#Y Bar

[noname21sstuff-blog]

Refuel at Yas Plaza Hotels for Abu Dhabi Race Weekend

Just steps away from the iconic Yas Marina Circuit, Yas Plaza Hotels is set to deliver an unmatched experience

Just steps away from the iconic Yas Marina Circuit, Yas Plaza Hotels is set to deliver an unmatched experience With the countdown on to Abu Dhabi Race Weekend in December, get ready to rev your engines to enjoy 6 culinary experiences and 1 after-party venue during four unforgettable days at Yas Plaza Hotels. Just steps away from the iconic Yas Marina Circuit, Yas Plaza Hotels is set to deliver…

[sugarwarachan]

i overheard you - ft. shoto todoroki

synopsis: your best friend hears you masturbating. what's a pro hero to do?

cws: timeskip!shoto, virgin!shoto, soft!sex, like the softest I’ve ever written, honestly sub!shoto, experienced!reader, fem!reader, pet names like sweetheart and angel

A knock sounds at the door. You nearly drop your vibrator in shock, fumbling with the button to shut it off, the noise deafening in the dark of your room.

“y/n?”

Shoto.

Fuck.

“Yeah?” your voice is hoarse. How on earth are you supposed to talk to him when a minute ago you’d been actively picturing his mouth on your pussy?

“Can I come in?”

Heart hammering, you stash the vibrator under the covers, shuck your pajama bottoms back up, and run a hand through your hair. “Sure!”

His two-toned head peeks into the room. “Lights on or off?”

Your whole face is on fire. “Off, if you don’t mind.

He dips his head. Fuck, is he blushing, too?

You wrap your arms around your legs while he pads across the room. He’s not wearing a shirt. The distracting amount of skin on display is messing with your ability to think. A simple pair of boxer briefs sits low on his hips; a trail of hair leads down to an impressive package that makes your mouth dry up at the sight.

You cannot fuck your best friend you cannot fuck your best friend –

The bed dips with his weight. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, staring down at the carpet like he can drill a hole into it.

“Sho?”

His head whips up.

“Sorry,” he says in a brief burst of laughter. “I thought I had an idea of what to say when I came in here and now that I am” - he gestures at the bed – “I have no idea how to say it.”

“It’s just me,” you say, brushing his shoulder with your hand.

“That’s exactly it. It’s you.” Frustration colors his tone and a light bulb goes off in your head. You don’t know what to say to that, but you have a sneaking suspicion where his head is.  

“Did you hear me?” 

Shoto blushes so furiously you can feel the heat pouring off the left side of his body. He nods.

“Did you come in here to do something about it?” 

His mouth falls open before he turns his expression into something closer to determination. It makes you want to kiss him so badly your teeth hurt.  

“That was my original plan, yes.”

Your skin tingles. You drop your arms from your knees and angle yourself closer to him.

“What did you want to say when you first came in here?” 

There’s the softest touch of his finger against your pinky before his hand covers your own. 

“I wanted to ask you if I could help. If you’d let me watch.”

Your heart roars in your chest. You’re surprised Shoto can’t hear it.

“You want to help make me come?”

Shoto swallows, and answers in that level deep voice of his, “Yes.”

“Okay then.”

You pull the vibrator out from beneath the covers, trying not to laugh at Shoto’s obvious expression of dismay.

“Come lay down next to me,” you say, patting the space next to you. He lays down next to you but he’s hovering, holding himself back, so you grab his hand and drape it on your hip. His breath hitches, calloused fingertips brushing against the band of your sleep shorts as he pulls you closer to him. 

“Will you help me take these off?” you whisper into his ear.

Hair brushes your cheek as he nods. His thumb hooks under your shorts and tugs them down your legs quickly. His breath is already shaky.

“What’s your comfort level here? Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing? What I like?

You figure that taking the lead is in the best of both of your interests, and honestly, the idea of telling a pro hero what to do is sending a bolt of arousal through your gut. How much would he like being ordered around?

“Please,” he says, and fuck, you’ve never heard this man so undone. Breathy and tense, Shoto’s eyes drink in your skin like he’s discovering the ocean.  

“I only have the rabbit with me, so I’m going to use the ears on my clit while you watch, okay?”

Another fervent nod, like he doesn’t dare look away. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” he says, a divot appearing in between his brows. “It already feels so good just lying next to you.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to crack in your chest. 

“Try not to think too much about it too much,” you say, placing a hand on his chest and scooting closer to him. “It feels good for me, too, just being here with you.”

You press a kiss into the hollow of his throat and turn the vibrator on, holding it to your clit. He can feel your breath catch on his skin. His hand grips down on your hip, hard, his own rutting against your side.

“Talk to me. Tell me what you like to see.”

“Fuck, okay.” He expels a breath, and it’s already hotter than anything that’s ever happened to you because it’s Shoto swearing in your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m a little overwhelmed. You look… I can’t even describe how beautiful you look.”

“That’s all right.” His words wash over you, turning your insides to jelly. You turn the vibrator’s intensity up one. “You’re already on the right track.”

“I am?” 

“Mm-hmm. You’re already making me feel good, Sho. Believe in that. Talk to me.”

The combination of praise and command seems to jolt him into action. 

“I like seeing you like this,” he starts, voice a little shy. He kisses your forehead, moves his hands along the soft skin of your hips. “I like hearing the noises you make, the soft little gasps when you touch yourself.”

It was tame for dirty talk, but you feel each word like a thunderbolt. 

“What else, baby?”

His breath hitches again.

Oh, he likes that. 

“I want to be the reason you’re making those sounds. I want my fingers inside you when you come.”

You shudder, the vibration against your clit drawing you closer to that dark, deep kind of orgasm you only have when you’re turned on beyond reason. You guide his hand to the inside of your thigh, the slight friction of his callused skin on yours making you whine.

He props himself up on one elbow and peers down at you. His brow is furrowed, concentration set clearly on his face. You cup his cheek and kiss him before you think to stop yourself. Here his confidence kicks up, even when the kiss gets messy, your tongue against his teeth.

His thumb sweeps over your clit. You jump at the sensation and also at the strength of your reaction. You were already keyed up from earlier and having Shoto next to you has only amplified how fucking horny you are. He’s watching you with such intensity, such obvious need. 

A finger nudges your entrance. 

“I can touch you here?”

You can barely nod.

“Thank fuck,” he says, and rearranges you both so he’s kneeling in front of you, spreading your knees open and sliding two fingers inside of you.

“Sorry. I wanted to look.”

It’s so Shoto, and it’s so hot that you whimper and buck your hips up to meet him.

“Looking is a critical part of learning.” Is that your voice? You sound like you just finished a marathon. 

Shoto huffs a soft laugh, eyes trained on your pussy. When your eyes meet, he leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft here, sweetheart,” he says, fingers moving in and out. The pet name feels so warm on your skin you almost want to cry. 

“More, Sho, please.” 

He adds a third finger, the stretch making you moan.

“Are you this wet for me?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, his thumb circling and pressing down on your clit over and over. “I can feel you around my fingers, angel. You’re squeezing me so tight.” His voice breaks. You’re spinning inside of yourself, everything narrowing to the thrum of your clit, that burst of sensation every time Shoto’s thumb rubs against you.

“Yes yes, exactly like that, please don’t stop touching me,” you chant, hardly recognizing your voice.

“Do you want the vibrator back? Is this—will this be enough?”

It normally wouldn’t be, but you’re literally fighting to keep yourself from coming as it is.

“Will you lay down, Sho?”

Uncertainty crosses his face briefly but he complies, lying down next to you like he had at the start. You hardly give him time to settle before you’re straddling him, pressing your soaking wet pussy against his cock. Shoto chokes on a whimper, hand pressed against his mouth.

“Don’t you dare not make noise for me,” you hear yourself say. All you can think about is the ridge of his dick in between the folds of your pussy, how much you can’t wait to have all of that inside of you. “I want us to come apart together, okay?” 

His hands are tight on your hips, grinding you down. 

“Fuck, you feel too good,” he pants. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m gonna fucking come, I don’t know much longer I can last.”

Your pussy makes obscene squelching noises as you slide, up and down, over and over, on his dick.  “Stay with me, just a few more seconds. Come on, fall apart with me. Fucking fall apart with me like a good boy, okay?”

You’re right—the pet name seems to detonate Shoto’s last shred of control. He growls against your throat, thrusting up into you, the ridge of his cock rocking perfectly against your clit until you’re falling, flying over the edge. Shoto’s name falls from your lips in a chant; your own name echoing in the space between you as he comes in his briefs.

In the afterglow of your orgasm, you lay on top of him listening to the thunderous beat of his heart. Touching him feels sacred, divine. Is this what people feel when they love someone? 

“y/n?” Shoto’s voice is breathless. He sounds awestruck. 

“Yeah?” You prop up on his chest to look at him. His eyes are closed, a smile creasing the corners. The need to kiss him is like a physical tug in your stomach. 

“That was amazing.” He opens his eyes and smiles widely. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re amazing.”

“You were pretty good yourself, you know.”

(watch me fuck around and write a part two)

[schmidtsbimbo]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride

[xothatnerdykid]

read your mind

You’re a newly minted pro-hero with a quirk that lets you to read the mind of anyone you touch. So imagine your surprise when you accidentally read a certain stoic, brooding hero's mind and find out he doesn't hate you like you thought, but rather, something dangerously close to the opposite.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead x fem!reader. NSFW but not very explicit. 5,002 words.

“Your form was sloppy,” he says in lieu of a greeting.

You used to cringe when he’d tell you things like that, become sheepish and apologetic. Now, after months of knowing him, you'd simply smile and quip, “Awww, you watching my saves on the news again?”

You hated bumping into him. He was the reason you tended to leave mission briefings early: the ever-stoic, perpetually unimpressed Pro Hero Eraserhead.

As a relatively new hero working in the same city, you were thrilled at the chance to learn from someone as experienced as him. But your excitement quickly dimmed the first time you met as you noticed his gruff demeanor and critical, scrutinizing gaze.

You knew he was tough on everyone, but there were times when it felt like his criticism was directed at you more than anyone else. And no matter how hard you tried or how much praise everyone else gave you, he always found something to correct.

So, for the sake of keeping your self-esteem intact, you’ve resorted to treating his criticism like a game, teasing him back whenever he dropped one of his classic deadpan remarks. It was either that or crumble under the weight of his seemingly endless disapproval.

But today, all you can muster is a grunt in response, head throbbing from fatigue and chronic sleep deprivation.

“That’s my line,” he says flatly. Because apparently, someone always has to be the cheeky one between the two of you.

“Can we just…” You rub your temple, wincing as the pain spikes. "Can we just not do this today?”

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice loses a bit of its usual sharpness as he steps closer, eyes narrowing in concern. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you huff, waving him off. "Just tired. We can't all function on only ten shots of espresso a day."

"Seven actually. I'm not a maniac. And you don't sound fine."

You roll your eyes, feeling too drained to banter with him. "I said I'm fine. Can you spare me the lecture?"

You mean to walk past him when you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, startling you. Suddenly, there’s that familiar buzz in your mind — your quirk activating with the skin-to-skin contact. The headache momentarily takes a backseat as his thoughts flood in.

Is she really okay? She looks like she’s about to collapse.

Why does she always push herself so hard?

You look up at him, eyes wide and unblinking.

He yanks his hand away as if he’d been burned, the flood of his thoughts abruptly cut off. His dark eyes flicker with something—surprise? Guilt? He takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. “Didn’t mean to…”

You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. How are you supposed to respond to that? All this time, you thought he was just cold, that he only ever saw your flaws. But just now, he…

He was worried about you?

“I—” you start, but your voice falters. He’s still staring at you, his expression carefully guarded again.

“I’ll see you around. Feel better." His voice is clipped, betraying none of the thoughts you just heard. The words sound so casual, so dismissive, that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it all.

You want to say something to break the tension between you, but you're suddenly nervous. Your heart races, pounding with the weight of this new knowledge. Before you can compose yourself, another hero calls his name, and he mutters a quick response before leaving.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

You promised yourself you were going to avoid him like the plague.

Later that day, when you were tossing and turning in bed, still overthinking your last encounter — you promised. You even came up with (what seemed to you) a solid game plan: You were going to focus on hero work so much that you won’t even have the time to think about him, much less see him.

But the mission had gone from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

What was supposed to be a simple recon had turned into a full-on chase through the streets when the criminal you'd been tracking for weeks unexpectedly showed up at the deal you were sent to bust. Orders be damned, you vaulted over the rooftop ledge and ran after them.

You leaped across buildings, adrenaline spurring you on. Your mind was focused, heart pounding in rhythm with your footfalls. You’d chased this villain twice before, and both times, they’d slipped through your fingers. You weren’t about to let that happen again.

The villain was fast, but so were you. With each bound, you closed the gap, watching as they darted into a narrow alleyway below. This was your chance. Your heart surged as you prepared to drop down and cut them off.

