#anyway posts like these make me wanna like gauge my eyes out actually | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

palbabor-writes · 4 years

Note

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

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

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

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

Word Count: 11,800

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

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

Mise en Place

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never seen you before.”

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

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

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

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

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

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

“He doesn’t need to pay.”

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

The white shine of his hair always gives him away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

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

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

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

“What toy?”

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

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

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

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

“Can I take a hit of that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

So, you hand in your written resignation.

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

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

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

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

Then, Kamino happens.

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

Late one evening, your phone rings.

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

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

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

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

Now, to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About, well, you.”

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

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

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

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

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

So, you shove him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stand up,” he instructs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s worried he can’t do it.

He’s never been alone, not like this.

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

He needs to see this through.

He wants to, he has to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#asks #answered asks #pal muses #on Tomura’s dick #and his trauma #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #tomura x y/n #tomura x you #tenko shimura #shimura tenko #reader insert

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snom-pixelates · 3 years

Note

Hi! I saw your prosthetic eye post, and I was wondering if I could ask a question (mostly related to an oc) if you don't mind? I was wondering how active activities like running, biking, roller skating, etc. would be done differently? Like using any extra tools, preferred areas or terrain, or anything else that would be good to know? Hope this isn't too much of a bother, and I hope you have a rad day :D

Ah, thank you, thank you for the ask!

Honestly, if your character does well enough at walking with one eye, it shouldn’t be too challenging to do other things like running, biking, or skating! I personally love going on bike rides. I learned at the same pace as my siblings and was able to keep up with the rest of my family members whenever we went out to do outdoor activities.

People with ocular prosthetics can thrive in things that you’d otherwise think to be difficult for them. When I was in high school, I contemplated going into track and hurdling, something that very much requires being able to gauge distance and height [a task that can be very challenging for those with a limited depth perception like myself]. Even with the slight handicap, though, I was, shockingly, very, very good at hurdling! To the point where I almost considered ditching art to make it my full-time sport [I winded up liking art way too much to go through with that though, haha!]

Really, the only limitation is that you have to be extra careful to make sure you check your surroundings, specifically on your blind side [in this case, my right side]. I always check my right twice before I cross any street, just to make ABSOLUTLY sure no one is coming or speeding towards me before I go.

I also try to keep an ear out just in case, that way if I don’t see a car coming on my right side, I might at least hear it. That means I don’t typically listen to music on my headphones when I’m biking/roller skating around, just to make sure I have my sense of hearing to fall back on if I don’t think to look around first [I do always try to make sure I check my surroundings, though]

If it were up to me, I would stick to flat terrains. Dips/holes in certain pathways can sometimes look shallower to me than they actually are [the wonky depth perception really can throw you off in some areas]. And then when the bump hits, it can be a bit startling cause I’ll think the dip/hole wasn’t as deep as it actually was. This is mostly on dirt terrains or grassy areas. On roads, it’s a LOT easier to make out those dips and holes [not sure why. Harsher, more defined shadows on concrete is my guess]. I try to stay clear of them anyway, just because I’m a cautious person and I COULD still be gouging the depth wrong. Don’t wanna cause a hard fall cause I was being dumb and thinking ‘ehhh, that dip's probably not THAT deep’ and then guess totally incorrectly.

As for special tools, I personally only have my glasses, which are made with extra-strong plastic called polycarbonate. This ensures that they won’t break if, say, a ball or a stray pebble or pellet hits them. Last thing you want are your glasses breaking near your only eyeball. The glass is light and resistant and don't look much different from regular glasses.

In addition, my glasses also have a layer of UV protective coating to protect from any sort of harsh lighting from sunlight and computer screens. They're transition glasses, which can be helpful sometimes. When you've only got one eye, a glare/reflection on your glasses can take up most of your vision, which you definitely don't want when you're speeding around on a bike or skates.

My eye doctor does highly suggest that I wear glasses over contacts, as contacts have the potential to make my vision worse. So very high-quality glasses are a simple must for me.

Just a little note here. I got my glasses from my local eye doctor. Just a simple little place where you pick out frames and go in for the usual vision tests, the same place where my siblings got their glasses. It's not at the place where my prosthetic is made, and it's really not anywhere fancy. I think most places where you get glasses should have the option for transitional, polycarbonate lenses these days, but I could be wrong. Just know that these kinds of glasses can be expensive. So if your character is a little on the less financially stable side, they can make do with normal glasses. I did for most of my childhood and teenagehood. I'm just pointing out as a tool your character might utilize.

Your character might very well want to spend more money on high-quality glasses as a precaution so the lenses don't break and cause further damage to their eyesight. My doctor highly recommends safety glasses to everyone who experiences visual loss in one eye. Even if your character has good vision in the eye they still have, and they don't technically NEED to wear glasses, then they might still want to wear some kind of eye protection anyway, just to be certain they're protecting themselves from an accident that might lead to full blindness. [Such as: riding on a bike/skating and getting dust/debris/scratchy tree limbs into your eyes.]

In addition to making sure you don't go blind, safety glasses would also come in handy because dirt/sand under your prosthetic STINGS. The back of your eye socket is sensitive. You can feel every grain of sand underneath your prosthetic if it manages to get back there. Every blink feels like you’re being jabbed with a needle. It’s absolutely PAINFUL until you can clean back there, by either flushing out your socket with water or having a specialty eye oil. There's also the chance your eyes will tear up enough by themselves to get the dust out from underneath the prosthetic.

Anyway, I personally wouldn’t want to experience the pain of dust behind my prosthetic if I can prevent it. I DEFINITELY prefer wearing my glasses when I’m outside just to keep the dirt/sand out of my socket because OUCH. Just thinking about it makes me wince.

I picture that even if I didn’t need my glasses, I would have a fake pair, safety glasses, or even goggles just to have and put on for when I go riding/blading. That way if I bump into an overgrown bush or low-hanging branches, or there’s a harsh spray of sand/dirt, I won’t get anything under my prosthetic or have to worry about damaging the eye I still do have.

So yeah, goggles/glasses are a good tool to give to a character with an ocular prosthetic. For protecting the vision they do still have, and to make sure nothing gets underneath that prosthetic.

Overall, your character will likely be checking their surroundings more often than someone with two eyes, especially on their blind side, and they’ll probably try to avoid dips and cracks in the road and try to stick with flatter areas with smooth pathways. The not listening to music while biking/skating thing might just be me being cautious, though. I just personally always like having my hearing to fall back on just in case of anything, or at the very least having one earbud popped out.

Additionally, sometimes I don’t trust myself to not bump into other pedestrians on the sidewalk. So if there is a person on my blind side and I think a squeeze is too tight for us both [or for me to properly gauge], I’ll hop off my bike and walk it by instead, or just slow down just to make sure I don’t bump into them.

Nobody looking at me is going to know that I’m blind on one side. I have to be in control, know my limitations, and be sure to bike/skate responsibly. An ocular prosthetic doesn’t make me devoid of any fault. If I wasn’t paying attention, checking my blind side, or listening out for people, and I rammed into someone and injured them, that mistake falls on me. At least that's how I view it.

So… yeah! That’s all I can think of rn! Lemme know if I need to clarify anything or if you have any more questions!

#prosthetic eyes #prosthetic eye help #writing reference #snom's rambles #asks #hope i made sense!#i realize i was mostly focusing on the biking and scating #but those are a lot more risky than simply running imo #everything pretty much applies to running as well #being aware of your surroundings #being careful #so on

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asunshinepuff · 4 years

Text

That’s Our Coach!

🏒So some of us on the SW discord were talking about Remus now that the final chapter of SW had come out. And we came up with the headcanon idea that Remus had figured out a way to continue his summer coaching despite now being spoiler alert if you haven’t read it (but why would you be here if you hadn’t? GO READ THE FINAL CHAPTER!!) the newest player of the Gryffindor Lions. Naturally, I got inspired and thus had to write this fic. Honestly this is the longest work I’ve done in a while and I am so excited to finally be posting it.

Course, credit is due. This wasn’t just my idea. Thank you so much to @whataboutmyfries, @im-oknutzy-trash, @bkfstclubmember and @fadedgreenmittens for coming up with the details for this idea! I couldn’t have done this without you four!

Just a heads up, despite being an ice skater and knowing hockey terms, I have never ever written hockey before. So I apologise profusely if something doesn’t seem correct. As always, full credit goes to @lumosinlove for her amazing characters!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 🏒

One Month Ago

Remus stopped at the boards smoothly, letting some of the ice spray as he hopped onto the boards of the bench. “Great practice everyone.” He exclaims with a smile, “Boys can you come over here for a moment?”

Fifteen boys, ranging from ages eight to ten skated quickly over to their coach, sliding into a halting stop - some less graceful than others which causes Remus to chuckle lightly under his breath before addressing the boys.

“Now boys, this is the end of our summer session. The next season is going to be a little different.” He explains calmly, trying to get a handle of his nerves yet excitement for what the Cubs’ reactions will be.

Naturally, this caused a chorus of assumptions all ranging from horribly bad to hilarious.

“Are you leaving?” One boy, the loudest despite being the youngest exclaimed tearfully, and this caused a collective gasp before a chorus of the same comments. “Don’t leave Coach Remus!” “Yeah! You’re the best!” “Stay with us!”

“Calm down, calm down. Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that.” Remus repeats a few times before the attention is back on his words, “I’m going to be playing for the Lions.” He finally announces with a smile, “And I’m inviting you guys to the first game at Hogwarts Stadium.”

He watches as his words resonate in each of the kid’s minds as they all collectively gasp, once again, with wide eyes and erupt into cheers. Most likely the smartest decision for him to currently have been seated upon the boards of the bench or else he might’ve been tackled to the ice by the Cubs.

Smiling, he watches as the boys skate off the ice and rush over to their parents, yelling “COACH REMUS IS ON THE LIONS!!!”

Present-Day

The locker room was buzzing with excitement and it seemed to emanate through every player. Leo and Logan were somewhat geared up already, making some sort of competition out of a play fight by tasing the other’s side with their fingers.

It was interrupted by Finn who came sprinting from his stall and jumped onto Leo, and Logan broke down laughing at the sight. Kasey was on the floor of his stall, in the midst of stretching out his legs in the splits while he was in a three-way conversation with James and Talker.

James sat leaning forward as he was lasing up his skates, and Talker was drumming on the walls of James’ stall as he sat somewhat in the middle of the room. Meanwhile, Olli, Kuny and Nado were also set in a pretty energetic conversation in full gear. Dumo sat watching the boys with Sergei by his side, and finally, Remus and Sirius were the last ones to enter the room to get geared up.

Remus stopped for a moment, staring at the stall that was now his. Lupin #6 was written on the back of the brand new Lions jersey. It felt so surreal, yet, strange. Normally he’d be here early in the morning, setting up all the stalls exactly the way each team member preferred in order to not mess with superstitions.

But now, here he was. Coming at the same time as the others, with Sirius by his side. He made it. And yes, he loved his job as a PT, and in some ways will miss it - he cannot deny the excitement that fueled the spring in his step. The urge and want to prove himself was here once again.

He sent Sirius a smile before they part to their stalls. On reflex, he sat at his stall and fell easily back into his old routine for stretches, calf stretches before thigh, and then when he felt ready he began gearing up.

“Mon Loup, are you nervous?” A familiar voice says by his side, as Remus was beginning to lace up his skates. He looks up to see Sirius in just his under armor, as always before games, leaning against his stall and he cannot help but smile in return despite his nerves.

“A bit more now that we’re actually here. But I’m excited.” He admits. Spotting the paper in his fiance’s hands, his eyes widen ever so slightly. This was really happening, he’s here. He’s on the Lions about to play his first game with his love and family by his side.

It still felt so new yet so right to call Sirius his fiancé, everytime the reminder comes to his mind he has to smile. He was just so happy. “Is that the starting line-up for the game?”

Sirius nods, giving him a fond smile in return. Most likely assuming what was on his mind before he asked the question. However, there was some mischief, and pride within his eyes, he most likely read the lineup already. “Wanna join me for the read off?”

“Absolutely.”

The couple makes their way to the center of the locker, in the midst of the chaos, and Sirius lets out a loud whistle before yelling, “Alright! First game of the season! Let’s kick the Habs’ asses tonight yeah?” That caught the attention of the team, as a series of answering shouts of approval, all of which amplified when the team caught sight of Remus in his jersey.

“Let’s go Loops! Rookie up!” Finn yells, laughing as he rushes forward and gives Remus a high five.

“Coach gave the line-up for tonight’s game.” Sirius continued over the noise. He looks to Remus with a smile before he turns to the team and starts off the line-up, “Starting tonight, in the cage, we got Kasey Winter!”

Remus leans over at the paper with a grin on his face as he takes Sirius’ hand as he decides to steal the next call, “On the left, we got James Potty-Mouth Potter himself.”

“On the right, we got the fastest on our side - Remus Lupin!”

“Loops on the ice!” Logan calls out, forming a chant followed by James, Talker, Finn, and Leo. Remus couldn’t help but laugh at the antics, this was really happening. In an effort to drown out the series of chants, he takes the next announcement.

“We got Talker and Olli on defense!”

James, in his excitement, quickly stole the paper from Sirius’ grasp, yelling above his protests, “And of course on center, we’re making the power front line here. We got the man, the myth, the legend - Sirius Black!”

A chorus of cheers rang out for those announced in the lineup, progressively dying down as Coach Arthur came into the locker room, and then it was really business time. The last of the gear and jerseys were finally dawned, laces were laced up, and the team was getting into the right headspace for a game.

Remus stood at the end of the tunnel with Sirius by his side. “Gryffindor!” boomed Frank’s voice, which echoed down the tunnel in addition to the crowd’s loud cheers in response, full of excitement for the Lion’s entrance. “Are you ready?”

Ten... Nine...

“Re? You okay?” Sirius asks, placing a gentle hand upon his own, that was tightly gripping the pole of his hockey stick. He gasps lightly as he lets his grip slacken, not realizing that his nerves had increased since entering the tunnel.

Eight... Seven...

“I’m... okay. Just nervous.” Remus replies honestly, trying to give a reassuring smile at the concerned look upon Sirius’ face. Taking Remus’ opposing hand in his own, he runs his thumb comfortingly across the top and squeezes it lightly. “Breathe Remus, you’ll be okay. You’re not alone out there.” He says, as they walk hand in hand down the tunnel.

Six... Five.....

“Right... Breathe. Just Breathe.” He repeats over and over momentarily, getting himself out of his head. “It’s just the first game.” He sees Sirius nod, out of the corner of his eye.

“You’ll be okay. And you’ll play so well.”

Four... Three...

The camera crew within the tunnels, displaying the entrance on the jumbo screen within the stadium begin rolling the cameras as the team gets closer. Distracted, Remus gasps as he’s suddenly pulled back from following the team and pulled flush against a familiar chest.

“What is it?” He asks, looking up at Sirius with a slight tilt of his head in confusion.

It was strange, Sirius’ eyes were shining bright as he looked back at Remus. Probably trying to gauge how nervous he actually was at the moment he assumes. “Hey, Re?”

“Yeah?”

Sirius glances briefly to the cameras that were now focused on them since they were the last two remaining, before he tilts Remus’ helmet upwards slightly, and kisses him softly. As if they have all the time in the world.

Two... One...

As they pull away, he briefly lets go of Remus’ hand, only to gently place it on his cheek. “I love you. So much.” Sirius comments with a smile.

Remus can’t help but smile in return, leaning into the touch, feeling his nerves wash away as he looks into the eyes of the man he loves. “I love you too.”

Zero...

“Your Gryffindor Lions!” Frank drew out the words and the lights within the stadium went crazy as the team appeared down the tunnel. The order was the same as usual, Kasey came first, goalie mask propped on top of his head as he skated out onto the ice.

Then Timmy, Finn, Leo, Olli, Logan, Evgeni, Nado, Sergei, Dumo. The only difference was that James came out right before Remus, who was now second to last, and it was his turn.

It was exhilarating, hearing the cheers as Frank called his name and he skated onto the ice, right foot first. It was smooth beneath his blades, bringing him to a sense of calm focus.

There was a sea of red and gold throughout the stadium, in addition to rainbow flags, his nickname was being shouted by multiple fans and as he skated to a section, there was a chorus of a different nickname being yelled which made him laugh. “COACH REMUS!”

Stopping at the glass he waves and pounds on the glass in return to some of the boys close up to the boards. “Hi boys! Enjoy the game!” He yells up, not fully expecting to be heard but nonetheless felt the need to.

When he turns to skate off and find Jules in the stands, Finn skates by, looking at him with wide eyes. “Loops, you have a lot of children?”

“What?” He responds in confusion, turning back behind him to the team before looking back to Finn. “Oh… No. Finn, that's my cub’s team from summer.” He says, laughing.

“Gotcha. Hey, let them back after the game!” Finn says with a smile before continuing the loop around the rink, while Remus takes off once again, reaching close to the middle of the rink before he goes back to the glass, stopping in front of where his family has a front view.

Smiling, he watches as Julian rushes from his seat to the glass with the biggest smile on his face. Julian had his Lions beanie on as usual but for once, he wasn’t dressed in a Black jersey.

Instead, he wore the Lupin jersey that he had just gotten a few days prior, turning around briefly to show his older brother. The brothers place a hand on the glass on both sides, smiling at the other as they mouth to one another.

I love you Re!! Good Luck!!

Love you too Jules!

With a quick wave up to his parents in the stands, Remus took off once again, passing by his fiancé who was already at center ice with the ref who held the puck and the Habs’ center. Stopping at the boards, he was met by James who smiled at him.

Rolling his eyes, he quickly grabbed the gatorade blue he had put on the bench prior next to two bottles of water, not wanting to mess with his friend’s superstition despite him not needing to be in charge of it anymore. He flips the bottle towards him, earning a grin in response, “Blue.”

“Always blue.” He replies with a wink before he skates off to his position on the right. Sharing a look with Sirius, he smiles before looking to the Habs’ right winger in front of him. James joined them shortly after, and the six crouched, eyes on the puck. The ref dropped the puck shortly after, and the game began.

The first period went by in a flash. With the Lions being up 1-0. James narrowly managed to score a breakaway up the ice off of a clean pass from Remus and managed to break through the Habs’ goalie. However, the Habs’ defense was strong. The Lions needed to be at the top of their game.

In the midst of the second period, the Habs managed to tie the game 1-1. So, Remus decides to push a little harder. Puck in hand, he races through the defensive line of the Habs and manages to score. With a hat trick.

His hands up in a cheer and laughing to himself, he was suddenly slammed into the boards by Sirius and James, and there was a loud chorus of young shouts yelling “THAT’S OUR COACH!” that made the three players laugh.

In the stands, there was no one more excited than Julian, who was practically jumping up and down as if he was on a sugar high. The nine-year-old wasn’t even playing himself yet he felt adrenaline for his older brother. He was just so happy!

“Yeah Loops! You’re on fire today!” James says on his right, smacking his shoulder playfully as he pulls away, heading off to the Lions goal to give Kasey a high five, then heading off to Olli and Talker.

Sirius stayed behind, having the biggest grin as he watched Remus laugh with glee, kissing his cheek briefly before he speaks. “You got a hat trick!”

“I did!”

Remus is freed from the board, however, his laughter and excitement has not diminished in the slightest. Joining James and Sirius back at center, the second period continues.

🏒Hey you guys!

Thank you so much for coming this far. I don’t usually like to put author's notes at the end of my works but this is an exception. And I have to admit, this one-shot took me a lot longer than I initially thought but I adore it so much.

Now, I have a question for you all.

I’m thinking of writing a second part to this (and possibly more than just another in the future), and making Lions Player/Coach Remus a regular au on my blog. What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments, a reblog with your answer or shoot me an ask with what you think!🏒

#sweater weather #lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #hockey #rookie #hockey coach #little league hockey #sweater weather lumosinlove #that’s our coach!

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Don’t Ignore Me! (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Requested from my Wattpad: "Can you please do a fluffy Bakugo x reader chapter where the reader was dared by her friends to try to do 'ignore your boyfriend for 24 hours' challenge? If you don't know, this challenge makes it so that the reader would have to pretend that Bakugo does not exist and they can't respond to any of Bakugo's questions or anything. Look up videos of the challenge if you want to get a better grasp of what the challenge is."

Genre: Fluff (and slight crack?)

Word count: 1,891

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: This ended up being longer than I anticipated... And was a bit difficult to start, but the more I wrote, the more I wanted to write, so I guess it worked out! I kind of imagined at least 3 different ways this could’ve turned nsfw, but THIS ISN’T THAT KIND OF ONE SHOT SHAME ON ME!

