#and apparently have been in this world long enough that when there were three left

[salparadiselost]

A random idea that I'm not ever sure I'm going to pick up and finish. AU is that everyone lives in a movie genre and the universe if governed by the rules of that genre. Bruce, fed up with being a failed lover interest, starts to adopt kids from other genres.

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"I don't get it," Dick says, standing at the top small set of stairs and looking down them. There's like six of them, hardly enough to actually call it a staircase. Dick could probably jump the full way down without hurting himself. It's definitely not a flight, just six steps to get from the raised dias of the bank's entry to the street. But Bruce is still hesitating at the top, staring at them like they are a snake curled up in the grass. 

The man who had assigned himself Dick's father (He doesn't need a father. He doesn't have parents. His parents are dead. Killed. For eight years, their case has gone untouched as cold as their corpses. He needs to solve it. He needs to find the killer. He has to. He has to. He has to...) drags his eyes from the stairs to Dick.

"You live in a *rom com*," Dick practically spat the words. He had been growing to hate this saturated colour, plastic world. There were too many people. None of the streets were ever empty. Movements from the corners of his eyes that his brain screamed could be someone pulling a gun, someone reached for a knife, someone passing a drug off to another, was usually just a woman dressed in LuLulemon pulling her yappy dog along. It was maddening the way that his brain wasn't built for this. He saw people doing things and his mind screamed that it was clues! It was evidence! You need to investigate it! You need. You need. You need.

But he doesn't. Because he doesn't exist here. The Graysons don't exist here. No one has been killed in this city for over 100 years apparently. The worse crime in the paper had been when Miss Betty accidentally stole cupcakes because her and Joe's orders got mixed up. They were getting married now apparently.

Dick shook his head trying to dislodge the part of him that was screaming that he was missing a clue. He tried to focus on the present. Him. Bruce. Stairs.

"This is a romantic comedy," he repeated. "It's all about love, so what's the fucking worse thing that could happen on the stairs."

"*It seems I've fallen for you*," said Bruce suddenly, his voice so devoid of emotion it startles Dick. Dick's eyes snap up to meet the other man's eyes, but Bruce is still looking at the stairs.

"That's the part of the script," he continues, his voice blank. It's disconcerting. Dick has only heard him peppy or bubbly or other words that paint him as a happy-go-lucky dog. He's never heard... this. "I fall down the stairs and I... I break something. I lay there until she's suppose to rush in. She's supposed to be a nurse or a doctor or maybe just someone with first aid training. She's supposed to treat me until the ambulance comes and I'm supposed to say *'it seems I've fallen for you'*"

Bruce finally looks at Dick and he can't even describe what's in the man's eyes. It's... he would almost call it haunted. The same glint that he has when he stares in the mirror.

"I've broken my leg from falling down stairs 48 times. I've broken one of my ankles 53 times. My left arm 18 and my right 26. Three times it's been my collarbone. One time after two flights, it was my back. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I couldn’t move a damn finger, so I just laid there in pain until the clock hit midnight and everything reset. And that’s just the staircase falls. There’s also the open manholes, the broken railings, getting hit by a car, a couple of times where a bridge gave out from under me. Any of them will do as long as I end up hurt and on the ground."

Dick stared. Coldness washed through his veins, fixing him to the spot. For the first time since he got here, fear settled into the pit of his stomach. The only thing he could think to say was: "I thought that nothing went wrong here?"

Bruce gave a harsh laugh that seemed more fitting for Dick's genre. "Everything works out if you actually have someone who wants to love you. If your love interest isn't interested or she just doesn't bother to turn up... well, the universe keeps trying to correct itself even if that means you have to lay in a crumpled, bloody heap at the bottom of stairs for a few hours."

He... he didn't know what to say. Say that he was sorry? That Bruce didn't have anyone coming to love him?

He looked back at the stairs and saw them how Bruce saw them. He tried to figure out what to say, but Bruce just turned on his heel.

"Let's go find the wheelchair ramp."

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 1

his eyes were stuck on you from the second you entered the club.

it wasn't a completely uncommon thing for you to have men staring at you in public places, especially not when you were out with your hot girlfriends, all wearing tiny dresses with hair fixed to perfection. nonetheless, you were more used to the men only ever entertaining the most gorgeous members of your friend group, and men losing interest after an hour of you not giving a shit about their longing gazes.

this specific one, however, didn't seem to understand the meaning behind your actions. nearing three hours after you first stepped into the room, you still caught him eyeing you up whenever you accidentally looked his way. could he not take a hint?

it wasn't like he wasn't hot enough for you – quite the opposite, to be honest. with his defined jaw speckled with just a faint hint of stubble, a smile that made something tighten in your stomach without him even trying, and those baby blue eyes (so bright they could blind you across the room), he could probably bag any girl in the world. he probably has, too, judging by the way he and his friend seem to think that they own not just the club but the rest of the world as well.

you're familiar with the type; likely some type of spoiled sports guys, celebrating a good game or season or whatever. caps on their heads, beer glasses in their hands, top buttons of their shirts undone. you truly couldn't care less.

the guy left your brain for a few moments when it was suddenly your turn to get your group a new round of drinks. you waited by the bar for a minute or two, and when the bartender was done mixing your round, he calculated the price for you before running off to get the card machine.

you really shouldn't have been surprised by the figure appearing by your side. you definitely should have figured out that he would see this as his chance.

"let me pay for the round." you hadn't heard his voice before, but you didn't need to – or want to, for that matter – look at him to know who it was. a mere shake of your head should've been enough, you thought. apparently not. "you're a group of like, what, six people? can't be too expensive, i'll handle it."

"i can handle it, too," you countered.

"i'm sure you can," he started with a chuckle. "but you shouldn't have to."

taking a deep breath, you finally turned to him, feeling the frustration building up in the pit of your stomach when your eyes met his because who allowed him to be this breathtaking up close? "i'm not looking for some sugar daddy, so you can leave."

his jaw dropped slightly at this, eyes widening and cheeks growing pink – or were they always that color? was it due to the alcohol or just the proximity to you? – but then he shook his head slightly to recover. "that's not what i meant," he said, and you almost believed the genuine glimmer in his gaze. "i just wanted to do something good, i don't know. i'm sorry if that came out wrong."

you couldn't help but nod at this, the corners of your lips curling up at the sight of his hand scratching the back of his neck. "don't worry about it," you assured him, wanting- needing to look away, but not finding yourself able to. he looked young, probably around your age instead of the typical nasty old men who liked to pick up pretty girls and brag about their wallets. his eyes were kind, gentle, the different shades of blue swirling around like a rough sea; easy to get lost in. the brown curls that poked out at the back of his cap were unruly yet soft, and in a weak moment, you found yourself wondering how it would feel to pull your fingers through them.

the bartender interrupted your moment – you weren't sure if only seconds had passed or if it had been minutes, hours – and a breath of relief escaped from you at the beep from the card machine after you tapped your phone against it. at the same time, you really didn't want to go back to your friends. you could spend your whole lifetime just staring at the man in front of you without being bored for even a second. you hadn't yet realized the spell you were under, or just how willing you'd be to agree to anything for him.

after making sure that the drinks were safely transported to your table, the man managed to lure you with him to his own table instead. most of his friends were gone by now, searching for single girls on the dance floor, and the three that were still sat there were too invested in a heated discussion about football to care even the slightest about you two.

he introduced himself as jack, 23 years old but turning 24 in the spring, the middle of three brothers. when you questioned him about sports, wanting to confirm your premature suspicions, he laughed and confirmed that he indeed "works with hockey", but never went any further than that. instead, he asked for your name, told you that it was beautiful and asked where you got it from. he asked to hear about your studies, seemingly authentically curious about your boring homework and annoying lecturers. he asked about your family, your childhood, your dreams.

no matter what story you told, he listened with great intent, that boyish grin permanent on his lips and a laugh never far away. jack looked at you like he was already in love with you; a look you're sure he has practiced for ages.

but at this point, you honestly didn't care.

after this, everything went by in a blur. one second, you were still just sitting on that couch in the club, chatting about anything and everything. the next, you were making out in the back of an uber, his calloused palms searching every inch of skin they could reach under your shirt. the next, your back met the covers of the bed in his apartment, dazed eyes watching as this masterpiece of a man climbed on top of you and leaned down to seal his lips against yours yet again.

his fingers left imaginary traces along your skin, his lips then following the path they'd drawn. you'd been in this position before, sure, but this sensation was new – something about him made it so different from anything you'd felt before. his touch drew out shallow breaths and sweet noises from you as he discovered your body, helping him understand how to please you the way you wanted.

the time spent with jack went on for hours, yet it was over in mere seconds. when he held you against his chest, you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, to rest your head against him until the world collapsed under your feet, to feel his skin against yours until the end of time.

but you knew that couldn't happen.

so as soon as his low snores filled the air, when his breath became steady and you were sure he was asleep, you swiftly fled from his grasp.

getting dressed in a tight dress and your previously discarded underwear after a night like this was always awkward, and leaving a gorgeous man alone in his big bed always sucked. but you had no other option.

after closing his front door behind you quietly, you let out a deep sigh, as if to let go of what had just happened. you couldn't afford to let it stay on your mind, you couldn't obsess over it. there was no point. if you were lucky, you would never have to see him again.

unfortunately, luck has never really been on your side.