Suddenly, a figure descended from the shadows, blocking your target from your sight. Your stomach dropped.

Of course it was him.

"Stay back. This is too dangerous for you to handle alone.” His voice was firm and authoritative. Even with the goggles on, you could feel his dark eyes trained on you with that same stern expression you’d come to dread.

"Dangerous? I've been on this case longer than you have!”

You stepped forward but so did he.

“I said stay back,” he warned you. “Don’t be reckless. He’s already evaded you twice, and now he’s cornered. Desperate villains do desperate things.”

“He’s getting away! You’re ruining my chance to finally catch him!”

“And you’ll get yourself killed,” Aizawa snapped. “I’m not going to let a rookie run into a trap.”

Anger flared in your chest. You knew he didn’t respect you, hadn’t from the start. Always criticizing, always watching with that disapproving scowl. You try to push past him, but it’s no use. He’s stronger than you, and maybe even more stubborn.

“Wait here and let me handle it,” Aizawa growled, his voice low and commanding. His scarf moved like a serpent around him, a silent warning that he wouldn’t hesitate to use it if you pushed any further.

You clenched your fists but did as you were told. Much to your frustration, the villain was apprehended quickly after that. You watched from the rooftop, fuming as Aizawa cornered them with ease, his scarf tangling around the villain's limbs like it was second nature. Within minutes, the situation was over, and backup arrived to escort the criminal away.

You stayed put, your heart still racing with the adrenaline of the chase and the frustration of being sidelined once again. The cool night breeze did little to calm your heated emotions. It wasn’t fair. You’d been so close, only for him to swoop in like you were some rookie who couldn’t handle their own mission.

Now, you watch as he finishes giving his statement to the police and then make his way towards you.

You cross your arms tightly, readying yourself for whatever critique he’d throw your way this time. But when he stops in front of you, he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply takes off his goggles and looks at you.

His silence is almost worse than his usual condescending remarks. When he finally speaks, his voice is gravelly, strained. More measured than you expected.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. "I…I'm fine," you answer, maybe a bit too defensively.

Aizawa's eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s about to call you out for your tone. But he just stares at you, his expression as unreadable as ever.

You shift on your feet, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. The silence stretches between you both, heavy and awkward, until he exhales and rubs the back of his neck.

"Good," he mutters, his voice softening just slightly, but there’s something behind his eyes—a flicker of something you can’t quite place. His hand lowers back to his side, and as it brushes yours for the briefest moment, something happens.

Skin contact.

Before you can stop it, his thoughts are bleeding into yours, loud and clear.

I should’ve handled that better. She probably thinks I hate her…

Dammit, I don’t want her to hate me.

Your breath catches in your throat. A rush of emotions flood your mind: frustration, concern. Genuine fear.

She doesn’t need to prove herself to me. She’s already good enough. More than good enough.

Heat floods your face, your pulse quickening. He… cares? Before you can process it fully, the connection snaps. A sudden coldness washes over you as your quirk is forcibly erased.

Aizawa’s eyes lock onto yours, his irritation visible in the sharpness of his gaze and the tight line of his mouth.

"I…I didn't mean to," you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Something like uncertainty flickers in his expression, and his hair falls down in waves as he shuts off his quirk, too. His jaw tightens but his brow furrows as though he’s trying to decide what to say.

“I...know you didn’t,” he finally says, his voice low and rough.

You flinch, guilt bubbling up in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you murmur again, dropping your gaze to the ground. You didn’t want to invade his mind, but now you couldn’t unhear what you’d discovered.

Just like before, he turns to leave.

“Wait—” you blurt out, reaching for him instinctively. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you can’t just let him leave like this. Not again.

He pauses, half-turning to glance at you over his shoulder. Your heart is pounding in your ears. The words are there, but they feel jumbled in your throat, tangled up in the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through your mind.

“I—I didn’t know. About any of it.”

Your eyes search his face for any sign of what he’s thinking, but his expression remains impassive. You fight back the urge to touch him.

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you admit in a small voice.

Aizawa heaves a sigh. His hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, you notice how tired he looks; exhausted, worn down in a way that makes him seem more human, less the untouchable figure you’ve always seen him as.

“I’m not trying to be hard on you,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer now, the anger draining away. “But you don’t always think things through, and that’s dangerous. You’re talented. You don’t need to prove anything to me or anyone else.”

His words surprise you, and you look up, meeting his gaze again. There’s no scowl, no biting critique, just honesty. You swallow hard, feeling an odd mix of warmth and discomfort settle in your chest.

Before you can think better of it, your hand moves instinctively, brushing against his arm. You freeze, realizing what you’ve done, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. And though he has every opportunity to, he doesn’t erase your quirk either.

I’m too close to her. The thought is faint, hesitant. She’s already in my head… and it’s getting harder to push her away.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s not just frustrated with you — he’s frustrated with himself.

You pull your hand back, not wanting to intrude further.

You don’t know what you expect to see on his face; surprise maybe, or even anger. But for the first time since you’ve met him, you see something warmer in his eyes — something that sends a flutter through your chest.

Aizawa takes a half-step closer and your pulse quickens at the proximity. Then, in a voice so soft it’s almost a secret, he murmurs, “Don’t make me worry like that again.”

“I won’t,” you manage to whisper, your heart caught in your throat.

He takes a step back, as if remembering himself, and his usual stern demeanor slips back into place.

“Go home. Get some rest.”

You nod, still too flustered to speak. The warmth of his touch lingers long after he's gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

It’s well past midnight, the city quiet except for the soft hum of distant traffic and the occasional sound of wind rustling through the streets. Your patrol route brings you to the edge of a quiet park, where you catch a familiar figure standing in the shadows, keeping watch.

“You really like brooding in the dark, don’t you?" You smile at him from over your shoulder, though your usual sarcasm is gone.

“It's my favorite pastime,” he deadpans, but you don't miss the way his dark eyes hold yours a beat too long.

“Right,” you snicker. “The city’s most stoic hero. I bet you even scowl in your sleep.”

Aizawa’s lips twitch, the tiniest of smirks threatening to break through. “You can’t prove that.”

"Oh?” You smile sweetly, batting your eyelashes for good measure. “Something tells me I can.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s about to call you out on your teasing. But instead, he steps closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“You’re bold tonight,” he says, his tone somewhere between amused and intrigued. “Careful, I might start thinking you’re actually enjoying my company.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider. “And what if I am?”

He steps just a fraction closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the cool night air. His voice is low and smooth when he says, “Then I’d have to wonder what it is you think you’re getting yourself into.”

The air between you thickens, the playful banter now laced with something a little more dangerous, a little more exciting.

“You know, I could buy you a coffee sometime,” you offer, hoping to diffuse some of the tension, keep the conversation light. “To say thanks for helping me out with that last mission.”

He pretends to mull it over but, before you can react, he reaches out and grabs the coffee cup you’re holding. He takes a deliberately long sip, watching you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle.

When he lowers the cup, he meets your gaze with a half-lidded look that sends your pulse racing.

“Consider it done.”

Your face feels impossibly warm now, and you’re sure your blush is painfully obvious, but you manage to keep your voice steady as you quip, “An indirect kiss? Maybe you’re the one who needs to be careful, or else other people will start getting the wrong idea.”

With a low laugh, he hands the cup back to you, and the subtle brush of his fingers against yours sets off another wave of his thoughts.

I wonder if she realizes how much I want her.

Your breath catches.

For a split second, you think you might’ve misheard it, but the heat in Aizawa’s gaze as he watches your reaction tells you otherwise. The cup is back in your hand, but your fingers are numb. Your focus is entirely on him, his thoughts still rattling around in your mind.

His lips twitch again. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” he teases, his voice low, almost a purr. “What’s going on up there? Something I should know about?”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your composure. He’s looking at you like he’s daring you to admit what you heard.

You take a deep breath and decide to play along. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if you always flirt this shamelessly.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

Your heart is racing now, fingers trembling around the cup in your hand. His gaze is dark and intense. Unwavering. He's looking at you like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you and he’s enjoying it.

Your quirk had always been a double-edged sword; sometimes it revealed things you wished you hadn’t known, and other times it brought clarity to situations that seemed hopelessly opaque.

This time, it left you with a dilemma.

“Go ahead,” he murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts. He’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, his presence overwhelming but not uncomfortable. “Since you’re already in my head…why stop now?”

Your breath hitches. His invitation is dangerous, yet impossible to resist. There are a dozen reasons why you shouldn’t — you work together, it’s an invasion of privacy, you hated his guts just a few weeks ago — but the temptation is too strong, his presence too intoxicating.

Hesitantly, your fingers brush against his once more, and his thoughts flood in again, more intense and vivid this time.

She’s braver than I thought. I like that.

I shouldn’t be doing this. But damn, I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she looks at me…

“Good girl,” he cooes, his voice a low rumble that sends a flutter of excitement through you.

You feel lightheaded, dizzy with the weight of his thoughts, the tension between you at a boiling point. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the way Aizawa’s eyes are fixed on you — dark, intense, hungry — it’s making it hard to think straight. He wants you to know. He wants you to feel what he’s feeling.

And you do.

You feel everything.

His desire is a palpable thing, hanging in the air between you, electric and heady. You can see it in the way his gaze lingers on your lips, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean in.

“Hardly seems fair. I don't get to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” His voice dips lower, enough to send another wave of heat crashing over you. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you manage to respond, “I’m not sure you’re ready for what’s in my head.”

He chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes your stomach flip. “You might be surprised.”

You can barely breathe as he brushes the back of his hand against your jaw, his thumb pressing lightly on the corner of your mouth. You feel his thoughts ripple through you again, even stronger this time.

I want her. God, I want her so badly…

Your knees feel weak, and it takes everything in you not to lose yourself completely in the moment, in him. The tension between you feels unbearable now, as if one wrong move could send you both over the edge. And you’re not sure how much longer either of you can hold back.

Aizawa smirks, just a hint of satisfaction flickering in his expression.

I could kiss her right now. It would be so easy.

The thought lingers between you, thick and heavy, and you can’t tell if it’s yours or his anymore. All you know is that just the idea of his lips on yours is making your entire body hum with anticipation.

Aizawa watches you carefully, as if waiting for your reaction. He knows you heard him, and he’s not backing down.

You swallow hard, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. “Go ahead then,” your own voice sounds small and distant to your ears, but it’s enough to tip the balance.

His lips are on yours in a second.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, but it quickly deepens as the tension that had been building between you finally breaks. His other hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his thoughts rushing through you again.

God, she tastes even better than I imagined.

Your knees nearly buckle, and you can barely focus on anything except the way his lips feel against yours — firm, warm, demanding yet tender. He’s kissing you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pull back for air, your heart is pounding, your breath shaky. Aizawa’s forehead rests gently against yours, his eyes half-closed as he catches his own breath. His thumb brushes lightly over your cheek, a small, affectionate gesture that has you smiling up at him in a tizzy.

“Still think I hate you?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of heat as he slides his hands into the curve of your waist.

You laugh softly, pulling him closer by his scarf. “I think I might need a little more convincing.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The days that follow your little late night tryst at the park are deliciously unbearable.

It’s as if you don’t know how to be around him anymore. There's tension during training sessions. The gym hums with its usual energy, but you can’t focus. Not with him in the room. You’re sparring with someone, half-heartedly dodging and throwing punches, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the feel of Aizawa’s lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you.

Across the room, he’s speaking to a group of trainees, the same unreadable, stoic expression in place. But there's a flicker of something else in his eyes when they briefly meet yours, a look only you recognize.

Your opponent lands a hit on your shoulder and you nearly stumble. You grit your teeth and bring yourself back to the present moment. When the sparring session ends, you grab a bottle of water and try to catch your breath.

He walks over to where you’re sitting off to the side, seemingly doing the same. His voice is low enough so only you can hear. "You're distracted."

You flush, struggling to keep your expression impassive. “And what if I am?”

“Focus, or I’ll have to give you some private training later.”

His words are a promise, dripping with intent, and your blood sings. You can’t find a response quick enough before he’s already pulling away, leaving you flushed and even more distracted.

It’s not much better during night patrol, when the city streets are dimly lit and mostly empty. Although the two of you are supposed to be overseeing different sectors, you know when you turn a corner into a dark alley that he's following silently, closely behind.

You walk deeper into the alley, pretending to scan the area, but the quiet crunch of his footsteps has your heart racing. Just as you’re about to turn back, a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

You open your mouth to say something, but he’s already on you, crashing his lips against yours.

“You’re making—it hard—for me—to concentrate,” he murmurs between kisses, each word punctuated by the soft graze of his mouth against yours. His hands press against your hips, pinning you gently yet firmly to the wall, and a wave of heat spreads through you.

Suddenly, an image flashes in your mind: him trailing his mouth downwards until he’s on his knees, hooking your leg over his shoulder and eating you out. A thought that isn’t your own.