The next post will also be a slightly crack/fluff Baku request from my Wattpad then a Kiri angst, but I miiight not be able to post until Friday or Saturday. I’m taking a mini road trip down to Florida and it’ll take almost 14 hours, so hopefully I can get some writing done on the drive or once I get there.

Why did I let Mina convince me to do this?

I wanted to text Katsuki earlier and tell him not to come home just so I won't have to ignore him, but that wouldn't be ignoring him! She told me it would be fun just to see his reaction, and while I initially agreed, it didn't sound as appealing the more I thought about it. This will probably end in screaming or tears rather than laughs.

The door opens and keys rattle. "I'm home!" his voice booms out.

I keep my back turned to him as I stir the curry on the stove. You can do this, it's just a prank, it's only temporary. You got this, just pretend he's not there.

His heavy footsteps approach me, the hairs on my back tingling as I anticipate him coming up behind me as he usually does. His puffy hair brushes the side of my head as he peers over my shoulder. "Sweet, curry! Wait for me, we can eat together." Without hesitating, he kisses my cheek and leaves.

I have to resist the urge to answer him back. Since part of the challenge is to ignore him, I decide to eat without him. I spoon out some curry on rice and sit at the table by myself. I don't know how exactly he's going to react, but I know he won't be happy. We always have our meals together and we talk about our day. This is gonna be such a jarring break from routine; it'll be difficult for both of us.

He comes back into the room and I don't even look up at him, just scrolling through my phone as I eat. His footsteps stop short of the table. "What the- I thought I told you to wait for me!"

I focus on chewing my food so I don't say anything back to him and try to keep a straight face.

"And you didn't even leave a plate for me, what the heck," he grumbles to himself, swaggering into the kitchen to grab one from the cabinet. He finally sat down with his plate of rice, his pepper paste concoction, and curry. "So, how was your day-?"

I'd already finished my dinner, so I stand up, cutting him off. I feel his eyes on me as I casually put my plate in the sink and start cleaning up.

"What the hell?" I catch him mumbling to himself. "Babe? What's up?" He sounds genuinely confused at my behavior.

I don't answer him, continuing to just do my dishes and put away the leftovers into the fridge. I debated whether or not I should prepare Katuski's lunch for work tomorrow as I usually do. I mean, I'm just supposed to be ignoring him, not pretending he doesn't exist. I start taking some of dinner out into one of his containers wordlessly.

As I do that, Katsuki slowly stands up with his finished plate and places them into the sink. Even as he washes his own dishes, I feel him eye me with his crimson orbs, raking my entire figure over. When he's about to say something, I put his food container into the fridge and leave the kitchen, strolling into our shared bedroom and settling on our bed. There's a twinge of guilt as I lay around without him. Usually, we'd be attached at the hip from the time he gets home to when he leaves in the morning. He's so perplexed over the whole ordeal.

As I'm scrolling on my laptop, I notice him tentatively tiptoe into the room. He hesitates every step of the way as if he's testing the waters. Maybe he's thinking I'm angry at him? It's almost cute the way he slowly gauges my reaction to every move he makes like he's expected me to explode. I've never given him the silent treatment; when we argue, we just yell at each other one minute and the next minute we're fine. This is brand new territory for him.

The bed sinks in next to me as Katsuki rolls in. At first, he's just staring at me, scanning for any trace of anger. "Why are you so quiet today?" When I don't answer, he frowns. "Hello? What's going on?" He half jokingly pokes the side of my head.

I have to furrow my brows and bite my bottom lip to pretend like I'm too invested in what's on my screen so I won't laugh.

"Are you ignoring me?" I hear the annoyance growing in his voice. "Did I do something?" At my continued silence he throws himself onto his back and groans. "I don't get it! I don't know what I did!"

Aw, he's blaming himself. I feel kinda bad. I know he's beating himself up for a stupid prank I'm trying to pull on him, but I wanna see this all the way through, or at least as long as I can hold out.

His hand suddenly slams my laptop screen closed. It takes my entire being to keep a blank face and not glare at him. "Are you gonna talk to me now?" There's a hint of a smirk in his voice. I bite my tongue and open the screen again, but he pushes it back down. "Wonder what you're so engrossed in to talk to me."

I don't even huff as I pull out my phone and start scrolling through it instead. He groans out again and snatches my phone away from me. Hoe-

"I thought we solved our problems by talking about it? Why are you ignoring me?"

I turn over onto my side and show him my back.

"What the f-" The weight releases from the side of the bed and I shut my eyes just in case he wants to show up in front of me. He's getting angry now.

He paces around the room for a while, and the soft rustling tells me he's threading his hands messily through his hair. I feel proud that I know him so well, I can read him like the back of my hand. Katsuki's stomps finally approach me. "(Y/n)." His voice is close to me, so he's kneeling down, but his tone is more somber. "Talk to me, please? If it was something I did, I need to know, I really can't think of anything. I'm going crazy here, just say something for me?"

My heart sinks. This isn't something I was expecting from him. I thought he'd be louder about it.

"Seriously, I don't want to go to sleep while you're angry at me, that's not right. How do I know something didn't happen to you? Talk to me!"

His desperate pleads almost weaken me completely, and I want to break down and put a stop to this, but I'm gonna be strong. I keep my eyes closed even in the face of all this and swallow my emotions down.

He sighs and his footsteps retreat. Then they stop. Wait, what's he-

Suddenly the bed sinks at the foot and the weight travels up to my back. "Fine. Try to keep ignoring me, we'll see what happens."

Crap, what have I gotten myself into?

Katsuki first drops his heavily muscular arm over me, looping it around my shoulders so his thumb brushes the top of my collarbone buried into the mattress. My fingers itch trying to ignore my reflex of placing my hand on top of his. "Anyway, my day was okay. I really missed you though. Shitty Hair was there, annoying the hell out of me as usual. Phone battery was even there too. By the way, leftovers from last night still tasted really good a day later..."

I want to laugh. So hard. But if I even so much as shake from laughter, the jig is up. Every time I feel like laughing, I hold my breath. He's too funny, going on about his day as if I was actually talking to him. It's killing me!

Breaking off his monologue for a brief second, he throws a leg over my hip. "Where was I? Oh right-"

My eyes shoot open. WHAT THE HELL KATSUKI!?

I want to yell at him for being such a child, but I can't help thinking it's kind of adorable. He's hogging his favorite toy in the world, clinging to it like a lifeline. At this point, the laughter is just sitting in the back of my throat ready to explode at the drop of a hat.

Katsuki breaks off again and sucks his teeth.

Damn it, what's he planning now?

My body is rolled over onto my back and his full body weight suddenly crushes all the breath out of me. This idiot only smirks down at me. "You can't ignore a crushing weight on your chest, can you?"

"Fuck's sake! I can't do this anymore!" I finally break down and scream. "Get off me!"

He clings his arms around me again so neither of us can move. "Oh, look at that, you can talk!"

"Katsuki, your giant tits are suffocating me, get off!"

"Not until you tell me why you're ignoring me!"

I groan, utterly defeated anyway. "Fine! It was a prank! Mina dared me to do it!"

His eyebrows furrow. "Pinky put you up to this?!" He rolls off so I can breathe properly and sit up. "Why would you even follow through with that?"

"I don't know, I thought it would be fun?" I recognize the genuine anger and hurt in his eyes and reach for his hand. "It was stupid, I know, I'm sorry."

He turns around and gives me his back like a pouting child. "I really thought I did something, dumbass! Do you know how confused I was? That wasn't cool."

I crawl up behind him and slither my arms around his neck. "I know, it was hard for me to stay quiet knowing how upset you sounded."

Katsuki's voice gets softer. "I thought you were gonna break up with me."

My entire body gets cold at his somberness. Considering our track record, this is a strange occurrence for us. I can't imagine the thoughts going through his head, especially knowing how insecure he can feel. I bury my head in his neck. "I knew this would probably happen." I kiss the taut skin. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I love you, Katsuki."

He turns around in my arms and stares me down, his lip still slightly jutting out. "You have to make it up to me with cuddles for the rest of the night."

A relaxed smile spreads across my face, relieved that he's more or less recovered from it. "Deal."

We lay back onto the bed again, his head pressed into my chest and his arms constricting around me so I can't move away. Fingers brush against the side of his head, in his hair, and on the exposed skin at the hem of my shirt. "Don't do that to me again, dumbass."

"I won't, promise."

A light groan vibrates from his chest. "Tell me you love me again," he mumbles out the order.

I tilt my head down and press a kiss to his forehead before placing my lips near his ear. "I love you, dork."

"...Again."

"I love you, big baby."

"Again."

"I love you, Katsuki."

#Bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #request #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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bettertomorrows-ao3 · 4 years

Text

Are You My Mother?

Ellie is frantic. Dina is amused. JJ has some questions.

JJ stays still in Ellie’s arms and his teeny voice is muffled when he says, “Max said you’re not my real mom so we’re not a real family and that you only fake love me.”

Tags: Post-Game, Family Fluff Rating: Teen for language

EllieDina Week // Day 4 // FAMILY

---

It’s almost sundown when Ellie gets a visitor at work.

Her office is a medium-sized shack located near the stables of the main gate, a perfect place to house all the paperwork she needs in order to facilitate her new role as the patrol manager. Ellie had originally argued with Maria that the chore didn’t even exist, that it seemed like a feeble arrangement to give her a task somewhat similar to what she was used to just so she could still feel useful around town.

Maria admitted to some truth to Ellie’s point, but she also insisted that she would love for Ellie to start learning to ropes of leading the town. There was a buried emphasis in her request that suggested Maria only trusted Ellie to be the one to succeed her role in the future. That Ellie was already deeply embedded in the tangled mess of a family the Miller brothers left them with—and implication was what led Ellie to accept the job on the spot.

Managing patrol rotations is not the laid-back kind of job Ellie thought it would be.

It’s far more stressful than what Maria initially described it would be, but it’s a task that keeps her on her toes on a daily basis. It was hard to believe it at first, but rescheduling patrol rotations sometimes felt like hugging an exploding bloater. Not to mention how balancing patrollers with the right partners oftentimes resembled the act of gathering sheep into a barn. One wrong move, and a stray could lead the pack in the wrong direction.

Jackson’s townsfolk always knew she would have the job in the future, anyway. There was a tacit understanding that regardless of the complications of their familial relations, Maria’s niece would one day take over the duty of leading Jackson. It was never a question of whether it would ever happen, but more of when Ellie would feel comfortable to take on these responsibilities.

It came as a surprise to those who personally knew her—that Ellie would start making her way up before she was even in her thirties. Most of them thought they would have to wrench a 100-year-old Ellie away from patrolling duties, so to have her willingly take a job inside Jackson’s walls was a bit unnerving.

The desk job isn’t as exciting, but it’s definitely enough work to keep her busy throughout the week. Her favourite part of the job was toward the end of the day. When her last task was to wait for the afternoon patrols to come back home, and she spent the time quietly drafting ways to adjust routes for possible expansions to the town. Nothing felt better than to wrap up a workday with a glint of hope for a better future for her son.

Ellie is knee deep in concentration, head down studying a map and ready to sketch out a new patrol route when a knock on the door breaks her focus. It’s Andres, Dina’s new apprentice at the electric shop, a gangly young man whose family recently moved to Jackson. His presence immediately makes Ellie panic. They’ve only met three times since Dina hired him, and their interactions have been cordial at best. So, what else could warrant his appearance at her office at the end of the day if it weren’t for something urgent?

“Hey, uh… Ellie. A-are you busy?” he croaks out, Ellie can tell he’s nervous, but what for she’s not sure yet.

“Andres, right?” she asks hoping to calm his nerves even though she knows exactly who he is, “what’s up?”

“D-dina sent me t-to tell you to please… go to her house as soon as pos-possible once you’re finished with work,” Andres stutters out, making Ellie all the more concerned.

Ellie stands up from her desk and promptly grabs her coat from the chair, “did something happen? Is she hurt? Is JJ okay?”

She tries to calm herself enough to hear a response from him. Whatever it was must have not been too terrible, because if something dire had indeed happened to her family, there is no way Maria would have sent this semi-stranger to send the news.

“Oh! I don’t—um…” the young man stutters and brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck, “she didn’t say. I’m just a messenger.”

With her jacket half worn on her back, Ellie looks down to the scattered papers on the desk and then to the clock on the wall. She only had 30 minutes left before the last patrol shift returned and reported back to her. Ellie was not one to ever leave her post early, but she was unfortunately not immune to whatever nervous energy Andres passed on to her.

The whole situation was terrifyingly curious, and she had to get to her family to find out what was happening. Ellie scribbles a note on a torn piece of paper, neatly folds it, and hands it to noticeably anxious Andres.

“Since you’re a messenger and all… can you quickly send this to Maria for me, please?”

Ellie tries not to sprint to Dina’s house. She doesn’t want to alarm anybody in town, so she ends up speed walking instead. In hindsight, sprinting would have probably looked way less ridiculous than the quick shimmy her hips do when she makes herself walk fast.

The thought comes too late. Dina’s house is already in view when she decides to run the rest of the way.

Ellie pauses on the porch to catch her breath. She knocks on the door twice before she curses to herself. Why is she knocking when she has a key to the door? Ellie digs in her pockets for the familiar shape of the metal when the door swings wide open.

“Did you forget your key again?”

Ellie looks up and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Dina is leaning on the door frame with a smirk on her face. She looks perfect as ever and all Ellie can’t stop herself from hugging her right away. Relief floods her senses when she feels Dina reciprocate, her arms wrapping tightly around Ellie’s waist.

“Are you fine? Like, you’re not hurt?” Ellie whispers into her ear.

“Yes? Is this a trick question? Why?” Dina is puzzled by Ellie’s panic-stricken face and leads them into the house.

“Andres said I had to come home, and he was all nervous and twitchy, so I freaked out and kind of ran here,” Ellie admits before adding, “wait, what about JJ? Is he safe too?”

Dina eyes Ellie as if gauging to see if she was being pranked. When she realizes that Ellie was serious, she laughs and gives Ellie a quick peck on the lips.

“JJ’s upstairs doing homework, but babe, you do know Andres has a speech impediment, right? Like, it’s a medical condition, it doesn’t mean he’s actually nervous,” Dina chuckles when Ellie finally realizes that there was actually nothing to worry about.

“A speech impediment? You mean to say I got nervous for nothing?” Ellie takes a step back to shrug her jacket off her shoulders.

“Mhm,” Dina agrees, and takes Ellie’s jacket to hang on the coat rack by the door.

“So, what was so urgent you sent you lackey out to fetch me?” Ellie tilts her head to the side, still so apparently confused by everything.

“Well… your son—” Dina starts but Ellie interrupts her.

“Oh no. What did he do?”

Dina points up to the stairs, “your son picked a fight at school today.”

Ellie’s eyes bulge out in amazement, “Potato picked a fight? But… he’s only five years old!”

“That’s what I thought!” Dina shrugs, “but then I remembered who his parents are and then I realized that the apple really didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Holy fuck, you didn’t not just say that,” Ellie laughs.

“I literally just sounded like my mother,” Dina groans.

“Seriously, though,” Ellie asks, treading carefully but not without a smirk on her lips, “why did he get in a fight in the first place? Because questionable parents aside, he’s practically an angel!”

Dina sighs and leans forward letting Ellie hold her once again, “he said he doesn’t want to talk about it. Only that he wants to ask you something important.”

Ellie glances up toward the stairs wondering what their son could possibly want to ask her. She wonders what kind of demon would have likely possessed their sweet little spud to attack another student at school. The worst part is not even knowing how to explain to their son about not resorting to violence when the world they lived in required such actions to survive.

Despite the severity of the situation, Ellie couldn’t help but to joke, “if he wants to learn how to punch better, he’s asking for the wrong mom.”

The comment earns Ellie a light jab to the chest from Dina.

“Oof. Way to prove my point, babe.” Ellie shakes her head and grabs Dina’s hand to lead them upstairs to JJ’s room.

They share a look understanding that whatever JJ wanted to talk to Ellie about, they all had to do it as a family.

Ellie enters JJ’s room first. They find him slumped and sitting cross-legged on his big boy bed. Ollie is on his lap, and they seemed to have interrupted a silent conversation between JJ and his beloved toy. Ellie slowly makes her way to sit on the edge of the bed leaving Dina behind to lean on the doorframe. Their family was complete, but they still wished to respect JJ’s request to only talk to Ellie.

“Hey, bud. I heard what happened at school today. Wanna tell me about it?”

JJ sinks further into his bed and fiddles with Ollie in his hands. He hesitantly looks up and whispers, “do you love me?”

The question baffles Ellie and feels her heart breaking at sound of doubt in her son’s voice. She is more than a little concerned that her son somehow thinks there is a universe in which she could possibly stop loving him. She immediately scoots closer to him and wraps him tightly in her arms.

“Of course, I do, Spud. What makes you think I don’t?” Ellie eyes Dina by the door making a speechless plea for some comfort on her part. Dina only nods her head, assuring her that she is doing all right.

JJ stays still in Ellie’s arms and his teeny voice is muffled when he says, “Max said you’re not my real mom so we’re not a real family and that you only fake love me.”

“What? Who the fuck is Max?” Ellie growls making JJ flinch under her grasp.

Ellie has a sudden urge to hunt down this Max to teach a lesson about not meddling in other people’s business. Dina loudly clears her throat as if to remind Ellie that she is veering off track. Ellie has to remind herself that children can be unconsciously callous and that whoever this kid was probably didn’t mean any harm, and most likely doesn’t know any better.

“Are you angry with me?” JJ asks her and slithers out of her arms.

Ellie is reluctant to let him go and only does when Dina approaches them to sit next to her.

“Mom is not angry with you, Tater,” Dina speaks up, “she has her thinking face on.”

JJ pokes Ellie on the cheek as testing to see if his mom would notice. Ellie fails to hide the smile that emerges on her face. She kisses JJ on the head and comes up with a way to explain the dynamics of their family to a five-year-old.

“Do you remember the book I read to you the other night about the lost bird asking the dog if she’s his mother?” he nods and she continues, “well, our family is kind of like that. You have momma, and you have me. And just because we don’t look alike, it doesn’t mean that I’m any less your mom than momma is to you. Do you understand?”

The truth is that the allusion to the old story isn’t quite fitting to their situation, but Ellie hopes that it is basic enough for their little boy to understand the way their family works.

“You’re the dog and me and momma are birds, and you love us anyway?” he asks so innocently she and Dina can’t help but to laugh.

“I love you always no matter what other people say, Spud,” Ellie reassures him, and she is relieved to see him accepting her explanation, “we’re our own little family and I will always be your mom, even when you don’t see me.”

“What about momma? Do you love momma too?”

Dina tilts her head at Ellie, mimicking the hopeful look in their son’s eyes.

“Your momma owns my heart, Tater.”

Ellie feels Dina’s hand grasp one of hers, their fingers intertwined. JJ sees the contact, jumps on them, and nuzzles his little head in between theirs. The moment was so tender they almost forgot what had started the discussion in the first place.

Until JJ spoke again, “if we’re always a family, how come you don’t live with us?”

And damn, their son really did have some hard-hitting questions that night.

#elliedina week #ellie x dina #fanfiction #better late than never eh?#super late but heck why not

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Note

So we all know some of jjs pike brothers have a thing for the reader what about Halloween for pike Jj and they aren’t official yet so the brothers are trying to do a couples costume with her to kinda get Jj to do one with her

okay i actually had a post about how pike jj and the reader did matching halloween costumes like a week ago but didn’t actually write about it, so i’ll do that here!

warnings: cursing, light editing

it wasn’t like you were trying to trick jj into matching with you, you were just trying to persuade him a little bit. the week before, you’d made jj watch back to the future with you because he’d never seen it, which was blasphemy in your mind because it was one of your favorites.

“hey, you should go as marty for halloween,” you suggested, trying to gauge his reaction before adding, “i’ll go as jennifer so you aren’t alone.”

he gave you a weird look, before shaking his head, “nah, i’ll probably just go as a surfer this year.”

“you did that last year,” you responded, trying to keep the whine out of your voice.

with a shrug, he told you, “it’s easy and won’t require me to buy anything.”

you huffed, “you’re no fun,” and immediately began trying to figure out a way to get him to do it anyway.

after venting your frustration to some of the guys who happened to be in the kitchen the next time you went over to wait for jj to get home, they had an idea. cody squeezed your shoulder, “we got you, just play along.” which was a little concerning because they were not the brightest, though well-intentioned.

jj came through the front door loudly and threw his booksack on the floor. he spotted you leaning against the counter and walked over to give you a kiss on the cheek. “afternoon,” he told you with a grin.

