#as someone said this week - really a death of a dream.

[cockaiine]

Gojo the womanizer, they called him.

Yeah, ‘he will break your heart’, you were told.

But they don’t see the look in Satoru’s eyes when you tug at his arm when you ask him to stay the night. No one knows how he kisses your forehead every night, restless until he makes sure you’re asleep.

Your friends warned you, they told you he fucks girls for fun. But they never warned you of the intimacy his grip holds, or the softness in which he huffs your name, calling you as if you were the last girl alive. No one warned you you’d find yourself stuck in his arms every morning, kept close like you’re life itself.

You knew Satoru’s a busy man, everyone presumed he’s busy fooling around with someone else. But you know better. You’re the only one who sees him wounded, muttering that he’s fine, it’s just a scratch, but hissing whenever the cotton dips at his skin.

His blue eyes were dangerous, you were told—and they are, in all the ways you weren’t told. They’re sweet, caring, and lost. He’s not sure what he’s doing, he doesn’t know right from wrong, and he thinks of you as an anchor. You used to think his eyes were crystals, bland and rich and hard to reach. But Satoru’s eyes were an ocean, behind them hid a thousand lives in a man who is not thirty yet.

Satoru brings you flowers every Thursday, a different arrangement from last week, and tells you it’s a good day to celebrate having you in his life. Satoru apologizes when you sneeze because you’re allergic to one of these flowers—he spends the next week making it up to you until it’s Thursday again.

You’d been told he’ll dump you over text, but whenever he’s away on a mission he texts you to make sure you know he loves you. To make sure that you love him. He promises you he’s gonna kiss you until you pass out when he’s back, he tells you he can’t sleep without your snores, he swears he’s going to lose his mind if he can’t see you for much longer.

Satoru listens to every word you say, memorizing every note your voice rises and committing it to memory. He remembers every topic you discuss, every movie you talk about, every pet you gushed over, and even every problem you complained about. But his favorite? Oh, the way you moan his name, trying to hold back but it comes out sobbed and pitched and desperate. He loves it so much he hears it even in his dreams, waking up needy and clinging to you.

And oh, people sing of the miracle he is in bed, chanting of how good they hear he is. But he’s clueless; unsure how to please you, afraid he’d get things wrong. It’s so sweet, really, the way he studies your face, waiting for confirmation that yes, he can continue. That he’s making you feel good.

You heard people say they’d never seen him with the same girl twice, but today you celebrate your second anniversary. Your third anniversary. Your fourth anniversary, when he insists you celebrate at home, unlike every year. Where he gets down on one knee in your backyard, asking you with keen eyes to make him the happiest man alive.

‘Oh, but he’s not a family man,’ You’ve been warned, ‘he’s so busy, your family would be a mess!’ But he swears he won’t be happy until he gets a kid with your eyes. Satoru holds your hand every night, reminding you that he wants to have children and watch them grow with you, promising you you’d be a happy family until the very end of your days.

He’s the strongest, you were told. You told him to stay, you told him it’s too dangerous to go. But he promised he’d come back, what could possibly go wrong? He is the strongest, after all, that’s what all the tales of him tell.

But everything else they said was a lie, and this was no exception. You swore you loved Gojo Satoru, but you’ve never hated him more than when you received news of his death, a baby in your stomach, only three months away. Even when you weep over his coffin, begging him to come back, promising him you’d never be mad at him again, promising him you’d never keep him up late again, promising him you’d never stand in his way again, he doesn’t. 

You don’t regret Gojo Satoru, you never could. But you wonder to yourself every night, what would you tell the little one growing in you? That her father was a legend? Would she understand that?

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[dollfacefantasy]

Some Extra Lessons

pairing: professor!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: professor kennedy’s got it bad for one of his students. little does he know, you feel the same way for him.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, thigh riding, fingering, edging, age gap (36/college aged), teacher/student, daddy kink, sir kink, praise/degradation

word count: 7k

a/n: hey everybody. hope everyone had nice holidays if you celebrate them. and happy new year! i'm not sure how i feel about this one but eh. i got things cooking so stay tuned 🫵. as always, thank you for your comments and reblogs. smooches <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @nexysworld @explorevenus

Mondays and Wednesdays. Those are fast becoming Leon’s two favorite days of the week. For most people, they’re probably the worst days. The first day back to work, and the other right in the middle of the week; when they’ve already had enough but it feels like the weekend is still years away. But not for Leon. Not anymore. Those days are now sacred to him because they are the days he gets to see you.

You’re his favorite student this semester by far, no one else even comes close. He noticed you early on in the beginning weeks, quiet but attentive. You would sit off to the side by yourself, always taking notes or scanning what was on the board.

It made him feel like such a perv when he first noticed his own lingering gazes and heart palpitations when you walked in the room. He tried to justify it. It wasn’t everyday he had someone like you sitting a few rows away from him, hanging on every word he said.

He’s only human, he tried reasoning. He couldn’t help but always notice the cute little outfits you wore to class, teasing just enough of your body to keep him ogling you for more. You did your hair in pretty styles and coated your pouty lips in shimmery gloss. He had to force his eyes to move around the room to other students when he spoke. His natural instinct was to keep them locked on you while his head filled with images of his hands squeezing those cute tits or his cock sliding between your shiny lips.

Despite those fantasies, he left you alone. It was wrong, inappropriate, he told himself. He shouldn’t be lusting after his student, let alone pursuing her. You were just a sweet girl trying to get an education. He couldn’t let his perversions interfere with that.

But as the weeks passed and more classes went by, he got to know you. You seemed pretty shy but not insecure. In class, you’d do your work alone, but if there was ever a lull in his lecture, you’d raise your hand to offer an answer, help him out a little. That was how he had bridged the gap between you two even though he hadn’t meant it as anything more than what it was.

He had just dismissed everyone, making a corny joke about the poor grades he’d given so far on an essay that had been due. A small smile graced your lips. Sure, the joke wasn’t that funny, but you had a fat crush on Mr. Kennedy so everything he said was a little funny.

You were scrawling down a few remaining notes before you would leave for the day when you heard his voice call your name. Immediately, your head tilted up to look at him. He beckoned you over with a wave of his hand. You were still wondering what this could be about as your hands slid your notebook into your backpack and your feet carried you towards him.

“Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” you say softly when you approach his desk. You rest your palms on the edge of the table as you await the reason behind this encounter.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for your participation. You know, I appreciate that, and I know it’s not fair to you to have that expected of you when you didn’t sign up for it,” he begins.

“Oh, it’s no problem, sir. I really don’t mind,” you say, smiling at him.

“Sir? So polite,” he jokes with a smile of his own. The remark had come out before he could stop himself with a mental scolding about being normal with you.

Your cheeks burn, and you glance down at your shoes timidly. Your heartbeat was already faster than normal just from having his eyes focused on you alone. With him teasing you, it felt like your chest was going to explode.

This was the closest you’d ever been to him, the most you’d ever spoken to one another. Up close it was even more apparent how handsome he was. He didn’t look like any other professors you had. His blonde hair fell into his face and partially obscured one of his eyes. His shirt was undone a button lower than was probably professional.

“And I wanted to tell you that I got your email about your late assignment,” he says. He could see your embarrassment. He would have felt more guilt about causing it if you didn’t look so precious like that. He pushes those thoughts away though as you look up again, anxiety in your eyes. 

“Oh yeah, I’m really sorry about that. I promise you that it’s a one time thing. I don’t normally have that problem, and I just wanted you to know that. Didn’t want you to get the wrong impression,” you say.

He cuts off your apology with a chuckle and places his hand over yours, covering your manicured nails with the rough skin of his palm. 

“It’s alright, honey,” he says, “I can tell you’re a good girl. I don’t mind giving you a break.”

Good girl. You shift in place upon hearing those two words. It’s like a small match ignites in your belly, inching closer to the larger fuse.

So naive. So well-intentioned. That’s what he saw looking at you in that moment. He could almost see into you, see your mind trying to figure out a response, to discern if he was purposely flirting or clueless like you.

Your eyes cast down, and a shy smile breaks out on your face. After wrapping up the conversation and finishing with a soft murmur of “Thank you Mr. Kennedy,” you practically skip out of the room. A swirl of almost every good emotion you’ve ever felt blooms in your chest because of his attention.

He smirks, watching that sweet ass sway back and forth as you bound up the steps to the door. How you seem to walk with your shoulders back and chest out after the small praise he gave you. God, he was practically drooling. He imagined himself looking like a cartoon character, silhouettes of hearts in his eyes and his tongue rolled out of his mouth.

But no, this was wrong. Point blank, it’s that simple. Or at least it should be.

After that day, he relented a little. He decided that some slight teasing was harmless. But he swore it would be just that, nothing further. That small voice in his head tried to defend it. It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy the attention. You’d blush and fidget in your seat when he shot you an amorous look. Or you’d smile and flit your eyes away as he’d tuck some hair behind your ear when he’d come over to your desk after class to ask if you understood everything.

And as he weakened, your infatuation intensified. These classes became the highlights of your week. You’d fantasize about the pet name he’d call you on Monday or how his eyes would roam over your body on Wednesday. Walking to class, ringing through your head was simply Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Kennedy. While you traveled home, he danced through your mind to your thoughts about him that sounded like a love song.

Even with the huge torch you carried for him, you could never work up the nerve to make the big move. Every time you’d imagine sitting in his lap, your lips moving with his, all you could think about was what if it was all in your head? All those little looks and sweet words just blown out of proportion in your mind. Could you handle baring your soul to him if he reacted with anything other than reciprocation?

These questions bothered you as the semester went on, but nothing really changed. Leon was the same way, of course, all while you were unaware. He could only imagine how freaked out you would be if he made any attempt on you.

Lately, the two of you had been spending more time together. You were staying after class more to get “additional help.” Lingering around his desk, you’d timidly started approaching him, and he was happy to give you the aide.

Today, he dismisses everyone else before waving you over with a smug smile. You grab your things and scamper down to his desk with your own happy expression. You slide into the chair he pulled next to his seat. You open your laptop and start showing him the things you didn’t understand. In reality, you understood just fine, but for the sake of being around him, you’d bite your lip and look up at him through your lashes as if you’d missed entire classes worth of information.

“I just have trouble with memorization. I get confused between the words and their definitions,” you explain.

“Oh alright,” he responds softly, eyes scanning over the screen and then finding your face, “There’s a couple of things I think could help. Acronyms, stuff like that.”

He starts explaining the strategy to you, but like always, you have to fight a mental war to stay focused. You nod along, trying your best to act attentive. It was so hard though because… he’s him. 

You scoot your chair a little closer to his to get a better view of the laptop and notice his breath hitch. Your body freezes, but instead of feeling that familiar fear of rejection come over you, confidence begins simmering inside your chest. The change in his breathing meant something, he was reacting to this too. Maybe you could do this after all.

For now, you try to act natural, moving along the conversation with another question.

“Is there anything else though? Because I struggle to attach the definitions too, not just remember the words,” you say, leaning in a little more.

He turns his head to look at you completely, eyes locked on yours. You felt like you were losing your footing a little staring into them. “Mhm. I can show you how to link the two. Break down the word to get the meanings of the parts and…” he continues on as you zone out.

His voice was huskier now, and that simmer of confidence continues to build within you. You keep nodding with every pause in his speech, your doe eyes looking up at him.

“That makes sense,” you say when he finishes, still unable to look away. Your heart pounds as you make a decision. You place your hand on his thigh. You try to act natural, as if it’s just a casual gesture of affirmation. But you can see in his eyes that he knows better.

“Yeah? Do you need help with anything else then?” he asks slowly, watching your face for reactions.

“I think so,” you say as your voice grows a little breathier.

“What is it?” he asks. He leans in a little more and you can feel his hot breath fanning over you.

“I have some more questions…” you say.

“About?” he says, eyes dropping to your lips for a moment.

Head tilting down, your foot moves over to lightly brush up against his leg. You bite your lip, looking the most timid he’d ever seen you, which was saying a lot. But you force yourself to keep going while you have this burst of hope.

“Some special tutoring…” you offer.

“Special tutoring?” he repeats with a raise of his eyebrow, looking down at your foot rubbing at his ankle. He hesitates but decides to then take your hand and stand up. “If we’re discussing something like that, we should probably go to my personal office. Wouldn’t want us to get interrupted by the next class in here.”

“Oh yeah,” you immediately agree. You grab your stuff and your fingers link with his as he leads you out of the classroom, down the hall to his office. Passing bulletin boards of flyers and other students heading to their next class, you realize it probably looks a little odd to be holding his hand, letting him guide you around. But it just turned you on more, feeling dependent, controlled.

After a while, you reach the door with the stick-on placard reading “Leon Kennedy.” Your heart pounds as you shuffle through the entrance. The office was a decent size, having a desk, some book shelves, and a small loveseat in the back corner of the room.

He slides past you and walks behind his desk, taking a seat in his chair that was clearly much more comfortable than the generic one in the lecture room. It dawned on you though that that was the only other chair in the room. There was the couch, but that was too far away from the desk for your purposes.

You approach the desk, similar to how you did all those weeks ago when this first started. He looks up at you with hesitant desire in his eyes.

“Why don’t you c’mere?” he asks.

“Ok,” you respond shyly. You drop your stuff near his desk and pad around it to approach him. Standing between his muscular thighs, you almost can’t focus from the volume of your pulse in your ears. His eyes look you up and down, more overtly than they ever had in the past. It now felt like you were hurtling towards a collision without a possibility of stopping.

After a moment of silence, he rips you from your thoughts. “Go ahead and ask your questions,” he says.

“Oh yeah,” you say, perking up a little since you had nearly forgotten about your facade of innocent curiosity. “I was just wondering if I could maybe start getting some… extra help.”

He chuckles and leans back in his chair. The maneuver gives you a better view of his broad chest and sculpturesque arms. You feel even more flustered, and you know it’s about to get worse because he obviously picks up on it.

“I don’t really think you need extra help quite honestly. Your grade is fine, and you seem to understand a lot, even the tedious things you ask questions about,” he says, a subtle arrogance on his face as he drags this out.

“No, I really think I do,” you say softly, shifting back and forth in place.

His eyes look up at you with a knowing glint. He shakes his head with a smirk as his gaze falls down to your legs that couldn’t stand still.

“With what? Like I said, even those things you pretend to not know, you obviously do. You ace every test, and while I’d like to believe it, I don’t think my advice is that helpful.”

As the words left his mouth, Leon knew he was getting into dangerous territory, leading you to a place neither of you could just return from. The rational part of his mind was slamming on his mental brakes to no avail.

You were in a similar place, your mind racing and trying to decide whether to go for it or not. After a quick moment, it was as if a bright neon sign flashes in your mind. The words telling you to try. You decide on moving forward and ignoring the other part of you that’s telling you to turn around and walk out the door right now.

You sit on his lap, straddling him with each of your legs on either side of his thigh. You look down as your fingertips drag along the waistline of his pants. 

“I just think there are other things I could learn from you,” you say, your voice shaking from your nerves.

“Tell me what they are,” he breathes. His own heart slams against his ribcage at your gesture. His natural instincts scream at him to pull you close and take what he wants, making his fantasies reality.

“It’s easier for me to show you,” you say. You felt if you had to speak anymore you might lose your nerve, so you go all in. You lean forward and connect your lips. With feather light kisses, you move your mouth on his.

At first, he doesn’t kiss back, and fear zaps through you. After a moment of shock though, he reciprocates. Your hands slide up his chest while he grabs your hips to pull you closer. The two of you go at it a little longer with soft smooches. Then he feels your tongue swipe against his bottom lip.

He pulls back and looks at you. He couldn’t do this. But God, just look at you. Your chest heaving with your heavier breathing, those plush lips wet with saliva, pretty eyes looking at him like a pleading puppy. He groans and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. His head falls back against his chair.

“Sweetheart… we shouldn’t do this,” he says, not looking at you to try and keep his resolve.

You bite your lip as your eyes widen with anxiety. “Did I do something wrong?” you say, shaky voice returning.

You try to keep it together. He still wasn’t looking at you, but you silently vow to yourself that you wouldn’t cry from the rejection. There would truly be no coming back from that. It would be hard enough seeing him on Monday as it was. If you shed any tears, you’d have to drop the class regardless of how close the end of the semester was.

“No, honey. I did. I just… it’s wrong,” he offers weakly, not convinced of his own excuse, “I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I’m sorry.”

Despite your internal promise, you felt barbs scraping at your throat with each swallow. Hot, stinging tears pricking at your eyes. You try to push it all back down, spare yourself some dignity.

“But- But don’t you-” you start, cutting yourself off to maintain your composure. You take a deep breath before finishing. “Don’t you like me?”

Leon cracks his eyes open and looks down at you. A critical error. He felt like such a dick. There you were, still on his lap, lip quivering, eyes lined with tears and full of uncertainty. He managed to make this into what he wanted to avoid, a complete mess.

“No- I mean yes, I like you a lot. That isn’t the issue here. We- I… we just can’t do this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he sighs, hands falling to your hips to move you off his lap.

Now, tears were really threatening to fall. You grab his shoulders to stabilize yourself and stop him from lifting you up. Your mind scrambles for an argument that could work.

“Why?” is all you can manage. As if you didn’t know.

“Baby, I’m your teacher. It wouldn’t be right,” he says, forcing himself to remain unaffected by the kicked puppy look you had going on, “I have to stay objective, and that’s hard enough with a cute little thing like yourself.” He smirks at the end of his statement and rubs your cheek, trying to lighten the mood.

It doesn’t work, your eyes are fixated on his belt buckle as a part of the strategy to keep your tears from leaking out. You subconsciously lean into his hand on your face though, a gesture that makes his heart melt. You just nod faintly. Think, think, think, think, you tell yourself. 

“But it won’t be like you’re cheating for me. I get good grades. It’s not like I’m fucking you to pass…” you reason.

“I know that, sweetheart, and you know that. But you have to understand. Think about it. What if people found out? I’d be risking my job, and I can’t imagine it would go well for you either,” he says softly, stroking some of your hair behind your ear.

“No one will find out,” you say. Your head tilts up so you can look into his eyes.

He immediately looks away, afraid he would cave if he stared into those sweet spheres of desire. You catch this, realizing it may be your way ahead.

“You’re a sweet girl, honey. Pretty and smart. The kind any man would be lucky to have. If this was a different situation, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not for a second. But it’s not,” he says, looking pained.

You push your lip out a little more and let one tear fall from each eye before quickly wiping them away,  smearing the warm liquid across your cheek. Leaning forward, you wrap your arms around him and press yourself to his chest. You look up at him, forcing him to make eye contact.

“I don’t want any man though,” you say quietly. You keep your stare locked on him, your eyes big and vulnerable to accentuate your point. “Please, sir.”

His cock jumps at the title leaving your lips. He sucks in a breath and tilts his head back. “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says with a hushed groan.

You scoot forward a little bit, your hips grinding down on his lap with the motion. Your nose drags against his throat as you nuzzle his neck. You lay a kiss to his pulse point before murmuring, “Just a few more kisses? Then I won’t bring any of it up again. Pretty please.”

“Kisses…” he trails off, pondering the idea. Just a few more kisses. An obvious lie. But one he would at least pretend to believe just so he could have those sweet lips on his again. “Fine, but that’s it. You understand?”

“Mhm,” you respond without thinking. You lean up and kiss him. It’s not soft or gentle like the first time. This go is passionate from the beginning. Lips move together, and again, your tongue works to gain entry to his mouth.

The two of you make out for definitely more than a few kisses. Your hand slides up from his shoulder to the base of his neck, lightly tugging on his hair. He groans and squeezes your waist. You gasp between kisses at the sensation and grind your hips down again in response.

He grunts as he feels it, his cock getting a little stiff at the feeling. You do it again with a whimper. This time his fingers dig into your flesh, holding you with more authority.

“Be good, only a few more kisses, remember?” he grunts against your lips.

Continuing to kiss, you take a break from moving your hips and push your body against his again. Your soft tits push up against his chest. He tries to draw back, feeling cracks in his resolve as the warm globes meld with him. The backing of his chair stops him from getting too far away though. He grunts and his grip gets more firm, trying to keep you in a suitable position.

“Stay still. Think I’m giving you more than you asked for anyway. Don’t make me cut it off here,” he mumbles before going back in.

It was risky, but you felt like you had him. You felt him half hard between your legs and could feel his breath coming out in longer puffs. You do it again, rolling your hips on him, dragging your cunt over his bulge through the layers of clothing that separated you.

He growls and nips at your lip before harshly lifting your hips off his lap. You’re hovering above the growing tent in his jeans. You lightly rock them a few times with a pout, testing to see if you can get any kind of friction.

“What did I say?” he asks.

“It’s not fair, sir,” you whimper, ignoring his question.

“Oh, it’s not?” he says, maintaining his stern demeanor, “What’s so unfair?”

“Leading me on,” you huff.

Mix a bit of truth in with your seductive game, and you have him now. Real guilt and frustration swirls with the lust in the pit of his belly. He was all in now. There was no way you were leaving this office without his cum leaking from you.

“I told you what you were getting. You thought you could get away with being greedy,” he chides. He lifts you even more and puts you on your feet in front of him, between his thighs again. “Take your pants off.”

Your eyes widen. This was going to happen. Your fingers make quick work of your jeans, snapping the button and dropping them to pool around your ankles. You step out of them and nudge them to the side. He smirks up at you, standing there in your tight t-shirt and frilly pink panties. Of course, everything about you was cute.

His hands return to your hips and pull you on top of him. This time you aren’t on his lap though. You land on his thigh. You look down at the limb beneath you and then back at his face.

“Don’t play dumb now. You wanna rub that needy pussy on something, go ahead,” he says.

“But-“ you start before he cuts you off with a sharp smack on the ass.

“I don’t want to hear any complaining. You should count yourself lucky I’m letting you even do this,” he says as his hand rubs and kneads the cheek he just slapped, “Normally, I wouldn’t accept my little girl just doing whatever she wants like that. But because it’s your first time, I’m giving you a break. Gonna help fix this problem you’re having, thinking from between your legs instead of with that pretty little head.”

Your entire face heats up as he lays into you like that. You start rocking your hips, dragging yourself on his clothes thigh. You watch his face for approval as you go, but his eyes are transfixed on your lower body at the moment.

“There you go, baby. That’s right,” he says encouragingly before cracking you on the ass again, “Little faster. Wanna see how bad you’ve been wanting this.”

You do as he says, rolling your hips with more speed and force. The fabric of your panties begins to dampen with your arousal as you press onto it. Whimpers fall from your lips as you grind your swollen pussy on his muscle. He gives you some help, guiding your movements by holding your hips. You softly gasp a few times, biting your lip as you continue to rut against him.

“Look at you,” he coos. Your tits bounce beneath your t-shirt as you ride his thigh. “Been thinking about this a lot, sweetheart? Dream about this while you’re sitting in class, hm? Humping my leg like a dumb little puppy.”

“Yes,” you choke out and toss your head back. A guttural moan leaves you, and he chuckles, giving your hip a tighter squeeze.

“Quiet, babydoll. Don’t want anyone outside this room hearing. I don’t think they’d believe this is just some ‘special tutoring,’” he says.

You keep up your grinding, your pussy sensitive to the rough fabric of his pants even through your panties. He tries to help you quiet down by pulling you closer and cradling your head against his shoulder, muffling your sounds against his shirt. The cloth becomes wet with your spit as your hushed moans spill out.

After going for a little while longer, he can tell you’re getting close. It’s obvious in the way your hips sputter every couple of thrusts, how your voice is getting whinier, how your body contracts every few moments. Your hands curl into fists, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, “Getting close, baby? Think you’re gonna cum soon?”

“Yes, sir,” you whimper.

“Aw, so polite,” he teases just like he had those weeks ago, “Well, tell me when you’re right there. Gonna make it extra special.”

You nod obediently and continue working yourself to the high point. Your breaths become sharper and movements get more erratic. You feel the band of pleasure stretching inside you, ready to snap.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, “ you ramble out.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he says. 

With a menacing grin, he yanks your hips up and flips you around. Mind spinning from the sudden loss of pleasure, you whine and squirm on his lap. A pointless struggle seeing how your soaked panties were faced out away from any potential source of friction. Your back’s flush against the warmth of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thudding behind you as his hands curl around the back of your legs and bring them up so that your feet are planted on his thighs. Your head slumps back against his shoulder, turning to look up at him, pleading frustration projecting from your eyes.

One of his arms snakes around your waist while the other comes up to stroke your chin with his thumb. He looks down at you, eyes full of amusement as he toys with you.

“Now that was really unfair, wasn’t it pretty girl?” he taunts.

You arch your back off his chest with another whine before collapsing against his broad form again. You nod, feeling the sparks of ecstasy dwindle within you.

“You’re a tease,” you huff.

“I am?” he mocks. 

He begins trailing his hand down your front, stopping level with your breasts. He squeezes them gently with some firm caresses from his fingers. Then he lowers his hand further and slips it beneath your shirt. Your breath hitches as he begins stroking the soft skin of your belly up to the valley between your breasts. His palm slides beneath the cups of your bra, feeling the bare skin of your chest. He alternates between each. The rough pads of his fingertips drag over the sensitive flesh of your nipples, giving them tender pinches that draw hushed mewls from you.

“So soft, baby,” he whispers with a kiss to your temple.

It felt nice, made your breasts feel heavy and achy, begging to be touched. Had your head hot and airy, unable to control the way you melted against him or the sweet noises that escaped you. But you couldn’t really enjoy that because your pussy was still throbbing, still desperately searching for the orgasm that was stolen from you. You squirm again, pushing your ass back against the bulge you felt growing in his pants.

“Please, sir. Please,” you whimper, “Wanna cum.”

You feel his lips curl into a smile against the side of your head, but his tone remains rough and commanding. “I think the next thing I gotta teach you is patience.”

Retracting his hand from your bra, he smooths it back down your stomach to the hem of your panties. His fingers fidget with one of the strips of lace on the garment while he stares into your eyes.

