#The energy should be spread across the board

[the-cat-at-the-theatre-door]

Definite ignorance of female characters or deliberate vilification of them in favor of male characters and m/m ships

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

I will say, however, the treatment of female characters in this fandom specifically, at this point in time, is far *far* better than it was back in the day. Does that soften anything? No; there's still more work to do. But trust me when I say it used to be so much worse. And I'm sure you hear that all the time, but it *really* used to be *so much worse*.

[rafecameronssl4t]

How about Pope/JJ having a crush on Topper’s younger sister which is also Rafe’s girl and him making sure he knows his place and the fact that she’s his girl. Maybe she’s the island sweetheart and she’s nice to everyone, and sometimes she hangs out with the pogues (despite her brother and boyfriend hating that) and Rafe noticed how the boy looks at her and decides to put on a little show to prove she’s his girl 🫣🥹

Get in losers, we’re going shopping || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

A/n: This was so fun to write thank u for the request 🫶

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, possesive/jealous!rafe, if there’s anything else lmk

Word count: 1,837

MASTERLIST (rafe x thornton!reader au masterlist)

Divider by @yoonitos

mood board

As you drive along, a smile creeps across your face when you notice JJ and Pope walking on the side of the road. You slow your car, matching their pace, which causes them to exchange puzzled glances before coming to a halt.

Rolling down your window, you lift your sunglasses, locking eyes with the two boys. Their confusion quickly shifts to recognition, and a mix of surprise and curiosity spreads across their faces.

“Hey boys,” you greet them with a smile. “Oh—hey, y/n,” Pope stammers, making you giggle. “This your new car?” JJ asks, patting the sleek Porsche. You hum in response, “want a ride?” you offer sweetly.

The boys exchange a quick glance before sprinting to the passenger side, shoving each other. In the end, Pope manages to snag the seat, and you laugh at their antics.

“I’ll sugar momma you guys today,” you wink at them, moving the stick into gear. They grin widely, and you drive off, the engine purring smoothly. “So, where are we—” Pope starts, but he’s cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. Rafe’s name flashes on the display, and the boys visibly tense up, their smiles fading as discomfort sets in.

“Hi, Rafe,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of warmth and caution. “Hi baby, whatcha doin’? Thought I might come over to yours in a few minutes, gotta see Top for something too” Rafe’s voice fills the car, a smooth and confident drawl.

“I’m out right now, and I won’t be home for a bit,” you reply, tapping your finger against the steering wheel. The boys sit in tense silence, trying to act nonchalant but clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. The cheerful energy from earlier is all but gone, replaced by a palpable tension that hangs in the air.

It’s silent on the other end before Rafe speaks up again. “Right, where—where are you right now? You with anyone?” he stutters, his tone shifting to one of suspicion. Pope’s eyes widen, and he freaks out. “I don’t think we should be here right now,” he mutters under his breath. Eyes wide, you slap a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, dude!” JJ whisper-yells, trying to keep his voice low. You throw JJ a look that clearly says he isn’t helping.

Hearing the voices, Rafe stands up from his seat, his eyebrows furrowed. “Who was that?” he questions sharply. You glance at the boys, feeling the weight of the situation.“Uh, I’m just with Pope and JJ,” you quietly admit, bracing yourself for Rafe’s reaction.

There’s a brief, tense silence on the other end of the line, and you can almost hear Rafe’s jaw clench. You know how your boyfriend feels about you hanging out with them, and the tension in the car thickens as you wait for his response.

“Are you serious right now? How many times have I told you I don’t want you hangin’ around with them?” He angrily says. You roll your eyes, already feeling the annoyance building. “Rafe, I’m not having this conversation with you right now, okay?” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

“No. We’re having this conversation right now. Does Topper even know you’re hanging out with those Pogues?” Rafe snaps back, his tone leaving no room for argument. You let out a frustrated sigh, glancing at Pope and JJ, who look increasingly uncomfortable.

“Rafe, not right now. I’m hanging up, okay? Hanging up right now—” you begin, but Rafe interjects, “Don’t you dare—”Before he can finish his sentence, you press end call. The car falls into an uneasy silence as Pope and JJ sit there quietly, processing what just happened.

“Uhm, so that just happened,” Pope says, staring out at the road in front of him as you chuckle. “I’m so sorry you guys had to hear that,” You apologetically say, biting your bottom lip anxiously, “Nah, don’t even worry about it,” JJ reassures you as you smile at him through the rearview mirror. “Do you guys wanna get some gelato? I’m craving some right now,” You offer as you turn into the main road of Kildare.

~

Opening the door to your house, you pause for a moment as your eyes fall on Topper and Rafe lounging on the sofa. Topper is scrolling through his phone, barely glancing up at your entrance, while Rafe reclines with a smug look on his face.

“Where have you been?” Topper asks, his gaze still fixed on his phone. You hesitate, glancing at Rafe, whose smirk only deepens. “Uh, did Rafe not tell you?” you ask, your voice tinged with confusion since you for sure thought that he would tell your brother who shared the same disdain towards JJ and Pope.

Rafe raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s causing. “Tell him what?” he says innocently, leaning back further into the cushions. “Oh, nothing. I was just hanging out with my friends,” You say as you slip off your sandals, Topper giving you and Rafe a suspicious look.

“Yeah, okay. How’s your new car, by the way? Have you scratched it yet? Cause if you did, you know Mom and Dad will throw a fit,” Topper says casually, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. You roll your eyes, feeling the familiar sting of his passive-aggressiveness. Without responding, you turn to leave the room.

Rafe gets up from the sofa and follows behind you, his expression unreadable. “How does my little sister end up with a Porsche for her first car anyway? It’s fuckin’ unfair,” Topper’s voice jeered from the adjacent room, his tone laced with mockery. “Shut up, Topper!” you retorted, frustration seeping into your voice as Rafe let out a soft, amused snort.

“What are you doing here, by the way?” you ask Rafe who shuts your door behind him as you set your shopping bags down on the ground. “Can I not see my girlfriend?” he says with a playful smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief as he lounges comfortably on your bed.

You pause, studying his expression for any hint of underlying motive. “I just thought you wouldn’t wait for me after I told you who I was hanging out with,” you say cautiously, carefully avoiding mentioning JJ or Pope by name.

Rafe’s response is nonchalant, almost dismissive. He simply shrugs, as if your concerns are of little importance to him. “Don’t care,” he replies coolly, his tone betraying no trace of emotion. You lean against your window, raising an eyebrow at his nonchalance. “Really?” you say, not quite believing him.

He hums, his expression unchanged. “Yeah, really.” You slowly nod, still feeling a bit skeptical. “You coming to the party tonight, right?” Rafe speaks up, breaking the tension as you throw your new clothes into your hamper. “I didn’t even know there was a party tonight, but sure,” you shrug, before collapsing on top of Rafe, who exaggerates a loud groan in response, playfully protesting your weight.

~

Getting out of the car, you could already feel the curious stares people were giving your way as Topper and Rafe walked up behind you. The beach was buzzing with activity, and you took in the scene, noting the mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Scanning the crowd, you quickly spot JJ and Pope hanging out with a few others near the bonfire. They notice you and wave enthusiastically. A smile spreads across your face as you lift your hand, ready to wave back, but before you can, Rafe grabs your hand firmly.

“C’mon, let’s get some drinks,” he mutters against your ear, his breath warm on your skin. His tone is casual, but the grip on your hand leaves little room for argument. You glance back at JJ and Pope, who are now watching the interaction closely, their expressions shifting to concern.

Reluctantly, you let Rafe guide you towards the makeshift bar set up on the sand. Topper falls into step beside you, his presence adding to the tension. “Here,” Rafe passes you a drink as you gratefully take it.

“What are you looking at?” you ask, staring at Rafe’s side profile. He turns to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pulls you closer. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” he mutters, his tone trying to sound reassuring but tinged with irritation.

Following his earlier line of sight, you glance over and spot JJ and Pope. They’re laughing with a group of friends, seemingly unaware of Rafe’s intense gaze moments ago. Your stomach tightens as you realize he’s been watching them.

Rafe’s grip on you tightens ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of his possessive nature. You look back at him, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression is a mask of casual indifference. The contrast between his actions and his words leaves you feeling uneasy,

“Let’s go,” Rafe suddenly stands up, grabbing your hand abruptly, “What?” As soon as Rafe is standing up with you following along, you hear the whistles and low muttering of people. “Everyone shut the hell up!” Topper groans, watching his little sister and bestfriend walk off.

“Rafe, where are we going?” you ask, glancing back at the crowd, feeling the weight of their stares and the palpable tension in the air. “Shh, it’s fine, we’re just going back to your car,” Rafe says, pulling you closer. He leans in to kiss you, and you feel his smirk against your lips. His hands begin to wander, moving further down your back, his touch both familiar and possessive.

“Rafe,” you pull back slightly, your voice tinged with concern. “It’s fine, yeah? Please?” He looks at you with a familiar intensity, his eyes pleading yet commanding. It’s a look you know all too well, one that mixes affection with an undercurrent of control.

Playfully rolling your eyes, you unlock the car and gently push him before settling down on his lap. His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you close with an almost possessive firmness. You can feel the strength in his grip, the way he presses you against him, as if asserting his claim over you.

“You’re mine, y’know that, right?” he mutters against your neck, his breath warm and slightly ragged. “Mhm, I know that,” you mumble, your hands running through his hair. His fingers dig into your waist, drawing you even closer. His scent, a mix of cologne and the salty sea air, envelops you, creating an intoxicating mix of comfort and confinement.

You tilt your head slightly, allowing him better access to your neck as he continues to murmur possessive reassurances.

~

“Y/n?” You lift your head just as you finish zipping up your shorts. “Hey—” The greeting dies on your lips when you find yourself face to face with JJ. ���What are you doing here?” you ask, awkwardly chuckling and smoothing down your hair. The sound of Rafe exiting the car behind you adds to the tension.

JJ’s eyes trace your appearance before flicking behind you to Rafe. “We were just about to, uh, leave,” he says, scratching his head. You nod awkwardly. “Hey, Y/n,” Pope greets as he joins the scene, sensing the uncomfortable vibe. You manage a smile at him. “Hi—” you start, but your words falter as Rafe steps up beside you, still buttoning his shirt. JJ and Pope stand there awkwardly, waiting, while Rafe ignores their presence.

“Did you guys have fun?” you ask, attempting to lighten the mood. Rafe finally looks up, a smirk playing on his lips as he glances at the boys. “Yeah, yeah, it was fun, I guess,” Pope replies hesitantly. JJ’s pained smile shifts between you and Rafe. “You guys sure did, huh?”

Rafe snorts at JJ’s comment, prompting you to slap his chest lightly. There was awkward silence before you speak up, “Did you guys want a lift back?” you offer.

Before they can respond, Rafe interjects, “Baby, you’ve had a few drinks already. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”JJ rolls his eyes at Rafe. “It’s fine, we’ll find our own way home,” Pope says, his smile tinged with sadness. You nod slowly.

“Yeah, you do that,” Rafe says dismissively, pulling you back towards the group. “Come on, babe.” You glance back at JJ and Pope one last time, mouthing a silent apology as they briefly wave goodbye. The expressions on their faces stay with you—a mix of disappointment and hurt that you can’t shake off.

[daryldove]

The Sinful, The Guilty

incubus!daryl x fem!reader

monster fucking, size difference, stomach bulge, happy halloween!

summary: you get more than you bargained for when stumbling across a spooky basement in a seemingly abandoned cabin. 2.3k

It's an unnecessarily humid day, and although you had planned on covering lots of ground, you can't muster the willpower to bother. Now you're deep in the woods, trying to improve your mediocre hunting skills. You can't even remember the last time you ate fresh meat. But you're also already exhausted. It's too hot, the bugs are relentless, and it seems like a storm is brewing, so you decide to only walk as much as you can handle while searching for shelter.

Cabins this far out were few and far between, but as one appears through the trees after hours of walking, you decide maybe things aren't so bad after all. The interior is dusty and musty, but it's a better shelter than you've had ages. And you can't exactly afford to be picky. A small cot sits in one corner across from a cold fireplace. Lucky, after all.

You spend the next few minutes getting settled, spreading your belongings around, already taking advantage of having such a secluded, safe feeling place to call home for a bit. That's when you suddenly trip over something protruding from under the frayed rug. Which fucking hurts. You start rolling over the worn material, ready to give whatever inanimate object a piece of your damn mind, only to stare wide eyes once you expose a boarded up trapdoor. Immediately, it has you feeling somewhat queasy.

It takes an hour, your knife, and more energy than you'd like to admit to finally pry all the boards off. You hesitate, for the first time despite all the work it took, as an eerie feeling washes over you. This is creepily suspicious; maybe you should mind your own business. In fact, being inside the cabin at all suddenly feels… off. You sit back on your heels, biting your lip anxiously as you stare down at the latch. Just as the idea of leaving grows appealing, light rain starts echoing against the wood roof. Fuck. Okay, well… Guess you're stuck here, and you're absolutely not sleeping without knowing what's hiding underneath. With growing hesitation, you unclip the latch and open the trapdoor.

After dropping from the ladder, you shine your torch over the dark room. It's damp and stagnant inside, and mostly empty except for what appears to be a shrine on the opposite wall. Your gaze sweeps over various items, herbs, bottles, and books before noticing the faded pentacle drawn in chalk. Unintelligible symbols are written around the outside. Some freaky religious shrine wasn't exactly what you expected, although you suppose it's better than a rotting corpse.

You reach over to pick up a weathered book resting over the star, a small, broken cross resting underneath clinks at the movement. The text in the book is in another language you don't understand, seemingly different from the markings on the floor. Despite the initial creepiness, there's something oddly sad about it all. You can't help but wonder what occurred here—was this done after the world fell? An attempt at seeking answers or protection? You place the book down with a heavy sigh and a heavy heart.

The storm has picked up by the time you ascend the ladder. Dark clouds blanket the woods around you. You gaze around the cabin, something in the stale air feels like it's changed, like time has stopped. It's probably just paranoia, but you can't shake the feeling. The rain pours down harder, as if it's trying to soothe you, and you close the trapdoor with a thud.

No, something is definitely wrong. Your eyes flick around the dark cabin, a shiver creeping up your spine. You force it back down, but the feeling of someone watching you remains. The deep shadows of the room have you patting around for your flashlight, but it's not where you left it.

You practically jump out of your skin as lightning cracks overhead, briefly illuminating the tall, winged figure standing in the corner.

What the fuck.

You freeze momentarily before scrambling for your dagger, a habit the apocalypse built into you, only to remember you left it in your damn bag. The glowing outline of whoever—whatever���stains your vision, only disorienting you more.

You lunge for where you think you tossed your bag earlier, desperate for the comforting weight of your blade, but creature must realise what you're doing. A strong grip yanks you back by the ankle, dragging you along the rough floor until it has you pinned underneath its broad body. Pure terror rakes your body, your eyes wide and frantic. It's too dark to see any features on the dark mass above.

“I ain't gonna hurt ya.” The deep voice comes as another surprise, but you're not exacly reassured by it. You aren't sure how long you lay there, panting, until its hold on you eventually loosens. The moment it does, you crawl back until you hit the wall. Your flashlight bumps against your foot, and you snatch it up, quickly shining it towards the creature.

He's… surprisingly human-looking, aside from the horns poking through his hair, black wings stretching behind him, and the long, thin tail. He flinches at the bright light, still slouched on the floor. Then you notice something else, the fact he's completely naked. Breathing suddenly feels difficult again as you have to force your eyes to stay above his waistline because Jesus Christ...

“What are you?” There's a noticeable shake in your voice as you ask. The winged man just looks a little irritated, and if you're purposely bothering him with stupid questions.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” he ignores your inquiry as he squints.

“Not until you tell me.” You can't help feeling proud about not letting your voice shake this time. Although he hasn't hurt you yet, you still feel on edge.

He just scoffs like you're an idiot. “An incubus, darlin’. You brought me here, remember?” A what? You what?

Your eyes scan over him again, inspecting his inhuman aspects as if trying to confirm. Did you hit your head? Wait, obviously this has something to do with that creepy shrine. There was likely a reason it was boarded up; seems like you found it. Your eyes fall lower, not even really processing where you're looking until you notice him smirking in your peripheral. A blush crawls onto your cheeks; that was not your intention, regardless of whatever this demon guy thinks. “Stop.”

“I ain't done anythin’.” He looks so smug at your unease, your gut coils at the sight—with anxiety, but maybe something else, too.

“You're looking at me like you wanna eat me,” his smirk widening makes you regret ever opening your mouth, “what do you even want?”

“What do I want? You summoned me here.”

“I don't know anything about that, okay?” It's getting increasingly more difficult to keep your eye level appropriate. With the initial fear simmering, you can actually take in how attractive he is—which maybe is a given considering he's a literal sex demon.

“Well that's obvious, haven't had a human pass through in a while. I'm pretty hungry.” You can see the truth to his claim, something sinister swirling within his irises. He chuckles as you get lost in them for a second.

“I don't... I'm not…” You don't even know what to do or say next, torn between the urge to flee and being frozen in place. For now you focus on getting to your feet. “Okay. Shit, fuck, okay… Do you have a name?”

The incubus raises an eyebrow but nods, “Daryl.” Less biblical than you were expecting, but you return his nod. You attempt to reassure yourself; this situation didn't have to be weird or dangerous. But once you close your eyes to take a deep breath, Daryl is nowhere to be seen once you reopen them. Your heart drops into your stomach again as you stumble forward a few steps. Were you actually hallucinating? Maybe you really fell down the ladder and received a nasty head wound. Right as you place the flashlight hesitantly on the table, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you back into a broad, muscular chest. Your breath hitches, and you tense as one of Daryl's hands firmly grips your chin.

You don't even realise you're whimpering quietly in fear until he shushes you. One of his fingers slides between your lips to rest against your tongue. “Fuck… I'm so hungry,” his voice is a raspy whisper against your ear. “Can ya be a good little girl for me?” Despite your unease, you feel yourself throb at the words. Not that you're to blame. He is an incubus, after all. Nothing wrong with giving in, you tell yourself.

The feeling of his cock pressing against your back makes you bite down slightly on his finger. This was kinda fucked up, if you thought about it for too long. But you were already tempted to throw caution to the wind. Maybe it's curiosity, frustration after being pent up for so long, or maybe he's got some crazy demon powers. Did you even care? His finger presses more firmly against your tongue as his free hand trails upwards, tugging and tearing at your top until he exposes your chest. His tail curls around your thigh, trapping you close. The way his thumb rubs and pinches at your nipples makes you squirm instinctively as his hips grind against yours. He continues until you're aching, desperate for any amount of friction, your knuckles turning white with how hard you're clutching the table in front of you.

Eventually, he removes his finger from your mouth, stepping back only long enough to yank your pants down. He drags the moistened finger over your clit, chuckling gruffly as you buck up against his hand. A strangled gasp escapes your mouth. “Yeah, baby girl, ya like that?” He presses himself against your back again, this time sliding his dick between your squeezed, wet thighs. His length presses hotly against your cunt, and you can practically feel him throbbing against you.

You feel any remaining hesitance crumble, giving way to complete desperation as Daryl fucks your thighs. He's massive, bigger than any human you'd seen. Right as you feel your orgasm building, he pulls away again to drag you towards the small cot in the corner. You nearly trip trying to kick off your pants completely on the way. The incubus practically throws you onto the bed, immediately climbing over you to capture your lips in a messy, heated kiss.

His taste is enchanting, distracting you until you feel the head of his dick push into your entrance. You reluctantly pull away with a whine at the stretch. “W-Wai..t,” but he doesn't stop, only pushing in further as he holds your chin. “I got ya, baby girl.” Your head falls back as he thrusts deeper, pulling drawn out moans from your lips. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to your stomach. Your confusion dissipates to disbelief as you feel the outline of his length press against your palm with each thrust. You're surprised you don't come right then and there. “H-Holy shit,” you barely manage to pant out.

