#//Select others also have the right to see her so vulnerable; namely those who were at the forefront of saving her

[dutybcrne]

After starting getting back in the swing of being an Archon and gaining the respect of her nation, for some time, Nahida was fully unable to be alone for certain period of time. Her centuries in isolation made her feel incredibly anxious each time it happened, to the point where she would actively seek out people to chat with, even when she herself felt a bit worn out. And sure, she could linger in dreams, but that in and of itself is too reminiscent of the way things used to be. Ideally, she’d have someone’s hand to hold, to better ground her and set her mind at ease, but she’s content enough just having others around her too.

[clairecrive]

can u make a nikolai x reader based on the song mr perfectly fine by taylor swift?

Mr Perfectly fine

A/n: Ahh, thank to you friend, I've been jamming to this song every day lmao Hope I've done it justice x Also, I've left out some parts of the lyrics to make it better fit the story.

(if you want, you can add yourself to my taglist here)

for my other masterlists, you can find them on my navigation page

Word count: more than 7K (ikik it took a life of his own, what can I say)

Warnings: bit of fluff, angst (like a lot), character's death, spoiler if you haven't read Siege and Storm

Tagging: @jupiterandbutterflies (Thank you so much for your comment! I saw it and it made my day✨)

(I don't remember where I took this from so if you know pls lmk)

Most people knew of Nikolai Lanstov. He was a prince, the second born and the most charming. Most people knew him thanks to the countless rumours that went around at court: supposedly he was not of royal blood. "Sobachka" was what they called him.

No matter how though, everyone knew of the last Lanstov prince. But very little knew him.

Meeting him wasn't difficult. Since he had been of age, Nikolai had always been out of the Grand Palace and among people. He’d also volunteered to enlist in the first army, refusing any kind of special treatment and fought beside his brothers in arms in the infantry. That was part of the reason why everyone outside the court loved him so much.

Being Grisha meant that fighting in the Second Army was mandatory. Not that you minded. There was nothing you wanted more for your people than to finally be free. Also, that Shadow Fold needed to go and as the Darkling has always said, all efforts are necessary.

That’s how you met Nikolai the first time. Generally, the First and the Second Army were stationed in different parts of the campsite. Numerous quarrels between oprichniki and Grisha had rendered the separation necessary. However, you never liked crowds much and living in the Little Palace meant that you were always surrounded by people. So, every chance you had to draw away and be by yourself for a while, you took it. Also, being a Healer meant that you’d spent more time in your assigned tent taking care of soldiers than among them.

Word had gone around that everyone in need could come to you. Usually, you had been instructed by the Darkling that your powers were reserved for Grisha. However, what good was it to have the ability to cure people and only take care of a selected few that very rarely got seriously injured? Meanwhile, soldiers of the First Army often suffered from severe injuries, fatal gunshots or knife wounds. You could help them and possibly save their lives so why shouldn’t you?

That was why Nikolai found you one night. Sure at that point it was just another nameless soldier to you. He had never been in your tent before so you had never seen his face before. The boy whose arm he had draped on his shoulders though, was a usual visitor of yours.

“Oh, Petyr, what happened this time?” gesturing to his blond friend to lay him down on the table, you started gathering everything you needed. Not that you needed much but you had found out that Petyr was absolutely incapable of bearing having his bones or injuries in general repaired without having some kind of pain reliever before.

After a few tries, you came up with a herbal composition that dulled the pain but didn’t make him unconscious. Using kvas would mean that Petyr would be knocked out for a couple of hours. That would put him in trouble with his superiors.

“He’s a fool, that’s what happened.” The explanation came from his friend after he put him down gently. Despite his words, you could hear in his tone worry and guilt?

“If saving your life makes me a fool then go ahead and call me one,” Petyr huffed in pain.

“Who knew you were so brave, uh?” After quickly shredding the herbs you needed, you poured hot water on it and brought the cup to Petyr’s lips while helping him keep his head up.

“He’s the bravest of us all,”

“If I knew it took a bullet wound to make you hand out compliments so easily, I would have done it sooner.” Scoffed Petyr after sending you a thankful look.

“See? What did I tell you? A fool,” his friend said dramatically and you smiled amused at their playful banter.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with, shall we?” You said out loud to warn both Petyr and his friend. Letting them know what was about to happen was best, your experience taught you. Both for the person on the table that could brace themselves for what was about to happen and for the person with him that was filled with worry and cautiousness. Oprichniki didn’t trust Grisha that much.

After assessing the damage, you let out a relieved sigh as the bullet had gotten through and it had not hit any major artery. It had already got infected though, so you knew it would be a painful one to treat.

“So, did you receive any letters lately, Pety?” You ask, suggestively wiggling your eyebrows while your hands cover the wound. You had your eyes closed to better focus but you were sure that he had rolled his eyes.

“Only from my mum.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t write her back,” you said, opening your eye just in time to send him a glare.

“Ugh, not this again, y/n, please. Have mercy on me, I’m bleeding all over the table.” Petyr moaned making his friend snicker.

“You’re not bleeding all over the table and if you didn’t notice, I’m already taking care of you, am I not? That doesn’t excuse you for being an idiot, though.”

“Are you two in cahoots or something? It’s not fair. Wounded man over here.”

“Oh shut up.” Both you and his blond friend said at the same time. Petyr moaned once again and you sent a little amused smile to the blondie.

“Should I leave you with a cool battle scar? Maybe acting like a war hero will give you the balls to write to her.” You harmlessly threatened him but your hands were already reconnecting the tissue of his skin without letting it scar.

“I’ve told you, y/n. She deserves better than what I can give her. I am, who knows if I even make it home? I’d be only stringing her along.” Now Petyr was dead serious. It was true, you had talked about this often since he was a regular you got to know him better and he had soon told you about his sweet Katia.

While his friend chanted “fool” like a mantra in the background, you took his bloodied hand in yours, his wound fully healed.

“Petyr, how do you think she’s gonna react when she learns that there hasn’t been any delay to her letters but you’re just ignoring her? Besides, you should let her make this decision too. Who knows, she’ll surprise you.” Squeezing his hand you turned to let your words settle and to put away your utensils. You knew you had given him so much food for thought so you didn’t address the subject anymore. His friend helped him off the table and that’s when you noticed that he was injured too. He had a pretty nasty cut on his lower lip and there was already a bruise forming on his temple.

“Petyr, you can sit on my chair while I take care of your friend. You should be fine but for at least a while don’t stress your body.”

Mentally making a list of the things you need to tend to this kind of wound and where you kept them, you started collecting before heading back to them.

Petyr had sat down but his friend was still standing.

“You don’t have to lie down if you don’t want to, but unless you don’t want me to go take a ladder or something, it would be best if you sat on the table.” You gave him your best reassuring smile as you mixed the healing paste. Sometimes, men didn’t like to put themselves in a vulnerable position with someone they didn’t know and had learned to fear. He wasn’t that badly hurt and it would only take a couple of seconds to fix but not every oprichniki was comfortable with being healed by Grisha power. So the paste would do your job for you. It would take longer, sure and it would also sting a lot more but at least he’d be healed at last.

After looking at you for a little while, the blond man did as you instructed, giving you a dazzling smile in return when you settled between his legs to fix his cut.

“The name is Nikolai or handsome if you prefer.” It was not the first time a wounded soldier tried to flirt with you. IT didn’t bother you, you found them amusing more than anything and you knew it was the allure of someone taking care of them speaking more than any real interest.

“Let’s hope you won’t be around here much for me to learn your name.”

“I’ll have to find another way to make myself unforgettable then.” He winked at you before hopping off the table.

You didn’t address his words, only gave them the paste you had prepared. It would prevent any wound from being infected and would be able to cure small cuts and bruises if applied for a couple of days. With that, you sent them both on their way. Petyr waving you goodbye while Nikolai sent you another wink.

And so this was how it all started.

Mr. "Perfect face"

Mr. "Here to stay"

Mr. "Looked me in the eye and told me you would never go away"

Everything was right

Despite your fellow Grisha, military life could be a bit alienating. Which sounded like a paradox, sure, but everyone had their own way of processing trauma and emotions and of course there were plenty of those during the war. If the best way to come to terms with everything that happened was to distance yourself from others and try to find the solution in solitude, it could get to the point where you’d feel alone in a room full of people.

To get a little respite, you’d usually go on a long walk or resort to stargaze. Sometimes, depending on where you were posted, it wasn’t safe to leave the campsite. So, that’s how Nikolai found you one night. Even he had to take a breather once in a while. Being a different version of yourself based on who you’re interlocutor was must be exhausting. Of course, you didn’t know this. You knew nothing about Nikolai at that point if not that he was Petyr’s friend and a socialite, according to other soldiers.

He seemed to be at the centre of gossip no matter what group of people you found yourself with and there also seemed to be a consensus about him. Everyone liked him. Even if it was rare for some Grisha to appreciate oprichniki, you knew they somewhat respected him because if they didn’t praise him out loud, they didn’t speak ill of him either.

“Not a fan of crowds, are you?” he announced his presence before sitting down beside you.

“I love them, I really do. It’s just that sometimes it gets too much.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.”

“You do? Everyone seems to think you’re a socialite.”

“It’s what I want them to think but alas, I enjoy being more complex and multifaceted than that.” He lightly bumped your shoulder with his, eyes aflame with mischief.

“I bet.” you simply smirked. Despite how everyone seemed to think they knew him, you got the peculiar vibe from him, like there was a lot more to him than what he let everyone see.

“No one seems to know much about you.”

“Maybe you’ve talked to the wrong people.”

“Well, then I guess it’s better if I got straight to the source, don’t you think?”

“That will surely be a better start. Not sure you’ll find what you’re looking for though.”

“We’ll see.”

That night had been the first of many. It had become a sort of an unspoken arrangement between the two of you. While it didn’t last long, you sensed that you got to know him better than everyone. There was something about late nights meetings under the stars that prompted deep and meaningful conversations. It wasn’t hard to form a solid bond with him after a few nights.

The conversations weren’t always personal in the conventional sense. You’d often stray and talk about the most bizarre things. Like why something had the name it had or how cool it’d be if it was possible to pass through surfaces, which led to imagine all the uncomfortable situations one could find themselves in if they were to simply go into a room through its wall.

Nikolai was witty, overly confident and ambitious and he knew a lot of things. You always wondered how he had learned them since he was so young and been in the army for a couple of years already. But Nikolai was never too forward on certain topics, his family and childhood being some of those. You understood, those were sore subjects for you too. So you never insisted. It was much more interesting to listen to him rumble about impossible future projects of his, like a flying ship.

"When people say impossible, they usually mean improbable." He’d say whenever you’d point it out to him. Somehow, despite the absolute absurdity of them, the sheer confidence that he seemed to constantly exude, made you consider the possibility of his success.

You got the distinct feeling that there was nothing this man couldn’t do.

But that was when I got to know Mr. "Change of heart"

Mr. "Leaves me all alone," I fall apart

It takes everything in me just to get up each day

But it's wonderful to see that you're okay

But, alas, as all things do, these encounters of yours also got to an end. You knew it would happen, you were both soldiers so your lives were both heavily characterised by uncertainty after all. However, you were not prepared for it to end so abruptly though. And without an apparent reason. Because Nikolai’s unit hadn’t been posted elsewhere and he hadn’t been fatally wounded. You would have heard of it were that the case. But it wasn’t.

You thought that he had come to cherish your nightly encounters too. Some of those had been full of his promises. How he’d love for you to be around when he’d eventually find the time to work on his ideas. How you had been a nice surprise, a most interesting person among so many dull idiots you were surrounded by every day. How he’d come to value your opinions and presence in his life and that he was going to find a way to make sure that that would never change. Promises that turned to be empty.

You had never allowed yourself to fully believe him. It wasn’t the first time that a boy had made the same kind of promises but Nikolai looked sincere. Honest enough to be believable. But, of course, you had been wrong.

You didn’t realise just how much you had come to rely on him until he was gone. You tried to keep your mind off him and luckily the perfect distraction came your way. The Darkling had scheduled an attack on the enemy’s army and had posted you to be on the field to take care of everyone promptly. You had never been more grateful to the man, even after he had given her a home and a purpose.

Ever since your first encounter with Nikolai, you had thought it had been a blessing. However, you had soon changed your mind and now considered a curse more than anything. Why? Because as soon as you got to the field you couldn’t help but scour the troops for a familiar mop of blond hair. Many looked like him and being this far you couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t one of them but you certainly despised the leap your heart made every time though. That was a distraction you couldn’t afford. Besides, it wasn’t smart to let your heart get involved in times of war.

The battle began, Inferni and Squallers were working together to impair the enemy’s visual so they couldn’t shoot or use their cannons while the First Army marched after them to swap in as soon as the air cleared to catch the enemy by surprise. While your role wasn’t active per se, you were a Corporalki after all, and even if you had been specifically trained as Healer, you had also got one of your friends to teach you the basics of an Heartrender’s work. You weren’t a powerful one but you could hold your ground in a fight. Especially since they weren’t expecting you. And you were still far from any real threat.

The battle dragged on and soon there were wounded soldiers that needed your attention. You hated this kind of work, it was messy and dirty and had to be quick because spending too much time on one soldier could mean dooming another to death. You were accustomed to it by now and soon found a rhythm focusing on ensuring everyone’s survival and not bothering with the aesthetic side of healing. That could be taken care of later if they wanted to.

As soon as your eyes fell onto a crouched figure you sprinted towards them. It was dirty and you didn’t recognize them but you got the feeling it was a life or death situation. Oh, how you wanted to be wrong.

The person crouching turned out to be Nikolai and he wasn’t alone. He was kneeling beside someone, Petyr.

“Where are you hurt?” you hurriedly asked as you tried to assess the damage. His uniform was dirty and full of blood but you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Trying to answer you, Petyr opened his mouth only to let out the most gruesome gurgling sound as his respiratory tract was flooded by blood.

“He got shot in the gut.” Nikolai offered.

“Is the bullet still inside?” Opening his uniform jacket you tore a piece from his shirt to use it to put pressure on the wound.

“It’s too late,” Nikolai uttered.

“No.” You strongly refused as you removed the cloth and focused on the wound. His heart was straightening and he had already lost a lot of blood. If the bullet was still inside that it was going to be a problem, if it wasn’t then you still had a fighting chance.

“I removed it earlier.” So that was why he had lost so much blood. Nodding your head to show that you had heard him, you set out to stop the internal bleeding. Slowing his heartbeat so that it was pumping less blood and thus eased your endeavour. You were still in the middle of the field and while you were keeping up with the warfare but in the back of your mind, you registered the sounds of screaming and of gunshots getting closer. A bullet hit you in the shoulder propelling you forward over Petyr’s body. Grisha’s kefta were bulletproof so you weren’t worried for your incolumity but for the harsh movement you had made.

Leaning back, you heard Nikolai calling for you but your eyes were trained on Petyr. You tried to listen for his heartbeat but could only hear two instead of three. Nikolai, who had never left your side, immediately understood what had happened by the fall of your shoulders and the tensing of your hands.

He kept calling for you but the only thing you could focus on was that you had let your friend down. Now there will be one more family crying for a loss, another girl mourning a lost loved one. And it was all your fault. It was because of you that Petyr wouldn’t live to see another day, to write another letter or to fight another battle. It was on you.

The details of what happened next were a bit blurred. Someway you must have found your way back to the campsite. Whether you did on your own after tending to everyone else, you didn’t know. Your memories picked up after you woke up in your tent. Someone was calling your name, saying that the Darkling wanted to see you.

Mechanically you raised and made your way to the Darkling’s tent but your mind was elsewhere. Your thoughts were plagued by Petyr’s face, by that godforsaken sound he made when he tried to speak. The realisation that he was gone hit you like a wall of brick that would have made you stumble if you weren't’ sat in front of the Darkling’s desk. Whether he was speaking and stopped after seeing the forlorn look in your eyes or he hadn’t been speaking at all, you didn’t realize. You did hear him say that you were going to be posted somewhere. Under different circumstances you have said something, anything to not let him send you away. Your mind immediately went to Nikolai. You’d be leaving him behind along with the campsite.

However, you now realised that you had already lost him. Losing Petyr had been the last thing that had completely severed your bond. There was no turning back now and part of you was grateful.

Hello Mr. "Perfectly fine"

How's your heart after breaking mine?

I've been Miss "Misery" since your goodbye

And you're Mr. "Perfectly fine"

You couldn’t know, of course, but Nikolai had left not long after you did. Albeit for a different reason. He had finally earned the Major rank and as such, he took a step back from military life deciding that his skill would be better suited for a life on the sea. Assuring Ravka the supply she needed but in ways that weren’t exactly suitable for a prince but worked just fine for a privateer. And thus Sturmhond came to life.

As for you, you kept doing your job at your new post but were relieved when a letter came from the Darkling instructing that you were needed at the Little Palace. Part of you had relegated Nikolai to that part of your mind where the unmentionable was, however, a traitor thought whispered that maybe there was a chance that you could see him at the royal grounds. Sure, the possibilities were close to zero but it was still possible, right?

No.

You already were ashamed of the fact that you’re still suffering because of him. And yes, you missed him but you weren’t going to indulge the pathetic hope of seeing him again.

He doesn’t want to see you. If he did, he would have already found you. Or write you a letter if he couldn’t, but he didn’t.

You were right. You knew you were, nonetheless, the thought only brought you a bittersweet feeling.

You found the Little Palace just how you’d left it and yet it seemed changed in a way. The insane amount of work you found there waiting for you helped you drown the feeling that it was you that had changed.

Months passed this way, sometimes the Darkling would post you with him or outside the Little Palace. All in all, you’ve kept busy. When news of the little prince leaving the Palace reached you, you let it wash over you. It wasn’t like it mattered much, whether he was a few feet away or in another nation, Nikolai wasn’t part of your life either way.

When the whole expansion of the Fold happened, you were stationed at the Little Palace. Chaos and terror ensued as soon as the news reached the capital making most of the Grisha flee. Most of them went looking for the Darkling while others simply ran away and hid. You were amongst the first group.

Soon, your life was radically changed. The shift in the Darkling was palpable and it didn’t have anything to do with the scars on his face. You had tried your best to heal them and Genya to tailor them away but somehow, they could not be removed. It was an unsettling thing to realize that they didn’t take away his beauty. One could even say that they enhanced his attractiveness.

He was certainly more powerful. None of you knew what had happened in the Fold that day, just that the Sun Summoner had fled and that there were no survivors apart from him. However, as your journey in pursuit of Alina dragged on, you were soon witnesses of his newfound power.

The nichevo’ya, he called them.

He had always been immensely powerful. One of a kind. But this- this was different. And as dread settled among your group as you watched them in action, realisation sat heavily on your shoulders.

He soon found a trail and traced Alina in Novyi Zem and set out to reach the island by hiring Sturmhond’s crew. He was a famous pirate after all and despite his unreliability, the Darkling was sure that as long as he got his money, he wouldn't be a problem.

In the round trip, you didn’t see much of the captain anyway. Some members of his crew were amiable enough, particularly the Yul-Baatar twins. You had even asked Tamar to spar with you from time to time. Your lessons with Botnik were a distant memory and you knew that mastering combat training skills could increase your chance at survival.

When Alina and Mal were held captive though, that’s when Sturmhond made an appearance. He looked younger than you’d thought and there was something oddly familiar in the way he held himself. Still, you didn't talk with him much. Your job was to take care of Alina and so you spent most of your time in her room.

It wasn’t until the Darkling asked Mal to track Rusalye and consequently spent more time with Alina that you had a chance to talk with him. It was during one of your night shifts when he approached you, the Darkling had wanted some of his to always be patrolling the ship.

“What could possibly make a little thing like you be amidst this wretched company?”

“It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.”

“The thrill of adventure?”

“There’s plenty of it everywhere you go if you’re Grisha, even if you just go on a stroll.”

“Is that why you follow him?”

“I owe everything to him.”

“I’m sure you realize your role in this.”

“Of course I do. I’m not some naive girl who has a crush on her general.”

“Ah, so who, pray tell, do you have a crush on then, beautiful lady?”

“You’re certainly noisy for a pirate.”

“Privateer,” he corrected you, “there’s not much to do around here is it?”

“Not if you have everyone taking care of it, no.”

“Amuse me.”

“It isn’t wise to let the heart get involved in times of war.” That was all you were willing to share. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, the twinkle in his eyes was oddly familiar but he was a stranger. A dangerous one.

“Those sound like words spoken from experience.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’d say it’s no fun to only think about war. Life is so much more.”

“Believe me, if I could, it’d be the last thing on my mind. But, alas, l don’t have the privilege to do so.”

You had already lost too much time speaking with him. If someone were to see you or tell the Darkling you’d be in trouble. And you had made it your goal to never put yourself on the path of the Darkling’s anger. So you excused yourself and went back to your rounds.

If only you had stayed and talked to him more maybe you would have understood what was about to happen. Maybe you would have had an enkindling of Sturmhond’s plans. Instead, you were taken by surprise, just like everyone in your group, when Rusalye was spot and a shot was fired. You had found yourself in the uncomfortable position of having to fight against people you had grown to like.

“I don’t want to hurt you, y/n,” Tamar warned you as you stood face to face on the sinking ship dock. Her trusted axes in her hands while your hands were raised ready to attack.

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

“Then you don’t have to. Come with us.” Her proposition made you gasp.

“That would be treason,” you whispered hoping that the Darkling wasn’t around to hear you. A shiver ran through you as you thought of the punishment he’d give you for even thinking about leaving his side.

“Then you leave me no choice.” She said lowering her arms. Was that guilt you heard in her voice?

Before you could voice your question though, she shouted for her brother and not even a second later, you felt your body grow still. Your eyebrows faltered as you felt your heartbeat slow down.

They were Grisha.

They must have seen you realise because you heard Tamar apologize before everything went black.

Mr. "Never told me why"

He goes about his day

Forgets he ever even heard my name

Well, I thought you might be different than the rest, I guess you're all the same

You didn’t stay out for long though. As soon as Sturmhond’s crew had left the Darkling’s ship and had safely made it onto the Volkvolny, the privateer had asked for you to be awakened.

There wasn’t enough light for you to realize you were on another ship, what alerted you of your new situation were your hands. They had bound them behind your back. Immediately you started to struggle, hoping to wiggle out of the restraints. To no avail though. Huffing out in frustration, you settled for looking around you and see if there was something you could use. That’s when you noticed him.

“Release me- this instant, or else-”

“Or what? You’re a Healer. Not exactly a violent job, is it?” Sturmhond interrupted you, a smirk on his face since he had the upper hand.

“I don’t need my powers to kick you in the ass, do I?” He laughed but didn’t look remotely threatened. Rather amused, actually.

“Please, you have to let me go. He’ll kill me if-” Panic started to build as you realized that there was no way you could successfully escape.

“He won’t touch you.” A solemn glow took over his eyes. “He won’t ever hurt you again, you have my word.” He promised, looking subtly at your left shoulder. You winced as you realized that he must have seen your scars. The ones left by the Darkling’s niche’voya.

“How can I know if you’re trustworthy? You don’t exactly have a good score, you know?”

“You’re going to find out soon enough. Don’t worry.”

Of course, he didn’t bother offering further explanations. He’d left it at that. You weren’t a captive per se but he left your hands bound, only freeing them when you needed to eat or relieve yourself.

Fruitless were your efforts in making you tell more. He often ate with you and would check in at least twice a day but that was it.

It wasn’t until after you had landed after that forsaken vehicle of his had gotten you through the Fold that you understood. His coming out as Nikolai Lanstov, prince and second in line for the Ravkan throne, had shaken you all to your core. However, you doubted that it had sent a pang to the others’ hearts as it did with yours.

Nikolai Lantsov. The man you had been dreaming about, the one that had left you behind without any sort of explanations, the one you missed so dearly, had been by your side all this time.

You weren’t sure how you felt. It made sense now why his eyes looked familiar and his posture. You then connected that the vehicle you had used in the Fold had been one of the many projects he used to geek about with you. It tasted a lot like betrayal. Not because he had lied to you about his name but because he had tried to get close to you again and had managed to somehow break that growing bond again.

'Cause I hear he's got his arm 'round a brand-new girl

I've been pickin' up my heart, he's been pickin' up her

So dignified in your well-pressed suit

So strategized, all the eyes on you

Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins"

So far above me in every sense

So far above feeling anything

Even if his secret had been outed thus causing some shift in the dynamics between Nikolai and the two new members of his crew - you suspected Mal was closer to punching him every second that passed- not much had changed for you.

On the outside, you pretty much looked like a prisoner. Albeit a very clean one. You rode with them, hands still bound, scowl ever-present on your face.

Nikolai had not come to see you ever since that night after the Fold. And now it had been almost a week since you had started your journey back to the capital. Whether this was all part of his plan to make you look the part of the captive even more or he was just gutless, you didn't know. It was working either way though.

You liked to think that his reason was simply that he didn't care. He had far too much on his plate right now as it was. Going back to court after years of absence while also making claims to the throne and trying to sway the Sun Summoner your way. It was no easy feat. But hadn't he always liked to say that impossible often meant improbable? A lot of things had changed since that night but even so, you'd still pose your bet on him that he'd be able to achieve anything he set his mind to.

It wasn't exactly that thinking this way brought you actual comfort. Of course, not. But it was better than foolishly hoping for him to still care about you the way you did for him. After all, he had sent plenty of signals that pointed in the other direction.

But then why did he kidnap you? Why take you with him? You weren't that close to the Darkling to be of any use to Nikolai in that way. And, as a matter of fact, no one had come to interrogate you regarding his plans or whereabouts. Then why?

You still couldn't figure it out.

Some days your anger shifted more to frustration and you were ounces away from asking for him yourself. Almost as if he had heard you though, he gave you the final push.

It was the usual day, Nikolai and Alina were riding in the carriage, stopping in every village we passed to meet with the locals. However, this time, before climbing back into the carriage, they kissed.

You were too far to figure out who started it and the details. The gist of it was enough though.

You most certainly were a fool. Still thinking about a guy who didn't give two shits about you, who had kidnapped you putting you in a dangerous situation and you were still wondering whether he felt something for you or not? Pathetic.

You had to do something about your situation and quickly too. Officially, you were a traitor. You had fled and joined the Darkling, that wouldn't make you look good in front of the king. He was a lousy bastard anyway and will probably sentence you to death to set an example. You hadn't survived so much shit to end up at the end of a rope.