“You know, baby, I think you’re the tease here,” he breathes. He rubs the skin just above your panties and then moves under the fabric. His digits glide through your slick folds, the touch meandering, just at the border of giving you pleasure. “I mean, I think you know what you’ve been doing.”

“What?” you say, struggling to take in his words when you were fixated on his touches to your center.

“You act like a dumb little doll, sweetheart, but I know you’re not. I know you know how to play. Parading around in those pretty outfits, something always on your lips, always saying ‘yes sir,’” he whispers. His digits circle your clit at a painfully slow pace. He brushes over it slightly, giving you hope before flattening his hand over your cunt. You get ready to whine about the teasing before he pushes two fingers inside you.

“Mr. Kennedy,” you gasp, head pressing back further against his shoulder.

“Oh, and how could I forget my favorite, ‘Mr. Kennedy.’ But I think it’s about time you start calling me Leon, babydoll. No need to be so formal anymore,” he says as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right.

You shake your head and whimper. His palm rubs down on your puffy clit with every thrust of his hand.

“Oh no?” he teases, “You like Mr. Kennedy taking care of you, making you feel good?”

Your eyes roll back as you nod. “Mhm. Yes… s-sir,” you say.

You stumble over the word ‘sir.’ Leon catches it immediately, and he’s certain he knows why. He knows what you really wanted to call him.

“Mmm, good girl,” he purrs in your ear, seeing the way the praise pulls extra gasps from you, makes your eyes all glossy, “You’re so sweet, baby. So precious.”

He lays it on thick, trying to get you to crack and say the word on the tip of your tongue. His fingers massage your sensitive spots as they consistently slide into your dripping cunt. You bite your lip, more whimpers coming from you. You look up at him again through your lashes.

“Thank you, sir,” you say, voice all soft and dreamy as you start climbing to that high.

“Of course, babydoll. You deserve it,” he says into your hair, “But you know, I still think ‘sir’ is too professional. Makes me feel like I’m at work. Plus, I get the feeling you have another name in mind too.”

“I- I do?” you ask, looking up at him curiously. He smiles at your naivety and the way you try to get your words out around your whimpers.

“Oh yeah. I can already hear it, sweetheart. You like being taken care of, being doted on. I can see it. All you want is to be a good girl for…”

“Daddy,” you whine, your eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s right,” he chuckles. He speeds up his fingers, delving as deep as possible. A quiet squeal erupts from you, and he hushes you while kissing your cheek a few times. You try to keep your noises down even as your hips buck and your heels dig into the meat of his thighs.

“Daddy I- Daddy, Daddy, I’m gonna cum,” you moan.

“Aw, but I don’t want my baby to cum yet,” he mocks. Just as quick as the release had built in you, it was gone. He pulls his fingers out of your hole, and your eyes widen. You whimper in disbelief, hips squirming as if they could find that sensation again if they were positioned just right.

“Daddy!” you practically cry.

“Thought I told you to be quiet,” he says, taking his fingers, still wet with your slick, and shoving them into your mouth. You hum around them in surprise at first, but in no time, your tongue presses against the skin, tasting yourself on him. He pumps them in and out a little, a smaller version of what he had been doing moments earlier down below.

“There you go, baby. Like I said, no complaints. Just shut that silly mind off and focus on Daddy’s fingers,” he murmurs. He watches with approval as you do exactly that, your eyes fluttering a bit as you clear your thoughts out. “Such a fast learner.”

Your pussy still aches with a need for him, but it’s more tolerable when he’s cooing in your ear while your lips are around his fingers.

“Bet my pretty girl wants to cum so bad right about now,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

“Mhm,” you hum as you take his fingers further into your mouth.

“Well, you know why Daddy didn’t let you cum yet? It wasn’t just to be mean to you,” he says.

He hears garbled “I don’t know” come from you. He strokes your hair with his other hand.

“It’s because,” he starts. He removes his fingers from between your lips and scoops you up. Next thing you know, your back is against the hardwood of his desk. You’re looking up at him with hazy eyes, slowly blinking as you take in his words. “I want you to cum all over Daddy’s cock.”

In mere seconds, his belt clanks against the floor, your panties are gone, his fly is undone, and his dick is out, rock hard. It’s flushed and leaking precum as he moves it to your entrance. He pushes the tip in first, teasing you by holding himself there.

You whine at the slight intrusion, wiggling your hips for more. Jutting your lip out a bit, you look up at him with a pout. “Daddy…” you plead weakly.

He shakes his head with an amused smile, but it works. He pushes the rest of his length in, filling you up completely. As he slides in, a long groan leaves him and his head tilts towards the ceiling. He grumbles something along the lines of “so fucking tight.” Your fingers reach downward to grip the edge of his desk. It felt like you were already there again, right on the brink of release.

After a moment of just taking in the feeling, he begins thrusting. He pulls his hips back and pushes them forward again. His cock slides between your walls with no resistance, the perfect fit. You were already pulsing around him, sucking him in deeper. A deep laugh rumbles from his chest.

“You're gonna cum already, baby. I’m that good?” he mocks. He thumbs your clit, sending a burst of pleasure through you that makes you clamp down on him. He grunts and starts thrusting a little harder.

You’re whining quietly, but you can’t hold back the yelp when he pinches your clit. You cum on the spot, gushing around him. You babble incoherently and buck your hips. The high was higher than any euphoria you’d ever felt. You’re panting when it’s done, but he’s still going.

He’s smirking down at you, rocking his hips all the while. “Did I say you could do that?” he asks with a light spank to your clit.

You gasp and arch your back off the desk. “No!” you whine, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Another spank. “You’re lucky it’s your first time, and I’m giving you a break today.”

You nod quickly. “Thank you Daddy,” you mumble.

He keeps thrusting, seamlessly going between hard and fast and slow and deep. The motions shake the desk back and forth, sliding inches on the floor each time. You feel like there’s gonna be scrape marks when you’re done.

You also feel like you’re gonna have marks from the way he’s gripping your hips, battering your sensitive pussy. You were so worked up from all the teasing that the overstimulation didn’t even faze you. Your head just droops back, hanging off the edge of the desk. 

It’s harder to keep track of how loud you’re being when you’re this out of it. He smiles at your needy whines and pulls your thighs forward so your head is back on the desk. He leans forward, covering his body with yours and grinding his hips deeper than before. His hand comes up and covers your mouth.

“You better hope no one hears, pretty girl. We didn’t lock the door,” he pants.

You moan against the flesh of his hand and your walls tighten their grip on him. He growls in your ear at the sensation before a low chuckle comes from him.

“Oh, you’d like that? I should’ve known,” he teases, “You’d love for someone to come in and see how good you’re being. What a sweet girl you are, being used by your teacher. Love for them to see all the things Daddy’s teaching you.”

A strained cry bubbles beneath his fingers, and you nod, feeling shameless about your fantasy. He nuzzles the side of your head and keeps thrusting as deep as he can. He knows you’re getting close again, and this time, he’s right there with you.

“Come on, sweet baby. Give Daddy another one. I know my precious girl can do it. You were wanting it for so long,” he grunts.

Your whole body seizes as another orgasm rips through you. Your whines and cries are fortunately muffled by his palm, but he feels your drool leaking against his skin. His own eyes squeeze shut as he gasps and moans. His hips jerk, pounding into you a few more times before he cums. He bites his lip to silence his own noises as he spills into, filling you to the brim.

Both of your chests are heaving in the end as you take in gulps of air. He slowly pulls out and pushes some of his hair out of his face. You're both half dressed, his pants down to his knees, shirt unbuttoned. You, nude from the waist down and bra shifted out of place beneath your shirt. 

The two of you stand up, you on shaky legs, and pull yourselves back into shape. You pull your panties up and follow them with your jeans while he does the same with his pants. He then falls back into his chair and takes you with him.

He just holds you to his chest for a little bit, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head. You don’t say anything either. You curl up into the affection and stroke his forearm gently.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs before squeezing you a little tighter.

You’re both so into it, not caring about anything beyond this office at this moment. That is until you catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall.

“Oh… Mr. Kennedy,” you start as you slowly untangle yourself from him and stand up, “I probably should get going. I have to meet my friend to study soon.”

He’s not happy about losing your body on his, but he smiles at your words.

“Alright, honey, but seriously. It’s Leon from now on,” he says.

“Ok,” you laugh with a nod, “Leon.”

You grab your things and give him one more sweet look before turning to walk to the door. He pats you on the ass and kisses your cheek.

“See you Monday, baby,” he says.

[rogueddie]

Steve wakes up to a beeping noise- a heart monitor. He struggles to open his eyes, turning to squint around the hospital room. Something about it feels off, though he can’t tell what.

A woman stumbles in, almost spilling her coffee. She looks familiar.

“Hey,” Steve tries, only to end up coughing. His throat is painfully dry.

“Steve!” She exclaims. She hurries over, swapping the coffee for a plastic cup of water. She carefully holds it to his mouth for him to drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake! I know we can’t talk here but… fuck, man, you really had us scared for a minute. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again!”

“I promise?”

“Oh! Eddie finally woke up too! Just the other week. He keeps asking about you, I should go-”

Steve is only more confused. There’s only one Eddie he knows and that Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead worrying about someone like Steve. Not unless...

“Munson?”

“Duh. Oh! Nancy! I was supposed to- you’re ok, right? I’ll just be a minute!”

“Yeah, sure.”

She throws him a thumbs up, darting out the room, calling for Nancy.

His head throbs. He’s not sure what is going on, what happened… maybe that thing in the Byers house did get him after all? Maybe this is just a dream.

"Ah, Mr Harrington," a nurse greets with a warm smile. "It's good to see you awake. I'm just going to check your vitals and all of that stuff, then we'll need to go over some questions. Does that sound alright?"

"Questions?"

"You've been asleep for a few weeks. We need to make sure that everything up there is ok." She lightly raps her knuckles on the side of her head.

Despite how light she's trying to be, Steve feels a sinking in his stomach.

"Is that possible? What- what could be wrong?"

"Nothing too serious. You're speech is clear and legible, you're conscious and cognitive." She lifts the clipboard off the end of the hospital bed. "You remember your name?"

"Yeah," he says. After a moment, he realizes; "oh! Right, sorry. Steve Harrington."

"Date of birth?"

"April 29th, 1967."

"Do you know what todays date is?"

"Um... how long have I been out? You said a few weeks, right?"

"Almost three weeks, yes."

"Three weeks, so that would make today... December 4th?"

She doesn't respond for a moment. The way she keeps her eyes on the clipboard feels too calculated.

"The year?"

"Uh... 1983?"

She only pauses for a moment, before continuing to ask simple questions about current events, how he's feeling, where he feels any pain or discomfort.

He lies when she asks if he remembers what caused him to be hospitalized. He's not sure what the story Nancy and Byers will give. He can't imagine people... involved, would want the truth out. And he's not willing to risk whatever consequences will come with that.

"I'm going to talk with your doctor," she finally says. "I'll be one minute."

"Wait! What- am I ok?"

"Your doctor will explain everything, don't worry."

Amnesia, his doctor explains.

Three years of his life, gone. They try to reassure him, say that it's still early days and he could completely regain his memory, no problem.

But they don't know. Not really. It's all 'possibly's, and 'maybe's. No guarentee. There's still a chance that he may never remember.

The woman who ran in when he woke up, sat by his bedside and holding his hand in a death grip, doesn't look anymore reassured by their optimism than he is.

"We're... close?" He asks her.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile. "Platonic soulmates. It's, um... Robin, by the way. Robin Buckley."

"Do we have that... Mrs Click, you sit behind me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She looks stunned, almost dazed. "I didn't think you remembered, or even noticed me."

"How could I not? You're hilarious!"

"What? We never-"

"Oh, uh, you're muttering. Behind me. It wasn't exactly, um... quiet."

"Oh my god," she slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "You heard me talk about you!"

"Yeah, like I said; you're funny."

Luckily, someone else bursts into the room, interrupting whatever epiphany Robin is having.

"Steve!" He yells.

The guy looks like a kid, barely out of middle school. But he rushes to Steve, eyeing him up like he's Steves babysitter.

"Uh, hi?"

"Oh no," is the kids response. He turns to Robin. "How much does he remember?"

"He is right here, you know."

"I think some time in 83?" Robin replies, ignoring him.

"Before or after the whole... uh..." He glances at Steve with suspicion, then pointedly to the door.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, rubbing at the crease between his brows. "Did Nancy and Jonathan tell you, or what?"

"Tell us about... what?"

He rolls his eyes at them, pointing to the kid. "Whatever has short stack paranoid. The thing with the-" he flops one hand around, raised towards the ceiling, "the lights."

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?" The kid quickly asks. "At the hospital, and Will?"

"You mean the Byers kid? Isn't he, like... dead?"

"So you... don't remember me."

"Sorry?"

"It's fine," he lies.

Steve hates how sad the kid sounds. He glances between the two of them, both seemingly wallowing quietly about the situation.

"Which room is Munson in?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"What?" The kid frowns. "Eddie? Why?"

"Which room?"

"He's two doors down to the left," Robin answers. "Why- woah! Don't get up! You're still-"

"I'm fine," Steve gently pushes her away, ignoring both of them trying to plead for him to get back into bed.

Despite the bandages, bruises and sick look to him, Munson somehow looks better than Steve remembers him looking. The longer hair definitely suits him.

"Steve?" He frowns. He tries to sit up but, grimacing, he soon stops. "What the hell are you doing up? You're gonna freak Dustin out."

"Dustin? That the kid?" He asks, grunting as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"What do-" he pauses, expressions slowly twisting with the horror and realization. "Yeah. Yeah, man, Dustin is the kid."

"Right. So... um... we're friends now?"

Eddie winces. "We haven't exactly had time to talk about... that."

"What? It's been years!"

"It's not that simple."

"Are you saying that because it's true or because you don't-"

"Because it's true," Eddie rolls his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Steve. You fell in love with Wheeler."

"What?" Steve can't hide his confusion. "Nancy?"

"Yes, Nancy. You made sure everyone fucking knew about that."

Steve snorts, having to grab at his side with a wince. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"So you're still easy to rile up?" He asks, smirking.

"Wh- you-" Eddie gasps. He tries to sit up again, grunting when he flops back down. "You were trying to make me jealous?!"

He's looking at Steve with disbelief, but he's also smiling.

"Are we friends now?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Stevie. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"I don't... Steve, how bad is your amnesia?"

Steve quickly looks away, wincing. "Not... that bad? I remember that- the first time. This, um... monster shit. Falling out with Tommy. And the doctors are optimistic- they're pretty sure I'm going to remember."

"Alright... maybe it'd be better if we talk then, instead of rushing into it now."

"Jesus," Steve frowns. "I really have missed a lot. When did you get mature?"

"Hey-"

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 A Heart Matter.

Spencer Reid x Prentiss!reader

Series masterlist | ONE | TWO | THREE |

Summary: A few months after you left, Spencer thinks he sees you walking down the street, and his whole world is turned upside down.

Words: 3,2k.

TW: mentions of crime, trauma, death, pain and violence (normal warnings in the series). so much spoilers for s6 and s7. the events narrated occur after emily's "death". so much angst. read the dates carefully, especially the years, because there are some backward time frames that can confuse you if you don't pay attention!. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm so sorry, that's all I can say now.

Also, I thought about making this a series, but I'm not sure because I've never done one before and I've really only been writing here for about a month??? I'm trying hard.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

July 18th, 2011

The steady ticking of the wall clock echoed in Spencer's head as a reminder that his time in the session was ticking away, robbing him of the chance to express himself without sounding like a complete lunatic.

“I saw her.” He had to repeat it aloud after receiving a puzzled look from his therapist.

The woman pursed her lips. “In a dream? Are you having nightmares again?”

The lump in the agent's throat felt tighter and more suffocating, causing him to shift in his seat to hide it. He wanted to appear sane and focused, however much his next words were anything but.

“No.”

The therapist's intrigued look and the fact that she stopped writing in her notebook to give him her full attention made his hands tremble and his heart pound as he spoke again.

“I mean, I still have the same nightmares...but this, this is different.” Reid tried to explain hesitantly.

Since the day he found you lying in a pool of blood outside your sister's apartment, his mind had been tormented by the image and the guilt it caused him. The nightmares of seeing you again and losing you were a constant every night. Every time he managed to fall asleep, he woke up agitated, feeling again the emptiness of not having you by his side. And that was something his therapist knew better than anyone, because she forced him to write down every nightmare and tell her all of them.

Those bad dreams were supposed to be over, or so he had claimed for the past three weeks.

“How?”

“I wasn't asleep when I saw her.” Spencer finally blurted out in a slightly shaky voice. He had rehearsed the same conversation several times and always ended up feeling like a deranged man seeing ghosts. “I was on the street.”

That sentence instantly changed the tone of the conversation.

“It was after work, I went to buy some food because the case ended earlier than I thought. Her favorite Chinese restaurant is a few blocks from my apartment, we really liked to eat there...I bought some and when I came out, I saw her.” He paused for a minute, trying to mentally return to the moment that was relentlessly replaying in his mind. “She was across the street, buying flowers.”

He had to be quiet for a second, pausing to calm his own breathing. It was ridiculous, but the thought of you buying flowers again made him smile slightly.

You had always loved flowers and now he was supposed to bring them to your grave.

“I ran across the street as soon as I saw her, but I lost sight of her when a bus came across.” He said, struggling to finish his story.

“Spencer, listen to me.” The woman's tone alone let him know that she didn't agree with him at all. “It's normal to think we see someone we lost, it happens to several people. Maybe it was just someone who looked like her, and being near a place the two of you frequented contributed to the confusion.”

That was impossible because he would recognize you anywhere and there was no one else like you.

“You know the truth.”

Of course he knew.

He had been trying to live for six months knowing that you were already dead.

Six months of him trying to deal with your ghost. Six months of him on his knees begging for this to be just another nightmare. Six months of reliving the last time he held you in his arms. Six months of being dead in life.

“Yes, but she looked different.” He explained, receiving a puzzled look that prompted him to provide further clarification. “Her hair was shorter, much shorter. And if I were hallucinating her ghost, I'd see her the same way I saw her the last time, or maybe the time before that. It wouldn't be so different from the way I remember her.”

“You lost two important people on the same day, it's not about logic.”

From her reaction when he concluded his session, it was evident that she considered his perspective to be irrational and clouded by the effects of grief.

And maybe it was.

July 30th, 2011

A few days of missing therapies and locking himself up at work already had consequences.

It was the second time a case had ended earlier than expected and Spencer had to go back to his lonely apartment and find excuses to leave without feeling sorry for himself. It was hard for him to be in his own home without you, surrounded by the photos you always insisted on taking and framing to preserve moments that were now torture. So the best solution was to make unnecessary purchases or lock himself in the nearest library.

Anything was better than being locked in a room with himself, so he decided to read in a room full of strangers who provided the company he so desperately needed.

The bad news was that the library's closing time had come earlier than expected for unknown reasons, and life seemed to force him to face his reality on the busy streets of Virginia, taking every possible alternate route to delay his arrival home. He didn't want to have to open the door knowing that no one would be waiting for him, that you wouldn't be there asleep on the couch after watching a marathon of your favorite movies, or just trying to read one of his books so you could discuss it with him.

His mind was still hazy and his eyes were wandering through the shops of the city when a familiar and unmistakable figure appeared before his eyes, just a few meters away, coming out of one of the shops on the next street.

It was you again. Unmistakably you.

He started running without a second thought, but the streets were so crowded that it was hard for him to move through the mass of people. His heartbeat was out of control and probably everyone could hear him, but he didn't care about looking crazy, he just needed to get a little closer to talk and make sure it was you.

The city's public transportation seemed to be against him, because just as he was about to cross the street, not caring that the light was red, another bus crossed the street and almost ran him over. Just a few inches and the story would have been very different for him. Everyone on the street was whispering, car horns were honking and every now and then someone would ask him if he was okay or look at him like he was a psychiatric patient. But nothing mattered to him, there was only your image in his mind and the possibility of finding out if he was really going crazy or if your ghost was haunting him.

When he managed to cross the street, there was no sign of you, and his therapist's words echoed in his mind as a symbol of temporary insanity brought on by pain. Try as he might to ignore his conscience, there was no way to find you in the sea of people, and he had no choice but to enter the store where he thought he saw you coming out.

“A woman bought something here a few minutes ago, she had a bag slung over her shoulder.” Spencer spoke quickly as soon as he walked in and approached the local salesman. He paused only when the man nodded in confusion at his attitude. “Do you know her name? Where she's from? Does she come here often?”

The man's lips were sealed, he just waved his hand to let him know he would only talk for money. He didn't even flinch when Reid pulled out his badge and repeated that he was FBI. Anyway, the thirty dollars was the master key to get the information and the security camera footage, which was barely visible because of the poor quality.

“I don't know who she is, it's the first time I've seen her. There aren't many customers on my shift, and not everyone buys that many books.” He began to speak under Spencer's curious gaze. “She paid cash and bought a bunch of classics. And she had a limp.”

“Are you sure? Which leg was it?”

There was a short silence, which the salesman used to remind himself, and Spencer's nerves got even more out of control.

“I don't remember which leg it was but I was definitely limping. I noticed that when she climbed the ladder, I had to help her.”

January 11th, 2010

“Can we eat here?” You asked after reading the sign that said the restaurant's elevator was under repair. “There are a few tables.”

Spencer couldn't help but frown and let go of your hand to stand in front of you. His eyes searched for yours. “I thought you wanted to come up, the view is your favorite thing here.”

You two were at your favorite restaurant, a Chinese food paradise with the best view in city, according to your expert opinion. It wasn't the first time the two of you had been there, so you had already more than booked a table, and this one was on the third floor. Your favorite part of going there was seeing the moon.

And of course, Dr. Reid was the kind of guy who always paid attention to the little details. He remembered everything, and could probably tell what you were thinking just by looking into your eyes for a few seconds.

“Let me take you upstairs, please.”

His puppy-dog eyes and a single phrase were enough to get you to let him take you by the arm and lead you up the stairs at a slow pace. By the time you got to the second floor, he offered to carry you like a princess. You had no choice but to accept, especially since it had already taken you more than ten minutes to climb a single floor. The pitying looks from the other diners were starting to make you uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Spencer.” You mumbled as you reached the table and he pulled up a chair for you.

He smiled. He loved how you said his name and wanted to hear it for hours.

After you both sat down and made your requests, you spoke again. “Aren't you going to ask why I can't climb a ladder?”

“I won't ask you anything you don't want to answer.” He said simply.

You felt like you could tell him anything, even your darkest thoughts. Your sister had already talked about it. Either it was the Reid effect, or you were just madly in love with him. Both were quite similar in your view.

“I hurt myself while I was practicing ballet. I made a really bad move.” You spoke up after a few minutes of silence. He frowned when he heard you. He had no idea you played the sport. “I was supposed to have quit, so I didn't tell anyone. Only Emily knew. I didn't treat it until the injury got worse when I went out in the field on a case. That's how I retired from the FBI. My mom freaked out, and my left ankle was screwed up for my whole life.”

Before you turned your attention back to Spencer, you prepared yourself mentally for the sympathy he would undoubtedly show. The curious thing was that in his eyes, there was nothing but interest and gratitude for having allowed him to know more about you. That was what kept you talking.

“There's an operation to try to fix it, but recovery takes quite some time. I'd rather always take the elevator and avoid the stairs as much as possible than have to rely on Emily to take care of me for three whole months. She has work to do and would go crazy having to be my maid.”

“I would.” He said without hesitation. When you looked curious, he elaborated. “I'd take care of you.”

“For three whole months?” You asked, sounding rather incredulous and as if you thought maybe he was just being extra nice.

“For the rest of my life, if you let me.”

September 5th, 2011

“There's no way you could have seen her, Spence.”

JJ's eyes fell on his friend's not-so-shaky ones, and a part of her churned inside, not knowing what else to say to him. It was eleven o'clock at night, the first time in several days that Spencer had shown up at her house to try to find comfort and perhaps understanding.

“I know, I know it shouldn't be possible.” He replied and went back to pacing the room, trying not to make a sound. The last thing he wanted was to wake up his godson or his friend's husband. “But it was so real...maybe I'm crazy.”

“You're not.” She said firmly, getting up from her seat to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

At the time, even he didn't know for sure, and that made him fear that he had lost his mind. He was hungry for a love that he would never have again.

“You just miss her.”

No, missing was nothing compared to his feelings.

“It's more than that, much more. I haven't been able to catch my breath since she left.” He admitted, running his hands through his hair as tears formed. “I miss Emily, too, and I don't see her walking down the street.”

Silence fell over the room because no one had anything to say. There weren't enough words to describe the situation. The only sound that could be heard was the man's sobbing on Jennifer's shoulder, trying to be encouraged with words.

“It's going to be all right, Spence.”

He didn't say it out loud, but he thought he'd never get anything right in his life if all he wanted was you.

March 14th, 2010

The coffee he was carrying kept him warm as he made his way through the chilly FBI offices. Spencer wondered if the air conditioning had broken down when he reached the technical analyst's office and a conversation stopped him in his tracks.

“My take? She looks like she'll be Mrs. Reid one day.” Penelope's voice was heard after several loose sentences that the boy couldn't understand from the other side of the door. He figured they were talking about him and his relationship with you.

“I hadn't thought about Reid being legally part of my family until now.” Emily spoke next, letting out a few chuckles. “I'm going to have mini geniuses for nephews.”

“Stop it, we're just dating.” You spoke with some nervousness, still reeling from the implications. “It's not like we're getting married tomorrow.”

As he leaned against the wall by the door to hear better, Spencer couldn't help but feel a bit guilty about what he was doing. He knew it wasn't right to overhear other people's conversations, especially if they were about him. But he had a feeling he needed to know what you were saying about him when he wasn't around. It wouldn't hurt to just hear a little bit.

“Don't pretend you don't talk about future names for your babies, I heard you two.” Garcia spoke again.

“It was a random conversation.”

“About baby names?” She gave a little smile and raised an eyebrow.

