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shibaraki · 11 months

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LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto��s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something? ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it.

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him.

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing.

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had.

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too. ▻ I’d like to go with you ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight.

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction.

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister.

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy.

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”.

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”.

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”.

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found.

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”.

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement.

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”.

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”.

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks.

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”.

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”.

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol.

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”.

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages.

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter. It is disconcerting that you would now go silent.

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks.

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?”

And his mouth goes dry.

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face.

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap.

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you.

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you.

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?”

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then.

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”.

“Shouto,” he says.

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”.

“It��s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics.

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”.

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door.

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine.

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”.

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued.

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears.

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”.

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”.

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter.

“Hey, Shouto?”

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?”

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”.

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him.

“Can I kiss you now?”

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”.

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively.

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him.

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders.

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him.

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass.

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities.

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”.

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”.

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?”

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him.

“It’s just a tremor”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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stevie-petey · 4 months

Text

episode five: dig dug

“You like Y/N?” Dustin asks at the same time as you ask, “You like me?” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, barely. She’s on thin ice. But you, little Henderson? You just stole the flowers meant for my girlfriend, so backseat you go.” “Yes!” You cheer, pumping your fist in the air as you flash Steve a smile. “Thanks, Harrington.” He rounds the front of his car and opens the driver's side door. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. Like I said, you’re still on thin ice.”

Summary: you and dustin bury a body and con your mother into fleeing town, great sibling bonding time ! you play hockey with a monster, dustin gets ghosted by his friends, and now it's your turn to kidnap steve (technically dustin does, but you don't stop him) who later gives you some terrifying realizations.

Rating: general, swearing and slight violence

Warnings: blood, use of y/n, fem!reader, animal cruelty technically, weapons, cursing

Words: 7.5k

Before you swing in: hello ! late chapter update, but here ya go lovelies !! lots has happened recently, i got a sick ass job and im super excited and :))) so updates will definitely slow down again some more, but i promise i will update whenever possible. for now, please enjoy !

–

“Remember how angry I was at you about hiding El from me last year?”

“Yeah?”

“Visualize the anger, multiply it by ten, and then take three steps back from me.”

Dustin trips over his feet to scramble away from you.

You’re currently in your own room, the door locked, with Dustin standing several feet away now as he heeds your warning. Never in your life have you felt such rage before, such blinding fury, and you thought you knew what anger was when your dad left.

But this? This is a new type of anger, one you know that only the older sister to Dustin Henderson could ever feel.

As soon as Dart had lifted its head up at you and screeched, you’d immediately snatched your brother’s hand into yours and ran out the door, door slamming behind you. Now, you’re hiding out in your room with no fucking clue what to do.

“You killed our cat.”

“Technically Dart did.” You glare at Dustin. You had actually liked Mews, she was the sweetest cat in the world and a gift for your fifth birthday. Your brother, sensing he’s only digging a deeper hole for himself, coughs. “I mean… Yeah. I killed our cat.”

Stepping back, you find your desk chair against your legs and fall into the seat. Exhaustion sweeps over you. There’s no time to grieve the loss of your cat. Not when there’s a baby demogorgon in Dustin’s room eating said cat’s corpse still. “What do we even do in this situation?”

“Not tell mom?” Again, you glare at Dustin and he squeaks in fear. “Well I mean, that’s all I can think of right now!”

A headache forms. “I should’ve gone with Jonathan and Nancy.”

Dustin thinks for a moment. “Where did they go, anyways?”

“No. You don’t get to ask any questions right now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You sigh, a vague idea forming in your mind. “Okay, first we need get Mews out of the room. She was mom’s favorite child, we can’t just leave her in there to be diminished to bones.”

Dustin nods. “Obviously. We can do that… right?”

“We have to. Once she’s out of there, we just… leave Dart in there. At least for now. It’s already late in the afternoon and we need so much help from the party.”

“We can’t tell the party–”

“You’re right. We can’t,” Dustin sighs with relief, but you give him an evil smile. “But you can tell the party. You’ll radio everyone tomorrow, clean the house, and make a plan from there.”

Dustin tries to argue, but you hold a hand up. “You brought a baby demogorgon into our house. You lost every arguing privilege there is to lose.”

He groans, knowing you’re right. Next time, he’ll be better at hiding things from you because you’re a total buzzkill whenever you inevitably find out.

Together, the two of you hatch a plan. You’ll walk into Dustin’s room first, knives out and ready just in case, and Dustin will follow once the coast is clear. Then, he’ll lure Dart away from Mews’ body with chocolate (you don’t want to ask why), and once he’s gone you’ll snatch your cat’s body and flee the room immediately afterwards.

It’s a good plan.

That is, if it works.

“Ready?” You’re standing in front of Dustin’s door, your knives flicked open in your hand, ready for possible war with a foot long little demon.

Your brother pats your shoulder. “Don’t die, sis.”

“I’m holding knives as we speak. Touch me again and die.”

“I hope Dart eats your face.”

You smile. “There’s my brother. Okay, as soon as I’m inside the room, close the door. Then, when I knock three times, open it again and enter.”

“Wait for two knocks–”

“Three.”

“Three knocks. Right.”

You steady your breathing. Around the corner, you can hear your mom humming to herself as she makes dinner. She has no clue what’s going on, and you envy her for it. Your hand on Dustin’s door knob twists slowly, then, before you can psych yourself out, you turn the knob and throw yourself inside.

Quickly the door slams behind you, so at least Dustin did something right.

Your eyes, which had previously been squeezed shut, open slowly. When you don’t see any sign of Dart, you exhale. So far, so good. You walk towards the couch and find the creature still eating away at your dead cat, which you gag at.

Poor Mews.

You rap your knuckles against the door three times, alerting Dustin to come inside.

He opens the door and walks in, his hands fisted against his face as if that would do anything to keep him safe. You roll your eyes and flick his head, which he whines at. “Grab the chocolate and distract Dart, please.”

Dustin runs over to his desk and grabs a Musketeers bar. When you see the candy’s name, you want to slam your head against the wall. You know exactly why the monster’s name is Dart.

“Let me guess,” you say, your tone mocking. “D’Artagnan?”

“Don’t you have a corpse to collect?”

You scoff at him but step aside so that he can dangle the chocolate in Dart’s face. You watch, alert for any signs of danger in case you need to step in, but the monster seems to be pretty friendly with Dustin. You guess they really did create a bond.

Once Dart is far enough away from Mews, you run over and snatch up her body. You try not to think about the possible cat guts now all over your sweater. That will be a later issue. Like a lot of things in your life recently.

“Go, go, go!” You push Dustin towards the door.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, throwing the last piece of the candy bar at Dart’s face and running out the door right behind you. Once you’re both out the room with the door closed, you both lean against the wall and exhale deeply.

“Good job. Now onto phase two.”

Dustin makes a face. “Why do I have to distract mom?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you hold up Mews’ bloody body. “Do you want to be the one to hold our dead cat?”

“Good point, I’ll go distract mom.” Dustin leaves, rounding the corner to go hopefully distract your poor mother in a sane way. With your luck, Dustin will spew some weird bullshit that will only make her more worried than she already is.

Right on cue, you hear Dustin say from the kitchen. “Mom, I think I broke my arm.”

The scream of fear your mom lets out would’ve been comedic had you not been holding her beloved dead cat.

Your mother runs around the kitchen, fretting over your brother, and the second she isn’t looking, you slip out the front door and quickly throw Mews’ body into your bush. You feel a bit bad about that, but there’s nowhere else to hide her body in broad daylight.

When you walk back inside, Dustin is being swaddled by your mother. “What did I miss?”

“Oh, Y/N!” Your mom sighs. “Dusty said he thought he broke his arm, but the silly boy seems to be okay.”

Dustin pats her back. “Ha, right. Silly me!”

Your mom looks up and then squints a bit, eying your sweater. You look down and your heart drops. It’s covered in Mews’ blood.

Fuck.

“Y/N, what’s that all over your sweater?”

“Paint!” You say while Dustin sputters, “Ketchup!”

“We… Were painting with ketchup.” You lie, sending a quick glare your brother’s way. Out of everything red, why ketchup?

“Oh, alright.” Your mom looks uncertain, but doesn’t say anything else about it. “Well, dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you go wash up, honey?”

The second you’re dismissed, you run into your room and yank the sweater off. You’ll burn it tomorrow. First chance you get.

A few seconds later, there’s a knock on your door before Dustin’s head pokes inside. “Dinner’s done.”

“Great. Holding your dead cat definitely works up an appetite.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Dustin tries to play it off, but you see the genuine upset in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, and you know he loved Mews too.

You sigh and walk over to him and kiss his curls. “It’s okay. Next time, let’s not hide a monster from the Upside Down, yeah?”

“Deal.”

–

Dustin spends the night in your room, which you explain to your mom as needing some “serious bonding time”. She tears up at this, unaware of the fact that you’ll be making your brother sleep on the floor as punishment.

The next morning you and Dustin hatch yet another plan: get mom out of the house. Before you two can do anything else, you both agree that your mom cannot be anywhere near Dart. Plus, she’s already noticed Mews’ absence, so it’s only a matter of time before she finds the body in the bush.

“Alright, you’ll fake the phone call while I start gathering the supplies.” You tell Dustin while your mom calls for Mews outside. She’s at the bottom of the driveway, Mews’ favorite toy in her hand, shaking it around, unaware that the cat’s dead body is in the bush next to her.

“Got it. You remember where my old hockey suit is?” You nod at Dustin’s question, and he’s about to say something else before he sees your mom start walking back towards the house. “Shit! Game time, go!”

Dustin fumbles for the phone and you run to the living room closet. Just as you’ve entered your positions, your mom walks through the front door.

“Mewsy! Dusty, Y/N, sweethearts, you’re sure she’s not in your rooms?”

“No, mom.” You shake your head at her.

Holding up a finger, Dustin presses the phone to his ear and motions for the woman to remain quiet. “Uh-huh. Thank you so much, Mr. McCorkle. Thank you so much, you are a true lifesaver.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. He’s laying it on pretty thick.

“Alright, this was great. Thank you, have a good one. Bye-bye now, all right. You too.” Dustin pretends to hang up the phone and smiles at your mom. “Alright, great news!”

“They found her?” Tears of joy lace your mother’s voice. You have to turn away, you know she’d notice the discomfort on your face. It feels horrible to be lying to your mother like this.

Dustin seems to be thinking the same thing, because he lowers his voice and gently approaches her. “No, but they saw her wandering around Loch Nora.”

More tears flow down your mom’s face. “How did the poor baby get all the way over there?”

“I don’t know, lost I guess. But they’re gonna look for her, and–and Y/N and I will stay here, just in case they call again. Right, Y/N?”

“Right!” You call from the closet, now quickly grabbing everything you can think of. Would a hammer be necessary?

“And you’re gonna go help look. Yeah?” Dustin’s only response is a relieved hug from your crying mother. “Yeah, give me a hug. Go get her!”

Your mom quickly composes herself and grabs her glasses. She presses a kiss to your forehead and seems to be in better spirits. “We’ll find her!”

“Mews will be home soon, mom!” You cheer, and your mom blows you another kiss.

“I love you,” Dustin sends her a thumbs up.

“I love you, kids.” And with that, your mom clutches her purse to her chest and sends one final kiss your way before shutting the door behind her.

As soon as the door shuts, you and Dustin scramble. Dustin heads to the backyard to open your cellar doors and you grab the remaining hockey gear from the closet. While you drag the uniform out to the living room, your brother begins to look through the fridge for any possible bait.

“Think Dart would like bologna?” Dustin calls over his shoulder as he digs around.

You groan, dropping the heavy goalie pads. “Last I checked, he wasn’t my secret Upside Down pet.”

“Touche.”

Dustin grabs the bologna and starts making a trail from his room towards the front door. While he does that, you start sorting through your own pile of gear, soccer to be specific. Dustin liked hockey, you preferred warmer sports. As you’ve finished lacing up your cleats and shin pads, Dustin returns.

“Okay, the bait is all set up. Got my hockey stick?”

You hand him what he needs. “Here, and your helmet is on the couch.”

Dustin gets ready and you retrieve some oven mitts from the kitchen. When you hand them to the boy, he looks at you like you’re insane. “What? Extra protection. Can’t hurt.”

He sighs and swipes them from your hand, putting them on. Once he’s ready, you help him stand up. He looks ridiculous in his old hockey gear, but you suppose you don’t look any better with your shin pads and Dustin’s spare shoulder pads.

“Alright. We all set?”

Dustin pats his helmet. “Ready.”

You walk towards his room, and once you’re there, Dustin pushes past you and bends down a bit so he can speak through his keyhole. “Alright, Dart. Breakfast time.”

“Do we have to mention breakfast right before we set him free?" You mumble, but your brother ignores you.

