#But your profile says you like fashion and I wanted an excuse to post these cute dressed up critters xD

[stick-by-me]

A great day to play!

New follower sticker for: @bullprince!

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

No, Nothin' Good Starts in a Getaway Car

Part 1 of Sometimes All You Need (A Getaway Car)

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: On the worst first date of your life, you're aching for any excuse to cut the date short. When a chance encounter with a gorgeous blonde presents you with a chance to escape, you'd be a fool not to take it.

Disclaimer: N/A

Warnings: afab!reader

Word Count: 2784

A/N: Hi! I wrote this for @cherrycola27's 1K Celebration Top Gun Taylor's Version. I had an absolute blast writing it. I listened to Getaway Car by Taylor Swift on repeat, and the story ran away from me. It's also the very first fanfiction that I've ever written. I really hope people like it! And to the lovely @cherrycola27, congratulations on 1k followers! I'm so happy for you!

I have about a billion thanks to the fantastic @roosterbruiser for proofreading this as well!

AO3: Cross-posted here! My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

Click Here for the Top Gun Taylor's Version Master List

You meet Jake Seresin in the midst of what is arguably the worst first date you've ever been on. San Diego is at its’ best on the gorgeous summer day you greet James outside a bustling bar for your first date. You’d come across James’ profile after signing up on Tinder for the first time at the prompting of your girlfriends.  At first glance, he is the ideal match for you. He seemed intelligent, 30 years old, worked out regularly to keep fit, had a full-time job, and was a family man. There were no glaring red flags, so you swiped right. Your conversation in the app was a bit boring, but you figured it was more due to the medium of your interactions than the man himself. So you set up a date, picking a bar in a popular area of the city, and dolling yourself up in the prettiest sundress you own, a violet number that swishes to the middle of your thighs.

It was the best of times, the worst of crimes I struck a match and blew your mind But I didn't mean it and you didn’t see it

If only he didn’t open his mouth as you sat at a table and began to get to know one another. The first indicator that James was too good to be true was when he ordered you a gin and tonic without asking you what you liked. And then there was the conversation. All he could talk about was himself, his ex-girlfriend, and, shockingly, his mother. If he wasn’t chatting your ear off about the paragon of virtue and perfection that his ex was, he was talking about his mama and how he ached, longed, and pined to find somebody to do for him what she did for his dad and their family. From what you could gather, the man had a borderline uncomfortably close relationship with his mother. He'd even mentioned needing his mom to hold his hand for his yearly physical. It had been over an hour, and he hadn’t asked you one question about yourself! Needing a break, you excused yourself, alluding to refreshing your drink, and made your way to the bar. 

I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason "X" marks the spot where we fell apart He poisoned the well, I was lyin' to myself

The bar was packed as expected for a Friday night in San Diego. The crush of people pressed you up against the countertop. The bartenders rushed from end to end, filling out drink orders at lightning speed. You finally managed to order an Old-Fashioned and were waiting patiently for the bartender to come back with your drink, idly playing with your phone and desperately counting the minutes until you could say goodbye to your date for the night.

"One Old-Fashioned," came the harried bartender's call as she passed the cut crystal glass over the bar top towards you.

"Thanks," You chirp, praying your smile isn't as pained as you feel.

“Thanks, darlin'," is also the response from the man on your right as his hand closes over yours and the amber drink in the glass.

I knew it from the first Old Fashioned, we were cursed

"O-oh!" you gasp. "Sorry, it's a zoo in here. We must have ordered the same thing!" You release the glass into his grasp.

"An old-fashioned, huh?" He enquires in a deliciously Texan twang. The rest of him is just as delicious, from the emerald eyes, the dirty blonde hair, the cut jaw with a toothpick pressed between thin lips, and the broad shoulders in a polo just a shade darker than his arresting eyes. He's tall, too, at least six feet, and for once, you don't feel like a child looking up at him. Instead, you feel positively delicate in his shadow.

"Yup," You chirp, "I needed something strong to get through what has to be the worst date I've been on in my life."

“A bad date, huh?” His voice is warm and slightly husky. While you usually wouldn’t engage with a man trying to chat with you in a bar, there’s something about this one that draws your attention.

“Yes,” you nod shyly, “it’s been terrible. But I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than hear about the bad date experience of someone you’ve just met.”

“And what,” he asks, turning the toothpick in his mouth end over end, “better thing do you think I have to do?”

Some foreign confidence inhibits you as you take a sip from the glass he places in your hand, letting the liquid slip lazily down your throat as you examine the bar around you.

“Are you sure one of those girls over there isn’t a better companion for your night?” you ask, gesturing towards a group of girls wearing skimpy dresses, sky-high heels, and sashes. They’re each holding a flute of champagne while drunkenly giggling and dancing at the edge of the dance floor. They must be a bachelorette party if the tiara and glitter are leading you right. “They look like they’d be perfect for giving you the good time you’re looking for.”

“And what would you say,” he smirks, grabbing the glass back from you and taking a swig of his own, “if I say I would like nothing more than to know exactly what it is about Mr. Average over there that’s got you all hot-n-bothered? And not in a good way, at that?”

“I’d say, another Old-Fashioned, and you’re on.” From the delight on his face, as he flags down another bartender and orders your drinks, you can see that he’s just as excited to have your full attention as you are to have his. Your decision is made even easier as you lean against the counter and peer through the crowd looking for James. You’re not even a bit surprised to see his attention on his phone in the way it hadn’t been on you when you’d been sitting across the small table from him.

It’s only a few minutes before a pair of fresh Old-Fashioneds are slid your way, and bright green eyes impale you. Taking a sip to fortify yourself, you tell him the whole sordid tale, from swiping right on Tinder to James’ idealized relationship with his ex and his codependent one with his mother. Your drink is long gone by the time you finish, and you’re fiddling with a slim straw as the last words leave you in a rush. It’s a shock to your system when a hand grasps yours.

"A pretty little thing like you shouldn't have to deal with bad dates. A man should be thanking his lucky stars for getting to take a beautiful girl like you to a place like this," the stranger purrs. 

"Smooth," you chuckle, somehow still intrigued despite having been cursing men not long before. "Now I'm just counting the minutes until it's polite for me to make an excuse to walk out of here as fast as I possibly can, and then I never have to see him again." 

"Well, sweetheart," he grins conspiratorially, "I think you've made your feelings perfectly clear already." At your questioning hum, he continues, "Seeing as how you're holding a stranger's hand at the bar and all."

You squeak in response and extricate your hand from the heat of his large palm and long, calloused fingers, face hot and cheeks flushed.

"I'm so sorry!" You apologize profusely. The handsome stranger's eyes seem amused and all-knowing as he bats down every apology spilling from your maroon lips.  Finally, he takes one step further into your space, his hand curling around your hip in a tender caress that sends heat rocketing through you.

"Tell you what, sweetheart." the hot puffs of breath into your ear send a shudder down your spine. "If the date is as bad as you say it is, I'll drive the getaway car. But first, why don’t we show him what he’s had and still missed all night?"

You're transfixed, peering up into sage green pools. This proposition will likely be a better end to the night than anything you expected. Better, definitely, than going home, changing into your pajamas, eating ice cream out of the carton, and venting on the phone to whichever one of your girls can lend a sympathetic ear.

One nod is all it takes. Your handsome stranger drags you out from your sheltered spot at the bar, making his way to the small dance floor. He twirls you around on the dance floor, song after song, in front of the table you were sitting at with your date. At first, you’re worried, not wanting a confrontation between your handsome stranger and James. But as the songs transition, you realize that you’re smiling and laughing outright, all tension dissipated in the heat of his calloused hands on you. Mr. Handsome, as you’ve dubbed him in your head, is a fighter pilot for the US Navy with a dry sense of humor that has you in paroxysms of glee. As you glide across the dance floor, you share information about yourself too. It’s gratifying to hear that he’s as devoted to his job as you are to yours.

It takes a fellow bar patron pointing the two of you out before James notices. As Mr. Handsome twirls you in a spin that wouldn’t have been out of place in Dancing With the Stars, you can see James’ face grow redder and redder.  

Mr. Handsome notices too, and with one final spin, as he clutches you close enough that you can feel the solid muscle of him against your body, he smirks out, “I’ve got you, gorgeous girl. He’s not going to touch one hair on this pretty head. And,” tone growing dark, in a growl that reduces your knees to jelly, “he’ll have to get through me to do that.” 

The song, something peppy that you couldn’t name even if you’d heard it hundreds of times before, finally draws to a close. James’ temper looks to have reached a boiling point, and just as he rises from his seat to stomp over, Mr. Handsome whisks you away, grabbing your purse in one hand as you walk past the table, with one smug wink in the man's direction. 

It was the great escape, the prison break The light of freedom on my face

You can faintly hear James' angry voice screaming, ordering you to come back, but you could care less, wholly enchanted as you are with the beautiful man holding your hand. He throws open the door to his truck in the parking lot and helps you in, and in short order, you're peeling out of the parking lot with James trying and failing to run after you.

While he was runnin' after us, I was screamin', "Go, go, go!"

The mood is light, sitting in the car after you both made your escape. The windows are down, and some country song blares lowly from the speakers. Mr. Handsome’s a chiaroscuro of color in the play of the moonlight on his skin. Every few moments, you see his eyes glance your way as if curious as to why you picked him. Finally, he pulls onto a hilltop overlooking the city and turns off the car. 

Ridin' in a getaway car There were sirens in the beat of your heart

In the silence of the summer night, any tension left in you finally drains away. It’s still a shock when he finally speaks, breaking the peace, “You know, it’s only polite to tip your getaway car driver.” 

You don’t even have to look to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. You also don’t need a mirror to know you’re flushed with the same heat he’d kept on your face all night thus far.

“Tips? Tips weren’t included in our agreement. I only remember agreeing to you driving the getaway car and showing James what he’d been missing all… night … long.” Each word dripping from your burgundy lips is punctuated by the slow glide of your fingers from his palms up his arms. Two can play the seductive game, after all. You can’t help the satisfaction on your face at seeing the blonde adonis sitting beside you, gazing back at you. 

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin,” your handsome stranger, now Jake, introduces himself. You return the favor, gratified at the sight of his plush lips mouthing your name like he is relishing the shape of you on his tongue. The conversation, unsurprisingly, is as organic as it was when you were both whirling around on the dance floor in that bar a world away. You learn things about Jake that you’re sure he hasn’t told anyone else, just as you tell him things you haven’t told anyone too. When you finally glance at your phone, it’s well past midnight, and San Diego is aglow out of the windshield. 

“It’s past midnight,” you murmur, voice scratchy after hours of conversation and laughter.

“How was that for your first date in a long time?” Jake posits, eyes hooded, and long limbs languid as they stretch before him.

“Pretty good,” you respond, captivated again by the glow of his eyes in the moonlight. “The getaway driving was the highlight of the night after all. The only thing left is to go home and maybe get a kiss goodnight. You game?” There’s a twinkle of mischief in your eyes and an equally mischievous glint in Jake’s. 

“Well, darlin’,” he groans, “I can do you one better. I can kiss you now, sitting in this car, and taste that gorgeous mouth now and then again on your doorstep. What do you say?”

Your grin is perhaps over-eager as you haul yourself into his lap and finally, desperately kiss him like some part of you had been aching to since you left the bar. He takes the lead fairly soon, cradling you against his chest like you’re everything precious in his life. The kisses finally peter off into presses of lips against any exposed skin, gentle and sweet. You can feel the thundering beat of his heart under your hand and soft puffs of breath against the top of your head,

A sinking feeling seeps into you as Jake deposits you carefully back in the passenger seat with a kiss on your forehead and helps you buckle your seatbelt up again. Things are quiet as he navigates you home, the silence punctuated only with long, heat-filled glances and the voice of the GPS taking you home. Too soon, the truck pulls up in front of your house.

“This is me,” you say, injecting false levity in your tone, sad to be leaving Jake when you’d just found him. Jake is the requisite gentleman who lopes around the front of his truck to open the door and help you out. You walk to the door hand in hand, clinging desperately to the feelings of comfort and affection Jake had created in you in one magical evening. 

“Jake,” you peer up at him, playing with his fingers, “before that goodnight kiss you promised me. What are the likelihoods you’d want to do something like this with me again?”

“Chances, pretty girl,” he’s grinning now, something softer and sweeter than the smirk he’d leveled at James hours ago, “are pretty damned good. But first, I’d need your phone number. It’s the only reliable way I know of to get in touch with you again, after all.”

You nod, digging your phone out of your purse, unlocking it, and handing it to him. Phone number saved, Jake slips the phone back into your bag. He then tips your face up, hands gently splayed across your jaw as he feathers the promised goodnight kiss across your lips, the apples of both cheeks, and your forehead. He then presses one final kiss against your lips, a kiss potent enough to make your legs weak, and then steps back, smiling from ear to ear as he watches you unlock your door with shaking hands.

“Text me, gorgeous girl!” 

Those are the last words you hear as you step into your dark house and lock the door behind you.  A ridiculous dopy, giddy grin dances across your lips at the thought of Jake Seresin wanting to see you again. They always say, "No, nothin' good starts in a getaway car," but as you fall asleep in your bed that night with a text zipping through the night air to him, you know that Jake Seresin will be different. You have this sneaking suspicion that he thinks the same of you.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[ascendingtostardust]

Yet To Wander

Chapter One

a/n: welcome to my first attempt at a multi-part fic! This chapter is really just a little introduction into the YTW world, I promise it’ll pick up more in the next part! Thank you for reading :)

-

“Okay, what about him?” Your best friend, Annie, tries to redirect your attention away from your phone and to the tv that was currently being used to display her phone screen as she scrolled through your tinder account.

You looked up and hummed, twisting your lips to the side as she tapped through a man named Jake’s profile. Long, slightly wavy brown hair, big brown eyes, decent fashion sense…but not quite your type.

“I don’t know, Ann, he’s just not…” you started, trying to think of a more creative way to say the same sentiment you’d been repeating about every profile she deemed worthy enough to show you.

“Not what you’re looking for, right?” she said in a mocking tone. “What are you looking for at this point? Because you don’t seem interested in any of these guys.” Annie sighed and let her phone fall to her lap, her head resting on the back of the couch.

“You haven’t let me swipe right on anyone!”

“Hey, I let you swipe right on, like, 5 guys last night! That’s pretty good!” You attempted to defend yourself, raising your eyebrows at her.

“Yeah, and then wouldn’t let me message any of them for you so they’re basically all wasted matches 24 hours later.” She sighed, closing the app and locking her phone. “This is useless, the wedding is in a week and at this rate it’s like you don’t even want to find a date.”

She turned her head to look at you, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to give her the most convincing reply you could muster up.

“That’s not true, okay? Maybe I’m just… I don’t know,” now it was you who let your head fall back to rest on the back of the couch with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe I’m just picky because I know it’s a pretty far drive to do with a stranger.”

You didn’t want to resort to a dating app to find a date for your childhood best friend’s wedding. In fact, you didn’t even want to bring a date at all when you first received the invitation and had to choose to RSVP for just you or you and a plus one. The wedding wasn’t exactly local, being almost a 24 hour drive from your home in Nashville to the city in Maine that Claire now resided in with her fiancé.

It honestly came as a surprise, the soft white envelope adorned with gold embellishments sitting in your mailbox a few months back. Despite being inseparable between the ages of 8 and 18, you hadn’t spoken to Claire since high school. Well…hadn’t spoken to her besides quick “happy birthday” texts exchanged once a year and the occasional congratulatory message sent through Instagram DMs when one of you posted about something exciting happening in your lives on your stories.

The next surprise came when you noticed that the RSVP card attached to the wedding invitation allowed you a plus one. You stuck the white cardstock to your fridge with a magnet shaped like a pink starfish, deciding that you needed more time to think before completely shutting down the idea of bringing a date.

It had been 3 years since your last relationship and even then, your last boyfriend wasn’t around for longer than a few months. It wasn’t that you didn’t want a relationship or love, you just felt that it was more worthwhile to focus on yourself and your career at this point in your life…and so you did. You were always open to the idea of meeting someone special or going on dates, but it didn’t happen often and certainly not often enough to appease your best friend.

Annie meant well, you knew that, and sometimes you really did just need that extra little shove to get yourself out there. Her loving frustration stemmed from seeing you inadvertently push guy after guy away because ‘he just isn’t right.’ She had heard that excuse from you so many times that she resorted to simply rolling her eyes as soon as the sentiment fell from your lips.

When the time came to send your wedding RSVP card back, you let your pen hover over the box labeled ‘just me!’ while running through possible scenarios. Of course, you wouldn’t be ruining the wedding if you RSVP’d with a plus one, but you knew you’d feel guilty for throwing off the headcount and seating arrangement and anything else that was meticulously accounted for.

You’d be trapped in the car with whoever you took with you for almost 24 hours, though, so it would have to be someone you know that you like. Or would you rather go alone and brave the lonely roads and possibly sketchy hotels? Impulsively, you checked off the box next to ‘me & plus one!’ and let out a sigh of relief, closing the card in an envelope to be sent out the next day. The decision was made and now you had to figure out who was coming with you.

With the fear of flying being ever-present as you planned your trip, you knew you’d have to drive to Maine if you wanted to go to the wedding. You’d been going on solo road trips here and there since you got your license years ago, but something felt different about this trip. After asking multiple friends if they’d be willing to take the trip with you and getting rejected by all of them for one reason or another, time was running out and you knew you had to do the one thing you were dreading.

Once Annie got the go-ahead, she was downloading Tinder and creating your profile before the words even left your mouth. She chose a few of her favorite photos of you and came up with a simple, yet informative bio that said a little about you and included that you were looking for a wedding date. Where the wedding was, she didn’t include. However, she reasoned that if it’s the right guy you’ll want him to come along for the trip.

You reluctantly approved of the profile and agreed that she would only log into the account to swipe on her phone when the two of you were together to save yourself the embarrassment of her possibly looking at your flirting in the messages. Swiping through possible suitors became part of your nightly routine as roommates over the last week or so, which led you back to the present.

“Just a few more and then I promise we’ll call it quits for the night, okay?” Annie almost pleaded, giving you the look you knew she gave everyone when she wanted to get her way. “I know the guy for you is out there, I can just feel it.” She wiggled her fingers playfully at you until you motioned to the TV that still displayed the last profile you shot down.

“Go ahead, then. I hate to say it but your intuition is actually pretty scary sometimes so we’ll see.” Sinking further into the couch, you give her a streak of no’s until one profile caught your eye.

“Wait!” You reach your hand out towards your friend as if to physically stop her from swiping too quickly on the gorgeous man being projected on the screen. Sitting up straighter and tucking your legs underneath you, you take in his features. Long, silky brown hair, beautiful chocolate eyes, plush lips that formed one of the most beautiful smiles you’d ever seen.

“Hey, okay! See, that’s the kind of excitement I like to see!” Annie snaps you out of your daze and begins swiping through the man’s photos. One of him smiling with an adorable brindle pitbull and acoustic guitar on hip lap, one of him standing in knee-high, green tinted water with a beer in hand, another of him in a paddle boat with the same dog on the most beautiful blue water.

‘This guy’s too good to be true,’ you think, feeling your heart beat a little faster at the idea of possibly matching with him.

“Okay so we’re swiping right on Sam?”

Sam. Of course his name is Sam. One of the sweetest names a man could have is Sam and with his looks, of course that’s his name. It just made sense. Sam…

“Yeah…yeah I think he’s cute,” you try to play it cool but Annie can see right through you and you know, her smirk visible out of the corner of your eye as you watch her swipe right.

“And it’s a match! He already swiped right on you, too!”

“Wait, what?” Not believing it, you grab her wrist lightly to tilt her phone towards you so you can get a better look. “Why would a guy like that want to match with me?”

Annie shoots you a look, not even entertaining the idea that you deserve any less than a man ‘like that.’ Instead, she moves over to your messages in the app to open a new chat with Sam.

“No no no no! You’re not messaging him!” You attempt to grab her phone to prevent her from possibly embarrassing you in front of the beautiful stranger. “I’ll message him later or…maybe tomorrow, I don’t know but I’ll do it!”

“I’m not going to watch you let this one slip away, okay? That’s the first guy you’ve shown this much interest in since we’ve started doing this.” Your friend brings up a good point, one that really did give you a glimmer of motivation to message Sam later and see what happens.

“Okay just…can you just log out for tonight and I’ll message him when I get into bed. Is that okay with you or would you like to give me more detailed instructions?” You say playfully, moving to turn the TV off and collect your phone and water bottle to bring into your room for the night.

“Oh you’ll message him when you’re in bed? I didn’t realize you were feeling so spicy tonight!” Annie giggles, logging out of your account and grabbing her own possessions to head to bed.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble, closing your bedroom door and getting ready to go to sleep.

An hour later you found yourself laying in bed with your eyes closed, waiting for sleep that seemingly wasn’t coming. With a sigh, you roll to your side and reach for your phone to check the time and see if mindless scrolling for a few minutes might help make you drowsy. Just as your thumb came to hover over the Instagram logo, you remembered. Sam. You forgot to message Sam.

Opening Tinder, you tap to your messages and find one unread from 11:37 pm. From Sam.

‘If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber ☺️’

Well…it’s a start.

-

*check out Sam’s profile here!*

[evanjinx]

alternative universe buddie fics recs :)

note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.

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"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.

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“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”

Or  In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.

if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]

Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.

if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]

Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.

in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]

in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.

It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]

Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.

Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]

When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.

Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]

Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.

Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]

Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."

*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy

Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]

It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.

MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]

After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.

Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]

The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out.  But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head. 

Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]

Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.

String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]

“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”

In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.

check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Zero-Sum Game (Brick/Blossom)

Summary: Brick and Blossom run into each other at Princess’ murder-mystery themed birthday party. It’s all good, old fashioned enmity and petty sniping until they accidentally get stuck in a room together. Trapped with only each other for company, they may just find a little common ground and settle the score once and for all.

xxx

Some friends over on Instagram decided to do a smut challenge this month just because. Enjoy, sinners! [Cross-posted on my AO3, link in my profile.]

WARNING: Very NSFW content ahead beginning at the ♕ symbol. Please take note of that E rating and read at your own discretion.

xxx

Princess Morbucks towered over her gathered audience from the second floor balcony of a palatial chateau in the heart of wine country. Draped in a mink stole and wrapped up in a scarlet mermaid cut gown, she struck quite the commanding presence for a dead woman. 

“I’ve been murdered!” she announced. “And the culprit walks among you.” She pointed dramatically at her guests below. 

“Lookin’ pretty fly for a dead lady!” whooped some hedge fund chode in a fedora. 

“Shut up, Christian. Your character is canonically mute,” Princess snapped. “Everybody else, get chatting. And you better find my killer before midnight.” She raised her champagne glass in a toast, and the room reciprocated. 

All except for one. 

Brick sipped his champagne out of a vintage flute with a scowl. Princess never skimped on quality. If he was going to be here at this overblown costume party surrounded by Peloton girl bosses and tech bros, he supposed it was the least she could do. 

A socialite he recognized from the outermost circumference of Princess’ social circle approached Brick in a hurricane of poodle skirt before he could escape. “Brick Jojo! I thought I recognized you.”

“Marina Moreau,” he greeted her. 

“Dashing as always, I see.” Marina dragged her talon-sharp nails over the high, wing collar of his starched evening shirt and tapped the white bow tie affixed at his throat. 

“As always,” he said, unsmiling. 

She retracted her hand from him and pressed it to the elegantly twisted pile of box braids on her head to play off his lack of enthusiasm cool and smooth. “So, found any clues yet?”

Brick took a sip of his champagne. “No.” And he didn’t plan on it, either. It was Princess’ prerogative how to throw her own birthday party, and if that meant he had to dress appropriately for the time period and remain in attendance for the duration of the evening, he would do it to the absolute best of his abilities. But no one could force him to partake in this childish Clue charade. 

Marina, for all her social graces, had her limits too. “Well, the night is young.” She raised her champagne glass to him with a polite smile and conveniently spotted another friend in the crowd at just that moment. “Oh, Laura!” She waved enthusiastically. “Sorry, excuse me.” She was already dashing away before she could finish her apology, perhaps as thankful to be out of there as Brick was. 

He took a breath and decided he had better navigate to some quieter corner where he was less likely to be roped into the evening’s frivolity. Without his phone on him (house rules, if it wasn’t in circulation in the 1950s, then it wasn’t allowed inside), he was looking ahead to a very long evening of one of his least favorite pastimes: people watching. It wasn’t that Brick couldn’t sit still with his own company for an extended period of time; rather, he was quite adept at solitude and often preferred it. But people were, by and large, excruciatingly dull to observe. He cared very little for social niceties, and found small talk in particular an exercise in medieval torture. Which was not to say he was incapable; if he wanted to, Brick could have worked this room with the finesse of a weaver spinning straw into gold. 

But that would require effort, and right now, Brick had the willpower only to drink the rest of this champagne on the beautiful but very stiff-looking chaise in the corner. Perhaps later, as the guests fanned out into the staged rooms and secret passages of the historic manor Princess had rented out for the evening’s festivities, he would find a moment to actually hang out with his best friend on the one day of the year he couldn’t say no to her self-indulgence no matter how ludicrous.

Brick side-stepped a chatty circle of guests eagerly discussing the “murderer’s” ransom note someone had found pinned to the wall on a dagger and splattered with red corn syrup, only to literally bump into a passing couple. It was only his quick reflexes that redirected his remaining champagne onto the floor, rather than onto the woman’s exquisite dress. 

“Excuse me—” he said at the same time as she said, “Oh, I’m sorry—”

The full-body heatwave of laying eyes on someone beautiful momentarily took the air from his lungs. She was movie star glamorous in white organza and a shower of black seed pearls, all collarbone and painted lips and a waterfall of red hair. 

And then, she had to go and open her unfortunate mouth. “Brick?”

The flush of unexpected attraction immediately fizzled and died the moment he recognized that nasally voice. He didn’t bother to hide his wince. “Blossom.”

Blossom’s surprise morphed into the simmering distaste that was more at home on her pretty face whenever he came into her line of sight. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her immediately. It had been a long time, and he wasn’t prepared for her. 

“Polaris,” said the guy on her arm. He wore a top hat and a monocle and thrust out a hand for Brick to shake. 

The shock of seeing Blossom Utonium—former arch nemesis and forever pain in his ass—in person for the first time in over a year was all it took to short circuit Brick’s sense of self respect and make him automatically shake the offered hand. 

“Wow, strong grip!” Polaris said. “Brick, you said?”

“Yeah,” Brick said, still checked out of himself. 

Blossom, similarly disrupted, recovered faster. “Brick,” she said again, this time with the requisite spoonful of suck my dick superiority she was famous for. “I didn’t expect to run into you here tonight.”

He couldn’t agree more. Blossom and Princess worked together, and Princess mentioned on occasion that they had become closer over the years now that all the hormonal drama of their teenage years was long behind them. Brick supposed it wasn’t completely unexpected that Princess would have invited Blossom to her birthday party, given that the bar for an invitation was low enough to have admitted Princess’ entire pilates class, but still, a role-play murder mystery party? Princess must have been downplaying how close she and Blossom had become for Blossom to show up tonight in full costume.

“Technically, I ran into you.” Brick gestured with his empty champagne glass.  

This, of course, was not an accomplishment to be proud of by any metric, except that it was an accomplishment he’d beaten her to, and Blossom frosted over. That gave him the energy to smile warmly. 

“Well, no harm done,” Polaris said genially. He adjusted his monocle as he critically examined Blossom’s dress. “I don’t see a single splash on you.”

Blossom smoothed her white gloved hands over the flared skirt of her dress. “No, he didn’t manage to get me at all.”

Brick’s smile evaporated. Asshole. “You might want to take a closer look in better lighting. It’d be a shame to ruin that dress. Sabrina?”

Blossom’s smile turned rictus. 

Polaris beamed through his monocle. “Wow, impressive eye! Are you a classical film buff?”

Brick didn’t need to be much more than breathing with a pulse to recognize a replica of the iconic Givenchy gown Audrey Hepburn had made famous in the 1954 classic. “Nah,” he said, and didn’t elaborate. 

If awkward could be a noise, Polaris squeaked it out just then. “Oh. Well, anyway.”

Brick mercilessly stared right at him. Tall, dark, handsome but in safe way, like he drank green smoothies for lunch and kept a swear jar on his office desk. The type who probably knew Blossom could slay a monster fifty times her size in the same sense that one knows colonoscopies exist and happen but has never actually experienced one themselves. 

The colonoscopy intervened before Brick could eye beam a hole through her date’s overactive Adam’s apple. “Brick and I went to school together,” she said. “Although, we’ve lost touch over the years.”

Polite and vaguely personal. Brick wondered if she actually liked this guy (a horrifying thought), or if she was trying to throw Brick off his guard somehow.  

Polaris brightened, his relief palpable. “Oh, that explains it.”

It?

“High school?” he asked. 

“And college,” Blossom said. Her pale eyes fixed on Brick. “The higher I aimed, he always followed. Brick’s always been difficult to shake.”

Like a herpes diagnosis, her poisonous expression announced. 

“Our paths diverged when Blossom went to law school and I went into consulting,” Brick said. “If I followed anything, it was the money and not a cent of student debt.”

Blossom expertly restrained a super volcano behind her serene face. He was surprised she hadn’t begun to spark for how congenially she was looking at him. 

“Oof, yeah, I hear you. I’m an attorney myself—antitrust specialist, uh-oh!” He said this last part with a hand guarding his mouth as if it were a dirty secret. Brick didn’t so much as blink. Polaris word vomited onward after a pause that was markedly too long. “But yeah, you know, there are days when I wish I could do it all over and just go backpacking in Peru or open a dive shop in Thailand, something totally off the grid and spontaneous.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. 

“Uh-huh.”

When neither Brick nor Blossom said anything further, Polaris changed the subject. “So, Brick. Any idea who killed our hostess?”

Brick snorted before he could help himself. “If she has it her way, we’ll be here all night speculating with no end in sight.”

To his surprise, Blossom actually grinned. “Leave it to Princess to find a way to stay trending even in death. This is a vanity murder.”

Unfortunately, Brick found that funny. She wasn’t supposed to be funny. 

“Hey, I bet we can solve it before everyone else,” Polaris said to Blossom. “Should we…?”

The excruciatingly unsubtle attempt to ghost the conversation was lost on no one. However, for the excuse to end this bizarre encounter, both Brick and Blossom were willing to take it. 

“Of course,” she said. “I just want to get another drink first.”

Yeah, I bet you do, Brick thought. He’d want one too if he had to spend the night playing Sesame Street Sherlock with a dude who had the self-awareness of a lawn chair. 

“Good luck,” Brick said, tipping his empty glass.

Blossom took his glass right out of his hand in a naked declaration of war. “I don’t need luck.”

Watching her sashay away to bus his empty glass tested Brick’s temper within an inch of nuclear fallout. A year since he’d seen her in the flesh (thirteen months, a week, and two days, to be precise—last year’s college reunions, a long weekend of glorious debauchery), and within five minutes she left him ready to pop an O-ring. He’d only seen her briefly that weekend at the tail end of a game of robo pound in the downstairs bar of the eating club they’d both been in, and those few minutes were enough. She didn’t play, of course—not in the general sense, just when he happened to be at the table. She didn’t even say hi to him. She probably wouldn’t have said hi to him tonight if he hadn’t literally run into her and her wilted lettuce leaf of a date hadn’t carried the conversation kicking and screaming. 

“Ahem!” Princess commanded attention from her balcony, where someone had given her a microphone and a generous goblet of wine. “It’s been over an hour, I’m told the murder weapon hasn’t even been found. Get your shit together find my killer before I start to decompose!” 

The guests laughed and chatter picked up as they hightailed it out of the bar room to explore the extent of the mansion and start to piece together clues in earnest. Princess caught Brick’s eye and raised her wine goblet in his direction in a casual threat—have fun or else. 