“What I mean is that bringing things forward is not good.” You began to speak, completely ignoring the previous point. You were trying to be the voice of reason in the midst of their ridicule. “But I'd like him to be the one.”

“I think I'll shed a tear or two because you've grown up so fast.” Your sister commented in a teasing tone that hid quite a bit of truth. She gave your hand a quick squeeze and looked at you for a few seconds before speaking again. “What's up with that look on your face?”

You frowned. Spencer's heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. “What look?”

“You know which one I mean—the one you put on when the coffee runs out.”

Reid's hands began to sweat. He felt like a teenager trying to figure out what the girl he liked really thought of him. Did you ever have doubts about your relationship? Did you ever picture yourself with him in the future? Was he really the one for you?

“The scariest thing about love is getting hurt.” You said, trying to initiate the idea. Unfortunately, Penelope beat you to it and spoke up.

“I'm sure he wouldn't hurt you.”

“I know, I don't care about that.” You spoke up again after a few seconds, looking around the room as if lost in thought. “What if I do it? What if I break his heart?”

Oh, that was certainly not something Spencer was expecting to hear.

“How would you break his heart? Not answering his calls for five minutes and seven seconds?” Interjected Emily with a teasing tone to try to lighten the mood and get a smile out of you. “I don't think either of you would consciously hurt the other.”

And right after that, the protagonist of the discussion entered the room, causing the three of you to remain silent and pretend that nothing was going on. You could only smile when your boyfriend came in with a hot coffee for you and you saw the tender looks the two women gave you.

“Thank you.” You said.

“It's nothing.” He replied, pulling you close to surprise you with a hug that brought him close enough to your ear to whisper. “You could never break my heart.”

September 21st, 2011

Ian Doyle was only a couple of meters away.

Spencer's fist throbbed and burned, still stained with the blood of the man who had taken everything from him seven months ago. He knew he had done wrong, that he had promised everyone that he would only talk to the terrorist, and that he had done much more than that. The team had barely been able to get him out of the interrogation room because he was out of control with rage.

He wanted to make him feel a lot of pain and a minimum of what you and Emily probably felt that night.

“You need to calm down.” JJ came out of the meeting room to stop him before he could go in.

“I'm calm.” He replied, still trying to regulate his breathing. He could see his friend raise an eyebrow, and he decided to speak up again to avoid upsetting her. “This is about as calm as I can get right now.”

As soon as he was done speaking, Reid tried to keep going to the room, but the woman was in his way again and stopped him from opening the door.

“You have to be calm for what Hotch has to tell you. I mean it.” Jennifer said, after receiving a confused look. “What you're going to see now...”

“I'll be fine.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything else, he opened the door to the room. Spencer thought he'd find photos of the crime scene that ruined his life, maybe some testimony he didn't know about, or even the killer there. But none of that was true, and it made his heart stop.

“Hi.”

You certainly broke his heart this time.

[gremlingottoosilly]

A bomb threat (And how it got you a boyfriend) special forces!Konig x fem!college!Reader

Konig saves you from a bomb threat when you get stuck at your Uni. Based on his bio - presumably, Konig was a part of the Austrian Special Forces before joining KorTac. He is also a bit of a dork and we have a bit of an obsessive episode.

Tags: Fluff, Reader is a cringefailure, Konig is overstepping his authority, hurt(not really)/comfort Warnings: Bomb threats, mentions of terrorism Word count: 2450

Someone called a bomb threat in your college. 

Well, at least, this is what the automatic email is telling you. The email that was sent to you, about especially avoiding the library on the second floor because the anonymous(not for long, since they have a knack for exposing who the hell is calling those threats each time) caller said that there is a huge chance of the bomb being placed here. 

You know, the same library that you were sitting in, right now, reading this exact email on your laptop. You thought no one was around because it wasn’t a busy day, just after the major finals, with most people staying on campus only if they failed first tests or just wanted to get extra credits for some extra curriculum. Even if you were staying here just because you wanted to work on campus’s newspaper – the library is a good place to scoop for some rumors about the dean of the uni being three raccoons in a trench coat, or the lunch staff posing as Polish mafia. 

The thing is – it seemed like you were the last fucking person to receive the email. The thing is, there are only a few weeks left before summer break, and the campus already started to turn off major announcement equipment since no sports or other events are planned. Are you going to die? Probably, there is a huge chance of you dying, as you can feel directly in your bones – god, there are probably some terrorists or uni shooters or that weird Christian suprematist who are going hysterical at the mere sight of religion other than theirs. You are going to die, you are going to die, you are going to…

— Scheisse! There is a civilian! 

You were never particularly religious, maybe only at the time of finals and work submissions – and in situations like this, where you are already mentally preparing yourself to get blown up with unfinished articles and forgotten hopes and dreams and everything and…

You were never particularly religious – so you have no idea why your pre-death auditory hallucinations suddenly included an angel’s voice with devil's timbre and some huge, tree-trunk-like hands wrapping around your waist, checking you for possible injuries or explosive device. 

These hands are really huge – and muscular, you can see how tense they are even through your black uniform, and they are roaming over your body in a way that would make you scream bloody murder and file sexual harassment if it didn’t belong to an obvious angel. Angelm in special forces uniform, an angel with a really nice boyish voice and warm hands that are sliding to your thighs, groping and checking for every possible outcome – for weapons, probably, because you are literally the only person in the room that was deemed as a bomb threat, and if you were this guy, you’d also think that you were the culprit. 

His fingers linger on your hips perhaps a bit too long – you can him patting you down like you were heading to a club – and then he lets you go reluctantly, not finding anything except for your phone which he also checked for possible timers. The interaction lasted…a minute or so, but you are already hot and bothered, getting off the strong hands holding you, even though he already let you go. 

— Are you alright? 

He must have noticed your worried face and international student badge – his English is a bit accented but nonetheless confident. You never thought that small traces of German in a speech can sound so fucking hot but, perhaps, you are just traumatized and high on adrenaline and weren't getting laid for too fucking long. 

He wears a badge – something something long German words, huge design construction that made you think he must be pretty high-rank – knowledge that you only had because of the movies and games you were playing, trying not to get off the military kink too much. Something in the situation told you that you’d spend the whole evening searching for porn with guys dressed in all black today. Maybe, a touch of cargo. 

— Y…yeah. Fuck, sorry. I’m fine, fine. Yeah. 

You are rambling and he tilts his head to the side. This large, looming hand goes to your face – you wait for either a harsh slap to return you back to reality, or a passionate and deep kiss from your fantasies and dirty novels. He slowly traces his fingers on your face, getting up, in the hairline, searching for something – perhaps, a nasty head parasite that got you acting so weird around this random guy. Random guy who is just doing his job, securing that you’re safe, sound, and not going to explode in the next few minutes. 

— No head injuries. Gut. 

You want him to touch your face some more. You want him to check for mouth injuries, to evaluate the status of your lips. Maybe do some chemical tests with that gloss you were using today. Check the reaction with his tongue. 

He twirls you in place and you almost want him to press you against the wall. Search you some more, maybe get his hands a bit deeper, pass the oh-so-modest pants that made you look like a little bitch boy – his hand goes to cup your waist again, checking for anything that might catch his interest. Nothing – and you were never this sad about Hot wearing a concealed weapon that might force him to pin you down or get you into a chokehold with those massive biceps of his. 

— What were you doing here, ma’am? 

Studying in Vienna, you never found an Austrian accent this sexy. Never knew that you might like being handled like this before – it’s not romantic, not even in the slightest, but you smile a bit shyly, a bit awkwardly, and look at him from under your lashes, trying to look as innocent as possible. You are innocent – you weren’t doing anything, you were just trying to study and write in the last few weeks. Concentrated enough, so you never even noticed a fucking bomb threat. Didn’t hear soldiers running through the building, securing each room. 

— I…study here? 

You gulp loudly, taking a few steps away from the soldier. Allowing him to examine the room, deem it safe – the bomb threat called on your university was probably fake. Maybe a call from a paranoid individual, maybe someone with nothing better to do than pranking colleges. You seriously doubt anyone would try to blow up this place while almost none of the students are actually inside – especially the library during the low season. Even you almost decided to ditch the traditional writing atmosphere and just do something in the cafeteria. 

— Oh. 

His voice actually sounds…nice. Funny even, that small remark also makes him cough and look at you more seriously. He has a mask concealing his face, some weird hood or net on top of it – you try to see his eyes, but you can only occasionally catch glimpses of ice staring at you. Mysterious, you like it. Too mysterious, that little journalist club member inside of you is itching to get a look at his face better – you tilt your head to the side, contemplating just yanking it upwards and praying that he won’t kill you. 

Although you wouldn’t mind being crushed in his hold. 

— Let’s get you out of here, ja? 

You don’t question him when he suddenly picks you up – when the world starts to spin and you are pressed against his chest, his hands are supporting you under your knees and back. Securing you in place, making sure you are nice and comfy in his hold. You don’t ask questions when he slightly adjusts your hold so he can touch more of your thighs – you think he is just getting you comfortable, and you appreciate just how thoughtful he is. 

You don’t ask questions when he holds you almost like a bridal carry, even though you are certain you aren’t injured, and someone like him probably has more interesting things to do than saving poor college students who decided to ignore bomb threats. 

His hands are warm, his chest is even warmer, and his muscles aren’t even slightly trembling. You don’t know what sort of training those guys are coming through, but it must work – his steps are light and decided even when he can’t press you firmly against him, vest standing in the way. You don’t know what to do with your hands and you don’t want to mess with the government property – you think there is a law against fidgeting with special forces soldiers on duty – so you just get them on your knees. Like a good girl. Polite girl. Girl who isn't drooling over the guy who is just doing his job. 

— Thank you. For saving me. 

You whisper it in his headset – you are worried about someone else also hearing you, but there is something intimate about tilting your head upwards and getting right into his face, your lips millimeters away from the edge of his mask. You don’t want to sound suggestive, so you sound weak instead. You don’t to sound ungrateful, so you sound pleading instead. 

His hold on your thighs gets stronger. You lick your lips nervously, chuckling to ease the atmosphere a little bit. 

Your leg brushes above his waist – and you swear that you can hear his breath hitching. It’s impossible, you think, he must be a tough and content little soldier, perfect to save damsels in distress just like you – but something in his posture, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at the edges of your body, makes you think otherwise. Maybe, you’re just dreaming. Maybe, you know nothing. 

Someone slams into the room. Another man – shorter than the one who holds you, by a large margin, but none less intimidating. Burly, muscular, dressed up in full uniform which is expected – and with his face covered up by a similar veil or mask or whatever this is – which is unexpected. You thought that special forces would have something less eye-obscuring, but what do you know? You would be dead if the bomb threat was real. 

— Other sectors secured. No bomb in sight. Commander. 

He almost hisses, the similar accent in his voice makes your cheeks heat up even more. You feel weird, dirty even, thinking of those two large, intimidating men in such an intimate setting while they are just trying to save your life – but you try to silence that little annoying voice, to convince yourself that this is probably just adrenaline, ovulation and sudden urge to procreate before you would die. 

You feel your entire body stir when the man takes a step closer, looking at you. You can’t see his face, not even the outline of it – but you feel the burning gaze on your scared expression and obediently folded hands. 

— Gut. Other civillians? — 20 civilians in the building in total. University workers, some students. Already evacuated. — Any casualties? You hear a cruel chuckle from a shorter man. — If they were, you’d hear about it, sir. No, the sector is clear. — Gut. Dismissed – we’re finishing here. — What are you doing with the civi…

— Kruger, dismissed. 

The man who holds you is surprisingly stern when he isn’t talking to you. He used a much softer, quieter tone when he was talking to you, observing if you were hurt or in danger – and he is much, much different now. A cold voice, serious tone, the image of the ruthless commander flying in your head – well, at least you were right about his patches meaning something important. 

A shorter man leaves, and the door behind him swings open. To your surprise, the man who holds you – a mysterious stranger, you can’t even seem to find a name on his uniform – doesn’t let you go. His touches feel like you’re burning alive, he is igniting and brilliant and fucking perfect and…

He lets you down to the care of the local police department and some of the uni workers. His hand brushes over your face again – you think he was checking for the injuries but, then again, why would he touch your hair ever so gently only to move it out of your face to take a good look at your lips before letting you go? You’re imagining things, you probably must be – the man is just doing his job, he isn’t trying to fuck you in the nearest hallway even if you wanted him to. 

— Sir. I…thank you, really. For the help. 

— I didn’t do anything, Schatz. Someone must been playing a joke on everyone. 

You are going to find the guy – or a girl, or someone else, you don’t discriminate, everyone is equally capable of calling on the false bomb threats – who informed the special forces about the bomb in the building, and then you are going to kiss them. 

— What kind of joke is this? 

— A dumb one. 

He looks over to his unit – a group of tall, burly men, with weapons and uniforms and everything a girl could ask for – already packing in the vehicles to move out. You brace yourself to ask for his number – for his contact, anything, everything, maybe the favorite tree in the park under which you could meet again. You know that those guys aren’t supposed to reveal their identities, that he is probably out of town anyway, special forces aren’t usually called off to false threats, you know that your attempts are futile and yet, you lick your lips for added confidence and…

— Goodbye, Scahtzen. Stay safe, ja? Don’t want to save you from a real bomb one day. 

— I…I…um, you mean you wouldn’t save me from a real bomb? 

He was already halfway to the armored car before you could say anything. You aren’t nearly confident enough to yell across the whole fucking campus territory to get a number of this hot special forces guy, and something in his hunched shoulders, twitching fingers, and slightly less social and more abrasive manners tells you that he would hate the gesture as much as you would. 

Just like this, your first even real-life military crush is driving away, leaving you bombless, hoeless, and, most certainly, more depressed than ever. Summer is going to be great, right?

*** — What do you mean calling a fucking bomb threat?! 

Your friend wasn’t happy about the pick-up strategy you wanted to use.

*** — Of course, sir, let’s raid a fucking college dorm room. 

Sergeant Sebastian Josed Krueger wasn’t happy about his commander’s newfound love for college girls. 

Mostly because König refused to fucking share. 

[ineffectualdemon]

(AO3 link)

Shang Qinghua arrived back to Cang Qiong and headed to report to the Sect Leader only to find himself pulled into an impromptu meeting with his fellow Peak Lords.

With a noticeable absence and more notably addition. 

"Zhangmen-shixiong, may this one inquire as to what is happening?" He asked nervously as he the yelling from his fellow peak lords explained nothing and Luo Binghe stood still with his arms crossed, his jaw clenched tight, but silent.

"Lord Luo seems to think we have hidden Shen-shixiong away," Yue Qingyuan replied with confusion clouding his eyes.

"Which is nonsense! Qingqiu is sitting in the next room plain as day!" Liu Qingge shouted, one hand on the hilt of his sword the other pointing to a side room.

"And as this Lord has explained that thing is not Shizun." Luo Binghe replied with the slow carefulness that precedes great violence.

"We all here have seen and spoken to Shen-shixiong daily while Lord Luo was dealing with demon matters this past week. We have seen nothing amiss. Maybe he just tires of your company." Qi Qingqi really liked digging the knife in which was a huge mistake.

Shang Qinghua watched Luo Binghe's hand clench his fist tighter as his demon mark grew in brilliance.

"Alright thats enough! I can confidently prove whether or not Shen Qingqiu has been replaced!" He said loudly, his casual tone cutting through the noise and tension better then the volume.

Before he could think better of it Shang Qinghua walked briskly over to the side room and walked inside, shutting the door behind him.

Hardly any time at all passed before he was back in the room, the door closed firmly shut behind him and sealing and silencing talismans stuck to the outside.

"Shen Qingqiu has been replaced." He stated firmly. The room went eerily quiet and Luo Binghe, thought not smiling, relaxed as his posture took on an amused lilt.

"How can Shang-Shixiong be so sure?" Someone spluttered.

"He said I was his closest friend." Shang Qinghua said grimly.

"...but you are?" Liu Qingge said, his eyebrows tight as if he was puzzling over paperwork.

And he was right. Everyone knew Shang Qinghua was Shen Qingqiu's closest friend and confidant. Something that pissed off and confused everyone close to Shen Qingqiu to some degree. 

Shang Qinghua huffed.

"Of course I am! I know that! You know that! Everyone knows that! Even Shen Qingqiu knows that! But would he ever say it?"

That got everyone to pause.

No.

No he wouldn't.

Potentially not even on pain of death.

"Then what is it and where is Shizun?" Luo Binghe demanded, pushing past Liu Qingge who just mad a disgruntled sound.

"This one's guess? It's a Cuckoo Spirit. They're a type of dream demon. They hunt by reading the inner thoughts of their victim and replicating their mannerisms and behaviours as closely as they can based on dreams and so on. They then keep their victim asleep and assume their life. Feeding off both them and the people around them. This one guesses Qian Cao has had a lot of people on Qing Jing come down with fevers or are strangely lethargic recently." Shang Qinghua turned his attention away from Luo Binghe at this last and directed it as Mu Qingfang who looked troubled. 

"For the last three days. And four days ago Shen-shixiong complained of feeling tired when we had tea, but his meridians seemed clear. The imposter also stood up to scrutiny when this one examined him." Mu Qingfang explained.

Shang Qinghua nodded.

"Did Mu-shidi feel ill after the exam at all?" Shang Qinghua asked, even as he pushed past the sect leader and the demon emperor to pull out paper and ink and start scribbling quickly. 

"...yes actually, a headache." Mu Qingfang quickly crossed to join Shang Qinghu, tension tight in his frame.

"It used it's abilities to change your memory and perception." Shang Qinghua looked to his upset Shidi and gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. 

"Don't be too upset with yourself Shidi! They are very dangerous creatures and extremely rare. The most important thing is Shen-shixiong is still alive. They can only maintain form if they still have a living connection." Shang Qinghua turned to look at Luo Binghe who had joined him on his other side.

"Meng Mo agrees and is impressed with your knowledge, he wouldn't have guessed or caught a Cuckoo. He thought his clan had wiped them out. He actually seemed afraid of them." Luo Binghe was still tense but knowing his Shizun was still alive was keeping him together. But it wasn't a surprised that the dream demon feared the creature. They had a terrifying ability, to make dream illusions work in the waking world. 

Their original feeding grounds were the dream demon clans, because who was easier to fool then those who were always half in a dream? 

In PIDW he had meant their inclusion to be a real horror movie moment but also a chance for character growth as Luo Binghe was forced to contend with something that shattered his confidence in his dream magic and made him face reality. 

In practice it was used to make a recent wife who was married "for political reasons" admit she actually did love her husband and wanted his pillar. 

Maybe Bingmei didn't need to know that. 

"If it hadn't flubbed so bad I wouldn't have caught it." Shang Qinghua admitted to distract himself before picking up his papers and turning around.

"Right. First off we must find Shen Qingqiu. Junshang? You search for disturbances in the dream realm. Something that feels off. But do not attempt to interact with it yet! Just use that to help us locate Shen Qingqiu. Liu Qingge? Mu-shidi? I need you to get these ingredients and turn it into an incense. Everyone else search every cave and grotto and outbuilding on this mountain to find Shen Qingqiu. If you find him do not touch him! We must break the bond first and we have to do that quickly before it realises we know. Right now this one has told it that Luo Binghe is unstable and we need to confine "Shen Qingqiu" for his own protection. It objected like Shen-shixiong would but not strong enough." Shang Qinghua was a little surprised they just let him take charge like that but Yue Qingyuan nodded.

"That Shang-shidi left the room on his own two feet after suggesting such a thing and Shen-shidi didn't break down the door and take Lord Luo and leave is even more proof than it calling Shang Qinghua its closest friend." Yue Qingyuan kindly pointed out for Luo Binghe's benefit, who was looking a little murderous. 

After that things moved swiftly. Shen Qingqiu was found in an old storage room on Qing Jing with help from Luo Binghe. One plastered with talismans to block the Emperor from tracking his blood.

Once the sleeping Shen Qingqiu breathed in enough of the cure to break the demon's hold dispatched the thing quickly, while the smoke from the same incense kept it from using its normal tricks to escape.

Shen Qingqiu once awake and finally devoid of a crying Demon Lord, due to said Demon Lord baking something, asked to speak to Shang Qinghua.

"Binghe said you convinced everyone but didn't say how." Shen Qingqiu, looking pale but mostly alright, asked.

"I walked in and asked if it knew who I was and 'you' rolled your eyes and said: 'um my best friend? Who else would you be you dumb hack author!' and I immediately knew because you'd never admit that." 

Somehow Shen Qingqiu looked more ill that before Shang Qinghua explained.

"Ew? Why would it so that? Bro no offense but I would rather kick in you in a well of dead fish then say we're friends." 

A different man would be offended but Shang Qinghua just chuckled. That's his tsundere Cucumber Bro! 

"I know bro "

Shen Qingqiu shifted in his seat at that, like what he said left a sour taste in his mouth and sand in his shorts.

"You're not..." Shen Qingqiu started before hiding behind his fan, "You're not not my best friend though." 

Shang Qinghua blinked at him before tearing up.

"Bro!'

"NOPE! I NEVER SAID ANYTHING!"

"You love bro!"

"I HATE YOU!" 

Shang Qinghua smiled as Shen Qingqiu loudly protested their friendship while also nudging his favourite treats towards him.

Ah, friendship was sweet when it was with your number one anti fan! 

[steddieas-shegoes]

never cared much for stuff

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘stuff’

rated t | 483 words | cw: temporary character death, mourning | tags: love realizations, Eddie Munson lives, getting together, first kiss

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

He’s never really been the type to find a connection with stuff. He has things that have meaning, just as anyone does, but nothing that matters so much that he’d die if it went missing or got destroyed.

Until Eddie’s necklace.

He’d grabbed it before they left the Upside Down, just after Dustin screamed about bringing his body back with them until he lost his voice.

If this was all he had, if this is the only piece of Eddie he was bringing back, he’d treasure it.

And then he remembered he had Eddie’s vest on. Another thing. More stuff.

Dustin had taken a ring. When, Steve didn’t know.

Stuff started to mean more, or at least this stuff did.

He cleaned the necklace, the vest, made sure nothing was broken, no patches missing. He kept the vest in his closet, scared to even let others know he had it. He wore the necklace, but kept it hidden under his shirt if he was around others.

He cried every single night. Even the nights Robin was with him. Even when Dustin insisted on spending the night for almost a week straight. Even when he spent two nights in a row with Max in the hospital because no one else could.

He didn’t know why, didn’t quite understand why he felt a pull like this for someone he barely knew. He felt ashamed that he wasn’t able to let this go.

Steve was stronger than this. He had to be.

—

On the one year anniversary of Eddie’s death, Steve is certain of two things.

One: He is and will probably always be in love with Eddie Munson.

Two: Eddie Munson is alive and standing in his bedroom.

The first thing is a bit easier to swallow with the second thing being true.

Steve reaches for the necklace hanging against his bare chest, lets his fingers run over the carved initials that were almost worn down to nothing from his fidgeting.

“That looks good on you,” Eddie’s hoarse voice said, so low Steve was almost convinced he imagined it. “You got any more of my stuff or do I get to keep staring at you mostly naked?”

This is what Steve’s been picturing for so long. He’s pretty sure he’s not dreaming, but he pinches his arm anyway.

“How?”

“Wish I had a single clue, sweetheart.”

He looked normal. No blood. No visible injuries.

He looked like he walked out of there with them a year ago and washed the grime and trauma down the shower drain.

“I don’t understand.”

“Me either. But maybe we don’t have to understand.”

“I dunno. I think we should probably try,” Steve felt like he’d maybe finally lost it.

“Someone else can. I’d just like to kiss you.”

Steve could let someone else figure it out. He was gonna kiss the love of his life until they did.

[knoxic]

How to be a High Lady?

How they met

Eris Vanserra x Mate!Reader (f)

Summary: How they met and her discovering the bond.

wc: 3k

warnings: death of family members, fire (non explicit house burning/death by fire), cursing

a/n: Eris being 🤭😍😁😝🤗 whenever she's like 🤨🙄😠😒 is so important to me

part 1, part 2

For months now she tried to put herself back together, trying to move on, but being alone was hard, especially for someone who had always been surrounded by people. Her coven was her family, its oldest members helped her mother give birth to her, helped raise her, its youngest had grown up with her, they all made her who she was now. And they were gone.

Gone, and she wasn't even there to witness it. She was far away, traveling, enjoying everything there was to enjoy, not a single drop of worry in her head, after all, they had promised they'd be fine. She didn't even come back straight away, no, it was weeks after, their house had stopped burning long ago, what was left of it stood black and cold, filled with ashes and sorrow.

She had found herself a place to live but she didn't remember how she did it, everything seemed so... unrealistic, never did it cross her mind that this could happen to them. Days after she came back, when she absolutely needed to get food, she went out in the village to the same place her coven used to go, no one recognized her, maybe they never really pay attention to her or they just didn't care, a way or another, she was glad no one looked her way twice. On the way to her new home she heard whispers about a witch who lived in Autumn, thinking it was her, she stopped and pretended to be examining the bread basket they had placed in front of their bakery.

"Do you think she cursed him? I did see him limping yesterday." One of the males spoke, his voice had a weird accent, from another court then.

"What are you? An idiot?" The baker slapped him in the back of his neck, "That cripple always limped! I heard he asked her to fix his fucked up leg but she couldn't, so he did that." His hands, sprinkled with flour, gestured behind the other male, as if pointing to said 'that'. Her shaky hands dropped the apple she held, the direction the male pointed led to her old house, which meant that whoever this cripple was, he had burned her house, he killed her family.

She ran, faster than she ever had before. Her legs only stopping when her feet met the dirty floor, the rain and wind from the past few weeks had gathered around the ruins laying there, the walls had turned moldy, weeds grew where the tiles had broken. It was all a mess, and still her knees touched it, her arms braced her body, the bare skin of her thighs had gotten wet but she couldn't decide if it was from her tears or the rain, which she didn't even realize had started. She looked up, droplets of rain caressing her face, the sky lighting up with a roaring thunder.

