he even turns around, beaming. “I was thinking a few weeks after the baby comes, but—but—yeah?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I could chase some stars over the Rockies. With you.” Tommy’s insides unknot, and the life rushes back into his limbs. “And the rest, too. I noticed it’s my truck in this scenario?”

Suddenly Evan is in front of him, closer than they’d managed even that morning after, pressed gently against him from chest to knees, arms winding around his waist. “Much more cargo space. Very practical. And I kinda thought you might be in the same boat, you know, with the unused vacation. Maybe enough seniority to hang onto your spot.”

“Probably, yeah, they generally…” He doesn’t even know how that sentence might have ended, has rarely thought about anything more than a long weekend away, but then Evan’s kissing him, deep and slow and sweet like they might already be the only people on the planet. His warmth flashes over through Tommy, nerve by nerve, until he’s lit up and burning, flammable in places he’d spent months trying to forget this man could expose.

When Evan pulls back, it’s with Tommy’s face between his hands, his relief and hope palpable. Like life might go on, like the world might really be bigger, could even be better, sometimes, than it had been.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, so close and so quiet that Tommy can feel each syllable rumble against his skin, tires steady on a gravel road away from this scene and toward the next.

[scary-grace]

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

[catsoupki]

I’LL BE HERE (WAITING) (8.0K) AO3

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - you first meet ground zero when he needs a place to be alone. now, coffee, for bakugou, becomes less a necessity and more of an excuse to see you, maybe.

cw - FLUFFY !!!!! WHOLESOME !!!!! pro!hero bakugou, coffee shop AU, hurt/comfort but the hurt is very brief, canon-typical violence, reader has no specified quirk, typos

a/n - inspired by “sunflowers don’t grow in the city” but i can no longer find that work on ao3 :( finally decided to cross-post this ancient relic from ao3 after editing a bit ,, i lowkey find this pretty mid (literally written 3 years ago) but ppl like it i guess…. i shouldn’t demean their taste

taglist - @cashmoneyyysstuff @staraxiaa @hatsukeii

wednesday

You swear that when you catch feelings, which you will as much as you promise you won’t, you’ll keep quiet, you won’t tell your closest friends, you won’t even have the chance to deny the guess even if it were correct because your friends wouldn’t know that you have a crush to begin with. You’ll watch, you’ll listen, and you’ll do those in silence too; they won’t confess because people just don’t do that nowadays, and you sure as hell won’t either because everything eventually falls apart, and you’re already busy from picking up the pieces from before.

Maybe you’re still making yourself more likeable, paying too much attention to details nobody cares about, maybe you’re still making people fall for you intentionally, maybe you’re not, who knows? But what you do know is that you won’t fuss over having a crush anymore, because people grow aloof, they turn selfish, and things get messy, and more so, they get too tiring to be cared for.

thursday

You find that you often attach your emotions to songs; right now, before closing, you’re feeling the same exact feeling you felt all those years ago, back when you were 16 years old, after school, giggling with your friends, drawing little hearts next to your crushes’ names, all huddled up around your desk talking about boys, the homework that was originally the whole entire reason why you got together in the first place laid ignored on it too; back then, it felt like you were eternity.

And back then, never have you imagined that by the time you were at the age of twenty three, you’d be working at your own cafe, well, sort of, half cafe half library.

friday

It’s getting cold, again. Right after the A/C gets fixed when it hasn’t been working the entire summer. The sun is starting to reach the counter earlier again. You’ve missed this. You hope you’re not being basic, but you love autumn so much, and the amount of mochas you can get without being judged since you are the boss at a fucking cafe after all. You’re being basic. Fuck it. Cause you love being basic.

The moon really does offer solace, to the ones drowning in their own thoughts, to the ones that are bored out of their minds. Never moving, just, there. The crickets.. quacking? (You laughed at that, your own joke) Cricketing? They’re behind your ears, you feel like you are out of place somehow, wherein you should be in a movie instead. The city lights, the blurring ones, they’re so pretty: the red, white, and blueish ones? Flashing flashlights on faraway mountains, on the tips of airplanes, I guess you never really realise how fast they’re flying until you’re on the ground and looking up, standing still. You think you can close the cafe early today, you have to open at six tomorrow, God please let me get a good night of sleep. It’ll be fine though. It always is.

saturday

Today, the Number Two Hero visited your cafe. I know. Crazy right? You couldn’t really freak out over it though, since this is a place supposedly made for people to find the quietness that they need. You don’t know why you’re so surprised that Ground Zero (number two hero!) does in fact wear normal clothes. He is still human after all, you sometimes forget that, that they’re mortal. Anyway, he looks totally different compared to what he does on billboards, where he’d either be in his hero costume or some high end fashion suits that probably cost more than this cafe. He’s just wearing that. Sweatpants and a tank top. I mean, boring but definitely flattering. He isn’t a hero for nothing, his job is literally to stay in tip-top shape. To fight bad guys or whatever.

Okay that’s a bit mean, he does keep the streets safe, but he’s kinda rude, yeah you get it, you’re exhausted from the constant flashes surrounding you, but really no need to scream at everything and everyone you see. He hasn’t screamed here today, though.

Maybe you don’t get it, after all.

Other than him, nothing interesting has happened. All the same, teenagers that either bring other teenagers here to take aesthetic pictures and look at books or they bring their very reluctant significant others here. It’s always a victory to see said partners grow fonder of this place as they spend time here. Small wins. You know its charm, that was the whole reason why you bought it.

Blondie left after a few hours, right when the sun was setting, it’s a shame that he didn’t stay, the view there is always the best out of the entire harbour. It’s also a shame you didn’t ask for his autograph, you could have sold it for something, that’s a certain.

ᝰ

He scoffs as he reads that line, of course you only want his autograph to sell it for money.

ᝰ

sunday

On again, off again, love you like oxygen

You heard that on the radio today when you were driving to the grocery store, and fell into one of your melancholic episodes again. You wanna be in love, can someone love you? Please? You know it’s stupid and selfish and just ridiculously not right to wait and do nothing until someone finally makes the move, and expect them to be the perfect match to all your standards, but can’t a girl dream?

6:47 pm, Ground Zero comes in again. At the spot he sat last time too. Near the window, at the corner on your left. All depressed and quiet and stuff. So for the entire day, he was at the corner of your eye, grumbling under his breath for whatever worries he has, or had, you hope the cafe eases at least one away.

monday

The weekend is over, for five days you’ll be writing in this journal for ninety percent of your work day, which is actually very fine with you. In the morning, you had the biggest order of this month come in, five new york cheesecakes, five iced americanos, six iced bubble teas, and one matcha muffin. You hope their party is going well. You wonder whether they’re having a farewell party, but this early in the morning and on a Monday? They’re definitely living the good life.

He comes in, again. It’s the third time this week, the atmosphere was kinda nice before he came in, I mean, it couldn’t really be bad since you were the only person there. He sits in front of you this time. The table that is closest to you, which happens to be in front of you too. He also orders a black coffee besides the usual chocolate chip muffin. Of course Dynamight would drink coffee as dark as his soul, straight, bitter, like him.

tuesday

You’ll have to stay till late to clean up. A typhoon without prior notice hit the harbour so everybody came in here to hide from the rain, so the floor is wet as hell. Hopefully you don’t fall, you don’t want an ass print on your pants.

The cafe is crowded today, a lot of tired workers came in after they got released early to go home, only to get hit by the heavy rain on their way back; and also you had a lot, a lot, of students. Reminds you of the days where you’d make plans with your friends without checking the weather forecast first, but today there was only one hero, though.

And who would have guessed that he’d be the one for small talk?

ᝰ

“Why do you have so many romance novels in this shithole?” He mumbles as he looks around at the books as if they were gonna attack him.

“First, it isn’t a shithole. And second, I’m a sucker for love.” You smile. His heart skips a beat.

ᝰ

“You’re always writing in that journal, what could possibly be interesting enough here to fill that many pages?” He asks you, laying his forearm on the counter, while you’re tapping away at the screen at the drink he just ordered. With a frown on his face, of course.

Villains are humans too, and apparently they don’t like wreaking havoc in the rain either.

He’s grown to like you more. Or maybe just the cafe. Maybe. He doesn’t have to deal with the press or any obnoxious fans or anything here, really. You didn’t react, like at all, when he first came in. He skipped breakfast that day since he woke up late, he got home later than usual the previous night, and fell asleep on the couch immediately, so he didn’t get the chance to set an alarm either. Luckily he still made it to his patrol the next day on time though, he just gave up his precious food for it.

“It isn’t interesting, but wouldn’t you want to know, maybe a few years later, exactly what you were thinking on this particular day?” His answer is no, no he would not like to know what he was thinking back in his UA days.

Read: no he would not like to know what he was thinking back in his horny puberty days.

The rest of the customers have left already, since the downpour had calmed to a quiet drizzle by then, but Bakugou hasn’t gotten his order yet. He’ll tell you to hurry up, that he has somewhere to be, but he doesn’t, because he didn’t have anywhere to be at all. Even if he does, if he had the choice, he’d stay here, with you maybe.

ᝰ

wednesday

It’s becoming a routine at this point. Between six thirty pm to seven o’clock, he comes in and orders his coffee, then he leans against the wall and watches me clean up the tables and prepare for closing.

Sometimes he’ll help you open the rubbish bin when you’re walking there with the broom and tray already taking up space in your hands, but most of the time he just watches you, like a hawk. Though he still washes his own glass, the glass that holds his bad choice in drinks, (black coffee is disgusting, you stand by it) you don’t think he knows that you still have to wash it again after he leaves.

When he does, you flip the sign from open to close, you shut off the lights, then you take the glass along with your bag and walk upstairs to your apartment and wash it there.

You hope you’ll see him again tomorrow.

thursday

Sales have been going down. The rest of your income that usually goes to your savings is going down. The bills stay the same, the rent stays the same, but income is going down.

You sold three more vanilla cupcakes when you were waiting for him at 7:01 pm. You hope you’ll see him tomorrow, you didn’t today.

friday

ᝰ

(His heart is pumping: You hoped to see him again today.)

Friday is still empty, but he looks at it anyway. He knows he shouldn’t be here reading your private thoughts, now that his head is flooding with them, but the thing that you’ve been writing in since the day he first visited the cafe was right there in front of him, exposed and naked on the counter, inches away from his tapping pointer finger when you were in the back readying the batch of muffins needed for tomorrow’s early baking.

Now, he’s thinking that maybe he should treat the agency to a pastry or two, or thirty, or more, tomorrow, from his favourite half cafe half library, sort of, anyway.

ᝰ

“What?” His assistant asks him, eyes unblinking, what did her boss just request?

“It’s not that fucking difficult to understand, order a drink and a snack of everybody’s choice from the corner street cafe down the harbour. I’ll put the extra money in your November paycheck.”

“From Espresso Express?”

“..yes.”

The agency is in a better mood after that, chirpy, despite all the calls coming in to report villains causing trouble, people going in and out, in and out to stop the trouble, and some needing the many, many first-aid kits in the building, everyone is chirpy, and so are you.

ᝰ

friday

Today, the biggest fucking order came in, since the entirety of the cafe’s history, shit you not. Twenty iced bubble teas, eleven hot ones, two lattes, two caramel shakes, ten new york cheesecakes, ten matcha muffins, ten chocolate chip muffins, and five vanilla cupcakes. Bless whoever made that order. This month’s income just jumped ¥36000. That’s enough to pay two and a half months worth of bills, mind you.

ᝰ

The door swings open, making the tiny bell on the door ring a few times, zephyrs running through the strings of his hair, making him even more attractive than he already was in his matching tracksuit.

“How was today’s sales?” the first thing he asks after walking into the cafe. And when he looks up, he sees the tiniest smile decorating your face. Then what the fuck does it take for this shitty woman to laugh?

“Well, very, very well. Your patrol?”

The question definitely shocked him a bit, not really, so you do know that he’s a pro hero, how come you’ve never made a reaction before? He is the number two hero after all, it didn’t phase him that you knew who he was, right?

“More villains, nothing I couldn’t handle though, some stupid shitty pickpocketing gangs that didn’t even put any thought into the whole process, if you’re gonna wreak havoc at least do it well.”

And you laugh. So that’s what it takes?

He notices that you are placing two plates down on the table he is sitting at, hm you look cute in that apron.

“Don’t you dare waste my food, I’ll fucking kill you, pro hero or not.” He takes it back.

ᝰ

saturday

I saved her today.

ᝰ

The sound of glass shattering makes you jump, looking up immediately you are met with the sight of civilians running, almost over each other. You grab your bag at once and dash outside, the stupidest decision you could make.

Running while carrying a tote bag is more difficult than you imagined. It bumps into everything, flipped over cars and other running people mostly, but never mind because your tote bag is knocked out of your hands when a blast of water is shot at your back so hard that you fall to your knees. You immediately feel the skin tearing from the rough asphalt road and your muscles bruising from the impact, you get up immediately though, it doesn’t matter if you lose your phone, or your wallet, or your entire bag, just not your life.

Then your ear drums almost burst from the sound of explosions, but you couldn’t be happier, to see him.

Him— he looks oddly handsome. In his hero costume, he’s shooting explosions from his palms, simultaneously yelling at people to run, but you can’t, couldn’t, your legs are glued to the ground, you’ fucking stuck.

“Dumbass hide!” And you can only assume ‘dumbass’ to be you, as there is only you on the street.

So as much as you don’t want to, you run as quickly as your legs would allow you to hide behind an alleyway, you hear sirens coming from afar, the cops are here, he wouldn’t need to face the stupid fuck face lowly shit villain alone anymore.

Never mind, ducking your head to peek at the fight is the stupidest decision you’ve made so far, as your face becomes the big red target of both a water blast and an explosion, your head shoots backwards and it bashes into the concrete wall, you grow dizzy, your line of vision is slipping, or are you the one slipping? You couldn’t tell. At least you got to see him once. His eyes grow wide.

Fuck you and you villains, you stupid fuck face.

He quickly finishes the fight, letting the police handle the rest (mostly damage control) as he is hurrying to you, the paramedics couldn’t see you, so there is only him.

He knows where you live, from the times you head upstairs. He tells you that’s he’s leaving, but in reality, he flies to the rooftop next door, and for the first half an hour of his night patrols, he listens to your dragging footsteps up the staircase, to the tired door click, to your record player, to you singing along, to the sounds of you washing his glass, to the sounds of your muffled singing in the shower, while he finishes the muffin you gave him. And at around one o’clock, he’ll go home, when his limbs become laden with a satisfying exhaustion, when he knows you’re safely tucked in bed, dreaming, maybe of him, hopefully him.

Now, as you’re slung over his shoulder with his hand on your calves making sure you don’t fall off, he searches for the tote bag he knows you have, dirty on the side of the road, no doubt it got stepped on as people were evacuating. He picks it up with his other hand, trying to search for the key in it, and he walks to your apartment door.

ᝰ

Your head is pounding, that’s for sure. You also hear the sound of your record player playing, the lights from your living room almost blinding you. Woah, sensory overload.

“Good, you’re finally awake, dumbass.” That’s the first thing you hear, great. “I need to change the bandages around your head, they’re already fucking bleeding through, it’s barely been two hours, fucking Christ.” He cursed how many times? While you’re still trying to register everything around you.

Why is he in your apartment? Why do you have bandages around your— Oh. Right.

“Sit up, woman! I don’t have all day!”

That is a lie, he does have all day, in fact he could stay here all week if he wanted to, if you wanted him to.

So you do, you sit up, and immediately your center of gravity is somehow all down at your back and you’re falling again, not as bad as last time certainly, your house doesn’t have a concrete alleyway nor does it have a villain whose superpower is blasting water that is fighting with the number two hero—

But your head almost hits the armrest on your couch, though it doesn’t, because his hand is placed on your upper back to stop that.

“Be a bit more careful, will you? You already have a mild concussion.” He growled before rolling his eyes, without real malice behind it, but he doesn’t know if you know that.

Your hand grasps his shirt, then onto the back of the couch. Since you have your eyes closed — it’s still taking you a bit to get used to the strong lights, your head is already tight as shit — and thank God you have your eyes closed, because the tips of his ears are so fucking red. You basically just unintentionally face-planted into his chest (with your eyes closed), what the fuck.

He unwraps the tight bandages on your head and replaces them with new ones, trying to calm himself down. (“Can you make them looser please? I’ll have a severe concussion and not just a mild one if you don’t.” you ask, very politely too, which he responds to with: “Fuck’s sakes woman they’re supposed to be tight so it’ll stop the bleeding.”)

He orders you to sleep (“You need a lot of rest and drink a lot of water, eat more things that contain iron since you lost a lot of blood.” “Sure doc.” “Shut the fuck up or I’ll kill you.” “Sure doc.” And he hears you laugh the second time, so he lets you go) He screams at you to sleep once more, so you request him to support you and offer balance while you walk to the bed. And as he leaves, “Come back tomorrow.”

So he does.

ᝰ

You wake up to the sounds of knocking, you didn’t close the curtains last night, which is fine since right now it wakes you up more to greet the door. Right before you do that though, you do try and fix your bed hair a bit more, and splash some cold water on your face to wake your swollen face up, maybe you would do something else too but his knocks (bangs) are gonna break the door soon so you open it first.

“Go back to sleep.”

“You woke me up.”

“Jesus okay! Suit yourself, fuck’s sakes.”

You wobble to the bathroom, as you shut the door you hear the clicks of the gas stove being turned on. At least he’s cooking breakfast for you when he so rudely woke you up from your slumber.

“They’re doing damage control right now, since your cafe is included in the area, they’ll fix it, and pay for it as well so you don’t have to spend a penny, they’re gonna buy you all the books too; you have to close the shop anyway, even if it weren’t damaged,” he stops you when he sees your eye twinkle. “you’re fucking damaged so don’t even think about it until you’re completely healed.”

“Rude.”

After that, you guys don’t talk for the rest of breakfast. Basic eggs and bacon and some leftover days old muffins from the cafe that you took home: a western breakfast.

He does the dishes too, guess it makes up for the times you did his. (“IT’S ONE SINGLE GLASS HOW FUCKING HARD CAN IT BE! LOOK AT THIS! TWO PLATES, FOUR UTENSILS AND A FRYING PAN-“ “Yes okay, okay you’re giving me brain damage again.” “SHUT UP YOU-“)

He doesn’t leave, even after the dishes are done, he joins you on the couch, you’re reading, and he turns on the news next to you. You can feel his smirk as he listens to the report talk about him, saving your day.

ᝰ

As the days go on, things start to return to normal, you go back to taking care of the cafe, and as an apology his agency sent you a fair share of money to make up for the income you would have gotten in the week of repairing. However, there’s one thing that didn’t go back to its state prior to the attack: Bakugou.

Katsuki, you mean. He’s been making you call him by his first name since the day you got home from getting groceries, and you were looking for him, so you were shouting his name around the house, before you could finish the third shout though, he cut you off and told you to call him Katsuki. For whatever reason, not that you care.

When the day starts, hours before patrol, he goes to the cafe and helps you set up everything, he only stays in the back though, his reason being he doesn’t want stalkers seeing him there, nor the press, he doesn’t want to end up on the front page from rumours again.

Two hours before patrol, you cook him a meal, and not just muffins and cupcakes, you cook him something filled with all the nutrients he’ll need for the day of fighting bad guys (he whacked you over the head for that one) curry with rice, spaghetti with meatballs, depends on the day and also the leftover groceries from the dinner of previous nights; he sits at the place behind the counter that’s covered by the largest menu, so he could eat without people staring at him.

Correction: he could eat with nobody but you staring at him.

And during patrol, he tries his best to not let you infiltrate his mind: your smile, your laugh, your voice, your scent, (it’s actually just the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins, when it’s still warm, its best state he often claims) the creases next to your eyes when you grin—

He’s getting carried away, again.

After patrol, he hurries the shower that he’s been taking since the first day he became a pro hero at the agency and hurries even more to Espresso Express. He helps you do the dishes, he helps you clean up; and when the cafe closes (which means when the curtains are down) he leaves the back room like some animal that just finished hibernating in the winter (he also whacked you over the head for that one) and he lifts the chairs, flips them onto the tables, so you can vacuum the floor.

Then the day is over. You invite him up for dinner, which he declines, then you insist, then he declines, then you insist, then he declines— Never mind he’s too tired to argue, is what he tells himself when he finally agrees.

He cooks you dinner. Romantic, right? Wrong. He shouts at you to turn down the volume of the music played by your record player so he can hear when the oven is done. He shouts at you to get the heatproof mat ready because he’s already carrying the burning pot to the table and it’s really burning his fingers but you were still laughing at the show you were watching.

He just looks at you, and sometimes when you do notice, you cock your head to the side and he’s cursing at you in his head to stop being this fucking cute because he’s already blonde and the pink blush will show up extra overtly and he does not want you to see that.

You ask him ‘What?’ even when the pause of silence is barely noticeable to the third person, but with that, he knows you’re listening, you don’t just block him out and ignore the name calling like the rest (most) of the world does, but—

Never mind, no buts. He’s thankful. That’s it. Just really fucking thankful.

For you, maybe.

ᝰ

“Good morning sir, what could I help you with today?” You smile knowingly— knowing that it’s him, despite the cap and sunglasses. “You know what.” He grunted out, hey at least he got you to smile.

“Coming right up!” As you whisk away to the back to make his au lait, (no longer black coffees because you claim that those are what makes him so grumpy all the time) and you swear you see the difference, he certainly doesn’t.

ᝰ

“Hey— oh what the fuck.” Kirishima stands at the door frozen, he had just rung up Bakugou, wanting to hang out since they’ve both been so busy cause of the increase in crime.

When Bakugou sent him a new address that he didn’t recognise, he just thought his best friend got another house that would be closer to his agency and his patrol route, but when he’s met by a girl that certainly doesn’t look like Bakugou after he rings the bell, he thinks he has gotten the wrong address, maybe this is his neighbour, his cute neighbour.

“I sent Katsuki down to get groceries, he’ll probably be back in a few, please come in and wait for him if you’d like.”

Damn they’re on first name basis? Bakugou and a cute girl are on first name basis—

“Yeah sure thing! Thank you—” Before he can even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out his phone to text Kaminari.

SHITTY HAIR: BAKUSQUAD GUYS GUESS WHAT

DUNCEFACE: did bakubro blow up something again

RACCOON EYES: denki got bitches?

SHITTY HAIR: NO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE GUESSED BROS HE’S ON FIRST NAME BASIS WITH A CUTE GIRL

SHITTY HAIR: SHE EVEN SAID SHE SENT HIM DOWN TO GET GROCERIES SO MANLY

FLAT FACE: he’s whipped.

Yes. Yes he is.

ᝰ

Katsuki’s brow is twitching, actually his entire face is twitching, because why the fuck is Dunce Face standing outside your door along with Shitty hair asking you a bunch of questions that all involve his name!

He’s sitting so stiffly at the kitchen island that you’re afraid his back will snap. Red Riot, or Eijiro Kirishima as he insists, and Chargebolt, ’My name’s Denki but you can call me yours anytime— BAKUBRO!’ are talking about you like you’re not there. Which is kind of funny, seeing Katsuki’s reaction.

You prepare tea for the four of you, which manages to calm him down a bit, and after a trip to the bathroom, you come out to the three of them having a very enthusiastic chat. Denki pointing fingers at Bakugou, which he seems like he might just snap them off, and Kirishima trying to stop Bakugou from actually cutting them off.

The day rushes away when you’re happy. And soon, it was already night time, ten o’clock night time. As you two bid them goodbye, you can still see the faint dusting of a flush on his face. Is he embarrassed of you?

“Uh.. sorry about that.” You apologise, trying to see where to step and where to not on this field filled with anger landmines.

“What?” It’s almost like a magic trick to you, to see his face soften before you can even blink, compared to his usual frown, and the extra frown he had on before they left.

“I didn’t clean up the house properly since I didn’t know there’d be guests.. I only figured out they’re your friends since they are Red Riot and Chargebolt after all. So, uh, sorry about the messy place, you must be embarrassed—“ You’re in the middle of talking when he cuts you off.

“What?” He repeats, but you know he heard you fine both times.

“I, uh,” He looks cute scratching his neck like that.

“No, uh, the house is fine, I’m not embarrassed, why would I be? It’s fine, I should be apologising for not telling you earlier that somebody would be coming over. Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He tries his best to not look like an injured animal and to actually look like he’s smiling when he turns his back, fuck, his blush is back again (stronger too). He’ll blame the way your eyes widen, pink covers your cheeks as it does to his, because how can anyone not blush at that? He’ll blame how cute you look, his heart pumping, faster, and faster, and faster and faster—

Fucking traitor.

After he turns the corner at the staircase, you slam the door shut. Like slam slam. He can’t help but let out a small chuckle at the way you reacted. It’s good to know he has the same effect you have on him, do you know you have this effect on him? Probably not, you’re a dumbass.

(His dumbass.)

After the door is shut, you get up immediately and scramble to find your journal because you absolutely do not trust your voice right now.

ᝰ

Why is this so awkward?

He’s scratching the back of his neck again, he does that when he doesn’t know how to communicate in words, you’ve noticed.

“They’re expecting me to go MIA for ten months.”

“I’ll—“ You gulp. You don’t know. “—have food ready when you get back. Please shower first though, I don’t want this place to smell like sweat.”

He smiles. He doesn’t try to hide it, for the first time. “Yeah, don’t worry about it—“

“Don’t get hurt.” You’re not looking at him, too scared, too afraid. And he smiles again, you don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of that sight.

“Okay enough of that shitty stuff, let’s eat I’m hungry as fuck.” He whisks you away to the kitchen, and this time you’re the one who cooks, but not really, you’re too busy worrying.

Tonight, you two sleep on the same bed, for the first time, but when you wake up, you don’t see him. You know why, but you’re gonna get up, get out of bed, and go around the house calling for him anyway.

“Katsuki?” Not in the kitchen. “Katsuki?” Not the living room either. “Katsuki?” You finally give up after ten minutes, calling out to no one, and no one answered.

ᝰ

monday

He left today.

ᝰ

When you get back to your bed again, you notice a notebook.

So you read.

ᝰ

saturday

I saved you today.

monday

I like you. That hasn’t changed one bit. Or it has, this fucking thing in my heart is only growing and growing and sometimes I worry it’ll make me explode. Ironic.

wednesday

The au laits you make are the best. Better than black coffees, I don’t know how, but you make them just right, they always taste a bit fucked when I try them at other cafes, but never here, or maybe that’s just you. Probably, but I’m fine with that.

I think you know that your chocolate chip muffins are my favourite. I don’t believe you when you say there’s always one, literally only one, muffin left everyday, and that you’re full, (even when you always down two bowls of rice every time I cook) so that I should eat the remaining muffin. Do you always just save a muffin for me? Or am I lying to myself? The lie tastes too sweet to care anyway. I’ll never get tired of chocolate chip muffins.

Correction: I’ll never get tired of your chocolate chip muffins.

sunday

Let’s go on a date. I’ll buy you tickets to that singer you really like. Let’s go.

monday

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

tuesday

You look so pretty all the time. You’re fucking adorable. I don’t think you realise just how much power you hold over me. Eijirou said I looked like I was about to pop a blood vessel trying to save you from them the other day.

wednesday

How do you do this shit for so long? Everytime I put my pen down and write, I write about you.

saturday

I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know.

sunday

I know what I didn’t know yesterday. I just don’t know how to tell you. You shine brighter than the stars. That’s what. You’re the brightest, most radiant thing in the universe. So when you’re out of my sight, it’s so fucking cold.

I hate winter, you know that, I’ve forced you to listen to me go on about how much I hate it a fucking ton, but this December, somehow winter is warmer than summer. And I don’t think it’s climate change. You’re so warm. You’re the warm one. You’re the warmest person I know, and you know what, love? I didn’t meet you last summer, but I should have phrased it nicely enough for you to know that winter is warm here because you’re beside me.

For the first time in my life, I don’t want to be a hero.

I hate the HPSC. They’re hypocrites who specialise in the marketing of their image. “Reformed”, they said, but my hero license will be revoked if I said no.

But darling, please know that even when I can’t reach you, I’ll be looking at the same moon for solace, alright?

monday

People only learn to cherish people when they’re gone, I only knew how much I needed to say I love you to my mom when she was gone. And I don’t want to lose you to finally know how to love you out loud.

Love me. Is that okay? I want you to love me half as much as I love you. I love you, so fucking much. If you still don’t know that, then I must’ve done something terribly wrong.

Hold your breath until I’m back, and there, and with you. Then, I’ll never let you go. Will you do that for me, my pretty girl?

ᝰ

ᝰ

katsuki:

you’re the leaves below brushed autumn wind, meek with kisses, fresh with love. you’re like the clouds that shift across the blue, blue sky, the beaver moon lighting my way. i’ll walk miles of mountains, cross bridges of rivers to see you again, my love. let me write letters full of my dreams, i’ll let doves deliver them your way. for however long it may take, can i be the person you’re missing at three, darling?

ᝰ

thursday. 26th january 2168

Maybe the stars will listen if you pray.

ᝰ

monday

You swore that if you caught feelings, you’d stay quiet. You said you’d rather keep it to yourself because everything eventually falls apart.

Now, you see the ghost of your past haunting you. When you pass by the harbour, you hear the blooming noises of explosions. You hear the insults he throws and you smell the stench of nitroglycerin. The last time you had seen Katsuki Bakugou was this morning, when you were making dough in the kitchen with the television turned on. The bleed of morning sun fluttering into your shop windows while the news channel broadcasted an accident from last night, in which pro hero Dynamight was able to catch and arrest two villains by himself during his night patrol, but still left destruction in his wake.

It’s the collapse of scaffolding, the uprooting of walkways, with soot and burn scars scalded into the walls of concrete. It’s the name of the void he left behind plastered over every single surface that exists.

The last time you had seen Katsuki Bakugou, he was saying goodbye.

He had looked at you with guilt in his eyes. Head held high with the kind of dignity that’s forced upon the pillars of society, the dignity that comes with no other choice.

Since the day that god awful notebook was left on your bed, you see the ghost of your past everywhere. When you walk past the convenience store on the way to work, only to be greeted by the face of Dynamight on the package of onigiris. When you go shopping with friends, you'll be reminded of his face on the commercial district billboard for Calvin Klein.

The last time he saw you, you were breathing peacefully next to him, hair messy from slumber, his heart beating, and beating, before it shattered.

ᝰ

The winds that are whistling outside suddenly become all too clear as the door is pushed open, the heavy thumping of shoes against the freezing floor.

“Sorry, but we’re no longer open—“

“Hey,” Before you can even say anything, he’s right in front of you already. His face inches away from yours, and then it’s like the ever-growing distance between the two of you before never existed.

You’re positive that you’re dreaming. You’re so scared, too, because you’ve had way too many hallucinations to not believe that this isn’t one of them. What if your broken voice chases away this delusion?

“Katsuki?” He lifts your head with his two calloused fingers, slowly caressing your strawberry-tinted cheeks, the same ones he’s been dreaming of since the day he’s left. “I’m here, darling, I’m here. I’m here with you.”

ᝰ

With Katsuki Bakugou, there are first glances. When he catches you staring.

Then, there are second dates. Less fidgeting taps beneath the table, less of a blush that could literally settle on any cheeks in that cafe yet they always decide to take home on yours, and what could you do about it except to cover your face for a few moments with your already cold mocha?

Third kisses are the best. Awkwardness put aside, tentativeness chased away, they’re familiar in their own comfort.

Your forehead that once upon a time used to foster creases whenever the memory of him leaving pops up, would be littered with kisses all over by him, his words ringing in your ears instead of your own crying as you begged for him to just come back, memories of that heart-felt abandonment long forgotten.

Your nose that used to stifle for hours on end during the nights where the over-analysing of his actions finally got to you, because just why couldn’t he stay? It would be dusted with the tingly feeling for the rest of the day because he presses his lips against it in the bright and early morning after he wakes up.

You like being kissed on your lips the most. When the plushness of his lips envelops yours, his breath slowly mixing with the aftertaste of chocolate chip cookies, and you can no longer tell the difference between his body and yours. You’re drowning and drowning and drowning but it just feels so good, so it’s okay.

You decide that it is indeed worth it to go through all the late nights of staying up late, worrying that because you weren’t good enough, he left, and what if you’ll never be enough to hold onto him? Because now you are, and you know that, after the countless times he’s made it clear, (“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I FUCKING TOLD YOU? YOU’RE MORE THAN ENOUGH FOR ME DUMBASS!”) you know that you are enough, you always will be.

After all, he’ll always be here, waiting.

[anxiouscherubs]

make me

・❥・ summary: your job has been consuming all of your time and energy lately, and your boyfriend has been craving your attention. you finally have a free day together, and he’s taken it upon himself to tease you and push your buttons all day long, working you up and up until you can’t stand it anymore… and neither can he.

・❥・ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, fluff, established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, woo is a cute whiny brat<3, he’s lowkey a service sub..??, y/n is super overwhelmed with her job, woo calls y/n baby and angel, light bondange, oral sex (f receiving), face riding, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t), creampie, got a little emo and wholesome at the end there my bad (i could not help myself), lmk if i missed anything !