“i don’t get a greeting?” one of the guys asked with a pout.

“nah, i’m special,” you joked, crossing your arms out of nerves as you waited for whatever dumbass plan cody had to be set in motion.

you didn’t have to wait long, “hey,” cody started, nudging you, “got any big costume plans?”

“not really, why?” you asked, playing innocent.

cody winked, “wanna pair up, couples costume?”

jj tensed up next to you, and you shrugged, “i don’t know, what do you have in mind?”

“you can be my sexy nurse and i’ll be your patient.”

your mouth fell open at the same time jj’s did, but he managed to collect himself first to say, “abso-fucking-lutely not.”

cody smirked, “why not, maybank? she’s an adult who can absolutely wear what she wants, and if anyone bothers her, i’ll be there to kick their ass.”

which was startlingly supportive coming from cody, so you decided to play along, “huh, sexy nurse could be fun. let me get back to you, yeah?”

“absolutely, you have my number,” cody responded before grabbing a drink out of the fridge and leaving the room.

jj was still super tense next to you, jaw ticking a little as he stared at the stairs cody had just gone up. he jumped when you nudged him to ask, “something wrong, j?”

“no,” he lied, straight through his teeth.

tyler was the next one to give it a try. you and jj were sitting in his room, watching netflix, when he walked in, not even knocking. sitting next to you on the bed, he put his arm around you, casually nudging jj’s off in the process.

“what’s up?” you asked, biting back a smile at jj’s annoyed huff.

“thinking about halloween, you got a costume planned yet?”

you hummed, “not right now. cody offered but i’m not sure i’m going to take him up on it, still fielding other options.”

“for sure, for sure. how about i throw one in for you,” tyler offered.

“go for it,” you responded, turning to face him.

“okay, i was thinking, austin and sam from the cinderella story. we talked about that movie at the last party, remember?”

which you vaguely did, but you nodded like you for sure did, “yeah, that could actually be really fun!”

tyler beamed, “great, think on it and let me know, you know which room is mine right?”

“yeah.”

“cool, knock on the door when you’ve made up your mind.”

the whole conversation you could see jj’s face progressively getting redder out of the corner of your eye. he kind of looked like he was about to explode when tyler pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and left with a, “milady.”

it was silent for a few minutes after tyler left, jj’s arm having replaced his over your shoulders immediately. you decided to break it first, “you good, dude?”

“all good,” he practically growled out.

“you sure? because you don’t look good.”

“positive.”

it was a week and a half after tyler’s offer before something else finally happened. you were sitting at the kitchen table and jj was making macaroni for the two of you when his phone buzzed. he glanced over his shoulder at you, “can you check that for me?”

“i can,” you told him, not picking up the phone.

he sighed and rolled his eyes, “will you check that for me?”

“absolutely.”

it was a message saying he had a package delivered, so you got up and walked out to the door to bring it in for him. jj was pulling the pot off the burner when you brought it into the kitchen and set it on the counter.

“what is it?” you asked, intrigued.

jj didn’t answer and instead ripped the box open. you couldn’t stop the shit-eating grin when he pulled out an orange puffer vest.

“is that what i think it is?”

he grinned, “if i’m going to be marty, i gotta have the classic vest.”

you jumped into his arms with a cheer, “fuck yes! you’ll go with me?”

jj wrapped his arms around you tightly, “yep, better start putting your costume together.”

it took everything in you to not kiss him right then and there.

#frat!jj #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank request #pike!jj

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cobaltusami · 3 years

Text

Tropical Vacation pt. 4

Hey hi hello! I meant to post this earlier but my dumbass forgot to. There Is no tickling in this part but this Is the part where they meet!

Something important to note: I have not completed the second game, So this probably won't make sense because I've probably not seen some huge plot twist yet. I apologize. This Is happening In an alternate universe anyway so hopefully that doesn't take away from the story too much!

Characters In this part: All of class 78, Hajime, Fuyuhiko, Mahiru, Hiyoko, Ibuki, Nekomaru, Akane, Chiaki, Sonia, Nagito. (The rest of class 77 Is there but not mentioned by name.)

Word count: 2,247

Part 1: [Click or tap here!] Part 2: [Click or tap here!] Part 3: [Click or tap here!] Part 4: You are here.

Once they all assembled at the gym, Monokuma appeared on the stage.

“Thank you all for coming to my ted talk!” He greeted. “And for the splitting headache I now have thanks to you four over there.” He pointed to Mondo, Hiro, Taka and Sakura. Mondo and Hiro chuckled while Sakura blushed.

“I have gathered you all here for a very special surprise!”

“We know what you said in the announcement, can you just get on with it?” Leon rolled his eyes at the mismatched bear.

“Well, Someone’s pushy today. I guess my feng shui isn’t working as well as I’d hoped.” he sounded dejected. “Which Incidentally, Is the subject of today’s meeting!”

“Don’t tell me, You’re gonna throw more sand around?” Hina asked with a small giggle, nudging Sakura.

Sakura flinched hard from the contact, her nerves still on fire from earlier. “M-Monokuma… we are not interested In your decorating escapades.” she mumbled.

“I guess you’re right… It’s not nearly as interesting as watching you getting ti--”

“Sh-Shut up!” She stammered, blushing.

“What about your decorating, Monokuma?” Kyoko sighed, realizing this meeting may never end If she didn’t step In and get it back on track.

“Puhuhuhuhu…” Monokuma giggled. “See? Someone cares about--”

“Just get on with It.” Kyoko interrupted, quickly losing her patience.

“Fine, You’re all no fun…” The bear moped for a moment before clearing his throat. “I called you all here to tell you that I’ve redecorated again! Once you leave the Gym you should notice a whole new world out there…” He said ominously.

“This Is a waste of my time.” Byakuya huffed. “I’m going back to the library.”

“Oh but before you do that, I must warn you…” Monokuma sounded like he was grinning as he spoke. “There are other students out there, much different than the group you’re all used to.”

“D-Did you ge-get another p-p-pool floaty or some-something?” Toko rolled her eyes.

“Something like that.” He called vaguely after the students who were exiting the room.

But imagine their surprise when they opened the doors only to be met with bright sunlight, the sound of waves crashing, and seagulls cawing.

A/N I'm not sure how Monokuma Houdini'd this, he probably stole Usami's spare magic stick--

“W-What the!?” Byakuya jolted back with a surprised gasp.

“W-What happened to the school?!” Makoto stammered.

“Puhuhu… What do you think? After your lukewarm response before, I took your criticisms into account and redecorated! Pretty realistic huh?”

Hina, Kyoko and Makoto stepped out, looking around. “G-Guys? It’s actually real.” Hina stammered, shocked.

“No shit, How could Monokuma have faked it!?” Mondo retorted, walking out with them.

Hina scanned the area enthusiastically then squealed. “Sakura! Come out here! There’s a beach!” she announced as she bounced back in the doorway.

Sakura followed her best friend out again. “It’s… pretty.”

Leon, Hiro, Celeste, Sayaka, Taka and Chihiro all followed them out, looking around curiously.

Chihiro giggled happily. “It’s so nice here!” they beamed, twirling around once in the gentle breeze.

“Look at the water! It’s so blue!” Sayaka smiled.

Toko took one look at the water and began to back up nervously, she looked to Byakuya trying to gauge his reaction to all of this.

“This Is some kind of trick. I’m not falling for It.” Byakuya huffed irritably.

“I don’t know, It looks pretty real to me.” Hifumi commented as he stepped outside.

Hina looked to Toko and noticed how nervous she seemed. she smiled, reaching her hand out for the writer. “Come on Toko! Come with us. I won’t let anything happen to you!”

Toko blushed, stammering awkwardly. “I-I don’t ne-need your protection, M-Meathead!” She chided.

Most people would be offended by this, Hina knew by now that this was just how Toko was. She stepped back through the doors. “Come on Toko~ don’t you wanna just feel the fresh air for even a few seconds? It feels great out here!”

The writer did in fact, want to feel the fresh air. She looked to Byakuya silently for his opinion again.

“Do what you want, I certainly don’t want you In here.” He said coldly, crossing his arms.

She looked back at Hina and shakily took her hand, stepping outside with her.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join them?” Monokuma asked the Progeny.

“This Is some kind of Motive, and I’m not dumb enough to fall for it like they are.”

“Yeah no.” Mondo grabbed a hold of Byakuya’s arm, dragging him outside. “You aren’t staying where we can’t keep an eye on ya, We all agreed to stick together.” He muttered.

Toko actually smiled as she stood In the sunlight with Hina. “I-It does fe-feel really g-good out here…” she admitted.

“See? It’s not so scary.” Hina beamed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Sakura smiled at the two, glad they were getting along for the time being and she didn’t have to kick Toko’s ass for saying anything too off handed to the swimmer.

“L-Let go of me!” Byakuya growled, ripping away from the biker, as he turned around to go back inside the doors closed with Monokuma standing in front of them. “Open the doors. I’m going back inside.”

“No you aren’t.” Monokuma announced, All the students turned to him questioningly. “Consider this a school field trip! You’re going to be staying here for the next few days while I make actual changes to the school.”

“Stay where exactly? This Is just an island.” Makoto asked.

“I’m glad you asked, Unlucky one! Across this bridge Is a park, and through magical gate number one Is an island with a hotel. The hotel Is where you’re all set up to stay.” Monokuma explained. “But be caaaareful… There are other students on this island that aren’t as hospitable as you are. They’re cold blooded killers who’ve already had a few trials.”

Makoto felt his blood run cold as he looked to Kyoko for comfort, her face was it’s usual iron mask.

“I’d love to stay here and chat with you all, but your teacher should be here shortly to show you the way.” Monokuma sighed. “Enjoy yourselves! Try not to kill for at least a few hours, I have some surprises to prepare for when you get back!” with that he disappeared. Leaving behind the group of concerned students.

“H-He’s totally joking about the other students… right?” Hiro asked, nervously smiling.

“He has to be, There’s no way he can watch over us and a whole other class at the same time.” Makoto replied.

“I shouldn’t have listened to you!” Toko cried, pulling her hand away from Hina. “I-I should ha-have known y-you were m-m-making the wrong ch-choice!”

“Toko, Easy! It’s gonna be okay!” Hina tried to reassure the walking ball of anxiety. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, And I mean It!”

They didn’t have any more time to panic when Usami appeared. “Hello students!” She greeted cheerfully, the group quieted down and looked at the pink and white bunny in total confusion.

“Oh god, There’s more of ‘em?!” Mondo asked.

“M-More of them? You aren’t comparing me to that awful Monokuma, Are you?” Usami sobbed. “I would never do anything as vile as him!”

“Who are you?” Kyoko asked.

“My name Is Usami, I am your soft and squeezable teacher! It’s nice to meet you all!” She beamed. “I am very happy to have you all here!”

“Monokuma said there were other students on the island… Is that true?” Makoto asked.

“Yes, Ah but don’t worry! They aren’t at all as he says!” Usami quickly corrected. “They are wonderful kids! They’ve taken a stand against Monokuma by not participating In his horrible games…”

Makoto let out a small breath of relief. “We’re the same, We haven’t killed anyone either.” He informed the plushie.

Usami giggled happily. “Love, Love! That’s wonderful to hear! Come with me, I’ll take you to the others to get you all acquainted!” She announced as she began to walk towards the bridge.

The students reluctantly followed, not seeing much of a choice. As they made the trek to the other island Usami asked for all of their names, giving them each a compliment on how nice their name was.

It was such a stark contrast to what they were used to with Monokuma, which only made them more suspicious and uneasy about this whole thing.

They arrived at the front of the beach house, and they could hear yelling and laughing, mixed in with some shrieks of surprise coming from whatever was behind the house.

“It sounds like they’re out on the beach!” Usami observed, leading them around to the beach and sure enough, they were. They were having a water gun and balloon fight.

Hajime shrieked as he got pelted by three different people, turning away to protect his face with a laugh. When he opened his eyes he was looking at the other class and Usami.

The students abruptly stopped their shenanigans and looked to the group.

“Everyone, This Is the class Monokuma mentioned before!” Usami announced. “Come introduce yourselves!”

Ibuki was the first to step forward, her eyes wide in shock. “Sayaka??? Is that you??” she gasped.

Sayaka’s eyes also widened as she too stepped forward. “Ibuki? Ibuki Mioda??”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other in disbelief, but then they squealed and ran to hug each other. “Ibuki, I’m so happy to see you!”

“Ibuki Is happy to see you too!”

“Ibuki? You know her?” Hajime asked curiously.

“Yes! We were In the same music group before Ibuki left to pursue a solo career.” Ibuki explained, pulling away from the singer.

Leon eyed Nekomaru, shocked. “C-Coach Nekomaru?” He stammered.

Nekomaru blinked, seemingly his face clicked In his head. “LEON KUWATA!” He shouted. “Oh man, It’s been a while! C’mere you!”

Leon smiled nervously as he approached Nekomaru, being pulled into a powerful hug.

Hajime seemed a bit more at ease about the situation as Sonia was the next to step up. “Hello! My name Is Sonia Nevermind! It is wonderful to meet you all!” She greeted cheerfully.

“Whoa,” Akane looked at Sakura with stars in her eyes. “You look super strong!”

“Th-Thank you.” Sakura smiled a bit. “My name Is Sakura Ogami, What Is your name?”

“Oh! Right! I’m Akane Owari, Ultimate Gymnast.” She introduced herself. “Hey, Wanna fight??”

Nekomaru approached them, gently pulling Akane back. “Easy tiger, go introduce yourself to the rest of the class.”

She pouted as she did as he asked.

“Sorry about her, She’s really Into sparring.” Nekomaru laughed. “I’m Nekomaru Nidai! Ultimate team manager! You’re the Ultimate Martial artist, Yeah?”

Sakura was a bit caught off guard. “Yes, How did you…?”

“I’ve watched you fight.” He admitted with a chuckle.

Makoto stared at Nagito. Why did he look so familiar to him?

“Hi, I’m Nagito Komaeda! I’m the Ultimate Lucky student. Nice to meet you!” He introduced himself. Man, he even sounds familiar.

Makoto jumped In surprise. There could be two of the same ultimate?! Though he supposed they DID do this lottery before… “U-Uh, Hi! I’m Makoto Naegi. Ultimate Lucky Student.” He smiled sheepishly at the surprised look on Nagito’s face.

“Really?? Another Ultimate Lucky student? WOW! So my theory was correct.” Nagito said thoughtfully. “I’m really not an Ultimate after all!”

“W-What?” Makoto stuttered, taken off guard by how cheerful he seemed about this. “N-No uh, I was picked at random for a lottery. You’re probably the real--”

Chiaki grabbed Nagito by the arm and yanked him away to give him a lecture while Hajime and Fuyu took his spot. “Sorry about him, He’s on a kick about being trash.” He explained with a sigh.

“Man, and I thought Makoto had low self esteem…” Hina mumbled, giggling at the side eye she received from him.

“I’m Hajime Hinata, I don’t know what my Ultimate Is.” He offered his hand to shake.

“I’m Makoto Naegi. Nice to meet you!” He beamed, his eyes flickered to Fuyuhiko, who still looked a bit uneasy about this situation.

Hajime looked at the blond and gently nudged him. “Go on, It’s okay.”

Fuyu stepped forward and looked up at Makoto-- It’s not every day that someone has to look up at him so he was slightly amused. “My name Is Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, I’m the Ultimate Yakuza.” He introduced, stepping back. Hajime put his arm around Hiko’s shoulders and pulled him into his side to comfort him, sensing he was uneasy.

Mahiru, who had been scared initially, seemed much more lax now as she and Hiyoko introduced themselves to the group.

Once the rest of the group had been introduced, Usami turned to the students. “I should show you to the hotel so you can settle in your rooms!”

“Ibuki can do It!” Ibuki bounced excitedly.

“I will go too!” Sonia volunteered.

Usami giggled. “Very well! I’ll let you two show them. Their rooms have their names on the doors. I must go prepare something, but I will be back to check In on you!” She reassured, disappearing just as Monokuma does.

“Follllooow Ibuki!”

After getting settled In, the Hope’s peak students found that some of their stuff was already in their rooms, also the rooms were much nicer than their school dorms. It was definitely gonna take some time to get used to being able to see sunlight, but It was certainly going to be a nice change for a while.

Tomorrow they would be getting more acquainted with the students that inhabit the island.

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alagalaska · 4 years

Text

It’s Only Hair, Right?

Summary: A Billy Hargrove imagine based on my experience of having Alopecia.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem! Reader (first person narrative)

A/N: I was having a bad day and this is something that just came out. I understand this may not be for everyone but I feel Alopecia (hair loss) is something that a lot of people have but never talk about, so I still wanted to post this even if no one reads it. If you do read it, please let me know what you think! P.S. there's a little gift from me to you at the end ;)

Warnings: Hair loss and the issues that come with it. There will be swearing, talk of negative self-image, brief non-graphic mention of needles (for the purpose of steroid injections which are given to try and stimulate hair regrowth), angst, fluff and Billy being very impulsive.

Disclaimer: I acknowledge that not everyone will experience or be affected by Alopecia in the same ways, so please note that this is purely based on my own experience of having it. Please do not steal or copy my work in part or in whole.

Word count: 2,137

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

“Stupid, fucking…” I grumbled frustratedly, around a mouthful of bobby pins, adjusting the small floral scarf I’d put in my hair to try and cover the back of my head.

I had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for about fifteen minutes, attempting to put my hair up for work.

Billy came into the room, smiling that lopsided grin of his; swaggered up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. He dipped his head to kiss the side of my neck, blonde curls tickling my shoulder. He hummed against my skin as I continued jamming pins into my hair.

His eyes caught mine in the mirror, seemed to gauge my mood, then flicked up to the scarf in my hair.

“This is nice,” he said, tugging gently at the bow I’d tied clumsily at the front of the scarf.

“Don’t pull it, you’ll mess it up,” I snapped, jerking away from him. It came out a lot harsher than I’d meant it to.

He dropped his hand, frowning.

I sighed, placing the unused bobby pins down on the side of the sink, and turned to him.

“Sorry, I just can’t get it to sit right. It’s pissing me off,” I said, gesturing at the back of my head frustratedly.

He smirked at that.

“Never would have guessed,” he teased. His smile dropped again when he saw the obvious lack of amusement on my face.

I untied the scarf and started yanking it from my hair; grasping at the pins I had so carefully placed, removing them one by one. I scattered them carelessly onto the rim of the sink with the others. One slid into the basin, stopping at the edge of the plughole where it balanced precariously.

Billy’s hands came up to rest over mine, stilling them. He turned me to him.

“Hey,” he said. My eyes had fallen to the tiled floor, so he gently placed one hand under my chin, tilting my face until I was looking at him again. “You look beautiful.”

I considered his words for a moment.

“Well, I don’t feel it,” I said, pulling away from him.

Billy’s jaw tensed. He didn’t say anything.

“Don’t know why they insist on hair up anyway,” I grumbled, turning back to face the mirror again.

I turned my head to the side, taking in the state of my hair without the scarf covering it.

A large section behind my left ear was almost completely bald, save for a few strands here and there. My fingers poked at the skin, which felt smooth and waxy to the touch.

There was a large patch behind my right ear too, which extended round to the back of my head and one final area at the back, towards the middle, which was clearly visible with my hair up.

Unfortunately, with my work having a ‘hair up’ policy for female staff, it meant I couldn’t just hide it under the rest of my hair or throw on my favourite beanie hat, like I usually would when I wasn’t working.

It was getting harder and harder to disguise it, the more my hair fell out. The patches were gradually getting bigger and, according to my dermatologist, could get a whole lot worse before they started getting better.

I picked up the hand-held shaving mirror that was sat at the back of the sink and held it out behind me, angling it so that I could see the back of my head reflected in the larger mirror in front of me.

Billy leaned up against the wall, watching me with a crease in his brow. Chewed on the inside of his cheek as I inspected the patches of scalp.

“Any regrowth?” he eventually asked.

I sighed.

“No.” I tried not to sound too disappointed. It was probably too soon to tell anyway.

My last visit to the dermatologist had been a few days prior, for my final round of steroid injections. If it didn’t work this time, that was it; I’d just have to wait for the hair to grow back on it’s own, which could take anything up to two years. If it was even going to grow back at all, that is.