All things considered, Brick much preferred to take his chances against Blossom’s wrath than Princess’. So, he slinked to the bar to steal a new bottle of wine and quietly made his way through one of the side doors leading deeper into the house, feeling decently determined. If he was going to be forced to participate, then he would crush it. And most importantly, he’d crush Blossom’s dreams of winning this insipid mystery game.

xxx

As it turned out, having the power to cleave canyons and explode stars was not directly transferrable to sleuthing. Brick not only found himself behind several other groups in terms of clues collected, but he also couldn’t quite remember how he’d ended up in this corridor. The secret passageways were designed to be deliberately circuitous, and even his X-ray vision was no help when all it did was see through walls into rooms he didn’t recognize, anyway. 

Brick took a drink of the bottle of wine he’d purloined. Perhaps if he just lingered in the corridors, Princess would eventually forget about him and he could go home. He wondered what progress Blossom had made. Probably not much with that human remora glued to her side. He chuckled at his own joke—you brilliant son of a bitch—and leaned back against the wall to savor the aftertaste of the wine. 

A quiet grinding of stone sliding on stone didn’t worry him immediately, and it was his mistake. The wall gave out under his weight, and he tumbled through it on unstable legs, too surprised to react in time. He flailed on instinct, remembered the open wine bottle and the fact that he could fly, and tripped into an ungraceful hover just as the rotating wall shuddered back into place. 

“No, damnit!” 

Blossom put her hands on the wall Brick had just come through, but it didn’t budge. For all intents and purposes, it was a regular, ten-inch thick, granite wall no one was going to hear her shouting through. 

“What the hell?” Brick set the wine bottle on a wooden end table. His eyes quickly adjusted to the low lighting in the windowless room he’d tumbled into. It was not a large room. There was a lone sofa with a stained painter’s sheet draped over it collecting dust. Wall sconces buzzed with electricity, but Brick saw no switch for them embedded in the stone that surrounded him on all sides. An armless, pale statue of a Grecian nymph posed in the corner. An old painting of a woman who looked suspiciously like Princess but dressed like eighteenth century French nobility with a beehive wig a foot and a half tall took up an obscene amount of the far wall. There was no door, not even a fire place. 

“That’s my line,” Blossom huffed like she was slightly out of breath from pacing and shouting. “Not only am I still stuck in here, but now I’m stuck with you.”

“Hey, don’t put this on me.”

The look on her face told him that ship had already sailed. 

Brick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s just go.” He moved to punch his way through the revolving wall, but Blossom’s Super-powered grip caught his fist before he got the chance. 

“Don’t!” she hissed. “You’ll bring down the floor above us.”

He tried to yank his hand free, but she held fast despite his Super strength. “What the fuck do I care? I’m not staying in here.”

Ice bloomed under her fingers and seeped a dreadful, aching cold through the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “I said, no.”

Blossom had the malicious focus of the protagonist in a Korean revenge thriller, and for the briefest moment Brick faltered and slackened. 

“If you use force, you’ll cause thousands in property damage,” she said. “And you could hurt anyone on the other side or above us.”

So what, he wanted to say. Might as well have said from the way her face curdled. 

“Even if you don’t care about collateral damage, think of Princess. This place is a historical landmark. We’re talking a lot more than your average fine if there are any accidents tonight.”

Brick gathered his wits and pulled out of her grip, which she allowed this time. Frost flaked from his wrist and left it damp as his supernatural heat melted it away. “You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I negotiated the venue contract for her.”

Brick wondered what it must be like for a normal human lawyer to sit across the table from a Super who could eye beam a hole through his esophagus. He fantasized that guy was her flaccid date for the night and smiled to himself. 

“So we’re stuck in here until someone opens that revolving door again,” she concluded, her focus shifted entirely to the wall in question. 

Brick considered just punching through the wall, anyway. But as much as he hated to agree with Blossom, she had a point about Princess and the hell that would rain down upon him if he jeopardized her reputation in any way. “Right.”

At least he’d thought to bring wine.

Blossom watched him with shrewish hesitation as he tugged the painter’s sheet off the sofa—an antique, cherrywood settee upholstered in tanned velvet that looked like it belonged in an eighteenth century French court—smoothed his coattails, and sat down. He draped himself over the cushion, taking up far more room than he needed to, at the sight of her face pinching in quiet judgment. When he grabbed the wine and took a long sip from the bottle, she couldn’t seem to stomach his indulgence any longer. 

“Enjoying yourself?” 

“It is a party.”

She rolled her eyes and tugged at her bolt of hair. Wispy tendrils had sprung free of their fishtail confinement over the course of the evening. He imagined her tugging on it when she was irritated, or anxious, or bored and feeling like smashing something. She’d made healthy progress unraveling the thing in the short time since he’d first run into her. Which reminded him. 

“Hey, where did Polenta go?”

Blossom gave him a comical look that lasted all of a half second before warping into something far more resting bitch face. “It’s Polaris.”

“Uh-huh.” 

She didn’t return his grin, but she didn’t tell him off, either. “He’s probably looking everywhere for me.”

“Yeah, I bet he is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Brick shrugged and took another gulp of wine. 

Blossom resumed staring holes into the revolving wall, which unfortunately did not magically convince it to move. “He’s my coworker. He’s a nice guy.”

Well, well, well. “He’d have to be with such a stupid fucking name.”

Blossom chuckled humorlessly. “Don’t be an ass.”

Unlikely, considering she was enjoying it on some baser, indulgent level. The thing about Blossom was that her horse wasn’t nearly as high as she pretended it was. As someone who had known her since they were five and grown up alongside her, Brick was uniquely qualified to damn her achievements and delight in her fuck ups. Nine times out of ten, he was directly responsible for (or collaterally to blame for) them. She could be despicable, and she could be ruthless. And sometimes, when the cameras weren’t rolling or laws weren’t breaking, she could even be fun. 

Brick hated that he knew these things about her. Butch said it was fate. Mojo said it was his mandate, whether he accepted it or not. And Boomer said it was unparalleled luck. How many people can say they’ve found their true and equal counterpart in another?

If you asked Brick (you’re not asking, he’s just telling you whether you want to hear it or not), he’d say it was annoying. He couldn’t escape Blossom no matter how far he roamed or how high he rose, because she would always rise just as high. She was the only person who ever could. And for better or worse, that gave them something of a common ground.

For example, their sense of humor. 

“What do you even talk about with a guy whose parents named him Polaris? Cultural appropriation and kale?”

Blossom pursed her lips so hard not to smile it was a wonder she didn’t bite through them. “More like beard oil and the manifest destiny of SpaceX.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” 

She looked away to hide what he knew was a smile. “He’s a nice guy, though. A brilliant lawyer too.”

“He looks like his favorite movie is Joker, unironically.”

Blossom covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

Brick leaned over his knees, a glimmer in his eyes. “I bet Jordan Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life saved him from a really dark place.”

“Oh my god, stop.” She couldn’t contain her smile anymore. “Just because he’s gauche doesn’t mean he’s secretly a mustache twirling alt-right.”

“He was wearing a fucking monocle, Blossom.”

She got herself under control and faced him, straight-backed and power posing. “I’m not standing here listening to you insult my date’s extremely period-appropriate costume. At least his says something about his personality.”

Yeah, that he’d jump at the chance to join Fight Club. 

Brick got up and smoothed a hand down the front of his starched shirt. “You really think my suit has nothing to say about me?”

Blossom gave him a downright seedy once-over just to mess with him, he was sure of it. He suppressed a shiver nonetheless. “You look like Edward Cullen sullenly waiting another fifty years to seduce a troubled high school girl.”

It took a marked effort not to laugh. “I look good.”

“Congratulations.”

xxx

At some point, they ended up sitting side by side on the settee and Blossom got ahold of his wine. 

“I can’t believe no one’s found us yet,” Blossom said as she took a drink. “Surely they’ve solved the murder by now. It was so obvious.”

Brick eyed her askance. “You and Potpourri solved it?”

Blossom shot him a dirty look. “Stop that.”

He took the wine back while she was busy being a sourpuss.

“Wait a minute.” Blossom grinned, and nothing good had ever come of a grinning Blossom. “You didn’t solve it, did you?”

Brick took a long sip of wine in lieu of answering. 

Blossom shifted on the settee to face him, her skirt a tsunami of fabric slowly overtaking the space between them. “I bet you spent the night wandering around by yourself being unpleasant to everyone. No wonder Marina was gossiping about you.”

“What the fuck did Marina say?”

This, of course, was a mistake. But Blossom had always known how to poke him until hornets came alive under his skin. “Nothing unflattering enough to put a chink in your massive ego, don’t worry.”

God, she was such an insufferable bitch when she wanted to be, and Blossom seemed always to want to be when she was around him. He could still feel the phantom sting of a quarter on his temple where she’d “accidentally” launched it at the speed of sound in his direction during reunions last year. Sorry, didn’t see you there. Her friends, drunk on Beast and nostalgia, just laughed and resumed their game at the table on the opposite side of the tap room. Just when he’d successfully forgotten she was there and put all his effort into enjoying the glory days of college with his friends, she crept up on him like asbestos in the basement, not to be ignored on pain of mortal poisoning.

Whoever said Blossom Utonium was a paragon of virtue had never been stuck in a secret panic room with her and only one nearly-drained bottle of wine. 

“What were you even doing wandering the halls by yourself?” She leaned in closer, and he clutched the wine bottle to him for protection. “Were you looking for me?”

“And you worry about my ego.”

“Did you think you could beat me to the solution?”

That patronizing tone had always had a way of bleeding him until he resurrected, determined to undo her and everything she had worked for with the mindless focus of a hungry zombie. 

She leaned in even closer. He could smell her Dior perform, see the hollow between her collarbones and the path it carved to the promise of cleavage under the tube top of her starlet’s dress. Her lips were so red, and so very close. “Did you want to challenge me?”

It wasn’t as if Brick had never considered her. It was impossible not to consider what it would be like to fuck the shit out of one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. But this push and pull between them, this zero-sum game that required one of them to play catch up while the other flew on ahead, was just that: a game. As untenable as it was facetious. 

Brick swished the wine, but the bottle was finally empty, so he tossed it unceremoniously on the floor. “Historically speaking, that’s rarely ended in my favor.”

Blossom smiled then. Like, actually, warmly smiled. He’d rarely seen it directed at him, maybe never. Her hand was cool through his lapel. “Aw. That’s almost gracious of you.” 

“I literally could not have been more gracious.”

She laughed, and it was a nice laugh, not one of those condescending, noblesse oblige chuckles meant for the rabble. “Stop, this is too weird. I don’t like you being agreeable.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to give Palindrome a run for his money.”

She shoved him. “You are such a dick. His name is Polaris, okay? North Star, mariner’s waypoint, a guiding light.”

“He’s done a shit job guiding you out of this room.”

“Oh my god.”

“I bet he gave up.”

“He did not!”

“He totally did. Even for a human nettle, no pussy is worth all this effort.”

Blossom’s frown turned serious then. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s the truth.” 

They sat up facing each other now on the far opposite sides of the settee, rigid and ready to draw like two gunslingers in a cowboy movie. 

“Not that it’s even remotely your business,” Blossom said as she completely made it his business by talking about it, “but Polaris and I aren’t that serious. This is only our third date.”

“I absolutely have to know what he did to gaslight you into giving him even five minutes after your first date.”

“He was nice to me. I know that’s a difficult concept for you to wrap your costume pocket watch around.”

To which Brick took considerable offense, because that T-bar watch was the genuine article, not some Party City gimmick. Brick was good at a great many things, but fashion was something he was great at. And it was the mandate of one with impeccable taste such as him to be a fashion ambassador to the benighted Polaris’s of the world.

A fucking monocle. 

“Okay. If holding the door for you and complimenting your hair is all it takes to get you to lift your skirt, then yeah, I guess that’s a little beyond my capacity—”

Brick was no stranger to the sharp sting of an open palm across his cheek. Coming from Blossom, however, it hit him with the angry force of a sledge hammer and rattled his teeth in their gums. 

“Fuck you,” Blossom spat, low and snake-like. She got up and paced to the other side of the room, as far away from him as physically possible. 

xxx

She deserved an apology. For all his posturing and honed disdain for Blossom, Brick received no pleasure from seeing her truly upset or in pain. He never had, if he was honest with himself. The game just…went too far sometimes. Sometimes it was her fault, but this time it was definitely his. 

Blossom didn’t look at him when he approached and stood directly behind her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I don’t know why I said that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

She said nothing. She didn’t even look at him. He may as well have not been there at all. 

“I know my opinion on it doesn’t matter, but for what it’s worth,” he said, “I don’t believe that about you.” 

“No, it doesn’t matter,” she snapped. Then, more subdued: “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.”

There was a tenseness to her shoulders, like a rabbit with its ears up ready to bolt at the first disturbance in the underbrush. This close to her, he could see the subtle flutter of the vein in her neck beneath her diamond-hard skin. She turned her head toward him slightly, probably wondering why he was still standing too close, and his eyes were drawn to her throat, now bared in offering. 

Offering. 

“Brick,” she said, cautious. 

A little idea popped into his head, just a simple inspiration, and not a novel one. He’d had this idea before. His war with Blossom was generally cold in nature: they were two celestial bodies orbiting each other ever on the verge of total gravitational annihilation. They rarely crossed that line, but they had been known to edge each other close to it. It was in those more impassioned throes of shared animosity that Brick imagined other ways of settling their differences. 

He always dismissed that lubricious voice encouraging him toward madness. Because that was what it was—madness. Madness that he couldn’t escape her no matter where his job or his friends or his goals led him. Madness that they were stuck in this windowless little room bored out of their minds, that no one had stumbled in after them yet. Madness that Blossom’s gaze flickered to his like she sensed it too. 

♕

He moved slowly. Not so slowly that he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing, but enough that she could have slapped him again. 

She didn’t slap him, but she did make a surprising little breathy sound when he brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder and pressed his lips to her throat. 

He barely got a taste of her when she turned fully around and placed her open palm on his chest, but she didn’t push him out of her personal space. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth even as she said it, a formality for the record, plausible deniability. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, dragging his fingers along her arm to her dangerously loose fishtail. 

She hesitated (she hesitated!) like she was curious (like she was curious!), and Brick moved before she could let something as useless as scruples extinguish the glaze of unmistakable desire in her eyes when she looked back up at him. 

He kissed her properly this time, a collision of teeth and tender muscle as he pushed and she gave and he pushed her some more. For all her iciness, Blossom’s mouth was as warm any other’s, sweet and pliant like she herself was not, not for him, at least. The thought that maybe she was with Polaris made him loathe her easy submission to him.

Brick didn’t realize the rumbling sound he made was in the back of his throat and not just in his head until Blossom—her hand still pressed to his chest—dug her gloved fingers into his shirt and bit his lip hard enough to stun. He reacted to this latest attack by pressing her harder against the wall until there was nowhere left to go but through. It had been a minute since he’d been with a woman, and his erection was already as keen as a teenager’s against her thigh through the layers of organza. 

She went along with it.

Fuck Blossom grew from a sinister seed buried in his grey matter into a creature of writhing limbs and gasping breaths as they made out against the wall like it was the single greatest idea Brick had ever had. 

The thing about her gown was that it was one of those heavy, billowy sorts that required more than two hands to manage safely. It would take care and a little time to unlace it properly without causing any damage, and while Brick would have loved to watch her striptease him to the outer limits of his control, he wasn’t clocking that vibe tonight. Maybe next time. 

My, aren’t we confident, he congratulated his own urges.

The sight of her flushed with her hair long and free of its braiding as she stood pressed up against the stone wall in that iconic dress put all thoughts of divesting her of it out of his mind. This was an image he wanted seared into his memory forever. The clothes would remain on. 

Feeling good about his flawless decision-making thus far, Brick grabbed her by the hip and pulled her flush against the bulge in his pants. She made a gasping sound, indignation perhaps at his bossing her around in such a small space, but whatever protest she was revving up for devolved into a little moan when he kissed a tender spot just below her ear and palmed her breast over the bodice of her dress. 

Brick didn’t pay much attention to their migration across the wall until they bumped the armless statue in the corner and it wobbled. Blossom froze. “Watch it.”

Even horny and wanting him, there was no overlooking her incredible talent for mood-killing with a choice tone of voice. Why god would gift such a smarmy, difficult woman with such a hot body was a strong argument for atheism, if you asked Brick. Unless there was some divine asshole up there punishing him by conjuring such an annoying personality into such a gorgeous woman. 

But let’s face it: if Blossom didn’t have such a fucking annoying personality, Brick wouldn’t be here dry humping her against the wall while forty other guests roamed the halls in search of his best friend’s vanity murderer. She, at least, was a proper challenge who could hold his interest.

“Well?” 

Brick smirked at her impatience. “It’s all demands with you tonight, huh.”

Blossom was surely about to tell him to go suck his own dick then if he was going to be like that, but he yanked her hair and shoved his tongue in her mouth to give it something to fill it that would please them both more than her complaints. 

Pleased he was when she surprised him by threading her fingers in his hair. It was almost tender, definitely intimate (she was not attempting to cause him pain, ergo), and the tingling shiver he got from her nails gently scraping the base of his skull plunged him right back into the genius of his master plan for the evening. 

Her hand boldly cupping his cock through his pants was a fantasy he lamented putting a stop to (Brick had always appreciated a partner who took initiative), but there was no way he trusted her to be amenable to his direction until she was totally relaxed. And besides, if he was going to watch Blossom fall beautifully apart, he wanted to have most of his wits about him to appreciate it properly. 

Her skirt was not as heavy as it looked, and he was careful not to let it snag on the wall as he began to gather it up and trace a path up the inside of her thigh. Blossom bit her lip in anticipation, and that gave him a wicked idea. He sneered into a new kiss, letting her feel a bit of teeth, and broke it. She tried to follow him, but his index and middle finger wagged no in her face. 

Through the haze of her lust, he could see her weighing it all out in her head, the consequences of submission and the reward for indulgence. Even if she refused, it would still be worth it to watch her come to terms with this newest depth of his perverted obsession with control and how far he was willing to go for an extra point on the leaderboard. 

Her moment of consideration was barely a moment at all. She drew his fingers into her mouth and held his gaze, true to champion form. Except, Brick hadn’t anticipated the magnitude of the effect this sight would have on him: looking down on Blossom sucking his fingers, sliding her nimble tongue over their lengths, slowly working her way down to the knuckles, all while she watched him for a reaction. He supposed such an enthusiastic performance had earned the breathless “Oh, fuck” he could’t stop himself from gasping out. 

The pop of her lips releasing his fingers had to be the saddest sound he had ever heard. Compared to that happy side quest, pushing her underwear aside and sinking his wet fingers inside her was almost underwhelming. 

Except, the way she tilted her head back to the wall and hissed through her teeth. 

Except, the slickness of his fingers that had just been in her mouth. 

Her mouth…

Brick kissed her talented mouth as she writhed against him. When he pulled out and swirled his fingers directly over her clit, she whimpered against his lips. He entertained himself that that was his name she’d cried out as she tightened her fingers around the back of his neck in such a way that was becoming very difficult for him not to crave next time. 

(Next time!)

Then again, he didn’t want to spend too much time on this. Just get her ready. Anything more, and she’d start to feel entitled. We can’t have that.

Predictably, she was not all smiles when he abruptly stopped touching her. Her snooty protest died in her throat when he licked his fingers clean with the most obnoxiously innocent look he could muster. Unfortunately, he continued to forget exactly who he was seducing and the lengths she would go to do a bit of bossing herself. 

Her strength was Super when she pushed him across the room and forced him down on the settee, while she leaned over him. Her look was absolutely ferocious. “Comfortable?”

Brick spread his arms out over the back of the settee. It was not a large piece of furniture. It could accommodate the two of them sitting side by side with a couple inches of space in between, but certainly not enough to lie supine. Perhaps on all fours, but one look at her ample skirt and he decided that was not in the cards tonight. 

He spread his legs enough to get well and truly comfortable, completely unashamed of the tentpole in his pants. Another brilliant idea came to him. “Room for one more.” He patted the tentpole.

The twitch of her lips told him he’d amused her, and she rewarded him by shimmying out of her underwear and tossing them onto the floor. She was quick about it, a rather impressive feat in heels and that gown, and now she was kissing him again, hot and hungry. Which made it a little hard to concentrate on finding the zipper in his criminally high-waisted trousers. Whoever decided that white tie formal required a nipple-high waistline and a waistcoat must have been an incredibly influential eunuch. 

Blossom tugged his T-bar watch chain, a warning of her waning patience. He sat up straighter in order to get a better angle under the waistcoat and at last found the zipper on his fly. It took a bit of coaxing, but he got it down and out sprang his very eager cock against Blossom’s gloved forearm. It slapped her with an audible thump, startling them both a little. 

Blossom looked down at him. “Hm.”

Brick flushed scarlet. That ambiguous little appraisal held too much power, and she knew it. Perhaps it was payback. Perhaps he deserved it (he definitely deserved it). He found himself unable to resent her that moment of comeuppance for long because she immediately wrapped one silky, gloved hand around him and leaned all her weight on the knee she had placed very alarmingly on the cushion right up against his balls. 

But the sensation of smooth silk swiping over his head. 

But the knowledge that she was soaked and aching for him under that lavish skirt. 

Forget games and power. He wanted her, and it didn’t matter anymore that she knew that. “Get over here.” Brick pulled her hip to guide her to where he wanted her, but her hand on his chest stopped him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, as one talking to a misbehaving child.

Brick’s mind drew a total blank. He tried to anticipate what she was going to say next, and realizing it, he mentally kicked himself for being so goddamned slow. Thanks for that, he complimented his cock still happily twitching in Blossom’s hand.

“I’m not letting this,” she gave him a cute little squeeze that drained all the air from his lungs, “anywhere near me without protection.”

The way she said anywhere gave Brick several very sordid ideas, a clear déjà vu of scenes never to be, because this was a one-time thing and of course she hadn’t meant it like that. For all his charms and excellence, he knew there wouldn’t be a next time with her. This was merely a soft reset to even the playing field before they were back to undercutting each other. “Well, I could just…”

He could just…

A string of shockingly vivid images assaulted his mind then:

Coming all over Blossom’s chest.

His cum glistening on her breasts. 

Her fingers painting a slippery path between her breasts.

Her fingers brought to her mouth. 

Her exquisite mouth…

“Whatever lewd fantasy you’re imagining right now, forget it. I don’t know your history. I’m not about to risk it,” she said, dismally sensible. 

For the record, Brick was extremely diligent about getting himself tested and taking the necessary precautions, but he surmised that his word alone wouldn’t convince Blossom. She wasn’t actively backing out, and he didn’t want to give her a reason to when they were so close to getting what they both wanted. 

“Okay. All right. Let me just…” 

She rolled her eyes and retrieved her clutch from the end table, popped it open, and drew out a shiny, tinfoil square. Brick’s relief at her preparedness only barely overshadowed the brief but scathing pang of jealousy. Blossom, always prepared. Prepared for whom? Surely not that damp cockwit Polaris. 

In his preoccupation rolling the condom on and cementing his undying resentment for Blossom’s milquetoast date, he was slow to clock her kicking off her heels and rearranging her skirts to straddle herself over his lap until he felt the tip of himself sinking slowly into the warmth of her folds. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down over him in one brutal, swift movement that had them both choking under the new pressure. 

She was so wonderfully tight. But he’d known that. He’d known she would be like this. Even her cunt was against him. Even this was a challenge. Brick wanted to tell her this, to watch her huff and squirm. But instead, he settled for getting her moving. 

It took a couple tries, but they quickly got a rhythm going. Brick pulled her down as close to his hips as she could fit, and she rose slowly off him, unsheathing herself nearly to the end of him, before he reeled her back in. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder and pooled in her lap over her gown, shimmering with every thrust, and holy hell was she beautiful like this, happy and vocal with her hands clutching at him as if to absorb him and this moment into her memory forever. Pink sparks burst at her fingertips, an unexpected surge of power that went straight to his cock and made him invincible. 

“I bet he couldn’t fuck you like this,” Brick said, mean and cocky and right. 

Blossom was in her own head, her eyes closed to all but the carnal service he provided. Ignoring him even as she took from him. Brick didn’t like to be ignored. He let his own power leak out of his hands and sear her through her dress where he held her, and she tossed her head with a cry of pleasure. 

“I bet you’ll think of me every time you let some nice, simple guy touch you and wish it were me instead.”

She opened her eyes and looked right at him, her fury a sight to behold. “You are so full of yourself.”

“You’re more full of me at the moment.”

Before she could snap back and steal the last word, he twisted his hips in a new angle that surprised her and made her open her mouth in a silent scream. Brick sat up and grabbed her chin, forcing her into a sloppy kiss even as he continued to flex and bend beneath her. He pushed more power into the small of her back where he locked her in place, delighting in the way she shivered and clung to him. 

“You love this,” he taunted her.

“I…”

“You hate me but you love being with me. Say it.”

“Ah—!”

He felt her climax clench around him, wet and warm and wonderful pressure, her cunt happy and welcoming to him like she herself had never been. And in this too he took a specific and needling sort of pride, that if he could convince Blossom to want him, then he could convince the whole world. 

Brick rode that feeling out to his own finish, taking comfort in the warmth of her, though he would never tell her this (he is keeping score, you know). Her breathing was hot and ragged against the hollow of his neck, and there was probably a lipstick stain on his collar. A small price to pay for the simple bliss of detumescing inside her as she held him. 

He looked up once he’d caught his breath to find that Princess’ French court doppelgänger was staring coldly down at him from her ostentatiously large dais. Which, even for him, was a little too weird. He gave Blossom a gentle squeeze on her thigh and pressed a soft kiss to her ear. 

She took a deep breath and rose her weight off of him with a little tinny noise when he popped free. Jesus Christ, he should really tell her to watch the sounds she made around him or they’d be here all night fucking on the ceiling. The spent condom made for a very sorry sight. Waste of cum, if he was being honest. There were better places for it, softer, warmer places, but Blossom was already settling on the settee next to him and burrowing down on the cushion. 

Brick got up to dispose of the used condom, but seeing as there was no waste bin, he incinerated it in his hand, leaving not even ashes to remember it by. He then fixed his trousers as best he could and plopped down on the couch next to Blossom, who had taken advantage of his temporary absence to claim more cushion real estate for herself. Her underwear remained discarded on the floor, and she showed no signs of wanting it back. 

It was a testament to both their languid moods that she draped her legs over his lap and he let her. 

If only he had a cigarette. That would have completed the setting, costumes and coitus and all. 

“I don’t hate you, Brick,” she said at length. 

Her eyes were closed as she lounged. She still wore those elbow-length satin gloves, and her hair was splayed over the arm of the settee like slow-falling magma. 

Brick leaned his head back and ran his hands over her smooth, bare legs, feeling oddly endeared to her in this moment. They said indifference, not hatred, was the opposite of love. Brick had never once been indifferent to Blossom, and that was no small accomplishment over the course of twenty-odd years and so many forgettable faces on both ends of the likability spectrum. In the end, she always remained.

“I don’t hate you, either,” he said.

Perhaps she couldn’t escape him any more than he could escape her. 

Perhaps that wasn’t so bad, after all.

xxx

It was hours later when Princess finally found them locked in a secret room behind a revolving wall asleep on the couch like teenagers who’d stayed up too late watching a movie. She didn’t tell Polaris, Blossom’s date she’d only brought because she insisted on not showing up stag, even though Princess had assured her nobody fucking cared and anyway, tonight was about Princess, not Blossom. But there was no convincing her the moment Princess spilled that Brick was invited too and might show up. 

It wasn’t that Princess had predicted things would end up here, but she hadn’t not predicted it. It was hard not to wonder when two of her closest friends spent so much of their time talking about each other. 

She carefully dropped her monogrammed handkerchief over Blossom’s discarded underwear before a random staff member could walk in unannounced and embarrass her.

“I should leave you locked in here. Morons,” Princess muttered to herself. 

Next time, perhaps. Next time, she’d go out of her way to make sure they had somewhere a little more appropriate to retreat to at her next soiree if they so chose. Somewhere with a door and a mini bar. 

After all, Princess was nothing if not extremely good to her friends.

xxx

Blossom’s dress

Brick’s tux

Princess’ dress

Reblogs are very highly appreciated! If you like my writing, please check out my AO3 for more PPG fics, or the links in my Tumblr profile for Tumblr-exclusive one-shots. Thanks for reading. :)

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Izuku Midoriya/Deku (BNHA/MHA)

I'm showing up in tags again yay! Time to repost this

Finally I am dishing out MHA content and kicking off with one of my favorite boys nice

TWs: Fem!Reader, Yandere, kidnapping, delusional mindsets, infantilization, mentions of violence/mutilation, mentions of murder, mentions of fake suicide, n//s//fw themes/mentions/brief content, mentions of virginity/sex shaming, dark content, mentions of a high school setting

TWs (n//s//fw section/below the cut): noncon, brief dealing with/mentions of past sex trauma, generally depraved/dark content, pain content, infantilization What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

High key delusional. (I think everyone I've seen in the yan bnha community agrees on this lmao.) But really, he acts that way because he's not naturally that way - he has to make an active effort to lie to himself and to you in order to believe his delusions.

Obsessive. I mean, look at what this boy does to his heroes. You bet he has an entire notebook dedicated to your existence. It starts off simple, an entry regarding your quirk if you have one, or perhaps he feels compelled to write a simple entry about someone he met if you don't. Gradually it turns into a log of all his encounters with you, his observations of your day, his thoughts about you, a strict schedule of what you do. The things you do while he watches - you KNOW the boy is a stalker. He has a folder in his phone gallery of just quick snaps he's taken of you walking around, smiling, laughing, looking at your phone, lots of pictures from the back, sleeping at your desk, and a few more risky ones. The time he accidentally walked into the wrong shower room after a class and just happened to catch you getting out of the shower. Slightly blurry pictures through the window of the girls dorm of you getting dressed, laying in bed, sitting at your desk doing homework. Dark, barely visible images of your sleeping form just barely illuminated by moonlight. You really ought to lock those windows.

He's on the border where he's just comfortable enough to talk to you, but far too nervous to ever confess, or spend as much time with you as he'd like. Of course, preferably he could spend every waking moment by your side, but, he's aware enough to know you need space. He's fine with that. He's technically with you anyway, you just don't know it. And really, he likes stalking, genuinely. He likes the feeling of knowing you're unaware of his presence, the thrill of risk and the giddy satisfaction he gets knowing this is your candid, non-performing self, he can see what you're really, truly like when you think you're alone, and it's just so cute.

Particularly for a quirkless, civilian darling, or if darling's quirk has no combative purposes, he'll be much more protective. He's one to have the delusion that you're too fragile for the world, and that you're inevitably bound to get hurt, it's not safe out there. You're like a little kitten, one that's just a little too curious for her own good, doesn't know how big and bad the world is, how people who want to hurt her are out there. Kittens stay inside all day where they belong, safe to be the soft little housepets they are.

History/info stalker as well. He will find out everything about your past and you in general - memorize things like your height, birthday, grades, blood type, etc. Will also deep-dive through any social media you have, even managing to find anonymous ones, probably by sneaking through your phone as your sleep. He'll learn about your family, how well they treat you, gauges how hard they'll search for you. He'll want to know about any history you have regarding relationships and sex, too. He'll be disappointed to learn you've ever been with and done things with someone else, but that's ok. Everyone makes mistakes, and he can forgive that.