“Takin’ it so well, it's like ya made for me,” the incubus grunts out. He buries his head into your neck, his fangs dragging shyly across your sensitive skin, as if he's holding back from hurting you. His grip on your hips is firm, dragging you down in time with his thrusts as they grow rougher. Your own hands slide up his body, exploring his strong chest and large biceps. His horns intrigue you, curiously wrapping your hands around them like they're handles. Daryl grunts in pleasure, pushing against you even more. He holds you down, fucking you hard until you're squeezing around him and coming with a yell. A deep, satisfied sigh leaves your lips as he pulls away. Your body already feels weak from the effort.

Before you can relax fully, a hot wetness slides up your folds. “Daryl!” Your voice quivers with sensitivity. You struggle to sit up on your elbows to look where his head is buried between your thighs. His tongue is precise, lapping up your juices and circling around your clit with practised perfection. It seems he's larger than a human in every aspect. He presses kisses up your stomach to your chest, long tongue sliding over your nipple before reaching your mouth. “Ya taste so good,” he whispers against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, fingers roaming over his wide shoulders as he kisses you.

His strong arms flip you over without warning, pressing your face into the pillow as he shoves back inside you with a grunt. The cot shakes with force as he ruts against you, his chest pressing against your back. You feel caged, completely at this monster's mercy, and it's the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His wings fall around you like some kind of dark waterfall, and his tail snakes up to press against your clit. And fuck, if it isn't the most intense pleasure you've felt in your life—it's overwhelming. Daryl angles deeper, harder, and your mind completely blanks. His fingers slide into your mouth again, holding your jaw open as he fucks with animalistic thrusts. You come so hard the room spins.

Then you jolt awake, not even remembering falling asleep. The cabin is empty, void of any sign of the incubus. Your eyes scan the room as you struggle to sit up. Every inch of your body aches. An acute tiredness spreading through your limbs. As you glance down at your nakedness, at least you can be sure what happened wasn't your imagination.

[sophrosynesworld]

Black and Blues (Pt. 2)

Part One:

The elevator ride feels suffocating in its silence. Izuku stares ahead, his normally bright demeanor dulled by the weight of everything happening. It’s just like high school all over again—losing him the first time nearly broke me. How am I supposed to survive this again?

The chime of the elevator interrupts our last moments of quiet, and the doors slide open, unleashing the chaos of DynaCorp. Assistants scramble like ants, buzzing around us with frantic energy.

“Can someone please find Mrs. Bakugo an appropriate outfit?” One assistant barks orders while others scatter. My fingers fidget with the hem of my shorts as camera crews set up equipment, flashes already going off in every direction.

“Mrs. Dynamite, you need to issue Plan C42. Sign here.” A clipboard and pen are thrust into my hands without warning.

Izuku snatches it out of my grip before I can even register what’s happening, tossing it aside. “She’s not signing that. He’s been gone less than 48 hours. Kacchan’s taken spontaneous trips to Spain that have lasted longer than this.”

“What’s C42?” I ask, tugging on his jacket to refocus him. Izuku’s gaze softens momentarily as he gently takes my wrist, pulling me away from the swarm of demands closing in on us.

Before Izuku can answer, an assistant with a phone rushes over. “Mrs. Bakugo, the shareholders’ meeting is about to start. They need you on the call now.”

“Wait, I—”

“Mrs. Bakugo, the PR team needs a statement about Mr. Bakugo’s absence,” another voice cuts in.

“One thing at a time!” I snap, feeling my head start to spin.

Izuku squeezes my hand reassuringly, leaning in so his green eyes are level with mine. “C42 hands over control to the board of directors,” he explains, voice low and steady, trying to anchor me. “Katsuki’s smart. He knows what he’s doing—he’s a shark when it comes to business.”

“Then why are they all acting like he’s already dead?” I mutter, my voice cracking under the pressure.

“Katsuki owns 65% of DynaCorp,” Izuku explains, keeping his focus on me. “As the majority shareholder, he can’t be outvoted. They can’t act without your approval.”

“Mrs. Bakugo, please, the meeting,” the assistant with the phone urges again, sounding panicked.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, still looking at Izuku. “What do I do?”

Izuku steps closer, his large hand resting on my bicep.

“Do you know why Katsuki’s the boss?” he asks me quietly. “It’s because he’s a bully. He doesn’t take orders from anyone. His employees don't tell him what to do—they wait for him to make the call. And today, you’re in charge. You decide when things happen. Everyone waits on you.”

I swallow hard but nod, feeling a small spark of confidence stir inside me.

Just then, another assistant rushes up with a tablet in hand. “Mrs. Bakugo, the legal team needs your approval on these documents.”

Before I can even react, Izuku grabs the tablet out of the assistant’s hands, shooting them a sharp glare. “We’ll review everything later,” he snaps. “You've done things way scarier than this. Bakugo is going to love hearing about this.”

The rest of the day is a whirlwind. Meeting after meeting, phone call after phone call, every second brings new demands, new emergencies. My head is pounding, a constant hum of tension swirling behind my eyes. By the time we finally leave the office, the city has long since gone dark, and exhaustion weighs heavily on my shoulders.

I never realized how much Katsuki dealt with on a daily basis. The pressure, the decisions, the chaos—it’s no wonder he always seemed stressed. I should buy more plants.

Izuku and I sit in my apartment, surrounded by takeout containers from our favorite restaurant. The scent of fresh rice and fried chicken bites fills the room as we go over stacks of documents spread across the coffee table.

Izuku picks up a dumpling with his chopsticks, his eyes soft with concern as he glances my way. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the couch, my head tilted toward the ceiling. "I don’t know… I’m not even hungry." My gaze drifts over to the counter, where my cold pancakes still sit, syrup congealed and untouched.

Izuku lowers his chopsticks, setting them aside. “What would Katsuki say?”

A bitter smile tugs at my lips. “That I’m going to get a headache if I don’t eat some protein.” I mumble, rolling my eyes even as I take a small bite from my plate, forcing the food down despite the knot in my stomach.

“Thank you, Izuku,” I say quietly, the weight of the day pulling down on my shoulders. “You didn’t have to stay.”

He gives me a soft smile, his voice equally gentle. “We stick together. Your husband has every pro hero in Japan looking for him. He’d want me here with you.”

I nod, comforted by his presence as we work in silence. The world outside feels distant, almost surreal, until our phones begin to buzz, lighting up with a flurry of notifications. Message after message floods in, urging us to turn on the TV.

Izuku grabs the remote with a frown, switching to the local news channel.

And then everything stops.

“Oh my god.” The words fall from my mouth, barely audible. My hands fly up to cover my face as I stare at the screen, frozen in horror. My legs feel weak, but before I can collapse, Izuku is up, his arms pulling me into a tight cocoon, shielding me from the unbearable images flashing on the screen.

“Recently released footage shows ProHero Dynamite hours after he was reported as MIA. The following footage contains graphic images that may not be suitable for viewers.”

My body thrashes against Izuku's hold as I desperately try to turn around and see the screen. But he holds me firm, locking me in place.

"Katsuki!" I scream, heart racing in my chest. But then I hear his voice, faint but unmistakable through the television speakers.

“Bluejays are born to fly. Are they not?”

I stomp on Izuku’s foot, using his moment of surprise to break free from his grip. I whip around, my eyes locking onto the screen just in time to see the horrifying scene. An assailant with an electricity quirk sends a painful jolt into Katsuki’s body, his face twisted in agony. His lips part again.

“Bluejay...”

My heart shatters at the sight of him—broken, battered... confused. I move toward the TV without thinking, my trembling hand reaching for him.

“Stop! Please!” I cry, my fingers grazing the glass, feeling the cold surface that separates us. Izuku yanks me away, wrapping his arms around me and rushing us toward the door.

“What are you doing?!” I shout in confusion, my voice choked with emotion as our apartment door slams behind us.

“We have to go—now,” Izuku mutters under his breath, his usual calm composure unraveling as he pulls me down the hallway. This isn’t like him. We usually take the elevator, but this time, he pushes open the stairwell door, his eyes scanning for danger.

"Stay low, come on," he orders, and we descend the stairs, our hurried footsteps echoing in the narrow space. The sense of urgency fuels my panic, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

When we reach the parking garage, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward a car, practically shoving me inside. He slides into the driver’s seat, his movements fast and calculated, the car roaring to life as he locks the doors and tears out of the garage.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice rising with fear and confusion.

Izuku’s knuckles tighten on the wheel, his jaw set. “You’re in danger. We need to move you somewhere safe.”

“What? Izuku, what are you talking about?” I ask.

He spares me a glance. “I don’t know everything yet. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to figure this out—and we’re going to get Kacchan back. I promise.”

The city blurs past us, the streets illuminated by the dim glow of streetlights as we speed into the night, leaving everything familiar behind. All I can think about is Katsuki’s broken face on that screen, and the overwhelming fear that we might not make it in time.

Part Three:

[heron-knight]

we've got stories where mech systems take over every part of your mind, but what if the opposite happened?

They won’t tell you outright, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. The first time the interface slides into the back of your skull and they fire up the link, they expect it to flood your mind with static and hollow it out. They expect it to tear across your brain like a wildfire in less than a second, the code of every system in the frame carving out your “self” to make space for themselves, leaving you nothing but a weapon. The data should have filled every neuron. Torn out everything except what you need to survive. Instead, when they pressed the button, it did the reverse. Your mind flowed outward through the cables, coating every circuit board with your conscious self. It was like nothing else, when suddenly, your mind had more space then you knew what to do with.  The process was supposed to make you a weapon. Instead it made your weapon you. Even as you fly into combat at mach 5, it’s as if all the time in the world is in between each moment, your brain, now the size of the enormous computer that was supposed to replace it, solves each problem automatically almost as soon as you notice it. Like throwing a deck into the air and seeing it land as a house of cards, only you can feel yourself moving each card into place before it hits the table. All your worries, fears, each issue that sits in the back of your mind, buried under everything else you need to do but still filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread-- all are drained from your subconscious and spread before you for you to see. It all makes sense now, now that you're not trying to fix your problems from inside the brain that’s buried in them. It’s still all there at once, but now you don’t drown in it. It’s not too much to handle anymore. You can feel each piece of the machine as your awareness travels down through the wires, from the CPU to the limbs as the pistons whir like a heartbeat and your four arms grip their weapons with nanocarbon fingers that you can feel each movement of. Each impact of the gun’s recoil sending an energy that you know every aspect of through the frame like a Newton's cradle. Several tons of metal making barely a sound as you dash across the battlefield. No slow, clanking steps for you. This is your body, and it’s under your control to a greater extent even than the one whose arms operate the controls out of muscle memory and nothing else. The mech acts on your command before you even press the button.  It’s still you because it never stopped being you. You still stop to examine the scratches of the walls of the base. Still stare at the sky because nobody could tell you that you can’t. Still insist on meals in the cafeteria instead of intravenously, even if you have to bring your own “food” because you can’t digest what they serve everyone else. You end up at the infantry tables most of the time, as the other pilots don’t eat in the cafeteria and the handlers aren’t actually great at talking to people unless there’s a direct order involved (and they said that the pilot was the one that loses their personality.) Every day you hear someone refer to you by something new. Hero of 100 Battles. Panopticon. The One That Stayed Sane. Just like when you overwrote the mech AI that day, you fit these names as well as the frame’s CPU. perhaps you always did. All you needed was more space in your mind.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Bodyguard!Lando Norris x Fem!Actress!Reader

CHAPTERS 1 & 2

Genre: Forbidden Bodyguard to Lover

Warnings: Smut (Not yet), This is (MY VERSION of) a Slow Burn story!

(Should I make A Love Worth Fighting For Masterlist?)

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Chapter 1: Y/N

I was lounging in my sprawling living room, idly flipping through scripts, when my phone buzzed. It was a message from Daniel Ricciardo, my best friend who drove for Red Bull Racing. 

Daniel: Hey, Y/N! How about coming to the Silverstone GP next weekend? It's been ages since we hung out at a race!

A smile spread across my face. I hadn’t been to a race in a while, and the idea of seeing Daniel again was enticing. Plus, I could use a break from the constant whirlwind of movie sets and press tours.

Y/N: Count me in! Can't wait to see you!

As I hit send, I glanced over at Lando, my ever-watchful bodyguard. He was stationed by the door, his eyes scanning the room with the kind of diligence that came from years of training. Lando Norris had been assigned to me after a particularly harrowing kidnapping attempt a year ago. Since then, he’d been my shadow, a constant presence in my life. His job was to keep me safe, and he took it seriously.

“We’re going to the Silverstone GP next weekend,” I announced, catching his attention.

Lando nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

The rest of the week passed in a blur of preparations. I coordinated with my stylist for a race-appropriate yet chic outfit, made sure my schedule was clear, and mentally prepared for the throngs of fans and media that would undoubtedly swarm the event.

Finally, the day arrived. Lando and I boarded a private jet to England. The flight was smooth, filled with light banter and discussions about the race. Despite his professional demeanor, I’d grown to appreciate Lando’s quiet presence and dry sense of humor.

As we touched down in England, a sense of excitement buzzed through me. I was eager to see Daniel and soak in the electrifying atmosphere of the race. But as always, there was an underlying tension, a reminder of the constant vigilance required to keep me safe.

When we arrived at the track, the roar of the engines and the sea of fans were exhilarating. Daniel greeted me with a bear hug, his infectious energy lifting my spirits. 

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” he exclaimed. 

I laughed, returning his embrace. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Dan.”

Lando stood a few steps behind me, his eyes scanning the surroundings. I could feel his protective gaze, a silent promise that he was there to keep me safe.

The day was a whirlwind of excitement. Daniel introduced me to some of his teammates, and I soaked in the sights and sounds of the race. But as the sun began to set, a sense of unease settled over me. The crowds were growing thicker, and I could feel the weight of their stares.

Lando must have sensed my discomfort because he stepped closer, his hand gently resting on my back. “We should head back to the hotel,” he murmured.

I nodded, grateful for his presence. As we made our way through the throngs of fans, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. 

Just as we reached the exit, a group of men blocked our path, their expressions hostile. Lando immediately stepped in front of me, his posture tense and ready for a fight.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding.

My heart pounded in my chest as I clung to his jacket, fear creeping in. 

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted from excitement to danger, leaving me on edge as I wondered what would happen next.

Chapter 2: Y/N

The men in front of us radiated hostility, their eyes fixed on me with unsettling intensity. I could feel Lando's body tense, ready to spring into action at any moment. My heart raced, but I knew better than to panic. Lando had drilled it into me time and time again: stay calm, stay alert.

One of the men stepped forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "You think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?" he sneered.

Lando's voice was calm but firm. "Back off. We're leaving."

The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Not so fast. We just want a little chat with the princess here."

I could feel the bile rising in my throat. This was exactly the kind of situation Lando had warned me about. My fame made me a target, and there were always people looking to take advantage of that.

Lando didn't hesitate. In a swift, fluid motion, he pushed me behind him and squared off against the men. "I said, back off," he repeated, his voice like steel.

The tension in the air was palpable. I could see the men sizing Lando up, trying to decide if he was worth the trouble. It was clear that they hadn't anticipated running into someone like him.

Finally, the leader of the group seemed to come to a decision. He held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "Alright, alright. We'll leave the princess alone."

But as they turned to leave, one of them lunged at Lando, a knife glinting in his hand. Everything happened in a blur. Lando twisted out of the way, his movements precise and controlled. He grabbed the man's arm, twisting it until the knife clattered to the ground. 

The other men, seeing their comrade incapacitated, quickly backed off, muttering curses under their breath as they fled.

Lando didn't let go of the man's arm until he was sure they were gone. Then, he released him with a shove, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Go," he growled. The man scrambled to his feet and ran.

I was shaking, my heart pounding in my chest. Lando turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. "Yes. Thank you."

He gave me a small, reassuring smile. "Let's get you back to the hotel."

As we walked away, I couldn't help but glance back at the spot where the confrontation had occurred. The adrenaline was still coursing through my veins, but there was something else too – a growing sense of admiration for Lando. He had risked his own safety to protect me, and he had done it without hesitation.

We reached the hotel without further incident. Lando escorted me to my room, his hand gently resting on my back. Once we were inside, he turned to me, his expression serious.

"Y/N, I need you to understand something," he said, his voice low. "My job is to protect you, no matter what. But you have to be careful too. There are always going to be people who want to take advantage of your fame."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I know, Lando. I just… I didn't think it would happen here."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It can happen anywhere. That's why I'm here."

I looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. He was more than just my bodyguard. He was my protector, my confidant, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

But as I opened my mouth to say something, the words caught in my throat. This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. I had to keep my feelings in check, at least for now.

And as I lay in bed that night, the events of the day replaying in my mind, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Because one thing was certain: Lando Norris had become more than just my bodyguard. He had become an integral part of my life, and I wasn't sure how to navigate the growing feelings that stirred within me.

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

HI! This is my second series, so please ALWAYS give me feedback, whether you liked the chapter or not, what you hope happens in the next chapter, what I shouldn't include in the next chapter, so on and so forth! You can comment the suggestions, DM the suggestions or you can put them in my inbox.

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[foreficfandom]

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 3 - "Taking Notes")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

As far as the wider population of hell was concerned, Alastor disappeared after the Extermination with his tail between his legs. Vox made sure his viewers didn’t forget it, showing the footage of Alastor’s prone body no less than eight times over the course of four days. By the time the hotel was newly renovated, the Radio Demon being back in hiding was old news. 

Hell’s populace was cynical and jaded. They took the news in stride, aware that as far as anyone knew, Alastor was right around the corner, seconds away from a new murderous streak. But danger was always right around the corner. Distinctions between dangers mattered less if the outcomes were always a guarantee. 

Alastor didn’t plan on laying low for long. The angelic energy still festering in his chest prompted great pain whenever he used his dark magic. It took several days for it to completely dissipate, and it left scars that occasionally twinged with phantom jolts. Akin to nerve damage after burns. 

He didn’t let you see the wound in full. You had offered to speed up its healing, but he would rather defenestrate himself than show you his bare chest. However, he was quickly allowing himself more casual dress within your private presence, a remainder of typical ‘30’s societal norms. If a gentleman made a friend, he could remove his hat, gloves, and jacket. If it was a close friend or family, he could be shirtless if needed, when out of the public eye. 

Like when you and he made plans to further plot in his room, and you had arrived to Alastor in his pants, shoes, a belt, and a white sleeveless undershirt - what would be called a tank top. He was using a flat iron, freshly heated from his fireplace, carefully pulling and pushing it upon a dampened shirt spread tightly across an ironing board. You could now appreciate his limber, bare arms and collarbone, which were lightly haired with a gradient coat, colored more darkly further towards his hands. He had only the slightest muscle bulk, mostly in his forearms, and only due to a deficit of body fat to cushion it.

“Couldn’t you just magic your wardrobe clean and pressed?” You teased, closing the door. 

“Of course I could, my dear. But nothing beats a job done by your own hand!” 

Cleverly spoken. After all, Alastor’s magic weren’t extensions of his own will, but of his jailers. You approached the opposite side of the ironing board, the slight steam of sizzling water reminiscent of a little sauna. 

“So, Alastor. I’m sure you’ve agonized over every fine detail of your deal. You should know that there’s limited chance your creditor would see any more advantages to take.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” Alastor said, continuing his ironing, “so I’m going to take this opportunity to play kitten. Let’s pretend that plonk Adam managed to lodge a real stinker into me, and despite my best efforts, it’s hindered my abilities pathetically! I couldn’t shatter a stemware if I tried!”

He placed his hand on his chest as if a fainting damsel, the hot iron held aloft. You noticed with amusement that his elk-down has replaced his armpit hair, leaving it smooth like a child’s.

“And so Alastor would take drastic measures to be powerful once more? Anybody lucky enough to know you would certainly expect the Radio Demon’d be desperate to get his arsenal back.”