Billy had gone with me, of course. Had sat quietly in the corner, trying to maintain his supportive role as best he could, as he’d watched the discomfort on my face; powerless to help me. Had held me afterwards as I’d cried into the shoulder of his leather jacket.

My eyes were starting to sting now as I stared at the ugly patches of visible flesh.

I generally tried not to brood about it too often, but sometimes it was hard not to be outwardly fed up; especially after enduring the unpleasant ordeal that was having numerous injections straight to the scalp, only for them to not work.

Billy pushed away from the wall and stood behind me again. He prised the mirror from my hand.

“Come on, you better finish getting ready for work,” he said. He paused, then added, “Unless you wanna call in sick? We can order some takeout, watch a movie?”

The offer was tempting, but we really needed the money for rent; and although my pay was crap, the tips were definitely worth it.

“No, I should go,” I said regretfully. “Thanks though.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. Threw him a small smile, feeling bad for having been moody.

“I liked the scarf,” he said, gesturing to where I’d abandoned it. He smiled encouragingly, holding the mirror up at the back of my head. “I’ll hold this so you can see what you’re doing.”

It was easier to do this time, with Billy’s help. Only took me a couple more minutes to get the scarf positioned right and pinned in so that it was secure.

I smoothed my palm over the scarf, checking it one last time in the mirror. I turned to Billy, chewing my lip.

“What happens when it gets too bad to cover up?” I asked.

“I dunno, shave it off?” he answered, shrugging. He put his hands on my hips, pulled me in closer. Slid his hands into the back pockets of my work trousers. “You don’t need hair to be beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead then one to my lips; lingered there as he said, “Could shave the whole lot off and you’d still look smoking hot.”

I laughed, despite myself.

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say,” I retorted. I took hold of one of his perfect curls, gently teasing it out straight between my fingers and let it go. Watched it bounce.

“I’m serious,” he said, leaning back to look at me from arms’ length, with a frown. “It’s only hair, right?” He slowly cracked a smile, trying to encourage me to join in. When I didn’t, he quirked an eyebrow at me, “Right?” he prompted again.

I let out an exasperated sigh, rolled my eyes, but indulged him by replying anyway.

“Right.”

That had inadvertently become our motto regarding my hair. When it had originally started falling out, people would say that to me all the time, ‘It's only hair.’ As if that would make me feel better.

It used to really annoy me, but then Billy had started saying it as a joke, and it had kind of stuck. He insisted that if he said it enough times, I actually might start to believe it. Unfortunately, that theory still had yet to be proved.

“Ok, I gotta go or I’m gonna be late,” I said. I wandered through to the bedroom, Billy following behind me, and gathered up my purse and keys. “Bye,” I said, then gave him a kiss on the lips.

He watched me thoughtfully as I left.

------

When I got home from work, Billy was nowhere to be seen. Granted, it was late, but he normally never went to bed until I’d come back from my shift.

“Babe?” The living room was empty, the TV murmuring away to itself. I wandered over to it, turning it off.

That’s when I heard a faint buzzing sound. Followed it through the flat until I was standing outside of the bathroom door. I pushed my ear to the wood.

“Billy?” I asked, knocking on the door.

The buzzing cut off abruptly, followed by a short silence and then what sounded like something being knocked over. I heard Billy curse sharply, under his breath.

“Babe? What are you doing in there?” I went to open the door.

“Er, hang on a sec,” he said, then hurriedly added, “don’t come in.” I could hear him scrabbling to pick up whatever he’d dropped.

The buzzing started up again. I figured he must be trimming his pubes. No big deal. I’d seen him do that before, a bunch of times, so I didn’t get what all the fuss was about.

I tried the handle. It wasn’t locked.

“Why can’t I-?”

I froze in the doorway, the words dying in my throat.

Billy was stood, shirtless, in front of the bathroom mirror; an electric razor in his hand.

“Y/N,” he said, exasperated, “I told you not to come in. I’m not done yet, it was meant to be a surprise.”

Well, it certainly was just that.

“Oh my God, Billy,” I breathed, walking into the room.

My eyes fell to the basin at his hips, full of familiar dark blonde curls, lying limply against the white porcelain.

The remaining hair on his head was shaved short, save for a small section at the back, near his neck, which he’d obviously missed and the left side of his head, which he was in the process of shaving before I interrupted him.

I looked him over. Somehow, he still managed to take my breath away, even with a poorly shaved head.

He put the razor down on the edge of the sink. Rubbed his hand over the stubble on his head, surveying his handy work in the mirror.

“What d’you think?” He flashed me that smile of his, in the reflection. Faltered slightly when he saw the way my eyes were welling up. “You hate it?” he asked, sounding unsure; disappointed, even. He turned to me.

“No, of course I don’t hate it,” I said, sniffling. Attempted a smile.

“Then what’s wrong?” he asked. He put his hands on my upper arms, stroking them soothingly.

“It’s just... I feel like this is because of what I said earlier…” I sighed, knowing full well that he’d taken what I said to heart and that’s not what I had intended.

“Well, yeah, it is,” he said, shrugging. He looked like he was going to say something else but I cut in.

“I just don’t want you to regret the decision.”

He laughed.

“Bit late for that now,” he said jokingly. But I didn’t find it funny.

“This is a huge deal, Billy,” I continued, as if I hadn’t heard him. “You love your hair.”

He barely seemed to think about his response.

“Yeah, but I love you more,” he said easily.

I didn’t know what to say. My eyes were welling up again.

“I figured that if you did decide to shave your head, it might be easier if I shaved mine too,” he explained, still gently rubbing my arms. “And besides, no one’s even gonna notice your hair now, with all this going on,” he said, gesturing to his lack of hair.

I sputtered a laugh. That was true, it was a state.

“God Billy, I wish you’d just waited until I got home to start this,” I laughed again, wiping at my face with the sleeve of my work shirt.

“At least it got you laughing,” he said with a smile.

“Yeah, and now I’ll laugh every time I see you,” I joked, picking up the razor. “Let me try and fix this.”

I started carefully shaving the hair at the back of his head then continued the section at the side which he hadn’t finished.

When I was done, I stared into the sink, filled with his beautiful hair.

Billy noticed and turned to me.

“Hey, it’s only hair, right?” he said, placing a kiss on the end of my nose.

I hummed a laugh. Thought about it for a moment.

“Right,” I replied.

As Billy started cleaning up the remains of his mullet, I took off my head scarf, pulling it free of the pins. I folded the fabric in my hands and looked up at myself in the mirror. Suddenly, what I saw didn’t seem so bad.

Billy was watching me from behind.

I smiled back at my gorgeous boyfriend, and for the first time ever, I really did feel like maybe it was only hair.

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

For those of you that made it this far, here’s some Billy with his head shaved ;)

My taglist is always open, please let me know if you would like to be added!

133 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 5 years

Text

freedom of the press 04 | thomas jefferson

title: freedom of the press

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich --- hope i didnt miss anyone; lmk if you want to be added!!

words: 13.5k

warnings: this still doesn’t go past, like, pg-13, but careful around the end -- it isn’t quite sfw even tho its not rlly nsfw. also, neo-nazi mentions, the loml monica lewinsky mentions, bunny slippers & flaming hot cheetos (hope yall can handle it gettin SPICY 🔥)

desc: you’d just moved to d.c. full time, a promotion at your publication leading to a transfer to another district chapter, and you were more than thrilled to be there, more than ready to immerse yourself in the world of politics. what you weren’t ready for, though, was how the campaign trail you were following made your heart flutter and your stomach turn. you also hadn’t expected it to be so… gaudy? magenta? – or perhaps, though you wouldn’t hear of it, that wasn’t the campaign’s effect at all.

Y/N SPENT THE following days, the next weeks, focusing on herself. She was letting herself get distracted, and with that, distracted by precisely the person she was supposed to be focusing on. It felt ironic, really, but she wasn't amused.

She spent time tapping her sources from and around the campaign trail, trying to establish a connection with other politicians who had been identified as potential candidates for the election, trying to expand her network beyond her small corner of the policy scene. ("The policy scene" was much bigger than she'd thought.)

She reached out to think tanks, to analysts, economists -- she was getting a little off track, but basically, she talked to everyone with no link to the name "Jefferson," despite the precise nature of her assignment.

Her stab at freedom from the now-former Secretary of State was to little avail. While he was the foundation of his campaign, there was enough else going on surrounding the election that she could dance around confronting him.

Yet, not for as long as she'd have liked.

She was knee-deep into finding the perfect person to cold call at Brookings when the crucial blow came.

"Y/N!" Her boss's perpetually peppy voice rang through the hall toward her office, and our fatigued heroine looked up with a brow raised. Ashley stopped in the doorway, appearing elated. "Guess what?"

Her eyes flashed with crazed excitement, and Y/N almost didn't want to ask what. It felt very much like a trick question.

In response to Y/N's expectant stare, silent and unmoving, Ashley sighed and entered. "You should be a lot more excited when I come running down to your office with a 'guess what,' y'know."

She sighed. "Oh, no! I'm so sorry! What ever exciting news could I be missing out on at this very moment?" Her contrived enthusiasm reeked of sarcasm, but Ashley's spirits were too high to be quashed, and she only rolled her eyes in response.

"So, you've been covering the Jefferson campaign for months, right?" Apparently she was ignoring the less-than-thrilled response. Y/N nodded. "And you were out in front of it before anyone else was, right? You know more than anyone else about his platform and history."

Grudgingly, she nodded again. "I suppose so." She was equally unexcited to claim to know Thomas Jefferson's past better than anyone else.

"And, he's projected to be the Republican frontrunner."

"The debates haven't even started, everything could change in a night," Y/N pointed out. "You know that."

"You're right, the debates haven't started." Y/N was clearly missing something. Ashley seemed to be unreasonably thrilled about the lack of pre-existing clash between the candidates. She raised a brow, and Ashley appeared to be holding back a squeal with how she was grinning. "But, the debates are only a few days from now, so, I called in an old contact from NBC, and of course, they'd heard of you--" She paused for dramatic emphasis, but the anticipation wasn't exactly killing Y/N, "And... since the Washington Post is co-sponsoring the event, they want to have you as one of the moderators for the first round of debates!"

With that, Y/N was struck silent. "They...?" She could only gape for a moment, and Ashley nodded excitedly.

"Mm-hmm. It's against precedent, but since you've become the most prominent and consistent reporter covering Jefferson the past few months, they think your input would be invaluable."

"But what about my live commentary?" she asked, still dumbstruck. Everything in her was telling her this was a bad idea; she needed to protest her way out. "I won't be able to provide as good of coverage of the debates if I'm not taking notes and writing during them. It'll hurt my articles. This is too big of an event not to write for."

She knew she was rambling, but Ashley only let out a sigh, as though Y/N was being absolutely ridiculous. "Oh, come on. Your commentary's more valuable on the spot if it can be used to grill the candidates and get Jefferson to talk."

"'Get Jefferson to talk'? This is a debate, not an interrogation." She blinked, visibly put-off. "Besides, it's not like I'd be controlling the floor. I wouldn't be doing much good anyway, and it really wouldn't get me much notice." She paused a moment, trying to gauge Ashley's reaction, and swallowed. "I think I should stick to my own territory."

"Y/N." Her tone was firm now. "This is the biggest opportunity you're going to get for people to notice you as a political journalist. It wasn't easy to get you this position, and besides, you're perfectly equipped for it. You've spent hundreds of hours by now researching the issues, contacting think tanks for different perspectives on them, contrasting Jefferson with the other candidates, and..." She took a thoughtful pause. "And I can't even scratch the surface of what you've been spending all this time on. If anyone should be moderating, it should be you. This isn't the time for cold feet."

Ashley had begun monologuing, and Y/N knew right there that there was no getting out of this job. It's not about getting cold feet, though, Y/N thought, I can do it, easily. What Ashley didn't know, though, was that there was more there.

The growing pause following her boss's speech was heavy with expectation, and finally, Y/N sighed, knowing she didn't actually have a choice in the matter if she cared to keep her job.

"Fine. Should I book myself a hotel in Detroit?"

"Don't bother. It'll come out of company funds; it's the least we can do."

She sighed, turning back to her computer, closing the tab she'd just opened. "Michigan, here I come."

_______________

THAT CONVERSATION HAD taken place Monday, and, as Y/N later realized, the first round of debates were that Wednesday, so she had approximately 48 hours to pack, fly, and get situated in Detroit. That evening was a whirlwind -- Ashley texted her that the flight the WaPo had booked her left at 10:00 on Tuesday morning, she immediately began her frenzied packing. Which, in turn, brings us once again to the apartment, filled with Y/N's anguish, the hair she was tearing out with stress, and clothing strewn over the carpet's full surface area.

"What do I wear, Ang? I'm gonna be on national TV, I need to look good but so, so, so professional," she wailed, looking up at her friend who was perched on the edge of her bed. Angelica gave her a sympathetic look.

"You're overthinking it, honey," she said, "No one's worried with what you're wearing, alright? It's what you say, not what you look like."

"But I'm..." She sighed, arms going slack along with the three different dresses she'd been holding up to the light, shoulders slumping. "I dunno, it's just the first time I'm gonna be that clearly in the public eye. When I'm writing I can just hide behind the words."

"The time for hiding's over." Angelica pushed herself off the edge of the bed, joining Y/N in the garment tsunami that threatened to claim her furniture. "You got the spot with the debates because people wanna hear from you, so pick an outfit. Doesn't matter which."

"But it does." Y/N looked over at her weakly, everything in her expression reading dejected, from her furrowed brow to her little pout. Angelica gave her a pointed look, and she huffed. "I just... It's not only the public, y'know? I'm also up with all the famous newscasters and the fucking Republicans, for God's sake."

"Since when do you care what Republicans think of you?"

"I..." She hesitated, considering herself. Angelica made a good point -- since when did she care? "I don't, really. I just don't want to look bad on national TV on my first gig where I'm... visible."

She pursed her lips, praying the issue wouldn't be pushed further.

Finally, Angelica huffed, beginning to pick through the pile of Y/N's clothes, seemingly resigned to the angst that deciding one outfit had apparently proved to be. With a sigh, Y/N slumped against the footboard of her bed, her dejected stare meeting the multicolored flood piling around her ankles. She carded a hand through her now-disheveled hair as she checked her phone, unable to stifle a grin at her Twitter notifications coming from all different corners of the political compass -- not to mention, now, John Adams. Her recent article on Jefferson's voting history was blowing up.

She began to respond to a tweet, nails tapping frantically against her phone screen, and though she couldn't see it, Angelica raised an eyebrow.

She let out a soft giggle as she read another response to her post: this time, the successive Secretary of State, his voice being behind her loud and clear. The feedback on her writing was only making her progressively giddy. Her smile curled with self-content, though, as she saw James Madison's message about her post, sent directly to her. Angelica raised another eyebrow.

"Y/N?" Angelica's tone bordered on cagey as it cut through Y/N's laser focus. She looked up, eyes wide. "The concerns about your outfit wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the Jefferson campaign, right?"

"Well, of course they do." She blinked, unable to place the intent behind the skepticism heavy in Angelica's words. "It's the only reason I have this gig, anyway."

Angelica pursed her lips; apparently, that hadn't been quite what she was asking. "Would it have anything to do with a specific person from the Jefferson campaign?"

Y/N paled. All-too-vivid memories of the state dinner that was now months past fought their way to the forefront of her mind -- her attempts to curb them hadn't been in vain till Angelica popped the question. "I'm sorry?"

The pause that followed as Angelica examined Y/N's look of near-panic was anything but silent, both their trains of thought threatening to derail themselves with conjecture. Angelica took in a shuddering breath.

"I just mean..." Y/N could hardly bear to meet Angelica's wary gaze. "D'you have a thing for James Madison?"

The next beat that passed was simply stunned. Y/N could hardly conceal her laughter in a huff; she had to swallow her amusement, every nerve in her body immediately relaxing.

"What did you just ask me?" She shook her head, small grin breaking out across her lips as her shoulders slumped. Angelica didn't look so sure. "I am not lusting over James Madison, Ang. He's literally married."

"Marriage isn't forever, babes." She pinned her with a skeptical stare, to which Y/N could only laugh.

"I swear to you, Angelica. You will at no point see me trying to jump James Madison's bones."

"So why'd you react how you did when I asked you about the Jefferson campaign, hm?" Angelica folded her arms, plainly unconvinced, and Y/N's breath caught. She'd supposed she was off the hook.

"What do you mean?" Y/N wished the question hadn't come out so breathily.

"Y/N," Angelica started, exasperated, "You've been messaging Madison on Twitter. You've met him multiple times and have spent your fair share of hours detailing to me each of the times you've met. You were just giggling at something he sent you." She was fully deadpan by then. "You don't need to hide it, I just want you to talk to me 'bout it."

"I promise, it's not that I'm in love with Madison." Y/N's smile as she returned to packing was meant to have been placating, but functioned as anything but. She needed to get back to packing before Angelica could press the matter. "Blue or green dress?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"I'm not, but I'm gonna be on a plane in twelve hours!" she said, "I need to finish packing."

"So there's no ulterior motive to how you're approaching the Jefferson campaign?"

For a moment just long enough to evoke doubt, Y/N paused. She wasn't inclined to reminisce on the last time she'd actually talked to anyone from the Jefferson campaign, but her psyche had other priorities. A nearly undetectable chill ran down her spine -- she could still feel his heavy hands trailing down to her hips, hot breath brushing over her cheek; she could even feel the sculpt and contour of his body as it pressed against hers, muscles rippling under his stiff button-down. Her skin burned still where rough calluses had grazed her neck.

"There's no ulterior motive, Ang." She wanted her words to be true, fighting back a shudder as she bottled up the memory. "I swear."

Angelica didn't look convinced.

________________

ABOUT TEN HOURS, a mildly annoying trip through TSA (the Post had paid for her pre-check, otherwise she'd have been less forgiving of the experience -- and the line), and two hours on a plane later, she rolled into her hotel lobby in Michigan, small suitcase dragging behind her. She knew she wasn't exactly a sight to see, just off a plane at noon in her socks and sandals, her oversized sweater. She certainly wasn't feeling as high-end as her hotel appeared to be.

The high ceilings, crown molding, and arched entryways all reeked of wealth, not to mention that the space was crawling with men and women in sharp suits, appearing as though they were on the verge of being willing to cut anyone who held them up for a moment too long. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one Birkenstock to the other, waiting for the manager to return to the front desk so that she could check in. As she warily eyed the man marching through with a clipboard, aggression in each step, she had to wonder why the Washington Post had decided to drop here there, of all places.

She would've loved to disappear into her sweater, at that moment.

The manager returned to her position, looking just as sleek and professional as everyone else there, and Y/N's appearance seemed to give her pause. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, yes, I'm here to check into my hotel room for the next three nights." She gave the manager her warmest smile in an effort to diffuse some of her tense nature, but it was to no avail. "I'm here with the Washington Post, but I think it should be under the name L/N?"

Y/N waited a moment, trying to roll some of her post-travel soreness out of her shoulders as the manager typed away at the computer before her. She creased her brow, frowning for a moment. "Y/N?"

"That's me," she said, enthusiasm weak in her voice.

"Alright, you're up in room 569, so let me get you your key." She paused, rooting through drawers as her coworker appeared next to her, apparently taking a post at the next laptop over. She looked back up. "Alright, you should be all set," -- she slid the keys across the counter to Y/N -- "but it's still early, and I'm not sure your room's been checked out of quite yet. Excuse me for a moment to go see about that."

Before Y/N could say another word, she was gone, and Y/N let out a heavy sigh. It'd been a long 12 hours, and all she wanted was a proper bed and a nap. It seemed rest wasn't what the universe had in mind for her, though.

She began checking her Twitter while she stood in wait, paying no mind to the energetic bustle of who she'd worked out to be politicians and the like, given the snippets of conversation she'd picked up standing there; however, tuning out became significantly more difficult when a familiar voice sounded next to her.

"Yes, only the next three nights. The room is registered for the surname 'Madison'." If she couldn't guess from his voice, his words were a dead giveaway. She looked up, and sure enough, there was the man himself. Well, shit.

Not only was she painfully opposed to having to interact with him in her near-pajamas and slipper socks, feeling like the biggest mess she'd ever been, but she also knew that where he was, Jefferson wasn't far behind.

She immediately busied herself with something, anything on her phone, facing down and away from him in the hope that he wouldn't notice her. She'd just pulled up a scintillating article on diabetes in labradors, when--

"Y/N?" The man at the desk helping him had disappeared when she reluctantly turned to face him -- busying himself with something other than helping protect her from social interaction, apparently. James, however, looked all but amused.