Slowly, he reaches towards the door handle and then flings it open. As soon as the door has been moved, Dustin practically knocks you to the ground in his haste to escape. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

His mantra reminds you of Steve’s from last year at Jonathan’s. Seems like the two boys have something in common: they’re idiots.

You follow quickly behind Dustin, terrified but at least trying to hide it, while your brother just repeats “oh my god”, and “shit” over and over again as he stumbles over the bait and out towards the front door.

If the situation wasn’t so grave, you’d be giggling at how dumb Dustin looks waddling over bologna on the floor. However, Dart could very well be right behind you, so you run after the kid equally as terrified.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit–”

By this point, you’re nearing the tool shed outside.

“I will push you down these stairs Dustin Henderson.”

Dustin shuts up and, as soon as you’re inside the shed as well, locks it behind him. Once he’s sure you’re all cleared, he lets out a breath of relief. “Okay, now we wait.”

You walk towards the wood panels, squinting as you peek through a gap to see outside. “I don’t see anything.”

Dustin does the same. “Come on, I know you’re hungry…”

Everything remains still outside, and you’re starting to worry that maybe Dart doesn’t like bologna after all, until you see his scaly body walk out the door. He gobbles down the bologna pieces one by one, which you cringe at.

“Yeah. He likes bologna, alright.”

Dustin silently cheers. “Yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

Dart makes his way down the trail, eating every piece he finds, and soon he scampers down the steps and hovers over the cellar doors. In an odd way, the little guy is kinda cute if you forget about the fact that he killed your cat.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Dustin continues to chant as you watch Dart. The creature just has one more piece of bologna left, he just needs to take a few more steps inside before you can slam the doors shut.

But, because nothing can ever be easy for you, Dart suddenly turns and looks straight at you and Dustin. “Shit!”

You flinch back, knocking into a bucket of nails that spill everywhere. “Shit again!”

Dustin tries to shush you but you grab him by his shoulders and force him behind you. Your knives are out, their blades gleaming in the sunlight that creeps through the wood panels. You peek through them to find Dart slowly approaching the shed, his mouth almost watering.

“Well, this isn’t good.” You take a breath to lessen your fear. “Stay here, I’ll try to distract him–”

“AHHH!” Dustin shoves you against the opposite wall, your body flinging back with a harsh crash, and breaks through the shed’s door. With one solid wack from his hockey stick, he flings Dart into the cellar.

“What the–Dustin!” By the time you make it out the shed, your brother has flung himself on top of the cellar doors, panting.

“Got him,” he informs you, as if it isn’t obvious enough. Dart begins to screech with anger, and Dustin sighs. “I’m sorry, you ate my cat.”

“You’re an idiot, Dustin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me five seconds to catch my breath, please.”

–

With Dart safely locked away, you and Dustin are able to finally bury your cat.

It doesn’t take long, but the early November heat is just warm enough to make you annoyed as you dig through the soil in your backyard. Dustin has his walkie with him, trying to find the right frequency so he can call the party and inform them of what’s going on.

“Guys, this is Dustin again. Does anyone copy?” You stab at the ground with your shovel and your brother groans when he gets no response. “This is a code red. I repeat, a code red!”

Sweat trickles down your brow and honestly it should be Dustin burying the cat, but you’ve never learned how to radio the party so you just sigh and throw more dirt upon your dead cat. Dustin tries a few more times to contact the party, but no one responds.

“Damn it!” He shouts, frustrated.

“Language,” you huff out, more sweat forming.

It goes on like this for a while, Dustin trying and failing to reach anyone, as you two begin to clean the house of any blood and Mews guts. He tries again while you guys grab the cleaning supplies, then again while you’re on your hands and knees scrubbing his carpet in his room.

“Alright, it’s Dustin again. Seriously, I have a code red.”

“Maybe they don’t know what code red means?” You offer, your nose scrunched up due to the bleach fumes.

Dustin scoffs, “sure, and they also don’t know who Luke Skywalker’s father is–”

Suddenly Erica’s voice comes through the walkie. “Can you please shut up?”

“Erica?” Dustin stops scrubbing and straightens up. “Erica, is Lucas there? Where is he?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Erica has always been such a lovely girl.

“Is he with Mike?”

“Like I said, I don’t know and I don’t care.”

You and Dustin share a look. It worries you that Mike hasn’t been responding all day. From what you’ve heard and seen, he’s spent every day this year camped out in his fort in the basement trying to contact El with the radio frequencies.

It’s not like to Mike to just disappear.

“Listen, Erica.” You speak up, trying to sweet talk to the girl. You’ve babysat her a few times and you’ve even managed to convince her you’re kinda cool, so maybe she’ll respond better to you. “Did Lucas mention anything else? Maybe… Maybe like a girl he went to see?”

Dustin frowns. “A girl? What–” You shush him and wait for a response.

Erica snorts. “A girl? Please, as if. He’s been gone all day. That’s all I can tell you.”

Your brother closes his eyes and sighs. “Please tell him it’s super important. Please tell him that I have a code–”

“Code red?” Erica interrupts.

“Yep, code red. Exactly.” Dustin smiles, then covers his mike to whisper to you, “seems like she likes me more than you–”

“I got a code for you instead. It’s called code shut-your-mouth.” Then, Erica switches off the walkie.

Dustin stares at nothing, dumbfounded. You go back to scrubbing the carpet, a pleased smile on your face. “So, you were saying?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, processing the fact that clearly no one in the party will answer, before letting out an obnoxious groan. “Damn it!”

“Are you gonna help me clean, or–?”

“Can’t you just call Jonathan?” Dustin asks, grasping at straws. “Maybe he can be useful for once and help.”

You shake your head. “No, he’s out of town right now with Nancy.”

“And you’re okay with this because…?”

“Because,” you roll your eyes, “they’re on a secret mission to take down Hawkin’s Lab. They’re at some detective’s house right now, so I have zero way of contacting them.”

Dustin rubs at his eyes tiredly. “How did we get stuck with a cat eating baby demogorgon while Jonathan and Nancy get cool spy work?”

You pinch his leg, causing him to wince and move away from you. “Because you purposefully hid the baby demogorgon. Any other stupid questions?”

“Sure,” Dustin throws his hands up in defeat, obviously joking when he asks, “got any other friend we could call for help?”

A sarcastic laugh escapes your lips and you’re about to tell him that he has more friends than you’ve ever had, but then a thought occurs to you.

Steve.

Technically speaking, you’re friends. Well, sort of. Sure, he had wanted space yesterday in the lunchroom, and yeah he’s still mad at you and things are awkward at best between the two of you, but still…

He’d been at Jonathan’s house last year, he had fought by your side and saved your life and even bought you a vending machine full of snacks. If anyone else could understand the situation you’re in right now, it’s Steve.

You hesitate though. He still seemed really hurt at lunch, but you also saw the way he lingered even after dismissing himself. He doesn’t hate you, at least not really, and without Jonathan or Nancy to call, he’s the only person you have left right now.

It can’t hurt to try, at least.

“Actually, yeah.” You respond after a minute or so. “Be right back.”

Dustin asks questions as you head towards the living room, but you don’t respond. If Steve doesn’t answer, then you can make up some lie about the phone being broken or something to save yourself the embarrassment.

Your fingers press Steve’s long remembered number. He had given it to you his first week of visiting you at Bookstrordinary, assuring you that you could call him whenever. After a while, you took his word on it and started calling the boy every time you were bored and alone at work.

The line rings for a few seconds, and you bite your lip in anticipation.

This is a horrible idea, and yet your heart flutters when Steve answers with a groggy, “hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Y/N?” He sounds surprised.

You can’t blame him, he did quite literally yesterday tell you he’s still upset with you and that he needs space. And yet here you are: calling him early on a Saturday afternoon. “Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I really need your help–”

A sigh. “Normally I’d love to, but I’m kinda in the middle of getting ready to go to Nancy’s.”

“Nancy’s? Steve, she’s not even home–”

“Can we talk later? I… I’d really like to talk, if that’s alright with you.”

This throws you, and for a second you forget about the reason you called. “Of course we can talk, Steve.”

“Great,” you can hear a smile in his voice, which warms you. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Then you remember Dart and the blood on Dustin’s carpet and you frantically try to stop Steve from hanging up. “Wait, no! Steve, Nancy isn’t home and I really need you to–”

The line goes dead, and you slam the phone down. “Damn it!”

Dustin, hearing the commotion, wanders into the kitchen. “Take it the call didn’t go well?”

“No, it did.” Sure, Steve didn’t necessarily offer his help, but he did tell you where he’s going to be in about twenty minutes. You’ll ambush him there and demand he listen to you and help. As a bonding exercise, of course. “We’re going to the Wheeler’s.”

“Why?”

“Steve’s heading there.”

Dustin trips over his shoelaces. “Steve Harrington?”

“Long story,” you sigh, dreading that you’ll have to explain all of this eventually. “C’mon, let's get our bikes.”

–

You and Dustin get to the Wheeler’s before Steve does, which makes no sense to you but whatever. He’ll be here soon enough and you’ll ambush him with all your charm and maybe a bit of groveling. You’re not beneath it, if you’re being honest.

Dustin goes up to the front door while you stay behind, keeping an eye out for Steve. Ted opens the front door and while you can’t hear what he says to Dustin, you know he’s unamused by his presence. The father has never been your favorite parent within the group, honestly.

You watch as they exchange a few more words before you see Dustin sigh and angrily march back towards you. Then, right as he’s grabbed his bike, a familiar red BMW pulls up. Just seeing his car makes your heart skip a beat.

The car parks and a frazzled Steve steps out, carrying flowers and mumbling to himself. You aren’t able to hear everything he’s saying, but you can hear the words “what the hell am I sorry for?” and your stomach twists.

So clearly he’s not in a good mood. Still.

The flowers, which you now can see are roses, hang by Steve’s side as he fixes his hair. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and it takes everything within you to pull your eyes away. He looks good today, too good.

There’s a monster currently locked in your cellar.

“Steve!” You rush over to his side.

He does a double take when he sees you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Well–”

“Are those for Mr. or Mrs. Wheeler?” Dustin now joins you two, pointing at the roses in the boy’s hand.

Steve looks between the two of you. “No…? You’re Dustin, right? Y/N’s brother?”

Dustin snatches the roses out of his hand. “Good, and yeah, I am.”

“Hey, what the hell?” Steve looks at you for help, but you know there’s no use trying to reason with your brother. He’s in a mood, similar to Steve, and you just sigh and follow Dustin. “Hey!”

“Nancy isn’t home.” Your brother informs Steve.

“Where is she?” Steve asks, and you hit his shoulder.

“I tried telling you over the phone!”

Dustin claps his hands at you to get your guys’ attention again. “It doesn’t matter where she is or if you tried to warn him, Y/N. We have bigger problems than your love lives.”

He’s at Steve’s car now and opens the passenger side door. “Do you still have that bat?”

Steve whips his head towards you. “Bat? What the hell is he talking about? Y/N, what are you guys doing here–”

“The one with the nails!” Dustin interrupts, exasperated.

Again Steve looks at you. “Why?”

“You’re not gonna like it,” you confess, and this only makes Steve feel worse.

“We’ll explain it on the way.” Dustin goes to sit in the passenger seat but he’s quickly stopped when you grab his hood and yank him out.

“No, absolutely not. I deserve the passenger seat, not you.”

Dustin slaps you away. “I got here first.”

“I was born first–”

“But I was literally about to sit down–”

“Hey!” Steve shouts, effectively shutting you and Dustin up. “It’s my car, and right now I currently only like Y/N, so she gets the passenger seat.”

“You like Y/N?” Dustin asks at the same time as you ask, “You like me?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, barely. She’s on thin ice. But you, little Henderson? You just stole the flowers meant for my girlfriend, so backseat you go.”

“Yes!” You cheer, pumping your fist in the air as you flash Steve a smile. “Thanks, Harrington.”

He rounds the front of his car and opens the driver's side door. “Yeah, don’t get used to it. Like I said, you’re still on thin ice.”

He says it with annoyance in his voice, but you can see the smile he’s trying hard not to let slip, and you feel giddy. Steve obviously can’t be too mad at you if he wanted to talk later and is willingly letting himself be kidnapped by your brother.

Dustin, on the other hand, can’t believe any of this is happening. As soon as you’re all in the car he asks, “Since when did you two become friends?”

“I have a life outside of you and the boys, you know,” you tell him, but you avoid Steve’s gaze. It’s not like you intentionally hid this aspect of your life from Dustin, but… It also never came up, either.

“Sure ya do, but… Wait,” Dustin remembers something. “Oh my god, you have Steve Harrington’s number memorized?”

Your face heats up and Steve hides a smirk, but you see it anyway. You ignore his smugness and respond to your brother. “Like I said, I have a life outside of you.”

Dustin gapes at you. “I have so many questions–”

“I have an even better one: where am I taking you guys?” Steve asks, and suddenly you remember everything at stake.

“My house,” you tell him as you buckle up. He nods, although with some confusion, and then starts the engine. “You know how I called you earlier?”

