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dira333 · 2 months

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Bakugo x Reader, 6 parts, Timeskip AU

Not everyone is born with a Soulmark. But even if you are, it doesn't make things easier.

Warnings: None, Angst to Fluff.

Chapters are going to be posted daily.

Part 1

Deku’s Soulmark is on his shoulder, barely noticeable in the mess of freckles. He’s got it just shortly after Katsuki, of course because Katsuki always gets things first. Like his teeth, or his Quirk. Katsuki thinks his Soulmark is a lot cooler, something like a tribal pattern, but it looks even better. The only annoying thing about it is the placement. It’s a fat, blueish-black mass on his left ass cheek and his mother has told him not to show it around.

Not that he would. He only showed it to Deku to prove that he got his mark first.

The dream is always the same.

Flakes of Ash are flowing through the air like snowflakes. Upturned tables and chairs make it hard to navigate the room, but he’s on it, moving through the Chaos.

Katsuki spots a leg first, lifts the desk you must have tried to hide under.

Your face is covered in soot, your features barely recognizable. He sinks to his knees at your side, cradles your head in his hands.

“Wake up,” he begs you, his heart hammering in his throat. “Wake up.”

You never open your eyes. Instead, he’s the one who wakes up, stares at the ceiling above him, and curses.

It’s known to happen. Just another symptom of his bond. The longer it takes you to find your Soulmate, the more of this you get to experience. And it’s not like he’s not looking. But it’s a different kind of looking, now that he’s the Number 2 Hero in Japan.

Katsuki hits his pillow a few times, settles again. If he falls asleep now, he can get another hour of much-needed rest.

But rest won’t come.

Instead, he thinks about Deku, who’s already found his Soulmate. Just another win over him. Though, he doubts Deku’s counting them like he is.

When he closes his eyes, your face is the only thing he sees. So still, covered in dirt. If only he could brush away the dirt, maybe he’d be able to find you.

If only he could dream a little longer.

“Soulmate Mark finally spotted? Read more about Dynamight Secret.” Katsuki snorts as he clicks on the link. As usual, it’s nothing but speculation and a blurry photograph of him. This time, they claim a new bruise on his biceps as a possible Soulmark. If only they knew. Hah!

His mother had been right, all these years ago, to tell him to keep it covered.

Not that he’d have been running around, presenting his buttocks to strangers, otherwise. But he’s seen the crazy. Still remembers all those fake Soulmarks, the exasperation in Shoto’s voice when he’d been the first - and worst - victim to fall to it.

He’s not going to let that happen to him. He’ll find you. But on his own terms.

“Hey, Man, you’re up?” Kirishima knocks on his door. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Let me do it,” he insists, stepping out of his room. “I want it to be edible.”

Kirishima grins. “You could just admit that you’re going to miss me.”

“As if,” Katsuki grunts, pushing him out of the way. Kirishima laughs, the sound familiar and warm. Yes. Katsuki is going to miss him.

But he has no time for that now. The weather is nice today, granting them a blue sky and no clouds. Katsuki’s sweating his ass off, leaving handprints on cardboard box after cardboard box. Mina’s running circles around them, Kaminari as usual not lifting a finger. He claims he’s responsible for the music, the food delivery, or the navigation, never mind the fact that Kirishima could drive to Mina’s place blindfolded by now.

And then they’re done, crashing on Kirishima’s dark red Couch that eerily fits into Mina’s vibrantly colored living room. Kaminari’s handing out beer from the fridge, phone awkwardly tucked between shoulder and ear as he talks to his girlfriend.

She’s nice, Katsuki knows. A little uptight at first, but with a good head on her shoulders. Able to deal with the crazy Kaminari’s dishing out. Speaking of crazy. “I want to crawl into your skin and wear it,” Kaminari sings into the phone at this moment, grinning like a madman.

Katsuki rips the beer from his hand. “Please don’t,” he grunts, listening to Mina and Kirishima laughing.

He’s the only single guy among his friends.

It’s a thought that seldomly plagues him but when it does, it does.

His phone rings and he considers not picking up, seeing the unknown number. But he’s hung up a few flyers about looking for a roommate so he accepts the call anyway, getting up to talk in the tiny bathroom to get some privacy.

“Bakugo?”

“Ah, yes, hi.” The voice is distinctively female, soft enough to send a shiver down his back. Or maybe he’s just lonely.

“Hi.” God, is he trying to sound nice?

“Hi.” There’s a rushed giggle, then a deep breath. “I saw your ad. For the apartment. I- I work for Manic!Design.”

His parent's firm. He’d asked his father to hang it up, to not make a big fuss about it. No one in the agency had looked twice at the little hangout after all.

“When are you free?” He asks, rubbing his pointer finger over a stain on the mirror. “To look at the apartment?”

“I’m free today. Next week is a little tight, but I can push some things around? Maybe on Tuesday?”

“We can do it today. My roommate moved out today so it’s a little messy still, but that way you can see it right away.”

“Oh, yes, okay.” He can hear the hesitation in your voice, can feel the unease in his own heart.

“Or Tuesday, if that works better for you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you… does half an hour work for you?”

He calculates quickly. If he leaves right now, he will make it on time.

“Yeah, no problem.”

He regrets not showering.

His shirt sticks to his body in awkward places and he can see the imprint of his right hand on his pants. His right hand. Katsuki lifts it, like he often does, to inspect it. Despite having lived with an intact limb far longer than he had to live with a messed up one, he still can’t help but marvel at it, and feel unease at the change. Does it sweat more now than it used to before the war? Why is that scar still there but the other one isn’t?

“Hey!” Your face pulls him out of his reverie and he lets his hand sink to muster you.

You look familiar in a way that has his heart speed up uncomfortably, his skin prickling. He really should have showered beforehand, pushed that meeting a little further back.

“I like your shirt,” you point out, your own hands pushed into the pockets of your jacket. Oversized, black leather. He likes it immediately. It looks like one he owns too.

“Thanks,” he rumbles, opening the door for you. “Come in.”

“Just so you know.” You lift your left leg to rub your feet over your right knuckle, a nervous habit if he’s ever seen one. “I work for your parents.”

“Figured.”

Your eyes flicker up to his and back down again. “I don’t… I don’t want them to think weird of me. I mean, they haven’t really noticed me, yet. But they will, for sure. I just-”

“Spit it out.”

You grin, a sharp, yet sweet thing that has him hold his breath.

“I don’t want them to know we live together.” You say it like it’s already a done deal. Like you’ve already moved in when he’s not yet decided if he wants you on the lease or not. He likes that. You’re decisive.

“They wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” You cock your head to the side and his tongue turns dry at the sight. “Don’t they visit?”

“Not really. I want- I want my privacy. I usually go over to their place if I want to see them.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’d take it then. If you’re okay with it.”

He offers you his hand to shake, not quite thinking about what he’s doing until you shake it. His palm is slick with sweat and he cringes at the feeling but your face does not show what you think. His bones, mended back together yet not really, feel like pudding in your grip.

What is going on?

- x -

You’ve perfected your morning routine.

You snooze your alarm once for a blissful ten minutes of more sleep before you roll out of bed, check the weather with a toothbrush in your mouth, and choose what to wear. That’s always the hardest and best part of each day.

A heavy knock on your door alerts you. “Bathroom’s free.”

Yeah, that’s the first change in your morning routine.

Bakugo’s done most of the heavy lifting yesterday, making the heaviest of your boxes look like they weigh nothing.

Toothbrush still in your mouth you grab your clothes for the day and rush through the hallway. It’s not that you don’t want him to see you right now, messy hair and crinkled pajamas, but you don’t really want him to see you right now.

Not when he’s probably looking like a young God, blond hair the perfect amount of messy, blood-red eyes never missing a thing. He’s way too good-looking to be your roommate, but you don’t doubt he’s looking for anything more. Not with you, at least. He’s a Hero, after all. Number 2 if you’re not mistaken. And your bosses son.

You wipe the mascara from under your eye and open the bathroom door. If you leave in five minutes you’ve got just enough time to catch the bus. That’s a record.

“Here,” a plate with Omurice appears under your nose. “Breakfast.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I don’t… I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Hah?” Bakugo looks like you’ve personally offended him. “Who doesn’t eat breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“I don’t have time for that. I’m just getting a coffee to go for the bus ride.”

“I’ll take you then.”

“What? No. My bus is coming in five minutes.”

“Sit.” Bakugo pulls out a chair with his other hand. “Eat. I’ll take you. It’s on my way anyway.”

“What about your parents finding out I’m living with you?”

Something like a blush works its way up his neck. Or he’s getting angry. Who knows?

“I’ll let you out at the corner.”

“Still-”

“Eat.” He thunders and you take a seat, eyeing him. “What if I’m allergic to Omurice?”

“Who’s allergic to Omurice? It’s Omurice.”

“There’s egg in it.”

He groans. “What do you want to eat then?”

“Omurice is fine.” You pull the plate toward you, digging in. It tastes heavenly and you bite back a groan of delight. Who knew you were this hungry?

“Hey, I’m going to the store.” You push your head through the door, trying not to look too closely at where he’s currently doing push-ups. “Do you need anything?”

“What?!” Katsuki drops, rolls, and glares at you. “It’s ten pm.”

“Yeah, so? The store is still open.”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I’m grown up, I can walk by myself.”

“Not this late.”

“Okay, Dad.” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine. Do you want something from the store or not?”

“I’m coming along.”

A heartbeat long you’re left speechless, watching him as he gets up and slips a shirt on. But then, your fight awakens.

“Not if I’m already gone,” you rush out, slamming the door shut behind you.

You’re out of the apartment before him, heart hammering in your chest as you race down the stairs. You forgot your shoes in the apartment, but it’s a little too late now to turn back around, especially when you can hear the door closing, Bakugo calling your name through the staircase.

Is it childish to run away from him like that? Yeah. But it’s also incredibly fun.

He catches up to you halfway down the street, a murderous look on his face.

“What the fuck?!” He yells, trying to grab your arm. The illusion vanishes in front of him and you cackle, just a few steps ahead, hiding behind a sign for Thai Massages.

He’s at your side in a heartbeat, but he does not grab you this time.

“I can look after myself,” you tell him, still trying to catch your breath. “I’m not your kid.”

“No,” he starts, teeth grit, but he doesn’t end the sentence. If there was ever a sentence to begin with.

“Now that you’re already out and about, you can tag along, I suppose,” you offer, leading the way. “But if you need to accompany me at all times things are going to get real awkward real son. I like to go dancing sometimes too, you know. Or Karaoke. Do you do Karaoke?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “Who doesn’t?”

“What’s your go-to song?”

He grumbles something.

“Sorry, didn’t hear you there.”

“The Allmight theme song,” he repeats, a little louder this time.

“Catchy, Good choice.” You nod.

Snooze your alarm, brush your teeth, pick your outfit, race to the bathroom.

Today’s breakfast is Miso Soup, rice, and grilled fish, the table already set for two. You take a deep breath, steel yourself for the conversation ahead.

“You need to stop this.” You say, both feet planted on the ground. “You can’t cook for me every morning.”

“I cook anyway,” Katsuki’s not looking at you, glaring holes into the coffee maker instead. “It’s not much work.”

“Still. It disrupts my routine, I’m sure it disrupts yours as well-”

“It is my routine.” He disagrees and your mouth falls open.

“You always cook for your roommate?”

“Yeah!” You don’t imagine the blush that’s now rising up and up, lighting up his cheeks. “What about it?”

“Did she break up with you?”

“What the hell?!” He bursts out. “No one broke up with me! Kirishima moved in with his Soulmate.”

“Ah. So…”

“Nothing. Sit down and eat.”

“Only if you promise to stop cooking for me. And following me around.”

“I needed to protect you.”

“You don’t need to do shit for me.”

His head swivels around at the swear word. “Surprised?” You grit out. “I’m a grown-ass woman, I can take care of myself. If I’d wanted a boyfriend, I would have gotten that.”

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He disagrees hotly.

“You act like it, though.”

Silence falls. “Fine,” he eventually huffs. “Sit down, we can talk about it.”

You send him one last glare before you slide onto the chair.

“You need to stop-”

“Breakfast or dinner.” Katsukis's voice is harsh, cutting through your sentence. “You can pick. Either or, I’m cooking for two.”

“I don’t know when I’m home.”

“Breakfast it is then.”

“No, wait-”

“Breakfast or Dinner. You decide.”

“What about neither?”

“Breakfast or Dinner.” He stabs his chopsticks into the grilled fish like it personally hurt him. “Make it quick.”

“Sheesh,” you grunt. “Fine. But if I pick breakfast you have to take me to work or I won’t make it in time.”

He nods. “I take you to work in the morning and don’t follow you in the evenings.”

“Wow. Such a huge sacrifice on your part.”

“Oh, because it’s so hard to play passenger princess?”

“Maybe it is!” You bite back. His brows furrow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it hard to be a passenger princess?”

You snort. “It’s not that hard,” you admit. “I mean, sure, I can listen to my own music on the bus, but-”

“Send me your playlist then,” he orders. “And eat. We’re going to be late.”

“Sheesh, I’m eating, I’m eating.”

You’re home alone that evening. Katsuki didn’t leave a message when he’s going to be back, so you’re not sure what to do with yourself, sending out a tentative invite to some of your friends. Nothing much, just if they want to check out your new apartment…

A key turns in the door and you fumble your phone, trying to delete the text. You’re not ready for them to meet your new roommate just yet.

“Oh-” That’s not Katsuki in the door though. Broad shoulders, wide smile, bright red hair. “Are you the new roommate?”

“Ye-Yes, yes. I’m… are you?”

“Kirishima.” He offers his hand. “I think I left something behind. At least I can’t find it anywhere. Did you possibly see…” He blushes a pretty shade of pink. “Pink boxers? They’re my lucky ones.”

“I’ll go check if you-”

“No, no, I’ll do it myself. Bakugo is pretty intense about the laundry.”

“That too?” You ask. He halts in the doorway. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he… he insists on making breakfast.”

“Ah,” Kirishima smiles. “Yeah. He’s not… He’s not good with words. He likes to show he cares through actions, you know. If I can give you any advice, look at his actions and not at his words. That will always steer you right.”

“Th-Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

#my writing #Soulmates in Denial #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo family #bakugo angst #bakugo fluff

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cuffmeinblack · 1 year

Text

Tease

Leander Prewett x f!reader (she/her)

Tags: explicit | dry humping | public sexual activity | shame kink

1.8k words

ao3 link

Summary: Leander finds himself with a beautiful girl on his lap, and a big problem.

A/n: Did anyone ask for this? No. Consider this an offering for Kinktober since I have no time to actually do it properly. I wasn't even sure how to tag this. Is there a word for coming in your pants? You get the idea.

The party was already in full swing as the common room around Leander thrummed with energy, excited babble and raucous cheers. Another Quidditch victory secured, and now he got to bathe in the glory for a few hours before the harsh reality of exam season hit in the morning. He sat down on an armchair as his teammates filled the others, tired but glowing with pride as Garreth fetched some drinks. Leander had barely time to get comfortable before an influx of his housemates from the pitch, all cheering and eager to give the team as many handshakes possible. Including her.

They'd been friends for years, but something had changed. Perhaps it was simply a matter of them both maturing, but Leander found himself watching her more often these days. Sometimes she'd catch him staring, offering him a warm smile in return. She always looked good, but the way her hair had that softly tousled look after standing in the windy stands gave her a distinctly sexy look—like she’d just been ravaged in bed. Leander had had many such fantasies involving her, and he was busy remembering one particularly delicious one when she approached him.

“Congrats, Lee. You did so well out there,” she said earnestly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks. Team effort though, you know,” he replied.

She was about to reply, until Garreth returned levitating around a dozen bottles and mugs, people all around him ducking out of the way.

“Drinks are here! Are you joining us?” he directed towards the gorgeous girl now standing far too close to Leander as she turned to reply.

“I’d love to.”

“Brilliant! Oh, there’s no seats. Leander, get off the chair and let the lady sit, will you?” Garreth said.

Leander was almost on his feet before she placed a small palm against his chest and pushed him back down. He almost stumbled under the gentle direction, but only because he’d been so blindsided by her touch.

"That's fine, I'll sit on Lee's lap. You don't mind, do you?" her innocent question still made his cheeks flush as Leander nodded.

"Sure, yeah…"

She perched her (perfectly round, supple) backside on his thighs, as elegantly as a lady might side straddle a horse. Leander almost breathed a sigh of relief that she was far enough away to remain out of his grasp. Garreth handed her two drinks and she passed one back to him, raising the glass in a toast before pressing it to her (alluringly plump) lips. The beer was cold and delicious, and definitely stronger than he'd remembered.

"Garreth, what's in this?"

"Eh? Oh, I chucked a bit of whiskey in," the faraway voice replied.

Of course he did, and it had gone straight to Leander's head. Judging by the flush of colour up her neck, he'd say the same about the girl on his lap. She did flush so prettily; the softest shade of pink that crept from underneath her blouse, gently spreading to her nape. Leander tried hard not to let his gaze linger on that area, even when her head tilted and hair swept to one side to expose her glowing skin. He blinked and licked his lips. Surely, that had been deliberate. One doesn't usually stroke their fingers down their neck when merely brushing their hair out of the way…

Leander drank deeply, the cold beer and burning whiskey at odds with each other as it slid down his throat. His gulps grew larger the closer she inched back on his thighs until there was simply no room for him and his glass. She was busy talking to Nellie, paying him no mind, her arms gesticulating wildly and body rocking, twisting and shuffling and great Merlin she was pressed into his crotch. Her gorgeous, round cheeks pressed against his manhood—enveloped in her softness, it took all his concentration and willing for his cock not to swell.

"Lee, didn't you say Natty was coming?"

"Er, what?"

"To Hogsmeade next week. Isn't Natty coming?"

She twisted slightly to face him, causing the most unbearable friction in his trousers. He looked up at her (why did he do that??) and locked onto those glazed eyes and parted lips that seemed to beckon him. Fuck, that had done it. His blood had rushed south and there was nothing he could do but let his cock swell and endure the embarrassment as she leapt from his lap in disgust.

But it didn't come.

"Erm, yeah, that's what she said," he replied weakly.

She smiled and returned to the conversation as Leander sat in disbelief with a raging boner. Surely she could feel it. Worse still, his hands were now utterly useless by his side, with no drink to distract him they twitched with desire to grab and hold every inch of flesh he couldn't see or already feel. He wanted nothing more than to pull her harder on top of him, grind his hips against her to rid himself of this insufferable aching tension. The thought only made his cock throb with want, his drink and lust-addled brain finally moving his arms to have his hands rest on her hips, long fingers gripping the soft flesh that begged to be grabbed as he fucked her senseless.

He took a deep breath, ridding himself of the thoughts as he searched frantically for a distraction. Out of the corner of his eye, Leander noticed that Amit had gotten shakily to his legs and clutched his stomach, before stumbling off in the direction of the bathroom to raucous applause.

"First one down! Thakkar's such a lightweight!" Garreth laughed.

He laughed despite his current predicament, and so did she—a great belly laugh that sent vibrations through her body. He almost fucking moaned as his head dropped forward against her back, fingers digging into her hips that little bit tighter. Had his face not been pressed against the back of her ribcage, he might not have noticed the hitch in her breath. Was that a good gasp or a bad gasp? He was mulling over the implications when she undeniably, absolutely intentionally rolled her hips against him. Slow, deliberate, the warmth of her heat practically radiating through her skirt as she pressed against his aching cock.

The air was stifling, his skin burning and head swimming. Gods, the fabric of his trousers was fit to burst its seams if she carried on like this. He might just look like a drunken fool slumped against her back, and for that he was thankful. The truth was much worse. His cock was leaking precum into his trousers, and all he could do was sit there and hope beyond all hope that she didn't move from his lap. That would be quite the sight if she did.

Well, he was shit out of luck.

His heart almost burst from his ribcage when the pressure relieved on his legs and she leaned forward. His brain scrambled for an excuse for her to stay, half tempted to pull her back onto him. His reactions dulled by alcohol, he simply sat there and spluttered, but she didn’t vacate her position entirely, only lifting off the bulge in his trousers slightly to procure yet more drinks. Leander had to admit this angle was fantastic. Back arched and shapely behind hovering tantalisingly above him, she looked ripe for the taking. If only he had the nerve to bend her over the side table beside him and have his way with her—that would certainly solve his problem.

“Want a shot?” her sweet and sultry voice came from over her shoulder.

She settled back into his lap, shuffling far too slowly to get comfortable again. Leander clenched his jaw and looked up at her, gawping at the way she bit her lip so tantalisingly. There was no way this was not wholly intentional, and the glint in her eyes told him she wasn’t done with him yet. She passed him back a shot that he didn’t particularly want and definitely didn’t need, but he threw down his neck anyway. Maybe dulling his senses would help his situation.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

"Why are you…"

His question was interrupted with another shuffle of her body, miniscule movements back and forth that rubbed him just right.

Fucking hell.

"That's…not helping," he gasped.

"I think it is."

If her intention was to finish him, then yes, she was helping him along the way quite nicely indeed.

"Please…"

"Lee, you're such a naughty boy."

Then she giggled. She fucking giggled whilst rubbing herself against his cock in the middle of the common room, surrounded by their classmates. He should have been mortified, terrified—he supposed he was, but the fact of the matter was he’d never been more aroused in his life. The absolutely unbearable tension, the fear, the shame—all of it a heady concoction ten times stronger than the whiskey coursing through his veins. That last shot had burned his throat and was only now working its way to his head, which he laid again on her back.

She was chatting away again, the whiskey clearly having a complete opposite effect on her as she bounced enthusiastically against his crotch. Every little laugh, clap and excited wiggle sent him closer to the edge, the pathetic realisation that he was about to explode into his Quidditch trousers now a full-blown conclusion. His arms encircled her waist, breathing heavily against her back, hair wafting a delicious floral scent into his nostrils.

“He’s so drunk,” a voice who might have been Nellie said.

“He is, bless him. I think he’s falling asleep on my back,” the vixen on his lap replied.

The girls giggled and by the time they’d said their goodbyes and she’d continued her slow torturous teasing, Leander’s cock was twitching against her heat, ready to burst. Merlin, she was so fucking warm and soft…

“Lee?” she whispered over her shoulder.

“Y-yeah?” he managed to gasp, not daring to look up.

“You should feel how wet I am.”

Leander whimpered and gripped her waist tight as he came, her words finally pushing him over the edge he’d been teetering on for what felt like hours. He could feel her fingers digging into his thighs, hear the pounding of her heart and heaviness of her breath as he filled his trousers and made an awful mess of her, besides. There was no escaping the sheer amount of his release now saturating the fabric of their clothes. He bit down on his lip hard to stop himself from moaning whilst his orgasm pulsed, blood rushing away from his already oxygen-starved brain. He was so relieved that he forgot to be mortified for a few blissful seconds.

"I'm sorry…"

"Are you? I'm not," she replied, shuffling around to sit sideways on his lap.

There was her face in all its flushed glory, pressed against his own, their noses brushing, her lips ghosting over his. She was breathing almost as heavily as himself, chest rising and falling in his periphery. And then she kissed him for the whole room to see. Not tentatively, but fiercely, hungrily. Her hands were in his hair and his were already underneath her shirt despite the calls for them to 'get a room'. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

#leander prewett #leander prewett x mc #leander prewett x reader #leander prewett smut #kinktober

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sinning-23 · 8 months

Text

Glass Chandelier

Link to chapter 1

Link to Chapter 3

Warnings: swearing, slightly suggestive content

Chapter 2

Sanji had promised himself he would never look at a woman in this way, yet here you were making his mouth water. Your hips dip down with each step you take, the plush of your thighs and ass melting into your waist so nicely. He wonders what it’d feel like under his palms but quickly shakes the thoughts away. If Patty wasn’t just fucking with him, you’d be back there tomorrow night too.