[highonmarvel]

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]

[steddieas-shegoes]

back in the crease

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'traffic'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

special thank you to @thisapplepielife who discovered the ebug hero david ayers last week and said "bear hugs steve would" and you're so right! i had to combine it with another ebug situation that happened recently in the hockey world to make it fit the prompt.

rated t | 939 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff, goalie steve harrington

🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅🥅

Steve didn’t ever think he’d get a call when he applied for the job. There were three others on the list last he checked.

So much had to go wrong for him to get called.

Apparently, so much went wrong.

And now, he’s stuck in traffic during a snowstorm, trying to get to a game that starts in less than ten minutes so he can dress to be the backup goalie. Providence isn’t an easy drive even in the best of conditions, and these are far from the best of conditions.

Eddie is home with Rory, even though they desperately wanted to come. Steve told them there was no way they were risking the roads with him this late.

He’s glad he insisted.

He’s been at a dead stop for 20 minutes and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be moving any time soon.

He glances to the backseat, where he’s thrown his hockey bag and sticks, in too much of a rush at home to bother taking Rory’s stuff out of the trunk first. He’s not even sure if he remembered to pack everything after the last practice session he went to for Rory.

He looks ahead at the cars in park along the side of the road, the ones in front of him in the same position, and he makes a decision. It may not be a smart one, but it’s the only one he knows to make.

He unbuckles and turns his hazard lights on, shutting off the car. He sees someone a few cars ahead doing the same. This is crazy.

The craziest thing he’s done since signing up to do this.

He steps out and grabs his sticks and bag from the backseat.

He locks the car.

And he starts walking.

Three miles is not going to be pleasant, and with all his stuff on his shoulder, he’s not sure he’s gonna make it in time. But he has to try.

The snowfall isn’t heavy, but the roads weren’t salted in time, and people who haven’t been prepared for winter are holding up the people who are. It’s the same every year, but usually he can avoid long drives.

He spends the first mile power walking, and he can hear people shouting at him, but he’s ignoring them. Steve is focused on the one goal: get to the game.

The second mile is harder, and he has to pause a couple times to adjust his bag and take a few deep breaths. He stays in shape at the gym, but he doesn’t want to use up all his energy walking to this game, especially if he ends up in the net.

He thinks his phone is going off in his pocket, but he doesn’t have time or enough hands to check it.

The last mile is easier because someone has managed to clear most of the left lane of cars. No more weaving between trucks and vans, just a mostly straight shot. People are cheering for him, probably recording him. He doesn’t care.

He just has to get there.

He does. He’s late, but he makes it.

They rush him to the locker room to change and he misses most of the first intermission because they don’t want him going to the bench when the puck’s in play. He’s borrowing a jersey and it’s a little too small over his gear, but he doesn’t think he’s even gonna have to get on the ice, so it’s fine.

Except halfway through the second, the goalie gets a puck to the neck. At first, he seems like he shakes it off, like the shock got him more than the actual pain of the shot. But then he calls for a switch and the coach pats Steve’s back and he’s back on the ice.

It’s not Boston, so it’s not quite the same, but it’s close enough. It’s the colors, and it’s the atmosphere. It’s the same type of Bruins pride he had for such a short time, that meant the world to him, that gave him so much happiness in the time he had.

He doesn’t let himself get emotional until after they win, though.

Luckily, the Providence Bruins are a pretty defensive-minded team, and he only faced eight shots the entire third period. He saved them all.

Helmet taps, cheering, stick taps, and then he’s back in the locker room. He’s sore, but he thinks it’s more from walking three miles to get here than the game.

He gets first star of the game.

Eddie’s calling him as he’s unlacing his skates and he answers because that’s more important than whatever plans the guys have after this win.

“Rory is right here, so I can’t say what I’m really thinking, but I think you need to hurry home,” Eddie is talking fast and Steve is flushed red from the implications.

“Well, hopefully my car is still where I left it,” Steve says.

“Dad!” Rory steals the phone. “That glove save at the end was so good, you didn’t even have to try, it was like…like…natural!”

Steve laughs. “Thanks, green bean. It’s way past your bedtime, though.”

“But I wanna stay up until you get home.”

“It could be morning before I’m home. I’ll be there when you wake up, okay?”

“Fiiiiine,” Rory says and passes the phone back to Eddie.

“I’m serious. You need to hurry home.”

Eddie hangs up and Steve opens the Uber app. Hopefully his car is fine, and traffic should be better by now, but if not, he may have to spend a few hundred dollars on an Uber home.

[thehomelybadger]

Vertical slice of my Godfather AU (tentatively titled "This thing of ours"

basically, Caitlyn is the youngest of four children of Cassandra Kiramman, who is known as "The Dame" in Piltover. She's one of the five families that have controlling interests in Piltover's criminal underworld, and Caitlyn is something of a black sheep - going off to war with Noxus (called The Big One in the fic) instead of being a part of Cassandra's criminal empire. Vi is Caitlyn's bodyguard and Cassandra's triggerman (basically a soldier or a paid killer, depending on what the family needs), and has been since they were both kids. you see the vision - criminal empire AU with bodyguard pining.

the slice takes place roughly a third of the way through the fic. there was an attempt on Vi's life that Caitlyn got caught in the middle of, and Caitlyn had to carry Vi eight blocks to an ER nurse's apartment - Mel Medarda.

hope you enjoy, let me know what you think.

-------

To Sevika’s recollection, this was the most unkempt that Caitlyn Kiramman had ever been.

Her eyes were ringed with red from lack of sleep, she had a bandage plastered to the left side of her face - a shrapnel wound, Sevika had heard. Bullets that had smashed masonry in their attempt to end her and Vi’s life. She was using her cane again - and apparently she hadn’t touched it since she’d come back from The Big One with bullet scarring in her thigh and the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Sevika hadn’t spent a lot of time with Caitlyn. Sunny had been the daughter that Sevika had been charged with protecting, alongside other odd jobs that the Dame of the house had requested. The youngest daughter had been mostly Vi’s responsibility, and it was one that Vi had applied herself to with gusto.

Those early years were fading from her memory. She’d been doing this shit too long.

But Caitlyn still snapped upright when Sevika entered her room, cane at her side. She still nodded with that Kiramman grace - the grace that said she was in control, and that you had stepped into her world. Sevika had to admire that - the Dame had taught her youngest well.

“Ms. Kiramman,” Sevika nodded, pulling off her flat cap and crushing it in her good hand, “glad to see you up and about.”

“Same to you, Sawed-Off,” Caitlyn replied. Her voice was crystal clear. Her left hand held a bottle of brandy, and she raised it in question after a moment. At Sevika’s nod - grateful, because her fucking nerves were jangling in her stomach like Christmas bells and she was irritated about it - Caitlyn poured her three fingers, sat at her small table and gestured for Sevika to take a seat across from her.

Sevika closed the double doors to her room, sat across from her, and cupped her good hand around the brandy.

“I was surprised,” Caitlyn said, “when Jayce passed along that you wanted to speak to me. Even moreso when you requested that it be alone.”

Sevika nodded, sipped at her brandy. “It’s important.”

“I’ve gathered. Would you like to start at the beginning?”

Sevika lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you’d dance around it more.”

“The faster we finish with our business, the faster I can see how Vi’s doing at Mel’s. Forgive my speeding the process of negotiation along, some.”

Sevika snorted. “Negotiation.”

“All conversation is negotiation. Because you want something, and because you want it bad enough to come to me and not my sister, who is the current head of the organization and much more capable than I of dealing with what you want, I absolutely consider this a negotiation.”

Sevika swallowed the rest of her brandy in a single gulp, and Caitlyn was already pouring her more.

“I’ve never seen you nervous,” Caitlyn said.

“It’s not a common sight,” Sevika admitted, figuring it was useless to pretend. The youngest daughter was always perceptive. “If this is a negotiation, I’m entering on the backfoot. I hope what I’ve done for your mother, your family, negates that.”