“Yeah…?”

“Dustin, why don’t you tell Steve here what you found.”

Your brother sighs from the backseat. “A few days ago I found this… lizard of sorts.”

“A lizard.” Steve says, unimpressed.

“Oh, just wait,” you quip.

Dustin turns his head to glare at you and you give him a thumbs up. He scoffs at you before carrying on, “Yes, a lizard. I named him Dart and he was super cool, okay? I thought I had discovered a new species and that I would be super famous and better than everyone else.”

Steve glances at you next to him, raising his eyebrows and whistling low. “Wow, does humbleness run in your family, Y/N?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Anyways,” Dustin interrupts, ignoring Steve’s laugh at your response. “Turns out, Dart is from the Upside Down.”

“The Upside Down?” Steve asks, extremely confused. He looks at you again in the mirror and it hits you that no one explained to him the events from last year. You assumed that Nancy would’ve, seeing as how they’ve been together for a while now and Steve had been with you guys at the hospital the night you brought Will back.

However, from his disbelief and confusion it’s clear that she hasn’t. If you had to guess, Steve probably went home that night and blocked out everything that had gone down with no questions asked.

You respect his repressing skills, honestly.

Dustin groans, beginning to grow impatient with Steve. “Yes, the Upside Down. If you have the bat still, how could you not know–”

“Do you remember that… thing we killed at Jonathan’s last year?” You cut your brother off before he can get too mean. You love the kid, you do, but he isn’t the kindest person when others aren't understanding him.

A dark look passes over Steve’s face and his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. It’s night now, and the atmosphere in the car becomes tense. “I remember.”

You clear your throat, “Well, this creature–”

“Demodog.” Dustin corrects from the backseat.

“Demodog?” You turn in your seat to face him. “That’s what we’re calling it now? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “It’s a baby demogorgon, it looks like a dog, so… Demodog.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Alright. Okay. Whatever, this demodog is from the Upside Down. It’s this parallel universe, basically. Creepy shit happens there, and last year a monster–”

“The Demogorgon.” Dustin once more interrupts.

“Dustin, if you want to catch Steve up then for the love of god, please shut up.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

A smile tugs at Steve’s lips and you take a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing. “Look, I don’t know how much Nancy told you about that night at Jonathan’s, but all that you need to know is that the Demogorgon took Will last year and we had to fight it in order to save him.”

Steve nods slightly as he follows along, “Nancy mentioned something about a monster at the hospital… she told me it’s what killed Barb, but never told me it had a name.”

Another silence falls between you guys in the car. The mention of Barb brings back bad memories for you both. You had liked Barb, she had always been nice to you, you guess. Hawkins is a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and in the end the smallness of the town is what makes the Upside Down so hard. You lose people close to you, one way or another.

And as for Steve… The roses he bought for Nancy lay wilted in his backseat.

Dustin shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and your heart pangs in understanding. He misses El, and you do too. The closer it gets to the anniversary of her disappearance, the more you miss the sweet and caring girl; but you know that the boys, Mike especially, haven’t given up hope for her.

“So…” Steve motions for you guys to continue explaining, and Dustin sits up in his seat to begin again.

“So flash forward to now: I didn’t realize Dart was a demodog until he grew like three damn sizes bigger than when I found him. Y/N and I almost died trying to lock him in our cellar.”

“Wait, you guys have a cellar?”

Dustin rubs his face, “That’s what you focus on, Steve?”

“It’s a valid question–”

“Guys!” You lurch yourself forward and wave your hands around wildly to break up their bickering. “We really don’t have time for this. Can we please just focus on the task at hand? Dart has probably grown even more during the course of this stupid conversation.”

Your brother’s hand pushes your shoulder back so that you’re now once again sitting, and you swat him away with annoyance. “Y/N, I’m trying! Blame Steve, he’s the one asking stupid questions–”

Steve speaks up, “What the hell? They aren’t stupid questions–”

“Well…”

Steve shoots you an offended look, “Y/N, I thought you were on my side.”

Dustin scoffs, hurt. “She’s my sister, you idiot!”

“Again, we seriously don’t have time for this because, once more: Dart is getting really big.” Your voice is louder this time, and thankfully it shuts everyone up. Then, just because you can, you add, “and I’m on Steve’s side right now. He’s the one with the car, plus… Well, I owe him.”

Steve fist pumps the air. “Suck it, little Henderson.”

“Do not call me that,” Dustin threatens him, then turns his attention to you. “First Jonathan, now Steve? Can’t you befriend anyone I like?”

The mention of Jonathan gets Steve attention. “Wait a sec, where is the guy? You never actually told me where he and Nancy went, Y/N.”

You sigh, knowing there’s no use keeping anything else from him. He’s already driving you and Dustin home to help with Dart, and you did promise to tell him where they were later, but life seemingly got in the way. “They’re playing detective right now.”

“Detective?”

“Yeah, the guy Barb’s parents hired… They’re currently at his place, exposing Hawkin’s Lab.”

A tense silence follows. Steve stares straight ahead, eyes on the road, as his expressions morph from hurt, to reluctance, to eventual acceptance. “Nance didn’t think to ask me to join?”

His voice wavers, just a bit, but you hear it. Knowing that Dustin is watching from the back, you decide to forget any possible boundaries for once and grab Steve’s hand. He’s hurting. The car smells of roses and there’s no girl to give them to. “She tried, Steve.”

He swallows. There’s hurt in his eyes and you want to reach out and stroke his cheek and tell him that it isn’t his fault. “I know…”

“Ahem,” Dustin coughs, clearly uncomfortable with whatever is going on. “So… Back to Dart.”

You clear your own throat, but your hand remains wrapped around Steve’s, who nods. “Wait a sec, how big are we talking?”

Without meaning to, you close your eyes and brace for Dustin’s witty remarks, but he surprises you by answering with a demonstration and zero mockery. “First it was like that,” he opens his fingers a few inches before using both hands to show about a foot in length. “Now he’s like this.”

Steve still looks doubtful. “And you’re sure it isn’t some weird lizard?”

A headache begins to form and you pinch the bridge of your nose again. “It’s not a lizard, Steve.”

“Well how do you know?”

“Because his face opened up and he ate our cat.” Dustin says bluntly.

This seems to shut Steve up and he nods his head in defeat. It’s silent in the car for the remainder of the drive, and just before Steve parks in your driveway, he looks over at you and sees your eyes closed in pain, and before he knows it he squeezes your hand and says, “sorry about your cat, by the way.”

Despite the pounding in your head and your utter exhaustion, his words make you laugh. “Just park, Steve.”

He smiles, feeling proud for getting you to laugh, and does as he’s told. Before you know it you’re standing at his trunk, staring at the baseball bat that saved your life last year. Dustin has already gone over to the cellar, waiting for you and Steve to follow.

The bat stares back at you, and you shiver as the memories come back. Though you had tried your best to forget that night, that entire week, honestly, it’s been useless. The nightmares still haunt you. You obsessively research trauma in children now to compensate for your own guilt from last year.

“Why’d you keep the bat?” You ask as Steve grabs it, giving it a practice swing. Your own blades are out again and he eyes their gleam.

“It’s kinda sick, don’t ya think?” He swings it again. “I look badass with it.”

He’s dodging, but you sense that he kept the bat for the same reason as why you kept the switchblade. You’ve been waiting in fear for something else to happen. “You don’t look too bad with it.”

Steve blushes a bit, which your stomach flutters seeing. “I, uh… Guess we can’t have that talk tonight?”

“No, not unless we somehow manage to deal with Dart in a timely manner. However, if I recall, nothing ever goes our way.”

“Nope!” He closes the trunk and tosses you a flashlight. Then, he sticks his hand out for you to shake. “But for now… Truce?”

You giggle. “Truce.”

His hand is warm, and even though you had just been holding it in the car moments earlier, his touch still fills you with a gooey warmth that you’ve come to associate with him. As soon as you and him are alone, away from Dustin’s nosy ears, you’ll really apologize to Steve. He may be being nice to you now, but he’s still guarding himself from you.

You hate it. You miss how open he used to be with you.

“Ready to go re-live my nightmares?” Steve asks.

You give him a thumbs up as you start heading towards Dustin. “Always, let’s go.”

“Took you guys long enough.” Your brother mutters when you and Steve arrive at the cellar, weapons in hand. You flash him an apologetic smile while Steve simply ignores him.

Steve approaches the door and listens for a second, “I don’t hear shit.”

You frown and listen as well. He’s right, it’s eerily silent. You shoot Dustin a questioning look and he shrugs as well, “He’s in there.”

“Duh, I know that much, You almost knocked me out when you shoved past me to get Dart in there.” you remark, before softly adding “he’s gotta be in there.”

Your words don’t reassure Steve, who begins to use the tip of his bat to bang against the locked doors. When nothing happens, he bangs harder against them before sighing in annoyance.

“All right, listen kid.” Steve begins, and you start to rub small circles into your scalp in a vain attempt to lessen your headache, because you already know that the next words out of his mouth will start yet another fight. “I swear, if this is some sort of Halloween prank, you’re dead.”

“Steve…” He ignores you and stares down your brother, shining the flashlight directly at his face in what you assume is meant to be a threatening manner.

“It's not a prank,” Dustin tiredly replies, squinting his eyes against the light. “Get it out of my face.”

Steve complies, still hesitant about the situation at hand, and turns to face you. “You got a key to this thing?”

You nod and fish the keys from out of your pocket and unlock the cellar doors. Steve bends down to investigate, and without him having to ask, you hand him the flashlight and step forward so that you’re next to him.

He flashes the light down the stairs and all that the three of you can see is darkness. An uneasy feeling creeps over you. Something isn’t right, but you really hope that you’re wrong.

“He has to be further down,” you say, more so to reassure yourself than the others.

Dustin shuffles his feet next to you and says, with an extremely unconvincingly “brave” voice, “I’ll stay up here in case he tries to… escape.”

Both you and Steve look at him in disbelief. Dustin stands his ground, however, and looks at the two of you expectantly. Steve shakes his head while you sigh in defeat. Your brother is such a pain sometimes.

“You do realize that if Dart eats me, you’ll have to deal with mom all by yourself, right?” You ask him.

The boy shrugs at you. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take, Y/N.”

“Yeah, love you too.” You mumble, before you begin to follow Steve down the steps.

“I’ll be thinking of you!” Dustin calls out, his voice echoing against the cellar walls.

You trail behind Steve, and the flashlight he brought does nothing to illuminate the dark area, so it’s a relief when he reaches above his head to turn the light on. As your eyes adjust to the light change, you scan the room to find the missing demodog. However, all your eyes land on is a long, thin sheet of film on the ground that you can only assume is molted skin.

“Oh, shit…” you breathe out. “This isn’t good.”

Steve picks the skin up with the tip of his bat and examines it and shakes his head. “Please tell me this isn’t Dart.”

“Actually, it’d be easier if it was him.”

Steve doesn’t laugh at your joke; he continues to look around the room before his eyes widen. You turn your head to see what’s caught his attention, and when you spot the problem, your knees weaken.

There’s a giant, Dart-sized hole in your cellar wall.

“Steve? Y/N? What’s going on down there?” Dustin’s voice carries down to you guys, and you and Steve share a nervous glance.

“Dustin…” You call up to him, your voice weaker than you’d prefer. You wish you could be braver for him at the moment, but right now it takes everything within you not to crawl into bed and shut the world out. Why did it always have to be giant monsters?

While you’re reeling, Steve walks over to the bottom of the steps and flashes his light at Dustin, instructing him to come down. Once the boy has joined you guys, Steve guides the light to his bat so that Dustin can see the skin.

“Oh, shit.”

“Funnily enough, that’s what your sister said, too.”

Then Steve shines the light to where the hole in the wall is, and you watch Dustin’s face go from concerned to horrified. “Oh, shit!”

The three of you crouch closer to the hole, and when Steve shines the flashlight through it, your heart stops and you gasp, “It’s a tunnel.”

“No way…” Dustin says in awe.

It’s hard to see exactly how deep the tunnel goes, but something tells you that there’s more to it than meets the eye. This wouldn’t be some simple fix like you had desperately hoped it would be.

Now you really, really wish Jonathan were here. And Nancy. Definitely Nancy.

But they aren’t. This time, you’re on your own with only Steve and Dustin by your side. No one else in the party is available, you don’t even know where they are or if they’re even safe, but right now that doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Dart has escaped.

And it’s happening again.

Everything you’ve tried so hard for the last year to ignore, to move on and pretend never happened to you, has come crashing back into your life.

Steve, seeing your apprehension, grabs your hand and pulls you in close. “Hey, we’ll figure it out. I’ll be here, okay?”

Even though you don’t deserve his kindness, his sincerity, you believe him.