"Hey, James." She did her best to return the positive sentiment he perpetually seemed to give off, but she knew it came out weaker than intended. "Should I assume I know what brings you here?"

"Should I assume that it'd be the same thing that brought you here?" He quirked an eyebrow, unable to resist eyeing her outfit. She sighed.

"That might be fair," she conceded, small smile resting on her lips. "Is the campaign all ready for the first round of debates?"

He laughed; not a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh, as though he couldn't believe the question. "Something like that. We've prepared Thomas as many talking points as we could think he might need, but I'm worried the moderators--" He gave her a pointed look, wearing a knowing smile, "--may end up grilling him regardless."

A wry smile crept onto Y/N's face. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Word travels fast, especially from the Washington Post's Twitter account."

"You really are always one step ahead, hm?"

"You're the one with the questions, last I checked."

"Well, I'm sure your campaign will be thrilled to hear them -- following you is why I got the gig, anyway." She only shrugged, despite the self-content etched into her grin.

"Oh, really?" Amusement was deep-set in his smile.

She nodded. "I'm forever grateful."

"Grateful enough to go easy on Thomas?"

"Not quite," she laughed, "When following his campaign makes me my first million, then we'll talk."

"Sounds like we'll have to step it up, then."

"Running on a deadline, James," she warned him in a singsong voice, folding her arms.

"We'll win you over by the end." He grinned, turning back to the woman at the desk, handing her his credit card, and shot Y/N a sly glance. "Thomas has always loved a challenge."

Her stomach turned at his words for reasons she couldn't explain, amused smile faltering for only a moment as James slid his card back into his wallet and tucked it into his coat pocket. James raised an eyebrow at her silence, her moment of hesitation.

To her delight, that was the moment the concierge returned, wearing a wide (and contrived, but that was how customer service was) smile, stepping back up to the desktop Y/N stood before.

"Alright, your room should be all set, Ms. L/N." She returned to quickly tapping at the keyboard, before pulling out a number of brochures. "These are for room service and the various hotel amenities. Our pool is on the second floor, gym is on the third along with the spa, meeting rooms are on the fourth, and the business office is on the fifth, fully equipped with desks and printers." She hesitated, glancing with disdain down at Y/N's choice of travel outfit. "Are... you here on business? Or... ?"

As she trailed off, Y/N sighed, returning the less-than-candid customer service smile. "Yes, I am, actually. Thanks so much for everything."

She nodded. "Alright! Don't hesitate to come let us know if there's anything else you need. There will always be someone here to help you."

"Perfect." She turned back to James as she folded up the brochures, shoving them into the side pocket of her purse. "Well, sounds like I'll be seeing you around, then."

"Thomas and I look forward to it."

Then, the automatic doors of the lobby slid open, and a rush of cold air, as well as a grand entourage, made their way in, catching both of their attention. "Well, speak of the devil."

At that, Y/N realized exactly why there was such a crowd, and it became immediately clear why the Washington Post had chosen that hotel to set her down in, among the countless in the area. Thomas Jefferson had just entered, along with a bustling crowd of Secret Service and reporters, all orbiting him like he was the sun. He wore a broad grin, laughing and shaking hands, and Y/N stared for decidedly a moment too long, longer yet than James had. Her breath caught as Thomas looked over at her, and she found herself frozen, rooted to the spot, his gaze locked on hers.

Thomas, too, was stunned when she caught his eye. His pause was minuscule enough to be unnoticeable, hardly a fleeting glance that even Y/N didn't think anything of, but his self-consciousness couldn't let it go in that moment. His smile faltered for a moment, softening to become small, apologetic, and certainly more sheepish than it'd ever been, all the teasing self-content drained out of it. For the first time, she returned the smile -- tense, nervous, but real.

The flash of a camera broke their gaze, and the moment ended as quickly as it came.

_______________

Y/N CRASHED ALMOST immediately into her hotel bed upon reaching her room; she'd had less sleep than she'd have liked during the past thirty-six hours, anxiety keeping her awake. She was shaken from her long-overdue nap, though, by her phone buzzing angrily next to her. She groaned as she recognized the number as belonging to Ashley, her boss, and declined almost immediately.

After that, though, despite her best efforts, her nap seemed to have ended, and much to her dismay. She made the mistake of instead opening her email, then, deciding productivity was the obvious cure for sleeplessness -- until she opened her most recent email from Ashley. (The subject line read 'IMPORTANT, IMMEDIATE, AND URGENT.' Got any synonyms for 'redundant'?)

The oversized, highlighted body text blared at her to the point where her eyes began to water, still adjusting to the light and certainly not ready to be staring directly into all the light of the sun her boss had managed to stuff into a single communication.

There's no reason to use font size 25, she thought, rather irked, and highlighting every word in bright yellow goes entirely against the point of highlighting.

She could only bring herself to skim the message, but when she did, she groaned at its contents, falling back onto her hotel bed in annoyance. Thomas Jefferson was having another campaign rally, apparently, to garner support going into the debates. And she was being prodded to attend.

It was expected to be a small ordeal; the venue was modest, and around 100 people would be in attendance, maximum. So, she went. Grudgingly, with a full 30 oz cup of coffee, and in jeans and a tank top, but she went.

She showed up just over 20 minutes before the event -- a town hall on his policy, as it turned out. She felt a bit out of place, the look she was rocking from her hiking boots to her disheveled post-nap bun not exactly screaming 'distinguished professional,' but she liked to think throwing a blazer atop the whole look saved it.

The venue was small, homey -- she'd read that it was generally used as a comedy club, but that the space could be rented out (obviously). Y/N figured the best use of her time there was to get to know Jefferson's base of voters. Who were they? What did they care about? And, most importantly, how long could they keep her occupied so she never actually had to speak with Jefferson?

The first person she met, though, wasn't exactly a supporter.

She'd tucked herself into a back corner as everyone swarmed Jefferson, who was busy giving his opening remarks, but she was content just to record them, to reserve judgment for the time being (verbally, at least). She had the audio being taped, all but absentmindedly taking notes for herself for the debates. Yet, there wasn't much substance in most of what he was saying.

"This seat taken?"

She looked up with her eyebrows raised, surprised to have been approached. What met her was the smiling face of a vaguely-familiar Democratic reporter, and eyebrow cocked in question.

"I... No! No, please sit." She smiled, motioned to the metal folding chair beside her. "We've met before, right? Ben Arnold, New York Times?"

"That's me. And it's Y/N, yeah?" He pulled out the chair, swinging a leg around it and resting his forearms on his thighs as he looked to her. "You're from the Washington Post, the one tracking Jefferson."

She sighed. "That seems to be everyone's first reaction to meeting me, hm? Jefferson's media adversary?" Her tone was joking, but there was a certain bitterness in them at her career now being irreparably tied to Secretary Jefferson. She hoped Ben didn't take it personally. "Yeah, you've got the right girl, though."

"To be fair, you've become famous for digging up info on him that no one else seems to have." He shrugged. "I've read some of your recent stuff, since we're following the same campaign; hope you know you're famous in your own right, even if it is tied to him." He nodded toward the stage with that, just as applause broke out and Jefferson began taking questions from the crowd.

She chuckled, though it was all but mirthless. "Thanks, but I'm not so sure about that. Everyone loves gossip, and they only know me because they think I'm here to dish out the dirt on Jefferson."

"Now, that's not true." She raised a brow, and he grinned. "They follow you because you knowledgeably and eloquently dish out the dirt on Jefferson."

"Oh, that's so different." She rolled her eyes, but couldn't help her laugh at his words.

"It's true!" he protested. "C'mon, there's a reason the public has latched onto your coverage and not mine."

"I dunno about that." She pursed her lips, stifling her small smile. "I've read your writing. It's really good."

"Aw, you've looked up my writing? I'm flattered." He appeared touched, though mockingly, placing a hand on his heart and plastering on an exaggerated pout, causing her to laugh.

"Well, you did give me your business card."

He sighed, nodded sagely. "Ah yes, I suppose the media circus is easily Google-able, huh?"

"What can I say, clowns recognize clowns." Her gaze drifted back toward the stage with this, turning toward Jefferson as she cast Ben a sidelong glance. The corners of her lips quirked up. "And we are all caught in this circus, too." The pointed look she gave Jefferson at that was entirely devoid of subtlety, and Ben laughed.

"Are you claiming Jefferson as part of our circus? A bold move, Y/N."

"Good point, good point." She leaned back in her chair with a grin. "So what are we, then? Consumers taking advantage of free entertainment?"

"I dunno, we're making money off this circus." He pursed his lips. "Shit, what d'you call the people who like, run the circus?"

Her eyes widened in amusement as she looked back over at him. "What, we're the ringmasters?"

"Yeah, yeah, exactly!" She couldn't keep herself from laughing at that, the idea of Jefferson as a circus freak or a traveling sideshow too comical to entertain. He cracked a grin as well, unable to take himself seriously. "C'mon, hear me out -- he's up there playing the fool, and we're making the big bucks off of it, hm?"

"Fair enough," she conceded, grin now chronic and apparently contagious. "Anyway, what're you here for? Just general info from the town hall, or looking for something specific?"

"Well, I figured this was my chance to question Jefferson before the debates, y'know?" He nudged Y/N at that. "Or can I just pass my questions off to you for tomorrow, since I've heard you're moderating now?"

She sighed. "Word really does travel fast when Jefferson's name is attached, huh?"

"Or it's because your name's attached." She gave him a skeptical look, and he held up his hands defensively. "I'm serious! People care about what you have to say now, y'know? Given, it is about his campaign, but really, it's your take on the next election that they want -- it's no longer just about him."

Y/N had to pretend her chest wasn't swelling with pride at that. Perhaps he was just feeding her ego, talking her up because he wanted to be able to use her for sources, but it was nice to hear regardless of the motive behind it. Her small smile grew. "Well, thanks, I guess. I'll certainly take it."

"You should." He looked like he was about to continue, but his following sentence was broken off by a sudden uproar of excitement. Hollers, cheers, and applause sounded loudly from the center of the room, and they both looked over to see Jefferson exiting the podium, moving down to begin talking to the voters there to see him, and Y/N sighed.

"Guess we'd better get a move on if we want anything out of this event."

"I suppose so." He huffed as he lifted himself out of his chair, and Y/N immediately followed suit, tucking her laptop into her bag. "You headed to talk to Jefferson?"

"Nah, actually." Her gaze darted through the room as she tried to find where to begin. "Just tryna find out what his supporters care about for the election. Needa know what points I need to drive home tomorrow at the debate." He nodded, and she cocked an eyebrow. "Care to join me?"

"Think I'll have to take a rain check, unfortunately. My editor wants direct quotes from Jefferson, and this is most of my window of opportunity." He glanced over at her with a small grin as they walked together toward the center of the room. "Come find me if you get sick of the Republicans, though. I'd be more than happy to abandon Jefferson for a cup of coffee at the place around the corner."

He winked before he made off toward where Jefferson stood, and Y/N was left stunned a moment. Shit, was he hitting on her? She couldn't help it as her eyes raked over his retreating form, biting her lip as she decided that she certainly wouldn't have minded if he was. After all, even the clowns need company in the media circus.

She didn't let herself dwell, though, but instead fixed her focus on the task at hand. She floated throughout the room for the next hour or two, meeting Ben's eye in passing here and there, receiving a wry grin. A few trends emerged from Jefferson's supporters, and they were fairly generic. Russia, China, healthcare, the crushing weight of existence and the feeling that they were running out of time, fear of the impending race war, healthcare -- y'know, the usual.

(Perhaps she'd spoken to one too many alt-righters. The fact that they were at the Jefferson town hall spoke volumes.)

A few hours deep, she checked her watch, concerned about how long this would go on, leafed through her notes trying to determine whether she had enough to just jump ship, to climb into her hotel bed, order room service, and take her pants off. She glanced back up at Jefferson warily.

Her gaze traveled lazily around the room as she decided talking to one or two more people wouldn't kill her, wincing internally even as she made the decision. She braced herself for just a few more minutes of crazy.

"Y/N!"

Oh, the voice that came from her left was melodic, sounded of angels singing, of her walking miracle saving her from the political shitshow, and she turned with a smile. Walking toward her brightly was Dolley Madison, and her brows shot up as she reached her.

"Hey, Dolley, what's up?"

"Not much." She pulled Y/N for an unexpected hug, grinning as she pulled back to look at her from arm's length. Her hands still rested on Y/N's shoulders. "Fancy meeting you here, though. What are the odds?"

"Oh, so low. Especially considering my job and your marriage, who knew we'd both end up at Jefferson's town hall?" Her tone was playful as Dolley rolled her eyes.

"Oh, don't gimme that. I'm just glad to see you."

Y/N laughed as Dolley finally pulled back, settling beside her. "Jesus; tell me about it. D'you know how many crazy voters I've had to pretend were completely normal in the past few hours. Even just your sanity is a breath of fresh air."

"Yeah, the American voter." Her smile was amused as she eyed the crowd. "Really gives you hope for the future of our country, hm?"

"Of course." Y/N laughed, tucking a hair behind her ears. "Comforting to know these are the people who determine our president for the next four years."

"I'm sure." Dolley glanced back up toward where Jefferson stood, James apparently now beside him making his way through the crowd. "Though, I do find a bit of comfort in the idea of Thomas being the one behind the wheel for the next four years."

"That makes one of us." Though Y/N's tone was joking, her words were dead serious, and transparently so. Dolley grinned as she caught her eye.

"Yeah?"

"I might be just a little bit biased." Y/N shrugged. "To be fair, I've spent the past four months digging up all the dirt there is on him, and reviving any and all skeletons in his many, many closets."

"Yeah, I gotcha. I keep up with your articles." Dolley winked, and Y/N could feel herself flush. The fact that Dolley Madison actively kept tabs on her writing felt like quite the honor. "Didn't think any of it was all that damning, though, to be honest."

"No, I agree with you." Y/N nodded reasonably, eyes fixed on Jefferson as he moved fluidly through the room, weaving between people and families, shaking hands, taking selfies. "And I'm glad it comes off that way, too. I try to keep the tone of my writing neutral, but as a journalist, I have to look at everything with a critical eye, y'know?"

"I've gotcha. I may be biased too, considering my husband is probably gonna be his running mate." Dolley grinned as she caught James's eye and waved to him. He was at the opposite end of the room, but he began walking toward them almost immediately.

"James may be what saves the ticket in my eyes, to be honest." Y/N returned the smile as he neared them, and turned to Dolley. "If not, though, is it too late to take you up on covering my therapy costs?"

She laughed, squeezing Y/N's forearm lightly. "I'll just have to hope James helps keep your sanity these next few months."

"What's that about Y/N's sanity?" James furrowed his brow as he reached them, a small smile resting on his lips, but his gaze full of concern.

The two women shared an entertained look before Y/N turned to James. "Just that when I lose it, the two of you had better find me a comfy asylum."

James's visible confusion deepened as Dolley's grin grew. "Don't worry about it, love. We were just discussing Y/N's writing about the campaign."

"Ah, so that's why you're losing your sanity?" He raised an eyebrow, and Y/N nodded in confirmation. "Then no worries, we'll find you the best therapist money can buy."

She let out a soft 'aw,' placing her hand over her heart. "When you do, I'll be sure to write an exposé on the generosity of the Madisons. You'd better be honored when I cross party lines for you two."

James grinned. "Abandoning partisanship for the Jefferson campaign? Never thought I'd see the day."

"You won't. It'll all be for Dolley." Y/N shot her a wink. "I'll throw all my weight behind Jefferson when Hell freezes over."

"You do so much for me," Dolley sighed dramatically, wiping away an imaginary tear as she squeezed Y/N's hand, pretending to be moved by her words. Meanwhile, James folded his arms, wearing a small smile.

"He'll see to it that that's sooner than you think."

________________

SHE ABANDONED JEFFERSON'S rally not long after, having no desire to breathe any more air that reeked so heavily of contrived charisma and shitty cologne, but having all the desire in the world to snuggle into her warm pajamas and pop open a bottle of hotel wine. After all, the debates didn't start for nearly 24 more hours.

She was about to pick up her nap from earlier right where it'd left off, but had first to piece together what she'd taken away from the rally and forward it over to Ashley. Not to mention the unfortunately necessary hours of preparation between her and the debates. She couldn't mess up her first run on TV. It was two hours and half a bottle of wine later that she sent off the culmination of her notes and recordings from the afternoon, and by the time Ashley emailed her back, it was nearly eight PM. After that, she resolved to spend no more than two hours writing and revising her questions for the following evening.

She groaned at the fourth email from Ashley -- she had too much criticism, but not nearly enough suggestion. If all my ideas are bad, Y/N thought, frustrated, why don't you have any better ones? After shooting her a response, she decided to take a well-deserved break.

At this point in the night, shame was a non-factor in her decisions, and she was far beyond caring if anyone down in the lobby was going to judge her tank top or bunny slippers. She just wanted whatever candy went best with shitty, five-dollar, red wine, and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, and she knew the hotel's food kiosk was the most convenient place to find both.

"Wait, hold the elevator!" She only really kicked into gear when turned the corner on her floor to see the elevator's doors about to close, and she really didn't have the patience left to wait for the next one down, let alone actually take the stairs. To her delight, a hand darted out against the door at her words, and they bounced back open. She breathed a sigh of relief as she finally reached them, ready to sing her mystery savior's praises -- that is, until she saw who was standing in the back of the elevator, and her eyes widened; she'd be lying if she said she didn't seriously consider braving five flights of stairs just to reach the ground floor undisturbed.

"Oh, I-- Y/N..." Jefferson's voice trailed off, surprised, as she stepped hesitantly into the elevator, keeping her distance from him even in the small space. "Hey."

"Secretary Jefferson." She only acknowledged him, not meeting his eyes as the elevator doors finally closed. He glanced over at her with an eyebrow raised at that, though, almost surprised that 'Thomas' had somehow reverted to 'Secretary Jefferson' in just the past few weeks, but he couldn't pretend he didn't know why -- that was why he didn't say a word about it, especially since they both knew, and both wanted to deny, that they couldn't help but still think about the last time they'd met. The tension was heavy in the growing silence.

She could feel his gaze over her shoulder, could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she was determined not to catch his eye, looking instead firmly down to her phone screen, responding to Angelica and Alex's texts from earlier in the day (keeping her brightness down, though, so he couldn't see those, either). She swallowed thickly as he looked back up, biting her lip as she glanced over at him. She looked back down for a moment, anxious in the deafening silence, eyes unfocused but toward her phone screen, but she figured she was safe to sneak another glance at him -- apparently, he'd made the same calculation.

She froze as their eyes met, breath catching in the back of her throat and heat rushing to her face, and he only smiled, waiting to see if she would make the next move. She was determined to ignore him, but it appeared as though she'd been caught. He held her gaze a moment as the elevator descended; it appeared she wouldn't be the first to speak.

She bit her lip, looking up at him as his eyes traveled down her form, grin widening as he caught sight of her pajama pants and slippers, and he raised a teasing brow. "Harry Potter? Really?"

She glanced self-consciously down at her Deathly Hallows pants, her face growing hotter by the second, and she looked back up at him weakly. "They're good books, okay?" she said, tone defensive as she folded her arms, fixed her gaze back on the elevator doors before them, and he chuckled.

"You won't hear me arguin' with that." He had to choke back another laugh as she rolled her eyes, letting out a nearly-inaudible huff. "Aw, c'mon, I'm just teasin'."

She scowled as she looked up at him, feeling more-than-flustered and far from entertained. "What do you want from me, Jefferson?"

He quirked up a brow at her. "Really?" He paused, seemingly in disbelief, and she shook her head blankly at him, waiting for him to continue. "We just never gonna talk about that state dinner, then?"

Her face was now burning; she couldn't meet his eye. He'd finally pointed out the elephant in the room, and for once in her career, it didn't happen to be the one that belonged to the GOP. Just the one that had decided to sit directly on her ego and crush her spirit. "I certainly wasn't planning on bringing it up."

He sighed. "C'mon, Y/N." She didn't look up. "Alright, fine, pretend it didn't happen. But I just wanted to say that--"

That was the exact moment the elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, catching both of their attention immediately. He cut himself off as the doors began to open. As they caught sight of the numerous people standing before them in the lobby, waiting to get onto the elevator, he glanced back down at her to find her looking up at him, biting her lip but her expression unreadable.

"Some other time, Secretary Jefferson."

She exited the elevator without another word, and he did the same, although slow to follow suit. He didn't continue after her; he couldn't see the point. There was no way he'd be able to have that conversation with her in a lobby full of politicians, but his stare was still attached to her as she left. He really didn't know what to make of her -- but he intended to figure it out.