So, even though you had initially thought against it since you were so close to home, you decided to escape. You were already headed towards certain death so what was the worst that could happen?

Your hands were left unbound when you were in your tent. One less problem to solve. Closing your eyes, you focused on listening for any nearby heartbeats. You heard two, those of the guards posted outside your tent. Maybe you could find an excuse to call them inside, put them to sleep and then slip away.

That was not exactly what your powers were for but you were desperate. You had to at least try.

And so you did. You called them in and immediately set out to slow their heartbeats. You had almost succeeded in putting them under when someone else slipped in. The last person you wanted to see.

"Am I that bad of a host?"

You didn't meet his ruse though, you knew it would make you lose focus.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to release my soldiers." As soon as he said it though, they fell unconscious at last. Your chest was heaving by now, using so much power in such a different way was costing you. But you couldn't back down now. It was one on one and you were Grisha and a woman scorned. He stood no chance.

"Move out of my way, your highness."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"You can or I can make you. Your choice." The venom in your voice was unmistakable and it took him by surprise. He gave you a curious look tilting his head to the side like he was seeing you for the first time over again.

"I didn't realize ruthlessness was one of your personality traits."

"You know nothing about me," you seethed. The tip of your fingers flexed, the tension in the room could be cut with a knife and you were already weary.

"It may have been a while y/n, but I like to think I know a good deal about you."

"And I would like to completely erase this last year but you don't hear me yap about how shitty it has been, do you?"

"You never did like opening up much."

"I'm well past the point of sentimentalism, Nikolai. It is coming far too late anyway. And whatever my feelings for you may be, I won't let you put my life on the line." Your posture straightened, stance ready for battle.

His eyes flashed, jaw clenched. His hands closed in fists and he almost looked hurt. But why would he?

"Is that what you think all of this is?" Nikolai always acted aloof. He was always composed and dignified. You had thought it was for his insane amount of self-confidence but now you understood it was for how he was raised. But you recognised the pout on his lips. It was the expression he’d always have whenever he tried to get something from getting to him. To prevent himself from showing emotions.

"You're holding me captive while you go around Ravka parading your latest conquest, flashing your return everywhere. I don't know why you're doing this but I don't care. I've stopped waiting around for you and I certainly won't let your father put me to death."

"You think I'd let him?"

"So you want to do this?" you threw your hands up in exasperation, "Fine. You really want to know what I think?"

"Be my guest."

"I think that the Nikolai I knew would have left out of the blue without so much as a letter. I think that the Nikolai I knew was ready to go to any length to achieve what he believed in. However, I thought that the Nikolai I knew cared about me and what we had but look at me now. So maybe, I know nothing at all."

"You certainly do seem to know a lot of things. But you’re not wrong."

"If this is the way you care about me," I gesture to my tent, "then I'm not sure I want this Nikolai to care for me."

“This,” he said, emulating your gesture, “is to keep you safe. This is my way to ensure that if the Darkling got news of your whereabouts, he’d be sure not to think you willingly left his side and betrayed him.”

“That’s because I didn’t!” You raised your voice in outrage. The nerve of this man.

“Spare me your indignation. I know you hate being at his beck and call, to do his dirty work and be constantly surrounded by warfare.”

“Do not presume to speak for me.” You snapped. You knew it was best to keep a cool head but his cockiness was getting on your nerves.

“Didn’t you? Hate it, I mean.”

“We’re at war, Nikolai. Being away or close to the Darkling won’t change that. At least with him, I was safe.”

“You can’t be that delusional to think that he was protecting you.” He scoffed at your words as if they were the most absurd thing he had ever heard.

“And you can’t be that delusional to think that bringing me back won’t result in your father killing me.” You fired back shifting on your feet. He winced as if you had physically hurt him.

“You have so little faith in me?” His voice was just above a whisper and you knew that your words had struck a chord.

“How can I have any, Nikolai?” your voice softened a bit. “One day you’re telling me how much you value my opinion, you promise me a future where I’d be the first to see your project come to life and then you left. You just left, Nikolai.” And when I was starting to make my peace with it that’s when you come back? Also, let’s not forget about my abduction and your flirting with Alina.”

“So yes, I don’t trust you.” You concluded, crossing your arms on your chest with finality. He just stared at you for the longest time. If someone would come in now, they’d think you were in the middle of a staring contest. Then he sighed and started talking.

“I had to go away. I had already pushed my parents’ limits when I said I wanted to be part of the infantry. So, one day I got a letter written by my father personally and I knew that my time was up. I had been Nikolai for too long, now I had to start being a Lantsov prince.” His eyes were on the ground now, shame making her way in his words.

“So that’s what I did,” he went as he started pacing,”I went to Kerch to study, just like my father wanted. I did what he asked, he couldn’t reproach me anything now. I could never stay too still though, a life of adventure was calling me and I could not ignore it. It was only then that I realized that I could do so much more than sitting in a class, to realistically help Ravka.”

“I couldn’t take you with me. You had such a larger role to play in the army and besides, there wasn’t much I could offer you. So yes, I left. I left thinking that I would find my way back to you eventually.” He had stopped by now, regret was swirling in his shining orbs as he looked at you.

“You could have told me.” You contestated, taken back by all the information he gave you. “I would have waited for you.” A whispered promise for something that would never be now.

“I was afraid, y/n. That’s not my best moment, I know and no number of apologies could ever make it right. But I was afraid of your answer. I knew I’d be asking for a lot and let’s be honest-” the desperation in his tone was evident now, he had unconsciously started to lean towards you but you knew what he was about to say.

“You weren’t sure if the future you were offering me would just end up with me being your mistress, am I right?” Your tone hardened but despite the insulting implication of what you said, you weren’t made at him.

“I’m a prince, y/n. We do not marry for love and this country cannot afford to disregard the advantages that a political union could bring.”

His honesty was as refreshing as it was unsettling. He was right. As soon as you had learned he was a prince, you realized just what kind of future you could have with him. But then he left and that problem did not exist anymore. Neither of you spoke, both of you were seizing the other. You had laid it all out, defences were down putting you both in a vulnerable position.

And someday maybe you'll miss me

“You should have talked to me, Nikolai. We could have figured it out together. If it came to being your mistress to stay with you, then that was my decision to make.” You said softly after a while. It pained for you to say this, you would have never thought that getting closure would hurt this much.

Tears streamed on both of your faces, in front of you had been laid what your future could have looked like. It was everything you had wanted, you could still do your job and have the man of your dreams. You were surprised to find that you wouldn’t mind sharing him with his supposed wife. You had been at court for enough time to know how most marriages went. If he assured you it was only a diplomatic affair but that his heart was yours, that would have been enough. Who knows, maybe she’ll get a lover too.

But now… now you didn’t know if you could ignore everything that happened. You did not trust him nor could you ignore how hurt you were by his lack of communication and thus of trust in you.

But by then, you'll be Mr. "Too late"

[edendaphne]

“Discordant Sonata” Chapter 21

>>Click here to read on Ao3<<

>>Click here to read on Wattpad<<

–––––

CHAPTER 21: IMPROVVISANDO

Music glossary: Improvvisando: with improvisation

Glossary: Wǎnshàng hǎo : Good evening Shīfù : Teacher/Master

(Mood music: Night of Beijing - Jia Peng Fang)

That evening

Marinette fidgeted with her napkin, occasionally sipping her now-lukewarm tea while sitting at the kitchen bar counter. Chat Noir sat on the stool beside her in silence, also nursing a half-emptied cup. She checked the clock for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the last few minutes.

“It’s about that time. I’ll head up to my room to let Ladybug inside. Will you get the door if your visitor arrives before she does?”

“Sure,” he replied, uneasy but compliant, doing his best to avoid staring at the black eye she’d received earlier that day.

Marinette set her cup in the sink and headed upstairs, leaving Chat alone with his thoughts.

He tried to keep his fast-beating heart in check, subconsciously clenching his jaw. It was finally happening. He was going to meet “him”: The Guardian of the Miraculous.

Following the events at school earlier that day, Adrien had walked Marinette to her house, where her family invited him to stay for a cup of tea until his “ride” arrived to pick him up. Of course, he’d eagerly accepted. It was nice to interact with the family as Adrien instead of just as Chat Noir.

After leaving, he hid away and transformed so he could sneak in through Marinette’s balcony as he usually did.

Upon transforming, however, he found a series of voice mails from Ladybug that she’d left during Adrien’s attempted abduction. Her voice was frantic. He could hear the urgency and distress in her tone, and a heavy blanket of guilt settled onto his shoulders as he listened.

The first message asked him to come to their school, that it was an emergency, to please call her back as soon as possible. He chewed on his lip, wanting nothing more than to hide away in a cave in shame.

The second one must have been left right after she’d rescued Adrien and left him at the school nurse; she’d called to let Chat know the incident had passed. Then she asked if he was okay, since she hadn’t heard back from him. He sighed. Typical Ladybug, always worrying and thinking about others first, even when she was having a rough time.

The last voicemail caused a trail of ice to trickle down his spine as he listened. Ladybug informed him that she had scheduled an impromptu meeting with the Guardian at the Dupain-Cheng’s house that evening, with Marinette’s permission, and that it was of utmost importance that he attend.

He shivered as goosebumps appeared on his arms and he swallowed hard. What was the purpose of this meeting? Was he in trouble for not showing up today during ‘Adrien’s’ kidnapping? And why meet here, at the Dupain home, instead of somewhere more private and away from civilians? What was the Guardian like? Would Chat get reprimanded and treated with disdain for having been their enemy for all these years, or would he be understanding and forgiving?

More importantly, would he have to disclose his identity to him, or to both him and Ladybug, to prove his loyalty? He winced at the mere thought of it. The last thing he wanted was for Ladybug to think less of him, or to pity him. Especially after the kidnapping attempt.

Additionally, if they were to learn that Hawkmoth was Gabriel Agreste, would they want to confront him head-on? Adrien didn’t feel ready for that, for several reasons.

First of all, would he be able to protect Ladybug, as he’d promised her? Hawkmoth had shown that he’d developed some sort of new power. Either that, or an entirely different person had become involved and was helping him. In any case, he didn’t know what exactly they were dealing with anymore.

Secondly, if the time came and he had to hurt or even kill his father, he didn’t know if he’d be able to do it. Yes, Gabriel was a monster and Adrien despised what he had become. But what if the damage was reversible and there was still a way to bring him back to normal? He just had to know, before doing something he might permanently regret.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell startled Chat out of his thoughts and he practically fell off his seat.

He ran to answer the front door, looking to make sure no one else was around. At the last second, he remembered to detransform and slip on the hood of his zip-up sweater (the one Marinette had gifted him), pulling a scarf over his nose and mouth so he wouldn’t be recognized if anyone outside were to catch a glimpse of him.

He looked out through the peephole, only to see the very top of someone’s head, balding with grey hair, and a little bit of their eyebrows.

Huh. Somehow Adrien thought the Guardian would be a bit… taller?

He turned the knob and the door opened, its squeaking hinges somehow louder than usual. Peeking out from the side like a scared tortoise, he checked to make sure the individual matched the description he was given, then stepped back to allow the door to swing open all the way. The older man stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“Hello,” Adrien said meekly, bowing his head slightly. “You must be…”

“Yes. I am Wang Fu,” he replied, bowing politely in greeting. “It is very good to see you again, Adrien Agreste.”

While Adrien’s face scarf efficiently concealed the way his jaw dropped when the elder man called him by name, there was no hiding the way his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

“W- what?!” he sputtered. “How did you—”

The man called Fu chuckled, stroking his beard. “It was a long time ago, but we’ve met before.”

Adrien lowered his scarf and frowned in concentration, falling silent for a few seconds. Then it dawned on him.

“YOU!!” he gaped. “I do remember you! It was my first day of lycée! You fell down in front of our school and I helped you up. It was you who put the cat miraculous in my bag that day, wasn’t it?”

“That is correct,” Fu confirmed.

“But why me? You could’ve picked anyone, so why did you choose someone like me?”

Fu’s smile faltered when he said this. Adrien had said “anyone”, but he could see that Fu knew what he’d actually meant. Why did you choose someone as broken as me?

The man folded his arms behind him, considering his answer. “Guardians are bestowed with several powers and abilities. One of them is to locate and select good candidates for the miraculous jewels. And so I was led to you.”

Chat grimaced in confusion. “So if you already knew it was me, why bother to ‘test’ me?”

“My powers as a guardian may lead me to a potential candidate, but ultimately the choice is still mine to make. It was a simple test, but it showed me what your first instinct would be if you saw someone in need. The answer I received was satisfactory. You were meant to be Ladybug’s Chat Noir.”

Adrien sighed, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Honestly, a couple of months ago I wouldn’t have known whether to hug you because I got to become Chat Noir, or whether to punch you because I had to become Chat Noir. But it’s because of you that I got to meet Ladybug, so I am grateful to you for that. It’s good to finally meet you. Officially.”

He extended his hand and Fu took it with a smile, giving it a firm shake.

Afterwards, Adrien’s gaze fell, brows scrunching together. “I can’t believe it. All this time, you knew. You could’ve told Ladybug who I was years ago. She could have figured out a way to take away my miraculous while I wasn’t transformed, like at school, and she would’ve had one less enemy to deal with. It would’ve––” he pursed his lips, expression full of shame, and he lifted his eyes to meet Fu’s once again, “–it would’ve made it easier for her. She would’ve suffered less if I’d been out of the picture. So why didn’t you?”

Fu’s countenance became somber, his eyes carrying years of pain and regret. He took a few moments to consider his words. “When I was a boy, barely a teenager, something terrible happened. Hundreds of innocent people died, and it was all because of me.”

Chat almost reeled back as if he’d been smacked across the face, puzzled about the sudden switch in topic. He remembered Ladybug briefly mentioning this a few months ago, on the night they danced together. He waited for Fu to elaborate.

“I was only trying to protect them,” the older man explained. “After I was orphaned as a child, the monks of the Guardian Temple took me in. They became my family. They were stern, but fair and kind. It was a tough childhood, but I was happy.” He sighed. “However, there were those who would try to steal the miraculous and use their power selfishly. It was an endless struggle. Many were lost over the years. I longed for peace. I wanted my family to be safe, I wanted us to be left alone. So I did what I thought would be a better route, an easier one; one with less hardship and bloodshed. You see, one day while I was supposed to be on guard duty, I sneaked away to where the miraculous box was kept. I put on both the ladybug and cat miraculouses and used them to make a wish: I wished that our enemies would disappear.”

The older man exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut, the memories of what came next clearly still haunting him. Adrien couldn’t help but hold his breath while he listened.

“It worked,” Fu resumed, voice quiet and slightly shaky. “But as you might have suspected, there is always a price to pay; a balance that must be maintained. Therefore, because of my wish, all the monks in our Guardian temple and the innocent people of the surrounding village were ripped away from me, along with our enemies. The wish was technically fulfilled, but I never suspected that the cost would be that high. I have had to live with that in my conscience for over a hundred years.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, appearing more vulnerable than Adrien would have ever expected. He continued, “Since that time, I have both seen and caused much death in my lifetime, protecting the miraculous box alone as the last Guardian. So, you see, if there was even one person I could save, I had to try. I wanted to trust in the miraculouses, like I should have decades ago, during my misguided attempt to control the outcome of a complicated situation.”

Adrien absently rubbed his arm, pondering Fu’s words. “Looking back,” he began, “I can see the reasoning behind a lot of Ladybug’s decisions and principles, now that I know your story.”

“Indeed. Ladybug is a remarkable young lady; I knew that even back then. When I would ask her if she was willing to risk her life for the sake of a stranger, she would say yes, every single time. If anyone can persevere for the greater good, it was her. Was it unfair of me? Probably. Have I asked too much from her? Absolutely. Have I made mistakes while trying to guide her? Yes. Many of them.” He put his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I wanted to save you that day by giving you the cat miraculous. But I never would have guessed that it would also doom you and force you into a role of servitude. I hope that you will forgive me for this.”

Adrien’s heart pained for Fu as he admitted his guilt. “You couldn’t have known it would’ve turned out that way. It wasn’t your fault,” he insisted.

Fu shrugged. “I try to tell myself that, but I can’t quite convince myself. The situation made sense once Ladybug told me about Hawkmoth.”

“You mean, when she told you that Hawkmoth was my father?” Adrien asked.

“Yes,” Fu replied. “I had my suspicions, because it would explain your motivations, but I had no proof, no way of finding out for sure. It made sense that Hawkmoth would be Gabriel Agreste. The butterfly miraculous requires its wielder to be creative and inventive, since it relies on their ability to convert the subject’s emotions into a source of power. And he had the motivation.”

Adrien hummed in agreement.

“Additionally, such a clever and talented individual getting ahold of the cat miraculous would be incredibly dangerous. I’d be lying if I said I had never considered taking your miraculous away. But even still, it was safer to let it all play out. I didn’t want to repeat past mistakes. And if Hawkmoth was Gabriel Agreste, your fate if you were to lose the cat miraculous would have been disastrous. Maybe it would have even alerted him about the presence of a Guardian in Paris. But now that we know the truth, we can plan accordingly.”

Adrien gulped. So Fu had considered taking his miraculous away before. “A-are you going to tell Ladybug who I am?”

Fu shook his head. “It is not up to me to decide when it will be right for there to be no more secrets between you two. I only know that it is not yet time.”

Adrien curiously tilted his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “How do you know that?”

As Fu started to answer, Adrien heard a doorknob twist open behind him and he quickly pulled his scarf back over his features.

The door opened and Ladybug’s voice exclaimed, “There you are! What are you two doing out here in the entryway?”

Adrien cleared his throat, then stammered, “R-right, pardon my manners. Please, come in.”

Fu walked past him, entering the living area. He took Ladybug’s hands between his, shaking them briefly, and said, “Wǎnshàng hǎo, Ladybug.”

With a small bow, Ladybug replied, “Wǎnshàng hǎo, shīfù. Thank you for coming at such short notice. Please, have a seat.”

Chat entered the room, having transformed now, and stepped forward to greet her.

He stopped short, realizing that he wasn’t quite sure how to greet her since last night’s development in their relationship, not to mention being very conscious of the Guardian watching them. He settled for a hug, which she returned, squeezing him tightly, and added a quick, discreet peck on his cheek. He smiled, feeling his face heat up.

Pleasantries aside and everyone seated, it was Ladybug who spoke first.

“Thank you both for being here. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

----------

A transformed Wang Fu stood at the bedroom window, curtains drawn, chanting in a language that neither Ladybug nor Chat Noir understood, holding the last of several metallic talismans he’d blessed and scattered around the room. The pair kept their eyes on him, marveling at the efficiency and care that he put into each incantation. There was something sacred, even holy about this ritual. They could feel powerful magic emanating from his form, invisible bursts of energy swirling about the room, dancing all around them in a silent symphony.

Ladybug cast a furtive glance at her partner. He’d been quiet for a little while, after learning about his attempted akumatization the night before. Ladybug had told him that it was Marinette who let her know, and that Plagg was the one who had informed her.

She’d called Master Fu before going to school to let him know what happened last night, and he promised he would figure out a solution. He’d spent all day preparing these special talismans, which would ward off akumas and keep them from entering this room. But only this room. He wasn’t strong enough to cast such a potent, long-term spell over a larger area; especially not at his age.

Fu, or rather, Jade Turtle, was silent for a few moments after placing the last charm, a silver one with indecipherable symbols carved into it, then turned around to face the couple.

“The talismans are almost done being enchanted,” he said, pretty out of breath, beads of sweat present on his brow. “There is one more thing that needs to be done. But I think I’ll need your help for this, Ladybug.”

Ladybug stepped forward in response. “Sure, Master. What is it?”

“I would do it myself, but, well… let’s just say I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Of course Master, anything you need. Just tell me what to do.”

Fu removed his bracelet, the turtle miraculous, and turned back to his civilian self, then handed the jewelry to her. His kwami, Wayzz, floated next to them awaiting instruction.

“If you could transform with my miraculous to finish the protection spell, I’d very much appreciate it. I’ll show you what to do when you’re ready.”

The young woman gaped at him, having never transformed into any hero other than Ladybug before.

“Oh! R-really?? S-sure! No problem...” She took the bracelet hesitantly, studying it like she’d never seen it before, then excused herself to the ensuite for privacy.

In the bathroom, Ladybug detransformed and removed her earrings, handing them to Tikki for safekeeping. She put on the emerald stone bracelet, staring at it as if it might try to crawl away from her if she wasn’t careful enough.

She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation. “Wayzz, shell on.”

Jade green light shone around the bathroom, and Marinette felt the magic of the turtle miraculous engulf her form. When it passed, she gulped and opened her eyes, lifting them to the mirror to catch a glimpse of her newly transformed self.

“Whoa.”

The heroine stared at her reflection across the way. She ran her fingers over the various bits of fabric and armor, taking the time to appreciate the feel and texture. Somehow, she felt quite powerful. Tough. Solid. Almost like a sentient brick wall.

“Wow, Marinette! You look incredible!” Tikki whispered to her.

“Aww, thank you Tikki,” she replied. “It feels so different, but it’s also really cool.”

Sparing one last glance into the mirror, she finally emerged from the bathroom. Fu was seated at the desk chair across the room, taking a short breather. Chat was speaking to him in hushed tones, but turned around when he heard her re-enter the bedroom.

His jaw dropped and he gasped.

“Oh my God, you’re adorable!” Chat blurted out. He caught himself and turned tomato red, then stuttered, “Umm! S-sorry, I––”

Ladybug (Lady...turtle??) giggled, stepping forward to stand beside him once again. “Thanks,” she replied shyly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear as she usually did when she was nervous, but her hand bumped into her suit’s hood instead. Not quite sure what to do with her hands, she folded them in front of her as she awaited further instruction.

Tikki flew in front of Master Fu, bowing her head in greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Master!”

“Likewise. I hope you are doing well,” he greeted back.

Tikki flew over to Chat Noir, to say hello to him as well. “Hello, Chat Noir! It’s nice to formally meet you,” she chirped happily.

Chat beamed and answered, “Tikki, right? It’s great to finally meet you too! I must admit, you look a little different than I thought you would.”

Tikki giggled. “Did you think I’d be more insect-like? Maybe with six legs and an exoskeleton?”

Chat shrugged timidly. “Well, I mean… Maybe…?” ‘Ladybug’ and Tikki looked at each other and snickered at his reply.

Fu smiled at their interactions fondly, recalling times spent with loved ones, allies no longer here. With a small grunt, he stood up to continue the protection ritual.

“This way, Ladybug. Chat Noir and Tikki, please stand over there; we’ll need a bit of space for this. You might feel a bit tired once this is finished, so be sure to get plenty of rest tonight,” he instructed.

Tikki perched on Chat’s shoulder as he moved towards the edge of the room. They spoke in hushed voices as Fu instructed Ladybug and had her repeat phrases from his notes.

While they waited, Chat turned to Tikki and whispered, “By the way, I wanted to thank you... for helping Ladybug and keeping safe all these years. She means a lot to me.”

If kwamis could blush, Chat was sure that’s what Tikki’s face showed at the moment. “It’s been a pleasure to be her kwami. She’s the best! I’m glad you’ve gotten to know her and see what a sweet person she is.”

Chat smiled, cheeks dusted pink. “I am too.”

------

Many minutes passed, and Ladybug and Fu finished casting the protection ward. Chat helped Fu gather his things as Ladybug excused herself to transform back to her regular hero self.

As she re-emerged from the bathroom, Chat handed her a glass of water and invited her to sit on the bed so she could catch her breath and gather back some of her energy. “Welcome back, Lily-bug,” he greeted her with a wink. Ladybug beamed at him, accepting the water and taking a seat next to him.

Fu stood beside them, having finished gathering his belongings in a satchel. As he gave Ladybug time to rest, he asked, “Do either of you have any questions about the protection ritual, or about anything else?”

Ladybug replied, “I actually do have some questions, sir.”

Fu nodded.

“Master... why did Hawkmoth attempt to akumatize Chat Noir last night? If he’s tried it before, why did he not succeed during other nights?” Ladybug’s questions came faster once she got started. “Since he tried to akumatized Chat, does that mean he knows where he lives now? Is Chat even safe here anymore? What about the Dupains? Are they gonna be okay? How much does Hawkmoth know?”

Chat looked at Fu expectantly, realizing that he, too, had those same questions.

Fu replied, “The owner of the butterfly miraculous sends out his butterflies in search of a specific strong emotion, but is not aware of their location until after the host accepts it. He is able to learn some vague details about why they are feeling that certain emotion. My guess is that he was able to locate him while he was having a nightmare. So, no. He does not know that Chat Noir lives here. His powers have limitations, just like you do with yours. He is more powerful since he is older and more experienced, but even he can’t overextend the capabilities of his miraculous.”

He paused, stroking his beard, and contemplated. Then he asked, “Did something happen last night to make your emotions different from what they normally are?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir looked at each other, blushing furiously, stammering as they attempted to answer without divulging too much unnecessary information.

Fu raised an eyebrow, then chuckled knowingly, raising his hands to stop them. “It’s okay, I don’t need to know the details.”

“Umm! I-it’s not what you think!”

“M-master, don’t misunderstand–”

“Y-you see–”

“What happened was…”

“My guess is–” Fu interrupted, “–That Hawkmoth sensed your great joy last night, and became enraged. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being happy because it would mean that he is in the wrong, and his pride won’t allow him to accept that.”

Chat and Ladybug fell silent, looking downcast, as the explanation both made sense yet was immensely disheartening.

“There’s something else, Master,” Ladybug spoke again. “Something happened at school today. Akumas, but they vanished without a trace. I mentioned it to you earlier today over the phone. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Ah, yes. And all that remained was two white feathers?” Fu asked.

“That’s right. Could the akumas still be out there because they haven’t been purified?”

Fu shook his head. “Allow me to explain. Firstly, as Ladybug already knows, two of the miraculouses in my box went missing when the temple of the guardians was destroyed: the butterfly and the peacock. One of them fell into Hawkmoth’s hands sometime within the last few years. But after hearing about what happened at the school today, we can now confirm that Hawkmoth is currently in possession of not just one, but of both of them. Either that, or he has someone else working under him.”

“The Peacock… of course!” Ladybug gasped, voice filled with dread.