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #dart just wanted a quick snack guys #also dustin n bug are so so so sibling rn #i love em

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ravencincaide · 2 months

Text

The word that made the difference

Summary: You knew you had to get professional help even if you did not want to, Dazai’s words and actions made it absolutely clear to you he wouldn’t tolerate anything else, and Chuuya seemed to silently agree with him. Still the answer you got was not for the question you asked; but that one word was enough to make you reevaluate everything.

Pairing: Dazai x Chuuya xfem! Reader (skk x fem!reader)

Author note: An independent continuation of Desperate times series, and next part of Happy unhappy home! Check that series out if you’d like more angst, skkx reader, new parents, all that and see more of what happened right before this scene!

Warning: Cursing, depression/postpartum depression, New parents/exhausted parents =bad choices/reactions, Angst,

Enjoy~

Pregnant

The word felt unfamiliar- surreal- like a misdiagnosis wrapped in excuses, wrapped in women’s issues and wrapped in reasons to get you out of the office. Yet it was as if that singular word explained everything you had experienced lately and nothing at all. Maybe it explained the hopelessness, the darkness, the unbearably tense existence that has become your home; but it could not explain the way you felt about the twins. The inability to connect with them. Or the inability to feel any warmths from Dazai and Chuuya. Perhaps, at this point, you were so ruined and wrong that you could not connect with anyone. Not the twins, not Dazai and not Chuuya.

We think you have postpartum depression

A part of you wanted to stand up, run out of the medical office and into the waiting room right outside where the four of them were waiting. To rub it into the two mafioso's faces that they were wrong. Ha the geniuses were not genius enough to sidestep medical school, and it wasn’t as easy as to use some template they took from god-knows-where and assed you by it instead of talking with you, asking you, helping you. They were wrong- you were right. You won.

But what was your prize?

“ I have never had a reason to hit you. You’ve always been a smart girl- don’t give me another reason to do it. Again. If you’re sick- get help.”

Dazai’s words from a day ago rang in your ears. His tone, the iciness in his gaze as he brought you down to the knees in cold standing water with a single slap repeated itself in your mind. Like a never-ending loop it played before your eyes. Your mind, the twisted bastard, hadn't left the image unchanged, but rather conjured up the way it must have looked from all angles; from the side, from above and even from below. Driving in the humiliation further. Like some dramatic exaggerated scene out of a soap opera, a middle aged housewives tv-series, and the act was meant to be a huge burden for the main stars in season one but then it gets solved three episodes later.

Forgiven and forgotten.

But this wasn’t a soap opera, this wasn’t some lame drama created to satisfy lonely women as they waited for their loving husbands to come home from golf. This was reality. Your reality- your life. And soon, not only your own. That one realization grounded; it was enough to escape the clutches of shock and confusion and placed you back inside the small, simple medical office and the woman opposite you.

“ Well yeah, it’s no wonder you’ve been feeling like shit the last few weeks. I’d say congratulations but really— “

Yosano’s voice faded into the background again; your mind tiffany twisted, drowned out her words as more flashbacks pulled you under the surface of reality. Simple things, comparisons like the joy last pregnancy brought and the dread this one carried. How caring, sweet and gentle it started but how difficult the previous one ended; and how difficult this one started while the thought of it getting worse filled you with dread.

Blood rushed to your ears; your pounding heart overshadowed all sounds, dulled the quiet medical office into an obnoxiously loud space. Your vision blurred, tunneled and span. Inadvertently you pressed the fingers of your shaking hand to your eyes and rubbed them, then shook your head to try and clear the dark dots which played in your sight.

You wondered how and why it happened. You couldn’t fathom the idea that you were, yet again, carrying a life inside you. No, it was absurd. Surely Yosano was mistaken, it hadn’t even gone that long since the twins were born and–

All at once the reality came crashing back down again. You were back on the hard chair, back opposite Yosano and suddenly very aware of every inch of the office. And the continuation of her displeased rant; the way her tone grew louder, annoyance sipped into every syllable. The barely held back curses which evidently played on the tip of her tongue. Yet she tried to look casual, head rested in the palm of her hand, body language open and turned towards you. But the anger was undeniable in the way her second hand gripped the pen, almost snapped it in half and poured the goey black onto a pile of papers- the results that signaled your doom. “ I told the damned bastards to–”

“ – But I thought you couldn’t get pregnant at least until 18 months have passed after birth” you interrupted her, your voice a fraction away from hysterical. You looked at Yosano expectedly, begging her for the confirmation that this was some weird biological fluke. A mistake that no one of you could have predicted.

You jumped as she slammed her fist against the wooden desk.

“ Where the hell did you hear that bullshit from?” Yosano took a deep breath, slipped back into her composed doctor mask and did you the courtesy to reply to your questions calmly and professionally “It’s not recommended to get pregnant earlier than 18 months after delivery, to give the body time to heal. However, biologically speaking, there’s nothing preventing you from it once you’ve gotten your period. Some can get pregnant as early as four weeks after.”

You bit your lips to hold back a curse, and hung your head at your own stupidity. “ But one time..” you mumbled absentmindedly as memories of an unromantic quickie on the same night the pair returned home from their months long mission ran through your mind. A disappointing act that drove a rift in your relationship. That became a silent fight you never openly addressed; just picked up your things and moved into the shoe-sized spare bedroom. Something which neither part of double black seemed to mind.

If anything you swore your absence in the bedroom brought them relief.

To your surprise, Yosano rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. “ Sometimes one time is plenty. Now then to break the news-” She moved away from you and began stomping towards the door which separated her office from the rest of the medical bay. And ultimately, the space where your so-called lovers waited with the twins.

“ No wait!” you cried. In an instant up on your feet, both hands wrapped around Yosano’s arm. Although she was undoubtedly stronger, the action was shocking enough to halt her movements. She turned to face you, surprise edged into her features. But you couldn’t meet her eyes. No, you did not want her to see that the seemingly perfect relationship had been reduced to shambles. A broken thing which had become filled with responsibilities and fear. The thought made your cheeks redden in shame; never ever in your life would you have thought you’d be fearful of your lover's reaction to seemingly joyful news. And even more shamefully, feel the need to make excuses for it in public.

“ Tell me honestly Y/N” Yosano’s voice was low, the accusation unmistakable.

“ It’s Dazai’s” You answered in a heartbeat, met her gaze full on with the most earnestness you had ever displayed in your life. “ Undoubtedly his.”

You dropped your hand from her arm and brought it back to your side, wrapped it protectively around your stomach. You forced your lips up into a smile, hoped it looked innocent yet nervous. Then mellowed out the look in your eyes to the point the blush looked more shy than guilty. “ W-well, you know, Dazai’s been wanting a child of his own since the twins and I.. just want to break the news to him in a special way.” The lie rolled smoothly off your tongue and Yosano seemed to buy it.

She laughed at you, teased you for the still corny behavior while lightly reminded you this wasn’t your first kid as she sat back down and began going over essential medical information with you. Information you took in with a smile, nodded in appropriate places without really listening. But who could have blamed you?

Your mind was for once on your side as it formed second by second a feasible plan for you. Not easy, but manageable. Drunk on thought that you, YOU, the innocent little weak dove had gotten away with such a blatant lie gave you the courage you needed to indulge in those thoughts. The thoughts you hadn’t even dared to think of before. Now they felt so close and so real.

Although, admittedly, the lie you uttered wasn’t a complete lie. Indeed, you intended to make sure he would find out this news in the most unforgettable way possible.

You just never said the surprise was going to be good…

Author note: The first part of this chapter is dedicated to each and every person who thought A Hit Beyond Rock Bottom was not heavy /angsty enough and Dazai’s actions weren’t too bad.

The second part is for us who can see that the reader is strong and it's time to see that strengths manifest itself into something useful. Well hope you enjoyed this and until next time~

Click here for: Part 1 , part 2 and part 3 or Check out Raven's masterlist.

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

#desperate times call for desperate measures #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #chuuya x you #dazai x you #skk x reader #new parents #angst #bsd angst #skk parents #raven cincade's works #raven cincaide

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wandering-winchesters · 1 year

Text

Haunted

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 5,200 (Sorry, not sorry) Summary: The reader gets ghost sickness. Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety, death, typical supernatural violence and suspense. Requested: No, just an idea I had. A/N: Requests are open! I recently watched the episode where Dean has Ghost Sickness and it made me crack up. Please let me know what you think about this one!

Masterlist

The hunt was going well, as well as it could. We had just arrived in Minnesota, a small Northern town. It had caught Sam’s attention, because of the amount of people that had been dropping dead from a mysterious illness, that presented as a heart attack. They weren’t sure what it was, but we came to check it out anyways. Sam had gone to the library, Dean had hit up a local diner to ask questions and I made my way to the hospital. Upon arriving, I flashed my FBI badge and was allowed back into the small morgue. The body didn’t appear out of the normal realm of possibility for a dead body. Slightly defeated, I left.

I pulled out my phone and sent Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was heading back to the motel. Dean offered to come pick me up, but I declined. It was a five minute walk on the quiet small town streets, the fresh air would do me good. I took a deep breath, surveying the scene around me. A few other people walked the street, but it was mostly empty. The sun setting on the horizon a reminder of the time of day, most people already home and inside for the night. A feeling of unease crept up my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. I glanced around, checking my immediate surroundings for any sign of danger, but nothing. Yet, even with this visual reassurance, the feeling didn’t subside. I tried to shake it off, picking up the pace slightly, intent on getting back to the motel room.

I make it back within a couple of minutes, kicking off my high-heeled boots and shrugging my suit jacket, the FBI get up my least favorite. I hear Dean chuckle from the small table in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on my every movement. “Have something to say, Winchester?” I quip, I set the jacket down on the back of the chair across from Dean, “Nope, it’s just always amusing to watch you kick off those heels you hate so much.” He says, a smile plastered across his face, his hands full between a beer and the sandwich that he is in the middle of consuming. I roll my eyes at him and rest my foot on the seat of the chair, hiking up my pant leg so I can access the gun that I had holstered there. I remove the holster from my ankle and walk over to set it on the nightstand next to my bed. Dean and I had shared this room and Sam had one, right across the hallway from us. Although, during the day we all hung out in here when we weren’t out investigating.

“I’d like to see you spend ten minutes in heels, Dean, let alone a full day.” I huff at him, stealing one of his chips that had fallen out of the bag that he had set down haphazardly on the table. He raised his hands in surrender, offering me another chip to make up for his joke about the high heels. “Did you find anything out at the diner?” I ask him as I unbutton the white shirt that I had on underneath the jacket, revealing the white tank top that I had on as a base layer. The bashfulness of changing in front of either of the Winchesters, long gone. Traveling with them for years tends to have that effect, Dean has seen me naked on multiple occasions. They have both stitched me up after bad hunts, but Dean was the only one to help me shower and change. Dean mumbles something, his mouth half full, a sentence that I simply cannot understand because of the amount of food he was chewing. I shoot him a look, he holds up one finger and finishes chewing before he speaks again.

“Nope, nothing. All everyone could say was that they were surprised to hear of the deaths of those three people. All of them were healthy, definitely not people that were likely to have a heart attack.” I hum in response, lost in thought as I rack my brain for any semblance of a similar case. I walk to my duffle bag and search for the pair of leggings that I always keep in there, only to not find them. Cursing, I realize I had left them hung over the chair in my bedroom back at the bunker. “Dean, can I borrow a pair of your sweats? I forgot my comfy pants.” I ask him, glancing over at him. He nods, gesturing for me to help myself. I unbutton my black dress pants and kick them to the side. I walk over to Deans bed, a mess of sheets and blankets, his clothes strewn across the bed as well. I grab the pair of sweats that I am looking for and pull them on. I snag one of his sweatshirts as well, embracing the comfort as it envelops me. The scent of whiskey, leather and gun cleaner overwhelms my nostrils, Dean. “Sam should be here any minute, he just texted me.” Dean calls out, as I walk into the bathroom, I thank him for letting me know and jump through the shower quickly.

After my shower, I make my way back out to the main room and sit down across from Dean at the table that he is still occupying. The feeling of unease, still unwavering. No matter how hard I try to push it down. “What about you, did you find anything at the morgue?” He asks, pushing a takeout container across the table towards me, one that I didn’t realize he had gotten for me. I give him a smile and open the container revealing my favorite comfort food. His small gesture of kindness, enough to almost make me cry. I don’t but the thought was there.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, no sulfur or strange markings on the body. It all seemed normal.” I shrug, taking a bite of the food he had brought for me. I allow my mind to wander, going back over all of the things that we had discussed, the lore I had read and the things that I had seen today. The unease within me turning to pure anxiety. So much so, that when the door to the motel opens abruptly, I jump to my feet and reach for the gun that had been holstered at my ankle earlier in the day. Only that I had already taken it off and put it by my bed. My eyes land on Sam and I relax, sheepishly offering a small apology to both of the Winchesters who were looking at me questioningly. “I told you he was coming, Y/N. You okay?” Dean asks, his eyes narrowed and carefully studying my face. The jumpiness they had just witnessed very uncharacteristic for me. I was normally incredibly level headed, fear something that I had harnessed into a strength instead of a weakness.