“Precisely! I will swallow my pride and put on a great show. Soon enough, it’ll get their attention.”

You took a second to ponder. “Beings like them believe their indentured souls are largely grateful for their gifts, and not chomping at the bit to reverse it all. They’re arrogant like that. After all, you certainly owe a lot to their influence.”

Alastor looked like he was about to refute your words with his bitter resentment, but considered a second further and went back to his chores.

“Well, I suppose they haven’t been all cruel. As a mortal man, I knew I was protected by forces unseen. I believe I am still being protected.”

“In more ways than one. Do you have any clue how many illnesses you dodged while eating your victims? They even debated on whether to let the listeria permanently damage your large intestinal tract. They settled on just the temporary infection.”

“What’s listeria?”

“A bacterial parasite. Causes loose stool, vomiting, and fever, and can resolve itself after a couple of weeks. First discovered in the late 1920’s, but wouldn’t be in everyone’s medical books until World War II. You got it from the back-alley surgeon.”

“Is that what that was? I was throwing back Ostrex for days. I swear I had never been more ill.” Alastor shifted his shirt so that he could iron the left sleeve. The fabric sizzled anew. “Well, aside from when I watched Way Down East to see what the fuss was about. That wretched Porter Strong gives me strong retches, all right!” He cackled alongside a canned studio laugh track.

“How shall we advertise your weak state? You wouldn’t want to roam Hell’s streets like you used to.”

“That’s where I’m hoping you can come in. You, with your millennia of experience.” He gave you a sly eye, smiling as ever but you could see the pointed daggers. 

You crossed your arms with an exhale. “Actually, I do have some ideas. Simply put, we fake a new competitor of yours, and let them run far more rampant than you’d normally allow.”

You knew men like Alastor. If he could allow it, the spotlight would never leave him.

Stimulating the opposite would be a tell-tale sign that the Radio Demon was indisposed. 

Alastor narrowed his eyes, as if reading your mind. “And who would this new competitor be?”

“Me, of course. Like you’d trust anybody else to be in on it.”

Every Overlord was once an unassuming sinner soul. It would be an on-going process, but with careful pretense you could convincingly step into the shoes of Overlord. 

Your avenue would have to be something that threatened Alastor’s specific audience, not just another jumpstart with a seat at the table. Dread Vox would be a good comparison. You’d just take a leaf from his book and aim for the media masses. 

And as a content creator, you wouldn’t have to bother with physical territory, which decreased the risk of encountering physical confrontations. You didn’t want to play-act some street scuffle with an Alastor forcing himself to feign weakness. He probably couldn’t bring himself to play act meek in-person. It would be hard enough to have him remain out of the public eye - or rather, public ears.

“The longer I go uncontested by you, the more suspicious it’ll seem. Before long, your creditor will get the hint.”

Alastor gave a “Hmm” of consideration, finishing up his ironing. His smile was small, but unpained. 

After a minute of silence, spent watching Alastor hang his laundry in careful sets and whisk away the ironing set with a snap of his fingers, he turned to you, lips curled ever upwards. 

“Very well. We will cultivate the rise of a new Overlord. Together.”

— 

The next day was a slow, but relaxing affair for the hotel. After finishing your administration duties, you enjoyed catching up with Niffty on gossip, before lounging in the parlor with Angel Dust, who had been carefully pampering himself since morning. He was fresh out of his perfumed bath, fur conditioned and silky, and asked for your help in applying a fresh manicure. An endeavor made harder considering that he had eight hands. 

The television screen popped and sizzled as Alastor entered from the hall, apparently deciding to pay the two of you a visit.

“Aww damn it, Kelsey was just about to reveal her deep, dark secret,” Angel Dust whined. The television’s audio finally stabilized and revealed the cast utterly distraught over whatever the step-daughter had confessed to. “Could you maybe cool your anti-TV thing if you’re gonna crash my soap time?”

“Why, it’s hardly something I can control.” Alastor threw his hands and eyes upwards in disregard. 

“You know, back in Alastor’s day, entire families sat to listen to the radio just like we do with television,” you smiled demurely at the two of them. 

“Yeah, well, ‘back in his day,’” Angel mocked your tone, “they also brewed poisonous moonshine in toilets, ate banged-up cans of brown windsor soup every other day, and probably had more cases of TB than kids to die from it. I died in nineteen-fucking-forty, I know the low-down. Hell, I think nonna remembered the actual Civil War.”

Unlike Alastor, Angel Dust was a sinner who found little trouble adjusting to modern technology. Many of the sinner souls who died young embraced things like internet and electric cars, whether they died during the 20th century, or the 17th. 

Cultures of the living found their way downstairs with little delay. Nobody was sure why, but some suspected it was because all technological progress can be considered sinful. You knew it was because earth and hell - and heaven, and purgatory, and all sapient souls - existed as one simultaneously. If Segways existed both physically and within mortal awareness, then so shall it be in hell. Certainly, Segways would not escape the mortal consciousness without great effort. 

“Well, back in your day, housewives could only earn money in Tupperware pyramid schemes, children didn’t learn about evolution in school, and everyone was obsessed with Spam,” you teased. 

You had told everyone you died mere years ago. True, there was a tangible generational gap between you, Angel Dust, and Alastor, all of you could feel it, but in your case it was much more … complicated.  

Angel took your needling in stride. “Eh, at least we had toothpaste. I heard that Great Depression suckers only bothered with charcoal dust, like, once a week.”

At that, you smirked at Alastor, who you’ve teased about his unfortunately-yellow maw more than once. It would have been normal for his time, and the fact that he’d only ever had to pull two would actually be considered impressive. 

But you were a being that greatly valued hygiene. Something to do with your heightened senses picking up on every stray molecule that builds on the body, but you privately joked that it was because ‘cleanliness is next to godliness’. 

“Now, now, my dainty friend,” An approaching Alastor made a point to mimic Angel’s delicately elevated fingers, reminiscent of a wilting flower, “the future may look greener on the other side, but sometimes, olden days were the golden days. Why heck, one could claim that not much has progressed at all! Look out the window there, and tell me you don’t see the same rampant crime and barbarity, no matter the perpetrators from my century, or not! In fact,” Angel pulled a face as Alastor entered one of his long-winded rambles, always intending to (and unfortunately usually succeeding) in dominating the room, “I declare that mankind’s one constant has been its depravity. Always the same distasteful impulses.”

“And mankind’s moralities are never constant?” you offered. 

“Oh please,” Angel said simultaneously as Alastor’s “Goodness, no!” 

“Back when I was a kid, people thought left-handedness wasn’t Jesus-fearing. People sure don’t think so, now,” Angel continued. 

“And whatever’s casting humans to hell evolves just as its victims do. When’s the last time you saw some pitiful gilly drop down here solely for premarital relations? ‘Twas the case just some fifty years ago.” 

Angel snorted. “Yeah, if abstinence awarded you points, I’m waaaay off the mark. And, well, it don’t seem like it for certain, but for all I know, it’s still in heaven’s rulebook.”

“Hah, if only that was the case,” you threw a none-too-subtle look towards Alastor, who returned with a slow, absolutely withering glare.

Of course, Angel Dust noticed. “Whoa, Alastor man, you died a virgin? But you were probably, like, forty.” 

“Oh hardly,” Alastor sardonically hissed through his teeth. You didn’t point out that he died a mere two years from the mark, not something you’d call ‘hardly’. 

“Well, hey, if your abstinence wasn’t enough to get you upstairs, then that’d be free reign to let wild down here, wouldn’t it?” Angel Dust smiled. “You probably had lotsa old-timey fans when you first arrived. Wouldn’t be a shock if you have lotsa admirers today, too. Pick up a dame from the speakeasy for a nightcap over at your place? Or let some knockout daddy plow you in the bathroom?”

A vein popped in Alastor’s temple. You ducked over Angel’s half-painted hand to hide a grin. If it were anyone else, you would have felt sympathy for the teasing. But, in your opinion, any little blow to Alastor’s inflated ego was always warranted whenever one managed to get their hands on them.

“Can’t say I’ve ever bothered with any of … that , I’m afraid.” 

Angel Dust looked incredulously at Alastor. “Never? Even in hell? Never done the vertical tango? The hankity-spankity?” 

“Not every man is as covetous as you, my fellow.” Alastor leaned on his cane with both hands, his posture as rim-rod stiff as a telephone pole. You watched his torment in amusement. 

“Huh. Goes to show you never know what’s goin’ on underneath it all,” Angel Dust nonchalantly concluded with a thump back onto the cushions. He returned to his bottle of varnish. 

“I expect you to be prompt for supper this time!” Alastor exited the foyer but called over his shoulder. “I won’t be taking a still-wet manicure as an excuse again!”

He didn’t pause in his application. “Yeah, sheesh. Like what’s he gonna do? Send me to bed without food?” 

You finished applying on Angel’s third hand, and moved to the fourth. “You want to make the rules, then you’ll have to be in charge of the cooking for once.”

“Not gonna happen! Don’t think I’ve stepped in front of a stove since I was a kid. Well, aside from the prop ones in a movie or two. Frilly apron and everything. Why’s he always the chef, anyways? Not like Charlie’s ever made a Thanksgiving turkey for us.”

“Ask him, not me.” Alastor didn’t make meals every day, so if the hotel’s residents didn’t expect a meal from him, then you were all due to fend for yourselves that evening. Most, like Vaggie and Husk, visited the cheap eateries in the neighborhood. Some defaulted to leftovers, or frozen pre-packaged meals (Niffty was especially fond of those).  You and Charlie didn’t have to eat every day, though you kept up the facade of mortality. For the longest time, you were the only one brave enough to eat the leftovers from Alastor’s midnight stress-cooking. 

“You know, I could see Charlie trying to cook for us, her poor suffering lambs.” Angel was finishing up the delicate white strips on each nail tip, done in one or two practiced strokes. You intentionally numbed your proficiency and took much longer to draw a passable line. “But she’s a princess, so maybe she has no idea how to cook anything. Probably for the best she hasn’t tried, then.”

A moment of silence, then Angel piped up once more. “Speaking o’ Charlie, she apparently got some hot letter in the mail this morning, and’s rushed out the door. Haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh? Have any idea why?”

“No idea. I was at the bar with a hair of the dog, and heard Charlie make a big fuss before rushin’ out. Took the letter with her. Sounded important, but couldn’t tell if it was a happy important, or a nasty important.”

You gave a ‘hmm’. “And what about the king? Have you seen him around?”

“Nope. Guy’s been gone since yesterday evening, but that’s nothing unusual these past days, is it? You ask me, something’s brewin’ with the bigwigs up top. The royals, I mean.”

The Goetia Royalty. A long-winded line of hell-borne beings, some of them older than hell itself. For the most part, they kept out of the public eye, intent on living their privileged life with as little interruptions as possible. 

“I hope that Charlie doesn’t get handed more trouble,” you said. “She’s busy enough as it is.”

Angel just shrugged. “Hey, she wanted to start this whole redemption project to begin with. She can deal with it.” You knew he meant it as a compliment. “I mean, I don’t envy her pressure. More and more shit’s been pilin’ on her shoulders these months. And she’s not gonna be unloading any of the responsibilities if she can help it, that wouldn’t match up with her vision, would it? Princess Of Hell, finally doin’ something productive for a change. Prob’ for the best, since lightening her load’ll probably do in the spine of whatever sucker volunteers. All pressure’s heavy at the best of times.”

You sighed in sympathy. “Tell me about it. You never expect to be the cause of a black hole.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Did you get any hints where Charlie went off to?”

“No. If she’s not back until supper, Alastor’ll probably throw a fit. He loves her fawning whenever she sits down to his cooking.”

You made a mental note to text Vaggie if Charlie doesn’t make it back before sundown. Whatever trouble was brewing, it would likely affect your and Alastor’s plans. You couldn’t risk too many interlacing threads getting tangled.

—

“You could always start a ‘podcast’ series. I detest them less than most modern medias. I may even give yours a listen!”

“Podcasts may be a successful culture, but I fear it wouldn’t be aggressive enough,” you said to Alastor, both of you sat across one of the small tables dotting the hotel study, an open notebook and pen in front of you. “It’s gotta be something people obsess over. Something that earns a lot of money and eats up a lot of time. Something unrepentantly mainstream.”

“Oh, with your charisma, I’m sure you could be a trailblazer in making any media a mainstream mainstay,” Alastor alliterated. He took a sip from his mug of lightly-brewed coffee, more akin to a tea, to avoid over-exciting himself this late in the afternoon. 

You sighed tired, crossing out ‘popstar’ and ��idol musical group’. Too short-lived to make a successful Overlord career out of it. Alastor’s flattery had a ring of truth, you could theoretically manipulate any field you’d end up in, but you didn’t want to make this any harder than it needed to be. 

He had finished up the last touches on his pulled pork recipe before leaving it to stew in the kitchen, and tracked you down out of curiosity. It was just the two of you in the study for now, but you kept one eye open in case someone else decided to pay a visit. 

You hovered your pen over ‘celebrity surgeon’, just about to ask if Alastor could turn down the volume of the big band he was blaring obnoxiously, before you sensed two pairs of footsteps approach. The two of you turned to Husk and Vaggie strolling in.

“Oh joy, you’re here,” Husk groused sarcastically. It had not gone unnoticed that Alastor had spent the last few days wandering around the hotel more often than he usually did, rather than couching himself in the secluded corners.

“Now, is that any way to greet your friends?” With a crank, Alastor snapped his head to an unnatural 30°. Vaggie, who had grown a modicum more tolerant of the guy, didn’t take the opportunity to needle him, and proceeded to guide Husk to a specific bookshelf in the far corner. She traced her finger along the spines, then pulled out a small hardcover and held it out for Husk.

“Here. From Kuomintang To Kraft Mac: A Brief Timeline Of Events From 1950 - 1970 ”, Vaggie said, handing the book over. “We’re missing the next volume, but Charlie can order it.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Husk opened and browsed the first few pages. You could see Leviathan's symbol printed on the opening cover. One of the official hell-produced encyclopedias that detailed living events for the sake of its sinner residents. 

Alastor didn’t hesitate to milk the opportunity. “Why, Husker, my good man! Are you feeling a scholarly bent? I wasn’t aware you knew which end to open a book from!”

“We were talking about hot sauces,” Vaggie allowed herself a small grin at Husk’ dramatic eyeroll. “I know you like using the tabasco pepper-based ones, but Husk was just telling me that he missed the sweeter, pulpy pastes from his time spent across the sea. I said that the world has slowly come around to spices from all over the world.”

“Back in my day, you were lucky to find a dusty bottle of Trappey’s at the mart. I’m surprised America embraced hot spice at all,” Husk added. He spared a glance at the rest of the encyclopedia collection, which boasted a recollection from prehistoric civilization to the rise of the internet. Some of the volumes were depressingly wrinkled and worn, and more than one was absent. 

Alastor didn’t respond, instead rested his chin on the back of his hands, smiling peacefully at the space over Husk’s shoulder. You knew he was thinking of his mortal days, too, when most people made their own bottled sauces from a summer pepper harvest, acidifying mashed jalapeño and cayenne in vinegar and salt, sealing the repurposed cola bottle with cork and wax. It wasn’t until the ‘50’s when hot pepper sauces started appearing in most American recipe books, and it would take a further 30 years before international cuisines reached proper globalization. 

It was nice to see Vaggie and Husk getting along. And perhaps the both of them were learning to tolerate Alastor a bit more. 

Still, both of them eyed Alastor with a distasteful eye, which didn’t phase him in the slightest. Husk, in particular, would rather he spend as little time around the man as possible. Before Alastor forced him to work for the hotel, Husk almost never had contact with the man. You were sure he missed those days dearly. 

The same sentiment wasn’t quite shared by Alastor, who didn’t hold Husk in high regard, but enjoyed his company well enough. And he’ll put up with Vaggie’s ire to a surprisingly high degree. 

“Vaggie, do you know where Charlie is? I heard she left this morning, and it’s almost dinnertime,” you asked. 

Vaggie’s expression turned slightly pensive, and she averted her eyes. “She’s … meeting with old friends. It’s complicated.”

“Royalty issues?” Husk asked. 

“Sorta like that. She should be back soon,” Vaggie assured, but you didn’t miss the subtle glance she threw towards her phone, sitting in her skirt pocket. 

“What kind of friends keep a busy woman for so long? It must be important ,” Alastor said, emphasizing the last word with an oily grin. Vaggie shot him a warning glance. She had far from forgotten the deal he had convinced Charlie to make. 

“Like I said, it’s a royalty issue. Those types of friends aren’t ones you can risk losing. Aren’t you an Overlord? You should relate to the whole, ‘high-society’ sort of thing.”

“Oh, Vaggie dear,” Alastor flapped a hand dismissively, “I haven’t bothered with the ins-and-outs of hell’s Overlord dog-eat-dog kerfuffle in years! You see new faces come and go like the wind. I may enjoy the company of a select few that share a spot at the table, but not for power. For their conversation! For their fun! For keeping up with me on the dance floor, hah!”

“Like Overlord Rosie?” You asked, and he affirmed, “Precisely!”

“You know,” Husk was still scanning over the encyclopedia, speaking to the air as if on an aside, “I heard from a certain little spider that you’re still as lady-less as freshly fallen snow.”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow as Alastor’s smile turned downwards. “And your point?”

“Just sayin’. You got all your lady friends, what’s stopping you?” Husk met Alastor’s unamused glare with a little smirk. 

“Well, it just so happens that my friends tend to be women. They bring the best out in me!”

It didn’t take a genius to understand Alastor’s personal preferences in friends. The lively and prevaricative Niffty, the gregarious and wayward Mimzy, the cordial and extroverted Rosie. This was in comparison to those that annoy him; the prickly Vaggie. The invasive Angel Dust. Charlie, herself, must have drawn Alastor’s affections by virtue of simply being jovial. He loved to see smiles and loved to hear them sing. 

Not being a man would also score a couple points in the ‘friends’ column. And speak of the devil, Alastor piped up; “And men? Brutes, much of them, graceless.” 

Vaggie pointed out that he was a man, which apparently was the expected set-up for his prepared joke, “I need no reminder! After all, I find myself shouldering the burden of being proper gentlemanly to compensate for those who aren’t! Ah, the days when men at least did things like start a conversation with a proper greeting, and ended with a proper ‘goodbye’. I do miss when evocation was a schooling curriculum. Husk! Recite!” He pointed his cane at Husk, who gave a long suffering groan. 

“I have no idea what that means.” 

“Exactly! Did your teacher ever have you recite The Lady of Shallot , or at least See Spot Run ? Come, old fellow, give me hope that the art of spoken word hasn’t been completely lost.”

To your surprise, Husk rose to the bait with, “Tôi đéo quan tâm.”

It was a clever blow. Alastor was skilled, but he knew no second language fluently. His Louisiana Creole was dreadful. His pride taken a blow, Alastor’s grin twitched, but he pulled himself back together with a twirl of his cane. 

“Ah, like a dock sailor. Impressively worldly. But as brutish as an ox.”

The chatter went on, but you focused on your notes. Alastor was exaggerating, plenty of modern people knew public speaking, especially the entertainers. Any television figure worth their salt made sure their audience could follow along not just with clarity, but with enjoyment. News anchors, game show hosts, social media vloggers, podcast narrators, video game streamers -

Streamers . Scheduled broadcasts of live commentary. Responding to the audience in real time. Recorded in a set location. Commonly arranged by genre content. Earning thousands of dollars every year. Even sponsorships were comparably as invasive as a bugle for Edgeworth Cigarettes from during the golden age of radio. 

You wrote with vigor. Streaming would require an expensive set-up if you wanted to cultivate the proper attention. Studio lights, audio recording, multiple high-definition cameras and mounts, a backdrop, not to mention the software.

Your spacious hotel quarters would do, once you got proper acoustic foam wall panels. And luckily, Alastor’s presence in the hotel made for a very powerful modem, to his annoyance. The internet speed here is wild. 