Chat looked at her, then back at Fu, waiting for him to elaborate.

“The Guardian’s Grimoire calls them ‘sentimonsters’, mystical beings created out of thin air using the peacock miraculous, which harnesses the power of emotions. They can be created and destroyed whenever the wielder desires. Usually they are simple creatures, designed to be helpers or perform smaller tasks. However, they can also be more sophisticated, even indistinguishable from other humans, although an enormous amount of energy is required to create these complex sentimonsters. One can even ‘borrow’ the appearance of an already existing person. In this case, Hawkmoth chose not to give the sentimonsters the ability to speak, so they couldn’t divulge their secrets, in the event that they were caught.”

Ladybug shuddered. “What the hell?! That is so creepy.”

“Indeed.” Fu looked over at Chat, who had remained pensive throughout this exchange. “Any thoughts, Chat Noir?”

Chat looked up at him, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wanted to say. “I… I think I remember seeing the peacock miraculous in my father’s safe once. I only caught a glimpse of it; I just thought it was some of my mom’s jewelry he kept as a memento. I had no idea it was a miraculous. Otherwise, I would’ve had Plagg help me break into the safe and taken it with me when I ran away from home. There are so many things my father never told me… I’m sorry I don’t know more.”

Ladybug reached out to hold his hand, giving it a small squeeze, which he returned.

“You’ve done more than you know, believe me,” Fu replied as he unconsciously squeezed his satchel, which contained the electronic tablet where his copy of the Grimoire was stored.

He stuck his hand in his pocket and stepped forward, handing Chat Noir a card with his cell phone number.

“Call me if you have any questions, either of you. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Wayzz will make sure I hear my phone if it rings; he’s a much lighter sleeper than I am.”

“Thank you, Master Fu,” replied Chat, smiling. “And thank you too, Wayzz.”

“Thanks, Wayzz. Thank you, Master.” said Ladybug.

“Also, I must remind you once again that your identities must remain a secret until things settle down. There are negative effects that could happen if you are revealed too soon, and I’m not sure what they could be; but it’s best not to find out.”

Ladybug frowned. “But when will that be, Master? It would be so much easier to be able to communicate without having to transform.”

Fu shrugged helplessly. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that. We must allow things to continue to develop on their own. I'm sure we’ll know when the time is right.”

Ladybug let out a displeased sigh. Chat nodded, glancing away with a worried look in his eyes. Despite Ladybug’s eagerness (and despite his own curiosity), waiting suited him just fine for now.

After saying their goodbyes, Fu left the pair behind and let himself out with a final wave. The two heroes remained in the bedroom, contemplating what had been discussed.

After sitting in silence for a few moments, unsure of what to say next, a lightbulb seemed to light up inside Ladybug’s brain, and she began typing away into her yo-yo communicator. Chat watched curiously, wondering what she was up to.

Moments later, she hopped out of the bed to jot something down onto a sticky note from Chat’s desk, then walked back.

“Just because we can’t tell each other who we are doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be able to contact each other when we’re not transformed. Kwamis aren’t pagers, after all.”

“Pagers? What decade is this, anyway?” Chat razzed.

“Hush, you,” she mock scolded him, suppressing a smile. “ Anyway! Here’s my brand new, Chat Noir-exclusive email address,” she said, handing him the note with a wink.

Chat’s eyes lit up. “Wait, really??” He unfolded the paper as if it was a Christmas present, excited to read the contents. His eyes widened and he burst out laughing.

“ ‘The_gr8_bugaboo@yoohoo.com’ ?!”

“What, you don't think I’m great?” she teased, striking an exaggerated, Chat Noir-style pose.

Chat’s snickering only intensified and he nodded. “Oh, for sure! The greatest!” he agreed.

Ladybug smirked. “I made it just now,” she explained. “So you’re the only one who knows about it. We may not be able to hang out in person yet, but I’d still like to talk to you during the day. Plus, it’ll come in handy for emergencies.”

“Buginette you’re a genius!”

Ladybug giggled, feeling her face warm up despite herself. “M-maybe we can message each other when you have some free time? I mean… now that you don’t have to worry about getting akumatized in your own room anymore. Your bedroom’s pretty much the safest place in Paris now, thanks to Master Fu.”

“And thanks to you, as well, my dear ‘Lily-bug’,” Chat reached up to take her hand, gently pulling her down to sit next to him. “I feel much better already. And knowing I can talk to you anytime makes me feel even safer.”

She scooted closer, setting her head down on his shoulder. “Y-you know… you make me feel safe too, Kitty.”

Chat’s insides twisted into pleasant little knots, suddenly feeling rather warm. “Really?”

He felt her smile as her hand squeezed his arm, her other one sneaking across their laps to wrap her fingers around his own. “Yeah. I know we’ve only been allies for a short time, but I’ve already lost count of all the times you’ve saved me or sacrificed yourself to help others. Our partnership grows stronger every day, and I think Hawkmoth knows it. He knows we’re stronger together. And it’s only a matter of time until we can be together without these masks too, I just know it.”

He turned towards her, putting his fingers under her chin and lifting her head to have her look up at him. Their eyes met, her pupils dilating as they focused on his own, and he could see a bright blush blooming on her cheeks.

“Me too,” he whispered, as he brought their lips together.

She blissfully melted into him, letting out a small noise of contentment. She deepened the kiss, reaching behind his head to caress his hair with her slender fingers. Their kisses and breaths mingled together and they lost track of everything else around them.

A little while later, they faintly heard the grandfather clock striking the hour in the living room, then some noises as the Dupains shuffled upstairs from the bakery to get ready for bed.

Ladybug pulled back and they separated, his lips still tingling from her touch.

“I… I should probably get going soon,” she lamented with a small shrug. “It’s starting to get late.”

“Would you like me to walk you home? Or rather, to somewhere around your neighborhood?”

She shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Besides, I’m closer than you might think,” she added a bit cryptically.

“I wish you could stay,” he said softly, reaching up to tuck some hair behind her ear. He gave her nose a tiny smooch. “Just a teeeeensy bit more?” he begged, giving her the best kitten eyes he could muster.

Ladybug giggled shyly, cheeks still dusted with pink. She gave his own nose a peck, her lips soft and inviting. “Well… I guess I could stay just a little bit longer,” she said with a smirk.

“Purr- fect,” he said, capturing her lips once again.

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

Note:

Many of the events in the “Volpina” and “Collector” episodes happened in this AU, albeit heavily modified to suit the story. Adrien found the grimoire in his father’s safe, took it out to study it, and Lila stole it. Since Adrien didn’t act impressed about Lila knowing Ladybug, she didn’t magnify the lie and claim to be Ladybug’s best friend; therefore, Ladybug never showed up to call her out on her lie, and Lila was never akumatized.

However, Tikki did see the book in the dumpster and retrieved it, and Marinette showed it to Master Fu. After Gabriel discovered the book was missing and pulled Adrien out of school, Fu made a copy so that Marinette could return it to Gabriel, and Adrien was allowed to attend school again. Currently, Adrien has no idea that this is how Fu acquired his grimoire; he merely assumes that Fu has always had his own copy.

Of course, Marinette began to suspect that Gabriel might be Hawkmoth because he owned the grimoire. Gabriel akumatized himself into the Collector in order to avoid suspicion, and with Chat’s help, almost succeeded in obtaining the ladybug miraculous. Ultimately, Ladybug outsmarted him, got him to accidentally “collect” Chat, and succeeded in purifying his akuma. But by then, Gabriel had “proven” he was an innocent civilian and Ladybug dismissed his potential involvement as Hawkmoth.

----

P.S.  Another note: Certain things that are similar but not identical to canon have been in my outline since the beginning, so I apologize if they're a little confusing (such as the protection talismans being similar to Ladybug's akuma victims' lucky charms or the destruction/disappearance of the Guardian Temple)

[homosexuhauls]

15 JUNE, 2021 by Chimamanda Ngozi-Adichie

IT IS OBSCENE: A TRUE REFLECTION IN THREE PARTS

PART ONE

When you are a public figure, people will write and say false things about you. It comes with the territory. Many of those things you brush aside. Many you ignore. The people close to you advise you that silence is best. And it often is. Sometimes, though, silence makes a lie begin to take on the shimmer of truth.

In this age of social media, where a story travels the world in minutes, silence sometimes means that other people can hijack your story and soon, their false version becomes the defining story about you.

Falsehood flies, and the Truth comes limping after it, as Jonathan Swift wrote.

Take the case of a young woman who attended my Lagos writing workshop some years ago; she stood out because she was bright and interested in feminism.

After the workshop, I welcomed her into my life. I very rarely do this, because my past experiences with young Nigerians left me wary of people who are calculating and insincere and want to use me only as an opportunity. But she was a Bright Young Nigerian Feminist and I thought that was worth making an exception.

She spent time in my Lagos home. We had long conversations. I was support-giver, counsellor, comforter.

Then I gave an interview in March 2017 in which I said that a trans woman is a trans woman, (the larger point of which was to say that we should be able to acknowledge difference while being fully inclusive, that in fact the whole premise of inclusiveness is difference.)

I was told she went on social media and insulted me.

This woman knows me enough to know that I fully support the rights of trans people and all marginalized people. That I have always been fiercely supportive of difference, in general. And that I am a person who reads and thinks and forms my opinions in a carefully considered way.

Of course she could very well have had concerns with the interview. That is fair enough. But I had a personal relationship with her. She could have emailed or called or texted me. Instead she went on social media to put on a public performance.

I was stunned. I couldn’t believe it. But I mostly held myself responsible. My spirit had been slightly stalled, from the beginning, by her. My first sense of unease with her came when she posted a photo taken in my house, at a time when I did not want any photos of my personal life on social media. I asked that she take it down. The second case of unease was her publicizing something I had told her in confidence about another member of the workshop. The most upsetting was when she, without telling me, used my name to apply for an American visa. Above all else was my lingering suspicion that she was a person who chose as friends only those from whom she could benefit. But she was a Bright Young Nigerian Feminist and I allowed that sentiment to over-ride my unease.

After she publicly insulted me, it was clear to me that this kind of noxious person had no business in my life, ever again.

A few months later, she sent this affected, self-regarding email which I ignored.

Friday September 15 2017 at 4.35 AM

Dearest Chimamanda,

Happy birthday. I mean this with all my heart, even though I know I have fallen (removed myself?) from your grace. It would be impossible for me to stop loving you; long before you gave me the possibility of being your friend you were the embodiment of my deepest hopes, and that will never change.

I think of you often, still – stating the obvious. I grieve the loss of our friendship; it is a complicated sadness. I’m sorry that I caused you pain, or to feel like you can no longer trust me. There’s so much that I wish could be said.

I pray this birthday is the happiest one yet. I wish you rest and quiet and abiding stability, and of course more of the kind of success that means the most to you.

I hope mothering X is everything you hoped and prayed for and more.

Have a wonderful day today.

Love always.

About a year later, she sent this email, which I also ignored.

Thursday November 29 2018 at 8.42 AM

Dear Chimamanda,

I realise this is long overdue and vastly insufficient, but I’m really sorry. I’ve spent so much time going back and forth in my head and my email drafts; wondering whether to write you, how to write you, what to say, all kinds of things. But in the end, this is the thing I realise I need to say.

I’m sorry I disappointed and hurt you by saying things publicly that were sharply critical, unkind and even disrespectful, especially in light of all the backlash and criticism you experience from people who don’t know you. I could have acted with more consideration towards you. I should have, especially given the privilege of intimacy that you had offered me. There are many reasons why I chose to behave the way I did, but none of them is an excuse. And I clearly realise now, after many, many months of needless sadness and angst and hurt and actual confusion, that I did not treat you as a friend would—certainly not as someone would to whom you had offered unprecedented access to yourself and your life.

You’ve meant the world to me since I was barely a teenager. It’s been very hard navigating the emotional fallout of the past several months, knowing you were displeased with me but truly not quite understanding why, then deciding I didn’t care, then realising that would never be true. I’ve always cared. But I was too mixed up about the situation to be able to make sense of it, or properly see past my own justifications. I’m sorry it took me so long to grasp how I let you down.

I realise that I don’t have room to ask anything of you, but I would be grateful for a chance to say this in person. Still, even if I never get that, I really hope you believe me.

Congratulations on restarting the workshop, and on all the other amazing successes of the past several months. I think of you often; it would be impossible not to. You look so happy in your pictures. I really hope you are well.

All my love,

I hoped never to hear from her again. But she has recently gone on social media to write about how she “refused to kiss my ring,” as if I demanded some kind of obeisance from her. She also suggests that there is some dark, shadowy ‘more’ to tell that she won’t tell, with an undertone of “if only you knew the whole story.”

It is a manipulative way of lying. By suggesting there is ‘more’ when you know very well that there isn’t, you do sufficient reputational damage while also being able to plead deniability. Innuendo without fact is immoral.

No, there isn’t more to the story. It is a simple story – you got close to a famous person, you publicly insulted the famous person to aggrandize yourself, the famous person cut you off, you sent emails and texts that were ignored, and you then decided to go on social media to peddle falsehoods. It is obscene to tell the world that you refused to kiss a ring when in fact there isn’t any ring at all.

I cannot make much of the hostility of strangers who do not know me – fame taints our view of the humanity of famous people. But the truth is that the famous person remains irretrievably human. Fame does not inoculate the famous person from disappointment and depression, fame does not make you any less angered or hurt by the duplicitous nature of people. To be famous is to be assumed to have power, which is true, but in the analysis of fame, people often ignore the vulnerability that comes with fame, and they are unable to see how others who have nothing to lose can lie and connive in order to take advantage of that fame, while not giving a single thought to the feelings and humanity of the famous person.

And when you personally know a famous person, when you have experienced their humanity, when you have benefited from their kindness, and yet you are unable to extend to them the basic grace and respect that even a casual acquaintanceship deserves, then it says something fundamental about you.

And in a deluded way, you will convince yourself that your hypocritical, self-regarding, compassion-free behavior is in fact principled feminism. It isn’t. You will wrap your mediocre malice in the false gauziness of ideological purity. But it’s still malice. You will tell yourself that being able to parrot the latest American Feminist orthodoxy justifies your hacking at the spirit of a person who had shown you only kindness. You can call your opportunism by any name, but it doesn’t make it any less of the ugly opportunism that it is.

PART TWO

When I first read this person’s work, which was their application to my writing workshop, I thought the sentences were well-done. I accepted this person. At the workshop, I thought they could have been more respectful of the other participants, perhaps not kept typing dismissively as others’ stories were discussed, with an air of being among people below their level. After the workshop, I decided to select the best stories, edit them, pay the writers a fee, and publish them in an e-magazine. The first story I chose was this person’s. I wrote a glowing introduction, which the story truly deserved.

They sent this email.

Fri, Aug 7, 2015, 8:20 AM

Thank you so much for that introduction. It means so much to me and I’m going to keep reading it to get through the rest of my stay at Syracuse. I sent it to my mother and she got nervous about the piece because you said ‘it disturbs’, said she’s not sure how she’s going to feel when she reads it. But she’s also one of those ‘let’s leave the past in the past’ people. My sister approved, which meant a lot because our childhoods were each other’s.

All that to say, I’m so grateful you gave me the space to write the short version of this piece, the encouragement to write the longer piece, and now, a platform for it. I definitely have plans to write more about Aba.

Thank you, with all my heart.

PS- I wanted to sign off gratefully + gracefully in Igbo but I said let me not fall my own hand 🙂

About a year later, they sent another email to let me know that their novel would be published.

Wed, Jun 8, 2016, 8:20 AM

Greetings!

I hope all’s been well with you this past year. Belated congratulations on the baby’s arrival, I hope she’s being a delight (I’m sure she is), and on the Johns Hopkins honors.

I was thinking about how this time last year, I’d just received the email from you about Farafina and I wanted to reach out with a quick update. I’ve just accepted an offer for the novel I excerpted as my application and it feels like the workshop was a catalyst for the events that’ve led me here. So, thank you, for the workshop and your words and the Olisa TV series and listening to me babble on about my story at the hotel. I deeply appreciate all of it and you.

All my best,

Before the novel was published, I spoke of it to some people, to help it get attention. I had not been able to finish reading it. I found the writing beautiful, but the story false-hearted and burdened by bathos. When I spoke of the novel, however, it was the former sentiment that I expressed, never the latter.

After I gave the March 2017 interview in which I said that a trans woman is a trans woman, I was told that this person had insulted me on social media, calling me, among other things, a murderer. I was deeply upset, because while I did not really know them personally, I felt they knew what I stood for and that I fully supported the rights of trans people, and that I do not wish anybody dead.

Still, I took no action. I ignored the public insult.

When this person’s publishers sent me an early copy of their novel, I was surprised to see that my name was included in their cover biography. I had never seen that done in a book before. I didn’t like that I had not been asked for permission to use my name, but most of all I thought – why would a person who thinks I’m a murderer want my name so prominently displayed in their biography?

Then I learned that, because my name was in the cover biography, a journalist had called them my “protegee” and they then threw a Twitter tantrum about it, calling it clickbait, viciously disavowing having received any help from me.

I knew this person had called me a murderer, I knew they were actively campaigning to “cancel” me and tweeting about how I should no longer be invited to speak at events. But this I felt I could not ignore.

I sent an email to my representative:

From: Chimamanda Adichie

Date: Wed, Feb 14, 2018 at 2:06 PM

I’m writing about X

She attended my Lagos workshop two years ago and I selected hers as one of a few pieces I published after the workshop.

Apparently I was referred to as her ‘mentor’ and/or she was referred to as my ‘protege,’ in some articles, which led to her tweeting about it. Her tweets were forwarded to me by friends. In them, she reacted quite viscerally to my being called her ‘mentor’ and her being my ‘protege.’ To be fair, she is not technically my ‘protege,’ and it is perfectly fine that she feels this way, but her ungracious tone and the ugliness of the energy spent on her tweets surprised me.

I recently received her book and noticed that my name was included in her official book bio. I was stunned. Surely if she is so strongly averse to my being considered a person who has been significant in her career, (which is my understanding of the loose use of protege/mentor) then it is unseemly to make the choice to include my name in her bio. I found it unusual, as I don’t think I’ve seen it done before in a book bio, but I also now find it unacceptably cynical.

It is only reasonable for a person who sees my name as it is used in her bio — ‘her work has been selected and edited by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’ — to assume some sort of mentor/protege relationship.

To publicly disavow this with a tone bordering on hostility and at the same time so baldly use my name to sell her book is utterly unacceptable to me.

I’d like you to please reach out to her publishers and ask that my name be removed from her official book bio. I refuse to be used in this way.

After contacting her publishers, my representative wrote:

They have asked whether your preference would be to remove the Acknowledgment to you in the back of the book also, in future reprints.

I replied:

I don’t think that is my decision to take, and so will not answer either way, although it would be ideal if she herself made the decision to do so.

On the subject of how to go about it, I was absolutely determined not to be used by this person, but I was also sensitive to the costs the publisher might incur, as this was not in any way the publisher’s fault. Instead of pulping the already printed copies, I asked that the jackets be stripped and rebound. To my representative I wrote:

I’m completely determined that I not be used in this opportunistic and hypocritical way. But I want to make sure to proceed reasonably.

I was assured that my name would be removed and I moved on.

But from time to time, I would be informed of yet another social media post in which this person had attacked me.

This person has created a space in which social media followers have – and this I find unforgiveable – trivialized my parents’ death, claiming that the sudden and devastating loss of my parents within months of each other during this pandemic, was ‘punishment’ for my ‘transphobia.’

This person has asked followers to pick up machetes and attack me.

This person began a narrative that I had sabotaged their career, a narrative that has been picked up and repeated by others.

The normal response would be to ignore it all, because this person is seeking attention and publicity to benefit themselves. Claiming that I have sabotaged their career is a lie and this person knows that it is a lie. But if something is repeated often enough, in this age in which people do not need proof or verification to run with a story, especially a story that has outrage potential, then it can easily begin to seem true.

My addressing this lie will indeed get this person some attention – may they bask in it.

Here is the truth: I was very supportive of this writer. I didn’t have to be. I wasn’t asked to be. I supported this writer because I believe we need a diverse range of African stories.

Sabotaging a young writer’s career is just not my style; I would get no benefit or satisfaction from it. Asking that my name be removed from your biography is not sabotaging your career. It is about protecting my boundaries of what I consider acceptable in civil human behavior.

You publicly call me a murderer AND still feel entitled to benefit from my name?

You use my name (without my permission) to sell your book AND then throw an ugly tantrum when someone makes a reference to it?

What kind of monstrous entitlement, what kind of perverse self-absorption, what utter lack of self-awareness, what unheeding heartlessness, what frightening immaturity makes a person act this way?

Besides, a person who genuinely believes me to be a murderer cannot possibly want my name on their book cover, unless of course that person is a rank opportunist.

PART THREE

In certain young people today like these two from my writing workshop, I notice what I find increasingly troubling: a cold-blooded grasping, a hunger to take and take and take, but never give; a massive sense of entitlement; an inability to show gratitude; an ease with dishonesty and pretension and selfishness that is couched in the language of self-care; an expectation always to be helped and rewarded no matter whether deserving or not; language that is slick and sleek but with little emotional intelligence; an astonishing level of self-absorption; an unrealistic expectation of puritanism from others; an over-inflated sense of ability, or of talent where there is any at all; an inability to apologize, truly and fully, without justifications; a passionate performance of virtue that is well executed in the public space of Twitter but not in the intimate space of friendship.

I find it obscene.

There are many social-media-savvy people who are choking on sanctimony and lacking in compassion, who can fluidly pontificate on Twitter about kindness but are unable to actually show kindness. People whose social media lives are case studies in emotional aridity. People for whom friendship, and its expectations of loyalty and compassion and support, no longer matter. People who claim to love literature – the messy stories of our humanity – but are also monomaniacally obsessed with whatever is the prevailing ideological orthodoxy. People who demand that you denounce your friends for flimsy reasons in order to remain a member of the chosen puritan class.

People who ask you to ‘educate’ yourself while not having actually read any books themselves, while not being able to intelligently defend their own ideological positions, because by ‘educate,’ they actually mean ‘parrot what I say, flatten all nuance, wish away complexity.’

People who do not recognize that what they call a sophisticated take is really a simplistic mix of abstraction and orthodoxy – sophistication in this case being a showing-off of how au fait they are on the current version of ideological orthodoxy.

People who wield the words ‘violence’ and ‘weaponize’ like tarnished pitchforks. People who depend on obfuscation, who have no compassion for anybody genuinely curious or confused. Ask them a question and you are told that the answer is to repeat a mantra. Ask again for clarity and be accused of violence. (How ironic, speaking of violence, that it is one of these two who encouraged Twitter followers to pick up machetes and attack me.)

And so we have a generation of young people on social media so terrified of having the wrong opinions that they have robbed themselves of the opportunity to think and to learn and to grow.

I have spoken to young people who tell me they are terrified to tweet anything, that they read and re-read their tweets because they fear they will be attacked by their own. The assumption of good faith is dead. What matters is not goodness but the appearance of goodness. We are no longer human beings. We are now angels jostling to out-angel one another. God help us. It is obscene.

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can’t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

[hopelesshawks]

Love and Admiration Part 19- Goodnight Princess

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true… He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

Warnings for brief depiction of sexual harassment (not from Bakugo), unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), degradation, praise kink, dacryphilia (crying kink), overstimulation, and dirty talk

Masterlist Help Lulu <3

As you walk up to the AHA building you spot Aizawa talking to a man with his back to you in a black bomber jacket, a white hood pulled over the back, with a black baseball cap on. Curiosity drives your feet forward a little faster until you get close enough that recognition finally hits and causes you to slow down again. Even with his back to you you’d recognize Bakugo Katsuki anywhere. Part of you wants to turn around and run home, message Aizawa some half hearted excuse about getting tied up in a villain attack and no longer being able to help out. Before you can though Aizawa notices your arrival and waves you over. “Here’s who you’ll be working with,” you hear your former teacher tell Bakugo and just as it sinks in that Bakugo was also clueless as to who he’d been working with, he turns around to see and your heart skips a beat. Yes he looks unfairly attractive the way he always does but what really caught your attention is his outfit. Right there in the center of his white hoodie is a black Mercury symbol, the same symbol stamped somewhere on almost all your merch and the same one you’ve been using as your profile picture on social media since your debut. Bakugo follows your gaze down to the incriminating symbol, his cheeks going bright red. He mutters out an excuse about tossing bags in the car so he can turn away although you’re a little surprised when he extends his hand out to you expectantly. You consider the man in front of you who still won’t meet your gaze. Hurt still burns unpleasantly in your chest but you hand over your duffel bag and with little more than a sheepish glance and nod as acknowledgment, Bakugo moves to the trunk of the car to load it up. “You and Bakugo can handle this right? I saw the news call you a dynamic duo so,” Aizawa asks and you nod immediately. “Yea, we’ve got this. You got nothing to worry about,” you assure the older man. “Good. Get into town, get some rest, one of the local heroes will fill you in on the situation in the morning,” he explains. You nod your understanding and then go to join Bakugo in the car. Once you’re settled in, Bakugo starts up the engine and pulls off into the night.

The silence is awkward. You stare out the window as the cityscape slowly starts to thin out. Once Bakugo pulls the car out onto the highway it doesn’t take long before you’re leaving the city lights behind entirely. When the silence becomes too oppressive you pop open the glove box and root around until you find a USB port. You use your phone charger to plug in your phone, scroll through to one of your chiller playlists, and press play. Music floats through the speakers and you feel yourself relaxing although a quick glance at Bakugo reveals he doesn’t feel the same. He’d discarded his jacket in the backseat once he’d gotten in the car and, as usual, had pushed the long sleeves of the hoodie up to his elbows. As a result it’s easy to see the tense line of his shoulders and the popping veins in his forearms. His grip on the steering wheel is so tight his knuckles are almost white. You’ll be genuinely surprised if there aren’t permanent indentations of his fingers in the steering wheel by the time you two reach your destination. You’re tempted to just let him stew in whatever emotions he’s feeling at seeing you again for the first time since you’d hooked up, but then your eyes fall on where your hero name is written on the sleeve of his hoodie and you decide you’re feeling just generous enough to break the silence.

“You’re wearing the hoodie I got you.”

“Yea.”

“Why?”