The interaction spins in his head over and over again as he separates seaweed and rice into bowls, focused on making each rice ball the perfect shape as he molds it in his hands. It proved to become increasingly more difficult the longer he thought of you though. One interaction as you consumed every waking thought. He had planned to be here on the ship with his newly made friend and his not-so-tolerable first mate but here he was...

According to Luffy, he was dying when he had come into the restaurant before opening and needed help. Though the morning's events had been in his head, you were wedged in here somewhere, the possibility of you being in your designated booth, the dim light making you look even more beautiful. God and your voice? He could melt whenever those honeyed tones slipped past your glossed lips.

Nami stomped in, a panic set in her eyes as she explained Arlong had threatened a few of the guests and part of his stomach sank. What if you were in here. What if he had threatened you or hurt you or-

Luffy is already heading out the door and Sanji doesn't stop himself from following close behind.

___________________________________

It's bad...the bite is deep and the open wound is bound to get infected if he doesn't work quickly. Your eyes are watery and he curses himself for not being able to protect you, even if it's not his job and he really had no idea you would be here this early. Hell, with what he saw, you didn't really need protecting. You fought well, your attacks were calculated and swift. Like an angel... a very violent and precise angel.

He fights the urge to kiss your tears away, opting to lift you gently at the waist and onto the counter. Your hands are slightly clenched at your side as he grimaces at the blood-soaked towel. Your skin is so soft, littered with small faded scars here and there. Its warm under his touch and with the way the kitchen light hits it, it shimmers almost. Your eyes are low, focusing on the movement of his hands and forearms as he moves.

He knows you're staring but he opts not to point it out. He can't blame you though seeing as he's staring right back at you. The way your lip tucks slightly when he touches a particular tender part. How your skin is already forming darker bruises. It angers him but the fight is over now and there's not much else to do but recover. Your legs swing slightly and he smirks at this, how cute. He doesn't even know your name... And the question slips past his chapped lips so easily.

"Why, you wanna take me out on a date?"You tease, looking up at him from under long lashes, that sneaky little smirk playing at your lips.

Gods that sounded delightful. The vivid daydream of you on his arm while he pushed the hair from your face and kissed the back of your hand before you entered some sickly sweet date spot. How you'd swoon and shoot his flirts back with vigor. But no one actually says that to a woman they've never met. So Sanji opts to compliment your abilities as a fighter.

His index finger lifts your chin, and he's pleased to witness the color rise to your cheeks and your breath catch in your throat.

"You just took on 3 fishmen who were twice your size.I wanna know who I'm thanking for that." He speaks, looking you up and down. Little does he know, the action makes you heat.

If Zeff's exasperated sigh and grunt didn't pull him away, the frantic request to help from Usopp did and he was out of the kitchen before you could properly answer.

_______________________________________

Luffy lays helplessly against the doc, breath heavy as he tries to take in as much air as his lungs would allow. Nami was gone, and so was their map. The crew was falling apart at the seams and it didn't look as if there was a bright side, besides being alive that is. Sanji heaves, chest rising and falling as water falls from his soaked hair and down his face.

"Holy shit-" You huff, somewhat losing the limp in your walk as you approach the group of 3. "Is he okay?" You question, choking a bit when you peer down at Sanji's kneeling frame. So that's what was under that nicely tailored suit.

He only shakes his head, unsure, pushing the wet hair from his face. Sanji's gaze lingers for a while as he looks at your injury.

"Bleeding stopped. I'll live." You answer, feeling the gaze of the third party, a dark-skinned boy with a bandana, looking for answers through your short conversation with the blonde.

You grunt, using your dwindling strength to lift the curly-haired straw hat wearer up. Sanji helps as 'bandana' trails behind.

The ship wasn't too far ahead, and thank god it wasn't because despite how he looked this child was heavy as fuck. He managed to pick up some of his own weight along the way and in no time you were aboard the ship.

"You're a great fighter! You should join our crew you know." The boy who you'd learned was Luffy spoke, surprising you a bit.

Join a crew? His crew? As a pirate? Quite frankly it wouldn't be the weirdest thing you done. Spontaneous sure, but not odd. It was like the Baratie was hiring any time soon and your line of work had slowed since being at this restaurant for the last 6 months. You needed to pick up the slack and this last fight had shown just how rusty you'd gotten. However, being on a boat again...

"He asked me the same thing." the blonde hums, seeing you process the request.

A chuckle escapes you and you lean against the island in what looks like the kitchen as Luffy and 'bandana' leave to lord knows where. It wasn't much of a concern of yours when you were watching blondie throw a towel over his shoulders, just barely covering his arms and chest.

"Made your choice yet?" You quip, tucking your lip between your teeth.

He smirks, stepping closer as to fill the gap between the two of you. His hair is not as wet as before but it's still slightly damp. You can't help but look at his shirtless frame, hell any woman with a libido and type like yours would be drooling too.

He's genuinely thinking of a response, as if he hadn't quite made up his mind yet about the whole pirate thing. In your head, it would prove to be quite the adventure and perhaps you'd be able to see what the blond had prepared in terms of trying to court you. He'd already tried his hand, touching you just slightly here and there, his lingering gaze starting to burn you up.

"You made yours?"

Your fingers dance across his forearms, making note of the way they tense at your touch. Soon they're at his collarbone and down the line of his chest and torso.

His skin is so damn soft. How is that even possible. When you gaze up, his face is tinted and you can tell he's holding his breath.

"I'm still debating." You answer, head snapping n the direction of the new sound that had just interrupted.

"ZORO!"

The two of you make haste in traveling to where Luffy's voice rang out and sure enough there he was, very happily squeezing a very injured man in a relieved hug.

According to the very sloppy recap from the guy you learned was named Usopp and Luffy, this new guy 'Zoro' had decided it was a fabulous idea to challenge former warlord and infamous swordsman Dracule Mihawk.

The man laid before you was a bit taller than the blonde and a bit slimmer? You didn't focus much on his figure but the bright green hair sproutng from his head. He only spared you a small glance before closing his eyes back.

"That's gonna leave a pretty gnarly scar." You comment, arms crossed over your chest as his brow twitches.

"Better than having a chunk out my shoulder."

Touche

Luffy embraces the swordsman and his body tenses, a wince of pain spreading over his face. You cant help but smile at their bond. someone so loyal to their captain heyd fight death...and someone so loyal to their crew they'd keep them tethered...someone so supportive they have your back even if it kills them to do so.

"I had the strangest dream than Nami left." Zoro speaks, his eyes cracking open in somewhat disbelief.

"Nami?" You quip, brow raised.

"It wasnt a dream. She left with the Arlong pirates. And she took the map. Now we we have to save her." Luffy explains, a twing of hurt evident in his voice. Zoro doestn question it, only closing his eyes and taking a heavy breath..

"Im sorry, who is Nami?" You whisper to the blonde, brow raise slightly.

_________________________________

The ship is quickly stocked with barrels of food and drink for the journey ahead. You'd already packed up the little bit of life you had and successfully tossed it aboard. Usopped rolled barrels as Zoro sat, three swords against his hip. You do what you can, pushing barrels here and there but Sanji is quick to make you sit when he sees this.

"Why do we need the waiter?" Zoro chirps from beside you, seeing as that's where you opted to sit.

"Because we cant boil water." Usopp responds as you sniker.

Zoro was less than talkative, the occasional heavy sigh filling the air. If you were to stay on this ship filled with testosterone until you arrived wherever 'Nami' was, you needed to make some friends. Even if it was temporary.

"Three swords is a choice. Wheres the third one go." You question, observing them a bit better now since you were seated next to him.

"You talk a lot." he answers, eyes closed, face still.

"You don't talk enough." You shoot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

This guys was such diva.

"You not too fond of blondie I'm realizing." It was only meant as an observation but that was enough to slightly open the conversation.

"I tolerate him for my captain's sake. Besided, apparently we cant boil water. He'll be at leat a little useful for something."

There’s a bit of silence before he speaks again, his eyes practically piercing through you.

“What’re you useful for?”

What an odd question. Sure you had skills in the fighting department. The little personality you had left felt like it left your body when you chose your profession…not like it was your choice.

You’d joined the crew in hopes the blonde would too….subconsciously that is. You were still trying for to fool yourself into thinking you hadn’t fallen for him in the slightest. You were wrong.

What are you useful for.

The ship begins to move and you also decide to remove yourself rom the swordsman. Any more questions and you’d be internally debating your entire existence fooling around with this goon. Perring over the ships edge a wave of dread hits you.

When’s the last time you set foot on a boat? Your wrists and ankles twinge a bit, a bitter memory making your stomach turn. Just because you suppress a memory doesn’t mean your body will forget it.

Perhaps this was a poor choice

Taglist: @waannty @strangermeats

#x reader #one piece #one piece live action #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #one piece x reader #smut #opla #hes so hot #sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #sanji live action #one piece sanji #opla x reader #slowburn #strangers to lovers #glass chandelier #reader is black

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tillthelandslide · 1 year

Text

Same For You (9): Our Secret

Series Warnings: slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap, complicated relationship (low-key unhealthy dynamics), eventual love...

Series Masterlist

(8) Studio Sessions

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊)

The band are cramped into the small corridor which was considered "back stage", she was pacing up and down what little room she had. They did this gig every week, the band were a contracted performer, they did an hour every single Saturday but today was different. She was nervous and unbelievably so. She was worried she'd forget the lyrics, or she'd mess up on the guitar and throw the whole band off.

Matty and Jamie had invited so many people, too many. The pairs friends, some of whom worked within the industry filled out the room, there was barely any space for incomers, but she didn't mind, knowing the guys who were now her friends, would be smiling up at her on that stage. She knew they'd be at the same table they were sat at that first night. It had been four weeks since then, she had spent most days with them since that day, but so much had changed. They were her friends now, that felt odd to admit but they were her friends. She knew they had her back but she was still unbelievably anxious.

The small door creaks open and her head snaps far too quickly to the noise, almost giving herself whiplash. Her nerves settle somewhat when she sees the curly haired man smiling widely at her. He was clad in black suit trousers, white shirt tucked in, the sleeves slightly rolled up. She couldn't deny, he looked good. She's instantly reminded of the still fairly new revelation that she did indeed fancy him, liked him even.

"There she is, woman of the hour" he says, stepping towards her, hugging her before she got the chance to deny him. He smells like cigarettes but his scent peeks through too, something comparable to cedar wood, or sandal wood, she wasn't sure. A spicy undertone lingers and something earthy too. She learnt that, the scent was the perfume he chose to wear, but through all that, through the cigarettes and the perfume, there was him: he smelt musky and warm but also sweet, he smelt, like Matty.

"I hate you" she breathes out, voice barely coming out. His eyes widen and he releases a puff of air through his noise, silently laughing at her words. The confession doesn't surprise him (even though it wasn't true) Matty was half expecting this day to come, the day where she hated him, he thought most people ended up hating him eventually. Not with her though, she knew no matter what he did, no matter how harsh or unjustified, she'd always be there, wanting him in her life, unable to hate him, for he was her... in some ways.

"What have I done now?" He asks, half joking, pulling back to look at her.

"There's so many people out there Matty!" She says, lightly hitting his chest.

"Hey!" He says, gently grasping her wrist which landed against his chest, his thumb grazes the skin, back and forth twice before he lets go "you'll be fine. I know you will" he says and she can't help but believe him.

"You can't be back here Healy' they hear Clara say, both turning towards her. Of course she's joking but Matty still raises his arms up in surrender, slowly backing up to leave through the door he came in.

"You'll be fine okay? You've got this" he says and she nods. He thinks about telling her how good she looked, but ultimately decides not to. Ross.

As soon as he leaves her nerves are back and she's pacing again. She does a total of four lengths of the corridor, her bandmates doing their own rituals. Jay drumming a beat on his leg, Clara smoking a joint, Abbie with her eyes shut, thinking of something completely unknown to Y/n. Four lengths and the door is creaking back open, she turns again seeing Ross. Her already laboured breath almost stops completely as she sees him. He stopped her world from spinning momentarily, until it's only her and him and them, together. Until its spinning again, faster than it does with anyone else. She knew no matter how hard she tried to describe her feelings towards him, she would fall short. He was everything, since the first day and every day since.

His hair is up in a neat bun and his beard looks as if it's been freshly groomed. His smell invades her senses and her eyes rake down his body quickly, trying not to make her desire or attraction too obvious.

He was dressed in black suit trousers and a white shirt, almost identical to Matty. His sleeves aren't rolled and sit properly against his wrists, but her eyes fall to his chest, revealed by undone buttons at the top of his shirt. The first two are undone but the third is loose and she feels a need to pluck it undone, revealing more of him. She notices the necklace around his neck, a simple chain and her knees almost buckle at the sight.

Images flash through her head, images where she tugs against the chain, sending his lips against hers, sending him forward, into her. She wills the thoughts away, forcing a smile onto her lips.

"Hi" he smiles, taking in her outfit now, she wears an outfit consisting of all black, black trousers that flare slightly but hug her tightly, extenuating her thighs and bum. Her top is a soft cotton like material but is a corset style, the middle dips fairly low and Ross actively has to stop himself looking at the swell of her breasts. The fabric stops at her waist, curved in a v, the middle piece hitting the top of her belly button, meaning a small slither of skin was revealed and he almost swears when he sees the shimmer of a piercing. They shouldn't be thinking these thoughts, having these feelings, wanting what they so desperately wanted. They knew that more than anything else, fully aquatinted with the idea now.

"Hi" he forces out, his voice gravelly and it sends thrills through her body. He apprehensively steps forward,not wanting to break the bubble that surrounded them. But he wanted to be closer to her. So he pushes his desire down, his features turning softer as he smiles at her.

"Matty invited a lot of people" her voice shakes slightly and he immediately knows she's nervous. His hands find her hips, lightly pulling her closer.

"And Jamie..." Ross says and he feels her nod.

Her arms weave around his back, resting against his shoulder blades as she tucks her head into his lower chest, she nuzzles there, smelling him secretly as she does. She feels the muscles contract under her touch as his own arms wander up from her hips, seizing her small waist, squeezing the flesh once before his grasp loosens.

She feels the ghost of his lips against her head.

"You're going to smash it" he says and she leans back to look at him.

"What if I forget the words... Or mess up on the guitar and throw off the others?" her voice is rushed and Ross breathes deeply, a silent reminder that she should too. She mimics his actions, her shoulders slumping as she does, a weight lifted almost immediately. She was surprised by how quickly he grounded her.

"You won't... And if you do, just laugh it off... Breathe and carry on okay? We all mess up sometimes... I still do to this day" he says, his words making her feel better.

"Okay..."

"And I'll be there okay? Just look at me if you need to" he offers and she nods, hugging him one last time before he's walking backwards to leave.

His back meets the door and he begins pushing it slightly, not before a smirk settles on his lips.

"Look good by the way" he says, eyes dancing across her figure, slow and torturous, and then he's gone.

"Jesus Christ" she murmurs, clutching her thighs and shaking her head, reminding herself to get her head out of the clouds, out of the gutter.

"He wants you so bad" she feels a hand on her shoulder and she turns, Abbie staring down at her and smirking.

"Stop... You know we can't"

"doesn't mean you don't want to... And I don't blame you, he's hot" she stares at the door that he left through.

"Need I remind you, you're gay Abbie?" She asks and Abbie laughs, shrugging.

"Exactly... I'm gay and that man is still fucking fine" y/n laughs at that, before she lets Abbie lead her to the rest of the band. They form a circle, arms wrapping around each other's shoulders.

"Let's go out there and show them what we've got aye?" Jay asks and Clara and Abbie nod. Their eyes all fall on her and Jay raises his eyebrows.

"You're fucking amazing. Remember that. You've got this" Jay says and she nods.

"Yeah. yeah!" She says, they're all then letting out howls and barks like a bunch of maniacs, something they always did to make each other laugh before a show, to ease the tension. The band make their way onto the stage before she does but she pokes her head around the side, spotting the boys and Jamie, all smiling as the band take their places, she watches as they cheer, George placing his fingers in his mouth and blowing out a loud whistle.

She then walks on and everyone's cheers grow louder making her smile and laugh, shaking her head as she looks out. She smiles and waves at the small group of people who attend every week, they cheer for her.

"Damn there really is a lot of you here tonight" she hears Clara say and she smiles, hands grasping her own microphone, adjusting it slightly.

"We're 'The Love Of Thieves' and we're going to perform some covers... but also some original songs tonight... This is one we wrote with some friends of ours" her eyes flick to the back of the venue, spotting the boys, all of whom smile widely at her, Matty putting his thumbs up at her.

They begin playing one of the songs they had recorded with the guys, a track titled "Feel It Coming"

"can see it in your eyes, I can feel your body shake, I look at you and see myself , A broken mirror that tears and breaks, A victim of my own reflection, Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun" she sings, her voice is slightly shaky but it's not overly obvious. Her eyes land on Ross who mouths a "breathe", she does and instantly feels better.

They all join in on the chorus, harmonies sounding perfect and the crowd really love it. She can see Jamie filming them on his phone and she smiles, flashing him a toothy grin, knowing it would probably end up on his story with a plea to join Dirty Hit. She also sees Matty filming, and she smiles at him too, he holds a thumb up at her again.

"I can feel it coming, feel it coming, feel it coming, Can't you see it in my eyes, I can see the truth inside, I can feel it coming, feel it coming, I can feel it!" They continue pushing until the song ends and everyone cheers.

"Thank you!" She says, smiling across at the people, scanning the crowd once over.

"This is really cool... Thanks for coming everyone, we do this show every Saturday, but tonight feels very special" she says, eyes landing on the boys at the back of her venue again, blushing slightly when they smile back widely at her.

"This next one is one of my favourites..." she says, beginning to play "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac.

"If they come on tour with us... they're playing this" Jamie says, turning to the boys, all of whom nod.

"She's amazing..." Ross says, eyes trained on her. Adam, George, Jamie and Matty all look at him, all sensing the same thing. He was obsessed.

"Damn you're so whipped and she's not even your girl" George says, making the other guys laugh (Matty's is forced)

"Shut up" Ross mumbles. Matty's eyes never leave the man, sighing to himself. He deserved her, Ross was good and so was she, he had to remind himself of that.

They perform some more songs and a cover or two, eventually finishing their set and thanking everyone for coming again. Ross is on his feet before she's even stepped a foot off the stage and he meets her there, grasping her waist in his hand and swinging her around as he hugs her.

"You're fucking amazing" he says, placing her down as the rest of the group join them.

"Killing it love" Matty says making her smile.

"you really are" she hears Jamie say and she smiles, stepping forward to hug him.

"Good to see you again old man" she jokes and he smiles widely, giving her a side hug, they speak briefly, Jamie checking in on how the band were feeling about the deal, she asks to speak to him privately later.

Before she can say another word her name is being called from behind her and she frowns before she excuses herself.

She finds Abbie who is calling her, her girlfriend Olivia wanting to say hello to her. Ross watches as the two girls hug, he watches as y/n smiles widely, she watches as she laughs with the other two girls, he watches as she turns, eyes not finding his but finding Matty's.

"Matty!" She calls "come here for a second please" and Ross feels jealousy pang in his chest.

Ross watches as Matty comes to stand at her side, hand flat against her lower back, touching the slither of skin that's revealed.

"Matty this is Olivia... Abbie's girlfriend, she's a bit obsessed with you" y/n says making the girl blush.

"Is that so?' Matty says, raising his eyebrows, eyes not leaving hers, despite the other two women staring at him. His eyes eventually leave hers and he smiles at the girl.

"Lovely to meet you" he says kindly, they all continue their conversation and Ross sighs, watching as they laughed, watching as Matty began running his hand down her back slowly.

George notices him staring and states "nothings going on there you know?" He asks And Ross sighs.

"You know I kept telling myself the same thing... Now I'm not sure" he says. The truth is he had no right to be jealous, he knew that, they weren't together, she wouldn't allow that, they were - in her words - just them. He reminded himself daily that she was not his, that she was doing the right thing for her band and for herself, but he couldn't help but want her. It was almost like a basic human need, like water and sleep and food. He needed her like she was air. He knew she was figuring things out with Matty, she was open with him about that, but he couldn't help but feel jealous looking at the pair.

'Figuring things out' left a lot to be imagined, was she figuring out if she liked him? That he could handle, Ross knew Matty better than anyone, knew the guy he truly was, through the 'Truman Black' façade he put across, he also wasn't blind, he knew he was a good looking guy, he knew most people fancied him, hell he was pretty sure he even fancied him to a certain extent. He also knew what Matty was like, truly, he was a true and fierce friend, he was loving and determined and he would die for the ones he loved. He could deal with her figuring out whether she just thought he was hot, he could even deal with the idea of her fancying him a little bit. But her figuring out whether she wanted to be with him instead of Ross? That thought destroyed him.

"They just get each other, they're just friends though" George says, making Ross shake his head in disbelief, but then she's turning to him, smiling widely. She turns back and he frowns, thinking that's it, she sees her say something to the group, but then she's facing him again and walking toward him.

She's at his side next, brushing against him as she talks to the group, listening to their compliments, blushing deeply. Matty is still talking to her band members and she realises Jamie has joined him, but she didn't mind, she had Ross.

She noticed him looking down at her from the corner of her eye and she looks up at him when the conversation shifts way from her.

"Want to go outside for a bit?" He asks and she nods, allowing him to weave his hand into hers and letting him lead them outside. A few people are smoking so he continues around a corner, where no one is standing, not letting her hand go when they stop.

He towers over her and she cranes her head to look up at them. They have two silly happy smiles on their faces and their cheeks begin to hurt with how much they're smiling.

"You're really amazing you know that?" He says and she smiles. Something has shifted between them, it was obvious. Something was present in the air between them... something different, something more.

"You might've mentioned it once or twice" she says, making him chuckle and squeeze her hand. A silence falls between them and she watches as he looks over her, his features slowly falling. She can almost see the wheels turning in his mind and she frowns, knowing something is up.

"What did the girls want to say to Matty?" He asks and the pin drops. Of course this was about Matty.

"Oh nothing really" she laughs "Olivia - Ab's girlfriend, she's low key obsessed with him, it's kind of a big joke between the band, so I was just introducing them" she explains and Ross shakes his head. He was so stupid.

Oh he thinks.

"Oh" he says, feeling like a fool for even thinking it was something else.

"I told you nothing's happening there.... just figuring it out" she says, words trailing off as she looks up at him.

"nothing can happen... With either of you" she says and he frowns, his hand is still holding hers but her words make him feel like he should let go.

"Oh' he repeats sadly.

"It's not a good idea Ross... We're working together now" she says and he realises she has never once said she doesn't want this.

"Come on... You feel this..." He gestures between them "you feel what I feel... Who are we to deny that?' he says, she must admit, he makes a good argument. But she forces herself to shake her head. She couldn't... Not just because they were working together. She just couldn't.

"We can't" she says and he frowns.

"Why?", please don't say Matty he thinks.

"We're working together Ross, we can't be doing this" her words don't sound as convincing anymore and so she lets him step closer, only taking a small step backwards, not really putting that much space between them. She lets his hands run the bare skin of her sides, she lets his large hands clamp around her waist. She lets him step in between her opening thighs, lets him press her against the concrete of the wall.

He lowers his face slowly, eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips, stopping when they were centimetres away, their lips nearly grazing when he speaks.

"I really want to kiss you... I've wanted to kiss you since G's... since the start..." he admits, his breathing is laboured like hers, deep and heavy sighs falling from the other.

"Ross... We shouldn't" but she inches closer to him, tasting the Guinness he had been drinking on his breath. She wanted it too, since the very first time they met and especially since the dinner at George and Charli's.

"We shouldn't" he confirms, making her nod, her bottom lip bumping against his slightly as her head moved up and then down. He's enthralled by the way it bounces slightly and he watches as her tongue runs along it, trying to taste him, despite them barely touching for more than a split second.

"I shouldn't be holding you like his" he says, hands gripping her waist slightly harsher and he has to hold back a grunt at the way her breath hitches.