________________

THE NEXT EVENING was the first night of the debates. To be quite candid, to Y/N, nearly the entire night was a blur. She'd gotten ready with a series of emails to her boss and with Angelica on Facetime, helping her strike the perfect balance of femininity and professionalism (it'd proved to be a tough line to walk), and arrived at the venue hours early as per her official instruction. She steeled herself for the ordeal, determined to ignore any lingering tension between her and Jefferson. She had a job to do there, and she intended to do it right. After the debate, once she began to remove her microphone and slowly make her way out, she avoided him at all costs -- even if the confrontation was inevitable, with the unfortunately large overlap between their lives, it was neither the time nor the place, and she intended to put it off as long as possible.

Chatter filled the room behind her. Everyone who had shown up to watch the debates live was now slowly filing out, apart from groups here and there of stragglers or of people who wanted to approach the candidates afterward. She handed her microphone off to a tech intern with a warm smile and a 'thank you,' collecting her notes before she went backstage to retrieve her coat. (Michigan winters, she'd learned, were brutal.)

She shuffled everything back into her folder, glancing at the crowd behind her, when she caught sight of a familiar face. She furrowed her brow and squinted. She paused, considering whether to go down to greet him -- she hardly knew him, after all -- but he beat her to the punch. He waved, beckoned her over when he caught her eye, and warily, she obliged.

"Hey, it's Lafayette, right? We met at the state dinner; I'm Alex's friend, Y/N."

He grinned as she reached him, clutching her papers to her chest and extending a hand in greeting, which he took without hesitation. "Oui, I remember. It is good to see you, Y/N, although Alexander neglected to mention zat you would be moderating ze debates."

"Oh, what, didn't he tell you how important I am?" She shrugged, shaking her head with a grin as though it was obvious. "Next I'm coming for Anderson Cooper's job, just you wait."

He laughed, folding his arms as he glanced up toward the stage. "I do not doubt it for even a moment. Are you moderating again tomorrow night?"

She nodded. "Mhm. You coming tomorrow night?"

"Oui. I came all ze way to Michigan for zis; it would be a shame if I was only 'ere for one night, hm?" He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged, nodded. He flashed her a sly grin. "Besides, since I now know zat you are going to be 'ere tomorrow, zat gives me all ze more reason to show up."

Her breath hitched a moment, before she laughed nervously, running a hand through her hair. "Ah, yes, can't miss my political commentary and passive aggression for two hours onstage. Isn't that your idea of a perfect Thursday night?"

"More or less." His smile was sharp, his gaze all but wolfish for a moment, and a chill ran down her spine before his expression softened. "Would it be against your ethics as a journalist to tell me which of ze candidates you are supporting?"

Y/N shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not a fan of any of them at the moment, but we'll see how it shakes out after the second night of debates. After all, the candidates are only human, so I've gotta find a way to look past the skeletons in their closets."

Lafayette raised a wary eyebrow, looking concerned. "Ze 'skeletons in their closets'?" he repeated, and she cracked a grin.

"Yeah, like the bad things from their past?"

He stared at her, expression deadpan. "I am from France. You will 'ave to forgive me zat we do not use murder as an idiom for all wrongdoings."

She couldn't help her laugh at that, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Cut me some slack; I've grown up with it."

He raised his eyebrows. "With murder?"

"No! With the English language!" she defended, laughing, and he couldn't stifle his grin any longer.

"My apologies, chérie. I could not 'elp myself." He held up his hands in his defense, and she rolled her eyes. "Is it safe to assume you are not voting for any of ze candidates zat 'ave murdered anyone?"

She shook her head, amused. "Yeah, that's a fair guess."

"I am glad to 'ear it." He paused a moment, grinning as he nodded to someone behind her, and she raised a brow. She glanced over her shoulder to see none other than Thomas Jefferson approaching, headed down the same stairs she'd taken to reach Lafayette several minutes before, and she groaned internally. Just her luck. Would it be rude to immediately run the moment he reached where she was standing? "Thomas! 'Ow 'ave you been?" Lafayette immediately pulled him into a hug as he reached the pair of them, greeting him like an old friend, and Jefferson pulled back with a small smile of his own.

"Gotta say, I've been worse," he said, "Especially when you weren't here. Spendin' all that time over in France, abandonin' us." He put a hand on his heart, shaking his head with a playfully mournful frown, and Lafayette rolled his eyes.

"Oui, I am sure I was sorely missed." He huffed, shaking his head, and Jefferson cracked a grin. "I left you with an open invitation to come and visit me whenever you pleased, and you never came. I did not feel particularly missed, Monsieur Jefferson."

"Ah, I'll find a way to make it up to you." He shot Lafayette a wink, and in the midst of the interaction, Y/N considered just silently slipping away. They seemed to have forgotten she was there, and if there was ever a time to escape, it was right then. She hesitated. "Though, you never came to visit me back in D.C., either," Jefferson pointed out to his friend, who scoffed, "So who's really to blame?"

"I resent ze accusation, Thomas. I was busy. I am a very important person with very important things to do, and I simply could not find ze time. I tried to visit you, but alas, ze people of France must come first." He sighed dramatically, his entire proclamation made in jest. Jefferson rolled his eyes.

"You implyin' I'm not doin' anything down in D.C.? That hurts, Laf, really."

Lafayette grinned. "Of course not."

It was then that Y/N began to back away from the pair, seemingly forgotten in their enthusiastic greeting, and she figured that she'd be able to escape without a problem. Just after she began to turn, though, Lafayette spoke.

"Ah, Thomas, you know Y/N, hm?" She froze at that. Her retreat no longer seemed as secure as it had previously. His tone was jovial as he motioned to her, and she reluctantly turned back around to face them. "Obviously, from zis," --He motioned to the stage, and Y/N met Jefferson's eyes warily-- "but ze two of you met at ze state dinner, non? With Alex?"

Jefferson seemed to be taking his cues from Y/N at that point, watching her with raised brows as she sighed, plastering on a smile as she turned to Lafayette. "Yeah. Yeah, we've met."

What followed that was a momentary silence. Lafayette had obviously detected rigidity of the interaction, but he hadn't quite figured out what to do with it, and Y/N wasn't at all inclined to force the conversation to happen. She had no interest in making small talk with Jefferson. Lafayette cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Jefferson, who sighed.

"Yeah, a couple of times now," Jefferson added tiredly. "State dinner wasn't the first."

"Oui? When else?"

Y/N and Jefferson shared a tired glance. The whole interaction was painfully out of character for both of them, their actions and words forced, and while neither of them seemed up to carrying the conversation, it certainly seemed Lafayette was doing his best.

"Just, through work, Lafayette. Nothing all that exciting. I've been covering his campaign for a while now, so by the state dinner, we'd already met once or twice," Y/N explained, offering Lafayette a weak smile. "Y'know, exciting stuff."

"Actually, about the state dinner." Both Y/N and Lafayette were surprised when Jefferson spoke up once again, instead of just letting the conversation entirely drop. She was concerned as to where this was going. "I just," he paused, meeting her eyes, "wanted to apologize, if I ever made you uncomf--"

"Don't worry about it, Secretary Jefferson," Y/N cut him off abruptly with a sigh before plastering on an understanding (obviously forced) smile. He raised his eyebrows. "It's fine; it was a mistake. And this really isn't the time or the place. We can... talk about this later." She huffed, clutching her papers even more tightly against her chest. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't hide how flustered she was.

He paused, searching her expression, clearly not quite believing her. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled stiffly.

"Alright," he sighed. He made pointed eye contact with her, squaring his shoulders. His gaze was determined if not frustrated. "We will talk about this some other time. See you around, Lafayette, Y/N." He nodded to both of them, holding Y/N's gaze for just a moment too long, his expression steely. She could feel her heartbeat in her head; the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and he turned and left. Lafayette and Y/N both stayed there a moment longer, frozen to the spot and stunned for entirely different reasons.

There was a skip, before Lafayette broke the silence.

"What happened at ze state dinner?" Lafayette asked, turning to her, but she didn't even hear him. She was still fixated on Jefferson's parting words. Her heart was in her throat as she watched him retreat. Jesus, fuck.

We will talk about this.

___________________

Twitter

@gilafayette started following you.

Y/N raised an eyebrow from where she sat on her hotel bed. The debates were only a few hours away.

@Y/N_L/N: As the second night of Republican primary debates nears, keep up with the biggest issues and the who's-who of the candidates with the Washington Post's recent article about night 1 of the debates. Join us tonight on the official live stream, co-sponsored alongside NBC, and hear it all firsthand from the candidates themselves.

Quoted article: https://www.washingtonpost.com/fakelink/clowns

@BenArnold started following you.

Replying to @Y/N_L/N: @BenArnold: or you could just read my recap, but to each their own ig

She rolled her eyes at the tweet, though smiling to herself. She considered replying to it, but then thought better of it -- his tweet was so clearly in jest, and it was too easy to misinterpret tones over the internet. She opted to like the tweet.

@JamesMdson retweeted your recent tweet.

New message from @A_Hamilton:

@A_Hamilton: wanna grill jefferson about our war debts with france tn???

@A_Hamilton: i could even write u the questions

@A_Hamilton: wait omg open it up to audience questions and claim it's from someone else if u don't wanna attribute it to urself

@A_Hamilton: Suzie from Mississippi asked: why the fuck would you decide not to engage in France's war as secretary of state, not even try to assist them when we HAD the funds and they'd just helped us in our war, and then oppose an improved centralized banking system so that we could unilaterally balance the national budget, asshole?

@Y/N_L/N: have u been drinking again

@A_Hamilton: ok ok hear me out. like he wouldn't suspect a thing!!!! he doesn't even know we're friends why would it b me

@A_Hamilton: wait shit we saw him at the state dinner

@A_Hamilton: fuck nvm just pin the question on lafayette as a bitter french diplomat

@Y/N_L/N: alex.

@Y/N_L/N: i swear to god, you are the ONLY voter THAT invested in our debt to france

@Y/N_L/N: isnt it just like a trade deficit, anyway??

@A_Hamilton: YES THATS THE PROBLEM

@A_Hamilton: he can't even deal w our relations with one of our oldest allies, he was a shitty secretary of state

@Y/N_L/N: clean up the language and ill lead the conversation there

@Y/N_L/N: it's not a completely shit idea

@A_Hamilton: ur the only reporter that matters ily

✅ Read, 5:27 PM.

@gilafayette wants to send you a message. Accept?

@gilafayette: what happened at the state dinner between you and thomas

@gilafayette: i tried to ask him but he is very evasive

@gilafayette: i am concerned about him since then

Y/N's eyes widened as she accepted the message. She'd expected it to just be dropped, for Lafayette to entirely let it go, as it truly wasn't his problem, but there she was. She raised a brow at the last message, though.

Messages to @gilafayette:

@Y/N_L/N: it was nothing important, but why are you concerned about him??

@gilafayette: he has been acting strange since we saw you

@gilafayette: he and i went for coffee and he was preoccupied for the whole time

@gilafayette: and when i tried to ask him he was being very evasive

@Y/N_L/N: it really wasn't anything monumental. hes probably preoccupied w/ the debates, don't read into it

@Y/N_L/N: have u tried just asking him what's on his mind?

@gilafayette: brb

She rolled her eyes at the message. Of course he hadn't even thought to consider the obvious solution: communication. There seemed to be a disconnect between Lafayette and the obvious, though..

Messages to @gilafayette:

@gilafayette: he says he is fine and not to worry

@gilafayette: but i worry

@Y/N_L/N: did he say what was on his mind

@gilafayette: no

@gilafayette: brb i will tell him you asked. perhaps he only does not want to talk to me.

Her pulse skipped as she read the message; her eyes widened. Shit.

@Y/N_L/N: no lafayette pls don't say that

@Y/N_L/N: i didn't ask. i just wanted to give you a better idea for what to ask.

@gilafayette: yes you told me to ask

@gilafayette: exactly

@gilafayette: what is the difference?

She let out a groan, burying her face in her hands. This whole interaction felt so middle-school to her. Y/N said to ask Lafayette to ask Thomas if he's still thinking about her!

@Y/N_L/N: please lafayette just keep me out of this

@Y/N_L/N: don't wanna get involved in ur relationship with him. if i wanted to ask him something id do it on my own time

@gilafayette: wait he has just responded

@Y/N_L/N: so you still sent the message???

@gilafayette: it was too late, i am sorry!

@Y/N_L/N: what did he say??

@gilafayette: "if she wants to know, tell her to ask me herself"

@Y/N_L/N: lafayette i stg

@Y/N_L/N: please tell him this was just a misunderstanding and it wasn't MY question!!

✅ Read, 5:49 PM.

She groaned, letting herself fall back onto her bed as she saw the read receipt. Just her luck.

@Thomas_Jefferson wants to send you a message. Accept?

Oh, fuck. She didn't want to open the message, but at the same time, she was desperate to see what he had sent. In the midst of her internal struggle, it occurred briefly to her that if she didn't just open the message, he'd find some way to confront her about it in person that night, and -- to her dismay -- her mind was made up.

Messages to @Thomas_Jefferson:

@Thomas_Jefferson: did you really just avoid every time i tried to talk to you abt that night and then ask lafayette what was on my mind???

@Thomas_Jefferson: im going to come talk to you after the debate tonight. don't leave the building.

✅ Read, 5:56 PM.

________________

WITH JEFFERSON'S WORDS still in mind, Y/N fled the second night of debates the moment she could cut loose, calling an Uber before they even gave her the go-ahead to leave, not having a second to waste.

She caught his eye on the way out, him surrounded by three campaign staffers and James Madison, and he raised an eyebrow at her. The intimation was obvious: wait up for him.

She broke the eye contact immediately, shaking her head lightly. She had a blue Toyota Camry and a driver named Mandy to find out on the snow-coated street, and she was off long before he had even a chance to try to follow her.

She'd assumed the ordeal was over. She thought it was over with, that she'd somehow managed to escape scot-free, and that she'd managed to avoid Jefferson privately confronting her once and for all.

Boy, was she wrong.

She spent her final evening in the hotel carefree, drafting the second night's article as Lizzo played in the background. She'd packed most of her things, aside from the previous night's bottle of wine and the second pack of Flaming Hot Cheetos she'd bought with her future self in mind (she was patting herself on the back for that one, of course).

She strolled over to the business office on her floor with a pen in her mouth, still humming along to her long-abandoned music, as Ashley had requested that she fax over her handwritten notes from both nights of debates -- she'd called down to the front desk to ask first if they had a fax machine. She hadn't intended to get out of bed if she didn't have to.

Balancing her notes across the keyboard of her laptop in one arm, she opened the door to the office, eyes still fixated on the screen of her computer as she pushed the door with her shoulder. When she looked up, she was met with more than just a printer and a fax machine.

His nose was no longer buried in the book he held on his lap, seemingly distracted by the sound of the door opening, and he had his sweatpant-clad legs propped up on the desk before him, his glasses discarded on the table next to him. She froze when their eyes met.

"Y/N," Jefferson said, looking as stunned as she felt. She blinked. A beat passed. She almost responded, before she remembered the pen she still held in her mouth, continuing into the room and letting the door click shut behind her so that she could put her papers down. "Shit, uh... I can leave if you need the room, or--"

"No, no, you're fine." She finally took the pen out from between her teeth, withdrawing her papers from her laptop, closing it atop the desk. "But I can, ah, come back, if--"

"No, 'course not." He gave her a soft grin, fiddling with the page of his book. "Seems like you're the only one who actually needs the room, anyway."

She returned his smile, though hesitantly, feeling awkward to be alone with him in the small space. "Thanks."

She began shuffling her papers into the fax machine one by one, and the silence grew heavy. She tried not to feel the need to fill it. Yet--

"What brought you here, anyway?" She glanced back at him over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised and found his gaze still trained on her. She shifted her weight, and he chuckled.

"Just tryin' to escape."

She furrowed her brow, not sure if she understood, and another moment passed as she fed her last paper into the fax machine. Now she just had to play the waiting game (which was unfortunately long, considering the number of papers Ashley demanded). "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, lifting his feet off the desk's edge as he leaned forward to rest his forearms atop his legs. "Just needed a moment to myself. I'm sharin' my room here with James, and since I started runnin' for president it hasn't been easy to find some time alone."

She nodded, glancing down at the book in his hand, and grinned. "And you're spending that time reading?"

"You got any better ideas for me?" He raised a playful eyebrow when she turned to lean against where the wraparound desk met the back of the incredibly small room. She only shrugged.

"Could spend this time cleaning up your entire political platform," she suggested, and he laughed.

"Now you're just baitin' me."

"Never!"

He rolled his eyes as he turned the office chair to face her. "Now tell me why I don't believe you."

"Beats me." She plastered on an innocent smile, ultimately pursing her lips, though, to stifle her grin.

"Mhm." He shook his head in amusement, wide grin adorning his lips as he looked down once again, thumbing the nearest page of his book. Y/N raised an eyebrow.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Nietzsche." He held up the book, showing her the name scrawled across the cover and the spine.

"Zarathustra? Really?" She eyed the book with a wary gaze, and his eyebrows shot toward his hairline, amused.

"Don't tell me you've read it?"

"It seems we have annoyingly similar taste in literature, Secretary Jefferson." She grinned. "Can I get past you to the printer real quick?"

"Hm? Oh, 'course." He glanced over his shoulder, standing and taking a step over immediately as he realized the chair was situated directly in front of where she needed to be. She thanked him softly as she moved past him to collect her newly-inked papers. There was a skip; he hesitated. "So it's back to Secretary Jefferson now, huh?"

She looked over to where he stood beside her, eyebrows raised and heat creeping up the back of her neck. The look in his eyes was expectant, but not demanding. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said, wearing a small, almost comforting smile, and she couldn't help but return it, before he added with a grin. "Thomas is better, though."

Despite the amusement in his eyes and the mischief dancing in his smile, Y/N let out a sigh as she pushed herself onto the counter beside the fax machine. "I'm sorry, I really just--"

"I know. 'M sorry. We don't have to get into it, if you don't wanna."

She paused as she met his eyes. The understanding tone he was taking now felt like a far cry from how he'd been earlier in the day, but sitting alone with him in that hotel business office after hours, both of them out of their suits and into their sleepwear, joking about his reading material, she felt like she was just then seeing him clearly. "I..." She gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

"You never responded to my message on Twitter, though," he continued, a grin once again breaking across his face, and she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "C'mon, don't pretend, I saw that you read it."

"Lafayette was out of line!" she defended, "God, he was asking for advice on what he should say to you because he was worried, and somehow I became his advisor, and I literally just told him to ask you what was wrong. I wasn't trying to pry after avoiding you the past few days."

"I kinda figured, after Laf's next couple messages. Basically told me you were chewin' him out for askin' that," he laughed, but raised an eyebrow as he met her eyes. "But you admit you were avoidin' me, though, huh?"

"I--" She paused, mouth open to respond, and eyebrows raised, but she didn't know how to respond. The question caught her entirely by surprise. "I guess so, yeah."

Her face burned as he chuckled lightly, and she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She bit her lip, folded her arms across her chest. "Don't act like it's some big confession, now; it was kinda obvious. You said all of three words to me in the elevator, shut me down when you were talkin' to Lafayette, and then today, at the debate?" He raised an eyebrow, seemingly enjoying watching her squirm. She didn't look up at him. "Now, that was the most obvious of all. You read my message, made direct eye contact with me, and then were still the first one outta the building. You aren't subtle, sweetheart."

She sighed, crossed her ankles where she sat on the counter, and ran a hand through her hair. "Yeah, I guess that's fair," she sighed, finally looking up at him, and he didn't say a word, waiting for her to continue. He cocked an expectant eyebrow. "Just, after the state dinner, and what happened -- or really, what almost happened," she sighed, and the corners of his lips quirked up. "I really didn't wanna talk to you, or know how to, and I'm sorry, I just-- What would I have said? What was I supposed to say? 'So, I know I, like, almost let you kiss me three weeks ago, but now I'm gonna grill you about fiscal policy on national television! Isn't that fun?'" She plastered on an exaggerated smile, mocking the hypothetical, and he laughed.

"That would've been a good start." She rolled her eyes, bit her lips, and his smile softened. "Could've at least let me talk to you, though."

She sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I should've, but I think I just scared myself into thinking talking to you meant my immediate demise."

"Now, that offends me a little," he teased, "I'm nothin' if not approachable, and I don't like hearin' you suggest otherwise."