・❥・ pairing: sub!wooyoung x softdom!fem!reader  

・❥・ author’s note: y’all… woo being a bratty sub just … makes sense. this fic has been in the works for a while as i’ve gotten a few other stories done and im so excited to finally be posting it! this is my first time writing woo so i hope you enjoy (: i’m also relatively new to writing so any constructive feedback is appreciated~!

・❥・ word count: 4,568

・❥・ read it on ao3: here

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

It’s been hours. Hours of your boyfriend’s lingering touches, filthy whispers, suggestive comments… All morning long he’s been ramping it up, seeing how far he can push you until you can’t handle it anymore. He’s having a blast, but you’re about to kill him. 

“Can you get your head out of your ass and help me shop, please?” You playfully nudge him in the ribs with your elbow after he “accidentally” brushes a palm over your ass for the millionth time.

“It’s hard for me to focus on shopping when I’m sooo hungry, baby,” he whines as you turn into the produce section, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. 

“We ate before we came, Youngie,” the warmth of his breath has goosebumps prickling your skin, but you try to shake it off to focus on what you need to grab for dinner tonight. He chuckles as he steps in front of the cart, remembering what you need before you do, grabbing a bundle of scallions and tossing it on top of the meat in your cart. He sticks one foot in front of one of the wheels, making you stop with a jerk. You glare at him with a furrowed brow, bracing yourself for what’s about to come out of his mouth. He’s got that fucking look in his eyes, you think to yourself.

“I didn’t say I was hungry for food,” he smirks at you, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue as a deep shade of crimson blooms across your cheeks. 

“Jung Wooyoung, we are at the grocery store,” you whisper,  “can you take it down a notch?” You glance around you to make sure no poor strangers heard his comment. His hungry eyes drag over your body, clearly having little regard for the other patrons of the store.

“Hmm, no,” he quips, “I don’t want to.” He winks at you before spinning on his heel to make his way around the produce section, grabbing everything else that you need for the week. You roll your eyes at him, but feel grateful he’s stopped his incessant teasing to actually be helpful. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he returns to the cart, and you realize your moment of peace was short-lived. 

“Did the potatoes say something funny?” You taunt him, crossing your arms as he puts everything in the cart. 

“No, you’re just really hot when you’re annoyed with me,” his voice quiets slightly as another couple walks by. “You know you love it,” his eyes dart to your lips before meeting your gaze again, that glint in his eye making your belly warm. You ignore him, knowing it’ll only egg him on even more. You back the cart up a little so you can steer around him, his eyebrows raising as you’re about to pass him. He sticks an arm in front of you, wrapping his fingers around your waist before dipping his head down to whisper in your ear again, “don’t pretend like you aren’t wet right now, baby.” 

Stifling a gasp and ignoring how absolutely correct he is, you slide out of his grasp and head toward the bakery. You need to get him home before you get yourselves arrested for public indecency. 

The rest of your shopping trip is riddled with more of Wooyoung’s incessant flirting and fleeting touches, and by the time he loads all the groceries into the car for you, you’re about ready to lose it. He drives you both home, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, frequently squeezing dangerously close to your core, with just enough pressure to make you dizzy. 

You put your groceries away in silence, both of you clearly waiting to see who will crack first. Unfortunately for your boyfriend, you’re feeling especially stubborn today. Despite how much his wandering hands and eyes are affecting you, you try not to let it show, knowing that’ll only make him try harder… Maybe he’ll even start begging.

Wooyoung seems to have disappeared as you put the last of the snacks in the pantry, and for a moment you think maybe he’s given up. Wrong. 

“Are you done giving me the silent treatment?” He whispers from behind you, startling you so badly that you drop a box of Pepero as you spin around to face him. 

“God dammit, Wooyoung,” you run your hands through your hair in frustration as he drops to his knees in front of you to pick up the box. 

“Ah, my favorite angle of you,” he looks up at you, his deep brown eyes twinkling under the warm lights of your kitchen. 

“Is that why you scared me? So you’d have an excuse to get on your fucking knees in front of me?” You can feel your cheeks heating, both anger and lust pumping through your veins. 

He beams at you, satisfied that you’re letting your resolve slip a bit. “I’d like to think I don’t need an excuse to get on my knees for you, baby.” He darts his tongue out to wet his lips, drawing the bottom one between his teeth. 

“You are such a fucking brat,” you glare down at him, snatching the Pepero out of his hand as he offers it to you and tossing it on the counter behind him.

“And you are fucking hot when you talk to me like that,” 

“Shut up, Wooyoung, oh my–”

“Make me,” he interrupts you, his teasing gaze shifting to something much more wanting. “Please, make me.” 

There it is. 

You gawk at him in silence, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a smirk as you let his challenge hang in the air between you. 

Desperation takes over his features and his breathing turns shaky as he practically whimpers, “please, please, make me shut up, baby.” He’s so pretty when he begs. He wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, resting his chin on one of your thighs as he looks up at you. “Please.” 

You gently thread your fingers through his dark hair, wrapping your hand around the back of his head before tightening your grip on his locks, pulling his head back. He groans at the pain, a hoarse laugh falling from his lips, his breath quickening as he admires you towering over him. “And how would you like me to do that?” You question him, noticing the outline of his stiffening cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Surprise me,” he breathes, hissing as you tighten your grip on his hair, pulling him up to force him to stand again. If he wants a surprise, he’s about to get his favorite one.

“Be a good boy for me, Youngie…” your voice dips into the sultry tone you only use for him. “Go take your clothes off and lay in our bed, okay? Can you do that for me?” Releasing your grip, you take a deep breath as Wooyoung’s eyes light up and he giddily nods before hopping up to run toward your bedroom. You roll your eyes briefly at his excitement, knowing he’d break you today no matter what. He’s just so cute when he tries so hard, and you’ve missed the banter throughout your busy work schedule this past week. Maybe you both really needed this. 

Making a brief pitstop in the bathroom, you give your boyfriend a moment to get settled as you change into your black silk robe that always makes him weak. The shuffling sounds from your bedroom cease as you walk towards it, and you pass through the doorway to see Wooyoung exactly how you were hoping you’d find him. 

His clothes are in a pile on the floor, his head propped against the pillows, one hand wrapped around his leaking cock while the other rests cradling the back of his head. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes glazed over at the sight of you in your robe. 

“Fuck,” he whines, “you look so fucking good,” 

You stalk toward him silently, slowly untying your robe and letting your breasts peek out through the opening. He squeezes the base of his cock as his eyes rake over your body, freezing when you furrow your brow at him. Once you reach him you grab his wrist, his grip loosening on his length immediately. You hear his breath catch in his throat, realizing his mistake.

“I don’t remember telling you that you could touch yourself, Youngie,” you tease him, a fake pout on your lips. With your free hand, you pull the silk tie from the loops of your robe, ever so slowly, grinning as Wooyoung lifts both arms above his head. “Good boy,” you praise him as you use the tie to gently bind his wrists together, guiding his hands around one of the metal bars of your headboard. “Hold onto this until I tell you that you can let go. Do you understand?” 

He nods so fast his cheeks jiggle a little, and you have to stop yourself from giggling at how cute he looks. You press a soft kiss to the middle of his forehead before letting your robe fall open completely, giving him a moment to admire your body. The cool air kisses your nipples, and you feel them begin to peak at the sensation.

“Scoot down a little for me, will you? I think I need a little more space to sit.” 

“Y-yes, okay,” he stutters, eyes blown wide, wiggling down the mattress until his arms are flush against the sides of his head, his knuckles turning white from the strength of his grip on the bar. 

You climb up onto the bed, swinging a knee over his body to straddle him, hovering right over his cock, velvety and solid, resting against his stomach. His chest heaves as he drinks in the sight of you, resisting the urge to reach out and run his fingers over your pert nipples. 

“So obedient for me, keeping your hands to yourself like I asked you to,” you coo, rolling your hips downward, barely brushing your cunt over the length of his cock. He hisses at the feeling, nibbling on his bottom lip. “But you’ve been a little too mouthy for my liking today, Youngie,” you lift your hips again, a needy whine leaving his mouth as he tries to lift his own hips to reach you again, but you plant a hand firmly in the middle of his stomach and push him back down. 

“I-I’m sorry baby, I just wanted to tease you a little because I’ve m-missed you, you’ve been so busy” he pouts, continuing to wriggle his hips beneath you. 

“I’ve missed you too, sweetie, but you know better than that,” you taunt, starting to scoot up his torso inch by inch until you’re straddling his chest. Your silk robe trails behind you, running over Wooyoung’s exposed body. He hisses as the smooth material glides over his cock, and he struggles to stop himself from thrusting into the sensation. 

“Do I?” A devious glint in his eyes tells you he’s still not done instigating. 

“You should,” you reach out to grip his jaw in your hand, squishing his cheeks. “But you get off on me being mean to you, don’t you?” You lower your core onto the firm plane of his chest, rolling your hips over him, and he groans at the feeling of your arousal gliding across his skin, his eyes glued to your center as you move. “You instigate, you push my buttons all day long, because you want me to lose control, hm?” You emphasize each string of words with a roll of your hips, earning another delicious whine from your boyfriend. 

“It’s not my f-fault you’re s-sexy when you’re angry,” he chokes out, his arousal getting the best of him, stopping him from sounding as snarky as he intended. He stumbles over his words as you pull your robe up his length, savoring the feeling of the silk gliding over his sensitive cock. “Ah,” he whimpers, throwing his head back and gripping the bar of your headboard even tighter. 

“Well, my sweet boy, you are sexy when you’re putting that pretty mouth to good use,” you thumb his bottom lip, and his eyes roll back at the contact. “Don’t you agree?” 

“Yes, baby,” he nods, “use my mouth please, I want you to use my mouth,” his brow furrows as he boasts his prettiest begging face, giving you that look that makes you crumble. Seeing him so willing to please you always makes your heart swell in your chest. 

“Such a good boy,” you card your fingers through his hair, his dark eyes dancing across every exposed inch of your skin. “Let go if you need a break, okay honey?” You look to where his hands are still tightly gripped around your headboard. 

“I won’t,” he grins, and you know he means it, but you still want him to agree. You gently pinch his earlobe. “Ah,” he whines, screwing his eyes shut for a moment at the pain, “yes, I will,” 

“Mhm,” you lift your center from his chest to move further up the bed, watching your boyfriend’s eyes light up as your cunt finally comes fully into view. He chews on his bottom lip, waiting for you to get comfortable. You let your robe fall from your shoulders completely, and drop it on the floor next to your bed. 

“You’ve been so patient, my sweetheart,” you praise him, settling each knee on either side of his arms, effectively pinning them down next to his head. You swear you hear him purr at the sight of you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he restrains himself, waiting for you to give him permission to taste you. His eyes grow darker with each second that passes, and you can feel his eagerness radiating off of him. “Ready?” 

“I’ve been ready since I woke up this morning, y/n,” he rasps, licking his lips. 

You could keep the banter going, but despite your hardened facade, you need him just as badly. You brush a dark strand of hair from his forehead as you finally lower your center within reach of his mouth. 

Wooyoung immediately licks you from your entrance to your clit, repeating his tongues movement as you get comfortable in your lowered position. He groans at the taste of you, lapping at you. You brace yourself on the headboard, the tension in your body melting away at the feeling of his tongue on you. You didn’t realize how much of a toll your busy schedule had taken on your body and your mind, or how much it made you miss your boyfriend.  

“You taste so good, baby,” he groans, “sit down all the way, suffocate me,” he reconnects with your center, flicking his tongue over your swelling clit. 

“If you need a break—“

”If I need a break,” he interrupts you firmly, “I will tell you, but I do not see that happening until I make you come on my face. Now, will you please shut your beautiful mouth and let me take care of you?” He looks up at you from his prone position, his eyes ablaze. 

His sudden steady tone shakes you, and you realize you’ve made him just as impatient as he’s made you. How the tables have turned. You nod, and he instantly reconnects with your clit. You fully sit on his face, and you can’t help but throw your head back as he sucks your sensitive bud into his mouth, pleasure shooting through your body. 

“Fuck, Youngie,” you whine, earning a core-rumbling hum in response. He slides his tongue back to your entrance, pushing inside gently, and he chuckles as you squeeze around it. He pushes inside even deeper, the tip of his beautiful nose bumping against your clit. You can’t help but rock your hips, grinding down onto his face, using your grip on the headboard for leverage. He nods as much as he can under the restraints of your body, urging you to keep going. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles, slipping his tongue out of you to flatten it against your clit, nodding again. You roll your hips over his tongue and he hums in approval. You rock against him faster, harder, each firm brush of his tongue over your clit drawing you closer to the edge. 

“F-feels so good,” you breathe, feeling him grin under you. You glance down at him, a smile pushing through your lust at how smug he looks, raising an eyebrow at you. Even with you riding his face, he manages to find a way to give you a little attitude. If you didn’t have a searing heat pooling in your belly, you’d reach behind your back to wrap your hand around his cock… surely that would put him in check. 

You can’t help but forget that idea the second he tenses his tongue against you, the extra pressure pushing you further toward your release, your grip tightening on the headboard in front of you. Your whole body warms, an electric current shooting straight to where your body meets his as you continue to roll your hips over his mouth.

”I’m so close,” you warn him, and he smirks against you once more, flicking his tongue as much as he can under the beautiful weight of your body, just enough to push you over the edge.

You tense your burning thighs and screw your eyes shut as your orgasm courses through you, leaning over your boyfriend to rest your forehead against the headboard, lifting off of his mouth slightly, giving him room to softly lick at you, gently coaxing you through. You lift off of him further, and he begins peppering your inner thighs with kisses. 

“So pretty,” he coos from under you, his soft voice soothing you as your breathing steadies. You slowly open your eyes to see him beaming up at you, still keeping an iron grip on the headboard. “My girl,” he whispers.

“So good,” you praise him, placing a hand over his. “Let go, Youngie,” 

“You sure?” He checks, loosening his grip slightly. 

“Yes, baby, your fingers look like they’re gonna shrivel up and fall off,” you both laugh, and you untie his hands as he flexes his fingers. You scoot down to straddle his stomach, slowly lowering his right arm, massaging his shoulder as you do. “Feeling okay?” You didn’t realize how tightly your thighs were squeezing his arms against his head, and you feel a spike of panic as you realize how much he might be hurting.

“More than okay, angel,” he says, watching you with so much admiration in his gaze, it makes your chest ache. “I’m okay, I promise,” he assures you, sensing your anxiety. He knows you so well. You finish kneading the tightness out of his right shoulder and let him rest his hand on your thigh as you start on his left. He immediately splays his hand wide across your leg, rubbing a thumb over your skin while you slowly lower his left arm, not expressing so much as a wince, reassuring you further that he’s not hurt. 

You rest his hand on your other thigh, and he starts massaging your sore muscles as you do the same to his. You sit in comfortable silence, until he inches his hands up your thighs, and yours freeze as you realize what he’s doing. 

“Wooyoung…” 

“Hm?” He smirks at you, his hands creeping closer and closer to your center. “You’ve been working so hard… Let me take care of you.” Your job has been driving you into the ground, expecting so much from you and giving you more and more responsibilities, you feel like you’re losing control. Maybe it’s finally time for you to hand the control over to someone else, even if it's just for the night. 

“Yes, please,” you nod slowly, running your hands down your boyfriend’s chest. 

Wooyoung carefully runs the pad of his thumb over your center, adding a little pressure when he reaches your clit. His other hand coasts up your belly to your chest, fingers tenderly wrapping around one of your breasts. You melt into his touch, letting every stressor from recent days slip to the back of your mind. 

“Why don’t you lay down, angel? Get comfortable,” you nod wordlessly at his suggestion, sliding off of Wooyoung, with his gentle guidance, to snuggle up next to him. He rolls onto his side, sliding his hand between your legs, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he whispers against your mouth. 

“I love you, Youngie,” you welcome his tongue into your mouth with a breathy moan as he slips a skilled finger inside of you. The taste of yourself in his mouth only makes you feel more eager. He rolls onto his side, pressing his body against yours, his solid length rubbing against your belly.

“I love you,” he pumps his finger a few times before adding another, immediately curling them inside of you, so familiar with your body and how to please you. He kisses you hard, swallowing all of your whines, the sounds of your arousal making his cock twitch against you. You realize how much he must be aching for some relief. 

“I want you inside of me, please,” you widen your legs further, opening yourself up to him. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” his smug tone would normally grind your gears, but right now you just need him, need release. He slips his fingers out of you, hooking his hand under your knee before hiking your leg up over his hips. He slides down a little bit to adjust his positioning, planting one foot on the mattress to give him some leverage as he lines up with your aching entrance. 

He presses a bruising kiss to your lips as he slides inside of you, filling you to the brim in one swift thrust. You both shudder at the sensation, not remembering the last time you’ve been able to do this. 

“You feel incredible,” he whispers, pulling out of your heat slightly before burying himself in you completely once again. He quickly finds a delicious pace, bumping that tender spot inside of you with each thrust, the coil in your belly beginning to tighten again.

“I missed you,” you mumble against his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth. You squeeze around him at a particularly deep thrust, and he whimpers, 

“Do that again, and this will be over too quickly,” he warns you. He slips two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them gently, making a show of it before releasing them with a pop. A whine falls from your lips as he trails his wet fingers down your chest, your belly, finally slipping them between your legs. 

“Oh, f-fuck,” you press your forehead against his as he expertly swirls the pads of his fingers around your swollen clit, blood rushing to your center. “So good,” 

“Mhm,” he kisses you again, “let go, baby,” 

He fucks into you in earnest, rubbing your clit just the way you need, bringing you straight to the precipice once again. 

“I can’t, fuck,” your climax is approaching so quickly you can barely process it, 

“Yes, you can, I’m right behind you,” he reassures you, “come on, angel,” 

You come hard with a sob, tensing around him as he stills, spilling hot and fast inside of you. In between heaving breaths, you share desperate, passionate kisses with your boyfriend, your heart feeling the fullest it’s felt in weeks. You remain tangled with Wooyoung for a while, foreheads pressed together, kisses becoming softer and sweeter. 

He carefully slides out of you, resting your leg back on the mattress, and scooting up slightly to lay eye to eye with you.  

“Now what?” He kisses your hairline, rubbing the back of your neck just how you like. 

“Shower, please,” you nuzzle into his touch. Moments later, you’re under the hot spray of your shower head with your boyfriend.

“I think I really needed that,” you hand Wooyoung your shampoo, watching him squeeze a sizable dollop of it into his palm. 

“I know,” he snaps it closed and hands it back to you, “and I know you already know this – turn around, please,” you do as you’re told, smiling at his manners. “I know you already know this, but it’s okay to let go every once in a while, baby.” He lathers up your shampoo and starts gently rubbing it into the ends of your hair, working it up to your scalp, massaging it with his fingertips. “Work demands so much from you, but you can take a breath when you’re with me,” 

Your throat tightens. “I do know that,” you admit, “but, it’s just hard sometimes,” 

“Of course it is, it’s not a switch.” He pops the shower head off of its mount and starts rinsing the bubbles from your hair, gently running his fingers through to work out any tangles. “But when you don’t give yourself a chance to rest, to let someone else take care of you, you have weeks like this where you’re completely not yourself.” His voice softens on his last few words, like it’s been on his mind for some time and he’s finally found the right time to say it. He pops the shower head back on, then drops a soft kiss to your shoulder. 

You hope your tears blend in with the water already peppering your cheeks  as you turn back around to face your boyfriend. “I’m sorry, Youngie,” you sniffle, “I’m still figuring out how to balance everything,” 

He wipes a very obvious tear from your cheek. “You don’t have to apologize to me, I know how hard you’re working and how much it takes from you some weeks – conditioner please?” You crack another smile at his commitment to care for you even in the middle of an important conversation, handing over your conditioner. He pops it open, squeezes a little out, and hands the bottle back. He reaches around your head to rub the conditioner into your hair, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “But I am here for you, I’m here to make life easier for you, you know I love to take care of you,” 

“I know, and I need to let you,” 

“You do.” A smug grin creeps across his mouth. “But I will always think you’re hot when you’re mad at me, so keep that in mind.” 

“Oh my god, Wooyoung,” you lightly smack his chest, feeling lighter now that his concerns are out in the open, and you know what you need to work on. “I will definitely keep that in mind,” you wrap your arms around his neck, admiring the softness of his eyes. 

“How do you want to spend the rest of our evening, my love?” He pulls you closer to him, under the warm stream. 

“I want to get into those matching pajamas you bought us last Christmas,” you kiss his right cheek, “make Chapagetti,” you kiss his left cheek, “and eat mint chocolate chip ice cream in bed.” You press a quick kiss to his lips.

“God, I am so in love with you,” he whispers. 

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

[emmiesoverthemoon]

𖦹 who needs desks anyway

Pairing: t.o.p / choi seunghyun x reader

Word Count: 1,807

Summary: Building furniture from IKEA is annoyingly overwhelming when you have to do it alone. Thankfully, your husband comes home to help your stress and handiness.

Tags: just short sweetness really, overwhelmed easily/here to help type beat

cross posted on ao3 here

You and your husband Seunghyun had made a trip to IKEA as you had recently begun your turn at working from home as opposed to the office, and you needed a surface to work from that was not your dining table. You claimed that a whole new desk was unnecessary and your dining table would suffice, as this work situation was temporary, but Seunghyun insisted on buying you one brand new, one of his favourite pastimes was spoiling you with his money at any given opportunity. To him, a new one had presented itself.

The smell of fabrics and freshly cut wood lingered in the air as you both meandered through the labyrinthine maze, your fingers loosely laced with Seunghyun’s. The warehouse was bright and bustling, a maze of furniture in assorted aesthetics and mock living spaces that made you want to impulsively refurnish your entire home.

Seunghyun tugged you by your arm gently toward a display, stopping in front of a brown, vintage yet modern looking desk with clean lines and just enough drawer space for all your clutter. “What about this one?” he asked, leaning against it like he already owned the piece. “It says, I’m productive, but I also have impeccable taste.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Hmm. I don’t know. Does it say I’m productive, or does it say “I will absolutely fill these drawers with unused, random crap and tiny drawings?”

He grinned, giving you a playful nudge. “My love, you do that with every drawer you’ve ever touched.”

You gasped in mock offence, pressing a hand to your chest. “I do not.”

“Oh?” Seunghyun quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his torso. “Then tell me, what’s in the bottom kitchen drawer right now?”

You opened your mouth to argue your case—then closed it. Okay, maybe he had a point. You rolled your eyes, amused. “That’s beside the point.”

“Mmm, sure it is.” His eyes were twinkling as he straightens, running a hand along the wood, feeling the grain. “I like this one. Feels solid. Like it’ll last forever.” He glanced at you, the warmth in his gaze making your stomach flip. “Kinda like us.”

Your heart squeezed in that familiar, wonderful way, and before you could stop yourself, you reached his shoulders to tug him down into a short, soft kiss, right there in the middle of a dimly lit fake office. You could feel a smile against your lips, and when you pulled away, you see it—that quiet, content happiness in his expression that made you fall in love with him all over again.

“Alright, Romeo,” you say, giving the desk a glance. “Let’s get it.”

The next morning, you were home alone for a short while and decided to tackle the desk’s construction before Seunghyun came home. What a bad idea that was. You exhaled slowly through your nose, trying to steady the simmering frustration that bubbled under your skin. The living room looked like the aftermath of a hurricane that had torn through that damn IKEA warehouse where that damn desk had come from—flat cardboard boxes ripped open, plastic bags spilling tiny metal screws and wooden pegs across the floor, and the instruction manual lying beside you, a mess of confusing diagrams and mockingly simple steps. The half-built desk in front of you stands there in defiance, taunting you with its sheer refusal to come together. You could swear you could hear mocking laughter directed at you, but you also could have very well been driven insane by Swedish torment.

You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake off the tension creeping up your neck. The legs. The stupid, uncooperative desk legs. They would not fit no matter how many times you tried to reposition them. You tried angling them differently, to no luck. You swapped them out, possibly thinking you could have mixed them up. Still nothing. You clenched your teeth together, forcing the leg into place with more strength than necessary, only for one to wobble pathetically the second you let go.

Your pulse is starting to quicken, your head began to pound, overwhelming you. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just a desk.

Deciding to move on, you attempted to tackle the drawers instead. Maybe some progress elsewhere will make you feel less like throwing the whole project off of the balcony. You followed the instructions to a T, lining up the pieces, tightening the screws—and when you slid the drawers into the frame, they sat crooked, challenging you.

A sharp, helpless sort of frustration surged through you, and your vision blurred at the edges. Your chest was tight, breathing shallow. It should not have been this difficult. Are these products not purposely designed to be easy to build while inexperienced? You shoved the drawer back in and then out again, over and over, as if somehow that would magically fix it. The repetitive motion did nothing to help, but instead fuelled the teetering hot prickle of annoyed overstimulation behind your eyes.

The sound of the front door opening made you stiffen. You barely had time to compose yourself before Seunghyun’s warm, familiar, teasing voice filled the room. “Darling I’m home—What bomb went off in our living room!? Are you unscathed?”

“Shut up.” Your eyes did not tear away from the carnage.

“Oh my God.” His lips twitched as he struggled—albeit poorly—to contain a laugh. “What happened?”

There was a beat of silence, and you could feel the smirk on his face, and you had no energy to respond. You imagined the way he was probably standing there, leaning his weight into one leg, watching you with that infuriatingly entertained expression.

Seunghyun’s footsteps approached closer until he stood beside you, surveying the disaster with a slow nod and a low whistle. “Hmm,” he mused, reaching for the manual. “I see. We’ve reached the rage portion of IKEA assembly.”

You scowled, turning to face him at last. The second your eyes met his, his teasing expression softened slightly, like he could see straight through your façade of bursting irritation, exasperation—and maybe the tiny bit of defeat—beneath. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and then—

“Wow,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your forehead. “You’re all flushed.” A grin pulled once again at the corner of his mouth. “Look at you, working so hard. My little home improvement warrior. You certainly made this desk…your own.”

You swatted his hand away, though the ghost of a smile was present at your lips. “I was handling it.”

“Oh, obviously.” He gestured to the scene around you both, eyes twinkling. “And you were doing so well.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I was.”

“Sure, sure.” He grasped onto one of the uneven drawers, wiggling it for emphasis. “I mean, this is practically a work of art. Picasso would be jealous.”

Your glare deepened, too overwhelmed for his incessant teasing, but before you had the chance to retaliate, he caught your chin between his fingers and tilted your face up slightly, studying you with a knowing softness. “Okay, okay,” he muttered sympathetically, “You’re actually worked up over this, aren’t you?”

“No,” You huffed, and Seunghyun’s face switched from softness to a one of disbelief, and you folded immediately, confessing.

Your shoulders sagged slightly as the tension started to drain from you. “I just—why is it so hard? It’s a desk.” Your voice wavered, more exasperated than angry now. “The pieces don’t fit, the screws don’t line up, and—ugh, I hate everything.”

He did not dare laugh this time. Instead, he shifted closer, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Alright,” he muttered, voice warm and soothing. “You need a break before you explode.” He pressed a quick, featherlight kiss to your forehead before standing. “I’m making you tea.”

You stared at him as he moved to the kitchen, your heart unwinding a little as he hummed under his breath, grabbing your favorite mug without even having to think about it. The simple familiarity of it—the way he knew exactly what you needed without you having to say it—made your chest ache in the best way. You could feel your overwhelming negative feelings fade at the thought.

By the time he returned, he guided you to take your seat on the lounge, hanging you the mug once you were ready to receive it. He begun ramble on about random events that had occurred while he was out of the house, his voice that was spewing mundane topics was unwinding the tight cog in your back, calming you down from your stress.

Once you had relaxed, he stood in front of you again, rolling up his sleeves and holding his hand out. “Okay,” he says, exhaling dramatically. “Let’s defeat this monster together.”

You sipped the last amount from your mug, letting the warmth settle in your chest before placing it on the coffee table. “Fine,” you grumble. “But if you fix it in two minutes, I’ll be so mad. Divorce. You’ll be on the couch tonight.”

He smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He knew your threats were empty.

Of course, in Seunghyun’s ways, he did fix both the leg and the drawer problem in about thirty seconds.

You groaned, slumping against his shoulder. “I did the dirty work for you.”

“Obviously,” he agreed, patting your back as if you were a hardworking champion. “You did all the heavy lifting. I’m just the humble assistant.”

You snorted but made no move away, letting his warmth press into your side. He smelled like home, like something grounding and safe.

Between the two of you, the desk finally came together. The drawers slid in and out smoothly, the legs stood firm, and when you both stepped back to admire the finished product, Seunghyun draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“Look at us,” he boasted. “Still married and handy. A true power couple. Nothing could stop us, we’re too strong.”

You rolled your eyes but leant into his embrace anyway, the frustration long forgotten, replaced by something soft and smooth sailing. “Yeah, yeah, thanks for saving my sanity. I guess you can sleep in the bedroom..” You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Seunghyun grins, celebrating his awarded sleeping arrangements, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Anytime, princess. But next time…” He paused, eyes mischievous. “Maybe we just buy a desk that’s already built?”

You giggled, pinching him on his nape lightly. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Seunghyun’s boisterous laughter occupies the room, warm and bright, causing your heart to melt on the spot. There was nothing more you loved than your husband, and seeing him as happy as this. Maybe IKEA isn’t so bad.

Maybe.

thanks for reading! lmk if you like this little sweet moment

[taintandviolent]

tracing tattoos ; Eric Draven x Reader

summary: Your tattoo hasn't even healed yet. Neither has your heart, because you forgot to get the number of Chance's super hot friend. Lucky for you, Chance gave him your address. [PART ONE HERE!]

word count & w a r n i n g s: K | female reader, smut, unprotected sex, nipple play, kissing, rough sex, spit-swallowing, finger sucking, gag reflex mention, canon divergence/alternate universe (Shelly doesn't exist) and a little fluff?? at the end.

a/n: I've been asked to do a part two to this for a while, so... after ages. voila. also semi-inspired by that one anon that asked for eric to go ham on reader after she traces his tattoos for a little too long! banner by @/kodaswrld and @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Being the only light in the room, the TV casts its blue glow over everything, flickering with the changing images. You scrape the spoon along the curve of the container and bring the last of the ice cream to your mouth, sucking gently. Cookie dough. You flip the spoon over and suction it to your tongue, before snuggling back into the pillows.

Knock-knock-knock.

Like a dog, your head snaps to the door and you quirk a single brow, confused. Anyone you know would’ve called first, and anyone you don’t know…. you don’t answer. A few moments pass, and the knock repeats. You untuck your legs from the blanket, and make your way over to the door, stepping apprehensively, as if whoever it is can hear your footsteps from outside. You press yourself against the door, looking into the glass peephole. 

Suddenly, you can’t open the door fast enough. It’s only been two days – your tattoo hasn’t even healed – but you haven’t stopped thinking about fucking him, about him in general. You’re fumbling with the deadbolt and throwing the door open, and finally, with the spoon still in your mouth, you mutter his name. Smiling, Eric crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. He seems relieved. Relieved that what? You opened the door at all? Relieved that you still remember his name? 

“Hey.” 

With a loud, wet pop, you break the seal of the spoon and pull it from your mouth, grinning back at him. He’s as handsome as you remember, if not moreso. You tap the spoon on the side of your temple as you stare, waiting for him to say something, anything. 

“Chance told me where you lived. Um. I hope that–” 

“Cool,” you say, before latching your finger into the waistband of his silk shorts and tugging him inside. As you do, your knuckle grazes the warm, taut skin of his lower abdomen and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling the first wave of heat between your legs. 

You stand on your tiptoes to loop your arms around his neck, and he, in return, laces his arms around your waist, holding you flush to his body. He presses his lips against you, urging you backwards slightly. The kiss is tender, but laden with a passion that sends electricity down your spine. After a few moments, he finally breaks the kiss, searching your gaze hungrily. 

“What are you doing?” 

You gesture to the couch behind him, and to the empty pint of ice cream. “Just chilling. Netflix and chill, or whatever.” 

“Can I join you?” 

Your smile reaches your eyes and you wordlessly tug him towards the sofa, plopping down as soon as it’s near enough for you to do so. 

“We can watch a movie, or… some TV. I don’t care. What are you in the mood for?” 

Eric seems to ponder that question, but ultimately shrugs in his shy, passive nature. You thumb through the options, eventually landing on some B-horror film. It’ll serve as entertainment enough. You toss the remote onto the table, the sound of plastic clattering against the glass drowned out by the sound of chainsaws revving. 

“Lay down…” you coo, looking into his eyes. Eric immediately obeys, stretching his long limbs out on the plush sofa cushions. His arms are open, waiting for you, somehow predicting exactly what you were going to do. You crawl up his body, and snuggle your way into the space between his torso and the sofa cushions. It’s a tight fit, but you have zero issue being pressed against him. Eric wraps his arms around you and shifts, getting comfortable as he turns to watch the film. Your legs tangle with his long, warm ones, and you snuggle in closer underneath his arm. 

As you two watch, your fingers trace his tattoos as you did before, but this time, it’s more absentmindedly. You’re about half way through the movie when he groans, digging his hips backwards into the sofa.

“Fuck, that feels so good…” His breath hitches, his lower abdomen twitching with the intake. “You’re driving me crazy.” 