"I shouldn't be able to feel your skin against mine right now" he says, curling his hand slightly, fingertips moving against the bottom of her top, against her stomach, she feels the knuckles graze her belly button and she gasps.

"I shouldn't be hearing those pretty little noises come from you and I definitely shouldn't be wanting to kiss you' he says and she nods again, lips grazing his again. Except this time she slows when her head moves back down, lips properly grazing his now.

"Stop me..." He demands but she can't.

"Please y/n stop me... Because if I kiss you I'm afraid I won't be able to stop" he says, lips touching hers with every word, yet they still hadn't properly kissed.

"No" she gasps and he's suddenly pushing forwards, lips firmly pressed against hers. He sighs against her mouth and feels her sigh against his. Its like her dream, expect its not a dream, its real this time. He's really there in front of her, with his plump lips that taste like stout and him, moving against hers. He's tangible, she can really touch him and she is, her hands are flying to his chest, feeling the way the muscles contracted under her touch. He was so reactive to her and she loved it.

Her lips are soft against his and he sighs deeply again. His hand is placed against her jaw, thumb moving against her cheek, it's sweet and gentle. He's addicted but he needs more. He's worried more than anything, that she will change her mind, so before that happens he gently runs his tongue across her bottom lip, asking for access which she gladly gives him.

His tongue is warm and possessive when it meets hers, she feels him everywhere and the sensation has her hands drifting up, clinging onto his shoulders harder, making him grunt into her mouth. The sound does something to her, awakens something inside her. She moans and pushes forward, meeting his tongue with equal force and fervour as his. She had never been kissed like this before, she didn't even think kisses could feel like this. This intense... This powerful.

When his tongue pushes more harshly against hers she moans loudly and Ross has to pull back from the kiss to collect himself. His forehead falls against her chest, eyes shutting, hands clamping around her waist before they loosen and sooth against the skin, afraid he's hurt her.

"One sec love..." He says, making her giggle. One hand weaves its way up his back, landing on the nape of his neck, toying with the strands that have slipped from his bun. He hums against her. His head moves upwards, leaning his forehead against hers and his eyes open at the noise, his dark eyes which are ridden with lust, soften and he smiles. A cute, huge one which makes her heart flutter again.

"That was..." His words trail off, for he can't come up with a word adequate to describe that kiss. She nods, understanding what he means. His brown orbs flick between her eyes and lips again, sighing, his hand grasps her face in his hold again, thumb trailing down across her cheek until he's grazing her bottom lip which is more swollen than usual. His eyes follow the movement of his thumb, watching the way her mouth dips open slightly, before pursing slightly, kissing the pad of his thumb. That has his eyes snapping upwards to hers, they smile in sync, perfectly timed.

"Sorry love. I just need one more" he says, pressing his mouth to hers again. She takes what he gives, needing it now, she knew this shouldn't be happening, but now she had it, she wouldn't be able to stop. His mouth envelops her bottom lip, tugging it slightly, mouth opening, head turning, lips moving against each other so naturally it's like they've done it a thousand times before. Kissing her is like playing bass, it feels natural, it feels right and he is convinced it was what he was born to do.

"Ross" she murmurs, pulling away slightly.

"We can't tell anyone about this..." She says, feeling bad that she even needed to say it. She didn't want to force him to hide anything from Matty and the rest but he too thought it was probably best.

"Of course" he says.

"Our secret" she says and he smiles again at that, liking, no, loving the sound of it. Something that was just there's.

"I like that' he says, smiling widely down at her. She sighs and mumbles a "fuck it" grabbing his chain and tugging him towards her once again, their lips already open when they meet, tongues and teeth clashing. He grunts into her mouth, moaning at the way she just tugged at his chain, feeling the metal lightly dig into the back of his neck, not that he minded, not one bit.

When one of his large hands leaves her waist, trailing down and curving at the last instance to grab a handful of her arse, she moans into his open mouth, having to pull away to stop herself from begging him to take her home.

"We should stop" she says as his lips try to move against hers again. He sighs. But it's a content one.

"We should" another kiss shared. "Ross" he pulls away. He sighs. It's too hard. Its too hard to stop when he needs her more than he needs oxygen.

"You're a good kisser" she admits, smiling up at him. Her words stroke his ego and he can't help but smirk. The smirk only making her want to smear her mouth to his again. So she does.

"So are you..." he says against her mouth making her moan into his.

"Jesus christ" he says, making her giggle before their lips reconnect.

They eventually return to the rest of the group, and Ross feels sad when Matty tugs her away from him and the group as soon as he gets the chance. Her heart longs to be at Ross' side, but she still allows Matty to lead her away, insisting she met some friends of his.

She can't help but feel slightly zoned out during the conversations she has with Matty's friends, eyes constantly searching the room to find Ross', vision always narrowing when she sees him, eyes landing on his lips, which curve into a smirk when he catches her looking.

She blushes, turning away, finding him staring not that long after. It continues like that for the rest of the night, one catching the other looking, one smirking or blushing after being caught. She eventually gets to return to the group, gets to return to Ross, and the way he holds her thigh under the table, just like that night at Charli and George's, has her head spinning.

This time she doesn't stop him, she doesn't get annoyed and doesn't stand abruptly. She allows the pad of his thumb to graze her thigh, allows him to grip the covered flesh, practically massaging it under his touch. Her eyes flick back and forth to him, taking in the way he smirked as he raised his drink to his mouth, the head of his beer coating his moustache, his tongue peeking out to remove it, teasing her. Constantly teasing her.

This was wrong. She knew that. But she couldn't help herself. If it was wrong, why did it feel so right?

She catches Jamie at one point during the night, heading back from the rest room, she's smiling widely when she sees him and he knows something is up.

"We'll do it, we'll sign the contract" she says excitedly, when Jamie doesn't reply she wonders why, she realises that he's looking behind her, a wide, huge smile resting on his lips. She turns and sees him. Curls falling in front of his face, lips red from the wine he's been drinking, lips pulled taut in a huge smile, eyes sparkling.

He's with her in two steps then, tugging her upwards, picking her up, forcing her legs around his hips just so she doesn't fall. He spins them, she feels dizzy but she feels free, alive, high.

"Knew you'd say yes!" he says, face tucked into her neck.

Ultimately, Matty raised her up, he made her feel high, on life and on him. But she knew when he would tumble down he would drag her with him. Perhaps they were too similar, too alike to work fully.

Ross grounded her, but he set her soul ablaze too, she soared with him, flew, high on life and him, but the string that attached them was strong, never breaking or wearing away, she was safe with him. Her heart was safe.

Her thoughts and feelings were clearer now, but somehow it complicated things. She liked Ross, really really liked him, he was everything, the air she needed to breathe, the passion coursing through her body, the blood in her veins, the music she loved, everything.

But she still couldn't deny that she liked Matty, she liked the way they were kindred spirits, forever searching for that person who understood them without trying. She found that with Matty, he healed parts of her, but she couldn't help but worry that he also had that power to completely destroy her.

She was worried more than anything, that she'd listen to her heart, and lose them both.

(10) Dylan

#same for you the 1975 series #the 1975 #ross macdonald #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fanfic #matty healy x reader #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald fanfic #ross macdonald x oc #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fic #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fanfiction #matt healy fic #matty healy x oc

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icyspicy4u · 1 year

Text

wading my way through this neighborhood (chapter one)

i literally don't know what to say about this one. i banged out like 10k of an anarcia spider-man au in mmm about two days. so. enjoy!! playlist linked here. ao3 link here.

Anetra is a friendly neighborhood superhero trying not to fall headlong into New York City's tangled crime web while also trying to avoid falling head over heels in love with her roommate. She doesn't really do a good job at either.

Although she’s typically winningly optimistic, Anetra is forced to admit that she might really be in deep shit this time.

She dives to the ground to dodge a punch from one of the men blocking her exit from this alley, and just as she hits the asphalt her phone begins to ring, loudly, because she definitely didn’t need another thing to worry about.

Whenever she wears her suit, she keeps her phone tucked in her bra, against her chest, safe from prying eyes or a damaging fall. Crucially, she also always silences it when she’s out on these little suited-up webslinging jaunts.

Except for this jaunt in particular, apparently.

This time, Anetra forgot to turn her ringer off before leaving, and the ringtone Marcia gave herself (Boss Bitch, by Doja Cat—Marcia swears it was worth the dollar Anetra had to cough up to buy the song) starts to echo through the slim space of the alley she’s been cornered into.

The man in front trying his best to pummel Anetra into the brick walls on either side of him pauses at the sound of the music.

Everyone does, honestly, including Anetra, standing in a defensive position and blinking a little in disbelief behind her mask as Doja spits out lyrics about high-heeled shoes.

“Um,” Anetra says, heroically. The man in front offers up nothing but a threatening crack of the neck, and then he’s lunging for her again, followed by his buddies.

Normally, Anetra would just throw a web up to the sky, land it on one of the roofs of the buildings forming this alley, and neatly pull herself out of this situation. Easy money. However, this alley is barely wider than her wingspan—she’d need more room than she’s got to effectively aim.

Also, with the way these dipshits have been bearing down on her, she barely has enough time to throw her arms up and block the punches, let alone take a step back to use her webshooter.

She doesn’t know who they are, or who sent them, or why they are so intent on rocking her shit.

Over the past six months of being the Spider, she’s made a fair few enemies from sticking her nose where people think she shouldn’t be—she’s learned most of the hallmarks of the underground’s major players that way.

But these don’t look like any of the lackeys she’s used to. They don’t bear the MIB branding across their chests that Mistress’ henchmen are required to wear or the LaDuca crest on the lapel that all of Loosey’s guys have.

It’s disconcerting—Anetra continues running through her mental list of people who most likely want her dead, and these men don’t seem like they’ve been sent by any of them.

With the same repeating thirty seconds of Doja’s voice as a backing track, Anetra drops to a low squat as the man in front swings another wide hit at her head. She takes advantage of her new position to lunge for his knees, then shoves her shoulder into him and wraps her arms tight around his calves to force his legs to buckle—the man’s now-overloaded weight brings them both crashing to the ground.

Anetra rolls away easily from the tackle, gets to her feet to try and assess the situation, but the space she’s clawed out for herself is gone as soon as it was made when the rest of the men charge at her.

“Jesus, guys, can I catch a break?” she asks breathlessly, throws one hand up to catch the fist flying at her face as another guy goes for her ankles and she has to leap out of the way. “I’m serious, here. Could use a breather. What about you?”

“Smart-ass spider,” one of them grumbles, finally breaking the professional silence the whole group has been keeping up until now, and Anetra flashes him a winning smile that she only wishes a little bit that he could see as he tries to headbutt her against the wall.

She’s lucky that these men don’t seem to be actually combat-trained in any way. They’re moving the way most hired muscle does, bear-like and unpracticed, the style of brawling that’s borne out of being consistently bigger than your opponents. They’re used to steamrolling people Anetra’s size easily, so they’re throwing punches that Anetra can block without thinking while she tries to formulate her escape plan.

Her phone has finally stopped ringing, but it chimes to signal a new voicemail as she triangulates a gap to slip through in the wall of muscle.

A brief sting of guilt passes through Anetra. She’s been missing a lot of Marcia’s calls lately.

She’s rarely home now—when she’s not working, she’s out being this strange masked vigilante, and these days it seems like every small crime that she stops leads to another, worse one cropping up a few blocks down.

She already had the suit on under her clothes when she left the apartment earlier, shouting a goodbye to Marcia with some lame excuse about covering some other dancer’s shift at the bar—she was actually headed to an abandoned studio space downtown to fuck around with her web calibration for a while. She’s managed to master some kind of formula.

Again, the suit was already on under her clothes. What was she supposed to do when she heard a scream from the alley, ignore it?

Yes, she thinks to herself bitterly, pinning herself against the wall to barely avoid getting kneed in the ribs.

What had started as an easy job—it was a simple mugging, she could shoot a few webs the guy’s way and leave him strung up easily, let the victim get free—had suddenly transformed into a much bigger problem when several of these men had showed up. She should’ve been home an hour ago.

The guilt twists, intensifies. She’ll buy Marcia dinner later this week, or something. They can get takeout like they used to, when Anetra was fucking normal and couldn’t walk on walls.

Hey, wait a minute.

Anetra scans the too-close walls on either side of her. It’ll be a hell of a Hail Mary jump, but maybe—

While she’s distracted, a meaty fist makes contact with the side of her face, hard enough to make her ears ring. She stays standing, years of practice from gone-wrong taekwondo fights keeping her feet under her, but just barely.

She spits some blood from her mouth against the fabric of her mask, tries to let her vision right itself, but then another hit catches her in the gut and her breath leaves her.

Okay. Okay, shit. She’s kind of losing control of the situation, here. She needs to get her half-formulated plan back on track.

She narrowly dodges out of the way of a third punch, throws a clumsy kick that she feels make contact with flesh, then stumbles backwards until she can feel the bricks of the alley’s back wall against her back.

Her head is spinning, but she tips her head back, ignoring the awful sensation of the blood from her nose and mouth running down her throat.

She assesses the slice of sky between the buildings. Her heightened instincts do the math for her on just how precise her jump needs to be to get her to safety—if she misjudges this, she’s either going to slam herself against the wall and do the henchmen’s job for them, or she’s going to fall right back down to earth. Also probably doing their job for them.

Speaking of which, over the distraction of their second fallen companion, the three remaining men begin their charge towards her. They’re each sporting a grin that says they think they’ve won, probably elated at the sight of blood staining Anetra’s mask and the heavy breaths she’s taking.

Anetra kind of admires the confidence.

With a clumsy wink that they can’t see, she crouches low, and then when they’re almost on top of her she leaps straight up into the air, her best shot, sticking her arms out in the cramped space to hopefully catch on the walls of the building. Pleasepleasepleaseplease—

It’s a near thing. She’s not capable of jumping all the way to the rooftop, but her fingers graze both walls thirty feet up. Just barely, but it’s enough contact to give her purchase on the surface. The invisible hook of her wall-clinging ability catches her on each side, keeps her bracketed between the buildings and out of reach of the men below.

The resulting giggle from her is a little delirious to her own ears, but she hopes it sounds victorious to them.

“Fuck all of you,” she shouts, grinning, curls her knees up to her chest and pushes off to hop up onto one of the roofs—made accessible with the minimized distance—and peer down at them from there. “Tell whoever sent you, they aren’t gonna get my ass that easy!”

Instead of being frustrated at her cockiness, as she would’ve expected, they’re all unnervingly calm. One of them tilts their head like they’re studying her.

“She won’t give up, you know,” that one says. “It’ll end in a lot less pain for you if you come with us now.”

“Hang on, it really doesn’t seem like we’re on the same page here, guys,” Anetra shouts, trying to sound breezy even though the ominous words send something skittering down her spine. “Who is she?”

The man who spoke grins crookedly. Maybe she didn’t sound as breezy as she thought.

“You don’t need to know,” he yells up at her. “All you need to know is that this won’t be over until she has you.”

“Don’t care!” Anetra chirps, maybe a little frantically, and casts a web to a billboard on an adjacent rooftop so she can swing away from the scene as fast as possible.

As the wind whips at her, a little abrasive against her tender bruises and scraped skin under the suit, the threatening words echo through her head.

This won’t be over until she has you.

She’s certainly had to develop a thicker skin since becoming New York’s resident superhero. Between the death threats and the unflattering mid-swing pictures people post online (the latter might genuinely be affecting her more negatively than the former), she’s had to figure out how to shove all of this Spider stuff into a big ol’ box in her brain and leave it there while she lives the rest of her life so that it can’t get to her.

This threat feels too real to put in that box, though. The way it was delivered, the way that man had looked up at her with something like pity in his eyes when she refused to bend—it makes her breath come a little shallower than is comfortable as she thinks about it.

Her heightened senses that came with that stupid spider bite don’t just help her assess the situation in fights, they also tell her when something’s wrong. If she doesn’t attend to the feeling and follow her instincts, the sensory overload of it all usually triggers a migraine.

She wouldn’t be too worried about this mysterious she that sent those men to collect her, but the hair on the back of her neck is standing up and she’s clenching her teeth without thinking about it.

Something about this is wrong, her body is telling her, and she has no idea what.

Suddenly desperate to stop thinking about it, she swings herself to a somewhat secluded rooftop, free from prying eyes, and pulls off her mask to give herself a second to breathe.

The sun is starting to set. She’s chosen one of the taller buildings in the area to rest on, so she can really take in the view, the pink-orange-gold-yellow tone of light shifting every hard angle of the city to something softer and sweeter.

She can see lights turning on in people’s apartments as the daylight fades, can see a few different rooftop bars start to fill up with patrons from up here. It’s a nice reminder that even with the isolation of her extremely unique life experience, she’s not alone. Someone’s always awake, someone’s always looking at the same skyline you are.

With her legs swinging off over the edge of the roof, Anetra pulls out her phone to finally listen to Marcia’s voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me!”

Despite her heart hammering around anxiously from both leftover and still-present adrenaline, Anetra manages a smile at that.

“Who else is it going to be, you dumb bitch?” she mumbles, rhetorical and fond.

“I’m figuring you probably just got caught at work and that’s why you’re not home. I was going to hold dinner for you, but I’m starving, so you snooze, you lose, Neech. Don’t know what to tell you. Your tacos are definitely going to be cold when you get home, and that is karma, is what that is.”

She pauses for a second. Anetra listens to her breathe, think about what she wants to say next. Her nose was probably all scrunched up when she recorded this like it gets when she thinks too hard.

“I miss you,” she says, and then the evening is quiet again, excepting the buzz of voicemail static. “Um. Anyway. Taco meat will be waiting when you get home. Please eat it. Or—just eat something with a modicum of protein. I’m begging you.”

Anetra has a full grin on her face when the message beeps, signaling its end. She swipes over to Google and searches up “modicum”, relying on autocorrect since she has no idea how to spell it, then sends Marcia a screenshot.

TO: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

(The emojis weren’t Anetra’s idea, believe it or not. Marcia gave her very specific instructions on which ones she wanted next to her name.)

[Attachment: 1 Photo]

You had to use this word right

Like needed to

You couldn’t have said “a little bit” or any of the various synonyms available to you, you needed to use that one

FROM: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

AHAHAHAHA

so sorry

Anetra smiles, but it slips from her face quickly as she realizes the fast response time is most likely worry-based.

I’m headed home now, she texts, wanting to quiet Marcia’s anxieties. Only a few minutes away :)

ok yay, Marcia sends back. The bubble appears, then disappears, then comes back again, indicating some rethinking. did the dancer shift end up ok? u just had to stay late?

Yeah

It’s all Anetra can really give her, even though the single-word response will only further Marcia’s suspicions. The doubling up on questions is already enough of an indication of her doubt.

Yara was on my ass tonight, she texts to try and cover. Yara Sofia is the manager at the bar, who lets Anetra come in for a dancing shift once or twice a week after her waitressing hours, and she is on Anetra’s ass all the time, even though it’s always out of love. It’s a real half-ass of a redirection, but Marcia, always graceful and always sweet, follows her lead anyway.

omg what did she do

Anetra takes some time to craft a decently wild story about Yara’s unorthodox marketing methods (she mentions Yara’s vibrant Onlyfans career, which is very real) to provide some scaffolding for her lie about her whereabouts.

Once she’s sent it, she gets to her feet, pulls her mask back over her face, and stretches, taking in the last of the sunset as the colors bleed out of the sky. The artificial lights have flickered on all around her now, doing their best to replace the sun’s warm glow and coming up just a little bit short.

She sends a web out to a streetlight on a parking garage nearby and hops off the roof. Since she’s still a little shaken, it takes her longer to find her rhythm than it normally does.

Cast out the web. Feel the resistance when it catches on a building or a lamppost or a tree. Swing from that node forward, let your body hurtle through the air, almost freefalling but not quite. Release, then cast again.

Cast, feel, swing, release. Cast, feel, swing, release.

She won’t give up, you know.

Cast, feel, swing, release. Definitely don’t think about the person with a vendetta against you who tried to get you killed earlier today. Cast, feel, swing, release.

“It’s Spider-Man!” she hears from below a few feet ahead of her, bringing her mostly out of her head. Within the crowds on the street, more than a few people have their faces upturned to gawk at her, but that exclamation in particular came from a little girl on her dad’s shoulders.

Anetra waves at her as she swings by on a streetlight, and the kid waves back, practically a caricature of cuteness sitting on her dad’s shoulders with her missing teeth and pigtails. Not a man, she wants to correct sunnily, but she stays mute. The public’s general assumption that she’s a dude keeps her cloaked in an extra layer of secrecy, and she can’t afford to shed any of those.

Sometimes she wants just a little bit—a modicum, one might say—of recognition. At least a small sign, somehow, that people get what she’s putting herself through, that what she’s doing isn’t for nothing.

But she understands that that’s not worth sacrificing her identity and her safety for, even if this life feels like it’s grinding away at her slowly. The isolation of it all is hard, but it’s for a reason. She can’t risk any of the Spider’s shit finding its way into Anetra’s life, because then that endangers all the people who know Anetra, tangles them all in the Spider’s web.

The Spider doesn’t have friends who can get hurt. Anetra does.

That man’s crooked smile shines in her mind like an afterimage of a bright flash. She lands hard on her feet in the alley behind her building, his words biting at her heels and hounding her.

Nothing from a fight’s ever stuck with her like this before. Chills travel down to the very ends of her extremities, and sparks scatter across her vision, the very first warning sign of an oncoming migraine.

Something is coming for her.

She zips up her sweatshirt so her suit is hidden, rips her mask off and stuffs it in the pocket, tries to shake off what’s left of the Spider unsuccessfully.

One shuddering breath is all she has time for before she’s cramming her key in the lock and opening the door, shoving it hard with her shoulder because it always sticks in its frame in the summer with the New York heat.

“Hi!” she shouts. It’s late, but Marcia doesn’t go to bed for at least another hour on weekends, so she’s loud just for the sake of it, just to jog loose the calcified anxiety in her mind.

“Hey!” she hears yelled in a singsong reply from the front room. After quickly making herself a taco from the ingredients Marcia left out, she heads that way with her hands in her pockets, a little more urgency in her step than usual.

On days where she spends more time in the mask than out of it, when the mental box she’s forced around her little vigilante hobby won’t stay closed and terrifying images flash through her mind every time she closes her eyes, she needs to get back to herself again, and Marcia’s always been her key for that.

She knows Marcia inside and out. Marcia knows her outside and in. They’ve been roommates since they both moved to New York, connected through one of those terrible Facebook groups that every desperate person moving to a big city joins on some wild hope that they’ll be able to find everything they need to survive in the posts there.

Anetra didn’t find everything she needed (no one on Facebook knows where to find good Puerto Rican food), but she did find Marcia. On her sappier days, she’ll say that that’s about the same thing.

Marcia is facing away from Anetra when she comes into the living room, sitting on their saggy old couch with her feet tucked up against herself and her laptop balanced on her knees. When she hears Anetra’s footsteps on their creaky-ass floor, though, she tilts her head all the way back over the arm of the couch so she can see her, and then she smiles.

Anetra feels her shoulders relax, and lets out a sigh under her breath. She’s okay, she’s here. Everything is well.

“Hi,” she says again.

“Hey,” Marcia says, repeating herself as well to go along with the bit. She’s still smiling, a few veins in her head popping with the upside-down position. “Oh, good, you found the tacos. You gonna say ‘hi’ again, or can I ask you how work was?”

“Work was fine. Now, sit your ass up or you’re going to pass out with all that blood rushing to your big head,” Anetra warns, hopping onto the other side of the couch and poking Marcia’s calf with her foot.

“Just fine?” Marcia asks once she’s readjusted into a normal seated position, ignoring Anetra’s jab about her head. Usually she’d make a bit out of it, act all wounded and everything. It makes Anetra a little nervous.

“I mean, yeah,” Anetra says, shrugging to sell it. “What, you want all the gory details of how my pelvis got a lot closer to a lot of old men’s faces than I ever wanted it to?”