I take a deep breathe, bringing my heart rate back down to the rate it normally was. “Yeah, all good. Sorry again, must just be jumpy today.” I say, sitting back down and returning to the food in front of me. Hunger, was no longer a pressing need. My stomach was churning, anxiety bubbling and that damn feeling of unease creeping back in louder than ever.

Sam didn’t hang out long, exhaustion a mutual feeling between all of us. I had moved to my bed, giving Sam my seat at the table with Dean. A wave of sleep was cresting over me at this very moment, threatening to crash down at any moment. I said goodnight to Sam as he turned to leave, giving him a sleepy wave as I burrowed further under my blankets. Dean closed the door behind his brother, locking it and tucking a chair under the handle for an added measure of protection. Something that I appreciated about him, it wasn’t a precaution he would take unless I was there in the room with him. “G’night Dean, Sweet dreams.” I whisper, rolling to my side and letting the wave of sleep finally crash over all of me, enveloping me in the darkness.

I am startled awake, a gasp leaving my throat as I sit straight up in bed. The dark room around me looming, shapes drifting that were most likely my eyes playing tricks on me. A small Yelp leaves my lips as the light in the room clicks on, revealing all of the shapes that had been worrying me, to be standard furniture. I look to my left and see Dean, his hand still resting on the lamp that he had turned on. His eyes focused on me, concern etched through his sleep dampened features. “You okay?” He asks, a yawn forcing its way past his lips. I rest my hand on my chest, my heart thumping against my ribs. I look over at him, my eyes wide with panic and my heart in my throat. “I-I don’t know.” I stutter, glancing around the room once again, nothing appearing to be out of place. Yet, whatever had awoken me was enough to cause me to startle nearly out of my skin. I swing my legs over the side of the motel bed, padding quietly into the small bathroom. I grip the edge of the sink with both hands, leaning over it and staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The bags under my eyes are growing darker by the minute, pure exhaustion settled firmly across my body. It is only then that I notice the spider crawling across the counter headed straight towards my hand, before I can even blink a splitting scream leaves my throat. I jump away from the sink, pressing my back to the bathroom wall and covering my face, The fear that had travelled through my body in the split second, enough to bring tears to my eyes. I hear a clatter from the room, Dean not wasting anytime to shoulder open the bathroom door. His gun drawn, eyes wide searching the room for any threat. When he can’t identify one, he lowers his gun. His attention fully focused on me and the way I was cowering against the wall. He raises an eyebrow at me, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “What is wrong, Y/N?” He asks, and I raise one hand, shakily pointing towards the counter.

“S-spider, De, right there.” His eyes follow my finger and land where I was pointing, his gaze growing even more concerned as his focus lands on the spider, no larger than the eraser on a pencil. He silently scoops it into a paper cup, walking it over to the window in the bathroom and allowing it to scurry outside. There is a knock at the door to the motel room, which again draws a startled yelp from me. “It’s Sam, I heard a scream. What’s going on?” Sam’s muffled voice calls from the other side of the door, Dean hurriedly crosses the distance from the bathroom to the door and lets Sam into the cramped room. “She saw a spider.” Dean says, his tone hushed, concern obvious from the way he formed his words. I walk out of the bathroom, both of their eyes locked on my every move. “Since when are you afraid of spiders?” Sam asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

“Spiders are terrifying Sam! What are you talking about?” Taking offense at his tone, the demeaning way that he questioned why I would react like that to the arachnid. Dean lets out a low, ‘uh-huh’ and gives Sam another look. “Y/N, how do you feel about snakes?” Dean asks, crossing his arms and glancing towards me thoughtfully. “Terrifying.” I whisper, a shudder making its way through my body. “Motorcycles?” Sam asks, naming off things that I used to enjoy doing or being around. “Death traps on wheels!” They spend the next ten minutes questioning me on things like this, until I snap. “What’s the point of all of this? It’s just making me scared!” I whine, crossing my arms across my chest and resisting the urge to cover my ears in the most childlike manner. Sam and Dean exchange glances once again. “Y/N, did you happen to touch the body when you were in the morgue? Or get any bodily fluids on you?” Dean asks, his eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, concern still evident. “Uh,” I hesitate thinking back over todays events, trying to recall just what had happened at the morgue.”Yeah, I touched his face to get a closer look at something, why?”

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, panic now growing ever more present on his features. He pulls out the EMF reader from his bag, turning it on and watching it go crazy the closer to me he placed it. “Ghost sickness.” Sam chimes in, the expression on his face mirroring the one on Deans. I look frantically between the two of them, waiting for them to explain what they mean. “What the hell is ghost sickness?” I ask, my own fear level rising quickly within me. Dean explains the whole thing for me, in detail. Recounting the time that he had ghost sickness in the past, the grip that fear had on him entirely. The steps they had to take to get rid of the spirit and the timeline on the whole thing. Sam had already sequestered my laptop, his fingers flying over the keys before pausing as his eyes scanned the webpage for any piece of information that could help. I did my best to remain calm, but failed miserably. My heart pounding, eyes watering and body shaking.

Petrified of the thought of death that is fast approaching. Dean can see this, its obvious as I have no sense about me to try and appear okay. “Hey,” He whispers, tucking a finger under my chin and raising my head so he can look into my eyes. “Its going to be okay, we’ve got you, I promise.” I bite my lip, my chin quivering as a tear begins to fall from my eyes. Dean notices immediately, his thumb wiping away every tear as it fell. He pulls me to my feet, embracing me in a tight hug. It doesn’t make the fear go away, but it does ease the anxiety the slightest bit.

—

The next several hours are a blur, a constant search for who the spirit was, where their body might be and how we can get rid of all remnants before my clock runs out. There is a constant stream of occurrences that Sam and Dean take turns handling, little things that normally wouldn’t have been a big deal, but in this moment are absolutely terrifying to me. A moth, the sound of a door slamming. When I looked out the window and saw a thunderstorm approaching, I was convinced that I was going to be struck by lightening from inside the motel. All of which the boys handled with grace. Except for the moth, Dean tried his hardest but couldn’t help his small laugh that escaped when he saw me cowering in the corner terrified that the moth was going to hurt me.

He apologized, when he saw the absolute hurt and betrayal sweep across my face, pulling me in for another hug. Sam is mostly quiet, his eyes glued to the screen on the laptop, I can tell by his concentration that he is slowly growing closer to a possible answer. “Ive got it!” Sam exclaims, causing me to nearly fall out of the nest that I had constructed of blankets and pillows on Deans motel bed. I steady myself and look at him, waiting for his explanation as to what he had found. “Curtis Marshall, he was murdered back in 1973, found shot to death in his kitchen. There was never much of an investigation and it was swept under the rug and labeled a suicide. But from what I can see, everything was definitely pointing towards a homicide.” He says, his face growing lighter as he reads, relief flooding over him. A solution, to a heavy question. “It says here, that he was buried in a cemetery in town. So, simple salt and burn and we should be good to go.” Sam stands, shutting his laptop and grabbing his jacket that he had slung across the back of the chair he had been occupying. “Ill stay here with Y/N, if you want to take care of the salt and burn.” Dean offers, Sam looks at him and they appear to have a silent conversation that ends in agreement.

“I don’t need babysitting, we can all go.” I mutter, a bit of spite coming out in my words. “So you can get scared by a bee and find a way to accidentally get yourself killed?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at me skeptically. “I don’t think so.” I resign myself to contempt and slouch back in Deans bed. I watch silently as Sam grabs a few things that he will need, catching the keys to the impala when Dean tosses them to him. He bids us a quick farewell and heads out into the early morning darkness, the sun just starting to approach the horizon. Once the door shuts behind him, Dean focuses his attention on me. I stare back at him, unsure what to talk about or what to do while we wait. My main focus on remaining calm, the thought of dying from a heart attack a thought that drives me to the edge of pure panic and terror.

My chest growing tighter the longer that I focused on it, I couldn’t hear anything around me. The only sound flowing through my ears was the sound of my own blood whooshing, my heart beating roughly against my ribs, bile rising in my throat as I continue to fall deeper into the images being created by my mind. “Y/N?” Dean asks, the look on his face telling me that he had asked me a question and I hadn’t responded to it as it had fallen on deaf ears. “Huh? Sorry I am distracted.” I apologize, focusing in on him as he crosses the room to get closer to me. He sits down on the side of the bed, his hand coming to rest on my knee. “In all our years of friendship, did you ever think that this would be the way you died? Ghost sickness?” His words shock me to my core, completely unexpected coming from the man I thought cared about me deeply. I shrink away from him, pulling myself as far to the other side of the bed as I can without falling to the floor.

“What do you mean, Dean? Sam is on his way to salt and burn the body now, I’m not going to d-“My breath catches in my throat as I focus on his eyes. It wasn’t Dean looking back at me, It was a Demon. I watch in fear as they flash from his usual green to black, a nasty grin spreading across his face. I hurriedly throw the covers off of my lap, struggling to untangle my legs from the lengths of fabric. Just as my feet touch the grungy carpeted motel floor, he lunges for me, managing to lock his hand around my ankle. He yanks me hard, causing me to stumble and fall flat onto the hard floor. All the air is knocked out of my lungs, but I still struggle. Doing my best to crawl away from him, even though his grasp on my body is tight. I let out a scream, his body now shrouding my own as he straddles me. His hands finding their way to my wrists as he pins my legs to the floor with his hips. My heart is pounding so hard, it feels like it is going to burst.

The oxygen necessary to survive coming as gasps, unable to subside the burn within my lungs as I struggle for breath. He lets out a laugh, cold and bitter, enough to chill me to my core. It was Dean’s laugh, but twisted in ways that I never wanted to hear again in my life. “Look at you, so pitiful. So fearful. It’s a glorious sight, I can’t wait to watch you die.” He croons, his face coming down to hover close to my own. I spit at him, bringing my knee up to hit him straight in the groin, giving me the slightest chance to slip away from him. I take it and throw his weight off of me, just enough to scramble to the door of the motel. It’s locked, the chair wedged under the handle and in my panic I can’t get the chair loose. This momentary lapse in ability, gives him just enough time to close the distance between us again.

His body slamming my own into the length of the door, a desperate scream leaves my lips as I struggle to get him off of me. His hands move towards my face, I expect them to close around my throat and I lash out. My eyes are scrunched closed as I scratch, hit and use every muscle in my body to fight back. Instead of wrapping around my throat, his hands come to rest on my shoulders and they shake me, desperately. “Y/N!” He yells, his voice different, desperate but not evil. I hesitantly open my eyes and Dean’s green eyes are searching my face, desperate and horrified. “It’s me, it’s Dean, you’re okay.” I throw his hands off of me, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, allowing me the space that I was crying out for.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell, hugging my arms to my chest, surrounding myself in the smallest amount of comfort I can find. “You’re not Dean, y-youre a demon!” I cry out, searching the room desperately for the demon killing knife that I know Dean keeps close by at all times. Dean takes a cautious step towards me, his hands still up in an attempt to calm me. I keep him at a distance and cross the room in a way that makes it look like we are walking in a big circle. He reaches for a small bottle that he keeps on his nightstand at all times, he holds it up so I can recognize it for what it is, holy water. He unscrews the lid and takes a sip of it, the relaxed expression communicating what he was trying to tell me. Not a demon. Just Dean. I relax slightly, dropping my arms back to my side, relief flooding through me. “but, you were just trying to kill me!” I say, my voice shuddering and fear sweeping over me once again. “It was a hallucination, Y/N. We were sitting on my bed talking and then you were just off, running for the door. I pinned you so you couldn’t leave on your own and it took me awhile to get through to you.” I listen to his words, but they seem impossible. How could that have been a hallucination? I could feel him, smell him, hear the way he laughed at my impending doom, I could see the way his eyes changed from green to pitch black. It just didn’t seem possible. I’m going crazy. My body is a mass of nerves, my muscles shaky and aching for relief. I rest my back against the wall and slide down to the floor, my hands holding my head as my world caves in around me. I am going to die. This was it, hallucinations are the second to last progression of the ghost sickness. My heart is in my throat, regret flooding over me. “Dean, listen to me.” I say, raising my head to look at him. He had crossed the room to sit across from me, his legs crossed in front of him. He looks at me, his gaze holding my own as he gives me a small nod to let me know that he was listening. “I know I am about to die, this is how you told me it ends for people who get ghost sickness. The hallucinations-“ I shudder, my voice faltering for a moment. Dean goes to interrupt me but I stop him, “No, I need to say this. Please.” I plead, tears beginning to fall from my red rimmed eyes once again, my cheeks raw from how much I had been crying. He nods, allowing me to continue my thought. I bite my lip and lower my eyes to the floor, unable to say this directly to his face. “If this is my last day, I have to tell you. I love you. I have always loved you. Every day that you have been in my life on earth, and every day that you were in hell. I have loved you. I have longed for you and I can’t lose you again without telling you.” It’s at this moment, when the last word leaves my lips that a sense of relief floods over me. Fear lifting like darkness in the morning when the sun rises again. I inhale deeply, oxygen filling every space within my lungs for the first time in what feels like forever. I can’t explain it, the sudden lack of terror. But I am going to enjoy every second of it while it lasts.