Massive savior complex. This goes double if he did save you from a situation -- he's literally your hero. And he expects that you should at least be grateful enough to acknowledge that. If your family or boyfriend or past boyfriends were abusive or unkind in any way, if you were generally struggling in school or work, if you had any sort of bad life, it will also emphasize this, and he feels he saved you from all of that, and is giving you a better life. And he'll remind you, frequently.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Inevitable, but he's a planner and he takes some time. He's smarter than he seems and he will formulate an extensive plan. If we're talking senior Izuku, well, he's limited, as he only has the dorms and his old apartment where his mother lives. He's likely to wait it out until post-graduation, wait until he gets his own place, which will now be as soon as possible. Whenever you plan to start university or hero work or whatever, well, you'll never actually make it there.

As for how, it depends on your trust. If he's managed to get close to you as he hopes to, at least to the point of friendship, he'll likely just invite you over, one last time before you go your separate ways in life. You walk right into your own imprisonment, not thinking anything is off when he locks the door behind you. If not, if he was never that close to you, or you turn down his offer, well, he'll just do it the old fashioned way. You're a naive little thing, and you'll inevitably be walking by yourself at night at some point for whatever reason, and he knows how to make chloroform. He may look small-ish, but he has a deceptive strength even without the use of OFA, you can't actually hope to overpower him. If he can't catch you out walking, well, once again, you really ought to lock those windows.

Now, a hero Deku, a few years into his 20s and quickly gaining popularity, that sees some poor little civilian getting hurt, he'll just use the excuse of taking you to get help. Clearly you've suffered a concussion, you're not in your right mind, and if you pick up on what's going on and try to call for help, he'll just say so to passersby. People have no reason to distrust him, he's a well-reputed, extremely popular hero, he would never harm someone. So when he says he's just taking you to get medical assistance, no one bats an eye.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Like some of my previous yans, he's one that will intentionally set up escape opportunities just to see how well your conditioning is going. Leave the door unlocked, but sit and wait outside. Make the bonds just a little bit too loose to see if you wiggle out of them. Leave things that could be used as lockpicks to see how smart you are. It's all a test, though, don't worry. He'll be waiting right outside to make sure you don't actually end up going out into the world and getting yourself hurt. He'll be disappointed in you, but don't worry, he's not too mad - it's just his way of knowing you don't understand yet.

Generally, it's tight security. He's one to invest in electronic security -- a shock collar, tracking anklets, cameras that sense motion, a bracelet that tracks your heartbeat, and all of which send him notifications to his phone if anything is out of the ordinary. The cameras he'll be able to watch a live stream of at any time - he's gotten to where he eats lunch alone in his office so that he can just kick back and watch you.

Now, he has something of an urge to show you off, he would love nothing more than for the world to see what a cute little wife he has, but he restrains this urge for your safety. He has a lot of enemies, and he can't have them knowing about his weakness, he can't stand the thought of you getting hurt because of him. So don't expect to even have anyone who knows about you to rely on.

As for attempts... Should you manage to get through all his measures, well, clearly that means they weren't enough. He's another yandere that, you probably shouldn't try unless you are one hundred percent certain you'll succeed, because if not you likely won't get another chance. Security measures will bump up, and he'd likely implant something in you - a tracking chip beneath the skin, deep enough you can't hope to cut it out. That way, even if you get out into the city, he can easily find you and save you again. If you seriously manage to escape for a while, he doesn't handle it well emotionally, to be honest, he might get pretty upset, but again, everyone makes mistakes, so if you apologize -- and you will, even if he has to resort to unpleasant measures to force one out of you -- he'll forgive you.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Izuku is significantly smarter than he seems, much like his strength. Despite his deluded nature, he still recognizes that, since she's too dumb to comprehend her own safety, she's likely to try and pull tricks to get back out of her cage. He's perceptive and can read facial expressions and tone of voice very well, so if you're a good liar there's about a 75% chance he'll pick up on it -- anything else and he definitely will.

He's likely to go along with it, just to expose your lies or plan in the end. He likes giving you the humiliation because it will hopefully make you even less likely to do it in the future.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

Izuku goes out of his way to keep you well-entertained, but it's all very... infantilizing. For example, he gets you streaming services and the like, but puts parental content locks on everything so you basically can only consume extremely g-rated type of content. He doesn't want you watching anything violent, or dirty or vulgar, it's not suiting such an innocent little thing. He won't even let you watch the news, unless occasionally forcing you to watch something that he knows is being aired about him, in which case he wants you to see so you're reminded of how good he is. He'll also be able to see your search history, and know if you tried to look up anything he wouldn't approve of, especially things like lockpicking or "how to disable human shock collar," you know, that sorta thing. Or more... adult things, which are also blocked. Besides, you have him, you don't need that.

He'll let you cook, but only in his presence, can't have you getting hurt without him there to fix it. You'll probably start off restrained to a bedroom -- a very heavily safety-proofed one -- in the beginning, gradually earning the privilege of going to other rooms once you've proven you can be trusted.

He'll also really try to get you almost anything you want, really. Clothes, books, hobby supplies, anything he thinks will make you happy and adjust more easily. You can use this to your advantage, really, if you're willing to settle in for your new lifestyle.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Of course, besides the obvious no escaping, no outside contact, and no attacking him, he's actually still got a lot of behavioral rules. Much like the content he allows you to consume, he expects the same from you -- no cursing, no drinking, no vulgarity. No handling knives while he's gone, and he'll know if you do, from the motion-sensing cameras that will alert him of your presence in the kitchen. He's one to humiliate you. Specifically, if you've proven you can't behave at all, or tried to really fight him, he'll get you a nice big cage to live in until you have learned your lesson. The kind they make for big dogs, short enough to force you on all fours, complete with bedding, a padlock, and a water bowl for you to drink from. You'll stay there until you can understand what you did wrong and are ready to grovel at his feet about it. During that time, he'll also ignore anything you say, acting like you're not there.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

He can't risk anything that would damage his reputation and career, so murder is off the table. Unless, of course, it's not murder, but rather a sort of, how do they call it... suicide by hero. There was no other choice, really. It's sad to have a kill on his record, but people understand that sometimes these things happen.

This changes if someone has hurt you in any way -- in that case, he's not hesitating to actually kill someone. The thought of someone hurting his little treasure is infuriating, not only at them, but at himself for not coming into your life and saving you sooner. He'll be sure they know exactly why they're dying, that they spend their last moments begging for forgiveness for what they did to you.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Easier than you'd think. Izuku doesn't like his delusions being challenged since, again, he has to put in effort to believe them in the first place. If you're being bratty and having tantrums he won't let it slide - even the slightest step out of line is dealt with to ensure you'll at least hesitate before doing it again. If you are the bratty type and blatantly go out of your way to defy him and his rules to his face, it's ground for immediate and pretty intense punishment. His anger is terrifying in its own way. He's beaming, grinning from ear to ear, talking to you so sweetly, but with just the most subtle underlying tone that lets you know he's furious. It's a warning voice, telling you to fix your attitude or else. He doesn't cease the babytalk or petnames when he's mad, it actually gets worse, it helps him contain his fury. But when you hear him say sweetheart in that quiet, sweet, but low voice you've come to recognize and immediately become afraid, he's pretty pleased when it reaches a point where that alone can shut you up. He believes there's a healthy degree of fear that pets should have of their masters.

The easiest and fastest way to set him off by far, though, even more than being mean or disobedient, is silent treatment. That sets him off unlike anything else, and is most likely to make him snap to actual, unrestrained anger, finally showing his true rage and snarling at you, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you off the ground. It will only last a few moments, though, before he comes back to his senses and lets go, apologizing, telling you he hates doing that, but you really seem to try to make him mad, sometimes.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He kinda bounces back and forth. He's a bit of a worshipper, telling you how beautiful and amazing you are and how he doesn't deserve you, really no one does, you're angelic, nearly a goddess - but at the same time, you're also his little kitten. A pet to be controlled because you don't know what's good for you. Kept away from a world hellbent on harming you. When you agree with him or do what he wants, it's the former. When you disagree with him, it's the latter, and he talks down to you like you're a child.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He'll try until the day he dies. And try he does, very much so, always buying you gifts, telling you sweet things, reassuring you how much he loves you. Even if you show no sign of ever giving in, that doesn't deter him, ever the optimist. It can become infuriating... and maddening, slowly driving you to the brink of insanity. When it comes down to you trying to break him of his delusions versus him trying to break you into them... he will win, you will crack first. No matter how stubborn you think you may be, rest assured, he's even moreso.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

I have a unique little headcanon... he hints to someone about your existence, and will select someone as a back-up caretaker. See, he's worried about the possibility of being killed in his heroism, and what would happen to his poor little kitten then? It might be weeks before someone enters his apartment, and they would never understand -- they would think he did something wrong, they would try to recondition you to the world, sure they'd have good intentions, but they wouldn't realize they're making things worse for you. So, he gets a very trusted friend, someone he knows would understand and... perhaps whom he gets the feeling has a bit of the same tendencies as himself, and more or less tells them that if something should happen to him, they need to go to his place, because something very important to him is there. As jealous as the thought of someone else having you makes him, he can't bear the thought of you being released back into the world... and you're still in the denial phase, so you still act like he's a bad guy and all that, so you might tarnish his name and legacy with lies. He can't have that. So, after careful consideration, he picks someone to take over as your caretaker, should something happen. He would rather know you're in the capable hands of someone he trusts than left to starve in his apartment or thrown out into the world, even if it means someone else having you.

Maybe an odd choice, but I could see him going for Shoto on that one. His personality may be very different from his own, and he may not be as close to him as some others, but he senses they have the same... tendencies and inclinations (am I implying he's definitely a yandere too? Yes), and be trusts him to care for you but also be able to handle and tame you. And honestly? He's one person he knows without a doubt will actually prefer to follow through and have you rather than disregarding his wishes - anyone else, and he's got a little doubt they might just not understand the situation, not understand your unique case, and take you to the police or God forbid, just release you back into the world. He leaves a little note with you (making sure to detail how you can be hard to handle, be patient with her, ok?) and tells you that should anyone with this physical description (I mean, it's a pretty unique description, not too many people look like Shoto), ever come and tell you that he's gone, give them the note, and be nice to your new owner, he's sure he'll love you too. But never forget, he loved you more.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Horny lil thing. His stalking tendencies result in a lot of perverted shit -- stealing your clothes, jerking off to all those pictures of you he's taken, putting hidden microphones in your room so he can hear when you're touching yourself. He's got a high drive, and jerks off quite a bit. Watching you in class often leads to his thoughts racing, and you notice he gets up to use the bathroom pretty frequently during class.

Prior to abduction, he's not brave enough to be touchy, although he will use his innocent demeanor to try and get a nice full-front hug every now and then that seems to last just a bit too long for comfort. After abduction, though? He makes up for all the touching he's wanted to do since he first saw you, wrapping arms around you all the time. When you're cooking he'll come up behind you and just wrap his arms around you, standing there and just enjoying feeling you. At night he's always very cuddle and wants to snuggle on the sofa or have you in his lap in some way. He also gets very grope-y beyond that point, frequently reaching up to cup your chest in his hands, squeezing your ass or thighs, or just spooning and grinding a hard-on against your ass.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Too far into the delusions to care. Granted he understands why you are so resistant, why you fight so hard - you're just scared, but don't worry, it will only hurt just a little bit. Or you're insecure - he'll tell you lots of sweet things, he would just hate for you to not know how much he worships you, you know.

Or maybe you're just prudish, or traumatized. Repeated resistance with time and failure to quickly give in leads him to this conclusion, he becomes convinced that maybe you were raised in a sex-negative environment, a too-conservative household, and you were taught to think such a thing was wrong. Maybe you had some kind of negative experience in the past. If you confess to either of these being true, that just solidifies in his mind that that's the sole reason you're so resistant. He'll adjust based on whatever the issue is - are you one of the "until marriage" people? Well it's not official, but he'll try to prove to you that you're basically married, even make a fake contract for you to sign, buy you a cute white dress and a cake and basically say this is no different from being truly married, after all, the government approval is a modern convention and in the past people were married just by vows.

Is it trauma? Well, as said before, he's reluctant to murder, but if that turns out to be the case, that knowledge is enough to push him over the edge, and he'll be sure to make them regret it while they die - he'll even be sweet enough to take a picture, show you how much they rightfully suffered, and he'll be so so sweet, reassuring you he's not like them, kissing your forehead even as he's ignoring your little cries to stop and sinking deep into you.

Just a prude? That's ok. He'll teach you otherwise, rid you of that mindset -- all the more reason to ignore your struggles and pleas, because once you feel good enough, you'll stop resisting. Once you understand how good sex is and how nice he can make you feel, he's confident he can turn you into his own little cock-hungry slut. And managing to do so -- making you cum despite how prudish you are -- gives him a massive ego boost. Especially if you did have past partners, because clearly they weren't doing their job well, since you're so frigid. He'll make you tell him how much better he is than anyone else from before.

He's not a patient man, he's far too eager and really there's nothing you can do to stop sex from happening like... probably within the first hour of your new life together. He's been waiting such a long time, you know. If you happened to be a civilian in the situation mentioned previously, and you didn't know each other beforehand, he might give you, say, 24 hours to adjust, but again, he's not patient.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

Oral fixation

Just. He likes eating you out. A lot. Even if you don't. Even if he has to restrain you, holding you down so you can't squirm away. He likes the taste and the way it makes you squirm and writhe and whimper. He loves blowjobs, too. Just. Suck him off and he's wrapped around your finger, but be warned, he lacks self control in this area and will definitely end up grabbing your hair and just jerking your head like a fleshlight, forcing you to deep-throat him until he can cum down your throat.

Infantilization/Lingerie, corruption/defilement

Specifically the cute kind. He likes things like the kitty keyhole lingerie, thigh highs, schoolgirl uniforms, that sort of thing. Innocent looking, cutesy, lots of soft pinks and pastel colors. He never really ceases treating you like a dumb baby, even with sex, cooing at you and making you whimper, softly reassuring you everything is ok, and he'll make you feel good. He likes the innocence, even if you're not (convinces himself any past boyfriends "don't count" for whatever reason), and gets off to the idea that he's corrupting that innocence, ruining you, making you his and his alone. His little toy to play with and break and ruin, make sure you're so trained to his body and voice that no one else could ever make you feel as good as him. As aforementioned, he likes the idea of taking a little prude and turning you into a little cumslut that begs and whimpers for him. It's an ego, pride thing for him.

Petplay/D/S dynamic/Worship

Just. Kitten. It's good. He's super into the cat ears and tail, finding cute ears that perfectly match your hair color, and a little tail plug that makes you whimper when he slides it inside of you. Definitely calls you "kitten," or "kitty," and importantly, makes sure you call him your master. And good pets love their masters, worship them the way they deserve to be worshipped for taking care of you, feeding you, doing everything for you. Masters are their pets' whole world, and he will be to you, too. Also buys a collar, a nice thick one with a leash he can use to make you walk around on all fours, or use to yank you back onto him when you're getting fucked on your hands and knees.

Cockwarming

Unfortunately, the part of hero work they don't talk about as much is the paperwork. There's quite a bit, actually, and studying for license renewals. He's got a kinda short attention span and he needs some stimulation to keep him focused. Which is how you end up sitting in his lap at his desk, panties down on your ankles, holding perfectly still with him deep inside of you. He tells you not to move -- you'll distract him too much. Eventually, though, it can get to be too much, so he just ends up fucking up into you right there, but after he's done he'll stay inside, gradually getting hard again and repeating the process.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He likes the idea in theory, but ultimately decides against it for a couple of reasons. See, his little kitten is so... difficult, and he fears you might teach them to resent him. More importantly, people would wonder -- if he's got kids, where's the mom? He can't afford to have people snooping about that. Finally, much like with you, he fears that his enemies might kidnap his kids, or hurt them somehow to hurt him. If darling is especially well-behaved, once she's finally broken in and understands his way of seeing things and becomes more agreeable, there's a chance he'd consider it, but the concern over their safety would likely still stop him.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Definitely spanking and impact pain. He's gonna invest in it, too. Leather straps and hard rubber paddles -- probably gets one of the ones that have a little shaped hole or raised part that puts a nice little design imprint on your flesh. Likes making you count for the added humiliation, or making you choose a number of swats that you feel is appropriate for what you did -- but of course, if you go too low under what he had in mind, he'll go with his number and add extra, being sure to let you know you get more for underestimating what you deserve.

Speaking of the monitoring from cameras and all that above, he also has a firm rule that you can't touch yourself. And he'll know -- the bracelet you have alerts him to any increase in heart rate, and he can look into the cameras and see what you're doing. If you're trying to be sneaky, it's still obvious when your heart is racing while you're locked in a bathroom, or the little movements he can make out from under the covers. It also warrants punishment. You want orgasms that bad? Have some. Too many. He'll make you cum over and over, to the point it's horribly painful and sensitive, tying you firmly so you can't move an inch and can't get away from his fingers, tongue, vibrator, or whatever else he chooses. Keep going until you're sobbing and gasping for air, apologizing and crying that you won't do it again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Thigh boy. He likes using them as a pillow, feeling them wrapped around his head when he's eating you out, running his hands up and down the soft flesh. He's also fond of leaving little bite marks and hickeys all up the inside of your thighs -- not that anyone else sees, but it's just a little reminder to you of who you belong to.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Accidental Feminist Icon

Between my own headcanon Barba becomes a very niche viral celebrity for being a mix of feminist icon giving one liners on the news and handsome/well dressed and the DJ Khaled post, this happened. 

“Counsellor, are you listening?” Olivia asked as Rafael Barba looked at his phone again. It had been months now since he started trying Manhattan SVU’s cases, and she hadn’t seen him this distracted before. 

“I just- why do I have rapid fire Twitter notifications? Over one hundred and fifty?”

“You have Twitter?” He rolled his eyes, not proud of the admission. But he liked to follow politics and music and satire. His colleagues would have discourse on legal proceedings and theory. But when he opened his notifications, the sea of professional headshots making up the icons in his notifications window were replaced by cartoon avatars and selfies. Handles like @Bradley_GreedADA were replaced with @feministkilljxy. 

What was happening?

Why were there GIFs of him now?

“Rafael?” He was snapped back to attention by Olivia’s hand passing over his phone screen, and he shook his head, holding the screen out to her. “What am I looking at?”

“Why have a couple hundred- are these all teenagers?”

“Are they following you? Or tagging you?”

“Both?” He scrolled through the mentions.

“Both.” A questioning look.

“Have I gone viral?” he asked herr, eyes wide and his tone disgusted. Twitter was where he posted law books, nice dinners out, homemade dinners in, and the nicer scotch he drank. Sometimes even pictures of himself; some of his friends enjoyed fashion as well, and their twitters all had a heavy thread of their suspenders and ties. Suddenly, he was having photos he’d posted to flaunt his ability to mix patterns retweeted in appreciation of something more than the color scheme.

“I think you have. What have you said now?”

“The girl whose tweet I keep getting tagged in mentioned Jocelyn Paley and the Adam Caine case.”

“That was seven months ago.”

“I’m very aware. I have to get to the office. I’ll get you that warrant.”

He continued to scroll as he walked, alarmed by the number of followers he was gaining and going to open a direct message from a friend to see a wall of messages from names he didn’t know. Once he was able to find Bradley’s message, he saw it was series of tweets with videos and GIFs of him on the courthouse steps. They were all from the same case, he assumed the Adam Caine case. He clicked the video of he and Rita Calhoun.

All I can say, today's Grand Jury indictment is the first step towards achieving justice for Jocelyn Paley. 

The DA's office is desperately trying to distract from their recent scandal with a high-profile case. 

Don't give me that--whether you're a john in the South Bronx or a $3-million-a-year talk show host, no means no. 

 He could remember the exchange now, and it had apparently been retweeted thousands of times. Cameras always made him determined to distract, determined to drive home a point. And now, he was seeing some group of teenagers had clung on to his words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about becoming recognized enough by that demographic to warrant this rapidly increasing follower count. 

“Carmen, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Mr. Barba. Need coffee?”

“No,” he said plainly, shaking his head and showing her his feed. “Is this normal?”

“They found you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Haven’t you seen the posts?”

“I don’t branch out on Twitter often.”

“I see it mostly, like, on Instagram with captions and people post clips of you on vine.”

“What’s vine?”

“A six second video app. Teenagers and young women post you. Vine is normally comedy. But people are obsessed with you. Niche, but sizable number. I think it’s mostly New York girls who see you on the news. But that means the vines went viral a couple months ago.”

“So now they’re all following me on Twitter?”

“You’re viral for being attractive, dressing well, and prosecuting rapists. Embrace it.”

“I can’t post my clothes anymore.”

“Just continue like usual. Don’t respond to DMs.”

He spent a few weeks terrified of this new following, but after three days, things calmed down. The number of followers he gained was weird and confusing to him, and he decided to listen to Carmen ultimately, keeping the profile the same and pretending nothing had happened. She did stop him one day, showing him that there had been people making fake accounts, yet another thing that was insane to him. She primarily told him because these accounts were attempting to take advantage of the fact young girls were the ones following him. He awkwardly slid the handles to Olivia, and Carmen filled out an application for Twitter verification that left him mortified. Even worse, it was approved. 

He was swept away in a case soon enough. Lindsay was assaulted by a whole fraternity at Hudson. They uncovered a previous victim in a hospital, a fraternity known for being a rape factory, and a dean helping create a culture that buried these attacks. It was becoming higher profile than he expected, and it wasn’t easy to try. He’d had to shut off his notifications on his phone during these cases. When Lindsay committed suicide, he accompanied Rollins when she went to arrest the dean. What he didn’t expect was for two of the women they saw to approach him, asking if they were here about Lindsay and thanking them when he said he couldn’t mention it. Then they asked for a selfie. Rafael was mortified but obliged. 

“We recognize you from Twitter.”

Well, now he knew he needn’t accompany the squad out anymore.

When he got tweets from the kind of scum that supported the fraternity, it took a concerted effort not to respond. That could jeopardized the case. He’d already had to tell the two girls they couldn’t post about him being there. He tweeted a disclaimer for if people saw him out, feeling like an asshole. Twitter was now becoming a liability, but he could balance it and refused to give up the feed. Slowly, the GIFs and stills of him on the news were collected, and he only got embarrassed again when mami’s students had discovered him and realized he was the guy in their principal’s pictures. Now Mami had a Twitter, and she followed people who praised him joyfully, though he’d managed to convince her not to interact in private messages or respond to people insulting him. 

The Jenna Miller case caused another leap in his follower count, and he had developed a little sense of pride instead of embarrassment when his followers jumped from people who mattered in New York to people who mattered elsewhere. A congresswoman from Ohio. Artists. Activists. He’d texted Olivia when Lady Gaga followed him. Plus that woman from True Blood. God, she was beautiful. Plus the hot boybander that had probably made him realize he was bisexual. It was weird, and he was unwilling to publicly acknowledge any of it. Unless they were on twitter, he certainly didn’t tell anyone he knew other than Olivia. Soon enough, someone had made a t-shirt on Etsy of the moment he’d turned on his heel. The media had called after Jenna, the olympian, and he’d told them no questions. Then the had the gall to bring up her sex work. He’d stopped on the steps, turning on his heel and announcing “Except for that one. Paid or not paid, no means no. Consent can be revoked at any time.” And now, Etsy users were profiting on it. This group was niche, but it ran deep. Luckily, he noticed the shop only had a few dozen sales.

Everything was fine until Rafael Barba lost his ability to maintain his composure. Up until now, he’d monitored his name, mentions, and a few hashtags people used with him. It was usually just the GIFs and stills and soundbites. He participated in some banter after the first couple of years, boundaries firm enough he felt he could. But he still didn’t bicker. Carmen said he got a following for being a good guy, and he thought it was gross openly condemning rape seemed to be all it took to be a good guy. But then through his lurking, Rafael Barba saw a tweet about DJ Khaled. He’d had to google who the hell that was, unsure who all of Twitter was piling onto, but he found the tweet objectionable enough to respond.

“Mr. Barba,” Carmen said, eyes sparkling with amusement as she came in to see her boss still scrolling through his phone. “You really decided this is the time to get involved on Twitter? You only ever respond to what people say to your stuff or your friends.”

He should’ve known she’d be on top of it. He’d given her access when notifications went through the roof the second time, and Carmen helped filter through DMs he didn’t want to see. But now, that meant her phone was vibrating like his in response to his first tweet in response to a stranger or someone who wasn’t in a thread under his own post.

“What? I’m supposed to endorse consent but not enjoyment?”

“You’re going to end up in a Buzzfeed article, sir.”

“If this is my legacy, so be it.”

“Your legacy? Taking it seriously now?”

“This is serious.”

Carmen’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she knew he’d sent another tweet. Her own account got notifications so she could monitor him. She sighed heavily, unlocking the phone and looking at it. 

“Mr. Barba, does your mom know you’re bi?”

“No, why?”

“She follows you, idiot.”

“Shit. Well, I suppose it’s time.”

“If you tweet Smash Mouth, I’m quitting. These kids are already thirst tweeting you. They must have tweet notifications on for you.”

“Who’s Smash Mouth?”

“How the hell are you culturally relevant?”

“According to Liv, I’m a feminist icon.”

“Don’t get arrogant sir. I help run this twitter.”

“I’ll change the password. I do all the posting.”

“I won’t tell you if Evan Rachel Wood slides in your DMs.”

“Why would I care?”

“I know why you watched True Blood.”

“Touche.” He paused. “Do you think she will?”

“Give me the phone. I’ll bring it when Liv calls.”

“Why would she call?”

“She made a Twitter, sir. Followed you last week.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes wide. “I posted pictures of my food. She saw me acting like a Twitter guy.”

“You are a Twitter guy.”

He rolled his eyes, ending with a retweet of his new favorite addition to the conversation. 

@mia-liz @chasingeverybreakingwave @thegirlwiththemaleficient-tattoo​ @teachingpanda​

[alvfr]

Monthly

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x F!Dom!Reader

Prompt: D for Dominate + # for period sex, requested by Anon

Rating: Explicit. 18+, minors DNI

Words: 2.1K

Includes: Soft!Dom. Period/menstrual sex = mention of blood. Fingering. Oral sex. Some overstim.

A/N: Shortest thing I've written. This is very soft domination, and I'm not an expert in this field at all. No degradation. If you're squeamish, this fic includes mention of period blood! Cross-posted to AO3, link in my masterlist.

Monthly

“Legs spread, Emily.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I said spread, Emily.”

A brief pause before she heeded your request and placed the soles of her feet on the towel covering the mattress. While you waited and watched, she dragged her heels back so they pushed against the plump muscle of her ass. It took visible effort before she relaxed her legs and had them drop open to either side.

“There’s a good girl.”

Her thick eyelashes, black as her hair, fluttered against her cheeks in relief. Already pulling deep breaths through her parted lips, even though you hadn’t come close to touching her. The muscles of her throat worked as she swallowed before managing to whisper: “Thank you, Miss.”

She was a sight, that’s for sure. Long stretches of pale skin and tight curves where she laid on the bed. Head resting on a pillow with her shiny black hair splayed like a dark halo around her face. Naked and slightly flushed, with only the deep pink of her nipples breaking the flow until the neat triangle of curls started between her legs. It led down to something more colorful — blood swelling into her vulva, making it plump and matching the deep color of her nipples. With her legs spread like this, she was opening herself up to the room — up to you — and you licked your lips as if you could already taste her on your tongue. Her hands down by her side where she kept clenching and unclenching her fists. Poor thing still so riled up from work, tense and nervous even now.

Letting her simmer in anticipation, you studied her face too. Eyes closed, mouth open, the faint remains of the lipstick she’d worn to the office still on her lips. The sharp angle of her nose pushed up, giving her side-profile a downright regal and haughty expression — your absolute favorite thing about her. A physical reminder of her character. Along with the strong cheekbones, the slope of her jawline, and a mouth used to order and command.

And here she was, already panting with need and fully at your mercy.

“Have you been a good girl today, Emily?” you asked and watched with delight how her eyes squeezed shut. Finally moving, you got up from the chair next to the bed and wandered around it, drifting your fingertips over her collarbone with feather-light pressure. “Hm?”

The admission came like a plea. “No, Miss.” A brief pause, not from hesitation, but because her mouth looked too dry to speak. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

You let it slide for now and trailed your hand down to her breasts. Her chest bucked under your touch, showcasing different muscles and curves of bones under her soft skin. “Why not?”

Dark eyebrows pulled down even while her eyes remained closed. You loved her deep voice, especially now when it bounced up and down in pitch while she stuttered. “I — uh — I didn’t think- I didn’t know-”

Her messy speech sent thrills up and down your spine. Emily Prentiss reduced to a blubbering mess over something as silly as this. A tremble passed through her body when you carefully swept your fingers over her hard nipples. She wasn’t one for sounds — not in the beginning anyway — so you had to watch her breathing or rely on her for using safe words if necessary.

“You didn’t know what,” you plucked one of her nipples with two fingers and applied a light pressure, “Emily?”

Back arching off the mattress, she swallowed thickly again. “That this- that you- that-”

God, she was beautiful. You took pity on her, but pinched tighter around her nipple in return. “That your pussy belongs to me?”

“Yes, Miss,” she whimpered and dropped down to the mattress when you let go of the stiff little bud, now redder than before. She let out a throaty: “I’m sorry, Miss.”

“That you’re mine?” You tweaked her other nipple, watching her brows furrow again, looking for any signs of real pain in case she was tender. “Every day of the month?”

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, shoulders slumping back down on the pillow, eyes still closed. She groaned when you flicked her nipple, squirming her hips on the towel. “Miss. I’m sorry, Miss.”

“Good girl.”

The praise pulled her lips into a tender smile and you ignored the way your heartbeat fluttered in your chest.

This had started when she came home from work, sulky and snappish and high-strung from stress. Usually the way to make her relax was bending her over your knee, spanking her until she begged for more, and then fingering her until she begged you to stop. It took her mind off things, to say the least, and when she slumped into your embrace afterward, where you petted her soft locks and whispered praise straight into her ear, she would finally let loose of the tension in her shoulders. If she could, she’d share what bothered her — usually the abridged version — and if she couldn’t, you’d distract her with the less gruesome matters of your everyday life.

Today though, she had scorned your advances. Not because she didn’t want it — she had said so herself, but it was so obvious from how she acted too — but because she thought you wouldn’t want it. Want her. Not... now.

Turns out, some of that bad attitude came from good old-fashioned PMS. You had laughed then, finding the thought of the tough FBI agent being squeamish about a little blood hilarious. Looping your arms around her, you had kissed her neck and offered to take care of her. Run her a bath, rub some lotion into her skin, massage her back and pussy alike because nothing helped more against cramps than an orgasm.

And she’d averted her gaze and muttered something about being gross. That she was bloated and bleeding and disgusting and that’s when you had grabbed her face, pinching your fingers on her chin, and ordered her to wash herself and get on the bed within five minutes. She knew you didn’t tolerate her badmouthing herself in any way. But if she wanted to act like a brat, you could treat her like one.

You could almost see the relief in her eyes then. See how much she needed to lose control — needed you to take care of her. Screw the bubble baths, she just needed someone to tell her what to do.

So now you had her spreading her legs wide on the bed, fully naked and panting. Waiting. Not begging for anything yet, but definitely eager because where you could see the faint red line dripping out from her spread lips. It mixed with her clear essence, painting her in a pretty pink.

You started slow. Moving from her nipples and down to her spread legs. Trailing your fingers in her wetness, praising her for being so good. For letting you take care of her for once. For spreading her legs so wide for you. For getting so wet for you already. Pretty, pretty girl.

The bedroom dissolved into nothing but your voice, her breaths, and the wet sloppy sounds from where your fingers pushed into her. You kneeled in front of the bed, watching everything up close, smelling her sweet juices and the slightly metallic blood. She writhed against your hand, the inner muscle near her thigh trembling when you found that cushy spot in the front, and her pussy fluttered around the intrusion. Two fingers — three fingers — they turned reddish pink with her juices and she was so open for you. So wet and hot and pretty.