“No, ew, no,” Marcia replies, scrunching her nose up in disgust. She’s wearing her glasses, so the gesture is a little funnier than it normally is. “No, I just—they’ve been asking you to take a lot of extra shifts, is all. Waitressing and dance. Is that okay? Are you… is, um. Is money okay?”

It’s a clunky way to ask a sensitive question, but it’s always been a clunky topic between the two of them. It’s very simple, really. Marcia comes from money. Anetra does not.

As far as how much rot generational wealth can cause in a brain, Marcia’s on the good side of things: she’s fairly aware of the privilege she’s held and continues to hold in society, lives modestly on her own teacher’s salary without help from her parents, and challenges her peers from youth on their wealth and what they’re choosing to do with it.

However, she still grew up a rich kid, and that’ll fuck a person right up.

There are things she’s never even had to begin to conceptualize because of the many layers of plush societal protection she was swaddled in from birth. It makes her a little dense on certain topics, like service jobs and financial etiquette, even after almost ten years away from her parents’ lifestyle.

“Money’s fine,” Anetra assures her, a little tightly. Marcia knows she’s very lucky to have a gold-lined safety net at the ready whenever she needs or wants it, and she consistently reminds Anetra of its application to her as well.

Never mind that Anetra would maybe rather die, eat shit, and give herself over to the mysterious woman that wants the Spider dead before she accepts help from Marcia’s parents.

Growing up poor’ll fuck you up too.

“Good,” Marcia says, equally tense, sensing she’s overstepped. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.”

Anetra feels a little guilty. Marcia can be naïve when it comes to money stuff, but she would have good reason to believe Anetra’s hurting for cash right now, with how many times she’s said she’s covering a shift or dancing late when she’s really out tangling webs all over the greater metropolitan area.

“It’s not the money,” she says, gentler now. “I, um. I’m putting in the hours to try and get a better time slot when I dance. Kind of want to go for a more respectable crowd than the ten-to-midnight folks.”

Marcia nods, slowly. She takes her glasses off and stares at them intently while she polishes them with her pajama top.

“Dick move on my part, bringing up money,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no, it’s all good,” Anetra says easily, because it really is. Marcia never means any harm. Her parents are assholes with no intent of ever redistributing their wealth outside of their family tree, and Marcia’s entire adult life has essentially been an exercise in atoning for that in any way she can think of—including offering trust fund money to her club dancer/waitress/general service worker roommate.

Anetra understands making what you can out of your shitty upbringing, she really does. She just tends to prickle at the slightest insinuation of charity. And Marcia is anything but subtle.

“I—You would tell me, if something else was going on?” Marcia asks, gaze still fixed on her lap, her voice a little faint. Her eyes flick up to meet Anetra’s, just once.

Well, Marcia, there was this spider in your coworker’s girlfriend’s lab that we toured that one time, and it bit me, and now I can traverse walls like gravity isn’t even real and I have superhuman reflexes and I can sense oncoming danger and I built myself these gadgets so I can swing all around the city and I’ve been using all these aforementioned abilities to fight crime—

“I would,” she says, cutting off her train of thought as she tries to get Marcia’s eye contact back. It’s a lot simpler than all of those other things she wants to say. It’s also a lie, or a partial one.

Not if it’s going to hurt you.

They don’t lie to each other if they can help it. But Anetra can’t help it, not in this circumstance, not if she wants Marcia to stay safe, so she meets Marcia’s eyes and compels her to believe her answer.

She sells it at least enough to get Marcia to relax, and she smiles again, a little wearier this time than before.

“Well, if stuff does come up, you know you can talk to me,” she offers, putting her glasses back on. “And I hope you get that evening gig. It sounds classy.”

Anetra snorts. “Nothing at Piranha is ever going to be classy.” She’s eager to move away from the topic at hand. “What are you working on?”

Marcia grins, and turns her laptop screen to face Anetra. “Just the choreography for the recital,” she says, the anxiety starting to fade from her posture as she sits up excitedly, shifts so that they’re sitting right next to each other. Anetra can feel the warmth of Marcia’s body through the layers of her sweatshirt and her suit.

“Oh, shit, yeah. Landed on a theme yet?” Anetra asks, clicking through the different tabs Marcia has open.

“Nothing’s good enough,” Marcia sighs, shaking her head and taking back control of the cursor to navigate to the document where she has all her brainstorming laid out. “I don’t want to do another recital where the teacher makes all the little girls dress up like flowers. That’s been done. It’s tired.”

“Oh, for sure,” Anetra says with mock seriousness, and then starts giggling when Marcia shoves her.

Anetra doesn’t really understand this whole world of dance that Marcia moves through with ease. She was a taekwondo kid. This is not her lane.

Obviously, that doesn’t stop her from attending every recital with a bouquet to throw at Marcia when the curtain falls, making it her personal mission to cheer the loudest for the kids out of everyone else.

She also likes to put in her opinions when Marcia brings her work home, like here, now, helping her decide on whether her middle-grade students’ suggestion of “Night of 1000 Beyoncés” as a theme is realistically going to work. Anetra sketches out a few test costume ideas while Marcia searches up some different medleys she can choreograph to.

Eventually, while they’re working side by side, as one in the morning comes and goes and two A.M. swiftly approaches, Anetra feels herself starting to drift off. Her body feels as if it’s melting into the couch, and without the adrenaline from earlier her bruises are really starting to ache. Her jaw feels tender where the guy clocked her with his fist, and she tried to clean off her nose but there’s definitely some dried blood up in there that’s making breathing uncomfortable.

She yawns widely, sticks her tongue out like a cat. That’s usually a surefire way to get a giggle from Marcia, but when it’s met with silence Anetra glances down to her side and breathes out a quiet laugh.

Marcia is slumped over, asleep, her head on Anetra’s shoulder. She’d been silent for a while, but Anetra hadn’t thought much of it, perhaps a little too singularly focused on the Destiny’s Child costume design she was working on instead of her overtired roommate next to her.

“Alright. Bedtime,” she murmurs, mostly for herself, not expecting a response.

First, she has to slip out from under Marcia without waking her, which she manages with a considerable amount of effort. She eases the laptop from the other woman’s lap, then plugs it in and lays it to rest on the coffee table. She moves to the kitchen to put away the tacos Marcia left out for her, feeling a delayed wave of tired gratitude at the gesture as she does, and finally sets the dishwasher to run as wipes down the countertops.

When she goes back to the living room, picking up pieces of paper and assorted trash as she does, Marcia is still out for the count. Her often-worried expression is always smoothed out when she sleeps, the normally constant lines of anxiety at her brow or temples thankfully absent.

Anetra stands there paralyzed for a second.

Something warm and sacred, a feeling that outpaces verbalization, beats in her chest.

Before she can let herself really feel it, Marcia is blinking awake, slowly, stirred by some invisible force, and whatever was striking through the lightning rod of Anetra’s body vanishes, renders her mobile again.

“R’you watching me sleep?” Marcia mumbles, teasing, stretching her body out long from the tightly curled position she had fallen asleep in.

Anetra tosses one of the crumpled pieces of paper she grabbed off the floor at the blonde’s head to take some of the weight out of the air between them. “Obviously,” she says, lobbing the joke right back. “How else am I finally going to achieve my mission of killing you after all these years?”

Marcia catches the paper ball out of the air easily, yawning as she does so. “Playing the long game, I see,” she replies. The bit isn’t worth entertaining further, so Anetra doesn’t try, instead goes to grab Marcia’s arm so she can haul her up off the couch.

“Come on, bed,” she coaxes. “You hate sleeping on the couch. It’s a bad couch, we should get a new one.”

“Nee-trah,” Marcia whines, gone childish with sleep, and Anetra just shakes her head and sighs before bending at her knees to throw Marcia over her shoulder like she weighs nothing.

She does this all the time, it’s a bit between them, but it used to be harder, before superstrength. It seems like an obvious statement, but it speaks to something she’s learning over and over again: her life has been irrevocably changed. She is different now, as much as she doesn’t want to be.

Marcia shrieks out a surprised laugh and flails wildly for a minute, like she always does just to be funny, but then she goes limp so it’s easier for Anetra to carry her.

“Should fall asleep on the couch more often,” she muses appreciatively, her voice getting raspier as she lets her drowsiness creep back over her, and Anetra snorts, jostling her a little bit to at least keep her awake until she can toss her on her bed. “What time do you have to get up tomorrow?”

“Not till nine or something,” Anetra replies, punctuating her statement by throwing Marcia over her shoulder onto her crumpled bedspread, then launches herself into the air to land hard at her side, giggling at the way the mattress momentarily buckles under her. “I don’t work tomorrow. What about you?”

Marcia flops over on her stomach and groans against the fabric of her quilt. “Seven. I don’t have class till nine, but Jan wants me in early so we can talk logistics for the recital at the end of the week.” She turns her head to smile beatifically in Anetra’s direction. “No chance you wanna go in my stead? Deal with Jan’s mania?”

Anetra winces and shakes her head vigorously. “Nope.” She stretches her arms long over her head, then looks over to where Marcia’s pouting and laughs. “What if I bring you lunch? We can eat together after your class.”

Marcia visibly brightens and nods. “Yes, please. Suki’s?”

Anetra hops up off of Marcia’s bed and salutes. “Tomorrow at noon,” she promises.

“It’s a date,” Marcia answers, yawns. Her eyes start to fall closed with the end of the conversation, and Anetra stands in the doorway for just a moment.

She had a crush on Marcia, way back when in those early days, debilitating and whole-heart-seizing. Her mouth went useless whenever her roommate asked her a question, and her heart would pick up to a terrible, pointless speed whenever the other girl leaned over her to plug in her phone or to grab the last egg out of the fridge.

Recognizing immediately that falling for your roommate is a terrible cliché at best and severely endangering your living situation at worst, Anetra never gave the feeling air, since it would’ve been more than a little stupid. She put her nose to the ground and worked her ass off, waitressing at the bar during the day and dancing at night, and eventually, with no time to dedicate to it, the crush died off like an uncared-for plant.

Marcia’s her best friend, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything, but sometimes that crush wakes up a little bit, shifts and rumbles around her chest.

Maybe it was never really asleep. Maybe, by not giving something air, all you do is make it writhe around and become more stubborn, more insistent.

Well. Whatever. She never told Marcia then, and she certainly can’t tell her now. It would be foolish to think something ever could come of it besides losing the closest person in her life.

She’s been working to get over this feeling for years—for years—at this point. She will, she can.

She leaves the doorway and goes down the hall to her room, slamming a mental lid shut on her waxing nostalgia as she does so.

As soon as her bedroom door falls shut behind her, Anetra shucks off the top layer she has on, her sweatshirt and pants discarded so that she’s just wearing her suit, then shrugs her way out of that too. She shuffles down the hall to their shared bathroom just in her bra and underwear, and sits heavily on the toilet lid to assess the damage from the fight earlier.

She sighs as she probes her various bruises with light fingers, flinching at the deep pain she can feel beneath the faintly tinged skin. Tomorrow, they’ll all be vibrant and awful and hard to explain, but for now all she’s got is a terrible ache, with no evidence of its presence. It’s kind of infuriating.

Other than her for-now-invisible bruises, her nose is tender from the hit earlier, but otherwise seems fine, and even though she sustained a few really rough hits it seems like she didn’t break any bones.

Once it’s established that altogether, she’s fine, she exhales, heavy. Heavy enough that her shoulders start to curl inwards with the deflation of her lungs. Her neck goes loose, and her head slumps forward over her chest.

She’s so tired.

It’s a kind of tired that has settled in her bones. She can’t sleep this off, she can’t shake this easily. The only way it feels like she’d be able to rest again, really rest, would be to hang up the mask, sitting in the pocket of her hoodie down the hall, for good.

She’s in too deep with this whole flip-side world to even entertain the idea of doing that.

For a while, she stares blankly at the tile at her feet—it’s cheap New York apartment tile, unevenly discolored and easy to stare at while you get lost in thought—but eventually, her aching body necessitates getting up from the uncomfortable toilet lid and picking her way back down the hall.

As she walks through her bedroom door, she strips off her bra and throws on a shirt to sleep in (it says EVERYBODY GET FOOTLOOSE! in egregiously large letters on the back, leading Anetra to believe that one of Marcia’s show shirts might have found its way into her laundry) before hauling her pained, overworked body into bed.

She’s exhausted enough that her eyes fall closed automatically, but then that memory from the alley today flashes behind her lids like a vision.

It’s the not knowing that kills her. The first few weeks of having powers was like this, too, a whole new world of danger where every other step was a stumble, but there were no consequences then. If she trips up now, with this mysterious woman on her tail, then she’s just going to fall and fall.

She needs to get her feet under her before that happens, she thinks to herself, turning over in bed and yanking the covers up to her chin. She doesn’t work tomorrow, so after lunch with Marcia, she can throw the mask on and snoop around under the radar, see what she can find out about this person who wants her dead. Once she has something like a plan in place, the anxiety’s clawed grip on her neck and chest relaxes slightly, allowing her to slip out of consciousness.

It doesn’t leave Anetra in complete peace, though. Her dreams are flashes of pure horror, painted in wailing, assaulting color, and she jolts awake soaked in sweat and pinned to the mattress with fear.

Her alarm clock reads 8:48. She knows she won’t get back to sleep, so she peels herself out of bed and walks out into the empty apartment with some half-baked idea of making some breakfast. She catches her sallow-looking reflection in the hallway mirror on her way to the kitchen, and points some finger guns at it.

“Lookin’ good,” she jokes softly, for absolutely no audience but herself, and tries to smile. It’s kind of freakish with how bad her eye bags have gotten, so she just stops looking. She makes a mental note to ask Marcia if she can raid the huge tub of different skincare products she has going in the bathroom, see if anything will fix the skin issues brought on by becoming a neighborhood superhero.

Because she has the morning free, she uses the time to take care of business.

First, she dunks her whole suit in a bucket and scrubs at the bloody patches with hydrogen peroxide until the water runs clear, then goes downstairs to the laundry room to chuck the whole mess in a washing machine. While she waits for the cycle to be done, she turns on some mindless show and cleans out the gunk from her webshooters, meticulously picking at the mechanisms with a bobby pin. Once she’s moved the suit over to the dryer, she folds herself up all wonky on the couch and searches up some variation of “femme mob boss new york” for at least an hour until she gives up because she realizes it’s pointless and at this rate she might end up on a watchlist.

She doesn’t have a guy in the chair, okay? It’s just her stupid ass stuck with trying to figure out all this shit. Sometimes Google has answers.

After her pointless search, it’s just a matter of finally changing out of her pajamas, getting her suit out of the dryer and putting it in her backpack, and then hauling ass to Suki’s so she can beat the lunch rush and make it to Marcia’s studio in time.

They’re regulars here. It’s an oft-established pattern at this point, really. Whenever Anetra comes in to pick up lunch, Suki is usually there, and will try to engage Anetra in a conversation in Japanese, which Anetra definitely can’t speak. Then she inevitably switches to English, and asks after Marcia and what bullshit their neighbors are up to this month.

“When are you going to make that girl stop eating only vegetables?” she asks ruefully now, packaging up their order behind the counter. “Not healthy.”

“She’s vegetarian, Suki,” Anetra tells her with a snort, filching one of the mints from the register dish. “It’s a moral choice.”

Suki just clicks her tongue. “She needs meat,” she mumbles stubbornly. “Twig of a thing. You are certainly a bad friend if you aren’t making her eat meat.”

“I’ll let you know how me telling her that goes over,” Anetra replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, and opens her phone to check Marcia’s location. She’s on the north side of the building, so she’s still stuck in her first-grade class. The parents are probably bugging her again.

“Oh! I have news,” Suki says eagerly, interrupting Anetra’s idle scrolling, and Anetra locks her phone and puts it to the side, giving the older woman her full attention. “That Spider? On the news? I saw her.”

Anetra feels her body temperature shoot up exponentially, then plummet. She shivers without being aware of it. “Come on. What?” she scoffs, knowing she’s laying on the disbelief a little thick.

“In the alley outside of my apartment a week ago,” Suki says, and nods seriously. “With my own two old eyes. These two fuckers—” Suki prioritizes learning curse words in practicing her English—“were in the alley, breaking glass of my building, spraying paint all over the side of the wall, and then before I could even turn from the window, there she was! Immediately!”

“Everyone thinks it’s a man,” Anetra says carefully. Her throat hurts suddenly. She remembers that day. Two little racist shits, spraying awful words on the wall, a bruised old man slumped against the side of the dumpster who had probably tried to stop them earlier. “Did you see the face?”

“Ah, no,” Suki says, and Anetra’s heart only calms a tiny bit. “If everyone thinks it’s a man and it isn’t, then I can be the only one who is right.”

“It’s probably just some dude trying to be a hero,” Anetra says dismissively, and Suki raises an eyebrow, shakes her head vigorously. “He’s probably already tired of it.”

“Sophie, in my kitchen, she also saw the Spider in an alley. Last night! Last night, she saw her! Sophie, come here!”

A girl in an apron and a hairnet pokes her head through the swinging kitchen door, a fresh black eye ripening on her face, and Anetra’s eyes widen before she can stop her reaction.

The fucking girl from last night.

“Sophie, you saw the Spider! Right?”

“They saved me,” Sophie says kind of quietly, not coming any farther into the restaurant. “Some guy pulled me into an alley when I was walking home, and they—they got him off of me, I was able to run.”

Anetra swallows hard. “Wow,” she says, tries to nod. She’s never seen anyone she’s saved after the fact before. It makes her chest tight, her eyes burn. “That’s—I’m glad you’re okay.”

“See? She saw the Spider too! She is helping us,” Suki says determinedly, jabbing a finger against the countertop. “She is real.”

She’s holding the order in one hand, so Anetra grabs it from her quickly, stumbles backwards a little bit. “I. Um. I have to get this to Marcia, Suki. Sorry. Bye, Sophie.”

Suki eyes her a little too closely for comfort. “Okay,” is all she says. “Have a good day, Anetra. Say hello to Marcia.”

Anetra scrambles out the front door, bag clenched tightly in her fist. The box she keeps the Spider in in her head breaks open, bursts free, spills webs and fear and responsibility all over every other thought in her head.

She’s kept the two parts of her life separate for months now, she’s been okay, but now they’re coming together in a way that sets her teeth on edge. Is Suki in danger now? She’s unknowingly closer than a lot of news outlets to guessing who the Spider is. What about that girl, Sophie? Will she be all right? Did saving her once mean that she’ll be a bigger target later?

The streets seem too fenced in by the lofty skyscrapers on all sides all of a sudden, and Anetra feels trapped. She bows her head and walks faster, tucking her chin closer to her chest.

Marcia’s studio building comes rising into her periphery, all light metal and huge panes of glass, but the gorgeous design doesn’t soothe Anetra like it usually does. All she can think is how exposed that building is, how anyone could look in and see her with Marcia on almost any floor of the studio.

When she walks in, though, the panic abates slightly. No one here is talking about the Spider. It’s a uniquely focused atmosphere, the way taekwondo tournaments were for her back in the day. No one is talking about anything but the thing they came here to do, from the tiny six-year-olds enthusing about pliés to their beleaguered parents to the sharp-featured prima ballerina running through her fitness program with her teacher.

Anetra maneuvers through the herds of different layers of tulle to get to the front desk, where Robin, the desk receptionist, hands over a guest pass badge without asking for Anetra’s ID and gives her a tired smile.

“Hard day?” Anetra asks, and it’s settling, to go through this familiar exchange.

“It’s the first day of a camp week,” Robin says dryly. “A million little kids, all sprinting around this huge studio space, and all the upperclassmen think that it’s suddenly my fault that these children are underfoot even though this happens every single fucking year—sorry,” she edits herself, not sounding sorry at all. “Every single year.”

“Yikes,” Anetra says, laughing a little bit.

“Go give Marcia her lunch break, she needs it,” Robin tells her dismissively, waving her hand in the direction of the elevator. “Everyone gets fucked over on a new camp week. She definitely hasn’t sat down all day.”

Anetra gives a little salute. “Will do,” she confirms, tapping the top of Robin’s desk to punctuate her statement. “Good luck not getting fucked over.”

“Honestly, I fucking wish I could get fucked over—I won’t get to see my girlfriend until next week at this rate with the overtime hours they’ve stuck me on,” Robin mutters, slouching in her chair.

Laughing at the other woman’s exaggerated pout, Anetra begins to mime obscenely making out with the back of her hand until Robin screeches at her to stop, and then she hightails it to the elevator while giggling as the other woman readies to chuck something at her head.

She just barely wedges herself into the packed space, and her phone buzzes as the doors close.

FROM: marcia 🌸💖💫🧚💕🌷💗✨💝

SOS!!!!!!!!!

The nine exclamation points are honestly pretty typical for a text from Marcia, but the all-caps is a slight flag for alarm—when the elevator doors slide open to the sixth floor, Anetra steps with a quick pace past all the other open studios to get to the one at the end of the long hall.

“I’m sorry, but I really believe—” is the first thing Anetra hears, Marcia’s voice sounding more than a little exhausted. Marcia is sweet, the sweetest person Anetra knows, but she’s not a pushover, and her voice has taken on that edge that it does when you’re about to cross her line.

“I don’t care,” a woman’s voice interrupts. “You don’t bring this shit into a classroom. That’s for whatever you do at home—Lord knows I don’t agree with that, either, but you will not get my daughter involved in this life you chose.”

She pauses, likely about to barrel into an even more fervent tirade, but that’s when Anetra makes her entrance, unaware of the exact circumstances but ready to roll with pretty much anything.

“Marcia?” she asks, schooling her face into a pout of concern as she pokes her head into the studio space. “Sorry to interrupt, I just thought your lunch break started a few minutes ago.” She holds up the bag from Suki’s, then cuts her gaze pointedly to the clock above the door.

Marcia’s posture noticeably relaxes at the sight of her. A tiny smile flickers across her face.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, ‘Netra, I’m just wrapping up here,” she says sunnily, then turns back to the woman who has a blood vessel popping in her forehead. “I’m so sorry, but as I said, the Pride parade march was a clearly labeled part of this week’s camp, and if your child showed distinct interest that comes from them, not from me. If you’d like for them not to attend, that is between you and your kid and I don’t get involved. If there’s nothing else—” Marcia tilts her head and beams, her eyes flashing dangerously—“I only get an hour for lunch, and I’m going to spend it with my girlfriend.”

It’s a joke, a bit, and one they’ve done more than a few times to get out of sticky situations like this, actually, but Anetra’s cheeks never fail to warm at least a little bit when Marcia calls her that, even if it’s to make a point to a bigoted woman in a kid’s dance studio.

“This isn’t over,” the woman in question grinds out through a clenched jaw, crossing her arms over her chest. Despite her words, she thankfully abandons the conversation and stalks over to the other side of the room where her kid has been chatting with their classmates.

Anetra waves brightly at the woman’s retreating back. “Have a nice day,” she chirps, and Marcia barely manages to suppress a snort of laughter at the false tone as she walks over to meet her.

“Hey,” she says softly, her posture sloping forward into Anetra’s orbit, reaching out a hand to tug at the sleeve of her t-shirt. She’s like this, always; she needs to touch things to get herself back. Anetra has never once minded. She mirrors it and leans in right back.

“Rough morning?” Anetra says, keeping her voice low so the kids still packing up across the room won’t hear their conversation.

Marcia rubs her temples and manages a dead-eyed smile. “No. Why do you ask?”

Anetra slings an arm around her shoulders and traces a soothing pattern with her thumb. “I’ve got an order of veggie rolls with your name on it,” she says sweetly. “Plus we have a whole hour of your break for you to rant about everything that went wrong with camp today.”

“I don’t want to waste your time…” Marcia protests feebly, but it’s just noise and she knows it, knows that they both understand the entirety of lunch will be spent with her complaining and Anetra nodding along gamely. A grin breaks through, a real one, and she rests her head on Anetra’s shoulder happily.