She redeemed herself that day, not feeling sorry for herself for losing her family, she only felt sorry for the way they died and how early it had been for some of them. She found out her old neighbors had buried their bodies in the backyard of their house, their tombs placed one beside the other, straight away she went to her house to gather what she needed for a proper funeral, so that their souls could finally rest.

After that day she busied herself with work, working as a healer for the village, subtly gathering information about her family's murderer, filling herself with knowledge, learning whatever witchcraft she hadn't been taught and anything else that could be useful in the future.

At night it was difficult to shut her brain off, the only time she couldn't distract herself from the grief by focusing on other people's pain. Lately, whenever she managed to sleep, basically passing out from exhaustion, her visions came in the form of dreams, most of them just showed her what kind of help her clients needed. That was until she started seeing red.

A faceless head surrounded by red hair haunted her dreams, resembling a bird's nest from how messy it was, the noise of crackling fire in the background. It had been a week now and she couldn't manage to have a dreamless sleep, she never complained about seeing another person's life, she actually liked seeing their memories, most of the time it allowed her to see life in a different perspective, sometimes it wasn't a good one, but she still learned something new every time. Now she was really starting to hate these memories, whoever it was that demanded her attention was starting to get really annoying.

She set aside her job to focus entirely on the vision, spending her afternoons walking around the villages instead, occasionally stopping at restaurants or bakeries, visiting libraries and sitting around whenever she found a bench. Not once had there been any indication of who this person could be besides their hair, she didn't even know their gender, she caught a blur of the pale skin of a pointy ear but that was all.

If it wasn't for the tasty foods she got to try, her time would've been completely wasted. She met a redhead once but her hair was way too perfect, completely different from the one on her dreams, and she didn't seem in need of anything. After a whole week, she gave up, started meditating instead, clearing her mind and focusing her thoughts on that annoying redhead, wishing that whoever it was, would find their way to her.

For a couple nights, the dreams stopped, maybe it was the herbs tea she had been drinking before bed, or maybe they had fixed their problem themselves and didn't need her help anymore. The next morning she woke up and decided she'd spend the day in her village again, just to be sure.

The day had been going relatively normal, as soon as she stepped out of bed she started feeling a little lightheaded but didn't think too much of it, now as she walked through a small trail on the way home, a path she rarely took, she felt dizzy, her heart beating so hard she could barely hear anything else. She knew there was a bench a few meters away, if she walked a little faster maybe she'd managed before passing out, but she wasn't in that trail anymore, now she stood in front of a cabin. A very cozy looking cabin, from the open curtains she could see a male placing logs in the fireplace, it was too dark to see his face so she stood silently until he started the fire, she didn't know what she expected but... his hands lighting up with flames definitely didn't cross her mind. The log he held caught fire immediately, the male seemed to have no rush in placing it with the other logs, his eyes reflecting the flames like they also burned.

Her sight got blurry again and the familiar forest appeared around the edges, his face being the only thing clear, she couldn't, wouldn't, look away. The red strands of hair that brushed against his delicate eyelashes, his perfect nose, his flushed cheekbones, his perfect plump lips and his captivating golden eyes, she was fascinated.

"Are you alright?" A rough voice snapped her out of whatever that was. Only now noticing she had crouched down, one of her hands braced on her knee, the other massaged her eyes, trying to clear her sight.

"I asked you a question." The male demanded, a warm hand, way too hot to be normal, touched her shoulder.

"Yes, sorry," she closed her eyes and shook her head lightly, "Just dizzy, I guess." She giggled, amazed that she was so struck by a male she'd never seen before, and it was only a vision.

When her eyes opened, she was met with a the cleanest pair of boots she had ever seen, even with pieces of leaves stuck under the soles it still shined, beside his feet was paws. A heavy breathing close to her ear made her jump, her shaky legs pulling herself up and away from the small smokehound who tried jumping on her, landing on their owner's outstretched hand.

"Forgive me, he's young," the male adjusted the hound on his arms, cradling it like a baby. "I'm still training him." He said, locking eyes with her.

Those burning golden eyes that she saw just moments ago were now amber, looking at her so intensely she almost backed away.

"What?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. She supposed having a stranger stare her down would make her uncomfortable too.

"Sorry, I thought–"

"You keep apologizing..." he muttered, looking almost annoyed.

"I had seen you before." Her voice sounded weak, she was still processing that the male she had been literally dreaming about was right there, not to mention that the most vivid vision she ever had had just happened and it was about him.

Why?

"Well, you might have."

"Who are you?" She questioned and could swear he almost seemed offended.

"I– You don't know who I am?" He lifted an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. Gods, he really was annoying.

"I should?"

He laughed, a deep sound that she swore she could feel in her bones, the hound in his arms whined at being disturbed from his sleep.

"Yes." He dropped the puppy to the floor, her eyes followed the motion and finally seeing the many other hounds who surrounded the male, what the fuck?  "I'm Eris Vanserra." He gave out his hand for her to shake.

"Ah..." His hand on hers felt wonderful, a comfortable touch she hadn't felt in over a year. She distantly heard herself telling him her name but her mind was wholly focused on his touch, the firm grip he had on her hand, the calloused fingers that somehow still felt soft. Why was it so confusing? Not only was he the annoying male that prevented her from sleeping peacefully, he was also irritatingly beautiful. The Mother must be laughing at her face right now. It didn't even look like he needed help!

"You still don't know, do you?" The fucking smirk still hadn't left his face.

"Uh," What even was his name again...Vanserra? Fucking shit.

It was an explicit rule in her coven that they never came close to the Vanserra family. They didn't mess with politics and royalty, their family consisted of many types of fae, even mixed ones, the High Lord hated people like them. Beron hated lesser fae and therefore the people who liked them.

"You're the High Lord's son." Any good thoughts about him were pushed to the back of her mind by guilt, what would her family think if they heard her calling him beautiful?

"And suddenly you're pulling away..." His hand dropped hers after feeling her hold go slack, "Not fun to bicker with the High Lord's son is it?" The smirk on his face turned into a sad smile, his eyes dropping to watch the hounds at his feet. Now the small horde of smokehounds made sense.

"It's not..." she felt sad for him, "It's not smart." She couldn't tell him exactly why she it wasn't fun to be around him.

"Hm, right." His hands slipped into the pockets of his chocolate colored trousers, the hound closest to him perked his ears at the move, Eris slipped a hand out and gave him a bone shaped treat, his hand went back into his pocket and fished out several more treats for the rest of them. She watched amazed.

"So, are you going to tell me why you were crouching down here looking like you would pass out?" His head still didn't down.

"I was dizzy." She said simply, he didn't need to know the reason for her dizziness.

"I gathered that. Why?" He all but rolled his eyes.

"Why what?" She snapped.

"Why were you dizzy?" She could swear she saw the corner of his lip curl upwards.

"Why do you care?" Her braced her arms against her chest, cocking her head at him, he hesitated to answer.

"I don't. Are you going home or do you plan on being here all day?" He started walking around, glancing at both sides of the trail.

"You make a lot of questions..."

"And you seem hesitant to answer them..." He finally looked her way, his eyes filled with something she couldn't exactly place. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing you need to know." Her voice reached his ears like music, her attitude enticing him.

"I'm just teasing you, honey." He laughed, stepped closer to her, slowly enough that she could step away if she wanted to. She didn't. "May I walk you home?"

"You shouldn't." She suddenly wasn't so sure.

"That's not a no..." he cocked his head.

"That's not a yes either..." she mirrored him.

They stared at each other for a while, when his eyes drifted away from hers she took the moment to admire him, not noticing he admired her too.

"Sir..." A voice snapped them out of their little moment. The male stood a few steps away, clad in Autumn colors of armor. "The High Lord demands your presence." Eris nodded at him and he turned away, walking in the direction of her home.

"So, I should be going." Eris said after the male was far enough, the sad smile making its comeback. She wasn't sure what came over her when she answered.

"My house is that way." She looked at the corner the male had just turned.

Eris didn't say anything, only held his arm out and gave her a smirk. She took his arms and they walked silently, his smokehounds close behind, one of them keeping up with him like a shadow, the puppy found their way around her legs.

"He seems to like you, which is weird, they hate everyone." He gave her a sideways glance, "Did you enchant him or something?"

"I don't need to do that." She kept looking at the trail, pretending she didn't see him looking at her with a smile.

They reached her house in silence, a beautiful cottage, a small version of her old home, the front yard was filled with medicinal herbs, a beautiful garden she took pride on. When she tried to pull her arm away from him, his hold tightened, his hand resting on hers.

"Nice garden you got... Hm, Echinacea, Asiatic pennyworth, Calendula..." He patted her hand lightly before dropping it and looking down at her. "Are you a healer?" He smiled.

"Yes." She didn't offer more information.

"Good, always good to know a healer." He nodded. "Well, I must be going, have a good evening, My Lady. Hope to see you around." He bowed while gently lifting her fingers and kissing the back of her hand, when he straightened back his lips still carried that smile. What an adorable smile.

He turned away before she said anything, his hounds followed him with hurried steps, all but one.

"Eris!" She shouted, making him turn back quickly. "The puppy..." She pointed to the small hound at her feet, looking back at them both as if wondering why he was suddenly the sole attraction.

"Oh–" his hand rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth opened and closed but no sound came out, he glanced at another hound who didn't seem to care if the puppy was missing. "Well, keep him, he seems to like you better than me anyway." Eris laughed, his cheeks a tinged pink.

"What? No. I can't–"

"Please, if you're going to keep passing out in those woods, you might need someone to get help for you," he teased. "Besides, it would give me an excuse to see you again, I can train him for you, or teach you how to train him." She feared the smile he gave her at that moment, showing his dimples and perfect teeth, would haunt her forever.

She couldn't argue back fast enough, she wanted someone to keep her company, when she tried to reason with him he was already turning his back on her, whistling to the hounds as if showing that even if he called, the puppy wouldn't leave her.

Years later, she found herself going back home to him. That annoying redhead.

A couple months ago Eris had shown her the cabin he built for them, it was a dream they had in common, building their lives together in a small place. Eris had grown up in a large palace that never felt like a home, he hated the tall ceilings and the maze of corridors, the whole place was filled with servants and guards and still felt empty. She had grown up in a house perhaps too small for the amount of people that lived there, the children were separated into pairs, and they loved the arrangement, some of the adults were couples so they naturally shared rooms too, only her mother and another female had rooms for themselves.

They were raised in completely differently homes and yet their dreams were the same. All they needed was a house big enough to fit both of them comfortably and enough space outside to build more rooms in the future. Their love was the structure of their home and the backbone of their family.

She walked slowly with her hound, Cole, a nickname for Collected, because he's anything but collected. His tail kept bumping her leg, how he could still be excited even after walking for hours was beyond her. Her garden came into view first, then their porch, then she saw Eris from the open window. All of a sudden she was brought back to years ago, a chill running down her spine, to the first time she had a clear vision of him, the way he was moving logs around the fireplace, she remembered clearly how in the next few moments his hand would light up in fire. She had forgotten that vision thinking it was someone's old memory, but it was hers, he was lighting up the fireplace so she would come back to a warm home. Now as she stood there, Cole by her side, watching her lover, she couldn't help falling more in love with him, now she knows why this memory was shown to her that day, why it was so important.

Eris Vanserra was her mate, and now her heart and soul belonged to him.

Taglist: @callsigns-haze, @lilah-asteria, @mybestfriendmademe, @coldmermaidhologram

a/n²: I made Eris name specific plants used for... wounds... and preventing scars from getting larger...

a/n³: I literally sat for a moment looking at the screen like I had just written a murder scene (the first paragraphs of reader's backstory didn't faze me that much, what's wrong with me)

[bisexualiteaa]

Sweet As Pie

Logan Howlett x Fem Reader (FLUFF AND SMUT!!)

CW: established relationship, mention of reader having night terrors/nightmares, reader has trouble sleeping, reader likes baking, mentions of reader being a teacher at the school, talks of baking and sweets to relax, fluffy, non-seggsual intimacy and seggsual intimacy, cursing, dancing in the kitchen, kissing, p0rn w/o plot, fingering, oral (f receiving), hickies, mentions of biting/bitemarks, praise, slight dumbification, Logan is a fiend for reader, unprotected seggs, cream pie, squirting, fluffy ending, potential grammar/spelling errors, lightly proof read

AN: The absolute death grip that this man has on me IS UNREAALLL!! 😫 The ideas I have constantly floating around my little ADHD brain of him never cease but this one…WHEW! This one was fun to write. 👀 I happily take asks/requests for our mans Logan and of course Wade too! We share the love in this house! 💙💛 ❤️🖤 My asks are still open so please send ideas my way for anything you may want to see me write about, friends! Hope y’all enjoy. 🥰

It was a late night as usual. Your racing thoughts and vivid night terrors kept you from being able to stay asleep once again, despite any attempts to calm your mind before bed. So despite it being nearly three in the morning, you did the only thing you knew would effectively calm you after such a restless night. Baking. You were in the kitchen, all the utensils and ingredients laid out before you as you decided to bake brownies to distract yourself from the stressful dream. You had also hoped the waiting would help make you tired enough to hopefully fall back asleep once they were done. You were playing music softly as you started putting all of the ingredients together in a large mixing bowl, not wanting to disturb the rest of the mansion while everyone else was asleep, but you needed something to help keep your mind from wandering in the silence. You put on a playlist that you and Logan had comprised, smiling warmly as you began to relax a little more thanks to the music. You couldn’t help the way you began to hum and quietly sing along to the songs as you would sway to the beat. What you hadn’t realized was that you had an audience standing in the doorway watching you as you baked.

“Can’t sleep?” Asked the familiar, gruff voice of Logan as he soon joined you in the kitchen, his arms wrapping around you from behind, making you smile and hum happily as he did. “Had another night terror, but it’s okay. That’s what the baking is for” you said, making him hum apologetically in response, he knew exactly what it was like to struggle with such a thing. “That’s the fourth one this week, doll. You doin’ okay? Why didn’t you come get me?” He asked, watching you crack eggs into the bowl before setting the shells to the side. “I’ve always had them Lo, nothing I’m not used to. I know you had a busy day, didn’t want to wake you up, I���m sure you’re tired” you answered, but it didn’t stop him from worrying about you. He didn’t care how little sleep he got, he didn’t care if he had to stay up all night just to make sure you were okay, he would do it without hesitation. “Never too tired for you, sweetheart. Never be afraid to come get me” he replied, making you turn to look at him over your shoulder, shaking your head in response. He gave you a quick, sweet kiss, bringing that gorgeous smile back to your face that he loved so much. “Tomorrow we’ll talk to Jean, see if there’s anything we can get for you” he said as you went back to your baking, his arms circling around your middle again, making you chuckle at his overprotective nature when it came to you. When his mind was set on something you could hardly ever sway him from it, so you knew there was no fighting him on this. It was sweet really, to finally have someone who cared about your struggles and just wanted to help you. All he ever wanted was to see you happy and well, and he would do anything in his power to be sure those were met. You only wished he would be just as open to you fussing over him. “Yes dad” you quipped sarcastically, making him chuckle with you as he kissed your cheek before resting his chin on the top of your head. “Just worry about you sweetheart, know how much those take a toll” he said, sympathizing with your struggle. “I’m okay Logan, really. I’m still here, aren’t I?” You responded earning a grunt from him in reply that told you that wasn’t the right answer, making you laugh as he watched you mix all your ingredients together in the bowl, dancing and quietly singing to the music that was still playing.

He sniffed the air to try and figure out what it was that you were baking as he helped you clean up some before coming right back to your side. It was sweet for sure, so that told him you were making a dessert of some kind. “Brownies?” He asked, making you smile as you offered him the spatula with some batter on the end from when you had to scrape the mix from out of the bowl and into the pan. He accepted, giving it a taste. He would never admit to having a sweet tooth to anyone else, but your brownies were his absolute biggest weakness. Something about the love that you put into your baking and the joy you had in it, made everything you’d ever baked taste so good. You giggled as he groaned over dramatically at the taste, telling you that he liked it. “Good?” You asked with a grin at him over your shoulder as he licked the spatula spotless. “Fuckin’ delicious” he replied, making you giggle once more as you got all the dishes together. “Not as delicious as you, but pretty damn close” he said, making your jaw drop as you laughed at his dirty joke, making him grin at the cute look of surprise on your face. “Logan!” You whisper yelled as you started taking the dishes over to the sink, making him chuckle at your response. As you were about to wash them, Logan stole them from your hands before you could even place them into the sink. “It’s the least I can do for those brownies” he said, making you place your hands on your hips in defiance as you were about to tell him you could handle it, but his lips meeting yours for another short but sweet kiss silenced you long enough to forget your momentary agitation. Now all you had to do was wait for them to be done.

Thirty-five to forty minutes was the bake time, meaning you had that amount of time to kill while you waited for them to be done. You smiled as another song began to play, making you hum along happily as you stood in the kitchen with Logan. Your arms were slung around his neck as his hands sat at your waist, both of you swaying gently to the song as you looked into each other’s eyes. It wasn’t often that you and Logan shared moments of intimacy like this, where his touch wasn’t wild and untamed, and your gaze wasn’t filled only with lust. He knew well that intimacy was never his strongest suit, but as he’s been with you, he’s come to try his best at it every now and again. You’ve slowly taught him how to open up to it, how to get better at it. “Thank you” you spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between you for a moment as you rested your forehead against his own, closing your eyes as you basked in the moment. “For what?” He asked, knitting his brows in confusion as he looked down at you, unsure of what he did to deserve being thanked. “For being here with me, for caring about me. For just…being you, Lo” you replied sweetly, a soft smile stretching to your lips as you continued to look up at him with those soft eyes and that gorgeous smile he could never get enough of. He never knew what to say in these moments, in the times where you would tell him such sweet things about himself that he could never see. He often wondered why you’d chose him over anyone else, yet at the same time, he knew he would never want to see you with anyone other than him. He was a mutant, a dangerous one at that, and he certainly was not the type of man you take home to introduce to your parents. Not in his eyes at least. Yet you looked at him with all the love in the world, as if he couldn’t possibly do any wrong and when you looked at him like that, it made him finally start to wonder if maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. If you could love and accept him just the way he is, maybe he didn’t need to be so hard on himself. He had you, and you made it quite clear that despite everything, despite all his flaws, anger and bad habits, you were here to stay. Sometimes it was just so unreal to him to think he was lucky enough to have you by his side, willing to stick with him through all his ups and downs. He leaned his head down closer to you, not knowing how else to respond other than by kissing you. He was always better at showing you how he felt physically rather than expressing it through words. The kiss started off soft and sweet, but that didn’t mean it held any less passion in it than his more desperate, heated kisses. You hummed contentedly into it, your fingers lightly carding through his thick and unruly hair, keeping him close to you as you returned the sentiment. You hadn’t seen each other all day, he left early this morning before you were even up, and you stayed behind at the mansion, catching up on your lecture materials and grading assignments for the up coming week. It was nice to have this moment with him, away from the kids, away from the others, and to just enjoy each other’s company without interruption. You both seemed to need it after such a long day. So it wasn’t surprising in the slightest when your once innocent kiss began to take a more heated turn, morphing into something more passionate as you both stood there, enjoying the moment together while no one else was around.

You giggled into his lips as he picked you up, never breaking the kiss once whilst wrapping your legs around his hips to hoist you up onto the counter top, placing you slightly above eye level with him now. It was rather impressive the way he made sure your body was still against him, lips still connected as he lifted you with such ease, effortlessly placing you down on the counter without even needing to open his eyes. Thought he did finally pull away once the burning in his lungs from lack of oxygen began to kick in, figuring you must be feeling the same thing. He pulled away to enjoy the half lidded look you would give him when you were worked up, and the small line of saliva connecting your lips to his as your face flushed hot. “Missed you today” he said lowly in your ear, his voice deep and gravelly with want as he began trailing his kisses down the column of your throat, stopping to tease your most sensitive spots, pulling soft whines and moans from you as he did. “Missed you too” you replied through harsh uneven breaths, your fingers carding through his hair once more as he would suck and bite at your weak spots, leaving marks in his wake. Proof that he was there, proof that you were his and his alone. You moaned quietly as his hips brushed against you, feeling him through the fabric of your night dress. “Logan…” you begged, feeling him trail down your collarbone to your chest, pulling down the straps of your nightgown to allow him easier access to your breasts that lay bare underneath. He wrapped his lips around one of your sensitive buds, laving his tongue over your pert nipple as he sucked it into his mouth. You lulled your head back, eyes fluttering shut with a quiet moan as his hand cupped your other breast, offering both of your soft tits equal love and care. You bit your lip, doing your best to contain the sounds that would normally flow from you so freely, not wanting to wake anyone up or have anyone interrupt this moment between you two. “Missed these sweet girls” he said, laying a trail of kisses from your right tit to your left before taking your other breast in his mouth, allowing him to switch treatments and effectively show both of them his love and appreciation. He groaned into your skin at the sight of you, eyes half shut in bliss, head tilted back with your bottom lip caught between your teeth, and your hips rolling against his for that added bit of friction that you needed oh-so-desperately. He smirked at your needy movements, sucking and nipping at your skin playfully as he marked up your chest, not caring if they would be there for others to see. He wanted everyone to know who it is that pleases you, that makes you happy and makes you feel so damn good.

Satisfied by the marks left on your chest, neck and collarbones, he began to lay kisses down your stomach, his large, calloused hands coming up under your night dress to rest on your soft, plush thighs as he came to his knees before you. “Scoot closer for me, sweetheart. Wanna show her how much I missed her too” he said, helping you move towards him as he started to kiss up your calves to your knees, then along the insides of your thighs before finally lifting up your night dress enough for him to have better access to where you needed him most. “There you go. Look at you, not wearing anything underneath” he teased with that signature cocky grin of his, making you blush as you remembered you didn’t have anything on under your gown. He ran his nose along your inner thigh to tease, enjoying the smell of you and your pheromones that drove him absolutely wild as he left you on edge, toying with you despite knowing exactly how much you needed him in this moment. You knew better than to whine however, because despite your anticipation, you knew that he would give you everything you needed. Most people joked that you had him trained but in reality, he was the one had you trained. “Good things come when you wait” he would always say, and that was a motto you lived by when it came to him. He was never untrue to his word either. You moaned as he finally made his way to the apex between your thighs, laying a soft kiss to your clit before moaning lasciviously into you at the taste of you on his tongue. Your hand came down to card through his hair again, your nails scratching against his scalp in appreciation as his lips and tongue worked at your aching clit. You felt his tongue flutter and draw circles into you, occasionally dipping down to your soaked entrance to squeeze the hot, wet muscle inside and taste even more of you before taking up the rhythm and pace that he knew drove you absolutely crazy. In all the good ways, of course. His hands held you tight as he ate you like a man starved, moaning into you with such debauchery anyone would likely think you were the stars to a depraved pornographic film. You felt his nails dig into your skin with a pleasurable pain, feeling his bruising grip paired with the dig of his nails against you meant you could look forward to the enticing sight of his hand prints on your thighs when you woke up. He didn’t just feast on your cunt to please you, oh no, he did it of his own pleasure as well. You were already struggling to keep quiet, finding it harder and harder to keep your voice to a whisper when he made you feel so damn good, but it proved even more difficult as you felt two of his fingers poke at your waiting entrance. You felt as he collected your essence on his fingers before finally having them work their way inside of you, spreading you open and preparing you for what was to come next. “Logan…” you begged once more through your ragged breaths, and god how it drove him mad hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips.

As his fingers slipped inside of you, it didn’t take long for him to effectively find the exact spot you needed them most, feeling him curl his dexterous and skillful fingers to rub against your gummy walls. You couldn’t help the way your hips began to roll against his tongue and fingers with need, feeling the burning ache in the pit of your stomach begin to grow tighter and tighter. “That’s it baby, fuck my fingers. Know how she likes ‘em nice and deep” he said before returning his tongue to your dripping cunt, pushing you closer and closer to your impending orgasm. This time however, the movements of his tongue were a little different than what he was doing before. This time, you couldn’t help but notice that it almost felt as if he was spelling something on your clit with his tongue. As if writing out words on your sensitive bud, then it hit you. He was spelling his name on you, laying claim to you by putting his name on your most sacred place that only he was privy to. He was marking his territory.

L

O

G

A

N

H

O

W

L

E

T

T

You giggled as you noticed it, finding it a rather clever move on his part. He always claimed how marking you up with hickies and bite marks was a way of claiming you, marking you as his, but this was a first. “Pussy’s all fuckin’ mine now” he said, making you chuckle. “Was always yours Lo, no one else’s. Always gonna be your girl” you said, making him groan into you at your response. “Say it again” he ordered, pumping his fingers in and out of you at the perfect pace to get you closer to your peak. “Always gonna be your girl, Lo” you repeated, watching the muscles in his bicep flex and the veins pop out slightly beneath his skin as he worked you with his fingers. “So fuckin’ good to me. Gonna cum for me, pretty? Feel you squeezin’ my fingers nice and tight” he asked, making you shake your head yes in reply as he looked up at you, and fuck he could have bust in his pants just at the sight of you. You leaned back on your hands that sat behind you, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath, your gorgeous tits peaking through the thin fabric of your night dress as your gaze fixed upon him with those siren eyes that he swore had him transfixed since the moment he’d met you. You were ethereal. “Cum for me baby, wanna show you how much I missed you” he said, and just as his lips came back to your clit, that was all your body needed to send you toppling over the edge. Your thighs closed against his head, squeezing him tight as he helped you ride out your high. He moaned into you as your legs clamped around his head, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as you did. You felt him squeeze your ass tightly in his hands his nails digging into your skin, only adding to the buzzing sensation flowing through you as you slowly came down from cloud nine.