What I don’t see, is the way that Deans face flashes several emotions in a matter of seconds. Fear, at the thought of my death. Shock, at the revelation of the feelings that I have had for him for so long. Relief, at the fact that he shares the same feelings. Last of all, adoration. Absolute awe, that I love him in the same way that he loves me. He closes the distance between us, sitting with his back to the same wall and wrapping an arm around my waist.  “First off,” He whispers, his lips brushing against the side of my face, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re not going to die. I promise you that. Sam is going to burn the body before anything happens to you. Second, I would fight though any hell to get you back, I don’t care what I had to do.” He pauses again, his hand finding solace on my hip, his thumb rubbing circles into my skin that is peaking out over the top of his sweatpants that I had stolen to wear. “Third, I love you with all of my being, Y/N. You were the thought that got me through those years in hell, nothing else.” I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding, utter relief and bliss rushing over me. I sob, every fear and emotion coming out in a rush. He presses a kiss to my forehead, his breath tickling my skin as he encourages me to match his breathing. We are both startled by the loud ring coming from his phone. He is quick to pull it from his pocket, both of us glancing at Sam’s name displayed across the screen. He hurriedly accepts the call and puts it on speaker phone, allowing both of us to hear what he has to say.  “Sam? Tell me you’ve burned the psycho ghost.” He says, his tone pleading and slightly desperate. “Yep, salted and burned about three minutes ago.” Sam responds and the sense of relief I had felt around that same time, makes complete sense. It wasn’t my confession, it was the relief of the spirit no longer plaguing me. Dean and I both sigh in relief, Dean thanks Sam and tells him to hurry back as he is ready to ditch this “hellish town, in the middle of nowhere.” As Dean ends the call, I let my head fall back onto his arm, staring up at the ceiling. “So,” He starts, breaking the silence that had fallen between us. “Still mean what you said?” He questions, his tone cautious and slightly anxiety ridden. “Yeah. I do. Do you?” I ask. He doesn’t answer, so I turn my head to look at him. He takes this as an opportunity to cup the side of my face and pull me towards him. I let out a sharp exhale through my nose, anticipation building within me. My eyes flutter shut as he closes the distance between us, his lips brushing ever so slightly against my own. He pulls back momentarily, whispering words that I had longed to hear for years. “I love you, all of you.” I close the distance between us once again and press my lips fully against his, desperate and searching. Conveying every fear, hope and want through our shared intimacy.

A short twenty minutes later a knock at the door separates us, Sam had arrived and was waiting outside the entrance to the motel room. The lock and chair keeping him out until Dean moved them out of the way. Sam is quick to enter the room, not noticing the flush to my cheeks and the shit eating grin plastered on Dean’s face. “Everything okay here?” Sam asks, relief washing over him when he sees the two of us in one peace. “Yeah, it got hairy for a moment, but after you burned the bones all was well.” I sigh, giving Sam a tight hug in thanks. A slightly awkward silence fills the room, Sam glancing between the two of us a question forming on his lips, but before he can ask it Dean breaks the silence with a clear of his throat and a question of his own.

“So, spiders Y/N?” He says, a laugh forming in his throat. I roll my eyes and chuck a pillow at him that he catches with ease.

“Shut up, it’s not my fault that I was being haunted by a stupid spirit.” I mumble and I can feel the blush spreading quickly across my face. He smiles at me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek once again. An action that is very quickly noticed by Sam, his eyes moving back and forth between Dean and myself. “I knew it, you finally admitted that you had feelings for each other, took you long enough.”

As embarrassing as it was to have our revelations displayed like that in front of Sam, he was right. Dean and I had been tiptoeing around each other for years. Both of us desiring more with the other, but neither of us taking that first step. That was until, I thought I was at deaths door. In that moment, that haunted moment, where I thought I was going to die and lose Dean forever, I took a chance and I will forever be thankful for that moment of bravery in the midst of fear.

Taglist, message me or comment to be added: @jc-winchester @roseblue373

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el-lionne · 4 months

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The Truth About Lilith From Hazbin Hotel (Historically)

So, I recently binged Hazbin Hotel and LOVED IT. I also happen to be a historian who studies ancient religious texts connected to Christianity, so I kind of already knew the truth about Lilith at the start of the show. However, I quickly learned the fandom as a whole were surprised by Lilith's appearance in the last episode and didn't even know the nature of the deal she made with Adam/ God - so I decided to share it here.

Lilith's story can be found in the Alphabet of Ben Sira (8th - 10th century AD). This text is famous for many reasons but mostly because it's the first time Lilith is formally introduced and she is acknowledged as Eve's predecessor (Lilith's existence is suggested prior to this by assorted Babylonian, Greek and Jewish texts, but this is the first time you hear her story. It is assumed the story came from oral tradition so it's unknown how old/ original it actually is).

I attached the relevant passage down below but do feel free to check out the book yourself (it's translated from the original Aramaic - sorry if it sounds odd) Also, slight spoiler warning, as this will explain what Lilith's deal with Adam/ God most likely was, thereby providing the real reason why the exterminations have been happening (if the show is using this as it's inspiration, which I suspect it is given the details in the passage).

"After God created Adam, who was alone, He said, "It is not good for man to be alone." He then created a woman for Adam, from the earth, as He had created Adam himself, and called her Lilith. Adam and Lilith immediately began to fight. She said, "I will not lie below," and he said, "I will not lie beneath you, but only on top. For you are fit only to be in the bottom position, while I am to be the superior one." Lilith responded, "We are equal to each other inasmuch as we were both created from the earth." But they would not listen to one another. When Lilith saw this, she pronounced the Ineffable Name and flew away into the air.

[She essentially ran off cause Adam's a dick. They do this in the show, which is why I immediately assumed they were taking inspiration from this text.]

Adam stood in prayer before his Creator: "Sovereign of the universe!" he said, "the woman you gave me has run away." At once, the Holy One, blessed be He, sent these three angels Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof, to bring her back. Said the Holy One to Adam, "If she agrees to come back, what is made is good. If not, she must permit one hundred of her children to die every day." The angels left God and pursued Lilith, whom they overtook in the midst of the sea, in the mighty waters wherein the Egyptians were destined to drown. They told her God's word, but she did not wish to return. The angels said, "We shall drown you in the sea." "Leave me!' she said. "I was created only to cause sickness to infants. If the infant is male, I have dominion over him for eight days after his birth, and if female, for twenty days." When the angels heard Lilith's words, they insisted she go back. But she swore to them by the name of the living and eternal God: "Whenever I see you or your names or your forms in an amulet, I will have no power over that infant." She also agreed to have one hundred of her children die every day.

[Leaving aside her being a demon who kills kids, and these three angels having more power than her, Lilith essentially agrees to let daily exterminations happen to keep her away from Adam. Is Lucifer involved in any way? It's not clear. In the show it's suggested he was. The show also adapted the deal so that the killing is yearly and not limited to just 100 demons, alongside some other changes. That being said, the principle is the same. Lilith made a deal for her life and now demons die.]

Accordingly, every day one hundred demons perish, and for the same reason, we write the angels' names on the amulets of young children. When Lilith sees their names, she remembers her oath, and the child recovers."

So, using this source material, I theorize that Lilith (and probably Lucifer) made the deal in order to essentially spare her life and keep her away from Adam. And that is why the exterminations happen. However, now Adam is dead, I guess the deal no longer stands and Lilith has to bargain for her life again (hence the ending of episode 8). I've no clue what she was doing hiding up in heaven but I look forward to finding out.

I think it's clear the overpopulation/ fear of rebellion thing is why the angels wanted the deal, but that they needed the king and/ or queen of hell to agree to it. Which would explain them threatening Lilith's life. Or...maybe even Charlie's? Who knows with this show.

Anyway, I hope that was interesting for you guys! All the best!

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akiizayoi4869 · 1 year

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Been reading the Inuyasha manga recently, and man it is a lot better than the anime. A lot of things are explained better in the manga, certain things that happened in the anime just don't happen in the manga, and Kagome doesn't say "sit!" nearly as much as she does in the anime. My favorite part of the manga though would have to be her:

I remember watching the show as a kid, and not really caring much for Kikyo at all. Her backstory was tragic, but I just didn't care for how the anime made her act towards Inuyasha and Kagome (plus after a while I was just sick of the love triangle between these three) so I really didn't have much of a positive outlook towards her. When I watched it again years later, however, my thoughts about Kikyo began to change. I began to understand why she acted the way she did when she was resurrected. It made sense. She didn't die peacefully, she was under the assumption that Inuyasha, someone she loved and wanted to spend her life with, had killed her, when that wasn't the case at all. Her soul is then bought back to the land of the living because of Inuyasha saying her name. On top of that, she finds out that her soul was reincarnated and that Kagome was the new guardian of the shikon jewel, something that Kikyo wished to destroy by having it burned along with her body when she died. To add insult to injury, her reincarnation is in love with Inuyasha, and it's clear that he feels the same way about her. So yeah, I can't really blame Kikyo for acting the way she did in the earlier episodes after she was resurrected. Besides, she was supposed to be a vengeful spirit. And the way how she was acting, it was the perfect example of a spirit not being able to rest in peace because of how they died. Having said all of that, I understand why people who only ever watched the show and never read the manga ended up not liking her character that much.

The manga though does her character way better than the anime did. For starters, a lot of the scenes and lines that were in the anime to add more fuel to the love triangle is thankfully non existent in the manga. It honestly doesn't even feel like there's much of a love triangle going on in the manga. Inuyasha's feelings towards both Kagome and Kikyo are made clear, unlike the anime where it seemed like he couldn't make up his mind about who he wanted to be with.

Like this talk, for example. It happens right after Inuyasha meets Kikyo for the first time since she's been resurrected, and she tries to drag him to hell with her. We never got this conversation between Inuyasha and Kagome in the anime. From what I can remember, he asks her why is she so upset with him and what did she see, and she just says the sit command and that's the end of the episode. And there's more talks like this between these two in the manga that doesn't happen in the anime.

Getting back to Kikyo, once she learns the truth of what happened 50 years ago in the manga, she doesn't really seem to be invested in Inuyasha and Kagome anymore (well, aside from trying to kill Kagome when she takes the jewel shards from her). She was entirely focused on killing Naraku and getting revenge on him for killing her and pitting her and Inuyasha against each other. In the manga, Kikyo's motives in giving Naraku the shikon jewel are explained clearly. I may be remembering wrong, but in the anime I remember not really understanding what she was trying to do, and it just kinda left you guessing for a while what exactly she was trying to accomplish. All in all, Kikyo's character just seems to be written a lot better in the manga than in the anime.

#Inuyasha #inuyasha manga #Kikyo #Kagome

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justanotherdrfan · 3 months

Text

WELCOME ALL DANNY FANGIRLS TO YOUR INSTALMENT OF DANIEL RICCIARDO’S DTS BREAKDOWN! 🍯🦡

I’m leaving this one open since you all skipped straight to this episode! (I waited and I don’t know how)😂

S6E9 (Three’s a Crowd)

GIF by @arturleclerc

DANNNNNNNNYYY BOYYY 😍😍😍😍😍😍

He’s already laughing (god I love him)

‘Alright, what’s up?, Daniel Ricardo, this is season six drive to survive, and yes I’m back’ (fangirling HARD)

WAIT HE WAS IN SYDNEY, HE WAS IN FUCKING SYDNEY (why did no one tell me I would have called sick at work)

Daniel and Blake I really wish you went ahead with that podcast because you two are poetic chaos together

Cue another Daniel montage (they have his whole discography on file don’t they?)

He looks so fucking tried though

Logan and Alex talking about DTS frothing at the mouth about Daniel returning is the most factually, correct thing I’ve ever heard 😂

Logan: ‘All I know is the most excited people when Danny Ricciardo came back was Netflix.’