“Oh god,” she groaned, and now her hands tugged at the towel under her hips. You kept pumping your fingers into her, deliberately not even breathing close to her clit, and saw her clench, squeezing around your fingers. “Please, Miss.”

“Is this good?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“My fingers in your pussy, is that good?”

Her voice cracked. “Yes, Miss.”

“Isn’t this my pussy?”

“Fuck, yes, Miss. I’m sorry.”

“Say it.”

“It’s your pussy, Miss,” Emily babbled, the muscles on her thighs flexing hard every time you rubbed her G-spot inside of her. “All the time. Always. All of me. Yours. Fuck. God. Please, Miss, pleas-”

“Are you going to be a good girl?” you asked, enraptured with how her knees trembled. Your fingers moved faster, aided by the extra lubrication, and you loved the soppy sounds they made. “Let me take care of you every day of the month? Hm? Let me use your pussy anyway I feel like? Only good girls get to come, you know. Are you going to be good?”

“Yes, yes, please, Miss, God-”

“Want me to rub your little clit for you?”

“Oh god,” her voice snapped into the room, “yes, please, yes.”

You blew some air on the top of her wet slit, and could see her clit throbbing. Still not touching it. She deserved some punishment from before. “Are you going to be good?”

“Yesss-”

“Going to come around my fingers?”

“Yes, yes, Miss, yes-”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Can I- can I please-” She hissed, lifting slightly off the towel, before forcing herself back down. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close. Can I please come, Miss? Can I-”

That was fast.

Silly woman. You had been right that she got extra horny on her period. Mentally counting backward, you realized she had happened to be out of town during her last cycles, but not always. Now the flimsy excuses before you moved in together made sense. So fucking stupid. Like you cared about some blood?

“Not yet.”

The sound from her throat was downright filthy and worth the strain in your wrist. “Please.”

You moved faster, spreading your fingers inside of her — all three of them and saw her hole stretch to accommodate it — before you twisted and nudged against that soft spot over and over again. Emily writhed on the bed, sounds coming from her chest that you’d never heard before, and you saw that little shiny button on the top of her pussy pulse steadily.

“Please,” she begged again, her hands splayed against the sheets and clutching so her knuckles turned white. “Please, Miss, please-”

Mouth watering, you leaned forward and fastened your lips over her clit and sucked. Hard. Emily screamed somewhere up above and gushed around your fingers and mouth. Her walls spasmed around your knuckles while you kept on sucking, tasting faintly metallic, but mostly sweet and her legs clamped around your head, muting everything but the taste of her pussy.

By the time you released her aching bundle of nerves with an audible pop, her chest rose and fell several inches. A stain spread on the towel and when you wiped your face against the inside of her thigh, you left a pink streak behind.

“Good girl,” you whispered and pulled your fingers back to see her gaping hole and a wanton moan let loose from her lips. “Such a good girl.” You reached up to massage her stomach, the taut muscles still bunched up from her climax. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

Her mouth hung open, but you saw her nod. The kohl black lashes flutter open a bit, giving you a soft smile from where she laid on the bed. The smile widened. “You look like a vampire.”

Grinning back, you nipped the inside of her thigh. “Okay, now spread your legs again.”

“What-”

“Oh, you thought we were done?” You swallowed her flavors and reached for the vibrator next to the bed. “No, we’re just getting started. Bad girls get punished, remember? Are you going to make me repeat myself? Leg-”

She hurried back into position before you finished talking, her wet lips opening with a soft smack right in front of your face. The hum of the vibrator filled the room and an excited thrill filled your stomach at seeing her pussy flutter around nothing. At the second-lowest setting, you pushed the smooth edge of the vibrator right next to her clit.

More wetness gushed out of her opening and you smiled at the sight. Pretty, pretty girl.

“Now hold this.”

“I-” Emily made a strained sound and you gave her a second to remember her place. “Yes, Miss.” She took over to hold the vibrator, careful not to move it a millimeter in either direction. “Fuck.”

“Don’t move.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“There’s a good girl.” You reached for the second toy next to the bed, one that would fill that hole already clenching around nothing. “I’m going to make you come so many times you forget your name, baby. Now spread your legs.”

She sounded more relieved than anything now. “Yes, Miss.”

----

A/N: Haven't seen many fics written from the Dom's perspective, so let me know how it worked. Half a mind to write a similar one from Emily's POV if it's of interest, maybe without the period thing.

Feedback appreciated in general - feel free to send me a message on anon if you’re shy. Remember to reblog if you like it ❤

[insomniziam]

hi! I'm starting to look for some ziam information, I found your profile and I want to know what do you think about laya?

Hey nonnie!

Welcome to the Ziam family! We might be deprived of recent content but we have some amazing fics and fanart to make up for it!

As for my opinion of Liam's relationship with Maya Henry, it's clearly a PR stunt to push her into the modelling industry and keep Liam in the public eye. If the fact alone that she was brought back right before the release of his latest single isn't enough for you, the fact that she got to walk in London Fashion week is yet another dead giveaway (especially after you watch her walk... I didn't think you could get worse than the Hadids, but she somehow succeeded 😬).

I would believe this facade of a relationship to be fake regardless of ziam. There's so much evidence out there that points to that being the case that it's not even necessary to bring Zayn into the conversation.

Once you're able to understand that most of the shit celebrities do in public - especially their relationships - is a part of selling their image to the public, everything starts to make a hell lot of sense. Paparazzi no longer function like they used to. Management companies use them as a tool to show the public what they want them to see. New models are constantly being linked to well established artists in the industry to push the new power couple, even though it wouldn't surprise me if they'd not known each other's middle names behind closed doors.

The sad part of it is that Liam is so very clearly done with this stunt. All of the recent photos of the two of them you'd see her smiling and him looking extremely pissed off. For the narrative they're trying to push - he regretted breaking up with her and he's so happy to have her back - he doesn't look happy at all to have her back.

But fans are so desperate to believe them to be a couple (for whatever dumb reason that makes no sense to me) that they look right past that. They opt for excuses like "he's choosing not to smile", as if that isn't my entire point. If he were really so happy to have her back like they claim, wouldn't he be smiling all the time? It doesn't make any sense, and it's so frustrating because they're the ones who claim we're delusional 🤦‍♀️.

But his team obviously have no faith in him as an artist, since they clearly don't care about him at all. He truly has so much potential, but they're wasting it by forcing her to his side. I would love to see the figure on the cheque her dad signs to keep Liam's management in his back pocket.

And it's not like she offers him positive publicity. He's been called out left, right and centre as a groomer (don't get me started) because she and his team lied about her age because she was seventeen when the stunt began.

I'm sorry nonnie, I'm sure you weren't expecting this long winded rant, but Maya has been so freaking desperate lately and Liam has been looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than by her side (I can't say that I blame him 🤷‍♀️).

I also have lot of great posts by both myself and others that you can browse in my Laya is fake tag.

Feel free to return with any questions you have, it just might take me a while, I still have to balance school, work and home life 😅

Have a lovely day nonnie!

[justasparkwritings]

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down? 

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week. 

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx​, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of. 

Banner by me. 

Monday: Pitch Meeting

           “Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

          Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

          Today, Claire decided, that would change.  She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

          “We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

           “I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

           “Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

           “Who are those people?”

           “Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

           “What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

           “My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

           “Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

           “I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

           Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

           “I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

           “Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

           “Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

           You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

           “It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

           “I do!” Claire chimed.

           “Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

           “What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

           “You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

           “It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

           “I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

           Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

          Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

           “Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

           “You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

           “How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

           “Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

           Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

           “I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”  

           “You can’t have one,”

           “Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

           “I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

           “Well, I need their handle,”

           “Fine,”

           “And the intern,” Claire was firm.

           You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

           “Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

           “Thank you,”

           Claire rolled her eyes.

           “Jealous?” You questioned.

           “Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

           “Great,”

           “I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

           “Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

           “If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

           “Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

           “Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

           Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

           “Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

           “Okay,”

           “Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

           “I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

           “I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

           “Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

           “You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

           “What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

           “What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

           “Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

           Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

           “You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

           “Me?”

           “Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

           “He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

           “Potato, Tomato,”

           “You should talk-

           “Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

           “Fine, fine.”

           “I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

           “That’s a lie,”

           “Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.  

           “Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

           “No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

           “You should,” He suggested.

           “I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

           “Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

           “Bitchy?”

           “Your words, then she would like you,”

           “She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

           “He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

           “Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

           “You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

           “He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”  

           Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

           “If he’s not there,” You answered.

           “I can’t promise that,”

           “Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

           Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

           “Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

           “I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

           “Great!”

           “I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

           “I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

           “At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

           “Well-

           “You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

           “I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

           “That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

           “You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

           “Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

           “Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

           Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

           “I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

           “Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

           “Because I love you,”

           “Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

           “I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

           “Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

           “You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

           “Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

           “So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

           “Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

           “And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

           “Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

           “Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

           Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

           “What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

           “Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

           “I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

          Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

           “Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

          “What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

          “In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

           “No!”

           “Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.  

           “I would never,” You glowered.

           “You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

          “I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

          “Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

          “Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

          “July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

          “I, I, no!”

          “October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

          “He started it!”

          “Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

          “I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

          “Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

          “Know what?”

          “About your vendetta,”

          “It’s not a vendetta!”

          “Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

          “I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

          “His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

          “You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

          “Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

          “You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

          “Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

          “I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

          “I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

          You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

          “You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

          “We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

          “You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

          “It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

          “This is entirely personal.”

          “Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

          “No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.  

          “Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

          “I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

          “It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

          “Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

          “You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

          “Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

          “Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

          “You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.  

          “You agreed to-

          “No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

          It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

          “I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

          Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

          “Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

          As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

          “Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

          “She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

          “Did you?”

          “No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

          “Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

          “No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

          “Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

          “Until you what?”

          “Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

          “She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

          Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

          “Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

          “No, something weird is going on,”

          You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

          “I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

          “He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

          “I-

          “Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

          “What if he-

          “Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

          “Okay,”

          “I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

          “Thank you,”

          “I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

          “I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

          “I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

          Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

          “To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

          “I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

          “Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

          “You still live at the same place?”

          “No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

          “You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

          “What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

          “I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

          “I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

          “Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

          “I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.  

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

[softkuna]

Sukuna || Interview || Fic

Part 1

Content   ║  Punk!Sukuna x reader. There is an oc version here.

Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer.

Count      ║ 2,626 K

Consider ║ Swearing. Female Pronouns (she/her).

Creator   ║ This is the reader version. I took the name of the oc out. Hopefully the double post isn’t too weird? I did research on punk fashion, culture, and all which was really interesting. I knew some stuff about it before, but it’s really rich! I hope it’s not too information dense for you guys. Either way, Punk!Sukuna is now my comfort au and writing him is an absolute delight!! Also, Sorry for changing from ‘you’ to she/her ;v; it’s a lot easier for me to write/edit this way.

Sukuna had a lazy grin as he lounged back into a modern cream sofa. His arm stretched across the back of it, ankle crossed over his knee. Eyes staggered from the two cameras set up to the woman talking with some other chick. One held a small stack of papers, the other was grandly gesturing. He breathed out a short-stop breath, wishing they wouldn’t waste his time with bickering. Annoying as it was, it left a thick self-satisfactory lather over his ego.

  “-didn’t you say the band?”

  “Yeah, but this is better.”

  “Sure… but what happens if-“

  Quite frankly, he hated most press and avoided it, so to just have him in the hot seat was a double-edged blade. They didn’t get the whole band, but they did have The King himself. Whatever publicity he thrived off of were live shows, signings, fancams, tangible and real-time events. Interviews were a complete and utter waste of his time. He did a couple in the beginning, but found them pointless, callous even. They all asked the same shit. So, him coming alone was absolutely a note to pin to the fridge, even if it were a passive-aggressive post-it note.

  His head turned to the two going back and forth. It wasn’t until the third minute ticked by that Sukuna felt the flashpoint of his blood plummet, “Yo! We doing this or what? You’re wasting my time here, Eros.”

  The blogger whipped her head to the man with an indignant, “Excuse me?”

  “Eros. Known for being reckless and unreliable? Like your scheduling.” He leaned forward, elbow on knee and chin in palm. The aura of shit-eatery exponentially growing, “You’re not excused, sorry, not sorry Princess.”

  “I think you have the wrong God,” She quipped as she dusted off the front of her outfit. It was a smart look and an intentional one for an interview with a punk rocker. What would strike the best complement than a khaki academic outfit? It consisted of a white high collared button up, sleeves billowing before cinching at her wrists. The blouse was stuffed into high-waisted, cuffed khaki chinos, pleated at the center of each pant leg. Over top, a gray woolen sweater vest. Accessories included various silver rings, a black ribbon to tie under the folded collar, and small silver studs as earrings. Makeup remained that done-up natural with brow, liner, and mascara. Hair had been swept into something similar to a faux 1920’s bob, pulled loosely back. The overall silhouette made the perfect contrast.

    Sukuna wanted to peg her as your average superficial fashion bitch, he really did. Even at the concert, she dressed smartly despite the pathetic look on she wore on face. It wasn’t until afterwards when he saw the burn in her eyes, that he craved for her to prove him wrong.

  Black flats clacked as she approached her own seat, a matching armchair to the couch. She held a certain command once she walked in, instructing him on where to be, which camera to look at, and what the introduction would be. He listened, admiring how her small frame moved to and fro, fixing up last minute edits on a paper, chattering with who he assumed to be a videographer. It was a whole production. One that was hers. The set itself was practically out of a home décor magazine. It was a general space used across the publisher, but she was born to be there. Deserved to be there. Her calculated glee and deliberate positioning of each member made him feel as though he were looking through a mirror.

  The interview process began.

  She sat professionally, legs crossed and leaning on the arm of her chair closest to Sukuna. He was unmoving, that slit to his lip curling upwards as the cameras began. She introduced the blog, the channel, her social media handles. With a smile, she introduced herself, “With me in this special is lead singer of Two Face, the King of Curses – Sukuna.”

  The camera panned to his lazy wave, “Yo.” He looked to her, she looked to him and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of interest. Maybe the man was meant for cameras after all.

  “After looking more into the punk scene, there’s a pretty interesting history behind it. Revolution, social discourse, poverty, violence, and unity. As someone in the scene, can you talk a little bit about what you know of the background?”

  Sukuna drank in her voice, smooth and warm like the steady strum of a bass guitar. For a moment, he wondered if she sang. He quirked a brow, “Sounds like you didn’t research enough to summarize it yourself,” Eyes flickered to her features, watching as slight annoyance crinkled onto her nose then smoothed, “Let me learn you, Daisy. Starting back from rock in the 50’s, take that, strip it, build it with shit you find in the backyard…” His wrist rolled as his harmonious voice sang on, lacking even a single stutter as he summarized the movement top to bottom, inside and out, “…So, people would make their own records, sell them in plastic bags, they’d scan and reprint photos to make their own ‘zines. Shit was hard to distribute without tech…”

  Much of his dissertation, she hadn’t even found on her own deep dive into the culture. Sure, the anarchist and nihilistic ideologies were well known to pretty much anyone who would listen, but the deep history and connection between communities was far beyond the surface scratched into.

  “There’s a crowd of sub-genres now. Fuck ‘punk is dead’ what even is that bull shit?” Sukuna scoffed, jerking his chiseled chin to the side, “Only thing that’s dead here is – ironically – peoples drive to change.”

  His interviewer sat in silence for a moment, mind spinning. He spoke in the way a well-educated University professor gave a dissertation to his peers, dripping in confidence from his storm of information. He was articulate despite the fowl language, even including a tie in to modern perception. Excitement curled into the recess of her mind. In a delightful turn of events, expectation and reality didn’t match up.

  She leaned forward slightly folding her hands over the arm of the chair, “That was comprehensive. Thanks!” She chuckled, causing the man before her to freeze and thaw with a nod. She continued, “With all of this mention of D.I.Y. culture in punk, let’s talk about Vivienne Westwood.”

  Sukuna kept his attention to her profile as she spoke to the camera, catching himself in the glow of her enthusiasm, “On Kings Road in England, she kickstarted the fashion movement into gear. Now, many would think that with a style such as this, it would’ve been hand-me-downs, pins, self-stitching, but contrary to this belief, many of the clothes in her store were expensive. Knock offs circulated, and seeing as much of it did have that hand-done finishing touch, many decided to take tailoring to their own hands…” Not that this was a competition, but she found herself trying to prove his ‘research’ comment wrong. Her ability to scour and exhaust her resources of fashion history is the furnace that kept her going and she would make it well known that she was not to be challenged.

  The approaching lurch of a stalemate stuck to the walls of the vocalist’s stomach. Something he didn’t think he’d feel for a while. Small stuff over here may not’ve known all there was about the cultural history, but he could feel the crashing wave of fascination washing over him as she spoke. Sure, some of it he knew. Some of it he naturally garnered from stylistic preference and others he learned for marketing, however there was just a certain target she aimed for with such precision that he bled a newfound admiration.

  Beauty wasn’t in the eye of the beholder, no, it is in the mind. Sukuna was enraptured. Addressed again, he shifted his posture, leaning into the arm of the couch as she did with her chair. The two were close in their cohort. An air of comfortable conversation lingered between them, much to his dismay. Her question wasn’t unusual. He’d been asked it in the beginning of his career and one where he had a planned answer. As practiced, “I ans-“

  “You’ve answered it already, yeah, I know. I saw the interview,” Her head tilted to the side, pleasant smile hinting at her trick, “but enlighten me for a second about how your natural style transitioned to what it is on stage. We’ll put up some of the photos taken from last night here,” her hand gestured to some empty space, “You basically turned chiaroscuro and made it a performance. It’s obvious in how each member contrasted with themselves and the stage.”

  The chick didn’t even know who he was a week ago, yet somehow watched every interview since the start? An answer tumbled from the tongue readily, “Punk is like a renaissance of music. Like I said before, it tore down the foundations of what was before and built something new out of it.” The words were succinct, but as her pretty lashes bat, he was goaded into continuing, “Contrast is important. I like art. I like plays. Just ‘cause it’s punk doesn’t mean I can’t have it look aesthetic? Or is that a word only snobby fashion journalists can use now?”

  “Hm. Change ‘journalist’ to ‘vocalist’ and you’re a word away from meeting the requirement,” It was a sour candy treat traded for his lemon warhead.  

  “Ouch. Miss Blog-Spot here has some sass,” His large frame leaned further into the armrest, cheek resting on that fist.

  “Mister Eight-Track here is some a–“

  The videographer clapped his hands, “We have sponsors, you know. We can at least censor him.”

  It was Sukuna’s time to laugh a loud, hyena-like cackle. A large hand smacked his leather-clad knee. She scrunched her nose again, biting back her tongue from childishly jutting out at him.

  As soon as the videographer clapped his hands again, she recollected herself, shuffled her papers, and continued on, “From what it looks like, you took a mixture of old and new high-trend brands and added a touch to them to keep with theme. Even now, you’re wearing a Real McCoy with cone spikes embedded. Is that custom made? McCoy isn’t cheap.”

  Part of him hated her keen eye, but reveled in her raw talent all the same. “I’m not going to bull shit you and say I dumpster dive for my clothes. I like high quality things. What’s the point in making money if I can’t spend it? What’s a bigger ‘fuck you’ than having your version of a top-brand item being worth more than the original?” With a proud glint in his eye, he rolled the jacket off, sure to make a grand display of strong, bare arms as he did so. The muscle tank he wore was similar to the concert before, white with a pocket, neckline was stretched and worn. It hung over the dense muscle of his shoulders and chest. Sukuna could feel the trail of her eyes on him. His chest puffed from her approval. He threw the jacket over his knee, flipping the leather inside out to show where the studs had been placed, “See this? Did it myself.”

  Manicured fingers touched the inside of the jacket, thumbing the connecting points that the studs were pressed in by and sealed. The work was immaculate. Sukuna leaned back, canines gleaming as he saw her mouth move in a silent ‘wow’. He picked the front of his tank top, snapping it up and allowing it to billow back to his body, “Embroidered this, too.”

  He waited for her comment, her praise. Why? Like he needed some two-bit Vanderbilt bitch’s validation. He chalked it up to being praised by a master of the craft. He hadn’t been prepared for her to take the fabric between her fingers and rub it, concentrated brows cinched like a corset. Well-toned abs flinched in response to her delicacy, but she didn’t notice.

  The embroidery was messy and chaotic, but it was obviously intentionally. The way the needlework was so clean, barely leaving a hole from the pull of the exceptionally soft fabric. It wasn’t floral like in the concert, but abstract stitching created crosses and streaks here and there, using the composition of the fabric as like it were a canvas. Experimentalist. It was like touching the work of Westwood herself.

  God, she hated how perfect it was. It squeezed her heart to know that he was so effortlessly multi-talented. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers once more, attention being stolen by his baritone voice. She could practically hear the treble in it, “Ey Princess, you think it’s okay to just touch me?” His breath caught under the arrogant teasing of his words. Not from the words themselves. Couldn’t care less about that. What choked him up was whatever resplendent emotion flared from them when she peered up to him.

  “Let me check the tag.”

  “What?”

  The blogger leaned back, cheekily snapping the shirt as she did so. “Your shirt, can I check the tag? I want to see what its made out of. Also, sorry.”

  Sukuna blinked twice, mouth stupidly hanging open before he leaned forward, “I’ll allow it.”

  He may have tinnitus, but he wasn’t deaf enough yet to miss the mocking ‘I’ll allow it,’ muttered under her breath. He wanted to laugh, but for the second time, the graze of chilled fingertips along his skin shut him up. Along the back of his neck, she fiddled to flip the collar and tug it. Her eyes squinted and a hum escaped her throat. Sometimes she wished she could read upside down. That’s when she sat on the back on the sofa and leaned closer, pulling the shirt to better read the small print. If Sukuna were a cat, he’d lean his head into her. The thought physically bothered him.

  “I knew it. It’s American Pima. Thanks for letting me check.”

  He missed the shiver her touch gave him as she sat back into her chair.

  “While I have more questions for you, this video’s gotten pretty long already, so we’ll have to cut it a bit short here,” She gave a closing statement, motioning for her guest to do the same. With a thanks, the cameras were cut.

 While the editor and videographer chatted together, She leaned heavily into the back of her chair, poised posture slipping into something more comfortable. Long lashes slid closed and a heavy drag of breath lifted her chest. Sukuna’s eyes trailed along her form, contemplating Eros once more.

  She exhaled sharply, “I do appreciate you coming on stage. It’s disgusting how talented you are.” She laughed, cracking an eye open to meet his, “I prepped a lot of questions thinking you’d be short with me. It’s a shame I only got to ask a few.”

  He was surprised himself. It was more than just her talent to make him talk - she may have been the first to see him as an opportunity rather than a commodity. ‘She would be the first and last reporter to see me as a meal’ was the thought he had going into this interview. He had every single intention to shut down her buffet, make it apparent that he was not to be dined on by a single soul. Yet, if his dish were ‘opportunity’, hers would be ‘intrigue’. He wanted to devour it, to know its palette and identify its spices. It was a compulsory urge to order, just to see why he craved it in the first place.

  “Film the next few concerts. Backstage.”

Tags:  @lovesakusa​

[hobiwonder]

Bloom | 01

Genre: Hybrid!Namkook. fluorescence by @jincherie​ AU 

Pairing: foxhybrid!Namjoon x Reader x bunnyhybrid!Jungkook ;(

Warnings: language. mention of hybrid trafficing/being sold into sex trafficing, fluff holy shit, angst, Smut (future), very cuddly and shy jungkook, stuttery shy BOYS. I really just wrote this for me.

Words: 5k+

Summary: In a world where humanity is increasingly motivated by how much cash can be made off of... well anything, you’re a human and hybrid rights lawyer. You will do anything to save the ones that never had a choice  right from the date of their conception. Even if that means, adopting two hybrids that you absolutely did not mean to. 

a/n: hello hello im back from the dead iuhbIUHBUYBGUY okay so, yes this isnt baby baby but i am a bit behind on that so i really hope posting this instead can satiate my sluts for a few more days until i have that done. I have a lot of this written so I will post this on a semi-regular schedule. rest of the schedule i posted will stay the same. it’s just baby baby that’s kicking my BUTT!!!! Lastly, I started writing this before Goo Hara passed away. Opening this document made me a little sad and also happy when i remember Hara and her love for eco-friendly fashion. I guess, this is kind of a tribute to her? anyhow, I hope you guys like it. please please please, validate me. :>)

"Y/n they're going to be sold to this man who works for a black market. What do I do? Oh god. I-I didn't know our company was into that business."

Your best friend is nearing the point of tears and you can understand her frustration. "Listen, Hara, take a deep breath and tell me when exactly this is happening."

A deep breath is taken as you'd suggested, before you hear Hara's voice again through the phone. "Okay... Okay. I was just told by Minseok that there is an auction for the remaining two from the past failed batches. Apparently two others have been adopted and the rest have been pawned off somewhere. I'm not sure. From our division of the company, these two are the ones that have not gone for further testing to be open to the regular public. A-And so now there is a super secret auction happening tonight. It's not open to the regular public as you already know but staff members are able to attend. What do I do y/n? I can't afford them. I have my own to deal with. These poor boys will go to some horrible owner who will use them f-for god knows what."

Now Hara was crying. Openly and brokenly for the possible fate of these 'failed' hybrids that her company had produced. This was a sticky situation and even you, a Human and hybrid rights lawyer, had limited ideas as to what could be done on such a short notice. But you were not about to give up.

"Hara, don't. They will not be bought by some hybrid trafficker okay? I won't let it happen. I will... I will at least try. It's my job, remember?"

Your optimism is convincing enough. And you wholeheartedly believed that something would give. These big corporations had their toes in everywhere and you didn’t yet know if they had already had a designated buyer on the black market they pawned their hybrids off to. Where there was money to be made - no company had morals rigid enough to stop themselves from the temptation. You already lived in an age where human trafficking was no longer a cause for activism or big debates. Not when more species - man made or not - had been created to take advantage of.

“Okay yeah. You’re a badass lawyer, you must have something up your sleeve right?” Her voice is shaky but you confirm with an enthusiastic nod she can’t see.

“Of course! I’ll kick their asses. Surely this can’t be legal? No blackmarket is. Let me have a look at what can be done. I’m assuming you can bring a plus one tonight?”

“Yeah I-I was given a ticket. You’ll be coming with me right?”

“That’s why I asked, silly.” Her relieved chuckle brings a smile to your own lips.

“I’ll see you there. Don’t give up hope until I do, alright?”

“Okay... You’re right.”

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Fuck this. Fuck my life.” The curses escaped your mouth left and right as you looked over the dozens and dozens of papers splayed out on your oak desk.

Even your comfortable office chair couldn’t stop the knot building up between your shoulder blades. This was bad. Really bad. Corporate law allowed unfit materials to be sold to third parties. What these third parties did with those materials - the company of origin was no longer liable for. In short: These hybrids were going to be bought by someone sketchy with a crystal clear profile and no paper trail unless someone bid higher and bought them.

None of these bastards were rookies. They had solid paperwork where necessary and it would be near impossible to prove their illegal activities when all of them took place on the dark web. A place that opened up more threats and risks than solutions. No legislation covered hybrid rights that weren’t even registered yet. Whoever bought them would have to register them and then the hybrids would be able to receive the minimum protection they had a right to.But you can bet your father’s company that whoever bought them will never register them. Essentially these hybrids will be wiped out from the system.

Fingertips tapping against the wood, each passing minute was precious time lost. it was already 5pm. You had to leave for the dreaded auction in less than an hour and hour and yet here you sat in your chair. Hands itching to do something other than pick up the phone and tell Hara that you were at a loss. What could you do? Who would take them? You didn’t know anyone that was ready to add not one but two hybrids to their household. And ones that were not fully approved to be released. You couldn’t just lie and pawn them off to just anyone. Then you would not be any better than the company trying to get rid of them.

Sighing, you pack up the papers and documents you had initially thought would help. They were of no use anymore. All you could do was go and offer support to Hara. Or Maybe you were going because you still had hope that there would be someone who would save those hybrids. Hope was a dangerous thing for a woman like you but you had it. This was no time to wallow. So you smooth your skirt, touch up your makeup and put on your heels that had men double take.

Maybe you could scare and/or seduce these people in changing their mind?

You laugh at your absurdity, glancing in the mirror one last time before you leave with stacks of files in your hands. You could at least stall them.

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Y/n! Thank god you’re here.” I’m not so sure about that. Though you opt for a gentle smile and meet her embrace enthusiastically.

You can hear the sniffles coming from Hara who has her head buried in your shoulder. “Hey, no crying okay? No matter what happens.” The comment has her pulling back just as quickly.

“What do you mean? You have a plan for tonight r-right? Y/n..”

How could you do this? Lie to her? This was not fair on her. On anyone really. It wasn’t your fault and neither hers for whatever would happen tonight. She needed to know what to expect. As much as your heart clenched and ached to say the words you were about to; it was important to mentally prepare for the worst.

“Hara... I couldn’t find anything.” Your frown is apologetic. Trying to convey how really truly sorry you were but it doesn’t stop the tears from brewing up in her eyes.

“Oh.. I thought- thought they had a chance y/n.” You reach out for her hand, wanting to alleviate her hurt as soon as possible.

“I will at least try to see who will buy them okay? Don’t worry. We can keep an eye out on who gets them. They will be alive at least, right?” Your attempt at finding a silver lining doesn’t make her look any more reassured than you felt.

Glancing at your watch, you motion towards the building. “Come on. Let’s go before they try and kick us out.”

Hara nods, numbly leading the way towards an auditorium where several people had already taken their seats. You’re not sure how many people you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t... this. There were at best 10 people here. All ten seemingly looked like they knew each other. This could only mean one thing. That this sale was to some degree, arranged. As in, multiple buyers were from the same company posing as separate customers to maximise their chances of acquiring the hybrids.

“Hara, have you seen any of these people before?” Your whisper has her craning her neck to have a good look at all of the men sitting in the front few rows.

“No, I don’t think so.” Her furrowed brows turn to you instead, “Do you recognise any of them?”

Shaking your head, you follow her down the stairs to sit in the row behind the last pair of buyers who were sitting.

“Whoever they are... they don’t look like they are all strangers.” Hara is gripping on to your arm when she hears you, visibly nervous once again. “I’m just speculating, okay?”

Your attempt to ease her, once again, is not enough. But you don’t try again since you don’t even believe your own words. The auctioneer however, stops you from thinking further about the impending events of the night. The man stands in a lab coat, glancing at his watch before he brings his mouth closer to the mic on the dice.

“Let’s begin gentleman... and ladies.” He seems to be surprised to see you and Hara sitting at the back. And before he begins further, he motions someone. Another man approaches the auctioneer and listens carefully as the other whispers. A few seconds later, his eyes fall back to where you sat with your best friend.

Hara’s grasp on your arm tightens once again when the man heads to your general direction. On instinct, your back straightens, posture more solid than before so as to not give anyone the wrong impression that they can mess with you unwarrantedly.

“Excuse me Miss.?”

“Yes?” Your curt reply surprises him but he recovers fast, glancing towards Hara before talking to you again.

“Are you a guest of Ms. Hara?”

“Obviously.” Your unwavering gaze visibly unnerves him. It was obvious to anyone there but you had an idea this was some sort of test.

“May I see your ticket please?” His bogus smile annoys you more than it should. Nonetheless, Hara is fishing out the ticket from her purse and showing the man. He inspects it longer than he should and finally walks back to the auctioneer to let him know you had the right to be here.

“Who would do that if they weren’t running a hoax?” You ask Hara before you can stop yourself.

“Alright. Apologies for the delay. We will now begin. As you are all aware, we are auctioning two of our very elite hybrids from a rare batch. They have not progressed to the next stage of screenings and tests due to some technical difficulties. Thus, we are here to give them a chance at a new home rather than a painful end.” He looks in the audience for effect. Euthanasia is what he meant.