You laugh, almost incredulously and lift your head up to look at him. “What, me touching your ink? You sound touch-starved.” 

“Maybe I am.” 

Your fingers trail further down his abdomen until they reach the waistband of his pants. You flick teasingly at the elastic of it, watching as it snaps back against his skin.

“Poor baby…” you whisper into his pectoral muscle. “I have a hard time believing that, but poor baby all the same.” 

Eric says nothing, just breathes, watching you. Your fingertips scrape along his skin for a moment longer before finally delving into his shorts. You’re immediately greeted by the warmth of his half-hard cock, which you take into your hand, and begin stroking. Eric pushes his head into the cushion tucked behind his neck, his lids drifting shut. “Shit, baby.” 

After a few strokes, abruptly, Eric yanks your hand from his shorts and tugs you harshly on top of him, situating your hips together. He grinds up into you a few times, testing the level of your arousal and what you’re in the mood for. To his delight, you respond with a breathy moan, visibly loving the rigid feeling of his cock against your center. You take a few deep breaths, steadying yourself as Eric hinges slightly at the waist and pulls his thin black shirt over his head and tosses it carelessly off to the side. Your eyes widen in adoration at the visual – it’s nothing new, considering you’ve seen his body before but it’s equally as exciting as the first time. Coupled with the erotic familiarity, you feel your arousal building rapidly. His body is warm… so warm beneath you and you can’t help but run your hands over the now exposed skin. Back to tracing his tattoos, back to trying to memorize the ink with your fingertips. 

Still sitting upright, Eric pulls your chin down slightly, into a searing kiss. His other hand slips around your back, coming to rest at the base of it. Lithe, long fingers stroke up underneath your t-shirt, gently caressing the skin until it prickles with goosebumps. After a few minutes of tangling your tongues together, of pouring all that pent-up desire and all-consuming loneliness into your mouth, he breaks the kiss to speak. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you…” His green eyes trail over your delicate features, a genuine smile spreading over his pink, plump lips. 

“Me neither,” you confess. “You’ve been on my mind since I left Chase’s apartment, honestly.” 

Eric gazes up into your eyes like you’re the entire galaxy, splayed out before him, twinkling just for him. “Your touch is driving me fucking insane, you know that?” 

You nod, grinding your hips hard down against him. “Yeah, you said that, Eric...” 

In a swift maneuver, Eric flips you over on the soft sofa and grips the elastic waist of your sweatpants. With one hard yank, your lower half is exposed to him, the cool air of your apartment hitting your center. He takes a moment to drink you in, the way your legs are wrapped eagerly around his hips, the way your hair has fallen from its messy ponytail and is now splayed out on the cushion behind you. It’s a perfect picture for him, and it fuels his desire. His dick twitches in his slack, and your eyes dart down to it. Mmmmm. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Can I fuck you again?” 

You blink. The juxtaposition of him manhandling you and then politely, breathily asking if he can fuck you again… “You’re so cute, wow. You don’t have to ask me… the answer is always going to be yes.” 

With one hand, Eric pulls his shorts down over the curve of his ass, freeing his erection from the fabric. Even though you’ve seen it before, even though you rode him, the sight of it leaves you breathless. Gripping your hips with both hands, he takes a silent moment to line himself up before breaching your entrance slowly, plunging his cock deep inside, inch by inch. You feel every vein and ridge of his cock as it hilts itself inside of you. 

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, staring up at the ceiling. Your voice rapidly changes pitches, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled so deeply. “Oh my god…” 

With his hips pressing flush against yours, Eric hesitates, breathing shallowly, to avoid losing control and moving too fast, too quickly. You sense this, and reach up, pressing your hand against the firm skin of his abdomen, just above his cock. 

“It’s okay… you don’t have to be gentle with me. I missed you.”

He searches your gaze for a moment, trying to find any hesitation or uncertainty. When he doesn’t, he nods softly, backing his hips up and sliding himself out to the tip. You hear him hold his breath as he then sinks himself back in. He repeats the action and quickly finds a bullying rhythm, one that rocks your body back and forth against the arm of the sofa. Still holding onto your naked body, his hips snap against yours, skin against skin. Your moans tumble off your lips, unrestrained as he moves inside of you.

He dips forward, and pushes your shirt up over the swell of your breasts. He allows his mouth to connect with one of your hardened, sensitive nipples. His tongue swirls around it quickly, and he sucks the soft flesh into his mouth for a moment before moving carefully around your tattoo to the other one, and paying it an equal amount of attention. 

“You’re incredible,” he breathes over your collarbone before straightening up again. His hands move over your body, mapping out every swell and curve of it. Seems like you’re not the only one trying to memorize things.

He angles his hips, hitting a deeper spot inside you. The sensation has you seeing stars and you reach up blindly, until you find skin. You grip whatever is underneath your hand – his toned forearm – and whine, lifting your legs and pressing them back against your chest. 

“Fuck, Eric, yeah… yeah! Just like that, baby!” 

He nods, breathlessly, and doesn’t relent on his speed or his intensity, but grips the side of your hips hard enough to bruise. You can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his bangs damp. Everything about him screams your type, and as he fucks into you, he’s hammering that thought home. 

“You like that? Feel good?” 

You nod, lips parted. Eric replaces the emptiness with one of his hands, slipping his middle and ring finger inside the cavern of your mouth. He presses down on your tongue, and the length of them teases your gag reflex. 

“Fuck… oh my god!” You can hear the tight urgency in his voice, and the ragged breaths that follow. He’s close, and everything slaps against you in the best way, the sound filling the room. The movie drowns out behind the melody of your fucking, and Eric withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking them clean, loving the sweet taste of your mouth. You dig your head into the cushion behind your head. 

“Eric… Eric, I’m gonna’ fucking cum! Sh-shit!” 

Your back arches up off the cushions as the first wave of your orgasm rips through you. You clench around Eric’s cock like a fist, and shudder, fluttering around him. His eyes roll back in his head, and you watch, in ecstasy as he drops his head back. His hips stutter and with one final push, Eric buries himself balls-deep inside of your cunt, pumping his release deep inside you. 

“FUCK!” He grinds his hips hard against yours, riding out the waves. You’re filled to the brim, and as he finally backs his hips up, feel the hot, viscous liquid drip heavily out, pooling underneath your bare ass. 

“That was… fuck, that was amazing.” 

He nods, his mouth dry. He swallows a few times, looking deep into your eyes again. “Yeah, yeah it was.” 

Eric bends down, pressing a soft, intimate kiss against your lips. He’s savouring it, you can feel the way that he tastes you, his tongue slipping out to gently sweep across your bottom lip. 

“Stay.” You say. “Stay with me tonight. I want you to sleep in my bed, and fuck me all night long… stay with me, please?” 

“Forever.”

[huxhsz]

✈ — weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 03 - regeneration┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 05 - countdown

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

— content warning/s:

medical trauma

physical violence and injury

psychological trauma

non-consensual medical procedures

depersonalization and loss of agency

emotional dependency

mental health themes

hopelessness and suicidal ideation

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 04 — HELPLESSNESS

You don’t fight anymore.

You used to. You think you did. Maybe. It’s hard to remember.

At first, you’d flinch when the guards came. Struggle when they pulled you from your room. Beg when the restraints clicked into place. The words would tumble out—“Please stop, please don’t, please it hurts, please”—and you really thought, at some point, that maybe someone would care.

But no one did.

They never stopped.

And now… now you don’t bother.

When they come for you, you don’t resist. You don’t scream when they strap you down. You don’t ask why, because you already know the answer.

Research.

Data.

For the sake of progress.

It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. It doesn’t matter how much you hate it. It doesn’t matter what you say or do or feel because they’re going to do it anyway.

So you don’t waste the energy anymore.

You lie still as they strap you down, eyes fixed on the cold metal ceiling. You don’t wince when they draw the blade across your arm. You don’t scream when the bone fractures beneath the pressure of the vice. You barely blink when the pain flares bright and sharp across your nerves.

You know it’ll heal.

You know you’ll survive.

You know they’ll just do it again.

So what’s the point?

The scientists take notes. Talk over you like you’re not there. They discuss your recovery rate, your pain threshold, the adaptability of your cells. Sometimes you catch bits of it—faster than Subject 002, lower resistance than Subject 001.

Caleb heals too slowly. Unicorn breaks too easily.

You’re somewhere in between.

How lucky for them.

“Take her back to her room,” one of the scientists says eventually.

The restraints snap open. Someone hauls you upright. Your legs don’t want to work at first—numb, shaky—but you don’t resist as they drag you down the hall.

They open the door. Toss you inside.

You hit the floor hard, knees scraping against the cold tile. The door hisses shut behind you.

You stay there for a moment, cheek pressed to the ground. Your breath rasps in and out of your throat. Your arm still throbs faintly where they cut you, but the skin is already smooth again. Healed. Good as new.

A shadow falls over you.

“You’re back.”

Caleb’s voice is low and steady.

You don’t move.

The sound of footsteps, the faint creak of his knees as he lowers himself beside you. Warm hands catch your arms, pulling you upright. You don’t help him, but you don’t fight either.

He sits on the floor with you, back against the wall. His arms curl around you, drawing you close.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

You hadn’t noticed.

You curl into him instinctively, burying your face against his chest. His jacket smells like smoke and metal and the faint bite of oil. His hand runs slowly through your hair.

“They…” Your voice barely comes out. “They cut me open again.”

“I know,” Caleb says. His voice is low and dark.

“I didn’t stop them.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even try.”

Caleb’s hand tightens slightly against your hair. “It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t fight,” you whisper.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats. His hand cups the back of your head, steady and warm. “It’s not weakness to stop struggling when there’s no point.”

It feels like weakness.

“I think…” Your throat tightens. “I think they could kill me, and I wouldn’t even care.”

He tenses beneath you.

“They won’t,” he says. His voice is sharp now, brittle beneath the surface. “I won’t let them.”

“But you can’t stop them.”

His arms tighten around you. His heart pounds hard beneath your ear.

“I’ll find a way,” he murmurs. “I swear it.”

You’re not sure if you believe him.

But you don’t say that.

You just close your eyes, listening to the steady thud of his heart beneath your cheek. His warmth seeps into you, dulling the sharp edges of the day’s pain.

Eventually, your shaking stops.

Eventually, the pain fades.

But you know tomorrow it’ll happen again.

And the next day.

And the next.

And you’re not sure how long you can keep surviving that.

You don’t know how long you sit there.

Caleb’s arms are still wrapped around you, his breath steady against the crown of your head. The floor is cold beneath you both, but his body is warm. Strong. He always feels steady, even when the rest of the world is falling apart.

His hand moves slowly through your hair, fingers brushing your scalp in soft, rhythmic motions. It’s grounding. It makes you feel… not better, exactly. But less broken. Less like you’re going to disappear entirely.

“You should sleep,” he says eventually.

You don’t want to. Sleep means waking up again. Sleep means facing it all tomorrow.

“I’m not tired,” you murmur.

“You’re lying.”

You don’t deny it.

You feel his chin press against the top of your head. “Just rest for a little while. I’ll stay here.”

You know he will. He always does.

But even so…

“I can’t,” you whisper. “I’ll see it again.”

Caleb doesn’t ask what you mean. He already knows.

The past, the future, the shifting possibilities—they blur together sometimes when you close your eyes. Flashes of things that haven’t happened yet. Glimpses of things that have already passed. It’s not always clear which is which. And you can’t stop it.

You see the needles.

The knives.

The blood.

You see Caleb’s face twisted in pain.

You see Unicorn’s eyes wide and empty and blank—

Your breath hitches. Your fingers curl into his jacket.

“I don’t want to see it,” you whisper.

Caleb’s arms tighten around you. His breath is steady against your hair. “You won’t,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

You lift your head slightly, pressing your cheek to his collarbone. The fabric of his jacket is worn beneath your fingertips. “How?”

He’s quiet for a moment. His hand moves to your back, fingers trailing over the ridge of your spine.

“Because I’ll stop them,” he says simply. “If they come for you, I’ll stop them.”

You shake your head. “You can’t.”

“Maybe not now.” His voice is low, dark beneath the softness. “But one day.”

You pull back just enough to see his face. His gaze is sharp beneath the fringe of his dark hair. Those violet eyes—cool and steady—meet yours without hesitation.

He really believes it.

That’s the terrifying part.

“You…”

“I’m serious,” he says quietly.

You sit back. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t let go entirely. Your hand drifts down, curling over his wrist. His skin is cold. His pulse beneath your fingers is steady.

“How?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes darken.

“I just know,” he says eventually.

That’s not an answer. But it’s enough for him.

“What…” You hesitate. “What if you can’t?”

“I will.” His voice is so certain.

“How can you be so sure?”

He leans forward slightly, gaze sharpening. “Because I have to.”

You swallow. His expression doesn’t change.

“Even if you have to hurt someone?” you whisper.

“If it keeps you safe.” His answer comes too quickly. No hesitation.

You stare at him. His face is still calm, but his eyes—those deep purple eyes—are burning.

You remember how he looked in the lab. When the scientists strapped him down. When the machines began to hum. You remember the sound of his breathing, thin and shallow. The way his jaw clenched as the voltage climbed higher. He hadn’t screamed.

But his eyes—those burning violet eyes—had found yours across the room.

You wonder if that’s how he held on. If you were the reason.

Or maybe… Maybe he’s just telling you that so you’ll stop shaking.

“I…” You hesitate, your thumb brushing over his wrist. “What if… What if we can’t get out?”

His expression hardens. “We will.”

“And if we don’t?”

He leans in. His forehead presses lightly to yours. His hand settles on the side of your face, thumb brushing the hollow of your cheek. His breath warms your skin.

“We will.” His voice is steady. Calm. Like it’s already a fact. “I promise.”

You don’t know if he can keep that promise.

But you want to believe him anyway.

Your breath shudders out. You close your eyes. His hand stays on your cheek, grounding you.

You don’t believe in much anymore.

But maybe… maybe you can believe in this.

Maybe you can believe in him.

“Okay,” you whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. His hand stays at your back as you lean into him, your body relaxing by degrees. His warmth soaks into you, soft and steady.

“You should sleep,” he says softly.

This time, you don’t argue.

You let your eyes close.

You feel his hand settle at the nape of your neck. His breath is steady against your temple. His warmth shields you from the cold.

And for the first time in a long time…

…You sleep without seeing the future.

[stinkyturd]

When It Rains

Pairing: Leo Kurosagi/Reader

Comments: This one's pretty long, 15.6k. There's probably spacing issues, but I'm too tired to go over it again. FUCK Tumblr's editing system. The format is easier to read on ao3(I cross posted), if you find the texting portions to be a headache. MC is an anonymous Vtuber that makes commentary videos. Leo's a viewer and drama ensues. :')

"Ugh... I hate it when it rains."

Leo’s sprawled out on the couch in the Vagastrom garage, playing on his phone. His feet are kicked up on the armrest, despite the fact that he still has his shoes on. You sat on the loveseat across from him, going over errors on recent case reports. This week you were assigned to help out Alan and Leo, but mostly Alan. To your knowledge, Leo hasn't been doing much of any work as of late. Either that, or he just didn't want you involved in anything that he had his nose in, which would also track.

"What? Upset you can't spy on Alan as easily?" You ask, not bothering to look up from your laptop. 

You already knew the answer. The rain was falling hard enough against the tin roof that you knew there was no way he was clearly eavesdropping on the Vagastrom captain from here.

Leo shrugs dismissively. "The rain isn't gonna last all day."

"Alan will be out later," You counter.

"I'll know when he gets back."

“It’ll probably be your bedtime by then," You remark as your fingers dance across the keyboard in front of you.

"I'll be up late. I gotta stream tonight anyway." Leo tilts his head to look at you. "Stay the night and help me.”

"Not happening," You shut him down without hesitation. Leo isn't well behaved enough for you to go out of your way to do favors for him unprompted. Not only that, you planned on recording a video today for your Youtube channel.

It was a side hustle you picked up a few months ago. You report general news and social media gossip anonymously using a voice modulator and a virtual avatar. The idea came to you after reading an article on the spike in popularity with Vtubers. You didn't particularly want the attention that came with a social media platform, so it seemed perfect. Making money at Darkwick proved to be difficult, but somehow you garnered enough consistent views to make a decent amount of income.

The content itself felt opportunistic, but it's popular. You did your best to make sure all details you reported on were accurate and not character assassination like some of the other creators would put out. 

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Leo retorts in an accusatory tone.

"I'm supposed to be helping you with Darkwick duties," You correct him. "Last I checked, that doesn't include eavesdropping on your captain's private conversations."

Leo scoffs. "You don't know that."

You ignore his comment and catch him continuing to stare at you in your peripheral vision. He is likely banking on you caving. Unfortunately for him, it won't happen that easily.

Leo narrows his eyes at you. "Get me an energy drink from the fridge."

You let out a one-syllable, humorless, laugh. "Are your legs broken?" 

"I just took a hot bath. Don't feel like walking."

"Sounds like a ‘you’ problem."

"...Fine." Leo snaps his head forward, returning his attention back to his phone. 

Allowing silence to fall, you continue your work. For a brief few moments, the only noise in the room is your fingers hitting the keys on your laptop. 

"...Looks like I'll just have to tell that infantile werewolf the real reason you ditched him the other day," Leo mutters, just loud enough for you to hear. 

Your hands still and you finally glance up at him with a sharp look. "What?"

Leo types out a text. "Oh, nothing. I was just speaking out loud."

"Canceling aside, how do you even know that I planned to hang out with Lyca?"

The vice-captain shrugs. "Use that brain of yours for once."

You cease your typing and your fingers curl into the palm of your hand in agitation. "...Have you been snooping around the cathedral?"

"Tch, don't flatter yourself. I just happened to be passing by."

"And you just happened to activate your stigma near my location where no one else is? Get real, Kurosagi," You bite back.

Leo glosses over your comment and continues to antagonize you. "What will the poor pooch think when he finds out that you weren't actually pulled for a mission? You just blew him off to cozy up with King Kamurai." 

"It's not like that, asshole! I just overbooked my schedule." 

It was true. You had lost track of time that day filming one of your Youtube videos. So much so, that you forgot you had promised to help Jin that afternoon and didn't end up having time for both. You called Lyca to tell him that you had to do a mission to avoid over-explaining, or admitting to your negligence. You knew there was no point defending yourself, though. Leo would spin the story anyway to get what he wants.

Leo tosses a glance your way, his expression mocking. "Yeah? That why you were all dressed up when you left?" 

Why the hell was he paying that much attention?

"...That wasn't for him," You protest.

Yet another misconception. It was for a brand deal and you didn't have time to change out of it. But you weren't about to blow your cover to Leo of all people. 

The vice-captain rolls his eyes. "Puh-lease. Honestly, it's kind of pathetic that you think someone like Kamurai would actually go for you."

At this point, you're clenching your jaw so tightly that you think it might snap. "You're grasping at straws. For you to be lurking around my dorm long enough to witness all those details is more pathetic. Why are you so obsessed with tormenting me?"

"Implying my gathering intel is exclusive to you." Leo sighs and draws his attention back to his phone. "Spare me, Honor Roll. You're not special. Anyway, if you don't grab me an energy drink, I'll just text the hound my version of your dirty little secret."

"..." 

You wordlessly shut your laptop and toss it to the side. Then you get to your feet and head for the mini fridge across the room. 

"Put it over ice~" Leo demands in a sing-song voice.

You'd put it over ice, alright.

When you open up the fridge, you pull out a random energy drink from inside the door. The design on the can is gaudy and you don't recognize it-- likely something Leo had been gifted for free from one of his own brand deals. You peel back the aluminum lip at the top and a satisfying hiss rings in the air. There happens to be disposable cups on top of the fridge, right next to the ice maker. You grab one, fill it with ice, then pour the energy drink over the top. Once it's empty, you take some of your pent up aggression out on the can and crunch it up, before it gets tossed into a nearby recycling bin. 

You make your way back over to Leo. 

Leo clicks his tongue. "Took you long enough." The vice-captain holds out his grubby hand expectantly. "Give it here."

A wry smile pulls at your lips. "Yeah. Sure." 

Ignoring the potential consequences of your actions, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and spit into the drink before handing it to him. "Here you go, Princess."

Leo stares blankly at the cup in your hand, his expression unimpressed. He takes it from you and brings it to his mouth, drinking out of it anyway. 

…Well, can't say you expected that.

Leo flashes a derisive grin. "Try harder next time, NPC. Now piss off, will you? I'm about to record some reels and I don't need an eye sore in the background.”

For a moment you fantasize about beating the vice-captain into a bloody pulp. And why shouldn't you? He's a complete menace, after all. It’s not the first time he's blackmailed you and it wouldn't be the last.

You will get back at him. 

“Sure thing.” You maintain a pleasant enough expression as you walk over to your previous spot to retrieve your laptop. After that, you gladly heed Leo's request and make yourself scarce.

–

Later that night, you record a video for your channel. It's short enough in length that you don't spend long editing it. That leaves you just enough time to upload it, before it's time to start getting ready for bed. 

The video covered a week's worth of social media news that you had gathered, and also included a segment where you plugged a brand deal for a clothing company. They sent you several outfits for free that you tried on and reviewed. Of course, you made sure your face had been cut out for that portion of the video. 

By the time you're dressing down in your pajamas you receive a text notification from your phone that's lying on your mattress. Nothing out of the ordinary– you'd check it once you're done. 

And then another comes in. And another. Followed by two more. 

You sigh, narrowing your eyes at the device as you pull your pants up. There's only one person that spam texts to you in fragments like that.

Leo.

What could he possibly want this time?

You begrudgingly make your way over to your bed, pick up your phone, and flop down on your stomach. After unlocking the screen, you check your notification bar. 

Oh, it isn't Leo. 

Just messages from someone on Instagram that you don't immediately recognize. After staring at the screen name for a moment, you realize it's a variation of a name that you've seen in your Youtube comment section– firechicken22. You click on the message.

[Omg]

[U always come in hot with the tea]

[Was about to search for that recent drama w chillygoat cuz ive been busy]

[But u did the work for me 🩷]

You smile at that and type a message back.

[Glad I could help 💕.]

You thought that would be the end of it, but you see them typing again.

[I rly liked the clothes u wore today. Cant believe u got a brand deal w Kimyou, totally jelly. Been tryna get one w them for years.]

Oh? Is this person a content creator? Curiosity gets the better of you and you click on their profile. 

They only have a couple hundred followers, and they follow a couple of people– you being one of them. The few pictures they have up seem to be shitposts, not actual photos. And their profile picture is a bowl of spicy ramen. Another text notification pops up on your screen. 

[I got a deal w Mior but theyre inconsistent w sending products :P]

You click on the notification again to reply.

[Mior? That's a pretty big deal. You create content?]

[Mhm. This is my alt lol. I avoid dming on my main.]

[Oh? Do I follow you?]

[Nope. I'll let u know if u ever do 😉]

Seems like they don't plan on telling you.

[Haha, alright. Keep your secrets. 🤭]

[I'll drop hints if u keep talking to me. 😏 Kinda wanna get to know u. I like ur takes on stuff.]

You don't mind the idea of messaging this person when you have time. Your following is decent sized, but it's not like you receive a lot of messages from fans. Plus, you were a little curious as to who this could be.

[Sure. I've been a little busy, but I'll respond when I have time. ☺️ I'm glad you feel like you can relate to what I put out. I try to keep things unbiased.]

[Kinda impossible to avoid at some point lol. I think u are impartial enough tho. Every1 glazes chillygoat but shes fr two faced asf– I should know.]

[I haven't spoken with her personally, but I'll take your word for it.]

That Youtuber wouldn't give you the time of day if you wanted it. You were still a small fry.

[We collabed b4 n all she does is yap about this guy that doesnt even want her n only talks about herself. Couldnt get a word in, shes lucky I was in a good mood. Totally not surprised she got caught w her pants down lmao.]

If this person has collabed with chillygoat, they must be relatively big. You're a little surprised they're revealing such a harsh opinion right off the bat.

[That's too bad! I've known some people that can be self-centered like that too. Sucks that you had to deal with that.]

[Nah its fine lol. U cant expect to meet much nice ppl in this industry. Then theres u.]

[There's me?]

[Yup. Ur a little too nice for this platform. :P]

You blink, a little perplexed by the random observation.

[You've never even talked to me outside of comment sections. 🤔]

[Don't need to im good at scoping ppl out. Thts why im talking shit to u, I trust u wont tell on me. 😘]

[I dunno… That's a lot of pressure to put on me. Withholding profitable tea for the sake of being a trustworthy person? 🫣]

[Lol cap. U dont even report hearsay like that nice try 💕.]

[Okay, you caught me. x) Your secret is safe with me.]

[U should add me on Snapchat its still firechicken22. I'll respond on it faster cuz thats the only app I dont have another acc on rn.]

Adding randoms on Snapchat is… dubious at best. 

[Snapchat, huh? I have one, but I rarely use it. Are you a guy?]

[Lol yea. What u afraid im gonna send u dick pics? Im classier than that.]

[Hm… 🤔 Okay, I'll trust you. Adding you now.]

[Thx 🫰🏻. Anyway I'll ttyl. Got shit I gotta do. Night. 💤]

[Goodnight!]

You hook your phone up to its charger and bury yourself under the covers of your bed. Tomorrow you would do your morning classes and help at Vagastrom after. Then you'd inadvertently deal with your least favorite person on the planet– Leo.

Ugh.

—

“Oh, Alan! Your keys are falling out of your jacket.”

“Hm…?” The captain stops in front of your spot on the couch and looks down at his pocket. “...Oh.”

A few keys on his ring are spilling out of the fabric sleeve. It looks as if the bottom seam is hanging on by a few threads. You set your laptop to the side and stand to examine it.

“Looks like it needs a touch up,” You remark as you gently nudge the metal accessories back inside.

Alan nods. “Yeah. Must have snagged it on something when I was looking at the undercarriage of that truck.” The captain shakes his head. “I'll just switch it with my other one tomorrow.”

“I can fix it for you! I'm not the best at it, but I am capable of minor repairs,” You offer with a smile. 

Alan returns a smile of his own, appearing a little meek. “That… isn't necessary. Aren't you busy right now?”

“I'm caught up enough!” You insist. “I even have an emergency sewing kit on me because I had to fix a tear this morning in class. It's no sweat!”

Alan shoots you a skeptical look. After a few beats he caves and removes his jacket and hands it to you. “Thanks. I'll get you a coffee.”

“I won't say no to caffeine!” You reply genially. Taking the jacket from him, you plop back down on the sofa and get to work. Alan makes his way to the door leading out of the garage and into the main section of the Vagastrom building.

“Wow, so that's suddenly part of your inspector duties, huh?”

Your eyes snap up to see Leo's. He's lying on the couch across from you, just as he was yesterday.

“Yeah,” You answer with a dismissive shrug as you begin to thread a sewing needle from your kit. “Alan is actually kind and cooperative. Unlike you.”

“Sounds like bias to me. Don't tell me you're mooning over that himbo?”

You roll your eyes and begin to adjust the torn pocket of Alan's jacket to make your first stitch. “Always jumping to conclusions. Let's say I was. How is that your business?” 

You don't mean it. As much as you adore Alan, you don't know him well enough to have those kinds of feelings towards him. A flash of indiscernible emotion crosses Leo's face for a brief moment. It leaves as quick as it comes, and a mocking grin peels his features.

“Awwh. You wanna fuck him?” 

You frown, barely sparing him a glance before returning your attention back to your project. “Don't be so crass.”

“What other conclusion am I supposed to draw? You do so many favors for him that you don't need to be doing and it's laughable.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, keeping your tone level. 

“Care is a strong word. I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“Why?” You press as you loop the needle through the pieces of fabric.

Leo's shit-eating grin turns tight-lipped the longer you grill him. “Because you bitch and whine about doing the simplest shit.”

“For you,” You correct coolly. “Try not being insufferable for a change. Besides, didn't you say Sho is your ‘slave’ before? Ask him to do it.”

Ever since the first mission you did with Vagastrom, Sho has been increasingly less patient with helping Leo. The vice-captain has noticed it too, judging by how his expression shifts to a noticeably irritated one after you make the comment. 

“Get your eyes checked. Does it look like he's here, NPC?” Leo bites back rigidly. 

You hum and suppress a smirk. “Wonder why that is? Maybe he's getting tired of your shit.”

Leo's eyes crinkle as he maintains his cheery facade. He turns his head forward and starts typing away at his phone. “Mmm, yeah. Maybe you're onto something. Guess I gotta get a new servant.”

“Guess you do.” You get the last word in.

The both of you sit in silence for the next few minutes. He texts away on his phone while you sew up Alan's jacket.

Right when you're finishing up the last few stitches, your phone pings, notifying you of a message. You ignore it for now to finish your task and it goes off a few more times after that. 

“You getting spam sent to your email? Shut that off, it's annoying,” Leo complains without looking up from his phone. 

You roll your eyes as you secure your last stitch and cut the thread. “It only pings for my texts, it will stop.”

For reasons unbeknownst to you, the vice-captain chortles. You ignore it.

“Should be good,” You murmur to yourself as you tug the pocket to test the durability. Deciding it's fine, you set Alan's jacket to the side and pick up your phone to check your messages. When you unlock your phone and pull down your notification bar, you see a few texts from Lyca. You click on one of them.

[(y/n) is it true?]

[that jerky guy thats mean to suba texted me..]

[he said you only hang out with me because darkwick makes you]

[and said that you think i smell weird]

You clench the phone in your hands with a dangerous amount of force as indignant fury builds in the pit of your stomach. 

First things first, you text Lyca back.

[Block him, please. I said nothing like that, he's just being a child. I'll come over later tonight to help you study. Please, please, do not listen to him. 🙏]

You stand up, drop your phone to the side, and march over towards Leo. The conniving sack of shit is grinning from ear to ear with his attention locked on the screen in his hand. He's still typing out messages to Lyca, judging by what you can see of the profile picture. Somehow the dumbass still doesn't notice you approaching. 

You reach over Leo's shoulder and easily yank his phone from his grip. The vice-captain flits his gaze upwards, the amusement on his expression only becoming more obvious. 

“Fucking asshole,” You growl. From a quick glance, you notice that he sent far more than what Lyca reported to you. Without hesitation, you erase the message Leo had started to type out and then delete Lyca’s contact information.

Leo moves to get to his feet and you instinctively take several steps back. “Aaawh, you mad?”

“You wanted my attention that badly, Kurosagi?” You taunt. If not for the influence of anger, your tone would ideally be more unbothered. You're only giving this pipsqueak what he wants, after all.

“Yeah, real bad.” Leo holds out his open palm. “You deleted it right? Give it back, NPC.”

You let out a taunting laugh. “Fat chance.”

Without missing a beat, you spin on your heel and bolt in the opposite direction, Leo's phone in hand.

“Hey…!” 

The garage is big enough that you can run around without getting cornered if you do it meticulously. You didn't have a plan other than you knew you wanted to get back at the scheming rat. Leo's feet stomping against the concrete could be heard at your tail as you speed around the perimeter of the garage. You knock over a few stools to trip him up and even mistakenly shoulder check another nameless Vagastrom student in your haste.

“Watch it!” 

“Sorry!” You yell back without turning around.

“Can't run for long, Honor Roll!” Leo grabs at the end of your skirt's uniform, but you somehow manage to slip away just in time. 

Unfortunately, he's right. As annoying as Leo is he's still got more stamina and agility, being a ghoul and all. You're now on your second lap around the room and the only reason he hasn't caught you is because of the stuff you keep knocking over in front of him. Regardless, you had to exact your revenge somehow– even if you get caught in the process. Making a split-second decision, you run for a nearby bathroom and fling open the door, before promptly slamming it shut behind you. 

And there it is. A urinal filled with someone's leftover, unflushed, piss. 

Committing to your act of tyranny, you fling Leo's phone into the dirty urinal. You watch as the device clatters against the back of the ceramic before fully submerging into the sewage water. 

The door opens behind you and Leo skirts to a complete halt when his eyes land on the urinal ahead.

“...”

The vice-captain lets go of the door, allowing it to hinge to a close on its own. You feel your stomach drop from the silence that follows. 

You intend to assess his expression, until the wind is suddenly knocked right out of you, and you're being shoved against a nearby wall.

Leo grabs your face roughly in one hand, while his other rests flat against the tile next to you. He's smiling, but it's completely devoid of warmth. His golden eyes bore into you so frigidly that it sends a chill down your spine.

“Now you've fucked up, (Y/N),” Leo says, his voice oozing contempt. “I didn't back up my recent data and I won't be the one to fish that out.”

You attempt to jerk your chin out of his grip, but he's surprisingly strong. Your hands move to the wrist that's holding onto you. “Let me go, piece of shit,” You manage through your pinched cheeks. “You deserve that and more.”

“How about you get it out for me, hm?” Leo narrows his eyes at you, his thumb dragging roughly over your bottom lip, exposing your teeth in the process. “I'll dunk you in headfirst and you'll catch it with your mouth, kay?” 

You glare daggers at him, showing no indication of folding. “I can literally knee your balls and end this in two seconds, don't try me.”

Leo opens his mouth to speak, but then the door flies open yet again. 