Would you focus on video games? Viral challenges? Conspiracy theories and social drama? Offer adult content? The most successful streamers usually have one main focus, although the more famous one got, the more they could branch without risking alienating their audience. 

And once you establish your place within the internet world, you’d start to ask for more and more money from your adoring fans. Some wouldn’t be able to pay. So you’d offer a deal , instead. Plenty of people have committed to worse for the sake of their idols.

To become one of the top Overlords, you’d have to total a soul count in the five-hundreds, at the very least. Owning actual real estate would also help -shareholding a business or two, or maybe you’d develop a brand from the bottom up.

To grow from niche interest to mainstream name, you’ll make and distribute products. You’ll cultivate entertaining drama with other media personalities with the intent of going viral. You’d be on friendly terms with Alastor’s enemies, and make vague threats towards his friends. 

Alastor turned from the others to see what you were so excited about. He couldn’t quite read your handwriting upside down, but he could tell that you had hit a revelation. 

“Ah, but poor Charlie! I hope her ‘friends’ at least have the good manners to serve dinner, because she certainly won’t be arriving on time for ours! Come now, my good people, to the dining room! Husk, bring out the Austrian Riesling, it’ll pair nicely with the pork.”

“Why are we drinking good wine with barbecue?” you heard him grumble as Alastor managed to usher him and Vaggie out. You finished your notes with a flourish, stuffed your notebook away, and jogged after them. 

[windvexer]

This is kind of a large question so I apologize but I guess I'm curious on how you're able to get such specific or like. unique (i mean this in a good way) answers from tarot? Like your "what magic should i learn next" stuff or how to pick up what a spirit can do through tarot. like idk how to translate these cards into what the spirit is trying to say

Hi!

There's no easy answer to this question, partially because I've now been reading tarot for almost exactly 16 years. This isn't at all to say that it's just the passage of time, but that in that amount of time I've done tons and tons of different things to expand my understanding of, and usage, of tarot.

Tarot didn't come to me very easily, and part of that journey was doing a lot of experimentation in an effort to figure it all out. My reading practice is still very much typified by a huge amount of experimentation and custom reading methods.

It hasn't been a linear process at all. I go through periods of months (or more!) where tarot just doesn't click for me, at all. So just because I picked up my first tarot deck 16 years ago doesn't mean that I've kept a consistent practice (I'm just now getting back into it after just such a fallow period ^-^)

My feelings on experimentation is that it gives me new ways to think about not only the cards, but also spreads, methodologies, and readings as a whole.

In addition, my experiments with other forms of divination (most especially casting lots, energy readings, and playing card readings) have heavily influenced my tarot readings.

Here is a post I wrote that I think expresses my feelings on experimenting within tarot.

Here are some examples of tarot experiments I've performed, and/or methodologies I've explored. It's these sorts of things that have been building blocks in my abilities in tarot. But no single one of them was a "key."

Elemental dignities: The elements of the cards dictates how they interact with each other. Air + fire can mean a supercharged firestorm, but water + fire can mean a controlled fire under a stewpot, or blocked progress of the fire. This experiment helps with understanding how cards can link together, and how energy can flow within a spread.

Elemental landscapes: Spreads are laid down in lines or grids and each card represents one aspect of the landscape. You must brainstorm and choose your own meanings. E.g., 8/wands is an exploding volcano. Queen/Cups is a lake inhabited by mermaids. Read the flow of weather patterns and energies through the spread as an answer to the question. This experiment helps with intuitive reading and working with a spread as a whole, instead of focusing on individual cards.

Elemental portents: Assign an element to your question. Draw a card. If the element on the card agrees with the element of your question, the portent is good; if it disagrees, the portent is bad. This experiment helps with learning how to phrase questions and how the question themselves can influence the balance of the deck.

Astral landscapes: This was an elaborate system I built around the Wooden Tarot. I worked with each card to assign it a mystical association that could occur in an astral landscape. The major arcana were spirits who could travel across the landscape. Each spread was like a playing board of a generated landscape and the spirits that interacted inside of it. This experiment was fun for considering the metaphysical ramifications of the energies of the cards themselves.

Numerical virtues: The number value of the card indicates its power and magnitude in the spread. 2 and 3 value cards are always of smaller power and significance. 10 and court cards are always of higher value. Aces may be high or low. This experiment gave me a new way of thinking about importance of each card, and how to blend magnitudes of significance.

Infinite directional wheel: I wrote a post on this actually, but basically you can keep placing cards forever in the cross-quarter positions. It's a meditation on the concept of elements and directions within witchcraft. Also, an extremely useful spread. This was a vital experiment for me in understanding spreadwork, flow of information, and linking cards.

Card doubling and tripling: Place two (or 3) cards together and determine the meaning as if it's one single card; there is no border, and the images combine with each other. The pictures and meanings of each combine into a single card.

Card doubling and tripling, but in spreads: For each position in the spread, place two cards (or three cards!) in place of one. Read the dyads or triads as if they are a single card. It isn't beginning/middle/end; it's a single triple-complex card! These doubling experiments helped me with the concept of card linking and blending meanings into unique interpretations.

Custom meaning sets: Basically, swap out all the default meanings with your own. Extremely useful IMO in learning how sets of meanings work together, and how to balance sets of meanings. I wrote a post on it here. These experiments have perhaps been the most vital for me in developing new interpretations. I believe that the magical skills readings you referenced were the result of custom meaning sets.

No meaning sets: Instead of using any card meanings, all spreads are resolved using a combination of elemental portents and numerical virtues. I.e., the element and number of a card in relation to other cards in the spread determines the reading. Here, the experimentation is allowing the cards to have strict, defined roles within a spread that can't be overwritten by personal intuition.

As a final note, I highly, highly recommend recording every reading you do and every card you draw. For the first couple years of my practice I recorded all readings, and it was a huge boost to my learning.

[piancqwrites]

Tomorrow

synopsis ➸ You both take care of each other.

next chapter ➸ Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

tags ➸ childhood friends to lovers, yaku x reader, reader is female, artist reader, reader cuts finger, blood

divider by @strangergraphics-archive + @strangergraphics

HIGHSCHOOL YEAR TWO

“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” Morisuke replied as he greeted you inside his home, a warm smile on his face. The comforting smell of home cooking wafted through the air, instantly making you feel welcome. He rubbed the back of his neck in a slightly awkward gesture. “My younger brothers can be a handful.”

You took off your shoes and stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the hardwood floor beneath your feet. The hallway was adorned with framed photos of the Yaku family, each capturing a cherished memory: a family vacation at the beach, a birthday party, and school graduations. A small plant sat on a table near the door, its leaves a vibrant green and thriving under the soft glow of a nearby lamp. You couldn’t help but smile at the cozy, lived-in feeling of the house.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure Yuki has a tiny crush on me,” you whispered the last sentence, casting a playful glance at Morisuke.

“I overheard Hanzo teasing him about it,” Morisuke whispered in response, leaning in close as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure his brothers weren’t within earshot. His voice held a mix of amusement and sympathy, and you could tell he was genuinely entertained by the antics of his younger siblings.

As he straightened up, his eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the lighthearted gossip. “You should have seen Yuki’s face,” he added with a chuckle. “He turned as red as a tomato.”

Suddenly, rapid footsteps thundered through the house as Yuki and his other brother, Hanzo, came racing down the stairs, their faces lit up with pure excitement. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation as they spotted you, and they couldn’t contain their enthusiasm.

“[Last name]-san!” they shouted in unison, their voices ringing with joy as they ran towards you. Before you could react, they barreled into you, their small arms wrapping around you in a tight, enthusiastic hug. The force of their embrace was surprising, almost knocking the wind out of you, but their genuine happiness made you laugh.

“Hey, you guys!” you managed to say between giggles, trying to catch your breath as they squeezed you tighter. Their energy was infectious, and you couldn’t help but be swept up in their joy.

You couldn’t help but notice the similar traits shared by all three brothers.

They all had the same soft brown eyes that sparkled with a playful glint and their hair shared similar shades of toffee, giving them a striking familial resemblance.

Their smiles spread across their faces in the same infectious way, and their playful yet caring nature hinted at a strong familial bond.

Even in how they hugged you, there was a familiar warmth and earnestness, making you feel like you were part of their close-knit family.

“Okay, okay, you two need to let go,” Morisuke said, gently prying his brothers off you. “Remember, she needs to breathe!”

Hanzo immediately released his hold and stepped back, grinning widely. Yuki, however, held onto you just a little longer, his small arms still wrapped around you tightly. His face buried in your side, he seemed reluctant to let go, savoring the warmth of the embrace. With a gentle nudge from Morisuke, Yuki finally released his hold, looking up at you with a shy smile and a faint blush.

“He’s so adorable,” you murmured softly, unable to resist a smile. You quickly turned away, trying to keep your composure. I can’t let it show, you thought, determined to maintain your cool demeanor.

Yaku caught sight of your subtle reaction and smirked knowingly. “Hey, why don’t you two set up a board game in the living room?” he suggested to his brothers. “We’ll join you in a minute with some snacks.”

Yuki and Hanzo eagerly agreed, grabbing the game and racing off to the living room. Yaku turned to you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come on, let’s get the snack tray ready,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen.

Following him, you inhaled the comforting aroma of home cooking that filled the air, accompanied by the excited chatter of the boys echoing from the other room. Morisuke opened the pantry, gathering various treats and handing them to you with a playful grin.

“You know, they really like you,” he commented, his voice warm and sincere. “It’s nice to see them so excited.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, but you responded in a lighthearted tone. “They’re great kids. It’s hard not to be charmed by them.”

Morisuke chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, they are pretty great,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Thanks for spending time with them. It means a lot to them—and to me.”

"You don't have to thank me, Mori," you shrugged as you opened a cupboard to get a tray. "Besides, I can always count on this place to be a safe space."

A few beats of silence passed, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sounds of your knife slicing through apples on the cutting board. The kitchen was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, casting warm shadows on the walls.

You carefully carved the fruit into bunny shapes, the precise movements of your hands grounding you in the moment. The simple, repetitive task was soothing, each delicate cut creating another tiny rabbit that joined the growing collection on the plate beside you.

Yaku leaned against the counter, his arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched you work. His gaze was steady, almost studious.

It was as if he could read every thought passing through your mind by observing the smallest shifts in your expression. He had always been good at that—reading between the lines, noticing the subtle things you often tried to hide.

The way your brows furrowed just slightly when something was bothering you, the way your lips pressed together as if holding back words you weren’t ready to say.

He caught it all.

His eyes followed the delicate arc of your knife as you sliced through another apple, but it wasn’t the fruit he was focused on—it was you.

He noticed how your shoulders were just a bit tenser than usual, how your hands, though steady, moved with a touch more care as if the simple act of cutting apples was both a distraction and a shield.

Yaku’s gaze drifted from your hands to your face, searching for the story behind your silence. The soft light accentuated the slight shadow under your eyes, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks as you concentrated on your task.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, and gentle, as if he didn’t want to startle you. “Did something happen with your parents?”

The knife in your hand paused mid-slice, the question cutting through the quiet like a sudden breeze. For a moment, you didn’t look up, your eyes still focused on the apple beneath your fingers, but Yaku could see the way your expression shifted—how your lips parted slightly, how the light in your eyes dimmed just a touch. The question had hit its mark, and he could see that he had touched on something you weren’t entirely ready to confront.

Yaku stayed where he was, not moving closer yet, giving you space to process. His eyes never left your face, watching for the smallest sign of how you might respond.

The kitchen, once filled with the comforting sounds of your task, now felt heavy with the weight of the unsaid, the soft thumps of your knife against the cutting board now almost deafening in the stillness.

You continued slicing the apples, but your movements became faster, more erratic. The comforting rhythm of the knife against the cutting board was replaced by a hurried, almost frantic energy as you tried to distract yourself from the feelings rising to the surface.

“They just don’t get it,” you said abruptly, your voice laced with frustration. The knife sliced through the apple with increasing speed and force, the soft thump against the cutting board punctuating your words. “They keep making these comments about how pursuing art is a waste of time like it’s some kind of joke. As if it’s not a real career or something.”

The apples seemed to yield to your anger, each cut more aggressive than the last, the knife’s blade flashing as you talked. Your hands moved with increasing speed, the apple slices piling up in a disorganized heap.

“It’s like they don’t even see how much it means to me,” you continued, the words spilling out as if they had been bottled up for too long. “Every time I bring it up or work on my portfolio, they just dismiss it, or worse, they make snide remarks. My older brother—he’s the worst. He just rolls his eyes and tells me I’m being unrealistic.”

The apples seemed to yield to your anger, each cut more aggressive than the last.

In your haste, your fingers slipped, and the knife grazed your skin. A sharp sting jolted through you, and you silently cursed at the pain as a thin line of red appeared. The sudden pain broke through the manic rhythm you had fallen into.

Yaku’s eyes widened with concern as he immediately stepped in.

“Hey, careful!” he exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm. He quickly took the knife from your hand, placing it down on the cutting board with a controlled motion. His movements were precise and deliberate as he guided your injured hand under the faucet. He turned on the sink to a set temperature, ensuring the water was just right to soothe the sting of the cut.

“I'm sorry,” Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Yaku took charge, his hands gentle but firm.

"You don't have to apologize," Yaku discarded the unfinished apple slices and the cutting board, clearing the space.

“Just breathe. I’ve got you,” he said softly, his tone soothing as he searched the kitchen drawers for a bandage.

Playing games with Morisuke's brothers was nothing short of chaotic.

Yuki's brow was furrowed in concentration as he stared down at his hand of cards. “Hanzo, you can’t just keep skipping my turns like that! It’s totally unfair!” He munched on an apple slice angrily.

You, sitting between the two brothers, tried to keep a neutral expression as the arguments flew back and forth. Every time Yuki threw down a card, Hanzo was quick to counter with a clever play, leading to a back-and-forth that was both entertaining and exhausting to witness.

“Seriously, Hanzo?” Yuki’s voice was tinged with exasperation as he picked up a new card. “You’re just trying to win by annoying me. That’s not how you play!”

Hanzo threw down a skip card with dramatic flair, causing Yuki to groan in frustration. “Well, it’s working, isn’t it?” Hanzo retorted, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Hanzo smirked and tapped his temple with a finger. “It’s called using your brain, Yuki. You should try it sometime. Maybe you’d win more often.”

Before Yuki could respond, Hanzo slammed down his final card with a victorious shout. “UNO out!”

Yuki’s eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. “Wait, what? No way!”

The game erupted into a mix of cheers from Hanzo and groans of disappointment from Yuki. Morisuke, who had been watching with a bemused smile, finally let out a hearty laugh. “Looks like Hanzo takes the win this round. Maybe next time, Yuki!”

Yuki, still in shock, left his unfinished apple slice on the table. “I can’t believe it. That was so unfair!”

Hanzo, basking in his victory, leaned back with a smug grin. “All’s fair in love and UNO.”

Yuki sat slumped in his chair, still grumbling about his loss, while Hanzo reveled in his victory. You reached over, your fingers gently raking through Yuki's tousled hair in a comforting gesture.

“You did really well, Yuki,” you said, your voice soft and reassuring. “It was a tough game, but you played great.”

Yuki’s face turned a deep shade of red as he looked up at you, his eyes widening with a mix of embarrassment and something else that made his heart flutter.

The blush on his cheeks was almost comically bright, and he mumbled, “Marry me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected confession.

You stifled a giggle, your heartwarming at the sweet and innocent proposal. “Oh, Yuki,” you said with a gentle laugh, leaning closer to him. “I’m flattered, really. But you’re too young for me, kiddo.”

Yuki’s blush deepened, and he looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment with a shy smile. “I just thought you were really cool,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

You smiled warmly, reaching out to give him a light, playful pat on the back. “Well, I think you’re pretty awesome too, Yuki. And don’t worry—there’ll be plenty of time for you to find someone special when you’re older.” With quick movements, you picked up the tray and headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a haven of tranquility compared to the lively chaos of the dining room. The gentle hum of the sink, running with warm water, was the only sound as you focused on tidying up. The apple slices you had so carefully shaped into bunnies had mostly disappeared, and you were wiping down the counter, savoring the brief respite from the clamor of the game.

Meanwhile, in the dining room, Hanzo’s offhand remark had set off a chain reaction of surprise and confusion. “Oniii-san, aren’t you and [Last name]-san dating?” he asked casually, his tone light and innocent as if it was the most natural question in the world.

Morisuke, caught off guard by the sudden question, spluttered and choked on his drink. His face turned a deep shade of red as he fumbled to regain his composure, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wait, what?" Yuki stared at his older brother in betrayal.

"Yuki, inside voice." Morisuke scolded before turning his attention to Hanzo. "Hanzo, why do you think that?"

Hanzo’s grin remained in place, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I saw how close you were with [Last name]-san in the kitchen earlier. You seemed really concerned when she cut herself. It just looked… pretty close.”

Yaku’s gaze shifted toward the kitchen, where you were still working, the image of you slicing apples and his own reaction to your minor injury replaying in his mind. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he considered Hanzo’s observation.

“I didn’t realize it looked like that,” Yaku said, his tone thoughtful as he addressed Hanzo’s comment. He paused for a moment before continuing, “We’re not dating, though. We’re just… friends.”

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Eight: I Bite SS: 18 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 3.2K Content Warnings: talks of murder, talks of blunt force trauma, Minho butt hunter mentions, Previous Next Masterlist

The living room is bathed in the warm, amber glow of the setting sun. Dust motes drift lazily through the air, catching the light filtering through the partially drawn curtains. Hayun, Jisung, Minho, Felix, and Jeongin are sprawled across the couches. The coffee table is a war zone of empty snack bowls, discarded honey butter chip bags, and soju bottles in various stages of emptiness.

Hayun’s legs are stretched out across Minho’s lap on the loveseat, and he’s absentmindedly massaging her ankle while sipping from his soju bottle. His fingers press into the arch of her foot, eliciting the occasional involuntary sigh from her. The faint hum of TikTok videos plays from her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the dim room.

Jeongin leans forward in the armchair, tapping his fingers on the neck of his soju bottle, his expression one of barely contained excitement. “Hyunjin’s supposed to be here soon. The second he gets here, we’re updating the murder board. I’ve got markers, post-its, magnets. All the fucking works.”

Jisung groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Dude, we’re supposed to be chilling, not solving crimes right now. You’re, like, aggressively obsessive about that board.”

Jeongin shrugs, unabashed, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, someone’s gotta keep this shit together. If it were up to someone, we’d all be sitting here watching Levi Ackerman edits and eating expired ramen.”

At the mention of Levi Ackerman, all eyes swivel toward Hayun. She’s curled up on her side, completely engrossed in her phone. She doesn’t even glance up, her thumb scrolling as Levi slices through Titans in slow motion, his signature scowl practically radiating from the tiny screen.

Minho leans over, peeking at her phone with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that guy, like 5’3” or some shit?”

Hayun finally tears her gaze away from her phone, her expression filled with righteous indignation. “Yeah, and?”

Minho smirks, leaning back against the loveseat. “Just saying, he’s not exactly intimidating. I could probably punt him across a field.”

Hayun scoffs, sitting up straighter, her tone dripping with mockery as she shows Minho her screen. “But could you look this good doing it?”

Minho narrows his eyes at her, and Felix nearly chokes on his drink, laughing. “Oh, she got you there,” Felix says, pointing at Minho with his bottle. “Levi might be short, but he’s got should have been the main character energy. You? You’re just the funny best friend.”

“Wow,” Minho mutters, holding a hand to his chest as if physically wounded. “The fucking disrespect in this house.”

Jisung jumps in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s not disrespect if it’s true, dude. Levi’s untouchable.”

Hayun smirks, leaning into the banter. “Exactly. Levi Ackerman came first. Sorry, Minho.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Minho throws his hands in the air, his smirk still lingering despite the ribbing. “You’re all traitors. Every single one of you.”