“These hybrids are fully functional however lack a few abilities they were initially designed for. Due to these technical issues deeming them failed to proceed, they are available for purchase at a much lower cost than what they are sold for on the market.” The auctioneer looks so smug the urge to smack his across the face is almost irresistible.

“Right, bring them out Wonho.” Everyone is watching carefully, waiting for the ‘failed’ hybrids and you don’t know what you were expecting.

Not what you see though. Definitely not. Because the two - tall - hybrids entering the stage are not what you expect. Peach and silver tones greet your eyes as well as incredibly sculpted faces.  The peach haired hybrid seems to cling to the silver haired one. The man leading the two hybrids seems to be frustrated with their slow pace, giving the peach haired hybrid a little shove and there is only so much you can do to not yell at the top of your lungs for him to get his hands off of them.

The man sighs, letting the two hybrids to just stand in the middle when the peach haired one does not stand apart from the other hybrid. While the shorter of the two hybrids - and much, much shyer - looks around anxiously at the people in the auditorium, the silver haired one has his features set in stone. His eyes don’t look alarmed, they don’t seem scared. He just looks numb. He stares ahead at the people sitting in front of him while the peach haired boy visibly shakes, breathing fast and eyes flitting across every surface. He takes a step back, hiding part of his body behind his silver haired companion for comfort.

“There you have them. The peach haired specimen is a Oryctolagus cuniculus or - a bunny in more simplistic terms. The silver haired specimen is an arctic fox, Vulpes lagopus. Both hybrids are off a rare species and very sought after on the market. Due to technical issues, once again, unfortunately, we are only able to sell them in a pair. They are useless on their own.”

The candid way the auctioneer speaks of them has your blood boiling. But what gets you more is the laughter that sounds in the auditorium. Did these assholes think they were funny? The hybrids - entirely human or not - were present in the room with them. Did they not have any ounce of respect for them? Hara was not faring any better. Watching with a frown as chatter continued among the buyers. The bunny looked even more disturbed, looking around at every man in the front few rows - before his eyes landed on you.

The gasp that leaves you is abrupt. His pained expression holds your gaze, eyes wide and chest heaving. The bunny jumps when the auctioneer speaks again.

“We will now start the bid at $1000. $1200 anyone?” Several hands go up before the auctioneer raises the price to $1400.

Bald, greasy men exchanging glances and crude remarks as they talk amongst themselves. Your heart is thumping, your blood thinning. With each passing second, your throat seems to be closing up. There was nothing you could do to save them, was there? The further the price went up, the more panicked and distraught the bunny looked, gripping his fox companion harder, hiding behind him even more. The silver haired fox looked much like what you had stopped Hara from looking only this morning. Hopeless. His mouth was set in a thin line - just taking in the scenario in front of him. It was obvious he saw his fate before his very eyes and instead of futilely hoping that someone would save them - he stares his aggressors in the eyes.

“Brilliant! We’re at $3000 for the gentleman in the first row. Anyone for $3500?” The said man looked positively smug, sitting with his legs spread lewdly. Most likely sure that no one would contest that price.

Definitely not you.

“$4000.” Your voice yelling above everyone else is even foreign to your own ears. An outer body experience as you watch yourself look the auctioneer straight in his eyes, daring anyone in the room to go higher up on the price. But most of all, you watch the silver haired hybrid’s gaze waver for the first time - looking at you in such surprise like it was the first time he was noticing you.

“Ah... Anyone for $4500?” Only one other hand goes up. The man that had been the prospective buyer before. His face is ballooning with the amount of blood that’s rushing to it.

“Y/n? What are you doin?!” Hara’s frantic whispering flies over your head as you call out once more.

“$6000. Final offer.” You look at the other men in the seats beneath you, challenging them to dispute your offer.

The atmosphere is tense, thick with the tension brewing inside the auditorium and yet you don’t shy away from the angry glares being shot your way. A minute passes. No more offers.

“Sold to Miss?”

“Y/n.”

“-Miss Y/n. Thank you all for participating.” The loud chatter is instantaneous as the auctioneer motions the other lab rat to, assumably, gather the hybrids and their things.

“Y/N! Oh my god.” Hara has all but engulfed you in a tight hug once more. Shaking you slightly out of your own shock. This was not what you had planned but it was done.

She finally pulls back, checking you over like you were ill. “A-Are you sure about this? Oh god, okay we need to head up to the podium.”

Just like she doesn’t wait for your answer, you had not waited for your own either. You hadn’t even asked yourself the question before you had so blindly bid on the two hybrids. You’d been waiting for someone to save them. Someone to come barging in and take them away from these cruel people. Never in a millenia had you thought that someone might be you.

“Here you are Miss. You can deposit a check right now or eftpos the payment. Up to you.”

Benumbed, you take out your phone to open the phone banking application. When you’ve made sure there are sufficient funds transferred from your savings account, you wave your card in front of the auctioneer wordlessly. From the corner of your eyes, you can feel the two hybrids watching you. You wished they had at least let them wait in some sort of waiting room and not witness the jarring experience of several people bidding over them.

“Excellent! The transaction has been approved and a receipt will be emailed to you if you can fill out this form here.” Glancing at the hybrids standing a few feet away from you, clutching a duffle bag each, you try and put down your details as fast as you can.

They had already looked like they wanted to be as farther away from this place as possible and the feeling was mutual. Hara was beside you the whole time, waiting for any cue from you to provide some sort of support or whatever you needed her to do. And if your tongue worked - you would thank her as you filled out the space on the form asking you of your email address. It was sickening how easy it was for you to just... buy them! Would they not do a security or police check on you? Make sure that these hybrids are going to at least a safe home?

You were aware of the long process of hybrids that were ordered from the company. The company had a thorough process of making sure their clients were reputable and trust-worthy. That they wouldn’t do bodily harm to the hybrids but that was a facade so these companies wouldn’t have to spend money in compensation if a client had abused their hybrid in any way and had not been satisfied with what they had ordered. It was a guise. These people didn’t give two shits if the hybrids were not of expectation and couldn’t make them money.

“Am I done here?” Your tone was curt and the auctioneer could sense it.

The fact that you’d fished out more than enough cash for some ‘failed’ hybrids - he was interested in you as a potential future client. You were aware that hybrids of their breed went for $5000 - maximum. The previous greasy bald man had been close to closing a deal for $3000 until you had butted in. So obviously, they were going to kiss your ass.

“Yes Ma’am. That’s all we needed. The hybrids are good to go. Their bags have their guidebooks with them. Thank you for shopping with us.” his bright smile makes you want to hit him with your designer bag.

But even this leather was too good to be wasted on these assholes. “Y/N? Please look a little more friendly. You’ll scare the bunny away.” Hara is speed walking besides you, trying to convince you to soften your stance when you stop right before the bench they had been sitting on.

“Follow me, boys.” You’re not rude. You don’t sound mean either. But you don’t particularly sound like you wanted them. And as much as that was the truth to some degree, you didn’t not want them.

The silver haired hybrid hesitates - watching you with wide, curious eyes. Not the harsh way his eyes had scanned the room before but not exactly friendly and enthusiastic like the bunny. The bunny that was currently tugging on the silver fox’s sleeve wordlessly. His doe eyes silently ask his friend to follow you. But when his feet stay rooted to the same spot, you can’t help but sigh.

“Is there a problem?” A moment’s silence. Then finally the silver haired boy shakes his head, grasping the bunny’s hand and follows you out of the building.

Hara is gripping your hand, relieved tears in her eyes and you can’t keep looking. Because you couldn’t promise her that you would take good care of them. “Thank you Y/n. You didn’t have to do that but... but you did. You’re a good person and these boys are lucky to have you.”

Her eyes are earnest. You know she means every word and she can sense your inner turmoil at your own ability to take care of them. The boys can’t hear you both talking since they are standing near your car, obediently waiting for you. Taking a look at them huddled in the back seat, you turn back to Hara.

“Thanks Har. I will try my best. They deserve a shot at a normal and secure life. I won’t let you down.”

“And you,” she cups your face, making you look back at her. “You deserve love too. I have seen the bunny hybrid in the lab. He will heal all your wounds too. Please be happy and patient with them, okay?”

You nod, a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but genuine nonetheless. “I’ll see you later. Love you.”

You just wave her goodbye, standing until her car pulls away. Looking back at the two boys waiting patiently in the car - you take a moment to gather yourself.

“Fuck... fuck. Fuck!” You don’t scream out loud. not really. But anyone walking by would be able to see you were stalling something. That something is going to your car and then going home.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to bite the bullet and face the reality. Getting in the driver’s seat, you look back at the two hybrids watching you from your rearview mirror. Giving them a small smile, you notice the bunny hybrid’s shoulders relax a little.

“Let’s go home.” Your voice is light and airy. Hoping to put them at ease. They were yours now.

You were their saviour.

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Home sweet home.” Letting them pass you, entering the condo, you let them take in their surroundings.

The bunny is still latched on to the taller hybrid’s flannel, hiding behind him when the fox hybrid comes to stand beside a couch. Both of them look at you - as if waiting for you to allow them to sit. The silver haired fox is holding on to the bunny’s hand, watching you with a dour look.

“Go on.” You head motions towards the comfortable three seater couch. “Have a seat. No need to be shy.”

Of course, you want to palm yourself after your remark. Of course they were shy. Well, the bunny mostly. The fox looked to be very suspicious and not exactly friendly. Though you could understand his apprehension. He was about to be sold to some very nefarious people. He seemed to be a bit older than the bunny and had a look of ambiance that only came with experiencing harsh times. Your heart felt for him.

The bunny doesn’t wait too long, sitting on the couch - well plopping is more like it - whereas the fox takes his time, battling with himself if he should or not. When you keep watching him, waiting for him to sit, he thankfully gives in and sits besides his friend.

Once you can tell that they are comfortable - as comfortable as they can be, you ask your first question. “So, what are your names?”

You smile at them gently, letting them know you are their friend. At least hoping that they can conclude that from the fact that you told them about their new home on the car ride over.

The bunny’s eyes are wide, face heating up as if you asked him a rather scandalous question and not just his name. Your heart skips a beat when the lovely blush blossoms across his face that’s hiding in the fox’s shoulder.

“Well? Can you tell me, bun? What’s your name?” Your question being directed to the bunny only makes the blush more visible. You could see his face reddening further in embarrassment and the colour being rather more visible on his neck too.

The smile doesn’t diminish from your face. Not even after seeing the way the fox is almost glaring at you but you were positive that the bunny wasn’t hiding because he was afraid of you.

“J-Jungkook. ‘m J-Jungk-kook” The answer proves to be too much for him to mumble, lips catching his plumper bottom lip as he peeks at you through one eye that isn’t hidden in the fox’s shoulder.

“Jungkook. That’s a lovely name, bun.” Your smile widens when you see the corners of his mouth stirring up a little at your compliment.

Your heart was so full. Never did you think you would feel these dizzying emotions at a pretty boy merely muttering his name. His name. If this was your reaction at finding out one of their names, you were not going to survive getting to know them before you went full mother-hen mode on anyone that tried to harm them.

“What about you, hm?” Your smile is a lingering effect of just looking at Jungkook’s adorable blushing face and you don’t let it falter even if the fox hybrid is visibly more aloof.

‘Be patient with them y/n.’ You remind yourself of Hara’s words over and over.

“Namjoon.” The smile halts briefly at the deep timbre of his tone. You had not been expecting him to sound like molten chocolate and sweeter than honey. You realise you wanted to hear him more. Hear him speak about mundane topics over and over because that’s how good he sounded to you.

“Namjoon.” the name rolls off your tongue smoothly, just like his voice. You’re still watching his face, waiting for any sort of reaction even if it’s not as endearing as Jungkook’s. Just something. But his face remains passive. A slight twitch of his lips but that’s it. The pessimistic part of your brain convinces you that it could have been a frown and not a smile that he’s fought away.

But you needed to remain positive.

“T-That’s… a very nice name too.” He doesn’t look convinced at your reply though. Namjoon continues to watch you and now you’re the one blushing from the heat of his stare.

Jungkook is watching Namjoon just as cautiously as you. Like he expected him to be like that. Austere and unwilling to be forthcoming with information about himself. Telling yourself that he’ll adjust with time, you opt for a smile that’s sent Jungkook’s way - making the bunny hide behind Namjoon again. Almost like when a child is cautious and shys away from a stranger they meet. That’s what it was.  A childlike innocence to Jungkook which awoke every instinct in you to protect him. Maybe that’s why his eyes had convinced you that you needed to take them home with you.

“Okay boys. I’ll show you to your rooms.” Furrowing your brows at the way Jungkook clutches Namjoon harder with panicked eyes, you turn around to look at them again.

“You don’t need to stay in separate rooms if you don’t want to, okay?” Namjoon regards you with a look before nodding - eyes cast down once again.

“Good. You both are very quiet but that’s okay - I can talk enough for the three of us.” The wink that you send Jungkook’s way only has him sputtering with embarrassment as the lovely rose tints his full round cheeks.

“But you do have to tell me when you are not okay with something, alright? I can’t read your pretty little heads.” As you say the last few words, your hand reaches out to shuffle the bunny’s peach hair.

What you don’t expect, is him flinching away so violently that even you are startled, taking a step back. Jungkook is hiding behind Namjoon completely now, shaking and you want to reach out. Say sorry and take it all back.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

“Hey, kook, it’s alright. It’s okay.” Namjoon’s voice reverberates through the quiet hallway, soothing the bunny’s shaking frame, whispering gentle assurances and you’re about to choke up.

What happened to him? Who did this to him. For him to be this scared. Watching Namjoon hug the shaking bunny tightly, sniffling away in his chest, only makes you feel more guilty at your brash treatment. Were you coming on too strong? God you were so out of your depth.

“I didn’t mean to scare you Jungkook. Honey..” You’re trying your best to reach out to him but the way Namjoon stands between you and him like a wall - it’s obvious he was waiting for something like this to happen. He was cautious of you and now his beliefs have been reinforced to not trust you or whatever nonsense he’s thinking.

You couldn’t blame him though. You really couldn’t.

“Please be careful, miss. He’s not a toy.” Namjoon’s voice trembles. Just the way - you now notice - his bottom lip does. He’s holding back tears and you really don’t know what to do. Except try your best to take their pain away.

“I’m.. I’m really sorry Namjoon. I didn’t mean to upset him.” You open the door to the room quickly, making sure there are blankets and pillows on the bed before coming out to tell them.

“Take him inside Namjoon. I’ll… I’ll leave you two alone, for now. Let me know if you need anything?” Namjoon merely nods, not being able to look you in the eyes but the bite of his lip tells you he’s trying to hold it together.

Jungkook’s hiccups catch your attention and you pull yourself out of your self-pity session. Only wanting to make sure that both of the hybrids are comfortable and just not feeling the way they are right now. Gesturing your head forward again, you nod at Namjoon when he looks at you one last time before heading into the room. The bunny holds onto Namjoon tightly, letting him walk into the room and when they are fully in - you close the door behind them. Giving them their privacy and also because you had a feeling they needed to be by themselves to really understand their current situation. That you were their new owner and this was their home.

A permanent home.

[thewayshedreamed]

Open Secrets— Nessian AU

Prompt submission by Nonnie— Reverse fake dating au where everyone thinks you’re dating and you’re keeping it a secret, but you’re not.

Thanks to whoever submitted this prompt! I’d originally completed this prompt for Feysand, but I struggled between that one and this one! Thanks to @awesomelena555 and @bookstantrash for encouraging me to post the Nessian version too!

——————————————————————————

Nesta pulled up to Rhysand and Feyre’s new home about 30 minutes after their house-warming party had begun. It was certainly a little out of character of her, being that she was someone who considered five minutes early as “on time”. It wasn’t really her fault. Elain had called her right before she pulled into their neighborhood to let her know they had drastically underestimated the amount of alcohol they would need for all the guests. Nesta had driven a little past the neighborhood to make the supplemental booze run, and she was about to walk into this party a hero.

She slipped into the party, aiming to keep a low profile. She absolutely hated arriving somewhere and being the sudden center of attention, so she was hoping to avoid that. The party was split; half indoors and half outdoors, making it all the easier for her.

She took inventory of her surroundings as she made her way toward the kitchen. There were several small groups sprinkled around in conversation, and some were outside playing yard games or drinking games. She already felt hungover just watching them.

Her eyes landed on Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. They were off to the side, all sipping on drinks, and talking enthusiastically with each other. She noticed Cassian seemed to be on the receiving end of whatever hell they were giving, if his rigid posture and frequent eye rolling was any indication. She chuckled a little at that; he probably had that coming.

He excused himself abruptly from the conversation, tossing his beer bottle into a trash can a few feet away. He walked toward the house, and Nesta quickly directed her attention back to unloading the beer and liquor to wherever it needed to be stored in the kitchen. She heard the sliding glass door open, then close, followed by heavy footsteps walking through the kitchen.

“Hey, Nes! When did you get here?” He threw an arm around her shoulders, giving her a side-hug while she worked.

It seemed like such a small thing to most, but the fact that she and Cassian had made it to this point impressed her. With the way things had started when they’d originally met, things looked bleak for them on the friendship front. She wasn’t sure when his snark and cocky demeanor shifted from infuriating to endearing, but she had come to learn that those traits were such a tiny part of who he was. All of that considered, she leaned in to the casual side-hug, not wanting to take their progress for granted.

“Just now, actually. I haven’t even finished unloading the car.”

”Damn, sweetheart. How much booze did you bring?!” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it as he leaned back on the counter.

”Probably not enough if we’re sharing with the likes of you,” she teased. She felt a small tap between her shoulder blades, followed by a ping sound. She turned around to see Cassian’s beer cap sliding across the floor. That little shit actually threw his beer cap at her.

She glared at him and was met with a sideways smirk on his face. He broke into a laugh when she didn’t back down and rocked forward to push himself off the counter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you by helping you unload the car. Keep me company?” he requested.

”Fine. On the way you can tell me what your friends were giving you shit about outside. I’m starting to think maybe you earned it,” she taunted.

The cadence of his steps was interrupted just a fraction by her question, but he recovered quickly enough.

”Actually, I don’t know that I did this time.”

”Well now I’m definitely intrigued.”

He hesitated for several seconds, his jaw working as he thought through what to say next.

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” he stated, as he opened the backseat of her car. He grabbed the rest of the drinks before shutting her car door firmly.

“That makes me want to know even more, Cassian.”

”Okay, fine. But just remember that you wanted this. And you can’t be mad or get weird about it.”

His disclaimer gave her pause, but she nodded her head anyway. Curiosity won this round.

“For whatever reason, they have their minds made up that you and I are seeing each other and are trying to keep it on the down low. I’m still not entirely sure why they think we would keep it under wraps if we were involved, but that’s their theory right now.” His words came out in a rush as if he was trying to get it over with and pretend they never had the conversation.

Nesta merely blinked several times before replying, “Hm. Okay. So I get that they didn’t tell you why they think we’d hide it, but did they at least say why they think we’re a thing in the first place?”

Cassian rolled his eyes as he unloaded the remaining drinks into the refrigerator.

“Who the fuck knows with those two? All I remember them saying was something about how we have way too much tension between us and how we went from hating each other to being friendly overnight.” He took a swig of his beer.

”So, since we’re nice to each other now, we’re fucking?” There was no frustration in her tone. She was actually a little amused at how faulty the logic was.

Cassian choked on his beer; the result of not being prepared for that question coming from Nesta, of all people. He coughed into his elbow several times before he recovered.

“Caught me off guard, sorry. Yes, apparently, but I told them to knock it off.”

She was lost in thought for several seconds. “This could be fun,” she mused.

”What could be fun?” His confusion was obvious all over his face.

“The more we try to prove them wrong, the more they’re going to think they’re right. So why not just lean into it and have a little fun messing with them.”

”Oo. I like this. Get them all riled up about it and let them down later. I can’t say I’d hate to watch them squirm a little,” he replied.

”Exactly. But if we do this, we have to commit. We can’t question each other in front of anyone else, or the whole thing is shot,” she warned. “If we feel like we’re not on the same page, we reconvene here and make our way back out there once we figure it out.”

He smiled at her, a true broad smile, with the gleam of mischief in his hazel eyes. “You’re a wicked little woman, Archeron. I love it.”

——————————————————————————

They walked from the kitchen together, breaking apart once Nesta started making her rounds to greet everyone. Cassian walked back over to his friends, who were both clearly amused with themselves even still. He wanted to throttle both of them.

“What took you so long, Cass?” Rhys asked, a cocky little half smile on his face.

”Helped Nesta unload all the booze out of her car.” He took a long swig of his beer. “Don’t you say a fucking word, you prick.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rhys replied, earning a laugh from Azriel.

Both of them looked over his shoulder just as he felt someone approach him from behind. He felt a small hand rest on his bicep, turning him slightly toward them.

“Hey, Cass,” Nesta beamed up at him, and he swore his heart stopped. “I never said thank you for helping me.” She glanced down at her hand, and quickly drew it away to put it in her back pocket. She looked down at the ground and cleared her throat before looking at him again. “So, thank you. I owe you one.”

Wow, she was good. She looked every bit the part of someone who lost her bearings and was caught being affectionate. His returning smile was genuine.

“Of course. Happy to do it,” he replied, as she turned her attention to greet Rhysand and Azriel.

She walked away to make her next stop in greetings, and he made sure to watch her go for just a second longer than necessary. When he turned his attention back to the guys, they were smirking at each other like the smug bastards they were. This was going to be too easy.

——————————————————————————

The next couple of hours progressed in a similar fashion. Surprisingly, they stayed on the same page without much effort, playing off of each other from one scenario to the next. They gravitated to each other when their paths happened to cross, but they kept their interactions short. If someone walked up on them, they slipped away somewhat awkwardly as if they were guilty of something they shouldn’t be doing. They easily slipped small, seemingly intimate actions into each interaction whenever they knew Rhys or Azriel was nearby. Nesta would rest her hand on Cassian’s forearm briefly as they laughed. Cassian would shove her with his shoulder in passing, earning a playful scolding from Nesta. A couple of times when they were standing in a small group, Nesta would subtly grab Cassian��s drink to take a sip and hand it back as if it were second nature. In response, Cassian would rub his thumb absent-mindedly over where her lips had touched the rim. By this point, Rhys and Azriel were nearly bursting with their desire to call them out on their behavior.

They partnered up for a couple of games, making it a point to stand an arm’s length apart. However, occasionally when things would go their way, they would engage in a celebratory hug and simultaneously spring apart to their original places like they forgot themselves. Nesta decided they worked incredibly well together despite being such an unlikely alliance. They won the second game and celebrated with loud cheers and a high five. Nesta caught Cassian’s eye briefly, muttering “Kitchen, in 5” through her smile.

She made her way there and busied herself with refilling her drink. Right on time, she heard Cassian’s heavy footfall entering the kitchen. She turned around, meeting his amused expression with one of her own.

”Hey! Everything okay? Am I not reading this right?” he asked.

“No, no, no. You’re great. I just wanted to talk without eyes on us for a second to see how you think things are going. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught Rhys and Azriel glancing over at us,” she said through a chuckle. His shoulders seemed to relax at her reassurance.

He responded with a laugh of his own. “Oh, they’re crawling out of their skin. Especially Rhys. It kills him when he thinks he’s right but can’t say anything.”

”That’s definitely like him,” Nesta joked.

Around Cassian’s shoulder, she saw Azriel through the glass door approaching the house. She glanced up at her partner-in-crime with a conspiratorial grin across her face.

“Hug me. Hurry— make it good.” He did as he was told, looping an arm around her waist and cradling her head to his chest. “When you hear the door open, back up.”

A few more seconds passed before they heard the long slide of the glass door as Azriel pulled it open. Cassian made a show of tensing and pulling away quickly, clearing his throat. Nesta shoved her hands into her back pockets as she had done several times over the course of the day when she was “caught” touching her rumored lover.

“Well, hey guys. How’s it going?” Azriel asked with a cocky, sideways smile.

Cassian mumbled something about needing the restroom and quickly fled the premises, leaving Nesta to brave Azriel alone. He’d definitely be paying for that one.

“Good. I needed a little break from outside. Got a little overwhelmed with all the hustle and bustle.”

”Mm. Understandable,” he replied, grabbing another beer from the fridge and turning toward her. “What was all that about? With Cass?”

”What was what?”

“Nesta. All the hugging I had the misfortune of walking in on. What’s going on with you two?” He leaned back onto the counter, crossing one ankle over the other and putting his free hand in his front pocket.

It took her a second to gather her thoughts before she decided she didn’t particularly care for being the only flustered one around here. Additionally, she was annoyed that Azriel seemed so cocksure about his position, as if Nesta were totally oblivious to all the questioning he and Rhys had done earlier. Granted, as far as they knew, she was, but that was neither here nor there.

It was time for the tables to start turning, even if she hadn’t had the chance to discuss it with Cassian yet. However, if he were that concerned about it, he wouldn’t have completely abandoned her to deal with Azriel. He was along for the ride now and would have to go with the flow.

Azriel wasn’t one to be easily flustered, that much Nesta knew. She knew she wouldn’t be able to be incredibly subtle because he would see right through it. She also knew he wasn’t above continuing to point on the flaws in her logic if she were to get caught in that web. She had to be decisive, creative, and she had to commit.

She walked over a little closer to him, facing him and propping her hip on the counter next to where he was leaning. She looked up into his face, and he eyed her suspiciously, an apprehensive look dawning over his features. Perfect.

“So, that’s in then. You’ve cracked our code?” she asked quietly.

”I wouldn’t call what you two have a ‘code’, Nes.” Arrogant bastard. Any doubt or guilt she’d felt for deceiving her friends had officially dwindled to zero. Azriel’s response had served her in that way, at least. She inched slightly closer to him, running her fingertips from his forearm down to his wrist, where his hand met his pocket.

“Then you knew we were going to talk to you? What gave it away?” she whispered, looping her fingers around the sensitive underside of his wrist.

Azriel’s eyes widened, glancing to her hand and back up to her face quickly. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

”You hardly need my permission, Nesta,” he responded.

She brought her other hand to cup his shoulder, leaning into him a little more. She could feel his entire body tense as if moving too quickly would provoke her to attack. He took an extra long pull from his beer.

“I disagree. Cassian and I both insisted that we talk to you together.”

It was at that moment that her co-conspirator returned from his bathroom trip. She watched as he scanned the situation, noting her hands on Azriel’s arm and shoulder. He pulled his lips into a curious smile.

“The two of you look cozy. I thought we were talking to him together, sweetheart,” he said, playing off of the comment he’d overheard.

He moved to the spot on the other side of Azriel, shooting her a questioning look when Azriel’s attention was turned away from him. Nesta’s face gave nothing away as she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at Cassian with affectionate exasperation.

“You took a little while, and I wasn’t sure when we would be able to get him alone again. I hadn’t said anything to him yet. Not without you.”

”Well, don’t let me stop you. By all means, love, carry on,” he said, using a flat palm gesture forward. He gave her a full smile in return, and she noted how much it softened his features. He truly was quite beautiful, in a rough, raw sort of way.

She peered up at Azriel, waiting until he looked down at her.

“You mentioned me and Cassian, but it’s not what you think. At least, not exactly.” He gave her a confused look. She decided to continue before she lost her nerve with this last-minute plan. She turned her gaze to Cassian for the briefest of seconds before looking back at Azriel.

“I don’t really know how to ask this properly, so I’m just going to go for it, I guess. I know you think we’re sleeping together and it’s some kind of secret. But honestly, we wouldn’t care to be secretive about just us. We’re adults. But, we wanted to be respectful of you in the event you were okay with this.”

She could see Cassian hanging on her every word beside Azriel, just as naive to what she was going to suggest. She took a breath before finishing in a low rasp, sounding way more confident than she felt. It was all for the mission, she told herself.

“We wanted to know if you’d join us, Az.” She watched as his eyes nearly popped out of his head, hurrying to finish. “I know, I know. Probably out of nowhere, but we agreed we would give you some time to think. And it doesn’t have to be an ongoing thing if you want to try and see how it goes. No hard feelings either way, seriously.”

She moved her gaze to meet Cassian’s, whose hazel eyes were also threatening to launch from their sockets. He mastered himself quickly, his timing perfect, since Azriel was snapping his head toward him.

”What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is this?” He was looking back and forth between them, begging for an explanation or an escape route.

Nesta feared that maybe she had made an executive call that Cassian wasn’t good with carrying through. To her surprise, he lifted one of his large hands to cup Azriel’s cheek, keeping his face turned toward him.

”Az, it’s okay.” He subtly rubbed his thumb over Azriel’s cheek, and Nesta had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. “You don’t have to say anything now. It’s just... I trust you. And if I’m going to do this, it makes the most sense for it to be with someone who knows me like you do. Plus, you were first on Nesta’s list.”

She shot him a heated glare, knowing he was throwing her under the bus as revenge for keeping him out of the loop. She supposed she had earned that.

Azriel shot from his position, walking to the other side of the kitchen. He set his beer down and braced both of his large hands on the countertop. His head was hanging forward as he took deep breaths, and they heard him mutter a low, “What the fuck?”

Nesta and Cassian had both oriented toward him, their backs now toward the counter. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, Cassian with his hands in his pockets and Nesta with her arms crossed. She grabbed her drink she’d refilled earlier to take a sip before offering some to Cassian.

Ariel’s head lifted slightly as he fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him.

“Why do people always ask me to be part of their threesomes?” he whispered to no one in particular. Nesta and Cassian turned their heads toward each other, both of their brows raised in question. How often was this happening to Azriel?

He turned around to face them again, his brown furrowed in concentration.

“Az, don’t overextend yourself for our benefit,” Cassian joked. “I didn’t realize we were two of many.”

”Fuck off, Cass.” He rubbed his temples in impatience. “Can I ask, why me?”

Nesta didn’t miss a beat. They’d tortured him enough, and she was ready to reveal the truth.

“Well, seeing as you and Rhysand feel so comfortable as to insert yourselves into other’s affairs, we figured you may appreciate a front-row seat,” she replied dryly.

Cassian snorted a laugh and looked down at her with something like admiration. He bumped her shoulder with his for good measure.

“You’re messing with me?” Azriel demanded incredulously. Cassian broke out into a full laugh at that.

“Indeed. Nothing gets by you, Az,” he responded.

”We have been all day,” Nesta interjected. “You two were quick to lean in to your theory.” She couldn’t hide her laugh this time.

Azriel stood there, dumbfounded and speechless. His eyes scanned both of their faces and darkened as he noted their amusement.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just go around asking people to join you in threesomes!”

”Don’t be upset, man. You’ll always be my first choice,” Cassian teased.

Azriel’s eyes locked onto his, showing a strong promise of violence if this conversation didn’t change direction.

“Oh, stop it. Both of you. Cassian, stop antagonizing Azriel. And you.” She pointed her finger to where Azriel stood. “You think I didn’t know about you and Rhysand’s little theories about me and Cassian? All because we dared be nice to each other?”

She gave him a chance to respond. He didn’t.

“I’ve seen every single smirk you two have exchanged anytime we were within 10 feet of each other, so sure that you were right about us. We fed every bit of it to you on a platter, and you were too quick to believe what you wanted. Well, let this,” she gestured with her finger in a circle, “be a reminder that things aren’t always as they seem. And stop theorizing on your friend’s sex life. You know better than anyone that his arrogance would have him giving you the details for less than this.”

“Hey!” Cassian complained. “I’m on your side.”

Azriel lifted both of his hands in surrender, breathing a low chuckle before he spoke.

“I don’t know whether I’m more relieved by the truth or pissed off that you two did this to us all damn day. But either way, you’re right, Nesta. It’s really not our business, and we’ve been know-it-all little pricks all day long. I’m sorry. Truly.” He moved forward, holding out his arms in offer of a group hug. They accepted, Nesta gripping each of them around the waist and Cassian wrapping around both of their shoulders.