In comes Mido, a sight for sore eyes. 

Alan frowns when his eyes land on the two of you. He wastes no time grabbing the vice-captain by the shoulder and pulling him backwards. “What the hell are you doing, Kurosagi?”

Leo loosens his grip on your face as he's drawn away from you. He grimaces, his lips peeling back as he attempts to jostle Alan's hand from him. “Fuck off, Himbo. This isn't your business.”

“It is,” Alan corrects. His gaze softens when his eyes meet yours. “What's going on, (Y/N)?”

You move yourself off of the wall and hastily begin your explanation. “Leo messaged Lyca lying about all sorts of mean shit because I won't do his petty bidding. He's an asshole! Now Lyca’s upset, so I threw Leo's phone in the urinal.”

Alan nods calmly, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation. His eyes redirect to the urinal that held the phone. “Sounds like Kurosagi instigated, as I expected.”

Leo bares his teeth and jerks away from Alan. “...Fucking simp.” You watch as the vice-captain barrels past him, exiting the bathroom in a huff.

“S-Sorry for the trouble,” You apologize meekly. “I'll clean up what I threw around out there.”

Alan shakes his head. “Don't worry about it. You're supposed to be helping us and he's causing problems with other houses.”

“But still… You're always so understanding. Thanks, Alan.” Your lips curl into an appreciative smile. “I finished sewing your jacket, it's on the couch.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate it.” Alan smiles softly back at you. He hands you a canned coffee that you didn't notice he had until now. “Why don't you leave early today, so you can focus on whatever mess Kurosagi created?”

Alan's so sweet. A stark contrast to Leo.

“Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks so much.” You bow politely and accept the coffee from him. “And thanks for this.”

The Vagastrom captain nods and opens the door, gesturing for you to leave first. 

As you exit the bathroom and head back towards the couch you notice that Leo is nowhere to be found. You wonder if he's going to pay someone to get his piss-soaked phone out of the urinal or just take the L.

Whatever, he probably has insurance on it anyway.

–

You don't get back to the cathedral until late in the evening. With all that had happened with Leo, you decided to spend your day with Lyca. Thankfully, your werewolf friend was understanding of the situation, because he knew enough about the Vagastrom vice-captain from Subaru. 

By the time you're showered and settling in your bed to catch up on social media news, you receive a Snapchat notification from firechicken22. You open it.

[U doin research for ur next vid?]

[Yeah, how'd you guess?]

[Research takes time n its late. :P Best time to do it. Assuming ur in a similar time zone to me?]

Your time zone is the same as Tokyo, even though you're technically separated from it– being in Darkwick and all. You decide to go with that.

[I'm in Tokyo.]

[Lol same kinda. I dont live far from there. I figured cuz ur dialect.]

[Small world. 😊]

[Gonna stream soon so help me pick my outfit. Which one?]

You receive two images. Both are of firechicken22 standing in a full body mirror, but the pictures are cut off from the shoulder up. One photo he's wearing a denim, bright yellow, jacket, with patches of random black lettering. The other is a black color block jacket with a white hoodie underneath. Both are kind of grungy looking and stylish. 

He's lean and has thin hands, you notice. 

[Hmm… Do you usually wear more dark colors or bright ones?]

[Both lol. But ig my bright is usually in accents not full pieces.]

[Then do the yellow jacket. Spice it up.]

[I'll take ur word for it. I still got an hour b4 I go live so lets play a game.]

A game…?

[Okay, Jigsaw. What kind of game? 🤔]

[Would u rather. U dont post much about urself so I think itd be fun lol.]

You don't exactly have anything to hide. If you were to get more questions about yourself that aren't indicative of your identity, you'd answer them. So far, firechicken22 is the first to ask you to do something like this. 

[Sure, why not? Any boundaries I should know about?]

[Nope what about u?]

[I don't think so. I'll just tell you if I don't want to answer it.]

[K u go first. :P]

The one who asks to play insists you go first, huh? 

You look up a template on Google and pick something random.

[Alright I found one to ask you. Would you rather be poor but fun or rich but boring?]

[Um def dont wanna be boring. I'll do poor but fun cuz I can just marry rich.]

[Opportunistic, I see.]

[A dog eats dog world lol. My turn.]

[Go ahead.]

[Would u rather hit pause or rewind on ur life?]

A deep one, huh? Well with the Kyklos curse…

[Pause.]

[Interesting lol. Any reason?]

[Does ‘Would You Rather’ require explanations? 😏]

[Guess not. :P Ur turn again.]

[Would you rather give up all the memories, or money you made this year?]

[Def memories. 💴]

Firechicken22 is opportunistic and values money. Not that you can really blame him. It all depends on circumstance anyway, and you don't know his.

[Fair enough.]

[Would u rather have more time or energy?]

[Energy, I'd say. Can't seem to have enough.]

[Lol thought u would say that.]

The two of you trade questions for the next hour. It becomes obvious that firechicken22 really is trying to get to know you. And it's too soon to tell if he's genuinely curious, or if he is trying to coax your identity out of you. As far as you're concerned, there isn't much to gain in doing that because your following isn't that big. 

So, maybe he's just a fan. Regardless, you don't intend on revealing anything too personal.

After the umpteenth question exchange, firechicken22 announces his plan to depart.

[Its been fun stranger but i gotta start my stream :P]

[Yeah, you're fun to talk to. Maybe you can send the link to your stream next time? 😌]

[Wanna c me that badly? I dont blame u~]

[I'm curious. But if you're streaming this late I'd be listening rather than watching. I do have morning classes, after all.]

[U go to university?]

Darkwick is kind of like a university, so you'll go with that. You certainly don't plan on revealing the name, though.

[Yeah. Do you?]

[Yup. Maybe I'll let u know who I am soon, or I'll let u guess if u dont recognize me.]

[Take your time, because I can't say when, or if I'll ever show my face to you.]

[The thought crossed ur mind? 😘]

[That's only natural if you bring it up, you know.]

[R u cute?]

[Hideous. 💩]

[Somehow I doubt that lol. Anyway gtg fr now. Nite~]

[Goodnight.]

Once you end your conversation with firechicken22, you realize it's already very late. Your research will have to wait until tomorrow, you decide. You tuck yourself in under the covers of your bed and plug your phone in its charger. 

Tomorrow brings another day at Vagastrom. Hopefully Leo leaves you alone.

–

“Here's the ingredient list. Mind helping me gather it, while I find my phone? Pretty sure I left it in my room.”

You are talking to Sho in the kitchen at Vagastrom. Leo sits in a stool at the other end of the kitchen island, eating a bowl of ramen that’s notably bright red. You can only assume it's the extra spicy Buldak noodles he always buys. The vice-captain hasn't said a word to you so far.

“Sure. This is for the curry bread?” You ask as you glance over the sheet of paper. 

Sho flashes you a dazzling smile. “Sure is. I'll be right back. In the meantime, I'm sure Leo can direct you if you have trouble finding something.”

“Riiight,” You say sarcastically, your eyes darting back over to Leo. He doesn't look up at the mention of his name. 

Sho snickers and pats your back twice before leaving you to it.

You grab the list and begin searching for the ingredients. First you grab the cold items on the list from the fridge, since that was the easy part. Milk, butter, and ground beef. Then the vegetables, spices, panko, and sugar. The only thing you're struggling to find is the yeast and flour. You search the pantry and even open and close a bunch of cupboards. When you're not successful after the second search, you audibly curse. 

“Looking for something, Honor Roll?”

Your attention snaps to Leo. His phone is resting on the counter and he's propping his head in his hand, eyeing you with newfound interest. The bowl of ramen is pushed to the side for now, with his chopsticks resting over the top of it.

“...Flour and yeast,” You answer reluctantly.

“Cupboard above the fridge,” Leo answers readily. 

You glance up at the fridge and let out a sigh. It's particularly large. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to put a common kitchen ingredient all the way up there? 

Leo must be drawing the same conclusion as you because he speaks up again. “That stool by the window is taller than the other ones. Could use that.”

You relocate your attention to said stool. It was out of place and looked like it belonged to a set of furniture that no longer exists in Vagastrom. Regardless, he's right. It is taller. Deciding you'll take his advice; you walk over to it and drag the piece of furniture all the way to the fridge. 

Leo sure is being helpful today, all things considered. Maybe he regrets being a douche?

You climb on top of the stool and stand on your toes. It's high enough that you're able to easily open the cupboard above. You instantly spot the yeast and several large bags of flour when you do. As soon as you shift your weight and get your hands around what you need, you hear the stool creak painfully. 

“...”

Cautiously, you settle backwards with the ingredients in your hand. Much to your dismay, as soon as you rest your heel onto the cushion of the stool, you hear a metal object clatter to the ground. 

And then it tips. 

“Shit…!”

You lose your momentum as the chair sways, and you unceremoniously crash to the ground on your side. The bag of flour in your arms bursts open and you're suddenly coated in the white powder. 

“Pffft…”

…That snicker. 

You drop the bag and the yeast, then lift your now aching body into a sitting position. Your eyes find Leo's. His phone is pointed towards you as if he's recording a video. 

Leo tilts his head as a devious grin splits his delicate features. “Smile for the camera, NPC.”

Your blood boils. 

“You did that on purpose,” You accuse, much more calmly than you feel. 

“Me?” Leo poorly feigns a perplexed expression. “Naaah, I don't tinker with chairs.”

You grab a fistful of flour and get to your feet, making a beeline for him. “You knew it was broken, don't fuck with me.”

Leo lifts himself from his stool, the seat sliding back audibly as he does. You watch him shove his phone underneath the waistband of his pants just as you're stopping in front of him. “Ah, ah. Not this time, Honor Roll.”

“You seriously think that's going to stop me at this point, Kurosagi?” You move your hand to fling the flour in his face, but Leo catches your wrist before it can do too much damage. All the same, the powder falls from your fingertips and onto the front of his clothes. 

He just laughs, though.

“That all you got? Flour is an easy clean up,” Leo taunts, thoroughly entertained.

His hold on your wrist is firm enough that you can't move it. You dart your other hand forward and go for his waistband, but he captures the other just as easily. 

“Delete it,” You demand, unwavering. 

Leo steps backwards as you continue to advance towards him, despite the restriction of your arms. 

The smile doesn't leave the vice-captain's face. “Nah. You don't get to cost me a pretty penny to recover data and also make demands. That's not how it works, Princess.”

“How is it that you get to push people around however you want and expect no repercussions?” You protest angrily. “We were even, if anything!”

Leo raises an eyebrow and scoffs incredulously. “Even? As if you could get even with me.”

You grit your teeth at his delusional nonchalance. “You must be far too used to people pandering to you, because you're on another level of entitlement!”

Leo doesn't have time to reply before you catch your right leg behind his and push forward with all your strength. As you had hoped, Leo loses his balance and falls backwards. Unfortunately, his hold on your wrists stays secure and you end up tumbling with him. 

The second he hits the ground, his grip loosens enough that you're able to tear your arms from him. You waste no time sitting up to straddle him. Your left hand grips the band of his pants while the right dives for the phone inside. Swallowing any embarrassment from the action, you find it resting against the side of his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. By the time you pull it out, you realize he's not fighting you anymore. A slight pink tinge adorns his face, yet he still sneers at you.

“Wow, pervert much?”

You ignore him and look at his screen, which miraculously is still unlocked. Clicking on the gallery, you browse the recent shots. 

There is no video, only recent selfies he's taken.

You narrow your eyes at him. “...You were bluffing.”

Leo sticks his tongue out. “Looks like you felt me up for nothing, freak.”

Heat rises to your face. “T-That's totally your fault, idiot! As if I wanted to!”

Without warning, Leo sits up, causing you to slide into his lap. He grabs his phone from your hand and his gaze lands on your wrist. 

The vice-captain blinks in surprise. “...Where'd you get that bracelet?”

The sudden question throws you off guard. You glance at the bracelet he's looking at. A unique gold pressed flower bracelet that you got from Kimyou. It’s a pre-order that hasn't been released yet, but the company gifted it to you because of your sponsorship. Leo must know this company, so his confusion is understandable.

“I…” You lick your lips nervously, fumbling for an excuse. “Have a friend that works there.”

You feel Leo's eyes on you and you reluctantly meet his gaze again. He stares at you for a few beats, his expression unreadable.

A short laugh escapes him. “Send me their info, I want a brand deal.”

Phew. Looks like he believes you.

“Not a chance,” You retort. 

“Am I interrupting something…?”

Your attention relocates to the doorway. Looks like Sho’s back. 

“No, you're saving me. NPC tried molesting me, can you believe that?” Leo lies, feigning a pitiful tone.

The cogs in your head turn and you belatedly recall that you're straddling the whiney influencer. 

You scramble off his lap and get to your feet. 

Sho places a hand on his hip, shooting his vice-captain a skeptical look. “I don't believe you.” 

Leo stands and brushes himself off. “That's ‘cause you're no better than the himbo.”

Sho seems to take notice of the state of the kitchen and gestures towards the fridge, his expression bewildered. “And what the hell happened here?”

“You're looking at the work of this clutz,” Leo fibs, jabbing his thumb in your direction.

“Bullshit,” You argue. “He told me to use that stool and it's broken!”

Sho gives Leo a precarious look. “C’mon man, you knew that was broken. You owe me another bag of flour.”

Rather than arguing, Leo just shrugs and makes his way towards the counter. “What a whole five-hundred Yen? Worth it.”

“Clean it up, at least,” Sho demands.

Leo pulls his bowl back in front of him and picks up another round of noodles with his chopsticks. “Nope. I wasn't the one who spilled it.” 

Sho frowns. “Are you being for real? I'm not making (Y/N) do it. She's gotta be bruised to shit from that.”

Leo noisily slurps up his noodles. He takes his time chewing and swallowing before replying again. “Sucks to suck.”

Sho browbeats Leo with a hard stare as he continues to eat. The vice-captain stares at him back with an unbothered expression. 

“...”

Sho gives up after a few moments and lets out an exasperated sigh. He makes his way over to the broken stool and picks it up to move it out of the way. “...One day someone's gonna beat your ass and I won't cover for you.”

Leo ignores him and pulls out his phone, setting it on the counter to find something to entertain himself while he finishes his food. 

Sho grabs a broom and dustpan that's hanging on the wall and begins sweeping up the flour. 

“Hey, let me help,” You offer, making your way over to him. 

Sho laughs and shoots you a dubious look. “After the demon here nearly caused a concussion?”

Leo begins loudly playing a video that has a familiar instrumental on it. You talk over it.

“But I technically spilled it,” You point out.

Sho shakes his head as he collects a pile of flour with the broom. “Don't sweat it. You didn't hit your head did you?”

“No, I'm okay! Just a little bruising.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when the audio of someone speaking on Leo's video reaches your ears. It's a voice you're all too familiar with. 

The voice modulation for your Vtuber avatar. 

Sho scoops up a sizable pile of the flour and dumps it out into a nearby trash can. “Once I clean up I can show you how to make the dough. It's super simple.”

Sho does a brief explanation of the process of making the curry bread dough, but you're far too preoccupied with Leo watching one of your videos right in front of the two of you to pay attention. 

Is Leo a fan of yours? It seemed unlikely. You could only imagine the kind of shit he'd say about Vtubers. He always had some negative commentary about people that didn't show their face online when it came to hate. 

“...Sound good, (Y/N)?” Sho asks.

The sound of your name snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah… sounds good,” You answer, your gaze still locked on Leo. 

The vice-captain doesn't seem to notice your staring. With his eyes trained on the screen of his phone, he abruptly rises from his seat, taking the bowl and chopsticks with him. You watch him throw the tableware haphazardly into the kitchen sink, without rinsing it, before he leaves the room altogether.

Sho finishes up sweeping the last of the mess and dumps it in the garbage bin. “Alright, let me wash my hands and we'll get started.”

“...Yeah.”

–

So, Leo watches your videos.

When you get home later that afternoon, you spend time putting extra soundproof foam up in your room. The issue is, it's not foolproof against Leo's stigma unless you cover every inch of the walls and you only have so much. You decide you'll just continue to make an effort to record on rainy days, if at all possible. Even if Leo happens to over hear, you could just say you were watching your videos, right? 

All you know is that he's the last person that should find out about your identity. You can only imagine how much he would dangle that over your head to get you to do his bidding. 

Once you dress down and get cozy on your bed, you start doing research for your next video again. Not even an hour later, firechicken22 sends you a message on Snapchat. 

[Omg did u see that kodiakmiller started more drama?]

[I was actually just reading an article on that.]

[U probably can already guess but half the shit she says is complete bs. That bitch just virtue signals 2 get attention.]

[I kind of figured that based on the patterns of behavior. I'll keep that in mind when I record.]

You watch firechicken22 type for a little longer than usual before another message comes in.

[Am I the only influencer u talk to?]

[Would you be jealous if I said no? 😏]

[Lol nah. I would tell u to be cautious w em tho cuz most r two faced.]

[And you're an exception?]

[No lol.]

[...At least you're honest about it, I suppose. Should I worry about you doxxing me? 🤔]

[Nah. If I wanted 2 kno ur identity I could find out if I rly wanted to.]

[Oh? You're a tech guy?]

[Thats one way to put it lol. Anyway i already shit talked ppl ik to u. If u wanted u could easily blackmail me. :P]

[Do you talk to influencers outside of collabs?]

[Nah. Just you. 😘]

[Influencer is a generous word for me, haha. Anyway, why me?]

[Hm…]

You watch the ‘typing…’ text pop up again as you wait for an explanation.

[Bc u couldnt b more different than me ig]

[Really? We seem to have stuff in common.]

[Lol ur so cute]

[🤔]

[Anyway meant 2 ask. U got anymore brand deals w clothing companies?]

[Only a newer brand called modflavor. I should be receiving mail from them within the next day or two.]

[Wanna put in a good word for me w Kimyou? 🥺🩷]

That feels familiar. Where have you heard that before?

[Wouldn't I need to know your identity for that?]

[If u knew would u do it? :P]

[I don't see why not. The worst they could do is not reach out.]

Firechicken22 stops messaging for the moment. So, you continue your video research for the time being. Maybe two minutes later you receive a Snapchat, but this time it's an image. You open it.

Skin is the first thing you notice– clear and pale. An exposed collar bone, exposed torso in general. He appears to be posed over the edge of a tub. Your eyes wander up towards firechicken22's face. Soft features, gold eyes, gray hair, smug grin, cute. 

Your phone slips from your grip and comes crashing against the bridge of your nose. But you don't even register the pain. 

You've been messaging Leo?!

Did he know it was you? Was he just fucking with you? Some of your exchanges with him even bordered on flirtatious. And you admittedly had been having fun messaging him. 

… But it wouldn't make sense that he knows, because he's been talking shit about other creators on the platform. And Leo also knows you've been trying to find a way to get back at him for all the bullshit.

…

And maybe this would be the perfect opportunity.

Leo seems to like your content because it's a condensed and unbiased way to consume news. And for whatever reason he seems to like you as a person. But it's not like you act any differently in real life, so why the sudden flip of a switch when you're a stranger?

Another message notification rings audibly. You pick up your phone to view it.

[Heeello…? Don't tell me u have beef with me lol.]

That's right. Snapchat notifies when you open messages and it's probably been a solid two minutes since you've viewed his photo. You decide you'll play dumb. 

[No, sorry! I was just trying to recall your name! ☺️ I know I've seen your content around. You're Leo Kurosagi, right?]

[Yup]

[No wonder you're interested in fashion, you always look so stylish. 😊]

[Thx u do too lol 💕]

[That's only because of the brand deals, haha. Don't worry, I'll put a good word in for you with Kimyou. 😊🩷]

[Ur the best 😘. I'll give u a shout-out on my next stream. 🫰🏻]

[Thank you. 😇 You're kind of sassy on your streams, but I feel like I've seen a sweeter side of you through text messages.]

Laying it on thick.

You sometimes watched Leo before you ever came to Darkwick, but never recently. Not since you learned how self-centered he really is. 

[Wow, u down bad for me already?]

You would have assumed before the face reveal that firechicken22 is just teasing. But knowing Leo, he's probably egotistical enough to actually think that. You decide to let him have the compliment he's probably fishing for.

[You're very cute, but I'm not swayed that easily.]

[Give it time I could change ur mind 😏]

Why's he being so forward? Leo seems like a shallow person and he doesn't even know what you look like. It could be that he's just toying with you.

[Pffft, we'll see about that. Anyway, I'm going to do more research before bed. Unfortunately I'm a little behind. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Leo. 😊]

[Boooo. 😮‍💨 K I'll ttyl.]

[Goodnight!]

You close the Snapchat app and work on sending an email to Kimyou regarding Leo's recommendation. Afterwards, you'll plot your next move against the sneaky influencer. 

–

A couple days pass. You and Leo talk over Snapchat every afternoon and into the evening, while your in-person interactions remain unpleasant as usual. Your text conversations become more personal as you learn more about each other. Leo divulges details about his family and upbringing– things you've never been privy to before. He also asks you a variety of things whenever he wants to keep the conversation going. 

You wonder if he really doesn't talk to anyone in his private life like this. Sho seems to know him best, but their interactions are more impersonal, even when Leo isn't treating him like a servant. In a weird way, you feel honored that he seems to trust you enough to confide in you about the little things. 

Unfortunately for Leo, that didn't change the fact that you still held a grudge towards him and his reign of terror. 

You still had yet to decide how you're going to get back at him, though. It wouldn't be through exposing anything incriminating of him online. Leo knew his way around a computer and you're sure he could identify you anytime if he really wanted to. He would only be more inclined to expose your secret if you did something to alter his reputation.

No, you had to think bigger. 

Would it be possible to get him attached enough that if you ghosted it would hurt him?

…It's an idea.

Three days after the night you found out Leo's identity, your modflavor package arrives that afternoon. Since you've got a decent outline of news highlights, you decide it would be a good time to record a video and add a sponsorship segment. 

It's a rainy day, so you don't have to sweat the off chance that Leo's lurking around.

You record the news part first to get it over with and then take a short break to message back Leo.

[Ughhhhhh i hate the rain]

[Really? I find it relaxing.]

[It's noisy 😒 wyd?]

[I'm recording! My modflavor haul came in, so I'm about to try stuff on.]

[Fr? Show me.]

You take a photo of some of the outfits lined up on your bed and send it.

[I'm not going to wear all of these, though. The slip dress looks like it'd be revealing if I can't find anything to put under it.]

[Try it on n I'll let u know]

… Leo wants you to take a photo in it?

He did send you a photo in the tub for his reveal didn't he?

It's probably against your better judgement, but you change into the dress. 

As you suspected, it is a little revealing. It's a deep red color with a low collar that exposes a decent amount of cleavage. Overall, the dress hugs your body in a flattering way. 

Making sure to move your hair out of the frame, you sit on the bed cross-legged and take several photos from the neck down. In a burst of confidence you pick the sexiest looking one and send it.

It takes a minute, but Leo replies.

[Need more angles than that. :P]

… Did he, though?

You get up from the bed and walk over to your wooden full-body mirror hanging on the wall. Leo's never been in your room and has no reason to be, so you're not worried about him recognizing your surroundings. In spite of that, you very carefully take more photos of your dress at different angles without showing your face, or much background. You send them afterward.

[Looks good on u. 😘 If u got a black turtleneck and black belt wear it.]

You hate the way your heart skips a beat.

[I'll look! So it's a no go if I can't find them?]

[Yep it will look cuter accessorized. I can even send u some stuff.]

[Oh, like links?]

[No like literally lol]

Leo's offering to get you stuff?

Totally unexpected, but either way you'll have to decline. When packages are sent into Darkwick, they all use a similar address. The campus cats make the deliveries to the dorms from there using the student's names. 

[I don't have a PO box set up yet. I'm sure you understand! The thought is very appreciated, though. 😳]

[Lmk when u do]

[You're sweet when you want to be. 🥰 I'll talk to you here soon, I've got to finish recording.]

[I'll watch when it drops]

[A dedicated fan. 🤭]

[Not to mention one of the first lol]

Really…? You'd have to fact check that, but you do recall seeing his screen name a while back.

[I'm flattered. 🥺 🫶]

[U should be :P]

You're pretty sure you might have the items Leo mentioned in your wardrobe, but you decide not to wear that dress for the video. The filming of the try on haul doesn't take long, but you spend some time editing it and end up uploading late.

Leo texts you goodnight before you ever manage to get back to him.

–

Over a week goes by before you have any notable in-person interactions with Leo. 

Subaru invites you to eat lunch with him on a bench outside Sho’s food truck. The both of you ordered beef soboro.

You open the still warm container in your lap as you sit to the left of Subaru. “Looks as good as it smells!”

“It does,” Subaru agrees wholeheartedly. He breaks the poached egg on top with his chopsticks and begins mixing it. “He always goes the extra mile with the garnishes, doesn't he?”

“Mmmhm, it's no wonder he's gotten so popular.” You break your disposable chopsticks apart and glance up at the long line forming outside the truck. It's a good thing you guys came early.

Subaru nods and tilts his head in your direction. “It's been a while since we've been able to sit down and chat like this. How have you been faring? Anything new?”

“I've been good. Not a whole lot has happened recently.” 

Not that you can talk about anyway. 

“At least I'm not subjected to the demon this week,” You add.

Subaru's expression turns sympathetic. “Ah, yes. He was causing you some problems last week, I heard. I'm sorry you had to go through that, he can be very…” The Hotarubi Captain looks towards the food on his lap as he searches for a delicate way to put it. 

“A piece of shit?” You offer bluntly, as you mix your own food.

Subaru laughs. “I wasn't going to say it, but… there is no gentle way to describe it.”

“Yeah, I've certainly never encountered anyone like him in my life. He's seriously one of the most self-centered people I've ever had the displeasure of knowing,” You rant bitterly. “How does one even acquire such a rotten personality?”

“Well… perhaps trouble with homelife growing up. Maybe some level of neglect, skewed ideals, or lack of positive reinforcement,” Subaru suggests coolly.

You wonder if that is the case. Leo told you about his family over Snapchat, but not anything inherently indicative of neglect. 

The Hotarubi Captain continues. “Although, some people have a lack of social empathy without any direct cause. I don't want to make any baseless accusations, but there are some people that bully others due to suppressed feelings of inadequacy. They may even try to keep people at an arm's length, so they don't have to deal with the complications that come with forming attachments.”

The hand holding your chopsticks stills.

You consider the complexities behind the idea for a brief moment. It’s a lot to unpack for baseless speculation and the last thing you want to do is feel sorry for the jackass. “...I don't think that jerk can form bonds like a normal person anyway. He's a lost cause.”

Although you've been flirting with him over text and becoming a friend of his anonymously, you don't anticipate him getting that attached. If you ghosted him today, you're certain he'd be petty and angry for maybe a day before moving on. Even then, it would be over a bruised ego, not a lost contact. 

“Perhaps you're correct. You know him better than I, after all,” Subaru replies with a smile. 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while to eat your food. At some point you open up your phone and scroll funny Instagram reels. You find one that makes you laugh out loud, piquing the captain's curiosity. So, Subaru can get a better view of your screen, you scoot closer on the bench to watch together. 

While the two of you begin yucking it up, you fail to notice another student approaching you. You're in the middle of a particularly amusing reel involving a cat with the zoomies, when someone abruptly wedges in between you and Subaru. 

“--Hey…!” You yelp.

“Geez NPC. Didn't you see my jacket at the end of the bench?” Leo jeers as he settles himself on the seat, effectively ceasing your interaction with Subaru. “I had this spot saved.”

You frown, barely sparing a glance at said jacket before glaring daggers at the vice-captain. Instinctively, you scoot back so your thighs aren't up against Leo's. “Saving spots? What are you twelve? If it was that important, you wouldn't have left it!”

Subaru scoots to the other end, appearing a little meek at the new development. “O-Oh! Hello, Kurosagi. How are you?” The captain forces a smile. 

Leo's eyes shift to Subaru and he gives him a look that can only be described as bitchy. “Oh, it's you,” He says, as if he hadn't noticed the captain before cramming himself on the bench. Leo equips a fake smile of his own, but it's far icier. “Wow, you're so desperate that you're kicking it with this nobody? Your looks must not be enough to keep the baddies interested. That skittish personality of yours is kind of a turn-off, I guess.”

Subaru's jaw goes slack at the casual verbal assault. The captain's cheeks turn red as the insinuation settles in and his violet eyes dart towards the ground. “...Say what you want about me, but (Y/N) is very interesting and pretty.”

Your cheeks flush at Subaru's words.  

“...Hah. Eat shit, Leo,” You manage, internally swallowing your embarrassment. 

Leo looks at you and his lip curls back in disdain. Surprisingly, he doesn't acknowledge your taunt. Instead, he returns his attention to Subaru. “By the way,” Leo starts, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped, saccharine, smile. “I passed that werewolf kid on the way here. He's standing at the front entrance of the academy and he's looking for you. Said something about his voice command password for his ipad not working? I'm assuming it's ‘cause whatever he was trying to pronounce sounded like gibberish.”

Subaru's face falls. “Again?” The captain sighs and closes up his unfinished container of food before standing. He shoots you a skeptical glance. “Would you mind if I go check on him?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, it's okay! Take your time!”

Subaru's lips curl up pleasantly. “Okay. Maybe we can try again on Monday?”

“Sure! Sounds good to–”

“Ugh, just go already, will you? If I hear any more of this sappy shit I'm going to barf,” Leo complains as he looks up from his phone to sneer at Subaru.

“Leo!” You bark in irritation.

Subaru waves his hands in a placating gesture. “N-No! It's fine (Y/N), truly. I'll message you.” 

Before you can say anything more, Subaru is scurrying off.

You turn your head to glare at Leo. “What the actual fuck is your problem?”

The vice-captain leans back on the bench with his legs stretched out, as he taps away at the keyboard on his phone. “What?” He plays dumb, not sparing you a glance.

“Why were you being a dick to him? And did you actually run into Lyca?”

Leo shrugs. “I just told the truth. Except for the werewolf thing.”

Your eyes narrow. “...You lied to make him go away?”

“Who knows?” Leo responds dismissively.

Deciding you lost your appetite; you close your container of food. “...Funny. Almost seems like you're jealous.”

“Of him?” Leo scoffs, jumping to the conclusion. “As if there's anything to be jealous of. He's only relevant to a select community of people.”

You roll your eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

Leo's brow creases. His gaze slowly shifts back to meet yours. For a split second you swear he looks miffed, but he quickly recovers with another fake smile.

“...You?” The vice-captain throws his head back and barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Be fucking for real, Honor Roll. You're not even a little close to meeting my standards.”

You squint at him suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Homely, boring, a buzz kill, useless, annoying.” Leo holds out a finger every time he lists a new insult. “Uptight, brainless, a clutz, obvious surface flaws.”

He's literally just spewing shit now. Somehow, you're not that bothered by it for once. But if Leo's so insistent on you being inadequate for him, you decide you'll begin your revenge arc starting tonight. You wouldn't want to disappoint him if he knew the truth, after all.

Sike.

“You know what? I could say the same for you. You're far below my standards too. I don't need to list the reasons, everyone knows you're insufferable,” You quip rigidly.

Leo sticks out his tongue childishly. “At least I can get a date.” 

“Oh? Well, Subaru asked me to go out with him next weekend on an off-campus trip,” You divulge.

Leo rolls his eyes. “And what? Do a mission? Hardly an advance.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “Well, he referred to it as a date.”

A fib, really. Subaru did invite you out to a theme park because he already had business in the area and wanted to spend time together. Lyca even managed to get a permit to come along, so it couldn't be considered a date. You don't clarify that, though. 

Leo’s lips twitch faintly. After a few seconds he rises from his seat. The vice-captain pockets his phone and turns heel but pauses to spare you a parting glance. “Good luck with all that. Make sure to wear a full face of makeup. It's the only way you'll stand a chance at keeping his interest, uggo.”

“Uh huh,” You respond, your tone unimpressed.

Just as Leo's leaving, you notice the jacket he mentioned earlier on the edge of the bench. It's white with blue patches on the elbows. Without warning, you pick it up and toss it at him. A sleeve wraps around his shoulder, just barely hanging on for dear life. He grabs the fabric before it drops to the floor and examines it curiously.

“Your jacket?” You say.

“...Yup,” He confirms belatedly. 

Leo doesn't put it back on. You watch him sling it over his shoulder as he exits the scene. 

–

Later that evening, you text ‘firechicken22’.

[Hey. Are you going to the Sumidagawa festival? I know it's popular with influencers.]

[Maybe lol. All depends.]

[On?]

[Are u going?]

[Depends.]

[??]

[Do you want to meet up with me, if I do? 😊]

You knew that Leo had a good chance of getting the permit to leave for it, considering he's vice-captain. For this event, a lot of permits were being granted to Darkwick students that have been proactive with missions. You even were offered one for this festival because of your hard work lately. Of course, you didn't intend on actually going. 

[Yea I do. Meet up w me in the afternoon. The fireworks show doesnt start til 7 but we can visit stalls.]

[Oh, you really want to? 🥺]

[Yep wanna c u irl 🙈💕]

Ugh… why is this sociopathic demon randomly cutesy?

[You might be disappointed if that's the goal.]

[Nah I wont be lol]

[Hah. What makes you so sure?]