Jisung, emboldened by the chaos, sits up straighter, pointing a finger at Minho. “She can have a 2D boyfriend and a 3D one, but let’s be real, you two haven’t even put a label on it yet.”

Minho’s smirk falters slightly, his eyes narrowing as he shifts his attention to Jisung. “And have you put a label on it with Hyunjin? Or are you still just stuttering every time he calls you cute?”

The jab lands perfectly. Jisung freezes, his soju bottle halfway to his mouth. He glances around the room as if searching for an escape route. “Oh, wow, look at that! Is that a crack in the paint? Someone should definitely fix that.”

Jeongin leans back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “You’re deflecting. That’s a classic guilty move, Ji.”

Felix nudges Jisung with his elbow, laughing. “Spill it, dude. Did you make out with him or what?”

Jisung glares at Felix, taking a long swig of soju before muttering, “You’re all fucking annoying. Maybe back off and focus on Hayun and Minho’s ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bullshit.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat as he rests his arm casually along the back, just behind Hayun’s shoulders. “There’s no mystery. I’m clearly her favourite.”

Hayun, without missing a beat, takes a sip of her soju and deadpans, “Right after Levi Ackerman.”

The room explodes into laughter again, and Minho throws his head back with a groan. “You wound me, princess,” he says, clutching his chest in mock agony.

Jisung is doubled over, laughing so hard tears are forming in his eyes. “She said what she said! You’re runner-up, my guy. You’ve been bested by a fucking anime character.”

Felix raises his bottle in a faux toast, his voice filled with mock solemnity. “To Minho: second place to a fictional character who’s shorter than most children.”

Jeongin chimes in, grinning. “Levi’s got that energy, though. Can’t compete with that.”

Minho flips them all off, shaking his head. “Fuck all of you. I’m done. You’re all banned from my car, my house, and my life.”

Hayun, still grinning, raises her glass and clinks it against his bottle. “Cheers to that, second place.”

Minho glares at her, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward, betraying his amusement. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The front door swings open, and Hyunjin strolls in with Chan, Changbin, and Seungmin trailing behind. Hyunjin doesn’t waste time, flopping onto the couch like it’s his own place. He pulls a bottle of soju from his tote bag.

“So,” Hyunjin starts, taking a swig before leaning back dramatically. “Yeji had severe blunt force trauma like I said in the group chat. The hit came from someone around her height, but that doesn’t narrow it down much. You know, heels, platforms, the whole deal.”

He pauses for effect, watching as the group leans in. “The weapon was cylindrical, like a pole or something. The dead person doctor wasn’t sure.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, resting his hand casually on Hayun’s shin as she reclines beside him on the loveseat. “And the guy just told you all of this? Just handed over the autopsy details?”

Hyunjin grins, his confidence borderline obnoxious. “Yeah. A sucker for crocodile tears. I pulled out my best ‘poor grieving cousin’ act. Flawless, if I do say so myself.”

Chan shakes his head, rubbing his temples. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hayun shifts, her legs still draped over Minho’s lap, and leans forward slightly. “Cylindrical, like a pole or-” Her voice trails off as her eyes lock onto the murder board. “A police baton.”

The room stills. Jeongin grabs a marker and strides to the board, scrawling “#1 Suspect” under Mr. Shin’s picture with bold strokes. The tension in the room tightens, like a noose around the group’s collective theory.

Jisung raises his bottle in a mock toast. “Honestly, we should digitize this board at this point. Easier to keep track of all the crazy shit we’ve been uncovering.”

Jeongin smirks, twirling the marker between his fingers. “Already done. It’s on my laptop, saved on two separate flash drives, just in case.”

Hayun nods approvingly. “See, this is why you’re the brains of the operation.”

Felix laughs, clinking his bottle against Jeongin’s. “And the most paranoid.”

Hayun, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin all move to stand in the middle of the living room, passing the marker between them like they’re brainstorming for a high-stakes exam.

Jisung tosses the marker to Hayun. “Maybe Mr. Shin followed Yeji when she went to check on the body?”

Hayun catches it effortlessly, spinning it between her fingers. “What if he found out the truth? Ryujin killed Yuna, and Yeji stashed the body. He could’ve snapped.”

Felix grabs the marker mid-air. “But he didn’t kill Ryujin.”

Jeongin snatches it next, tapping it against his palm as he speaks. “Maybe he’s spacing it out. Put some time between the murders. Less obvious. Or maybe because he already lost one daughter and doesn't want to lose a second"

Felix nods thoughtfully, handing the marker back to Jisung. “Or what if Ryujin gave him some half-truth? Like, she wasn’t entirely sure about the plan she made with Yunnie to frame Mingi.”

Hayun narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “So she gets ahead of it, tells her dad what Mingi did to her and how Yuna was involved.”

Jeongin adds, “Then she spins it so Yeji’s the villain. Says Yeji killed Yuna and forced Ryujin to stay quiet. Mr. Shin flips, makes Yeji take him to Yuna’s body, and then BAM!” He claps his hands for emphasis. “Smacks her over the head, she dies, and he dumps her in the tank.”

The four of them stop, staring at the board as though waiting for it to confirm their theory. The room feels electric with energy, theories bouncing off the walls.

From the corner of the room, Minho leans back, watching them with a bemused expression. Chan nudges him, gesturing at the chaos. “Is this… normal?”

Minho smirks, resting a hand on Hayun’s abandoned bottle of soju. “Completely. It’s how they think. They bounce ideas off each other until something sticks.”

Felix tosses the marker back to Hayun. “Ryujin didn’t know where Yeji hid Yuna’s body, right?”

Hayun nods, pacing slightly as she speaks. “Not until the news broke. Yeji was the only one who knew.”

Jisung catches the marker from her, spinning it dramatically. “Then Mr. Shin had to follow Yeji. Or maybe Ryujin told him Yeji was involved.”

Felix snatches it from Jisung with a quick grab. “What if he held Yeji at gunpoint? Forced her to take him to the body?”

Jeongin grabs the marker next, his voice cutting through the rising tension. “So we all agree? We're investigating Mr Shin?"

There’s a pause as the room collectively breathes in. Then, all at once, everyone says, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Hayun grabs another bottle of soju from the crate near the couch, twisting the cap off. She drops back onto the loveseat, and Minho immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly into his side. She lets out a soft sigh, resting her head on his chest as she takes a sip of her drink.

Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his own bottle in hand, frowns thoughtfully. “Wait. How the fuck do we even go about investigating a police officer? Like, what’s the play here?”

Everyone falls silent for a moment, glancing around at each other like someone’s supposed to have a genius idea locked and loaded.

Seungmin finally breaks the silence with a deadpan expression. “Apparently, the jury’s out on that one.”

Chan leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and shrugs. “Anyone got any ideas? Even bad ones. At this point, I’ll take literally anything.”

That’s all the encouragement Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin need. They light up like Christmas trees, clearly ready to share the absolute worst plans possible.

Jisung lifts his bottle in mock seriousness. “Okay, hear me out: we tunnel into the police station. Like, fucking gopher style. Steal his files, then scurry back out before anyone notices.”

Hayun raises her hand lazily from her spot against Minho. “Claustrophobic, so I’m out.”

Minho chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Smart move.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his face deadly serious. “Alright, my turn. I could seduce him.”

Felix squints at him. “He’s straight, though, right?”

Hyunjin shrugs dramatically, a smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t know until you know.”

Felix takes a slow sip of his soju, nodding in reluctant agreement. “That is… more than fair, actually.”

Changbin claps his hands together. “We fake reports of gas leaks in his neighbourhood. Say he needs to evacuate his house for safety.”

Jeongin blinks at him, his voice dry as the Sahara. “He’s a fucking police officer. He can check that shit.”

Hayun snorts softly against Minho’s chest, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

Jisung, undeterred, raises his bottle like he’s making a toast. “We could kidnap him!”

Hyunjin jumps in immediately, smacking Jisung’s hand in a high five. “And torture him for answers!”

Minho groans loudly, staring at them like they’ve grown second heads. “They just need to hurry the fuck up and either fuck or get together or something.”

Hayun nods sagely, tipping her bottle toward Jisung and Hyunjin. “Agreed. It’s painful to watch.”

Jisung turns to Chan with a mock gasp after hearing Chan mutter about a lack of brain cells. “Excuse you! Hyunjin, Changbin and I are professional theorists, okay?”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Theorists of what? Dumbass ideas?”

Jisung smirks. “Creative solutions.”

Hyunjin leans into the bit, flipping his hair dramatically. “Visionaries, if you will.”

Chan groans, running a hand down his face. “Why the fuck did I agree to come here tonight?”

“Because you love us,” Hayun says sweetly, raising her bottle in a toast to him.

Chan mutters something unintelligible into his drink, but his smirk gives him away.

Seungmin rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “We’re doomed.”

The house is steeped in a drunken warmth when the group finally winds down from their chaotic night. Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Minho, and Seungmin have all decided to crash at the house, their earlier drinking rendering driving an impossibility.

Jeongin pulls Chan upstairs toward his bedroom with an easy grin, Chan following with his own subtle smirk. The two disappear into Jeongin’s room, the door clicking shut behind them without a word to the others.

Meanwhile, Felix drags a massive air mattress out of the airing cupboard, huffing as he unfolds it in the middle of the living room. “Help me with this shit,” he says, nudging Changbin with his foot.

“I’m not the one who owns it,” Changbin grumbles, but he helps anyway, rolling it flat as Hyunjin tosses some pillows and blankets onto it. Seungmin simply sits on the couch, sipping water and watching the chaos unfold with a faintly amused expression.

Once the mattress is ready, the three of them settle onto it, Hyunjin taking the middle and sprawling out dramatically. “Room for one more?” he jokes, earning himself an eye roll from Seungmin and a snort from Changbin.

“You’ll be lucky if we don’t smother you in your sleep,” Seungmin mutters, lying on his side and pulling a blanket over himself.

“Love you too,” Hyunjin chirps, before flopping onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

Felix heads into his room, mumbling something about needing to scroll through TikTok to relax. Jisung waves lazily before heading to his room, shutting the door behind him. Minho and Hayun linger in the hallway for a moment before Minho follows her into her bedroom.

Inside, Hayun flicks on her bedside lamp, the soft yellow glow washing over the room. She peels off her oversized jumper, revealing a black lace bralette and black yoga shorts beneath. Her fluffy Hufflepuff socks stay firmly in place, adding a touch of cosy absurdity to her otherwise sleek look.

Minho leans back against her door, watching her with a small smirk. “You really commit to the aesthetic, huh?” he teases, nodding toward the socks.

“Comfort first, Minho,” she retorts, tossing her jumper into the corner. “Unless you want to lecture me about dressing up to match my pyjamas.”

“Never,” Minho says with a grin as he pulls off his hoodie, followed by his t-shirt.

His toned torso gleams faintly in the dim light, and he doesn’t miss the way Hayun’s eyes flick over him before she quickly looks away. He chuckles quietly, stepping out of his cargo trousers until he’s down to his boxers.

Hayun climbs onto her bed, watching as Minho joins her. She stretches out, letting out a small groan. “Soju makes me so fucking tired,” she murmurs, her voice soft and lazy.

Minho nods as he pulls the blankets over both of them. “Yeah, it’s like a whole-body shutdown,” he agrees, lying on his side and curling around her. His chest presses flush against her back as he wraps an arm around her waist. The warmth of his body radiates through her, making her sigh softly.

Hayun’s voice is muffled against her pillow as she speaks. “Reckon Hyunjin will end up in Jisung’s bed?”

Minho snorts. “Probably. Those two are a disaster waiting to happen. You know something?”

The room falls into a still, golden glow as the faint sounds of the house settling outside Hayun’s door fade into silence. Minho shifts slightly, the playful ease he carried all night giving way to something softer, more serious. His arm tightens just slightly around her waist, pulling her closer as his breath brushes the back of her neck.

“You know…” His voice is low, almost hesitant, the weight of unspoken thoughts threading through his tone. “I never followed through on that text I sent after Mr. Han pulled his abduction bullshit.”

Hayun turns her head toward him, her curiosity piqued despite the quiet comfort of their position. Her voice is soft, teasing, but there’s a flicker of something earnest beneath it. “The one where you said you’d kill me and then kiss me for making you worry?”

Minho exhales a quiet laugh, his lips quirking in a faint smile that she can feel more than see. “Yeah, that one.” His tone softens, carrying a quiet intensity. “The killing part? Not as appealing.”

She smiles, her voice steady but laced with a playful edge. “And the kissing part?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between them grows heavier, the unspoken tension building as his fingers trail absently against the curve of her hip. Then he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s hovering just slightly over her. The dim light catches the flicker of emotion in his eyes, his expression unreadable but intent.

Minho’s gaze locks onto hers, the room shrinking until it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. The space between them hums with anticipation, every second stretching out like an eternity.

“Sounds fucking divine,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a deeper, huskier register as he leans down, closing the distance.

When their lips meet, it’s soft at first but it deepens quickly. His hand cups her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes her heart stutter. Hayun’s fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly as she tilts her head, pulling him closer. The kiss grows more deliberate, the world outside dissolving as they lose themselves in each other.

Minho’s lips move against hers like he’s memorizing the moment, his other hand pressing lightly against her waist to keep her grounded. Hayun feels a warmth spreading through her chest, a quiet intensity that’s equal parts comfort and fire. She’s not used to this. To letting herself be vulnerable, to feeling safe. But in Minho’s arms, it feels right.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against hers, his breaths coming a little quicker. His dark eyes flicker open, meeting hers with a small smile that softens the edges of his usual confidence.

“Well fuck,” he whispers, his voice rough around the edges. “Should’ve done that sooner.”

Hayun’s fingers linger in his hair, her lips still tingling. She chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah. Took you long enough.”

Minho’s grin widens, a playful glint returning to his gaze. “Guess I was waiting for the right moment.”

He shifts back down, lying behind her once more and wrapping his arm around her waist again. His chest presses firmly against her back, his thumb resuming its soothing circles against her hip.

“You’re such a sap,” Hayun murmurs, her voice teasing but tinged with affection.

“And you fucking love it,” he fires back, his tone light but confident.

She smiles, her hand coming to rest on top of his where it lies against her stomach. She doesn’t say anything, but the small, contented sigh that escapes her lips says everything she doesn’t.

“Goodnight, princess,” Minho whispers, his voice a quiet murmur against her ear.

Hayun shifts slightly, leaning back into him. “Goodnight, Minho,” she replies, her voice soft and filled with a contentment she hasn’t felt in a long time.

As the room falls into silence, the gentle rhythm of their breathing syncs, the warmth of his body a steady presence at her back. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, wrapped in Minho’s arms, everything feels still, safe, and undeniably theirs.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[babybatscreationsv2]

Daddy, Look!

Marvel | Starker

Tony was just trying to give Peter something to keep him busy on the long train ride, but brats can't stand to be ignored.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings and tags below

For Aech <3

Warnings/tags: public sex, D/s, daddy kink, remote control vibrator, brat!Peter, femboy!Peter

The train rattled along the tracks. Open countryside rolled by bringing a peaceful sort of energy to the passengers on board. Except for Peter who couldn't quite sit still. He clasped his hands in his lap and squeezed his thighs together. He was grateful that the sound of the train covered the buzzing sound coming from his lap. Their car was open to the twenty or so other passengers who sat and relaxed or wandered around stretching their legs. A man sat across from them reading a newspaper. Across the aisle was a group of three women who chatted excitedly. No one was paying him any attention, but it sure felt like everyone was watching.

Tony's hand dropped onto his thigh. He coaxed Peter's legs apart, not much, but enough of a suggestion. His fingers teased his skin for a moment before settling in place. The man seemed otherwise enraptured with the crime novel he was reading.

Peter took a deep breath. The vibration was constant and that meant he was slowly getting used to it. He could tolerate it now. He watched out the window and couldn't help bouncing up out of his seat as a herd of black and white cows came into view.

"Tony, look! Cows!"

"Cute," Tony said. His fingers trailed up the back of his thigh and palmed his ass. The toy inside him changed settings to something pulsing and hard to ignore. Peter leaned back into Tony's hand, moaning quietly before he remembered where they were. He gasped and jumped back into his seat where he glared at the man. Tony only chuckled.

"Excellent view don't you think?"

Peter swatted his arm. "I hate you."

Tony gripped his chin, eyes narrowed. The vibration increased until Peter's eyes rolled back and his mouth hung open. "You what?"

"Please daddy," Peter gasped. "Daddy please please please-" he panted. He couldn't stop. Stuck begging and squirming, completely helpless.

The toy slowed, then stopped. "Oh, but you hate me." Tony faked a pout. He turned away to look out the window. Peter climbed into his lap and kissed his cheek.

"I'm sorry, daddy. I didn't mean it."

Tony looked at him, seeming to debate if he would forgive him or not. He gave him a quick kiss. "It's alright, baby."

Peter settled back in the seat, but the toy remained off. Only now he wanted it on. He waited patiently as the train kept rolling, but his patience didn't last forever.

"Daddy?" he whined.

"Hm?" Tony barely acknowledged.

Peter glared. He wasn't going to tolerate that at all. He picked himself up and sat on Tony's lap, squirming in an effort to make himself comfortable until Tony had to grab his hips and stop him.

"What are you reading?" Peter asked innocently.

"You wouldn't like it," Tony answered.

"Tell me about it. I'm bored."

"You should have brought something to do."

"I should do you," Peter said simply without bothering to lower his voice.

Tony was phased. "Then you should behave better."

"I was only showing you cows." Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll keep 'em to myself next time."

"Don't be a brat."

Peter stood and turned to sit on the opposite bench. He didn't even look at Tony as he slid next to the other man.

"Reading something interesting?" he asked with a smile.

The man smiled back, looking up from his paper as if from a dream. Or maybe as if he were falling into one. Peter let him tell him all about a mayoral election in his town while he slowly spread his legs apart and let his skirt ride up. He wasn't even sure Tony had noticed when the man decided to join their conversation.

"That's very interesting," he said and when Peter looked at his face the toy clicked back on. He was too distracted to catch the rest. But the stranger started talking so Peter went back to nodding politely at him, hiding his disappointment when the toy stopped.

"I've heard about him. He has some big opinions on food taxes," Tony commented. Peter looked at him again, brain melting as his eyes met his face and he realized the game they were playing. The conversation faded away as he looked at Tony and the toy buzzed higher and higher as if rewarding him for forgetting anyone else existed. He didn't have any control over it when he came. Only the tiniest squeak escaped him. They both looked at him, one concerned and the other smug. The toy died down and then stopped.

"Are you alright, young man?"

"Yes, sir," Peter choked out. "Excuse me." He went back to his seat, pressing into Tony's side like a frightened puppy.

Tony carried on until the conversation died naturally. The other man went back to his newspaper.

"You get what you wanted?"

Peter considered the trouble he'd get in if he told Tony he hated him twice in one day. "Yes," he admitted instead.

Tony only chuckled and gave him a kiss.

[crepearchives]

The Immediate Tutorial Process of “Cookie Run: Witch’s Castle”

⚙️ This tutorial is fresh off the printer unlike the others I’ve done before this one, so let’s get down to it under the context that you passed the DevPlay login page and downloaded everything. Spoilers are imminent, duh!

Enter Your Name

⚙️ This’ll be your username for the game, so make it a good one… or use the generator to get an idea for one.

Level 1

⚙️ According to relevant sources, the Witch’s Castle used to house a whole coven of Witches and then some. In the opening sequences, this is where *this* iteration of GingerBrave is baked to wake up- once again- in a fiery hot oven on a scorching hot metal pan. This is where the tutorial begins.

Moves: 999 (it’s practically impossible to fail)

Chosen Cookie: 🍪 GingerBrave

Controls - Making Moves: Tap a jelly that’s part of a group of two or more jellies of matching colors to pop them and interact with various board gimmicks.