Anetra is watching the last of the kids trickle out the door, waving to the few that are return dancers from last year that recognize her as Marcia’s roommate, when she feels Marcia stiffen next to her.

“Wh—” she starts asking, beginning to turn to check in, but then there’s the light touch of fingers on her cheek that finish the job for her and she’s looking right in Marcia’s eyes, inches away.

The prickle she’s been growing resignedly used to over these past few months skitters up and down her spine, the one that tells her pay attention or something’s up. The noise of it, the feel of it folds easily into the whole-body hum that’s happening under Marcia’s focused gaze, until everything in her is tuned towards the blond standing at her side.

“Trust me,” Marcia whispers, so quietly she barely moves her lips, and then when Anetra has nodded without even entirely being aware she’s done it Marcia is leaning in, kissing Anetra square on the mouth.

They’re two queer roommates. They’re open and generous with sexuality, that’s kind of in the handbook. They’ve made out when they’re drunk before on a dare, Marcia kisses Anetra on the cheek when she gets home sometimes. Casual intimacy is nothing new for them.

This is the same as all of that on the surface—Anetra doesn’t know why she’s being kissed soundly under the fluorescent lights of the studio, she assumes it’s for some bigger reason—but this is the first time she’s ever felt Marcia’s lips against hers when she’s completely sober. This is the first time she can taste that stupid expensive chapstick Marcia always buys, a waxy herbal flavor over top the sensation of spit and flesh.

Marcia pulls away, her eyes a universe, and Anetra’s constant crush is snapping at her heels again. This time, though, she can’t push it away—it’s gained sharper, exigent teeth.

She blinks a few times, and the world around them, which had faded into silence, comes crashing back in with sound and color, the studio space now apparently empty and the lights overhead seeming even brighter in the absence of anyone else in the room.

“Um,” is all she can manage. She casts around for a joke to make, something to make it seem like she wasn’t as affected by that as she was. Marcia is just smiling at her like it’s a regular Tuesday.

“Sorry, that fucking parent’s watching us through the window,” Marcia tells her, inclining her head just slightly, and Anetra whips around not-at-all-subtly to see the woman from before duck out of the hallway when she realizes she’s been caught. “Wanted to give her a little bit of a show.”

“Ah,” Anetra says weakly, the realization that she actually maybe never got over her crush on her roommate making her voice shake a little on its way out. “No, yeah, totally. Stick it to the man. Or woman.”

“Anyway,” Marcia continues breezily. “You have Suki’s for me, and I got an hour. Wanna eat up on the roof?”

Anetra just nods, and Marcia pushes off the wall they were leaning against to go grab her bag from the corner. Anetra takes the time to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth and shut away all of this to be dealt with later.

Being the Spider is hard. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. But most of the problems that arise from that can be solved with a well-placed punch or a couple webs tangling something (or someone) up.

This isn’t that.

She’s still got to do some reconnaissance on this person who’s got it out for her today. After lunch, she can swing around for a while and hope that a solution to this newly reinvigorated crush appears in the skyline while she does so.

Marcia skips back over to her, smiling wide.

“Ready to listen to me for an hour?”

It was sunny when Anetra left home, but it’s overcast and a little drizzly now. Neither of them mind as they curl up in two plastic chairs sat opposite each other on the roof, the access door propped open behind them with Marcia’s class binder.

Anetra can almost forget the charged moment in the studio, chucking the wrappers of the plastic silverware at each other and laughing at the stories Marcia tells about her kids’ antics.

“Fucking Michael F., then, what does he decide to do? Tries to execute a lift with Marie without telling me first. Not only does that not fit at all with the choreography, they’re also eight. They can’t tie their own fucking slippers up.”

Anetra nods sagely, like she’s also an experienced dance teacher and not some half-waitress half-dancer at a gay bar. “I think—” she starts, but then the access door creaks open.

That prickle, again, at the back of her neck, except this time Marcia shows no signs of suddenly jumping her bones, so Anetra sits up straight, casts an eye around, feels around for her backpack with the suit and webshooters in it.

“Hey,” she hears from behind them, and although her mind relaxes at the recognizable voice, her body stays alert, won’t shut down all her heightened warning systems.

“Hey, Kerri,” Marcia says through a mouthful of sushi, waving with her chopsticks. “Finally got a break?”

“Yes, finally,” Kerri grumbles, shuffling towards them, running a hand over her face.

Kerri is the prima of the company’s production of Swan Lake that they’re putting on this season. Marcia is Anetra’s favorite at the studio, always, unquestionably, but Kerri is raw fucking talent. She’s still young, but moves with the lithe grace of someone with twice her training. She dances so fluidly, all while keeping her eyes locked on some invisible, unreachable horizon. She’s kind of miraculous.

She’s also, at this moment, looking more than a little exhausted when she slumps into one of the vacant chairs by the two of them. Kerri and Marcia continue to chat for a while using dancer jargon Anetra only barely has a grasp of, and Anetra just sits there silently, her whole body ringing in alarm like a sheet of metal someone hit with a hammer.

Her knee jogs up and down anxiously. She has no reason to be afraid of Kerri. She knows Kerri, not well, true, but she’s been in Marcia’s orbit since she was a newbie at the studio. So why is she on high alert?

“You okay?”

Marcia’s voice cuts through the static of Anetra’s overpowered sense input, clear concern coloring her tone.

“Yeah, I—yeah,” Anetra says, shaking her head slightly as if jostling something loose. The ringing in her ears has grown louder. “Yes. Sorry. I just have to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Marcia replies, obviously still worried. She gets to her feet quickly, gathers up all their trash. “I’ll talk to you about being a TA for that technique class next week?” she asks Kerri, and when she gets an elegant nod she smiles. “Okay, great. My lunch break’s over, anyway. Let’s get going, ‘Netra.”

Anetra nods a little weakly, almost unable to hear over the buzzing in her ears. Marcia takes her hand loosely, and she lets herself be tugged down the stairwell back down to the lobby. Every sound is grotesquely amplified, every light feels too bright. The months-old bite on her calf pulses and aches.

“Is it a migraine?” Marcia asks softly, and it sounds like Anetra’s listening to her from several feet underwater.

“No,” she tries to say as normally as possible, tries to achieve how she would normally sound. “No, I think I’m fine. I just need to go home.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Marcia tells her immediately, determined, and Anetra shakes her head again, maybe a little too quickly.

PAY ATTENTION. SOMETHING’S GOING ON; PAY ATTENTION. EYES UP, EYES UP, EYES UP.

She only gets this feeling when something’s about to happen. Usually, it’s an attack of some sort. She’s not endangering Marcia, not if there’s even the ghost of a chance that she’ll get hurt.

“I’ll be fine, Mar. I’ll text you,” she says dismissively, and the words sound small even to her, but they get Marcia to loosen her grip on Anetra’s arm.

“I… okay. Text me. I’ll see you at home?”

Anetra hates that she can hear the new uncertainty in Marcia’s voice. She hates that she knows that she put it there.

“I’ll see you at home,” she echoes, trying to put every bit of certainty she has into this one statement.

Marcia swallows, and Anetra can feel her eyes on her back as she all but runs out of the studio.

Once she’s out of sight of that terribly windowed building in an alley a block or so south, Anetra sinks to the ground, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets.

“Ow,” she mutters. “Jesus Christ, this cannot be useful.”

She tucks herself behind a dumpster, strips and then pulls on her suit and mask. Her mind throbs.

She sprints up the wall, gets to a roof, and tries to breathe, gives in to the alarm bells her powers have been sounding off for the past few minutes straight. Her body tenses into a ready position instantly—she’s discerned over the past couple weeks that this feeling is most similar to a panic attack.

The adrenaline spike is overwhelming, but it’s all intentional, directed, pointed towards a prerogative that she hasn’t been clued in on yet. Sometimes, when she’s too scrambled, when she can’t follow the thread being led out for her, the heightened senses misfire and she ends up with a debilitating migraine.

She can’t afford to be laid up for the rest of the day; she needs to solve this, now.

“Okay,” she mumbles aloud to herself, darting up to the roof easily and casting a long, searching look to the streets below, letting her senses take over. “Okay, what are you trying to tell me?”

She cuts through the ambient noise of the city without effort to zero in on whatever anomaly is present, ignoring yelling children and car horns and—there.

A tug in her lower gut, not dissimilar to the feeling when a rollercoaster is about to drop, as she’s honing in on an alley in Midtown.

She’s swinging her way there before she even makes the conscious decision to do so.

When she lands hard on the ground in an abandoned stretch of sidewalk, she can feel her heartbeat in her teeth, every single cell in her body screaming at her that something is going to happen.

She rounds a corner, makes it to the alley she felt her hackles raise for, and the awful feeling somehow intensifies.

This is the alley from last night. Her blood is still drying on the wall a couple yards down.

Immediately, she’s up on the balls of her feet. If those fuckers from last night are back, she’ll pull absolutely no punches this time. This was a trap, that’s why, that’s why the space behind her eyes feels like it’s imploding.

She runs farther into the alley, fists up and head low, but no one bursts out—she stands there in the wind-whistling silence, tensed for a fight that isn’t coming.

Her shoulders drop. She’s breathing hard under the mask, and a spill of light blooms in her left eye, signaling an impending migraine.

“What do you want?” she screams to no one, and of course no one answers. She whirls around, ready to just punch the wall behind her until her suit tears and her knuckles bleed, but what she sees painted there makes her stop dead in her tracks.

A too-clean, too-perfect graffiti painting of her mask.

COME FIND MOTHER is painted in large, stark, even letters under the enormous paint job, a signature, a command.

Oh, fuck.

The dizziness that comes with all her migraines hits her in a terrible wave, and she has to sit down, staring up at the likeness of her face on the wall as it stares right back, the red slash painted over the left eye of the mask just like it is in real life.

Mother, she thinks through the oncoming fog, racks her brain and comes up with nothing. No one she knows of would use that as their moniker—it’s too old-fashioned, too traditionally powerful.

This development is newly unnerving. The city’s underground power structure is against the Spider, obviously, but none of them have actively singled her out yet besides this new player.

Mother isn’t like the rest of that structure, anyway; Mother is an unknown. Anetra doesn’t know what she’s capable of. And that makes her a hell of a lot more dangerous than the slimy mob bosses she’s used to fucking with, and this callout becomes a lot more fucking substantial.

Anetra stands up, her left eye beginning to black out with the migraine, and she stumbles a little bit. Home. She has to get home.

Unable to brave the subway in this state, and even more unable to walk the many, many blocks home, Anetra hobbles her way to the nearest northbound L tracks, casts a web to swing herself onto the top of the oncoming train and just hunkers down once she’s landed.

The wind is cool through her mask, soothing against the rising temperature of her skin, but it does nothing to calm her thoughts.

She feels stupid and small.

When she was a kid, and she wished for superpowers in the same way that every kid does, it was a fantasy about finally, finally having some control over her little life. No one can tell you what to do if you can punch through walls or fly at the speed of light.

The thing that her child brain couldn’t comprehend, though, is that your problems grow at a speed that outpaces your ability. If you could fly at the speed of light, then some time-space continuum thing would probably crop up that you wouldn’t be able to fix even with that speed. If you could punch through walls, then maybe you wouldn’t be able to punch through walls fast enough to save anyone.

And if you can swing around on webs and have a sense for danger, maybe someone will hunt you down for it, and you’ll have no idea how to stop them or who they even are.

Her migraine begins in earnest right as she stumbles through the front door, managing to lock it behind her as she walks through the house, closing all the curtains before the pain gets unmanageable.

“Suit,” she mumbles to herself. “Suit’s gotta come off.”

She flings it over her chair in the corner, then chucks a blanket over it as an afterthought to keep it hidden. Even that small action makes her head pulse. She grabs Marcia’s pajama shirt she threw on the bed this morning and tugs it back on before falling over top of the pillows, unable to even cross the room to close her own blinds.

She doesn’t sleep—she never can when she has a migraine. She just lays there until it passes. Usually, she feels the warning signs and prepares, grabs a cold rag and fills her waterbottle, but now she’s in the thick of it and all she can do is brace her body and wait for it to end.

Her door creaks open quietly after about an hour, and the small sound may as well be an ice pick above her left eye. She makes a small, pathetic, embarrassing little noise at the sensation.

Once the sharp ache dips back into a dull thud of pain, there’s soft footsteps over to the side of the bed, then the heavenly sensation of a cold towel being pressed to her neck—Marcia, Anetra thinks, and feels her whole body relax, just a little bit.

“You’re okay, baby,” Marcia murmurs, barely a whisper, the noise not aggravating the thrumming pain under Anetra’s skull. “I’m gonna close these curtains, make it darker in here.”

The word ‘baby’ sticks with Anetra for longer than it should.

Marcia closes all the blinds as quietly as she can, Anetra sighing at the slight relief it gives her, and then she comes back over to the side of the bed with Anetra’s waterbottle in her hand.

“You should drink water,” Marcia commands in her soft voice, and Anetra just sits up slowly, trying not to whimper at the pain the movement causes, and lets Marcia tip the bottle for her to drink from.

“‘M sorry,” she manages once she’s had a few sips.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Marcia murmurs automatically, then chews on her cheek for a second, just watching her. “Just… why didn’t you tell me you were having a migraine?” she murmurs, her expression unreadable in the dark room. “I would’ve walked you home.”

Anetra doesn’t have the brainpower to lie, so she slouches back down among the pillows, curling up on her side.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt,” she mumbles into the fabric of the sheets.

Marcia’s confusion is palpable. “No one was gonna hurt me at the studio if I walked you home, ‘Netra. I—camp is stressful, but it isn’t—you should’ve told me,” she says, then flinches when she realizes she spoke too loudly near the end.

“Yeah,” Anetra whispers. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Tell me next time,” Marcia says, her voice near-silent. “You shouldn’t have to—you have people who will take care of you.”

Anetra says nothing, her words all spent, so Marcia’s footsteps quietly retreat towards the door. The door handle turns softly, and without being fully aware she’s speaking Anetra hears her own voice—

“Stay?”

There’s nothing but the sound of two people breathing for a moment. Then, Marcia’s footsteps start again, this time coming closer to the bed, and Anetra feels the mattress dip as Marcia lays down, her body warm at.

“Is this o—” she hears Marcia begin, softly whispered then broken off into quiet, and instead of saying anything Anetra laces her fingers with Marcia’s and holds their hands together over her stomach.

Gently, Marcia’s thumb rubs over the fabric of Anetra’s pajama shirt, an unconscious, comforting movement.

“You’re okay, baby,” Marcia murmurs again. “It’s all right.”

It’s a running joke between them that Marcia is always right, about everything, for all time.

Everything is not okay, not in the grand scheme of things, but in this present moment, the world shrunk down to just two people, Marcia’s right.

Anetra’s okay. It’s all right.

#anetra #marcia x3 #marcia marcia marcia #anarcia #rpdr fanfiction #rpdr #spiderman #netra #kerri colby #zig writes

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yiiyiiwrites · 7 months

Text

JJ Maybank x JohnB Older sister

Summary: JJ gives John B's older sister a ride to work at the hotel they both work out. Platonic ship :) no romance just cute. 1033words

She heard the bike rambling through the trees before JJ even came into view. The early morning air held a chill that she welcomed in the unbearable summer heat of the day. Her fingers tightened around her fraying bag strap as she tried to keep it from slipping off her shoulder.

JJ stopped at the edge of the chateau. He swiped his messy blonde hair back and smiled to her. "Morning, Smalls." His lips twitch at the nickname.

"We're going to be late." Is all she said, shouldering past the teen and walking to the motorbike and waiting for him to follow. She doesn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the smile gracing her face, it's wiped off the moment he rounds her.

Reaching behind him, JJ pulled out his cap from his pocket and placed it on her head. He tucked a few strands of her stray hair behind her ears and nodded to himself. "Know how you get about your hair being all knotty from the wind."

She clambered on behind JJ, not as graceful as his simple swing onto the seat. Her hands rested on his broad shoulders as she got comfortable and secured her bag on both of her own.

He repositioned her hold and wrapped them around his waist, her cheek pushing into his back. She linked her fingers together and held on as tight as she could. JJ's body shook with laughter, muscles shifting underneath his t-shirt, the squeak leaving her lips as he sped up. They were late after all.

The houses began to get few and far between, fences lining the streets with homes that were bigger than the stores on the pogues side. Not one thing out of place, she liked this time of the day. No one was quite yet up and she could breathe without worrying about the Kooks.

Some mornings it felt like longest ride but today it was like a blink of eye. JJ skidding to a halt at the back of the hotel, his movements stilled as he noticed the tight hold she still had on him. She took a deep breath and slipped away from his waist, her cheek peeling away from his thin shirt.

He waited for her to stumble off the bike, fingers twisting on her sleeve to hold her own balance. "Still not used to it." He chuckled. He swiped his hat from her head and shoved it back in his pocket.

"I really need to get a car." She mumbled, knowing full well she couldn't afford one and that she'd have to work something out with John B so she could use the twinkie a bit more. "But thanks JJ." She smiled up at him, eyes squinting in the sun.

"So." JJ said opening the door for her and falling in step with her down the corridor. "You think you've got time to press my shirt before we start?" He doesn't glance at her, but takes her bag from her shoulder and leads the way to the laundry room.

"Quit asking me JJ, I said I would if you gave me lift." She pushed him into the room, heat hitting them as soon as they entered. Every early shift she found herself doing the same whilst JJ unscrewed washing detergent and sniffed the bottles or messed with the buttons on the machine. She would have done it even if he hadn't asked her.

She handed him the crisp white shirt, he shrugged it on. She helped him button it, clock ticking in the corner as he rushed to clock in on time.

"Thanks, I knew I was your favourite." He called over his shoulder as he ran through the laundry room.

"No, it's definitely Kie." She yelled back.

When she finished her shift after lunch, JJ is waiting for her outside. His white shirt creased and rolled up to his elbows and hat swiped backwards, his body leaning against his bike. He cupped the cigarette balancing between his lips and clicked his lighter, no flame sparking from the metal case.

"Are you waiting for me?" She interrupted his swearing and he glanced to her. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, uniform clinging to her frame from her shift. The downside of working in that part of the hotel was the heat, the upside no Kooks. Plus the added bonus of her doing her own laundry on her break.

JJ nodded, stuffing his lighter in his pocket and cigarette behind his ear. "Of course, Smalls." He positioned himself on the bike and kicked the stand down, patting the seat for her to join. "I just need to stop off and pick up some stuff for later." He glanced over his shoulder as she shuffled about, bag slung back over shoulders weighing her down.

"As long at you drop me home, I don't want to know what you guys get up to." She leaned into him, but tried not stick too close and become even hotter in the sun. Her hair scraped back out of her face since she arrived at the hotel.

She leant against the bike scrolling through her phone. JJ grabbing some stuff from Pope before they made their way back to the chateau.

JJ brought back a plastic bag of snacks, giving her one of her favourite ones before hanging bag from the handlebar. She'd always been fond of JJ, these small acts of kindness chipping away at her cold exterior. He seemed to bring out a more relaxed side of her.

They pull up at the chateau, battered shoes scuffing the gravel when she found stable land. She still couldn't get used to the ride no matter how JJ drove. "Thanks JJ." She patted his arm and trudged to the house, bag dropping to the floor as soon as she was through the door.

"Hey, we're going to..." John B appeared from his bedroom, beer can in hand and map in the other.

She held her hand up stopping him in his tracks. "I don't want to know." She closed her door and fell into her lumpy bed, face burying into her pillow. Least she had tomorrow morning off.

✨ Just a small fic inspired by my john B older sister headcanon - Yiiyii :) (not edited but also dyslexic so probably mistakes).

#jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank headcanon #obx fanfiction #obx fic #john b sister #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction

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moriihana · 2 years

Text

we can’t fix each other but we sure as hell can enable each other instead || thirteen: dabi's a big softie

pairing: dabi x disabled!gn!reader

overview: you meet dabi pre-canon because your cat, nugget, literally won’t leave the guy alone. friendship, fluff and (eventual) angst ensue.

chapter summary: dabi's a big softie and you guys take a nap together <3

content: fluff! so much fluff! it's so fluffy i'm gonna be sick!

word count: 1294

a/n: okay highkey projected onto this bigtime since i'm a giant insomniac and have been sick for over a week and it's miserable and im dying please put me out of my misery. also this gif doesn't match the chapter but GOD he's so fucking PRETTY im gonna be SICK

taglist: @iincandescenttt

AO3 link

← previous ; next →

“It’s getting cold.” Your eyebrows furrowed, exhaustion weighing heavily on you. You swung your legs up onto the desk that you were sitting on, then pulled them against your chest and rested your head on your knees. “We’ll need to look into getting warmer clothes. Maybe something for the animals, too. Can’t risk getting sick. I can’t heal illnesses.”

“No offence, doll, but you’re kinda lookin’ like shit. Sure you haven’t caught something already?” Dabi looked at you from his spot on the sofa, studying darkness under your eyes and the way you kept blinking sluggishly. “...when’s the last time you slept for more than a few hours?”

“You really do look like shit.” Shigaraki paused the game he was playing. “Go get some rest. You don’t need to be passing out on us.”

“No, I need to make sure I’ve made note of everything we have to get before finding the guy Kurogiri was out looking for before he got arrested,” you huffed and pressed your chin further against your knees, frowning. Dabi normally would’ve commented on how that made your cheeks squish up and was cute, but he was apparently more focused on the fact you were being extremely stubborn.

“Someone else can do that, you know. It wouldn’t kill you to just take a break.”

You glared at him. “Who else would do it? I’m the only one who isn’t a vita—”

“Don’t you dare say you aren’t vital to the League,” Shigaraki cut you off, crimson eyes suddenly furious. “You’re just as valuable to us as everybody else, and just like everybody else—you have to rest. Don’t make me make it an order.”

“The only way I’m resting is if someone forcibly keeps me in the bed.”

“Doll, you realise that’s more feasible than you’re making it out to be, right?” Dabi snorted, raising his eyebrows.

You just stuck your tongue out at him, biting back a yawn. Sure, you hadn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep a night for about a week now, but there was stuff you needed to be doing! With everybody busy doing their own thing and no Kurogiri around to keep track of what you all needed and of timetables, you felt it was only fair for you to pick up the job. It’s definitely not easy, though. I don’t think Kurogiri ever slept.

“Dabi, get your damn partner to rest. I don’t care how, just do it,” Shigaraki ordered, then unpaused his game. You stared at him for a moment, then looked at Dabi with narrowed eyes.

“Don’t you dare, pretty boy,” you warned. “I will bite you if you try anything.”

“Sorry, mouse. Boss’s orders.” Dabi smirked, walking over and heaving you over his shoulder. You squawked indignantly, hitting his back with your fist as he carried you to your room.

“Put me down.”

Dabi chuckled as he walked into the room, kicking the door shut with his foot. “If you say so.” He proceeded to unceremoniously drop you onto the bed. Boo lifted her head up from where she was laying at the end of the bed, then curled back up and tucked her nose under her tail.

“I hate you.” You pouted, glaring at him halfheartedly.

“No, you don’t.”

You sighed dramatically, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Told ya so.” He grinned and plopped next to you. “Now you’re gonna get some fuckin’ sleep. So am I, because I want a nap.”

“...since you dragged me in here against my will, we’re gonna cuddle.”

Dabi laughed softly as you curled up against his side, curling your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “Of course, doll. Turn over though, I wanna lay on my side.”

Your face instantly lit up and you turned onto your side. Nugget jumped up and snuggled up against your stomach. “I’m being the little spoon.”

Dabi rolled his eyes. “As if you’re ever not the little spoon,” he teased, draping an arm over your waist. “Get some sleep, mouse.” With the comforting warmth of him behind you, you fell asleep quickly.

You woke up only an hour or so later to the sound of hushed giggling and cracked an eye open to find Toga with her phone raised up.

“‘re you taking pictures of us sleeping, Toga?” You asked sluggishly, closing your eye again. Dabi groaned and pulled you closer to him, pressing his face into your neck.