“You’re one to talk,” you shoot back, though there’s no real bite to it. If anything, your voice is barely steady. “You’re supposed to be patrolling your own area.”

He runs his fingers along your jaw. "And let you wander into dark alleys alone?" He leans in, lips brush against your ear, nibbling. "Not a chance."

He crooks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his teeth and lips lingering just enough to make you gasp.

I want to taste you. All of you, he thinks. I want you to make a mess on my face, on my fingers, and then lick it clean.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. He presses you harder against the wall, and it’s dizzying, intoxicating—

Until the sharp crackle of comms cuts through the haze.

“Report. Any activity?”

You both freeze, breaths mingling, still pressed close. His eyes flick to yours, and there’s a hint of amusement dancing in them.

“Nothing to report,” he says, voice calm and collected as if he hadn’t just been kissing you senseless a moment ago.

You look up at him, dazed and wanting, heart pounding. He tilts his head at you and you realize they’re expecting a response from you, too.

“N-no activity here either,” you manage despite the tightness of your throat.

The comms fall silent once more. Aizawa is looking at you through half-lidded eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. You hate him as much as you really don't.

“We should get back to our routes before someone decides to check on us," he murmurs.

“Oh, so now you’re concerned about protocol?” You arch an eyebrow at him, though you’re sure your flushed cheeks betray any semblance of teasing bravado.

"For now." He leans down to brush the shell of your ear with his lips. "But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just break a few more rules.”

A few days later, you find yourselves seated across from each other during a mission debriefing. The room is full of other pro heroes, but it might as well be empty for all the attention you’re paying to anyone else.

Your thoughts scramble every time Aizawa's knee brushes against yours beneath the table. He, on ther hand, is the picture of composure, listening to the debrief with his usual detached focus.

This meeting’s dragging. I can think of better ways to pass the time with you.

You try to focus on the mission details, but half way through, he moves his hand atop your thigh and you shiver.

How long do you think it’d take if we just slipped out, right now?

You steal a glance at him, and there’s the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes when they meet yours.

You force yourself to look down at your notes, but your mind is elsewhere, his presence impossibly distracting. Fuck it, you think before you slide your foot up his calf.

He sputters a cough, a rare crack in his usually unshakable composure, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. Under the table, his hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm, almost possessive, and the thrill of it has you biting the inside of your cheek.

Keep doing that and I won’t be responsible for what happens after this.

As the meeting draws to a close, everyone rises to leave, and Shota gives you a barely perceptible nod toward the hallway. You follow at a careful distance until you reach his office, entering a good few minutes after he does so as not to arouse suspicion.

He backs you gently against the door as he locks it behind you, his gaze pinning you in place. His eyes are dark and stormy, with that half-focused look you’ve come to love so much. When he speaks, his voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “You’re going to get us caught, you know that?”

You smile up at him sweetly then tip-toe to give him a soft, lingering kiss. "You’re the one who can’t seem to keep things professional,” you coo, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, teasing.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember you objecting."

“Of course not,” you confess breathlessly, head thrown back in pleasure as you tug at his hair. You can’t make out the sound of your own voice over the blood thumping in your ears. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined us doing inappropriate things in your office?”

Your words seem to snap the last of his restraint.

A low growl escapes him, and before you know it, he’s gripping your hips and lifting you just enough to press the hardness of his length against you. You gasp. His mouth finds yours with a raw, pent-up hunger that has you clinging to his shoulders, heart racing wildly.

“And here I was, thinking I was the only one losing sleep over this,” he murmurs between kisses, tugging your bottom lip gently between his teeth.

He pulls you flush against him as his tongue explores your mouth, and you trail your hands down his chest and the ridges of his abdomen just as eagerly. You grind your hips down on his erection and he lets out a deep, guttural groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his warm, rough hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. “You’re lucky we’re alone.” His tone is half-warning, half-promise, and you can feel his heartbeat racing beneath your hands.

"I know somewhere we wouldn't have to worry about being interrupted," you tell him breathlessly. “My place. Tonight. If you’re up for it.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle, thumb brushing over your lower lip. "I'll clear my schedule.”

[the-odd-shu]

Sky regrets trying to play wingman

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

Masterlist

Next part

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader, Sky

(Pre-Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

Summary: A sketchbook goes missing, Viktor and Jayce feel soft about it and Sky is fighting for her life.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Lab Illustrator!Reader has a secret A5 sketchbook they don't use for assignments. It's a small thing, that they keep tucked beneath all of their other paperwork during the day, and take home with them every night.

It is as non-descript as sketchbooks come, with a plain, black cover and pages brimming with hundreds of sketches and stuck in sheets of paper.

But what makes it different from their professional sketchbook, you ask? And why does it need to be a secret?

Well, because it is a notebook solely dedicated to drawings and doodles of their co-workers. And neither of them know that Reader has been drawing them.

There are hundreds of stolen moments stuffed between these pages. Late night coffee breaks, where the pencil lines are thick and dark to accentuate the dimness of the lab against the stark light leaking out of the kitchenette, where backs are turned and coffee mugs steam, whilst eyes fall to half-mast from the sheer weight of the late hour.

There are a dozen or so slower, more carefully done doodles of Jayce sprawled out across the lab couch in various positions. Several cane studies, because Viktor had a habit of leaving it in more and more odd places when he has had a breakthrough, and sheer determination and spite keep him standing unaided before the whiteboard.

There are pages dedicated to Viktor reading. And pages brimming with Jayce's broad shoulders and winning smile.

There is a double page spread of Viktor stood before the chalkboard, cane in one hand, his other tucked under his chin with a piece of chalk tucked between two of his fingers, his lips pursed in thought as he tried to find a solution to the problem before him. The lines of this sketch are soft and gentle, almost dreamlike, as the image was teased out of the page.

The pages directly after it show a heavy handed pen drawing of Jayce bent over his desk, goggles over his eyes, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he welds pieces of metal together. A single, loose curl of hair having broken free of its slicked back appearance, and is now sprawled cutely down his forehead.

And that's only the beginning.

Neither of them know that Reader draws them. As far as they know, Reader can't even draw people. And Reader wants to keep it that way. Because if EITHER of them found the sketchbook, they just KNOW they would not let them live it down. Jayce would be embarrassed, no doubt asking stupid questions like, 'is my nose really like that from that angle' or 'why didn't you tell me I had soot on my cheek', which, how dare he, you'd spent hours learning how to draw him and picking out imperfections was just an insult to your skills. Whilst Viktor would make fun of your subject choices, and then make it one hundred times harder to sketch him without him getting suspicious and catching on and deliberately moving around MORE to make it seventeen times more difficult.

Out of everyone in the lab, Sky was the only other person remotely artistically inclined. She'd shown an interest in your work one afternoon, and let slip that she liked to draw in her spare time. And although she insisted her work was nothing like your professional illustrations, they were good! And you told her as such.

Unofficially, the pair of you had begun taking your lunches outside in the academy gardens together to chat and draw. She did not look it, but Sky was a mean gossip, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the science department. Such as who in the academy was currently trying to court who, or the latest experiment that blew up (literally) in a freshman's face, or that Councillor Medarda herself dabbled in painting.

The last one certainly caught your attention more than the drama on campus, which of course Sky was more than happy to provide more details for. Apparently, the Councillor's paintings were bold and striking. Depicting scenes from her childhood lands, and figures dressed in traditional Noxian-style garbs.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous." Sky said, tone bordering on wistful. "And large too. Councillor Medarda works on such a large scale, that some of her pieces literally command your attention the moment you step into the room. I'm sure you can talk Jayce into getting you a glimpse of some of her works. He and the Councillor have been growing close lately."

You ignored the suggestive hint to her voice, in favour of humming noncommittally and finishing up your lastest sketch of Sky perched on the wall beside you, waving her sandwich around as she talked animatedly. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice she was watching, when you flipped back towards the front of your sketchbook, only for her to choke on her next bite.

“Wait!" She blurted out between sharp coughing. "Is that Viktor!?” And then suddenly your sketchbook was no longer on your lap and the apprentice of the man you were always drawing was flipping through the pages. The pages that HEAVILY featured Viktor's face.

Your cheeks burned, and lunged for the sketchbook out of sheer panic, as Sky began discovering just how MANY sketches of Viktor you've been hoarding and that he's not the ONLY ONE you've been drawing.

"Jayce too I see." She mused, more to herself than you. And then she snorted. "Why are there so many?”

“Because I get bored sometimes, and they're always just there!" You defend yourself guiltily. "It's good anatomy practice.”

Which wasn't technically a lie. The lines never came as easily as they did when you’re sketching your co-workers. So much so, that now, it had almost become instinct to know when your pencil had drawn a line wrong, even before you glanced back to the reference themselves to check. The pair of them were just so effortlessly beautiful in their own ways. It would a a crime for you <i>not</i> to draw them, and focus solely on the things you're SUPPOSED to be illustrating instead.

Sky hummed along, having paused on a page with a rapid, barely recognisable pen sketch of Jayce ducking away with a cackling laugh as a furious Viktor swung his cane at his head. Her fingers idly slid down the sketchy lines, a fondness to her expression.

"Have you shown them these?" Sky asked, "they're really good. All loose and fun. I can practically hear Jayce laughing in this one with how you captured his expression."

“Of course not!" You were quick to deny as your cheeks heated. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to show someone you’ve drawn them? Jayce will pretend to be all impressed but subconsciously begin to pick out all the things I got wrong. Like the shape of his ears. And Viktor will tell me it's 'lovely' without looking up from his textbook."

You shuddered at the very thought, already seeing Viktor's disinterested frown and Jayce's tight grimace in your mind's eye.

Sky frowned, her eyes jumping between your down turned expression and the sketchbook in her hands. “I dunno about that."

“Can I have it back now?” She shook her head and went back to flipping through the pages, the other half of her sandwich forgotten in her lap. “You know, I think Viktor would be flattered if he knew you paid so much attention to him. And Jayce would probably try to steal a couple of these and frame them for his desk.” You scoffed.

Sky's frown deepened. "Why are you having such a hard time believing they might like these?"

“Because in the end it doesn’t matter how they'd react,” you decided sharply, “because they're not going to find out. Are they, Sky?”

“You’ve even drawn Viktor's canes!”

“Sky, focus!” “I am focused- IS THAT A JAYCE HAND STUDY-?!”

"OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU!" You tackled her, and she went down screeching, drawing the attention of several passing students as the pair of you fell cleaningly off of the wall and landed in the flowerbeds below.

Sky did not keep her promise.

After a week or two of waiting to give the impression she'd forgotten about the whole ordeal, she sprung into action.

It was obvious now that she knew just how much Reader paid attention to their co-workers. It seemed like they were constantly sketching the boys throughout the day, a private, fond smile on their stupidly love-struck expression, as their pencil flew across the page, documenting coffee breaks and break throughs, and verbal spats. Now Sky has noticed that they did it, she couldn't stop seeing it, and it is driving her crazy. All three of them are so oblivious, and watching her superiors pine for one another whilst doing nothing to move things forward, was NOT the working environment she'd been hoping for during this internship.

So she took matters into her own hands.

When the hour was late, and the lights were dim, Jayce passed out at his desk for a quick nap, Viktor's attention on his textbooks at the chalkboard, and Reader in the kitchen cracking open a can of energy, Sky sidled over to the latter's desk. Her eyes immediately clocked the little, black sketchbook, easily overlooked amongst the other papers and opened notebooks with half complete drawings scrawled all over the place. It was a testament to how much they trusted each other in the lab, that no one questioned why she was lingering so close to a desk that was not her own.

It almost made it too easy for her to simply pluck the sketchbook out of the pile, add it to her pile of library books already balanced in one hand, all before loudly calling "good night" to the room and leaving.

Sky planned to be the first person in the next morning to plant the sketchbook, but the lab doors were unlocked when she turned up, and all three of her superiors were already in the room, looking in various states of exhaustion. Did they even go home last night?

Not to mention, half of the lab looked like a hoard of dogs had come tearing through. Come to think of it, Reader's desk was especially messy, with papers strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging on just barely- oh fuck! They had already noticed, hadn't they?

"Ah Sky, good morning." Viktor acknowledged her from where he was calmly sorting through a stack of books. Picking one up, and shaking it out before placing it onto a second stack and picking up the next. "Right on time." "Good morning," Sky greeted calmly, "what's going on here?" She motioned to the war zone that was the lab. To Jayce balanced precariously on a chair, checking a high book shelf, and the frantic shuffling sounds of Reader under their desk. They were out of view, but somehow, Sky could just envision the frenzy in their expression from the sound of their searching alone.

"Ah, well, Y/n appears to have misplaced a rather important sketchbook."

There was a yelp as a skull collided with the underside of a desk, before Reader's head popped up over the edge. "Sky! I can't find it!"

"Oh no." Sky replied, trying to ignore the burning weight of the 'it' in question, currently hiding in her backpack. "Where did you see it last?"