She pursed her lips as she met his eyes. "Oh, of course. The Republican presidential frontrunner, who's always surrounded by people much more important than me, and is never seen in public without an entourage. The easiest to talk to." He didn't comment on the thinly veiled confession of insecurity contained in her dry sarcasm, but instead raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't I?" His tone, his wide grin both seemed to suggest that he was joking, but something in how he looked at Y/N made her breath catch.

"Yeah," she said, softly, "I guess you are." She swallowed, looking down at her feet, and the only sound reverberating through the little room was the cranking of the aging fax machine that still held her notes. The hush that fell over them only stretched on.

"Can I just--"

"I wanted to--"

They both looked up at once, though, voices overlapping as they chose the same moment to break the silence, and Thomas grinned. Y/N let out a light laugh. "You can go first."

"Yeah?" he asked, hesitant. She nodded, shooting him a wink.

"The floor is yours."

"Much appreciated." They shared an anticipatory glance, the tension in the room magnified by the close proximity the little space had pushed them into. They weren't even feet apart. "Anyway, I just, at least, wanna apologize."

Y/N quirked up an eyebrow. "What for?"

"The state dinner." She sighed heavily, raking a hand through her hair, and he continued, "C'mon, don't pretend there's nothin' to talk about there. I can't let myself ignore it, so I'm sorry." She bit her lip, trying to keep herself from squirming under his gaze, afraid to break the eye contact as he searched her expression. "Seemed like I scared you that night, and I wanna make sure I didn't make you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable, or... Just felt like I put you in a bad position, or made you feel like you couldn't leave because of me, since I was still the Secretary of State and all, and..." He trailed off as he saw Y/N raise an amused eyebrow, failing to stifle a grin at his words, and hardly stifling a laugh. He huffed, but there was no real frustration behind his smile. "Gimme a break, it's happened!"

"What, you've cornered other hot reporters in your office and leveraged your title against them?" she teased, and he rolled his eyes, cracking a grin.

"I usually go for hot Congresswomen, but none were around, so I figured you'd have to do."

"You've tried to stick it on Nancy Pelosi?" she asked in mock disbelief, and he laughed, carding a hand through his hair, "Can I quote you on that?"

"May wanna keep it off the record, just this once." He winked, and she couldn't help her light huff, playful disappointment mingling with amusement. He pursed his lips. "But seriously, Y/N, hope I didn't scare you."

"No sweat, Thomas, I don't scare easy." She gave him a soft smile, and he raised a brow, surprised to hear her using his first name again, but he held his tongue. She swallowed thickly, realizing it at the same time. "I'm not about to become your Monica Lewinsky, if that's what you're worried about -- you didn't put me in any position I didn't wanna be in." Her last few words had even her taking pause, surprised at having said them aloud. It felt more like a confession than a reassurance, and with that, Thomas's brows shot toward his hairline, and a small smirk rested on his lips. Y/N could feel her heart in her throat as she waited for him to respond.

"'I didn't put you in any position you didn't wanna be in,' huh?" he repeated slowly, his smug smile growing as her eyes slowly began to widen; she didn't like watching him take pleasure in this.

"I--" She cut herself off as he took a step toward her, pushing herself further back where she sat on the edge of the desk. "Yeah," she breathed, worried that her heart would beat out of her chest if she said much more.

"So--" One of his hands landed beside her on the desk as his stare became increasingly self-contented, "What if you ended up in that position again, hm?" His other large hand came to rest on her right knee; he was now hovering just inches above her, and her pulse threatened to stop altogether as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

"Thomas," she said softly, biting her lip, and she couldn't help but notice him track the movement, his gaze falling momentarily to her mouth. His hand lifted from her knee to her jaw, brushing a hair away from her face before running his thumb along her cheekbone, cupping her cheek. "What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly.

"This time, is it a position you don't wanna be in?" he asked, the hand that previously sat on the desk now meeting her waist, pulling her closer to him. Something about his smile told her that he was confident in what her answer would be. He raised an eyebrow.

"What..." Her voice faltered as he pulled her into him, her legs now straddling his waist from atop the desk, and she prayed he didn't catch it when her gaze fell to his lips, if only for a moment. (The way he grinned told her he'd definitely caught it.) He stilled millimeters away from her lips, and the movement wasn't even conscious as her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thomas."

He smiled, his nose brushing against hers, and he couldn't help that his grin grew when she shivered at the contact. "Y/N," he whispered, too close even to make out her full face, but he could see every detail of her shining eyes clearly, could trace every ridge of her lips.

She was terrified. Every nerve in her body seemed to be standing on end, and she could feel everything. Even the slightest movements made her pulse jump -- the pads of his fingers digging into her waist, his breath as it fluttered across her cheek, him pulling her impossibly closer, yet still, not quite close enough. She swallowed hard, looking into his eyes. "Kiss me."

He obliged her immediately, his hand gripping her jaw as his lips moved against hers, and she reacted in the same moment. One of her hands weaved itself into his hair, while the other sank into the back of his old college t-shirt. His tongue pushed insistently past her lips, and she arched against him in an effort to pull him ever closer, pushing herself toward the edge of the desk. His hand slid down to hook itself under her thigh, and his grip tightened on her leg as she sighed against him. He nipped at her bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth, but nearly lost it when he yanked at her hair, and she let out a soft, needy whine against his mouth -- the kiss immediately became harsher, faster; in seconds it was all teeth and tongue. Y/N didn't know when his lips had begun to trail down her neck, didn't realize his hands began to tug at her shirt until she felt his fingers brush against her stomach, and she shuddered. She gasped as he scraped his teeth over the base of her neck, sucking a hickey into the skin, and she rolled her hips involuntarily up against his. He groaned against her.

"Fuck," she whispered as his hands finally breached the hem of her shirt, pressing into the bare skin of her waist, and she dragged her nails down across his back, feeling his muscles rippling in his shoulders as he pulled her harshly against himself.

"Shit, sweetheart." She yanked at his hair, began kissing along his jawline, grinding her hips persistently up against his. "Y/N," he groaned, his nails beginning to dig directly into her hips. Her movements faltered a moment. She swallowed.

It must have been then that she came to her senses. She couldn't have placed exactly when, or why she broke it off, but it must have been when she heard her name out of his mouth, against her skin, when she realized exactly where she was. She pulled back from him, gasping for air, her hands against his chest, and he raised his eyebrows.

"What...?" he breathed, equally winded, "What's wrong? Did I do somethin'?"

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, shaking her head slowly, but her expression was despairing, the gravity of the situation just then beginning to sink in.

"I..." She trailed off, letting out a huff as she ran a hand through her hair, "No, no, it... it's not you, but..." She pulled further back, pushing him gently away as she broke out of his grasp. The look in his eyes was worried, but more so disappointed. "We can't do this, Thomas. Fuck, this was a mistake. What were we thinking? I just--"

She groaned softly, burying her face into her hands before hopping off of the desk, scrambling to collect her laptop and her papers. His eyes widened as she began to rush to leave the room.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart!" He grabbed ahold of her arm as she began to turn away, and she yanked it from his fingers. "Y/N, c'mon, wait a minute."

"This can't happen! Don't you get it?" she said. "This was so fucking stupid. I'm a political journalist, Thomas, and you're running for President, for God's sake! Can you imagine what would happen if we hooked up? If that somehow leaked?"

"Wait, be reasonable--"

"I'd become the next fucking Monica Lewinsky, and there goes your campaign, and there goes my career. Next I get accused of biased reporting, and you get accused of foul play with the media." She shook her head, shuffling her papers together as she turned to leave. "I'm sorry. I... I'm so sorry, this was such a mistake."

"Y/N." His voice was steady, but firm. "Listen to me: no one's losin' their career, no one's life is shatterin' because of this. Relax, darlin'. Leave if you want to, but relax. I'm not gonna try to make you stay."

She hesitated as he rested his hands on her biceps, as they ghosted down her arms. He smiled. "Don't get me wrong, you're more than welcome to stay, but I won't hold it against you if you don't."

"I can't do this, Thomas," she breathed, and he chuckled. Despite his small smile, and despite what genuinely were his best efforts, disappointment clouded his gaze, and he did a poor job of hiding it.

"Okay. Then go." His voice was soft, gentle. "If you ever change your mind, though, just know that I'm the only one with access to my Twitter messages. You know how to reach me if you want to." He grinned as he said that, and Y/N’s eyes widened. Did he just offer himself up as a booty call?

The thought had her breath hitching in the back of her throat. The look in his eyes told her that he was being perfectly sincere.

"I'm sorry,” she finally said, voice only just above a whisper, and he nodded.

"Don't worry about it.” There was a skip. “I'll see you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Thomas.” She held his gaze a moment longer, struggling to bring herself to leave, but knowing she couldn’t stay. He sent her a wink, and she finally began to move.

She was out the door without another word, her breathing shaky as she rushed back to her hotel room. She was desperate to immediately open her phone, to text Angelica or Alex, but shit, if that wouldn't ruin her life. Angelica would find some way to convince her to quit her job, or somehow weasel her way out of her assignment on the 2020 election, and Alex would be worse yet -- he'd take it straight back to Thomas and confront him.

She groaned into her hands as she walked into her bathroom. A cold, cleansing shower was what she needed at that moment. The first thing she saw as she walked into the bathroom, though, was a deep purple hickey, at the base of her neck; she'd be covering that up for weeks, she thought as she drew closer to the mirror, running a hand over it as she examined the area. Yet, it also left her with several 'what if's -- what if she hadn't stopped it? What if she were to let this happen? What if, for once in her life, she stopped worrying, let herself live, took a risk?

What if she'd decided to stay?

She met her own eyes in the mirror as she entertained the thought, and she swallowed roughly.

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anonbebe97me · 4 years

Text

𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕜 (Ch.7: The Calm.)

A/N: This was a fic I’d originally posted on Wattpad last year. Hope you guys enjoy!

Description: Working for Mr.Yoo Kihyun was an absolute nightmare; Y/N hated everything about him, and was convinced he was either part demon or at least some sort of reptilian hybrid- never in a million years would she have expected to learn that he was, indeed only human, and even worse; that he might even be…likeable?

Link To: || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 8

"Ladies," Wonho walked up to our table with a tray of drinks and set them down in front of us.

"You didn't have to do that," Karina smiled at Wonho, grazing his muscular arm with her long nails.

"I didn't, actually- they're from," he scanned the crowd and then settled his eyes on someone, "Him."

Wonho was pointing at the end of the room at a table. We all looked at where he was pointing.

I furrowed my brow with irritation, and Karina waved Wonho away.

Kihyun was looking straight at me. He seemed to challenge me with his eyes.

Usually, I would break the stare- look away in intimidation or fear...but I had a stomach full of alcohol and a head full of dangerous thoughts.

I grabbed the drink and put it up to my lips, "The storm," I echoed Karina's words as I, once again, threw my head back and chugged the glass, using my arm to wipe my mouth (and my lipstick).

Kihyun raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised, and the corner of his mouth curled into a half smile.

I stood up from the table, "Watch my bag," I said to Karina and Lizzie, who had watched the entire silent exchange.

"You sure you wanna-" Lizzie began to speak, but all I could focus on was walking over to Kihyun.

As I walked, I remembered those times in the lobby when I would walk toward Shownu- my heart racing, palms sweating, knees going weak by the second, and how my courage would drain from me as soon as I reached my destination.

But now, in this moment, it was nothing like that.

In fact, it seemed like the more distance closed between us, the more strength I got.

Finally, I was face to face with him, and this time...he was the one looking up at me.

"Mr.Yoo." I said, my face as expressionless as his usually is toward me.

He leaned back in his seat and then motioned for me to sit down.

I didn't take my eyes off of him as I sat across the table.

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to keep this between us. Like I said, I like to be professional-" His tone was firm, the way it usually was at the office, making my blood boil.

"Don't you talk to me like that," I snapped at him.

He seemed to be caught off guard by my tone, "What?" He asked.

"We're not in the office, which means here," I motioned to the room around us, "You're not my boss," I said.

He looked around, trying to make sure no one was listening, "Excuse me?" He asked, an incredulous expression on his face, "I may not be your boss out here, but you still need to respect me. What you say to me out here might affect our relationship in the office, so I suggest you watch yourself," He said.

My courage kept growing, "Or what? You're one to talk, considering the display you just put on," I said, pointing to the platform.

He caught himself and looked down. I could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.

"I know...I'm sorry," He said.

Even getting fired for my drunken rebellion would've been less surprising than what he just said.

"...what?" I asked, my heart steadying.

"I know I put a lot of pressure on my employees-" He looked at me, connecting his eyes to mine, "especially on you, to be professional and, well... I know I haven't set the best example tonight," He looked back down.

Sitting there across from me, out of the suit, out of the monster-chair... he seemed almost human.

"You're not just hard on me," I said, "You're a jerk."

He bit his lip, "yeah..."

A short silence fell between us, making me give in.

"But I accept your apology," I said, reaching out and taking the beer that was in front of him.

His mouth hung open in disbelief at my confidence, but I couldn't care any less as I downed the contents of the bottle.

"You sing nicely," I said, setting the bottle back down and releasing a satisfied breath.

His face turned bright red, "Thank you...but I-"

"I won't tell anyone," I sighed, looking back at Karina and Lizzie. Lizzie was staring at me, but of course, Karina's attention was completely focused on Wonho who had taken advantage of my empty seat.

When I turned back to Kihyun, his eyes were intensely fixed on me, making me feel small again- but in a different way than it usually did.

"I'm drunk..." I said, looking down.

And for the first time ever, Kihyun smiled at me.

"No kidding," He said with a laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shot up in my bed, my heart racing. I looked around, struggling to figure out where I was.

Home.

I felt around on my bed for my phone and finally found it by my feet. I checked the screen for the time and sighed.

11:00AM, already?

I sighed and sat at the edge of my bed. My head was throbbing.

"Never again..." I said, holding my head as I remembered everything I'd had to drink the night before.

The shot, the iced teas, Kihyun's beer-

My eyes widened at the full realization of what had happened last night.

"What have I done?" I smack my forehead with my palm.

I jumped out of bed, the room spinning slightly as I tried to find my balance. I clumsily made my way to the kitchen, holding onto the wall for stability. I turned the stove on and then put a kettle of water on to make myself some tea.

I sat down at the small table by my kitchen window and stared out at the street, my mind wandering to the events of the previous night...

"I'm drunk..." I said, looking down.

And for the first time ever, Kihyun smiled at me.

"No kidding," He said with a laugh.

"Don't laugh at me..." I glared at him.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry..." But he couldn't contain his laughter.

I tried to keep my face expressionless, but his laughter was contagious.

Before I realized it, we were both laughing hysterically while the rest of the room exchanged loud conversations around us.

"You have..." He motioned to his mouth.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Lipstick..." He laughed a little bit more.

I licked at my teeth, thinking maybe my lipstick had ended up there.

"No...here, let me," he leaned over to better reach me.

His left hand held my face still while his right wiped at the outer edges of my mouth. His eyes were focused on the task at hand, and his lips were pressed together in concentration. My face was burning up as I stared at him- his sharp, yet delicate features distracting me from how incredibly messed up I was.

He caught me staring, and for a moment, his eyes truly connected with mine.

What a beautiful, yet fleeting moment it was.

"All done..." He said softly.

I looked down, "Thanks..."

Karina walked up to our table, my purse slung over her shoulder, "Uhm...sorry to interrupt..." she says before turning to me, "Lizzie's feeling sick and Wonho offered us a ride since he's about to get off in a few minutes."

I pursed my lips and then looked at Kihyun.

He stared back at me, and I swear he was thinking the same thing as I was.

"I'm...I'm not ready to go home yet..." I said.

Karina looked confused, "Are you sure?"

I nod, leaning back in my seat.

"Alright...call me when you get home..." She says, narrowing her eyes at Kihyun as she turned to walk back to Lizzie and Wonho.

Kihyun propped his elbows on the table and intertwined his fingers together, "Y/N... what are you doing?" He asked, his question was loaded, though it seemed superficial.

I leaned forward as well, matching him in closeness.

"I saw you here last week, too." I stared at him, gauging his reaction.

The only change in his expression was the lifting of his eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?" He asked.

I nodded, thinking I'd shocked him.

"I saw you too," He said.

I was dumbfounded.

"What?" I ask.

I was snapped out of my memories by the high-pitched scream of the kettle. I poured the steaming hot water into my mug and brought it to the table, steeping the little bag of tea. The smell of chamomile settling my increasingly upset stomach. I was hungry, but I knew that any sort food would probably make me barf.

I looked across from where I was sitting, and saw the stack of papers that I needed to work on. I put my hand to my forehead and sighed.

I'd forgotten about my little weekend task...

Suddenly, anxiety filled my chest as I imagined how my interaction with Kihyun would be. After the night we'd had...how could we go back?

He sighed, "Last week, as I was about to walk off of the stage...I watched as you ran out with- uhm..." He pointed over to where I was sitting with Lizzie and Karina.

"Karina..." I filled in the blank.

He nodded, "Karina."

I scrunched my eyebrows and thought for a moment.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I asked.

"Why didn't you?"

I shrugged, unsure of how to answer.

"When I bought you the food the other night at the office..." He looked down at his hands, "I guess... I was thanking you."

"Thanking me? For what?" I asked.

"For not telling anyone or...for not using it against me," He said, a small, sad half smile on his lips.

I thought back to when I was leaving his office the other day and I'd asked him if he'd ever heard the 'Hyeya' song.

"I mean...I did bring it up- at least a little bit," Feeling sheepish as he thanked me.

He laughed, "True...but I was being a dick to you."

I smiled, "Well, at least you're aware..."

"I'm always aware..." He shrugged.

I sipped my tea half heartedly, and by the time I was halfway through with it, it had gone cold. I sighed as I got up and placed the mug in the sink.

I can't focus here.

I decide on going to the coffee shop down the street. At least there, the buzz of people around me might help me take my mind off of him.

I walk over to my dresser and grab a fluffy white sweater and some blue jeans- knowing full well that I'd regret the sweater around 3:00pm, but deciding on it anyway. I removed my dress, feeling instant relief as I freed myself from its vice- body con dresses always made me feel like a stuff sausage after a night of drinking. I reached for the pants and as I bent over to put them on, I glanced at my knee, where I saw a dry, deep crimson scab.

"What in the world-"

"Mr.Yoo...you wanna go somewhere?" I asked, suddenly feeling a burst of energy.

"What do you mean?" He looked me up and down cautiously.

I rolled my eyes, "Not like that. I'm hungry."

He sighed with relief, "Good God. I thought I was gonna have to call your friends back here," He laughed.

I was slightly offended by how relieved he seemed to be, "Ouch. Thanks." I said, standing up.

He looked up at me, "No, not like that- I just meant I was relieved- not relieved, I was glad- I mean, you're beautiful but I meant-" His face got more and more red as he rambled on.

I blushed.

"I seemed to have had too much to drink..." He looked away nervously.

I smiled at how pathetic he was acting, "...come on."

I started walking and he followed behind me.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

I shrugged, "Where that heavenly smell takes us," I say, pointing up in the air.

The air around us smelled like fried food, and my stomach growled ferociously.

He walked beside me, looking straight ahead. I couldn't help but stare at him from the side of my eyes.

"Yes?" He asked, his voice familiar, and yet, quite unfamiliar as he softly spoke.

"Nothing," I said, pretending not have been staring at him.

Just as quickly as I looked away from him, the toe of my heel got caught on the sidewalk, sending me flying forward. Luckily, I didn't fall on my face- but I did break the fall with a sharp scrape to the knee.

I winced in- albeit dramatic- agony.

"Oh God, are you alright!?" Concern scribbled all over Kihyun's face.

Still on the ground, I lifted my knee up to examine it. Blood was oozing out of it, but I it wasn't bad enough to warrant any immediate action.

"Come on, let's go find some bandaids or something-" He said, reaching out his hand to help me.

I rolled my eyes, "I'm fine, it'll dry," I said, thinking back to my days as a child, when I'd play tag just a little too intensely and I'd tumble over my own feet.

I reached my hand to meet his, and when it finally did, my stomach was sent flipping. As I finally got to my feet, I ended up so close to him that I could smell the beers on his breath, and the subtle yet musky cologne blowing off if him.

"Thank you..." I said, my eyes fixed on his lips.

His eyes did the same, but a second later, he was back to clearing his throat, "We should get you home..." He said, his voice low.

I looked up at him, "Yeah, maybe we should..."

I shook the thoughts out of my head as I pulled the pants all the way up, choosing to ignore the slight ache from the thick fabric running against my wound. I grabbed my bag and the papers I needed to work on, and then headed out the door.