“I‘m still tired. Tell her to go away. And to delete those pictures,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Dabi says go away. And to delete the pictures.”

Toga rocked back and forth on her heels. “Sorry, but Tomura-kun said to wake you guys up! Jin-kun and Mister got back with food, ‘nd Tomura-kun knows how you forget to eat sometimes so he said you gotta come on.”

You let out a discontented whine, your words starting to slur together as you struggled to stay awake. “I don’t wanna get up. Can’t it wait?”

“It’s gonna wait whether he likes it or not.” Dabi lifted his head, squinting at her. “He said for them to rest, so they’re resting. I’m taking advantage of the fact they’re resting by also resting. Tell Dusty I’ll make sure they eat after we get up.”

Toga thought for a moment with a hum, then shrugged. “Alrighty. You better make sure, okay?” She turned towards the door, pausing when Nugget hopped off the bed and weaved around her ankles. “I’m takin’ Nug with me!” She scooped him up, then skipped out with him, shutting the door behind her.

You shifted so they could tuck your head under Dabi’s chin. “Love you, Touya,” you murmured, your words muffled by the cotton of his shirt. With how exhausted you were, you didn’t even catch the slipup you made, falling back asleep almost as soon as you finished talking.

He chuckled, the sound affectionate, rumbling deep from his chest. “I love you too, mouse.”

When you finally woke back up, the sun had mostly set, bathing the room in a dying golden light. While the two of you were sleeping, Dabi had wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, a protective grip keeping you close to him. You smiled at that, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You finally awake, doll?” Dabi pressed a kiss to your temple with a gentleness he reserved only for when you two were alone.

“Mmm. How long’ve you been up, pretty boy?”

“Couple hours, I think.”

You frowned and pulled your head back so you could look at his face. “You didn’t have to stay in here if you had something else to do.”

Dabi smoothed out the crease between your eyebrows with a thumb with a snort, sitting up. “Didn’t want to wake you up, mouse. ‘sides, I don’t mind being able to take it easy for a few hours.”

Your eyes softened at that. “You’re a big softie, y’know that?” You teased.

“You’re the only one I’m ‘soft’ for, doll,” he quipped, amused. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re so tired. Don’t even realise what you’re sayin’.”

You made a confused sound, then your eyes widened just marginally. “Oh shit. I was so sleepy I think my filter shut down.”

Dabi shrugged. “Eh, nobody was around to hear. ‘s fine when we’re alone, anyways. Just not too often, don’t want to slip up in front of anybody else.” He then added in a quieter voice, “and I don’t mind hearing it every so often. It sounds nice coming from you.”

A grin curled at your lips. “You are a big softie.”

“Oh, shove it.” Dabi rolled his eyes and poked you in the side, eliciting a shrieked giggle in response. “C’mon, we gotta go get somethin’ to eat. I’m fuckin’ starving.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #todoroki toya x reader #todoroki toya x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #my writing #bnha fanfiction #navi: we cant fix each other #writing.txt

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blueparadis · 2 years

Text

▏spaces in between ▏s.kiyoomi ▏

CWs— bodyguard au , fwb tropes, female anatomy, smut, she/her pronouns, mutual masturbation, branding, cunnilingus, dub-con, orals. word count — 1.1k

precis — your brother, Hanma Shuji recruits a watch dog for you when you're back in town after years.

NOTES — this is for @luvbladez ’s all suited up collab and sizzling sextember self collab event.

+ links section + tags— @kentoangel

The weather was warm and the sunlight was bearable today. Clouds seem to be a little playful today since you were bestowed with shade every now and then. You could have booked a cab, but it is just a five-minute walk from your brother's home to the office.

The moment you stepped into the huge building a tall, well-built stature blocked your way. Looking up, you noticed a boy with wide-almond eyes with two flawlessly symmetrical moles on the side right side of his forehead.

A new face. The last time when you visited there was a different bodyguard. You secretly thanked Shuji for choosing such a handsome face this time. His hair was gelled back yet you could tell he had curly hair since those thin curled hair near his descending hairline was evident.

“Ma’am, could you please step aside?”

Of course, how would he know that you're the sister of CEO of the company, Hanma Shuji’s sister? You parted your red lips yet hesitated to speak. What if he doesn't come to know? What if you were just a mere visitor? Wouldn't that be fun?

“Raise your hands, ma'am.”, he barked and it suggested that he was getting impatient.

“Like this.”, you mumbled almost curling your arms around his broad shoulders. It was indeed a great choice that you decided to wear his. You thought he would inform the security of your misbehavior but he didn't.

He inspected you. The device roamed all over your body barely grazing your skin. There was flickering eye contact when he was done.

“There you are.”, and you immediately recoiled back recognizing Shuji’s voice. “Why do I bother buying you a phone if you do not use it?” The urge to have a glance at that boy was tempting but Hanma would deduce all of your mischievous ploy.

Hanma swings his hand pointing toward the man behind you. “Meet him. Sakusa Kiyoomi. He is your bodyguard as long as you plan to stay here”,

“Wait, so you did not fire your bodyguard?”

“UH-AH!”, Hanma nods his head sideways. “Secretary with special skills, y/n”, you rolled your eyes at his response. Wait, does that mean he knew me already? And played along with me?

As the realization hit you, you turned around to look at him, finding nothing but a slight curve at the corner of his lips. Fuck. Sakusa enjoyed it. In his whole career, no one has dared to pull that kind of stunt before. He is hired more for females rather than males. It is his clean reputation of not having any record of misbehavior or affair. He works for short tenures but yours was a rare case.

It has been more than a year since you visited your brother. Everything has changed so drastically that without Sakusa you had trouble knowing the city lanes. Well, you were always accompanied by Hanma but he can’t tuck you in his pocket everywhere he goes. He has a job to do, a company to run.

Sakusa was flawless. Punctual. Neat and handsome. When you read his file you were taken aback by his clean career like a brand new slate, with no stroke of any kind of chalky behavior. But his silence, his obedience was becoming quite annoying and so you tried to stir this awful pool of silence by a pebble of thought.

You ran your hands through the row of floral dresses murmuring, “Did you tell your boss about that day?” At first, there was a silence that made you cock your head at him.

“About what day?”, he quipped as soon as you looked at him. You parted your lips to speak but were halted by his stares. He eyed you up and down. Clearing your throat you mentioned that he has a clean reputation, why bother tainting it?

There was a party to be held this evening for various kinds of donations. Actually, it is just an occasion to make bonds with other business tycoons and to keep up the lustrous reputation of the company. You did not want to go, you wanted to enjoy long rides alone but your brother reserved a bodyguard for you. He was no less than a bounty hunter.

“My previous Bodyguard was a lot more fun. He used to take me anywhere I wanted to go, anytime I wanted to go”, that was enough. Sakusa was a cocooned man but you sure knew which string to pull to have him unwrapped, naked. He quickly pulled over and before you could protest he was already beside you holding your wrists firmly, “What do you want princess?”

Your eyes flashed from his dreamy dark pitch pupils that shone in hope to his perfectly moistened lips. Nothing needed to be told anymore. You were already on his web of charms before you knew it.

The shrill cry of cicadas was getting louder and louder as Sakusa’s lips ghosted over yours. Your mind feels all mushy when he rubbed your feminity in circles sloppily. It was getting so warm inside the car that it was getting hard to breathe.

He would not stop exploring your skin with his lips making you moan so roughly. Sometimes he bit too hard yet your sharp winces did not stop him from getting a taste of your blood.

“I’m going to be late Sakusa”, you moaned as he slides two fingers in.

“You should have thought before saying such things to me.” He quickens his pace abusing your puffy pussy lips with his long hefty fingers.

“You see, I'm a very jealous person” Now, that was something you could play with. He could feel your cum on his palm yet he continued.

While he continued his ministrations, you quickly unbuckled his belt having his cock in the display. “Fuck”, Sakusa uttered as you started to pump his cock. You were already soaking wet but giving him a hand job accelerated you enough to have you beg him.

“Do you have a condom?”, you asked but he was too drowned in his high. He was close since he was rubbing your clit so very roughly that felt his fingers so deep inside your femininity. “Ah noh!”, he managed to reply before his breathing shrugged, head thrown back having his cum all over your satin red dress.

He leaned against the car window. You sat having your legs hanging while he asked. “Should I stop by a shop? You could grab a dress and I could grab some condoms?”, breathing still ragged as he put his huge cock under his trousers and zipped it. He smirked noticing your eyes shift from his cock to him.

You looked at him blowing a kiss in his direction making him palm his face and chuckle merrily that reverberated in his ribcage so melodiously that you want to kiss him, tickle him till he grins again.

—

@tokyometronetwork

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niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian · 2 years

Note

Maddie will requested Tails attention when he made a grumpy face and look away, sometimes for a non particular reason (or if he's hiding someting) and that end up with a fluffy cuddle. She's doing that with Knuckles and Sonic too but that end in a different way.

At first I thought this was a headcanon you were telling me, which I believe it is(?) but upon thinking it over, I decided "ooh that could be a cute little drabble focusing on Maddie and Tails" and then this little one shot was created. At least it wasn't a angsty idea this time 😅