Just before they let go, Cassian nuzzled his face into Azriel’s neck, earning a curse from Azriel as he playfully pushed him away. Nesta threw her head back in a laugh, relieved, yet disappointed, that their game had come to an end.

——————————————————————————

Later that evening, what remained of their little gathering had moved inside to continue the festivities. Someone had suggested Twister, and Cassian had offered to referee and work the spinner. He was way too fucking big for this game.

“Right hand, blue!” he called.

He watched as his friends scrambled to find the closest blue space, bickering as if it were life or death. He laughed as he watched Rhysand and Nesta battle over the same blue space. The latter ended up sprawled on her ass by the time the turn was over. She huffed her frustration and landed a firm poke to Rhysand’s ribs before stalking over to the couch by Cassian.

“Cheap shot, demon witch,” Rhysand called after her. The masked affection in his tone was obvious, but she shot him a vulgar gesture all the same.

“Don’t be a sore loser, sweetheart,” he teased, as she plopped down on the couch next to him. “You got yours earlier tonight when Azriel filled him in on our ruse.”

“That’s totally different,” she insisted.

He called out the next position, watching intently for any foul play. He heard her quiet voice from next to him and had to fight the urge to turn to her.

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you today,” she said.

“I did, too. We made a good team,” he replied.

He rested a hand above her knee absent-mindedly, pulling it away just as quickly to flick the spinner for the next turn. Apparently, their day of shenanigans had lowered any reservations he had about making physical contact with her. His palm seemed to burn slightly where he’d touched her.

“Right foot, green!” he called.

She dropped her voice just a bit lower so that only he could hear over the mixed sounds in the room.

“Did it make you even a little curious? I guess all that pretending had me thinking of what it would be like if we...” she trailed off.

He couldn’t fight his glance at her this time. He took note of her bottom lip between her teeth and the slight blush across her cheeks. That was the second time tonight that he had been struck dumb by how beautiful she was.

He fought to turn his face away from hers to initiate the next turn. He called out the next position before answering her as nonchalantly as possible.

“Curiosity hit me well before tonight, sweetheart.” His heart thundered slightly at the admission.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she reached for his phone on the cushion between them. She handed it to him when she was prompted with the lock screen, and he mindlessly typed in his code. She worked for a second, locked his phone, and placed it back into its original position before reaching for her own.

He had to settle a disagreement between Mor and Feyre about hand placement before he was able to turn his attention back to Nesta. Why the fuck had he ever volunteered for this?

He unlocked his phone to see that his messaging app was open. There was an outgoing message to a number he didn’t recognize. Upon opening it, all the message said was, “Cassian.”

He glanced over at Nesta, watching as she stopped typing and locked her own phone. Within seconds, his phone vibrated with an incoming message from that unknown number. Nesta’s number.

He scanned the message, realization dawning on him within seconds. She’d sent him her home address followed by four simple words. “No pressure. No expectations.”

Before he could say anything at all, Nesta stood from the couch, reaching her arms over her head in a long stretch. His mouth went dry looking at the lines her body made as she did so.

“Alright, guys. It’s past my bedtime. I’m out,” she called as she blew kisses to her sisters.

She grabbed her things, slid her feet into her shoes, and made her way toward the door. She lingered for half a second to give Cassian a small smile. Just like that, she was gone, leaving Cassian to finish what seemed like it could be the longest Twister game in all of eternity.

——————————————————————————

Kind of already have a part 2 swimming around in my head for this one, so that may be a thing soon! 

Feel free to keep the prompts coming, and let me know if you have a particular pairing or mood in mind ☺️

If you’d like to be added to my tag list, you can comment, shoot me an ask, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

Tags (Masterlist):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08​ // @maastrash​ // @superspiritfestival // @girl-who-reads-the-books

[plaidbooks]

Dating Pains

A/N: So! I was looking through some old files and found this Sonny Carisi x reader story I wrote in September that I had completely forgotten about! After reading through it, I figured “this is actually pretty good, I can post that” so here’s part one of four(?).

Tags: mentions of rape, mentions of murder, attempted drugging

Words: 3026

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @stardust-fray @permanentlydizzy @infiniteoddball @ben-c-group-therapy @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles

You puckered your lips, painting them with the bright red lipstick that you loved. You smacked your lips a couple times, smiling at your own reflection. You were in comfortable jeans that hugged your ass perfectly, and a loose shirt, the sleeves draped around your upper arms rather than your shoulders, bright red and orange flowers on the black material. Your makeup was simple, neutral, except for the lipstick—but you couldn’t help yourself, you loved the color.

It was a first date, and you didn’t want to over-do it by over-dressing. Besides, it was a first date with this guy, and you were running out of cute, clean clothes. But it was your third “first date” in two weeks; your friends had set up a Tinder account for you and had been forcing you to go out on these dates. At first, you were reluctant, unwilling to stoop so low as to use an app to find love. But, after about a month of trying it the “old fashioned way,”—you at bars and clubs, striking out over and over again—you gave in to their insistence. Though, most of the guys on Tinder only wanted hookups, and you wanted something, well, more. You were looking for love, as cliché as that was, and that was something your friends loved to tease you about.

“You can wait around and find love whenever, but why pass up a chance to get laid?” one of your friends asked. You had blushed and tried to fumble through an excuse about why you didn’t want a hookup, why you wanted a real relationship. It wasn’t like you were necessarily against having a one-night stand, but it just wasn’t what you were looking for.

It took weeks and a lot of weeding through shitty profiles and messages until you found at least someone that seemed interesting. Your first date was alright; he seemed nice, polite but there just wasn’t a connection there. You both agreed that there shouldn’t be a second date. The second man was a real estate agent. He was once divorced, from his high school sweetheart, lived on Staten Island, had finished paying off his college debt, and was debating going back for a BS in Computer Science since that’s where the real money was. You knew all about his family life, too, because never once did he stop talking about himself. When he asked for a second date, you politely declined. Then again, and again, until you finally had to block him. If you didn’t already have this third “first date” set up, you would’ve given up on Tinder entirely.

Looking yourself over once more, you headed out the door and towards the bar that you were meeting the man at, nervous butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You had made sure you took screenshots of the man’s profile and messages, sent a picture of his profile picture to your friends, and told them where you were going. You were positive that serial killers didn’t use Tinder, but it was always better to be safe.

You made it to the bar and scanned the faces in the cramped space. Your date, Jerry, had said that he would be wearing a navy-blue polo shirt and black slacks, not that the dim lighting in the bar would help you tell the difference between the two colors. Your eyes did a full scan, not seeing anyone that looked familiar; maybe he was running late? Sure enough, you felt your phone vibrate, a message from Jerry saying that he was running behind and would be there in 5 minutes. Shrugging to yourself, you made your way to the bar, ordering a sprite and finding an open table. Being late wasn’t a deal-breaker for you, and at least he had messaged you.

You let your eyes wander through the crowd, people watching, and, if you were being honest with yourself, looking for anyone that looked attractive and hopefully alone…just in case this Jerry-guy didn’t work out. There were a couple of cute guys in the bar, but all of them seemed to be with someone, whether friends or with a girlfriend. Your eyes did settle on one man, though; he was tall, even when sitting, his hair carefully slicked back. In the dim bar lighting, it was impossible to tell if his hair was grey, blonde, or a light brown. He was in a blue, button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a black striped tie, and a suit jacket was on the back of his chair. He had a beer in his hand, his long fingers wrapped around the dark bottle, with his head thrown back in laughter at something that one of the two women he was with said. One of the women was older, with long brown hair, who exuded command, even though she was also chuckling. The other woman was younger, closer to your age, with blonde hair that was tied back, beer in her hand and obviously the one cracking the jokes.

You looked away as you saw someone approaching your table out of the corner of your eye, smiling as you saw that it was Jerry—at least he matched his profile picture. You stood, giving him a polite hug, before you both sat. A waitress came up and took Jerry’s order, in which he also insisted you got a drink, too, to help loosen you both up. Not wanting to appear rude, you agreed; one drink wouldn’t make you drunk.

It took you about 5 minutes to realize that Jerry was the same, if not worse, than your last date was. He was incredibly full of himself, talking about how women just “didn’t get him” and how he was only on Tinder because he was “too busy” to actually go out and meet people. You were about to excuse yourself to the bathroom, planning to have a friend come save you, when he got up himself to go. While he was gone, you seriously contemplated leaving, but you couldn’t—you weren’t that mean. But you did instantly forget about texting a friend for help. Instead, your eyes travelled back over to the cute man with the slicked-back hair. You were shocked when you saw his bright blue eyes watching you. He quickly turned away, as did you, your cheeks flushing hot. You were too afraid to look back over, your face still feeling warm…warmer than a normal blush. You were looking hard at the table in front of you when you noticed that it was moving. Confused, you put your hand out to rest on it; it definitely wasn’t moving, but now the room looked like it was moving, shifting, and you felt like your skin was on fire now.

You stood suddenly, and almost went right back down. There was no way you were drunk, so what the hell was happening? You took a couple of stuttering steps before you felt hands on you, an arm wrapping around your waist, a hand on your shoulder, helping you up.

“You okay, honey?” Jerry asked, his fake, honey-covered voice concerned.

Your mouth moved, but you couldn’t form words. It was becoming hard to keep your eyes open, and you felt sweat forming on your forehead. You vaguely noticed him guiding you towards the door, out of the bar. Suddenly, a shadow was looming over you. You looked up, squinting at the figure above you. All you saw was slicked-back hair, and bright blue eyes, full of concern and a quiet rage.

“Sorry, man. My girlfriend just had a few too many,” Jerry was saying, trying to laugh it off. Something clicked in your sluggish brain. This is wrong, you thought, but your body wasn’t reacting to your mind. Without knowing what you were doing, you reached towards the tall, lanky man in front of you, who was now speaking harshly to Jerry. But you couldn’t understand the words. Your mind was fading fast, darkness coming to meet you.

You gathered all the strength you had left, and whispered into the loud, over-packed bar, “help me,” before the darkness overtook you.

 **********************

You woke up in a soft bed, sheets pulled up to your chest, the soft whirring of machinery around you. You squinted against the harsh light as you opened your eyes, the fluorescent lights blinding you slightly. You groaned and pushed yourself up, your head pounding and your throat dry. You froze; you were obviously in the hospital, but you had no memory of getting there, or why you were there in the first place. You took mental stock of your body; besides a splitting headache, you felt fine. So why were you there?

“Oh, you’re awake! How are you feeling?” a soft voice asked. You looked over and saw a nurse coming into your room, clipboard in hand. She didn’t wait for you to answer as she started playing with the machinery you were hooked up to.

“I-I’m alright,” you rasped, throat completely dry. She wordlessly poured you a glass of water on your side table and handed it to you. You gratefully took a sip, wetting your throat. “Head hurts, though.”

The nurse nodded as she took the glass back. “That’s normal.”

You cocked an eyebrow in confusion. “Normal for what? Why am I here?”

The nurse seemed surprised for a moment before she realized. “Oh, of course you don’t remember. You were drugged last night; roofied.” Your heart sunk. You were roofied? How? You never left your drink unattended; how did someone sneak it in? And does that mean…? The nurse had continued talking, but you tuned out, mind and heart racing. She concluded with a little cup of pills for you to take, and now your heart really sunk. You knew that doctors gave women the morning after pill, as well as anti-STD pills after being assaulted. So, that must have happened to you, too, right? And you remembered none of it. Was it better that way?

“Are you alright, Ms. [Y/L/N]?” the nurse asked, looking at how you regarded the cup of pills. “It’s just eletriptan…for your headache?”

“Just—just headache pills?” you asked. The nurse smiled, nodding.

“Yes, just headache pills.” As she was heading out the door, she added, “oh! There were two SVU detectives here to see you. Can I let them in?”

Confused as to why two detectives wanted to talk to you, you nodded absentmindedly, taking the pills and downing them with a gulp of water. You had only a moment to think about it—SVU? Were you a Special Victim, even if you weren’t assaulted?—before they entered. The first detective that came in looked vaguely familiar; a young woman with her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. The second detective, though, made you pause. You had definitely seen him before, but you couldn’t place him. Tall, lanky, slicked-back, dirty blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that pierced into yours with some sort of…guilt? Pity? It was hard to tell what was there.

“Have we met before?” you blurted, unable to stop yourself. The expression in the man’s face intensified for the briefest moment before it was replaced with a cool professionalism.

“Uh, kinda,” the woman replied. “I’m Detective Rollins, and this is Detective Carisi. We met at the bar last night.” You thought about this, trying to will your still-aching mind to remember the events from the past night, but there was nothing there.

“Do you happen to remember anything from last night?” Carisi asked. “I mean, if you remember meeting us, maybe you remember more?”

You tried to go back through what you did remember from yesterday; getting lunch with friends, getting dressed for a date, putting on your favorite lipstick, then…nothing. Flashes of music and lights from the bar, but nothing more.

“I…don’t really remember much…. Do—do you know what happened to me? I—I remember leaving my house to meet a date, but then it’s all fuzzy—” you scrunched your eyes closed, trying to force your mind to work correctly.

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself. It’s normal to not remember after being roofied,” Rollins explained. “It may come back to you in the next couple days, and it may not. Do you remember who you were going on a date with?”

You sat for a moment before you remembered. “Oh! Where’s my phone? It was some dude on Tinder—I saved screenshots of his profile.” You found your purse on the side table next to you and dug until you found your phone. You ignored the texts and missed calls from your friends, probably freaking out since you haven’t contacted them yet, and pulled up the pictures. “I went on a date with Jerry last night,” you said, showing the pictures to the detectives.

“This is perfect, definitely enough for a warrant,” Carisi replied, smirking and giving you an impressed glance. You felt the blush crossing your cheeks and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Can you text me those pictures?”

You agreed and he gave you his number. You tried to ignore the fact that you now had his personal cell phone number as you sent the photos to him, your stomach flip-flopping.

“Is it alright if we talk to you in a couple days? See if you remember anything?” Rollins asked, already making her way to the door.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said, watching them leave. Carisi gave you a small smile before he made it to the door. “Wait!” you called out, making him stop. Carisi stood in the doorway, brow furrowed as he looked at you. “Can you please tell me what the hell happened last night? Even if you only found me somewhere—I just, I need to know something. Was I…was I attacked--?”

Carisi’s eyes filled with a sadness; he was obviously upset that you couldn’t remember anything. He turned to look out the door. “You go on to Barba’s, get the warrant. I’ll meet up with you,” he said to his partner before coming back into the room. He pulled over the visitor chair and sat down next to your bed.

“I’ll tell you all I know; I was at the bar with my Lieutenant and Rollins after work when I looked over and saw you sitting there with Jerry. Now, Jerry looked like a suspect from a case I was working a couple months back. So, I was keeping an eye on ya, just in case.” He paused for a moment, looking slightly embarrassed that he admitted watching you, but all you were feeling right now was appreciation that someone had your back. Thank god he was there, had noticed something. “When you stood up, I knew something was wrong; you were swaying and looking like you were about to pass out. I told my Lieu, and we were coming over to make sure you were alright when Jerry came back. He was trying to tell us you were drunk, and he was going take you home. Right then, you collapsed, asking for help. My Lieu arrested Jerry right there, and Rollins and I brought ya here. But we couldn’t hold him, and we couldn’t prove he was the one to drug you. But, with your screenshots, hopefully we can check his place, find roofies in his possession.”

You sat there, dumbfounded with how incredibly lucky you had been that three NYPD detectives were there when you were drugged, and how bad it could’ve ended for you if they weren’t.

“Thank you, so much, Detective Carisi,” you managed, trying to think of something else to say.

“Please, call me Sonny,” he replied, smiling. You felt yourself melting at that smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though, concern was still deep in his expression. Then, a thought struck you.

“That case you were working on a month ago, that Jerry matched the description for. What did he do?”

Sonny suddenly seemed uncomfortable, unwilling to talk, considering how lengthy of a description he just gave you from the previous night. That wasn’t a good sign.

“We, uh, we were investigatin’ a man who would roofie a woman, then rape her and leave her…dead body in her own bed. The only connection he had to the victims were that they used Tinder. But he would delete his account before we could find it. All we had was security footage and some eyewitness accounts of the man.”

Your heart started beating faster at the words “dead body.” If Jerry was indeed this man, then you almost died last night. You didn’t quite know how to process that.

You were staring at the bright white of your bedsheets when you heard Sonny ask, “[Y/N], are you alright?” He dipped his head down, trying to get in your line of sight. You snapped out of your thoughts, looking up to him.

“I—yeah, I just…I almost died?” your throat constricted on the last word. You felt hot tears in your eyes, and you blinked fast, trying to not let them fall. You really didn’t want to cry in front of this man, and not just because he was cute; you didn’t want to have a full breakdown in front of someone you didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now. ‘Sides, we don’t know for sure if Jerry’s our guy, or just some predator. Either way, we’ll get him, I promise you.” Sonny gave you another heart melting smile, before he stood up. “You have my number if ya need to talk, okay? Don’t be afraid to shoot me a text.”

You smiled as he left, shutting the door softly behind him. You already wanted to text him, but to ask him out to coffee, not to help you through your shock. But you also didn’t think that that was very appropriate, asking an SVU detective out after he saved you from being assaulted. Besides, your mind was reeling from the past 24 hours. First thing’s first, better text all your friends and let them know you were alive and unharmed. And then you were definitely deleting Tinder.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Phantom Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Dedicated to Victor’s lovely @litteidiot 🌹🥰

The date begins with MC in Victor’s office to present her weekly report. While waiting for him to return from a meeting, she thinks about how she plans to invite Victor to a dinner event.

This event includes a fashion show, and has been organized as a collaboration between MC’s company and a magazine company.

While she’s thinking, she falls asleep on the sofa.

Victor: MC? Wake up…

I wave my hands impatiently, wanting to chase away the pesky voice at my ear.

Victor: Looks like you don’t need to give a report for your proposal.

MC: !! I’m awake! I wasn’t sleeping!

MC takes out her documents.

Victor: Hair.

MC: Hm?

Seeing my puzzled expression, Victor reaches over to the top of my head, and presses down the hair that’s standing up.

Victor: You can begin now.

After she presents her report, Victor nods.

Victor: Not bad this time.  

MC: That’s great!

I release a huge sigh of relief at the rare praise. Only now do I have the mood to think of a new goal.

MC: Victor, are you free this Saturday?

I secretly hold the invitation card that was sandwiched in between the documents in my hand, prepared to hand it to him once he responds.

Without giving it much thought, Victor answers.  

Victor: I have to attend a Finance Talk on Saturday. What’s happening on that day?

MC: Oh… nothing! I was just asking.

I shake my head, quelling the disappointment in my heart, and stuff the invitation card back amongst the documents.  

Victor seems to have noticed that I’m hiding something, but he doesn’t press further.  

~

On the day of the event, stress levels are high. After checking the flow of the event yet again, MC finally relaxes a little and decides to send Victor a message.

MC: You can come over to the dinner event if you still have time after the talk!

Even though I didn’t invite Victor in person, I still sent an invitation card to LFG on behalf of the company. However, I’m unsure if Victor saw it.

After pressing the “send” button, I hold onto my phone and wait for a response. As the minutes and seconds trickle by, the disappointment in my heart swells.

MC: Maybe phones aren’t allowed in that venue.

I find random excuses for Victor. At this moment, Anna walks over frantically.

Anna explains that the mystery guest they planned to have as the finale model just met with an accident. Anna insists that MC replaces her. 

After a full makeover, MC gets stunned by her own reflection in the mirror.

The person in the mirror is wearing a glittering silver dress which outlines her good figure. A white mask covers half of her face, revealing seductive red lips. She looks extremely foreign.

I suddenly feel a little glad that Victor didn’t come.  

~

In the resting area of the venue, Victor looks at the message on his phone and freezes in place.

Victor: Did MC’s company recently organize any dinner events?

He turns to Goldman and receives an answer.

Soon, an elegant champagne-coloured invitation card is placed in his hands.

Seeing the neat handwriting on the card, a smile flashes in his eyes.

~

Back at the dinner event, MC feels incredibly nervous. She notices that everyone looks similar because they’re all wearing masks. 

However, I see an extremely familiar profile with just a sweep of my eyes.

--What is he doing here?!

My eyes widen, and I mess up the actions I had rehearsed earlier.

That tall man standing near the window and wearing a black mask – who else could he be if not Victor?

I try to maintain my cold posture, but my line of sight involuntarily falls to him. My earlier nervousness is completely forgotten.

Victor looks as though he just arrived at the venue, standing against the window and facing the stage.

As though sensing my gaze, he lifts his head towards the stage.

He halts his movements, then raises his hand to peel the mask off his face. He meets my eyes amongst the crowd.

He is illuminated by the white light from outside the window, casting him in an extraordinarily cold glow.

I hear my heart beating out of control, and even my breathing becomes messy.

While I’m panicking on stage, the audience is calm.

It is unclear if he has recognised me or not.

A mixture of shyness and embarrassment flood my head. I use my remaining willpower to grasp my reason, turning around to finish the final half of the catwalk.

The gaze that follows my back carries a certain warmth, making my ears turn red.

~

After the fashion shows ends, I can hardly wait to head backstage to change out of my outfit, but I’m stopped.

Artistic Director: This outfit suits you! The celebratory dinner is about to begin, so there’s no time to change.

I look at the time and resignedly admit that he’s right.

After taking a quick break backstage, MC returns to the venue. She’s unable to recognize who anybody is because of the masks

Just as she wonders if Victor has left, she spots him in the crowd…

His head is lowered while he talks to a model. She is wearing a skirt similar to mine and is wearing the exact same mask. As though they are talking about a common interest, he smiles.

An inexplicable emotion overflows from my heart.

Victor seems to have sensed something, and he turns his head in my direction.

I hurriedly lower my head and hide behind someone’s back. I inch away slowly.

MC: Why do I even need to avoid him?

She decides to go back, but the Artistic Director stuffs a glass of red wine into her hand and asks her to celebrate together with the group

Because people keep offering her toasts, she eventually finishes the entire glass

MC: I will… leave for a while. Please continue.

I find a random excuse and stagger to an empty corner. My head feels dizzy, as though someone had twirled me around in circles.

Several thoughts run through my mind: Why did Victor appear? Did he see the message I sent? Is he waiting for me? Why was he talking to someone else – did he mistake her for me?

The more my mind wanders, the more I’m unable to control my heart, and it bubbles like champagne from an open bottle.

MC: I should change out of this outfit, then look for him…

I shut my eyes, my mind working especially slowly in my drunken state.

The music from the hall becomes modified, and the weird series of notes makes me forget what the original song was.

In my dazed and hazy state, I sense someone coming towards me. A nearing warmth suddenly appears in the ice-cold air.  

Victor: What are you hiding here for?

A deep voice enters my ear. I am compelled to call out his name, but I’m unable to tear myself away from this dream-like drunkenness.

Victor: You’ve been drinking?  

A familiar scent is within reach, unhappy with the mildest resistance.

Searing fingers lift my chin. Slightly rough fingertips brush my skin. In my dazed state, I tremble involuntarily.

Victor: Are you okay?

A low voice accompanied by warm breaths descend on my ears and bare shoulders, making my back go weak.

With no time to think, I reach out to push away this warmth that messes with my senses and heartbeat.

I open my eyes unhappily, and the person in front of me looks like an illusion, swaying in my vision. He is basked in a heavy shadow, and I can’t see him properly.

MC: Victor?

Am I dreaming? Or is this an illusion caused by drinking?

Victor: You can still recognize me?  

One hand is pressed against the wall, trapping me between the space between him and the wall.

The light muslin of the curtain swishes in the wind. I follow the movement of his fingers and lift my head, as though I’m a prey that has fallen into a web.

Why is the Victor I hallucinated not gentle at all?

I look at him, my mind still imagining things. The playfulness that I usually suppress suddenly bubbles to the surface.

My tone is laced with boldness when I think about how he might have confused someone else for me earlier.

MC: Have you gotten the wrong person?

Victor: Hm? What are you trying to do?

Victor arches an eyebrow, the slight huskiness in his voice stirring the heart.

I suppress my accelerating heartbeat and continue this performance to the end.

MC: I never thought CEO Victor would make time to attend these types of fashion dinner events. Are you on a date with a beautiful woman?

Even I myself fail to realise how sour my tone sounds.

Victor purses his lips and does not respond. The warm light sharpens his features, making him appear slightly cold.

If it were a typical day, I would have backed down. But under the influence of alcohol, my boldness has grown, and I even feel wronged.

MC: Why aren’t you saying anything?

Victor: What do you want me to say?

He lets go, the corner of his lips raised. The sense of resignation he exudes carries with it a tinge of tenderness. 

I stare at him in a daze, telling him what is in my heart.

MC: You look good when you smile.

This time, Victor is the one who looks at me in surprise. He doesn’t speak, waiting for me to continue.

As though enchanted by his charm, I smile and reach out for his palm, happily asking him a question.

MC: Victor, let’s dance!

Victor: You still want to dance in such a drunken state?

MC: Yes! I… I’m amazing at it!

While saying this, I raise his hand up high and twirl gracefully in front of him. After that, I toss him a provocative look.

Victor: You win.

Just when I thought he would reject me, he places his hand on the small of my back and applies pressure to it, gently closing the distance between us.

Music from the hall travels to this corner where nobody would disturb us - mellifluous, romantic, and gentle. Even the aura surrounding Victor turns tender.  

My steps are light and messy, but in the space within his arms, our Waltz carries on steadily.

I lift my head to look at his expression and meet his especially deep and serious eyes.

It’s as though they own the entire cosmos.

They continue dancing, and MC tries but fails to hide her smile.

Victor: You no longer step on people’s feet when you dance now.  

Taking two seconds longer than usual to respond, I raise my head and respond arrogantly.

MC: That’s a given! It’s because I have a good teacher, and I am a good student!

Victor: A good student… you’re not wrong.

Victor lets out a low laugh. The magnetic sound has a crispness to it.

I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or his breath, but whenever I turn or when we draw near to each other, my breathing becomes increasingly hurried.

Even before the song ends, I have already stopped my movements.

MC: I don’t want to dance any more, I’m feeling very dizzy!

Victor furrows his eyebrows and releases a sigh.

Victor: If you’re feeling dizzy, stop moving about. I’ll bring something over for you to sober up.

MC: Don’t go-

Seeing that he is about to leave, I quickly grab hold of his sleeve, then stand on my toes and lean in, stopping just a few centimeters from his face.

A faint smell of alcohol mingles in our breaths, but it isn’t a bad smell.  

A darkness flits across Victor’s eyes. His breathing is deep and steady, but it quickens slightly.

I hold onto and observe him for a while, then open my mouth with hesitance.

MC: Are you really Victor?

Victor’s face blackens.

Victor: Then who do you think I am?

MC: Oh, this tone is really like Victor’s!

I duck my neck, letting go of his sleeve reluctantly. I sit next to the window obediently and watch him as he leaves.

MC slowly starts to sober up:

Victor: What’s wrong now?

The sudden voice pulls me back to reality. I turn my head to see that Victor has returned. I suddenly realise — it truly is Victor.

It’s neither a dream nor a hallucination. I really asked Victor to dance with me for no reason at all!

Victor: There’s only honey water. Drink this first.

MC: …I think you’ve got the wrong person. So sorry about that, my alcohol tolerance isn’t that good!!

Victor lapses into a short silence. The gaze he is shooting me with very clearly spells the word “idiot”.

I slowly recall that I had already used this “wrong person” phrase before, so I cover my face with my hands.  

MC: …I was just kidding.

I laugh in embarrassment, looking at Victor’s expression through the spaces between my fingers. He seems to be a little angry, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m drunk or because of the words I just said.

Victor: You think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you?

There is a bright flash of danger in his eyes. Borrowing the leftover courage from my drunken stupor, I mutter incredibly softly.

[Note: The word “danger” might seem odd, but it’s the literal translation of the term used (”危险”)]

MC: Weren’t you talking to a girl who was dressed like me just now?

Victor: What girl?

Victor pauses for a few seconds, then seems to recall who I was talking about.

Victor: You’ve been vexed about this issue all this time?

MC: Not really vexed. Just a little…

Victor: Is there an issue if I asked the staff where you were? It’s all because someone went missing after sending me a message.

My eyes widen. The tone of Victor’s voice changes.

Victor: Is that why you went into hiding after seeing me?

MC: This, um, there’s a reason for that.

Victor’s eyebrows arch in interest as he waits for me to continue.

At this moment, my stomach suddenly lets out a weird noise.

MC: Ha, haha…

I cover my empty stomach and let out two embarrassed chokes of laughter.

Victor: You haven’t eaten anything tonight?

MC: I ate a small bun. If I ate too much, I wouldn’t look nice in this skirt.

Victor sizes me up with his gaze. I’ve long since forgotten that I initially didn’t want him to see this outfit. I even continue complaining.

MC: These high heels are very high and my toes hurt. The necklace is very heavy and my neck is about to snap off. Ah, this is the price of beauty!

Victor: Do you like this style?

For some reason, I suddenly sense a dangerous aura, so I quickly respond.

[Note: Again, I personally feel “danger” is too strong a term, but it’s the literal translation of the term used (”危险”)]

MC: I don’t. If it weren’t for the sudden accident, I wouldn’t have been roped into the fashion show!

Victor: In future, don’t agree to these sorts of things.

MC: Mm, I wouldn’t do such things again next time!

I nod my head immediately. Seeing his expression become warmer, I release a sigh of relief.

Victor: Next time, don’t drink. Learn how to reject when too many people offer you a toast.

Victor hands me the glass. I gulp it down obediently, and the sweetness on my tongue dispels the bitterness of the wine.

Victor steps closer to me, his hand moving to the back of my neck. It is only when his fingers brush against the skin on my neck that I think of dodging.  

Victor: Don’t move.

With a sweep of his gaze, I dare not move.

MC: What are you doing?

I ask softly. He doesn’t respond, lowering his head and patiently unhooking the necklace.

His breath descends on my eyelashes, and I can’t help but blink a few times. Yet, I don’t want to tear my gaze from his face.

The pressure on my neck becomes lighter. I lower my head and see that Victor has removed the heavy necklace in front of my chest, putting it at the side.

Victor: Let’s go and eat.

With this, Victor pulls me in preparation to leave.

MC: Can I have your cooking?!

Just when I think he is about to reject me, he turns to me and nods.

Victor: Sure.

My eyes light up. The moment I think of listing down a series of delicacies I wish to eat, I immediately recall an issue.

Victor: What’s wrong? You haven’t thought about what to eat?

My face crumples as I struggle between the choices of having delicacies or work. Logic triumphs in the end.

MC: I’m one of the persons-in-charge, so I have to wait for the whole event to end before I can leave.

I feel like crying while saying this. While I look at Victor, I can only feel my delicacy sprouting wings and flying away.

Victor: Since I already made a promise, I won’t go back on my word.  

MC: Really? Then let’s make a pinky promise!

I stretch my finger out in front of Victor and stare at him in anticipation.

He lifts his hand, not to hook my pinky, but to give my forehead a gentle flick.

Victor: Childish.

I pout while covering my forehead. It is only now that I see a mask. Recalling how Victor looked when he had his mask on, I hurriedly go over to take it.

MC: I’ll help you put it on!

I stand on my tiptoes, raising both arms as I help Victor wear the black mask.

Victor doesn’t move and lets me put the mask on for him. I didn’t realise that my entire body was basically pressed against his.

The black mask gives Victor a different kind of colour, mystery and unpredictability.

The deep eyes beneath the mask are comparable to the darkest hour of night, and like a vortex that can swallow me up whole.

I’m left dazzled, and yet also instinctively feel like avoiding them due to the danger within.

MC: This way, you wouldn’t be recognized by other people! I’ll be the only one who can recognize you.

I accidentally let the words in my heart spill out. My voice is very soft and contented.

Victor: And you still say you aren’t a dummy.