"They insisted it was on their desk." Jayce interjected, hopping down from his chair with a shake of his head.

"But I'm assuming it's grown legs," Sky joked, "judging by that picked over, barely standing, mess of a desk."

"This isn't funny Sky."

"No, you're right." She put down her backpack and began to help in the search. After all, not doing so would immediately out her as guilty, and she'd already come this far, why stop now. "Come on, it can't have gone far."

Of course, Viktor discovered it amongst his books and papers a couple of days later.

It was during one of those rare hours in the lab when he was alone. The hour was late, but the curtains were not yet drawn despite the darkening sky.

He frowned when his fingers brushed the unfamiliar notebook, tucked behind a stack of textbooks and scrunched up balls of notes. Pulling it out of its hiding place, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked the state it was in. How the edges of the hardback covers were creased from numerous journeys in bags, whilst pencils marks and scuffs from countless hours of being opened and used, marred the covers.

At first, he assumed it was one of Jayce’s notebook. The material was expensive enough. Definitely of high quality. The paper itself was thick when he rubbed his finger along a page. But when he opened it, he quickly realised the pages are not lined, and were once blank before they had been filled in with hundreds of drawings.

The first few pages were illustrations of everything under the sun. Still life drawings. Animals. People. Silhouettes. Isolated body parts with detailed annotations encircling them, such as the names of muscles and tiny corrective comments like ‘fingers too long’ or ‘that muscle doesn’t stretch that far’. 

Then he turned a page, and was met with himself. And then Jayce. And then more and more sketches of himself and Jayce. Sometimes together and interacting. Sometimes just existing.

The drawings were skilfully done, as all of Reader's illustrations tended to be. A little rough in the beginning, from rushed pen strokes. But then the artist seemed to understand something. A break through of sorts, and he recognised himself more and more. The sketches held his likeness. From the way he stood, to the slouch of him sitting at his desk, to the way his hand held something as simple as a stick of chalk.

They were always sketches from behind or a side profile. Never head on. And any that did depict him as facing the artist, were drawn when his attention was elsewhere; focused down at a textbook, or fixing something on the table. 

It was flattering really. He looked good in the drawings. Confident, with an authoritative aura. Seemingly engrossed in every task he sat down to complete.

And Jayce, Jayce looks good in his drawings too. His sunny personality shining through in drawings where he was animatedly talking or debating with sketched Viktor. There seems to be a whole double page spread trying to figure out the shape of his slicked back hair, and then even more drawings of the gel softening throughout the day, causing strands to fall down around his ears and frame his eyes.

But what really catches Viktor's attention was the way the artist had caught their interactions. The way they have depicted Jayce's softened eyes when looking at Viktor when his attention was elsewhere. The way they caught Viktor's private little smile when Jayce got lost in a muttering spell and stopped including Viktor in the debate. It left him feeling a little raw in truth, like this person had seen something no one else had taken the time to notice before.

No wonder Reader had been so adamant about finding this sketchbook. This must have been hours upon hours of careful work.

Carefully, Viktor closed the sketchbook and sat back in his chair. It felt heavy in his hands, and he almost didn't want to put it down.

The door to the lab swung open then, and Jayce called out a greeting.

"What you got there V?"

And of course, Viktor was contractually obligated to show him. It would simply be criminal if he didn't show his partner just how well their resident illustrator managed to capture his winning smile. A much more accurate depiction of it, compared to the 'man of progress' merchandise the academy sold nowadays.

The sketchbook continued to go unfound.

Reader was growing more and more distraught.

The guilt gnawed at Sky and she confessed.

All hell broke loose.

An hour later, Skye came SPRINTING into the lab, the double doors CRASHING into the walls in her haste to get into the room.

Both Viktor and Jayce jumped in their seats in the kitchenette. Viktor barely managing to keep from spilling his sweetmilk everywhere. And Jayce almost THREW the little black sketchbook across the room, where he had been admiring its pages.

��Woah there, where’s the fire?” Jayce tried to joke, but Sky looked GENUINELY scared. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I left something in here, and the owner is NOT happy with me.” Sky scrambled to explain, as she charged towards Viktor’s desk and began pulling apart stacks of paperwork. Sweat beading on her brow.

“Hey, calm down. What is it? Where did you see it last?” “It was a sketchbook. Um, uh, black, hard cover, it was practically bulging with how many pages it had stuck in it.” Sky explained, "I could've sworn I left it on Viktor's desk." Viktor’s brows jump up in realisation. His eyes dart over to the sketchbook in Jayce's hands, before leaping up to meet the man's wide, knowing eyes.

“I take it that Y/n found out you took it then.” Viktor spoke up. Sky winced. “I may have let it slip-” her voice began to backpedal, before the distant stomp of approaching footsteps made her pale. The gait the recognisable, the tempo just a touch faster than its normal pace. “DON’T THINK HIDING BEHIND VIKTOR OR JAYCE WILL SAVE YOU NOW!” A booming voice hollered from down the hallway. 

Sky became frantic again. She redoubled her efforts.

Jayce very slowly lowered the sketchbook down to his lap, where the table would conceal it from view if anyone peered into the kitchenette. And Viktor just sighed as he got comfortable.

Heavy footsteps approached the laboratory door, which was then promptly kicked open, so fast that the door smacked into the opposite wall for the second time today. Y/n, brandishing a broom of all things, visibly seethed in the doorway. 

“Do you know how much <i>work</i> has gone into that sketchbook?” They demanded, more furious than Viktor had ever seen them before. “How many hours I’ve spent amongst those pages.” Sky looks appropriately guilty. “I know! And I’m so sorry I lost it, I really thought I was doing you a favour!”

Reader’s lip curls up into a furious snarl, eyes narrowing. “And I thought I told you to leave it alone!” They snarled.

“But they’re just so good. I seriously don’t think you should be hiding your talent. What if the right person managed to find it, like Councillor Medarda, imagine the connections-” “And how, pray tell, is Councillor Medarda, supposed to come across my sketchbook in the laboratory of all places.” Skye’s voice lowers. “Well, she does stop by to see Jayce often enough.”

Reader sighed heavily. "Side-stepping that poor excuse, because we both know you were just trying to embarrass me-" "I was not! They're good drawings!"

“Where is it Skye? For the final time.”

They stepped menacingly into the room then, broom clutched tightly in both hands, only to pause when a single sheet of paper slipped out of their pocket and fluttered to the ground. The action clearly held significance, because Sky winced.

Meanwhile, Reader took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly, calmly leaning down to pluck the paper off of the floor. It was only for a second, but Viktor could have sworn he saw yet ANOTHER sketch of him and Jayce, which HOW? They'd been with the pair of them in the lab ALL DAY!

“Now look at me, I’m shedding paper left and right without my sketchbook to keep all my thoughts ORGANISED!” “I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new one.”

A groan. “Skye, that is NOT the point-!”

“Okay, okay! Time out! Let us all take a breath.” Viktor interjected to which both apprentice and Illustrator startled. 

Reader visibly seethed in place, whilst Sky just winced and ducked her head.

It was the former who spoke up first. “Sorry for the interruption.” They said sharply, eyes cutting over to Viktor and Jayce. To which Viktor just inclined his head, whilst Jayce very poorly concealed his guilty wince. Reader was too preoccupied with Sky however to notice as they turned back to her. “May we continue this debate outside? Preferably away from the workshops?” Skye seemed to shrink in on herself more. Eyes darting over to Viktor, then jumping up to Jayce. 

“Sky!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling.” She demanded. 

Reader breathed out forcefully through their nostrils. Expression thinning out, shoulders easing, although the tightness to their jaw remained stubbornly present. “Fine.”

"Leave the broom!" Viktor called after them, to which Reader audibly groaned but let the broom in the lab before stepping out into the hall with Sky. The door clicked shut behind them. 

Jayce and Viktor shared a look and held their breaths. Waiting. Listening. The conversation that inevitably started up once the door closes was fast paced, but in the promised quieter tone. 

"I'm just going to-" Jayce began to say before motioning to the desks out in the main lab. Viktor shrugged, and allowed his partner to stand, sketchbook in hand, only for both of them to freeze when a loose slip of paper fell out.

"Oh no." Jayce said aloud as Viktor quickly pinned the sheet to the floor with the toe of his shoe, before it could drift away. "This is going to be adorable, isn't it?"

Viktor did not reply, as he stooping to pick it up. He turned it over, and he and Jayce collectively sighed as they discovered yet another sketch of the pair of them.

They're stood in front of the chalkboard, which seemed to be Reader's favourite place to draw them without being discovered. And it was clear from the way the pair were facing each other that they were deep in one of their debates. But what really caught the pair's attention, was the way that their drawn selves were looking at one another.

Viktor's with a small, knowing smile and a visible twinkle in his eye - which should have been an impossible thing to capture with merely a pencil. And Jayce's who was staring down at Viktor with an intensity in his eye and a playful lift of his eyebrows that spoke of challenge. They looked happy together. Feeding off one another's energy.

And it was startling that an outside perspective had managed to capture such a moment without either of them noticing.

"We don't get that absorbed in our debates, do we?" Jayce asked tightly, a soft look in his eye now as he gazed down at the sketch with reverence.

Viktor did not bother to deny it, because they both knew that they did. Here was a sketchbook stuffed with the evidence right before them.

Jayce tucked the sketch back between the pages, his expression complicated and yet oh so fond for someone who was no longer in the room with them.

Jayce and Viktor put the sketchbook back on Reader's desk, who later comes back in, visibly more subdued, and Sky nowhere in sight.

Viktor cracks a joke about them having stuffed her in a supply closet somewhere.

To which they reassure him that, "no, she had a meeting," and he would still have an apprentice turning up to work tomorrow.

Jayce looks up from his work, as does Viktor, when they make a beeline for their desk. In time to watch Reader stiffen when they see the little, black sketchbook placed neatly on top of their larger, official lab sketchbook. Then they lunge forward, snatching it up and flipping through the pages, shoulders loosening when all seems to be in order.

"You found it!"

"Viktor found it." Jauce interjected.

To which Viktor just preens and makes another joke about Sky thinking twice about getting between Reader and their belongings. He also throws in a compliment on the penmanship, just to see how Reader reacts.

To both of their surprises, Reader locks up at the compliment. “Please tell me you didn’t look though it.”

“I liked them." He said truthfully, "you certainly captured my likeness.” They groan and drop eye contact. 

“Please don’t joke about it.” They plead, “it was just anatomy practice. But I completely understand if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Uncomfortable?" Viktor parrots back, shooting Jayce a look. "Why would it make us uncomfortable?" "You might feel watched?" Reader offers.

Jayce shrugs. Viktor waves off their concern.

Jayce, "can we put some up on the pin board?" "No. None of these are remotely good enough to be hung up on display!" Reader is quick to deny.

By the end of the day, there are three new papers pinned to the pin board above Jayce's desk. One drawn by each of them in the lab. A chicken scratch drawing of Jayce, courtesy of Viktor. A carefully, but wonkily drawn Reader, courtesy of Jayce. And a recognisable and remarkably good drawing of Viktor done by Reader.

(Yes, they had a drawing competition and sat in a circle around someone's desk, simultaneously posing for and drawing each other. The boys had to do some major convincing so that Reader didn't assume they were being made fun of. And they all ended up having a great time).

Next part

[komelliko]

manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader

summary: Sunday wants to invite you to dinner. ...Correction: Sunday will invite you to dinner. Even if there are a few loopholes to get through first. wc: 1.1k

part 1 / part 2

---

Sunday finds it quite unfortunate that the salvation of the world must sometimes be assured through cruelty. It wounds him when he must be cutthroat, must be stern in his ways, but he does it all the same. Even the gravest of sins shall be absolved in the eternity of the dream he chases, and Sunday knows no man to enact this sin besides himself.

...In short, manipulation is no stranger to the head of the Oak Family.

You're nearly tripping on your heels again when your boss runs into you, lighting up at your presence in a way you have to decidedly ignore. It's unprofessional to dwell on it—You hate even the notion of being unprofessional. After all you've worked towards, every hour you've busted your ass off to get to work as secretary for one of the most important people in Penacony, the thought of ruining it by being unprofessional makes you want to fill a bathtub with SoulGlad and let yourself drown in it.

"Good morning, Mr. Oak," you greet him, once he's within speaking range. There's a million papers and manila folders in your arms, all cobbled together with clips and staples, and you hold them at your chest almost like a sort of shield. Hours upon hours of your work rests within this stack of papers, thousands of words worth of reports and number-crunching and printed out messages between Family Heads. Sunday makes a point to look you right in the eye, and it's a gaze you swear you'll never get used to.

You don't know what the look in his eyes mean—Sunday takes great pleasure in keeping the meaning from you.

There's a plenty good amount of things he prefers to keep to himself (as is only proper for someone of his responsibility), and the images his mind likes to conjure only flip past like cards in a rolodex as he sneaks a glance at the body hiding behind the papers. He smiles, but not any bigger than he would smile to anyone else. Not yet.