Bakugo’s hands somehow tighten even more on the steering wheel before he bites out “Because I like it,” defensively. You roll your eyes and return your gaze to the window. No one can say you didn’t try. You’re about to give up and lament your fate to the groupchat when you hear Bakugo sigh next to you. “That’s not it. I mean I do like it but I didn’t think your dumb ass was gonna be here and it’s not the only reason,” Bakugo confesses. “Insulting me is not a strong start but what’s the other reason?” you ask. The pause is long before Bakugo speaks up again to admit, “I’ve missed you.” The incredulous look you give him almost makes him wince. “You’re the one who stopped messaging me you asshole!” “I know that!” “Then you don’t get to miss me!” “Well I don’t know what the fuck to tell you cause I do!” “Then why’d you ghost me?” “I panicked!”

Both of you go silent after that particular admission. This time it’s Bakugo who speaks up to break it. “Look I don’t date,” he sighs. “Who the fuck said I wanted to date you?” you ask defensively, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Will you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to apologize.” “Apologize better.” “If you shut the fuck up I will.” “I don’t think apologies are supposed to include telling the other person to shut the fuck up.” “I’m trying here (y/l/n),” Bakugo growls and the almost desperate edge to his voice is enough to make you swallow your next retort, instead motioning for him to continue. “I don’t date and I don’t usually fuck people I enjoy having around. I already fucked up with you enough so I didn’t want to do it again. I panicked and that only made shit worse until I didn’t know how to fix it, ok? People care about me and I’m shit to them, that’s just how it goes. I’m sorry you got caught up in it,” he finally admits.

You weren’t expecting that level of honesty from him, nor were you expecting his answer to be so vulnerable. You turn to face him as much as you can within the confines of the seat of the car and take in his body language. Had he always been this insecure about his relationships with the people around him? Maybe if you hadn’t spent years cataloging his every move and expression from afar you would’ve missed it, but looking at him now he looks cracked open. You get the distinct impression that as small as his list of people he likes is, the list of people he’s allowed to see him like this is even smaller. “That’s not true,” you offer but that only makes Bakugo scoff. “It’s not!” you insist. “I don’t need your fucking pity,” he grumbles. “Jesus Christ you really are an idiot. Midoriya, Kirishima, and Denki all have plenty of other friends asshole. If what you said were true they would’ve dumped you a long time ago so cut the pity party bullshit and give me a real fucking apology so I can forgive you already,” you insist, and it reminds you a little of how he’d encouraged you during the reunion. The glance he shoots you is calculating, as if trying to assess how much you mean those words. “You’re going to forgive me?” he asks skeptically. “With an actual apology? Yea. I swear to god you’re the only one who still sees you as the same person you were when we first got to UA,” you reply with a roll of your eyes. “I’m sorry for ghosting you,” he grumbles out, cheeks slightly flushed as he does so. “Good. You’re forgiven. Now what songs should I play the rest of the drive?”

The ride gets a lot easier after that. You’ve missed Bakugo and it’s nice slipping back into the groove the two of you seem to have with each other. He talks shit about your song choices but you still catch him humming along or tapping the steering wheel to the beat a few times. He reveals he got around to finishing your favorite movie and so you guys spend a long time talking about that and your recommendations for other movies going forward. It’s comfortable and before you know it Bakugo is driving past the welcome sign for the tiny town the two of you will be working in. There’s only one hotel. It’s small and could probably use some updating but it’ll do just fine for the short duration of your trip. As the two of you grab your bags and start to head inside Bakugo asks “What are the odds the old man sprung for us to get our own rooms?” “Doubtful, you know the association is cheap as fuck. It has to be. You’re stuck with me,” you tease. “Guess that ain’t so bad,” Bakugo shrugs, which causes your heart to pound a little harder in your chest. “I’ll check us in if you wanna grab some shit from the vending machine,” Bakugo offers and you easily agree, the two of you heading in opposite directions to complete your tasks.

As you make your way over to the vending machine you catch the attention of a middle aged man, likely another guest, who follows you over that direction. “Well hello beautiful, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing around here?” he calls as he makes his way over. You roll your eyes but otherwise ignore him as you instead focus on selecting something from the machine in front of you. “C’mon hot stuff, don’t ignore me. I can tell you’re a big city chick, probably been around the block right? What’s one more?” he insists, sliding his body in front of you. “Do you mind? I’m trying to grab something,” you reply as levelly as possible. It’s moments like this where you hate the spotlight of heroism. You would love nothing more than to make the man blocking your way move but that would be unbecoming of a role model for future generations. “Aww don’t be like that doll, lighten up,” the man grins before having the audacity to move away from the vending machine just enough to smack your ass. You are livid, your hand immediately grasping hold of his wrist to stop him from touching you again. You whirl on him to tell him off but before you can he’s being wrenched out of your grip and violently tossed to the floor. Before you can even fully process what’s happened Bakugo stands like a wall between you, all fury and fire and brimstone. You haven’t seen him this angry in a very long time and even if the man who’d been hitting on you doesn’t know who Bakugo is, the glare and overall body language is still enough to have him cowering at Bakugo’s feet. “If you ever fucking touch her again, if you so much as fucking look at her, I will make you wish you were never fucking born,” Bakugo growls out and god maybe you do have a murder boner like Nejire said because you should not find any of this hot but you definitely do. The older man scrambles to his feet with a nod and runs off with barely a glimpse behind him and certainly not one in your direction, allowing you and Bakugo to heave a sigh of relief. “I know you had that handled but dude pissed me off,” Bakugo explains. His voice is still rough and anger-laden and you try to ignore the way it sends shivers down your spine. “Thanks Bakugo,” you reply, grateful both for his defense of you and his acknowledgment that you don’t need defending. “Katsuki,” he corrects you immediately. “What?” “You’re not mad at me anymore right?” “No?” “Then call me Katsuki,” he insists gruffly. You can only nod in response, afraid that if you open your mouth something embarrassing will come out of it like how incredibly fucking hot it was watching him defend you or how saying his first name right now is bringing back a few too many memories of when he’d first demanded you use his first name in the alley.

Bakugo leads you to your room as you try in vain to rein in your rampant thoughts. Even as you finally arrive all you can think about is the feeling of his lips on yours, the feeling of him filling you up, and what it was like to, for a moment, be the sole owner of his attention. He tosses his stuff on his bed and sits down as you move towards your own but your mind insists on picturing him fucking you relentlessly into it. “What’s up with your face dumbass?” Bakugo suddenly asks and the question makes you jump about a foot in the air, warmth filling your cheeks as you realize you’ve been caught mid-fantasy. “Nothing is up with my face!” you defend and you hope it’s the truth because you can feel how much wetness has pooled in your panties already. Bakugo rises up and stalks towards you and you can’t help but feel like prey, stepping backwards away from him until he’s got you crowded up against the wall. The similarity to that day in the alley is not lost on you and it only makes things worse. “What’s running through that head of yours princess?” he asks and the nickname is too much, a breathless curse slipping past your lips unbidden. You don’t have much time to be embarrassed by how obviously flustered you’re getting because one of Katsuki’s hands finds your waistband as if on instinct at the sound of you breathless. “If you don’t stop I won’t be able to hold back,” he admits and you can tell by the flush in his cheeks that he means it. “I thought you don’t sleep with people you like,” you reply with bated breath. “You’re the exception,” he growls out, pressing closer before seeming to think better of it and closing his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose as if trying desperately to control himself, before adding “if you want to be.” “God yes,” you reply and no sooner have the words left your mouth is he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips as if he’s been quietly suffocating and you’re the last bit of oxygen left.

Katsuki tugs you away from the wall and you go easily, allowing him to push you towards your mattress until you’re lying down on it and he can comfortably hover over you, his lips barely leaving yours the entire time. It doesn’t take long to get you both down to your underwear, the entire process a blur. “You’re such a fucking mess for me princess,” Bakugo practically purrs as he runs his fingers along the damp fabric of your panties. Your hips buck up into the attention eagerly as you nod your agreement at the statement. “Yea, it’s only for you,” you tell him breathlessly and it might’ve been embarrassing if not for the way it draws a deep, satisfied growl from Katsuki’s chest his mouth dropping to your neck and then your chest and working further and further down. “Think you deserve a better apology then I gave you in the car,” he says suddenly looking up the length of your body to find your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask with what little breath you have in your lungs. “I’ve always been better at doing shit than talking. You thought that apology before was good just wait,” he grins up at you cockily and it already has your stomach doing somersaults even before his teeth find the waistband of your panties and start tugging them down your legs. The moan you release at the sight is completely unfettered as your already dripping wet pussy clenches desperately around nothing. Katsuki is nothing if not a tease so even once he’s done with your panties he doesn’t immediately head to the main course. He lavishes attention on your inner thighs, leaving countless hickeys in his wake but no matter how much you whine and squirm he shows no signs of moving his mouth to where you really want it. “Katsuki,” you finally whine desperately. “What is it princess?” he asks and you can feel him smirking against you, the bastard. “I don’t think apologies are supposed to be teasing like this,” you pant. “Oh really now? You got something to say about my apology princess?” Bakugo asks, the smirk sliding away. “I think you’re not much better at this kind of apology than spoken ones.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

“I didn’t realize my princess was such a whore. You want my mouth that bad? You want to cum that bad?” Katsuki asks and there’s an edge to his voice you’re pretty sure means trouble for you but you nod anyway. “Please Katsuki.” “Well if my princess wants to be a greedy fucking slut then so be it,” he agrees in that same lethal tone before diving in to devour you with an intense voracity you’re unprepared for. You moan loudly, hands grasping hard onto the blankets as he licks a hard swipe all the way from your twitching hole to your sensitive clit before pulling the nub into his mouth and sucking hard. He continues to lave attention on your sensitive clit even as he shoves two fingers into your dripping cunt and starts setting a brutal pace. Eventually he brings his free hand to take over for his mouth and stimulate your clit while he moves his tongue to join his fingers, stuffing you absolutely full. The attention is almost overwhelming and it isn’t long until you’re seeing stars, crying out Katsuki’s name. As you come down from your high you realize Katsuki is still pumping his fingers slowly in and out of you. “Katsu- ah!” you cut yourself off with a shout as he resumes massaging your swollen clit. “S-slow down,” you moan but if anything it only makes him move his fingers more aggressively. You grit your teeth, grasping the blankets even more tightly. “What’s wrong? Thought you wanted this,” he taunts as he pushes you into your second orgasm of the night.

Your entire body is tingling now, thoughts filled only with Katsuki, but he still hasn’t stopped and you’ve never been so overstimulated in your life. “Kas’ki ‘s too much,” you moan, eyes watering as he continues to relentlessly massage your almost painfully sensitive clit. “Don’t tell me my greedy little slut is done already. I still haven’t filled you up yet,” he teases you as he finally removes his finger only to line his dick up with your entrance instead. “Come on baby, I think you’ve got one more in you. Don’t you want to be good for me?” he asks and every inch of your body is saying that you should tap out but instead you find yourself nodding. “Use your words baby.” “Wanna be good for you,” you pant and the devilish grin you get in response has your heart practically in your throat. Slowly but surely Bakugo starts pushing into you. It’s so much, too much, stimulation but even as tears start to run down your cheeks you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. He curses under his breath as he finally bottoms out inside you, taking a moment to collect himself so it won’t be over too soon. As he starts moving he lavishes you with praise while all you can do is whine and whimper, alternating between barely intelligible expressions of how fucking good it all feels and broken cries of his name. “God you look so fucking beautiful like this. You know that? Fucking gorgeous,” he groans as his hips move faster and faster. You can tell when he’s close, his rhythm starting to get sloppier. “You ready to give me that third one baby? Can you do that for me?” he asks and you nod frantically, coasting along that razor thin edge between pleasure and pain. He leans down to kiss you then, swallowing each broken sound you make, as he rocks into you harder and harder until you’re both too strung out to do much more than pant and breathe into each other’s mouths. You topple over the ledge first but Katsuki isn’t far behind, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. You sob out his name one final time as praises pour from his lips about how perfect you were for him. “Knew you could do it for me princess. So good for me,” he sighs as he continues to paint your insides white.

When Bakugo is finally spent, he rolls over and practically collapses next to you. You both have to take a minute to recover, chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. Unsurprisingly, Bakugo recovers first so he carefully pulls back the covers before bringing them back up to drape over the two of you. “You good?” he asks, eyes scanning over your body as if trying to catalogue any damage he might’ve done. “More than good,” you sigh contentedly. “Good. C’mere,” he commands and you’re more than happy to oblige, allowing him to pull you against his chest. He carefully wipes the tears away from your cheeks before wrapping you more fully into his arms. “I take back what I said,” you mumble into his chest, exhaustion creeping in as the steady beat of his heart starts to lull you to sleep. “What are you on about now?” he asks, but the fondness in his tone belies the harshness of his words. “You’re fucking amazing at apologies,” you mumble. “Shut up and go to sleep dumbass,” he replies but you can practically hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

“Goodnight Katsuki.”

“Goodnight Princess.”

A/N: Apologies are difficult for Bakugo. He’s a very actions speak louder than words kinda guy. Also as funny a trope as the whole “forced to share one bed at a hotel/motel cause there are no other rooms” trope is, it’s more meaningful to me if there are two beds and they still choose to share.

Taglist: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys

[whatanoof]

I Wished for your Happiness

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

A/N: What if instead of Alistair wishing for his father’s greatness, he wished for his father to be happy in a universe where Reader died years prior? 

I’ll admit, I was inspired by the Diana x Steve dynamic, and wanted Maxwell to have to go through the same emotional rollercoaster.

“Then I wish for your happiness, Daddy.”

---

“Max!” Your eyes fly open and you bolt straight upright in a strange bed. A strangled gasp tears into your throat and you claw at your chest, searching for the source of the phantom pain. Something isn’t right. 

You tear the covers off of your legs, stumbling onto the hardwood floor of a strange bedroom, in strange clothes, in a strange home. Where are you? The last thing you remember is the cold sterility of the hospital and Max’s tearful eyes. He was holding your hand, and his palm was sweaty, but you latched onto that sensation because it was better than focusing on the gaping hole in your chest. 

But, this isn’t the hospital. And as you look out the window, you see that it’s not even New York. The Washington Monument shines in the distance. You’re in D.C. How did you get here? Where’s Max? A cold dread settles into your chest, where the phantom pain still throbs as your only tie to the memory that… you died. You’re hyperventilating, raggeds breaths dragging in and out of your chest. Have to calm down, find out what’s going on. You clutch your chest as you stumble back to sit on the bed. You died. So how…? Is this the afterlife?

There’s a mirror on the wall right outside of the bedroom. The woman staring back at you from the reflective glass isn’t you. This isn't your body. She has the same hair, similar features, and roughly the same body type, but it’s not you. Jesus Christ, you need to find Max. He’ll know what’s going on, and even if he doesn’t it will all be okay when you’re home with him again. 

With new purpose in your stride, you walk to the closet, dress, and leave the apartment. You thank whatever god is out there for dropping you into a body so similar to your old one, because if you had needed to acclimatize to moving in a different weight and balance, you wouldn’t have made it out the door. It’s the small blessings. 

Have to find Max. You get outside and start walking before you realize that you have no idea where you’re walking to. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because it’s like your body knows. It guides you down a street full of stores. Their windows are glaringly bright and colorful, boasting newer high-tech televisions and home tools. You catch a glimpse of a newspaper headline. It’s been two years since you died. Alistar will be so big now. Alistair.

You can’t believe it took you so long to remember the small boy with stars in his eyes. When you had first started dating Maxwell, he had made it clear to you that Alistair was a given in his life. You hadn’t minded, but as you found yourself falling for Max, you also found yourself falling in love with his son’s bright optimism and mischievous smiles. It seems that your memories are coming back selectively, but slowly. 

A bright television screen catches your eye, and you slow down. There he is. He’s got a few more wrinkles, and his hair has been re-dyed recently, but that’s your Maxwell on the screen. Apparently, Black-Gold Corporation took off, just as he said it would. That’s where you will find him, you feel it just as strongly in your heart as the constant aching pain. Now, if only you could begin to find it.

---

The front office is a flurry of activity, with people shouting on phones and paper flying into the air with the constant breeze that seems to exist. It’s a product of the doors opening and shutting, and workers power-walking through the lobby, and it’s making it hard for you to focus or keep standing at all, because as soon as you walked through the doors, the force that guided you here has left, and all you have left to stand on is shaky legs that weren’t yours two hours ago. You approach the front desk tentatively, “Excuse me?”

The harried looking woman barely glances at you before shoving a form your way. “Mr. Lord is very busy right now ma’am, so if you will just fill out the form stating intent for your purchase of shares, we will add you to the waiting list.”

“Um, I don’t want to purchase shares.”

She stops then, and her piercing stare bores into you, “Well, I am very busy right now, so if there is nothing else…?”

A child’s voice screams your name, loud enough that everyone’s head turns to the source standing at the elevator with a pretty blond woman. 

“Alistair!” You almost sob when you see him. You were right, he is so big, but he still has the same eyes and brilliant smile. He breaks into a run, and you rush towards him too, meeting in a bruising hug in the center of the room.

“You’re back! How are you back?” He’s crying, and you swipe the tears messily with your thumb as you fight to keep your own composure strong.

“I don’t know, Ali. I don’t know.” Fuck it. You let yourself cry. He’s here, you’re not alone anymore. “How did you recognize me, Ali, I’m not--”

He pulls away then and grabs your hands, a sternness beyond his years on his face. “You have to come. Something’s wrong with Daddy.” Cold dread spikes through your chest, and you stand wordlessly.

---

If you thought the front office was bad, the upper bullpen is an absolute hurricane of motion and voices. Alistair anchors you to reality, his tiny but strong hand leading you to a large frosted glass wall. There’s a door, and he pulls it open without hesitation. There are two men in the room, one relaxing in an armchair and the other poised behind a large desk. They stop talking when you enter, and you almost freeze with the severity of the gazes that land on you as Alistair shoves into the office. But the little boy is undeterred, marching right over to the man behind the desk and placing your hand into his. 

“Alistair!” Max chuckles nervously, his gaze darting over to his apparent client. “Who is this?”

You’re frozen in time, gasping like a beached goldfish as you stare at Maxwell. You’d seen him on the television, but now he’s right here, and he’s so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time that you don’t know how your borrowed brain will ever be able to process it.

“She’s back” is all Alistair says before looking expectantly at you.

“Max?” You whisper. 

He looks blankly at you for a second, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He doesn’t recognize you. How could he, when your real body is probably buried in a cemetery somewhere? Your heart sinks, but there is one thing you could try. “Lorrie, it’s me.”

His worried brow creases at the nickname, “How do yo--” He stops, and recognition floods his face like headlights. “No. That’s impossible.” He turns to the man in the chair across from the desk, “Get out.”

The man all but hightails it out of there, but you’re only vaguely aware of it because you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from Max, who’s apparently having a crisis.

He chuckles, the look in his eyes slightly wild as he shakes a finger at you, “That was a clever trick. I don’t know how you did it, but you won’t fool me. Amazing, how you changed your appearance like that--”

“Lorrie, please. I know I don’t look like me, but the last thing I remember is the accident. And the hospital.” You choke back a whimper at the memory of the burning pain, and the phantom in your chest pulses brighter and sends another streak of agony through your body. “I’m back. I don’t know how.”

“No, no no no no, you died. I buried you.” His hand falls away from yours, and he begins pacing. He whips back to you suddenly, “I’m hallucinating. This is all some figment of imagination, right? From the stone, that stone. I knew there could be side-effects like this but--”

“Lorrie.” You know that you shouldn’t push while he’s in this state of desperate rationalization, so you simply try to pack every vulnerable emotion into that one word. You try to implicate every feeling you’ve ever had for him, those mornings waking up next to him, the sunny picnics around the Washington Monument with Alistair, and the heat that you felt every night with him.

“Tell me you’re not here.” He grabs your hand, kneeling in front of you as he presses it to his forehead. His hair tickles your fingers, and you raise your other hand to brush it out of his face. “Tell me that you’re not her. Because if you’re back... “ He takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t wish for it.”

“I wished for you to be happy, Daddy.” You had almost forgotten that Alistair was still here.  His eyes are staring through you to your soul, his lower lip is trembling and he’s shifting from side to side as he watches you. “She made you happy.”

Max’s head snaps up at that, focusing first on his son, then turning to you with a piercing intensity. All you can do is shrug at the silent question in his eyes, “I woke up like this?”

The joke falls flat, but it’s all that he needs. His arms are around you before you can blink, his nose burrowed into the crook of your neck. Alistair collides with your leg, his other arm going to hook around his father’s, and you relax into the hug. Your arm settles on Alistair’s head, and you stroke his hair. You let out a breath that you didn’t know that you’d been holding, because it’s all going to be fine now. Come what may, you’re together. You’ll do anything within your power to hold onto your regained treasure.

[cherrywoes]

dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x fem!reader x oc)

xiv. boketto.

— the act of gazing vacantly into the distance without thinking.

You came back into your body with a quiet crackling of the air around you. You could feel the way you acclimated back to your own body, having been pulled from it without Shion to occupy it while you were gone. You were stationary, your fingers still gently pressed to Yuuji’s forehead, and it took you a few moments of blurry vision and confused thoughts for you to realize the boy was very much awake and staring at you with a wide, surprised gaze. You lowered your hand from his face cautiously, wary of earning some sort of lash back for invading his mind, but all he did was look at you with slow, even blinks to convey his mental game of confusion.

“Um… What’s going on here?” He questioned, eyes flicking from you to Gojo and back again, as if his teacher had an answer for what you had just done. He watched you reach up and gently touch the baby at your chest, frowning for a moment. “Shiraishi-s...san?”

“I apologize for invading your mind without permission.” You smiled and bowed your head, trying to resist the way Shion was attempting to work your connection back. It seemed he was struggling more than usual and it was causing your chest to twist and ache unpleasantly; likely a result of his leftover anger. He was still likely angry, you knew, but he couldn’t resist staying away from you for too long. At least an hour was his record, at least, you believed it was an hour—you couldn’t be sure when domains worked differently in terms of time. It was probably longer, you supposed, but you couldn’t stand around and wait to see how long it would take him to establish that connection. “And I also apologize for… hurting you, before. You must know I didn’t mean it, Itadori-san.”

He looked more befuddled than before, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. You wondered if Sukuna was talking to him somehow, telling him to befriend you—or something along those lines. “Oh, uh… Yeah. The god in your body did it, right? Not you? So, consider it water under the bridge, I guess.”

You couldn’t blame him for his hesitance. He was, after all, a vessel, the same as you, and he knew as well as you did that sometimes the actions of vessel and curse aligned at times. You weren’t sure about Sukuna in Yuuji’s case, but Shion’s actions aligned with your beliefs and wants perfectly. He didn’t doubt you for a second, and nor did you him—except for recently, perhaps.

The tampering with your connection was growing too irritating for you to bear and you could feel bile cresting in your throat. It wasn’t much, but you were going to purge you stomach’s meagre contents, and soon, so you fixed Gojo with a grateful smile; one that was laced with warning for him not to stop you.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” you said, bowing low to Yuuji and Gojo separately. It was only the polite thing to do, and well, it didn’t help settle your nerves in the least. Shion twisted at the connection again and your smile became a little more pained, a little more tenuous. “I apologize for the intrusion, Satoru-san. Thank you for bringing me here.”

With little else to spur you on than the pinpricks of pain crawling up your belly and chest, you breezed past Gojo and up the stairs, slamming the door when the wind vacated the space behind you. The basement was silent for a few moments, maybe more, with Yuuji and Gojo staring up the staircase where you had vanished, as if you had never been there to begin with.

“What was that all about?” Yuuji asked, reaching for a half drank can of soda. He grimaced at the flat taste and the sickly sweet artificial aftertaste that came after, putting it down on the table with an audible clink. “Oh, gross.”

Gojo hummed and declined to answer, pulling another move from the generous pile he had donated to the cause, and cracked open the case. He spun the disc around the holder a few times, thoughts whirling as he considered your words from before, about the higher ups. The distaste in your tone as you spoke. He didn’t think you would have been one to be loyal to the higher ups in the first place, of course, seeing as you had been hidden from the world for almost your entire life—it wasn’t such an issue to assume that you were, in fact, harboring the same ideals he was: get rid of the higher ups. Your views, however, might be inherently more selfish; you had no care for any of the other sorcerers, not even for the woman who had been at your side since you became a vessel. You seemed entirely focused on escaping the confinement, the pressing holds, of the old crones that made up the circle of higher ups; at least, that was what he was able to read from you. Without that god hovering over you like a ghost, you were surprisingly human, and vulnerable—not that he had expected anything less. Yuuji was much the same in that regard. However, while parallel in origin, you and Yuuji were not the same, not really; your curse would protect you until the day you died, that much was obvious. Sukuna was much more malicious in intention, without a doubt.

“Gojo-sensei,” Yuuji whined, drawing his attention back to his student. He huffed and slumped over on the sofa, almost knocking over a stray can. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course,” he laughed, inserting the CD into the disc drive. It was a low budget horror film, he recognized, but he didn’t watch it personally. He had scooped up the cheapest selections he could find, with some more widely known titles like Lord of the Rings, but Yuuji didn’t seem to mind them as much as he thought. “I was just thinking about our new ally.”

“Ally?” the pink haired male gawked. “Who?”

Gojo tipped his head to the side, a large grin on his face. “You just met her.”

While Gojo shoved his student back to the test, you were worse off—perhaps even more so—your eyes darting across buildings and streetlights to gauge your location. Your stomach rumbled unpleasantly and you almost swore Shion was doing it to you on purpose, but you could feel his anger preventing him from unraveling the block completely; or he was conflicted, and was going back and forth on his decisions. It was wreaking havoc on your body, that was for certain, and you almost wanted to reach into his domain and pull him out yourself. If that was possible, you didn’t know, but for now, you could be content with a toilet.

You had to sprint to make it to your building before your stomach betrayed you. You had sense enough to lean over in a group of shrubs and hide your evidence, heaving your stomach’s contents onto the grass, and when you opened your eyes, spent, tears glazing your eyes, you noticed that it was entirely black; as black as ink, as black as the night sky in full midnight. You didn’t think you had eaten anything that color and when you rolled your tongue in your mouth, you tasted something sickly sweet and with the tang of iron.