Leo types for a little longer than usual before getting back to you.

[Well if u were a total catfish id still b ur friend lol]

This is a side of Leo that you're totally familiar with. He's unapologetically admitting that you may not fit his standards in appearance. There's no doubt in your mind he's genuinely expressing some level of romantic interest here. 

[Implying you're into me? 🤔]

[Thought i made that obvious lol]

[...Obvious isn't a word I'd use to describe you, haha. You type with a lot of hearts when responding to comments too. And you're a bit of a shit talker, so I wasn't sure.]

[I dont talk to ppl online a lot like this. Ur the first.]

And you believe that. You're sure now that Leo doesn't talk to any one person as frequently as he has been with you the last two weeks. 

Oh, well. You're still going to ditch him. 

[Me neither! But it's been fun. 😇 I'll text you tomorrow, okay? I'm probably going to fall asleep here soon.]

[K 🩷]

[Goodnight. 😴]

–

“Kaito…? What are you doing here?”

It's the afternoon of the fireworks festival and you're in the casino VIP room helping resolve scheduling conflicts for Romeo on his laptop. Kaito just walked in wearing the official wait staff uniform. He's holding a silver tray filled with drinks in one hand and the door with the other. 

“(Y/N)?” Kaito blinks, seemingly perplexed by your appearance. His face flushes pink and he averts his gaze. “I uh… that psycho said I could pay back some of my debt if I helped him out today.”

You nod in understanding. “That tracks.”

As much as you want to sympathize with Kaito, he's really just digging his own grave by actively borrowing money from Romeo of all people. 

“So what are yo– Hey…!”

Taiga shoulders past Kaito, grabbing a drink filled with brown liquid from the tray as he passes. He makes a beeline for the couch you're on and a toothy grin splits his face when he spots you. 

“Hey, it's the kitty cat~” 

Taiga plops down not too far from you and takes a swig of his drink. He haphazardly sets the glass on the edge of a coaster. You watch it begin to tip, so you hastily lean forward and adjust it properly to avoid a spill. 

You can only assume he recognizes you right away because you passed him earlier. 

“Hey, Taiga,” You greet him, before your gaze relocates to Kaito. 

The blonde walks in your direction and sets the silver tray of drinks on the coffee table in front of you. “Uh, Lucci asked me to walk him here…” Kaito explains nervously, his blue eyes darting from Taiga and back to you. 

The captain is already distracted and leaning forward in preparation to shuffle a deck of cards.

“Were you winning too many games again?” You ask the Sinostra captain in a playful tone. 

Taiga clicks his tongue. He tents the corners of two cuts of the deck together in a riffle shuffle. “Somethin’ crawled up his ass today. I wasn't gonna listen to him bitch anyway.”

“I understand.” You glance back up to Kaito. “You still owe Romeo from the last time?”

Kaito furrows his brow and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I had the money, but I left it in my jacket, and I can't find it.” 

“That sucks. Maybe it's somewhere obvious,” You suggest. “Did you try retracing your steps?”

“I tore apart my room already. Last place I remember having it was outside Sho’s food truck on the bench.” Kaito rakes a hand through his hair in distress. “Checked there yesterday though, no luck.” 

“I was just there yesterday during lunch! What did it look like?” 

The blonde gives you a piteous look. “White with blue patches.” 

…Isn't that what the jacket Leo took looked like?

“Anyway, it's good seeing you (Y/N). I'm gonna get back to work before that guy starts spamming me.” Kaito flashes you an upbeat grin and waves, before pivoting to leave.

“See you later!” You call back.

You redirect your attention back to Romeo's laptop. That is, until your phone pings multiple times at your side. 

You slide down your notification bar and can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of your mouth as you catch Leo asking about your whereabouts. You don't open the messages.

Today is a good day. 

“Kitty, play blackjack with me.”

You turn your attention to Taiga, your lips pulling into an apologetic smile. “Romeo asked that I adjust his staff schedule for him and I'm not quite finished.”

“Do it later.”

“If he walks in and catches us when I'm not done, he's going to have a cow,” You reason. 

Taiga deals you two cards anyway. “Nah, he's brown-nosing a big shot right now. ‘Sides, I won't tell if you won't.” The captain throws a wink your way. 

You can't help but express amusement at his antics. Deciding to entertain him for the moment, you set your laptop aside with your phone and scoot closer to the table. “I'll need a refresher on the rules though. And no betting real money.”

Taiga reaches forward to grab his drink again. He takes another swig of it, before dropping it back on its coaster, this time centered. 

“Fine by me. We got time.”

–

You stay at the casino until around seven in the evening before heading back home in the pouring rain. It's a good thing you remembered to bring your umbrella with you. The thought crosses your mind that tonight would be a good time to record a video.

Leo didn't continue to message you after the first string of texts, and you still had yet to open Snapchat. The fact that he didn't seem that desperate for your attention helped you feel less guilty about the whole thing. Not that you felt bad…

Leo's ego is probably just slightly bruised, and he'll get over it. 

Once you enter the cathedral and make your way up the staircase, you immediately notice several strange things. The door to your room is cracked open and the lights are on. And you couldn't hear it downstairs because of the rain and the soundproof foam you have up, but music is playing audibly too.

…Who the hell could be in your room?

The only person to ever enter without warning was Jiro. And he wouldn't be here at this time– certainly not blasting electro-pop music. 

Should you call someone to scope out the building? Is it safe to enter?

A familiar voice reaches your ears and it's enough to dissipate any looming sense of dread that had settled in your gut seconds before. You decidedly march to the top of the stairs and fling open the door to your room.

A body lays sprawled out on your couch, reading a book that's inadvertently concealing their face. You recognize the paperback as one of your manga volumes that had been collecting dust for some time. Not a second after the door makes contact with the wall, the book lowers.

Shit.

Leo smirks and tosses the volume carelessly on the coffee table in front of him. For reasons unbeknownst to you, he's wearing a set of headphones despite the music playing in the background. The vice-captain leisurely sits up and pulls them down to rest around his neck. He reaches for the stereo remote and lowers the music to where it sounds like a quiet lull. 

You hear yourself gulp.

“You're out late, huh?” Leo's jaw shifts like he's chewing something. 

Maybe he doesn't know. Act normal. 

You frown and manage a steady tone. “What the hell are you doing here, Kurosagi? And how'd you get in?”

“You left it unlocked, duh,” Leo replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “And I just wanna talk, that's all.”

You slowly walk over to a nearby end table and set your keys down. “I never leave my door unlocked.”

Leo's eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curling into a delighted smile. “No? You sure did this time.” 

You narrow your eyes at him and redirect the topic. “What do you want to talk about? Make it quick, I'm tired.” 

Leo rises from his spot on the couch. You instinctively take a step back and almost hit the wall, despite being on the other side of the room. If he noticed, he doesn't comment on it. 

“I was just wondering about your friend that works for Kimyou,” The vice-captain explains innocently, his hand moving in an animated gesture. You watch him walk around, his eyes shifting to different areas of the room. “They got socials?”

You cross your arms over your chest, making a point to stay where you're at. “Even if they did, I wouldn't tell you.”

“Why not?” Leo walks up to the back wall and prods at a piece of foam hanging up. A red sphere of gum inflates from his mouth into the size of a tennis ball before bursting. “I thought we were just starting to be chummy too.”

“That's a crock of shit and you know it. I can't stand you. Also, don't move that!”

“Relax, NPC. I was just looking at the type of acoustic foam you have up. It's good quality, I've used this brand when I lived in a studio apartment.” Leo raps his knuckles against the textured surface and his gilt eyes meet yours again. “You sure have a lot of it, though. What for?”

Your stomach churns uneasily. “...Isn't it obvious? Your nosey ass snoops around all the time.”

Leo tents his brows, his expression skeptical. “Just for me, huh? This quantity can't be cheap for a regular Darkwick student.” 

“I have savings,” You counter, holding your ground. “Anyway, you asked what you wanted. You know where the door is.”

“I still have more questions.”

“They can wait until tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I'm not in the mood. You came in unannounced!” You near shout as your patience wavers.

“Exactly. You would have been way more assertive with escorting me out if it were as simple as that,” Leo accuses as he steps a little closer to you. 

You hold your position, unmoving. “What are you implying?”

“While you were out, I took the liberty of doing a little digging.”

Leo knows.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to hide your crumbling nerves. “Digging? What are you on about?”

“Where to start…” Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. Following a brief pause, his features brighten, like he had an epiphany. “Did you know that even if you use a VPN, if you have access to your location enabled on other devices it's sort of a dead giveaway? You should, if you're posting online and all.”

Fuck.

“Posting online?” You feel the palms of your hands begin to sweat. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I had my suspicions when I saw that bracelet. Not to mention every time that you've posted recently, it just so happens to be when it rains,” The vice-captain takes a few steps closer, until he's only a few meters away. Placing a hand on his hip, his eyes scan ambiguously over your form. “And those photos you sent me? You didn't even notice that you caught the beginning stages of bruising on your leg, right after your little tumble at Vagastrom. Then of course, there's that tacky looking mirror in here that’s a carbon copy of the one in the photos.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Your voice betrays you by cracking.

“Oh come off it! You're caught red-handed, so don't act all shy on me now.” Leo laughs derisively. “Tell me why you sent me those suggestive photos. Was it to seduce me? I really didn't think you had it in you. I mean, that takes guts considering how unappealing you are in real life.”

And suddenly you remember just why you took it this far.

You ball your fists up at your side as anger buries any and all feelings of disquiet. “Yeah? If I'm so unappealing, then why have you even entertained talking to me, dumbass?”

Leo squints at your comment, his phoney cheerful demeanor not faltering. “Maybe I just felt sorry for you. You ever consider that?”

“You're full of shit, Kurosagi. If that were the case you wouldn't have told me so much personal stuff or even messaged me in the first place!” 

Leo pauses, giving you a sideways look. “All that personal shit may as well be fabricated. I could have been playing you the whole time.”

“I recognized that screen name of yours when you messaged me. You've been a viewer for months, so I don't buy it,” You argue. “What do you even hope to gain by coming here?”

“What made you decide it was a brilliant idea to ask me out just to ghost me?” Leo throws back at you, deflecting the question. 

You clench your jaw. “I asked first.”

He scoffs. “Like I care.”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “Obviously it was to get back at you for being an asshole!”

“Oh?” Leo raises an eyebrow, his expression tickled. “You think you hurt my feelings? That's rich, Honor Roll.”

“What did you really come here for?” You try again. “If you found my IP, it's irrefutable. So what's the point? And don't even try to blackmail me either, because I got shit on you too now, Kurosagi!”

Rather than deflecting with more insults, Leo shifts his stance and stares at you like he's deliberating something. After a few beats he speaks. 

“Okay, I'll bite. Let's say I enjoyed your company. Maybe even though I suspected your identity a few days into chatting, I wanted to test the waters. So maybe I didn't bother verifying.”

Your stomach flips when Leo begins to saunter towards you. Unconsciously, you find yourself taking another step back. 

The vice-captain stops two feet away from you, his jaw moving visibly as the gum shifts around in his mouth. His lips are tinted red and a little swollen, like he just got done eating something hot. A bitter smirk paints his soft features. “I wanted to see if you'd actually show. And when you decided to ditch without a word, I wasn't entirely surprised. You knew I had the means to find out your identity if I wanted to.”

You did know there was a possibility he'd confront you. The idea wasn’t intimidating enough to stop you from doing it.

“Almost like you wanted to fight with me about it.” Leo's eyes crinkle with mirth as he tosses a cat-like grin your way. “Fess up. Do you like our little disputes, Honor Roll?”

The teasing tone he uses inadvertently sends heat crawling up your neck.

You consider the question. It's not like it's one that hasn't crossed your mind before. Some part of you finds the conflict entertaining, but not when he involves Lyca or any of your friends. And his mean comments do get under your skin sometimes… But could you rightfully say you hated him for it?

“I could ask the same thing to you,” You reply with a smirk of your own. “You're the one bringing it up, maybe it's projection.”

“And what if I do think it's fun?” Leo admits readily. “Judging by your reaction, I think we're on the same page.”

The vice-captain takes another step towards you and loops an arm around your waist. You suck in a sharp breath of air as his free hand cups the side of your neck and his thumb brushes against your throat. 

“H-Hey…!“ You press your palms instinctively against his chest, but for reasons you can't pinpoint, you don't shove him away. His cologne swarms your senses– earthy and a little floral. The sudden, non-hostile, proximity makes you feel a little dizzy. 

Rain begins to pummel relentlessly against the roof. It's so deafening that if Leo wasn’t so close, his next words might be difficult to pick up. 

“I guess you're not half bad now that I get a better look at you. It's a shame you've got the personality of a wet blanket,” Leo drawls, with a notable lack of animosity in his tone. 

Your nerves catch on fire when his hand shifts to cup your jaw unexpectedly.

What the hell is he doing?

Leo's grip isn't restricting your movements by much. In fact, you're sure you could get out of this if you really wanted to. Why did his hands have to feel so soft? The warmth he's radiating is so inviting that you're tempted to lean into his touch. Maybe the cold weather is influencing this senseless feeling. 

“...Yeah, you should find it really embarrassing that you carried an ‘NPC’ through so many lengthy conversations,” You bite back, your fingers curling against his shirt. “It must have been like talking to a brick wall.”

Leo's thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “Why do you think I'm really here? I need to make sure you keep that info under wraps somehow. A gossip blog highlighting that loser shit would ruin my reputation.”

“Pffft…” A snicker bubbles up from your mouth from his banter. “Wait until they hear about you touching up on me too. That would be so humiliating.”

“Oh, well.” Leo smirks. “I'll adjust the narrative in my favor.”

Thunder claps outside, loud enough that objects in your room shake with the reverberation. 

The abruptness is enough to startle anyone out of their skin, but for some reason neither of you move. Maybe it's because your heart is hammering in your chest so violently that you hear it over everything else. And you might be mistaken, but you're pretty sure you feel Leo's beating just as desperately through the fabric of his shirt. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his gaze lingers on your lips, but he seems to be hesitantly dancing around an idea.

You're not sure how the two of you ended up in this predicament, or why he's even reacting like this. What you do know is that Leo's unusual display of nervousness is fueling your own ego for once. You decide to voice your hunch and accept the inevitable repercussions.

“I must not be that unappealing if you're staring at me like that. Don't tell me that after all that shit talking you’ve never kissed anyone?”

Leo's brow creases in annoyance. “Of course I've kissed people before, just not–...” The vice-captain cuts himself off and averts his gaze.

Now, that's a look you could get used to.

“...Just not?” You press in amusement. 

Leo huffs, his eyes meeting yours again– this time with determination. “Ugh. Just shut up, Honor Roll.”

The vice-captain leans in, slanting his mouth at an angle and you accept the advance. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips meld into yours.

Butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach as you return the kiss. And despite the well anticipated crash landing, his lips are quick to move against yours with urgency– robbing you of the courtesy of easing into a rhythm. Seeing as how everything with Leo has always been an uphill battle, it's nothing you weren't used to.

You adapt, reciprocating with an intensity that mirrors his own. A tingling sensation begins to linger around your mouth the longer the kissing continues, but it's so mild that you dismiss it unthinkingly. Leo's arm tightens around your waist, and you're pulled right up against him. You decide that the plush feeling of his lips on yours is one you could easily get addicted to. 

At some point Leo separates, just barely. His fingers dig into your cheeks, and he regards you with a half-lidded gaze.

“Open,” He demands, his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

The sudden verbal request throws you off guard. Your first instinct is to question him, but you fold after a brief standstill. His tongue delves past your parted lips, and you feel the metal bar of his piercing clack noisily against the back of your teeth. The inflamed sensation you felt earlier only gets stronger as the kiss deepens, to the point where you decide to break away. Just as you're preparing to jerk your face from his, the vice-captain pushes the wad of gum he was chewing into your mouth. 

You involuntarily catch it between your tongue and the roof of your mouth to prevent yourself from choking. It's only then that you realize what the burning sensation was from, as the center of your mouth catches on fire.

Leo's hand grazes your upper thigh right as you're extending your palms forward to push him away. The second your mouths disconnect, your hand covers your own, and you start coughing violently from the overload of capsaicin. 

The vice-captain laughs obnoxiously at your expense as he steps back from you.

“LEO, COUGH…! WHAT THE…COUGH…! FUCK IS THAT?!” 

Tears well up in your eyes and you bolt for trash. Leo continues speaking, but you're too focused on getting the gum out of your mouth to actually listen. 

“Carolina Reaper flavor. Pffft, you look so red! Ahahaha…!”

Once you spit the gum into the garbage bin, you immediately head for the sink and fill a nearby glass with water. As you chug it, you remember the hard way that water can exacerbate inflammation, but your options are woefully limited right now. You stand at the sink for a while, drinking a couple of glasses until the sensation dissipates to a manageable level. 

Following your recovery, you flip around to reprimand Leo, only to find him perched on the edge of your bed with a phone in his hand. The harsh words you had intended to throw at him die in your mouth when you notice the case of the phone. You pat your now empty pocket to confirm your suspicions. 

That idiot had the gall to take your phone too?!

“What are you doing with that?” You hurry towards him as mild panic sets in. 

Leo kicks his shoes off and slides farther back onto the bed, as if to give himself a few seconds longer to finish whatever it is that he's doing. “Just removing evidence, chill out.” 

“Evidence?!” You repeat impatiently as you stop in front of the mattress. “Give it back.”

Leo plops his head down on one of your pillows. “Two seconds.”

“What the fuck do you mean two seconds? No!” You climb onto the bed and grip the edges of the case to pull it from him. 

Thunder cracks outside again, but this time it takes the power with it. The lights in your room flicker for a split second, and then the room goes black entirely. You and Leo blink at each other in surprise, your faces illuminated somewhat by the natural light coming in through the window. 

You sigh, your grip loosening on the phone in defeat. “Fuck. This is your fault.”

Leo scoffs. “The weather? Wrong vice-captain.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “My poor luck. I was going to record today.”

A weather alert notification rings loudly from your phone. You slide next to Leo to peer at the screen.

“Severe thunderstorm warning until midnight,” You read aloud. “The campus cats will promptly work to recover the power back in the dormitories. Darkwick staff strongly advises students to remain in their respective buildings for the time being… Shit.” 

Without warning, Leo peels back your comforter and settles underneath it, making himself right at home. “Aaawh. Looks like you're stuck with me. Poor you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I could keep you downstairs too.” 

Leo's lips pucker into a pout. “After getting the privilege to kiss me? Show some gratitude.” 

“You spit hot ass gum into my mouth,” You deadpan.

“It's not even that hot. Not my fault you can't handle it,” Leo retorts. 

You stare at the vice-captain for a moment. He looks cute cozied up under your sheets. For the time being, you forget about him messing around on your phone. You realize how confused you still are by the random shift in his actions. “...Why did you kiss me, though?”

Leo rolls on his right side and props his head in his hand as he looks up at you. “‘Cause I felt like it.”

His statement is resolute, yet still leaves more questions than answers. 

You shake your head tiredly. “You're so confusing, seriously. Everything you say and do contradicts itself.”

“Maybe you just suck at reading me.”

“Or maybe you do it so I can't.”

The soft accusation makes Leo shut up for a few moments. His expression remains unreadable, and your phone still limply resides in his free hand. 

“Get under the covers with me,” He demands, blatantly diverting the topic.

You feel your cheeks turn pink at the sudden request. “Nice cop out. I'm not going to do anything until you tell me exactly what you deleted on my phone.”

“I told you– evidence. Just anything that indicates I'm connected to that burner account.” Leo shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I wouldn't have told on you. And you better not rat me out.”

Leo smirks impishly. “It's cold as shit in here, Honor Roll. Get under the covers and your secret is safe with me.”

You click your tongue and stand up to peel back the comforter. “Fine. But it has to be permanently safe if I agree now– no backtracking.”

“Cross my heart~” Leo assures.

You browbeat him for a moment. Once you determine he's being sincere, you slip underneath the covers next to him and prop your head up on a pillow. “I'm taking this back, though.” You grab your phone in his hand, and he lets go without a fight. 

“Have it your way,” Leo acquiesces.

You begin checking your apps for any signs of tampering besides what the influencer admitted to. As you flick through tabs, you feel a weight settle against your chest. You redirect your attention to find Leo shamelessly cuddling up against you, his arm looping around your waist. 

It's… stupidly cute.

Rather than drawing attention to it, you bury your muddled thoughts to resume the task at hand. You look around for a little longer and determine that Leo had indeed only deleted some messages. He probably knew you wouldn't really do anything anyway. Almost everything he did to annoy you ended up being a ploy for attention. 

A message notification pops up from Subaru and you click on it. 

[… Kurosagi?]

Huh?

There’s a text beforehand from Subaru and then one sent from your device. 

[Hello, (Y/N)! I hope you're in your dorm safe in this weather. I just checked the forecast for next weekend and there is a high chance that it will be storming Saturday. Do you have any plans for Sunday? 😊]

[Sry bozo i have plans. 🤥 Dont bother asking me other days either. 💀 Mayb if sho feels bad 4 u he will cancel service so u dont have 2 contest a refund 🤣🤣🤣]

“Leo, what the fuck?” 

A ghost of a smirk appears on the vice-captain's face. He doesn't need to ask what you found. “Hmm?”

“Do NOT text people on my phone without permission. Now I have to apologize! You being here at this time of night is going to look weird, you know?”

“You going on a date with a guy after making out with me is even weirder,” Leo counters, not bothering to lift his head. “He shouldn't be messaging you this late anyway.”

You did tell him it was a date when you were shit talking to each other. But you really don't have the energy to explain all that right now. 

You type out a quick apology text to Subaru and set aside your phone. 

Having Leo this close to you felt foreign, but it certainly isn't unwelcome. The cold rain harshly pelting the roof of your poorly insulated room feels even more serene when there's a warm body nestled against you. You experimentally run your fingers through Leo's hair to test the waters. A pleased hum reaches your ears amongst the ambient noise, wordlessly inviting you to continue. 

You're not sure how your relationship with Leo will be after all this. Romantic? That's something you can't really picture. Not in the traditional sense.

You got yourself a little too involved with Darkwick's most difficult and bratty ghoul. Now you'd have to navigate the consequences that follow. 

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 8 - Welcome To The War

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: use of weapons, death, cannon typical violence, bombs/ explosions, military inaccuracies, blood, mention of injuries.

AN: Taking a break from this. Got to work on main project (the next chapter so close to being finished i's haunting my dreams)

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“I still think you’re crazy going after Makarov.” You say crossing your arms. “Why do you want him so bad?”  

“He’s a terrorist.” Price says like that’s supposed to explain everything. 

“The ULF and Al Qatala are terrorists, according to your country.” Price nods and moves back to the table. 

“We’re not concerned about Al Qatala, the ULF want the same goals as us.” 

“Is that why the Americans are working with Farah?” 

“They’re not.” Ghost says. “Not anymore.” 

“I assume you had something to do with the death of The Wolf?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Price nods.

“I remember it happening. Konni helped sneak The Butcher and Khaled out.” 

“The Butcher? Jamal?” Price asks then looks at Ghost. The energy in the room changes. 

“What?” You ask, you don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

“We thought he was dead.” Ghost says. Price braces himself on the table. That news seems to have put a wrench in whatever plan they had. At least they know now they know he’s alive before-

“Hold on.” You stand up out the chair.

“He’s going to be at the meeting with Ivan and Makarov. He was supposed to torture Alex. He’s already on his way to the base.”

“Makarov’s already changed his plans.” Price says.

“Yeah but The Butcher hasn’t, he’ll still be heading there. You take the whole building out. That's one hell of a blow to Konni, take out one of their strongest posts as well as Ivan who basically controls that whole region.” You look round at them with wide eyes and hands in the air like you’ve just come up with the best plan in the world. 

“That’s where Makarov was going to launch his attack from, it’s the only place they have on the border.” They’re just looking at each other, not saying a word. You look down at the plans on the table. There’s handwriting on one of the pieces of paper. It grabs your attention and you pull it out. 

It’s a diagram of missiles, they look new though. Konni doesn’t have new missiles, they’re still using cold war stuff. Then you remember what that man said in the room ‘he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF.’ You pull the paper towards you, turning it over. 

“It’s not been translated yet.” Ghost says. You ignore him, you recognise the handwriting it’s Ivan’s for sure. 

“He’s buying missiles off Al Qatala.” You say looking up at them. 

“No. Because then-” Price doesn’t finish his thought, his eyes flicking up to Ghost. 

“He would have American missiles.” Ghost says. 

Fuck.

—

Farah didn’t take it so well that Jamal was still alive. Alex went white as a sheet when he heard about the torture part. Soap seemed perked up looking over the shitty floor plan of the compound you drew for him from memory. 

“If we take this place out we’ll halt them in their tracks. They won’t have the missiles, the building will be gone and Jamal will be dead.” 

“Busy day.” Alex says. 

“How sure are we that Jamal is moving the missiles there, and not to some other place? Especially now you got Alex out.” Farah asks. Gaz turns a laptop around. 

“Spotted on the Russian border a few hours ago.” Gaz says, you lean over to look. It’s pictures of a convoy, big trucks going through the border. 

“We are still waiting for the satellite but it’s the best we have for now.” Price says. 

“Okay, we can be ready to leave within the hour.” 

“No. ULF has to stay here.” Price says, Farah opens her mouth to protest Price raises his hand stopping her. “It’s across the border, you can’t get involved. It’ll just be us.” 

“If it’s true that Jamal is alive, Al Qatala could regroup. This could change the outcome of this war.” Farah says. 

“We’ll get him.” Price says. You raise an eyebrow, he looks so sure. 

“What do you need?” She asks. 

“A car, explosives. We’ll be back before the morning.” Price says. She sighs standing back up and ordering someone around in arabic. Price moves with Ghost and they head out the room. You chase after them pushing past them and stopping in front of Price. 

“I want to come.” You say, he stops raising an eyebrow at you.

“You got stabbed-”

“You got shot.” you interrupt him

“-Less than 48 hours ago.” He finishes.

“I know my way around that compound. I can get you in and out without being spotted.” You say holding your ground.

“Just tell us where to go and we'll figure it out.” Gaz says, you shoot an angry look at him.

“I know that place like the back of my hand. I can get you through anywhere you need to go. I know where everything is. I know how to disable their systems, where all the gear is stored, where to avoid.” You feel like you’re pleading with him. They need you, there’s no way you’re going to sit around and not be involved with this. Besides you owe Caleb. 

“Can you shoot?” Price asks. You smile and nod. 

“Go with Soap, Farah has gear lying around he’ll help you with what you need.” He sighs, you look at Ghost and Gaz. You have no idea what Ghost is thinking, not with his mask. Gaz just has an eyebrow raised watching you.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” You say and rush past him to join Soap.

“You look cute when you get flustered.” Soap says his hand landing on the top of your back and leading you out the building. 

“Shut up.” You say elbowing him maybe a little too hard, hanging your head feeling heat rush to your cheeks. 

…

The gear you found was a little too big for you, the weapons in your hands feels foreign. You have shot a gun before, well, pistols. You don’t have time to worry about it though, as soon as you were finished with Soap you all piled into what looked like an old army 4X4. 

The drive took over 2 hours. Price parked the truck behind a different tree line and you all walked in silence to the back of the compound. There is only one way in the compound officially, but there’s a basement back from the cold war era. 

“It’s used for storage, most people think it’s sealed off but I’ve used it before, when things needed sneaking out without the rest of the base knowing.” You explain as you sit in the tree line with them watching the base. You can’t tell if there are more or less people around. Its evening and the sun is almost set, Price said the darkness will give them the cover you need. 

As soon as outdoor light starts coming on you move. They're quieter than you, more sure on their feet quick and silent as you cross the open grass to make it to the building. You silently point them over to what looks like a drain cover about a hundred meters from the base. 

They pull it off to reveal an iron ladder built into the wall itself. Ghost goes down first, then Soap, you and Gaz follow after leaving Price to go last. You walk down the tight hall which you were told once used to be part of an old storm drain system. Eventually it leads out into the main room. Crates and boxes are piled everywhere, some as old as the cold war. 

“That door leads into the kitchens. It’ll be closed by now. It's the best way in.” You say pointing at the door up some steps. 

If you thought Caleb was going to help you, you would have taken this route to get Alex out, maybe then he wouldn’t have died. All the guards you killed would have been alive.

“Gaz, Soap, start setting up the charges, we’ll clear the building.” Price says. They nod and split off in a different direction.

“Ghost take point.” Price says, Ghost pushes past you. You assume that means he’s supposed to lead. Good, you’re still not sure how comfortable you are with killing in cold blood. Most of the people working here are innocent, at least they’re just working here for a better life for their families, children. They’re not all in as deep as you or Ivan.

You make it into the kitchen and as suspected it's deserted at this time of day. It doesn’t feel right though, it’s almost too quiet. There’s movement, everyone's head snaps in that direction. A woman walks round the corner in a world of her own. Lights flick on when she looks up she freezes dropping whatever was in her hands.

Price and Ghost start shouting which just seems to confuse her even more as she slowly raises her hands.

“Where is everyone?” You ask in Russian. Her head snaps to you, her mouth opens but words don’t come out. You don’t have time for this. “We won’t hurt you, just tell us what’s going on.” 

“When Makarov arrived there was a lot of shouting. I don't know what happened. They didn’t stay long before he left.” You can see tears coming down her face. 

“What’s she saying?” Price asks. You almost want to shush him.

“Where were they going? Was The Butcher with them?” You ask.

“I don’t know. I only saw Makarov. They left a few hours ago.” She says with a sob. 

“Okay, where is everyone? Is Ivan here?” 

“He sent everyone home. Ivan is upstairs.” 

“Makarov was here but he left a few hours ago. Ivan is upstairs.” You explain to Price. He nods at Ghost who drops his weapon and goes over to the woman. You’re not sure what's happening, you just hope they don’t hurt her, you look round the rest of the room. You hear zip ties looking back over to see Ghost pushing her into a store room.

“Let’s go.” Price says. You follow them as they clear the rooms. Even the ‘prison’ wing is empty. Before you know it you’re heading up the stairs. The only people being left alive are the guards on the gate entrance. You wonder why they left the woman in the kitchen, maybe she can get away before she’s buried in the building when it goes down.

It’s dark upstairs, the only light coming from the conference room at the end. You’re moving slow, your heart hammering in your chest. You watch as Ghost and price check the rooms almost in sync before moving on. You’re at the back this time. That you don’t mind. 

Suddenly you hear movement behind you, before you have chance to react an arm locks around your neck. A yelp leaves your mouth loud enough to signal Price and Ghost who turn around. You feel the barrel of a gun pressing against your temple. Your hands fly up to his arm to try and pull it off but he pulls you backwards into a room.

His arm is around your neck squeezing just enough that you can’t get a breath of air. He pulls your body up, you feel a stabbing sensation in your side. You hope you haven't torn stiches. Weapons are trained on you both.

“Fuck me! 141 you’re taking the piss right?” He says in Russian. It's Ivan.

“Makarov’s looking for you.” He says to them in English. 

“Good, we happen to be looking for him too.” Price responds. He takes a step closer and Ivan tightens his grip. You drop one of your hands, you have a knife on your hip. You don’t know if John can tell where your hand is going, you just hope he doesn’t give you away. 

“How much are they paying you huh? Fucking traitorous bitch.” He spits in your ear, your fingers brush over the hilt of the knife. His grip is cutting off your oxygen, not that you could breathe right not anyway. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks.

“Ha! Like I would tell you!” He shouts, jolting you. You use it as an opportunity to pull the knife up over the safety clip. You shift your hand ever so slightly so you can hold it more secure. 

“I thought you didn’t like him? What did Jamal steal your promotion?” You say through gasps of air. 

“At least I know where my loyalties lie.” He growls in your ear. You smile, that pissed him off. Before you can think too much about it you twist your wrist driving the knife into his thigh. 

His arms let you go immediately, you throw your body forward. Shots are fired, you can smell blood and gunpowder in the air. Someone grabs your vest pulling you up and out the way. You regain your balance standing up, Ghost holds the top of your arms as Price rushes into the room. 

"You good?" He asks, you nod.

You hear moaning. Holy shit he’s not dead. You turn to see Price hauling him to his feet, throwing him into a chair. Ghost pushes past you into the room. You follow him slowly watching as Ivan holds his hand on his shoulder. 

“Where are they?” Price asks again. You go over to the computer. He hasn’t changed his login and before you know it you’re in. You’re only half listening to Price and Ghost trying to get info out of him. There's the sound of skin hitting skin, the sound of his groans. 

He won’t talk. That’s not your job though. Your job is to find out what you can from the computer, maybe that will tell you where Jamal and Makarov are. You see a mail from a burner address, you recognise the program, it’s the one they use for secure communications. 

“They’re heading to Volgograd.” You say reading the email. 

“What's there?” You hear Ghost ask, you turn to see if they’re talking to you. 

“I don’t know.” You say going back to the email. 

“Charges are set Cap.” You hear Soap say over the radio. Now you don’t have long, you need to leave. A gunshot makes you jump. You turn to catch the end of Ivan’s body falling to the floor. You swallow hard looking back at the computer and opening a new program you don’t recognise.  