"Good morning, [Y/N]," Sunday coos. "Working out of the office as usual, I see? Please, if there's any reason for you to avoid it I must know."

Flush with embarrassment, you shake your head. It's just easier to make sure everything gets done when you're always walking, you find. You hate being kept places, being forced to sit and hear the second-hand of a clock constantly chatter behind your back. When you're walking, your heels set the pace instead, at whatever you need it to be. You're only indebted to your own ethic, which you hold in high regard.

"Oh, the office is perfectly fine, Mr. Oak," you stammer out, fingers drumming on the stack of papers. "I just like the stained glass on some of the third floor hallways of Dewlight. The, uh— The fountains add a nice atmosphere, too." You panic, adding "It's a really wonderful building, sir. I'm honored to work here."

Sunday nods. He'll have to order for new windows and a fountain to be put in his office the second the moment arrives. A meeting with Whittaker Nightingale was in order, clearly—He'd understand the situation.

"Please, dear, if anyone here should be honoured it's me," Sunday smiles. He passes to stand beside you rather than in front of, catching a glimpse of the way your hair falls over your shoulders. "Can I discuss something with you for a moment, if you'll allow?"

Sunday takes the initiative to place one hand on the small of your back, the other clasped behind his own. The touch makes you flinch—You grab tight onto your papers, hoping they won't spill out in a burst from the way you nearly jumped in place. "Gosh, Mr. Oak, I don't really think this is necessary—" On the outside, his face is stern, perhaps even disappointed with your tendencies to act like a stickler. Internally, he's more concerned with how often you spurn his affections: At his core, however? He wants to hold his hand against you until he dies.

"Please," he whispers, almost commanding you. "Walk with me." Sunlight streams in through the windows of the Dewlight Pavilion, pockets of gold dancing on the marble floors.

"You've gotten in touch with the Alfalfa family, as I requested?"

Panicking, you leaf through the papers you had kept clutched to your chest to search for any notes or documents relating to that. Unfortunately, your anxieties are valid: You did not. Sunday doesn't let on that he's lying to you. He asked you to reach out to some bureaucrat working for SoulGlad, but nothing to do with Oti or any of the Alfafas. But you're forgetful, and he loves that about you. Not as much as he values your eagerness to please, though.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Oak. It must've slipped my mind." You spent the whole day organizing the catering for the Charmony Festival, and your papers corroborate this.

"Please, I could never fault you," he smiles. "It'll be taken care of tomorrow."

Sunday bites his lip as he feels the back of your shirt brush against his hand. If he was any less of a man with any less of a reputation to uphold, he'd have it comfortably in the back pocket of your pants. He goes on, to get to the real purpose of this informal meeting with you.

"Would you be interested in discussing things over dinner?"

Your breath stalls for a moment.

"I— I'm sure sending today's report electronically should be just fine, sir."

Sir. It's a word he's been addressed by many lips, but every utterance pales in comparison to this singular moment.

"It would be my pleasure."

"I'm not sure I even have anything that would suit the occasion," you confess.

"I can arrange for something to be sent to you."

A particular nausea pools in your gut: a feeling so light, so painlessly ignorable that even worrying that it's gas feels like an overreaction. Meetings over dinner are professional, and at a rank like Sunday's, it's entirely reasonable that you conform to a certain dress code—one that he knows much better than you, no doubt. Sending something for you to wear would only be logical if it meant preserving that image of his.

(And he had been peculiar about dress in the past: No heels could be too tall or too short, pants were preferred but knee-length skirts were permissible, Oak insignia patches visible on every blazer, such and the like. Surely, this was nothing new.)

"If you find that to be within your purview, Mr. Oak," is what you manage to respond with. "...I'll make myself presentable."

"Don't fret too much over it, [Y/N]," Sunday smiles. "I fully trust in your abilities to uphold our reputations." 'Our'.

You force yourself to not dwell on it.

---

A/N: If anyone has feedback, please share it with me!! Obviously some artistic license has to be made for the premise to work but hopefully it's nothing too egregious :,)

[lillypad910]

Pass Her Over

Pairing: Big Dick! Billy Hargrove x Whore! f! Reader

Warnings: Smut! Filth, literal filth, slut shamming, p n v, oral (m receiving), unprotected and protected sex (wrap it up pls), "pet" names (Doll face, Baby, slut, whore, bitch). Let me know if i missed something. This isn't pre-read, may have errors.

Summary: You are the school's slut. All the guys have at least fucked you once. You enjoy it, the attention, the play, all of it. Billy is the new "It" boy, the new King of Hawkins. Just makes sense he comes to proposition you eventually.

A/n: The purring is loud with this one...

You lay out over one of the benches in the boys locker room, your skirt hiked up as Jason thrusts into your cunt. You moan as you feel him twitch inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Jason groans into your ear, leaning over you.

“So good, Jason. Fuck- just like that,” you encourage him, humping your hips back into his.

You are the whore of Hawkins High, if one of the boys needs to let off steam, you were the one to go to. You were everyone’s dream fuck, and you weren’t hard to get either. You’ve fucked every guy on the basketball team, except one. The new guy.

You don’t know much about him, other than his name is Billy and apparently he’s a total douche. You were going to probably meet him tonight at Tommy’s party.

You both finish, Jason discarding the condom while you pull back up your underwear. You both leave separately out back into the school, being sure not to get seen together.

You meet up with Carol and Vicki, who stand out in the hall. “He’s got some tutor session…” you catch Carol say as rolls her eyes.

“Who?” You ask, moving closer to the group of seniors you associate with.

“Tommy. He said he has a tutor now, for Chemistry. And he’s having to meet up with them during lunch today so he can’t sit with us.” She explains, sounding agitated.

“That sucks.” “Yeah, and not to mention you can’t! You have your cheer thing, which means it’s just Vicki, Tina, Nicole, and I with the new guy.” Carol groans, “which I guess is fine because he’s hot, but damn.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that!” You try to change the topic, “He’s hot? Did you two already see him today?” Carol and Vicki make eye contact because turning to you.

“Smoking. That man is a meal. (Y/n), you have to tell us how he is when you fuck him.” You sigh.

“‘When?’” You question.

“Bitch, yes! When! I need to know the details, unless Nicole can dive in first.” Carol mentions which gets Nicole’s attention.

“Maybe, god would I give to ride that man…” “Nicki!” Carol smacks her shoulder, causing the group to giggle.

“Well, I have to go, my uh… practice start soon.” You explain before walking off.

You weren’t totally lying, the cheerleaders of the Junior class were getting together during this lunch period to practice some more, but that wasn’t what you were doing.

You step into the boy’s bathroom connected to the gym, only to get yanked by your next fuck into one of the stalls. “Tommy! Jesus Christ, you scared me!” You smack him on the arm.

“Sorry, god I just couldn’t wait any longer, Carol is great, and I love her. But you are just too good to pass up.” He locks the stall door before picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he shoves your back into the door.

It doesn’t take long before your underwear is dangling on your thigh as you holding the top of the door as his cock drills into your needy cunt. You enjoy it, your cunt still a bit raw from the fuck it got from Jason.

“You fucked Jason earlier, right? Jackass wouldn’t shut up about it.” Tommy groans.

“Oh yeah? Ah- Is he trying to use me a-as brownie points or-“ you moan as he thrusts harder.

“Guess so. Trying to act all big saying he’s not a loser virgin.” Tommy grabs your hips and yanks you down on his cock, making your toes curl. “Doesn’t know we all fuck you though.”

The rest of the day goes by quick, classes pass by in a blur between your other “appointments.” When the last bell rang you were under the bleachers, two guys fucking you. Your mouth wrapped around one cock while your pussy is fucked by the other. You are dropped quickly when people start talking, walking into the gym. You straighten out your clothes and head out, going home to get ready for the party later.

You get out of the car, straightening out your little dress, wiggling the tight fabric back down your legs. Carol presses the lock button on her keys after the others get out as well. You follow the girls into the house, where Tommy walks up and greets you all, kissing Carol and throwing his arm over her shoulders.

"You girls want anything to drink?" He asks, gesturing to the kitchen with his free hand.

After everyone gives their drink orders, Tommy makes a sophomore get them for you. Before the drinks even make it to your hands, Tommy suddenly gets really excited and runs outside to the backyard. Carol rolls her eyes and you all follow him, only to find him cheering on some guy on the keg. After the guy chugs doing a keg stand, he falls back down with the beer dripping down his chin and onto his exposed chest. Something about it is... hot.

"That's the new guy," Nicole whispers to you, "His name is Billy Hargrove, fucking sexy."

"Have you fucked him yet?" You ask looking over at him, which she just sighs.

"Unfortunately not, but maybe tonight." She gives you a wink before walking over to him. God the look he gives her says everything you need to know about how he is. Toxic men just do something for you.

"Oh! (y/n)!" A very cheerful voice calls out to you which you turn around to see your friend and fellow cheerleader, Chrissy, "have you seen Jason? He said he would be here tonight..." You loop arms with her so she doesn't get lost and look around for her.

"I think I see him over there," you point in the direction of the backdoor, where Andy is clinging onto some whore with Jason just awkwardly standing there.

"Oh, gosh, thank you!" Chrissy runs off to her lover boy.

A good hour into the party someone comes up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist. "Having fun?" A voice, this time sounding much nicer than Chrissy's, comes from behind you. You don't look over your shoulder, instead you grind your ass into the guy's crotch.

"Better now," You finally look over your shoulder to the guy, shockingly having to look up a good bit to meet his eye. Billy Hargrove now stands with his fingers already tangling into the fabric of your dress on your hip. You don't even react at how the fabric lifts up to your hip, practically flashing your ass to the rest of the party if he wasn't right behind you.

"Oh?" Billy leans down a bit, giving you a little nudge to get walking, leading you away from your friends. "I heard from Tommy that you know how to show a guy a good time, is that true, Doll face?" He lifts his free hand up to your hair, brushing a strand out of your face.

"Maybe," you smirk at him, depends on your definition of 'fun' honestly... personally mine is sex." You are being forward sure, but how where you supposed to act when a new guy with an obvious big dick that you can feel rubbing against your ass propositions you?

"Forward, good. I like a slut who knows what she wants." He squeezes your hip, messaging the fat there. "How about we go upstairs? Tommy says he has a free room for us to use." You nod, letting him lead you, guiding you to the stairs and up them, a few soft moans leaving you when his bulge rubs against you.

You shoves you into the nearest bedroom, which happens to be the master bedroom, and shuts the door by slamming your back into the door, locking it. His hand instantly yanks your dress up over your hips before he shoves his hand down into your panties. His fingers run over your already soaked cunt.

"Fuck, already wet, Slut?" He sinks two fingers into you, earning a beautiful moan from your lips. "Oh yeah? You like when your cunt is used? Like being the girl who gets passed around?" He watching your face twist up as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot.

"Ah-!" You reach for his arm, grabbing it as your legs already buckle, the previous fucks of the day finally catching up.

"Oh, fuck no. Whore needs to be treated like one." Billy scoops you up before throwing you onto the bed. "Strip." His voice is demanding, powerful. You obey him, yanking your dress over your head and pulling down your underwear, kicking them off and onto the floor. "God, look at you. No bra too?" Billy grins, "Are you like this with every guy? Needy for a dick?" Billy unbuckles his belt, yanking it out of the belt loops without any issue.

"Do you talk to all your fucks like this?" you give him a grin. "Cause I really like it." Billy chuckles, pulling off his jacket.

"Be a good bitch and come here." He waves one finger at you, beckoning you to him. You obey, crawling over to him, getting on your knees on the foot of the bed. "Good. Now undo my pants for me." You do so, unbuttoning the jeans on his hips before pulling them down. The tent of his boxers looks even bigger without the heavy denim holding it down.

Fuck, he's got to be huge.

"Go ahead." He stares down at you, not even tilting his head, just watching you with his eyes. You take his words as an ok, reaching up and tugging his boxers down. You don't even flinch when his huge cock springs up at you, smacking your cheek. "Suck it."

You feel your cheeks heat up. You've sucked lots of dicks before, but you've never had one this big. God and he's supposed to go inside you?

"Suck. it." His voice is more firm, catching your attention. You swallow hard before taking the base of his cock in your hands, one hand around it just barely covering the circumference. You take his swollen tip into your mouth, licking the bit of precum that leaks out before slowly moving your head to take in more. Billy groans, the noises he makes not helping your situation as your bare cunt barely rubs against the comforter.

"That's it, Baby. Take it nice and deep." Billy watches you take more of his cock into your mouth, the drool dribbling out from the corner of your lips. He moans, bucking his hips forward which causes you to gag. You try to pull away, but his fingers lace into your hair, pushing his fat cock further down your throat. You feel your eyes water.