MC: How am I stupid! I…

I retort, but my words are forgotten once I notice Victor’s tender gaze.

This moment feels like an imagination. His voice clearly and steadily enters my world.

Victor: If you can recognize me, why do you think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you? All you have to know is that in my eyes, you are different from other people.

I let Victor take my hand as we walk into the crowd. The light outlines his profile.

In this strange world created by my remaining stupor, only Victor is real. 

In this gorgeous masquerade, nobody knows who lies under the mask.

At this moment, everyone is immersed in opulence.

Under the masks, no one looks like their original selves. 

But he is still himself, and she is still herself.

Two genuine hearts are mutually drawn to each other, and draw nearer to each other.

🍷

Calls: First // Second

[mcatra]

Catra works at Burger King pt 3

catradora in ther modern party clothes!

AO3

pt1/2

Catra was currently studying in the library, trying to work her way through a math problem. 

Her place didn't have internet, so she usually alternated between the school wifi, the public library, and Burger King. Lonnie usually let her study in the break room when the libraries closed up. 

Her phone pings with a message, obviously from Adora. 

Catra picks up her phone and unlocks it, eyebrow raising when she sees the message. 

Adora: 

Wyd? 

Catra sighs. Of course that airheaded jock texted like a frat boy. As much as she wanted to leave her on read, a deal was a deal. 

Catra: 

Studying. 

Adora: 

So diligent! You're so cool, Catra :) 

Adora: 

I'm weightlifting right now! Gotta work off all those BK calories 💪

Great, maybe she will leave her alone to go do her workout. 

Adora: 

[image.attachment]

Catra almost drops her phone when she sees the photo Adora sent. It was a shot of her by the mirror, and she was flexing with a dumbbell. She was wearing a black crop top, which framed her abs perfectly.  What was she doing, getting flustered over what, a gym rat photo that looked like it belonged on a Tinder profile? After much gay panic and debate, Catra takes a photo of herself with her middle finger up to the camera. She taps ‘send’ angrily. 

Catra: 

[image.attachment] 🖕 She doesn't get a response for a few minutes, which was odd. Usually Adora typed back at the speed of lightning. 

Ping. 

Adora: 

wow Ur rlly hot  Catra looks at the text, slack jawed. What the hell? 

Adora: 

Oh my god I am so sorry. That was Glimmer, she took my phone. 

Catra could almost scream, but she was in a public library. She settles for furiously chewing her out, sharp nails flying over the keyboard. 

Catra: 

Plz make Ur excuses more believable. It's so unoriginal I can't even post this on r/OopsDidntMeanTo. 

Adora: 

I really didn't mean to 🥺

Adora: 

I mean 

Adora: 

Glimmer didn't mean to  God, Adora was so stupid. Yet here Catra was, blushing like a fool. When she doesn’t answer for a while, her phone starts pinging again with notifications. 

>Adora liked your photo

>Adora liked your status >Adora reacted to your comment >Adora liked your photo

It goes on for another 23 times and Catra scrolls through it, dumbfounded. Unblocking her was a mistake. 

---- 

As promised, Adora would visit her garage when her shifts were over bringing groceries. In exchange Catra would cook, as it seemed like Adora would burn water if she tried. 

It started off as a weekly thing, but in a true Adora-like fashion it ended up like this everyday. They would talk for hours, catching up on their lost years together. 

Adora talked about all sorts of things, like how hard it was adjusting to the soft beds at first and how she requested a hard one. She told her about the contents of the letters she would send to Catra that never went received. Catra just listened, gratified to hear that Adora missed her in their time apart even half as much as she did. 

They would sing the little songs they invented back when they were kids and make up whole new ones as they waited for the food. Adora even started learning how to cook after watching Catra, and she would barge in uninvited with new recipes. The food tasted better with company, and Adora took great pleasure in piling her seconds. 

Catra would show her the local dumpster and they would go scavenging for items they needed. She taught her how to repair the things they found using Youtube tutorials, and how to disinfect them. It was fun watching Adora try to haggle for prices at the market, or her face when she realized she had to use the outhouse to go to the bathroom at Catra’s. 

Days bleed into months, their easygoing friendship making Catra feel at peace for the first time in forever. 

Right now they were currently in their trial exam period, which functioned both as practice for their final exams and half of their final marks. They were sitting in the library, chatting about their future majors. 

Catra taps a pencil to her chin. ‘Let me guess, you want to do art. No, art history.’

‘Political science, actually! Did you know Eternia University has  the  number one ranked Political Science course in the entire country?' Adora says, flipping through the uni coursebook. 

'Wao, future leader of the free world huh? That's kinda hot.' Catra teases, while Adora swats her in embarrassment. 

'What about you?' 

'Double degree of Law and Social Work.' Catra replies. 'Cliche I know. But I just want to be in a position where I can sue the shit out of Shadow Weaver. The system is corrupt, and there's thousands of kids being abused.' 

'Wow, you're so cool Catra.' Adora says in awe. 'You're so smart, you'd definitely get in.' 

'Damn right.' She scoffs, crossing her arms. 

'You're gonna love Eternia. I went to their open day, the campus is gorgeous. Oh my gosh we could dorm together!' 

'Gross, who'd want to be  your  roommate?' 

'You  would.' 

'Ew, you're so full of yourself. Anyway get off me, I have work soon and I need to get changed.' 

'Ah yes, the cute Burger King apron. I never get tired of it.' 

They would always flirt back and forth like this, but nothing ever came out of it. 

With her friendship came the feelings that she had repressed long ago, unknotting and resurfacing like they had never gone at all. However she had no idea if Adora even liked her in that way, given how affectionate she was with Bow and Glimmer. She was popular with boys and girls alike, but she never dated anyone. Catra never dared to ask. 

Once Adora had fallen asleep in Catra's bed, and the brunette had woken up to the other girls arm around her and their feet tangled together. It reminded her of when they shared the bed as kids, but now they were grown up and this kind of thing didn't have an innocent meaning anymore. Having her there made her heart race and her palms sweaty.

She had wanted to kiss her then. She wanted to kiss her now. Catra wanted every single morning to end up like that. 

-- 

Adora:

Your birthday is soon! Did you want anything?

You  , Catra thinks, like a huge sap. 

Catra:

My sanity back. 

Adora: 

Oh my gosh, we could throw you a party at my place! You’re turning 18 right? We could go out drinking! Angella has this amazing vintage wine collection and I could make cocktails!  

Catra receives another wall of text, basically planning the entirety of this birthday party with Bow being the DJ and how Glimmer could make these buns that were to die for. Adora starts going through the entire party guest list until she has to cut in. 

Catra: 

lol calm down 

Adora: 

Does this mean Ur on board? 🎉

Catra: 

yes fine since you won't shut up about it 

Adora: 

AAAAAAAH YOU'RE THE BEST!!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️ U WILL NOT REGRET THIS 

DW I WILL PLAN EVERYTHING <3333 

💗💖💖😻

The excessive amount of heart emojis make Catra grin dumbly into her palm. 

She's glad they're not video chatting, or Adora would've already taken a screenshot. 

---

It’s the day of her 18th birthday, and she’s nearing the end of her shift. The best friend squad were waiting for her at their usual table so they could give her a ride. 

‘Hey Catra. Can I speak to you out back?’ Lonnie asks, gesturing outside. 

What the heck, did she do something wrong?  It’s been pretty peaceful as of late, and Catra tries to remember if she had done anything to Kyle recently. She nods, chucking her apron at the back as she tries not to notice Adora’s eyes following her. 

 Catra goes out to the back of the store, the night air nipping at her shoulders. Lonnie waits for her there, biting her lip.

‘What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re giving me a raise.’ Catra jokes. 

Lonnie looks conflicted, and she takes a big breath. 

‘I’m sorry but our store isn’t doing so well. I know you’re turning 18, and that means we can’t afford to keep you on anymore.’

‘What…?’ 

Catra felt numb, like she wasn’t really there in the back alley with Lonnie. It felt like an out of body experience. She could only stare at her, betrayed. 

Like Lonnie could read her mind, she tries to correct herself. ‘It wasn’t my decision, it was Octavia’s.’

Of course it was. Her regional manager was the reason she could never just swipe food while she was working. Octavia never liked her, she always reviewed the security cameras and told her off for goofing around. She must’ve known the door incident was on Catra’s shift, and what really happened despite Adora’s cover up. This ‘layoff’ was just an excuse to get rid of her from a financial standpoint. 

‘Thank you for all your hard work over these past 3 years. I know you’re going through a rough time, so we will of course give you a recommendation.’

Catra just nods. 

She returns to her shift, robotically going through the motions. Catra doesn’t even say anything sassy when Adora asks for a burger with no patty and no onions and no sauce, only cheese on bread.

The lack of a clever comeback to their gag routine has Adora concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ 

Of course she wasn’t. How could she be? She was going to have to vacate her garage space, not like she had anywhere to put her furniture in. What the hell was she going to do? 

‘I’m fine.’ She says, even though tears were threatening to burn a hole in the back of her eyelids. ‘Just...rough day.’ 

‘It’s your birthday! The party will cheer you up.’ Bow says brightly. ‘I have the sickest playlist of all time, you're gonna love it.' 

'My mum isn’t home so we have free reign over the entire house! Come on girl, let's get you changed!' Glimmer crows, too excited about the party to pick up on Catra's mood. 'Makeover time!!' 

The two of them force her into Glimmer's Mercedes, on their way to buy every alcohol imaginable from the bottle shop before they go to her house. 

The last thing Catra wanted to do was play dress up or even go to her party, but Adora had planned for so long for this. It would definitely ruin the entire night if she refused to go. 

Out of all the times they had hung out, she’s never been to Adora’s house. She leans her head against the window when they drive into the fancy part of town, by the lakeside with the multi-million dollar yachts parked in the water. 

That still doesn't prepare Catra for when security lets them in through the black gates to the biggest mansion she’s ever seen. There were fountains, perfectly manicured lawns, a tennis court, and was that  a helicopter pad?! 

It was incredible, she had only seen this kind of luxury in the movies. So Glimmer was rich , rich. No wonder she was put out that Adora had her 18th birthday at Burger King. 

Catra looks at Adora with a dumbfounded expression as the attendants let them in, and the blonde looks almost embarrassed when they have to get into an elevator to go to her room. 

Glimmer picks out a hybrid of clothes from her and Adora's closets. The walk-in wardrobe is huge, like a department store full of designer clothes, shoes, jewellery and bags. 

Her wardrobe alone is the size of Catra's home. The brunette suddenly understands why Adora cried upon seeing her concrete garage space. Looking at it, she wanted to cry too. 

Glimmer sets her down on her huge poster bed as she brings out a checkered crop top, ripped black garter shorts and an expensive looking black leather jacket with a gold trim. While Catra reluctantly gets changed, Glimmer picks out a pair of black strappy heeled boots and a hair straightener to battle the bush on Catra’s head. 

She sits still while Glimmer goes to work on her face, bringing out an entire Sephora’s worth of makeup. When Catra looks in the vanity mirror, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were framed with false eyelashes, a swooping cateye, smokey eyeshadow, sharp contour and her lips were now cherry red with bold lipstick. Glimmer applies the finishing touches with silver rings and clip on piercings. 

She hears Adora inhale with shock from the staircase in her bedroom. 

‘Catra you look incredible !’ She gasps. Adora was wearing this cute backless white dress tied with strings, short enough that it cropped above her knees. She was wearing sparkly wedges to go with it, and her hair was curled instead of her usual ponytail. Her delicate gold sword necklace frames her collarbones. 

Catra’s throat goes dry. ‘Uh- You too.’ 

 Glimmer smirks, satisfied with her work. She gets changed into her own outfit, a short purple tulle lace dress with a white fur trim and a cute Gucci clutch to accompany it. The pink haired girl spritzes them all with her various floral and sea spray scented perfumes before they head back downstairs.

‘Wow you guys look amazing!’ Scorpia marvels, and Adora’s friends voice their approval as well. 

‘Gosh this place is crazy.’ Scorpia whispers to Catra. ‘Did you see their pool? We should’ve just held the swimming carnival here!’ 

Catra opens her mouth to tell her how Lonnie had let her go, but Sea Hawk’s booming voice interrupts them. 

'I challenge you to the ultimate game of BEER PONG!' Sea Hawk announces, spinning the ball on his fingertips. 

Of course this gets everyone's competitive spirit going, and everyone gets into pairs. 

After a few drinks Catra has almost forgotten what she was worrying about earlier, too focused on the buzz. Her and Adora demolish the other teams by a landslide with their impeccable aim. 

Soon the attendants came out with dinner, and it was lavish with every food you could imagine. Lobster, kobe beef, hor d'oeuvres, beluga caviar, kale, and opulent ice cream were all among the plates of food on the table. They bring out a massive 3 tiered truffle cake, the words 'Happy Birthday' written with an oddly crude drawing of Catra. 

'You drew this?' She asks, and Adora nods happily. 'You worked so hard on mine, so.' Catra doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the cake was $7 and the drawing of her forehead was meant as an insult.  They sing the birthday song for her, and this time no one brings up the cake cutting tradition. 

 After dinner they sit outside in the garden around the bonfire Sea Hawk had made. He was drunkenly singing a loud shanty while Bow piled in the wood, fanning the flames. Frosta sips on a mocktail, the only one there who wasn’t old enough to drink yet. The fire flickers and dances, casting shadows around them. 

Catra downs a few more cocktails and jello shots as she waits for Mermista to light up some fireworks. Apparently it was illegal, but Mermista just waved her off, telling her that she’ll just pay the penalty fee as Catra’s birthday gift. Sea Hawk really did rub off on her. 

When she successfully sets them off they light up the sky in dazzling multicoloured sparks. Adora’s friends whoop with glee, taking photos and videos to commemorate the moment. 

Adora's side profile is lit up in the dark, and she looks impossibly beautiful among the backdrop of stars. Longing tears at her chest, Catra wants to hold her hand but her throat feels too tight and she can’t move. The truth was that she knew she had always had feelings for Adora, even back when they were just kids back in the foster home. But like a coward, she could never voice them for fear of Adora leaving her side. 

A loud neighing can be heard from the stables in response to the loud booming noises from the fireworks. 

'Swifty!' Adora says, standing up. The moment's breaks and Catra reels back her hand. 'Stay here, I'll be right back.' 

Her chance disappears, she couldn’t say it after all. She watches her go tend to her horse, feeling stupid. 

‘Yoohoo~, want a rematch?’ Sea Hawk calls out from the patio, pouring vodka into tiny glasses. 

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Catra replies. She definitely didn’t know her alcohol tolerance levels yet, so it was the perfect time to take that to the test. 

Catra confidently does a whole line of shots, determined to drink herself into unconsciousness. Every time she sees a flash of Lonnie or Adora’s face in her mind, she takes another swig. Everyone is cheering her on, screaming the song ‘Shots’ over and over again, also all drunk out of their minds. Sea Hawk taps out at the 5th drink, and everyone screams at Catra’s flawless victory. Scorpia lifts her into the air to do a victory lap, cheering. 

Adora finally makes an appearance, alerted by the sound of Catra's shrieky laughter as Scorpia swings her around. 

‘Don’t worry, I can take it from here.’ Her school captain says pulling Catra away from her friend. Scorpia just shrugs and makes her way to the food table. ‘Catra, maybe you should slow down.’ Adora tells the giggling girl in her arms. 

‘Noo way.’ She slurs, she was enjoying the feeling too much, the alcohol burning through her body, making her feel lightheaded. The light up disco dancefloor starts to blur into a kaleidoscope of colours. 

‘You got some weed?’ Catra asks, seeing Perfuma light a bowl. The taller girl hands her an already rolled up one and Catra snatches it to take a long drag. The smoke hits her lungs and she starts coughing. 

‘Oi Perfuma, why did you bring drugs? Angella will kill me!' Adora gripes, trying to wrestle the blunt away from Catra. 

‘Aw don't be like that! I made some edibles for you guys to try.’ Perfuma says cheerfully, pointing to the pot brownies. 

‘See? Scorpia likes them.’ She gestures at the other girl, who seemed to be currently tripping out of her mind and eating everything on the table. 

Catra goes to reach for one, but Adora grabs her by the wrist to lead her back inside. 'Alright, you're done for the night. Everyone say bye!' 

‘Byee Catra!’

‘Happy birthday!!’

Adora grabs her by the waist to lead her to her bedroom, Catra wobbling after her in the heels Glimmer lent her. 

'Ugh Adoraaa, don't be such a party pooper. I'm fine.' She moans, leaning heavily on the other girl. 'Don't you have a shift tomorrow afternoon? I don't want you getting hungover or drug tested.' Adora chides, rummaging around the dark for the light switch. 

Catra snorts. 'Oh you don't have to worry about  that  anymore. Got laid off.' 

Adora looks at her in confusion, until realization dawns on her. 'Wait, is that why Lonnie took you outside?' 

'Say, I never got to give you  your  birthday gift.' Catra pushes her hair back, voice sultry as she flings off her jacket. She never pinned herself down as a horny drunk, but here they were. Catra shoves Adora onto the bed, straddling her. Her golden hair spills over the mattress, soft like spun silk. 

'You still want that kiss?' Catra whispers in Adora's now burning red ear. 'My knife touched the bottom.' 

Adora's face now resembled a fire truck, mouth gaping in shock.

'C-Catra, I…' 

Catra presses their lips together, silencing her. She knows she probably tastes like alcohol and weed right now, but she couldn't care less in the moment. Adora's mouth is still slack jawed from mortification, so she takes the opportunity for tongue. She frowns and moves down to her neck when Adora doesn’t return the kiss. 

'Catra, what are you doing-' 

Catra bites down on Adora's nape. The blonde underneath her lets out a soft gasp, arching her back. Her gold manicured nails dig into her shoulder. 

'Stop, you're not thinking straight-!' 

'Sure ain't.' Catra grins, licking a stripe down the base of her neck. Adora’s necklace chain jingles with the movement. There was now an impressive hickey there, blooming violet on her pale skin. She pauses to admire her handiwork. 

'This isn't you talking, you'll, you'll regret this in the morning.' Adora stutters. She's shivering, their hands now laced together, silver rings clanking. 

'I know. I don't care.' She replies, kissing her again. Adora's teeth nick her lip. The alcohol in her system makes her feel lightheaded, confident. No way would she have managed this sober. Adora tastes better than she does, sweet like blueberry soju. Catra's hands wander down further, pulling the strings to untie the back of her dress-

'Catra stop!'  Adora suddenly shouts, striking Catra across the cheek in a deafening  slap . 

Adora's eyes were blazing, almost teary in the dark. Her breathing was irregular, panting in and out. Catra stills, clutching her cheek. The look in her eyes sobered her immediately. 

Adora looks down at her palm, realizing what she just did. 'Sorry for hitting you!' She flounders. 'It's just that, you're only doing this because you’re drunk and upset, right?’

Catra just stares at her before climbing off. Cold realization settles as the fog in her brain clears. 'You're right. Forget it.' 

She sits on the edge of the bed, numbly watching Adora hurriedly trying to re-tie the back of her now wrinkled dress. Her lips are stained with Catra’s red lipstick. Adora catches her looking, and she quickly turns away to smooth down her hair with her fingers. 'You've had more than enough to drink tonight. I’ll get you some water to clear your head.’

She gets up to turn on the light switch, and Catra blinks in the harsh light from the chandeliers.  ‘Come on, let’s get you sobered up, okay?’ Adora leads her to the kitchen on the same floor, gingerly placing her friend on the slippery bar stool. 

The blonde goes to get the chilled jug of infused water from the fridge and pours it into a glass. Adora slides it across the island, and Catra reluctantly takes it. She sips at it, mint and lemon on her tongue. It tasted way better than her hose water. 

‘I’ll uh, pick out some groceries for you since we’re here and all.’ Adora says awkwardly into the silence, turning around to rummage through her pantry. 

Suddenly Catra is brought back to the whole reason why she was sitting here in this oversized mansion in the first place. Their friendship agreement. The one she had just violated. Catra had never felt more stupid to mistake Adora’s kindness and guilt for actual feelings. She felt like a charity case, waiting to collect food from the soup kitchen.

Of course Adora didn't like her back. She just saw her as someone needing to be saved. The product of survival guilt. Catra wanted to whack her head on the corner of her marbled countertop and not wake up. 

Adora takes out a green plastic bag, and starts filling it with everything and anything she can get. Cans, pasta, biscuits, fruits and vegetables. Actually this feeling was more like being one of those poor kids that white girls would pose next to for their Instagram after their trip to Africa.  Did Adora have fun, volunteering to slum it up in her place while she returned here? All she ever wanted her entire life was to be Adora’s equal. 

Scorpia and Sea Hawk's loud laughter and DJ music can be heard downstairs in the garden, beyond the tall golden trimmed windows. The class difference between them stretched like an unfathomable canyon. Living the classy bougie dream until the clock struck midnight and she was back in her run down garage. Except soon she won’t even have that anymore. Why did Adora have to bring her here? It was almost cruel. 

Catra's suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit. She nearly falls off the high chair in her rush to throw up the unholy cocktail of alcohol into the sink. Tears bead in her eyes from the sour taste as she continues to vomit out everything she ate that night. She can feel Adora by her side, patting her back reassuringly.

It was by far the worst birthday she has ever had. 

 --

The morning of, Catra woke up in Adora’s bed with a splitting headache. 

Unfortunately she was  not given the gift of amnesia, as she vividly remembered every last excruciating detail about last night. 

She spots Adora’s mop of blonde hair under a blanket on the floor, even though there were a billion other free spare rooms to sleep in. Adora was probably too afraid to share the same bed as her now.

Catra’s borrowed crop top digs uncomfortably into her skin, and she angrily flings it off her body. The shorts stick to her like a second skin, smelling of tequila. She grabs her old Burger King uniform and puts it on, though even this didn’t belong to her now. 

Adora shifts in her sleep, and Catra lightly steps over her to get to the door. The last thing she wanted was for Adora to wake up. 

As soon as she’s out, she runs out to the elevator and bangs frantically on the buttons until it sends her to the bottom floor. The lift opens with a  ding  and in her haste she almost crashes headfirst into Glimmer. 

‘Oh hey! Are you going to work?’ Glimmer greets. She was in her silk pajamas and slippers, holding a glass of orange juice. 

‘Uh. Yeah.’ Catra lies, trying her best to look natural. 

‘Some party last night huh? Lucky today is a Saturday.’ Glimmer says conversationally, unaware of Catra’s urge to throw her across the room. ‘Hey, what happened to your cheek?’

Catra clutches her face, it still strung from where Adora struck her. ‘Nothing.’

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. ‘Well anyway, did you wanna stick around for  breakfast? The cooks made pancakes, bacon, eggs, the whole deal.' She peeks behind Catra. 'Is Adora  still  not up yet?’ 

As much as Catra wanted to scream  get out of my way she schools her expression to her best customer service smile. ‘Nope she’s still sleeping it off. Anyway I’m gonna be late so I can’t stick around.’

‘Did you need a lift?’ Glimmer asks. It dawns on the brunette she couldn’t exactly run the entire way back home. ‘I’ll ask one of the drivers to take you back so you make it to your shift.’

Catra thanks her lucky stars that Glimmer was still too hungover to drive her. She wouldn’t have been able to dodge her questions if she had. 

‘Yes please.’ Catra says, giddy with relief. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Ooh and before I forget, Adora told me last night to give you this.’ Glimmer says, grabbing the green bag of groceries off the counter. The shorter girl bundles it into Catra’s arms before she can object. 

‘Get home safe.’ She says, waving as the attendant leads her out the door. 

Catra looks down at the cans of food in her arms and doesn’t say anything.  

 ------

The days leading up to graduation were painful, to say the least. 

They more or less pretend the kiss didn't happen. Adora never brings it up, and neither does Catra. 

She would stare at the ceiling, wishing she had never gotten piss drunk at her birthday and kissed her. Adora was right, she did regret it. It was awful, the look on Adora's face when she slapped Catra replays in her mind and nightmares over and over again. It was mortifying. 

Adora still messages her every 3 days, and Catra still replies, though her words are empty and devoid of banter.  I'm worried about you,  she says.  I'm fine , Catra always responds. 

The brunette continues to humour her to keep the peace, only shutting down when her old job was mentioned. Catra doesn’t allow Adora back into her home again. 

Sometimes they study together, but she can't concentrate when Adora wears her glasses. Her heart hurts, so she cradles her cheek and tries not to remember. 

The hickey she had branded Adora's neck with had been covered with foundation until it faded away. None of her friends had teased her about it, so she clearly had not told a single soul what had happened. 

Catra bites at the scab on her lip from where Adora’s teeth nicked her until it bleeds. She wants to apologize, but the words stick on her tongue and she can't bring herself to talk about that night. 

Catra knew Adora was only here by her side to alleviate her guilt. Shame buries itself under her skin every time she's near her, like she was too embarrassed to even exist in the same space as Adora. She wants to disappear. 

Exams are hard, and without an internet connection after the library closes at 6pm made it difficult to study. In her heart she knew she wasn't going to come out on top. Her ranking had slipped, she wasn't even at second place anymore. Rent was due at the end of the month, and without her Burger King wage she knew she'll be kicked out sooner than later. 

Catra felt stressed and self destructive, and the only thing that kept her from falling off the edge completely was Scorpia. As much as she hated depending on others, she'd much rather her old coworker than Adora. 

Her classmates seemed to like this new, muted down version of Catra who didn't argue and just stayed quiet most of the time. Fighting back was too difficult when all she wanted to do was blend into the wallpaper. All they talked about was where they were going for vacation after graduation, and Catra certainly had nothing to contribute to that conversation.

She felt like crying, all the time. It was agony, wanting to burst out into tears randomly while she sat wasting away in the student council room. Despite herself, she missed Burger King, and she just kept getting ghosted or rejected in her other job applications. Sometimes when she really wanted to indulge herself, she'd go cry silently in the school toilet stall. 

Glimmer notices the change, and she catches her glaring. 'You don't seem as alive lately. Your eye bags are huge.' 

'S'fine.' Catra replies, hiding her hands so she doesn't see how they shake. Honestly Catra couldn't remember the last time she slept.

'Pfft, don't lie to me. Adora's worried about you. You're getting skinnier, and your eyes are always raw. All you do is stare into space.' 

Catra bites down on her nails. Of course she knew that. But she's gone through this before, and she'll do it again. 

'What happened between you two?’ 

‘None of your business.’ Catra replies, shuffling her way to the hall. 

--

 Their graduation ceremony starts off uneventfully. Every student’s parents except Catra’s sit proudly in the audience, eager to watch their kid graduate. One by one they receive their certificate and return to their seats. 

Adora and Catra stand side by side onstage, as Adora makes their final speech as School Captain. Through the blinding lights, she sees Angella waving proudly at her adoptive daughter in the crowd. 

Catra looks at Adora in the corner of her eye. She must look pathetic, lovesick and pining after someone she couldn’t have. 

‘It’s been such an honour serving the entire faculty and students of this school. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing Vice-Captain and all of my prefects. Now I’m proud to hand over my badge to the next School Captain, Frosta.’ 

They go through the rest of the ceremony like that, each member of the student council handing their badges to their successors. 

Soon their Principal comes up to the podium, tapping it once and clearing her throat. 

‘Announcing our honor student, and the winner of the scholarship to Eternia University…’ Castaspella says, turning over the sign card. 

‘None other than our school captain, Adora!’

Everyone starts clapping, and Adora walks across the stage to shake Castaspella's hand. 

Sounded about right. Catra never won against Adora in her entire life. She had already expected this outcome. Like a game of cat and mouse, going over and over for all eternity. 

Adora would excel with her elite education and secure a well paying job. Catra would struggle at the bottom indefinitely, never amounting to anything. She never would, if Adora was still there next to her. When the blonde re-entered her life, everything she had been working towards for years just collapsed. Her job, her home, her School Captain status, her chance at the scholarship, her sanity. 

She had to be wiped clean. A fresh start. 

The flower petals were falling, the streets decorated with a vibrant pink. The other students mill out of the crowd with their parents, chatting excitedly about what was next in their futures. She waits for Adora underneath a tree.  

'Congratulations.' Catra says, when she finally spots the other girl in the crowd. Adora pulls away from Angella’s embrace to meet her. 

'You deserve this so much more than I do.' Adora says, her voice pained like she didn't just win a full ride to her dream university. 'You should take it.'

'It's in your name, silly.' Catra replies, lightly tapping her with her rolled up certificate.

'Besides, I knew you'd get into Eternia, so I never applied.'

Adora blinks dumbly. '...What? Aren’t we going to the same university?’ 

She always was a bit slow on the uptake. ‘Only  you  decided that, stuupid. Say, it's about time we ended this right?' 

‘Catra, what are you...' 

'Our deal. You don't need to feel guilty anymore or bring me anything.' Catra says, her voice sounding like it didn't belong to her. She rummages in her bag, bringing out Adora's spare varsity jacket that she hadn’t returned. 'Here, take this. Thank you for all the help.' 

'What do you mean? You want to stop being friends?' Adora says in disbelief, taking the jacket.  

Catra nods. ‘I can’t continue with the arrangement. I hope you understand.’ 

‘I don’t! Was I the only one who thought we were friends, real ones?’ Adora asks.

‘...That’s right. I never saw you as a friend. You were just a meal ticket to me. Are you happy now?’ Catra snaps back. Shit, that wasn’t what she meant to say. She had planned to end this quickly and painlessly, on a high note.  Trust Adora to put up a fight. 

Something seems to click in Adora’s brain. ‘Is this about the night of the party?’

‘Figure that out yourself.’ Catra replies, turning to walk away. 

Adora grabs onto her arm. ‘Wait! If- if that’s what you want, I’ll give it! Just don't go!' 

This dumb blonde really was offering up her body, out of what? A sense of duty? How stupid. 

‘Is that right?’ Catra says, walking closer to her. Adora backs up until she is pinned to the tree. They’re face to face now. 

‘Can you really do this?’ Catra lifts Adora’s chin by a finger. 

Finally it seems to dawn on Adora exactly what Catra wanted. She swallows, biting her lip. 

There’s a flicker of hesitation, before Adora’s eyes squeeze shut defiantly. The blonde is shaking like a leaf, her breath coming out in panicked stutters from her pursed lips. 

Catra just stares at Adora’s scrunched up face impassively. Her scared reaction was the only confirmation she needed for closure. 

She flicks the other girl’s forehead, and her big blue eyes open in confusion. ‘Chill out, I’m not that evil to do it to someone so unwilling.’

 Adora blinks, clutching her forehead. ‘Catra?’

Suddenly Angella’s voice cuts through their conversation from the car park. ‘Adora dear, are you done chatting with your friend? We have reservations!'

‘Um, I…’ Her old school captain opens her mouth to say something, but Angella's started to lose her patience. 'Adora, how long are you going to stand there? Glimmer is already waiting for us at the restaurant!' 

Catra just smiles tiredly. ‘Take care, dummy.’ 

She watches Adora being dragged off unwillingly by her adoptive mother to the car. 

Catra lets out a sigh. Her phone pings with a message from Scorpia, and she knows it's time to go. 

---

 By the time Angella releases her from their graduation celebration, Adora can feel that it's already too late.

 Adora: 

Please, can we talk? Let me fix this

A pop up appears over the screen. 

Message Not Sent

This person isn't receiving messages at this time. 

Adora sends another message, but they all go undelivered. Catra had blocked her again. Panic spikes through her veins, and she quickly dons on a jacket and grabs her car keys. 

She sneaks out that night, down the familiar winding path through the bush that led to Catra's place. 

'Catra?' She rolls up the garage door, blinking in the darkness. When her eyes adjusted, she found Catra's old home completely emptied. 

All the furniture and items her friend had collected over the years, they were all gone. The little stove where they cooked, the old mattress where they talked late into the night, all vanished like they were never there. 