“I’d never take advantage of you, Sawed-Off,” Caitlyn replied, gently, “tell me what you want.”

“It’s Sevika. Can you - can you call me Sevika?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Sevika.”

“It’s - you fucked up last night,” Sevika said, “you fucked up with Mel. You need to make it right.”

Caitlyn’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Mel’s not in the game. She doesn’t have any skin in it. They tried to kill Vi, and now that you brought Vi there, then the Verazas - they’re going to see her as Kiramman aligned. You put her in danger.”

Caitlyn’s left brow lowered, leaving her looking skeptical. “Why would the Verazas care about an ER nurse taking care of a gunshot victim?”

“Nothing,” Sevika said, “but the men you left standing outside her door will cause questions.”

Caitlyn grunted in displeasure. “I told Sunny to put them inside, not display them. Damn it.”

“Sunny’s all about shows of force,” Sevika said, quietly, “she’ll think it makes us weak to hide our soldiers. She’s claiming Mel, whether she knows it or not, and that means Mel’s in a lot of trouble - a lot more than if Vi doesn’t pull through.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to her if Vi doesn’t make it,” Caitlyn said, softly.

“You say that now,” Sevika began, “but if Vi doesn’t-”

“Sevika,” Caitlyn said sharply, “I don’t break promises. She has my word, and since it matters to you, you do too.”

Sevika exhaled lightly. “The Verazas won’t care, though.”

“We can fix it,” Caitlyn mused, tapping her thumbs, “Sunny probably didn’t tell the door-men what they were protecting. Mother would’ve told her to keep it separated. Who did she send?”

“Pistol and Lo-Jack.”

Caitlyn hummed. “Then they know nothing. I’ll fix this - leave it to me. Do you have a recommendation as to who you’d prefer guarding her?”

Sevika watched Caitlyn for a few beats. “Yeah,” she said, softly, “yeah, one.”

Caitlyn sighed, smoothed her fingers along the edge of the tabletop. “This matters to you,” Caitlyn said, “it matters a great deal. Why?”

Sevika opened her mouth, closed it, shrugged. “She’s not in the game.”

“Neither was Seraphine’s producer,” Caitlyn pointed out, “and you got the name Sawed-Off after that job. Why the distinction now?”

“There’s not much of one,” Sevika said, “not really.”

“You must think me an idiot to swallow that,” Caitlyn said. “I thought you had more respect for my intelligence.”

Sevika ran her bad hand along her jaw, the prosthetic cool against her face. “It isn’t enough that she’s an innocent, that she’s not in the game?”

“Once, it would’ve been,” Caitlyn said, not unkindly, “but when the most dangerous triggerman in my mother’s organization comes to me and wants to be removed from my sister’s protection detail to sit in the apartment of a nurse, then yes. It matters.”

This was Dame Kiramman’s daughter, Sevika said, and couldn’t hide something akin to a proud smile from leaking through her lips. Sunny was certainly as tough as Cassandra, and Mira had the natural charm that Cassandra had displayed when she was up and coming, but Caitlyn had the steel silk, the flinty eyes, the commanding voice.

If Sunny wasn’t careful, Caitlyn could steal this whole thing - if she wanted it.

Sunny should be very grateful that Caitlyn didn’t.

“More,” Caitlyn continued, “I know the reason already - but I want you to say it to me.”

And now Sevika hated her.

“You know the reason,” Sevika repeated, incredulous.

Caitlyn nodded, sipped her brandy, swallowed. 

“How long have you been seeing this nurse, Sevika?”

Sevika grunted, rose abruptly, smashed her flat cap on her head. “I’ll find a way to do it myself. Fuck this. I’ll take vacation time.”

“Not on the eve of a war you won’t,” Caitlyn said, “Sevika, sit down.”

“I don’t need to take shit from you. I don’t take shit from anyone. You’re the youngest fucking daughter - fourth in line to take the reigns. Scared little war hero playing at being the big Mafia boss.”

“All true,” Caitlyn replied, “you’re still going to sit down.”

“Why should I?” Sevika snarled, “I’m not going to sit there and have a fucking kid go through my affairs like it’s her business.”

“Because I’ll help you,” Caitlyn said, calm, relaxed, “and you’ll get everything you want - but you need to sit down, and you need to listen.”

Sevika thought of Mel - of her fucked up apartment, of her crime lord mother and all the things at stake. She thought of her alone in that apartment, with two dumb goons on her doorstep which may as well have been a sign that said Someone Important Is Here on it to any of the many Kiramman family enemies.

She thought of her, and so she sat.

“You don’t trust Sunny to protect Mel properly,” Caitlyn said, “I don’t trust Sunny to protect Vi, and we both don’t trust Peter and Max to protect them against Veraza interests. We don’t want Sunny finding out about your relationship with Mel, and we’d much rather have you in that building, protecting both of them. Have I summarised effectively?”

“There’s no relationship between me and Mel,” Sevika said, stubborn and stupid and in fucking love.

“Yes, of course,” Caitlyn replied, waving that away. “I’ll fix this for you. No favours owed. I want to - for everything you’ve done for this family, for my mother, my cousins - you deserve to be happy. Your people are our people.”

Sevika grunted. “My usefulness to your mom was that I had no people.”

“Everyone has people,” Caitlyn soothed, “that’s what makes us human. I’ll fix this for you. Go to her, and if you don’t mind - call the house from an outside line when you can, let me know how Vi is. I imagine I’ll be too busy to check on her today.”

Sevika stared. “I can do that.”

“Good.”

“How, exactly, are you going to fix this for me?” Sevika asked.

“I’ll tell Sunny you’re working on something for me that’s taken you out of the city for a week. Enough time for us to be sure about Vi either way, and then move Vi and Mel if needed. We won’t leave her out in the cold.”

“Sunny won’t like that,” Sevika said.

“No,” Caitlyn replied, and Sevika saw the silk steel flash, “I imagine she won’t.”

Sevika exhaled, thought for a moment. “Be sure about Vi either way. You don’t seem all that broken up that your bodyguard got shot up.”

“She’s a good bodyguard,” Caitlyn replied, “it would be a shame to lose her. The sooner I have news, the sooner I can select a replacement - no offense, but you’re a little long in the tooth for my needs.”

Sevika chuckled. “Right. You know, I used to think you two were sweet on each other. I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Caitlyn replied, patting Sevika’s hand, “most did. It’s natural when two single and healthy individuals spend such a long amount of time together to speculate. She’s a loyal person and my mother owes her a great debt, from my point of view. It would be a shame if she never got to collect.”

“You’re a pretty cold person, aren’t you,” Sevika said, watching her.

“When I need to be,” Caitlyn replied, “you’re wasting time. Go to Mel’s, send Peter and Max home - that’ll mollify Sunny some.”

Sevika watched Caitlyn, watched the prim and proper Mafia princess - silk steel over her features. She thought about the way Caitlyn shrugged off her relationship with Vi, thought about her own inability to do that with Mel. Thought about Vi’s lost puppy look whenever Caitlyn entertained a suitor, the hardness that had stolen over Vi when Caitlyn went to The Big One, served and got shot and fought for her country.

Caitlyn might not care, Sevika thought, but Vi sure did.

She hated having shit in common with the young pup.

“Alright, kid,” Sevika said, pushing herself to her feet. “Thanks.”

Caitlyn raised a glass in salute. When Sevika closed the doors behind her, Caitlyn was up and moving to her window, cane thumping rapidly. She didn’t move until Sevika was in her car, driving towards the gate of the estate, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

As soon as the gate opened and Sevika’s black car was around the corner, Caitlyn sat down on her bed - right next to the phone.

She put her cane between her legs, rested her hands upon it, and waited.

[newtthetranswriter]

Could I request Gojo x male reader where the reader is a ballet dancer who is a part of the Zenin clan but ran away when they were in high school and Gojo doesn't see him again till adulthood and Gojo falls in love all over again and reader never stopped being in love and they reconnect

Dancing with Curses

Word Count: 3822

Paring: Satoru Gojo x male Zenin Reader

Warning: talks of Gojo’s past arc, the Zenin clan is trash, Canon typical violence, possibly ooc Gojo, let me know if I missed anything

A/n: Hello again, I truly did enjoy writing all of your requests. They gave me just enough information to feel free with creating the story but still having a base to work off of. Anyway I hope you enjoy and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    Y/n Zenin may have been lucky enough to be born with a decent cursed technique but the fact that he had made it clear he was not interested in following the tradition of being a sorcerer, made it so he was looked down upon by the whole clan. For years he tried to fight the system but as the time for high school approached, Y/n was forced to make a choice. He decided that he would follow his family's wishes for just long enough to get enough money to escape the world he grew up in. For him going to Jujutsu High was just a stepping stone to reach his goal, he never expected to add another item to the list of things his family hated him for.