"Come on, Bitch. You call this a blowjob? You can take more of me." He shoves your head further onto his cock, your instinct being to grab his muscular leg, trying to brace yourself in some way. You moan, the feeling of your throat being just so full.

"Mmm-!" You gag on him again, but then he starts moving your head for you, thrusting his hips as he fucks your throat so brutally. It feels like you're properly being used. For once you don't have to ask for the guy to be rough.

"That's it, such a good slut, take my cock deep into that used throat." You can hardly breath as he goes faster, your eyes rolling back as you feel your cunt clench around nothing.

Fuck... fuck... Are you actually about to cum from this?

He continues to fuck your throat, his cock twitching as your tongue works skillfully around it.

"Fuck yeah, just like that." His hands yank at your hair, causing you to moan, the small breaths you can get only pushing you closer to coming undone. He thrusts one last time deep into your throat, and you feel your cunt spasm as you cum onto the comforter under you, creating a wet spot. He rips his cock out of your mouth, causing you to gasp for air and collapse onto the bed.

"Shit. Did you cum? Just from sucking my dick?" He grabs your ankles and shamelessly lifts your legs, spreading them wide so he can see the embarrassment of your cunt twitching and dripping. "Shit, look at that." He climbs onto the bed, sitting on his knees as his huge cock slaps down onto your stomach. You moan, his large balls smacked up against your cunt.

"Beg, bitch. Beg for my cock like a good fucking slut." He orders, bucking his hips against you.

"W-Wait, no condom?" You're still trying to catch your breath from sucking that monster. Now he wants to put it in you?

"Don't you wanna feel my cock fill you?" His question is rhetorical, "It feels even better without the condom, plus I always break them anyways. Now, be a good bitch and beg." He orders, moving your ankles to be over your head.

"O-Oh, fuck..." You look down at his fat cock as it rests against your stomach, the swollen tip angry for attention. "Please... God, please, Billy." you can't even believe you're doing it.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me. Please, ruin me. Please, Billy- Ah!" You gasp as you feel his tip press against your slit.

"Better take it all, bitch." Billy growls at you before thrusting hard. His cock forces inside you, practically ripping you open. "That's it, Slut. Nice and deep." He grips your hips and yanks you down, pressing his body against yours so your legs stay over your head. You feel him. Not like every other guy you've fucked, you fucking feel his cock inside you. Every bump, every vein, shit, every inch, you feel your cunt clenching around him.

You feel yourself going dumb, your eyes flashing with every twitch his cock makes inside you.

"Fuck, look at that." You feel his palm rub over your stomach, looking down to see the bulge his cock is making. "Ever had a guy this deep in you before?"

You don't have time to process the question as he begins thrusting into you, hard and fast. You can't help but just moan and gasp with every tiny movement, so a full thrust feels like fucking heaven.

"Such a good bitch, taking my cock so well." He pushes your legs further down, forcing your hips to push up, giving him better access to you. "Fuck," he pushes down on your stomach, right on top of the bulge his dick is making and that sends you over the edge.

Your cunt spasms, toes curl, tongue hangs out as your head falls back, back arching, god, all the things. You've never cum so hard in your life, but he doesn't stop. He thrusts you through your orgasm, bucking his cock somehow deeper. You can't think, can hardly breath, panting like a bitch in heat as his big, fat cock ruins your cunt.

"Fuck, fuck!" You moan, whimper as you come undone again. Shit, are those stars?

Your vision blurs as you go limp, your mind fucked out as you just try to focus on the feeling of his cock drilling into you.

"Fuck, that's it. Like getting this pussy ruined? Won't be able to take any other cock now, huh, bitch? You'll only be able to get off from mine." He goes harder, faster, causing you to gasp.

"Y-Yes! Hah- Yes!" You feel stupid, your mind not able to focus on words, just his cock. This thick cock drilling into you, ruining you. Filling you oh so well.

"God, look at you. You're going stupid." Billy grins, watching you go dumb on his cock. "Love when this happens. A whore loosing her mind over my dick." He laughs, "Fuck, your pathetic cunt is gonna make me cum." He thrusts faster.

"Do you want me to cum, Bitch? Want me to fill your filthy cunt up with my cum?" He thrusts harder, hitting so deep you can feel his cock pounding against your cervix. "Gonna fill you up, you whore. You fucking whore, gonna knock you up with my kid. You'd like that, though wouldn't you? Being my pregnant bitch living off my cock." You feel his cock twitching inside you, swelling at the friction. He's gonna cum. He gonna fill you up.

He gives one more good thrust, hitting his cock as deep as possible before stopping. You feel a warm rush inside you as he finishes. You both sit there for just a moment as he catches his breath, before he finally pulls out of you, his cum leaking from your cunt.

You feel suddenly empty, your poor cunt sore and legs feel like jelly. Oh you aren't gonna be able to stand....

"Shit, you're pathetic. Can't even take a good fucking... How disappointing." He slaps your ass, hard. "Get dressed, we have to go back downstairs and act like nothing happened."

Tag list!

@cagethemunson

@spikeybatt

@cherrycolas-things

@r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e

@ali-r3n

[socgf]

they hate when you serve big brown doe eyes dark hair flirty pout and chiseled cheeks

[bluetimeombre]

If Hugh Jackman ever holds auditions to be his controversially young gf, I’m not like the rest of y’all bitches, I am FIRST in line

[girl-lostconnection]

I think someone already wrote it but Penelope Garcia coded Reader x TaskForce 141 oh my days

I can’t do this, I’ve been rewatching the Criminal Minds and I need Reader who flirts shamelessly because they are never in the reach, who has the girly-pop music blaring in their headphones as they work, who has colourful nails and cute glasses.

I’m in love with this character and Istg if TaskForce won’t treat them good I WILL

Save me Penelope Garcia coded Reader, save me

[yandere-romanticaa]

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

🎀 in the late night of june, you sit beneath a mystic moon. well, rather, you're in a bar, all by your lonesome, pondering on what to order. in your daze, you didn't even see the strange man watching you.

yandere oc! x fem! reader

Despite being late June, the weather could not seem to make up its mind on how it was going to go. For the past few days, the sky kept going back and forth between being a beautiful blue to then suddenly changing to a gloomy grey, the air growing heavy with the threat of a downpour on any unsuspecting pedestrian.

You suppose you were no better than the weather, you figured. Toying with the the menu between your fingers, you noticed how it was filled to the brim with various drinks ranging from alcoholic to non alcoholic, hot or cold drinks, all of which was printed out on a pristine piece of jet black paper.

What to drink , what to drink?

The stress of exams was too much to bear, perhaps you could blame that for being so damn indecisive.

You let out a shiver as you noticed the waitresses cranking up the air conditioning to an insane degree. What was she trying to do, freeze you to death?! How inconsiderate...!

With a huff, you focused your attention back on the menu and came to the rational realization that perhaps it was for the best to get a simple fruit juice. But which kind? The offer was diverse and each flavor would surely satisfy your aching throat.

Just as you were getting ready to call out the waitresses, she seemingly beat you to the punch as she scurried towards you, a mysterious drink in her hand. The crystal glass shimmered softly against the dimly lit bar as the woman placed the drink in front of you, along with a scrunched up piece of paper. It couldn't be a bill as you had not ordered anything yet...

Seeing the confusion swirling in your eyes, the waitresses gave you a wink, beating you once again in terms of speed.

"See that guy in the corner over there?" she asked you, her tone laced with a sort of excitement. You nod, albeit slightly dumbly.

"It's from him!" she chirps happily.

Odd. You could have sworn that seat was not occupied just a few moments ago.

Taking the piece of paper in your hands, you unfold it to reveal neat handwriting, each letter and syllable written gently with a basic blue ink pen. It was a string of numbers, most likely his own phone number. Raising your head towards his direction, you noticed him eyeing you up and down, a boyish grin on his face.

He seemed normal enough, you reckoned. He seemed to be around his mid 20's, average height. He wore basic blue jeans and a cozy looking black t-shirt, which had no print on it. There were little to no accessories on his person other than a string which was hanging around his neck, most likely a necklace but was hidden from your view. Another thing worth taking note of was his phone case, which had a print of the Ghostface mask from the Scream franchise.

Ah, so he was a horror fan. How neat.

Feeling a little bold, you grabbed both your drink and the note and made your way towards him, never once breaking eye contact with the mystery man. Without a word, you shimmied across from him as you placed everything on the wooden table. A strange silence hovered in the air as neither one of you spoke for those few moments, but the man was clearly amused. Something was going on inside his head and he made no attempt to hide it, his light brown eyes basically dancing with pure glee. As if to ease the tension, he lightly smacked his lips and spoke:

"So. How are you on this fine evening?"

His tone was casual, as if he had known you for years, like he was chatting with an old pal back from the good ol' days. His entire demeanor was calm, dare you say friendly even. He raised his glass to his lips, the amber liquid in it swishing away as he took a sip, his gaze still not leaving yours.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"

You couldn't help but to giggle a little.

"Ah, she speaks! Such delight!"

His tone was sweet like candy, lulling you in to feel safe. It was embarrassing how there was a part of you that actually seemed to be enjoying this encounter, but how could you not?

Life was so stale sometimes, so dull. The most exciting thing that would happen were the occasional outings with friends, all of which you loved dearly but... You craved more. It was unsure what you craved exactly, what you needed to get your heart beating and pulsing, but regardless you needed some excitement.

It was good to change the pace every once in a while.

The evening went on and you came to learn that the name of the mystery man was Will, an engineer student who transferred recently. He liked horror movies, mystery novels, cars and good beer. It was easy to chat and you shared many things with Will, even going as far to express the desire to see him again.

The sentiment was very much mutual.

As closing time was due, you exited the establishment with Will, his hand playfully linked with yours as he talked your ear off all of the fake guts in horror movies. He was so fascinated with the way films handled the production of those fake body parts, gooey blood and potential inducing nightmare fuel.

You made your way down the street together, the darkness of the night sky being slightly broken by the old street lights.

"Y'know..." he trailed off. He was still smiling.

"I always wondered what it would be like to actually kill a person."

It took a few seconds for you to realize just what he exactly said. Stopping dead in your tracks you turned towards Will, a flabbergasted look on your face. You felt the hair at the back of your hair stand up as the wind picked up, the leaves around you going in every direction, a warning of what was potentially to come.

Suddenly, the sound of loud and absurd laughter came bursting out of him, you soon following suit. It was borderline manic as he held your hand in his own, but being so lost in the sweet comfort of earlier you chose to not think about his worrying statement. Most horror enthusiasts were a little quirky anyway, Will was probably like that too.

And just like that, you parted ways for the evening, both parties promising to get in touch as soon as possible.

The walk home was swift as each step made you feel like a silly schoolgirl who just had her first kiss.

It was just so refreshing, like gentle rainy dew on a hot day.

Making your way back home, you fumbled with the keys inside your bag and opened the door with lightning speed. Kicking off your shoes and tossing the purse on the bed, you grabbed your phone and the piece of paper, pondering on the thought of whether you should just save his number or not. You were clearly going to be seeing him for a while, so -

Ding!

The text message was so sudden that you almost threw your phone on the ground. One mini heart attack later, you saw that the string of numbers were the same ones from before, so you quickly opened the message.

"What's your favorite scary movie ;))"

You snorted. He was so cheesy but damn it all if it wasn't cute.

"I like Scream a lot, if that makes you happy :D"

It took him a few minutes to respond.

"Good choice. But, personally, I'd really like to make my own scary movie with you... I could make you the main star."

Oh... Well. You're not sure how to respond to that. You stop and think, only for the sudden feeling of unease to come back. You remain still and try to brainstorm a response, but Will is faster.

"What wrong baby? Did I scare you? :)"

Ah. He's really committing to the part, isn't he? The best thing to do would be to just call him out.

"Haha, very funny Will! And no, you did not scare me, I'm just a slow texter!!!!"

Perhaps it was time to call it a night. It's been a rough week and you were not in the mood for these games. Halfway as you were turning away, your phone suddenly rang. You sharply turned your head back, wondering why Will was calling you so late. Perhaps he didn't get social cues? Your discomfort should have been obvious from the get go, but you still decide to pick up. Parting your lips, you started to talk but a male voice interrupted you instead.

"This isn't Will baby. But I'll be more than happy to make you my Sidney Prescott."

All the air was knocked out of your lungs as your eyes bulged so hard out of your head, threatening to pop like cheap balloons.

He was right. That was not Will's voice. The mystery caller cackled, his voice ringing loudly in your ear, the sound almost too painful for your mind.

"Didn't think you'd actually pick up." he continued. "I kept an eye on you all night, and you didn't even see me! Now that baby, is skill! "

He sounded so proud, like a child who just got a high mark on a test, as if he didn't even see just how wrong this whole situation really was. Mustering up the courage, you spoke up:

"Where's Will?"

Silence. The other line was dead silent but the caller didn't end the line.

You really did not like where this was heading.