“Oh shit!” You say watching the countdown tick away. “Price!” They both come over and you stand up so they can see. 

“This is the missile program.” You explain, there’s markings on the map and a countdown. 15 minutes. 

“Do you recognise any of the targets?” Ghost asks. You reach over clicking on the map, it zooms in and pops up coordinates. You have no idea what to do with that. The map it’s using is old and black and white, you’re trying to make out points of interest. 

“That’s where they’re being fired from.” You say pointing at the screen. “There being fired from within Urzikstan.” 

“So what came over the border?” Ghost asks.

“Those missiles didn’t look long range, how far is their first target?” You zoom out, moving over to the first target. You’re squinting at the map, it’s almost like there's a straight line of targets across the land. 

“80 kilometers.” “He’s making a new border.” Ghost says moving away from the computer. 

“We need to leave.” Price says. 

“Wait, some of these targets have innocent people living in them.” You say finally recognising some of the locations. Price sighs standing back up.

“Nothing we can do.” He says walking away. 

“We can stop it!” You shout, turning back to type on the computer. He grabs your shoulder, turning you away.

“We can’t. Then Makarov will know we’re onto him. We can't let him know, as long as he is using this we have an advantage over him.” He’s gripping your shoulders. You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Innocent people will die.” You say. He lets go of your shoulders and walks over to the door. 

“Innocent people always die. Welcome to the war.” He says and walks out the room. You look over at Ghost, you still don’t know what he’s thinking, he waits a few seconds watching you then leaves the room. 

You look back at the computer, there’s only 5 minutes left on the countdown. You didn’t even know how to stop it really, you were just hoping you could figure it out. You can hear Price talking in your ear, but you’re not really listening. You look over at Ivan’s body on the floor. You walk over and kick his arm with your foot.

There’s blood pooling out his head. Maybe it would have been more satisfying if you had killed him, maybe not. You’ll never know, he’s dead now. 

“Come on! Let's go.” Ghost shouts at you from the doorway. You nod following him out taking one last look at the computer, only 3 minutes left. 

…

You leave the building out the front gate, catching up with Soap and Gaz on the way. It’s bitter sweet. Ivan’s dead the base will be destroyed but now you have no idea what has been coming over the border. Makarov and Jamal got away and managed to get their missiles off.

“What do we do now?” You ask as you make your way back to the car. No one says anything. Maybe you’re not allowed answers anymore. You look over at Soap walking next to you, he smiles. The sound of the charges going off back at the base rumbles through the ground. You hope that woman in the kitchen got out, you doubt it though. 

Suddenly everyone stops, you almost bump into the back of Ghost. You look past him you can see the car a few meters ahead of you. 

“What?” Gaz asks. 

“Shh!” Price snaps. You feel a pit form in your stomach. You and Soap look around, it's dark out you look up, the moon is bright in the sky. You don’t hear anything at first, then Price takes another step forward. You’re trying really hard to listen, then you hear a faint beeping. You look up at Soap, he’s frowning, he takes a step opening his mouth when the car explodes.

next

Banners by plum98

[slimybeth69]

Thirst: Part 2

Marcus Acacius X lady reader (no descriptions, you're a virgin though)

Summary: Your freedom had a price and Marcus Acacius was willing to pay for it... but you also had to do something for him.

Chapter 2 of 10: Stretching - Marcus shows up with more Gifts. (Look at him, showing up like he's about to do something...he is...he's gonna do something.)

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Rating: EXPLICIT -- Shameless smut with a little plot

a/n: NO SPOILERS to the new movie. This is cross-posted from my AO3 account and I just and 2 more chapters locked and loaded after this one, so... if y'all like it lemme know! (i love to chat)

WARNINGS: dubious consent, ownership, loss of virginity, mutual mast., exhibitionism, voyeurism. mentions of being a whore. Sexy toys, Marcus talks you through it.

It’s been two days since you’ve seen that Gods forsaken General again. You thought he was going to take your fucking flower that night after you little little discussion over shard wine on the balcony… he slept in your bed that night! He never does that! He left in the morning and said he’d be back as soon as he could. 

What a fool you are for believing him. 

You’re naked now, laying out on the balcony touching yourself thinking about him though. You cannot help it. The way he spoke while he touched himself last time. The way you spoke to him!? You’ve been writhing around waiting for him to come back to give you release. Let him put his mouth on your slit or something! You need release and you are tired of your own fingers. So fucking tired of them. You wanted Marcus! You wanted him so badly. 

There are two of your forsaken fingers inside yourself. Your knees are bent and legs are spread wide as you sit back against the lounge chair. Your free hand pinches and tugs at your nipples frustratedly as you attempt to make yourself come. You’re not holding back your sounds of pleasure because you desperately hope someone will look up at you or maybe see you from another balcony. You like being watched, just like Marcus apparently. Why didn’t you just do this for him from the start!? You’d probably no longer be a virgin. 

Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed because it is starting to feel so good. You imagine how it’s going to feel when he enters you for the first time— if that ever happens. Gods, you hope so. His cock is so beautiful and throbbing whenever you see it. You know it’ll be hot. Erections are always hot in your hand. 

“What a beautiful sight.” His voice in your head is so inviting and you curl your fingers even faster against that spot the Gods planted so deeply inside of you. Why is it so far away!? You can barely reach it! You’re desperately trying to plunge your fingers deeper. “That’s it. Rock your hips.” His voice isn’t in your head! He’s here!

You rip your fingers from within your pussy and try to cover yourself in shame and horror with your arms and hands. He’s chuckling looking down at you from behind your chair. His eyes flick to the street below and the surrounding balconies. 

“What are you doing here!? Why did you sneak up on me!?” You snap at him and pull your knees together and close to your body. He is still chuckling and gently places a brown burlap sack in your lap. 

“I have another gift for you. A couple things.” He sits beside you in his chair and waits for you to open the bag. You peek in and are appalled. 

“What do you want me to do with these!? I was expecting you!” You exclaim in annoyance at the bag of sex toys on your lap. Hand-blown glass that looks like his cock but smaller! Another glass toy that looks like a spade but softer! Rounded and circular. You’ve never seen anything like this one as you take it out of the bag to inspect. It’s got a dull, rounded tip and tapers into a thick base and then is thin again with a large glass bead at the end. 

“For your ass.” Marcus smiles at you. “The other one is so I do not hurt you. I’d like you to enjoy it. Not be crying.” 

“Is it really that bad?” You scoff at him and gently place the ass toy in the bag with the glass cock. 

“I might hurt you. I'm bigger than most men. I hurt women who take cock daily.” He smirks at you and now you’re fearful. “Let me use them on you today– right now.” He’s smiling and reaching for the bag. “I’ll show you how to use them, and then you can train for me. I’ll watch and make sure you’re doing it correctly.” He pulls the cock from the bag and scooches his chair closer to yours. “Lay back like you were.” 

You open up to him without another word because he’s going to touch you. Holy shit. Touching and putting something inside of you? That’s a start, better than being stared at. Yes, okay. You bring your knees to your chest but spread you legs wide. Marcus sighs softly and rubs the tip of the cock against your tight, virgin hole. No one else has ever been in there. Just you and your fingers. You were so scared now that he said it might hurt but your heart it galloping in your chest. Fully about to overwork itself and stop completely as he pushes the tip inside of you. 

Your jaw drops open as you stare at him. His eyes never leave yours even as he pushes it into you so slowly. 

“Painful?” He stops and pulls it back out slowly until there is nothing left inside of you. You shake your head silently. With this, he pushes forward again— his eyes drop down to your cunt so he can see you take something besides yourself for the first time. Now his mouth is the one hanging open as he’s moving this clear, glass cock inside of you. 

Marcus made sure to get one close to his girth and thickness so you’d have no problem adjusting to him. The length he had was hard to replicate so he did what he could. 

You’re doing so well and biting your bottom lip as the stretching and pain start to take over. You grimace softly and close your eyes. Marcus stops moving completely and when you look at him, he has curiosity in his eyes but no expression on his face. 

“Does it hurt?” He asks with his velvety smooth voice that just dances around inside your head as you pant softly. “Don’t hold your breath. Breathe through that pain until it feels good, Little Dove.” He coos to you gently. 

“Okay,” You whimper softly as he pulls the cock from within you slowly. There were six inches to this glass cock and you had two inside of you before it started to hurt. Marcus chuckles at the memory of your confidence the other day and when you left the brothel. 

“Touch your pretty tits for me. I like watching you tug at them. Makes me want to bite them. Suck on them.” Marcus whispers as he pushes the toy forward again. You mewl softly and roll your hips gently at the words he spoke to you. Your hands– both free now– find your sensitive and hard buds in your fingers and tug them gently, rolling them softly. “Perfect. It’ll make your cunt wet when you do that. Make it easier to push this into you.” 

“Okay.” Your panting quietly as he speaks. Your eyes never leave each others. 

“I’ll do those things to you soon. Suckle on your breast, bite at your beautiful nipples. I’ll make you wet for my cock, soon.” 

Marcus pushes the entirety of the toy into you and you jolt and close your eyes. It’s not as bad as he was making it out to be, but still not comfortable. Like a pinching feeling inside of your pussy. It’s not the worst but it is not great. You suck air in through your clenched teeth and he holds it within you. 

“Breathe. Relax your muscles and feel yourself adjust to the thing inside you.” He whispers into your ear encouragingly. “You can do it, Little Dove.” He is so reassuring that you believe you might actually be able to do this. 

“Okay.” Your murmur and unclench every muscle in your body. Marcus starts to twist the cock around inside, while holding it deeply inside of you. Moving it one way and then another. Grinding it against your hips as his free hand finds his cock underneath his tunic. You start to pant now from the pleasure he is bringing you. The now warm glass touches that spot inside of you that is placed just out of reach from your desperate fingertips. 

“Does that feel better now? Is it starting to feel so good?” He says almost mockingly but you love it. He’s cooing to you and you can see his arm moving up and down on himself under his tunic. You can’t see his cock and you wish to the Gods he would pull it out so you can look at it. It’s like he’s inside your head or seeing where your eyes have fallen. “Do you want to watch now, too?” 

As he speaks he lifts the skirt of his tunic above his waist and tugs his cock downward to show you his impressive and intimidating length. He strokes himself, downward like that instead of holding it up against his stomach. He’s leaned over, still pushing the glass toy into you. The tip of him is driveling and almost about to drip off of him. You bite you bottom lip and whimper softly at the sight and the feeling inside of you.

“Do you like it now? Do you like me?” He’s smirking at you as his strong hands stroke his length. The drop of precum that had been threatening to fall from his seam finally does; it drops right to the floor and something inside of you says that you should lick it off of the balcony.

You flick your eyes up at Marcus and he’s watching himself tug on his cock the way he is. He sees the drop on the balcony. He snaps his eyes up to yours and sighs softly.

“You’ll taste me soon enough, Dove.” 

“Okay...” You moan softly as he starts to withdraw the cock from within you. He does that slowly until there is nothing left. You feel hollow and lost without that feeling inside you. With desperate hums of need you rock your hips forward towards the tip of the cock. Marcus smiles and you can see his perfect teeth when he does. 

“I love the desperation in your heart and cunt. I know you want to fuck me. I’m not going to hold back like this when I do.” He pushes into you quite forcefully, with the quickly cooling glass toy. You gasp and quiver. There is still a dull pain when it does it but nothing like before. It’s just a full, stretched feeling. Like you could never be more full. It’s incredible. Breathtaking. “I won’t be able to control how fast…” Marcus starts to thrust the cock into you. “Or how hard.” He is pushing the cock as deep as it will go, the thick, still cold glass balls of it are pressed flush against your perineum. It sends a shiver through you when the connect with the sensitive warm flesh. 

“Oh my Gods.” You whisper. There is no breath inside your lungs to speak real words. The thickened head of the toy inside you grazes and rubs your spot lovingly and perfectly each time. “Oh, Marcus..” You whimper up to him. He sighs softly when you speak his name in the breathy tones of your first real feelings of pleasure from something inside of you. 

“Fuuck.” He groans softly and strokes himself faster. He is rock hard and so soft at the same time… you can see it’s stiffness sheathed with his bronzed flexible skin. It’s a paradox as you look at it still drooling. “You worship me and I will worship you, Dove. Say my name again.” He is fucking you with this toy and it’s not slow or gentle. He is trying to get you to scream his name and you just might. 

“M-Marcus.” You whimper happily up to him. “It’s s-s-so good.” You let your head fall back against the chair and sigh happily. You are just warmth. It’s such an incredible feeling what he is doing to you. 

“Do you like that we could be seen?” He pants to you. You nod without looking at him because the feeling that's building between your stomach and cunt is overwhelming. “Fuuuuck, my Dove. You are naughty. You want someone to see what The General does to his perfect girl?” The thrusts he’s giving you with this glass cock are making your tits bounce as you continue to tug and twist your nipples. 

“Yes. Yes.” You pant breathlessly. “Yes, I do. I’m going t-to scr— oh my Gods, I’m going to scream.” You groan loudly as the air finds your lungs again. You are overcome with this feeling in your lower belly. It’s incredible and you’ve never felt like this before. 

“Do it. Scream for me, Luna Flora. I want to hear it.” He is panting but he has his voice. It’s deep and demanding. Ordered to you like you are one of his soldiers. “Come for the first time on a cock, perfect girl.” He is softer and coos this demand to you. 

It’s like fireworks going off inside of you. Over and over again or just one big firework that takes so long to go explode completely. You do not know. You’ve only seen them once from this balcony and they were loud and frightening. This is not loud or frightening. It’s quiet– like all the sounds have been stolen from the world. Your chest feels heavy and weightless at the same time. Like there is a lion sitting on you while the Gods try to pull you up to them by strings wrapped around your ribcage.

It’s incredible and you are screaming now, you scream his name and clench your eyes shut as the walls of your cunt clench down around the cock inside of you. It is not forgiving or soft. It is just hard as you clench down around it. 

The pressure behind the cock is gone and you’re shocked by this. You feel it slipping from within you slowly. You cannot to react to this feeling and try to push it back inside of you because Marcus is standing over you, one hand on the chair beside your head, the other still around his cock. 

“You’ll be artwork when I’m done with you.” He leans forward and presses his lips to yours hungrily and groans into your mouth. You feel yourself being splattered and splashed with his releases. It’s on your chest and neck and now you can feel it dripping onto your stomach. 

You both jump and pull away from this embrace at the sound of shattering glass. Marcus jumps back in alarm and drops the skirt of his tunic. You knew what it was before it happened but it still startled you. The glass cock slipped fully out of your cunt and tumbled to the stone balcony. You’re just as shattered as the glass cock. It was incredible and you would have used it every single day. Every day until he had come back to see you again. 

“Don’t be disappointed, Dove. I can get you another.” He sees the sadness and heartbreak on your face. “You wont really need it after today, though. I’ll enter you tomorrow and we will break in that other new toy of yours.” He leans down again, his face only inches from yours. “You’ll know the real feeling of full tomorrow, Dove.”

And then that motherfucker leaves again. You're still naked on the balcony. Now you're sweating and still panting and your pussy is leaking down onto the chair you're still seated in. He didn't even really touch you! Just shoved a glass clock inside of you! 

Gods help you. This is torture!

Next Chapter ->

I hope you all love this and wanna read more-- let me know if you do! -Ms. Slimy Elizabeth

[strawberrygummiess]

goo goo muck.

floyd leech x gender neutral! reader 1.4k words cross posted on ao3 "By the time this year’s Halloween was over, you never wanted to see a piece of candy again—especially no trick-or-treaters. But now you were in a dance hall in a pocket dimension, tired and annoyed, watching the students’ party when all you wanted to do was go back to your room and sleep. Bah, humbug, or whatever the Halloween equivalent was." (sorry for posting this after Halloween)

If there was a competition for being Halloween’s biggest Scrooge, you’d win it.

As a kid, you loved Halloween—the obvious candy collection, of course, but also the costumes, the décor, and the overall joy the season carried. Even now, you would’ve loved Halloween if you weren’t forced to work seven days straight to keep annoying teenagers out of your dorm room.

By the time this year’s Halloween was over, you never wanted to see a piece of candy again—especially no trick-or-treaters. But now you were in a dance hall in a pocket dimension, tired and annoyed, watching the students’ party when all you wanted to do was go back to your room and sleep.

Bah, humbug, or whatever the Halloween equivalent was.

You were glowering in a lone corner, holding a drink in one hand and rubbing your temple with the other. Your head was pounding. Lilia insisted that the music be deafening, and it felt like the ghosts might hold you here indefinitely. And the longer you stayed, the grumpier you got, your scowl getting deeper and deeper. At this point, the pounding of your head synced with the beat of the loud techno.

"Woah, Shrimpy, if you keep frowning, your face’ll get stuck like that.”

You purse your lips and look up at Floyd. On a good day, you can only handle Floyd in small doses. On a bad day, you just wanted him to go away. You liked Floyd, but he was not something you were capable of handling while your head was seconds away from exploding.

“It’ll be perfect for Halloween then, won’t it? A scary face for a scary day.”

You mean it to be dismissive and boring. But you should know better than to assume Floyd will leave you alone so easily. You know Floyd has a bit of fascination with you. At first, you were concerned, especially when- in between cheers of joy- Riddle gave you half-hearted condolences. But Jade had eased your concerns, saying that “you weren’t so interesting to hold his attention for that long” and that he’d eventually grow bored of you (whatever that meant). But that was months ago, and he was still going strong. And Riddle was still happy to revel in your misery.

Floyd grins and joins you along the wall, and you can’t help the sigh that escapes you. You catch the frown on his face and rub your temples again. The music is much too loud.

“What gives Shrimpy? You’re being a big stick-in-the-mud,” Floyd whines, scrunching his body so his face is level with yours. You sigh again and take a sip of your drink. You could lie and say there’s nothing wrong or that you can’t dance, but he’s not stupid. The longer you stretch this out, the worse it’ll be for you.

“My head hurts, and I’m really tired." You start, finally looking at him. His full attention is on you, and it’s slightly unsettling. You’ve always liked how his eye glowed in the dark, but now it was too intense. It was like you were wronging him by denying him his fun, even if it was at your expense. You break eye contact.

“My head feels like it’s going to explode, and this music is not helping.”

You stare at the ground, counting the tiles under your feet while you wait for Floyd to respond. You assume he’ll say something about you being boring or try to get you to ignore your pain to entertain him. But instead, he says nothing. For a long time. So long you have to check if he’s still there.

He’s staring at you when you look again. Face blank, eyes focused. He straightened up back to full height, an imposing figure staring down at you with one glowing eye. He looks terrifying in the dark.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—to save yourself, but Floyd begins to giggle.

“Oh man, I’m DIGGIN’ that look, Little Shrimpy. I gotta make your face contort in fear more often.”

You hadn’t realized you were making a face. Now you hope he can see your irritation.

"Aww, don’t get all clammy on me, Shrimpy,” Floyd whines, moving from his place on the wall to stand in front of you. He raises his hands to cradle your head, and your heart beats wildly in your chest. You can’t tell if you’re scared this time.

“Do you feel the pressure here?” He moves his hands to your temples. “Or here?” He takes his right hand and gently rubs his thumb under your eyebrow.

You use your open eye to look up at him, trying to see if he planned on crushing your skull then and there. But he only gives you a lazy smile, patiently waiting for you to answer him, absentmindedly rubbing your face. It might’ve felt better if it was skin-on-skin contact, but the fabric on the glove was beginning to irritate your skin.

“My temples,” you answer, wincing when he moves his hand. Floyd hadn’t been rubbing the skin that hard or for long. Maybe you could ask Epel to share some moisturizers with you later.

Floyd puts his hands back on your temples. You assume he’s going to rub the sides of them like you were doing earlier, but when you look back up, you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

He looks giddy, with a wild grin on his face and his eyes focused like a hunter. This is the face he makes when he’s given the green light from Azul to “squeeze” some unruly patrons of Mostro Lounge. And now he’s giving you the same look, hands wrapped tightly around your head.

You were going to die.

You can’t bear to look Floyd in the eyes anymore and squeeze them shut. Hopefully, this means when he crushes your skull, your eyes won’t pop out. You’ve always wanted an open-casket funeral. You hear Floyd cackle in glee, and your head throbs again. If anything, you were thankful that you wouldn’t have to deal with your migraine anymore.

Floyd puts pressure on your temples, slowly squeezing your skull. You feel it slowly, the sensation blossoming from where his palms are to the orbital region of your skull. You wait for your head to explode violently, but it never comes. Instead, you realize your headache has subdued significantly, barely feeling the throbbing sensation at all anymore.

Your eyes shoot open, and you look at Floyd shocked. He meets your gaze and begins to giggle again.

“Dude, you’re full of fun expressions. What’d you think I was gonna do?”

“Not that! You looked like you were ready to kill me!” You try to defend yourself, but you look silly, head crushed between Floyd’s hands.

“You’d know if I was gonna squeeze you in the bad way. This is the good squeeze that makes your headaches go away. I do it to Jade all the time." To emphasize his point, he adds more pressure to your temples.

You pout, because he’s right. It is making your headache go away. And because you know you’ll be stuck with Floyd for another month while you are indebted to him. Maybe if you got enough headaches, you could bore him away.

“Well?” Floyd draws the L’s out in a sing-song manner. “Feelin’ any better, Shrimpy?”

You feel a lot better. Your headache isn’t fully gone, but it’s manageable now. Hopefully, the ghosts will declare the party over and release you soon. Floyd’s squeezing can’t fight exhaustion, and now that’s your biggest problem.

You grab Floyd’s hands and move them from your temples, rubbing the top of his hands with your thumbs. You smile appreciatively, genuinely happy to be freed from your migraine.

“Yes, thank you.”

You try to let go of Floyd’s hands, but he moves to interlock them, his wild grin back on his face. He leans down to your level again, his glowing eye narrowing as his smile grows impossibly wide. You initially thought you tamed the beast, but your naiveté left you caught in his trap.

“Good, now we gotta dance. I’m not letting you go ‘til you collapse." He pulls you away from the wall quickly, dragging you to the center of the dance floor and twirling you around until you’re dizzy.

Make it two more months stuck with Floyd.

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 7: Precautions

You and Joel deal with a growing threat as you prepare to take on a new role. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 6 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Mild violence. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.7k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Three Weeks Later 

“You remember your talking points, right?” Quinn asked, watching Ellie closely. “And all the rules?” 

“No,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve completely forgotten the four things you’ve told me because I’m fucking dumb.” 

“Hey,” you said, giving her a look. “C’mon, kid.” 

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Language. Yes, I know I can’t swear. I have to talk about how great Sissy is…” 

“You don’t have to,” you said, giving Quinn a look. “You should be honest.” 

“Then I’ll tell them all about how you make me do the stupidest homework and don’t let me stay up late and also don’t let me beat up people at school even when they deserve it,” Ellie said, smug. 

“No,” Quinn said quickly. “You can’t…” 

You cut her off before she got too far. 

“It’ll be fine,” you said. “Ellie, say whatever you think is best. However this interview goes, it’ll all blow over in a few weeks, anyway.” 

“Just try not to swear quite so much, kiddo,” Joel said, his arms crossed as he hovered between you and the front door, waiting for the reporters to arrive. “You and I both know you know better than that.” 

“But I like to fucking swear,” she smirked and Joel, you could tell, was trying not to smirk back. “But if Big Miller says so…” 

“Jesus,” Joel rolled his eyes. 

The doorbell rang and Quinn ground her teeth but went with Joel to answer the door all the same. 

This interview had been a last ditch effort on Quinn’s part. The media had latched on to the concept of Ellie’s existence and hadn’t eased up since the news broke. Photographers still showed up outside her school half the week, paparazzi camped outside the gym where you’d been training for Savage Starlight and would yell questions with Ellie’s name in them at you, there were several viral posts theorizing that you and Anna had secretly been lesbians and Ellie was your daughter together. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your breaking point. Quinn had the idea to offer up an interview to the biggest publications, one in your home where you posed for pictures and answered questions about Ellie, the adoption, Anna, the works. In exchange, they agreed to stop buying photos of you and Ellie as you went about your private lives in Austin. 

You hoped it worked. You didn’t want to have to uproot Ellie yet again. The whole reason you’d come to Austin to begin with was that Elise had retired here and you didn’t want to keep Ellie from the only blood relation she had left or ask Elise to move to whatever new place you decided to settle, especially if you’d just have to do this same song and dance again in six months to a year when the press found out where you were again. 

You were, at least, out of your brace now. It had been a close call on the interview date, Frank planning a few outfits for you - some designed to downplay the brace, others without worrying about it - just to be safe. But the fracture had healed well and quickly, not requiring a full cast or any extended time in the brace. You’d gotten permission to take it off at your follow up appointment a few days earlier and had been relishing your new-found freedom ever since. Your training for Savage Starlight was slated to pick up more now that you were healed but you were enjoying the small reprieve where you weren’t dealing with the brace and weren’t sore and exhausted every night. 

Once things calmed down with the paparazzi, though, you could handle it. You hoped, anyway. In part because, outside of all that, things had been going smoothly - even with your surly bodyguard. 

It was still a total mystery to you what he’d meant by keeping things “professional,” but things had definitely been that. Cool and distant, no more sitting next to each other by the pool late at night or sharing a drink now and then - things which seemed perfectly professional in your opinion but apparently weren’t for him. But, while he wasn’t wearing the watch you’d given him, he never snapped at you like he did the day you’d presented it to him, either. 

You took what you could get with him. It was a little disorienting, having someone treat you with such indifference - especially when he’d shown some basic, human care in the past. Not that you expected him to treat you the way everyone else did. You weren’t stupid, you knew that almost every person you interacted with every day treated you the way they did because you were famous and because you had a carefully crafted public persona that was only loosely tied to who you really were. They were either fans of someone who didn’t really exist but had your body and face and name or they wanted some proximity to your fame and all that came with it. Of course someone like Joel - who had to be around you all the time, whose job required him to move quickly regardless of your feelings - would treat you differently. But it still stung all the same. Anything short of the harshness he’d treated you with that day in your driveway felt like mercy and you were almost ashamed at how desperately you clung to that. 

“Hey,” you said to Ellie, reaching out and taking her hand, giving it a small squeeze. Her eyes met yours. “I’m sorry about this. And you should know that you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can shut it down right now if you want.” 

She smiled a little tightly at you, giving your hand a small squeeze back. 

“I know,” she said. “But… this will make it all easier, right? They’ll leave us both alone and you won’t be as stressed?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you to do this because you’re worried about my stress level or…” 

“I know,” she cut you off, smirking a little. “But I’m also doing it for me. Fuck switching schools again, man.” 

 You laughed a little and rested your head against hers, taking a deep breath as you heard the distinctive sound of Quinn’s reporter wrangling voice from your entry way. 

“Well, now you’ll get an idea of what I do every day,” you said, lacing your fingers with hers. “See just how boring it is so you can tell all your friends at school that they don’t actually want to be movie stars when they grow up.” 

Ellie snorted. 

“Please,” she said. “I know you’re really off doing cool shit while wearing fancy clothes all the time. Definitely one big party, no work at all.” 

You laughed before getting up to go greet the reporter, slipping into the version of yourself that you shared with the press as you did.

The interview went surprisingly well. Quinn had handpicked the reporter so that wasn’t a surprise, a well known freelancer who didn’t ask anything too invasive. Ellie held her own, curbing her swearing (mostly, a few, more minor, curse words snuck in) and being her witty and charming self. The photographer posed the two of you together on your couch, by the pool with your guitars, by the kitchen island pretending to cook - even though you basically never did that yourself, anyway. 

Joel hovered the entire time. You could feel his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze sharp. He stayed at the back of the reporter and photographer the whole time they were in your house. His arms stayed crossed over his chest, his jaw set firm, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

“Hey,” you said quietly, your hand going to rest gently on Joel’s back, when the photographer was focused on Ellie and the reporter was reviewing his notes. “You OK?” 

“Fine,” he grunted, glancing over at you. “Just tryin’ to do my job.” 

“It’s just a reporter,” you said, raising your brows and trying not to smile. “I don’t think they’re going to bite.” 

He just made a disgruntled sound and kept his eye on the visitors, his whole body still tense. 

He didn’t ease up until the reporter and photographer were gone and outside the gates of your property. 

“That was kinda fun!” Ellie said. “A lot of bullshit but not that awful.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Good,” you said. “I’m glad it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

“Told you you don’t actually work,” she teased. You snorted and she turned her attention to Joel. “Hey Big Miller, wanna kill some zombies? I was playing a level the other night and getting my ass kicked, I could use another gun.” 

You glanced toward Joel, still worried that, at some point, he would decide he wanted to keep a professional distance from Ellie, too. She’d grown attached to your bodyguard over the last few months, not that she would ever admit it. She sought him out often to play video games or watch a movie. You could usually hear when she got home from school when he picked her up because she was still laughing at something he said when she walked in the door. 

It still surprised you, how the two of them had connected. You hadn’t expected a - presumably - single, childless man to have bonded with your brash teenaged niece so thoroughly. Had it been anyone else, it would have sent alarm bells ringing. You had plenty of reason to not trust the motivations of men, especially around teenaged girls, but there was something distinctly safe about Joel and his connection with Ellie. And she needed as many people to care for her as she could get. You didn’t want her to lose that because of some misplaced notion of propriety. 

“Been a minute since we went and messed up some undead,” he said, noticeably less tense now that the only people in the house were you, him, Ellie and Quinn. “Guess we should go show ‘em who’s boss.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Ellie said, punching the air. You didn’t scold her for her language choice, instead just smiling a little at the two of them as he settled into the couch and picked up the controller - the device looking oddly small in his large hands - before going to find Quinn in your office. 

“Ellie’s got some natural skill,” Quinn said, glancing up from the Emmy that functioned as a paperweight on your desk. “She’s smart, charismatic. Got a hell of a mouth on her.” 

“Tell me about it,” you snorted. “Aren’t you glad you usually only have to rein me in?” 

“Wrangling the two of you all the time would be a bit much,” she said. “I get the feeling you just feed off each other…” 

“Yeah,” you laughed. “It used to be worse, back when I wasn’t actually responsible for her and we could just goof off and hang out. Drove her mom insane. I’m half surprised she wanted me to take her when…” 

You trailed off, a knot tugging at the back of your throat. 

“We won’t get any kind of prior article review,” Quinn said, sensing that you were ready to change the subject. “But I’m sure it’ll be positive. You gave them great shit to work with.” 

“Thanks,” you smiled, tightly. 

“So,” she said. “Ready for the fight choreo?” 

“Think so,” you nodded. “It’ll be weird, I think, but good. I hope good, anyway.” 

She hummed in agreement, nodding a little. 

“What?” You asked. “I feel like there’s something you’re not saying.” 

“Well, we have some timing updates and some new asks,” she said. 

“OK…” 

“They want you in LA a bit earlier than originally planned,” she said. “They’ve got the costume ready and they want to get you properly in it for a final screen test and fitting as well as for a few shots they can polish into a teaser trailer of sorts for the announcement at the con.” 

“Seriously?” You groaned. “When?” 

“Friday.” 

“Friday?” You gaped. “Thursday is Thanksgiving!” 

“I know,” she said. “But they’re pretty set on this and it’s already a hell of a truncated timeline given your injury.” 

“Jesus,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Fine.” 

“They also want you to attend the premiere of Scarlet Sentinel after the announcement,” she continued.

“When the hell is that?” You asked. 

“The 11th,” she said. “Just a few more days, it’s not too bad.” 

“A few more days during the first Christmas after Ellie’s mom died,” you snapped.

“I know,” she said. 

“And they know what happened at the last fucking premiere, right?” You asked. “Because…” 

“They know,” she said. “But you and I both know with the timing of the convention and the announcement, your name is going to come up a lot on that red carpet. They figure, better to have you there to talk about it yourself than leave it to someone else.” 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But I’m coming back on the 12th. This damn movie had better be worth it.” 

“Just think of all the little girls who will have a badass superhero to look up to because of you,” she smiled a little. “And remember that you’re the one who wanted me to chase this role for you.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I know. I’m guessing I’ll have my grumpy shadow for this whole adventure?” 

“After what happened at the last premiere?” Quinn scoffed. “Absolutely.” 

You sighed, frustrated both at the situation and yourself. Part of you was glad that Joel was coming, his presence making you feel more protected than anyone else’s - including the guards who filled in when he was off. But you knew this trip was going to make both of you miserable. 

Another few weeks in Los Angeles with Joel. Perfect. Just perfect. 

***

Joel ground his teeth, his head on a swivel. 

Was there ever going to come a time that he wasn’t tense and frustrated when it came to you? 

He doubted it. 

There was something inherently frustrating about you. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was but it was absolutely there. 

Maybe it was that you were insufferably, disturbingly stubborn. Maybe it was that the whole fucking world seemed drawn to you. Maybe it was your ceaselessly annoying habit of underestimating any potential threat when it came to yourself. 

Maybe it was the fact that, in spite of his request for professionalism and his newfound practice of trying to shove some distance between the two of you, he was just as drawn to you now as ever. Even though you were a bad idea, even though you terrified him, he had to fight to keep himself away from you. 