   As previously mentioned, Y/n just wanted to save enough money to escape from the world of Jujutsu, he never planned to catch the eyes of Satoru Gojo. Apparently Gojo had been enamored with how graceful Y/n was with his technique and how he was able to mix Jujutsu with ballet seamlessly.  Y/n on the other hand had felt Gojo’s eyes on him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the beauty in the user of the six eyes. But Y/n knew that if he let himself fall or grow attached he would be further trapped in this dark world. So Y/n put his emotions in a box and distanced himself.

   Finally after almost three years of dealing with the chaos and horrors of the world Y/n left. Having one of his underclassmen die in the line of duty, followed by one of his classmates turning against them, Y/n was done. He couldn’t handle the thought of spending anymore time watching people die for no reason, or seeing people who were once all about protecting turning to murder. So he gathered his belongings and left in the middle of the night. Leaving the world of Jujutsu behind, almost completely. 

   Being an outcast from a young age Y/n knew the signs of the Zenins pushing kids out of the inner circle. And even if it was still early and there were a few years left for her technique to develop, Y/n had a gut feeling Maki would need someone on her side. So before he completely wrote off the Zenin clan, he wrote Maki a letter. The girl was barely 4 but was able to understand the simple contents of the letter. Y/n had simply explained that he was always there for her if she needed anything and asked her to not share the existence of the letter with anyone. He also left his new phone number, telling her to call if she ever needed anything. After leaving the letter with his young cousin he left.

   When it became clear to the Zenin clan as a whole that Y/n had up and ran away, they decided to act like he never existed. Writing his disappearance off as a blessing to not have to deal with him ever again. While most of the Jujutsu world moved on from the sudden loss, Satoru was unable to follow their lead. He spent the better part of five years looking for him. Unfortunately for him, Y/n did not want to be found and managed to hide himself well. Satoru eventually gave up.

  Fast forward eleven years, and Y/n had put very little thought into the world he left behind. He took his freedom and did what he wanted. He became a professional dancer, letting his worries wash away. It was a relief to not think about death and curses everyday. But alas all good things come to an end at some point.

  After a particularly tiring performance Y/n felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Seeing that the id indicated it was the one person he kept in touch with, he answered. “Hey, Maki what’s up? Is everything ok?” He asked, concerned. Even though Maki was only four when she got the letter from Y/n she respected his wishes and managed to keep it secret all these years. The reason Y/n became concerned was that when Maki got a phone they agreed she would only call if something was seriously wrong, otherwise she would text monthly just to check in.

  The calm teen’s response nearly startled the man. “I know you said you would never return to Jujutsu High, but we need all the help we can get.” Maki explained, there was a hint of worry in her voice and Y/n knew that something was seriously wrong if Maki was asking him to come back. Before Y/n could ask for more information, Maki continued. “Some crazy guy declared war on Jujutsu Society and even though we have Gojo on our side everyone seems worried. There has been an influx of Sorcerers on campus and even Gojo seems concerned. I normally wouldn’t ask for you to come back but if Gojo is worried wouldn’t that mean having all hands on deck be the best course of action.” 

  Y/n took a moment to think about what Maki had told him. If someone declared war on Jujutsu Society then no big deal, curse users are stupid. But if said person had Gojo worried about it then there was only one person who could be leading this fight. Knowing that fact led Y/n to make a choice he never thought he would. “If it’s bad enough for Gojo to be worried, then having as many sorcerers as possible is a good idea. I’ll be there in the morning.” He knew he would likely regret going back to his old life but he knew the reality, it’s almost impossible to leave the Jujutsu world and stay gone.

   “Thank you, I know you hate all of this but I’m sure you’ll be able to leave again when everything is done.” With that Y/n said a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. If he was really going to be returning to Jujutsu Society, he knew there was a very slim chance of ever getting out again, that is if he even managed to survive the impending war. 

   The next day as he promised Maki, he made his way to Tokyo. When he reached the path leading to the hidden highschool, he paused. Debating actually entering the barrier that protected the school and alerting everyone of his presence or just turning around and telling Maki he couldn’t help out. But before he could chicken out and run away again, he felt the presence of familiar cursed energy. Looking up at the stairs that would seal his fate of being part of this fight stood the one person he hoped he could avoid, Satoru Gojo.

   It was clear that Gojo had changed since Y/n last saw him, having swapped out his usual dark sunglasses for white badges wrapped around his eyes, his hair was also longer and stood up with makeshift blindfold in place. Seeing the white haired male sent feelings Y/n had long suppressed bubbling to the surface.

   It wasn’t any better for the Strongest Sorcerer. He couldn’t believe his eyes, even if he knew that his cursed technique is never wrong, his heart had a hard time believing that the Y/n Zenin was standing in front of him. Gojo had so many questions, like why did he run away, why didn’t he say anything, and most of all why is he back. Snapping out of his thoughts, Gojo moved down the stairs quickly, taking two at a time with ease thanks to his long legs.

  “What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than he intended, but with recent events and the bubbling of long forgotten feelings, Gojo couldn’t help it.

  Shaking his head to clear the fog, Y/n took in the tall man in front of him. “Well hello to you, Gojo. For the record I’m only here because Maki said that someone declared war and it had even you worried. And knowing you only one person could make you worried about a silly threat. So here I am, isn’t better to have extra hands on bored than facing Geto with fewer people.” Y/n answered, accidentally letting it slip that Maki had been able to contact him all this time. “Now that I’m here, would you mind telling me what exactly Geto is planning.”

   Ignoring the request for information about the situation, Gojo focused more on the mention of his student. “Since when has Maki been able to contact you, she was like four when you left. Why would she call you for help?” When Y/n had left after the worry of what happened had passed, Gojo had been angry, and now that anger was showing itself all over again.

   “Yes Gojo, Maki was four when I left. But you forget I was also raised in the hell scape that is the Zenin house. I also know what it looks like when those douchebags start making a child an outcast. When I left I gave her my phone number and told her if she needed me she could call. And you would never guess what happened. She saw that her teacher was worried over some psychopath declaring war on the people she cares about and called someone she trusts to ask for help. I’m not here for anyone but her.” Y/n clarified, and it was clear from his tone that he truly meant it. He was only coming back to the world of curses to help his young cousin. Not giving Gojo a chance to respond, Y/n brushed past him heading up the steps into the base of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

    Gojo was left stunned by his own stupidity. The only guy he can remember ever truly having feelings for was right in front of him, and instead of expressing his joy of seeing him again he stuck his foot in his mouth. Watching after Y/n as he left, Gojo began thinking of ways to apologize for what just happened and ways to hopefully convince Y/n to stay even after they beat Geto.

   On December 24th, Y/n opted to stay at Jujutsu High with Maki and Yuta as a line of defense just in case. Afterall he wasn’t technically a member of Jujutsu Society so it’s not like the Higher ups could actually tell him what to do. He also had a bad feeling about them sending everyone except a couple Assistant supervisors to the front lines. If Geto had asked Yuta to join his cause wouldn’t that mean he had an interest in the boy. So when the veil was lowered over the school, Y/n jumped into action.

    He knew he didn’t stand much chance against a special grade like Geto, but he couldn’t just let the lunatic kill a young sorcerer. Y/n’s technique had only earned him the status of Grade 1 back in highschool, but that was eleven years ago and this would be his first fight since he left. He could only hope he still had the strength to hold off the Curse User long enough for help to arrive. 

   His own fight with Geto didn’t last long before a new contender entered the courtyard where the two adults were exchanging blows. Having also noticed the veil, Maki opted to join the fight. So now it was two on one, the two Zenin outcasts vs. the special grade Suguru Geto. The cousins were able to hold off Geto for about thirty minutes before Geto got the upper hand. The younger of the two had been severely injured, having likely multiple broken bones and severe cuts leaving her half conscious in a pool of her own blood. The older of the two was not much better off. Y/n had sustained a few broken ribs, one of which he wouldn’t be surprised to find out if it was digging into his lung as it was becoming difficult to breathe. But he was still able to stand and so he was still able to fight.

  There was a brief moment that allowed Y/n to catch his breath, and that was when Geto paused, announcing a hole was made in the barrier. He seemed confident enough that whoever it was would be too slow and he could beat Y/n and take Yuta before they arrived. Y/n took in a few deep breaths, sensing the cursed energy of two people approaching fast. Seeing that Geto wasn’t reacting to it, Y/n waited until the wall exploded next to the long haired man before striking again.