Blood.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve, feeling it smear across your cheek. You couldn’t be bothered with it now; you had to get back into your room and make sure Shion was none the wiser to what you had been up to. Your stomach cramped painfully and you barely made it up the tree and across the roof, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from groaning at the pain. You wern’t certain if it was Shion or the blood you had vomited up that made you feel so awful, but you could attribute it to both if you wanted, and you did. You slipped through the window once more and locked it behind you, snatching up a book and cradling Ayako to your chest despite wanting nothing touching you at the moment.

Cold sweat dripped down the back of your neck and you were certain it had nothing to do with Shion now. You felt… ill. Sick. Diseased. Your heart was beating a little too fast; your pulse pounded in your ears; you felt anxious, panicky; you half wondered if you were having a panic attack, but pushed it aside when the connection finally unraveled like the petals of a lotus—slowly, and then all at once.

“Shion,” you croaked, breathy and light. You sensed his alarm at the growing pain in your body and a flush of energy breezed through you, dulling the pain bit not completely suffocating it. “Thanks.”

What happened? He materialized almost instantly afterwards. His hair was haphazardly put into a knot at the back of his head and stuck up in a million different places, as if he’d spent hours running his hands through it before tying it back up and leaving it as was. His horns even protruded from his skull, longer than you recalled them being, and he had dark circles under his eyes, deep and ominous against the pallor of his skin. He looked almost as sickly as you did, if not worse. Your gut told you that something more was going on here, something deeper. “[Name]?”

His vocalization of your name ripped you out of your thoughts and you looked up at him, sweat beading your brow. “I… I don’t know. I threw up, and then my stomach started—then the sweating…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gathering you into his arms. Your book flopped to the floor, uncared for, even as the page fluttered open to the ‘A’ section, the name ‘Ayako’ highlighted by a streak of moonlight. “If I had known my anger would make you so ill, I would have never cut off our connection. I could have stopped this.”

Your own guilt overpowered his. You patted his arm, just above the crook of his elbow, and grimaced at the way your skin stuck to his with the cooling sweat. “It’s alright, Shion. It isn’t your fault—your emotions, while new, aren’t something to be brushed aside. You can’t just ignore them for me. You have to overcome them. I think not sharing them is… making it worse every time.” You silently omitted the fact that his failed attempts at unraveling the connection had started it in the first place. You deserved this pain for betraying him. You deserved everything he gave you, even if it was unintentional. It was the only way you would succeed. “... Help me up?”

When you were safely tucked away in your bed, your clothes changed into something more cooler to deal with the sweat, you allowed Shion to sequester Ayako away in a pillow barricade and steal her side for himself, likely having learned it from passively observing you. He was careful not to jostle you too much, highly aware of the way your stomach was still churning, and rested his ear against your heart, tapping his fingers to the rhythm on your hip. You didn’t fight him off, no matter how uncomfortable you might have been, and played idly with his hair, pulling it from the knot and twisting it around his horns. Other than your breathing and Ayako’s quiet sounds of grunting and squeaking, the room was quiet. You could feel him gearing up to speak in the way his jaw was working.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you reassured him, throat flexing over the gag reflex you were trying to repress. A moment later it was gone, magically repressed—but you could still feel it resisting his power, strangely. “I don’t expect you to explain everything to—”

“But I want to,” Shion interrupted you. He never looked up at you, but continued to tap to your heartbeat still, even noting the slight stutter when your thoughts came to a screeching halt. “That was a… sensitive time in my existence. I admit that. But… I don’t believe I’m ready to speak of it just yet. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”

You waited for a moment to see if he would say anything more, to even hint that he was as angry as he was before, but all you felt from him was guilt, guilt, and more guilt, which made no sense; you were the only one who had to feel guilty about anything. His secrets didn’t have the ability to break hearts and fragile trust, after all.

“Alright,” you said, once it was clear he had nothing else to say. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Shion.”

“And if one day, I want to?”

You frowned slightly at his change in tone. Something was different. Something had… shifted. You couldn’t put your finger on it and shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to thumb the prongs of his horns thoughtfully. “Then that’s your decision, not mine.”

A pause. Then,”I see.”

“Are you alright?” You asked, finally, when waiting became too much. He looked up at you then, green and gold eyes flashing in the moonlight, and though his gaze was gentle, every instinct in you warned you to flee. But like a lamb to a lion, you were doomed to a careful existence with him. “You look, well, awful. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick before.”

He frowned, almost similarly to how you did, and his eyebrows drew down. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m sure it'll be fine then.” You yawned, pressing your fist against your mouth to smother it. You snuggled into your pillow and shifted Shion to be a little more comfy, eyes flicking to Ayako, who was as placid as ever. Shion turned his head again and pressed his ear to your heart once more, obscuring your view of Ayako completely. You were blissfully unaware at the way his eyes narrowed at the child when you slipped into a deep sleep, mumbling,”Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Shion whispered. “[Name].”

Ayako froze underneath his stare, dark eyes wide, and remained that way until the god finally vanished upon the first rays of the sun.

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[vickyvicarious]

what do you make of Eliot's pre-show reputation for working alone? it makes sense for Parker and Hardison, who've always worked that way, but Eliot has a history of working as part of a team in various contexts

Yeah, it's definitely interesting! Really, Sophie never gets that label of 'always working alone' (and in fact later we see her bringing in Tara, which supports that she has friendly contacts still). It's just Parker, Hardison, and Eliot. And like you said, it makes complete sense for Parker, and even Hardison's hacking is just typically more suited to be done alone even if he is a social guy on a personal level. Eliot is different, given his history.

One thing I noticed a while ago, which is also interesting, is that Eliot's job by its very nature depends on other people. Sophie, Parker, and Hardison all steal what they want - as retrieval specialist, Eliot had to be hired. That's not to say he never just took something he wanted, necessarily, but his role majorly depended on people a) knowing of him in the first place, b) trusting his reputation enough to hire him, and c) being able to get in touch with him to hire him. I highly doubt he was handing out business cards left and right, so he had to have a network of contacts to at the very least pass his name along as an 'I know just the guy for the job' kind of thing. In fact, we see him bring in a friend on a con early in S1, and he is in contact with/does jobs for old military contacts throughout the show. (Once again, in the first episode Parker and Hardison were successfully recruited for someone else’s job, so it's not like that never happened for the others. But the general trend was that they picked their own heists; Eliot was hired on by other people.)

So we have a guy here who has a history of working on teams, a reputation as a loner, and yet still actively works for people who he has to keep on good enough terms to keep hiring him. How did that happen? In my opinion, it all comes back to Damien Moreau.

Eliot's timeline goes through some distinct phases:

Rural teen with a relatively poor family, I think they mention he played football; very all-American.

Joined the army with "a flag on his shoulder and God in his heart" or however that quote went.

Highly trained military operative involved in very classified operations.

Working for Damien Moreau.

Working solo as a retrieval specialist.

Leverage.

It's easy to track him through 1-3. He was recruited into the army with promises of heroism and glory, excelled at what he did, was eventually disillusioned. Getting from there to Moreau is a bit more of a jump, and likely didn't happen immediately. Given how protective Eliot gets over people he's working with, and how vigorously he hates betrayals of trust from his team, I think it's not unreasonable to assume that part of the reason he left the army had to do with whatever unit he was in getting very hurt. Likely in a way that made him feel he failed to protect them; maybe he was the only one who made it out of one specific situation. Maybe just a bunch of people he worked with got whittled down, or maybe it wasn't anything so deadly but he saw how little their lives mattered in the grand scheme of those in charge, saw how amoral the missions he was given were, and it was more of a gradual slide into illegality. There's also the detail that as he got into more and more classified work, he might be less and less likely to have a large group of people he could talk to/be a regular team with. Either way, I think Moreau didn't completely hire him straight out of the army, but there probably wasn't a tremendously long time between him leaving that group and joining up with Moreau.

*I originally thought Eliot didn't meet Toby until after he left Moreau, but a helpful anon corrected me on that! 'In the French Connection Job he says to Nate "I was out of the service and working for my 2nd PMC", doing wetwork.' He 'should've' killed Toby but instead stayed with him for months, 'learning how to cook and how to feel'. It certainly seems like he had gone some degree of numb after his experiences in the army and even since leaving it. His second private military contract/company... still implies he was working for organizations of some sort, though I get the impression he wasn't sticking around for terribly long times. Still, even if he then works solo retrieval type gigs for a while, I don't think he was nearly as insistent on working alone/had such a clear reputation about it, not yet.

Eliot no longer believed that he was doing good. He'd lost his naive patriotism and seems to have lost his religion for the most part as well. He didn't trust the system, but for the most part he still seemed to have faith in individuals. He still kept in touch with some old colleagues, he'd learned from Toby; he still wanted to be a part of something, even if that something couldn't be the US Army. He's a self-motivated criminal now but he still isn't averse to working with others.

Then comes Damien Moreau. Whether you read their relationship as romantic or not, it was undeniably important and personal. They knew one another well. Damien even still liked Eliot years after he'd left. There's good evidence for them having an emotionally abusive relationship where Moreau took advantage of Eliot's tendency to do things for those he cares about (I reblogged a great meta on this a little while ago). But essentially what we see here is that in all his time working for Moreau, no one else made such a strong impression on Eliot. Moreau definitely seems the type to play favorites and emotionally distance Eliot from other goons - Eliot isn't just another goon after all, he's the best. He's worthy of Damien's time and attention and specific assignments that only Eliot can be trusted to get done right. Whatever process of estrangement Eliot's superior skills may have begun, Moreau quickened until there was only one person who was the most important to him. Eliot didn't just work for him as a part of some vast criminal network by the end - no, he worked directly for and with Moreau himself. He was part of a team of two for all intents and purposes, regardless of how often he may have cooperated with others on specific jobs (though I suspect that got less frequent over time as well).

And when Eliot realized how deep he'd gotten, how terrible he'd become? He left, and left Damien Moreau specifically behind. Maybe he took a break for a while, went underground... it certainly doesn't seem like he had a conversation with Moreau and resigned so much as he just ran. And when he returned it was as a solo act. What this tells me is that not only did his time with Moreau break Eliot's trust in himself, it broke his ability to trust others. Not everyone necessarily, but in a working capacity. It probably was not the first time he'd experienced betrayal (in some form or another, his time in the army definitely qualified) but it was the most personal. Eliot trusted and liked Moreau - and he did the worst things in his entire life for him.

He couldn't repeat that. He couldn't leave himself open to getting sucked in like that again. And what's more, at this point he really didn't need to. His skills were such that he could get the job done himself (and had perhaps even honed those more solo skills while working for Moreau), and doing so meant that he never had to leave himself vulnerable to someone else like that again. He didn't have to be responsible for someone else getting hurt, and he didn't have to accept that he'd put someone else in charge of who he hurt. Eliot starts being more careful not to permanently injure or kill people, starts getting more selective with his jobs, and makes it a requirement that he works them alone. He still has to accept jobs from others, yeah, but he has ultimate control over what jobs he does accept, and if he operates purely on a freelance basis without getting too involved with any one client, then he can avoid the emotional entanglement that lead to such horrific loss of judgement in the past. It's hard, because he is naturally drawn to other people... but Eliot thinks that letting no one in is by far the safer option for everyone involved. He still builds relationships with others in order to get his name out, and may do repeat work for certain people, but no one is going to own him anymore. He is good enough that he can afford to set the terms like that; when he keeps getting the job done the word will spread that even alone he is worth the money. Eliot relies only on himself and any relationships he has are necessarily shallow. Professional, brief. This extends even to friendships (that seem to involve infrequent contact for the most part) and romantic relationships (he has plenty of sex but doesn't get emotionally close to anyone, does not fall in love). He is alone - in fact he is emphatically and outspokenly alone, because he doesn't want anyone to get their hooks in him like that ever again.

(*Doing jobs like this also limits the likelihood, especially in the beginning, that he's going to end up working for Moreau again in any real capacity. As time passes and Moreau doesn't attempt to bring him back too hard, that may become less of an issue in his mind, but it could certainly be a perk at least as the start.)

Then of course we eventually come to Leverage. It's been a while since Moreau. Eliot has built a solid reputation for himself - and he is being offered a LOT of money for a job that promises to be fairly quick. At this point, he probably feels like maybe he can trust himself as part of a team again without getting too sucked in - he will just keep it to one job and go his own way afterwards. It'll be fine.

...And then he immediately gets sucked in, bonds right away and wants so badly to stay. But even then, it's because of Nate. Eliot knows Nate, trusts him to be the 'honest man', is certain enough of Nate's moral compass that it's okay to get drawn in if Nate is the one making the plans. If it weren't for him, Eliot would have walked right away. Eliot was never going to allow himself to be ruled by others again... but Nate isn't like any of those people, he is a good man. Eliot can trust him not to lead him into anything too morally wrong, and in fact the work with Leverage is a way to bring some good back into the world. Not redeem himself, that won't ever happen, but under Nate's leadership Eliot can do something good for once. He doesn't want to stop.

By the time he moves past trusting Nate's judgement so much, he already trusts and loves the whole team. Parker and Hardison especially, so now he has to stay to keep them safe... even from Nate's plans sometimes, when he gets drunk and reckless. Eliot is secure in his role as part of a team again - and he probably was very lonely without one for all that time. It's not really in his nature to work alone long-term. And a key difference this time is that everyone else gets just as invested as he, and there's a good balance of power and respect unlike all of the more hierarchical teams he was in before (army, Moreau, they would have clear command structures - hell, even high-school football has a captain and a coach). Nate is nominally in charge but they talk back to him and lead where they have the most expertise. They dedicate themselves to him as much as he to them, they change together. And they change for the better, together.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-15: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Come on then, Miss Direction Blind. I'll be the one to give you the directions now.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

After a week of working at Warson, I’d technically adapted to how things went about here. Zheng Lin had also arranged my first solo gig.

Zheng Lin: The design hub has a mentor system set in place.

Zheng Lin: So, all Assistants and Junior Designers will have a mentor assigned to them.

Zheng Lin: Of course, it is not up to you to choose, but your future mentor.

Zheng Lin: Every Senior Designer, including Director Qi, will participate in this program as a mentor.

MC: Director Qi too?

Zheng Lin: Correct. The selection criteria will be the results of your first independent work.

Zheng Lin: It might be solo work, but you can always approach me if you run into something you don't understand.

Zheng Lin: And also, I'll get Brother Mao to help you out, considering how you've only just arrived here and have yet to familiarize yourself with this place.

Zheng Lin: Of course, his aid doesn't include helping you out with your design.

Zheng Lin: In any case, just make sure to do this job well because the results of this will determine who your future mentor will be. Understand?

I understood what she was getting at. Mentors would greatly influence and affect the growth of a rookie. One will be able to learn much more when paired with an experienced mentor who shares the same aesthetic sense.

Although the deadline is still a long time from now, I want to become the best mentee choice to ever face Sariel.

The job this time was to create a dress for Lin Yao, the new up and coming actress, for her award ceremony.

❖☆———————————★❖

She was a child actress who'd recently risen to fame when the popularity of the young idol teen drama she starred in half a year ago exploded. Due to her cold countenance, she was dubbed by the media as the "Nation's Fairy Nymph" 

This time, the local crime movie she'd starred as the lead for had received a double harvest at the word-of-mouth box office. It has also been nominated as one of the most popular movies and the movie with the best female lead among many others.

This movie was about a talented dancing genius who secretly plotted the murder of her abusive stepmother for many, many years. This caused the creation of a second personality within her; the murder happened then. At the end of the film, she danced in the pure white snow beside the dead body of her stepmother. Something that she'd only ever dreamt about. And there, etched upon her face, was the first smile of her life.

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Her performance is way too good! I can't even tell that it's an act...

After watching some of her award-winning works interviews, I finally managed to get some semblance of understanding about Lin Yao.

She was someone of few words, a polite and obedient kid who never once had a single bad article to her name. She was forever smiling in front of the cameras. She was hardworking and responsible when it came to her work, and has had a smooth journey ever since her debut. It was the very epitome of what a perfect life was; one that everybody admired.

MC: A traditional fairy dress would be too conservative. Although that'd be very in line with her image, it'll merely be the same thing all over again. That wouldn't make her stand out on the red carpet.

MC: I can't help but feel like she's not all as inwardly peaceful as she appears on the outside. Perhaps she's fiercer or more sensitive deep down...

I didn't know how I could express this mismatch in her persona.

Perhaps it was those eyes of hatred of hers that shot daggers in the movie, or maybe that one sliver of vulnerability that she let slip in her interviews every once in a while. Those factors made it hard for me to decide just what kind of style I should go with her dress.

MC: And I also feel like digging deeper to uncover the other more charming side of her that no one knows...

The genius young maiden of the nation. A turbulent era of change. Self-redemption and self-destruction. All of these factors were only impactful when combined together with the era it was set in. It was only then, that everything felt fated to be.

MC: What if I added these elements to the dress?

I closed my eyes and imagined it in my head. A black feather dress inspired by the nation slowly formed in my mind's eye.

MC: I know!

Brother Mao: Heavens! You gave me a scare right there!

That was when I realized that I'd quite literally leapt out of my seat in my excitement. I gave an embarrassed laugh.

MC: Brother Mao, I'm going to go out and do some fieldwork to get some inspiration!

❖☆———————————★❖

If I were to find things related to the nation, then the museum would be the most appropriate choice.

Back when I was little, I'd always be left in the care of my mother's ex-partner when neither she nor my grandmother had the time to take care of me. He was responsible for managing this museum that could be called my second home of sorts.

MC: But, why does it look different from how I remember…?

The place had been renovated during the long period of time I hadn't been to it. All the exhibition halls had changed locations.

I followed the signs towards the hall where all the local things were displayed, only for my attention to be caught by a familiar figure.

Dressed entirely in black, said person had his arm behind his back as he stood motionless in front of the collections before him.

His straight posture made him look like a tall, yet silent, statue from afar. Under the lights of the spotlight, a faint silvery-white halo surrounded him. I could even see the small particles of dust floating in the air amidst the light. It made him look stand-offish and sharp.

I couldn't stop myself from raising my camera and snapping a shot. 

Click! 

The man noticed; immediately whipping his head around.

MC: ...Osborn!?

Surprised, I retreated a step; only to realize that my hands were now empty. Osborn had snatched my camera from me.

Osborn: Watcha hiding?

He cocked his head to look at the camera, the corners of his mouth upturning into an arc.

Osborn: You're sneakily taking shots of me? Let's see how they turned out.

MC: Return it back to me first!

Osborn purposely lifted the camera higher out of my reach.

Osborn: Why are you so frantic? It's not like I mind or anything.

MC: I still have things to do! Hurry and give it back already!

Osborn: What did you come here for?

MC: Photos. I came here looking for inspiration.

Osborn nodded, turning and walking away with my camera in hand.

Osborn: Weren't you here for pictures? Come on, let's go.

Does he want to accompany me?

I hurriedly chased after him and held out the guidebook for him to take. However, he'd only waved his hand in dismissal and signalled for me to follow behind him.

He led me around the museum as if he knew the place like the back of his hand. All I had to do was to name the exhibit and he'd be able to find it immediately.

His sense of direction is incredible. What is he? A human-sized GPS?

MC: Do you come here often, Osborn?

Osborn: It's my first time here.

MC: …..

Osborn let out two short laughs as he crooked his head and contemplated me.

Osborn: And how many times have you been here?

MC: I've come here a couple of times in the past, I guess. I'm not very familiar with this place. Ahem...

??: (Y/n)! Is it really you? You've come back to the country?

The curator uncle that I'd not seen in a long time suddenly comes round from a corner. He looked astonished to see me here.

Mr. Curator: You've grown into a splendid young woman in the years I've not seen you. It's great to see you back! Come by my place for dinner when you're free!

Mr. Curator: Oh, yes. Should I get you a guide? I remember that you got lost here once.

MC: No need! My friend here has a superb sense of direction!

My face heated up as I hurriedly pointed to Osborn. He didn't say anything more, only laughing as he nodded to Osborn before leaving.

Brilliant. I originally intended to keep the fact that I was directionally challenged under wraps when around Osborn, but now… He's gonna make fun of me again.

MC: Right, but I'm still pretty good at reading maps…

In the end, Osborn couldn't hold back his laughter and ended up laughing till his shoulders were shaking. He took hold of my arm in one swift motion and started walking forward.

Osborn: Come on then, Miss Direction Blind.

Osborn: I'll be the one to give you the directions now.

Somehow, I vaguely felt my heart skip a beat at that.

MC: I want to go to the national exhibit…

❖☆———————————★❖

The national exhibit had now been renovated and refurbished retro-style. All the new collections exhibited here now turned out to be clothing and accessories. 

Looks like I made the right choice in coming here.

Osborn: Want do you wanna snap?

MC: That one. The brown layered cheongsam patterned through burn-out printing.

MC: The blueish-grey female damask lined jacket!

MC: And that short-sleeved georgette velvet cheongsam that's also patterned through burn-out printing!

I'd virtually snapped a picture of every outfit on display here. The tentative image I originally had in mind seemed to become clearer now.

MC: Okay, that's all.

Osborn kept the camera and glanced at the time.

Osborn: Let's go then.

❖☆———————————★❖

Dusk had already fallen by the time we walked out of the museum. The smell of sundown envelopes us in its serenity, as the breeze carries the fragrance of hyacinths.

Osborn walks up to a black motorcycle and leans on its back seat.

MC: Thank you for today. I didn’t cause you any trouble by hogging you and making you take pictures for me, did I?

Osborn: Sure you did.

MC: …Ah. What are you going to do about it?

Osborn: Then, how about you do a little something to repay me? The bracelet I was looking at earlier; have you seen anything like it before?

The image of Osborn staring seriously at the white-coloured jade cong earlier flashed through my mind.

MC: That’s not a bracelet. It’s a jade cong. They’re used as ritual artefacts in ancient witchcraft or religious sacrifices.

MC: The one you saw earlier was a typical one belonging to the Liangzhu Culture. It’s speculated that it’s used to communicate with gods or the souls trapped in this realm.

Osborn: You know quite a lot.

MC: I used to come here a lot as a kid, and I’d just tail the big sister, the guide, back then when I had nothing better to do. That’s why I remember so many things.

Osborn: Hu? You don't look like an expert at all.

MC: I’m still learning, but they do say that the better your memory, the smoother the sail of your learning curve.

Osborn: Let’s see… Wasn’t there an expert earlier who couldn’t even tell left from right?

MC: I was born with a poor sense of direction! I told you that my map reading skills were still passable!

Osborn: Okay, okay. What’s with the glare? I’m only poking fun at you.

Osborn: My sense of direction is brilliant, so just follow me next time.

MC: ……

MC: Right, but that jade cong earlier was a little odd.

Osborn: Man, the way you change topics needs a little working on.

MC: Do you want to listen, or not?

Osborn: Spill.

MC: I’ve never seen a jade cong from the Liangzhu Culture with the double-headed snake motif carved onto it before.

MC: There exists a sacred double-headed snake motif in Sumerian Culture. It represents Ningishzida, the Lord of the Good Woods.

MC: And in the mythology Ningishzida hails from, the gods used clay to create humans and make the beginnings of the first civilization.

MC: Just like the Fuxi Nuwa from our ancient mythology.

MC: Funny thing is that, coincidentally, the Sumernarian two-headed snake is also very similar to the Fuxi Nuwa.

Osborn unknowingly furrows his brow whilst muttering about something under his breath. However, he quickly returns to his usual playful self.

Osborn: Okay. I've got it.

MC: Why are you interested in something like this?

MC: I remember that the bracelet you showed me up on the roof that day had the same motif.

Osborn: Ever heard of this saying?

Osborn made a come hither motion, signalling for me to get closer to him.

Osborn: The more secrets you know, the more you'll be...

He did a cutthroat gesture whilst smirking at me.

MC: Do I look like I care?

Osborn: It has something to do with someone I'm looking for. I'll tell you next time if I get the chance.

MC: Hmm…

Osborn: But, no telling anyone about what happened today.

MC: Okay. Now gimme the camera.

Osborn: I helped you and yet not even a single "thank you" from you?

Osborn leaned further backwards, purposefully dodging my hand that went straight for the camera, a devilish look on his face.

MC: Thank you!

Osborn: Now stick your hand out.

A small lemon candy was placed into my outstretched palm alongside the camera.

Osborn: Where are you headed? I'll send you.

He flipped himself onto his bike, surveying the congested road up ahead.

MC: I can't possibly bother you like that...

I waved my hand and turned his offer down out of habit, yet inwardly, I was silently pondering about just how I was to get onto that tall bike of his.

However, just as I was about to step onto it and swing myself onto the seat, the engine gave a resounding roar as said motorbike speeded away from me.

Only a single line hung in the air in his wake: "Bye!"

MC: Hey! I was just being nice! It wouldn't hurt to have asked me again...

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-13) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-18)

[psychewithwings]

The Canary Pt. 2 Todoroki x F!

hi, this is pt 2 of my Shouto Todoroki x musician!reader where its a hot mess bc its kinda a love triangle with Enji????

Listen if ya missed pt 1... its here

TW: anything on my page is 18+, fuck outta here children and get some juice... manipulative relationships, messy love situation/ love triangle, hints at abusive relationship (between reader and her ex), her ex is also a drug addict... and a criminal... if you're wondering why this is such a messy fic its inspired by my watching the show euphoria... 

and lemme address this: i know enji got a redemption arc but i wanted to write him with a similar vibe to nates dad from euphoria... to explore the manipulative sides of age gap relationships or relationships with clearly unbalanced power dynamics, my portrayal of him here is not what i would deem perfectly canon but more a vessel for the plot and ideas i want to explore with this piece and the complexities within it, now... that being said... i give you a long awaited pt 2 to The Canary

You watch as Shouto opens the front door and slips away into the night. The door closes and upon hearing the latch click you realize you’d been holding your breath. You exhale long and slow, still stunned by Shouto’s vulnerability. He worries he will never be able to save himself. Yes, you very much relate to that problem. There is something about Shouto that scares you, looking at him in person, it feels like he is someone you’d known forever, that you should have memories of him but the place in your mind that they should be, is blank.