You released him from your grip as you realized you’d held him there, likely keeping him from being able to breathe. “Shit, sorry…” you apologized in a whisper, your voice sounding ragged as you did your best to calm down. “Nothin’ t’ be sorry for” he said with a confident grin before standing back up, allowing you to see just what you do to him. “Did you cum just from eating me out?” You asked, a slight blush on your cheeks from fluster and the lack of oxygen as your breathing only now started to return to a normal rhythm. “What can I say? Love makin’ you feel good” he replied, making you grin as he kissed you, paying no mind to the taste of you that danced on his tongue still. “She’s the only thing that could ever top those brownies” he added into the kiss, making you giggle. “That good, huh?” You asked with a cocky grin, making him groan into your shared kiss. “See for yourself” he said before running his tongue along your bottom lip, nudging you to open your mouth and allowing the kiss to deepen as your tongues fought in a battle for dominance over the other.

You peered back over to the timer, twenty five minutes left until they were done. Suddenly having to wait so long didn’t seem so grueling after all. “Know how often I think about bending you over this counter?” He asked into your slightly more frenzied kiss as you worked at his belt buckle to undo it. “How often?” You asked, both teasingly and because you were curious of how much he’d fantasized about it. “Every fuckin’ morning” he answered truthfully, making you hum in reply as you bit your lip, holding back a giggle as that thought sent butterflies to your stomach. “Then do it” you challenged him, making a near feral growl leave the depths of his chest as he pulled you down from the ledge and bent you over the counter top. You felt him grind himself against your ass through his jeans to tease before finally you heard the sounds of him taking off his belt and undoing his jeans. “You know how much restraint it takes me when I see you in here cooking or baking? When you gotta bend over to grab something our get on your tip toes to reach somethin’?” He asked before lifting up your night gown up, scrunching it at your hips and exposing your bare ass and cunt to the chilled air from the way your back was arched. “Takes everything in me not to fuck you senseless. To ruin this pretty pussy in the same place where we eat breakfast every morning” he said, making you whine at the thought, and moan as he tapped the tip of his dick against your sensitive clit. “Bet you’d fuckin’ love that, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” He asked, making you bite your lip and shake your head yes as you gripped the counter, preparing yourself for what was to come. “Fuck, Logan, please! Need you so bad” you whined as he moved his head between your folds, collecting your wetness on his tip and shaft before finally pressing at your waiting hole. You moaned at the blissful stretch, feeling your eyes roll back as he inched his way inside of you. Your breathing started to grow sporadic again, feeling him graze all your most sensitive spots before finally sheathing himself all the way inside, his tip gently tapping the apex to your cervix as he waited for you to adjust to his size. “So tight, fuck. Perfect fit, ‘s like she was made for me” he praised sweetly, littering your shoulder and neck with soft, sweet kisses to help you work through the momentary burn of him stretching you. Didn’t matter how long you spent with him, how often you two would be intimate, the sheer size of him would always ruin you every time, but you couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Your knuckles began to turn white from the grip you had on the counter top, feeling your eyes roll back in your head as he ravaged you. You were doing the absolute best that you could to remain quiet, but his hot groans and feral growls in your ear as his hips pistoned into you left you with the impression that he didn’t give a damn if he woke anyone up or if someone walked in. He’d wanted this for far too long and at this rate, nothing was going to stop him from having you unless you explicitly told him to. But judging by the way you were moaning his name and begging him for more, paired with the half lidded, lust ridden look on your face told him you weren’t going to be asking him to stop anytime soon. You were nervous at one point about anyone possibly waking up, or coming into the kitchen and finding you two before, but now your mind was so fogged by pleasure, so devoid of anything save for his name leaving your lips like a prayer that you truly couldn’t care enough to worry about that anymore. All you cared about was him and sharing in this moment with him. The rest of the world didn’t exist to either of you right then, all that mattered was having you pinned against the counter top and him drilling into you at an almost unforgiving pace. You could hear the soft sounds of his hips meeting your ass and the faint clap of his balls against your clit, only pushing you closer and closer to your breaking point. His one hand held your hip with a bruising grip, as the other rested beside you, holding him up and steadying him. “Logan! Right there! Fuck, just like that” you moaned as quietly as you could, making him chuckle at how desperate you sounded. “Yeah? Fuck, takin’ me so good. Feel so good around me” he said, and you could barely even babble out a coherent response through your pants and moans, making him chuckle again. “Poor thing. There isn’t a thought in that pretty head of yours right now, is there?” He asked in his usual cocky tone, his hand coming to your throat to pull you up against him, pulling your back against his broad chest, making your eyes flutter closed as he squeezed your throat, choking you a little as he fucked into you mercilessly. You shook your head no in reply, not trusting your voice enough to respond verbally. Not that you had anything coherent to say in response aside from his name. You could practically feel the grin that stretched to his lips at your response, he always loved when he would get you cock drunk. “Feels s’ good!” You babbled out the best you could, making him groan by your ear. “Doin’ so good for me baby. Been needin’ this all day, been needin’ you” he said, making you whine in response and clench around him, earning a growl from him. “Oh ya like when I tell you how much I need you? How desperate I am for you? God you drive me fuckin’ wild” he said, and you felt as his pace started to get sporadic, his movements no longer calculated and fluid telling you he was reaching his peak. “Come on princess, cum for me. Know you can give me one more” he spoke, reaching around and rubbing your clit in tight circles. “Fuck! Logan, ‘m gonna-“ you tried to warn, but by the time the words left your lips, your back had already arched from him and your orgasm had washed over you like a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. Your eyes rolled back, stomach tightening then releasing and had it not been for his hand swiftly covering your mouth, you know you would have been too loud. You felt your legs shake as your release gushed from you, your cunt clenching him tight, milking him and coating his dick in your slick as he growled in your ear with his own release. You sighed blissfully at the feel of him pulsing inside of you, each hot rope coating your walls white with his seed as he released himself deep inside of you.

You both took a moment to try and catch your breath, enjoying the after glow while he was still inside of you. You hummed contentedly as he kissed you sweetly before resting his head against your back. Your sweet moment was cut short however by the sound of the timer on the oven going off, making Logan rustle to turn it off as quick as he could while still managing to be balls deep inside of you. You laughed as you rested your head against the kitchen counter, realizing that the brownies were done just in time. Or perhaps it was the other way around. “Maybe you should bake with me more often” you quipped as he finally pulled out of you, helping you clean up before he redressed and helped you fix your nightgown. He laughed at your idea, watching you bend down to grab the brownies from the oven with an oven mitt before placing them on the stove top, cutting them into pieces and allowing them to cool. “You really want *me* to help you bake?” He asked, knowing his baking skills were inferior compared to that of his cooking skills. “If it ends like *that* every time, absolutely I do” you replied, making you both laugh before grabbing a brownie and feeding him a bite. Something about it was so tender, so domestic that for a moment, he could see himself living the rest of his days like this with you. For once he felt like he no longer needed to run, no longer needed to be alone. He had you, and with you, he had a home. And your delicious brownies only further sweetened the deal.

[suuuupernovaaa]

The Book Seller - Azriel x f!OC (Part 3/3)

Summary: Azriel’s mate decides whether she wants to accept the mating bond, or if it’s all too much.

Content Warning: Adult, 18+, mentions of death and trauma, sexual content

Part 1, Part 2

The next day, Azriel came and fixed the door to my apartment. While he was there, he noticed a few cabinets askew, and fixed those as well.

Afterwards, we made our way down to sit outside the storefront and enjoy lunch by the river, and he noticed a wiggling floorboard, and a crooked bookshelf.

He fixed those, as well.

My heart swelled to watch him pouring energy into the small bookshop that had been my life for so long. It felt quite right, to see him wipe sweat from his brow as he aligned the book shelf just so, and the satisfied smile that crossed his face was enough to make my heart stop when he turned to me.

I laid awake all the previous night, thinking of the bits of information he’d shared with me. His childhood and the pain he’d endured. The way he found his brothers, Cassian and Rhysand. All the wars and trials they’d been through since then. The killing and the torture. The way the peaceful times we were living in now felt like a dream to him.

It had been hard to part ways with just a chaste kiss to his cheek, but I wasn’t sure how fast or slow we were going to move. Some mates took their time, and some took no time at all. I knew at least that he’d be back the next day, to fix the door and so much more.

I set a tray of food in front of us as we sat down to enjoy one of the last warm days we’d see for a while. The food was ordered from a cafe around the corner, as I knew the significance of preparing a meal for the man before me. Preparing and offering a meal was a sign of accepting the bond.

“Thank you for fixing all of that. My brother, I’ve asked him so many times, but he has a little one at home and not much time to help.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded. “You can ask me now,” he said, and a fist squeezed around my heart.

“It’s a little funny that…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Go on,” he said, setting his food down.

“We don’t really know each other, do we? We met last night but it feels, almost, like I could rely on you. If I decided to.”

The corners of his lips turned up in a small smile, and that was his only response.

—

Azriel stopped by every day over the next week. Sometimes when the store was open, just to quickly say hi, and twice after to take a walk along the chilly river and talk, hands or arms clasped together. His company was becoming easy, comforting, and I was growing accustomed to him so quickly.

I wondered, was it because we were mates, or would we have found ourselves drawn to each other otherwise?

Despite the ease and excitement, something loomed over me. Azriel was not a normal fae, not a carpenter or a tradesman, not someone I met down the street or at a bar. He was the Shadowsinger, at the hand of our High Lord, and there were parts of his life I was not sure I would ever be privy to. Would that be a true partnership, if part of himself was kept hidden away?

If our era of peace ended, he’d have to put himself in danger. What did being a Shadowsinger truly entail? Would his duties take him away from time to time?We never talked about it, because I didn’t ask.

I was too afraid to. What if he told me he couldn’t share that? What if he told me something I didn’t want to hear? What if he thought it was too soon for me to ask?

When he stopped in the following Saturday, early in the morning with a tea in hand for me, my father was in the shop.

My family joined for dinner together every Wednesday night at my parents house, and my eldest sister had been quick to announce I’d met my mate this past family dinner.

Though they had all insisted on meeting him, I’d not yet broached the topic with Azriel. My family was loud, boisterous, always in each other’s business, and fiercely loving but sometimes overwhelming. Azriel was quiet, and I was nervous that he wouldn’t appreciate them.

My father, a tall man but still a dwarf compared to the Shadowsinger, did not balk when Azriel entered and strode to my desk, handing me the tea.

“Good morning. I came to tell you -“

“Is this him?” father interrupted, and I chided him with a tisk.

“Father!” I hissed, and Azriel straightened. It occurred to me then that truly, Azriel was older than my parents, but fatherhood had made my father mature in a way that only being a parent can, and he looked at Azriel through those eyes.

The tension grew in the air quickly as the two men stared at each other until my father, who had never been described as intimidating a day in his life, grabbed Azriel’s hand in his and shook it violently up and down.

“Great to meet you, son,” my father said to Azriel, the High Lord’s Shadowsinger, his elder by 100 years, as if he was any other man on the street.

To his credit, Azriel returned the shake with enthusiasm, and tipped his head as a sign of respect. “You as well, sir,” he replied.

Father waved his hand to dismiss the title. “No formalities in family. Will you join us for dinner this week?”

Azriel looked to me, and I tried to communicate my apologies with my expression.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I came to tell you, Holly, I leave tonight and will be gone about a week.”

I gripped my tea in my hands as my father wisely made some mumbled excuse to leave us alone at my desk. I stood from my chair and came around to meet Azriel, perching on the edge of my desk.

“Oh. Um, work?”

He nodded.

“I wanted to ask… how much I might be allowed to know. In the future.”

His face grew dark and serious. “I would tell you anything you want to know, though some of it you may not want to hear. It is not always pleasant, extracting secrets.”

I nodded gravely. “Oh. Right.”

“Which brings me to another point… being my mate, it could land you in trouble. One day. Soon or in the distant future. I’d feel better if you could defend yourself.”

“Fight?” I asked, glancing around at the book store to make sure no one was listening.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you never have to, but I would feel more at ease if I knew you could defend yourself. If need be.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of - the danger that came with the man in front of me. It only took a week to bubble to the surface.

“Cassian and Nesta have offered to train you.”

“Why not you?”

A small smile crossed his lips. “Just this week, while I’m gone. I’ll join once I return. I thought you’d be more comfortable, with Nesta there.”

Nervous, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He held mine fiercely.

“Will you be safe? Are you going somewhere dangerous?”

He shook his head, stepping closer to me. “No, no one will even know I’m there,” he replied quietly, and pressed his forehead to mind. I closed my eyes, breathing in his scent.

“Do you promise?” I whispered.

To my shock, Azriel’s lips found mine then. For the first time. Soft, warm, and all enveloping, I pressed my body flush to his and opened my mouth to allow him entry, a soft sigh escaping.

I had been waiting, every moment since we’d met, for him to kiss me. Stealing glances at his lips, kissing his cheek with every departure, it wasn’t enough.

He snaked his arms around my waist, and I held his beautifully sculpted face in my hands as his tongue explored.

Every single part of me was on fire in a way I had never imagined possible. I could feel sparks shooting from my toes and the ends of my hair. Azriel groaned quietly as he pressed me tighter to him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to hold him in place.

He tasted like mint tea and I wove my hands through his silky, dark hair, desperate for more.

Too fast, too suddenly, Azriel pulled away and smiled down at me. Only a moment later, I heard my father approaching.

He must have heard him first.

I removed my hands from his hair and smoothed it, removing any traces that I had been there, as we continued to smile at each other.

“Cassian will fetch you at 6am tomorrow, and have you back in time to open at 10,” he said, and my face fell.

“Azriel, 6am? You cannot be serious.”

He was laughing as he walked out the door.

—

The next week was grueling. Every morning, I met Cassian outside at 6am so he could prove to me how weak I truly was. I had no strength, no skill, no balance.

Nesta assured me she had been the same before Cassian had forced her to train, but it was hard to believe, watching her move with such grace and strength now.

Not only was the training draining me, but I missed Azriel. It felt strange to admit it. Two weeks ago, I had only known him by reputation. Now, a day without him was painful.

Near the end of the week, I’d asked the girls to run the shop for me for the day so I could rest, and Nesta invited me to join her for breakfast after training, just the two of us.

Sweaty and tired, I slumped at the table and asked the house for some water and tea. It appeared magically, delighting me as it had every time this past week.

“Can I ask you something a little personal?” I asked once I’d drank the entire glass of water, and Nesta nodded warily.

Though I did consider us friends, Nesta was still guarded, and I wanted to tread carefully.

“Is it hard, to be Cassian’s mate?”

She surprised me by laughing. “In what sense? He is very annoying.”

“I mean, him being who he is. The position he holds.”

“Ah,” she said, nodding. “I don’t know if I can say. I was human before, and all I’ve known of being fae is these people, this life,” she gestured to the grand home around us, and I understood.

Her ushering into this life had been straight into grandeur. She had not lived life as a normal high fae, only royalty.

“I asked you to come here last week because I wanted you to meet Azriel. Something felt right, when I thought of you two together. I can’t explain it. I almost knew. Once the idea occurred to me, of you two together, I couldn’t shake it. It nagged at me until I brought you here.”

Though I had suspected, she hadn’t confirmed it before.

I pursed my lips and looked down at the full plated breakfast before me.

“He seems worth it, to me. Worth whatever… trouble, it could bring. To be his,” I said finally, picking up my fork. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of him.”

Nesta reached over and grabbed my arm. “You are. I would not trouble with you, if you weren’t.” She spoke plainly, stating a fact with no emotion behind it, and nodded in return.

—

I returned home early in the afternoon, greeted my employees, and headed up for a long bath and possibly a nap.

After soaking for a very long time to remove all the sweat and grime, I dressed in a simple tan dress, and pulled a book from my night stand. The bath had rejuvenated me enough to no longer need to sleep, so I sat next to the window to read.

Only ten minutes later, I closed the book, unable to focus on the words on the page. They danced around, always spelling Azriel in my mind.

A scary but not entirely unwelcome thought greeted me then: I was in love with the shadowsinger. With his soft smiles and tight expressions. His attention to detail and need to care and fix. His past and present and hopefully, his future.

I wasn’t just falling in love with him because the living bond between us brought us together, but for who he was. I would have loved him without this bond. Would have been struck by his beauty and grace. The quiet assuredness with which he moved through the world.

As I got lost deeper and deeper into my own thoughts, a knock came at the door. Probably Aurelia or Jessiminda, needing something for the store. I placed my book on the shelf before crossing my small apartment to pull open the door.

Neither girl stood there, but instead, Azriel barreled in, sweeping me into his arms in a warm embrace that I eagerly returned.

“You’re back!” I exclaimed, breathing him in. How fully I missed him really hit me then, as I held him safely in my arms. It was as if something had been wrong the last week, something missing from me, a part of my soul, and here it was, returned.

“I came back as soon as I could,” he said, his face in my hair. The unspoken part of that sentence seemed to be, to get back to you.

“How was training?” he asked as he pulled away, just a few inches to look at me, and I could not stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“I’m sore everywhere. I could not kick anyone’s ass.”

He laughed, a low chuckle. “Give it time.”

“I have been thinking… Jessaminda wants more hours, and the store is doing well. I could have her open every morning for me, so I only work afternoons.”

His smile grew. “You don’t want to train at six am.”

“Of course not. But also, it would mean more time for me.”

For us.

Through the bond, I felt a ripple of joy. Only once or twice before had I felt what I thought were Azriel’s emotions - we wouldn’t truly be able to feel each other until I accepted the bond, and we hadn’t discussed that yet.

“Good idea,” was his full reply, and I beamed at him.

“Are you hungry? I could make a stew.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Are you offering to cook for me? Now?”

I sauntered away from him into the kitchen, gathering the supplies I needed and lighting the stove.

“Sit, and tell me about your trip,” I instructed as I began chopping. He sat at my small dining table, looking as nervous as he was capable of after centuries of skillfully hiding his emotions, and told me of his trip. Simple fact finding and information gathering in the autumn court, where he’d also met up with some old friends. I asked questions, and he readily answered, giving me any information I wanted to know, which brought comfort to my heart.

When the stew was done, I filled two bowls, and turned to him.

“Before I give this to you, I want you to know… I think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. If you weren’t my mate, I would still find you as handsome, as impressive, as captivating, as awe-inspiring as I do now. I don’t care that we’ve only just met or there’s so much we have to learn about each other. I’m greatly looking forward to that.”

I sat down across from him, and wondered if my family would be upset that we’d done this in private. Many fae made a ceremony of this moment, but I couldn’t imagine that was something Azriel would want, and I didn’t really either.

There was a look in his eyes that I thought might be wonder, or awe, I set the bowl and spoon down in front of Azriel, and waited.

He lifted the spoon and stared at me with such intensity that it made my stomach churn with nerves.

“I have waited 500 years for you. Had I known what I was waiting for, I would have agreed to wait 500 more.” His voice trembled with emotion, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

We were silent as he took his first bite, and finished the bowl in mere minutes. I hadn’t even touched mine, I realized, and took my first bite as he took his last.

We stared at each other then, the air charged, and I felt it. The bond strengthening, solidifying between us, and I closed my eyes and listened.

I could feel him so clearly. His pain, his joy, and drowning everything else out, how badly Azriel wanted me in that moment. How desperate he was to touch me, and the thread he was using to hold himself back until he got a signal from me.

When I opened my dark eyes, his golden eyes bore into mine, passion sparking behind them.

“Yes,” was all I said, and all he needed, to sweep the table aside and pull me into his sturdy, waiting arms.

His mouth found mine eagerly, and his hands roamed my body. I found myself beyond glad I’d had time to bathe before he arrived.

He lifted me up by the shelf of my rear, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He walked the few steps over to my bed and without breaking the kiss, lay me on my soft green bedding, kneeling between my spread legs.

“Azriel,” I moaned, and I felt how badly he wanted me as he pressed himself into me. I arched my back, searching for more friction.

He reached down, pulling at the hem of my dress slowly, pushing it up over my thighs, his fingers trailing over my stomach, and I sat up so he could pull it over my head.

I made quick work of the buttons of his shirt, revealing his broad golden chest and firm abs.

“Gods,” I hissed as he tossed the shirt across the room. This sculpted angel before me was enough to send me into a spiral. He pushed me back onto the bed, and looked down at me as something to devour.

“I need to taste you,” he said, his voice all breath and gravel, and I nodded eagerly.

He started at my neck with lazy, languid kisses, running his warm tongue over my skin, and then down. Over my chest, he stopped to take my nipple into his mouth, biting and sucking gently. I arched my back, pressing myself into his mouth, and we groaned together.

Down, further down he went, trailing his tongue over my naval until he reached the apex of my thighs, and did not waste any time teasing me.

He pulled my sensitive bud between his lips and sucked. I was so swollen, so sensitive, and so desperate for him. I moaned his name and put my hands into his hair, guiding him as he truly devoured me. He slowed and sped, and stuck his tongue deep inside me, causing another loud moan to escape my chest.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and I nearly came at the sound of it.

“I need you,” I replied.

“Need me where, baby?”

“Inside me. Please. Now,” I panted.

He stood up slowly, torturing me, and removed the buckle from his pants, and slid them down over taught, muscular thighs.

The bulge in his underwear was obscenely large, and I wondered how on earth it was going to fit. He removed his underwear and sprang free, and my mouth watered.

He was on top of me once more, his fingers dragging through my wet folds, circling my clit, as I moaned into his mouth.

I spread my legs as wide as they would go, and reached down to grip his considerable length, and place it at my entrance.

“Please,” I breathed, and my mate’s eyes met mine. I felt him, his love and his admiration and his lust, surging through the bond. “Azriel.”

“Holly,” he whispered, reverently, worshipping my name as he worshipped my body, and slid slowly inside me.

“Gods!” I exclaimed, and dug my nails into his back.

He groaned, stopping to allow me to adjust to his size. “Good girl. You can take it all. Be a good girl for me,” he whispered in my ear.

When he was finally fully seated in me, to the hilt, he stilled again. I felt impossibly full but gods, so good, and I wiggled, encouraging him to move.

He chuckled and placed a rough kiss on my mouth before beginning to move. Slowly, carefully at first.

“More. I won’t break.”

He moaned again then, a sweet sound in my ears, and picked up the pace, sliding in and out of me faster and faster until he reached a punishing pace, and I was making noises in his ear I’d never made before.

“Come for me, mate,” he demanded in my ear, and I came apart around him with a blinding scream, clamping my legs around his waist and scratching my nails down his bag.

He groaned a moment later, finding his release, and collapsed on top of me.

I was thoroughly devoured.

—

We stayed in my apartment for four days together, learning and exploring each other, and I had never felt so blissfully happy.

Or so sore.

The frenzy. I’d heard of it before. It was a dangerous time for newly fated males, but Azriel and I stayed locked up together for the worst of it.

When we were not actively learning each other, we talked, or ate, or slept, or read together. I thought life like this forever might be okay, but of course, it couldn’t last.

On the fifth day, Azriel recommended we might emerge and let our friends and family know we had affirmed the bond, as if they didn’t know. I had sent word to my employees to run the store without me, to my family that I’d miss dinner, and I knew he’d sent word to his family too.

I had not known they’d planned a party, or else I would have insisted we stay locked away for much longer.

As we left through my apartment window, I already wished we were back inside, Azriel inside me and all around me, where nothing and no one else existed.

Sadly, we had responsibilities outside, and decisions to make.

Like where we would live. The thought of Azriel residing with me in my small apartment was cozy, but laughable. He spent most of his time at the House of Wind, but also had a room in the High Lord’s newest home, and his townhome central to the city.

I had suggested it might be nice to have a place all our own. Near the water, and my store, somewhere just for us.

Azriel had liked the idea so well, he’d taken me against the window as we looked out at the city, planning.

We arrived at the House of Wind as the sun was setting, entering through a door in the courtyard that I’d not yet seen. Azriel led me to his room, dark and quiet and without decoration, and I wondered what our new home would look like.

He opened his closet and from within, drew out a golden gown, the color of his eyes. It was beautiful, floor length with a plunging neck line, long adorned sleeves, and intricate bead work throughout.

“For you,” he said, bringing it over to me. “From Feyre.”

I reached out to touch the most lovely dress I’d ever seen. “I can’t accept this.”

He shrugged. “You can,” he replied simply. Money had not yet crossed my mind - what kind of salary did a Shadowsinger draw? Surely more than a book peddler.

I turned and allowed him to remove my dress, and once I stood nearly naked before him, I leaned over the black dresser in front of me, bearing myself to him as I stepped out of my shoes.

His breath hissed between his teeth, and I smiled. I turned and placed my hands on his shoulders, stepping into the dress. He drug it up my body, and stepped around me to zip it up. It fit perfectly, making curves where I’d thought I had none. I turned to look in the mirror, pushing my hair from my face, and decided on a simple, long braid, so as not to distract from the dress.

When I finished, Azriel grabbed my hand. “I also have this for you,” he said, holding out a ring. A thin gold band adorned with one shining purple jewel. Simple, and lovely, and I wordlessly spread my fingers so he could slide it on.

Two weeks ago, I was alone. I was lonely. Time is a funny thing.

—

I expected at most, a handful of people when we entered the dining room, but as we grew closer, the chatter of a crowd was hard to miss.

I gasped when we entered. The hall was decorated beautifully, in purple and gold everywhere, flowers and tapestries and other finery as far as the eye could see.

Everyone in my family was there. My parents, all three siblings and their spouses, and their children as well, five in total.

All mixed in with Azriel’s family, Rhysand and Feyre, Cassian and Nesta, Amren and Mor standing with a beautiful woman who had to be Feyre’s third sister, hanging on the arm of a stunning man with red hair.

“Oh gods!” I shouted.

“Surprise!” Cassian hollered, igniting a laugh through the small crowd.

“Aunt Holly!” my youngest nephew ran to me as I entered and continued taking in the scene, and I bent down to scoop him into my arms. Nearing five, I would soon be unable to pick him up and throw him around, and I relished in holding him when I could.

I turned to Azriel, who smiled at me with mischief in his eyes. “Did you know?”

He shrugged, confirming it. “It was Feyre’s idea.”

Well, my mate was nothing if not clever. He knew I could not be mad if it was my High Lady’s idea. She approached then, arms open to wrap me and my nephew wiggling in my arms in a tight hug.

“I don’t know how you feel about surprises, but it didn’t feel right not to celebrate a new family member.”