He had to force himself to stay in his room when sitting at your house instead of seeking you out. He had to stop himself from thinking about you in ways he fucking knew he shouldn’t, stop himself from searching your name on Google when he was aching and desperate and couldn’t think of anything else. On the rare occasions he wasn’t near you - when he was taking Ellie to school or on his mandatory days off in between stints of protecting you - he’d see something that would remind him of you and have the strange urge to text you about it. As though he’d ever texted you about anything besides business, as though you were friends. As though he was anything at all to you. 

Now, he was stuck sitting outside where you were doing some kind of fucking training for that damn movie. Fuck if he knew what it was, all he knew was that he’d tried to talk you and the trainer - some musclebound jackass named Alan who looked like he knew more about making punching look good than making it effective - into moving the training to your house. Alan had vetoed that. 

“No,” he’d said, shaking his head as he took a look around the space that Joel had worked with you in for weeks. “No, this is way too small for what we need.” 

“The hell you mean it’s too small,” Joel snapped. “What are you doin’, throwing a goddamn party?” 

The guy looked at Joel for a moment. 

“You realize that this is a favor, right?” He said. “That I’m the most in demand fight choreographer in the goddamn business and I’m taking time away from other work to come here so I can train her because it’s supposedly safer here than LA? I’m not about to slim shit down any further than I already have, I’ve booked us time at a private gym in the city, she’ll be perfectly safe there since you’re apparently incapable of doing your damn job in California.” 

Joel fought the urge to swing on the fucker. 

“She gets hurt because you need a goddamn ballroom to teach her how to throw a more cinematic punch…” 

“That’ll be on you, won’t it?” He said. 

Joel couldn’t argue with him. He was right, the weight of that settling in the pit of his stomach. Your safety was on his head. 

That was a double edged sword. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep you safe. He wasn’t comfortable with something like your life sitting squarely on his shoulders. It wasn’t something that had ever bothered him with other clients but you were different. In so many things you were different. 

He’d been standing in this stupid fucking waiting room of this stupid fucking private gym for what felt like a small eternity. Nothing had happened, of course. Nothing had happened the two days before, either. That didn’t seem to make a damn difference, though. He was still tense, still watching for any threat, still frustrated that you were in an uncontrolled space and out of his sight. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and Joel did a quick scan of the area - including the parking lot that he could see through the large windows - before checking it. It only ever vibrated for family, work or clients, it had to be something important. 

He was right. It was a text from Tommy. 

Been a change on the Siren case. Come to HQ with principal ASAP. 

“Shit,” Joel said quietly, going to text him back when he heard your voice - sharp and panicked and muffled by the door. 

His body reacted before his mind caught up. He reached the door before he fully realized what he was doing, damn near ripping the thing off its hinges and racing into the room where you were training. 

You were flat on your back in the middle of the room, mats on the floor to cushion any falls, and Alan was on top of you. He was straddling you, his knees astride your hips, his hands on your throat, holding you down. Your hands were on his chest, face twisted into a snarl as you shoved at him but the man was bigger than you, stronger than you and Joel had to stop him. 

He ran for you with a roar, tucking his shoulder and slamming into the other man, the mats on the ground cushioning their fall as they tumbled. 

“What the fuck!” Alan yelled as they came to a stop, Joel shoving the other man into the ground and pinning him. 

“Joel!” You yelled but he was focused on the man below him. 

“I don’t know what -“ Alan began but Joel cut him off with a punch, sharp against the man’s cheek, sending his head whipping around. 

“Joel!” You caught his elbow as he went to punch again and he let you pull him back, Alan groaning on the floor. You tugged Joel to his feet and he panted for breath, looking down at the man who’d been hurting you, the man who he wanted to hurt more. But, for now, he wasn’t going anywhere and Joel turned his attention to you. 

Your eyes were wide, your skin slick with sweat and your hand had gone from the crook of his arm to his side when he turned and the weight of your palm was heavy on him. But you were alive. He could breathe. 

“Joel…” you panted, almost like a question. His hand went to your cheek, your skin warm. He tilted your head gently, looking over your neck, trying to see any damage. 

“He hurt you?” He asked, voice rough. “You OK?” 

“What?” You asked, gaping at him. 

“Did he hurt you,” he said again. 

“No!” You shook yourself free of Joel’s hold on you. “No, he didn’t hurt me! It was fucking fight choreography!” 

You ducked around Joel and rushed toward Alan, kneeling beside him as he sat up, holding his face and adjusting his jaw. 

“Fuck,” Joel said quietly, wincing as he watched you gingerly examine the other man, the two of you talking low, your back to Joel the whole time. 

He should be more embarrassed about this and part of him was but he couldn’t help but just be relieved. You were safe. He didn’t need to see you hurting, didn’t need to live in that shock of fear that had all but swallowed him when he saw you on the ground, your life in the hands of another man. You were alive, you were safe. That was all that mattered, he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about anything else. 

After a minute, Alan looked ready to get up and Joel approached him cautiously, your trainer’s eyes narrowing at him. 

“Sorry,” Joel said awkwardly, offering him his hand. “Didn’t know… Never had a job with an actress before…” 

“S’alright,” he said before taking Joel’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and he cracked his neck. “I’ve taken worse hits but damn, man, you hit like a fucking hammer.” 

Joel caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes off to the side and he smirked a little. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “Might be your job to make it look good, it’s my job to knock someone on their ass and keep ‘em there.” 

“You’re damn good at it,” he said before turning to you. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to say we call it early.” 

“Of course,” you said quickly. “Again, I’m so sorry, I…” 

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, laughing a little. “Does me good to take a hit now and then in my line of work. You should be more than prepped for the shots they want to get later this week but I’ll be in LA if you run into any issues. Now I’m going to head back to my hotel to ice my face and try to think of the best way to explain this to my wife when she picks me up from the airport.” 

“We need to go, anyway,” Joel said and you frowned. “Got a text from Tommy, told to bring you to HQ as soon as possible so that’s where we’re headed.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, exasperated. “Let’s just run home first so I can change…” 

“No,” he cut you off. “We’re going straight there.” 

“But I’m disgusting!” You said, arms out at your sides as if to prove your point. “I’m not about to go to a meeting when I’m dripping sweat, that’s just…” 

“Don’t matter,” Joel said. 

“Is everything OK?” Alan asked, looking between the two of you. 

You answered before Joel got a chance to respond. 

“It’s fine,” you said, shooting Joel a look that almost dared him to talk. “He just loves to make my life difficult, it’s his favorite hobby, so he’s using this as an excuse.” 

Joel quirked his jaw but bit his tongue. 

“Come on, Siren,” he said. “Let’s go.” 

He watched as you stalked off to get your bag and water bottle, snatching them up with an almost comically angry look on your face as you did. He made you stay behind him while he surveyed the small parking lot before keeping you safely hidden from view from as much of the broader world as he could until he got you to the car. 

You reminded him of Ellie as he started the drive to the office, your arms crossed tight over your chest, staring straight ahead with your eyes narrowed. It would be intimidating if you were more… well, intimidating. On you it was almost comical, like watching a lion cub try and snarl at a threat. 

“That was mortifying,” you said eventually, your fingers digging into your upper arms so hard that Joel could see the indentations in your flesh. “Completely fucking embarrassing, I can’t believe…” 

“Can’t believe I did my job?” Joel asked. “Can’t believe I tried to keep you safe? Shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to you at this point, Siren, been doin’ this for a few months now.” 

“Oh fuck off,” you snapped. “That was not you doing your fucking job, that was you losing your temper for who knows what reason and…” 

“That was me intervening when you were in danger,” Joel snapped back. “How the hell was I supposed to know that guy was supposed to be fuckin’ choking you out? And you, what? Expect me to just sit there and let it happen? Jesus.” 

“This is why I don’t need a fucking bodyguard,” you muttered, shaking your head. “Let alone one who doesn’t know the fucking industry. I fake die sometimes, too, Joel, you going to call 911? Plan my funeral?” 

Joel ignored you, clenching his jaw as he called Tommy. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said by way of greeting. 

“One minute out,” Joel said. 

“You’re gettin’ an escort in,” Tommy said. 

Joel frowned. 

“That serious?” 

“We’ll discuss it when you get here,” Tommy said. “Just… being cautious.” 

A team of four men met the car when Joel pulled up to the building where Tommy’s business was based. He passed the keys to one and fell into formation around you, immediately at your right as the four men surrounded you, blocking you from any view from passing or the random pedestrian. 

“This is such overkill,” you muttered. 

“Better over kill than you killed,” Joel glared at you as you rolled your eyes. 

But Joel did feel like he could relax a little now that the two of you were in the office. This was a controlled space, you weren’t at risk here. You might be pissed at him but he’d take that. If you were safe, alive? Pissed he could handle. 

Tommy seemed prepared for it, at least, not shaken by your sour attitude. 

“Joel,” Tommy nodded to him before looking to you. “Ma’am.” 

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I smell like a gym sock,” you said, clearly pissed but trying to control yourself. “Someone didn’t let me shower or change before coming here.” 

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Tommy said. “I got Quinn on the line, I’m gonna loop her into this conversation, too…” 

He switched on the speaker phone. 

“We’re all here now,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “We OK to get started?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Lay things out.” 

You frowned and glanced at Joel, as if he’d have any better idea about what this was going to be about than you did. He just frowned, too. 

“This was sent to your address here in Austin,” Tommy said, dropping a printed image of a letter on the other side of his desk, closer to you and Joel. You stepped forward and picked it up, Joel looking over your shoulder at it. “Police have the original.” 

It was a note, like the ones before. 

I love your home. I can’t wait to share it with you. But why do you have other men spending the night? They won’t love you like I love you. Don’t you know that? Don’t you see? 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

Joel’s hand trembled as he took the copy from you, tracing the words over and over. 

If I can’t have you, no one will. 

For a moment - just a moment - Joel had that vision of you again. The one that had come to his dreams more often than he cared to admit, the one where he couldn’t save you. 

There was someone out there who wanted you, wanted you so badly they were willing to kill to have you and what if he couldn’t stop them? What if they got to you when he was off for a few days, what if something happened when you were just out of reach? What if all he could do was stand there and watch you die? 

“Well someone’s getting ballsy, isn’t he?” You said wryly. 

“You don’t sound like you’re taking this seriously,” Quinn said, the sharpness in her tone apparent even through the crackle of the speaker phone. 

“Probably because I’m not,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your torso, your chin raised defiantly. “He’s just some weirdo. He knew where I lived in LA, too, and was too cowardly to show his fucking face, what difference does it make if he’s got my Austin address?”

“We’re going to tighten up security,” Tommy said, looking around you to Joel. 

“Tighten up?” You gaped at him before Joel had a chance to respond. “Tighten up how! Someone already follows me everywhere I go, is he supposed to, what, chase me into the bathroom when I take a piss now, too? This is insane! Quinn, tell them they’re insane!”

“It’s not insane,” Quinn said. “He’s escalating, there are valid concerns for your safety and we’re going to take the appropriate precautions. Maybe you should hear what those precautions are before you fly off the handle about it.” 

“Jesus,” you rolled your eyes before you sighed. “Fine. Alright, what else am I going to have to fucking give up.” 

Joel’s jaw twitched but he remained silent, watching you closely as his brother started reviewing the changes. 

“Biggest one will be you’re never on the exterior of your home alone,” Tommy said. 

“I’m already never alone outside my house!” You gaped at him. 

“You’re never alone when you leave your property,” Tommy corrected. “But you’ve been able to go outside, swim, run, take a walk on your own as long as you stayed on your property. That will no longer be the case.” 

“Seriously?” You looked between Tommy and Joel, aghast. “I can’t step outside my own front door unsupervised? What am I, a toddler?” 

“We will also be stepping up who is on hand at your home,” Tommy said, ignoring your protests. “We’ll be doing more frequent perimeter checks and generally have a more active presence there. But that will be less obtrusive, you will still have just one body man when you leave the property for most outings.” 

“What about when I’m in LA?” You asked. 

“You ain’t serious,” Joel said before Tommy had a chance to answer. “You’re not still goin’ to fucking California, not after that letter.”

“Yes, I am,” you said. “I have to do some early shots in two days, the con is a week after that, followed by…” 

“And you can’t do any of it if you’re fuckin’ dead!” Joel snapped. “So you’re staying here, not goin’ to where that asshole is!” 

“No, she’s not,” Quinn said, a sense of finality in her voice. “She’s going to LA…” 

“You really willing to put her fucking life on the line for a goddamn movie?” Joel snapped, louder than he’d meant to but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “You’re gonna let her get hurt, get killed so you assholes can make a few bucks?” 

“She won’t be at risk if…” 

“Not at risk?” Joel cut Quinn off. “If she ain’t at risk then why am I here!” 

“She is actually in the fucking room if you assholes would fucking listen to her!” You yelled, Joel turning to face you, shocked. He didn’t think he’d ever heard you yell like that before. “I’m going to LA.” 

Joel went to protest but you wouldn’t let him. 

“No!” You snapped, rounding on him. “I’m going to LA! I’m going to LA, I’m going to do my fucking job and I’m going to go to the con and the goddamn movie premiere and then I’m going to come home and spend Christmas with my niece and you’re going to stay out of my fucking way!” 

“Well that’s where you’re wrong,” Quinn said. 

“What?” You asked, still sounding pissed but not yelling now. 

“He won’t be out of your way,” Quinn said wryly. “Because he’s coming with you to everything.” 

“Well obviously,” you said, rolling your eyes. “He’s been doing that.” 

“I mean,” Quinn continued. “He’s going to come with you to the premiere. As your date.” 

You and Joel both stood silently for a moment, dumbstruck. 

“What,” Joel said eventually. 

“You’re going to the premiere as her date,” Tommy said this time, looking between the two of you. “They decided they need you there,” he said, nodding to you. “And last one was enough of an opening that you got hurt but having you walk the red carpet with a bodyguard isn’t really an option. So, we keep Joel close - as your date - and he keeps you safe.” 

“No,” Joel shook his head. “No, the answer is she don’t go to the damn premiere, not sending me along with her like I’m some kind of goddamn undercover agent or some shit, this ain’t…” 

“Can’t I just go with Chris or Justice or something?” You asked and Joel tried to ignore how his stomach turned at the thought of you with either of those fucking guys on your arm. “We just tell them what’s going on and…” 

“Someone who isn’t trained ain’t gonna cut it,” Tommy shook his head. “It has to be Joel.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s what it takes? Fine.” 

“This is a bad fuckin’ idea,” Joel muttered. “I don’t…” 

“Oh, come on Big Miller,” you said, your tone shifting to something more familiar, that dry, sarcastic edge to it he’d come to know well. “Didn’t you know? I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. There are men who would kill to be in your shoes.” 

“Yeah,” Joel muttered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

He didn’t press the subject when the two of you got back to your house that night, the new cadence of protection already kicking in, more guards obvious at the perimeter of your property. You didn’t wait for Joel to open the car door for you - something you’d become more willing to do as time had passed. Instead you just stormed off toward the house, Joel following quickly behind you. Before he had the chance to lecture you about it, you looked back over your shoulder to him. 

“I’m going in the pool,” you snapped. “Since you apparently have to fucking babysit me anytime I step foot out my goddamn door now.” 

He expected you to go get changed into a swimsuit but you didn’t. Instead you just stalked straight through the entry way, the living room, out the back of the house, stepping out of your shoes as went, walking straight to the water’s edge without pausing and jumping in fully clothed. 

Joel stood and watched, worried for a moment when you didn’t surface immediately. But then you screamed under the water, the sound muffled and distorted and sounding almost desperate. You went quiet and surfaced, immediately going to a ladder and pulling yourself up, more stalking toward the house than walking, eyes straight ahead like Joel wasn’t even there, leaving a trail of water on the floor in your wake as you went to your bedroom and closed the door. 

Joel tried to ignore the tug of concern in his chest. He picked up Ellie from school - the kid so excited about having a few days off for Thanksgiving and seeing her grandmother - and played a video game with her. You didn’t come out of your room. He kept hoping to hear some sign of you when he went to his own room, even as he was desperate for some distance, and he thought he heard you come out at one point. Just your quiet steps in bare feet and the cadence of talking just out of reach of where really hear it. 

He tried to let that soothe him. You clearly didn’t want anything to do with him - not that he blamed you, he had literally asked for this - but he couldn’t help but worry as he stared at his ceiling. You were upset but you’d left your room, talked to Ellie, hopefully eaten something. That was… it was fine. Good, even. He didn’t need to be a part of it or see it for himself and he’d done everything he could to make sure that here, within these walls, you were safe. 

That thought didn’t help him actually, really rest, though. He started to drift off and the image of you, pinned down with a man’s hands around your throat took over. But this time, he was always too far away to fix it. He’d run and run and run but it was like he was moving through Jell-o, not able to reach you but not able to look away. 

He jerked awake, his heart racing in his chest, and he sighed, wiping a layer of sweat away from his face. 

It was late now, quiet in the house. He debated it, for a moment, but not for long, getting up and going to the kitchen for a drink. But when he passed the hall with your room and office, he saw a soft glow around your office door. He frowned at that, going to the kitchen and grabbing two beers before going to that glowing door. He hesitated for a moment. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew better. He was the one who asked for a professional distance, he was the one who knew this couldn’t go anywhere good. But… you were right there, the comfort of knowing you were OK so close. 

He knocked. 

You were silent for a moment, long enough that he considered just going back to his room when you spoke. 

“Come in.” 

He did, finding you tucked into a corner of the couch that sat below the window, a tablet and papers spread on every surface around you. You seemed almost surprised to see him, your eyebrows rising as you looked at him through your lashes, not fully looking up from something that was sitting open on your lap. 

“I thought you might be Ellie,” you said. “Can I help you?”

He shrugged. 

“Saw the light,” he said, handing you the bottle, staying far enough away from you that he had to stretch to reach and you had to reach back to take it. “Thought you might… I dunno.” 

You nodded slowly, opening the beer and taking long pull. 

“Thanks,” you said, adjusting enough that the pages spread on the couch around you rustled. Joel just nodded, opening his own beer and taking a sip, too. He didn’t taste it much, one hand shoved in the pocket of his pajama pants as he walked slowly through your office, taking everything in. He was rarely in this room, he didn’t know it well. There was an Emmy on your desk and three more on a bookshelf. There were two Golden Globes, too, all in better shape than the Oscar was. He frowned at that. 

“How many of these damn things do you have?” He asked, glancing back over his shoulder to you. 

“Emmys?” You asked. “Just the four. Three for Siren and then one for Family Tree. That was my first one, they gave me some meatier things once I was in my teens. Some ‘very special episode’ type bullshit. One where I had to decide whether or not to have sex with my high school boyfriend, that sort of thing. The television academy ate it up. Then there are the Globes - one for Siren, one for The District - and there’s a SAG in my office in LA. I think that’s it.”

“Lot of hardware,” Joel said, coming back to the sitting area of your office, taking the chair near your end of the couch, his fingers rapping against the glass of his beer bottle. 

“Yeah, well,” you laughed, a little cynically. “I keep telling Leo he needs to get me on Broadway so I can win a Tony. Then all I need is some bullshit way to win a Grammy and I can EGOT.” 

“EGOT?” Joel frowned. 

“Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony,” you said. “All the big ones.” 

“Shit,” he shook his head a little, taking another swig of beer. “Aim high, I guess. What are you workin’ on?” 

“Character research,” you said, holding up what was on your lap. It was a comic book, one from the series he’d seen Ellie reading. “I think I’ve just about figured her out but I’m trying to make sure I feel good with it before Friday. I’ve been reading up on how people react to certain traumas, trying to fold that in, see what seems right.” 

“Didn’t know playin’ a superhero needed so much research,” he said. 

“Playing anyone requires research,” you said. “People are complicated things.”

“Suppose so,” he said. “What…” 

“Why are you here, Joel,” you cut him off. 

He clenched his jaw for a moment. 

“I…” he took a deep breath. “Do you really have to go to LA.” 

“Are you serious?” You gaped at him.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s not safe. Should stay here where we have shit more locked down and…” 

“And I have a movie to make!” You cut him off. “Do you really expect them to relocate production to fucking Texas because of me?” 

“Yes,” he said again. 

“Joel,” you pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. 

“Ain’t you some huge star?” He pressed on, staring down at his beer bottle, picking at the label with his thumb. “Got all those damn trophies, everyone on the damn planet knows your name, just have all that shit come to you and…” 

“Joel,” you said, more gently this time, gentle enough that he frowned, looking over at you. You smiled a little. “That’s not how it works.” 

“Why not.” 

“Because,” you said. “Do you know what goes into making a movie? It’s not just some actors and camera men. There’s equipment we’re using that only exists in a few places on the planet and LA is one of those places. We start principal photography in January, do you know how much work has already been done so we’re ready to shoot? Do you know how many people’s livelihoods depend on this movie being made when we said we were making it where we planned to make it? And I mean actual people, not just rich assholes like me. The budget on this movie is $210 million and yeah, $35 million of that is coming to me but the vast majority of that money is going to support the hundreds of people who work on the movie who are just trying to pay their mortgage and put their kids through college. We move locations, shift filming dates now? Those people are suddenly out of work when it’s too late to get on any other projects. If you don’t think you’re up for it, talk to Tommy, have them send someone else…” 

“No,” he said sharply. 

You frowned. 

“Why not?” You asked. “Just…” 

Joel clenched his jaw, looking down at the beer bottle again. The corner of the label was shredded. 

“Don’t trust anyone else,” he said. “If you’re goin’ to LA, it’s with me. End of story.” 

You were quiet for a moment.

“Why do you care so much?” You asked eventually. 

“I… I don’t…” he bounced his leg, trying to find the words before finally looking over at you again. “I don’t want to watch you die.” 

You scoffed.

“I don’t think anyone would really hold it against you if I do,” you said wryly. “So don’t worry about it.” 

“That ain’t why I’m worried,” he said sharply before taking a deep breath and going back to the bottle, picking away at the label more and more. “I didn’t take this job to watch someone fuckin’ hunt you down.” 

You were quiet again. 

“Why did you hit Alan today.” 

He took a shaky breath.

“I thought he was hurtin’ you,” he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “And I.. I can’t…” 

He clenched his jaw, gripping the bottle so tight it hurt. 

“I need you to not get hurt,” he said. “Not gonna let you get yourself killed. And you… you just like to ignore what I tell you, you do reckless shit and it’s gonna…” 

“I’ll do what I’m told,” you cut him off, a keen kind of honesty in your voice, the shift noticeable enough that he looked over at you. Your eyes were oddly open, looking at him in much the same way you had the night you got hurt at the premiere, like all the artifice of your public persona had been stripped away and all that was left was yourself. “I don’t… I absolutely loathe just how much of my own life is out of my control and how all I am is just some thing all these other people move around to make money and the fact that I can’t even go outside right now without someone babysitting me… It struck a nerve. But… I’ll behave. I’ll do what you tell me to do. I won’t take any risks, I’ll tell you everything you need to know, I’ll obey when you tell me to do something. I’ll take it seriously.” 

He watched you for a moment.

“You’ll let me keep you safe?” He asked quietly. 

“I’ll let you keep me safe,” you said softly. “I promise. Just come with me to LA. You… you make me feel safe. I’ll do what you say, I’ll let you protect me. I promise.”  

“OK,” he nodded, looking at the label in pieces in his hands. “I’ll protect you.” 

He just prayed that would be enough. 

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this took me roughly 6 million years to update and I wish I had a good reason for that but, in all honesty, I just don't. I appreciate you spending your time with these characters, even after I've left you hanging.

Things are going to start ramping up next chapter! I really can't wait for what's coming, there's stuff I've been picturing since I first thought up this story that is just around the corner. I hope you enjoy it!

In the mean time, if you want to see what Thanksgiving Day was like for Siren and Joel, you can check out this (now officially canon) one shot I posted for the holiday.

Thanks again for being here! I love sharing this story with you all.

Love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter @phry-k @sunnytuliptime

[scary-grace]

Bloody Valentine - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

When you get to school on Valentine's Day, your biggest worry is how you're going to give chocolate to your lab partner and crush, Shigaraki Tomura, without him knowing that it was you, and when it all goes wrong, you can't imagine how your day could possibly get worse. But when a plague of zombies erupts within the halls of UA High and the evacuation leaves you behind, you find yourself trapped with Shigaraki, both of you left behind. You've been forgotten. There's no help coming. Forget being each other's valentines - now you're each other's only chance to get out of this alive. (cross-posted to Ao3) dividers by @kodaswrld

Chapter 1

You slink through the aisles at the convenience store, blinking sleep out of your eyes and wishing you’d gone to bed earlier last night. You knew what kind of day today was going to be, because it’s the same kind of day you have every day – busy. Rehearsal in the morning, before school starts, team practice as soon as the final bell rings, and in between, the heaviest class schedule it’s possible to take while still reserving at least a few hours to sleep. You should have gone to bed earlier. A lot earlier.

But you didn’t, because you never do, and now you’re here, buying Valentine’s Day chocolate on five hours of sleep. You know you should have made the chocolates by hand, like you did for your friends. It’s something you’re going to have to explain, if the person you’re planning to give the convenience-store chocolate to figures out it’s from you and asks why you cheaped out on him. You’ll have to think of something to say. In the meantime, you pick out the package with the least-ostentatious wrapping and the fewest fruit flavors and make your way to the cash register.

You aren’t the only person in line who waited until the last minute. The woman in front of you is balancing a tower of boxes of the most expensive chocolate the convenience store offers, and the girl behind you in a middle-school uniform is holding a tiny box with an enormous bow on top of it. The cashier’s a woman, too. She doesn’t question the woman ahead of you in line, but when you step up to pay, she looks you up and down with a sly smile on her face. “Who’s this for?”

Your face burns red. You haven’t admitted this out loud to anybody yet, but you have to start somewhere. “My lab partner.”

She chuckles and checks you out, and you wander off to one side, trying to store your loose change and hide the chocolate in your backpack at the same time. You overhear the conversation the cashier has with the middle-schooler. “Sorry. You don’t have quite enough for that one.”

“But it’s the smallest one!” the girl protests. She’s barely old enough to be in middle-school – not more than thirteen. “I looked at the price –”

“Sales tax,” the cashier says. You wince. “Go on. There are people waiting behind you.”

You hear the girl sniffle, and you still haven’t stored your change. You step back up to the counter and slide the coins across it, back to the cashier. “That’s enough, right?”

The cashier nods. You pick up the small box and hand it back to the girl, ushering her outside into a cold, mostly-dark February morning. “Thanks,” she says to you, but her mouth’s still turned down. “He’s my best friend, but all the girls like him – he’s going to get so much and mine’s so small –”

“Write something to go with it,” you suggest. “If you put a note on it it’ll at least look different from the others.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

You’re going to stealth-mode the chocolate into his locker and hope he guesses it’s from you – or at least hope that he doesn’t think it’s from somebody else. But you haven’t put much thought into it, and this girl’s best friend is probably a far cry from your lab partner, who’s capable of exuding an aura so grumpy and malevolent that first-years have been known to leave the building to get away from him. “Yeah,” you say, feeling only a little guilty. “Good luck with yours.”

“You, too,” she says. She heads for the metro stop; you store your chocolate away at long last, wrap your scarf a little more tightly around your neck, and start the walk to school.

UA High isn’t for everybody. It’s academically rigorous, to the point where the kids taking remedial classes there could still run circles around the advanced students from any other school, and it’s got so many class and extracurricular offerings that it could almost pass for a university. It’s prestigious to the max, and it’s also really expensive. Students who go there come from rich families, or else they’re on scholarship, their grades and participation reviewed at the end of every term to see if the scholarship will be renewed.

Nobody ever comes out and says which one they are, but it’s pretty easy to tell. Rich kids have class schedules that wouldn’t be out of place at a normal high school. Scholarship kids have schedules like yours. A schedule which begins bright and early at seven am with rehearsal for the school play. This year, it’s Romeo and Juliet, performed pop-opera style – next to no spoken dialogue, almost every piece of dialogue sung. The drama club doesn’t have enough good singers to make it work, so they pressed the choir into service. That’s where you come in. You’re not a good actor or the best singer, but your voice isn’t objectionable and you don’t make a lot of mistakes. That’s enough to earn you a part in the chorus.

And enough to make you an understudy – and the girl who plays Juliet is out sick, which means you’re stuck holding hands with Amajiki Tamaki as the director tries for the billionth time to coax some life into his performance. “Come on, Amajiki! This is a girl you’re holding hands with. The most beautiful girl in the world.”

Amajiki frowns. “I thought Rosalind was the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That was last week,” Yamada-sensei says. You try not to laugh. “This week it’s all about Juliet, and unlike Rosalind, Juliet likes you. Get hyped! Okay, let’s take it from the top –”

Yaoyorozu starts playing the introductory notes of the song. Amajiki looks directly down at your joined hands and starts singing to them. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss –”

He’s on-key, which is a big deal for drama club kids, but just as wooden as ever. Off to one side, you see Yamada-sensei shaking his head. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,” you sing. Your performance is probably at least as wooden as Amajiki’s, but you’re not supposed to be here, anyway. “Which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands which pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.”

“Cut,” Yamada-sensei announces. “You’re killing me, Amajiki. Look at her for a second while you’re singing it. Chemistry is all about eye contact.”

“They don’t have chemistry,” Monoma, who plays Tybalt, announces from off to the side. “He and Kenranzaki have chemistry.”

That chemistry is probably the result of Amajiki being terrified of Kenranzaki, just like every other guy at school, but at least some sparks are flying onstage when they’re together. You’re not even sure how Amajiki ended up in the play when he’s got the worst case of stage fright you’ve ever seen. His hands are really sweaty. “Pretend it’s not me,” you suggest. “Pretend I’m the person you like, if you like anybody.”

“There’s an idea,” Yamada-sensei says. Amajiki’s face turns bright red. “Ooh, there it is! We’ve got something. Let’s move.”

“You have to do it too,” Amajiki says to you. “Pretend I’m someone you like. If you like anybody.”

“Fine,” you say. If Amajiki gets a good run-through, you get to go wash your hands. The piano playing starts, and you give it your best shot.

Your plan was to picture an actor, somebody cute but distant, but instead your lab partner pops into your head. Your face goes instantly flushed, probably even more obviously than Amajiki’s, because if you confessed your feelings to Shigaraki Tomura by singing them, he’d laugh you out of the school. If he were the one standing across from you right now, you’d be cringing in despair, knowing for a fact you’d already blown your chances, trying to enjoy the few seconds of holding his hands you got before he yanked them away. You definitely wouldn’t feel like singing about it.

Still, you get through your first lines, and manage to hold Amajiki’s gaze during his response. Saints and palmers have lips, et cetera – and then it’s your turn. “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer –”

“O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do,” Amajiki says. His eye contact is a little too direct, a lot too earnest. Now you’re really uncomfortable. “They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

“Okay, that’s good enough for now. We don’t want Romeo to faint,” Yamada-sensei says. “That was a lot better, Amajiki. I could tell you were feeling – something. Go get some water. And you –”

He points at you. You cringe. “Stay put,” Yamada-san instructs. “Count Paris, you’re up. We’ve got some back and forth we need to run.”

Tetsutetsu, the first-year who plays Paris, hops up from his seat and comes to stand on the makeshift stage. All you can do is hope his hands aren’t too sweaty.

You stagger out of the rehearsal space at eight-thirty, desperate for a place to wash your hands, and Nejire, who was waiting for you outside, follows you into the bathroom. “I got a Snapchat,” she sings out, brandishing her phone while you run water over your hands. “You and Amajiki sound so good!”

Your heart sinks. “Somebody filmed it?”

“Just on Snapchat! It’s not a story or anything,” Nejire says. “Amajiki’s so cute when he’s blushing!”

“He looks like he wants to die,” you mumble. “How did he end up in the play, anyway?”

“He failed English last term.” Nejire lowers her voice. Amajiki’s a scholarship student, just like you, and you know what failing a class means. “Yamada-sensei convinced the principal not to kick him out as long as he made it up somehow, and since he can sing, being in the play is the best way.”

If it came down to being kicked out of UA or doing some extracurricular activity you really hated, you’d pick the latter without blinking. Nejire replays the Snapchat again while you dry your hands. “How come you were up there? I thought Kenranzaki was the lead?”

“She is,” you say. “She wasn’t here this morning. It was weird – she never misses rehearsals, and she didn’t even text.”

“People were missing from dance practice, too,” Nejire says, frowning. “Kodai and Hagakure didn’t text, either.”

“Maybe something’s going around,” you say. Whatever it is, you hope you don’t get it. You have too much to do. You dry your hands and straighten up. “Come on. I brought you chocolate and I don’t want to give it to you in the bathroom.”

Nejire has chocolate for you, too. She bought chocolate rather than made it, and because she’s not on scholarship, she can afford the really good stuff. You feel awkward handing over your homemade chocolates, but Nejire exclaims over them anyway. You know she’s sincere, because she can’t fake anything for more than a few seconds. “I bet we’re giving them to all the same people,” she says, beaming. “We still have a few minutes. Let’s go hand them out together!”

Your homemade chocolates look like nothing compared to Nejire’s expensive ones, but you’re not friends with your friends for no reason. They compliment Nejire’s generosity and your hard work, and hand chocolate back to you with enthusiasm. You manage to pass your chocolates out to three of your friends before homeroom – Keiko, Saki, and Hinata, girls you’ve known since your first day. The rest you’ll have to get on the run.