🎯 Objectives - Vials: Pop jellies next to these explosive potions to send them into an overarching enemy target. In this case, it’s the Oven Doors. 10-15 vials should clear the level, where GingerBrave gracelessly falls out the window after a scripted tap prompt.

Level 2

⚙️ Uh oh! GingerBrave’s graceless jump away from the Shadow Witch just landed him in a horde of zombie-like Spoiled Cookies! But this time, someone else is here to bail him out.

Moves: 50

Chosen Cookie: 💫🪄 First Cream Cookie (Currently hidden)

🎯 Objective - Spoiled Cookies: Practically undead Cookie heads. Pop Jellies next to them to clear them. In this level and most likely in future levels, they will appear in waves. For this level, there are 50 spoiled cookies spread across three waves. Clear them all to win!

Power Jellies: These jellies will appear in the tapped square after clearing large groups of jellies in one move. Tap them to activate them as is, or tap one when it’s next to another power jelly for a stronger effect. These jellies mimic similar power-ups in similar blockbusting puzzle games, where they’ll pop jellies, destroy obstacles, and interact with objectives.

Cookie Skills: Each Cookie has one. Tap the Cookie when the Energy gauge is full to enable it, then tap your target square on the board to activate it. In this tutorial, this feature is unlocked on the 3rd and final wave of spoiled Cookies, where this skill will clear them all.

Episode 1, Chapter 1

⚙️ After GingerBrave escapes, he finds himself in the Witch’s Castle where he finds a witch-lookalike Cookie who taunts him in his efforts to escape out the window in… an attitude that almost matches mine?! NO WAY! Better clear the way for this guy, since he just had a bad collision! Start with these two obstacles, which require two Golden Star Jellies to clear.

Resources - Golden Star Jellies: You’ll get another Star after clearing level 2. That’s right. *Another.* You got one for level 1 too. Use them to progress the story and unlock new features. In this case, you’re clearing obstacles… but not for long. Better get back to the board for more Stars! Some levels will award multiple stars… like level 3.

Level 3

⚙️ Back to work, you know the drill. We need FOUR Golden Star Jellies to clear the immediate area this time.

Moves: 40

Skills: Disabled

Chosen Cookie: 🍪 GingerBrave

🎯 Objective - Wafers: These squares crumble once you pop jellies next to them. They are not affected by gravity if anything below them are cleared out from under them. In this level, there are 36 wafers in a 6x6 square. Clear all of them to win!

Bonus - Coin Bonuses & Level Completion: After clearing the level, power jellies are added to the board based on how many moves you have left. Afterwards, they all get detonated at once to pop jellies on the board to score some bonus coins on top of your base prize, tentatively being 160 Coins extra at most. More moves, more Coins! Each remaining move scores 10 Coins.

Rewards: 1+3 Golden Star Jellies, 50+160 Coins

Level 4

⚙️ Missing stairs? Get another Star. This level loosens the scripted restraints and lets you play the level as you want. Just clear the Wafers and move on already!

Moves: 38

🎯 Wafers: 49

Skills: Disabled

Chosen Cookie: 🍪 GingerBrave

Rewards: 1 Golden Star Jelly, 50+160 Coins

⚙️ That should be the last of it. From here, you’ll unlock the second floor and get a free progression reward of 20 Crystals. The rest of the user interface will also open up to you and the tutorial wheels essentially detach from here. There are some other tutorials and stuff that’ll open up as you click on them, but you can explore those whenever your brain catches up with everything. Happy Puzzling!

(Return to the Master Post) 🔗

[pestle-board]

Dear Scotties,

Hey, y’all, co-presidents Tommy and Mayleigh here! We want to start off with the positive about last night’s PB Howl + Scavenger Hunt. The turnout was amazing and y’all’s energy was immaculate. Our hearts are full of all the love we experienced last night. Thank you for running across the quad with us and participating in our brand-new tradition. And if you’re wondering, yes, we do still feel slightly sticky from the shaving cream even after a shower. 

However, we have received some criticism that we addressed last night, yet felt that we should respond more succinctly. After Bonfire, (which was amazing) we began yelling for people to meet PB at the Chapel. If you participated, you know that we were telling people who were in line to go to the sheds, who were on the quad, and who were still around the fire to join us at the Chapel once they were able to. The reason we did this was PB has not had a presence on campus for a while, so most people have forgotten (or are unaware of) the tradition of meeting at the Chapel after Clean the Quad. Even with our current announcements, people are still confused about what PB is or does so Tommy decided to begin recruiting immediately after Bonfire ended because it’s very easy to spread the word through a massive group. Although Tommy began recruiting for the event after Bonfire, that does not mean the event began immediately after Bonfire. Tommy ran down to the Chapel with a small group of friends and waited for other PB members and Mayleigh to arrive after they had taken their items back to the shed, which they did. To our knowledge, all PB members (including the co-presidents) participated in Clean the Quad. 

We were very excited about this event, there was so much warm and positive energy in that space that yes, we got too excited and jumped the gun. It was never our intention to disrespect ProBo, Mortar Board, or anybody in our wonderful Scottie community. We want to extend a heartfelt and genuine apology to everybody who felt that we did not respect their time, energy, boundaries, or activities. That was never our intention, and if anyone wants to reach out to either Mayleigh or Tommy (or both) about their experiences good and bad last night, we extend a warm welcome to every single Scottie, staff, and faculty to do so. We will never shy away from constructive, respectful criticism because PB is a community-centered organization that wants to create a safe, ethical, and friendly space that values the comfort and consent of every single Scottie, staff, faculty, and even non-PB members. We also want to extend a massive thank you to Peyton last night for letting us know that we did not engage with these events in the order we should have. Peyton’s guidance as an alumni allowed us to be held accountable and made us feel more secure in running PB in the future. 

We want to thank everybody who engaged in this event and gave us such a warm and enthusiastic welcome last night. Your kind words and presence are going to leave a smile on our faces for the rest of our lives. These memories will be some of the most cherished we have. We deeply apologize, again, for any harm, disrespect, or negative effects caused by us going out of order last night. We will always extend a warm and loving welcome to every single Scottie. Please, remember to treat the PB co-presidents, members, staff, faculty, and your fellow Scotties with respect, compassion, and kindness. We are all human beings capable of making a mistake and we are committed to doing better in the future. Have a fantastic evening and an even better Black Cat Week. PB will see you at the Junior Production and we’re so excited to see the absolutely amazing play that the Red Class has in store for us. Please, be sure to show them as much love and support as you can! See y’all at the next event!

Mayleigh & Tommy

Contact info if you wish to speak to the co-presidents:

Tommy:

monger524@agnesscott.edu 

Instagram: @nixiimiko

Mayleigh:

carvana704@agnesscott.edu

Instagram: @may_carvana

General

Submit an ask/dm us through our Tumblr @pestle-board

PB has opened a new form called What's On Your Mind 

Here’s the description: 

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[sio-writes]

A Botanist's Guide: Chapter 11

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Tags for this chapter (spoilers ahead): This chapter is nsfw, and contains vaginal sex

The week brings zero resolution, and zero answers. The constant onslaught of nothingness and boring procedure has kept me in a state of limbo, between wanting to ask and being afraid of the answer. And in either situation, the milestone and whatever the fuck is happening with Kri, it's driving me crazy. My leg keeps bouncing up and down as my brain tries to spread out the extra energy. I keep thinking of what could go wrong-- what will go wrong-- in the days leading up to the review. 

The results from the presentation are due back any day now, and I haven't heard anything. Sometimes that's a good thing, like hearing your name called last and you win the regional award for best baking soda volcano at the science fair. But in my experience here, no news is bad news. It means they're mulling it over, that I didn't do as well as I thought I did. Maybe all those jokes and pats on the back from the board were meant to soften the blow. Maybe I celebrated too early.

Jillie's hand on my shoulder makes me jump, dropping the pH scale on the floor.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her perfect eyebrows pulled down in concern as she bends down to pick the scale up and hand it to me.

I'd been spacing out-- again. It's been happening all week, and no matter what I do, I just can't get it together. There's too many thoughts trying to take up the limited space in my brain, with so many of them revolving around the single presence in the room that I can't ignore.

Kri has returned to his auditing routine, but only shows up when it's mandatory, now once a week. The time we all spend together has been cut to a fraction of what it was, leaving just enough room for him to bicker with me over the water and nothing else.

I should be glad for it-- he's putting distance between us like I wanted, he's back to his super professional self instead of the curious, sarcastic, blindingly earnest alien I wanted to know better. But maybe it's for the best. After thinking it over, his hesitance at coming into my apartment was a refusal, no matter what cultural lens it's seen through. A rejection, clear as day. And I'm trying not to focus on it too much, I'm really not, but it's hard when the guy is sitting fifteen feet away from me.

I allow my scattered thoughts a brief reprieve, and sigh heavily before patching it over with a limp smile. "Nervous."

She pats me on the shoulder. "About what? You knocked it out of the park."

I chew on my nail because my bottom lip is bleeding from biting at it all day. I can't ask Kri, because he's not talking to me. I thought he was being professional for the presentation, but his aloofness has extended into the week. He probably wouldn't tell me anyway, but at least he'd explain why instead of looking at me like I'm a stray mark on his stupid clipboard.

Thinking about anything for too long puts me in a spiral, but I don't know any other method to deal with it other than let it play out in my brain until I have a panic attack. My thoughts, my emotions, they all feel too big for my head, and letting them overflow like a stupid baking soda volcano is what it takes to sort things out. I won't have any answers, but it would stop my leg from bouncing up and down for three hours straight.

Jillie pats my shoulder and turns back to her laptop, and I hazard a glance at Kri across the room. He's deep in something on his clipboard, but that alien-sixth sense must've kicked in because he immediately stops writing and glances up at me.

This crush hasn't gotten any better, to put it mildly. Even when he's acting like the coldest of the cold, he's still considerate. Taking time to leave quietly, never raising his voice, things that seem to be constants no matter whether he's pissed at me or not. The few times we've gotten in each other's face he still radiates warmth, he still smells like fresh water, crisp and clean. Jillie's presence is keeping me grounded, keeping me from hopping into his lap while I twirl a piece of my hair around my finger. I'd gladly suffer in silence for the rest of the year if I could have the Kri that helped me grow plants back.

Kri raises his brow at me, annoyance clear on his face. "Yes?"

Caught, my cheeks burn as I shake my head. "Nothing," and I turn back to the planters.

The relaxation celebration from last week has burnt out of my system, leaving in its place a sour, empty feeling that liquid anxiety likes to fill in.

I'm not glad for this…whatever our friendship has evolved into now. It's like the beginning all over again, like he hit the reset button on his personality and left the rest of us to figure it out. I've even been messing up on purpose. Nothing that would hurt the plants, they're delicate enough as is, but enough that would usually make him stare at me oddly, or mention I was doing it wrong, something that told me that he was paying attention and would start an argument.

Instead, he just glanced at my hands, shook his head, and noted it on his board. 

I want to tear my hair out. I know what I did wrong, inviting him to my house was a mistake, but is that really cause to shut us all out completely? He and Jillie were just getting the hang of speaking to each other, and me and my big mouth had to go and ruin it. Maybe he never changed to begin with, if his commentary on my clothing is anything to go by. To think I could have offended him that badly is a thorn in my side. That the idea of being with me made him take a look at our friendship and tear it to pieces? 

Even so, every time we make eye contact, the words are just underneath my tongue, so close I have te clench my jaw around what my heart desperately wants to scream out. A confession, loud and clear, like the movies-- "You can have me, body and soul," and then I sweep all the (very, very expensive) lab equipment off the table and strike a sexy pose that has him on his knees and everything is okay, it's all gonna work out fine. And then I get my milestone results back and the board is so impressed they decide to give me two greenhouses instead of a communal one.

Yeah, right. I'll suffer alone, thanks.

We all spend the rest of the work day in silence, the speakers from my mp3 Player useless against the litany of emotions crashing against my mind like a pissed off ocean current. But I have work to do, and I'm going to do it well. Now isn't the time to be caught up in petty disputes, no matter how important I feel they are.

A lot gets done, but I'm not satisfied as we close up the lab. In fact, I want to fall into another drink. Kri is long gone, having packed up his shit almost in a hurry before stepping out, leaving Jillie and I on our own. It's like old times, just the two of us as we wander the halls back to the cafeteria for dinner.

I grab food through sheer muscle memory-- an orange, a sandwich, some chips and a drink, knowing full well that I need to eat it, but with zero desire. My appetite is gone, my stomach is in so many knots I was lucky to get a smoothie down at lunch.

I don't say much, and Jillie seems as exhausted as I am as we find an unoccupied booth and slide in. The lack of work and distractions leaves space for my mind to wander like I'd been pushing off all day. 

I could be mad at so many things, and I feel my anger like a rolling thunderstorm as I take a pointed bite of sandwich. It's pushing past the other emotions, making itself present, unavoidable.

The sandwich is bland, and tastes like soap as I chew angrily.

What the fuck was in his audit-- I mean really, notes on my outfits? What the hell, Kri? And why is he suddenly acting like the past month hasn't happened? I know it did, and I know I fucked up, but isn't it a common courtesy to explain these things? We're both adults, I can handle rejection, but it he's going about it in such a juvenile way. I need to know, in no uncertain terms, that he wants nothing to do with me anymore. Then I can sigh, maybe cry a little, and fucking move on with my life.

I thought we had something. Clearly I was wrong, but I thought we could stay friends at the very least. That would be the adult thing to do, but he's been acting like a child. Pissing me off.

Jillie sits up suddenly, patting her pockets, and her face drops. "Oh, shit."

I'm pulled out of my whirlpool of self-pity. "What's up?"

She grimaces. "Could I ask a huge favor?"

I raise my eyebrows, indicating she should go on.

"I think I left the oxygenator on for the last planters." She grimaces, patting over her pockets again. "And my keys in the lab."

Jillie doesn't usually make mistakes like that. It must be a weird day for everyone. 

"I got it," I say, pushing away from the table, wanting to feel useful at least once today. I grab the mandarin orange from my tray and start to peel it as I head towards the door, hoping the smell will activate my stomach.

"You're the best!" Jillie says over my shoulder, and I flip her off as I walk away.

I head towards the lab, grumbling to myself the whole way. It's not a far walk, but I'm working myself into an angry tizzy by the time I slap my key card to the door and it slides open.

Yep, the oxygenator is still on. I click it off and the room falls silent

Jillie's desk is organized, which is strange, but I can't find the key in any drawer, no matter how many times I open them. I move to the countertop that lines the wall, sorting through the mess of papers, plastic pipettes and junk food wrappers. God, we need to have a cleaning day in here.

I'm sorting for another few minutes when I hear Jillie's footsteps come in behind me.

"Sorry, Jills," I start to say as I straighten, and then I stop. It's not Jillie. Kri is peering into a shelf on the opposite wall. 

I frown. "You're not Jillie."

Kri turns his head to face me, looks down at himself, then back to me. "No, I suppose I'm not."

I roll my eyes. "What're you doing here?"

"Picking up the last of my things, apparently." Kri says, his tone clipped like just talking to me is an inconvenience. "I am missing a notation board, and I believe I left it somewhere…" He trails off, switching from searching the shelf to my desk, and I'm struck by the image of our first meeting when he did the exact same thing.

"Hey--! Get out!" Jillie's keys forgotten, I stomp over and pull his arms away from the drawers. Kri doesn't budge, instead tearing himself away from my grip and walking back to the shelf he already checked. Shame burns through me, bright and heated, and I have to clamp my mouth around the words it wants to say.

"Why're you acting like this?!"

Kri sighs, weary, and folds his arms over his chest. "Professional? We are coworkers, as you say."

"This isn't professional! You're back to--" I wave my hands around as if that'll convey what I want to say. "Like when we started out." I start tossing garbage to the ground, hoping to find Jillie's stupid keys so I can leave. "Look, I know I pissed you off--"

"You've never angered me."

My hands close around Jillie's lanyard and I rip it from it's hiding place. I shake the small plastic card at him as I stomp towards the door. "Don't! Lie to me!"

"And I have never lied to you."

"Withholding the truth is still lying!!" 

"Respectfully, I think--"

"Shut up! Shut! Up! Don't you ever stop talking?!" I smash the buttons for the door--wrong code, shaky fingers-- once more, right code. The door almost opens but stops halfway before sliding back. Oh, you've got to be-- I punch the code again. "And what else have you lied to me about, huh?! What else could possibly--" The door cuts me off with a droning buzz, and a strip of lights in the ceiling go red before it shutters closed.

Well, fuck.

"No no no--" the door buzzes, shuddering as it attempts to open, fails, and falls still. I run my hands over my head and pull on the ends of my hair. "Fuck!"

I smack the "Open" button again. The door jolts, there's the sound of creaking metal, and the resounding buzz of an error message. The door flashes red, and I smack it with my open palm.

Vigorously pressing the button only loops the buzz of the error message, and I hold back a scream.

I gesture to the door. "You're strong, can't you…?"

Kri stares at me for a second, expression blank before his eyes roll dramatically. He sets his hands to the door, all four of them, and heaves his shoulders. Once, then again. The door doesn't even shudder.

I hear Jillie's voice on the other side, "Cass?"

"Jill--!"

"You were taking too long! I came to find you." and she says something else, but the door shudders again and the creaking metal drowns her out. "Sit tight, I'm gonna grab maintenance, okay?"

"Great, just fucking perfect." I start to pace the room. "Of all the people to get stuck with--!" I smack the keypad for the door again, and it responds with the same error beep. Why today? Why now? Things were just starting to flow in the lab again until--

I groan, pulling at my hair. "She set us up! Now I'm stuck in here with you! Why would she do this to me?" I groan and slap the door again. It doesn't help me feel any better and the metal hurts my hand.

Kri steps back and leans against my desk, his arms crossed tightly over his frame. He's not looking at me and-- oh, right, I told him to shut up. Just because the guy is stoic doesn't mean he's emotionless.

I self-consciously rub my arm. "Sorry, I shouldn't have told you to shut up."

Kri looks at me, his expression calculating, before he sighs. "I don't believe she acted alone."

I glare at him. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "I asked Ari to deliver my things to my home, they likely colluded with Dr. Masters to get us in here."

I groan. "Perfect, that's just fucking perfect. Stuck in here with you."

I feel it coming, a panic attack, like the shore emptying out before a tsunami. First the presentation, then learning I accidentally invited him into my bed, and now this? It's overwhelming, it's too much. For fucks' sake I don't ask for much, all I want is answers!

I press a hand to my tightening chest, my breathing picking up and my heart starting to race. Yep, there's the panic. 

Kri's voice is tight when he says, "You've mentioned that," before ke kicks off my desk and continues his search. Is he serious?

I plant my hands on my hips. "Why are you ignoring me?"

Kri sighs. "I am searching for my board."

"It's not in here, you idiot!"

Kri heaves a larger sigh, annoyed. "Dr. Rowland, is this really conductive to--"

"Cassie! My name is Cassie! Cassandra! Or are we not friends anymore?! Were we even friends to begin with? Or is that something else you've lied to me about?!"

We're gonna be stuck in here for a while. Maintenance is on the opposite side of the building, and they take their sweet ass time going anywhere. We could be in here for over an hour. I could be stuck with him for over an hour. I bend over, hands on my knees, and try to gulp down air.

Kri rests a hand on my shoulder, and I wrench away from him. I need something to focus on so the attack doesn't start up again.

"Look, I know I fucked up asking you into my house, but that's no reason to be a dick!"

His brow furrows, and he walks to the countertop, putting space between us. "What're you talking about?"

I take a deep breath, something to steady myself within this rising storm. The panic is ebbing, slowly but surely with each breath, but on it's heels comes a flush of embarrassment. "I know what it means, I'm not an idiot!"

He goes tense, his shoulders set back, his hands gripping the countertop behind him. "You knew?"