A single green plastic bag remained on the floor untouched, filled to the brim of food. 

     catra working at BK fanart: 

https://twitter.com/huetrooper/status/1265188930741080064

https://twitter.com/quackelroys/status/1271199987540668416?s=20

https://mcatra.tumblr.com/post/620493235561824256/your-catra-works-at-burger-king-fic-is-great-you

 pt1, pt 2

Catra was currently studying in the library, trying to work her way through a math problem. 

Her place didn't have internet, so she usually alternated between the school wifi, the public library, and Burger King. Lonnie usually let her study in the break room when the libraries closed up. 

Her phone pings with a message, obviously from Adora. 

Catra picks up her phone and unlocks it, eyebrow raising when she sees the message. 

Adora: 

Wyd? 

Catra sighs. Of course that airheaded jock texted like a frat boy. As much as she wanted to leave her on read, a deal was a deal. 

Catra: 

Studying. 

Adora: 

So diligent! You're so cool, Catra :) 

Adora: 

I'm weightlifting right now! Gotta work off all those BK calories 💪

Great, maybe she will leave her alone to go do her workout. 

Adora: 

[image.attachment]

Catra almost drops her phone when she sees the photo Adora sent. It was a shot of her by the mirror, and she was flexing with a dumbbell. She was wearing a black crop top, which framed her abs perfectly. 

What was she doing, getting flustered over what, a gym rat photo that looked like it belonged on a Tinder profile? 

After much gay panic and debate, Catra takes a photo of herself with her middle finger up to the camera. She taps ‘send’ angrily. 

Catra: 

[image.attachment] 🖕

She doesn't get a response for a few minutes, which was odd. Usually Adora typed back at the speed of lightning. 

Ping. 

Adora: 

wow Ur rlly hot 

Catra looks at the text, slack jawed. What the hell? 

Adora: 

Oh my god I am so sorry. That was Glimmer, she took my phone. 

Catra could almost scream, but she was in a public library. She settles for furiously chewing her out, sharp nails flying over the keyboard. 

Catra: 

Plz make Ur excuses more believable. It's so unoriginal I can't even post this on r/OopsDidntMeanTo. 

Adora: 

I really didn't mean to 🥺

Adora: 

I mean 

Adora: 

Glimmer didn't mean to 

God, Adora was so stupid. Yet here Catra was, blushing like a fool. When she doesn’t answer for a while, her phone starts pinging again with notifications. 

>Adora liked your photo

>Adora liked your status >Adora reacted to your comment >Adora liked your photo

It goes on for another 23 times and Catra scrolls through it, dumbfounded. Unblocking her was  a mistake. 

---- 

As promised, Adora would visit her garage when her shifts were over bringing groceries. In exchange Catra would cook, as it seemed like Adora would burn water if she tried. 

It started off as a weekly thing, but in a true Adora-like fashion it ended up like this everyday. They would talk for hours, catching up on their lost years together. 

Adora talked about all sorts of things, like how hard it was adjusting to the soft beds at first and how she requested a hard one. She told her about the contents of the letters she would send to Catra that never went received. Catra just listened, gratified to hear that Adora missed her in their time apart even half as much as she did. 

They would sing the little songs they invented back when they were kids and make up whole new ones as they waited for the food. Adora even started learning how to cook after watching Catra, and she would barge in uninvited with new recipes. The food tasted better with company, and Adora took great pleasure in piling her seconds. 

Catra would show her the local dumpster and they would go scavenging for items they needed. She taught her how to repair the things they found using Youtube tutorials, and how to disinfect them. It was fun watching Adora try to haggle for prices at the market, or her face when she realized she had to use the outhouse to go to the bathroom at Catra’s. 

Days bleed into months, their easygoing friendship making Catra feel at peace for the first time in forever. 

Right now they were currently in their trial exam period, which functioned both as practice for their final exams and half of their final marks. They were sitting in the library, chatting about their future majors. 

Catra taps a pencil to her chin. ‘Let me guess, you want to do art. No, art history.’

‘Political science, actually! Did you know Eternia University has the number one ranked Political Science course in the entire country?' Adora says, flipping through the uni coursebook. 

'Wao, future leader of the free world huh? That's kinda hot.' Catra teases, while Adora swats her in embarrassment. 

'What about you?' 

'Double degree of Law and Social Work.' Catra replies. 'Cliche I know. But I just want to be in a position where I can sue the shit out of Shadow Weaver. The system is corrupt, and there's thousands of kids being abused.' 

'Wow, you're so cool Catra.' Adora says in awe. 'You're so smart, you'd definitely get in.' 

'Damn right.' She scoffs, crossing her arms. 

'You're gonna love Eternia. I went to their open day, the campus is gorgeous. Oh my gosh we could dorm together!' 

'Gross, who'd want to be your roommate?' 

'You would.' 

'Ew, you're so full of yourself. Anyway get off me, I have work soon and I need to get changed.' 

'Ah yes, the cute Burger King apron. I never get tired of it.' 

They would always flirt back and forth like this, but nothing ever came out of it. 

With her friendship came the feelings that she had repressed long ago, unknotting and resurfacing like they had never gone at all. However she had no idea if Adora even liked her in that way, given how affectionate she was with Bow and Glimmer. She was popular with boys and girls alike, but she never dated anyone. Catra never dared to ask. 

Once Adora had fallen asleep in Catra's bed, and the brunette had woken up to the other girls arm around her and their feet tangled together. It reminded her of when they shared the bed as kids, but now they were grown up and this kind of thing didn't have an innocent meaning anymore. Having her there made her heart race and her palms sweaty.

She had wanted to kiss her then. She wanted to kiss her now. Catra wanted every single morning to end up like that. 

-- 

Adora:

Your birthday is soon! Did you want anything?

You, Catra thinks, like a huge sap. 

Catra:

My sanity back. 

Adora: 

Oh my gosh, we could throw you a party at my place! You’re turning 18 right? We could go out drinking! Angella has this amazing vintage wine collection and I could make cocktails!  

Catra receives another wall of text, basically planning the entirety of this birthday party with Bow being the DJ and how Glimmer could make these buns that were to die for. Adora starts going through the entire party guest list until she has to cut in. 

Catra: 

lol calm down 

Adora: 

Does this mean Ur on board? 🎉

Catra: 

yes fine since you won't shut up about it 

Adora: 

AAAAAAAH YOU'RE THE BEST!!!!!!! ♥️♥️♥️♥️ U WILL NOT REGRET THIS 

DW I WILL PLAN EVERYTHING <3333 

💗💖💖😻

The excessive amount of heart emojis make Catra grin dumbly into her palm. 

She's glad they're not video chatting, or Adora would've already taken a screenshot. 

---

It’s the day of her 18th birthday, and she’s nearing the end of her shift. The best friend squad were waiting for her at their usual table so they could give her a ride. 

‘Hey Catra. Can I speak to you out back?’ Lonnie asks, gesturing outside. 

What the heck, did she do something wrong? It’s been pretty peaceful as of late, and Catra tries to remember if she had done anything to Kyle recently. She nods, chucking her apron at the back as she tries not to notice Adora’s eyes following her. 

Catra goes out to the back of the store, the night air nipping at her shoulders. Lonnie waits for her there, biting her lip.

‘What’s up? Don’t tell me you’re giving me a raise.’ Catra jokes. 

Lonnie looks conflicted, and she takes a big breath. 

‘I’m sorry but our store isn’t doing so well. I know you’re turning 18, and that means we can’t afford to keep you on anymore.’

‘What…’ 

Catra felt numb, like she wasn’t really there in the back alley with Lonnie. It felt like an out of body experience. She could only stare at her, betrayed. 

Like Lonnie could read her mind, she tries to correct herself. ‘It wasn’t my decision, it was Octavia’s.’

Of course it was. Her regional manager was the reason she could never just swipe food while she was working. Octavia never liked her, she always reviewed the security cameras and told her off for goofing around. She must’ve known the door incident was on Catra’s shift, and what really happened despite Adora’s cover up. This ‘layoff’ was just an excuse to get rid of her from a financial standpoint. 

‘Thank you for all your hard work over these past 3 years. I know you’re going through a rough time, so we will of course give you a recommendation.’

Catra just nods. 

She returns to her shift, robotically going through the motions. Catra doesn’t even say anything sassy when Adora asks for a burger with no patty and no onions and no sauce, only cheese on bread.

The lack of a clever comeback to their gag routine has Adora concerned. ‘Are you okay?’ 

Of course she wasn’t. How could she be? She was going to have to vacate her garage space, not like she had anywhere to put her furniture in. What the hell was she going to do? 

‘I’m fine.’ She says, even though tears were threatening to burn a hole in the back of her eyelids. ‘Just...rough day.’ 

‘It’s your birthday! The party will cheer you up.’ Bow says brightly. ‘I have the sickest playlist of all time, you're gonna love it.' 

'My mum isn’t home so we have free reign over the entire house! Come on girl, let's get you changed!' Glimmer crows, too excited about the party to pick up on Catra's mood. 'Makeover time!!' 

The two of them force her into Glimmer's Mercedes, on their way to buy every alcohol imaginable from the bottle shop before they go to her house. 

The last thing Catra wanted to do was play dress up or even go to her party, but Adora had planned for so long for this. It would definitely ruin the entire night if she refused to go. 

Out of all the times they had hung out, she’s never been to Adora’s house. She leans her head against the window when they drive into the fancy part of town, by the lakeside with the multi-million dollar yachts parked in the water. 

That still doesn't prepare Catra for when security lets them in through the black gates to the biggest mansion she’s ever seen. There were fountains, perfectly manicured lawns, a tennis court, and was that a helicopter pad?! 

It was incredible, Catra could only walk in a daze with her jaw dropped on their polished marble floors. So Glimmer was rich, rich. No wonder she was put out that Adora had her 18th birthday at Burger King. 

Catra looks at Adora with a dumbfounded expression, and the blonde looks almost embarrassed when they have to get into an elevator to go to her room. 

Glimmer picks out a hybrid of clothes from her and Adora's closets. The walk-in wardrobe is huge, like a department store full of designer clothes, shoes, jewellery and bags. 

Her wardrobe alone is the size of Catra's home. The brunette suddenly understands why Adora cried upon seeing her concrete garage space. Looking at it, she wanted to cry too. 

Glimmer sets her down on her huge poster bed as she brings out a checkered crop top, ripped black garter shorts and an expensive looking black leather jacket with a gold trim. While Catra reluctantly gets changed, Glimmer picks out a pair of black strappy heeled boots and a hair straightener to battle the bush on Catra’s head. 

She sits still while Glimmer goes to work on her face, bringing out an entire Sephora’s worth of makeup. When Catra looks in the vanity mirror, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. Her eyes were framed with false eyelashes, a swooping cateye, smokey eyeshadow, sharp contour and her lips were now cherry red with bold lipstick. Glimmer applies the finishing touches with silver rings and clip on piercings. 

She hears Adora inhale with shock from the staircase in her bedroom. 

‘Catra you look incredible!’ She gasps. Adora was wearing this cute backless white dress tied with strings, short enough that it cropped above her knees. She was wearing sparkly wedges to go with it, and her hair was curled instead of her usual ponytail. Her delicate gold sword necklace frames her collarbones. 

Catra’s throat goes dry. ‘Uh- You too.’ 

Glimmer smirks, satisfied with her work. She gets changed into her own outfit, a short purple tulle lace dress with a white fur trim and a cute Gucci clutch to accompany it. The pink haired girl spritzes them all with her various floral and sea spray scented perfumes before they head back downstairs.

‘Wow you guys look amazing!’ Scorpia marvels, and Adora’s friends voice their approval as well.

‘Gosh this place is crazy.’ Scorpia whispers to Catra. ‘Did you see their pool? We should’ve just held the swimming carnival here!’ 

Catra opens her mouth to tell her how Lonnie had let her go, but Sea Hawk’s booming voice interrupts them. 

'I challenge you to the ultimate game of BEER PONG!' Sea Hawk announces, spinning the ball on his fingertips. 

Of course this gets everyone's competitive spirit going, and everyone gets into pairs. 

After a few drinks Catra has almost forgotten what she was worrying about earlier, too focused on the buzz. Her and Adora demolish the other teams by a landslide with their impeccable aim. 

Soon the attendants came out with dinner, and it was lavish with every food you could imagine. Lobster, kobe beef, hor d'oeuvres, beluga caviar, kale, and opulent ice cream were all among the plates of food on the table.

They bring out a massive 3 tiered truffle cake, the words 'Happy Birthday' written with an oddly crude drawing of Catra. 

'You drew this?' She asks, and Adora nods happily. 'You worked so hard on mine, so.' Catra doesn’t have the heart to tell her that the cake was $7 and the drawing of her forehead was meant as an insult. 

They sing the birthday song for her, and this time no one brings up the cake cutting tradition. 

After dinner they sit outside in the garden around the bonfire Sea Hawk had made. He was drunkenly singing a loud shanty while Bow piled in the wood, fanning the flames. Frosta sips on a mocktail, the only one there who wasn’t old enough to drink yet. The fire flickers and dances, casting shadows around them. 

Catra downs a few more cocktails and jello shots as she waits for Mermista to light up some fireworks. Apparently it was illegal, but Mermista just waved her off, telling her that she’ll just pay the penalty fee as Catra’s birthday gift. Sea Hawk really did rub off on her. 

When she successfully sets them off they light up the sky in dazzling multicoloured sparks. Adora’s friends whoop with glee, taking photos and videos to commemorate the moment. 

Adora's side profile is lit up in the dark, and she looks impossibly beautiful among the backdrop of stars. Longing tears at her chest, Catra wants to hold her hand but her throat feels too tight and she can’t move. The truth was that she knew she had always had feelings for Adora, even back when they were just kids back in the foster home. But like a coward, she could never voice them for fear of Adora leaving her side. 

A loud neighing can be heard from the stables in response to the loud booming noises from the fireworks. 

'Swifty!' Adora says, standing up. The moment's breaks and Catra reels back her hand. 'Stay here, I'll be right back.' 

Her chance disappears, she couldn’t say it after all. She watches her go tend to her horse, feeling stupid. 

‘Yoohoo~, want a rematch?’ Sea Hawk calls out from the patio, pouring vodka into tiny glasses. 

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Catra replies. She definitely didn’t know her alcohol tolerance levels yet, so it was the perfect time to take that to the test. 

Catra confidently does a whole line of shots, determined to drink herself into unconsciousness. Every time she sees a flash of Lonnie or Adora’s face in her mind, she takes another swig. Everyone is cheering her on, screaming the song ‘Shots’ over and over again, also all drunk out of their minds. Sea Hawk taps out at the 5th drink, and everyone screams at Catra’s flawless victory. Scorpia lifts her into the air to do a victory lap, cheering. 

Adora finally makes an appearance, alerted by the sound of Catra's shrieky laughter as Scorpia swings her around. 

‘Don’t worry, I can take it from here.’ Her school captain says pulling Catra away from her friend. Scorpia just shrugs and makes her way to the food table.

‘Catra, maybe you should slow down.’ Adora tells the giggling girl in her arms. 

‘Noo way.’ She slurs, she was enjoying the feeling too much, the alcohol burning through her body, making her feel lightheaded. The light up disco dancefloor starts to blur into a kaleidoscope of colours. 

‘You got some weed?’ Catra asks, seeing Perfuma light a bowl. The taller girl hands her an already rolled up one and Catra snatches it to take a long drag. The smoke hits her lungs and she starts coughing. 

‘Oi Perfuma, why did you bring drugs? Angella will kill me!' Adora gripes, trying to wrestle the blunt away from Catra. 

‘Aw don't be like that! I made some edibles for you guys to try.’ Perfuma says cheerfully, pointing to the pot brownies. 

‘See? Scorpia likes them.’ She gestures at the other girl, who seemed to be currently tripping out of her mind and eating everything on the table. 

Catra goes to reach for one, but Adora grabs her by the wrist to lead her back inside. 'Alright, you're done for the night. Everyone say bye!' 

‘Byee Catra!’

‘Happy birthday!!’

Adora grabs her by the waist to lead her to her bedroom, Catra wobbling after her in the heels Glimmer lent her. 

'Ugh Adoraaa, don't be such a party pooper. I'm fine.' She moans, leaning heavily on the other girl. 'Don't you have a shift tomorrow afternoon? I don't want you getting hungover or drug tested.' Adora chides, rummaging around the dark for the light switch. 

Catra snorts. 'Oh you don't have to worry about that anymore. Got laid off.' 

Adora looks at her in confusion, until realization dawns on her. 'Wait, is that why Lonnie took you outside?' 

'Say, I never got to give you your birthday gift.' Catra pushes her hair back, voice sultry as she flings off her jacket. She never pinned herself down as a horny drunk, but here they were. Catra shoves Adora onto the bed, straddling her. Her golden hair spills over the mattress, soft like spun silk. 

'You still want that kiss?' Catra whispers in Adora's now burning red ear. 'My knife touched the bottom.' 

Adora's face now resembled a fire truck, mouth gaping in shock.

'C-Catra, I…' 

Catra presses their lips together, silencing her. She knows she probably tastes like alcohol and weed right now, but she couldn't care less in the moment. Adora's mouth is still slack jawed from mortification, so she takes the opportunity for tongue. She frowns and moves down to her neck when Adora doesn’t return the kiss. 

'Catra, what are you doing-' 

Catra bites down on Adora's nape. The blonde underneath her lets out a soft gasp, arching her back. Her gold manicured nails dig into her shoulder. 

'Stop, you're not thinking straight-!' 

'Sure ain't.' Catra grins, licking a stripe down the base of her neck. Adora’s necklace chain jingles with the movement. There was now an impressive hickey there, blooming violet on her pale skin. She pauses to admire her handiwork. 

'This isn't you talking, you'll, you'll regret this in the morning.' Adora stutters. She's shivering, their hands now laced together, silver rings clanking. 

 'I know. I don't care.' She replies, kissing her again. Adora's teeth nick her lip. The alcohol in her system makes her feel lightheaded, confident. No way would she have managed this sober. Adora tastes better than she does, sweet like blueberry soju. Catra's hands wander down further, pulling the strings to untie the back of her dress-

'Catra stop!' Adora suddenly shouts, striking Catra across the cheek in a deafening slap. 

Adora's eyes were blazing, almost teary in the dark. Her breathing was irregular, panting in and out. Catra stills, clutching her cheek. The look in her eyes sobered her immediately. 

Adora looks down at her palm, realizing what she just did. 'Sorry for hitting you!' She flounders. 'It's just that, you're only doing this because you’re drunk and upset, right?’

Catra just stares at her before climbing off. Cold realization settles as the fog in her brain clears. 'You're right. Forget it.' 

She sits on the edge of the bed, numbly watching Adora hurriedly trying to re-tie the back of her now wrinkled dress. Her lips are stained with Catra’s red lipstick. 

Adora catches her looking, and she quickly turns away to smooth down her hair with her fingers. 'You've had more than enough to drink tonight. I’ll get you some water to clear your head.’

She gets up to turn on the light switch, and Catra blinks in the harsh light from the chandeliers. 

‘Come on, let’s get you sobered up, okay?’ Adora leads her to the kitchen on the same floor, gingerly placing her friend on the slippery bar stool. 

The blonde goes to get the chilled jug of infused water from the fridge and pours it into a glass. Adora slides it across the island, and Catra reluctantly takes it. She sips at it, mint and lemon on her tongue. It tasted way better than her hose water. 

‘I’ll uh, pick out some groceries for you since we’re here and all.’ Adora says awkwardly into the silence, turning around to rummage through her pantry. 

Suddenly Catra is brought back to the whole reason why she was sitting here in this oversized mansion in the first place. Their friendship agreement. The one she had just violated. Catra had never felt more stupid to mistake Adora’s kindness and guilt for actual feelings. She felt like a charity case, waiting to collect food from the soup kitchen.

Of course Adora didn't like her back. She just saw her as someone needing to be saved. The product of survival guilt. Catra wanted to whack her head on the corner of her marbled countertop and not wake up. 

Adora takes out a green plastic bag, and starts filling it with everything and anything she can get. Cans, pasta, biscuits, fruits and vegetables. Actually this feeling was more like being one of those poor kids that white girls would pose next to for their Instagram after their trip to Africa. 

Did Adora have fun, volunteering to slum it up in her place while she returned here? All she ever wanted her entire life was to be Adora’s equal. 

Scorpia and Sea Hawk's loud laughter and DJ music can be heard downstairs in the garden, beyond the tall golden trimmed windows. The class difference between them stretched like an unfathomable canyon. Living the classy bougie dream until the clock struck midnight and she was back in her run down garage. Except soon she won’t even have that anymore. Why did Adora have to bring her here? It was almost cruel. 

Catra's suddenly overcome with the urge to vomit. She nearly falls off the high chair in her rush to throw up the unholy cocktail of alcohol into the sink. Tears bead in her eyes from the sour taste as she continues to vomit out everything she ate that night. She can feel Adora by her side, patting her back reassuringly.

It was by far the worst birthday she has ever had. 

--

The morning of, Catra woke up in Adora’s bed with a splitting headache. 

Unfortunately she was not given the gift of amnesia, as she vividly remembered every last excruciating detail about last night. 

She spots Adora’s mop of blonde hair under a blanket on the floor, even though there were a billion other free spare rooms to sleep in. Adora was probably too afraid to share the same bed as her now.

Catra’s borrowed crop top digs uncomfortably into her skin, and she angrily flings it off her body. The shorts stick to her like a second skin, smelling of tequila. She grabs her old Burger King uniform and puts it on, though even this didn’t belong to her now. 

Adora shifts in her sleep, and Catra lightly steps over her to get to the door. The last thing she wanted was for Adora to wake up. 

As soon as she’s out, she runs out to the elevator and bangs frantically on the buttons until it sends her to the bottom floor. The lift opens with a ding and in her haste she almost crashes headfirst into Glimmer. 

‘Oh hey! Are you going to work?’ Glimmer greets. She was in her silk pajamas and slippers, holding a glass of orange juice. 

‘Uh. Yeah.’ Catra lies, trying her best to look natural. 

‘Some party last night huh? Lucky today is a Saturday.’ Glimmer says conversationally, unaware of Catra’s urge to throw her across the room. ‘Hey, what happened to your cheek?’

Catra clutches her face, it still strung from where Adora struck her. ‘Nothing.’

Glimmer raises an eyebrow. ‘Well anyway, did you wanna stick around for  breakfast? The cooks made pancakes, bacon, eggs, the whole deal.' She peeks behind Catra. 'Is Adora still not up yet?’ 

As much as Catra wanted to scream get out of my way she schools her expression to her best customer service smile. ‘Nope she’s still sleeping it off. Anyway I’m gonna be late so I can’t stick around.’

‘Did you need a lift?’ Glimmer asks. It dawns on the brunette she couldn’t exactly run the entire way back home. ‘I’ll ask one of the drivers to take you back so you make it to your shift.’

Catra thanks her lucky stars that Glimmer was still too hungover to drive her. She wouldn’t have been able to dodge her questions if she had. 

‘Yes please.’ Catra says, giddy with relief. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Ooh and before I forget, Adora told me last night to give you this.’ Glimmer says, grabbing the green bag of groceries off the counter. The shorter girl bundles it into Catra’s arms before she can object. 

‘Get home safe.’ She says, waving as the attendant leads her out the door. 

Catra looks down at the cans of food in her arms and doesn’t say anything.  

------

The days leading up to graduation were painful, to say the least. 

They more or less pretend the kiss didn't happen. Adora never brings it up, and neither does Catra. 

She would stare at the ceiling, wishing she had never gotten piss drunk at her birthday and kissed her. Adora was right, she did regret it. It was awful, the look on Adora's face when she slapped Catra replays in her mind and nightmares over and over again. It was mortifying. 

Adora still messages her every 3 days, and Catra still replies, though her words are empty and devoid of banter. I'm worried about you, she says. I'm fine, Catra always responds. 

The brunette continues to humour her to keep the peace, only shutting down when her old job was mentioned. Catra doesn’t allow Adora back into her home again. 

Sometimes they study together, but she can't concentrate when Adora wears her glasses. Her heart hurts, so she cradles her cheek and tries not to remember. 

The hickey she had branded Adora's neck with had been covered with foundation until it faded away. None of her friends had teased her about it, so she clearly had not told a single soul what had happened. 

Catra bites at the scab on her lip from where Adora’s teeth nicked her until it bleeds. She wants to apologize, but the words stick on her tongue and she can't bring herself to talk about that night. 

Catra knew Adora was only here by her side to alleviate her guilt. Shame buries itself under her skin every time she's near her, like she was too embarrassed to even exist in the same space as Adora. She wants to disappear. 

Exams are hard, and without an internet connection after the library closes at 6pm made it difficult to study. She tries to use the Mcdonald's wifi but soon just ordering a water cup wasn't enough for the workers to let her stay. It was a fruitless effort anyway, in her heart she knew she wasn't going to come out on top. Her ranking had slipped, she wasn't even at second place anymore. Rent was due at the end of the month, and without her Burger King wage she knew she'll be kicked out sooner than later. 

Catra felt stressed and self destructive, and the only thing that kept her from falling off the edge completely was Scorpia. As much as she hated depending on others, she'd much rather her old coworker than Adora. 

Her classmates seemed to like this new, muted down version of Catra who didn't argue and just stayed quiet most of the time. Fighting back was too difficult when all she wanted to do was blend into the wallpaper. All they talked about was where they were going for vacation after graduation, and Catra certainly had nothing to contribute to that conversation.

She felt like crying, all the time. It was agony, wanting to burst out into tears randomly while she sat wasting away in the student council room. Despite herself, she missed Burger King, and she just kept getting ghosted or rejected in her other job applications. Sometimes when she really wanted to indulge herself, she'd go cry silently in the school toilet stall. 

Glimmer notices the change, and she catches her glaring. 'You don't seem as alive lately. Your eye bags are huge.' 

'S'fine.' Catra replies, hiding her hands so she doesn't see how they shake. Honestly Catra couldn't remember the last time she slept.

'Pfft, don't lie to me. Adora's worried about you. You're getting skinnier, and your eyes are always raw. All you do is stare into space.' 

Catra bites down on her nails. Of course she knew that. But she's gone through this before, and she'll do it again. 

'What happened between you two?’ 

‘None of your business.’ Catra replies, shuffling her way to the hall. 

--

Their graduation ceremony starts off uneventfully. Every student’s parents except Catra’s sit proudly in the audience, eager to watch their kid graduate. One by one they receive their certificate and return to their seats. 

Adora and Catra stand side by side onstage, as Adora makes their final speech as School Captain. Through the blinding lights, she sees Angella waving proudly at her adoptive daughter in the crowd. 

Catra looks at Adora in the corner of her eye. She must look pathetic, lovesick and pining after someone she couldn’t have. 

‘It’s been such an honour serving the entire faculty and students of this school. I couldn’t have done it without my amazing Vice-Captain and all of my prefects.

Now I’m proud to hand over my badge to the next School Captain, Frosta.’ 

They go through the rest of the ceremony like that, each member of the student council handing their badges to their successors. 

Soon their Principal comes up to the podium, tapping it once and clearing her throat. 

‘Announcing our honor student, and the winner of the scholarship to Eternia University…’ Castaspella says, turning over the sign card. 

‘None other than our school captain, Adora!’

Everyone starts clapping, and Adora walks across the stage to shake Castaspella's hand. 

Sounded about right. Catra never won against Adora in her entire life. She had already expected this outcome. Like a game of cat and mouse, going over and over for all eternity. 

Adora would excel with her elite education and secure a well paying job. Catra would struggle at the bottom indefinitely, never amounting to anything. She never would, if Adora was still there next to her. When the blonde re-entered her life, everything she had been working towards for years just collapsed. Her job, her home, her School Captain status, her chance at the scholarship, her sanity. 

She had to be wiped clean. A fresh start. 

The flower petals were falling, the streets decorated with a vibrant pink. The other students mill out of the crowd with their parents, chatting excitedly about what was next in their futures. She waits for Adora underneath a tree.  

'Congratulations.' Catra says, when she finally spots the other girl in the crowd. Adora pulls away from Angella’s embrace to meet her. 

'You deserve this so much more than I do.' Adora says, her voice pained like she didn't just win a full ride to her dream university. 'You should take it.'

'It's in your name, silly.' Catra replies, lightly tapping her with her rolled up certificate.

'Besides, I knew you'd get into Eternia, so I never applied.'

Adora blinks dumbly. '...What? Aren’t we going to the same university?’ 

She always was a bit slow on the uptake. ‘Only you decided that, stuupid. Say, it's about time we ended this right?' 

‘Catra, what are you...' 

'Our deal. You don't need to feel guilty anymore or bring me anything.' Catra says, her voice sounding like it didn't belong to her. She rummages in her bag, bringing out Adora's spare varsity jacket that she hadn’t returned. 'Here, take this. Thank you for all the help.' 

'What do you mean? You want to stop being friends?' Adora says in disbelief, taking the jacket.  

Catra nods. ‘I can’t continue with the arrangement. I hope you understand.’ 

‘I don’t! Was I the only one who thought we were friends, real ones?’ Adora asks.

‘...That’s right. I never saw you as a friend. You were just a meal ticket to me. Are you happy now?’ Catra snaps back. Shit, that wasn’t what she meant to say. She had planned to end this quickly and painlessly, on a high note. Trust Adora to put up a fight. 

Something seems to click in Adora’s brain. ‘Is this about the night of the party?’

‘Figure that out yourself.’ Catra replies, turning to walk away. 

Adora grabs onto her arm. ‘Wait! If- if that’s what you want, I’ll give it! Just don't go!' 

This dumb blonde really was offering up her body, out of what? A sense of duty? How stupid. 

‘Is that right?’ Catra says, walking closer to her. Adora backs up until she is pinned to the tree. They’re face to face now. 

‘Can you really do this?’ Catra lifts Adora’s chin by a finger. 

Finally it seems to dawn on Adora exactly what Catra wanted. She swallows, biting her lip. 

There’s a flicker of hesitation, before Adora’s eyes squeeze shut defiantly. The blonde is shaking like a leaf, her breath coming out in panicked stutters from her pursed lips. 

Catra just stares at Adora’s scrunched up face impassively. Her scared reaction was the only confirmation she needed for closure. 

She flicks the other girl’s forehead, and her big blue eyes open in confusion.

‘Chill out, I’m not that evil to do it to someone so unwilling.’

Adora blinks, clutching her forehead. ‘Catra?’

Suddenly Angella’s voice cuts through their conversation from the car park. ‘Adora dear, are you done chatting with your friend? We have reservations!'

‘Um, I…’ Her old school captain opens her mouth to say something, but Angella's started to lose her patience. 'Adora, how long are you going to stand there? Glimmer is already waiting for us at the restaurant!' 

Catra just smiles tiredly. ‘Take care, dummy.’ 

She watches Adora being dragged off unwillingly by her adoptive mother to the car. 

Catra lets out a sigh. Her phone pings with a message from Scorpia, and she knows it's time to go. 

---

By the time Angella releases her from their graduation celebration, Adora can feel that it's already too late.

Adora: 

Please, can we talk? Let me fix this

A pop up appears over the screen. 

Message Not Sent

This person isn't receiving messages at this time. 

Adora sends another message, but they all go undelivered. Catra had blocked her again. Panic spikes through her veins, and she quickly dons on a jacket and grabs her car keys. 

She sneaks out that night, down the familiar winding path through the bush that led to Catra's place. 

'Catra?' She rolls up the garage door, blinking in the darkness. When her eyes adjusted, she found Catra's old home completely emptied. 

All the furniture and items her friend had collected over the years, they were all gone. The little stove where they cooked, the old mattress where they talked late into the night, all vanished like they were never there. 

A single green plastic bag remained on the floor untouched, filled to the brim of food.