Other than homeroom, most of UA High’s classes are sorted by ability rather than by year, which means you’ve had the chance to make friends with second-years and first-years, too. Kyoka is a first-year, but she stands next to you in first-period chorus, so you’ve talked to her almost every day since the start of the year. She gets a box of chocolates. So does Camie in second period advanced calculus, even though she thinks you’re sort of boring and you think she’s kind of an airhead. You helped each other study for your final exams last term. You owe her.

You don’t sit next to any of your friends in third-period English class, but someone in that class is on the climbing team with you. You aren’t close enough to give him chocolate, but you’re friendly enough to say good morning. Spinner returns your greeting, but he’s looking apprehensively at your gear bag. “Wait, were we top-roping today? I forgot all my shit.”

“Coach will probably change it to bouldering if you ask her,” you say. Spinner’s the best climber on the team by a mile, but he’s not the most motivated, and Coach Usagiyama will do just about anything to keep him interested. “If not, I’ve got a spare harness in here.”

“Thanks.” Spinner breathes a sigh of relief. Or yawns. “If it wasn’t movie day in here I’d be screwed. I need a nap.”

“Same,” you admit. “Do you know which –”

“Ladies and those of you who are not ladies, take your seats!” Yamada-sensei booms as he slams the door of the classroom shut behind him, and you scurry back to your seat. Yamada-sensei skids in for a landing in front of the blackboard and switches to English. “I only have one question for you this fine movie day – rom-com or action?”

You vote action, and so does Spinner, but it’s Valentine’s Day and advanced English is mostly girls, so of course you lose. As the vote’s happening, though, you realize just how many people are missing from class today. Kenranzaki from the drama club, two people from Nejire’s dance team, and at least three from English class. Something must be going around. As the bell rings to signal the end of the class period, a terrible thought occurs to you. So many people are absent. What if Shigaraki’s absent, too?

Spinner would know. They’re friends. You stop by his desk as he’s waking up from his nap. “Hey,” you start, “do you know if Shigaraki’s here today? We’re starting a new experiment in chem lab, and –”

“He’s here. I saw him this morning,” Spinner says. “He’s probably going to be late, though. He’s late to everything.”

That gives you time to drop the chocolate on his desk, if you hurry. The thought makes you nervous. Spinner notices. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll text him and tell him to hurry up.”

“No, don’t –” you start, but Spinner’s already got his phone out. You’re running out of time. You mumble an insincere thank-you to Spinner and book it to the lab, trying not to think about how Shigaraki will respond to the idea of you – you, through Spinner – bossing him around.

You get to chem lab first, ahead of everyone – all your classmates and Sasaki-sensei, too. You tuck your belongings under the bench you share with Shigaraki, pull the chocolate out of your backpack, and set it down on his side of the bench. Done. Your heart is racing, and he’s not even here yet – and once he does, he won’t even know it’s from you. Your high school experience hasn’t been a dream by any means, but this might just be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.

It would be different if you had a crush on a nice guy, but Shigaraki Tomura isn’t a nice guy. He’s older than you, courtesy of being held back a year sometime in middle school, and while he has friends, every last one of them except Spinner has a reputation just like his. When you were paired up with him for chem lab at the beginning of the year, most people felt sorry for you, and they said so. But you were determined to make the best of it, not to get off on the wrong foot, and so you were friendly. It took two months for him to start being friendly back. For a given value of friendly.

He makes fun of you for being such an overachiever, such a perfectionist – but never for being here on scholarship. The first time he complimented you, it was vague and almost backhanded, but it had your heart racing for the rest of the period. When you finally swapped phone numbers, it took you three days to work up the courage to text him first. Sometimes Shigaraki leaves you hanging, but if you catch him at the right moment – usually at night, when both of you should be sleeping – you can draw him into a conversation. And he’s different than anybody else you know.

You know you’re a cliché, the stereotype of a good girl with a crush on the dictionary definition of a bad guy. But you don’t think that’s why you like him. You just – like him. And you remember something he said a while ago, when the two of you were complaining about couples hanging out in the hallways and blocking you from getting your shoes back, and he mentioned something about Valentine’s Day being even worse – everybody and their cat gets chocolate, and I just have to look at it. You read between the lines. The idea of bringing him chocolate was in your head way before you admitted you had a crush.

Your classmates trickle into the lab slowly, and once again, you register that there aren’t as many as usual. More than a few benches have an empty seat at one side, but Sasaki-sensei arrives thirty seconds before the bell rings, as usual, and starts taking attendance before the final notes ring out. He has the strictest attendance policy in school, and you watch the door anxiously out of the corner of your eye as you organize your pre-work for today’s lab. Acid-base titration. It should be an easy experiment to run, but not if you’re running it alone.

But you won’t be. A shadow darkens the doorway, then falls across your bench, and Shigaraki Tomura drops down in his seat next to you just as Sasaki-sensei calls his name. He doesn’t hear Sasaki-sensei, though – he has headphones in. You elbow him and he yanks them out, just in time for Sasaki-sensei to repeat himself. “Shigaraki Tomura?”

Shigaraki half-heartedly raises one hand, then lets it drop. Sasaki-sensei addresses the class, all business. “I see multiple absences today. If your partner is missing, pair up with someone whose partner is also missing. As usual, you will not be allowed to begin the experiment until I confirm the completion of your prework, and if you run out of time to complete the lab, you will receive no credit for the day.”

The familiar anxious shooting pains lance through your fingers. You can be as prepared as it’s possible to be, and Sasaki-sensei’s reminder of just how willing he is to fail you always scares you. Next to you, Shigaraki pulls a few crumpled pieces of paper out of his backpack, muttering under his breath. “Half the school’s out sick. He can’t cut us a break?”

You move your papers alongside Shigaraki’s, sorting them to make it easier for Sasaki-sensei to see that you’re both done, and take a risk. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, I figured. Spinner texted me,” Shigaraki says. You cringe. “This lab’s so scary you can’t do it alone?”

“I could do it alone,” you say, stung. It’s the kind of thing he usually says with a teasing note in his voice, but instead he’s strangely flat. He’s not looking at you. “It’s just weird, with so many people out. Did all your friends make it in today?”

“Everybody but Twice,” Shigaraki says. “He can’t shut up when he’s sick, usually – we all get a newsflash every time his body does something disgusting – but this time he hasn’t said a word.”

Kenranzaki didn’t, either. Neither did the girls who were missing from dance team practice. Shigaraki glances at you. “Is that really all it takes to spook you?”

“I didn’t say I was scared. Just that it’s weird,” you say. He’s in a mood today. Is it really just that it’s Valentine’s Day? “Are you feeling okay?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you seem – different – this morning,” you say, stumbling over the words. You thought the two of you were past this. What did you do? “I just wanted to ask. In case there was something –”

“Something you could do?” Shigaraki finishes your sentence. He scoffs. “Nice try. I know what –”

“I certainly hope you do.” Sasaki-sensei looms over the two of you, scooping your prework off the desk. “Shigaraki, your handwriting continues to be atrocious. And you – how many times do I have to ask you to stop writing in 10-pt font? You’re going to strain my eyes.”

“You need better glasses, then, Sensei,” Shigaraki says, almost sneering. That sounds more like him. You can almost fool yourself into thinking he’s defending you. “Our handwriting doesn’t matter. Are we right or wrong?”

Sasaki-sensei glances over your work again. “If I docked points for illegibility, you’d both be on the verge of failing. But your calculations are sound. You may begin.”

You’d be more relieved if Shigaraki wasn’t acting so weird. The two of you start setting out your equipment. “I just wanted to know,” you start, “because I –”

“Shut up,” Shigaraki snaps. You startle. “What the fuck is this?”

It’s the box of chocolates you bought. He scoops it off the desk and brandishes it at you. “This was you, wasn’t it? What is wrong with you?”

“Who said it was me?” You don’t know how to cover up your shock, so you return fire instead. “Whoever it was –”

“I know it was you,” Shigaraki cuts you off.

“How?”

“Because it’s on my desk in fucking chem lab and you’re the only girl in here who talks to me,” Shigaraki says. He drops the box back on the table and shoves it towards you. “Unless you’re going to pretend I’ve got some kind of secret admirer –”

“Maybe you do!” Your voice starts to scale up, and you clench your jaw. You shove the box back across the table towards him. “It could be anybody who left that there. Why are you mad at me?”

“Because it wasn’t anybody. It was you!” An angry flush is crawling from beneath Shigaraki’s collar. He picks up the box of chocolates and drops it on your notebook. “Take this back or I’m throwing it away.”

“Somebody decided to show they like you and you’re throwing it away?” You’re shocked by the acidic note in your own voice, even as you make up your mind to never admit that you were the one who put it there. “You can be mad at me all you want, but you shouldn’t punish them for what you –”

“That’s enough, Station 11,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, from up near the front of the classroom where he’s correcting Yoarashi’s and Togata’s prework. “Focus on your experiment and stop distracting the others.”

This is the wrong class to try to fight with somebody in. You set the box of chocolates down exactly equidistant from you and Shigaraki and start testing the scale you’re supposed to use to weigh your reactants. Sometimes Sasaki-sensei calibrates them wrong on purpose just to throw people off. Next to you, Shigaraki’s sitting still in his seat, visibly seething. His face is still flushed, and when he opens his mouth, it’s to come after you again. “Fuck off with this ‘somebody else’ bullshit,” he says – quieter than before, but not by much. “I know damn well it wasn’t Toga, so that leaves you. You’re the only –”

He breaks off, curses, but you can fill in the rest of the sentence. You and Toga are the only girls he talks to. “And I guess you think this is funny or something, because –”

“Why would I think this is funny?” you hiss.

“Like I’d know. Like I’d ever know what the fuck is going on in your head! I thought –” Shigaraki breaks off again, this time without the cursing, and the look he turns on you is so disdainful that you can barely keep your composure. “You really can act, huh. That nice-girl thing you’ve been putting on since school started. You almost had me fooled.”

Your temper breaks free. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You expect me to believe you’re stupid now?” Shigaraki laughs, so cold and derisive that your eyes sting. “I’m not falling for that one. I’m done almost falling for –”

“Is it really that hard for you to believe that someone might want to be around you?” As much venom as there is in Shigaraki’s voice, you can match it. He might think you’re a nice girl, but you wouldn’t have survived almost three years as a scholarship student at UA if you weren’t tough enough to hold your own with anybody. “I have to tell you, it’s hard for me to believe right now. If this is how you react to some stranger who cares, anybody who wants to be around you must be out of their mind.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back. “Hate yourself as much as you want. I’m not just going to sit here –”

“No, you aren’t.” Sasaki-sensei looms over you, and your heart sinks so far and fast that you feel nauseous. He looks pissed, as pissed as you’ve ever seen him, his eyes narrowed and his arms crossed over his chest. “I warned the two of you once. Not only did you fail to save your lover’s spat until after class, you were both made aware of my policy on profanity at the beginning of the year, and the first-years across the hall could hear the two of you swearing.”

“Sensei –”

“Manners,” Sasaki-sensei snaps, and you fall silent. “To the principal’s office, both of you. And take your belongings. You won’t be coming back here today.”

He’s kicking you out. He won’t let you finish the lab, and if you completely miss a lab, your chemistry grade will plummet. Shigaraki might not care about his grades, but if your grades drop, you’ll be thrown out of UA with a semester left in your third year. “It wasn’t me,” you protest. “Shigaraki started it!”

“Based on what I heard, you were a willing participant,” Sasaki-sensei says. He throws Shigaraki a dirty look, but the vast majority of his disdain is reserved for you. “I expected better of you, at least. Get out.”

Shigaraki’s already packed up his things. He shoves his chair back and it lets out an awful screech as it skids across the tiles, but you’re frozen in your seat. Your heart is racing, and your eyes are starting to prickle and burn. No matter what you do, it feels like the wrong choice – refuse to leave, blame Shigaraki for starting this again, try to make your case? Sasaki-sensei drums his fingers against his forearm, waiting for you, and when you don’t move, he barks at you. “Now.”

Someone giggles, and the sound snaps you out of your paralysis. You whip around to find two of the first-years in third-year chemistry snickering behind their hands – Kaminari and Ashido, who get in trouble for talking every other class, whose grades are worse than yours, who are here on their parents’ money instead of on scholarship. You’re not going to stand here and let a bunch of rich brats laugh at you. You stand up, jam your things back into your backpack, grab the gym bag with your climbing gear, and storm past Shigaraki out the door.

You held it together in class, but now that you’re out in the middle of an empty hall, you’re losing the fight against your tears. At least you are until you hear Shigaraki’s footsteps in the hallway behind you. This is his fault. There’s no way you’re going to let him know how upset you are. You pick up the pace down the hall, then up the stairs, heading for the administrative offices on the second of the school’s five floors.

Shigaraki catches up to you on the stairs. He says something, but you deliberately shift your gear bag, drowning him out with the clatter that results. Then you pick up your pace again. Shigaraki’s legs are longer than yours. He catches up and repeats what he must have said earlier. “Are you happy now?”

You were right to drown him out. You reach the administrative offices ahead of him, but as you reach for the door, it bursts open outwards. Principal Nezu nearly collides with you, and you stammer an apology. It’s as if you’re not even there. Shigaraki, on the other hand, nets a remark from the principal. “If I find out that you’re involved in this, Shigaraki –”

“Involved in what? I got sent here from chem lab.”

“If I find out you’re involved, I’ll personally ensure that you’re sent to prison,” Principal Nezu snaps, and you can’t hold in a shocked gasp. Principal Nezu’s radio crackles, and he raises it to his mouth. “Yes. I’m on my way. Do nothing until I arrive.”

He motors off down the hall, walking even faster than you were. Shigaraki steps past you into the admin offices, and the door closes in your face. You stand there for a moment, stunned. You don’t know what’s going on, what incident Principal Nezu’s referring to, but you can’t imagine what would make the principal say something like that to Shigaraki. You know Shigaraki was in trouble in middle school. Based on the few things he’s said about what it’s like for him at home, you know it isn’t good. And you know that since he started at UA, Shigaraki’s been sent to see the principal for showing up late, for falling asleep in class, for mouthing off to teachers, for throwing a punch after someone else punched him first – but he hasn’t done anything that the other school troublemakers haven’t done, too. You can’t imagine Principal Nezu threatening to send any of them to prison.

It strikes you as really harsh. Almost mean, since whatever incident is going on started while you and Shigaraki were arguing in chem class. But as awful as what the principal said to Shigaraki was, there might be a silver lining for you. If Principal Nezu hates Shigaraki that much, it won’t be hard to convince him that what happened in chem lab was all Shigaraki’s fault.

You feel awful for even thinking it. You open the door to the admin offices and step inside, addressing the first secretary you see. There are twelve of them – with everything that’s going on at UA, Principal Nezu needs all the help he can get. “Sasaki-sensei sent me here to see the principal.”

“Principal Nezu just left,” Secretary Kurose says shortly. She’s always been nice to you before now. “He’ll see you when he gets back. Wait in his office. Shigaraki’s already there.”

He’s probably waiting for you to come in so he can start the fight back up again. You wonder what he said to Secretary Kurose to put that tense, frustrated look on her face. It can’t just be because of you, can it? “I saw the principal leaving. Is something going on?”

“Wait in his office,” Secretary Kurose says. The phone rings and she picks it up, shooing you away. You walk slowly, dejectedly. Partly because you’re hurt by how she talked to you. And partly so you can hear what she says as she picks up the phone. “Yes, the principal is on-scene. The other faculty have Chisaki restrained.”

Chisaki’s one of the biology teachers – anatomy, specifically, and he’s the youngest one on staff. The weirdest, too. They have him restrained? You step into the principal’s office and shut the door behind you, so lost in thought about whatever’s going on down in the anatomy lab that you almost forget what you’re doing here.

But you can’t forget for long. Shigaraki’s sitting in Principal Nezu’s chair, feet propped up on the principal’s desk. He leans to one side to peer at you, half a smirk on his dry, scarred lips. “Come here often?”

You grit your teeth. “Never.”

“It’s your first time. I bet he’ll be gentle with you.” Shigaraki’s smirk sharpens. He leans further back in the chair. “I had to lower this thing about two feet to be able to sit in it. Do you think Nezu hates everybody who’s taller than him?”

You sit down in one of the chairs you think students are probably supposed to sit in and drop your bags by your feet. Your phone buzzes from inside your backpack, and you extract it to find a text from Nejire. What happened??? I heard something went down in lab

I’m in the principal’s office :( you text back, and that’s when it really hits you.

You’re in the principal’s office because you got kicked out of class, because you were fighting with your lab partner, because you gave him chocolate, because you have a crush on him and it’s Valentine’s Day. You might lose your scholarship. You got rejected by the person you like in the worst way possible. And now you’re stuck in here with him until the principal gets back from dealing with whatever the anatomy teacher did. This might be the worst day of school you’ve ever had.

Nejire texts back – ten texts in a row – and you ignore them. Behind the desk, Shigaraki looks up. “You get service in here? I thought this place was dead.”

“I’m on the school’s WiFi,” you say. “Third-years get the password.”

“I don’t have the password,” Shigaraki says. You struggle not to roll your eyes. “I guess it’s only for teacher’s pets.”

“If not wanting to be in trouble all the time makes me a teacher’s pet, fine. I’m a teacher’s pet,” you say. Shigaraki scoffs, and your desire to burst into tears temporarily converts to anger. Anger makes you mean. “You know, you’re a way better actor than me. You did such a good job pretending not to be exactly what everybody said you are that I actually fell for it.”

You’re expecting him to return fire right away. You’ve left him an opening to call you stupid for believing any better of him, and any second now he’s going to jump on it. But Shigaraki stays silent, and without something to react against, your anger starts to fizzle out. All that’s left is hurt and confusion. “I thought we were friends.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Shigaraki says. “Except my friends are a bunch of assholes just like me, and none of them would pull the kind of stunt you did.”

“It wasn’t me,” you say.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “I know it was you,” he says. “Why are you lying about it?”

“It wasn’t me.” You’re never going to admit it to him. You’re going to put this somewhere so far in the back of your mind that you’ll forget it ever happened, and every time you feel that pull towards Shigaraki, those butterflies, you’re going to remind yourself how you feel right now. “Why won’t you stop? You’ve already gotten me kicked out. Isn’t that enough?”

“Kicked out?” Shigaraki laughs at that. “I get sent here three times a week. They haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“You’re not on scholarship,” you say. Despair settles heavily over you. “I’m in the principal’s office and my chemistry grade is ruined – and they can kick me out for breathing wrong. Whatever you think I did, haven’t I paid for it?”

“They’re not kicking you out.” Shigaraki’s not laughing anymore. He takes his feet down off the desk and sits up in Principal Nezu’s chair. “When he gets back, you’re going to tell him I started it –”

“You did start it.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna cop to it,” Shigaraki says. You blink. “It’ll be my fault, I’ll get detention again, and your record won’t get messed up. They’re not kicking you out.”

“Why do you care if I get kicked out?” you ask. “Do you need a lab partner that bad?”

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches. “No,” he says. “It’ll just be a pain to have to break a new one in.”

That’s what you’d thought he’d say, or something like it. Maybe this morning you’d have thought he cared, but by now you know a lot better. You slump down in your chair, cross your arms over your chest, and wait for the principal to get back.

Fourth period ends without Principal Nezu coming back, which means you and Shigaraki are now missing lunch. School lunches are expensive. You packed your own, like always, and you dig it out of your backpack and open it. Shigaraki takes his feet down off the desk and sits up. “You brought food?”

“Yep.”

“I want some.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you say. Shigaraki stares back at you, unrepentant. “I’m not giving you my food.”

“I didn’t say I wanted all of it. I said some of it,” Shigaraki corrects, like an asshole. “Share. Unless you’re done pretending to be nice?”

“Maybe I am, since you’re done pretending not to be a bully –”

“A bully?”

“You’re trying to steal my lunch.” You put it back into your backpack. Maybe he’ll leave you alone about it now. “Most guys give that up by seventh grade.”

“Yeah, well, I was in juvie in seventh grade, so –” Shigaraki breaks off suddenly, then glares at you. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you say – and then, from somewhere at the edge of your hearing, a sound hits your ears that’s got no business being in a school. “Did you hear that?”

“What? I didn’t –” Shigaraki’s head snaps up. “I heard that.”

So did you. Two screams, from two different people, and a moment later, there’s a third. A chill goes down your spine, and you hold still with an effort, even when the fourth scream rings out. “People don’t scream like that when they’re just screwing around.”

“No,” Shigaraki says. More screams. They’re getting closer. He gets to his feet. “Get out of the way.”

“What?”

Shigaraki doesn’t answer. He kicks Principal Nezu’s chair out of the way, knocks everything on the desk onto the floor, and starts shoving at the desk, to absolutely no effect. It’s so bizarre that it takes another scream to snap you back to awareness. “What are you doing?”

“Blocking the door.” Shigaraki’s voice is strained. “Whatever’s making people scream like that, I don’t want it in here.”

What could it even be? A school shooter, like they have in America? You’d have heard gunshots. Maybe it’s a crazy person with a knife running through the halls, or a rabid animal, or something. Now there are so many people screaming that you can’t distinguish anything about the voices – male or female, young or old, victim or perpetrator. Whatever it is, Shigaraki’s right. You don’t want it here either. You leave your backpack off to one side and join Shigaraki behind the desk, giving it an experimental push. Sure, it’s heavy. You can see why Shigaraki’s having trouble. You square up, plant your feet, and shove.

The desk skids forward, and you keep pushing. Shigaraki’s not doing anything to help, even though it was his idea, and when you turn to look, you find him staring at you. “Are you on steroids or something?”

“No, I’m on the climbing team. We have to work out.” You shove the desk again, thankful for the fact that Coach Usagiyama makes you and the rest of the team cross-train at least twice a week. “Are you going to help? It’ll be faster with two.”

At first Shigaraki just stares at you, but the screams are so close now, close enough that your ears hurt, and blocking the door was his idea. Shigaraki lines up next to you and starts pushing the desk, and together the two of you wedge it against the door. Almost as soon as you’ve pushed it into place, something thuds against it from the other side. You recoil backwards, but Shigaraki throws his weight against the desk, keeping it firmly shut. “Let me in,” Secretary Kurose pleads. “They’re coming!”

Who’s they? It doesn’t matter, not when she needs help. You grab the desk and pull back, only to catch Shigaraki’s arm squarely across your chest, hard enough that you’ll have bruises. “No,” he snaps at you. “Nobody gets in.”

“She needs help!”

“You think she’d help us? No.” The door handle is rattling, and Shigaraki shoves the desk against the door again. “She can run.”

“Please,” Secretary Kurose wails. “They’re –”

Her voice breaks into a high, wavering scream, and the door shivers on its frame as at least three people collide with it. Secretary Kurose’s scream reaches a new pitch, one that makes Shigaraki flinch and makes you jam your fingers in your ears to drown it out. But some part of you knows there’s no drowning this out. Not the scream that hitches and splits. Not the low growls and wet, meaty sounds of flesh being torn away. Not the rattling breaths that go suddenly, horribly silent.

You can’t see anything that’s happening, but some part of you knows exactly what you’re listening to. Those are the sounds of a person being eaten alive, and before you can even think, you’re throwing your weight against the desk just like Shigaraki is, desperate to keep whatever’s out there from getting in.

[grandisknight]

rafayel: an artist's nails

summary: It’s been a while since your last nail endeavor, and you seek out your creative lover to fill in the missing details once again.

tags: established relationship, fluff, silly rafayel, gender neutral!reader, kisses, light banter, nail polish

wc: 1.0k | (ao3)

a/n: hi hi! eek this is my first time posting like this to tumblr, i'm not too familiar with it so please forgive me for any mistakes (⸝⸝⸝- ᴗ -⸝⸝⸝ ;) i hope my short but sweet little headcanon does rafmc some justice! the idea came to me randomly while angst writing (hhhh) so here we are c:

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

“Again?” He looks down at you from the impressive height of his ladder, palette and brush paused in mid motion. The canvas stretching his wall had streaks of pale blue, contrasting the rich sapphire that lay underneath them. Another masterpiece in the making, and you’ve caught him at a somewhat opportune time to air out your proposal.

“Please? I promise it’ll be the last time!” You gave him your best pout, hands clasped together in a pseudo prayer.

“That’s what you said two weeks ago, my love.” Rafayel shakes his head.

“Ra—fa—yel!” You called out, purposefully stringing his vowels in a way that he had a hard time saying ‘no’ to.

“Okay, okay. Give me a moment, yeah?”

Leaving his instruments behind, he descends from the perch of his ladder. Dusting off his hands on the edge of his slacks, he straightens his posture towards you with a few strides. Arms crossed over his chest, the warmth of coral and cooled blue examined your presence up close. “You don’t seem injured. Mission went well?”

“It did! But that’s not what I’m here for.” You flash your hands towards him, wiggling the tips of your fingers for dramatic effect. “Look at how much they’ve grown! They’re begging for a new design, and only one curated by Linkon City’s best painter could do the job.”

The bed of coral acrylic was slowly pushing past your natural nail, unflattering to the eye and no longer holding the fresh sheen it once had. It was long overdue for a retouch, and you trusted your boyfriend’s talented eye to decorate your fingers once more.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he half-heartedly remarks, but takes your hands into his own regardless. His fine fingers delicately trace over the rounded edges of your acrylics, tilting them alongside his head to capture their finish in the warm lighting of his art studio. “Hm… They are longer than before, I’ll give you that.”

An internal score in your mind was being kept, and you just landed your first point. “Exactly. So, I was thinking for the next design—“

“Woah, excuse you.” His fingers intertwined with yours, passing his warmth into your palms. He tugs you closer, hands closed like the prayer you presented just moments ago. Rafayel quirks a brow as he continues.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

You paused, a blink of confusion crossing your face. “…Am I?”

The plush of his lips puff out like a fish, awaiting your realization. Ah. You had to pay the kiss toll first—how could you forget?

You met his pout halfway, lightly pressing a kiss to pay your dues forward. Rafayel quickly chases your leaning figure, peppering a second, and then a third, to the lips curling into a faint smile at his antics and he mirrored yours all the same.

“Okay—Raf—Mm!”

He swallowed your interruptions with ones of his own, a barrage of straight smooches fluttering over your mouth. Only after the nth kiss did he finally part, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles with a hum in satisfaction.

“Payment accepted.” Rafayel lowered your hands, only to gently tug them in the direction of his desk.

Pieces of sketch paper and paints, pencils and more laid across the surface as you approached. He lets go momentarily, pulling out a chair and swiping away some tabletop space, before patting on the cushion in invitation.

“Alright, why don’t we start sketching out your ideas, yeah? Let’s see if we can make this new set better than the last.”

…

No sooner than a week later did you return to Mo Art Studio, feeling particularly energized as you practically skipped into his living space.

“Ah, you’re back.”

Rafayel called out to you before you had the chance to speak, swiping another shade of cerulean over the canvas. He looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling at your appearance and brow upturned in curiosity. “You seem like you’re in a good mood. Did you get them done today?”

You nodded, waving him down with an equally bright expression. “Take a break! I want you to admire your masterpiece.” With an outstretched hand, you await his descending figure in a similar sense of deja vu.

“Yeah? You’re already here though,” Rafayel teases, taking hold of your invitation in turn. “But alrighty. Let’s go.”

Natural habits led your bodies to walk past the floor to ceiling entrance and into the sands hugging his estate. Seagulls chirp overhead as the fragrance of salty seas sting your nose, welcoming in the warmth of sunshine and ocean views all around.

“Maybe the crab from last week is still around,” you mention. “I think it was this way—Ah!”

Rafayel snickers at your enthusiasm, but paused you short of your wandering in an effort to pull you closer to him. He raises your combined hands outwards, turning them in every direction as he observes the new design.

Speckles of pale white and faint pink hugged the tip of your nail, pearly effects blending into the azure gradient that filled the rest of the space. Light traces of a circle or two resemble bubbles, a key seashell charm on your pinky finger and an exclusive Lemurian insignia resembling the bond over his heart were all littered across the set.

He nods in approval, and you could practically see the sharp rise of his shoulders in pride as he spoke. “Ah, they turned out really good this time. I wonder whooo designed them.”

You lean into his playful stance, pressing a kiss to his cheek and watching as his skin flushes in an adoring rouge. “Thank you, my love. Next time, we should do your nails too!”

“Yeah? I don’t know if I want to have another pot with steam drawn by you again,” he retorts, laughing as you lightly pushed his shoulder.

You raised your voice in self-defense, offering him a scolding glare. “Hey! I told you it was a steamed fish. Steamed fish! You of all people should know that well!”

Your voices faded away as you left your footsteps in the sand, the low tides pushing to support the harmony of your banter as the sun slowly settled. Safe to say, you wouldn’t be letting go of these nails blessed by the ocean anytime soon.

[oddeyevibes]

Devil May Deliver - Escort 🍕

Summary: Dante offers to escort you to the giant tower that erected from the ground.

A/N: Cross posted on Ao3 & Tumblr.

You let out an annoyed breath as you gazed up at the tower that had erected from the earth. A simple job, that’s what you were told. And as much as part of you wanted to ditch the idea, you needed this job done just as much as the client.

Years ago, a demon lord named Valigor slaughtered most your fellow tribesmen which included your parents . Through some digging you had learned what Valigor wanted. He wanted the ancient Karmilla runes that acted as magic boosters. For weaker demons, obtaining those tiny marbles were a chance to hit the big leagues.

The problem? They weren’t for sale. They were Ferrymen heirlooms AKA your species of demon. There were five in total but within public knowledge, there were only four. Valigor didn’t know this.

He slaughtered many different tribes of your people for it and never realized he was still missing one. Which meant you had something he wanted and a means to lure him out.

So what luck that there was a demon under Valigor’s control that sought to be freed. The demon’s slaver dies and you get your people’s runes back. It was deal.

But the demon forgot to mention that Valigor’s location was going to be giant tower that screamed “Evil Demons Live Here”.

You just wanted the asshole that slaughtered your people and your heirlooms. Was that too much to ask for?

“Now what’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?”

And you should’ve expected he wouldn’t be too far behind when it comes to a mass concentration of demons.

“You know…it’s awfully dangerous for a lady to be out here alone.”

Jeez…this man was such a dweeb when it came to flirting. You turned around, lowering your shades a bit as you eyed the same white-haired, red coat wearing demon you met some time ago.

Completely green in most matters concerning the demon world, you learned, but was determined (in his own way) to make demon hunting a living.

“Well…” you started, lowering your voice into sultry tones and doing your best Jessica Rabbit. “Maybe I like the danger. Maybe it gets me all…excited.”

You inched over to him so your bodies were nearly touching. Just enough to set something off in him but not enough for him to be satisfied.

“But I wouldn’t mind it if a…big, strong, devil hunter wanted to be my escort.” You finished it off by batting you lashes.

“Uh…well…I wouldn’t mind at all—I mean—it’d be an honor to….m’lady”

You giggled. “You are so cute when you get flustered.” Then you backed up from him. “Leave the ‘m’lady’ out next time though. That’s only a panty dropper in the Regency Era.”

“Well, I still got a smile from you.”

“Yeah, cause it was so corny that it was funny.” You let out an obviously light hearted laugh but took a mental note that your cheeks were still heating up a bit.

“But seriously, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be meeting a client here to discuss details but they failed to mention that they were checked in at a demon infested tower.”

“Yeah…clients being vague sucks ass. I’m still down to escort you.” He said, moving to stand in front of you. Flashing you his smirk and blocking your view of the tower.

“Well…maybe. What are you doing here?”

“I…was invited.”

“Oooh. You have a date?”

“Pssh, I wish. Nah, it’s an invitation from…an old relative.”

“Oh…family reunion?”

“Yup. Something to settle.”

“Inheritance?”

“Something like that, probably.”

“Yikes. Hopefully, it goes better than an old client of mines.”

“Oh? Feel like telling me about it while I act as your escort? Maybe it’ll give me some ideas.”

“Well…I dunno…”

You summoned your sawed off shotgunned called ‘Dark Mother’. An action which would’ve made Dante be on high alert with you if not for the demonic energy quickly surrounding the both of you.

“I think you might have some competition when it comes to keeping me company.”

“Yeah, well…I hope they brought their A-game…” he quickly pulled out Ebony & Ivory. “Cause I don’t plan on losing.”

You giggled. “Ok, you could’ve done better with that one.”

“But you still laughed.”

“BECAUSE of how corny it was.”

[desiresiwant]

⎯⎯ ⎯⎯ The official cover for my enemies to lovers Klonnie Fic AHHHHHH!!!!! Yall don’t know how hard I worked on this especially with adjusting the font so it actually looks good. I really love it and it’ll look good through Wtp, and ofc, on here since I’ll be cross-posting between Wattpad, Ao3, and here.

This fic is still in the drafting process, writing and plotting here and there. I think id like to finish Warm-Blooded first — as I’ve already invested sooo much time into it — so that this fic can have most of my attention especially with it being my first non oc fic. I’m really excited about it and it’s something I truly want to complete and not halfass. Bonnie doesn’t deserve that !