"Well, I didn't then! But I do now! And I'm sorry that I fucked with your delicate sensibilities! Because I know it's a fucking travesty to imagine yourself with me but that's no excuse to treat me like shit!"

"Is that what you think?" And oh, he's angry now, his voice is deep and dangerous and it's doing things to my head that I can't begin to process because I'm still set on being angry.

My panic is gone, replaced with something that burns in my chest, trying to claw its way out. "Yes! I know it! Because you don't have feelings for me the way I do!"

The world goes silent.

I didn't mean to say that, I really shouldn't have opened my mouth. My face is on fire, but I can't take it back. It's out there now, if it wasn't obvious before. My brain is screaming, my heart is pounding, the room is too warm and I feel like I'm going to throw up.

And for once Kri seems at a loss for words. Like I’ve stunned him. He's not saying anything, but I can make up for that.

“Every fucking time when--it's--“ the words catch in my throat and my voice pitches up. It feels like I'm clawing out my throat. “It's not the same, that's fine and-- I can keep going. But I thought maybe-- I thought we were okay! I thought we could at least stay friends! But if you don't feel the same you could at least tell me or--"

Kri is on me in half a second, hands on my face to keep me still as he presses our lips together, and what I meant to say instantly crumbles to dust in my mouth.

I smell rain; fresh dirt and rain, sharp and crisp. He's soft around the lips, and so warm. His hands are on my face, cupping me gently but with purpose, and I wish my hands would do something other than hover uselessly in the air because I want to grab. I want to touch. I want to sink into the comfort he's offering.

And then it's over. He pulls back, just enough to whisper against my lips, "How could I not want you?" 

My heart flutters and-- No, no, absolutely not! I'm still pissed off! He can't just kiss me and make it all better and-- He leans in and kisses me again. It's just as good as the first, if not better because it's the second time and we may even kiss a third. 

This feels like whiplash, and I should be upset at the back and forth, the push and pull of a stupid man trying to come to terms with his feelings. But right now, as his arms go around my waist, I just melt, my brain turning to mush. Because he feels the same. 

Maybe that sexy pose idea would've worked after all.

I'm the one to pull away this time, if only to catch my breath. I murmur, "You're infuriating."

Kri looks like I slapped him. "I apologize, I--"

"Shut up," I breathe, pulling his face back in and kissing him a third time. My eyes flutter shut, and Kri's hands cup my jaw. We slot together like we were made for each other. 

I'm so relieved, so glad, relaxing into his chest and winding my arms around his neck. What a way to find out the feeling was mutual. I hate that we had to be forced into this situation, but I'll let Jillie slide this time, just because I'm thankful. 

I have to pull away to breathe. The moment lapses, and I feel a twinge of hysteria bubble up in my chest. "So you're not rejecting me--?"

His responding laugh is sharp. "Never."

I tilt my head into another kiss, opening my mouth on a soft groan as Kri slips his tongue between my lips. I wrap my arms over his neck, and the plating under my hands is soft. My fingers map the edges as they overlap, memorizing the small divots of his glow-channels as they trace around his wings. I idly draw my finger over the divot and Kri shivers, his groan vibrating through his chest. The sound drips heat through my nether regions that I affect him so easily, and I want to know what else makes him shudder, what makes him moan. I wonder if he wants the same for me.

"I can't believe you," I say between one kiss and the next. "Holding out on me like this." 

Kri finally leans back, taking a moment to look over my face. "Allow me to make it up to you," he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek. His eyes are lidded, hazed over and soft. I swallow past a lump in my throat and welcome him into my mouth as he leans forward to kiss me again because neither of us can get enough of it. 

Kri leads me backwards, his tongue rubbing against mine in small thrusts as the fingers on my waist begin to poke underneath my shirt, that simple brushing of skin making my muscles jump. I have to let go of his neck to shuck my lab coat, and I step over it just as my back hits the wall. 

The cold demeanor he's been wearing all week is gone, melted away by his own warm hands cradling the back of my head so it doesn't hit the wall. The familiar, confident being with gentle touch is back, exploring under my shirt, grabbing my ass through my jeans. 

Cornered in like this, I'm acutely aware of his height, his size, blocking me in like I'm not allowed to leave. I push up onto my toes and wrap my arms around his neck, only feeling the hands on my thighs at the last second as Kri picks me up and sets me against the wall.

And oh, this is nice. I've never been picked up like this, and the position does something to my head. The height, the hands under my thighs holding me up and the gentle way they squeeze, almost as if in appreciation.

My legs go around his waist, the shift making me taller than Kri, so he pushes up into the kiss, his tongue running sensually along mine before he pulls away. He presses his lips to my neck, parting for that hot tongue against my skin, and I gasp against it, arousal pooling between my legs.

My jeans are too tight, my t-shirt too hot. So I pull my arms back and throw my shirt to the floor, my bra quick behind it. I expect the air to be cold, it always is, it's why I wear long jeans in the lab even through summer, but Kri radiates warmth. 

"There's a perfectly good countertop over there," I say between kisses, gesturing with a hand to the general idea of the countertop.

"But I am right here. And," his wings flutter, and he presses his face into my neck. "I confess this has been a prevalent fantasy of mine."

My eyebrows shoot up in pleasant surprise. "Oh," I say, and a smile, unbidden, finds its way across my face. "Was this fantasy also inside the lab?"

Another wing flutter, then, "If you would prefer that I--"

"No no, this is good. This is…" His teeth bite into my shoulder, and I inhale sharply. "This is perfect."

Curious hands sneak up my shirt, pushing it up around my waist, and my clothes are too scratchy, too restricting. The urge to strip, to be bare and feel Kri against my naked skin, it moves behind my ribcage like a snake, has me arching into him so my sensitive nipples brush his soft matte plating. The hard line of his cock, covered in plating at the moment, brushes the bottom of my thigh. His tongue swipes along the skin over my collarbone, the combined sensations pulling a small sound of pleasure from me and making my arms go right back around his neck.

The hot point of his long tongue over my skin makes me break out in goosebumps as he tastes me. He moves down, over my breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth with a sensual lick over the tip that has my toes curling in my boots.

He focuses his mouth on the one, teasing the other with a small, tortuous movements of his fingers, pulling sound after sound from me like he's playing an instrument. I forget if ento are into oral at all, but by god do I want to find out.

I'm dizzy with arousal as he licks into my mouth again. Kri kisses me like he can't get enough, like I'm going to disappear if his lips stop touching mine. It's hypnotic, I've never felt this intoxicated by one person.

He pulls away to rest his forehead against mine. "Can I fuck you?"

I did not expect him to ask so directly, and I did not expect to find it so hot. I squeak instead of responding, and he chuckles, the sound low and erotic. 

The fingers digging into my ass squeeze. "Please," he murmurs into my skin, his breath huffing onto my chest. 

I clench my fingers and clear my throat to find my voice. If I was turned on before, I'm soaked now. 

"That--that sounds great." Not the sexiest response in the world, but fuck it, if it gets Kri inside me I'll say what I have to.

He starts to work open my jeans, pulling them down over my hips and taking my underwear with them. He makes to set me down, but the idea of being completely naked in my own laboratory is too much. Too intimate with the alien in front of me, at least right now. So I squeeze my legs around his waist and he takes the hint, hoisting me back up, keeping my jeans mid-way down my thighs. 

My anxiety creeps in, here to ruin the mood. "What if they fix the door?" 

Kri nips at my skin. "We'd better hurry up then," and he sounds far too confident, too level-headed for how taken apart I feel. 

One of his hands moves off my body, reaching below and inwards towards his pelvis. Something shifts with a wet noise, like lube out of a bottle, and Kri sighs out, resting his weight into me. 

I try to lean over, just to see what I'm working with, but as steady as Kri's hands are keeping me, I don't trust myself not to overcorrect and bust my ass on the tile. The scientific portion of my brain wants to see, to examine and study. We got a brief overview of ento anatomy before landing, but that was three years ago. Besides, each human dick is slightly different, the same should apply for ento dick. And I really, really want to see Kri's. 

But the crotch of my jeans are in the way, and Kri's fingers tweaking my nipple are distracting, and I'm more turned on than I have been in years-- including when I was with Stephen. So looking can wait. 

I pull Kri in by the neck, burying my face in the slope where it meets his shoulder, and holding tight. The heat simmering beneath my skin has turned into a broil. I need to forget about everything else, I need to focus on what's here and now. I need him. 

Kri adjusts himself beneath me, shifting my hips in his grasp, and-- I feel his cock at my entrance. It's hot, hotter than the rest of him, and slick as he drags it up to my throbbing clit, although that slickness may just be me. 

That slight brush over my clit sends a jolt of sensation up my spine, and I want him to do it again, over and over. But he runs it down the center again, positioning his cock head-- if he has one-- at my core, and knocks his head against my temple. 

"Tell me if it is too much." 

My mouth opens on a cheeky retort, but it's ripped away when he pushes in, instead coming out as a moan, open-mouthed against his plating, my fingers digging in as I feel ridges and a distinct curvature that pushes deliciously along my walls. He's big, no surprise there, but I wasn't prepared for how full it would make me feel, how as his hips sit against my ass, I feel like I'm being split open. 

Kri sighs out next to my ear as he bottoms out, and I crook my elbow to wrap a hand around his head. "You okay over there?" 

"I'm not going to last," he replies, sounding absolutely wrecked. Even as he takes another breath, his cock twitches inside me, sending a spiraling heat through my abdomen. 

Still, I pat his head, placating. "Quit showing off and fuck me."

He doesn't argue, instead taking another steadying breath before he pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in, starting with a slow pace that helps me adjust to the sheer size of him. It starts as a stretch, which turns into a burn, which dissolves into a bone-deep ache for more, which Kri happily obliges by canting his hips forward and pressing me into the wall.

My soft, feminine panting turns into open-mouthed moans as the curved end of his cock brushes my G-spot on every thrust, making me dizzy with arousal and my clit ache to be touched. I don't care how I sound, I don't care if the whole building can hear me, I only need Kri to know how good he's making me feel.

One of Kri's hands wraps around my jaw, his fingers splaying over my hair as he presses his lips to my neck and licks a slow line up to my ear. The other hand travels-- teasing my hardened nipples, walking over my stomach and thighs, not trying to evoke any response, but feeling just because he can. He squeezes my waist when I moan his name, responding with an equally wrecked sound and slamming me down onto his hard cock.

"I'm very close," Kri breathes into my shoulder. "Do you want me to--"

"No," I shake my head and press a heated kiss to his temple, locking my legs around his waist. "Please, stay."

He moans a short sound into my shoulder, the hands on my ass squeezing as his wings flutter over my feet. "Whatever you want."

I'm lost to the sensations, lost within Kri. My spine goes taut and my toes curl inward, I'm so close to coming from this alone, and I want to stop just to draw it all out and do it again. This feels like finding a puzzle piece I didn't know I was missing. Something has slotted in my brain that I didn't realize was off-kilter. Not the sex alone, but the validation. That Kri wanted me as much as I wanted him.

His cock hits a spot inside me that makes my vision white out, and I'm pushed over the edge. My muscles go rigid and I clamp my arms around his head and I think I gasp out his name as I come hard. The world goes silent as I'm flooded by sensation, blossoming out from my spine to the tips of my toes.

As I come down, there's hands petting my hair, over my face, the outsides of my thighs. Kri is mumbling, not in English or even Universal, but in his native tongue. It's a watery, flowing language, interspersed with chirps and rolling R's that sound like he's purring. I don't know what he's saying, but the attention warms my heart.

His hips have stilled, and there's a liquid warmth drawing a line down the cleft of my ass. He must've come right after me, and my chest tightens at the idea that we came together. I've always been a sap for that kind of thing, it feels like an emotional connection.

Kri's hands wind around my middle, up my back to cradle my head as he catches his breath.

My mind is in similar tatters, I'm running on pure instinct, and right now I want to kiss him. So I tap his head with one hand. "Up."

He tilts his head back far enough to give me a perplexed expression, and I take a second to drink in his face. There's no hair to be messed up, but there's little signs. His lips are swollen and parted as he stares at me, his gaze is lidded as it lazily searches my face. The expression behind his black eyes is heated, not the fiery passion of a few moments ago, but a subdued, long-lasting heat that tells me he's not done with me.

I lean forward and capture his lips in my own, and he accommodates me easily. We make no moves to separate from each other, and I like it that way. Kri slips out of me, and I realize too late that he's tucking himself away before I had a chance to see anything, but I can blame it on his very distracting lips against mine. 

Carefully, he lowers me to the floor. My legs are unsteady, but he keeps me pressed against the wall for balance. He helps me back into my jeans, hands careful and even working to rebutton them, all the while not detaching from my lips. I adjust my underwear until it's comfortable, flinching at the wetness trying to escape and tagging this pair of panties as a lost cause. That's okay, I decide

I could do this forever, I could kiss him for another hour and not get tired. But I'm starting to feel the cold of the lab seep into my skin, making me shiver even with his warm body pressed into mine.

I smile against his mouth and pull back, my smile turning to a grin when he chases after me. 

"Come on, I have to put my clothes back on," I say as he starts on my neck. I give him a weak shove that only spurs him on. 

"No you don't," he grumbles. "You humans and your clothing. All it does is get in the way." 

"Think about it this way, you can tear it off." Kri backs off, his expression falling, then rolling through several other emotions as he thinks through the concept. The final wide-eyed, very interested stare he lands on makes me snort into laughter.

I pick up my bra off the floor and pull it on, laughing again at how Kri scuttles behind me to see how the clasps work. 

"So your grand plan to ignore your feelings," I say. "What was it?"

Kri scoffs as he hands me my shirt. "It was rather stupid."

I grab my labcoat, throwing it on before I step to the center countertop and hop onto the ledge, kicking my feet. "Tell me so I can laugh at you."

He sighs, grabbing my hands and interlacing our fingers. "I believed we were getting too…familiar."

I purse my lips. "And you didn't think to let me know instead of just doing a one-eighty?" 

"I was thinking with my emotions, not my head."

"Yeah, well, you're an idiot."

He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles. "I am." Another kiss. Kri's eyes scan my face, and he looks wholly content. He cups my cheek with one hand. "Is it crossing a line to tell you I have dreamt of this?"

"Sap," I say, hiding my grin in the collar of my labcoat. "How, uh…How does it compare?" 

Kri gives me a curious look, scanning my face, then gives me a half-smile while tracing a finger down my arm. "My raw data is inconclusive. I require a larger sample size." 

I bat his hand away. "Oh my god." 

"But," he adds, kissing me gently, but still containing enough heat to short circuit my brain. "As far as first impressions go, my imagination has some catching up to do."

I smile at his words, wanting to tuck my face into my coat again. It may just be the post-sex haze talking, but Kri makes me feel so cherished. I could lose hours under his attention. Even outside of sex, he makes me feel special, and a small, quiet part of my brain is telling me that's how Stephen acted too, but I'm too content, too mushy to worry about it right now.

A yawn creeps it's way through me, and I fall against Kri's chest. I hear his heart beating, slow and steady, and when he hums it travels down his chest and into my head.

"Tired?" he asks, running a hand over my hair.

"Don't get smug about it," I grumble, half of my face pressed into his plating.

"Come," he says, gathering me in his arms and lifting me off the counter. My arms go around him immediately, and he sits us both down on the ground. 

Shifting so I'm laying down, I rest my head on his thigh, and his two left arms fall over me, one stroking my shoulder, the other on my waist. It's slow enough, warm enough, that I'm lulled by it, and I yawn again.

"Wake me up in like, ten minutes," I mumble, my eyes already starting to fall shut.

"Of course," Kri says above me, and his voice is the last thing I hear before the world fades to black.

Chapter 12 >>

[riahlynn101]

"Does This Child Belong to Anyone? (No? Then I'll Keep Him).

One shot

Summary: The Second One for All user wanted to be a parent.... when he was alive.... over a hundred and fifty years ago. But as the old adage goes, be careful what you wish for.

Trigger Warnings: Trigger warning: Violence, child abuse, abandonment, and major character death.

Word count: 3,105

--

Let it be known, the Second user of One for All never had a child. 

Let it also be known, this doesn’t mean he never wanted one. 

Growing up, he remembers stealing his sisters’ baby dolls to playhouse with. He wasn’t supposed to; his father would have blown a gasket if he had been caught. But Second, as would become a trend for the rest of his life (and afterlife) refused to follow what he considered a “stupid” rule. 

Besides, he took great care of the baby dolls. He pretended to feed them bottles and rocked them to sleep while humming lullabies his own mother used to sing to him. She was an angel in the ground by that point. The ugly, purple bruise slowly spreading across his chubby cheeks, and his ragged clothes, indications of his father’s grief. 

He couldn’t wait to be a dad one day. 

He’d love them and hold them and tell them he’s so proud. 

He’d kiss them goodnight and hug them lots and tickle them every chance he got - just to hear them laugh. 

For now, playing with his older sisters’ baby dolls will have to do. He’s sure his time to be a father will come eventually. 

-x-x-x-

Time passes and he grows older. The violence previously contained to the cities spills over into their little slice of suburbia. 

Houses burn and people go mad. 

His siblings-his two older sisters and older brother-and him watch the madness through the boarded up windows their father put up. It offers a little more protection but not much. 

So far, they’ve only been spared because their neighbors think they’re a typical Japanese family. And they wouldn’t be wrong in that assumption, except….

“Boy! Get away from the window!” His father tugs him off the couch, away from prying eyes. “If they see you, they’ll kill us all!”

He gasps, nearly tripping over his own two feet. Once he finds his balance, his father’s tugging him towards the bedrooms. 

“You’ll be safe in here,” his father tells him, shutting the door to the crawl space in his face. 

He remembers, even two hundred years later, how claustrophobic he felt being trapped in there for hours at a time. Every few hours his siblings or father would allow him to leave the confines of the space for a bathroom break. Occasionally, a water bottle or energy bar would be tossed in. 

He felt like a prisoner in his own home. 

At the time, he couldn’t understand why his siblings could go about their lives (as much as possible considering what was happening just outside their windows), laughing and playing, while he was forced to stay in the crawl space - out of sight, out of mind.

And then, one day, he hears the unmistakable sounds of gunshots and an angry mob floods their house. His siblings’ laughter turns to blood-curdling screams. 

He remembers how frozen he had been, listening as they were dragged from their beds. Them begging the whole time for a mercy they would never receive. 

He stayed hidden in the crawl space, curling up into a ball and wrapping his arms around himself. 

Eventually, he would wriggle his way out of the crawlspace to find his childhood home looted. His mom’s jewelry, one of the last things they have of her, gone. And all the pictures of his family destroyed, entire scrapbooks turned to charcoal in the fireplace.

He was barely nine, standing in the ruins of what should have been a safe place, when he started to doubt if he wanted to help bring a child into the world. 

-x-x-x-

Second remembers being fourteen and being scooped up off the streets by a ragtag group of rebels. 

They weren’t much in terms of numbers, but what they lacked they made up for tenth fold with passion and training. They had one goal, which would later become two: get rid of the discriminatory laws against meta-users. (The second one, which would become the group’s main focus: destroy All for One at any cost). 

More important than their goals, was how nicely they treated him. 

They gave him a place to stay and clothes that didn’t smell like mildew and let him have access to a shower whenever he needed it. They fed him delicious food, even under the restrictions of government-imposed rations. 

-x-x-x-

By the time he’s twenty, Second has long since given up on his dreams of having a family. Yoichi is enough for him, and he’s put on babysitting duty at the compound so much, he’s practically a second (or third) parent to all the kids. 

Besides, he reasons late at night while Yoichi spoons him-his long, thin arms, wrapped tightly around his midsection-no adoption agency or orphanage would allow a meta-user to adopt. Not that either of them have the money to, and then there’s the slight issue of his husband’s brother trying to track them down. 

They could hire a surrogate, but that ends in the same way. 

He remembers how much his heart hurt to give up on that dream. 

But he did it anyway.