Alex: ‘I literally think they had to change their pants three times. I know the episode already. Let…let me run it through. Ready? Here we have Danny Ricciardo watching on the sidelines. “Yeah, it hurts to not be racing.” Then all of a sudden, pans to Nyck de Vries. Lock up. [imitates brakes screeching]. Off the track. Crash. Oh shit! Boom. Fast-forward. Silverstone. Test. Daniel Ricciardo. Super quick. [laughs] Danny looking at it like…big smile on his face. “It is what it is. You know?” [man]“I never left” “I never left. I’m back,baby. Honey Badger. Don’t give a shit.” (Hire him now DTS because he nailed that)

Fuck why they got to follow that shit with Zandvoort though

Daniel whoring about in his Enchante tattoo thigh high shorts

“Feels right. Feels good” (It sure does Danny is sure does)

EVERYONE LOVES DANIEL

And they get him straight to a photoshoot to whore him out

THEY DID NOT USE HIM WINKING IN THE INTRO (da fuck you lot doing? Give the people what they want)

Yes Christian 2025 prospect (he’s a shoe in ahh? See what I did there) 😉👟🍾

FUCK YOU MICAHEL ITALIANO (why is he getting air time) I’m glad he’s left F1

OHH NO OHH NO OHH NO NO NO NO NO NO

IM CRYING AGAIN. I CRIED WHEN IT HAPPENED AND IM CRYING AGAIN

Ohh they have his X-ray

Clairey bear

Cue Liam Lawson (I do love you but I missed Danny terribly)

The others telling Liam to be prepared (this is very welcome to our toxic work environment)

‘She doesn’t even go here’ (a Danica story)

Liam out qualifies all the red bull drivers (yes kiddo)

DANNY BACKS (SCREWS AND ALL) for engineering purposes only

Umm why are you hurting him? DONT TOUCH HIM! (Look yes I know it’s physiotherapy and he needs it. But I’ve broken my hand before the left one as well and driving a normal road car caused me to cry in pain so when I say don’t touch him I mean it)

I SWEAR TO GOD ZAK YOU STAY THEY HELL AWAY FROM HIM

Checo clips Yuki and he’s out (he probably thought it was Daniel trying to take his seat. It’s his in 2025 mate there’s no fighting it)

Ohh look Alpine with reliability issues (things you continue to see)

Yes DTS let’s show Russel’s crash from another angle 😂

POINTS FOR LIAM 🎉🥳

Are we positive he was in Sydney and not Perth?

Yes king SWEAT SWEAT SWEAT

Yuki GP time

Not Suzuka having Daniel, Yuki and Liam on all the banners

Poor Yuki being overwhelmed by the fans. I understand fans being excited but he’s cornered in the car and clearly doesn’t feel safe (and for Michael to be like it’s ok the fans are happy is actually the problem at hand. His and all the drivers safety has to come first and he point blank didn’t feel safe you arsehole Michael so it’s not okay)

Yuki honey it’s okay Liam not going to hit you

If we can’t have an Aussie a Kiwi will do

Liam finding out Daniel’s and Yuki are getting announced for 2024 🥺

Liam mate I’m sorry you deserve better

Mexi-coooooo

HES BACK BACK

Yes yes your P10 in the constructors (just you wait, just you fucking wait)

Checo out before turn 1 (its AUSGP all over again)

Ohh look another McLaren/Alpha Tauri incident 😤

No McLaren the plan is not to attack Daniel (haven’t you fucking done enough?)

P7 BABBYYYYYY

ENCHANTE, MON AMI

See your P8 now (told you to wait and see)

Yes Christian, Daniel did drive a good race (remember that and who didn’t)

Look at him and his little moustache

Will: ‘ I think this is only part one of a far wider story.’ (Yes 2024 season will be epic for Danny Ric)

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pineapplerightsideupcake · 5 months

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how do you as a bisexual come to terms with the fact that the trans community has literally made homophobia much worse. ppl are proudly being openly homophobic and when you dig deeper it’s actually the “queers” and transgenders who think kids can transition who they have a problem with (not all of course but a good chunk) I believe ppl who wouldn’t otherwise be homophobic are being homophobic bc of the trans community. I use to really struggle w internalized homophobia, and still do, it was only this past year where I came to terms w it and told my sister/close friends. I wish it could be just a normal thing to be gay and you’d be left alone, I believe we were on a trajectory for that. But now things have gotten worse, and thanks to the gender nonsense, openly bigoted ppl (especially religious) are being praised and promoted. All this bc of trans activism. I don’t even care anymore about what they do to themselves, but the damage they’ve done to actual gay ppl is insane and we’re already facing the backlash. I’m not sure if we’ll ever live in a world where being lgb isn’t a big deal.

Honestly? I think the benefit of pushing 40 is that I have a wider lens through which to view activism. And I feel the same way about LGB rights as I do about women’s rights.

Which is to say, every time a big gain is won, there is backlash. There are parts of society that get worse as the culture tries desperately to adjust around the new changes.

Men today are more porn sick and sexually aggressive than 20 years ago. In some ways. People are polling less positively about the LGTBQI+ but how much of that backlash is really directed at the LGB? Are polling groups even bothering to distinguish between LGB and “queer” people?

Let me tell you what life was like as a bisexual teen in 2003. Let’s go back 20 years and I can tell you the world has changed so much for the better. 20 years ago gay rights activists started really making headway towards civil rights guarantees. Suddenly middle Americans had to confront that gay people were among them and not just haunting bars and bathhouses. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such rigid gender norm adherence as I did back then. Men couldn’t wear pastels or purple or pink. Guys got called gay for having a messenger bag. There is an entire episode of “Friends” about it. Sussing out the Gays Among Us became obsessive. Emo culture was a direct response to how frantic straight people were to appear duly heterosexual. TV shows still depicted us as degenerate freaks if they depicted us at all. A few HBO shows that were soft core porn more than anything and Will and Grace was all anybody had. Shows like Xena and Buffy got away with lesbians because men said out loud that hot women kissing was fine. These were the early days of straight men having open lesbian fetishizes. We couldn’t get married. We could get fired for being gay.

For women there was no movement to normalize our natural bodies. I’d spend hours shaving myself smooth. Not wearing makeup was unheard of. Cellulite wasn’t even a word I knew let alone knew was normal. There weren’t a million online resources teaching women that vaginal discharge is normal and I grew up thinking (as did many others) that it was a private shame.

And as far as MeToo stuff? It’s easy to feel defeated in the moment but nobody was using the word ‘consent’ in my day. Men getting women drunk was a joke. Men pushing for sex was a joke. Men calling a woman that had one too many dates or boyfriends a slut was normal. Three of my male friends pinned me down on several occasions and took turns rubbing their dicks on me to completion.

The therapist I told said I “needed to work on my boundaries”. The word rape never even entered my mind. Rape was something a stranger with a knife did. It wasn’t something your best friends did to you and then laughed about. It isn’t something you submitted to because fawn and freeze are real fear responses. No one told me my friend forcing my hand down his pants was abuse because I continued to go over his house, didn’t I? No one told me about red flags or cycles of abuse.

And the older women you told rolled their eyes. What I endured was so mild compared to many other women. Men forcing themselves onto women was just normal.

I can’t tell you what it means to me to see so many young women calling it out. Refusing to stay in a bad situation. Refusing to date entirely sometimes. Women sharing red flags and advice to stay not just safe but thriving.

Don’t get me wrong- the current gender movement is regressive and dangerous. I’m not saying it’ll all work itself out. Activism is constant work but things ARE getting better. They really are, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. 💜

#radical feminism #radical feminist safe #radical feminist community #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists do touch #radblr #radical feminists please interact #radical feminists please touch

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awritersometime · 14 days

Text

If love is a sin, my stake is already burning

[ z. s & c. g ]

part 3 here

a/n: alright, there's slight smut here, I guess it's only fair that I mention it before you all start reading. Here's the fourth part, and I'm honestly quite happy with it. It's insanely long for my standards so bear with me because I did not reread... Hope it's not too bad. Techincally it's finished, however, I can always add more to this, like episodes of everyday life of these three. Would you like that? Any prompts or ideas? Anyway, enjoy the ride, witches <3

"And look who's back to us mere witches," she glances at you as you start opening your eyes, blinking a few times before you can focus on your surroundings.

You see Cordelia first. A sigh of relief slips from her mouth, she reaches out a hand to cup your cheek, then whispers a soft hello to you.

You stir and rub your eyes with the back of your hand before getting yourself to sit up. Looking around you, you soon recognize where you are, however you're still confused as to why you're occupying your Supreme's bed. "Why am I here?", you continue, then turn to find Zelda sitting right behind Cordelia, on that same mattress, "Why are you here?"

The Directrix of the Academy of Unseen Arts scoffs lightly, "As per usual, my dearest, my suspicious were well founded to begin with," despite her tone, her eyes can't lie to you. She has been worried sick about you. You spot her crystal eyes moist with tears, her posture, however, remains stiff and composed.

Squinting your eyes, you wonder out loud, "whatever do you mean?"

"You fainted, sweetheart," it's Cordelia's voice now.

"I .. I did?", you stammer, there's genuine confusion in your eyes.

"We were at the greenhouse, remember?", she continues, voice small and hesitant, almost fearful.

You nod reluctantly, everything slowly comes back together, "yes, I do," you grimace, feeling guilty about it. You had messed up. You thought you could have controlled your exhaustion, but how wrong you were. "What time is it? I missed the class, didn't I?", resignation veils your voice.

You hear Zelda groan. She is probably struggling to keep herself from rolling her eyes at your priorities.

Cordelia gives you a weak smile, "Celeste, will you acknowledge for a moment that your health is more important than missing a couple of classes?", her voice comes out both soft and firm at the same time. You make a face at that, "I guess," you say tentatively, making the Supreme sigh and chuckle at the same time. What else could she expect from you, little stubborn witch?

"How are you feeling?", she questions, like it's the sole thing that truly matters.

You crack a small smile, rolling your shoulders, "I'm feeling fine... better actually," you turn to face the redhead whose eyes have never left yours from the moment you woke up. Seems like she is studying you, to be sure she can really trust your words.

She hums contentedly, "Praise Lilith, Cordelia was there for you" she murmurs, causing Cordelia's cheeks to turn crimson, "I did nothing special," with a wave of her hand, she tries to downplay what she has done for you.

"Or at least, what I did for her you'd have done as well," she points out confidently, eyes boring into Zelda's, before moving down to her red lips. You feel some electricity prickling over your skin as it happens.

Is that sexual tension going on between them?

You find yourself swallow thickly, trying to control your own arousal for being close to the only two witches you had an immense crush for.

"Maybe, maybe not," she chants, teasingly. "Celeste has been testing my patience lately, hasn't she?"

You hum amusedly, "Just because she didn't do as you pleased," you retort, with the same tone as hers.

Cordelia can't help the small smirk playing out on her face, while Zelda tilts her head to the side, deep down enjoying the way you stand up to her. That's one of the things she absolutely loved about you, however, she would never dare to say. "Many things would have been avoided if she hadn't been so stubborn," she continues, eyeing Cordelia.

"You know I'm right here, right?" you annoyingly wave your fingers up to their faces. Your Supreme smirks, whereas Zelda swaps your hand away.

"I believe I deserve an explanation as to why you're so unwilling to listen me," she starts, with a biting tone, "which is quite surreal, considering Cordelia's last findings," she lets the last part of the comment slip her lips without much thinking.

The Supreme's eyes open wide at that, her face loses color, "Zelda...", her voice comes out in a low hiss.

Your eyebrows meet in a confused frown, "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's your place to tell, isn't it, Cordelia?", the redhead inquires.

The Supreme suddenly feels her stomach drop, "I-I...", inhaling sharply, you turn to face her, looking completely befuddled.

"What is going on?"

"I did something, earlier. Something I shouldn't have done, that I promised myself to never do," her voice breaks slightly which only adds to your confusion. What could she possibly have done to feel so distressed with herself? So guilty even? "And I'm so sorry, I truly am. You have to believe that."

You want to reassure her because whatever she did, couldn't be that bad. Or so you hoped. She could never hurt you, not your Cordelia. Right?

"I don't understand, Dee," when you use her pet name, her heart crashes a little more, "What's worrying you so much?", when you smile at her, she feels worse.

Zelda hums softly, as she glances at the Supreme out of the corner of her eye, "Now, now, enough with self-pity. I'm sure Celeste will understand," she racks her fingers through Cordelia's hair, in the hope to reassure her. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest, however, she cracks a small smile when you give her an encouraging nod of your head.

"When you were feeling... lightheaded, I-I got worried," she starts quietly, "You wouldn't tell me what was going on, so I took advantage of that moment of weakness to find out myself."

The room falls in a silence for what seems to be an eternity. White spots dance before your eyes, making you feel dizzy once again. You keep your eyes on her, dazed and bewildered, wondering if she is referring to what you hoped she wasn't referring.

"I don't like the sound of that," your voice stutters with uncertainty.

"I'm not proud of what I did," she looks at your trembling hands, as you take a hold on her bedsheets. "I didn't mean to dig that deep, but those images were literally everything I could see. Your head was all about it. I couldn't avoid it, so I let it envelope me", you straighten your position, tensing up.

Cordelia notices the pain in your eyes, and she sniffles once.

You don't even look at her.

Suddenly you feel so ashamed, that you only wish to disappear.

"Y-you read my mind," it wasn't a question, you somehow knew already.

Cordelia bites her lip to keep it from wobbling, "I'm so sorry, I know I shouldn't have—"

Zelda remains silent, however she feels how the information is quickly upsetting you. Her stomach churns when you stay quiet for a moment, without allowing each of them a single look of your eyes. She sees your legs moving underneath the bedsheets, alerting her of your next intentions. The panic that washed over her the moment Cordelia had told her about you fainting earlier that morning comes back at once.