A/N: I swear I didn’t purposely imagine her looking like this… but In case you’re wondering what Karina looks like XD

#monstax #monsta x #mx #smut #angst #fluff #shownu #wonho #minhyuk #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #changkyun #im #monsta x scenarios #monsta x reader #kpop #kpop stan #fanfic #fanfiction

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orangecrane · 4 years

Text

no fault of mine (ch. 2)

Part 2 of a request by @violetwolfraven

Part 1

A/N: So this certainly got out of hand... I think I’ve got one more scene or so that I’d want to write for this if y’all are interested that would mainly be the aftermath of all this so lmk if you’d wanna see that. Also if you need something else tagged please let me know. Cross-posted on Ao3.

CW: Mild injury (you don’t actually see someone get hurt), Swearing

Race froze. Inhaled sharply. What? There’s- there’s no way, he must’ve misheard. His ears were just playing tricks on him.

“Spot’s in the refuge?” His voice broke. Tears stung his eyes.

Flicker, upon seeing Race’s reaction, seemed like he’d rather be anywhere but there. “Yeah,” he winced, “but you can’t go spreading it around, I wasn’t supposed to tell you in the first place.”

The words swam around Race’s head, he barely heard a thing after Flicker confirmed one of his worst nightmares. Spot was in the refuge. Spot could be hurt. Bad. Race had had no idea. Race had been upset with Spot for something that wasn’t his fault. That was an idea that was going to hurt later. Hell, that hurt now. Spot hadn’t forgotten or wanted to break up with Race. That idea hurt a lot less. So that’s what he chose to focus on.

Race shook himself from his thoughts, this was fixable. This wasn’t a fucktangular mess of emotions, this was a tangible problem that had a solution. A solution that didn’t involve breaking up with Spot and breaking his own heart in the process, People could be busted out of the refuge. Jack had done it before and so had some of the other boys. They could do the same for Spot. Hopefully. “What are you doing to get him out?” Race demanded.

“What?”

“What are you doing to break him out of the Refuge? Manhattan-” Wait, maybe he shouldn’t promise all of Manhattan’s help without first asking them, “-I can help.”

“We’ve tried a few things but none ‘ave worked so far.”

“Let me talk to Hotshot then.”

Flicker hesitated before nodding and opening the door to allow Race inside. He gestured for Race to stay in the entrance while he left to go track down Brooklyn’s second.

When Hotshot arrived, dragged along by a very determined red-head, he took one look at Race before turning to Flicker in exasperation.

“You told him?”

Flicker spluttered. “Nevermind, we’ll discuss that later, for now,” Hotshot turned to Race, “Brooklyn can handle itself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, wouldn’t I, of all people know that? I just wanna get Spot out as soon as possible.”

Hotshot gave Race an appraising look. “Well, what’ve you got then?”

“Let me talk to my boys and I’ll be back by tomorrow noon with a plan.” Race didn’t know how he’d kept his composure this long. He desperately wanted to cry, the unfairness of it all tore his insides to shreds. But he had spent enough time wallowing in pain, admittedly a different pain, but it was time that could have been used helping Spot so Race was going to hit the ground running. Who knew what had happened to Spot since he’d been locked up?

Hotshot glanced around, taking in some of the reactions of some of his fellow newsies before deciding. “All right Higgins. Talk to Manhattan and see what you can come up with.”

Race nodded. Then he turned and nearly sprinted out the door. Oh, he was going to Manhattan alright, but he had somewhere more important to visit first.

---

Race was out of breath by the time he arrived at the Refuge. Running a frankly unreasonable distance and fast as one could tended to do that to you. He took a second to catch his breath and formulate his plan of how to get to the window and get Spot’s attention. His thoughts on the way there had been nothing but a constant stream of Spot Spot Spot and he hadn’t been able to think of less important things, like how he was actually going to get Spot’s attention and talk to him, or how he was going to avoid getting caught.

He eventually comes to the conclusion that he could probably climb the drain pipe and perch on the small ledge of the window and use either the pipe or the metal bars for balance. Yeah, that’d work. And with both things to hold on to he wouldn’t fall. Hopefully. So that’s what he did.

Race waited until the coast was relatively clear and shimmied up the pipe closest to a bunk room, it was harder to keep a grip on than he expected but he made it without falling. The creak the drain let out as he partially swung himself to the ledge was concerning, but again, nothing came of it.

Once precariously balanced on the ledge and clinging to the bars, he did his best to get someone’s attention. The boy who noticed him looked to be no older than Les. It made Race’s anger simmer beneath his skin and his grip tightened around the cool metal. He hated this place, no one deserved to be here, especially kids that young. He knew from experience. Race quietly asked the boy to find Spot and bring him there, and wished he had the forethought to bring food or something, both for Spot and the other children who clearly needed it.

Race quickly glanced around the street below, trying to gauge if anyone had noticed him. Thankfully he still seemed to be under (or in the case, over) the radar. He kept scanning until he was ripped from his thoughts.

“Racer?”

Race whipped around to find none other than Spot Conlon. He tried to check over as much of the boy as possible, he looked a little worse for wear, but the Refuge would do that to anyone, and Race couldn’t see any clear injuries besides a bruise or two from where he crouched. “Spot,” Race breathed out, relief overtaking him.

“Racer what’re you doin’ here? You’se could get in real trouble.” Spot was clearly concerned. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “And how d’you know I was here in the first place?”

“Your boys gave you up, Conlon.” Race’s attempt to be lighthearted found moderate success. “‘Sides, they probably knew I’d tear the whole city apart lookin’ for ya if they didn’t. I was pretty upset when I got down there.”

Race removed one hand from the bars to scratch the back of his neck, then popped his fingers against his jaw.

Spot winced. “I thought I’d be out a bit sooner than this an’ I didn’t want you to worry.”

Race met his eyes, for all the world looking like a broken boy, “There’s a lot worse things to be than worried, Spot.” They both looked away, Race to the street once again. Neither spoke for a minute, until Race broke the silence.

“So, how’d you wind up in here anyways?” He still didn’t look at Spot.

“One a’ my kids picked the wrong pocket and had a run in wit’ the bulls. I had to intervene and give him an opportunity to run, but by the time he was gone I wasn’t quite in good enough shape to get away myself.”

Race turned back and looked Spot in the eyes. He was remorseful. “‘M sorry about our date, by the way. Promise I’ll make it up to you once I’m out.”

Race’s chest felt tight at that. Spot really did care. And Race was going to break him out no matter what.

Suddenly a door bangs somewhere behind Spot. He glanced behind himself, panicked, before turning back to Race. “You gotta get outta here ‘fore Snyder sees ya. We’ll see eachother soon.”

Spot shut the window.

Race managed to maneuver his way back over to the drain pipe and slide down without getting anyone’s attention. Now he just had to get back to the lodging house and let everyone know what was going on. Race thought back to the young boy who he’d seen earlier. Maybe Spot wasn’t the only one they would help.

They’d see eachother sooner than Spot thought, though, Race would make sure of that.

---

Race burst through the lodging house door, gasping for breath. He really needed to learn to take his time getting to places. Most of the boys looked up from where they were lounging around. Finch, Specs, Elmer, and Romeo were all having a discussion by the window while Mike, Ike, Blink, Henry, and Albert played some card game on the floor while a few other boys watched. Jack and Davey were huddled in a corner talking in hushed tones.

“We need to plan a heist!”

Just about everyone rolled their eyes and went back to what they were doing, Albert included. Race was a little offended.

“And what might this heist be for?” Romeo inquired. Race knew there was a reason he was his favorite.

Race was glad someone enjoyed his theatrics. “The prize being my boyfriend, and if possible, as many other kids in the refuge as we can!”

That got the room's attention. “Wait what?” Jack sputtered.

“Spot’s in the Refuge and we need to get him out, and I figured why not bust everyone else out as well. They can’t stop all of us.”

“Woah, back up a second,” Albert said, “Spot’s in the Refuge?”

Race met his eyes guiltily. “Yeah, an’ I’m not leaving him there to rot, or any of those other kids, so I’m bustin’ them out, whether you guys are with me or not. It’d be a lot easier if you were with me though.”

Race was determined. He remembered his time in the Refuge and he’s sure the other newsies did too. He wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t want to risk getting caught or bringing up old memories. It was why he hadn’t gone there since he was released, at least until today that was. But those old memories only fueled his determination. He’d hidden from the place of his nightmares for so long, as many did, but in the process allowed it to continue to hurt innocent kids. Kids like him. Spot’s imprisonment was the kick in the pants he needed. That ended tomorrow.

Everyone could see the fire in Race’s eyes.

“That’s a stupid idea Racer, a jailbreak? Really?” Romeo piped up.

“You’re one ta talk,” Finch scoffed.

Race glanced around the room. Most of the boys seemed hesitant. But hesitation was not a ‘no’ and he could work with that. He looked to Jack.

“Whaddaya say Jack?”

Jack was conflicted. “‘F you got a plan Racer, I’ll listen.”

And that was all he needed.

Race explained the basics of his idea to everyone, taking input from those who had it (Jack, Davey, Specs, and Finch) and ignoring the heckling and jokes from those who had them (Mike, Ike, and Romeo). In the end, Jack, Albert, Finch, and Kid Blink agreed to help him with the plan. They spent the next few hours strategizing and hammering out the details until Kloppman came and sent them all to bed.

---

Race got ready for bed, nervous for the coming day. This was a huge risk and one thing going wrong could end poorly for so many people. He lied awake, running through every possible scenario of how this could go wrong.

“I kinda feel like I owe Spot an apology. I know I didn’t do anything to him, but still…” Albert’s voice came from the bed below.

The sick feeling from earlier returned full force. The guilt wracked his body. Race had been so mad at Spot. He’d been willing to break up with him over this. Over something that wasn’t his fault. If only Race had known, he could've- he could’ve-

“Racer I can hear ya thinkin’ a mile a minute, come down here an’ talk to me.”

Race climbed down the ladder and into Albert’s bunk, immediately wrapping his arms around his friend and burying his head in his chest. He was shaking.

“I was so upset with him,” Race said shakily. Albert took a deep breath and started running his fingers through Race’s hair in a calming gesture.

“And you thought he was ignoring you, I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset.”

Race sniffled. “You don’t get it, I- I was ready to…” Race trailed off. “But it wasn’t his fault.”

“Well how were you supposed to know that?”

Race gave Albert an inquisitive glance. He continued, “I mean, you had no way of knowing he was in the Refuge and the Brooklyn newsies certainly weren’t forthcoming with information. You were right to be upset given the circumstances. Hell, I was upset on your behalf. But now we know better and aren’t mad anymore. This whole thing is a mess but it isn’t really anyone’s fault and you just have to accept that.”

Huh, Race forgot that Albert could be pretty smart when he wanted to be. He’s suddenly very glad that Albert and him are friends, he doesn’t know what he would do without him. He should also work on remembering that Al is a good friend and that isn’t something to take for granted.

“You’re my best friend Albie,” Race said snuggling closer to the other boy.

Albert snorted. “Don’t I know it, no one else would put up with your needy ass. But you’re my best friend to Racer.”

Race drifted to sleep, more confident in himself and ever grateful for his best friend. They’d get Spot out tomorrow no matter what, even if it was just him and Albert, because Albert always had his back, and together? Together, Race believed, they could do just about anything.

---

The next day everyone was jittery while at distribution. Trying not to seem suspicious but not exactly succeeding. Those who were helping in what Race had dubbed ‘The Heist’ were shifting around, trying to not let their nervousness shine through. The whole plan could go horribly wrong. They could all end up in the Refuge, or worse. But if it went right? Not only would they free Spot, but they’d help so many other kids who have been locked away and hurt by those who should never have been given that power.

Even those not participating knew what was at stake. Jack had given a run-down to everyone that morning: The “‘Heist Team’ would sell in the morning as to avoid suspicion and then head over to Brooklyn, where they would strategize and finalize their plan, then put it into motion by sunset. Everyone else would sell as many extra papes as they could to cover for the boys missing work as well as any boys who may be returning to or joining the newsie life once free. Some of the older boys would also try to lure any extra officers as far from the Refuge as possible to keep them out of the team's way.

---

The Manhattan half of the team arrived at the Brooklyn lodging house at noon, just as promised. Quickly surrounded by Brooklyn newsies, not out of the ordinary, but met with a mix of suspicious looks and relieved sighs, very much out of the ordinary.

“Well Higgins, what’ve ya got?” Jack narrowed his eyes at Hotshot, he was well aware that tensions were high and this wasn’t exactly a situation anyone wanted to be in. That didn’t excuse him being so short with Race.

“It’ll go down in the history books,” Race smirked. Full of false confidence. All of his boys behind him. Well, all but one. If there was one thing Race could do without fail, it was bluff. Sometimes Jack could barely tell. The twitch of his fingers, probably aching to crack, was what gave him away.

“We’ll need someone on the ground from Brooklyn to lure as many bulls and guards away as possible, and Finch’ll take three shooters up to the rooftops, they’ll distract anyone remaining. Jack n’ Blink ‘ave volunteered to handle Snyder so you don’t hafta. Me, Albert, an’ anyone else who wants ta join will break one of the window bars usin’ these,” Race gestures to the tools Albert was currently carrying. “From there I’ll go in an’ grab Spot and you’ll work on getting out anyone else we can.”

Jack thought it was a pretty solid plan. It let every participant play to their strengths and was probably the best chance they had considering the handful of previous breakout attempts. Hotshot clearly wasn’t ecstatic about it but seemed willing to go along with it.

A shaky voice piped up from the crowd. “So we’s for sure breakin’ everybody out?”

Race turned stoically to the kid. “We’re certainly gonna try.”

---

The sun was just starting to set, casting the world in an orange glow and allowing the boys to slip through now prominent shadows. They moved into position.

Flicker would lead as many guards as he could on a wild goose chase.

Finch and some Brooklyn slingshotters would distract the rest.

Jack and Blink would sneak past the clueless guards and keep Snyder occupied.

Race, Albert, and Hotshot had the actual break-in, with a few other kids for backup. It hadn’t been too difficult to get their hands on the tools to dismantle the window bars, but that was only because one Manhattan newsie’s dad was a smith and he’d ‘borrowed’ them for the night.

Soon the sun was half-set and the Heist was in motion. And it was up to Flicker to start. Well, if there was one thing a street kid knew how to do, it was cause a ruckus. And boy did he.

Flicker was fast. Could outrun everyone he’s ever met. Grins like a madman when he felt the wind on his face and heard the pounding footsteps behind him. Doesn’t go too fast, yet. If he lost them now they might go back to their posts. He stayed just on the edges of their vision, ducking around people and in and out of alleys. Once he’s far enough away from the Refuge he’ll lose them in proper, let them scour city blocks where they won’t find him, far away from his friends.

Finch was a shot and a half. Hiding on a nearby rooftop, a few Brooklyn boys scattered around doing the same thing, he felt on top of the world. He kind of was. Had more ammo than he knew what to do with and shooting the remaining guards who were too stupid to look up made him feel powerful. These men, who knew what happened in the Refuge, facilitated what happened there, distraught over a couple of kids with slingshots. It was hysterical. Even once they noticed where the attack was being led from they couldn’t do anything about it. Too big and clumsy to climb up like they had shitty enough aim that they couldn’t hit back from the ground. Hah. Finch could do this all night, and it looked like his allies felt the same.

Jack was nervous. Confronting Snyder scared him. He also was aware that he was one of the few people who would actually keep Snyder’s attention without drawing too much suspicion. Of their rag-tag team, it had to be him. And he wasn’t alone, Blink was right there at his side and despite what he let some people think, he could pack a real punch. And if they pulled this off Snyder would be humiliated. That was always a plus in Jack’s book.

All they had to do was trap Snyder in his office or lure him out of the building itself. Easy-peasy. Snyder might not even realize who it was if they were careful enough. Together they quietly slipped through the gates. Blink followed Jack’s lead, he was the only one who’d been here before and escaped. Jack guided them through the halls, halting at a partially opened door. He peered inside.

Kid Blink hadn’t even seen Warden Snyder like this, up close, before. If he didn’t know better he’d’ve thought that he was just some old man. But the things he’d heard…

Well, let’s just say Blink wasn't going to be getting comfortable anytime soon. Jack motioned for him to stay, then disappeared back the way they came. He reappeared about a minute later, carrying a solid wooden chair. Blink got the idea. He darted across the doorway to the other side, glanced at Jack for guidance, slow he motions, and Blink was. He, deftly as he could, reached into the office and closed the door with a soft thud and click of the handle. Jack immediately secured the chair under the handle. Hopefully that would hold him. If not they could always run, that’d still be a distraction. For now though, just sitting there and keeping an eye out was good enough.

Meanwhile, Race and the Bar Boys, as Race had so aptly named them, were preparing to strike. They had waited long enough that everyone should be taken care of and they could get access to one of the windows (on the ground floor this time) open.

Albert and Hotshot quickly get to work dismantling the whole contraption. They move together in a way that surprises Race, diligent and in sync. They’re done in a matter of minutes and then Race is crawling in through the window to go find Spot and they’re off to dismantle another. If they’re going to get every kid out using only one window would take forever. Most of the other boys followed them with two staying behind to man this entry point.

Race felt dizzy the moment his feet touched the ground inside the Refuge. The last time he was here was under much different circumstances. Circumstances that made him queasy when he thought about them too hard. Shook himself, unconsciously cracking his knuckles, he wasn’t a prisoner this time. He was here on a mission, he was here because Spot needed him to be. He could do this for Spot.

One foot in front of the other, out of sight and on the edge of cautious, Race maneuvered through the empty halls. Deep breaths, forcing down the bile as memories resurfaced. Just think about Spot. One foot in front of the other.

Spot was probably still in the bunk room upstairs. Step. That would be the best place to look for him. Step. And once he was there it’d be easy to address the other kids. Step. Then he’d have to check the more isolated rooms. Step. Free anyone there. Step. He wished someone had freed him while he was there. Step. Memories flashed through his mind. Step- and he’s at the bunkroom door.

One more deep breath and he’s opening the door.

Some of the kids turned to face him in surprise. Eyes combed over the room frantically.

“Where’s Spot Conlon?”

They glanced among themselves wearily until one boy spoke up. “He’s in one of the rooms.”

Race froze. That was bad. Very bad. Swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact. “We’s gettin’ you out, all of ya. The windows on the ground floor are open and everyone is distracted, but you hafta be real quiet and fast. There’ll be kids waiting outside to help you if you need it.”

The surprise is evident on nearly everyone’s face. Instantly most kids are grabbing their meager belongings and practically dash out the door behind him. Race waited for each kid to begin their escape before he forced himself to head towards the isolation rooms.

He walked in a daze, a hollow, aching feeling having taken up residence in his chest where his heartbeat should be. He could hear the muffled sounds of the escapees trying to be silent.

He braced himself.

The first room was empty. As was the second.

The third was occupied. A boy no older than thirteen huddled in the corner, cowering away from the intrusion. Race made it clear he was here to help and pulled the boy to his feet. Told him the same things he told the others and watched the boy run out the door. Race was shaking, just slightly. He never wanted to be in one of these rooms again. He still soldiered on.

Four was empty too.

Race didn’t want to see what was on the other side of five. Spot was on the other side of five. There was nowhere else he could be. Man, this place was messing with his head. The sooner he got Spot out the sooner they could leave. Race opened the door.

Spot was sitting in the corner as well, knees pulled up to his chest, head down and tense beyond belief. From what Race could see, there was visible bruising on his face that certainly hadn’t been there before. If Race hadn’t felt sick before…

Tears gathered in his eyes. “Spot?”

“Racer? What- how- I-”

“We’re getting out of here, right now.” Race helped Spot to a standing position. However, the moment Spot put weight on his left foot he yelped. Getting a better look at it revealed that his ankle was clearly hurt, probably sprained.

Race tightened his grip on Spot. He had been able to walk just fine yesterday. If only he had-

Spot steadied himself, leaning into Race. Tilted his head so Race had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.” Spot sounded so reassuring, so- so sure. Race had no choice but to believe him. Race rubbed at the tear tracks lining his face. Still slightly shaking, he nodded. They just had to get out of this place. Finally having Spot back with him allowed Race’s determination to shine through.

It was a long way home.

#newsies #newsies live #sprace #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #racetrack higgins #spot conlon #albert dasilva #jack finch davey hotshot and a few others show up as well #albert dasilva & racetrack higgins #newsies writing #orange writes #word count: 4.2k #is that all?

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