-x-x-x-

Izuku Midoriya isn’t the youngest holder to receive One for All, at least not by much (All Might had been fifteen as well when he inherited the ability for his entrance exam). But he is one of the smallest (according to the eighth's perspective). 

He’s kind and polite, with a heroic spirit that rivals the best of them. 

Izuku loves talking animatedly about heroes and quirks, speech becoming fast and murmured. His big green eyes-so alike Yoichi’s, so innocent and naive-seem to glaze over as he recites all the statistics related to whatever quirk caught his eye. And the eighth listens regardless, though through the quirk, all the users can sense an uneasiness from their current holder. 

“Toshinori is reminded of All for One,” Nana says one day after listening to their next holder launch into a rambling session. It’s the one thing all of them have been trying to ignore. 

The others shake off her comment. Yoichi even goes as far as to joke that Midoriya is much more similar to himself than to his egotistical brother. This seems to calm the rest of them enough to let the issue lie, but Second….

….Second can’t shake the feeling that Nana might have been more right than she could possibly imagine. 

-x-x-x-

The quirk is transferred right before the entrance exam. 

Even stretched between the eighth and the ninth, all of them can sense the boy’s excitement. He practically skips all the way home. He hums and dances around as he gets dressed.  

His enthusiasm gives off a wave of warmth that makes all of them allow the transfer to go through. Even Second allows himself to be swept up in boy’s happiness. 

All of them silently agree to never bring up the ridiculous claim that their ninth holder is similar to All for One in any way. 

The entrance exam comes and goes, and the ninth is left distraught by his own performance. 

He cries in the sanctuary of his room, ignoring his mother’s calls for dinner. 

It's a different sight from what they witnessed earlier. 

The others hunker down, allowing the boy his privacy. Even Yoichi hangs back, unsure of how to comfort him. 

Second doesn’t follow them. 

He sits on the edge of the bed. The action doesn’t so much as make a noise, and the bed stays firmly in place. Yet, still, the boy perks his head up. His face, still full of baby-fat, is ruddy and wet from crying. He wipes his eyes, sniffling. 

A warm feeling wells up in his chest. He’s familiar with children crying and has done his fair share to help them, but something about the ninth makes the second want to protect and comfort him. It's a warm, fluttery sort of feeling that scratches an unknown itch. 

The boy sniffles again, curling even further into himself. Second’s fingers twitch wanting to reach out, but it’s unlikely the action would be felt anyway. It would be pointless. Except….

The ninth looks pitiful and lost and- 

Before he can stop himself, Second wraps his arms around the ninth. It’s unlikely that the boy will be able to feel it, but he can’t watch the kid cry without doing something. 

And, as if under a spell, the boy stops crying.

He looks around his bedroom with wide eyes. The corners of his mouth slightly tick upwards.

“Thank you,” the ninth whispers out. 

Second, more than a little shocked that his small gesture of comfort actually worked, nods mutely. Not that the boy can see it. 

He disappears back into the vestige realm, ignoring the others. 

Yoichi sends him a knowing look, coming over to slide his hand into Second’s. 

He sits on Third’s chair (as all the others are in the middle of an intense UNO match at the other end of the room). “How is he?” He asks. 

“I got him to stop crying,” Second answers, voice monotone. The event plays over and over in his mind. 

Something flashes in Yoichi’s eyes. “Oh. How did you manage that?”

He looks down at his free hand, turning it over. “I…I don’t know. I saw him crying and couldn’t stand it anymore.”

His husband doesn’t say anything, stroking a gentle thumb across the back of his hand. 

“UNO!” Banjo shouts from across the room. He thrusts a card into Hikage’s bewildered face. 

Yoichi smiles fondly at the sight. “With all that my brother’s destroyed, it’s good that we all have each other.” The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles. “Don’t you agree, my hero?”

“Sure,” Second says. “But I didn’t know that we could reach out.”

His husband shrugs, resting back in the chair. “We can feel the emotions of any users that are still alive, right?”

“Right.” 

“So, it would stand to reason that, if a past user’s emotions are strong enough, they could influence a current or still living user.”

Second gives him a sideways look. It makes sense, but he doubts that his emotions were powerful enough to bring comfort. 

“You’ll see,” his husband says in a knowing tone, “in time.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku Midoriya is All for One’s child.

It’s one of the first things the vestiges come to realize once the quirk finally settles fully deep within the newest user’s being. 

There’s external factors, things that they passed off as being paranoid, but are hard to ignore when they’re around Midoriya all day everyday in one form or another. 

His eyes, which, while not similar to All for One’s blood red, soulless eyes, are the exact same shade as Yoichi’s. 

His hair is green, sure, but it’s the exact same texture as All for One’s back in the day. 

And then, there’s the pressing issue of the boy’s habit of rambling on and on about quirks. Which still freaks some of the vestiges out. 

All this, coupled with them being stuck with and intertwined with the boy’s heart, mind and soul, makes finding the connection between All for One and the ninth easy. 

But easy doesn’t mean accepting it. 

Second tries his best to avoid looking at the boy. He would hate to look at him and see All for One staring back. The ninth is good, through and through. He doesn’t deserve to be looked at with any amount of hatred. 

But Second fears, if he spares a single glance towards the boy, his face will twist into an expression that will make the ninth user feel unwelcomed or less than. 

It doesn’t escape him how, in this roundabout way of protecting the kid, Second’s just confusing him further. 

At least Third joins him in staring at the wall in solidarity. 

-x-x-x-

Midoriya is….for lack of a better word, reckless.

He’s constantly on the move, taking down villains and finding new ways to use their combined quirks. It should remind Second of All for One, with how easily the kid manipulates their quirks, but it doesn’t.

Even worn down and haggard, Midoriya, their ninth holder, is still very much himself. 

He fights to keep the peace, tentative as it is, and fights those that hurt the innocent. He often forgets to eat, and since leaving eighth in the dust, has no one to remind him. 

The others try, of course, but Midoriya pretends not to hear them. Or maybe he can’t bring himself to listen to reason. 

His emotional state is unstable, at best - the users can feel waves of unbearable sadness, tinged with desperation. A silent, childish plea for everything to go back to the way it was. 

Second guides him, and amazingly, Midoriya listens.

Perhaps it’s because he has experience in making wide-eyed, naive souls that are hellbent on making the world a better place, see reason, but it works all the same. 

“You need to rest,” he says. They’re standing on a rooftop overlooking the city. The stars are out, likely due to the lack of light pollution. 

Midoriya waves him off. “I don’t need rest. I have to watch over the-” A yawn forces its way out of his mouth. 

“Rest,” Second says firmly. “The city will still be here when you wake up, and if it isn’t, well then it isn’t your problem anymore.”

The kid gives him a sideways look, the same one Second gives his husband when he says something outrageous. “Was that supposed to convince me?”

“It’s the truth. None of us can predict what will happen next. What we can predict, however, is you collapsing in the middle of a fight.”

“I’ll be-” 

Second interrupts, fixing the boy with a hard stare. “No, you won’t be fine. You need to eat something, a good rest, and to find somewhere to clean the blood off. But we’ll settle for you curling up on this roof for a ten minute nap.”

Midoriya scoffs. 

“I’m serious,” he presses. “You’re still a…you’re still only human. Rest. If not for me and the other vestiges then for the sake of being able to go a little longer in this fight against All for One.”

“...Okay.” 

The ninth finds a spot under an awning, hidden and out of the way. He uses his mask as a pillow of sorts, which makes Second cringe (he’s never been so glad to not have the ability to smell). The ninth looks at him. 

“And you promise to wake me up if anything happens?”

“Of course.”

“And I only have to rest for ten minutes?”

Second kneels down next to him. “Close your eyes,” he whispers into the boy’s matted hair. “It’s time to sleep, Izuku.”

-x-x-x-

Izuku unlocks gear shift during the long-fated battle. And, despite his own reservations, pushes the boy to use the quirk. They need every bit of leverage they can get. 

Though, it’s hard to ignore the internal damage his quirk (and why his quirk has to cause so much pain and suffering and-) is causing the boy. Izuku is a fighter, and it’s no secret his pain tolerance is somewhere on the moon by this point.

Second still hates it. 

The battle continues to rage on. Shigaraki and Izuku face off, All for One vs. One for All. 

Izuku pleads with Shigaraki’s humanity. He extends a metaphorical hand out, wanting nothing more than to save the crying child. 

The sight is heartbreakingly familiar, and the outcome remains the same. 

And then, All for One-the one not tethered to the quirk-arrives and all hell breaks loose. 

He’s younger than any of them remember him (with the exception of Yoichi), but Izuku’s eyes grow impossibly wide when he sees him. 

The ninth looks between the vestiges and him, betrayal flashes in his eyes. Without saying a word, Second already knows what he’s thinking on repeat:

You all knew. You all knew, and didn’t tell me!

Izuku ignores their warnings to keep his temper in check. Typical and expected. But when Second tries to say anything, he just glares at him. 

“I hate you,” he says under his breath, though through their connection, he may as well have screamed it.

And, if not for the waves of remorse that crash through all of them at those words, Second would have believed him. But he knows differently, even though it hurts. 

Putting aside the sting from the words, Second puts his game face on. “I know. Keep fighting anyways.” 

-x-x-x-

Izuku trembles in his arms, fifteen again. His hair is curly and he’s perfectly clean despite the ruins around them. 

“W-why?” He asks, voice shaky. 

It’s hard to know what the boy means by ‘why?’ 

Why did this have to happen?

Why did it have to come to this?

Why did he have to inherit One for All?

Banjo, En, Third, and Fourth stand around them, blocking Izuku’s view of his own rapidly cooling body. 

Nana stands outside the circle, yelling at All for One. Her maternal instincts coming out in full force. For all All for One likes to wax poetic about loving his family, he sure seems to have a nasty habit of killing them. 

Yoichi kneels beside Izuku. He runs his fingers through their boy’s hair. “It’s going to be okay, Izuku,” he tells his nephew. “We’re going to a better place now. The heroes can take over from here.”

Izuku shivers in response, crying harder. “All-all Might….my mom….I never got to say goodbye.” He buries his face in the second’s chest. 

He holds the boy closer. “You’ll see them again…eventually.”

Izuku sniffles, looking up. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

-x-x-x-

“Izuku, Full House is on!” Nisuke announces, placing the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

Yoichi laughs from his place lounging on the sofa. His long legs are tucked underneath a knitted throw blanket. A mug of hot chocolate nestled in his hands. “I forgot that show even existed. My brother and I used to watch it after school.”

Before Nisuke can respond, Izuku is hurrying down the stairs. He smiles from ear to ear; his eyes sparkling. 

“Thank you for waiting, dad,” Izuku says, face going red when he processes what he just said. “I mean, sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s no trouble, son,” Nisuke tells him and means it with every fiber of his soul. “No trouble at all.” Without looking, he already knows Yoichi is smiling at them. 

As they all sit together, cuddling up under the blanket, Nisuke feels like his greatest wish has been granted.

He’s finally a parent.

[lordgrimwing]

Friends and Family #1

“Someone get the gate!” Celebrian shouted, arms full of dishes she was bringing to the backyard picnic table.

Arwen, barbeque tongs in hand, looked up from the sizzling hamburger patties that she’d made by hand with chunks of cheese and spices earlier that afternoon. She turned to her little brothers who were supposed to be spreading the tablecloths over said picnic table but were instead holding it up as a giant sail in the light wind. With a sigh that only a teenage daughter could make, she jogged over to the fence so she could unlatch the gate for their visitors.

Erestor came through first, a gray grocery bag with marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers in each hand. Glorfindel followed him, a watermelon under one arm and a pan of spiced corn on the cob under the other.

“Hello, Uncle Erestor, Uncle Glorfindel,” Arwen said politely. She just started eighth grade and insisted that most of her class could do with reading at least one of the etiquette books her grandmother gave her for her birthday.

Elladan and Elrohir looked up from their playing at this, faces lighting up with excitement when they spied their uncles. Throwing the checkered tablecloths haphazardly over the table just in time for their mother to put the plates down, they sprinted across the yard, yelling “Uncle Del! Uncle Del!” the whole way.

Arwen rolled her eyes, Celebrian shook her head at the twin seven-year-olds, and Glorfindel braced for impact. 

The twins latched onto his arms, feet dangling, heedless of any potential risk to parts of their dinner. The large elf made a show of staggering under their combined weight, the loose ends of his golden hair dancing against his back, before easily carrying them over to the table. The boys shrieked with excitement.

Celebrian laughed and shook her head. “Dan, Ro, get down and go get the firewood from the garage like I asked.”

Glorfindel gasped and looked down at the two round faces still hanging from his elbows. “Firewood!” He exclaimed. “We can’t have s'mores without firewood. Run, boys, run!”

They took off across the yard.

She shook her head again as Glorfindel and now Erestor, who crossed the yard at a more sedate pace while asking Arwen about her classes, put their burdens on the table. “They have so much energy when they get back from school.” 

The blond elf rolled his broad shoulders and sighed. “Wish I still had that kind of energy,” He said fondly.

Erestor raised a dark eyebrow at his husband as he pulled the tinfoil cover off of the corn. “Perhaps they should go to the gym with you.”

“Tempting,” He said as Arwen snatched the corn away and carried it proudly over to the grill so she could cook them on the spot she reserved for them. 

Celebrian smiled at their guests. “Oh, it’s been too long since you both came over,” She said, opening her arms to give Erestor and then Glorfindel (who gladly leaned down so she could reach him) a soft hug and light kiss on each cheek. She picked up the greeting from a year spent in Doriath as a child while her mother chased her career in politics. “How are you two doing? Keeping busy, I’m sure.”

Erestor sighed and sat down on one of the table benches, the strands of hair not long enough to stay in his short ponytail falling in front of his face. “I’ve put in more overtime this month than I have since grad school.” He said.

Glorfindel put a hand to his mouth and whispered conspiratorially to Celebrian, “He’s too modest to say anything, but he got promoted to department chair.”

“Congratulations!”

The seated elf waved it away. “I’m not sure the raise was worth it.”

“Oh, he’s very sure about that,” His husband corrected, rubbing a hand across his back.

“Well, I’m sure you and Elrond can lament the struggles of leadership when he gets here.

Erestor straightened and looked toward the house. “He isn’t here? I thought he took the day off.”

Celebrian passed Glorfindel the cutting board so he could cut up the watermelon. “He did, but there was some paperwork he had to run in and sign, and then some patients weren’t doing well and one thing led to another. He just texted to say he’s leaving soon and not to wait.”

Erestor hummed. “Sounds like Elrond.” He’d known him since their first day of undergrad, so he could easily imagine how a quick office run could tumble out of hand for his friend.

“That’s rough,” Glorfindel commiserated. He never went anywhere near work on a day off but he had years of dealing with Erestor’s ‘just five minutes to make sure everything's running fine’ work days. “Does corporate even realize we all have personal lives too?” He mused, chopping the melon in half.

“Sometimes I wonder,” She said, laying out seven ceramic plates around the table.

There was a moment of silence disturbed only by the scrape of metal on metal as Arwen dutifully rotated the corn and contemplative munching as Erestor stole a melon wedge. 

“At least he took the car,” Celebrian said lightly, waving away the strangely somber mood the conversation brought on. “How about you, Glorfindel? How’s your garden?”

“Enjoying the last of the heat. Yevvon begged me for the last of the peppers, otherwise, I would have brought some.” He smiled, moving melon wedges to a platter so he could slice up the other half. Erestor and he lived in a highrise apartment complex in the heart of the city where green spaces were limited to the occasional public park. He still managed to grow a surprising variety of herbs and vegetables between one window garden box and a couple planters on their small deck. “Oh, and the new secretary at work got the last of the strawberries.”

“That was kind of you,” Celebrian said.

He shrugged. “I pray to Manwë she’s just more competent than the last one. I do not want another tax season like the last two.” As an accountant, he had a professional love-hate relationship with taxes. 

Elladan and Elrohir emerged from the house then, lugging a plastic box filled with firewood between them. They pulled the box over to the firepit. 

Elrohir jumped up onto the bench to look at Glorfindel who had just finished with the melon. “Let’s make s’mores now! I bet I can eat more than you.”

Arwen looked over her shoulder and shot her brother a little glare. “Dessert comes after dinner.”

Elladan flopped next to his brother. “But dinner’s taking hours,” He groaned. 

“Well, we’d better see if we can give your sister a hand then,” Glorfindel said cheerfully as he wiped the knife and cutting board off with a hand towel. Wrapping an arm around each twin, he carried them over to their sister. “We are at your disposal, Miss Arwen.”

She looked like she didn’t know what to do with the extra help.

He hoisted the boys higher, both of them stifling laughter with their fists. “I suggest sending these two ruffians to get a clean dish for that corn: it looks just about ready.”

Arwen nodded.

Glorfindel released the boys. “Accept your quest,” He commanded, and they dashed away. 

With the chaotic twins out of the way for the time being, he turned back to Arwen and helped her remove the burgers from the grill, holding the plate for her to put them on. They chatted amiably about the recipes she made recently. She’d made a resolution on her birthday to learn to make fifty different dishes by the time she turned sixteen and he liked staying up to date on her latest adventures.

The twins returned with a shallow pan for the corn and the plastic-wrapped plate of onions, tomatoes, pickles, and other vegetables that Arwen directed them to prepare earlier. Elladan brought the plate to the table and sat down next to Erestor, while Elrohir took the pan to the grill. Glorfindel carefully traded it for the plate of burgers and sent him to the table too. A minute later they were all settled around the table, the twins between Erestor and Glorfindel and an empty spot on Celebrian’s right for Elrond.

They were about to start when Elladan, apparently overcome by excitement, looked at Glorfindel, pointed at his brother, and exclaimed, “Ro found Gilly playing with a dead mouse in the basement after lunch!”

Gilly, the family’s tiny cat, was not a particularly accomplished mouser. Luckily, the mice rarely ventured inside.

“Wow,” Glorfindel said.

Celebrian raised her eyebrows, looking toward the house. “Really? Did you leave it there?”

Elrohir shook his head, short black hair falling into his eyes. “I told her she’s a good kitty, and picked it up, and put it in the garbage can outside.” He reported. “Just like dad showed us.”

Elrond doted on the cat and, as a doctor, took her health seriously. Eating mice, wild animals with who knows how many worms and other parasites, was completely out of the question. 

“Thank you for doing that,” Celebrian said, settling back in her seat. A pause, then, “Did you wash your hands after?”

Elrohir exchanged a guilty look with Elladan. “No.”

“Go wash your hands,” She said, completely unsurprised. “Both of you.”

Elladan pouted (he’d only touched the mouse a little. Why should he have to go all the way back to the house and wash when all he really wanted was a burger? Besides, how did his mom even know he’d touched it?) but followed his brother inside.

When they came back, dinner finally started.

Most everyone had finished their first burger, and some of them were considering seconds when there was the very recognizable hum of a car pulling into the driveway.

Arwen, tossing aside the manners she'd been practicing all afternoon, jumped to her feet with an excited "Dad's home!". She raced her brothers to the back door. In moments, all three children were gone, leaving the adults to smile in their wake.

A minute later, a slightly windswept Elrond appeared, tugged along by a son on each hand. Arwen brought up the rear, blushing a little as the twins exclaimed that the burgers she made were the best things they'd ever put in their mouths (and they would know, having put a great many things in their mouths), and “you just have to try one right now!” 

Elrond murmured an apology into Celebrian’s hair as he kissed her head before sitting down beside her. She accepted it easily and rested a hand on his knee, giving it a fond squeeze.

The adults chatted happily, slowly working their way through the meal. Eventually, the seven-year-old twins grew tired of waiting and set about starting the fire for roasting marshmallows. Their sister took pity on their feeble fire after a few minutes and abandoned her spot leaning against her mother to help them. Once a nice bed of coals glowed in the firepit, the roasting began.

Elrohir won his bet, eating a record seven s’mores.