How he feels about you is still incredibly unclear. You had been very aware of how carefully he watched you during your meal, his eyes seemingly tracking each of your movements and committing them to memory. Dinner was uncomfortable, you had wanted to hide and simultaneously prove yourself to him; that you were different from his idea of who you must be considering the circumstances. You knew what he thought; that you were just some shallow girl dating his dad for the money. But that wasn’t the truth.

Maybe someday you and Shouto would learn the truth of who the other was, your pasts, desires for the future, and maybe what that feeling was that made him seem so familiar. You could easily picture yourself trying to make him laugh on a warm spring day and you smile to yourself.  

“Well I’m glad to see you smiling,” Enji remarks as he sits next to you on the couch. “Shouto can be a bit harsh, I apologize…” Enji murmurs and wraps his arm around you, a protective and comforting gesture. “No, it’s okay, it’s only natural for him to feel suspicious or confused,” you console. You pull your legs onto the couch and snuggle into the cushions.“I’ll talk to him about it,” he offers but you shake your head. “No, it’s really okay, I think he’s warming up to me.” Enji raises an eyebrow at you and smiles slightly. “Shouto doesn’t warm up to others easily… or at all,” he dismisses and kisses your cheek. You look up at him and blink. “I’m not worried ‘bout it… best to just give it time,” you smile. Enji gives you a single nod before his expression falls stern.  “As much as I enjoy your optimism, we need to discuss Friday, I won’t be able to go and I don’t want you going alone.” You inhale slowly and hold your breath until you can figure out the words exactly.

“Enji, I told you, I can take care of myself for a night, I don't need you to watch over me every time I do a gig.” His gaze bores into yours, eyes piercing. “And I’ve asked  you nicely not to play this weekend, you’re sophisticated now, a place like the Viper Lounge should be considered beneath you.” You move away from his touch, crossing your arms. While Enji is more supportive than anyone else about your music career, he still didn’t understand. He had been a hero, a place like The Viper is considered scummy in his circle but for you it’s the holy grail of performance venues. You explain time and time again and the words are becoming dull and grey with repetition. “It’s one of the best places for someone who’s looking to get scouted to perform… and the Viper  invited me, that's a big deal.” Enji shifts to face you, “I know this feels big to you but it’s just a small set in a shitty dive.”

A part of you wanted to cry hearing those words, but the tears didn’t come. Just a small, sad smile. “There’s going to be talent scouts and agents there… just to see who was selected for the line up and I’m the closing set… It's a pretty big deal.”  

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

Shouto walks from the house, his head filled with thoughts of you. Your smile, your voice, that ridiculous yellow guitar. Your eyes, their inquisitive nature. He thinks back to his answer to your question, “I'm afraid that no matter how many people I save, that I’ll never be able to save myself.” He sighs, he can’t remember the last time he could be so honest with someone, let alone someone who was practically a stranger… But there is something about you that seems oddly familiar, though for what reason he felt this way was unclear.

He is about halfway to his car when he feels how light his pants pocket is. His phone… he must have left it inside somewhere, maybe the kitchen? He sighs, he doesn’t want to return to the house, to have to look at you again after being so honest. He had been bold in hopes of- well he isn’t all that sure why he had said something like that so openly, all he knows is the heat is creeping to his cheeks. He takes a breath before hesitantly opening the door. He collects himself, hoping you wont be able to see his embarrassment.

“I told you, there will be plenty more opportunities and you won't have to perform in such a dump,” he hears his fathers voice. He knows that voice… Shouto opens his mouth to call out but shuts it again hearing your icy tone, “you’re not listening... Enji.” Shouto’s eyebrows raise in surprise, you’re not as childish as he first thought. In fact, it seems you’re holding your own against his father in an argument of sorts. He hears Enji laugh mockingly, “I’m not listening? What about Kai?” There’s a long pause, the sound of cicadas filling Shouto’s ears while the name Kai tumbles around his mind. He knew that name from somewhere. “What about Kai?” your voice is so low he can barely hear it. “Is he going to be there?” Enji pushes. Your voice raises slightly in aggravation, “I don't know, I don't talk to Kai, I haven’t said a word to him since the day I left.” Enji scoffs, “Really? It’s suspicious that the Viper Lounge invites you to perform when you’re almost a year out of that scene, he has connections there, what if he’s just using this “gig” as an excuse to get close to you? C’mon y/n, use your head.” Enji’s tone is viciously condescending. Shouto clenches his jaw, waiting for your reply. “I’ve thought about that possibility, but it's an event to showcase new upcoming artists and I haven’t performed there solo before, so I don’t find it totally unbelievable they would ask me.” For once Enji has no rebuttal and you take that as your cue to continue. “Kai isn’t even in the line up… and even if he was, I’m going because this is important to me, this has nothing to do with him.”

Shouto couldn’t keep standing outside listening, he had to get his phone now. He briskly steps inside and shuts the door loudly behind him. “I left my phone,” he announces as he walks through the house to the kitchen. The silence that follows his interruption makes him worry you both figured out he had been listening, though perhaps you were both just embarrassed to be caught arguing. He finds his phone by the kitchen sink and pockets it quickly, before heading back towards the door. He nods towards you both before turning his back.

“Hey Shouto?” The sound of your voice stops him in his tracks. He shifts carefully to face you and sees your eyes glinting with mischief. “You own a hero agency right?” Shouto nods, watching carefully to see where you were going with this. “I’m sure then that you would have a hero capable of a simple bodyguard job, for just this little gig I’m doing on Friday, I know it’s last minute so if you don’t have anyone… I’ll be fine.” He had to play this carefully so as not to expose himself for eavesdropping. “Where’s the gig?” “The Viper Lounge,” Enji scoffs. His father must be furious that you’ve now involved a third party. If there was something Enji Todoroki hated, it was airing his dirty laundry. Shouto was careful not to laugh… you were far smarter than he initially gave you credit for.

“I’ve performed at the Viper before… tons of times-``''You have, but only with Kai Chisaki.” Your face tells Shouto that name hits a sore spot. Hearing his whole name sparks Shouto’s memory and he realises who Kai is. Kai Chisaki, an underground rapper… face tattoos and some nasty habits that earned him a hell of a rap sheet; burglary, assault, possession of unlicensed weapons, public indecency, drug counts too high to keep track of… He’d been arrested again a few months ago, but just like the last, he was bailed out and the charges were dismissed.

“But the Viper asked me to be a part of this gig for showing off upcoming talent… Enji’s just worried for me because he can't be there and my ex has a reputation- ``''That’s putting it lightly,” Enji interrupts, “he’s scum, deserves to rot in prison.” You rub your palms on your thighs and smile gently at Shouto. “I just think the situation would be more comfortable for everyone if I had some protection… Maybe you know of someone that could watch out for me for the night?”

Shouto resists the urge to volunteer, though the temptation of hearing your voice again is overwhelming. “Tch- as if I would trust any of the foolish heroes Shouto babysits to watch after you in that cesspool…” You gaze at Enji with big doe eyes, your body turning, hands inching towards his father’s legs. “You trust Shouto don’t you?” Enji pauses, before he sighs “I do.” You give him a winning smile, “then he’ll pick someone fit for the job.” Enji’s brow creases pensively, “Shouto,” he addresses. Shouto meets his father’s eyes, his heartbeat quickening as he realises what he’s about to ask. “What are your plans Friday? Could you take her?”

Shouto pretends to consider it, but really he counts the seconds until he can agree. He didn’t really know what it was about you that made him want to go with you so badly to this gig. It’s a separate part of himself that Shouto was unfamiliar with, a part of him that wasn’t thinking but desired only to know you… or understand you? There was just something about you. That was all he knew for sure. He nods, trying his best to hide his true feelings. “I could make arrangements to accompany y/n, as long as,” he looks at you, “you’re comfortable with that.” You hold out your hands defensively and shake your head, “if you have to move things around- you’re so busy- I-I don’t wanna cause you any trouble.” Shouto dismisses your statement, “it’s not trouble, I wouldn’t agree otherwise.”

You shift uncomfortably, “as long as you’re sure…” Shouto turns towards the door, facing forward as he leaves you with these words. “It’s important to you, right? Just accept my help.” He opens the door, and holds the frame tightly. He knows he shouldn’t, he hears the chorus of voices telling him not to look back, but it's that one part of him again that takes control and turns his head. He can’t help but smile slightly seeing your expression. Mouth parted and brow raised slightly in surprise. Beautiful.

“We’ll connect about details sometime during the week,” he confirms, “see you Friday.” He hears you call out your gratitude as he closes the door and makes for his car. He slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine and looks towards his childhood home. The light from the windows casts a glow onto the grass. He finally exhales and with each new breath he gains more clarity about the situation. He shouldn’t care about you, he can’t let himself get any closer. He would help you with this gig and go back to avoiding family dinner like the plague. Shouto leans his head back into the seat and puts the car in reverse. He tries his best to shake off these thoughts but that little devil on his shoulder keeps cackling and whispering suggestions he chooses to immediately ignore.

He pulls out of the driveway and onto the road, pushing thoughts of you away and doing his best to find another topic to think about, something to distract him from the confusion of his swirling emotions. But as much as he tries, he can’t stop thinking about you.

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

if you want to be added to the taglist its here

[lamptracker]

FIC: This Seat Taken? (Seo Changbin/Female Reader)

Literally the only reason I got this done was because I broke my toe and have an abundance of sitting-around time. So... yay, I suppose.

Onward.

Title: This Seat Taken?

Pairing: Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)/Female Reader

Summary: The reader finds herself falling in love with her best friend Changbin.

Warnings: A few potty words but other than that, not much really.

Author’s Note(s): This takes place in a world where A. There have only ever been eight members of Stray Kids (we do not talk about the AT&T of people) and B. Minho’s cats live in the dorms with them. 

Which brings up two questions: Why don’t Minho’s cats live in the dorms? And have they fixed that stupid curtain yet??

As per tradition I tag @jisungiesbunnie​ I keep bringing this up in the Discord lol

The very last thing you wanted was to be part of a cliche.

They were everywhere. The “enemies to lovers.” The old standby “oh my God, they were roommates.” The good old fashioned “best friends to lovers.”

You wanted absolutely no part of it.

So why were you in danger of falling prey to “best friends to lovers”?

And moreover, why were you falling hopelessly in love with Seo Changbin?

**

You met Seo Changbin at a very vulnerable time in your life.

You were sixteen years old, and it was your first day at your new high school. You knew absolutely nobody. And since you were the new kid in school, there wasn’t a soul that wanted anything to do with you. Nobody wanted to sit near you in class. Even the teachers didn’t call on you, which was super unfortunate since you totally knew the answer in your math class. That wouldn’t have stung so much if the kid she called on had gotten it right.

So, at lunch, you found a table in the far corner, nobody around for what seemed like miles. This is as good a spot as any, you thought as you settled in. 

You were partway through your cheese sandwich when you suddenly heard a deep voice say, “This seat taken?”

You looked up to find… a boy. He was short - not much taller than you were - but he had a lean yet muscular build and kind eyes.

“I don’t suppose so,” you muttered quietly.

The boy sat across the table from you. “I don’t recognize you,” he said. “Are you new?”

You nodded.

“Ah! Okay. Well, my name is Changbin, Seo Changbin?”

“(y/n),” you replied. “You’re the first person all day that’s actually said more than five words to me. And those five words have usually been get out of my way.”

Changbin scoffed. “That’s terrible. Look, some of these people can be real jerks, I-”

“Hey, Changbin! What’re you doing talking to that loser?”

The voice belonged to a boy who was in your social studies class, one who’d shoved you out of the way in the hallway to get to the lunchroom first.

“She’s not a loser, she’s just new. And she seems really nice. So if you can’t be nice to her, just go sit down.”

The boy rolled his eyes as he walked away. 

“Thank you,” you said shyly.

“No problem.” Changbin flashed you a lopsided grin; you couldn’t help giggling in response.

“I have a really hard time making friends,” you admitted. “And my family moves around for my dad’s job, that doesn’t help.”

“Well, I am honored to be your friend. I mean, if you’ll let me.”

You smiled warmly at him. “Of course.”

**

The two of you were thick as thieves after that. It wasn’t long before you were over at each others’ houses all the time - it got to the point where your mom was picking up Changbin’s favorites at the store - and texting each other constantly. You didn’t let a day go by without at least texting each other once. 

Even when you graduated from high school and went your separate ways - you went off to college, studying communications and mass marketing; he auditioned for a new K-Pop group that was forming - you made sure to talk every day.

You were there for each other when times were good - when you got accepted to your dream school, when Changbin was selected for Stray Kids. And when times were bad - Changbin was really down when Minho was eliminated, you’d had to have knee surgery right after you graduated college, and let’s not forget every failed girlfriend he’d had and every failed boyfriend you’d racked up.

He helped you find your job, too. You were six months out of college and still hadn’t found a job yet.

“I’m starting to think I majored in the wrong thing,” you lamented to Changbin over coffee one afternoon. “I loved my studies, but I just can’t seem to land even an interview. I thought communications was a growing industry, but…”

“I’m so sorry,” Changbin replied. “Let me see what I can do.”

“What you can do?” you echoed. “What can you do?”

“Give me a week,” he assured you. Shrugging, you turned back to your coffee.

“My mom wants me to join a temp agency,” you said. “If you can’t find something for me by this time next week, I’m going to.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Two days later, you’d gotten a call from an administrative assistant at JYPE. Your resume came across their desk, see, and looking over your credentials they thought you’d be perfect for a job that just opened up. Well, have you ever heard of the new group, Stray Kids? You’d be their assistant, pretty much. JYPE would book appearances and organize tours; you would be responsible for booking flights and hotels and meal reservations and whatnot. You would also live in the dorm with them - you’d get your own room, of course, far away from the rest of the guys (they’re all nice but Chan snores, a lot of them are talkers and Minho curses in his sleep). You might be asked to do a little light housekeeping, maybe cook on occas-

“I’ll take it!” you exclaimed. 

The assistant laughed. “You don’t even know how much we’re paying you.”

“Don’t care,” you replied. “I’ve been jobless for half a year, and I have student loans. I’ll take it.”

Later that afternoon, you were enjoying a cup of coffee at your favorite shop, looking over the email from JYPE detailing your contract.

“This seat taken?”

“Seo Changbin! You did it, you son of a bitch.”

“Did what?” Changbin sat across from you and took a sip of his coffee, thoroughly confused.

You chuckled. “JYPE called me today. I’m going to be Stray Kids’ official assistant. I’ll be booking flights and hotels for appearances and the tour, I’ll be living with you guys and-”

“What!” Changbin rose from his seat and ran around to your side of the table, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “That’s amazing! I thought they’d just get you a job in the office or answering fanmail or something, I wasn’t expecting that!” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head. “Okay, um. Fair bit of warning about the guys’ sleeping habits, uh-”

“They told me about a couple. Uh… Chan snores and Minho swears in his sleep.”

“Hyunjin and Jisung talk in their sleep,” Changbin added. “Felix always has to be hugging someone or something. Seungmin always, just, screams right as he falls asleep. Jeongin’s a sleepwalker, that’s super fun. We had to put like four locks on the door, we lock every other one because he just goes down the line and thinks he’s unlocking all of them. And-”

“You talk in your sleep too,” you finished. “Most of the time you’re looking for something or you’re lost, but I have definitely heard you do it.”

Changbin looked slightly wounded. “I was going to say I don’t think I do anything, but… okay, I guess.”

You laughed. “Hey, um, thanks. For helping me out. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He squeezed your shoulder again before sliding out of the booth.

**

Some people who fall hopelessly in love with their best friend will tell you they can’t pinpoint the exact reason why they fell in love. 

You can, though.

It was a year after you first moved into the dorm… and it was all Lee Minho’s fault.

You were going through the bedrooms, gathering up laundry.

“Just once,” you muttered to yourself, “if these morons could get their underpants in the vicinity of the hamper, I’d be happy.”

“They’re not mine.”

You jumped, nearly bonking the top of your head on the top bunk of one of the beds. “Damn it, Minho, you scared the crap out of me.”

Minho chuckled quietly. “Sorry. How’s it going?”

“Peachy. I’m so glad I went to college so I could clean up after a bunch of overgrown children.”

“Oh, come on. We’re not that bad, are we?”

You laughed. “No. I’m just… I guess I’m grouchy today, that’s all. Didn’t sleep well last night. I actually really do like this job, I’m grateful that Changbin helped me get it.”

Minho nodded slightly. “He's going out again tonight?”

“Yep. This girl he met at the grocery store, Ha-Rin? That might be right, I’m not sure. I can’t keep track anymore.”

“Wow,” Minho said. “He’s been really unlucky in the girls department lately, hasn’t he?”

“He really has, I don’t get it.”

“Do you think… do you think they’re jealous of you?”

You shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m a girl who lives with him and has been friends with him for years. Plus I am a snack.” You made a passing motion over your body. “Who wouldn’t be jealous of this?”

Minho laughed loudly. “I might be out of line here, and feel free to punch me for it, but… but do you ever get jealous of them?”

You wrinkled your nose in confusion. “What?”

“I mean, you guys have been friends since you were sixteen. You’ve never wondered what it was like to date him?”

You scoffed. “No! Absolutely not. He’s my best friend, that would be so weird. Like dating my brother or something, gross.”

Minho laughed again, raising his hands in a sort-of defensive gesture. “Okay! Sorry I brought it up.”

But that night, you had a weird dream. You were at your senior prom (in real life, you and Changbin had skipped it to have a Marvel movie marathon). You were wearing a beautiful royal blue dress, with sequins - not too many, just enough to make it classy. 

You were slow dancing with… someone. You couldn’t tell who. It was dark, and your arms were wrapped around their neck, your head nestled on their shoulder; their arms were wrapped firmly around your waist. 

“Close your eyes,” a soft, yet vaguely familiar voice whispered.

You did; the person holding you unwrapped one arm from your waist, tipped your chin up, and gently pressed their lips to yours. You quickly melted into the kiss, pressing yourself closer to them as the kiss deepened slightly.

The other person pulled away slowly; you opened your eyes…

...and found yourself staring at none other than Changbin.

You sat up with a start, and you were a side sleeper, so you nearly fell out of bed.

“God damn you, Minho,” you muttered as you pulled the blanket over your head. “I can’t tell him. I can never tell him. I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

So you made two solemn vows: You vowed to punch Lee Minho in the face the next time you saw him, and you vowed never to tell Changbin how you felt about him. 

You settled for giving Minho a dirty look over breakfast the next morning. As for the other thing, well...

**

Every time Changbin had a new girlfriend, your heart dropped ever-so-slightly in your chest. And always twice: Once, when he’d first start dating her; and once, when she broke up with him.

It was practically identical every single time: He would meet a girl. He would rush into the living room, a big smile plastered on his face, and exclaim: “I met the most amazing girl!” He would list off her qualities - pretty, smart, funny, ordered the same obscure thing from the Thai place that he liked, etc. They’d start dating. He’d come home after their third date and proclaim: “I think she might be The One, y’know? She’s - oh, wipe that look off your face, Lee Minho; I mean it this time.” Things would go really well for a brief amount of time. The longest was five months; the shortest, two weeks. 

And when it inevitably went south, that was practically identical every single time as well. He’d trudge through the door, kick off his shoes, slump down on the couch, and say: “Okay, Minho, you can say I told you so now.” 

Minho would always refrain, to his credit, except for when Changbin and Ha-Rin (the grocery store girl) broke up; he did not like Ha-Rin. That was a really long story. But let’s just say if cats think you’re evil, so will Minho; and his cats absolutely hated Ha-Rin. (Especially Dori, and Dori loves everybody.)

Anyway, after giving Minho the chance to gloat (which, as previously mentioned, he only did once), Changbin would give you a Look™ and you would follow him into your room. The other guys knew not to bother you in there, so it was a safe place. He’d slump down onto the bed and smile sadly at you while patting the space next to him.  

“This seat taken?” you’d ask, mimicking one of his favorite lines. He would shake his head ever-so-slightly. And you’d sit, and open your arms, and he’d fall into them, sobbing all the while.

Sometimes, he would tell you why they broke up with him. They were all terrible reasons, too: Just wanted to see what it was like to date an Idol. Wanted to make their ex jealous. Needed a date to this work/school/family thing. Just trying to get closer to Chan (twice), Hyunjin (four times), Jeongin (three times), Minho’s cats (once; that girl was weird). In at least one case, it was because of you. (That was why he and Ha-Rin broke up; he never told you that was why, but she did. Seems she made him choose between her or being friends with you and he picked you. Of course, you’d never tell him you knew.)

And every single time, your heart shattered right along with his, because you knew that you would never do this to him. So why didn’t he know that?

**

Those feelings only solidified the night you got dumped.

You had been dating Daeshim for roughly eight months or so. You’d met at the grocery store, and were immediately drawn to him. In hindsight, you admittedly pulled a Changbin: You fell for him, hard and fast. The two of you were practically inseparable. You’d kissed on the third date, he said “I love you” after a month, you were already making plans for you future house (try to find something within a few miles of the dorms), your wedding (he didn’t bat an eye when you said that instead of bridesmaids, you wanted your eight roommates to stand up with you), even your kids’ names (Nabi for a girl, Yu-jun for a boy). He not only wasn’t jealous of the fact that you lived with eight men, he embraced it. “They were here before I was,” he’d said, “so why would that bother me?”

Daeshim was your person.

Until… he wasn’t.

The guys were all at the studio, practicing choreography for their upcoming music video, so you were home alone. Perfect environment for wallowing.

You were on the couch, curled up in a giant blanket, sobbing so hard that at one point you were afraid you’d cry your brain right out of your nose. You were a hot mess - your hair was disheveled, your eyes and nose were red and puffy, your face was wet with tears and sweat and God knows what else. You did not look cute.

And, naturally, that was the moment Changbin came home.

“Oh, no, hey,” he said softly. “Did something happen with you and Daeshim?”

You nodded hastily.

“Want me to make the other guys go away for a bit?”

You shook your head. “They’re okay.”

“Well… do you want to go to your room? We can talk there.”

You sniffled as you reached for the box of tissues. “Okay.”

Changbin helped you off the couch and gingerly led you to your room as the other guys came spilling into the living room. Felix started to ask what was going on, but Changbin just shook his head and silently mouthed I’ll tell you later.

Changbin carefully helped you onto the bed. Reversing the roles slightly, you smiled sadly at him and patted the seat next to you.

Changbin couldn’t help but smile a small smile as he said, “This seat taken?” You shook your head; he settled down next to you. “Okay, what’s going on?”

You opened your mouth to tell him what had happened, but a loud sob came out instead.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Changbin soothed as he wrapped his arms around you. “Take your time, tell me when you’re ready.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head in his chest as a fresh wave of tears came. Changbin said nothing, just held you as you cried, occasionally rubbing soothing circles over your back.

Finally, you sat up and took a deep breath. “He cheated on me.”

Changbin raised an eyebrow. “He did what now?”

“I caught him,” you explained. “I went to the coffee shop down the street to get a drink and one of those croissants with the chocolate in the middle, you know? And I did a little work while I was there, too, figured it’d be nice to get out for a bit. Anyway, I walked out to come home and… and I saw them.”

“Oh, no.”

Just when you thought you had no tears left, an altogether new supply started welling up in your eyes. “He met someone at work,” you said. “They were put on a project together, they got to talking, one thing led to another. He says he loves me but he loved them too and he couldn’t choose. So… you know… I chose for him.”

“And this person still wants to date him?”

“Went back to the cafe to get my laptop charger, saw them kissing when I came back out.”

“Ugh. Wow, (y/n), I’m so sorry.”

You snorted as you tightened your grip around his waist, resting your head on his chest again. “Usually this is the other way around, I’m the one consoling you after a breakup. Must be nice for you to have the situation reversed for a switch.”

“Actually, it kills me to see you like this. You don’t deserve that, I mean nobody does, but especially you. You are amazing, you know that? You’re sweet, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, you’re completely hilarious. You’ve done two things that I thought were impossible, you can out-drink Jisung and you can out-weird Seungmin. And, do you even know how pretty you are? Daeshim fucked up, and royally at that. Any guy would be so lucky to have you.”

You couldn’t help but smile through your tears at his words. But, you knew they were just that: words. He didn’t really feel that way about you. He was just trying to make you feel better.

Or was he?

Nonetheless, he only liked you as a friend, as far as you knew, and he was just helping lift your spirits.

He was successful at that, but he was even more successful at making you fall even deeper in love with him. The feelings you thought you’d gotten rid of when you and Daeshim started dating not only resurfaced, but intensified.

You sighed deeply, finally allowing yourself to relax in Changbin’s arms. His grip was firm but not too tight, just enough to make you feel safe and protected. He didn’t say anything else, he just allowed you to relax; occasionally he’d give you a gentle squeeze. Before too long, you were dozing.

It was only slightly weird that it was one of the best nights of sleep you’d ever had.

You woke up late the next morning, alone, but there was a glass of juice and two muffins on the bedside table. Had to go to practice, the handwritten note under the glass read. Sorry I couldn’t be here to have breakfast with you, so I figured I’d at least feed you. They’re blueberry muffins, Felix baked them fresh this morning. Take the day off if you need to, I’ll explain everything if JYP asks. Please call if you need anything.

Love, Binnie

You smiled softly to yourself as you bit into one of the muffins. Changbin was so sweet, and wanted to make sure you were taken care of. Just like a good friend should.

You scoffed slightly. Friend. That was all he’d ever be. Better get used to it...

**

Not long after you and Daeshim broke up, Changbin started dating this girl he’d met… somewhere. You didn’t know. Or, honestly, care. But her name was Min Jee, and she was way different from the other girls he's dated. She was pretty for sure, but she was funny and sweet and everything Changbin had been looking for. (And Minho’s cats? Adored her.)

Plus, she didn’t seem to be threatened by you in the slightest, so that was a definite plus.

You tried so hard to be happy for them. You even went out for coffee with Min Jee a few times, just the two of you, while the guys were practicing. That whole funny and sweet thing was no act - she really was that nice and that hilarious. She was touched that you wanted to be your friend, and you could have been her best friend, except for the fact that you guys had one thing in common: You were both madly in love with her boyfriend.

Two months into their relationship, the dynamic changed. 

“You’re home early,” you said as Changbin gently closed the door behind him. “I didn’t expect you back until later, how’s Min Jee?”

“We broke up.” Changbin hung his keys by the door and started into the kitchen.

You sighed. “Oh, Binnie, again? I am so sorry this keeps happening to you.”