I tried hard, but couldn’t resist a small bow. “Thank you, My Lady.”

She tisked. “Enough of that today. Just Feyre.”

Aiken jumped from my arms and ran back to my family, and we spent the rest of the night laughing and drinking as our two families blended. The atmosphere in the room was light, joyful, and calm.

I knew it would not always be this way. There would be very hard times ahead, and times of even greater joy and celebration.

Azriel and I were just getting started. It was all so new and fresh, but I was so sure of it too. So sure of him. The mating bond flowed between us, steady and strong, and we felt when the other was ready to end the night. I saw my family off before Rhysand and Mor helped them all home, promising we’d be at every Wednesday dinner we could, and we bid Feyre and her sisters farewell.

We returned to Azriel’s room quietly, hands clasped together, and I wondered if someone could be too happy.

If it was dangerous, to be too content, so quickly. To have so much change come into your life and to be so incandescently happy with it.

Was I asking for something terrible? Was I inviting in chaos and danger, simply by being overjoyed?

If so, I would not have changed a thing. Would not have chosen another mate, another family, another life for all the coin on the continent.

Azriel wrapped me in his arms as we fell asleep a while later, and I listened to his heartbeat in his chest, counting them.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

A beautiful sound. The sound of my mate, alive and well.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked, sensing my overwhelming emotions down the bond.

“That I love you,” I replied quietly, eyes still closed, heart beating wildly.

I heard his speed up, too.

A confusing mix of emotions came through the bond. Pain, longing, fear, lust, but there under all of that, there was love.

“I don’t deserve you. You are good and pure. You are kind. Faultless.” His gravely voice was strained, and I propped myself up to see his golden eyes shining.

“You deserve every happiness in the world, and I will see to it that you have them, my mate.”

He leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips.

“I love you, too,” he said, and shouted it down the bond as well.

We fell asleep intertwined in his dark sheets, only love enveloping us.

The book seller and the shadowsinger.

@rcarbo1

[miaclemeverett]

Summary of Dream's livestream with Techno's father if people can't or are unable watch:

Most importantly, please support Techno's family and the Sarcoma Foundation by buying merch here: (You can also donate directly to the Sarcoma Foundation here)

Dream is streaming with Techno's father & staying with the family

Techno's father met Skeppy, for the Sarcoma Foundation Gala he asked for Skeppy's favorite video with Techno and Skeppy said it was the "skeppy tries to troll me but i troll him first" video

Techno's father has been intentionally pulling up memories and stories of Techno's whole life which was "a speedrun" and full of joy and happiness, rather than just focusing on the last week

When Techno and his younger sister were diaper age, she fell down the final 2 steps of the staircase (completely fine) and while their father was trying to explain to their mother what happened, Techno walked in and said "baby fall down CRASH"

The first message that Dream sent to Techno was trying to Trojan horse his way into Minecraft Monday by playing with Techno. Techno's reply was "maybe next time" and Techno kicked his ass in Dream's first MCM. Sapnap thought Techno was overhyped but then Sapnap watched the next Techno MCM and changed his mind

Techno's father didn't really watch or understand Minecraft, he watched Techno 1v1 tons of people without losing any hearts and asked him "Do the other players even know you're there?"

Techno vs. Dream $100k duel: Techno's father never saw him stress about anything in his career except for the duel. Techno's father was competitive on Techno's behalf like "who is this green smiling man gaining subscribers faster than my boy?!" Techno texted his dad as soon as he knew it was at least a tie and he couldn't lose.

Dream saw Techno release "death merch" and thought that was the coolest, most Technoblade thing he had ever seen

Techno's entire family loved the "no one took the news harder than my health provider. they're the real victim" joke

Dream did an elbow reveal in honor of Techno

Techno's father made a joke to Dream about getting ready to do his (Techno's father's) own face reveal

Techno's father made this joke: "This video today is sponsored by cancer, without which this video would not have happened" and Dream called him an idiot

Techno's father thinks Techno would have done a proper face reveal. There were a couple of months where doctors were saying the next step would be to amputate his entire arm and shoulder. Techno joked that it was going to be the most epic elbow reveal ever and that they'd "traumatize millions." Techno's father was as positive as he could be without being fake and he got Techno a present ahead of the surgery (which never ended up happening), a 1st edition printing of Hemingway's "A Farewell To Arms."

Dream and Techno teaming in MCC: This is when they really started becoming friends, before that they had been more rivals/frenemies. Techno also never said or joked about giving Dream his first MCC win.

Techno was whitelisted for way longer before he actually joined the server, back when it was just a few people (Tommy might have asked him to whitelist Techno).

Techno had a Minecraft account called "Whitelisted" when he didn't want to be recognized, just to make the joke "You can't do this if you're not whitelisted"

Techno's dad has GOTTA tell dad jokes

When Techno was young, he would always talk to his dad about being a gaming Youtuber and Techno's father would tell him "no one would want to watch someone else play a video game" lmao

When Techno was young and he'd be building for hours in Roblox and they'd have a power failure, Techno would complain to his dad about all of his work being wasted and Techno's dad would say "all of that PLAY wasted"

Techno talked to his dad about what circumstances would lead to him face revealing, he would have wanted it to be funny and memorable but he never had a clear plan for it

Techno had a front bedroom with a TERRIBLE desk. Techno's dad told Techno to come to the studio to pick out any chair he wanted, Techno went into his dad's office and picked his dad's chair LMAO. Techno's dad offered for him to work on a soundstage because their house had horrible acoustics but Techno said "eh." At 2am when the family was trying to sleep they'd hear him screaming and yelling, it was so annoying when it happened but so painful when it stopped

Techno's dad would text him a meme and Techno would call him a loser, he'd ask him to watch Hunter x Hunter together. Techno couldn't eat without watching TV at the same time

Techno's dad sometimes sees posts on Reddit and his instinct is to send them to Techno. Techno's dad has come close to making a reddit account, he said hello and thanks to Techno's subreddit and he reads their posts a lot when he can take it.

Techno's dad knew Techno had a big audience, but he didn't and still kind of doesn't understand how he meant a lot to people in ways that have nothing to do with PvP or funny jokes. He's proud of Techno and grateful to everyone. The executive director of the Sarcoma Foundation told Techno's family they haven't seen anything like this before with regards to fundraising, she told them that a little kid ran a lemonade stand and raised $150 for the Sarcoma Foundation in honor of Techno.

Techno's dad: "If we do the call-to-action (to donate to Sarcoma Foundation) 10 times, I should get 6 of them" (referencing Techno beating Dream in the duel 6-5). Dream: "I see where he got his humor from"

There has been a refresh today of the merch store so GO BUY THE MERCH!!!! Techno didn't like when there were delays in people receiving merch, so you can only order when it's in stock so GO BUY NOW

Dream will be signing some unreleased merch concepts to include as an extra in some orders

Techno's father thanked Dream and he appreciates everything Dream did for them, he also loves Skeppy

Dream wants to get everyone together and do a massive fundraiser

[five-rivers]

green is for envy, black is for trigger

A long BNHA oneshot!

.

So, they didn't realize at first what it meant when the teachers announced that Deku was going to UA.  Hell, they didn't really get what it meant when it was just Bakugou that was going.  Not that any of them, least of all Hideo, actually thought Bakugou would get in.  The whole thing was a pipe dream.  Only forty kids from the whole of Japan got into the hero course every year, and even if Bakugou was great at a lot of stuff, those were still long odds.

But Deku?

Deku, who had to have how his own name could be pronounced literally spelled out for him?  Who broke down into tears whenever someone made a joke?  That noodle-armed wimp with a death wish?  Useless, quirkless Deku?

Not a goddamn chance.  Not even with a miracle.

But Deku did get decent grades.  Not as good as Bakugou, but the fact that a genetic throwback got passing grades at all was kind of freakish on its own.  Shinozaki used to joke that it was because he was having special ‘tutoring sessions’ with the teachers, but both the teachers and Bakugou were so uptight about stuff like that.  It was a joke.  A kind of creepy joke, and Hideo was sort of glad when Shinozaki knocked it off, but still. 

Anyway, inasmuch as Hideo thought about it at all, he assumed Deku got into one of the other courses.  Although he only really knew about those because of the sports festival and Bakugou nerding out.  Support and business or something like that.  They probably only took Deku because they needed to meet some kind of pity quota.  Hideo's dad was always talking about stuff like that at dinner.  Mostly about mutant quirks, but Hideo figured it applied to deals like Deku, too.

But life went on, and no matter how ticked off Bakugou was about his glory being snatched or whatever, everyone else had entrance exams too.  There would be time to complain about it later, or not.  Hideo kinda figured Bakugou would eventually appreciate the stress relief beating up Deku would bring even through high school.  He'd heard the hero course was tough.  He certainly took advantage of it now.  Enough that Hideo felt sort of bad about it, now and again.  

The swan dive dare had been a little messed up.  Sure, quirkless people usually killed themselves eventually, but let them do it at their own pace.  

Hideo sort of envisioned him, Bakugou, Shinozaki, and Kanemaru hanging out together on weekends, dragging along whatever new friends they'd managed to make at their new schools.  It'd be fun, hearing about Bakugou's glamorous life as a hero student, and Kanemaru's adventures at the local rich kid school.  

What happened was Kanemaru drifting away, and Bakugou dropping all three of them like a hot potato. 

It was–  Well, for the first few weeks, he'd been mad.  They hadn't been best friends or any sappy crap like that, but it was annoying to realize you'd been tolerated rather than appreciated.  But then he'd heard that UA had been attacked, he'd gotten some new friends, and Kanemaru started hanging out again when he figured out all the cigarette hookups at his fancy school were trash.  

And he was sort of looking forward to seeing people try to beat Bakugou up on national television.  

So there was that.  

But what he'd seen instead–

There was no way.  There was just no way.  

But there it was, on national television.  

Deku.

Useless, quirkless Deku.  In the sports festival.  In the third event.  

With a quirk.  

It had to be some kind of trick.  That's what he thought at first.  But it'd have to be one hell of a trick to fake a whole quirk like thag out of nowhere, and there was no way Deku was that smart.  

Maybe he'd been replaced or something.  Hideo had heard of people with body snatching quirks.  But, then, that'd be two quirks, and whatever urban legends said, Hideo wasn't dumb enough to believe in the quirk boogieman.  

Could he have been faking being quirkless?  The very thought made Hideo nauseous.  No.  No way.  Not a chance.  No one with power would tolerate that.  

There had to be another explanation.  

His phone was buzzing.  The group chat was going wild.  

He scanned through the messages.  Shinozaki was disgusting, but he had good ideas, sometimes, and Kanemaru got rumors from his rich kid friends that took much longer to reach Gungan High, and their other friends were more of the same, but maybe one of them could see what Hideo himself was missing.  

His eyes stopped on one of Shinozaki's texts.  

i bet its trigger

where would deku eve  get trigger, Hideo typed.  

idk but its not like you can but a quirk on the street

Theres a guy in my class whose quirk makez every1 atoung him sing in tune, wrote Kanemaru, maybe its like that

with strength like tgat?  r u serious rn noone like that ia gonna work for a quirkless deku unless he has more money than god its trigger ffs

But whered he get it?? asked Hideo.  And would it even worj on a omeone Quiklessm?m

u cab get trigger cheap if yu know where to look

And how the hell did Shinozaki know that?  He and Hideo weren't exactly squeaky clean, with the cigarettes and all, but trigger was something else.  Like heroin was before the dawn of quirks.  

deku prolly just has some bs weak asf quirk that hes juicing

That nauseous feeling came back, and this time, Hideo was able to identify the emotion fueling it as mostly anger.  Red, hot, roiling anger.  

It wasn't enough that Deku stole a spot at UA from someone who'd live past twenty, but he'd taken a hero spot?  And he'd done it with drugs like the cheater he was?

If Hideo had been allowed to take trigger during his entrance exams, he'd have gotten into a hero school, too!  Hell, maybe even UA, if Deku could do it.  Hideo, after all, had a quirk that could be used even without trigger!

weve dot tobdon somethin

*got to do

It only took a minute for Shinozaki to reply lik what??

idk tellthe police if it's a druf thing right? Or just tell ua

He flicked away from the chat and, hands still shaking with rage, started looking up how to file a police report.  

.

“And you think your former classmate is using trigger because…?”

“Because he didn't have a quirk like that before!” said Hideo, frustrated.  No one was listening to them.  

“UA's got a pretty great training program,” said the police officer at the desk, a bored-looking woman with fish scales around her eyes and ears.  She reached over to a small spray bottle and spritzed herself.  “Pick any one of those hero kids and you'll probably hear the same thing.”

“You don't get it,” said Hideo.  “We all thought he was quirkless.”

“Well, clearly not,” said the woman.

“Yeah, but don't you think that's a little suspicious, that he never used his quirk at all before, and now he comes out with that?”

“Yeah,” said Kanemaru, who was ridiculously intimidated by the police station for a rich guy.  Shinozaki hadn't even come, claiming he was too high to be anywhere near a police station.  “What he said.  Deku never used his quirk at school or anything.”

The woman raised a scaly eyebrow.  “Did it occur to you that your classmate was simply following the law against public quirk use?  Or that he didn't want to use a quirk that broke his bones.  Quirk counselor probably told him not to use it.”

“He never went to the quirk counselor at our school.”

“You know private counselors are a thing right?  I'd be seeing a specialist for a quirk like that.”  She leaned back in her chair and looked up at them.  “Do you really think a school full of heroes wouldn't notice something like that?  Save yourselves some stress and go home.”

“But–”

“Seriously.  Go home.”

.

“Any luck?” asked Shinozaki, whose eyes were indeed bloodshot.  

“No,” said Hideo.  

“And we haven't heard back from the school, either,” said Kanemaru mournfully.

“Figures,” said Shinozaki.  “The police suck.”  He twirled a blunt between his fingers, then lengthened them to offer it to Hideo.  “Want a hit.”

“No,” said Hideo, wrinkling his nose against the rancid smell.  

“Yes,” said Kanemaru, snatching it.  “God, that sucked.  What do we do now?”

“I don't know,” said Hideo.  “We've got to get some kind of proof, otherwise the police won't take us seriously.”

“We could follow him,” suggested Kanemaru.  

“Hell, no,” said Shinozaki.  “You remember what chasing him was like in middle school.”

“We caught him whenever we wanted to,” said Kanemaru.  

“Hell, yeah, we did.  But he always knew when we were following him, and if he's pulling this off, he's not using where anyone can see.”

“What then?” demanded Hideo, frustrated.  “Break into his house?  Find his stash?”

Shinozaki snorted.  “When his mom works from home?  Putting Deku in jail isn't much good if we're there, too.”

“How the hell do you know Deku's mom works from home?” asked Hideo.

“Unlike you, I listened to Bakugou's ranting.  She's a programmer or something dumb like that.”

Kanemaru perked up.  “Maybe we could ask Bakugou!” 

“After he ditched us?  If he hasn't done anything yet, he's not gonna.  Give me back my weed already, Kanemaru.”

Reluctantly, Kanemaru returned the blunt.  

“There is one way, though,” said Shinozaki as he took another hit.  “It'd be real risky, though, and it'd cost ya.”

“Yeah?” asked Hideo.  “What's that?”

“Well,” said Shinozaki, “someone with a habit has a different reaction to someone taking trigger for the first time.  We get that on camera, and it's all over for him.”

“I thought we couldn't follow him,” said Kanemaru. 

“I'm not talking about following him, moron.  I'm talking about an ambush.  The freak still has to go home sometime, doesn't he?”

“Wait,” said Hideo.  “You want us to, what, pin down someone high on trigger, shoot him up with even more, and then just stand around filming him?  Who's the moron here, exactly?  Where would we even get trigger?  It's not like weed or tobacco.  We can't bribe a college student to go into a trigger dispensary.”

“The trigger's the easy part,” said Shinozaki.  “So long as Kanemaru can cough up the money.  I know a guy.”

“I'm not fighting a guy on trigger!” said Kanemaru, shaking his head.  “That's worse than roids!  And he's got to be doing those, too, right?  And he's got combat training or whatever, right?”

“Freaking chill already.  Quirk or not, it's still crybaby Deku.  No one's asking you to fight him, anyway.  What’re you going to do?  Pop out your eyes at him?”

“It's not like your quirk is much better,” said Hideo, trying to channel the police officer's cool skepticism.  “I'm not fighting anyone alone.”  According to his dad, that was the height of stupidity.  You always brought backup.  

“How is it that I'm the highest one here and the only one that can think?  We aren't fighting anyone.”

“You know someone who takes hits or something, too?”

“No, idiot.  I'm talking about your after school book club.  How'd you think they'll react to someone who's basically quirkless putting one over on people with natural talent?”

Hideo's spine had gone as stiff as a board.  “How the hell do you know about that?”  Even his parents didn't know about that!  Not that his parents knew anything.  

“I listen, duh.  To spell it all out, my proposal is that moneybags here gives me cash to get the trigger, then our literature lover can get his meta friends riled up and ready to do the delivery, and we stand well clear with cameras rolling.”

“I don't know…” said Hideo.  He was totally behind liberation philosophy, people should be allowed to use their quirks to their fullest extent, but he was pretty sure that the people most likely to help with this kind of thing were the radical hierarchists, and they skeeved Hideo out.   

“You never know anything,” complained Shinozaki.  “And you say that I'm not civic-minded.  Whatever.  Something awful's going to happen, and neandertoe there will be right in the middle of it and you'll come crawling back to me and my plan.”

.

Hosu was burning.  

Hosu was burning, and Stain had almost killed another hero.

Hosu was burning, Stain had almost killed another hero, and right in the middle of Stain's insane motive rant video was Deku.  

Hideo picked up his phone and called Shinozaki.  

.

Izuku wasn't so far removed from who he'd been in junior high that he couldn't tell when he was being followed.  However, unlike when he'd been in junior high, there was more than one reason to follow him.  In junior high, the only people that followed him were bullies, teenaged and otherwise, looking for a soft target.  

But now?  It could be anything from sports festival enthusiasts to the police (he had just broken a bunch of quirk use laws) to one of the villains he'd whirlpooled at the USJ, out for revenge.  

The only people he was sure weren't following him were Kacchan and All Might.  Kacchan, because stealth was one of the few things he was definitively bad at, and All Might, because being stalked by the number one hero had a very distinctive feeling, and this wasn't it.  Besides, the figures he saw ducking out of his line of sight didn't have All Might's proportions, and he was almost a hundred percent sure that All Might only came in two shapes.

But they hadn't done any units on stealth or counterespionage in class, yet, so all Izuku had to draw on in terms of solution to his problems were his hit-and-miss strategies from junior high.  He couldn't even call for help, because the fight with Stain had trashed his phone.  He was hoping he could convince his mom to replace it with a mid-range hero model, but he hadn't quite managed yet. 

So, his plan was as follows:

Play dumb as long as possible.  If he started running, so would they.  The closer he got to home before they closed in, the better.  

Keep an eye out for patrolling heroes, policemen, or even convenience stores with sufficiently intimidating cashiers.  He didn't think there were any suitable ones at the moment.  The conbini closest to Izuku's house was staffed by a jerk who always tried to steal Izuku's change from now until midnight, but he might still come across one. 

In case of being cut off, don't run randomly if there's another choice.  Running randomly let the pursuers pick the route.  Izuku knew paths, shortcuts, and hazards only people familiar with the area would know.  He should take advantage of that. 

Get home and call for help.  Failing that, get to Kacchan's.  If it was just bullies, they'd give up.  If it was a more sinister group…

An unusually large group of older teens turned onto the road in front of Izuku, all wearing hoodies and oversized medical masks.  Izuku promptly turned off the road, jogging through an alley and briskly striding onward.  

If he wasn't already in trouble over the fight with Stain, he might have decided to use Full Cowl to jump his way home… except, what would he do if he accidentally ran into a person and hurt them, or broke someone's windows or something like that?  

Maybe, if he went to the park, then cut through the thrift store in that one basement…  No, if there were as many people following him as he thought, they'd be able to cover all the exits, even there.   On the other hand, if the nicer person was at the counter, he might let Izuku use his phone. 

He wished there was somewhere he could just hide until the people following him gave up, some building or business he could duck into, but that would require people who were actually willing to intervene in a beating, and most of the people around here… weren't.  Some of them would call the police or hero hotline, but (with a few notable exceptions, none of whom lived or worked in Musutafu or its suburbs) even the best heroes couldn't just appear as soon as they were called.  That's why they patrolled. 

Speaking of patrols, finding one of those would also be good.  But Izuku's mental timetable put the nearest one a mile east, if Kamui Woods was his usual amount late and not extra late, which was also possible.  Kamui Woods was pretty popular, so he got stopped by fans regularly.  He didn't usually come this way, anyway.  The main villain hotspot in the area was the train station.  

Mount Lady sometimes did surprise patrols, to boost her image, but Izuku hadn't figured out the pattern of those yet, if there was one, and he didn't have his phone to check if she was doing one today. 

Although, if he had his phone, he could just call…  Who would he call?  Not his mom, most people who were okay with beating Izuku up wouldn't hesitate to beat uo his mom, too.  Kacchan was still at his internship for another day, and wouldn't have picked up the phone for Izuku, anyway.  He wasn’t sure where most of his other classmates lived.  All Might would come get him if he called, and All Might wasn't busy as All Might - he had a car - but Izuku really didn't want to bother him.  Calling the police, well, they wouldn't do anything unless he was actively getting beaten up, which looped right back around to the time thing.  

Izuku had always thought it was remarkable, how fast you could get the crap kicked out of you if enough feet were willing to do the kicking.  

At this point, Izuku had counted six sets of willing feet.  Or two, if they both had shapeshifting quirks.  He shouldn't rule something like that out.  

But he had the sinking feeling that there were more than two.  Or six, for that matter.  A lot more.  

He cut through the ground floor of an apartment building, ignoring how the doorman swore at him.  He went out the service entrance.  He wasn't too far from home, now.  

But before he'd gone another street, he'd picked up another tail.  Or regained one.  He wasn’t sure.  

Whoever or whatever was behind this was much more organized than the bullies and muggers who went after him in high school.  He was- well, he'd already been scared, but now he was concerned, too, and that was a different kind of emotion entirely.  Sort of.  Probably.  

When he got home, he'd call All Might.  All of the really bad organizations who'd want to target Izuku would be connected to All Might anyway.  

After this next corner, he just had to go one more block, and then–

Oh.  

Somehow, Izuku hadn’t considered that the people following him might already know where he lived, and be waiting there.  

He hesitated for only a minute as his brain registered a group too large for him to take on even with One for All.  

There wasn't anyone for him to protect here but himself.  

He ran.  

New plan: Evade capture.  Acquire a phone.  Call the emergency line.  Use One for All only if he was backed into a corner; he didn't think the police would be amused by a second quirk use incident less than a week after the first.  

Hands reached out towards him.  He ducked away from several, and almost ran into another, tipped with sharp claws.  They raked over his arm, barely avoiding drawing blood.  The owner of the hand laughed, and another person kicked at Izuku's ankles.  

Izuku jumped over the feet, and he flipped the next person who tried to grab him.  He could hear the crowd - and it was a big enough group to call it a crowd - jeering and calling out to him.  It was nothing really identifying, unfortunately.  They were calling him Deku, quirkless, and a fake, but the groups of people who would know to call him those things included both former classmates and incredibly serious villains.  

The sidewalk underneath Izuku's feet crumbled, and his heart leapt into his throat - Shigaraki?  No.  Both the pattern of destruction and its products were different.  Shigaraki powdered things.  The concrete here was still in recognizable chunks.  

He caught himself with his other foot, adjusted for the new terrain, and kept running.  A volley of dark beams forced him to swerve and duck and turn onto another street.  He thought there was a conbini up ahead– no, that was the next street down, but that apartment building left its ground floor open–

The broken concrete under his feet started to twitch and levitate.  He changed direction again, now running on the street itself.  There were hardly any cars here, even on a normal day.  Today, the streets were dead, otherwise he'd try waving one down.  How had they managed that?  Bribery?  Stolen construction and detour signs?  He used his backpack to shield himself when the levitating chunks of concrete pelted him, then dropped it as he was strafed by a spurt of fire.  

He hissed as he patted out his sleeves, then reflexively punched the next masked face that appeared in his vision.  His muscles and tendons in that arm pulsed with pain, still not entirely recovered from their ordeals in both the sports festival and the fight with Stain.  He switched tactics for the next person who tried to grab him, sweeping their feet.

There were some really cool quirks on display here, but they all felt rather… unpolished.  Unpracticed.  It kind of pointed away from these people being career villains.  But then, so did their ages.  Some of these people were adults, but not many. 

That didn't mean they weren't working for worse villains. 

A pop of compressed air went off to his left, and a pair of wires went shooting after him.  They had tasers, too?  

Something slammed into the ground around him, creating deep circular indentations.  Telekinesis?  An invisible giant?  No, gravity manipulation.  Izuku stumbled and was forced to use One for All just to get back up, and then he was hit over the back of the head with something.  

He lashed out, caught flesh, and struggled away from the grip.  But he'd lost what little lead he'd had on the main body of the pack.  They were circling, now, cutting off escape routes.  Could he use One for All and Full Cowling to get up on a roof?  Not without fighting people with wall-crawling quirks.  Still, that was fewer people than he was dealing with now.  He tensed, getting ready to jump, and was suddenly hit with extreme vertigo, intense enough to drop him to his knees. 

When it passed, he looked up to see a foot coming towards his face.  He wasn't able to dodge.  

The only good thing about the next few minutes was that One for All kept them from pinning him.  He was hit with dozens of quirks and dozens of feet.  He pushed them off, but he didn't have a good idea of how much of One for All was too much for a person to handle without serious injury. 

But then someone - someone with at least a mild strength quirk - got hold of his right arm and twisted. 

The world went wobbly, and the next thing Izuku knew, he was on the ground, restrained by a truly painful submission hold and multiple quirks, including the vertigo and gravity quirks. 

“Come on, bring it over!”  The movement in the crowd became more purposeful.  