"I have to go," you mutter nervously, "I need a change of air."

Cordelia stares at you in shock, quickly glancing over Zelda, for help.

"Oh, absolutely not, you young witch," despite her tone, she hated how vulnerable that situation was making her feel. Tears begin to well up, but she keeps down from falling.

You scoff in disbelief because she was doing it again, telling you what to do, and Hell was it infuriating to a fault, "Zelda..."

"You're staying here, and for once, you will listen," she finally finds the heart to snap at you, her heart pounding mercilessly at the possibility of having you slip away from her a second time.

"I'm rather upset right now, and I'm really not in the mood for a fight," you state calmly, keeping your eyes from Cordelia.

"Then, don't start it," Zelda remarks before Cordelia can say anything, "I was upset too when you didn't listen to me this morning, and did you care about that?"

You groan, knowing she had a point. But this. What Cordelia did, whatever she shared with Zelda was different.

"Celeste, please, let's talk about this," Cordelia murmurs softly, voice thick with tears, that she is trying to hold back.

"Talk about what?," you ask stubbornly. Rolling your shoulders, you finally look up at her, feeling both exposed and helpless, "You already know everything and probably Zelda does too."

When she doesn't deny it, you let out an exasperated groan.

"Babygirl, I needed answers that you wouldn't give away. What else was I supposed to do?", she looks at Zelda, who's nodding her head solemnly.

So they had an agreement, you thought to yourself, "I need a cigarette."

"Excuse me?", she frowns at you, whereas Zelda can't hide her smirk, "Since when do you smoke?"

"I don't but I can start," you respond bluntly, almost careless.

"No!" Cordelia says, irritated by the sudden change of topic.

"Don't act like Zelda now. It doesn't suit you," you bite back. You didn't mean to sound harsh, but you were hurt, and you spoke before you could help yourself.

Once again, the hurt in Cordelia's brown eyes is evident. However, she doesn't say anything. The things you're saying are driven by your actual feelings.

"Celeste, that's quite enough now," Zelda interjects, both softly and firmly. She reaches out for your shoulder, offering you a squeeze, as to take you back to your senses. Looking up at her, you spot a frown on her face.

You sigh, before running a hand through your hair, "I'm sorry," you mutter, before capturing your wobbling lip between your teeth.

Cordelia gives you a small smile through her tears. She tugs a strand of hair behind your head, making you finally look into her eyes, "It's alright. You're upset, I understand."

"You probably think I'm an idiot," you trail off, bitterly.

"Not even closely," if only had you let her explain herself, you wouldn't be saying such things right now.

You say nothing. There's not much to add at this point. They wanted to talk, so it was probably up to them to start the conversation. You don't know what's to be expected. Honestly for someone like you it's always easier to flee away when a problem shows up. But they wouldn't let you, obviously. If Cordelia read your mind, it meant that your feelings were exposed. What would happen now? Would you need to leave both Covens? That's the conversation you were about to endure? You feel your stomach in knots, keeping your eyes down on your hands. You can't even look at them, right now. What if they are disgusted by you? You couldn't bear that.

"Are you done tormenting yourself with those silly thoughts?"

Your eyes snap wide open again, "Are you seriously reading my mind again, Cordelia?"

"No, but I know you," she lightly shakes her head, chuckling softly, "Your facial expressions. Your aura. You're thinking the worst, aren't you?", she leans forward to reach for you, and you let her do it when her hand cups your cheek.

"Shouldn't I?"

Cordelia pauses, then turns to face Zelda, who answers before she can, "No, you shouldn't." She feels her face flush redder, her attempt to keep composed, soon fails when your doe eyes dive into hers for an explanation.

She feels like she could give you the world, if only had you asked. That's something Zelda has never fully understood. She squeezes her eyes close for a moment, as she masters the courage to spill out the truth. She loved Cordelia but the blonde witch was wandering all around it, making her lose her mind.

"I love you," she manages, her voice comes out so thin, she isn't sure she has spoken at all.

"We both love you," Cordelia adds searching for your eyes.

You look between the two of them quizzically.

"Don't make me repeat myself, you heard me," she mutters, trying to keep at bay the vulnerability and exasperation out of her voice. She could use a cigarette now.

"That's what we have been trying to tell you," Cordelia coos softly. You see small tears brimming in her eyes, making you purse your lips. "We know now you feel the same way, that's why I was hoping you'd... forgive me and her to find a way to work things out...", she says quietly, hope in her tone.

You feel your heartbeat go faster, your hands turning clammy, "Wait— you? Both of you?"

The Supreme gives you a nod of her head, and so does Zelda. The blonde witch puts her hands on your hips, offering you a gentle squeeze, with her thumbs. Your own skin feels on fire.

"I've been since you stepped foot at the Academy, challenged Michael and fought side by side with me, Zelda and the other witches," a small smile spreads over your face. You remember those days. It's when you started to develop feelings for her as well. At the right place, but at the wrong time, considering the circumstances.

"That's when you offered to join the Academy as teacher, I couldn't say no," she sniffles, wiping away a few tears that have slipped from her eyes.

"I offered for the same reason," you confess shyly, "My feelings were... confusing me, because I felt drawn to you, but also to Zelda."

"You wanted to figure out where your heart belonged," the Supreme guesses, while Zelda remains quiet. She knew this all along, or at least she suspected it. The Supreme, after all, was endowed with a particular charm that had lured her as well.

"Only to realized it belonged to both," she later adds, in such a gentle tone, you feel like crying. You look up at the redhead, with red, puffy eyes as you nod your head.

Zelda's heart breaks at the sight of your tears, "Oh, Celeste, my sweet Celeste," she rubs some small circles on your cheek with her thumb, "Let me tell you something," when both you and Cordelia stay silent, their eyes focused on the redhead, she goes on, "before meeting you, I hardly let anyone in. My sister Hilda, Ambrose.. and Sabrina... anyone that has known me, before you coming along can confirm that," Cordelia grasps her hand in hers, gently rubbing circles over her knuckles, "I didn't know anything about love, neither was I interested in it. It appeared frivolous and risky. A distraction and nothing more," she continues, shutting her eyes to prevent tears from falling, "That's why when I got married to Faustus Blackwood, it was only to seek my own glory. It wasn't for love, but for power. With you, and Cordelia, however, I came to understand a different facet of relationships, and I must say, I'm quite fond of that," there's nothing but sincerity in Zelda's tone and it moves you from within. When she reopens her eyes, you see them shine.

Your lips part lightly, however, no sound comes out for at least five seconds, "I really don't know what to say, I'm— I can't believe this," you don't even realize you're crying until you feel Zelda's fingers wipe under your eyes and your cheeks. A tentative, hopeful smile starts to spread across your face, "Why haven't you two said anything before? Why holding back?"

"We could ask you the same question now, couldn't we?", Zelda dares to say. You can't help but chuckle. Honestly, each and every battle fought against Zelda Spellman was a losing game.

"We didn't want to take any risks, scare you off, or worse, lose you..." Cordelia moves her free hand towards your, tentatively lacing your fingers together. "We wanted to be sure it was safe to tell you."

"You really thought I wouldn't reciprocate your feelings? Sweet Lilith, you're the most amazing witches I've ever met in my life! The real question is, why me?"

"No need to be humble now, babygirl. You sure know your worth, you proved it countless of times."

Your practically beaming now. That pet name is really sending you wild butterflies all over your stomach.

"But we aren't only speaking in terms of magic skills. You're a wonderful person, a beautiful, witty and funny witch. The third side to our triangle," Cordelia brings your clasped hands up to her face, leaving a sweet kiss over your knuckles.

You want to squeal in delight, kick your feet, but you manage to stay compose. You send a silent prayer to the mother of demons for having granted you the strength.

"And you very well know what the triangle means in sacred geometry, am I right?", Zelda questions, looking at you with an amused smirk upon her lips.

You hum, feeling the answer on the tip of your tongue, "Harmony, balance and feminine passion," you grin, looking at Zelda for approval, as if you were back to your school days.

You giggle softly, when Zelda playfully ruffles your hair, "That's our good girl," her praise sends you a tingle down your abdomen.

"How do you feel about... trying things out?", Cordelia suggests, moving her hand to cup your chin.

"You mean, us three?", you swallow thickly, "As... partners?"

"If it's something you desire too, yes," you look at both women, trying to find a sign that would tell you that everything around you was truly happening. You see honesty in their eyes, genuine interest and something else too. Lust maybe, desire. But on top of that, all you see is love.

You feel like you're magnetically pulled towards the two of them, and your throat goes suddenly dry, as you speak, "Yes, I do. I really do."

Cordelia leans over to you, and winks, "wonderful," she coos before kissing the tip of your nose, then the corner of your mouth, "isn't it, love?", she asks Zelda, before peppering another kiss on your chin.

You feel like you're turning into a puddle.

Zelda cracks a coy smile, as she pushes at your shoulder to make you fall back onto the mattress, "Indeed," making you squeal in surprise.

Zelda takes her sweet time to look into your eyes, to make sure you are feeling comfortable. In the meantime, the Supreme lays down at your side, on her stomach. You feel her lips kissing your shoulder, whereas the Directrix guides your face to the side, her thumb brushes over your smooth cheek and down your neck.

Then she ducks her head, and first thing you feel is her hair tickling your shoulders and face. You bite back a chuckle, and the two witches share an amused glance, "My, my, someone is sensitive, I see?", she teases, before leaving a wet line over your neck, "Delicious."

You shiver and suck in a shaky breath. You wonder what happened to your voice, because all you can manage to breath out are gasps and choked moans.

Cordelia kisses the top of your head, "Is this okay, love?"

You nod breathlessly.

"Use your words, little witch," Zelda beams down at you.

"It is. It's more than okay," you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling her hands hovering over your sides and stomach. You close them because you're scared they would see the lust in your eyes, how much darker they have just turned.

"What do you want, darling?", the redhead feels mesmerized by the sweet vulnerability of your body.

"I want you. Both of you," your voice comes out whispered, but you silently praise yourself for having voiced your needs.

"Did you hear her?", Zelda eyes Cordelia, with an arched brow. She hums.

She adjusts herself properly above you, her thighs securing your hips, so that you can't go anywhere. Not that you would at this point.

"Asking so nicely too," the Supreme adds, before burying her face in the crook of your neck, hungrily kissing, and sucking on your warm skin.

You forget how to breath for a moment, and your mouth falls partially agape at how nice it feels to be worshipped by them.

Zelda's hands wander over your skin, slipping under that useless shirt you're wearing. She can't look away, having never seen you that way, she is desperate to uncover more. She helps you take your top off, before throwing it on the floor. Then, she bows down to pepper a trail of hungry kisses all over your stomach and in between your breasts. In the meantime, Cordelia pulls herself up and captures your lips in a heated kiss, "You're so beautiful," she whispers in your mouth.

You feel brave enough to move the tip of your tongue over her bottom lip. She chuckles then sucks lightly on it, wanting to taste you and feeling you as much as possible. Your muscles twitch and your breathing quickens at the sensuality of her kisses, mingled with Zelda's. You feel like losing it, when the redhead starts to worship your navel; she flicks her tongue out gently lapping it.

"Praise Lilith," you let out a chocked moan, as you clasp the bedsheets into fists. Cordelia and Zelda share a glance, the extreme reverence in your voice makes them go ravenous.

"My girl," Zelda mutters hotly, while nibbling and licking the skin on your stomach.

"Our girl," the Supreme bites back, causing both you and the redhead to let out a low chuckle, "the sooner you learn to share, the better."

"I'll see what I can do," she teases her, placing both her hands to your hips, dangerously close to the side hinge of your skirt.

"Can we take this off, darling?", you take a moment to swallow and catch a breath, before rotating your hips towards her.

"Please," a blush rises over your cheeks.

You catch the mischievous twinkle in their eyes, as they both smirk down at you. Zelda's experienced fingers easily glide the skirt down your legs, her face grows redder as she takes a moment to take a look at your bright pink panties, slightly darker in the middle. She sends a silent prayer to whoever goddess of the night made it possible for her to stand just where she is right now. She crawls a little further back, her hands spread your thighs a little more, exposing you to their fun even more. Both witches are so turned on, they can feel their own wetness in between their legs.

"Please, please, please," you breathe out, hoarsely.

"Please, what?", Cordelia bows her head and start kissing between your breasts. Then with a snap of her fingers, your bra suddenly disappears, exposing your perfectly hard nipples.

"Fuck me."

You miss the devious smile that spread across both faces as you're too focused on not passing out once again. And while Zelda's fingers gently stroke your slit up and down, the Supreme takes your nipple in her mouth, sucking on it, before pulling it out with a loud pop.

"With immense pleasure," the redhead murmurs, as she buries her face in between your already shaky legs.

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