Changbin shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be, you know?”

For some reason - to this day, you have no idea why - but for some reason, this was the moment you finally snapped.

“You know, you go out with a lot of girls,” you started. “You always fall for them really quickly, and really hard. And you always end up single again after a few weeks. And it - you know what, Changbin? It breaks my heart, it really does. I thought Min Jee was different, but looks like I was wrong, you know? It absolutely breaks my heart to see this happen to you over and over and over again, because you deserve so much better than that. You deserve someone that truly loves you for who you are, not just because you’re an idol. You deserve someone who cares about you, who’s there for you when things are rough, who just… who loves you with every fiber of her being. I can almost guarantee that there’s not a single girl out there who can be even a fraction of those things, who can even come close to loving you as much as I do.”

Changbin’s eyes grew wide as your rant came to a close. He just stared at you for a moment, jaw slack, not saying a word…

...and that was the moment when your brain realized what your mouth had done.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

You know that thing you were never ever ever EVER going to tell him? That thing you were going to take to the grave with you?

Yeah, you just realized your greatest fear: You opened your mouth, and out it went. 

Look, brain, you said to yourself. You can beat me up in a minute, okay? For now, though…

“I have to get out of here,” you said. You turned around and ran out the door, not even bothering to pull it closed behind you. You ran out the front door of the dorms, down the street, to the park just at the end of the block. You didn’t stop running until you reached the small pond near the back of the park - not too many people knew about this pond. It was small and clean and had a bench off to one side of it, facing the water. 

Changbin found it one day, not long after he’d moved into the dorms. It was the perfect place to go to catch a breath of fresh air. He brought you here not long after you’d moved in; the two of you came here often to talk about things you didn’t want the other guys to overhear.

You slumped down on the bench, buried your head in your hands, and started sobbing.

Do your worst, brain, you said. I deserve it.

Of course you do, moron. How could you say that? How could you tell him you love him? There is no possible way he loves you back, you know that, right? You’re probably responsible for him being dumped so many times anyway, they’re all jealous of you. Even Min Jee, she didn’t REALLY like you. She was pretending, for his sake. He just hasn’t figured that out yet. You know what you just did, right? You ruined any chance of a romantic relationship with him, and not only that you’ve completely ruined your friendship. You are such a…

“This seat taken?”

You didn’t answer, instead you kept sobbing quietly into your hands. You thought that maybe if you ignored him, didn’t acknowledge his presence, he’d just… go away.

Weight settling onto the other end of the short bench told you that he did not just go away.

You heard Changbin heave a deep sigh before he started speaking. “Min Jee didn’t break up with me. I broke up with her. Uh, it was the most insane thing that set it off, too. Um, she was telling me all about her day. She always tells me all about her day. And she was telling me about her day, like she always does, and I caught myself thinking: Wow, I really do not care about this even a little bit.” Changbin chuckled quietly to himself before continuing. “I didn’t want to hear about her day. You know whose day I really wanted to hear about? Yours. Min Jee and I were together for two months and I was already tired of hearing about her day. I’ve talked to you every day since we were 16, and I never get tired of hearing about yours. Not even after you started living with us, and I got to see you every day. And I got to thinking: I have dated a lot of girls. But I think about them, even the ones I thought I loved, and I realize something: not one of them would have my back when things would be bad. When my anxiety is too high, none of them would have helped. When I felt like I had a bad performance, they’d just shrug and talk about themselves. Sure, they were pretty, and funny, and smart. But none of them cared about me the same way you do. Not even Min Jee.”

You raised your head, gently wiping your nose. “What are you trying to say, Changbin?”

Changbin gently grasped one of your hands in both of his. “I’m trying to say… I’m definitely saying that I love you too.”

Another tear slipped out of your eye as you stared at him. You tried to wrap your head around the ridiculousness of this situation:

Seo Changbin, the boy you loved and was sure did not love you back, just told you he loved you back.

Take THAT, brain.

“Um… really?” was all you could manage. 

Changbin smiled softly at you; your heart fluttered in your chest. “Really. And you… you really love me?”

“Yes.” You were taken aback a bit by how quickly and effortlessly you answered the question.

Changbin’s grip on your hand tightened ever-so-slightly. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, almost shyly.

“I’d really like that.”

He let go of your hand and cupped your cheeks in his hands, carefully wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. He leaned in, licking his lips slightly before pressing them to yours.

You had dreamed of kissing him before. But even your dreams couldn’t have prepared you for the real thing, how wonderful and warm and sweet it was.

His lips were smooth and dry against yours; they parted slightly as one of his hands moved down to your waist. His other hand stayed cupped against your cheek, thumb lightly brushing your cheekbone. As the kiss deepened, you could feel him pour every emotion he’d been repressing - love, mostly, but also a sense of tenderness and longing - into it. 

Changbin broke the kiss, pulling back from you; he was smiling softly and looking at you as if you were the only other person on Earth.

Not even Daeshim had looked at you like that.

“Uh… wow,” you breathed. 

“Yeah,” he replied, “wow.”

You smiled back at him, resting a hand on his knee, and you leaned in to kiss him again when a sudden stiff breeze rustled through the surrounding trees. You shivered involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asked.

You nodded. “Can we go home?”

“Sure.” He stood first, gently pulling you to a standing position. You walked back to the dorms, hand-in-hand; before you left the park, he asked: “So, how was your day?”

You grinned as you told him all about your day. And he was smiling the entire time.

**

When the two of you got back to the dorms, it sure looked like you were alone. Changbin settled down on the couch; smiling up at you, he patted his lap.

“This seat taken?” you asked, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Changbin just raised an eyebrow as he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you into his lap. He lightly tickled your sides as you laughed, trying to settle into his lap but squirming instead.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be nice,” he said, gently kissing your cheek. “I’m so glad I finally get to hold you this way.”

“Me too.”

“You really weren’t going to say anything?”

“Were you?”

“Fair point, I guess… didn’t want to mess up the friendship either, huh?”

“You are correct, sir.”

A short pause, then: “Only one of them broke up with me because of you, you know.”

“Ha-Rin, yeah. She told me. That was totally unfair of her to make you choose.”

“She told you? She swore me to secrecy and then she told you?”

“Wanted to make me feel guilty, I suppose.” You shrugged. “Didn’t work, I hated her guts. I was never happy to see you get dumped, except when Ha-Rin dumped you.”

“Yeah, that was the only time Minho said I told you so, too.” Changbin chuckled, shaking his head. “You know what, though? None of that matters anymore, now that I’ve got you.”

You hummed happily, leaning back slightly in his arms. “You’re right. But I am dying to know what that one girl was thinking.”

“Which one?”

“Dating you to get closer to the cats?”

Changbin laughed. “Some things, you just never find out.” He nuzzled the side of your neck. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you too, Binnie.” You turned your head, letting his lips connect with yours. Just as the kiss was starting to deepen, you heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You turned your head away… and there were Changbin’s seven band members, all arms crossed, staring down at you.

Changbin grinned sheepishly at them as you waved and said, “Hey, fellas.” Chan started to open his mouth, but you cut him off. “Since I know you guys, and I’m reasonably sure you guys had money riding on this situation, I’ll just settle the main bet and the prop bets. I told him first, extremely by accident but it was me. He broke up with Min Jee because he felt the same way, but that happened before I told him, not because of it. He kissed me first,  and… that should settle it, right?”

“Pay up, suckers.” Jeongin held out a hand as the other guys groaned and reached for their wallets.

“How did you know he was going to break it off with Min Jee but (y/n) would be the one to say it first?!” Jisung grumbled.

“I didn’t, I just guessed.” Jeongin shrugged. “Your money, sir?”

“Go buy yourself something nice,” Jisung said. “Anyway, now that that’s out of the way…I’m really happy for you guys, I really am. Even if you did cost me 20,000 won.”

The rest of the guys nodded in agreement, a few offering their congratulations.

“Look, we’ll leave you two kids alone, if that’s what you want?” Chan said, almost awkwardly.

“Nah, you guys have the living room.” You climbed out of Changbin’s lap, offering him your hand; he took it and you helped him stand. “We’ll just go make out in my room.”

Changbin laughed as you led him down the hallway. “Awfully presumptuous, aren’t we?”

“Look, I know what I want.” You pulled your door shut behind you. “And right now, I want to kiss you.” 

Changbin smiled as you sat down on your bed. “This seat taken?”

“Just get down here.” You pulled the front of his shirt; he fell onto the bed, hovering over you. 

“God, you’re amazing.” He leaned down, closing the gap between your mouths.

You cannot believe you were just never going to tell him how you felt. But now, as his hand slid up to your stomach, you are more than happy you did.

Was that a cliche? Of course it was. But a cliche was making you blissfully happy, so you didn’t seem to mind it so much.

[florbelles]

13~17 for Lyra and John?

thank you legend, i am once again sorry for my response time on this rip

xiii. what is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

— this is something that's actually incredibly difficult for her; the enormity of it is something that nothing feels adequate to express. while she's very physically demonstrative, one of her greatest fears — particularly after he's gone — is that she never expressed it the right way, that he never understood, not really. she desperately hopes he does. she tells him, a thousand times, she is sorry for the way she is, even knowing that he loves her for it, even knowing that he knows what he chose. ( he did, of course, he tells her as much, but it still haunts her ).

she tries to makes him feel loved by what makes her feel loved; making sure he knows she sees him, understands him, accepts him completely and unconditionally. he doesn't need to be anyone else for her; he doesn't need to prove anything to her. she shows him she loves him by letting him simply be, by proving with time that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’s all in.

she shows him love the only ways she knows how. she's most comfortable expressing herself with her body, that she can give him, that she can do and do well ( sexually, yes, of course, but perhaps more pertinently — neither of them have an uncomplicated relationship or history with sex, elaborated on below under xv — with nonsexual signs of affection — running her thumb over his, nuzzling him when she comes up behind him, pressing her lips to his neck ). she’s always touching him if she’s near him. she’s extremely affectionate, both physically and verbally, especially in the mornings and at night when they’re lying limbs-twined.

the simplest answer is, however, synonymous with the answer to xv below; she expresses her love through her trust and willingness to render herself wholly vulnerable. she expresses it through quiet, subtle intimacies that might not be immediately evident to anyone who doesn’t know her ( it’s been stated many times before, but to lyra, the use of a first name and familiar language is the greatest sign of intimacy she can verbally give — her enemies are darling, her husband is john ). “hi, john” is her “i love you;” “i’m so glad it’s you” is her “i love you.”

xiv. what makes them feel loved? would they build up the courage to ask for it?

— the small efforts he makes to meet her at her level. when he says “you love me.” when he manages to drag his ass out of bed for her in the morning to watch the sunrise even though they’re on two hours and he needs his beauty sleep. she doesn't expect accommodation. she doesn't expect anything. one of her most prevailing thoughts early in their relationship is that it would have been enough for him to simply see and understand her; she would not have asked him not to hate her, she does not ask him not to forsake her, but he chose not to. he gave her acceptance. he gave her love. she would never in a thousand years ask for it.

for john, it’s that she lights up when she's around him — is truly simply that happy just to see him and be near him without needing or expecting anything from him, which isn’t something he’s necessarily had in his life from figures who aren’t obligated either by familial bonds or being his subordinates. she could not disguise it even if she wished. he will always make her flush. he will always make her stomach drop and her teeth flash and her eyes gleam. it is simply the way it is: it is incredibly fortunate they are not seen together by anyone outside of the project, because they would have known immediately. ( they do know immediately, when the time comes, before the end of everything ).

xv. what, for them, constitutes a level of intimacy that they would only rarely share with someone? this can be physical, emotional, etc.

— vulnerability, both emotional and physical.* quite literally, he is the only partner she's ever had that she has slept with, excepting some of her earliest girlfriends, generally bunkmates at school ( “i have never slept with a man in all my life!” is a favored gag of hers ). he is also the only partner with whom she hasn't kept her shoes or knives or some means of defense on her person ( john would argue the post-coital teeth and scratch marks he permanently wears make her true defenselessness sat any given time debatable, but it's the thought that counts! ).

( * for the sake of simplicity, this excludes all intimacy in relation to the project; while it’s obviously a major part of their relationship and a shared cause/belief system that deepens their bond, it’s complicated by the fact she would have joined the project and undergone those processes with or without him, whether or not they were lovers )

physical intimacy is, at first glance, something that is decisively not something only rarely shared, given that they both have hundreds of past sexual partners; they both have a complicated past with sex and their own respective baggage. john obviously has a history of self-medication and addiction that’s bound up with his demons and self-loathing; for lyra it's never been a particular vice — she has absolutely also used it to self-medicate in the past, usually as a way to blow off steam when her blood is running hot in a potentially more lethal direction, but it’s never been an instrument of self-destruction — an d is instead primarily is burdened with the fact that she used her sexuality to seduce targets; it's something she weaponized and exploited, so there are always going to be certain situations or circumstances she dislikes seeing john in ( she's reluctant to the prospect of restraining or binding him, for example, since she would use restraints on men she seduced with the intention of intimidating or killing them ). they both have associations they don't want to spill over onto the other.

having said that, the fact of that allows them a type of intimacy that might not be immediately evident to anyone else; she makes sure he knows he doesn't have to fuck her to hold her, he doesn't need to use his body to have that familiarity with her ( given that this is previously unexplored territory for the both of them, her saying so goes over about as well as can be expected — pardon him, he didn’t realize sex with him was such a fucking chore, sorry he is so sexually revolting, don’t do him any favors! — but they get there ).

sex is obviously still a big part of their relationship, and not one that john particularly feels the need to repent, since they’re married in all but name almost immediately and are married in fact within six weeks and otherwise has little difficulty john-justifying ( johnstifying, if you will ) it to himself ( she’s been entrusted to me, i’m bringing her closer to the project, she’s meant for me anyway, god brought her to me, this isn’t lust, she said so herself, this is a sanctioned union ), and she immediately casts off any notions of seducing or manipulating him as means of insinuating herself into the project’s protection ( it’s for this reason she stalls joining; she intends to right away, she believes joseph and desperately wants to believe that this is the reason and purpose for everything in her life up to this point, done both by and to her, but she flatly refuses until she can prove her complete commitment and good faith upfront, an opportunity afforded to her by the camera crew’s fortuitous arrival ) — this is also why she cuts off their first encounter and flees the ranch. she will never use her sexuality against him. in that sense, sex as a form of intimacy is reserved for each other.

( this is, in fact, how she knows she loves him; for all of her extensive sexual history, she has never actually wanted someone — not just release with them, not just a physical attraction to them — she is in fact unsettled on whether or not she is attracted to john physically; he's the most beautiful creature alive to her, but that's because he's him, she loves his nose because it's his nose, she loves his eyes because they're his eyes, his skin because it’s his skin — but actually him. she knew she had to have him. )

xvi. if they had the ability to just spend free time with their partner, what would they do? would they go out or stay inside?

— stay in ( not necessarily literally within the confines of their home, but within their own space ). lyra will probably coax him outside at some point because she doesn't feel right if she's indoors all day, regardless of the weather — no, the first seven years of the collapse are not looking well for her, thank you — but they won't necessarily stray from each other's companionship. if it's a day off, joseph is probably giving them space ( this is also his day off from their shared existence, how wonderful to be able to attend to the rest of the flock without worrying about what problems they're causing on purpose ), so while they'll occasionally have the company of one of their family members, it's more likely to simply be the two of them, possibly with the company of some of their closest inner-circle ( shaggy, holly, shaggy’s brother matthew, a few of their select chosen who are assigned to the ranch ) in the evening if lyra decides she wants a bonfire. otherwise, they take full advantage of their ability to absolutely nothing but laze around and talk and make love.

xvii. under what circumstances would they want to be left alone by their partner?

— this almost never happens, since they’re more inclined towards separation anxiety than a need for space, but lyra is the most likely to want it when she needs to sort out her mental state or let her fuse burn down ( like the time she locked herself in the shower to cry for an hour because he loved her or if they’re in an especially heated argument and she needs to clear her head before she says or does something she’ll regret). she rarely does so, however; she’s aware that from his perspective her walking out on him, no matter how temporary or how rationally he knows she’s coming back, exacerbates his angst and triggers his insecurities.

[aizawaskittenwhore]

  𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭

words:3.7k

pairing: aizawa x fem!reader

warnings: tw mention of blood, tw mentions of death, mentions of drugs in case you forgot this is a cartel au, murder, swearing, keigo being a cocky lil fucker, sexual harassment towards the end cause yakuza men suck

rating: 18+ cause shit gets real this chapter

a/n: i FINALLY FINISHED IT FUCK YES chapter two mothafuckas!!! i’ve been having so much fun brainstorming everything to come, and here you’re gonna really get a feel for how big this cartel is. player two, f/n l/n, you’re up! <3

all rights reserved ©️aizawaskittenwhore. do not copy, repost, or modify.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ↳ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

September 13th, 2181

2:56pm

Musutafu, Japan

“Hold the fuck up. This doesn’t make any sense, I mean—these are Pros. Well known and well respected Pros, at that. The hell would they be tryna’ run a fucking cartel for?!?” Ken Takagi (more commonly known as Rock Lock) rubbed the bridge of his nose in confusion, not understanding the motive or correlation. “I mean think about it. These motherfuckers got more money than they know what to do with. Endeavor is a shareholder in goddamn Nintendo, Hawks owns his own fucking agency and line of sports cars, and I could’ve sworn I saw Eraser getting Shinsou fitted for a fucking Cuban on his birthday a few months ago. It’s not like they’re strapped for cash these days.” Ken huffed, the agent’s arms crossed as he leaned back in the conference chair.

In an attempt to try and broaden the range on your current investigation, your department recruited the help of several Pros to provide reinforcements in Japan, the States, and wherever else sales were being made. Going undercover was already plenty dangerous, and going alone was the equivalent of signing your own death warrant. Enlisting the help of Rock Lock, Ryukyu, Miruko, Fatgum, Edgeshot and plenty of others was relatively easy; these were Heroes that had experience with smugglers and narcotics-based operations, so when you’d approached them with the task at hand, they’d happily agreed.

However, some needed more convincing than others.

“Takagi. Think about it. Sure, they may not be living paycheck to paycheck, but look at the timeline.” You state, looking over your shoulder towards the holographic board displaying an interactive timeline of the investigation, including photos, invoices and even audio recordings pulled from surveillance cameras. “Two years ago, we seized a truck containing approximately 78 kilograms of crack cocaine. When we questioned the driver on where he was taking it and where he got it from, he didn’t budge. Luckily for us, the dumbass wasn’t smart enough to avoid a paper trail, leaving the insurance documents in the glove compartment when we’d taken him into custody. The insurance company was under the name “Target Lance”, but after doing some digging on the name we found out the corporation went bankrupt six months before and was eventually bought out by Chevrolet.” Pausing to return to the screen welded to the wall behind you, your hands swiped as you searched for the file reading December 5th, 2178: A live video feed of a towering skyscraper being built, the building’s name reading “Chevrolet Corvette Inc.” as it hovered above tens of stories above each worker.

“But you all haven’t heard the name Chevy in a while right? That’s because two weeks after that building was built, the hundred-million dollar company was bought out by Takami Corporate-”

“-who owns Takami Motors. Which is the brand associated with the Peregrine Speedsters, Hawks’ damned sports car line.” Ken finished for you, brown spheres twinkling in sudden clarity. “Now you’re speaking my language.” You nod, hands waving as you continue to brief the room of Pros.

“The Todoroki and Nintendo console collaboration didn’t happen until about earlier this year, March to be specific. Which is quite convenient..since around that time the price of cocaine per gram stabilized in both America and Japan, rising from $112 to $138 bucks a pop. I’m nobody to speak on looks either, but for as long as we’ve known of him, Eraser has dressed like a depressed college student with insomnia that doesn’t understand the concept of soap or a pair of clippers. Now he’s got his wife in Cartier bracelets and getting his shirts tailored because the collar “doesn’t allow him enough room for his capture weapon”?!? Bullshit.” You huff, stifling a smile as you watch Miruko and Edgeshot snicker in their seats at your...blunt observation.

“It makes sense. Three years ago all our agencies, including those overseas, started cutting our checks down by half. They can barely afford to pay us a quarter of what we used to make, and these guys are making these lavish purchases while we all starve?? No way. Something’s fishy, and it’s damn sure not this takoyaki.” Fatgum spat, hands quivering with rage as he struggled to grasp the food with his chopsticks.

“Fatgum’s right. Hero unemployment is at a staggering 8.7 percent. Meanwhile, these men are spending money like it’s going out of style. It makes no sense.” Miruko pondered, Ryukyu folding her hands in her lap as she voiced her approval for immediate action. Edgeshot nodded in agreement, brows furrowed in frustration at this blatant disregard for the law. “So we’re all in agreement that our own people have resorted to breaking the law. Cool, got it. Question is, why? And what the hell are we gonna do about it?” Ken demanded, his patience having worn thin from all this speculation.

“Good question. I think they’re trying to take advantage of the tough spot the Hero Commission is in right now, manipulate that vulnerability and use it for their own gain. They’re not invulnerable to the tough times Pros are facing in the workforce. So they’ve gotten together to try and make it work for them, even if it means breaking the law.” You query, hands typing furiously at the virtual screen to pull up the files of each Hero, displaying all the current information on them from their blood type to each known family member. “These three banding together though? Along with other people? There’s no way. They hate each other. Or at the very least couldn’t get anything done even if they did have a common goal in mind.” Edgeshot murmured lowly.

“I thought so too. But then it hit me: it’s not just some flimsy group project. Sure, crime has gone up since the formation of this cartel, but nobody who holds any rank has been murdered or harmed in any way. No no no, these guys are singing in tune for now...which means there’s a damn good choir director among them. So I’ve volunteered to go undercover, work my way through this organization and figure out just how high up this goes.” You assert, shoulders rigid and chin aloft as the harnesses of your costume frame your figure.

“Alone?? Are you outta your goddamn mind? Let me go, you’ll need back up-” Rock Lock sputters, hands fanning out in shock.

“No way. What about your wife, your kid?! This isn’t just some average drug bust, we’re dealing with powerful men in possession of superhuman abilities that have the game on lockdown. You’ve got too much to lose, more than any of us anyway. Edgeshot and I will go, we’ve seen the other side of the law before, and our quirks are better suited for stealth should anything go wrong.” You fire, eyes narrowing into slits. “The rest of you will be working in tandem with the DEA and our resources, and we’ll report back to you with all future developments. We’ll also need you to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, if we need it.”

A thick silence clogged the air, Ken settling back into his seat across the table. His amber eyes flickered in irritation before huffing in acceptance, the situation being out of his hands. All the conference participants’ gazes fixed in determination, some with anger. The tense aura weighed on everyone present before Miruko cleared her throat, ivory teeth gleaming in a smirk.

“Well we’ve got a solid plan. So all I wanna know is...when do we start?

June 2nd, 2182

In all honesty...you thought the nickname was just a sad attempt to stroke his ego. But seeing the way over seventy commercial-size planes and approximately 30 seaplanes sat aloft balmy concrete in the Guadalajara sun showed you exactly why they called Hawks “Lord of The Skies”. Arrays of laborers with avian-oriented quirks loaded kilo after kilo of coke on to each and every plane, some by hand and others by forklift. Welders were personally hand selected by Keigo himself to eliminate the issue of utilizing every available inch of space; each vessel having been stripped of everything from the seats to the built in mini-bars (much to Keigo’s chagrin). From where you stood in the scalding hot beams, the runway seemed to extend for miles as it brimmed with visible heat-waves.

Dressed in a simple black tank top, black biker type shorts, aluminum plated gauntlets, steel toed combat boots and harnesses that encapsulated the curves of your body before coming to a stop at your thighs, you silently rejoiced in the airflow your gear allowed you in spite of the color. The bandanna atop your hairline helped to absorb some of the sweat, which was a bonus.

“Not bad for a starter fleet huh? The wingspan on these babies almost makes me jealous.” A rich and decadent voice called from your left. Sleek carmine appendages and brassy blond hair entered your peripheral vision, giving way to the man who ran the show: Keigo Takami. Adorned in a pair of low rise denim jeans that were so incomprehensibly tight they accentuated every bit of his dick (which was likely intentional), a plain white tee and ebony cowboy boots that looked like they cost three times what you make in a week; he most definitely looked the part of the People Magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive” and Playboy’s “Player of the Month” titles he’d earned. Luminous olive skin glistened with sweat, droplets sliding down the deep v neck of his shirt with ease; the way the daisy-hued fabric stuck to his crafted abdomen leaving nothing to the imagination. Tourmaline and Argentium piercings dangled effortlessly from both ears, and if you weren’t so hell-bent on putting the motherfucker in jail you would’ve had no problem admitting how attractive he really was.

“Starter fleet? You’re about to put Delta out of business, look at this shit!” You guffaw, arms folded, an eyebrow raised in astonishment at his “humble” admission. “Flattery will get you everywhere, and then some.” Keigo chuckles, breath hot against your ear the instant he bends at the waist, hands settled in his pockets with that cocky aura about him.

“-And having your damn breath against my ear in 107 degree weather will, respectfully, get you my foot up your ass. I didn’t fly down here to get treated like one of your poor interns. I came here to make money, so let’s talk it.” You lash, the climbing tempature slicing your tolerance for bullshit to shreds.

“Shit. Straight to the point huh? I like it. You wanna talk shop, say no more. Over lunch though, I’m starving out here.” Keigo clicks his teeth with a grin, escorting the two of you towards the very jet he’d arrived in. “A little unknown fact about me, usually I hate flying ”conventionally”. Gives me anxiety, and I’m awful company when I’m nervous.”

Settling into the light taupe hued cabin, you observe the not-so-subtle elements of class. Ivory shochu bottles with intricate crystalline glasses to match, the bar fully stocked with gold accents along the upholstery. Plates of costly Kobe style beef rested atop spotless porcelain, romaine lettuce coupled with grilled applewood bacon, chicken, avocado and buttermilk dressing settled into envy-inducing black marble bowls. The plane was spacious, and certainly cost a pretty penny or two. “You’re upfront, so I’ll be honest with you. As of right now, this plane is the last thing I’m worried about-” Hawks mutters lowly, dijon eyelets tapering into thin slivers.

“-It’s the Shie Hassaikai making their encore appearance, and with the Colombians at that.”