Left hand, pinky finger.  Letting it heal naturally if Recovery Girl wouldn't help would suck, but not as much as letting these people do what they wanted to him, he was sure.  He flicked his finger and the wind pressure pushed back the nearest members of the crowd, sending them toppling into one another.  Izuku staggered to his feet, still dizzy.  Up was the only way out, but he wasn't sure he could aim–

Something sharp sunk into his right bicep, and he punched the person holding it.  Which, ow, his pinky.  

He pulled the sharp thing out of his arm, which wasn't the best first aid decision he could have made but he was still learning.  A hypodermic needle? 

A minute later, the needle fell from Izuku's nerveless fingers.  It didn't fall far.  When had he fallen down again?  

There was a burning sensation spreading down his arm and across his shoulders.  It started as a surface-level itch, but then it went more and deeper, and–

Izuku had thought he knew pain.  Shattering three of his four limbs in one go at the entrance exam, breaking his legs at the USJ, repeatedly breaking his fingers at the sports festival– He hadn’t done those things for fun.  He thought he knew burning, too, from ten years as Kacchan's punching bag.

This was different.  This wasn't just his skin burning, melting, his blood was on fire, his bones.  He was cracking open with every beat of his too-fast heart, something terrible trying to get out.  

This was agony, all the way down to his soul.  

.

Hideo was feeling pretty good about things, actually.  Elated, almost, like on a good roller coaster ride.  Yeah, there were risks, but this was kind of like hero work, wasn't it?  Giving the bad guy a beatdown and exposing him for the whole world to see.  

As soon as they got the needle in him, everyone stepped off, giving Deku room for his freak out and Hideo and the others a clear shot at the action with their phones.  

“Crap,” said Shinozaki.  “Crap, crap, crap.”

“What?” asked Hideo, distracted by how Deku was writhing on the ground.  It almost looked like he was fighting himself.  Freak.

“It's not like I got him the good stuff that goes down smooth, but that's not–  If he's a user, he shouldn't–  That's not what he should be acting like!”

Hideo's good mood vanished fast.  “Wait, you mean he wasn't on trigger…?”

“It's fine, it's fine, we just can't post this anywhere, we've got to stay quiet, it's not like he'll be able to identify us–  We didn't touch him.”

But that wasn't the imminent problem, was it, if Deku had a quirk like that?  If he had a quirk like that, and they'd just given him a shot of trigger?  A quirk booster?  

“Uh, um, guys?” said Kanemaru.  “When you say don't post it…”

“Yeah,” said Shinozaki, backing away, “I mean don't post it anywhere, forget that it happened.  Never speak of it again.  All that good stuff.”

“But I, um, I sort of… livestreaming.  I'm livestreaming.”

“You idiot–”

“Hey!  Hey!  Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

.

Ochako flopped down on her bed, doing her best impression of bonelessness.  Her internship with Gunhead had gone great, but she was so frickin’ tired.  She was glad it ended half a day before everyone else's - except for those guys who got caught up in Hosu, she guessed.  Iida was still in the hospital, but apparently Deku had gone home last night. 

She sighed.  She'd text him, but he'd emailed everyone saying his phone broke, so that was out.  So… she'd probably just scroll through the internet… it was a peanut butter and crackers for dinner sort of night…

Her phone rang.  She frowned at the number, but answered.  

“Uraraka!  Dieu merci, I was not sure you would answer!”

Ochako sat up.  “Aoyama?  What's wrong?”

“It is Midoriya!  I have found this, this livestream, of a bunch of gangsters chasing him through the streets.  And I call the police, but they do not get there so fast, and all our classmates, they are on their internships, and he must be near home–”

“Send me the link,” said Ochako, slamming her feet into her shoes and grabbing the can of pepper spray her mom had gotten her when she first started to live alone.  “Jiro and Mineta should still be in town, too, they got internships with local heroes.”  Who else was still around?  Ochako knew about Jiro, because she'd considered interning with Death Arms, too, and she remembered where Mineta was going, because he'd been gross about it, but there had to be others still around.  “You call them, okay?”

“Oui, Uraraka, I am sorry I cannot help more–”

“It's fine, it's fine,” said Ochako, jogging down the stairs outside her apartment.  She didn't remember where Aoyama was having his internship.  “The police, they're sending a hero, right?”

“I do not know.  They did not say, only that it would take time, that they have to confirm, that they do not know where this is, this video.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs.  “Okay, okay, I've got to go now, but you'll send the link to the video?”

“Oui, it is sent.  Be careful, Uraraka.”

“I will.  Bye.”

She hung up, then, and quickly navigated to the link Aoyama had sent her.  She swallowed back the anger she felt when she saw masked and hooded adults grappling a clearly-injured Deku, and started scanning the video for landmarks and street signs.  There had to be something. 

She rewound slowly, slowly.  The street signs were too small and blurry in the video, she couldn't read them.  

Wait.  

She scrolled forward.  That apartment building had its name on the front in huge kana.  She plugged the name into her maps app.  It wasn't too far from here.  If she ran– 

She was moving before she finished the thought.  She knew where it was, where Deku was.  

What she'd do when she got there… she wasn't sure.  There were at least thirty guys in the video.  But people who did stuff like this were ultimately cowards.  Sometimes, if they knew someone was watching them, if they knew someone saw what they were doing, they'd stop.  That's how Ochako's parents stopped a yakuza beating, once.  They'd just gone out with a broom, a baseball bat, and a phone connected to the police. 

… there had been a lot fewer of them, too, though, if she remembered correctly.  

It didn't matter.  If she had to use her quirk, she'd use it.  It'd be her first public quirk use citation, and if that meant she was suspended or expelled… it didn't matter.  What kind of hero would she be, if she didn't do her best to help a friend? 

She turned the last corner and saw the knot of villains.  She couldn't see Izuku from here, but he was visible on the livestream clearly enough.  

She dialed the emergency line.  “I'm on Obi Street, near the Millenium Building,” she said, once the operator had answered.  “There's a group of thirty villains beating up a student.”

“How do you know they're villains, ma'am?”

“They're using their quirks.” 

“Understood, I'm sending your location to the nearest hero.  Please find a place to shelter until they arrive.  Do not approach the villains, and stay on the line.”

Normally, Ochako would have followed instructions.  Honest.  But the villains moved strangely, and it was Deku.  He was basically her best friend, especially since Sakura back home stopped talking to her for stupid reasons.  

“Hey!  Hey!  Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

“Ma'am--" said the operator, but Ochako wasn't interested.  

Some of the villains turned towards her.  Others, apparently, hadn't heard her.  

“Who the hell're you?” demanded one of them, who was clearly used to using his mass to loom.  Joke was on him.  It didn't matter how much mass he had when she could use her quirk to negate it.  “Some kind of pervert slut who gets off taking it from subhuman freaks?”

Ochako didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't.  “I have the police on the phone, so you'd better get lost!”

“Ma'am, please–”

“You think those fascist pigs scare us?  We're part of the new revolution, the–”

The big man stumbled and looked back.  The other villains jostled into each other, disorganized, and for the first time since looking at the livestream, Ochako saw Deku.  

He looked terrible.  Of course he looked terrible.  He was being beaten by a small mob.  He was bruised and bloodied and panting.  

His tongue was black.  

There was something else black, too.  Something like a gnarled, black root, growing from Deku's tattered sleeve and wrapping around the villain's ankle. 

“No,” said Deku, except it didn't sound very much like him at all.  

A thick, opaque fog exploded into being.  And then the screaming started.  

.

Hands gathered Izuku up.  Not gentle, exactly, but careful.  Not hurting.  They pulled him through the dark where lights flickered, uncertainly, like memories.  He opened his eyes and saw their faces, glowing, like fires that refused to be extinguished.  He knew them, but he didn't.  They could have been his, but they weren’t. 

“Ninth,” theh said, they whispered, they chanted.  There was power, there, burning and immense, and behind that power was purpose, but it was distorted, warped and shredded around the edges.  

This was not how this moment was supposed to go.  

There should have been triumph.  This should have been sacred.  A sharing of memories, a meeting of minds, a point of convergence, of singularity.  

How dare they?

How dare they–

–trap them - poison this - forget history - throw away this peace - hurt the boy - call them useless - touch Toshi's child - young Midoriya - say those things to Uraraka?

Uraraka was here?

Hush.  

Or–

Listen.  

Feel this.  Every strength they ever had.  Every memory that could aid their task.  Every skill, every scrap of knowledge, every quirk, every second of every year spent running-hiding-fighting.  All of it, brought together and finally expressed.  

They knew about trigger.  They had seen it, in all its gruesome forms.  Its purpose was to strengthen quirks, but the side effects - bodies twisted, quirks out of control, brains working at a fraction of their normal capacity.

One for All was a quirk.  A strange quirk, a difficult to understand quirk, but still a quirk, and everything within it was part of a quirk, and every thought they had happened in the brains of their Eighth and Ninth.  

At the moment, they were insane.  And they knew it.  And they didn't care.  

The purpose of One for All was to stop All for One, but that kind of specificity was a human foible, not something so easily encoded in the core of a quirk.  The end to which it put itself was the very destruction of evil and the eternal rebirth of hope.  Its favorite means was violence.  

“What are you talking about?”

Izuku tilted his head to one side.  Had he been talking?  Mumbling?  Muttering?  He should probably work on that.  But it didn't seem to matter so much when Blackwhip and Fifth were whispering to him the secrets of how to use rage to rip an enemy limb from limb, and Danger Sense hovered around him like a protective halo, Hikage watching his back.  

They were so, so, angry that it had spilled back over into serenity, like an overflow error on a computer.  

A fist came flying for him out of the swirling vapors of Smokescreen.  As soon as it brushed his cheek, Gear Shift grudgingly reversed its momentum.  Second did not approve of their current stronghold, but that did not mean he would permit an attack.

There was a snap, and then a scream, the man– no, the boy.  He couldn't be more than a year out of high school, if that.  The boy grasped at his broken wrist, howling.  

Izuku hadn't even done anything.  It was his own fault.  

Smokescreen whispered of an attempted escape, and Blackwhip dragged her back.  They weren't done with them yet.  

He didn't want to kill them or anything.  They just wanted to hurt them a little.  Ten years of quirklessness… twice.  And four lifetimes on the other side, running from people who thought meta powers were curses, or a symptom of a disease.   It was the same kind of bigotry, just reversed.  

There was just so much pain.  It hurt so much.  In his chest, in their head, in their hearts.  

Maybe if these little monsters felt some of it, they wouldn't do it again.  Maybe some of it would go away.  

.

Hideo stumbled through fog bank after fog bank, and started to wonder if he should call his mom.  He didn't always get on with his parents, but, if he was going to die…

There was a sort of scraping sound.  Then, footsteps.  They had to be close, close enough to touch.  The heavy fog dampened sound eerily.  Hideo froze, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Stop it!  Stay back!  How are you still moving?”

“Your vertigo quirk has its weaknesses, although it's useful for combat otherwise.  I'd ask you why you aren't trying to be a hero, but it's clear the problem is temperament.  Or, well, your entire personality, to be quite honest.”

There was a thump, a cracking sound and a shriek.  

“Stop!  Stop!  What do you want?  I can– my family has money.  Connections.  We can get you anything you want!  Just stop!”

“There is nothing we want more than you never doing anything like this again.”

The voice sounded like Deku's, but the cadence was all wrong.  Deku was a meek, shivering, stuttering nerd, and Hideo would have sworn that he'd stay that way, no matter what drugs they gave him.  

“I won't!  I won't!”

“It's nice of you to offer, but the only way people like you stop is of they're forced to stop, or if they're made to regret what they've done.  A lot.  All the time.”

“No, no, please!  No!”

There was an ugly cracking noise, and then a wet thump.

“Pathetic.”

Oh, god.  Oh, god, what kind of quirk was this, even?  There was no way Deku had a quirk like this all this time. 

A horrible thought came to him then.  What if it wasn't Deku?  Body-snatching quirks were a thing.  Hell, Bakugou had been targeted by one of those guys just last year.  And Deku had no friends, basically no family.  Who would notice when he started acting different?  Other than them, apparently. 

That was actually kind of sad.  Hideo would probably have had more pity to spare for Deku, though, if he wasn't using it all on himself. 

There hadn't been any sounds over there for a while, now.  Maybe it was safe to move again? 

“Hello, Hidaka Hideo,” said Deku's voice, right in his ear.  “It's been a long time.”

.

Kyoka wasn't entirely sure what was going on.  She had only been on the phone with Aoyama for a few confused seconds before the large-scale villain attack alarm went off, and what Death Arms said to her just after hadn't helped matters.  

Midoriya?  Taking trigger?  That didn't make any sense at all.  He was friends with Iida.  Totally straightedge.  

But apparently, he'd been given trigger.  As in, drugged, by a gang trying to beat him up.   Which, honestly, made even less sense.  Giving trigger to a guy you were fighting with…  It was like throwing a pair of brass knuckles to a guy you just hit, and daring them to do one better.  It was stupid. 

It was also on video, so Kyoka had to admit that some people were just that dumb, as unbelievable as that sounded. 

Whatever the Mensa squad's original goal had been, the result was… this.  A fat, billowing cloud that occasionally sprouted writhing black tentacles and faint but disturbing screams.  She didn't know what kind of quirks could combine to make something like this, and she didn't care.  She wasn't Midoriya.  The villains must have gotten spooked by Midoriya's quirk or something.  She just had to hope that they hadn't gotten spooked because Midoriya had broken all the bones in his body.  

What had happened at the sports festival had been… hard to watch.  

“Alright,” said Death Arms, “before we go in there, let's get some things down.  Earphone Jack, this Midoriya is your classmate?”

“Yeah,” said Kyoka.  

“He's not going to be himself, jumped up on trigger.  Don't try to get near him, or any of these villains.  He won't listen to reason, and I'll bet that these guys've been taking trigger, too, for a quirk effect like this. You're going to be flanked the whole time by these two,” he said, nodding towards a pair of sidekicks.  “The only reason we're bringing you with us is because we need someone who can navigate in all that crap, not for fighting.  Understood?”

Kyoka nodded.  “Understood.”

“Everyone else, go for restraint over injury, where possible.  We don't know if there are civilians other than Midoriya caught up in this.”

He spent another couple of seconds arranging the marching order, but then he finally gave them the order to move in.  

Inside the cloud, the air was cool, and drier than Kyoka had expected.  Not like fog, more like smoke.  Somehow, the screaming she'd heard on the outside was quieter in here as well.  Must be some quirk…  

“Group of three, that way,” she said, pointing.  

They took care of the villains quickly.  They didn't seem much older than Kyoka, and their quirk control was much worse.  They were tied up in class-C restraints in seconds.  

“We're going to have to carry them back out,” said Death Arms with a grimace.  “We can't just leave them here.”

“Oh, thank god,” said one of the villains.  “You guys are actual heroes!”

“As opposed to what?” asked Death Arms, gruffly.  

“The punk is probably talking about me.”

Kyoka jumped and turned.  Whoever that was, they'd managed to sneak up on them while making no sound at all.  Not even breathing.

The man was bald, wearing leather, and the same sort of rugged as Death Arms.  He also sort of… faded into the smoky clouds around him, almost as if he were made of them.  Even accounting for mutations, his smile was a bit too wide, his eyes a little too blank. 

The black, lashing tentacles around him, however, looked very real, especially when they scraped along the already-battered asphalt near his cloudy feet.  

“And who're you?” asked Death Arms, readying his fists.”

“They should have stayed away from our kid,” said the man without moving his mouth.  Then, in Midoriya's voice,  “It hurts! “

“Where-” started Death Arms, but the man was opening his mouth, wrist and wider.  Too wide.  Inside was a perfectly black hole. 

A faint rushing noise was the only warning before a dozen of those black tentacles came pouring out of the man's mouth.  They jostled and grabbed and wrapped around, and by the time Kyoka got her wits about her again, she and the rest of the heroes had been deposited outside the cloud. 

Death Arms looked shaken.  “I think we might need backup for this one.”

.

Ochako caught another glimpse of yellow gloves and a fluttering cape.  It was a hero.  It had to be, even if Ochako didn't recognize her.  Now, if only Ochako could get her attention…

She pushed through another bank of smoke.  The smoke was… weird.  When it first appeared, it looked like it was coming from Deku, but that couldn't be right.  He had a strength enhancement.  Like All Might.  But then, those black root things weren't a normal part of Deku's quirk, either.  

Maybe it was like Tsuyu's quirk.  She had a lot of different things she could do, and you normally wouldn't describe it as a jumping quirk instead of a frog mutation, but it did let her jump high.  She just… wasn't sure why Deku would do that.  Unless he didn't know?  

Ugh, all these things could wait until later, when her friend wasn't in trouble. 

“Miss Hero!” she tried again.  “Please wait!”

And this time, to Ochako's surprise, she did.  

She was tall - but not as tall as Ochako first thought.  She was floating above the ground, and the way the smoke clung to her…

“It's yours, then, the smoke?” asked Ochako, a little out of breath.  

“Not exactly,” she said, in a voice as thin as the smoke. 

A partner, then?  “The person they were beating up was my friend, do you know where he is?  Is he safe?”

The hero inclined her head, and then dissolved, the smoke that made up her body tearing away from itself.  The clouds behind her patted as well, revealing a large crater, and–

“Deku!”

She hopped down into the crater, avoiding broken electrical cables and gushing pipes.  

Deku looked even worse than he had minutes ago.  Red and green sparks danced over his body, and his skin was a ghostly gray.  He was shaking, and clutching at the ground, raw fingertips digging deep grooves into the remaining concrete.  

But before she could get to him, smoke swirled out of his body, and two more figures coalesced out of it.  A slender white-haired man in a t-shirt and loose pants, and a shorter, younger man in a long, high-collared coat that reminded Ochako of Best Jeanist's costume. 

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired one.  

“Why?” demanded Ochako.  “Who are you people?”

“It's people like this that give my brother so much power,” said the man, which answered nothing. “They could use their abilities to help, but instead they act out of jealousy and envy.”

“Unless there's been a big change recently,” said the other man, “that dosage of Japanese trigger lasts for three minutes, maximum.”

Ochako looked down at her dead phone.  How long had it been?

“Wait a moment,” repeated the white-haired man.  “There is still justice to be done, there are still things to be made right.”

“I'm sure you're tough.  Are you tougher than concrete?” asked the other man.  “We don't remember that.”

“Wait a moment.  I wish my brother were here, so I could pound his stupid face in.”

“We really, really don't.”

“Uh,” said Ochako.  Were these guys, like, all there?  “There are villains here who tried to hurt him, so–”

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired man.  He sounded frustrated.  “Wait a moment.  They are being discouraged.”

“Vehemently.”

“Wait a moment.  He won't remember this.  Tell him we will speak again.”

“We'll try, anyway.”

Ochako looked between the two of them.  Maybe she could run by them… Were their bodies even solid? 

Deku shuddered, and the force behind the movement sent more cracks through the concrete, deepened the crater.  Ochako threw up her arm to protect her eyes from dust. 

When she lowered her arms again, the figures of the two men were dissipating back into smoke, and the smoke itself was wisping away.  Deku was lying still, now, eyes closed, breathing heavily.  Ochako checked him carefully for quirk effects, but didn't see any, and approached. 

“Deku?”

He didn't respond.  According to the first aid course she'd taken to boost her chances of being accepted at UA, she shouldn't move him unless there was imminent danger, in case of broken bones or neck injuries.  The pipes and wires… that situation would probably hold for a while longer.  The villains…

She climbed back out of the crater and looked around.  She could see both sides of the street, now, even if it was hazy.  The glass in most of the nearby windows was broken.  The street itself and the sidewalks were gravel.  One streetlight had been knocked over.  

And scattered all over were the prone forms of the villains.  They didn't look like they were moving.  Ochako stared at the nearest one, frightened, until she saw that they were still breathing.  So she should stay with Deku until first responders got there.  Hopefully, that would be soon.

Her phone chirped as it came back to life, whatever quirk effect keeping it inoperable disappearing with the smoke. She looked down at it, briefly.  It was an older model, and usually took a minute or longer to turn back on all the way. 

She scanned the street again, squinting to see through the thinning smoke, and, oh thank goodness.  That was Death Arms, wasn't it?  And Jiro!  She waved frantically.  

This whole thing had lasted only a few minutes, but it had felt like forever. 

.

In other news, the large-scale disruption in residential Musutafu today occurred when a group of thirty-two villains chased down and injected a UA student with trigger.  The villains were mostly high school and college students with otherwise clean records.  According to Musutafu PD, the villains believed the student was somehow using trigger to fake having a quirk.  A statement released by UA with the permission of the student's guardian not only refutes those claims, but includes select medical data from the student's most recent hospital visit, only days before.  These records show no evidence of the student having ever taken any form of performance enhancing drug.  The student was the only civilian injured in the event, and is recovering at an undisclosed location.  The police are investigating the possibility of classifying the incident as a hate crime.  Now, Ms. Long with the weather–

.

Izuku pried his eyes open blearily.  His head was pounding, his bones ached,  and his mouth tasted like he'd licked Dagobah Beach.  Before he'd cleaned it up.  Where was he and what was he doing there?  

He blinked a few times.  Actually, that ceiling looked familiar…

“Ah!” said Recovery Girl, who was suddenly in his field of vision.  “You're awake.”

Before Izuku could ask what had happened, she was running through a cognitive test.  Despite his confusion, he answered her questions as best he could, and she didn't seem disappointed, so he must have gotten a good grade.  Was that something you could get on a cognitive test?

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?” she asked, finally.  

“Uh, um,” said Izuku.  “I used one of the gyms at the school… here, I mean… for physical therapy stuff.  Then sat in on one of the support classes - that was really cool - then, um, the train… and I was walking home…  Was I hit by a car?” he guessed.  

Recovery Girl sighed.  “You were attacked by villains and injected with trigger.  Trigger heavily cut with other drugs, no less.”

“What?!” said Izuku trying to sit up.  Recovery Girl pushed him back down.  

“The villains were all captured.  They won't be doing anything like that again.”  She set a bowl of broth down on the table attached to Izuku's bed.  

“But did I– What did I–?”  Even if he didn't remember anything, trigger made people do all sorts of weird stuff.  And One for All wasn't an ordinary quirk.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Recovery Girl.  “You focus on recovering your stamina, so we can do something about all those microfractures you have.”

“I thought– I thought you said you wouldn't treat me anymore,” said Izuku, bewildered.  

“I never–” Recovery Girl stopped, pressed her lips together.  “What I meant to say, at the end of the sports festival, is that I won't be able to heal you with my quirk if you keep getting injuries like that.  There's a limit to what can be healed, even with quirks, as you well know.”

Izuku thought back to All Might's wound, and shuddered.  Which.  Ow.  

“If you can keep that down,” said Recovery Girl, nodding to the broth, “I'll see about letting some of your visitors in.”

“Like Mom?  And, um, All Might?” guessed Izuku.

“Your mother is here already,” said Recovery Girl, nodding at the green-haired lump in the neighboring bed.  “Just got her to take a nap herself, after she spent all night fretting.  But, yes, All Might isn’t above using his position to get to the top of your visitor list.  Although he isn't the only one on it.  All your classmates called in from their internships, and I had to ban that girl from the support course.  I won’t have untested support equipment around my patients, no matter what the medical applications are.  Uraraka and Jiro from your class were also here earlier…”

Izuku listened as she bustled around the medical wing and continued to chatter about his visitors and well-wishers, and felt… warm.  Later, he was sure there would be consequences beyond missing memories, sore muscles, and broken bones, but for now… it was nice to know he had people who cared.  He didn't think he'd ever get tired of that. 

With a shaky hand, he picked up the soup spoon and started on the broth. 

.

“Mr. Hidaka,” said the lawyer, more to Hideo's father than Hideo, even if the lawyer was technically representing Hideo, “I'm afraid to say that the government's case is ironclad.  Between the livestream video, the messages to the other defendants, being found at the scene of the crime, the evidence of quirk use…  The best we can hope for is the young villain diversion program, but that's only possible if you plead guilty and implicate any other co-conspirators.  Otherwise, you're old enough to be charged as an adult, and even if they don't do that, juvenile villain facilities aren't great places to be.”

“But Deku–” started Hideo.  

“Hideo,” growled his father.  

“I was attacked–”

“Hideo, shut up.  You'll take the guilty plea and hope you get it in before any of rhe cretins you call friends.  And if you say anything about this Midoriya boy again…”

Hideo swallowed and nodded.  Goddamned Deku.  How come he got everything good, and Hideo was in here?  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair.  Goddamned Deku.  

But what was he supposed to do?  He wasn't an actual villain.  He just wanted things to be right. 

“Fine,” he said.  “I'll do it.”

“Great!” said the lawyer, gathering his papers.  “I just have to talk to the prosecuter.”

Goddamn Deku.  Why couldn't Hideo have his life?

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 2

Benny Cross X Female Reader A/n: part 1 is here! Word Count: 2014 Warnings: cursing, alcohol use Taglist: @real-lana-del-rey @putherup

Fifteen months. That was all it took for you to find Benny, love him, and lose him. The easy version of your story went like this: it was Kathy Bauer’s fault. Simple as pie, like your mama used to say. 

The truth was a lot different. The truth was messy and it hurt a hell of a lot more. Because the truth was that you hadn’t lost Benny at all. To lose something, you have to have it in the first place. And when you were being really honest with yourself, you knew that you never had Benny Cross. You had as much of a claim to him as a kite does to the wind. That was to say, none at all. 

You didn’t like the truth. But, you weren’t the kind of girl who could live a lie either. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you ran away. Kathy Bauer’s first night in the Vandals bar was early November, Benny broke it off with you in early December. You spent Christmas drunk and stoned. And by New Years, you were gone. 

You thought putting Chicago - and Benny - in the rearview mirror would help. You’d banked on it helping. Running was your only plan. There wasn’t any other choice, really. Sure, some of the Vandals had pitched you on sticking around, club president Johnny among them. Your waitressing pal Sheila had asked you to move in with her, given that you were now two months’ behind on rent without Benny’s side-hustle cash around to help pay the bills. Hell, Cal had even offered you a soft place to land on the left side of his queen sized mattress. 