  Unfortunately even with the added help of Panda and Toge, they were still unable to beat him. When they turned their backs on Geto to check on Maki, the curse user took the chance to take out the oldest of the group. Striking Y/n in the back with curse, Geto managed to force the broken rib that was already threatening to puncture one of his lungs right through said lung. The force of the blow knocked what little air Y/n had in his chest out, and now with the loss of function in one of his lungs it was nearly impossible for Y/n to catch his breath. The two first years who were still able to fight tried to fight back but were unsuccessful.

  Y/n fought to stay awake and even tried to warn Yuta who had appeared on the scene to run away, but alas with barely any oxygen getting into his body, he could barely make a sound. He was fading in and out of consciousness and couldn’t help but wish for Shoko to be there to heal his wounds. Slowly suffocating was really fucking painfull. The last thing he remembered before blacking out completely was Yuta using Rika to move the four injured sorcerers to safety and applying his own reversed curse technique to them. As the world faded Y/n silently thanked Gojo for not executing the young special grade.

   Unlike the other three who woke up soon after Yuta beat Geto, Y/n was still unconscious three days later. While Yuta had been able to heal the majority of the injuries y/n had sustained, it seemed Shoko was needed for some of the more intense ones. When word got to Gojo that Y/n was injured and that even after Shoko had been able to treat his wounds was still asleep, Gojo was worried. He spent as much time as he could spare sitting by his bed in the infirmary. 

   Gojo spent the time thinking. Debating on how to thank Y/n for risking his life for the young sorcerers and trying to decide if it would be a good time to tell him he loved him. Yeah Gojo had officially decided that he loved Y/n Zenin, it wasn’t just a school crush. Having spent eleven years apart and suddenly seeing him again reminded him of everything he loved about Y/n. Even though he admitted to himself that he loved him, he couldn’t help but think that maybe telling him would be a curse to the man who clearly just wanted to escape the world of Jujutsu. 

   Caught up in his own reminiscing, he failed to notice that Y/n had started to wake up. He only noticed when he heard the quiet groan from next to him. Looking over he could see Y/n squinting his eyes at the light from the open window, and trying to take in his surroundings while still laying flat on the bed. Gojo quickly stood up, closing the blinds to darken the room, and then moved to help Y/n sit up. “Here let me help you sit up.” He said, causing Y/n to look at him bewildered. “I know I was rude the last time we talked but I was worried when they said you still didn’t wake up after both Yuta and Shoko used rct on you.” Gojo explained quickly.

   Taking a moment to process the words said to him, Y/n looked around the room. Seeing a glass of water on the bed side table, he quickly took a drink before speaking. “How long have I been asleep? And what happened to the kids, is everyone okay?” He wasn’t that worried about himself, his main concern was whether or not the young sorcerers had made it out of the battle alive.

   “Everyone is fine. Well, everyone on our side, that is, the kids are all okay. They’re taking a few days to relax before getting back to training. As for how long you were asleep for, well it's been about three days.” Gojo informed him. “And before you ask, Geto won’t be a problem anymore.” His tone of voice shifted from glad to something lingering with sadness.

  Picking up on the change of tone Y/n understood what he was implying. “I’m sorry for your loss, I know you were really close before everything. But it’s great to hear that the kids are okay.” He said truthfully. Taking a moment to think of what to say next, one thing popped into his mind and he couldn’t shake it. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you have some important mission that only the Strongest can deal with?” Y/n asked, trying to switch the subject.

   Having spent three days thinking over and planning for how to speak his mind didn’t prepare him for what he was going to say.  “Um, I just wanted to express my thanks for you risking your life to protect the first years. If you hadn’t decided to show up or stay behind while we all went to the front line, who knows what would have happened to those four. I mean sure Panda probably would have been ok, but the others might not have been so lucky.” Gojo thanked him. 

   Y/n nodded along, but that didn’t fully answer his question. Gojo was there when he woke up, if he just wanted to say thank you then he could have done it after someone else told him Y/n was awake. “I think they would have been just fine. Maki is a strong fighter and Toge has a great understanding of his technique. And Yuta has a surprisingly great understanding of cursed energy for someone who just learned about curses a few months ago. But the strength of your students aside, Why are you here? And don’t say it’s just to say thank you. You were here when I woke up, if you just wanted to thank me then you could have gone about your day and then thanked me when someone told you I was awake.” He confronted the white haired male.

   Gojo scratched the back of his head trying to decide if he should say he just happened to stop by to check on him right before he woke, or if he should tell Y/n the truth. Realizing he had been quiet for too long and that if he did lie Shoko would probably rat him out either way, he came to the conclusion that honesty was the best policy. “Well, I’ve kinda been here the whole time. Like I said before I was really worried when Shoko told me you hadn’t woken up after being treated. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He explained. Watching as Y/n’s face shifted from confusion to shock, Gojo couldn’t stop himself from talking more. “And I know this is probably a terrible time to bring this up, especially with how I reacted when you showed up the other day. But I really care about you Y/n. When you left back in highschool, I thought something terrible happened to you and I searched for you for years. I eventually figured that if you went through the struggle of leaving with out a trace there was probably a reason and so I stopped looking. But the worry turned to hurt and anger and I guess seeing you suddenly and hearing that you only came back for Maki’s sake, made that anger bubble up again. I understand you left for a reason and you probably want to leave as soon as possible after all this life is hell for anyone. But I do want you to know that you mean a lot to me.” This was the first time Y/n had seen or heard of Gojo letting his emotions out in such a clear way. Gojo was always calm and only really expressed deep emotions when fighting or teaching, so having him say all of that really shocked Y/n.

   Y/n took a few moments to process everything Gojo said, before making the second life changing decision of the month. “While I left because this life is taxing and full of hardship, I don’t know if I can abandon it again. I wouldn’t mind sticking around and helping teach the next generation of sorcerers.” Y/n explained. “This isn’t a permanent situation though and I will have some requirements that need to be accepted before I commit to it. After all, I can't leave the ones I care about to fight alone if I’m able to lend a helping hand.” he finished making his intentions to at least stick around for a short while clear.

   Even though Gojo was happy to hear that Y/n was going to stick around, he was confused by the wording of the last sentence. “Wait you said ‘the ones’  you care about, I thought you came back for Maki.” He couldn’t help but ask.

   Y/n just laughed before responding. “You’re right I did come back for Maki. But there are more people here that I care about than just her. Now I may have just woken up from a three day nap, but I’m exhausted so if you don’t mind I’m going back to sleep.” With that Y/n layed back down rolling to face away from the tall sorcerer.

   “Who else do you care about here? I’m confused.” Gojo really wanted answers.

   Y/n responded even though he was half asleep. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out Satoru.” And with that Gojo was left as the only one awake in the room.

   He sat in silence processing what he had been told. And when he registered that y/n had not called him Gojo but used his first name for the first time, he couldn’t hide his smile. Deciding to let Y/n rest in peace he left to inform everyone about Y/n’s decision to consider staying at Jujutsu high for a while.

[decaying-church]

Kinktober day 2: Threesome + Dwayne & Paul (The Lost Boys)

Dwayne (The Lost Boys) x Male!reader x Paul (The Lost Boys)

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 3 | Ao3

(A/n: 29 days left)

Summary: you wake up with not one, but two boyfriend in your bed!

Warning: Face riding, ass eating, blowjob, riding, threesome, reader gets held down, swearing, (technically) breaking and entering, not beta read.

Word count: 2k

It wasn't often you woke up sandwiched between two men- usually it was four, and not it your house. Apparently, Dwayne and Paul missed you enough to drive to your house in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with you- not to sleep, not to watch you sleep. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you woke up around four in the morning and found Paul, as beautiful as he was, three inches away from your face.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

You would have fallen out of bed if it weren't for Dwayne who laid comfortably behind you- not comfortable for you, you didn't know he was there and damn near had a stroke when he wrapped his arms around.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast!” Paul said, smiling like he hadn't just scared you shitless.

“Well fuck, I wonder why!” you said, fully awake now.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking hard, the only light in the room was the little desk lamp that Paul seemingly turned on every time he was in your bedroom.

“When did you two get here?”

Paul looked at Dwayne, Dwayne gave no response.

“Sometime between 9 pm and 4 am..”

“Oh so anytime after the sun went down to now.”

“Basically.” he grinned.

Wordlessly, you rolled over.

“Morning.” he said.

“Good morning, how long have you two been here?”

“‘Bout 5 hours.”

You laid flat on your back, “you've been sitting here watching me sleep for 5 hours?”

They looked at each other again. Neither of them sleeps at night so it's not like they could use that as an excuse. The longer they stared at each other, like they were telepathically trying to come up with an excuse, the more sure you became that they were, in fact, sitting and watching you in the dark.