You choke on a sip of Vega Sicilia, pupils dilating at the thought. 

“Now you spoke about wanting to make some money, right?” You nod, heart rate steadily rising. 

“What if I could offer you something more? Something of...extensive value.” Keigo drawled, dark undertone flooding the air like a thick smoke.  “Like what, Takami?” You inquire.

“A seat at the table.” He shrugs, like one would if they were discussing something as trivial as ice cream flavors or Friday night plans, not the reorganization of a crime syndicate. “You’ve been workin’ for me shy of a year now right? Somethin’ like that? Anyway..”

He takes a deep, contemplative swig of the chestnut liquid, eyes boring into yours. 

“You’re efficient, and you don’t take anyone’s shit. Good help’s hard to find in our line of work, and before you know it, this little hierarchy is gonna go under some..reorganization. Only the people who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty will have a place in the new order, so I want you there.”

“What’s the catch? I’m not dumb enough to just assume this is some promotion for busting my ass.” You tread, brain working double-time to try and decipher just what Keigo’s getting at. “Clever girl. It’s a simple task, in and out.” He assures, middle and ring finger sliding a matte-finish photo across the mahogany. Displayed was Kinan Zango, a member of the Shie Hassaikai’s middle rankings shaking hands with Joaquin Fuentes, a Columbia native known for having a body count in the double digits. 

“Another fact about me: Only one thing heightens my anxiety more than planes...people who fuck with my money. This asshole Kinan’s been selling my routes to the fucking Columbians and pocketing the profits, and getting 20% of the product as a little “thank you” when he knows nobody moves coke through the Gulf other than Takami fucking Keigo. He’s becoming a problem, and I don't like those.” Kei growls, left eye twitching minutely. His nails are sinking into the polish of the wood, his energy vehemently furious.

“Take care of this for me, and you’ll be my plus one to Guadalajara tomorrow.”

The general public often made the mistake of writing Keigo off as just your average “pretty boy”. Whereas a trained eye could see that while he may be pretty, he was nobody to be tested. The sheer intellect he possesses to seek, hand-craft each and every route, assign planes to their designated locations along with alternatives should there ever be an issue? He just didn’t get enough credit. 

So he took major offense when someone had the audacity to treat his hard work as though it was theirs.

Besides.. you got a man with looks, money and bloodlust? Tch. You’ve just created a monster.

You weren’t necessarily opposed to the idea of ridding the world of another drug-dealing degenerate, but the idea of casually committing a murder as a DEA agent in a foreign country just didn't sit right with you. Undercover agents weren’t permitted a “license to kill” should the investigation call for it either, so it was between committing a murder as government agent, or declining Keigo’s request and missing out on a front row seat to the cartel’s entire operation.

The silence that followed his sentence was deafening. Ice cubes chimed loftily as they swirled around inside his glass, clear liquid sloshing around while he awaited an answer.

Your jaw sets, eyes piercing into his. 

“Consider it done.”

Blood spattered onto the pale concrete, moonlight illuminating the scarlet hues. Your knuckles throbbed with pain, the sensation blossoming through your hand as your lips curled back in a snarl, vigorously ridding your hands of the other man’s bodily fluids. 

“ If you really think coming after me for that bird brained motherfucker is gonna change anything, you got another thing fucking coming.” Kinan spat, nose steadily flowing with red. His lip was busted, face splotched with yellowing purple bruises. Tugging at his restraints he thrashed, mouth spewing white-hot venom.

“You’re talking a lot of shit for a middle-ranking yakuza who thinks some new coke routes is gonna keep the Hassaikai from dumping your body on the side of some road in Zacatecas.” You observe, sending a harsh kick between the mans ribs, steel toed boots making an audible crack. “The Japanese are like Dixie Cups to them...”‘use em’ once, then throw em’ away”, right? You’re a fool if you think your days aren't numbered once you wear out your welcome.”

“Fuck you. You’re little boy toy threw a temper tantrum, so he sent you to “take care of things”, isn’t that right?” Kinan coos, eyes softening in a mocking pout. 

“Trust me, you're not the first slut Takami’s been sticking it in that he’s sent to kill me. Only difference between you and the rest of those bitches-” He huffs, head craning back against the metal chair to let our a soft breath of laughter. “-is that you’re gonna put up a fight.”

Suddenly his bones began to shift, popping and snapping as his skin began to pool below him; you recoiled in fear watching his body slowly slip from his imprisonment like gelatin exits a mold.

“I’ve got elastic bones kid! Whatever breaks just snaps right back into place.”

Skin stretching and pulling as he regained his original form, legs sprinting towards you. Before you could fire off your Quirk’s sonic blast his grip seized the back of your neck, a blade taking residence just below your left eye; it’s tip pressing uncomfortably into your water line. 

“Now, if you're good, I’ll make it quick. Though I’m known for being pretty... through with my toys.” Kinan leers, a hand slowly slithering down your sides to reach for the muscle of your ass. 

“Go to hell, and die there while you’re at it!” You shout.

Bile creeping into your throat, you seize the momentary shift in energy, generating a small sound wave that sent Kinan a few feet to your left; giving the two of you some distance. Your Quirk allowed you to absorb sound to power-up your physical movements, or send it out in the form of sonic blasts or sound waves, so the louder the sound, the more power it gave you. Readying your fists in anticipation for combat, you silently willed for a sudden disruption in the deafening silence as he rushed back to your rigid body. 

What you didn’t anticipate was that the sudden bang that filled the air, and the lifeless body of Kinan dropping to your feet with a thud, his head...

excavated, for lack of a better word.

“Don’t you know the entire point of having backup while under cover is to... call for backup?” Edgeshot snarked, striding towards you, gun settled back into it’s holster. His foot carelessly nudged the bleeding man before removing a Polaroid camera from his knapsack and snapping a photo of the carnage.

“W-what the fuck?! Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful when I say this, but what the absolute fuck did you just do??? We’re government agents, in a foreign country, we can’t just fucking murder these assholes nor do we have the license to-” You sputter, brows arching in frustration.

“This was your ticket into Guadalajara. I just secured you box seats when you were this close to getting stuck in the damned nosebleeds. I believe the correct words you’re looking for are thank you.” Kamihara snaps, shoving the photo into your hand. 

“We’re in a world completely different from our own. It’s forgiveness first, and permission later down here. I don’t like it either...but it’s just the way things are.” He sighs, hanging his head while his shoulders settled like the solar system rested on them. 

“I’ll take care of this. Now take that to Hawks, and don’t you dare fuck it up. Don’t let me have killed this poor asshole in vain.” 

You nod, stepping over Kinan’s body. 

Good riddance.

“Thank you, by the way.” You putter. Kamihara returns the sentiment with a nod, before turning to the corpse before him, phone raised to his ear as he spoke with whoever was on the opposite line, eyes that were once grey now swam with deep scarlet.

“Excellent work! I won’t lie, I had a feeling you were hardcore, but damn, this is some seamless shit! You deserve my praise.” Keigo beams, pearly teeth sparkling in the light of the cabin. Nodding in acceptance you grasped his hand upon his offering, permitting him to escort you towards your respective aircraft.

“Well, a promise is a promise. And if nothing else, I’m most certainly a man of my word. Meet me at this airstrip same time tomorrow, 8am. Pack light, Mexico’s a bitch in the summer, though you already know that.”

“Got it. Pleasure doing business with you, Hawks.”

“Call me Keigo, if you want. I hate all the formal shit, long as we got respect, that's all I need.” He shrugs.

“Understood. See you tomorrow, Keigo.” You affirm, climbing the ladder to your jet, body visibly relaxing at the thought of rest.

“Wait--before you go, I wanted to ask ya. What’s with the whole ancient hieroglyphics tat you got goin on, on your spine? It just looks familiar, is all.” He queries.

Home.

November 12th, 2174.

“Y/N! I found somethin’! It’s this super cool protection rune I found in grandma’s things. Check it out! It wards off all evil, and whoever’s in possession of it can, like, balance their energy with the divine power.”

“You’re such a hippie, I swear to god.” You grin.

“Don’t hate because my chakras are balanced and yours aren’t, bitch.” She grinned, index and thumb coming together to flick your forehead. 

“At least take it with you for your exam, for good luck! Pleaseeeee! I think it’ll really help.” Her doe eyes melting your steely resolve. You could never deny her, those eyes constantly solidifying her role as the younger sister. 

“...Only if you’ll clean my room for me when I come back for Christmas.” You demand, an eyebrow raised in mirth.

“Deal.”

And even though you never did admit it to her, that tiny piece of paper tucked into your bra did more for you during that exam than any late night cram session ever could’ve.

“It’s a protection rune. To ward off all evil energies, spirits and all that shit.” You mutter.

“Hm. Looks like it works, seeing how well tonight panned out for ya. Could use me one, would probably keep old man Todoroki out my fuckin’ hair.” He chuckles, hands releasing from the railing as he threw you a wave.

“But I wouldn’t worry too much about tomorrow, anyway. I got a feeling you’re gonna fit in just fine with us.” He smirked.

Ah.

If only that were true, Keigo.

taglist! : @liliesoftherainmain @therealwalmartjesus

[regrettablewritings]

Hey can I please get a, j and K from the fluff alphabet with the phantom aka Erik aka og aka my recent character crush? Thank you so much!

Okay, but this is the last fluff alphabet. Stuff is under the cut

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?):

Honestly, Erik is drawn to anyone who won’t treat him horribly. It’s sad, but absolutely true. Given his presumed lot in life, Erik hasn’t really been allowed too many opportunities to be especially picky. But going by his motivations, there are generally two stand-out things he seeks in a person: That they be adequate in looks, and that they don’t treat him like shit.

Before you criticize him on the temerity of the former, let it be known that it ties in to why he does so many of the things he does; why he demands a salary, for example: At the root of it all, what Erik wants is to have a normal life. Sure, he also wants said life to include his works being embraced the world over, but it’s more so on the grounds that he wants to do so as an absurdly talented but otherwise normal man. Particularly in the face.

He only accrues his wealth so that one day, by some grace of miracles, he will be able to join that world above him. And when that day comes, he will be prepared; he can afford a house and fill it with lovely things, including a lovely wife. One whom he can spoil and treasure and whose arm will link with his own as they walk through the park on Sunday evenings and who will love him as dearly as he shows his love for her . . . Really, for all that Erik does, it’s as much for his hypothetical wife as it is for him.

But given how hard he’s fumbled in the past, he really can’t afford to be especially picky. In addition to this, how beautiful he finds someone is also heavily influenced by how they treat him: To Erik, to be shown kindness is to see the kindness of God. However, please note that at this point, he’s almost certainly accepting of even forms of pity; just please do not reject him or treat him as a monster.

Of course, your kindness is what set him off but to Erik’s credit, he had learned to be better since the last time: He learns about the importance of having an ever-patient partner, especially for the likes of him; he learns that for as frustrating as it can be, there’s something good in having a significant other who’s not afraid to put their foot down or call him out on his unintentional moments of arrogance; he learns how to value himself more, to not accept pity as an accepted form of tolerance if it could be helped. But most of all, he realized just how much nicer it was to have someone whom he could actually discuss with, someone who was capable of forcing him to better himself by valuing what they had to say or what they thought.

Given how long he’d only had to think for himself, it’s a bit of a force of habit on the Opera Ghost’s part. But, given the proper guidance and adjustment period, it’s not one he altogether minds letting go of. Over all, what he’s attracted to in you is that you have a hold over him. And given the sort of life he’s led up to this point, it feels nice to be held.

Thankfully, you were much simpler: You liked the enigma that was the Phantom of the Opera. It took you ages to so much as pry out his name despite the fact that he’d been so willing to share with you his music much sooner. Frustrating, yes, but you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by it all, intrigued by his world away from worlds you knew. You loved how complex he was, being so dominant yet vulnerable, so competent yet in need of guidance. You loved how in spite of everything, he was incredibly learned for a man of the era, how his library consisted of no shortage of foreign literature and music books filled to the brim with his notes.

You loved how everywhere you looked, even after learning his habits, his interests, his joys and sorrows, there was always something more to learn about your lover. In short, you loved everything that made Erik, (literal) warts and all.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?):

. . . You know damn well that Erik gets jealous. This man’s possessiveness, in fact, is ripe enough to drive the plot of a story – and has! However, it might be proposed that we generally are not completely aware as to why Erik displays territorialism as intensely as he does. And in my honest opinion, it comes down to two main reasons which continuously entwine with one another: That Erik is on the autism spectrum, and that even without that, Erik’s life has made him consequently overprotective.

On the subject of the former, without making a lesson out of this, it’s not uncommon at all to select a person you’ve essentially “invited” into your life and attach yourself to them. A sudden change of that, depending on the person, could prove distressing – like, say, a potential threat suitor taking your attention off of him, getting a bit too close to you for the Phantom’s comfort, and so on. As Erik sees it, you’re his person, and frankly he isn’t fond of sharing. You’re a part of his life now, one he especially doesn’t want to have changed.

Going off this, it also helps to remember that Erik’s life has been incredibly unstable for the most part. Him living on an underground lake located in a labyrinth beneath a Parisian opera house has actually been the most structured his life has ever been! The only thing that has accompanied him all this time has been that monkey-shaped music box, so it’s fair to assume that he’s since developed a bit of . . . avidity. What few things life has given him, he intends to keep by as many means as necessary. Sometimes (at least in his mind), those means can just mean pulling pranks about the opera house so that a single, untalented performer doesn’t ruin the establishment’s reputation. Other times, it means flinging balls of fire at those whom he deems are threats.

He knows that, in the end, you’re far from pleased but he just can’t help himself: You’re one of the only good things that have graced his life, let alone one of the only ones that appears willing to stay -- he’s grown accustomed to having you around and if you were to suddenly, well, not be because some handsome, rich, talentless, impudent child had gained your attention, then he would be devastated! So much so that he might act on his aggressions . . .

(Though, let it be clarified that it is not your job to better Erik. Voice your disagreement about his desires, as these are not meant to justify his antics; only explain them. He’s thankfully since learned to be somewhat more agreeable than before, so it isn’t impossible to make him yield.)

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?):

If you were expecting the world’s most secluded man to be a naturally-gifted kisser, than you are sadly and extraordinarily mistaken. Erik’s kisses are wobbly and uncertain, as though he were unsure of where to put his lips (which he is). It was like that the first time you’d kissed, and it’s safe to assume they’ll continue to be of similar nature for a while with some dosage of insecurity in them or another.

However, you couldn’t have wanted for anything more. You see, the first time the two of you shared a kiss, it had been a bit of an effort of both parts. It’s honestly hard to determine whom the proper initiator had been: One might say it was Erik, as he had been the one to hover so closely to you; all you had been doing at the moment was leafing through one of his books on poetry whilst taking up residency on his lounge. However, another might argue that you were silently yet intentionally ensorcelling him when you glanced behind to find him staring at you: You did, after all, grace him with a shy yet warm smile. But then again, Erik’s eyes bore into you with the same hunger and pleading as a pup demanding attention (and perhaps a snack) from its master -- there was simply no way to misinterpret his longing!

But then you invited him over, voicing how “standing over there looks far lonelier than sitting right here” might’ve been. But then, perhaps, Erik was too eager in his footsteps, too brisk in spite of his thundering heart? Or were you well aware when you insisted he scoot closer to you so that he could read along with you? Whatever the case, his figure remained stiff as it sat next to you, leaving a painfully thin but painfully there wall of silence between the two of you. You could just barely feel the faintest brush of the very fiber of his clothes against you. But what you swore you felt much more vibrantly was . . . this sense of need.

“Erik,” you spoke, shattering the quiet, “I’m afraid I’m having trouble deciphering this . . . Would you mind . . .?” Your voice trailed as you lifted the book only enough for him to see. However, it would only be enough for him to see if he made an effort to move even closer to you. He parted his lips; you could hear the beginnings of an effort to deny you, only for him to rescind. It was not in his nature, as Erik was coming to find, to deny you the sound of his voice or his attention.

The threat of a shudder racked your body as the fine threads of his jacket scratched against your arm, the slightest hint of Erik’s nerves trickling through them. He was just close enough for you to register his warmth, what little he tended to give off anyway. It was perfect.

Craning his neck as far as he would allow himself to, Erik obliged you:

“Till, ho,” his voice recited, low but clear. Warm yet distant.

“Astarte bright Rose o’er the shadowy vale And filled the whole deep night With crystalline low light, White, tremulous, and pale.”

Tremulous, you noted. Much like himself. Much like the endless night he so dominated . . .

“Then on the star-lit bank,” he continued, “Dreaming of what love’s bliss is, we --” He paused. He furrowed his brow before releasing it once more. You dared to believe that the Opera Ghost was blushing!

Tremulous indeed, he tried to start once more, “W. . . we . . .”

“’Trembled,’” you assisted, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

“Mm,” he hummed, far too flustered to consider making it tuned. “W-we . . . trembled . . . and we sank . . .” He sighed heavily, the end in sight.

“And thro’ her lips I drank Her soul in rapturous kisses . . .”

Once more, the Phantom exhaled heavily, albeit more so from embarrassment than before. He didn’t recall adding that piece to his library, not that it wasn’t something he wouldn’t normally own. Still, the thought that he had exposed himself in such a manner, much less to you . . . It was inappropriate to say the least! Against his already buzzing nerves, he spared you a glance to determine the amount of damage he might have caused your relationship.

To his surprise, you didn’t appear to be very flustered, if at all! In fact, you appeared to be intrigued. Very intrigued, if one were to gain evidence in how you appeared to be leaning in ever so slightly. If Erik had ever questioned what the flames of Hell might have felt like, he would have dared theorize they felt as his burning face did in that moment.

“‘In a rapturous kiss’,” you repeated. He wasn’t certain how to reply; he only offered a curt nod. You blinked, almost sheepishly.

“Erik . . .” you breathed, “would you . . .?”

“. . . Y. . .” The word never came out. Not because it had been sudden, but because the man was simply unable to even process even a one-worded sentence. It was all, in fact, very slow in movement: From how he inched in closer; to how you leaned in further; to the way your eyes fluttered shut; to how Erik, almost childishly, struggled to determine the proper angle at which to make the connection.

It felt like an eternity and yet fleeting all at once. And yet, the kiss did happen. Messily, awkwardly, and not nearly anything like the poets in Erik’s book might have written.

But, oh, was it nonetheless tremulous and tender, yet burning.

Rapturous.

Thank you for being patient!

[tirorah]

Road to Berlin – The Strike Witches Magnum Opus?

Hello! It’s been a long time. I don’t plan on returning to Tumblr long-term—it simply stole away too much of my time and energy, and I had to do what was best for myself. However, I thought I’d pop in for a very special message.

You see, Strike Witches’ third season, Road to Berlin, has now reached its halfway point. And I need you to watch it.

“Strike Witches?!” I hear you say. “That weird show about girls with no pants that you’re obsessed with for some reason?”

Yes, exactly! Hold on, don’t run away yet! Sit with me for a spell and allow me to explain my boundless love for this silly, emotionally gripping show. Allow me to tell you why it might affect you in the same way, and why Road to Berlin may be the best offering yet.

Welcome to the 501st Joint Fighter Wing

If you’ve heard of this anime, you’ve undoubtedly heard of (or witnessed) its rather infamous claim to fame: a group of teenage soldiers fighting strange creatures in an Alternate Universe World War 2 Europe, flying around with guns and magic-fueled leg machines, and none of them are wearing any decent trousers.

That takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? I’m not going to deny that. But while Strike Witches’ rather peculiar design decisions are inescapable, there’s one thing you need to take into account: Season 1 aired all the way back in 2008. And over those thirteen years, it’s evolved into an experience unlike anything its roots would suggest.

Strike Witches has always been a strange beast. It has a large cast and divides its activities evenly between (light) war drama and slice-of-life shenanigans. And there’s fanservice, lots and lots of it! But the show’s emphasis on risqué camera work, and how that camera work is handled, highly depends on which entry you’re watching.

You see, Strike Witches is strangely ambitious. It could’ve easily taken its bizarre concept and pushed that to its limits, bringing in as much fanservice as possible and playing a simple story in the background as window dressing. But it was never satisfied with just that. Even early on in Season 1, the show deals with heavier themes like pressure, trauma and loss.

And then there are the characters, the undisputed stars of the show. Twelve strong and all with different backgrounds and personal quirks, they may at first seem like TV Tropes come to life. And certainly, sometimes they are. However, as the series progressed, things started to change. Even Season 2, arguably the lightest and silliest of all entries, featured material that built on character development and character growth earned in its predecessor.

With the movie and a trio of OVAs to round out the cast a bit more, the stage was set for Road to Berlin.

The Difficult Road Ahead

When this season was first announced back in 2018, two things stood out to me. First of all, the key visual and promotional video released along with the announcement were much more similar in style to the movies and the OVAs, featuring serious-looking characters and stormy clouds. Secondly, for the first time in Strike Witches history, an entry received a subtitle. Yes, the OVAs were named Operation Victory Arrow, but that was merely wordplay to spell out “OVA.” It wasn’t wholly serious.

Road to Berlin, however, is deadly serious.

Let’s start with an overall theme. The vaunted 501st Joint Fighter Wing has had some major victories, but much of the continent is still under occupation by the Neuroi. The Hive over Berlin is the Wing’s new target, but the journey there is fraught with obstacles. Plans are thwarted and delayed by Neuroi more powerful and far craftier than their 2008 counterparts.

And as the opening song tells us: “We all have flaws.” The Road to Berlin isn’t an entirely literal road; it’s also a metaphorical one. The push to Berlin is their hardest battle yet. Victory can only be achieved if the characters face and overcome their weaknesses. But they’re not alone.

Friendship Is Power

As the characters have long since been established, there’s greater room for growth not just in one character, but also in how that character interacts with others. Road to Berlin chose the best possible route and decided to emphasize character dynamics. Episodes don’t focus on a single character anymore; they focus on relationships, and those relationships are at their peak here.

There’s a newfound maturity to the writing in Road to Berlin, a gentle touch that allows the characters to breathe and be more than their foremost traits. You get a sense that the characters have grown from their experiences; they feel different, more well-rounded, but they still behave exactly as they should. This is difficult to get right, and while I’m sure there might be a few eyebrow-raising moments here and there, the overall result is a cast that continues to improve every week.

Chekhov’s Gun

Underpinning the character work is a highly intriguing execution. Road to Berlin delivers subtle setups and satisfying payoffs in every episode. The pacing is also seriously tight. No moment is left unused, every opportunity for additional development is taken. Even the script itself doesn’t like to waste time; it explains things here and there, but it rightly assumes you know who the characters are and what everything means, so it doesn’t bother with many unnecessary lines.

On top of all that, this season is reaching new heights in confidence and sheer audacity, and it uses that to deliver something truly special. There are interactions here that I never could’ve imagined, twists that genuinely caught me off-guard, moments where I had to sit back and digest what I’d just witnessed.

Not a single episode has been predictable thus far; I’ve had more surprises than I can count. In fact, before I started watching I made a bingo card on a whim, filling it with trends and running gags I’d spotted over the course of the series. Some of those bingo spaces have already been proven wrong, and others are in question. Road to Berlin has done such a spectacular job at simultaneously defying and exceeding my expectations that I honestly have no idea where this journey will take me.

The Fault in Our Stars

Okay, hold up, stop the hype train! I admit, I’m a massive sucker for Strike Witches. One could say this somewhat clouds my judgement. Shocking, I know. So, to make this enthusiastic recommendation fairer, let’s dig into something that I hope to see an improvement on.

There is some terrible imbalance in screen time going on here. I know I said earlier that the cast is great, and it is amazing, but some characters have definitely been favored over others. Yoshika is the main character, of course, so it’s not unreasonable for her to have a large role. Similarly, characters like Minna, Gertrud and Shirley have more experience and higher ranks than the others, which means they have an easier time fitting into scenes.

So, who’s gotten the short end of the stick?

Let’s start with Lynne. She hasn’t had as much of a presence as I’d hoped. The primary reason for this is Shizuka, who’s taken up the role of newbie to the squadron and is often paired with Yoshika because they’re working together. As each episode focuses on the relationships between a select few characters at a time, the others are often relegated to minor roles, and poor Lynne hasn’t had an episode to highlight her yet. I’m sure her moment will come eventually.

I don’t know if the same thing applies to Minna. She’s mostly stuck behind her desk again, it seems, and while she’s definitely had some scenes, her role as Wing Commander hasn’t allowed her as much wiggle room as some of the others. What I want to see from Minna is more time to be a nurturing mom to her girls. The thing is, I’m not sure how they’d accomplish a Minna-centric episode. I suppose they could pair her up with Mio, but even then, I’m uncertain where to take her. It seems redundant to have her be worried out of her mind over Mio again, and she seems to be keeping it together pretty well so far anyway.

In a trend so merciless it’s almost comical, Sanya and Eila seem forever doomed to the peanut gallery. They started out with few lines and have pretty much remained in the background since. Of course, a big factor to it all is their role as the night patrol, which naturally separates their activities from everyone else’s. It’s my current prediction that their relationship is next in line to be showcased. The quality of that episode will likely hinge on how their personalities are tuned, but there’s potential for something great.

And most shocking of all, Mio—She Who Has Practiced Plot Armor Ten Thousand Times—has had the most infinitesimal role of all. I’m of two minds on this. It appears that Road to Berlin has realized that having Mio fly into battle without a shield or Striker Unit is silly, and this is good. On the other hand, Mio is an iconic and beloved character. She deserves some screen time as long as she doesn’t overshadow the others. For now, she seems to be relegated to strategizing and logistics, although I have a hunch that a way to circumvent her newfound vulnerability has already been set up. Time will tell if this ends up being utilized.

Journey’s End

In closing, Road to Berlin highlights the best of what Strike Witches has to offer. It’s striding boldly forward, eager to dazzle us with its animation and audio, grinning as it challenges our preconceptions about where its characters can go and what they can do.

The path to this greatness can be tough. Watching Strike Witches means accepting a number of strange concepts, which can give quite a few viewers a rough start with the series. However, if you made it all the way here and haven’t given Strike Witches a try yet, I sincerely implore you to make the attempt. If you allow the characters to sweep you off your feet, then Road to Berlin could be the apex of a most satisfying viewing experience.

Especially if its second half is as impressive as the first. I, personally, have high hopes. There’s no sky this show can’t conquer.