If it seems messy, it probably is because I literally wrote majority of this in the span of a day with very little editing, so fair warning.

~~~~~~

Sometimes, a quick cuddle can solve any problem.

Word count: 2.2k

Characters: Maddie, Tails

AO3 link

====

"Tails? Tails, can you please look at me?" Her voice was close on the verge of exasperation as she stood underneath the door frame leading into the living room, seeing the fox’s ears turn towards her but he still didn't look in her direction and wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, scooting back until his back hit the corner of the couch and buried his head tucked between his legs and arms.

Maddie took a deep inhale and let out a slow exhale, so it was one of those days huh? But now it was with the kid who does this sort of thing the least of the 3 boys and she didn’t even know how to handle it.

The youngest member had sunken into this state after Tom and her had to tell him to do something else other than working on his gadgetry up in the garage. After the 3rd attempt of telling him however, Tom took matters into his own hands and gathered up most of them that were scattered around the house and locked them in the garage until further notice, after making sure the kid didn't have an electronic device for unlocking doors or locks he could use.

Of course, the decision didn't go well and it lead to some talking back and forth until Tails gave up and went into his current state, to where even Sonic attempting to lift his spirits didn't even work.

Afterwards, Tom had taken off for an emergency call while Sonic and Knuckles had volunteered to help and went with him, Tails didn't even move so that left Maddie at the house with a now quiet, moody 8 year old who probably thinks she is the most evil person to ever exist, which definitely isn't the case but the point still stands.

The last thing she wanted to do is to get on his case again about the way he was acting, telling him to knock it off and to suck it up like any other kid that would act this way, but she knew that it wouldn't help anyway.

Compared to Sonic, who had stayed with them for a time before he had a mood swing like this, she still didn't know him, know him well enough to see his full personality, his many likes and dislikes, the way he deals with situations like this, for all she knew he could be acting like this due to him never dealing with this before, which was all the more reason why she didn't want to be too hard on him.

Oh well, like her dad had always told her, it doesn't hurt to try to step into unknown circumstances.

Maddie idly walked towards the couch and sat on the far end, seeing Tails' head lift up at her from the corner of her eye before seeing one of his eyes peek out at her. Crossing her legs, she pretended to not look in his direction, instead going to grab the remote to the TV and turning it on.

She kept her attention on the screen while she heard him shuffling and felt the cushions dip as he moved around. After a moment, she peeked over to expect him to be in the same place but was almost spooked to see him sitting so close to her that their knees were almost touching. He kept his head down and kept his hands on his knees as he sat on the edge of the cushion, Maddie watched as his body started to become more tense, his shoulders scrunched up closer to his neck while his hands gripped at his knees and tails twitched in sync.

She began to reach out but stopped as he whipped his head up, eyes wide. "I'm sorry!"

Maddie blinked at the sudden change of disposition, listening intently as he continued. "I'm so sorry that made you and Tom be mad at me! I understand why you guys took my machines away, I was going to but...I just felt so mad that you took it without just letting me do it on my own first!" Tails paused, his voice becoming shaky.

“I didn't want to be mad at you and I didn't want to take it out on you guys which is why I was so quiet this whole time. I just....I didn't want to mess anything else up after that." He finishes as bows down his head away from her, rubbing his eyes at what she knew was unshed tears.

Maddie could feel her heart practically break hearing him just talk a mile a minute to her in such a way. She knew that he could have felt a little bad with what happened, but she didn't expect it was getting to him this much. What he said next however, she wasn't even prepared to hear come out of his mouth.

"...please don't make me leave. I promise I won't do it anymore. I won't do it again, please."

At that moment, whether it was her inner instincts or something else entirely, all she knew was that this kid, regardless of him being an alien from another world, was still a kid. A kid just like Sonic is and needed her more than ever right now.

Without a second thought, she slowly wrapped her arms around his small frame, scooping him up in a secure yet gentle hold and placing him on her lap, nuzzling her chin in between his ears and holding a hand behind his head.

Tails tensed up at the sudden action, his whole body froze up as if he were lost all memory fucntions of his limbs and could only be very still. He shut his eyes tightly and braced for any next action she might do, she hasn't said anything after he gave his statement and could only imagine what emotionally damaging words she could throw at him while having him in her arms. After all, it hasn't been the first time it's happened....

A soft hand touching his back made him flinch violently, the fingers of the hand stilled against the middle of his back for a few moments before feeling the palm gently caressing and moving up and down. It moved in a motion he'd reconize but had only felt once in his short eight years of life, at least from what he could remember.

It made him feel safe, safe to where nothing was going to hurt or get to him, not even the person who was currently initiating the gesture. He quickly gripped onto one of her arms, his sniffling quickly turning into muffled crying as he buried his face into the fabric of her shirt. He wasn’t sure why he was reacting this way, but he couldn't stop it as soon as it bubbled up and overflowed like a stopped up drain.

As she held him, she took notice of the weight she felt in her arms. He was so light, he felt so small, smaller than she originally expected him to be upon first glance, she could practically feel the trembling coming from his tiny body so much that she was worried that he would end up having a panic attack. Maddie continued to rub his back and rocked her body back and forth, trying to calm him down.

"Okay, hey. Hey, I need you to breathe with me Tails, okay? Just stop and take a breath, can you do that for me?” She felt him nod slightly and he slowly pulled away, his now red eyed, tear stained face looking up at her, still trembling. “Just copy what I do, breathe in,” She took a slow inhale. “Then exhale.” Slow exhale out.

She continued as Tails copied her with shaky breathing till his trembling subsidies and his breathing becomes normal, he leans into her embrace as she continues to hold him, he continued to hold onto her arm while she began to stroke her hand between the fuzz of his ears, a similar notion that she would use on Sonic whenever he would need help calming down.

Once his breathing became more steady, she wiped the tears from his eyes and kept her hand on his back, letting him catch his breath. “Tails…why do you think we would make you leave?”

The fox let out a sniffle, wiping at one of his eyes again and bowing down his head. “Because of the way I was acting, because I didn’t listen to you after you told me to go outside. I…thought you and Tom would kick me out afterwards because of how I was behaving.”

Maddie brought a hand to his chin and lifted up his head. “Sweetie, just because we had a small disagreement doesn’t mean that we would make you leave. We were more than elated knowing that you and Knuckles wanted to stay with us, Sonic was even more than excited.”

“But, you guys looked so mad before,” Tails interrupted. “And I heard Tom say to Sonic that if he keeps misbehaving that you both will throw him out out of the house, I'd thought you would do the same to me."

Maddie laughed softly, shaking her head. "That’s what he says to him every other week, he doesn't actually mean that. Tom says that because Sonic is always all over the place and we can never keep up with that hyper personality of his." She joked lightly, feeling the tension ease up as Tails giggled along with her.

"Trust me when I say that if we were able to put up with him, then we can definitely put up with whatever you and Knuckles can throw at us, even with the small things."

"Really?" He said with a bit of uncertainty.

"Yes," She adjusted her hold and clasped his shoulders, giving him a mocking glare. "Sooo, next time when we say it's time to take a break from the electronics, it's time to take a break from them. Okay? No more of this Mr. Pouty Grumpy face thing going on or I'll have to go "bad cop" on you."

Maddie finishes by quickly scribbling her fingers against his neck, he scrunched up his shoulders and a stream of giggles poured out as he batted her hands away. She laughs along with him and a few moments of quiet pass by, only the sound if the TV still playing filling the silence.

"So, do you feel a bit better now?"

He gave a nod. "A little."

"Good." She lifted Tails off her lap and checked her watch. "Well, it's been a bit but you still need to have some time off the gadgets for now. Just until the hour's up."

Tails let out deep sigh but decided to agree to the terms. "Okay."

"If you want, we have some books and puzzles stored away that you might find fun to pass the time. There's plenty of books here since Sonic finishes them so quickly."

Tails' ears perked up at the offer. "Ooh, yes please."

"Okay, I'll be right back." She got up from the couch, walking only a few steps before a small tug on her pant leg stopped her. She saw Tails, still holding onto her leg, his voice sounding timid.

"Uh, Miss Maddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Um....can you just..." he struggled to find words, refusing to look at Maddie in the eyes and fiddled with his fingers. She gently laid a hand at the top of his head, making him pause.

"It's okay, go ahead."

"Can....you give me another hug?" he asked shyly, she could see his cheeks turning red and looked up at her, awaiting an answer.

She didn't question him, she simply smiled and held out her arms to him. He jumped back onto them, wrapping his arms around her neck, noticeably squeezing harder, as if she would dissappear if he let go. Maddie ran hand on the back of his head reassuringly, feeling his grip loosen a bit as she adjusted her hold. "You sure you’re okay?"

A small wag from his double appendages appendages answered her question. "Yeah, I'm much better actually."

#man this isn’t even considered a Drabble anymore huh? XD #Eh it was worth it if it meant writing more about these two #I love the potential familial bond that’s there #maddie wachowski #Scu maddie #pretzel mom #scu tails #miles tails wachowski #tails wachowski #asks answered #anonymous #sonic movie fic #niya writes #my writing

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prismatica-the-strange · 2 years

Text

My Pretty Boy

Warnings: 18+, drug use, fluff, Eddie being the cutest bisexual motherfucker

Synopsis: Eddie in a skirt

Pairings: Forged in Hellfire

"Ooo!" Eddie smiles cheekily back at Mika on her bed, "Should wear these for me more."

He snickers when she glares, shoving the panties in his hands into his back pocket before going back to digging through her dresser.

"How do you expect me to wear them if you steal them?" She asks through the blunt between her lips.

"Oh, this is cute," He muses, ignoring her question as he pulls out a black plaid pleated skirt, "How come I've never seen you wear this?"

She looks at the clothing being held aloft between his fingers and shrugs, going back to her book.

"So woefully underused, aren't you?" He pouts, "I guess I'll have to fix that."

"No way, bucko, I'm not changing," She warns, not looking up from the inked pages in front of her, "I'm super comfy."

"Who said you were going to wear it?" He snipes back, standing up, "Looks just about my size."

She glances up when she hears him unzip his pants, eyes meeting his for a moment, "You gonna be a peeping tom over there?"

She raises one hand in surrender, "Sorry." She turns back to her book.

There's an array of shuffling fabric, before he stands in front of the bed, "Whaddya think?"

She looks back at him and she's taken aback, the skirt looks really cute on him. A lot cuter than it ever did on her, which is why it was gathering dust at the back of her dresser.

"Lookin good, Munson," She smiles honestly, making him flush slightly. She sits up and tosses her book aside, taking another hit, "Give us a spin."

He does a little twirl, skirt fluttering sightly and he freezes, a happily surprised look on his face, "Oh."

"Oh?"

His eyes find hers, "I think I just realized why girls like these so much."

She giggles when he starts swaying his hips to the music coming from her radio, grinning at the way the flowing fabric moves.

She watches him get used to how it feels before interrupting, "I think it's missing something."

"Oh yeah?" His voice excited.

She hums, snatching his pants from the floor and fiddling with them. She drops them back on the floor, turning to him with a smile and his chain and belt in her hands.

He has hearts in his eyes as he quickly tucks his shirt in and adds the accessories.

"Perfect!"

He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before shaking his head, "No, not yet."

"What are you looking for?" She asks as he rummages around her room.

"I can't-" He opens her desk drawer, making a mess as he looks through it, "I want you to do my nails black."

"Oh!" She thinks for a moment before jumping on the bed. She leans over the edge, moving a couple shoes and soda bottles out of the way, "I got it!"

He pulls her back upright and into his lap, "Paint away gorgeous."

She tries to do a nice job, but it's hard when he keeps nipping at her ear and making her laugh.

"Hold still! You're gonna make me spill it!" She scolds.

"Hey, Mika?" There's a knock at the door.

"It's open!"

It opens and her little brother riot stands in the doorway, "Mom says she's ordering pizza, she wants to know if guys want some?"

"Ohh, Pizza sounds great, but we're heading to the movies soon."

"Whatever, cool skirt, Eddie." He says as he shuts the door.

"Riot likes my skirt," He grins proudly.

"I heard," She finishes his last few fingers and caps her polish, "So what were you thinking about going to see?"

"I was thinking of that new Disney one. What was it called? The one based on Sherlock Holmes."

"Great Mouse Detective," She says before holding his hands up, "Blow."

They each blow on one set of nails until she deems them dry enough by linking her fingers with his.

"I ever tell you I love you?" He sighs, kissing her hand.

"I think so... Refresh my memory?"

"I love you." The words spill from his lips before she finishes and she leans back into him.

"I love you too."

He looks over at the clock and jumps, "We gotta go if we wanna get there on time."

"The movie doesn't start for another hour."

"I wanna stop somewhere first."

"Oh, ok. You wanna bring your pants in case it gets chilly?" She asks as she grabs her bag.

"Nah, I'm man enough to ignore the cold," He grins, hand outstretched for her to take.

He holds the door for her when they get to Family Video, walking in behind her. After they find the movies he wanted to watch he goes up to the counter, hips swaying so the skirt swishes with each step.

"What are you wearing?" Steve asks.

"New skirt," Eddie smiles with a flourishing twirl, "Jealous Harrington?"

"Jealous? Of what?" He scoffs.

"That this ass is already spoken for, obviously," He teases, leaning his elbows on the counter, back arched to stick his butt out, "Cause it looks damn good right now."

"Get over yourself, Munson," He mutters as he puts the tapes into the system.

"Why don't you get over me?" He bites his lip, leaning further over the counter, putting his weight on his arms, and kicking his feet slightly.

"I'm sorry," Mika cuts in, stepping up behind him, "But are you flirting Edgar?"

"What?" He quickly stands up straight, "N-no!"

"Oh? Praytell then," She teases, "What were you doing?"

"Just showin' off my new duds to Harrington here," He plays with the ends of the fabric, "He thinks I look beautiful, don'tcha big boy?"

Steve's eyebrows furrow in confusion when Eddie blows him a kiss.

"Alright, you two gonna get a room, or are we going to the movies?" Mika asks, "Cause I'm going whether you are or not."

"My lady beckons," He sighs, hands wrapping around his freshly rented VHSs, "Our clandestine meeting must be cut short."

"Don't be so dramatic," Mika giggles, "You can talk to your boyfriend tomorrow."

"But Mikaelaaaa!" He whines as she pulls him towards the door, "It's destiny!"

"See you later Steve!" She waves.

"I don't get them." He mutters to himself in confusion as he watches them drive away.

⁙⁘⁙⁘⁙

"So which do you wanna watch first?" Eddie asks. He follows her through her house, as he looks at the tapes in his hand.

"I wanna watch... That ass get in my bed," She says, "I'm tired."

"Already? It's barely 11:00!"

"And I have work in the morning," She groans, turning to pout at him, "Now come on, I want my Eddie cuddles."

Her hands tug at his belt and he lets out a little growl, "How am I supposed to say no to you when you pout at me like that?"

He laughs when her face breaks into a grin and she pulls him toward her room.

"I love you in that, by the way," She comments when he sticks his thumbs in the waistband of the skirt to take it off, making him freeze.

"Really?" He smirks.

"Mmm, makes your ass look nice, and don't get me started on your hips!"

"Should I... leave it on?" He asks.

"I definitely wouldn't object."

He does take off his belt and chain before climbing into bed with her.

"What are you doing?" He asks when she straddles his legs, hands playing with the skirt's hem.

"Just admirin' how pretty you look," she reaches up to tuck his har behind his ear, "My pretty, pretty boy."

He looks at her with wide eyes and pink cheeks, "I should borrow your clothes more often."

She hums as she leans forward and kisses him, "I think you should keep it. Looks better on you anyway."

Her hands start to wander and he chuckles, "I thought you were tired, Songbird."

"'M not allowed to touch you anymore?" She whines. He melts when she nuzzles up against his neck, wrapping his arms around her.

"No, of course you can sweetheart," he kisses her hair, "But if my girl is sleepy, she should snuggle down and sleep."

"Mmm... okay." She relaxes against him, "Love you pretty boy Munson... My pretty boy."

°•°•°•°

Eddie Munson/Forged in Hellfire taglist: @pointlesslygay @ofherscarlettwitchways @canis-da-fanboy

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x #Eddie Munson x OC #prisma self ships #forged in hellfire #prisma writes

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itsthestutterforme · 3 years

Text

Clients and Friends (Jang Hanseok)

Sequel to Called In Backup

Summary: Hanseok and Y/N haven't had an alone time since she arrived in South Korea. They keep getting interupted by anything and anyone so Hanseok decides to take matters into his own hands. // SMUT WARNING.

Washing the chlorine from the pool off your skin, you hear the bathroom door open and close. You knew exactly who it was but you keep your back turned towards him. He hops in and trails his hands from the curve of your breasts to the swell of your thighs. Oh finally.

He pulls your hair towards the side and kisses the pulse point. "We never have anytime for ourselves haven't we, kitten?" You nod your head and moan when his hands cup your breasts.

He swirls the pads of his thumbs along the nubs of your nipples. There's a lot of things you know for sure. One of them being that Hanseok is in love with your boobs.

He leaves open mouth kiss down your shoulder and the all the way down your lower back. He nudges your stomach against the cold tiled wall and links his hand with yours above your head. He presses his semi hard member against your ass and you rub yourself against with anticipation.

Before you had a chance to do anything else, there comes a knock on the door. "Jang Hanseok, there's a call for you." It was Ms. Choi. He huffs with annoyance and loosens his grip on you. You turn around and press your back against the wall.

"Do me a favor and shut off my phone please. Come back tomorrow so we can finish our plan. I need some alone time with my wife." He says, trailing a finger down your jawline until he wraps his entire hand around your throat. "Very well, sir. Sorry to bother you." She says before leaving.

Slamming his lips onto yours, you moan into the kiss when his fingers rubs along your slit. He slowly sinks a finger in and curls it even slower. You groan with annoyance but he soon silences you by sliding another finger into you. He finds a good pace until he uses his other hand to rub hard circles on your clit.

"Oh Shit!" You yell out as your legs were beginning to spasm. He picks up in pace and curls his finger even harder against your gspot, but what really pushed you over the edge was when he took one of your nipples into his mouth and rolled his tongue over it. One hand is over his, feeling his tendon flex as he finger fucked you.

The other hand was on the back of his neck and with one more stroke of his fingers, you came into his hand. He licks your juices from his fingers with a hum. "I need more of you," he whispers. He kneels down and rests one of your legs on his shoulder.

He licks up your thighs and pulls your standing leg closer. Without missing a beat, he takes you into his mouth and slurps you up like his favorite meal. "Hanseok, please! I'm still sen- oh my god." You yell out when he sinks three fingers in and separates his fingers so he's hitting three different gspots at the same time.

Tugging at his hair, he groans in between your thighs. He speeds up his fingers and spends the rest of his time sucking onto your clit. "Baby, please. I can't."

You rest the back of your head against the wall as the knot intensified in your stomach. God you missed this. No one else could make you feel like you're floating like he could.

You finally release yourself and he licks up every single drop. He kisses up your stomach and cups your cheeks before kissing you once again. Opening your mouth a little, his tongue slides against yours and when you try to do the same, he nibbles on your tongue a little.

You pulled him down for a kiss before slowly kissing down the pecks of his chest and his abs. You press a soft kiss to his pelvic bone before settling down on your knees.

You take his fully erected member in your hand and rub your thumb along the slit of his tip. "Fuck," he moans softly. Taking him into your mouth, he hits the hollowness of your cheek and you roll your tongue around him.

You push him further down your throat and pull back to stimulate his tip by caressing it with the tip of your tongue.

You do this motion a couple times before he fills your mouth with his seed. You swallow all of it as you stand back up and he picks you up like you're a rag doll. He hooks your legs around his waist and pushes your back against the tile. As you arch your back, you sink yourself onto him.

You moan into each other's mouths when you clench your walls around him. "My God I missed you." He says into your neck. "I missed you too."

He links one of his hands with yours and keeps your intertwined hands against the wall next to you. His other hand is on your lower back and within a few seconds, he is ramming into you so hard your head hits the wall a couple times.

He notices and moves his hand from your lower back to the back of your head. Scratching at his back, he arches his back and completely bottoms out inside of you.

Loud series of moans leave your lips as he continued to split you in two. He finishes but continued to thrust into you. He rubs your clit at the same pace that he's fucking you and you cum within a few seconds.

"Oh my God," you both say in unison. You rest your face into his neck and he slowly pulls out of you before setting you back on your feet. Afterwards, he spent a couple of minutes washing your body and hair while you washed his. By the time you guys left the shower, your fingers were like raisins.

You could barely keep your eyes open but you managed to put on your silk robe before falling asleep on the bed.

Meanwhile at the plaza, Vincenzo was talking amongst the residents. "I've never heard of this woman," Cha young says. "That's a good thing. I've seen what's she's capable of. She makes Jang Hanseok look like a puppy." Vincenzo says.

"So what do you want us to do?" "Nothing. I'll buy off some guys to send a message." "We can't just sit here and do nothing." "You do not want to cross paths with her. Believe me when I say she will kill you without blinking."

"Wow, they really do belong with each other." Mr. Nam says as he shakes his head. "Let me handle this," Vincenzo states.

Later on that night you woke up at an odd hour. It was like your body was trying to tell you something. Looking over your shoulder, you see Hanseok sleeping peacefully with both of his arms tucked under his pillow. A part of you wanted to run your fingers through his straight hair, but you didn't want to wake him.

You stand up from the bed and walk into the small kitchen to grab a water. "Y/M/N Y/F/N," you hear a voice say from the couch. Slowly closing the fridge, you turn around to see Vincenzo staring at you. It didn't look like he has a weapon but you can't be too careful these days.

"I'm assuming you're well aware that you married a monster." Vincenzo adds. "Eh, we all have our flaws." "He murdered innocent people," "All of us did. Collateral damage comes with power."

"You were a dear friend to me once, so I'll give you twenty four hours before I string you up and cut you like a pig." He threatens.

"Aw, is that a promise?" You taunt, that was until you heard a gun cock. It wasn't Vincenzo because he has a specialized gun with a silencer, which only left one person. You both look to see Hanseok emerging from the darkness of the room and towards Vincenzo.

"You're not going to lay a hand on her," "And the beast has a soft spot," Vincenzo says, standing from the couch and adjusting his suit. "She's not so soft," Hanseok says. You round the table and stand next to him.

"I came here as a courtesy. Next time, I won't be so courteous." Vincenzo states. "You never were courteous, Cassano." You state. He looks from you to Hanseok with a soft smile before opening the door.

"They should start reenforcing these locks." He states. "Yeah, I'll let them know they should make the locks snake proof." You spit. He stops for a split second and Hanseok's grip tightened on the gun. You push his hand down, showing that he's not a threat at the moment.

You both look up to see Vincenzo gone and the door closed. "What the hell was that? You said he was just a client but he just said that you were a friend of his." He slams the gun on the table.

"We were not friends. He was someone I used to trust and he betrayed me the first chance he got." "I don't believe you. You two were more than just friend. He was fucking you was he?"

"No! What the hell is wrong with you. He never touched me like that. I told you that he was someone I used to trust." "Why did you trust him?" "Because he was my first client, okay? And.. I thought.. it doesn't matter. I learned from my mistakes."

You run your fingers though your hair and Hanseok eyes you suscipously. "The majority of my clients are in the Mafia, he's in the Italian Mafia. You really think we wouldn't cross paths?" You ask. He sighs and runs a hand over his face. He steps closer to you a holds the sides of your face.

"Sorry," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. "How the hell did he know where to find us?" He added. "He must have a tracker on you somehow." "How?" You shrug your shoulders and said, "We shouldn't wait around to find out. We need to leave everything now,"

This time you were in the drivers seat talking over the plan with Jang Hanseok when you realized that you were being followed. "What do you plan to do?" "I'll find an lot and handle business. Give my go bag please?" You ask.

He sets the go bag in your lap and without looking down, you grab your layout of knives. Setting the layout in the console, you reach into the bag and gave Hanseok a gun. You toss the bag in the bag and veer off the highway to a very secluded grassland.

You pull into the shadows and turn off the headlights and wait for the others to pull up. "You sure we should be stopping?" He asks. "I have my own message to send."

#vincenzo fic #kdrama fanfic #vincenzo #kdramas #smut

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bucksfucks · 4 years

Text

amorosa // steve rogers

chapter four: paparazzi

chapter one // chapter two // chapter three

chapter four // chapter five

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

main masterlist

summary || one eviction notice later, steve moves you into his apartment. but as you start spending more time with him, the public starts to take notice as well. steve does his best to reassure you, an upcoming trip soon taking over your thoughts.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve x reader

word count || 2,037 words

warnings || financial struggles, sugar daddy dynamics, undefined age gap, steve fingers you while driving, praise kink, heavy daddy kink, jealous steve — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

It had been a few weeks, but you'll never get used to waking up in Steve's house.

The early morning light flitted through the heavy, but expensive drapes that hung above Steve's large windows. You couldn't hear anything but chirping birds outside, unlike the usual bustling streetcars and horns of eager taxicabs outside your apartment.

It was relaxing as you ran your fingers up Steve's large, muscled arm. He stirred, nose scrunching as his eyes slowly opened. It was the first time you'd seen Steve in a different light, literally and metaphorically.

He was dressed down, nothing but boxers instead of his clean fitted suits. His hair was messy and mused, not styled back like it usually was. Steve looked relaxed and calm, the lines between his eyebrows soft.

"I like seeing you like this; relaxed." You muttered, eyes tracing up his body until they met yours. He chuckled, low and deep and still obviously laced with sleep as he turned his body until he was supporting his head with a propped elbow.

"It's all thanks to you, Princess." He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before throwing the covers off of his body.

It's hard not to look, hard to keep your eyes off of his half-hard cock as he pulls on a pair of boxers that makes you pout. He laughs, it rumbles through his chest like thunder as you bite your lip.

"You are an insatiable little minx, now aren't you?" He smirks, coming over to your side of the bed as you look up at him, "can you blame me?" You retort, a smirk of your own stretched across your lips as Steve runs his hand to cup your jaw.

"Not at all, Princess," he hums, thumb running over your lips before he's turning around to grab some more clothing. You sigh, realizing that the lazy day you so desperately needed wasn't possible.

You had to work tonight, another Thursday evening meant that you'd be running around, waiting on sleazy men and be back home at three, almost four in the morning.

You sighed.

"What's wrong, buttercup?" Steve's voice was gentle and caring as he pulled over a plain tee, pairing it with flannel sleep pants. He looked like your average, normal guy who liked to unwind after a long day by watching football and drinking a beer.

"Nothing, I'm just not looking forward to going into work tonight," you chuckled, pulling on a pair of his boxers and his shirt from last night.

Steve stopped what he was doing, cocking his head to the side as he gave you a confused look.

"What?" You asked, tucking your hair behind your shoulders.

"Well I had just assumed that you, well that you quit your job already." He said as you balanced on the balls of your feet. You shrugged your shoulders, "keeps me busy."

Steve scoffed, "if you wanna keep busy I'll set you up at my office. I don't want you goin' to work just to get hit on by people who wish they were me." Steve said confidently as you gnawed on the inside of your cheek.

"None of them are even close to being anywhere near good enough for you anyways." He grumbled and you giggled, "are you jealous, Daddy?" You purred, watching the way a faint blush caked Steve's face.

"I'm not jealous," he grumbled, sounding like a petulant child as you walked over to wrap your hands around his torso. He rested his chin on the top of your head, his steady heartbeat echoing through his chest.

"I think you are," you egged him on, pushing his button as you heard him scoff.

"Quit your job so I can take you shopping today and spoil you like the princess you are." He almost begged as you mulled over his words. There was a voice in the back of your head saying that it wasn't a good idea, that if this arrangement doesn't work out, you'll be broke and jobless all over again.

But standing in Steve's arms made you feel so warm and cared for, those worries slowly disappearing as he placed a sweet kiss on your lips, "please?"

You didn't need much convincing after that.

"Alright, but can we stop by my place so I can wear something that isn't a bodycon dress." You chuckled as he nodded, "anything for my girl."

You sent a half-assed email to your boss in the car on the way back to your place. The car that Steve was driving as his hand was resting on your thigh, just a little higher than it usually was.

"Steve," you whined, wiggling in your seat as he shot you a look, "Daddy," you corrected yourself quickly before he hummed approvingly.

"What's got you so squirmy, huh?" He teased as you glared at him, "you know why." You whined again as he crept his fingers under your dress. You didn't exactly have anything else to wear and it's not like Steve's clothes were an ideal fit.

"Oh, do I?" He smirked, one hand on the wheel as the other was now slowly circling your clit as you held back a moan.

Your panties were well, somewhere in the bathroom of the fancy restaurant you were in last night after Steve had ripped them in two.

"Is my little girl wet already? The thought of her Daddy finger fuckin' her in the car too much?" He taunts, fingers gliding through your folds as you bite down on your lip, nodding your head.

"Yeah," it's faint and hoarse as you slowly let your legs fall open for him. The car comes to a halt at a red light, Steve's eyes on your as his middle finger teases your entrance.

"You gonna let Daddy fuck you while driving, hmm?" He asks with a sinister smirk on his lips as your hand wraps around his thick wrist, trying to guide him to where you need him.

"Uh uh, use your words, Princess." He tsks, the car starting to move again as he focuses his eyes back on the road.

"Please Daddy, want your fingers so bad." You beg, mewling when you feel one finger slowly slip inside of you. A second finger is added not long after, your head against the seat as his palm bumps your clit.

"Good girl, takin' my fingers so well. Can feel you squeezin' my fingers already," Steve groans, trying his best to focus on the road in front of him.

You're trying your best to control yourself, but the way he's curling his fingers deep inside of you makes it nearly impossible.

"Don't be shy for me, Princess, you know how much I love hearin' you." Steve cooes, the encouragement enough to let out a repressed moan as his fingers caress your walls.

Another red light allows Steve to give attention to your clit before his fingers are back deep inside of you, curling as your toes start to curl.

"Cum for Daddy, Princess, cum all over my hands. Make a mess." He growls before your body is seizing as you cum around his fingers, a strangled moan leaving your lips.

Your breathing is ragged, your window slightly foggy as he slowly slips his fingers out of you and into his mouth.

"Mmm, this is better than any breakfast." He hums, licking his hands clean as you're still trying to collect yourself, dizzy and weightless before Steve's hand is back on your thigh.

"Good girl," he praises, patting your thigh before you're pulling up to your old apartment.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple shirt you feel much more comfortable as you're grabbing random toiletries and pieces of clothing into an overnight bag.

"Princess?" Steve's voice pulls you out of your hectic actions, "yeah?" You say, meeting his gaze as you see him holding a piece of paper, a concerned look on his face.

"What's this all about?" He asks as you realize it was the eviction notice in his hands. You swallow thickly, dropping your bag onto your bed as you shrug your shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" His voice is soft, but you cast your head down either way, shrugging your shoulders, "I didn't want you to worry."

Steve steps closer to you, tilting your chin upwards so you're looking at him, "that's my job now, Princess," he chuckles as you give him a small smile.

"You're moving in with me. Now c'mon let's go shopping." His words leave you stunned as he takes the notice, putting it into his back pocket.

"Are you serious?" You blurt as Steve turns around, "dead serious, buttercup. You can redecorate however you'd like." He adds as your heart flips in your chest. You nod your head, linking your fingers with his as you press your lips to his cheek.

With his fingers in yours, the weight of his hand makes you feel more at ease as you take one last look at your dreaded apartment. You won’t miss it.

Your phone buzzed, a text from Simoné as you quickly opened it. The little text bubble was still there as you narrowed your eyes at the pictures she had sent you.

When were you gonna tell me that you're dating the Steve Rogers????

Her text made your stomach flip as you realized you were looking at paparazzied photos of you and Steve shopping, his arm around yours as you read the headlines. They made your stomach churn, cringing at their words right as Steve walked into the bedroom.

"What's wrong, buttercup?" He asked, making his way to you as you furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't say anything, you simply handed your cracked phone over to him as he looked over what was on the screen.

He sighed, locking it and placing it on the nearby bedside table before scooping you into his lap.