“Fucking creeps..” you said, but your tone held no real burden, and a small smile found it's way on your face as you slid out of Dwayne grip and out of bed.

Before they could drag you back down, you walked over to the backroom and locked the door, not like that could really stop them.

You pissed, brushed your teeth, and washed your face before walking back out.

You were gone for eight minutes, max.

When you came back the currents were drawn shut and the over head light was on. The most jarring change though was Dwayne and Paul humping like dogs in your bed. With Paul situated in Dwayne's lap, grinding their crotches together like the world was going to explode if they didn't, all while Dwayne guided him with firm hands on his hip.

You blinked.

They stopped after a moment, Paul climbed off of Dwayne, sitting next to him with his legs cocked wide open, a bulge pressing tightly against his white jeans, smirking as he rested against your pillows.

Dwayne wasn't any better, his pants were unbuttoned and pulled slightly down on his hip. One leg hanging off the bed, he stared right into you damn soul, eyes as intense as always.

The two of them stared at you so expectantly, they weren’t even going to ask, they were just going to wait for you to come to them. Which you were, you were tired and a little confused, but definitely not dumb enough to let this opportunity pass. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at their shared cockiness, you climbed onto the bed, almost immediately you were attacked by Paul- fully attacked, he tackled you down to the bed, climbing on top of you in a similar way to how he was with Dwayne.

He kissed wherever he could reach, his long, blonde hair falling in your face when he came to kiss your lips. With your hand on his thigh, you flipped- later he would say that you ‘threw’ him, you did not- off of you.

Before you could push yourself up, your arms were grappled and pinned above you, looking up, you could see Dwayne smirking down at you.

You tried to pull your wrist away, only for him to hold you tighter, not like you were going anywhere to begin with, fucking vampire strength. The moment you were distracted by Dwayne, Paul acted, seating himself on your thighs, closer to your knees than anything, and pulling your pants down all too eagerly, you glared at him when you heard a small rip.

“Paul,” Dwayne warned, “gently, remember?”

“I know, I know,” he looked down at you, a small smile on his face, “sorry.”

Despite his words, you could tell he wasn’t even remotely sorry, which was only proven when he fully ripped your pants before, they could have been fixed before, but now they were in prices on your bedroom floor.

“Goddamnit, Paul!”

“They were ripped!”

“I could have fixed them!”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine! I’ll makes it up to you.”

Before the bargain for a new pair of pajama pants could start, you felt a warm, wet stripe against your cock, you gasped, your body tendering in surprise for a short moment before relaxing again, he continued, mouthing at your cock through your underwear, with Dwayne pinning you down to keep you from escalating things. Paul, with all the same vampiric strength that Dwayne and the other boys had, grabbed you by the waist, but didn’t stop you from thrusting up against his mouth, he liked it far too much for that.

He tried to be patient and gentle like Dwayne had told him to be but he couldn’t, he watched as your head fell back against the bed, a long moan coming from deep in your chest when he swirled his tongue around the tip of your cock.

A second later, your underwear were in tatters on the floor with your pants. You didn't have time to think about the loss of contact- and underwear- Paul took well over half of your cock into his mouth, moaning around it- you weren't shocked, he's done this to you dozens of times before, but it felt so good every time. He was beyond skilled with his tongue, running it over every little sensitive spot you provided to him, drawing shapes with it.

Cracking your eyes open you could see Dwayne staring at Paul, a small smirk on his face. You could see how hard he was, Paul having clearly done a number on the both of you, but with the way he was pinning you down, you couldn’t do anything about it. He was always the silent observer of the group anyway, you figured just watching would satisfy him for now.

Saliva and pre-cum covered both your cock and the inside of his mouth, and the moment he felt that you were ready, he pulled off with a wet ‘pop’.

You didn’t whine or beg, you knew that these two had far too high of sex drives for this to be over so soon.

You looked up at Dwayne, then down at Paul, who didn’t exchange a single word with each other before simultaneously jumping into action. You let out a small laugh as Paul struggled to get his pants off, surprisingly, he did eventually get them off in one piece.

Dwayne let go of your wrist, you watched him as he swapped places with Paul, except he practically sat himself on top of your cock. You don’t know when he lost his pant, but when you looked, his hard, leaking cock was pressed right up against yours.

“Okay, so-“ Paul started with a wide smile on his face, he was almost giddy as he began explaining their little plan to you, “Me and Dwayne were talking about this all night! We were talking about our fantasies and stuff- just guy stuff y’know and-

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-is it weird that I think about riding Y/n, like all the time?”

Dwayne hummed before responding, “No, I think about it too, it’s not weird.”

Paul propped himself up on his arm, “Okay but I think about riding his face a lot, is that even possible with him?”

“You’ve done it with David-“

“I know, but it’s different, vampires can’t suffocate, humans can!”

“I doubt that you’ll suffocate him.”

“I might!”

You stirred in your sleep at the sudden noise, both boys went quiet for a moment, waiting for you to settle again. When you did, Dwayne whispered to Paul, “Just be gentle with him and he’ll be fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-then while you were in the bathroom-“

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck he looks good-“

“You’ve been staring at him all night, of course he looks good to you.”

“You stared just as much as I did!”

“He faced you for the first 5 hours-”

“Whatever, whatever..”

Silence passed between them for a few moments.

“…you think he'd be down for it?”

“For what?”

“Letting me sit on his face, you think he'd let me?”

“Probably…”

Another silence.

“You wanna tag team him..?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-and that's just my really long winded way of asking if I can ride your face with Dwayne rides your dick?”

“You underhanded, sneaky, little motherfucker- you too Dwayne!”

“Yes, yes, all of that, but are you going to do it?”

“Of course I am!”

Again, you weren't stupid and you weren't going to let an opportunity pass you.

It didn't take the three of you long to get comfortable. Paul held himself open just inches from your face and Dwayne was already pressing the tip of your cock against his entrance. Dwayne sunk down slowly, appreciating the burning stretch every inch brought, Paul sat on your face like it was a goddamn chair. You moaned as Dwayne rode you, right against Paul’s hole. You figured that there was no better time to start. Taking both his hips into your hands, you held him steady as you prodded at his hole with your tongue, pressing inside with a bit of force. Already, he whined and tried to press more into himself, and you have him more, hearing him moan and watching as he used one hair to grab onto your hair, and the other to hold onto the head board, trying to stable himself.

You couldn't see Dwayne but you could feel him, he rode nice and slow, enjoying every bit of your cock to the fullest, even with Paul’s thoughts almost covering your ears you could still hear his soft, deep moans. Testing, you met him with a thrust, making his body jerk before settling again.

You focused back on Paul, he was much louder than Dwayne, with so much more energy coursing through his body. He wrapped his hand around his cock, low murmurs and desperate whines flowing like a river from his mouth.

“Yes, yes- ha- ah, mhh~! Right there, right there, please!”

You listened, pressing your tongue firmly inside him, his legs snapped shut, and his grip on your hair grew tighter before releasing completely, joining the other in damn near breaking your headboard. Slowly, panting hard, he opened his legs again, cum dripping all over his thigh and down to your face, a drop landing on your cheek.

He sat like that for a long moment, either trying to resituate his mind or come to terms with how fast and how hard he’d just cum.

Eventually, he rolled off of you and splayed out on the other side of the bed.

Dwayne stopped for a moment, wordlessly staring at the other man, he didn't say anything and didn't continue riding you until Paul gave him a thumbs up, albeit a tired one.

He rode you harder, bouncing on your cock, his hands gripping your shoulders, loud, wet slapping filled the room.

It didn't take you long to finish inside of him, he was wonderfully tight, even after repeatedly slamming your cock into himself. You didn't stop him though, letting him ride to his heart's content. A few moments later his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open in a silent moan. Cum shot out of his cock, splattering against your chest.

He sat there warming your cock for another long moment before lifting off. He dropped on the opposite side of you. Just as clingy as he always was after sex, tossing his arm across your chest.

Paul, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, let a goofy smile graze his face.

“Best ride ever, right Dwayne?”

Dwayne let out a small, tired laugh. Cuddling further into you with a satisfied smirk on his face.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Request: some jealous Rebecca Welton x oblivious reader where reader just cannot tell when someone is flirting with her one of the many reasons also why it took so long for Rebecca and reader to officially start dating

Jealousy

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: some swearing

Rebecca’s fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, the plastic groaning from the pressure. She ignored it, eyes trained on your figure. Your laugh made her heart thump hard behind her rib cage, the bruise left in its wake due to not being the one to coax that laugh from you. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, listening to Isaac as you lent closer.