"And why would you care where he is?" inquired the man, his voice changing from menacing to serious. Your silence spurred him on, making him more mad.

"You're my girl, even if you don't know it yet. I won't have you sweet talkin' with other men."

You let out a shocked scoff and quickly hung up. You smacked the phone against the table as an audible smack! echoed across the room. Crossing your arms close to your chest, you sprawled across the cozy bed with worry on your mind as the heart in your chest beat like crazy, pumping and pumping sheer adrenaline.

Despite all that, you somehow managed to fall asleep.

You didn't even get to see the last text the creepy caller had sent.

"I'll make you my girl, even if it's the last thing I ever do."

That was not a threat. But rather, a promise.

[realsp1ke]

why is this edit 5 hours long…

(@shaxkle on tiktok)

[eelnoise]

with hearts aligned (nsfw!)

zoro x fem!reader this fic's followup btw. takes place between fishman island and PH (yes there's lore!! 🙄! and yes zoro did keep all that shit bottled up for a bit!!) cw: confessions of love, somewhat troubled zoro, not-so-awkward first times (our boy is intuitive okay ?!), piv sex, fingering, cute stuff idk an: okay i know this took a long time but i re-wrote this like 5 times and accidently got hyperfixated on ffxiv and generally needed a break from writing BUT WE ARE BACK BABY !!! wc: 3.4k tagging @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @sleepymarimo @willowbelle @nina-ya

The clinking of cutlery upon plates and chatter among friends fills the small island tavern with animated joy and serene relief. Brook plays the violin somewhere to the left side of the room, though the eager blathering of the crew drowns out the more finer notes and melodies played. 

A well-deserved interruption and a welcome change from the unpredictable nature of the past few day’s events – though for Zoro, it’s a distraction that’s come to an end. Despite the crew being whole again, he still feels a hollowness within – something no amount of eating or drinking or fighting can fill.

And it’s entirely his fault.

You sit across the table from him, sipping at a near-empty glass of wine and discussing something inaudibly with Usopp. He can’t quite read your expression from where he’s seated, but you look interested enough in the conversation. 

And if it’s obvious to himself that he’s keeping you at arm’s length, it’s clear to anyone with a working conscience that he’s doing his utmost to avoid you. The many longing gazes from his peripheral do not go unnoticed, but he dares not to look – for the hurt in your eyes would crush him and sear and stain into his soul.  A far-flung difference from the camaraderie that came before all of this, when the two of you were rarely found an inch too far apart from one another – and now Zoro can’t even look you in the eye. After his many imagined intimate rendezvous,how could he?

With you distracted, he lets his eye wander across your face, to the length of your arm, down to the glass pinched between your fingers – but it comes to rest upon your lips. He watches, transfixed on the flight peek of your tongue behind your teeth when you speak, how your lips twist with each syllable, how they purse when you’re in thought, and the way they stretch across your cheeks when you smile.

Zoro’s throat tightens, a sharp dagger of guilt carving into his chest. He forces his stare to the table, the tiniest sliver of your form still lingering in the corner of his vision. You’ve journeyed this far, fought, bled, and laughed together. And now, for once, he’s unable to find the words to say.

The weight of his inaction bears down on him, leaving him listless. The only respite he’s found is in the distraction of a battle, a thudding, a clash, steel ringing against steel. In those moments, he’s alive, he’s focused, and the words that plague his every waking thought cease to exist. But without the battle, Zoro is left with nothing but the echoes of unspoken desires.

His hand trembles, gripping his mug of ale as he brings it to his lips. The bitterness of the brew does little to quell the fire in his chest. He’s a swordsman, a pirate – not a poet, bard, or a man of words. It’s a mess of feelings. Lust, want, longing, love, all these indescribable sensations that only serve to make Zoro feel weak and helpless and vulnerable when faced with them. He feels like a coward, daring never to speak to you again, never to confess his feelings, and never pulling you into his arms and kissing you senseless.

Zoro’s eye meets yours for one singular fleeting moment, the intensity of the connection making his heart race. He knows he can’t keep up this charade, this dance of avoidance – but how does one even confess to these feelings? How does one bridge the gap between comrade and lover? He scratches his chin, trying to come up with a solution, but all he can think of is a single, frustrating fact: he can’t keep running.

Whether it’s every empty bottle he’s seen the bottom of tonight, the last of his resolve wearing thin, or just the sheer guilt of it all that drives him suddenly to his feet, he isn’t sure. Inhaling one of the deepest breaths he’s ever taken, he silently trudges around the table to where you’re seated.

At first, he hovers awkwardly so as to not interrupt the conversation you’re having. Both hands come to rest at either side of the back of your chair and he can feel his pulse through his fingertips on the wood – and when you tilt your head up to look at him, a curious smile twitching at the edges of your cheeks, he cracks.

Zoro clears his throat and forces his gaze. “I need to talk to you for a sec.”

His voice is hoarse as he asks, and he hopes you can’t hear the nerves that lie beneath his words. Surprised by how much he’s sweating and how his heart races against his ribcage, he swallows to regain some semblance of composure.

“It’s important,” he adds, trying not to stumble over his thoughts. It’s a pitiful excuse, but all that comes to mind amidst the maelstrom of emotion in his head.

“Oh, yeah – of course!” You reply with raised brows and begin to stand. Zoro allows you the room to move, taking a step back from the table. “Sorry, Usopp,” you say as you turn and give him a weak shrug, “Remind me where we left off later?”

“No prob!” The sniper shoots a thumbs-up and the two of you exchange a wave before you turn to follow Zoro away from the lively table and out of the tavern.

Zoro leads you to a quiet spot by the docks nearby, where the salty scent of the sea mingles with the faint tang of fish and the distant hum of the island. He can’t bring himself to look at you, electing instead to focus on the water and the twinkling reflection of the night sky in the soft waves.

“Everything okay?” You ask softly, taking a few steps toward him and assuredly taking note of his hesitance. “What’s up?”

“I missed you,” Zoro replies, fixated on the sigh of the shifting tides lapping at the wooden posts below. “A lot.”

“I missed you too, Zoro, but what’s so urgent?” The concern in your tone is apparent and caring, and normally works to soothe him when his mind runs rampant – but this moment, this situation he finds himself in, it does the opposite.

“No,” Zoro shakes his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I missed you - differently from the others.”

“Differently?”

Zoro’s jaw clenches, and part of him wants to jump into the ocean and swim as far away from the island as his arms will take him. The honest admission hangs heavy on his tongue, the weight of the years of denial suddenly threatening to push it out. He pauses, opens and closes his mouth a few times, then finally, with a shaky exhale, he looks you straight in the face.

“I love you.”

The admission hangs between you, the weight of years of suppression. Zoro shifts his weight from one foot to the other, twinges of regret creeping up the nape of his neck.  It takes you a moment to reply, and considering the nature of the confession, it's reasonable. Zoro's nerves feel like hot coals beneath his skin as he watches your face for any sign of an answer.

“...for real?” Your gentle response fills his entire being with a wistful spark of hope.

Zoro's fingers curl into fists. "Yes, for real," he confirms, still not looking up. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, a heavy, leaden weight. All his hopes and fears rest on the outcome of this conversation. He's unsure if he could handle rejection, but he can't go back to the pretense any longer. Zoro swallows, tasting bile at the back of his throat. "I should've told you before now, but I... I'm an idiot.” He lets out a humorless laugh, his voice quiet.

He isn’t sure when you move, but a smaller, softer hand wraps around his – and in an instant, he feels himself relax into your touch. Zoro relaxes his grip, allowing your fingers to entwine with his.

He snaps his gaze towards you, his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears. You peer at him, a sweet, crooked smile on your lips and a blush across your face. And when your free hand finds purchase on his cheek, Zoro finds himself leaning in. 

You meet him halfway in a genuine, tender kiss that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Zoro's arms wrap around you and pull you close. The world around falls away as you both delight in the embrace. The kiss is gentle, delicate, and filled with longing. It floods him with an unexpected warmth – and for once, he can't think of the past or the future. He's simply lost in the present moment.

When you finally pull away, Zoro can't help but lean into your palm on his cheek with a bit of a dazed smile on his face. Holding onto your hand, his other hand slowly moves to cup your cheek in return. His heart is pounding, his mind a blank slate tinged with overwhelming happiness. He's lost in your gaze, unable to speak, but he doesn't need to. The moment says everything.

"Do you know how much I missed you?" you murmur, lips ghosting his and thumb trailing upward to gently trace the lower half of the scar that now covers his right eye. "How often I thought of you?"

And then you say it - the words he's only imagined hearing you speak.

"I love you, too.”

Zoro's chest tightens, a lump forming in his throat as he meets your gaze, his heart swelling. Words fail him, the raw emotion in his gut silences his voice.  A slow smile spreads across his lips, a look of awe and joy shadowing his features. He doesn't need words. The simple fact that you feel the same is enough to fill him with warmth and peace. 

Leaning in again, Zoro captures you in another deep kiss – a deep and soulful kiss that speaks volumes. He's consumed by the feeling of being with you, of finally being able to express his love. His hand moves to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, and he kisses you with all the passion and longing he's suppressed for far too long.

You sigh into him, the sound willingly swallowed by Zoro’s growing hunger. Arms wrap around his shoulders and you press yourself into him, the opened-mouthed kiss quickly turning into a twist of tongues dancing together in a frenzied rhythm with audible smacks of saliva mixing with each meeting of your lips. His hand clutches your hair more firmly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull you impossibly closer.

The gesture is all-consuming, a whirlpool of desire and affection that leaves him lightheaded. For the first time in years, he feels like he's truly alive, his heart beating in perfect harmony with yours.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Zoro's lips ghost over your jawline, trailing down to your collarbone as he breathes in your scent, savoring every moment. He wants to memorize the taste, the feel, and the sound of your breath as his hands roam over your body, his heart beating a furious tempo.

You let out a small gasp when his lips touch your sensitive flesh, your body reacting to his every move. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his fingertips as he nibbles at your neck, causing your grip to tighten and for you to moan softly into his ear. 

Part of Zoro wants to take you here and now, but what remains of his will stops him. He growls into your neck and lifts you up fully and, – with a little assistance from you –  heads in the direction of the ship anchored nearby. The others wouldn't be back for a while, so why not take advantage of the privacy?

You’re weightless in his arms as he carries you away from the bustle of the small island village and towards the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Zoro can feel himself growing hard beneath the fabric of his pants as you kiss and nip along his neck, giggling in his ear when he retaliates with a playful squeeze to your rear and a rumbling growl against your skin.

He wastes little time pushing the door to the men’s quarters open with the tip of his boot, his grip on your hips tightening when he moves to lift you onto the nearest bunk, one hand still clutching your waist while the other travels up under your shirt to caress your chest, deft hands making quick work of unhooking your bra and tossing it aside to be forgotten.

Zoro’s breathing hitches, his eyes dark and lustful as he dips his head to suckle at the swell of your breast. He can feel himself twitching against your thigh, and despite his inexperience, he wants nothing more than to please you. 

He kisses down your body, taking a nipple into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue while his hand roams, finding your core already soaked with desire. He pauses, fingers grazing over your clothed slit and feeling you shiver in pleasure. Zoro murmurs your name, and snakes his fingers beneath the waistband of both your shorts and panties before sliding them down your legs in one motion, leaving you naked and bared before him. His own pants follow suit, quickly discarded next to yours.

Zoro's hand finds its way between your thighs again, spreading your folds with ease, and he lowers his head to kiss you once more, his tongue probing your mouth as his fingers gently stroke your clit, drinking in your soft moans.

"Show me." He whispers just loud enough for her to hear. His expression is a loving one, though she notes the slightest bit of hesitance in his words.

Show me how you like it.

You nod and guide his fingers, taking two of the large digits and easing them in circles on your clit. "Not too rough, though," you say patiently, letting go of him with a soft sigh and an encouraging smile. 

Zoro hums in acknowledgment, his thumb and forefinger doing as you ask, the slickness of your pussy allowing his fingers to move easily as he continues to tease at your clit. His other hand rests on your hip, steadying you as his thumb rolls over the sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting small moans from you. 

Zoro brushes the tip of his finger against your entrance in an experimental move, and by the way you wreathe and whine, he's urged to continue his work. He slides one past your folds and inside of you, making your toes curl and your back arch.

"Shit–" You sputter out between breathless sighs of desire. "Feels really good..."

One finger becomes two, your inner walls clenching around them as he scissors them in and out of your pussy. There's a wet slosh of sound coming from where you meet, your wetness audibly coating his fingers and dripping down down his wrist. 

Zoro's breath hitches at the sound of your pleasure, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your reaction. He's entranced by how your body responds to him, and he can't help but lick his lips as he continues to finger you. He adds a third, the stretch making you gasp and tighten around him.

His pace increases, his fingers swirling and thrusting within you, and he watches as your body writhes and arches beneath him. He can feel the tension building in you, the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter closed.