None of those offers had tempted you for even an instant. So, while the rest of America was counting down the final seconds of 1965 from their couches, you were sitting on the back of your fully customized Sportster, driving like a bat out of hell on the back roads leading west out of Chicago. Your only destination was the fuck out of here. 

It took you fifteen months to figure out what love was and to lose it again. You weren’t sure how long it was going to take you to do something approximating move on, but you figured it would be a lot longer than fifteen months. And you were right.

***********************

Your phone rang at 3:13am in the morning on September 19th, 1969. The first thing you thought was that your daddy must have finally died. Sonofabitch had been fighting a chainsmoker’s strain of lung cancer for almost six months now, and damn had it been a hard fight. Your mama had actually begged you not to come home and see him. Nothin’ you can do here, baby she said in her soft, sad voice each time you called and asked if you should come home. Your daddy, for his part, couldn’t talk anymore, on account of the laryngectomy the doctors gave him a few weeks prior. He’d declined one of those robotic voice boxes. Figured he’d said all he needed to at this point. Nobody wanted to hear the ramblings of an old biker on death’s door at this point. Especially himself.

But it wasn’t your mama’s voice on the other end. It was Johnny Davis.

“Hey, kid.” Not a question, not a hey, how are ya. It had been almost four years since the last time you’d talked to Johnny. Four years since you’d last seen a Vandals cutte. You wished you could say it had been that long since you’d thought about the club, but that would be a damn lie. Your mind drifted back to a certain handsome blonde-haired blue-eyed biker almost every day. 

It took you a minute to place the voice on the other end. It was familiar in the way a dream is familiar, but between the fog of leftover whiskey, a deep sleep, and buried memories, it didn’t come to you quickly.

“Who’s this?” you asked, wiping the tired out of your eyes.

“Oh, uh, well. It’s Johnny.” 

There it was.

“Johnny? Johnny Davis?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me, kid. Listen. How you been?”

You couldn’t help but let out a short, sad chuckle. The easy answer to that question was oh, I been alright Johnny, you? But the truth was something more like, well Johnny, let’s see, since I last saw you in Chicago I’ve been on the road pretty much constantly for four years, running for so long I can’t tell if I’m running to or away from something, much less what that thing is. I’ve picked up about a dozen bad habits, like drinking too much and riding too fast and going home with the first guy who’ll buy me a brew at a bar. Oh, and by the way, my daddy’s dying. 

But Johnny didn’t deserve your bitterness. Especially not at 3:14 in the morning. 

“You know me, Johnny, I’ve been doin’ just fine. Why’re you callin’ so early?”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the line. An image of Johnny, taking a deep drag on one of those Pall Malls he loved to smoke, came to you in the darkness. In the quiet of his reply, you heard a dense grief. You braced yourself for what you were sure was bad news and flicked on the bedside lamp on your nightstand. Next to you, the latest biker boy of the week stirred grumpily and waved at you to turn the light off. You ignored him, throwing off the covers and dangling your feet over the side of your mattress.

“Well, kid. It’s Brucie.”

Brucie. It took the air out of your lungs. You could have named a half-dozen Vandals you’d expect to kick the bucket before Brucie. Zipco, Wahoo, Corky. Hell, even Johnny himself. And Benny, of course. You couldn’t help but feel the knot in your chest relax an inch to know that Johnny wasn’t calling to tell you that it was Benny. But damnitall, Brucie? Careful, pragmatic, thoughtful Brucie? What the fuck was Gail gonna do?

“Brucie? What the fuck happened?”

Another jagged inhale on the other end. Johnny was crying, you realized. It gutted you.

“Oh, you know. 1967 Pontiac came outta nowhere, you know, just caught him in a bad way. It’s always the ones you don’t see comin’, y’know? Fuckin’ Pontiac.”

“Jesus, Johnny. Brucie? Shit.”

You lit a cigarette of your own as you let your mind wander back to your time in Chicago. Brucie was solid, Johnny’s right-hand man and a kind, gentle sorta guy. You’d liked him instantly, and Gail too. Real good folk. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been hard, y’know, I mean, club is real beat up over it.”

“Fuck, Johnny, I don’t even know whatta say. I’m so sorry.”

You and Johnny took matching drags and tried to swipe away your tears. The guy in your bed next to you rolled over and fixed you with a bleary-eyed glare. You couldn’t remember his name - Steve, maybe. You covered the receiver with your hand, told  him to get the fuck out, and drank down the last swallow of whiskey in the only upright glass on your nightstand.

“Yeah, well, I ‘preciate that, kid, I really do. Listen, we’re havin’ a get together for Brucie. Next weekend. Entire club, all charters gonna be there. Invited a few others, too. Ones that knew Brucie. I know he’d want you there.”

Of all the things Johnny had said to you tonight, this was the one that stole the air from your lungs. Go back to Chicago, to the Vandals? You weren’t sure how you’d do that. Or if you physically could. 

“Aw, shit Johnny. I dunno…”

“I know you got history here,” Johnny interrupted quickly. “I know you got… I know you got a lot you’re tryin’ not to come back to. I get it.” 

Lots of people might have tried to tell you they understood how you felt. You’d opened up about Benny to a few people since you’d left Chicago. Most people you met on the road were a little bit broken, like you. They were running, just like you, and they weren’t strangers to heartbreak and dead-endings and being fucked over. But, no matter how many times you tried to tell your story, you just never felt like you got it right. So nobody really understood it, because you weren’t sure you did. But Johnny? Johnny didn’t need to hear you tell it. He’d watched it happen. Maybe he really did get it.

Still, was that enough for you to go back? Unsure of what to say, you just stayed silent. Behind you, maybe-Steve was dragging himself out of bed, untangling his clothes from yours, and doing a shitty job of trying to stay quiet. 

“You think about it, aight? But I know you’ll come. For Brucie.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Johnny was right. ‘Course you’d go back for Brucie. 

“Aight well, I’ll let ya go then. Sorry for wakin’ you up.”

“Johnny, wait.” 

He hesitated. “Yeah, kid?”

“How’d you get my number?” 

There were about a million questions you wanted to ask Johnny, although you knew yourself enough at this point to know that you wouldn’t want the answers. So you asked the safest one you could think of.

He chuckled softly. “I keep an eye on my friends,” he replied cryptically before he said goodnight again, and the line went dead. You wished you knew what that meant, although just knowing that there was someone out there in the darkness who cared for you enough to go to the trouble of checking in with whatever backwater charters you shacked up with (because realistically that was the only way Johnny would ever be able to keep up with you) made your heart warm. 

“Who the fuck was that?” demanded maybe-Steve. He was halfway out the door of the dingy room you’d rented in this roadside motel, hoping you might still ask him to stay. 

“Old friend,” you said brusquely as you stood up and threw an old tshirt over your bare chest, heading for the door behind him. “Time for you to hit the road,” you told him by way of invitation, pointing towards his bike in the parking lot. 

“It’s fuckin’ 3:30 in the mornin’, you sure I can’t just sleep it off here?” 

“Nah, fuck that. Get lost.” 

He grimaced and spat thickly on the ground. For an instant you wondered if he was going to give you trouble, but he just shook his head in disgust and left you there to curl up on the rickety plastic chair outside your motel room with plans to chain-smoke until sunrise. You watched him go, his tail light streaking across the long, dark, flat expanse of Iowa farmland until it melted with blackness around it. Your mind was fluttering with all kinds of memories and thoughts that Johnny’s voice had stirred up. Rather than try and fight it, you let yourself sink beneath the surface and zone out, wading through a chapter of your life that you’d deluded yourself into believing was over. The sun had climbed up over the horizon by the time you came back to yourself with a bleak glance around the ramshackle motel. Your Sportster was gleaming like a lighthouse over in the corner of the lot under the only tree around for miles, a huge black walnut that seemed to be holding up its branches and asking the sky to sweep it up and take it away from here. Exactly how you felt. 

Unable to fight against yourself anymore, you splashed cold water on your face, tied your hair up, shoved your belongings into the leather saddlebags you’d been living out of for the last four years, and got on the back of your Sportster. As soon as you kickstarted your bike, you knew where you were going. Straight back to Chicago, back to the Vandals, to Benny. Straight back home.

read part 3 here **let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!

[billiedeansbitch]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 (𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰)-𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

(𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

<< PREVIOUS PART

Chapter summary: Two things came: Larissa's orgasm and her lab results.

Notes: Some plot is plottin' huh? *Smirks*

Tw: light mentions of depression and grief. Character death (not significant). Homophobia.

*Not beta read*

“Oi, kid, we’re goin’ out for drinks, you gonna come or what?”

“Nah, I can’t, sorry. I’m going home to Jericho.”

“A wife waitin’ on ya?”

“Uh, no,” a pause to shake your head, “but someone special.” You then added and nodded, agreeing with yourself as you thought of the other shapeshifter.

Your co-worker patted you on the shoulder with a resigned sigh, “All right, suit yourself.” he left the room, a toothpick hanging off his lips.

You beamed to yourself, shoving your stuff into your bag and turned off your monitor. It oddly felt nice to admit these things not only to yourself but to others, letting them know that you weren’t available in some way…

The office was almost empty, looking around you everyone had clocked out already leaving you and the janitor alone.

It had been a busy week, the last time you saw Larissa was Tuesday morning at five am, she was loosely wrapped in her kimono-style robe, softly gazing at you as you pulled your car off her driveway and before you could drive away she called out to bid you a goodbye kiss. It was something that had your head in the cloud for days, a parting gift that made your insides all tingly and warm and now, you couldn’t wait to go see her. 

These last few weeks had been surreal, you two had been spending more and more time together, more intimate than being casual but could you really blame yourself? Hell, anyone would kill to be in your position. Larissa was the dream, she was everything and to be able to do these things to her, hold her hand, kiss her, make her smile were your absolute fantasy all coming true.

You worry sometimes, yes, that maybe things weren’t as real to her as it was to you and try as you might to ignore it, it dampened your mood all the same, but hey, she said she liked spending time with you if that was anything to go by.

Your phone pinged once you were off the expressway turning to a smaller road leading to Jericho. The notification showed “Not your wife” and your grin couldn’t get any bigger, you quickly swiped the notification and it redirected you to messages. Of course she didn’t know that was what you saved as her contact name, she didn’t need to know that or the one you save before that “friends with consequences” 

Not your wife:

Will you be coming over tonight? 

(Larissa was biting her lip when she sent that text)

Then three dots appeared. She was typing. You were glancing from time to time waiting but she never sent another text then it disappeared. So you quickly typed a short reply, “omw” 

You received a cute emoji showing thumbs up and you giggled, finding it oddly charming of her before it was followed by: “Careful driving. Be safe and keep your eyes on the road.”

–

She kissed you first, or maybe you did, it didn’t matter as you two ended up on the couch in the living room with her underneath you, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt while her lips pressed open mouthed kisses all over your neck.

“Missed me too much?”

Larissa responded by stealing the breath out of your lungs and kissed you hard, “I think that confirms it,”

She was needy, you could tell, by the way she groped your chest once your shirt flung off and as much as it excites you and made your libido sprung to the roof, you couldn’t help the nagging thought that there was at least something wrong.

“I need you,” she had her hand on your waist while the other was busy expertly undoing your belt, “Please,” the way she pleaded against the skin your neck, her breath hot, as she shoved her hand under your pants had you grinding your hips against her, anything that was in your head quickly faded. 

And if you thought she had already caught you off guard, then you were mistaken because when she uttered the next words right into your ear that was when you completely lost it.

“Are you going to be a good girl and fuck mommy hard?” 

It was your turn to bury your face into her neck as you sucked a breath, “Yes, mommy.” as shiver ran down your spine and before you knew it, you shifted yourself, holding just the tip against her centre. 

“Wait. I need you to use this from now on every time you shift. Is that okay?”

“A condom? But…okay. Yes, of course.”

“Good girl,” 

You could do nothing but obey like a pet.

–

“Thank you. I needed that.” You were still on top of her, skin to skin. You had a proud smile on your face, her delicate fingers combing through your damp roots.

“I needed it, too.” She leaned, kissing the tip of your nose.

“There’s a store bought rotisserie chicken in the fridge, you can heat that up and I made salad. You know your way around, right?” 

“We’re not eating together?” The disappointment was too thick in your voice and Larissa tried to soothe the visible frown on your face by gently caressing your brow bone with her thumb.

“I still have a lot of work to do. The sooner you let me work, the sooner I am finished and after that I will be all yours. You think you can be good and wait for me while I work?”

The idea of her being all yours did a little bit of magic, casting away the frown as your blush deepened. 

“Yeah but can I stay in your office? I’ll be quiet. I’ll just probably read a book or something, please?”

A small smile flourished on her face, “We can give it a try.” Because knowing you, and herself, neither of you would last that long without being distracted and she really needed to work.

“Okay.”

You both laid for five minutes more, basking in the comfort of each other’s warmth and silence that engulfed the room bringing peace into your minds.

–

You kept your words and stayed quiet as possible, even the shifting to a new page was ever so silent. You didn’t know what you were reading, the words weren’t really processing at all but you needed it to keep your hands physically occupied to sell your act not that you think she was buying it anyway.

From time to time your eyes stray from the page of the book to the woman behind the desk, observing how the lines on her face deepened when she was making a face or how she would scoff while she read an email or something that definitely pulled a reaction from her. Which then made you giggle behind the pages especially when she would squint so hard before eventually leaning on the screen of her laptop because she was too stubborn to put her glasses on or the way she dominantly used her index finger to navigate her phone screen like any middle-aged person you knew.

It was all something you had grown so fond of over the months, you didn’t know if it was the obvious gaps in your ages that had you so drawn to her but that certainly played a part behind these reasons of why you were feeling more and more entangled with her like you could really see her staying in your life for good this time.

When you thought there was nothing for you anymore after losing your family to an accident just merely a week later when your girlfriend dumped you for some guy. You were ready to succumb to these bad habits. You had already started in fact. Your tolerance for alcohol was getting stronger and your fixation to cigarettes was growing out of control. You were wallowing in your own loss and depression day by day until she came and saved you. It literally felt like being scooped into her arms and being cradled on her lap while she spread tiny kisses all over your face.

When she walked in your parents’ house after the funeral you just…your mind took your back from your seventeen year old self.

The others were blocked in your head, their voice vaguely registering. You watched the crowd part, erupting into curious whispers and measuring glances.

Earlier that day as the caskets were getting buried, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of her, you blinked it away, too occupied with overwhelming loss and grief but when you saw her in clear daylight as the sun shone brightly, basking the room in the first golden rays of the sun after a gloomy rain dressed and accessorised in black strutting her way in the middle of the parted crowd, you couldn’t rip your gaze off even if you tried.

Something ignited within you that day. This hopeless, massive crush you had for her came back like it hadn’t been a decade since you last saw her and maybe yes, it would have been an awful timing yet you found it as a perfect distraction and she gladly provided that.

You remembered her smile, the soft hand she put on your shoulder and the little squeeze. You remembered not breathing and just awkwardly staring at her while she told you the fondest memory she had of your parents.

When the reception was over and mostly everyone had bid you their goodbyes, she lingered offering you help to clean the place.

And after that, maybe weeks or a month later, you reached out to her (thank God you didn’t lose the card she gave you) asking her out for a drink.

To your surprise, she agreed.

Larissa wasn’t around much when your parents were still alive and you were living on the same roof as them. She came to visit once or twice and you never spent much time with her, always locked up in your room or out with your friends, though there was this one particular night when she came for dinner wearing red suited for her skin and that smile and radiant eyes just spoke to you, they were stealing your attention and for the rest of the evening you couldn’t help but blush whenever she glance your way that was when you knew you had a crush on her

You didn’t think of it as inappropriate then, it was after all, just a silly crush. Something utterly foolish but she grew in your mind. You couldn’t forget about her until you were in your senior year in college, she was all you could think about while you kissed your professor. You craved to see that woman again.

And now you found yourself sitting in her chair, dozing off, the book slipping from your hand and onto the floor, the thud jolted your body to wake and so when you looked up Larissa was done and fixing her table.

“Are you alright?” she asked, 

You smiled weakly, “Yeah, I just startled myself.”

You got up, picked the book from the floor and settled it down on the seat. You were on your way to the connecting bathroom, feeling your bladder full. 

Larissa’s face was suddenly pale for whatever reason when you entered the bathroom, her heart pounding in her chest until you opened the door and emerged with a pout on your face.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I feel betrayed.”

“Pardon?”

“You didn’t get the hand wash I suggested you, you said you were gonna get it.” The woman looked visibly relieved, you didn’t think much about it, too busy pouting.

“I was supposed to but they didn't have it in stock. I’ll make sure to get it next time when they do. Is that it?”

“No. I hate to inform you that you’re not gettin’ somethin’ tonight.” 

She lifted a brow in question,

“My period started just right about now. I can’t believe my body will betray me like this, like man, can’t it wait until I’m outta here? Stupid organs.”

Period meant no shifting. Larissa let out a laugh, shaking her head softly and tilting to the side, a hand on her hip, standing like the statuesque woman she was.

“Who says I’m scared of blood?”

“Don’t be nasty, Miss Weems.”

You laughed and walked toward her, “Come on, let’s get some food in your system, lady.”

“You go ahead. I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be quick. Do heat up the chicken, yes?”

“That chicken better be good.”

—

The chicken was good, surprisingly so that you inhaled the whole thigh like a goddamn cannibal starved for meat. She watched you in the corners of her eyes, smiling down on her food while she ate her portion with more grace and actually chewing.

You did take her advice when Larissa told you to slow down before you choke. After dinner, you insisted on washing the dishes while she sat there with her legs propped up on another chair and enjoying a good glass of wine.

It was the last plate when you felt her, heard her moving, until eventually she was pressed behind you with her lips on your shoulder, the scent of wine strong in her breath.

You nearly dropped the plate in the sink, fingers gone cold and stiff; heart pounding in your chest. One of these days she’d legit give you a heart attack.

“You’re being so good to me,” there was no lust in her voice, only the kind of warmth that pleasantly stirred your guts. You wished it was the wine talking, though you knew that a single glass of red wouldn’t induce these thoughts.

Maybe this was the scary part. It was easier when her desires were prominent in her touch, the way it dripped down in her voice because you directly knew what she wanted. But when she was like this? You were out of words, you didn’t know how she wanted you to react and it wasn’t as simple as taking your clothes off every time she’d give you a hungry gaze.

“Don’t tell me, that me, doing the dishes do it for you,” you giggled, tearing some paper towels to dry your hands.

“Don’t get all cocky now if you don’t want to spend a night sleeping on the couch, dear.”

She would never do that. You turned around in her arms, giving her a pout.

“I very much doubt that. You won’t last long without begging me to come back to your bed.” 

Your faces were now mere inches apart, “I ought to teach you a lesson one of these days.”

“Oh, is that true, Principal Weems? Or should I say, mommy?” The last word was mouthed against her lips, not quite touching but close enough that you felt her body tensed.

You thought you won this little game but the smile was quickly gone when you felt her wrapped her hand around your throat. You swore your brain short circuited. Your thoughts, reduced to nothing.

She leaned, making sure her lips touched yours before she whispered, “Careful, sweet girl.

Your lips parted, welcoming hers as they collided with force. Soon, you were sucking on her tongue and feeling every inch of her.

“The wine tastes better in your mouth.”

Larissa beamed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “What should we do tomorrow?” She asked so sweetly as if her tongue hadn’t been shoved in your mouth moments ago.

“I wanna bake. It’s been long since I’ve kneaded something other than your ass or tits.” you hastily groped her ass.

Weems dramatically feigned a gasp, “Such a foul mouth, darling.” She tsked.

“Those words were not even one percent of the filthy things you’ve said to me.” 

It drew a smirk to her face, proving your words to be true. Her eyes narrowing down at you. 

“Should I remind you where my mouth has been lately?” You said, your fingers playing with the button of her blouse. The flirty lilt in your voice was easily matched with her eyes.

“Mhm.” It was all it took to get you down on your knees, one of her thighs prompted up to your shoulder.

“So wet already, huh? All of this is just for me, right?”

–

The bedroom lights were dimmed, Larissa was unpinning her hair, now in her robe as she sat in front of her vanity and you were laying with your stomach under on the bed, watching her. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, the expected blush creeped to your cheeks like the many times before.

“Tell me about your day, dear. Did Margie or Margaret—whatever her name is—make further advances on you?” 

“Her name’s actually Maggie, and yeah, kinda. She bought me another coffee and asked me if we could eat lunch together. I told her no, I kept the coffee though…”

“Mhmm, and what else?”

“Uh, she told me she’d wait? Like when I’m finally okay and all, which doesn’t make sense because I am okay—great even. And she said that I can come to her if I need a shoulder to cry on. She thinks I’m still grieving. She’s okay as a friend but past that? No thanks. I feel perfectly fine right here plus I’ve got more than a shoulder.”

The last sentence seemed to put a smile on her face so you smiled, too.

Once she was done and dressed, you scooted to your side of the bed to give her space. Larissa opened her arms, motioning for you to come closer so you did, wrapping your arms around her torso with your head nestled perfectly comfortable on her chest.

For months Larissa was firm on keeping things light, she never asked or demanded anything from you. She understood what she was, and where she stood. Your thoughts were your own for the longest, but as, whatever this was in between you, went on for longer than she was prepared for, she found herself caring for you enough to ask what she had been dying to since the beginning. 

“Do you miss them?”

Larissa felt the air grew heavy, not necessarily awkward, only it was hard for her to breathe when you went quiet like this. She could feel you thinking, so she held you tight, afraid you’d leapt out of her arms and bolt away.

Then you breathed the word out like a confession you had been keeping for so long that it’d break you if held it in for one more second, “Yes,”

“I’m sure they’re proud of the woman you have become.”

“I’m not so sure about that. They never approved of any of this. They viewed my happiness as a sin. So, no, I don’t think they are but it would have been nice if they did.”

There was so much hidden pain, well concealed by the smile that could have easily fooled her, but the long pauses and the way you avoided her gaze gave it away.

“Plus they didn’t want me pursuing my, you know, ability. They had always been appalled by the thought of having a freak daughter. They were a couple of hypocrites if you ask me. They celebrated others but they kept me in the dark. Always telling me to be normal. I never knew why they treated me like that.”

Larissa couldn’t believe this. Your parents were good people (now she doubted that) they attended charity events for the school and donated a fortune, they seemed enthralled by the outcast community so to hear this from you, she was heartbroken. To think that they did this to their own daughter… She hugged you closer, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. Her heart was aching like it was a physical pinch.

“That's why I left the soonest I could. They were suffocating me.”

It was hell, that decision forced you to endure a heightened level of stress and struggles, it showed you what real exhaustion was like when you thought you had enough of it while sitting on your desk at two in the morning rushing to do your maths homework.

You wanted to laugh about it now until your belly hurts. You wanted your parents to see wherever on earth or beyond they were, that you were finally at peace, that you had somehow ended up with the decent life they said you could never have just because of you who were.

You caught yourself going too far with your thoughts when you felt Larissa gently squeezed you, wordlessly checking if you were okay.

“It’s fine. It was something I had to live with until I no longer needed to.”

Larissa chose the silence over further speaking out her thoughts. Your emotions were obviously high, she didn’t want it to reign over you although you were considerably calm but who knew what else was going on in your head right now and she’d rather not risk it.

Aside from holding you impossibly close, the shapeshifter sought for your hand and linked your fingers together making you grin like a fool against her. You weren’t big on physical intimacy before, thought of it as gross at some point, but that was because you didn’t have intimate relationships with anyone and seeing others do it without understanding what it really felt like made the idea so repulsive and overrated.

Now you craved it. You welcomed it as long as it was from her.

“Rissa?”

“Hm, yes?”

“I want blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”

The woman chuckled, the vibrations going straight to your ear, filling you with positive energy and so much happiness.

“Alright, we’ll have blueberry pancakes in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

–

Earlier that week…

“Larissa Weems?” She stood up from the waiting room as soon as she heard her name being called. 

The staff held out the brown envelope with a smile too pleasant for it to be true. It irked her. 

She had been on edge the second she came in, and so, Larissa didn’t return anything warmly, instead she was like a cat baring her teeth to anyone who’d dare to make small talk with her like the young couple who was sitting close to her talking her ears off.

She snatched the envelope too roughly with her gloved hand. She didn’t thank anyone or even offered a polite smile. As soon as she had it she went straight for exit leaving everyone stunned and exchanging looks. 

“Someone’s dick is getting cut off tonight.” Someone's husband joked, earning a jab on his ribs from his wife.

She heard that but she didn’t care.

Larissa sat in her car, it was still parked behind the clinic, she held the envelope and ripped it open. 

It was her copy of the results. HCG test results.

There were two pages, Larissa skimmed over the first part with her heart racing and her breath shaking.

Larissa was forced to hold her breath as she muttered the words aloud.

“hCG Level: 13 mUI/ml”

“An hCG level between 6 and 24 mIU/mL may require retesting or further evaluation.”

When she realized her period was delayed she pondered if this was what her Doctor debriefed from their last encounter as a premature menopause, however she lacked certain signs and symptoms to further support the idea.

That was how she knew she had to take the tests. So while you peacefully slept, Larissa took two from her cabinet and did it in her office bathroom.

They came out negative. Of course they were, she wanted to laugh at herself for thinking otherwise. It would have been impossible to conceive knowing you were biologically a female but at what extent did science draw the line? Especially if being an outcast affected it and some supernatural shit. 

She couldn’t be so sure so right after you left that morning, she drove to the next town and had it done there. 

She thought having it printed in papers with charts and numbers would make her feel better.

It didn’t.

-

Oooh so the results came and it's somehow tricky because it's not low enough to be negative but all not high enough to positive...

Hmmm and they're using condoms now 🫢

Anyway, thank you so much for everyone who had good things to say about this fic and to those who wanted another part :)) I appreciate it all :))