His arm slid over your shoulders, leading you further down the hallway. Something ugly gnawed at Rebecca’s stomach. She had to turn away or risk hurting someone. Taking some deep breaths, she peeked over her shoulder. You were looking back at her, not realising the way Isaac’s eyes were sweeping down your body.

The smile you gave her was brighter than any you’d given Isaac. Her own lips curled up, an unconscious response, never able to not give in to the impulse when it came to you.

Extracting yourself from Isaac, you said something quietly before making your way to Rebecca’s side. Isaac’s eyes lingered on your retreating back, dipping down to follow the sway of your hips. She bit back her growl, that ugly feeling sink its teeth into her stomach again.

“Hi,” you said, looking up into her face, your smile broad.

“What did Isaac want?” she asked, knowing her voice was harsher than she intended.

“Oh, he was inviting me to the party tonight. Why didn’t you tell me about it? Apparently all of the guys want me there,” you said, “you’re going right?”

“Of course I am,” she replied, despite having previously declined an invitation. A groups of sweaty football players in a darkened room with loud music was hardly her idea of an enjoyable evening. You in a darkened room, however, was a different matter altogether. Especially if that room was full of sweaty football players with testicles bigger than the size of their brains.

Your smile widened and your eyes sparkled. You reached out, hand landing against her forearm, burning through the silk of her blouse. You bounced onto your toes, face drawing just a bit closer to hers.

“You’ll really come?” you asked.

“For you, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, just waiting for the words to hit your brain. She could see the moment it did. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you tried to contain your grin and you were looking at her like she hung the moon.

“Tonight is going to be ace,” you said, letting her arm go, “I’m going to go buy something to wear. I’ll see you later tonight.”

She felt bereft as you stepped back, taking one then another away from her. You waved to the guys before pushing out of the door into the sunlight that swallowed you up. You glanced back, just long enough to meet her eye, flashing her another one of your bright smiles. The way it warmed her, you could have been the sun that flooded into her club.

She was distracted the rest of the day, the image of the boys flirting with you distracting her from her work. Who could focus on contracts when those very men were trying to steal you from her? Your bright smile was meant to be turned in her direction, not laughing at one of the boys dirty jokes.

“Hey good looking,” Keeley said, strutting into the room, “why are you wearing ‘someone’s going to die but I’ll look fit while doing it’ face?”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” she said.

“The boys invited her to the party?” she asked.

“Yes, and now I have to go or wonder which of them are putting their dirty mitts on her,” she replied, lips pursing.

“You know she’s crazy about you. You don’t have to worry,” Keeley said, nudging her.

“I’m not worried about her. It’s them I’m not happy with. I don’t like them… thinking they have a shot with her,” she said, hands flapping as she tried to put into words her anger.

“So you need to look hot tonight. Show them there’s no competition. A bunch of sweaty hairy guys? They’ve got nothing on you,” she said, “you’re well fit.”

“Thanks,” she said, a small chuckle on her lips, “you really think I have nothing to worry about?”

“Come on, Rebecca. She looks at you like you’re the greatest thing she’s ever seen. There’s literally not even a competition going on,” Keeley replied.

“You’re right. Of course your right,” she said, “I should wear the red dress, shouldn’t I?”

“Fuck yes!”

Rebecca laughed, head tipping back, the vestiges of her jealousy seeping away. Of course she had nothing to worry about. It’s not as if you were going to the party with Isaac. You’d asked her if she was going. It mattered to you.

So why, when she arrived, did Isaac have his stupid hairy arm around your shoulder, passing you a drink while you smiled up at him?

She did her best to ignore it, striding past to find her own drink, missing the way your eyes lingered on her. Something not in a plastic cup if she could avoid it. She hadn’t done that since her university days. She wasn’t about to start doing that again, just to be like the boys.

She rifled through the cupboards to find a glass to pour some of the cheap wine into. With a sigh, she took a long drink from it, just able to see you through the door. The moment your gaze landed on her it was like electricity struck. Your eyes lit up and you ducked out from under Isaac’s arm, practically tripping over yourself to reach her side.

“You came,” you said, beaming up at her.

“Of course. I told you I would,” she said.

“Yeah, but I mean this isn’t really your scene,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at the dim living room. You snorted when you saw the boys.

“Anywhere you are is my scene,” she said.

Your smile brightened, “aw, that’s really sweet. Thank you.”

You hauled yourself up onto the counter, legs swinging, heels kicking against the wooden doors. The skirt of your dress lifted, skin on display making her feel crazy. She longed to touch it, to feel your skin against her fingertips as she dragged them upwards until you moaned her name.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” you said, “it’s nice not being the only girl. Keeley said she was coming later but when she does Jamie is going to up the idiocy and then Roy will growl and Keeley will be distracted. It’s nice to have someone bring a bit of class to this thing. Plus, you’re like my favourite person so know I won’t have to leave early to see you.”

“You don’t want all those boys to yourself?” she asked, sidling up to you, arm brushing your leg.

“Them?” you scoffed, “you’re clearly the best one here.”

“Well, after you,” she said.

Your smile was so pretty when you looked at her. Sitting on the counter, your were face to face with her, something she didn’t often get to enjoy. You shifted closer, leaning into her. She did her best not feel flustered at the feeling of your arm pressing against hers. Even after all this time, she still felt like a girl in the grips of her first crush.

“You know, if you wanted to, we could-“

“There you are,” Sam interrupted, walking into the kitchen, “I was hoping to see you here.”

“Sam,” you said, turning that smile on the young football player.

You reached over, pulling him into a hug. She didn’t want to focus on how easy it was for you, doling out your affection.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said, drawing back as his eyes slid over your body.

“Oh this old thing,” you giggled.

“You really do. You’re lighting up the room,” he said.

“Thanks Sam,” you said, teeth sinking down into your lower lip.

“Come, there is dancing. Someone as beautiful as you should be shown off.” He held out his hand to you.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, “I might just stay here and talk to Rebecca.”

“We need your radiance to remind us to be civilised. A pretty girl like you should be dancing,” he said.

“Really. I’m okay,” you said, “but you go have fun for me.”

“I must insist. You dance with an elegance the rest of us can only dream of,” he said.

“Well, if you’re insisting.”

You took his hand, letting him help you down from the counter. Rebecca opened her mouth to say something then snapped it shut, not wanting to ruin your fun. She lingered in the doorway, watching as Sam’s hands landed on your hips and your head tipped back as you laughed. Her fingers continued to tighten on the glass in her hand. She downed the wine in one swig.

You spun from Sam’s arms, straight into Dani’s. You were laughing and he was holding you closer and Montclaur was eyeing you up. She turned, leaving you be, needing another drink. Scooping up the bottle of wine she’d poured from earlier, she left her glass in the sink and slipped out the back door.

The garden was small, just a bit of grass and a few chairs. She sunk into one, not bothering to think about the dirt she’d be getting on her dress by sitting. Bringing the bottle to her lips, she let herself have a moment to wallow. She wanted that attention on her, to be in your atmosphere.

She tipped her head back, looking up at the night sky. A few stars winked down at her, just seen through a small gap in the clouds. Sighing, she took another drink. She knew it wasn’t the same as with Rupert, that you weren’t the one going around hitting on anything that moved. But the old insecurities were rising again.

She knew all the reasons you shouldn’t be with her. She’d been on cloud nine since the first time you’d kissed her but even then she’d known that she didn’t deserve you. She was no better than Rupert, going after a younger woman. A young woman who shone so brightly of course everyone else was drawn to you. She took another long drink.

“There you are.”

You were standing just outside the door, your arms curled around your body. Given your dress was skin tight, she could see the way you were shivering. You walked towards her, your smile bright despite how cold you looked.

“Why are you out here?” you asked.

She held out a hand to you, drawing you closer. You didn’t hesitate to settle yourself on her lap, curling an arm around her neck. Her own hand rested on your hip, the other gentle as it rested on your thigh. Skin on bare skin was enough to make her crave you with every fibre of her being.

“Baby?” you asked.

“You seemed busy so I decided to get some air,” she replied, not wanting to admit just how much she couldn’t bare to watch you dance with those men.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, snuggling closer to her.

“Not with you here,” she replied, “you’re warming me up.”

Your lips pressed to her cheek, soft and chaste. Her fingers tightened on your thigh, a reflex to the feeling. You hummed, your lips ghosting over her skin, pressing to spot under her jaw that you knew drove her wild. Her sharp inhalation of breath was a surprise to her and yet she was melting under your touch.

“I love this dress on you,” you murmured into her skin, “you look so hot.”

She flushed from the compliment.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re really out here?” you asked, “did the boys make you feel unwelcome since you’re the boss?”

“No,” she sighed, tipping her head back, giving you better access.