"Do you want me inside you?" Zoro asks, his voice low and thick with need. He's anxious to give you pleasure, but he's struggling to keep himself from joining his fingers inside you.

"Please," you whine, eyes wide and watery with pleasure but red hot with the need for more. "Need you, Zoro."

Zoro's heart beats wildly in his chest, his own need for you overwhelming as he pulls his fingers from your slick warmth and licks them clean before sitting back on his heels to position himself between your legs. He lines his cock up with your entrance and looks into your eyes, the passion reflected in his own.

Without warning, he thrusts forward, plunging deep into your tightness. You're hot and wet around him, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction as he bottoms out. He pauses for a moment, allowing you both to adjust and to revel in the feeling of being connected. He pulls back, slowly at first, then picks up the pace as he leans over you, the headboard digging into the wall with each forceful thrust. Zoro's eyes never leave yours, his gaze locked as if he's trying to absorb every detail of your expression.

Each stroke of his cock against your walls feels heaven-sent, and the taste of you that lingers on his tongue drives him crazy with want. Nails dig into the flesh of his triceps and your back arches, a song of passion belting from between your lips, a serenade made for him and him alone.

Zoro grunts at the sound of your pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more ferocious as he watches your reaction, the sight of you so lost in ecstasy driving him to the brink. He grips your hips, holding you steady as he pounds into you, the sweat glistening on your skin as your bodies collide.

The moonlight trickling in from the window illuminates your body below him. It's a sight better than anything he could dream, your face contorting in bliss and ecstasy, hands clinging harshly onto him as if he'd disappear if you let go. Savoring a feeling that neither wants to forget.

"You're so fucking perfect." Zoro growls, leaning over you to kiss you feverishly, his tongue seeking yours as he fucks you. He can feel the tension building, the way your body tenses and your nails dig into his skin, and he knows you're close. He wants to give you this moment, wants to make you cum as much as he wants to feel it himself.

"Come on," he urges, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me." The words were a warning, a promise that he wasn't going to last much longer..Zoro increases the pace of his assault, his own release imminent as he watches your face, your eyes half-lidded and flushed with pleasure. Together, you move, driven by the primal need for release.

Zoro's thumb meets your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts with the speed of his ministrations. The dual stimulation pushes you over the edge, crying out butchered attempts at his name as your body convulses around him, your orgasm washing over you in waves. Zoro can't hold back any longer, feeling his own climax building as he watches you.

With a roar, he lets go, burying himself deep as he cums, the spasms of your walls milking him as he shudders and groans into your ear, seed spilling inside of you. He pants heavily, leaning over you as he rests on his forearms, his forehead meeting yours. He stays like that long enough to press a quick kiss to your lips before collapsing atop you with a very exhausted, but very relieved sigh. 

You breathlessly hold him close. Cradling his sweaty form to your chest, one hand makes its way into his moss-green tresses to lightly scratch at his scalp. Zoro lets himself relax, letting out a sigh and nestling into your shoulder. He closes his eyes, feeling thoroughly sated in your embrace.

Zoro pulls out of you eventually, gently rolling off your body to rest. He pulls you into his side as he nuzzles into your hair. "I love you." He whispers, his voice soft and tender and almost unrecognizable.

Snuggling into his side, your hand still lazily strokes his head. "I love you too," you reply, voice equally tender, and a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

Your soft touch and tender words soothe Zoro, your shared connection cemented in the aftermath of passion. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as he feels himself drifting off to sleep, a smile still lingering on his lips. The words you whispered echo in his mind, a warm feeling settling in his chest – and together, in each other's arms, you find peace.

[andy-clutterbuck]

The Ones Who Live | 1x05 - Become

[rambunctioustoons]

different drum // the stone poneys 🎶

[yayll]

Soo umm maybe angsty request but a reader who works at the agency but misses her old life? Like, family or her old self. If you wanna and like the idea!! Have fun💕

i know this is a thousand yrs late and i am so sorry abt that but also. thank you for trusting me w this request i rlly took it to heart and i cracked these damn knuckles and hopefully wrote something you'll like :') i had fun, angel. MWAH.

- a little something about emotions and Dazai's way of perceiving yours ~

"Aughhh..."

You're groaning at your desk again, face down and resting your forehead on the cold wooden surface. Lately, it's been the same cycle. You come to work and the day goes by in a blink of an eye, and suddenly... There is nothing else to look forward to but to do it all again tomorrow. It's been tough, with the agency constantly bombarded with cases and quite literally saving the world, you've forgotten to call home every week like you used to. Now it's every other month, if at all.

There are times when you go on your lunch break and think about how ordinary your life used to be, how you used to spend your time doing the opposite of what you do now. Joining the agency was a wonderful turning point in your life and you wouldn't trade it for the world, but sometimes it felt like there was too much happening, you were falling behind and not connecting enough with the foundations that made you, you. It was an overstimulating nightmare.

Your co-workers were so talented and caring and it felt like a family with the way you all worked as a unit and watched out for each other, yet the intrusive thoughts about you never quite fitting in wouldn't leave your mind. Or your face, for that matter.

This is where Dazai knew he had to get involved.

He could tell your mind was elsewhere, and he hated that. You were supposed to be wherever he was, even if you didn't fully know it yet. He constantly perceived you from across the office where he slacked off work as usual, but this time it wasn't to await his next grand revelation... It was to figure out why you seemed so distant. So far, yet so close. You always laughed at his jokes and antics, all a part of his attention seeking persona around the agency, but he could hear the way your laugh seemed to die down in your throat as if it burned to even make a sound. He recognized it as the kind of burn whiskey left behind in his own throat when he had his occasional drinks at Lupin after a particularly hard day. Dazai knew the feeling of ruminating, of feeling stuck in the past and how it could keep you from existing in the present if not dealt with properly. But he wasn't exactly the shining example of dealing with one's feelings, not when he was a walking contradiction, which is why he hesitated to bring this up to you directly.

Of course, that didn't stop him from trying, not when you're groaning so adorably within earshot.

Not when he would do anything for you to drop that fastidious attitude that won't give him the proper time of day. It was pathetic and selfish of him, but it was sincere. With a fixed smile like a Cheshire cat, he prances towards your desk and stands there for a solid minute before you realize the familiar entity looming over you.

You slowly look up, dark under eyes are the first to properly greet him, along with that cute clip in your hair that's barely holding it all together. He thinks you look even cuter this way even if you were at your worst, and that made him feel a tad guilty... just a tad. He clears his throat softly as a deceptively cheerful voice pours out of him.

"Hi! You're looking awfully exhausted today."

You hum, a weak smile adorning your lips. You didn't want to smile at all, but it was a force of habit, so why not use it on the biggest clown you knew?

"Yeah? That's real observant of you, Dazai."

His heart races as you poke back, what a precious creature you were. He responds with faux indignance, rolling his eyes and the whole bit.

"Uh yeah, of course! It's why they pay me the big bucks, silly. You should try being like me sometime."

"Ah, is that the only thing I should try being? Not very original of me, I must say."

His smile drops to a more sly smirk as he shrugs, sighing dramatically while casting his gaze elsewhere for a moment.

You should try to be mine, he thinks to himself.

He doesn't deserve that honor, but it's the truth and he can always count on delusion.

"Eh, who cares about originality? That's what writers use as an excuse to torture themselves. It's no fun, You might as well jump off a bridge with me instead."

You raise an eyebrow at that, your fake smile becoming a bit more genuine now.

"I think I'll pass on that, Dazai."

He pouts, and you hate that he resembles a puppy with the way his eyes comically droop.

"Such a shame. I was hoping we could share that experience together. It would be quite the work bonding exercise, don't you think?~"

You nod, your voice laced with what he hopes is a playful retort, but it is much too deadpan.

"I'm sure it would."

"You know, you're surprisingly hard to torment."

You hum once more, shrugging as you look back down at the files on your desk, unable to hold his dark eyes that seem to penetrate your very soul.

"... Well I suppose I could say the same about you."

Before you know it, you feel his warm breath against your cheek, having leaned down to your level to murmur in your ear. It's velvety and far too intimate for the middle of the workday, tempting like the devil himself.

"Like I said, we could always drown our sorrows in the river. That always helps."

You slowly turn your head to meet his gaze, a slight flush begins to burn your cheeks and you wish you hadn't turned at all. It's sick the way every once in a while he'll test your boundaries to see if you'll let him in, if you'll see past the charm and the self destructive tendencies that might just seal his fate one day.

But you need him right now! And you clearly need a bit more of a push rather than just jokes, so he makes a point to grill you until you have no choice but to run into his hypothetical arms. In that instant, he catches your phone light up, the word 'MOM' is as clear as the red that spreads through your face.

Ah, so that's it.

"Seems like you should take that."

Your eyes widen as you flicker between him and your phone. Shit.

"Maybe later. I'm not really in the headspace for a call right now... Might go out for some lunch and get some air."

"I like air. Perhaps we can get some together? You might have too much and need someone to resuscitate you."

You snort softly and immediately feel embarrassed for being so casual out of your own human weakness. Yet somehow Dazai's ridiculous jokes always manage to get you to play along and forget that very embarrassment.

"CPR involves air, Dazai. You'd kill me in the process."

He clutches his chest, letting out a dreamy breath.

"Ahhh. Romantic, don't you think? I'd follow you immediately, of course~"

You shake your head as you stand up to walk out for your much needed reprieve from the inescapable thoughts you can't shake.

"You're impossible."

He stands back to give you your space and sticks his hands into his coat pockets, beginning to follow right behind you. He taps your shoulder when your back is fully turned to him, clearing his throat as he says your name in the most sinful way.

"Ahem. You forgot your phone."

You freeze in your tracks. You want to so badly do what your mind is screaming to do, but you can't bring yourself to do it. The battle between wanting to grab that bit of normalcy you miss and wanting to avoid it like the plague is the fear of the commitment to acknowledge it. You slowly turn to face him holding out your phone for you and yet again... It stings when he looks at you like that. Like he actually cares. It makes you feel drunk on the sensation of being seen on a deeper level, the butterflies in your stomach keep saying so. You sigh, and mumble back.

"Leave it. I don't need it right now."

He steps a little closer, way too close for comfort. His voice drops to a more serious tone, yet it's nothing but gentle, firm. It's a Dazai you don't think you've ever heard except when on a mission. Even then it always felt performative. But not now. He takes your hand in his bandaged one and holds it out for a moment with your palm facing up. His desire for you to make amends with your troubles is far more important than proper customs, so he needs to do this and do it now before you drown any deeper and he loses his self control.

He can save you even if you're too stuck in your own self pity to see the brightness of your own future. How you shine like a diamond in the rough, if only you'd just let yourself live in the now. He whispers to you.

"I think she'd like to know how you're doing. Family, they're the only normalcy you can have sometimes... Especially in this line of work. I think you know that."

You gaze into his dark eyes, and for the first time are not afraid to hold eye contact as you realize you actually want to hear more. Finally, a real piece of him is being shown to you?

"... Is that something you relate to, Dazai?"

He almost winces at that, a flashback of two friends he once considered family flash into his mind. Maybe today is a Lupin day. He could imitate your angelic laughter as the whiskey burns his throat. He hides all of this with a nasty little smirk, elusive as ever as he lies through his teeth.

"Absolutely not."

You seem a bit disappointed at first, but before you can dwell on it too much, your thoughts flicker back to the phone call you realize it might be time to make. Your mood is instantly different. Hopeful, even. Dazai places your phone in your palm, slowly closing your hand into a small fist. His hand lingers on top of your knuckles for a second too long, and you realize you are, in fact, unable to keep looking him in the eye like this or else you might just collapse knowing he'd catch you. The concept alone is intoxicating.

"I'm gonna take this, okay?"

His smirk softens, almost boyish with the way he instantly relaxes and reverts back to his usual self. The mood shifts back to how it felt before, and Dazai nods in reassurance.

"You go get some air. I'll be here."

He waves you off as you flash him one last smile before exiting the office. That'll keep him going for a while, he thinks. You look so beautiful when you're full of life, he hopes it rubs off on him too. He stands there for a long time in deep thought, simply smiling at the floor. At some point your hair clip fell out without you noticing, and so he picks it up, pocketing it. He'll consider this the consummation of your relationship.

An hour passes by and you walk back into the office, eager to tell Dazai about your call back home and how refreshed you feel. That he was right, and you wanted to share this new found perspective that he helped you approach and conquer. You find the office is completely empty, and when your eyes glance at your desk, there's a sticky note left on one of the many trinkets you display on it. You read it out loud to yourself.

"You long for the past, so perhaps we can recreate it. Maybe a nice long walk by the river, or we could always try a more private solution.

Either way, I'm at your mercy.

- Osamu"

You can't help but want to kick your feet at the little heart he doodled next to his messy handwriting and make a mental note to properly give him your contact info next time. You'd make sure to take a call from him, because you know he'd make it worth your while.

He always does.