"They're just feeding into rumours, you know that." He whispered against your head before you lifted it to look up at him. He gave you a sympathetic smile before pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

The headline kept playing itself over in your head.

Notorious playboy Steve Rogers finally settling down? Or is this just another conquest?

You hated how much it affected you, but… was this too good to be true?

"Am I?" You squeaked against Steve's chest as he looked at you confused. "Are you what?" He asked as you, cupping your face in his hands so you'd have nowhere to look but him.

You chewed on your bottom lip before answering him, "just another conquest?"

Steve looked at you with sincere eyes, pressing his lips to yours sweetly and you couldn't help but lean into him as he moulded his mouth against yours.

"Those are just headlines, there's nothing true about them. I'll be taking care of them anyways." He says sternly, the sudden tone shift causing you to remember just how powerful Steve truly was. It was exciting.

"Now pack your bags, Princess, we've got a trip to go on." Steve beamed as you climbed off his lap, eyes wide with excitement, "a trip?" You asked as he stood up, chuckling.

"We're goin' to France, buttercup. I've got a business meeting with a partner there, but after that I'm all yours." He murmurs as he boops your nose lightly.

"Oh and I have one more surprise for you," he hums, going over to his dresser, pulling it open before turning around and hiding whatever was in his hand behind his back.

He revealed, the box smooth as you gasped at the new phone.

"I can't have my best girl not having the absolute best thing," he smiled, handing it to you as you took it from his hands. "It's already set up, all you have to do is pick out a case for it." He smirked, as you jumped up to wrap your arms around his neck.

"Thank you, Daddy," you mumbled into his chest as he laughed, hugging his arms around you.

"Don't thank me, I love bein' able to take care of you, okay? Now let's get packing, the private jet leaves first thing in the morning."

any and all feedback is always appreciated! <3

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #sugar daddy!steve #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers series #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers au

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

no kisses needed.

JOHNNY ‘COCO’ CRUZ.

MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by @blowmymbackout: reader has a co-worker who just won't take the hint that reader isn't interested and has a bf she tells Coco he picks her up from work confronts the man. Coco is a lil jealous. Co-worker facetimes reader while coco has her in this position (sorry if that didn't make any sense)

❝ words: about 1.2k.

❝ warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, language, voyeurism (????), coco being a little possessive, mention of bodily fluids.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

You weren't expecting Coco to pick you up from work today, but you guess he has just done it to see who's the fucker trying to flirt with his girl. The guy is uglier than the back of a fridge, and he feels some comfort in it. But not enough to calm down his jealousy. He —better than anybody— knows that you don't care about a pretty face, you care about a beautiful heart, tho. His insecurities come afloat on your way back home, worrying you because he's more silent than ever, not even getting a response when you whisper in his ear how much you have missed him today after waking up alone.

Coming into your house with his face down, Coco leaves his kutte and both helmets on the coffee table, a second before falling onto your sofa. A leg over it, the other flexed to the floor. Your boyfriend looks at you, thoughtful and very concentrated on the way you have to remove your jacket and walk towards his position. You know exactly what's on his mind and that touches your soul. His demons eat him alive with no mercy. Kneeling a leg between his —placing your phone close to his black helmet—, you lean down with both hands on his chest for balance, landing your lips onto his left ear.

“Can you do something for me?” You hum with such a sweet tone, caressing his cheek with the tip of your nose. And you hear him swallowing slowly. “Fuck me, Coco. I need you so fuckin' much… You can't imagine… Can you do that for me, ah? Can you fuck me so hard I forgot my name but not who I belong to?”

He utters a feral snarl, noticing then that your right hand has made its way to his dick. You grip it over the rough fabric, swinging it with a tortuous pace, fixing your eyes on his. Coco is about to kiss you when you push him down using your left hand.

“I don't want your kisses now”. You whisper accommodating yourself over the delicious rock under his clothes. “I want your dick. I want you to fuck me till I have to beg you to stop”.

How does he manage to roll you down his body? You don't know. But the fact is that, in less than a second, you're lying on your stomach and your boyfriend is removing your sneakers and your jeans. He can't help but lick his lips keenly as he glances at the small spot darkening your panties, the evidence of how wet you are because of him.

“Fuck, ma'...”

Coco rips off the piece of clothing causing you to gasp, while you take off the shirt covering your torso, only leaving the blue bra you're wearing beneath it. He undoes it to throw it to the floor too, sliding an arm under your stomach to make you raise your ass. With his free hand, your boyfriend pulls down his jeans and boxers enough to let his hard cock spring free. He doesn't prepare you. Coco guides his glans to your folds to slam his thick length into your soaked cunt. You moan loud and clear his full name, as he settles his body between your spread legs.

Digging his fingers in your hips, aware that he probably will leave some marks there, he doesn't show any mercy. He hits your guts and your soul once and once with an insane pace that causes you to roll your eyes, nailing your hands on the armrest to find some equilibrium and receive every pound straight to your g-spot without falling over it. Coco is fucking you as hard as you have asked him, blanking your mind and making a mess of your vocals.

And he doesn't stop when your phone starts to ring. The name of your co-worker appearing on the screen. Your boyfriend has the brilliant idea of pulling your hair back by tangling his digits there, bringing his lips to your ear. His other hand grabs your device to put it at the height of your faces, sliding his thumb to answer the video call.

The first thing your partner can see is the pleasure gesture on yours, moaning and screaming Coco's name, not having noticed yet what he is doing until you hear your co-worker calling you.

“Tell him how good I fuck you, ma'”. Your boyfriend demands with such a throaty growl, thrusting his thick and hard length into you, impaling your body against the sofa.

“Shit…” You almost cry. “He fucks me so damn good”.

“That's it… Tell him… Tell him who you belong to”.

You know that he's enjoying it, but you can't answer when your partner hangs up the call. Coco can't help but laugh, tosing your phone to the table, to occupy his hand in a better place. Wrapping it around your throat, your boyfriend forces you to kneel on the cushions, sticking his chest to your back.

“Bet he won't forget”. He grunts into your ear, tilting your head to tuck his tongue within your mouth.

He drinks your pleas, your begs, your gaps, placing your fingers around his wrists, aware that you're not going to last much more because of what has just happened. And he feels it. He feels how your whole anatomy gets tensed with every push to your guts, creating an erotic melody of flesh against flesh. Pulling you down again and gripping your hips, Coco increases the pace of his lungs, giving you more pleasure than you can bear with, still enraged because of that shithead thinking he could have some kind of opportunity with you. You are his. Like your heart, your soul, your thoughts.

“Ah, fuck, baby”. You paint roaring, biting your lips until the metallic taste of blood floods your mouth.

The tickles in your lower belly grow by leaps and bounds, making your heart stop for a brief instant before the orgasm blows out all your senses and the electrical lash roams your back. It takes Coco only two slams more into your soaked pussy to cum inside you, filling you as much as he can press his body against yours. He doesn't feel jealous, nor angry anymore. He simply is too tired after that rough quickly, marking your skin wherever his teeth have reached it.

Loosening his grip bit by bit to pull his wet dick out from you, your boyfriend holds your phone again to take a picture of his warm seed spilling out from your abused lips. A piece of art under his dark eyes. Lying on your back and placing a smooth kiss on top of your head, he shows you the little mess he has done with a proud smile crossing his exhausted mouth.

“Was tha' what you wanted?”

“Uh-huh”. You whisper resting your cheek over your forearms, turning slightly at him. “Did you have fun, Coquito?”

“I always have fun ruining your sweet tight pussy, ma'. I don' even mind if that cabrón wanna come and look the next time”.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221 @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame1240 @regalbanshee

MAYANS MC: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @bellisperennis0 @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @oscars-wifeyyy @meteora-fc @lozaa94 @arveeee @joupym @hanster1998 @missswritings @arana-alpha @lucillewinchester @theocatkov @telfordlowmans

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #johnny coco cruz imagine #johnny coco cruz x reader #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

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the8gates · 2 years

Text

Pay Your Way in Pain: Chapter One - Headhunter

Word Count: 5.1k

Warning(s): Assassination(s). Discussions of torture.

Young assassin Alice Mason has been fighting to survive since birth. Living her life without catching a single breath, she is desperate to push forward through any means. When a job doesn't go as planned, she finds herself in the employment of Tomura Shigaraki, someone just as desperate to reach his goals as she is to reach the end.

In which two starving wolves consume each other whole. One bite at a time.

AO3 LINK - Pay Your Way in Pain (the Playlist)

The sun never seemed to stop beaming here. In a way, that incessant heat reminded her of home, back across the ocean and thousands of miles away. A lot of things here reminded her of the place she used to call home. The bright neon lights late at night. The flashy cars and self-important business men. The pretty girls dressed to impress in their street wear, whether that be frilly dresses or true urban fashion. But there were distinct differences too. Besides the major cultural rifts and a stunning language barrier. Here, even when the sun was beating down unforgivingly, the desert dust didn’t stick to her skin. The sweat on her body just mingled with the humidity in the air, creating a sticky feeling that never seemed to truly dissipate.

She sighed, adjusting the newspaper in her gloved hands. She’d been sitting on this park bench for what felt like hours, but in reality it was more like thirty minutes. The heat from the metal bench was seeping through her clothes, teetering somewhere between unbearable and tolerable. As her eyes peered over the top of the paper, she scanned the park grounds again. Some children played near a fountain about fifty feet away. They giggled and tossed a ball back in forth over the head of a runty boy who pleaded with them to leave him alone. Annoying but not detrimental to the mission. A few people walked down the stone path in front of her, coming and going quickly in pairs or small groups. She’d washed each of them as they passed by, her paranoia getting the better of her as the time spent on this bench dragged on.

The next person who walked past her on the trail made the same mistake they all did. Meeting her line of sight. As soon as the man rounded the corner at the end of the path, turning right at the large tree with his back to her, he would forget everything about her. He’d forget he’d seen anyone on the bench at all. Just the way it had to be. Couldn’t have some good Samaritan running to the cops after they saw this story on the news tonight. Saying they’d seen a woman with dark hair and white eyes sitting on a bench right before that poor man had been killed at the same spot.

Luckily, the park wasn’t too busy this time of day. She didn’t have to worry about the act itself drawing too much attention or about the possibility that maybe she hadn’t met the eyes of everyone in the area. There were enough trees to obscure the view and she’d be gone before this guy’s body even hit the ground. It certainly wasn’t like the first job she’d been offered here. The one that she’d abandoned all she’d ever known to take on. That had been a shit show. She still shuddered at the memory of it, but the pay had been incredible. It had been enough to set her up with a luxury apartment on the wealthier side of town. Fully furnished and on the top floor of some massive building. An apartment with a beautiful view and neighbors who preferred privacy. She often wondered if their silk sheets and lavish furniture were paid for in blood as well.

Rather suddenly, her eyes were pulled from the singular blade of grass she’d been staring at, lost in her thoughts. She’d done this so many times, it almost felt like her body knew when the target was approaching. Like they were marked by fate. Her gaze fell on the man entering the park at the start of the stone path. He wore a black suit, buttoned tightly around his torso with his red tie tucked neatly inside. It rested flat against his chest and as her eyes traveled upward she noticed the way his shoulders were squared and tense, head held high and jaw jutting forward. Almost like he still wanted to be the most important person in room. Even if that ‘room’ was a small park that children played in. He gripped a suitcase in one hand and he brought the other up to check the Rolex on his wrist. She almost scoffed at the image, so cliche it was like someone had pulled this guy straight from the opening credits of some cheesy action movie.

An important business man, struck down by the bad guy on his walk home to his wife and children! How awful! Will the good-hearted, down on his luck, investigator with a tragic past be able to catch the culprit before times runs out? Or will the villain prevail?

Guess that made her the bad guy. Slowly, she rose from the bench, grateful for the relief from the hot, uncomfortable, metal. She stretched carefully, giving the man time to get close enough. Casually, she folded up the newspaper and rolled it into her left hand, clasping it like she was getting ready to depart. It was over as soon as he walked past her. The alarm in her head ringing loudly, a metal detector going off that could only be silenced by the metallic click of the gun in her hand. The alarm quieted and everything moved in slow motion for a moment. She turned around to look at the back of the man’s head. In the split second it took for her to level the barrel with his skull, the target turned at the sound of the hammer clicking back. She met his eyes for a millisecond, dark and full of panic, before she pulled the trigger.

BANG

Before the man could even fall forward, she turned and continued walking towards the exit of the park. Luckily, she didn’t see anyone on her way out and she pulled a simple black cell phone from her back pocket. She tapped out the words ‘Done. -A.M.’ and dumped the burner in a trash can about a block away from the park. Along with the newspaper she’d been clutching.

—————————

Two weeks. It had been two whole weeks since that job in the park and she had yet to see a fucking dime. She was pacing back and forth in the living room of her apartment, bare feet smacking against the tile as rain poured outside. Any attempts at contacting Giran had resulted in her being ignored. Yes, ignored. There was no other explanation at this point. She’d called the number he’d given her several times, sent texts, and even left messages with the front desk at the seedy restaurant he did business out of. Yet she’d heard nothing. Not a single fucking peep.

Honestly, she didn’t need the money at the moment. But this was about more than that. It was about respect and basic fucking decency. Well, as decent as a person hiring a hit woman could be. Additionally, she knew from her years in the underground that letting shit like this slide could make her an easy target. People would assume she was soft and she couldn’t let that happen. So, now, as she paced in her living room, she decided that she’d had enough. Giran was only the go between for her and the client, and he’d been nothing but professional during the entirety of their working relationship. But if he wasn’t keeping her updated then he was a part of the problem too.

She rushed to her bedroom, tearing off her pajamas and tossing them down onto the plush carpet. She tugged on a pair of black jeans and threw on a red floral Hawaiian shirt over her shoulders, not bothering with the buttons even if she wore nothing underneath. Afterwards, she slipped on her black leather gloves and matching boots, immediately heading for the buildings garage.

Her anger hadn’t died down any by the time she pulled her convertible into the hidden parking lot behind the restaurant. Parking the car haphazardly and practically leaping from the drivers seat, she slammed the door behind her and stormed across the dirty lot to the back entrance of the building. The front of the establishment, facing the street, offered an inconspicuous sit-down restaurant to the public. However, the large metal door at the back of this restaurant led directly into the kitchen. And after a brisk walk past the line cooks and massive appliances, there were a few ‘party’ rooms that were graciously lent out to some of the patrons who required more privacy.

Giran did most of his work out of one of these party rooms. From what she understood, the owner of the restaurant got a small cut of whatever business Giran ran through his building with the added benefit of networking in the underground. When she’d asked for more details on their relationship, Giran had simply told her they were ‘old friends’ and that the shop owner was a ‘trustworthy man for hire’. Meaning his silence and cooperation completely hinged upon the amount of money he was being paid.

Still, for the greater part of the last year, she’d worked with Giran. He was the middle man between her and the client. He handled the information and money transfers for a small fee. Up until this point, he’d actually been a wonderful ‘manager’, for lack of a better term. He talked her up to clients and sold her services well, even managing to get people to pay higher prices because of her ‘prestige’. But now he was fucking with her money. And that could not go unnoticed.

She stormed through the kitchen, most of the bus boys and line cooks paying her no mind as she headed straight for the back rooms. She pushed open a door that looked like the entry way to a closet but actually led to a tiny foyer, with two chairs and a woman standing behind a lectern with her back to the corner. To the right of the ‘hostess’ was a rather ornate hallway, dimly lit with 3 sliding doors spaced out along the wall. These were the private rooms.

Immediately, she walked past the woman at the lectern. There was no need for pleasantries, she knew who she was. However, the woman surged forward and followed quickly behind her.

“Ma’am. Mr. Giran is speaking with someone right now. Please, he’s asked that I tell any visitors to come back another time.”

The demure woman squeaked from behind her, voice frantic and pitched up several notches.

“Well, maybe he shouldn’t have fucked me over. Then we wouldn’t be in this position. Now leave me alone.”

She replied, venom dripping from her tongue as she positioned herself outside of Giran’s typical room. She banged on the wooden frame a couple times.

“Giran! I know you’re in there you slimy bastard!”

She called, drowning out the hostesses pleading whispers of ‘Ma’am!’ and ‘Please! Come back another time!’

But she didn’t listen. Instead, she reached forward and slid the door open, rushing into the small room, eyes immediately landing on the man of the hour.

“Mr. Giran, I am so sorry! She just wouldn’t listen!”

The hostess cried from behind her, but the man only let out a performative laugh. He flashed her that gapped tooth grin, his round eyeglasses catching the light.

“It’s alright. I know this one can be hotheaded. Go back to the front, I’ll handle it.”

He drawled, and the hostess gave one last worrisome look before bowing and retreating from the room, sliding the door shut behind her. Giran turned his attention to the woman still remaining in the room, fixing her with the same gapped tooth smile as he produced a pack a cigarettes from his suit jacket pocket. He tapped one out of the package and held the carton out to her.

She rolled her eyes but took the offer anyway, knowing they wouldn’t have the conversation she wanted to have until these strange pleasantries were exchange. They both positioned the cigarettes carefully between her lips and Giran grabbed his gun shaped lighter from the table, lighting his own cigarette and offering her the same treatment. She leaned down so he could reach her from his position seated at the small round table, the click of the trigger causing a small flame to appear from he barrel of the gun.

With both of their cigarettes lit, Giran took a gracious draw and let the smoke roll off his lips with a question.

“How can I help you, miss?”

He asked, and immediately it lit a fire in her stomach. She pulled the cigarette from her mouth, smashing the lit end down into an ashtray on the table.

“Fuck you, Giran! You know exactly why the fuck I’m here. Where is my goddamn money?”

She demanded, rushing forward and slamming the palms of her hands down on the table. She towered over him in this position, staring down into his eyes and want nothing more than to knock that greasy smile off of his face.

“Maybe you should calm down. In case you haven’t noticed, we do have a guest.”

He replied, gesturing across the small round table. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion, but she turned her head nonetheless. Sitting in a chair across the table with their back to the corner, was a man she’d never seen before. He was reclined back with his feet kicked up on the table. How she hadn’t noticed his bright red shoes and clear posturing when she’d entered the room, she didn’t know.

Her eyes travelled upwards, following his gangly, long, legs up to his torso. He was draped in all black clothing. The black jeans and hoodie both too big and clinging to his scrawny frame in a strange way. When she reached his face, she had to squint her eyes to focus. A shock of pale blue hair peaked out from underneath the hood of his sweater and his face… well, she couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a pale, grey, hand like a mask. The only defining feature she could see through the large fingers was one of his eyes. Peeled wide open and trained on her. He tilted his head slightly, but it was enough for the dim overhead light to catch his eye, the bright ruby red of his iris gleaming faintly.

After she’d taken in his presence, she narrowed her eyes and stood from her position hunched over Giran before turning her gaze back to her manager with an uncaring scoff.

“I don’t rightly give a fuck. I came here for my money. It’s not any of my business what this guy is doing here and I really don’t care what he thinks of me. However, you may want to pretend that you're a trustworthy guy if he’s a potential client. Show him you do good business by giving me the rest of my fucking money.”

She hissed out the last words, unable to stop herself from attempting to tower over him again, snarling slightly as the anger inside her mixed with the need to be feared. Respected. The guy at the other end of the table was eerily quite and calm for someone in the middle of a money dispute. Those tended to end ugly and most people tucked tail and ran. Instead, she could feel his gaze on the back of her head. Calculating. The alarm in her brain was dinging softly, but silencing the sound was a last resort.

“Alright, alright. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to provide you with the rest of your pay-!”

Giran choked on his words as she lunged forward, grabbing the greasy bastard by his shirt collar and lifting him slightly. He was bigger than her, but that didn’t seem to matter when the barrel of her gun was pressed to his chin.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

She growled, clicking the hammer of the revolver back and watching as the crime lord swallowed harshly, the prickly hair on his Adams apple scrapping against the cool metal of the gun. His eyes darted to the man across the table, stuck somewhere between a plea for help and a nervous smile of reassurance.

It was over before he even had the chance to answer. Suddenly, the sound of clothing rustling from behind her drew her attention. But by the time she jerked her head around to identify the noise, a pale hand flew by her face, gripping the gun. She tried to pull away, releasing her hold on Giran’s shirt and taking a quick step backwards to evaluate but the other man’s hand maintained its grip on her gun.

“Fuck you-!”

She was also cut off mid sentence as the gun in her palm slowly began to crackle and disintegrate. It started at the point where the strange man had his hand wrapped around the barrel, the crumbling decay spreading towards the handle. She responded by dropping the weapon, watching in shock as it completely turned to dust before it even hit the ground. A small pile of fluttering ash settling on the floor in its place.

Her eyes wide, she turned up to see the strange man reaching for her with that same, massive, hand. His fingers were splayed wide and his palm was heading directly for her face. She reeled back towards the door, pressing against the wood and immediately bringing her foot up to jam against his stomach.

The kick wasn’t harsh and was more so a defense to keep his hand away from her face, but he let out a soft grunt at the contact anyway. She straightened her leg harshly, forcing him to also stumble backwards in the tiny room, his back pressed against the table. There was a brief moment of shock in his eyes before he decided on his next move. His hand began to drop towards her leg and before she could even register what was happening, the blue haired man stopped his hand just above her ankle as Giran called out.

“Enough! Tomura, it would be in your best interest to not harm this young woman.”

Tomura’s head jerked to the side, peering over at the man still seated at the table. The pale skin of his long neck came into view and the faint scars there cutting against the sharp line of his jaw was the closest she’d gotten to seeing the face of the man who’d almost killed her.

“What? Is this the one you were talking about? This hot-headed bitch who pulled a gun on you?”

Tomura questioned, sounding like the words were scratching against his vocal-chords. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound, deep and gravelly, but her eyes widened at how unique it was. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she dropped her foot from his abdomen when it seemed like he wasn’t going to immediately attack her again.

“Bitch? You’re not exactly the poster boy for charisma yourself, asshole.”

She shot back, drawing his attention again. Tomura turned his hand covered face back in her direction, allowing her to catch another glimpse of his eye. The red iris had shrunken in size, beady and threatening. His quirk was a dangerous one and he’d demonstrated that well enough. Even more frightening, however, was his speed. He’d moved from the table so quickly she hadn’t even had time to register him until her gun was already a pile of dust.

Still, she was never one to back down from a fight. So, she held his gaze, squaring her shoulders and refusing to break the contact until he decided to. However, the fact that Giran had spoken to him about her likely meant he was a potential client and she silently cursed herself for snapping in front of him. She could wipe his memory of her right now. Start this whole interaction over and maybe save herself the trouble of regaining his confidence. But she still had time to make that decision.

“Yes, this is the woman I was speaking about earlier. I believe she could be exactly what you’re looking for… for the right price, of course. You’ve seen how she is. We talk money or she walks.”

Her eyes darted over to the grey haired man still relaxing leisurely in his chair. He lit another cigarette after the one she’d knocked from his mouth laid smoldering on the floor beneath him.

“Exactly, Giran. Money, or I fucking walk. Now where the hell is the rest of my payment?”

She questioned, trying to ignore the feeling of Tomura’s eyes crawling over her skin. She’d come here to close out one job and she wouldn’t start another until that one was resolved.

“Listen, kid. You got half up front and the other half was supposed to come after the job was done. However, the client… well, he was on the receiving end of young Tomura’s quirk before the job could be completed. You know how these types are. Discretion and all. Turns out the guy worked for a hero agency here in town and he had been undercover for a long time, trying to get information on you. Before he could get anything concrete, however, Tomura ran into him. It’s purely coincidence and luck that both of us are in this room and not a cell in Tartarus right now.”

Giran replied, cocky grin never leaving his face as his eyes drifted shut in something akin to gratitude. Her gaze darted back over to the man in front of her only to find his eyes had never left her. She raised an eyebrow, relaxing her shoulders slightly.

“How did you know he was a spy, though?”

She questioned, and Tomura simply shrugged, seeming to take her posture and tone change as his cue to relax as well.

“Didn’t. He just pissed me off.”

He rasped in response, turning to retake his spot in his chair. But she didn’t miss the way his eyes stayed trained on her. Even when it looked like he had retaken up the relaxed position from before, the rubber soles of his shoes skidding across the top of the table as he reclined.

He just pissed him off… and she was the hot-head? Her heart rate slowed and her eyes focused on Tomura’s bright red shoes as her brow furrowed. So, the client had been an undercover agent all along. Trying to get to her through Giran. And this Tomura guy killed him and out of pure, dumb, luck they’d been spared of a lifetime imprisonment. Her blood wasn’t boiling anymore and she knew what came next. Missing half of a small payment wasn’t a huge price to pay for safety, so she swallowed her pride with a smooth roll of her eyes.

“Alright, fine. I guess I should say thank you. And Giran, sorry for almost killing you. But why the hell didn’t you let me know sooner? I’ve been calling and leaving messages for weeks.”

She questioned, turning her eyes back to the man as he tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette,

“That’s actually a funny story. See, I didn’t know until today what had become of our client. That was until my meeting with Tomura. He tossed me this file. Here, take a look.”

He encouraged, sliding a manila folder across the table to her. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from yelling at him for essentially ignoring her for two weeks. Still, she stepped forward and flipped the file open. It was full of pictures that she recognized all too well. Some taken with a professional camera and some looking like screen grabs from security cameras. However, they all had one thing in common. In every single one, the main target of the photo was nothing more than a blur. Even in photos of crowds, one of the figures was a mess of indiscernible pixels. The last one was a picture of the same blur, sitting across a table from Giran.

She sighed, snapping the folder shut and sliding it back to Giran.

“Tomura managed to pull that from a suitcase the client was holding. When he saw the picture of me, he brought it in to ask if I’d known the guy. Of course, I recognized that quirk of yours immediately and between the photos and some other papers in the suitcase, we put the pieces together.”

Giran finished his explanation by putting out his cigarette and tucking the file back into his own bag beside his chair.

“Alright, I get it. I was being tailed and didn’t even know it… shit.”

She hissed in reply, her hand coming up to run her fingers through her slicked back, black, hair.

“Exactly, my dear. Seems you’ve been getting a little too… careless, recently. And that’s bad for business.”

Giran retorted, and she couldn’t even manage to defend herself. He was right. She obviously needed to be more careful. There was no telling how much that guy had already told his agency. How much they already knew…

“However, perhaps not all hope is lost. Tomura here took an interest in your quirk when he saw the photos and he just so happens to be looking for recruits.”

Giran continued, causing her to lift her head and meet the ruby red eyes of the blue haired man again. She quirked an eyebrow,

“Recruits? For what?”

She questioned, and Tomura leaned forward, his legs falling from the table in favor of pressing his elbows against the surface.

“I’m organizing a group. You’re obviously not from here, but you’ve heard of UA high-school, I’m sure.”

He stated more than asked. Either way, she nodded. One of the most prestigious Hero schools in Japan.

“Recent news says that Pro-Hero, All-Might, is working there now. I’m getting together a group to take down the great ‘Symbol of Peace’ once and for all.”

Tomura advised, his voice turning sinister as he hissed out the heroes name before regaining control of himself and finishing his sentence. She contemplated this for a moment. When she’d moved to Japan, the culture shock was astounding. She’d always known that Hero and Villain society here was much more… intense than it was back in the States. But she hadn’t really known the extent of it until she’d met Giran. He’d asked her for her villain name and she’d completely blanked. Back home, criminals were just criminals. There weren’t really any massive ‘Villain’ organizations just like there weren’t any real Hero Agencies. There were gangs and cops and local heroes that helped the police. But nothing like this. Most people just lived normal lives with their quirks. Unless their quirk lent itself to a certain career. People with healing quirks became doctors. People with capture quirks became cops. So on and so forth.

So, hearing this man proclaim that he wanted to get together a group to bring down the Number One hero, it almost made her laugh. It was like something pulled straight from a comic book. In her line of work, she’d assassinated heroes and villain alike. Indiscriminate as along as the pay was good. So, she didn’t really consider herself a ‘villain’… even if that’s what society saw her as.

“See, Tomura needs someone who can get information without being detected. And with your quirk, it seems like the perfect fit. He’s also already assured me that he would pay well for your services.”

Giran piped up when the silence had drug on for a little too long. At the mention of payment, her ears perked up and her eyebrows raised.

“What would my services be exactly?”

She questioned, and Tomura shrugged again, leaning back in his chair to try and appear relaxed. But he was fidgety. He changed his positions too often and she noticed the way his hands clenched into tight fists from time to time, only to unfurl a moment later.

“I don’t really have any need for you to do your typical work. I can handle that myself. However, your quirk makes it so you can’t be recorded, correct?”

Tomura questioned, and she nodded slowly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“My quirk is called ‘Wallflower’. After I make eye contact with someone, I have the ability to wipe their memories of me, completely and totally. Additionally, I cannot be recorded on video or audio devices. Pictures and videos come out like you saw in the file. Blurs of nothing. Audio of my voice is just static.”

She confirmed, and Tomura nodded again.

“You can wipe their memory at any time?”

He asked, and again she nodded.

“Yes. I have to be in the vicinity of the person though. Like, I could wipe Giran’s memory of me standing here. That’s all the work we’ve done together in the last year. But I can’t do it from home. The radius is about three-hundred and sixty feet. The length of a football field.”

She agreed, immediately followed by a strange sound from Tomura. It was almost like delight. His gravely voice pitching up several octaves in the strange giggle.

“It’s perfect! No one who has ever met you remembers anything about you unless you want them too. And you can’t be captured on camera. It makes you the perfect spy!”

He exclaimed, and her eyes widened slightly at the deranged lilt in his voice. Still, it felt kind of nice… she got the impression that Tomura didn’t dole out compliments freely. Even if he was solely complimenting her usefulness to him.

“Right… so that’s what you would need me for? To gather intel?” She asked, and he nodded immediately in response.

“Yes. Gathering intel. Do you have any experience in torture?”

He asked rather bluntly, and again she nodded in return.

“Perfect. Like Giran said… I can pay. Money isn’t an issue.”

He muttered mostly to himself, waving a dismissive hand to further stress the fact that the money was solely an afterthought to him. He shifted position again, elbows coming to rest on his knees as he seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment.

“Oh, your name. Whats your name?”

He questioned, again like it was hadn’t occurred to him to ask before. Like he wasn’t truly interested, just covering bases.

“I’m going by Alice Mason for the time being.”

She replied, and that seemed to get his attention. He turned his head in her direction, the hand on his face becoming less like an object in the way and more a part of him. She swore she could almost read an expression there.

“For the time being? What’s your real name?”

Tomura asked, a hint of wheezing threat in his final question. Alice stuffed her hands into her pockets and rolled her shoulders.

“Honestly? I don’t remember."

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