“Please, Rebecca,” you pleaded, drawing back, looking at her with those big eyes, swimming with concern. She cursed under her breath, knowing she couldn’t say no to you, not when you were looking at her like that.

“I don’t like the way the boys flirt with you,” she admitted.

“They boys? They’re not flirting,” you said, shaking your head.

“Of course they are. Isaac can’t keep his hands off you. Sam was drooling over you in the kitchen. Montclaur was leering at you. I heard Dani asking you on a date. They’re not even hiding it from me, the fuckers,” she said, looking back up at the night sky.

“They’re just being nice,” you brushed off.

“They’re fucking not,” she snapped.

You drew away from her and guilt curdled in her stomach. There was no point getting angry at you. It wasn’t your fault. You were so gorgeous it was no wonder everyone you met wanted you. She had. It would be hypocritical to not understand why other people would want you.

“Baby, are you jealous?” you asked.

“No,” slipped from her too fast to convince anyone, “yes. It’s not important.”

“Of course it’s important,” you said, “I don’t want you feeling like this over nothing. You know I have no interest in any of those boys, right? They’re all hairy and sweaty and gross.”

“Really?” she asked, hating that she needed the reassurance.

“No one even comes close to comparing with you. You’re the greatest person I’ve ever met. And the most beautiful. Like, if I could I’d be with you all the time. I don’t want to be with anyone but you.” You gently cupped her cheek in your warm palm, “I love you, Rebecca. No one is going to change that.”

“You love me?” Those words were branded into her brain, none of the rest of it penetrating after that.

“I was planning on telling you at a nicer place than this but yeah. I love you. I thought you might have figured it out already. I don’t think I’m very good at hiding it.” You gave a little self conscious chuckle, “but I love you so much and so I don’t want you to worry that one of those boys could ever steal me away. You’re the only one for me.”

She stared down at you, not able to comprehend that you loved her. That you were choosing her. That you wanted her. You were smiling, so close to her, looking so beautiful, loving her. Your smile dimmed a little and she realised she hadn’t said anything for too long.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

Your grin returned as you lent forward. Your lips brushed hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from pulling you in further, her tongue running along your bottom lip. You moaned into her mouth and she knew she could spend the rest of her life listening to that noise.

Someone wolf-whistled and you drew away, ignoring the way she tried to pull you closer again. Looking over your shoulder, she was ready to tell off whichever of the boys was interrupting her time with you. Keeley was grinning at the two of you, sparkling like the amazing woman she was, leaning in the doorway.

“Keep it in your pants, Welton,” she called, making her way towards the two of you, “leave some for the rest of us.”

“Very funny,” she called back.

You giggled, pressing your face into her shoulder, doing your best to stifle them. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head. She wasn’t ever going to get tired of this.

“Looks like you two are having fun,” she said, perching on one of the other chairs.

“We are,” you said, emerging from your hidden spot. She tightened her arm around your waist, making you press closer.

“We could get out of here, if you want to,” she murmured into your ear.

“Okay,” you said, “but can we get some ice cream on the way back to your place?”

“Of course.”

You climbed off her lap, holding out a hand for her. You tangled your fingers together, tugging her away from the chairs. Rebecca passed the wine bottle over to Keeley, leading you towards the gate to let you out of the backyard.

“Have fun you two,” Keeley said, giving a salacious wink as she passed you to re-eneter the house.

Having you leave with her, sliding into her car, smiling at her like she was the greatest thing you’d ever seen, it was enough to make her not even able to remember why she’d been so jealous earlier. Of course you’d choose her. You loved her.

There was absolutely no one to be jealous of.

[spnhunter4life]

Not So Bad

Summary: Bad information on a hunt leads to a tense situation that ends in confessed feelings.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

I sighed as I flipped through the pages of the dusty old book I’d picked up out of a mix of nerves and boredom. The Winchester boys and I were in New York of all places. I hated it here. The constant loud noise of the bustling city, the air that was so far from the fresh country air I’d grown used to at the bunker, and, worst of all, the tall buildings that blocked out the sky mixing with the thick crowds of people made me feel severely claustrophobic. 

But there was a monster here that needed to be killed, and the Winchesters always went where they were needed. And wherever they went, I went. So here I was, sitting in the library while the brothers went off to kill the thing. It was some sort of demi god named Daemon. 

I’d never been much of one for fighting. I preferred to be the designated researcher, helping out in a mental capacity instead of physical. Both brothers insisted I at least learn basic self defense and worked with me on occasion, wanting me to be able to defend myself if the worst were to happen, but they never pushed me to come face down monsters with them.

The book I was currently looking through was one of the three I’d been able to find in this library about Daemon. I’d already found the information I was looking for and reported it to the Winchesters. But now my options were to sit here and wait for the hunt to be over so the boys could come pick me up, or make my way back to the motel on my own, and I was perfectly comfortable where I was. Or at least, comfortable enough that it wasn’t worth braving the crowded streets.

I turned another page, skimming the words quickly, barely absorbing what I was reading. Somewhere in the back of my mind I made the distant realization that I was in a library and could go find a more interesting book to pass the time. I didn’t give the idea much thought, knowing that it would be difficult to lose myself in a book when my boys were in danger. I knew how long they’d been living this life and how capable they were, but that didn’t make it any less scary anytime they took off. I knew every time could be the last, and I didn’t take that for granted. 

I was about to close the book and at least find something to occupy myself that wasn’t a detailed explanation of the very thing the boys were facing down, when the sentence I’d just read actually registered in my mind. With a sharp inhale, my eyes darted back to the beginning of the paragraph.

It is a common misconception that Daemon is susceptible to oak stakes dipped in lamb’s blood – a rumor no doubt started by the mischievous deity himself – which is actually quite harmless to him. What most do not know is that Daemon is not a demigod at all, but the offspring of a demon and a faerie. As such, his one and only weakness is a silver blade dipped in holy water.

The blood drained from my face. I’d given the boys the wrong information and now they were off to face an angry demigod – or faerie demon hybrid, apparently – with weapons that may as well have been toothpicks for all the use they would be. 

How could I have been stupid enough to not double check the information? I should know better than that!

I didn’t have time to wonder if maybe this bit of information was the incorrect one. Something in my gut told me it was right, and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t risk letting them go to their deaths, thinking they had the upper hand. I pulled my phone out and immediately dialed Sam’s number. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. Cursing quietly to myself, I tried Dean instead. Voicemail again.

Fear for my boys overrode everything else. They were all I had left in the world and I absolutely could not lose them. I couldn’t live without my sweet, steady Sam. He was an invaluable source of knowledge on all topics imaginable and he had a calm, comforting disposition that seemed to instantly ease everyone in his vicinity. His sense of humor may not have been as pronounced as Dean’s, but I appreciated it just the same and wondered what would happen if I never got to hear his laugh or see his smile again. 

And Dean. I couldn’t even let myself think what all I would be losing if he was gone. To an outsider, our relationship looked perfectly polite and comfortable. And it was, I suppose – we always got along well and never had a bad word to say to each other – if not a little strained. Although, that may have been just on my end. He never did seem to feel the tension that I did. I couldn’t blame him for not noticing either. After all, I did everything I could to keep him from knowing just how much I cared for him. Just how much I loved him.

Without stopping to think about it, I quickly exited the library and rushed out into the crowded streets I so despised. I ran in the direction of Daemon’s lair – we had known its location since early in the investigation and had only been working on the details of how to kill him – roughly shoving through crowds of people when necessary. 

I was severely winded by the time I reached the abandoned building that Daemon resided in. I was panting in short breaths that seemed to fill my lungs with fire. I didn’t have time to stop though. I spotted the Impala parked in the alley and fumbled a key out of my pocket. I threw the trunk open, grabbed a silver knife and poured a generous helping of holy water over it. I barely remembered to slam the trunk shut before rushing inside. 

I slowed down once I was inside. The building was large and I had no idea where any of the current occupants might be. I was just peeking around an open door, knife held at the ready, when a huge crash followed by a yell of pain sounded off to my right. My heart stopped. That was Dean. 

Please let him be ok. Please let him be ok. And Sam too. Let them both be ok, I pleaded to any god who would listen.

I crept as quickly and quietly towards the sound of distress as I could, sounds of a fight leading me there. Fear like I’d never felt before ran like ice through my veins, but kept me moving forward. I rounded a corner and felt my heart stop again before picking up a racing rhythm at what I saw. Sam was sprawled on the ground. He’s only unconscious, I told myself. The alternative was unacceptable. Across the room was Dean, pinned to a wall by Daemon, straining to break the hybrid’s grip and thrust his oak stake into its side. Daemon clearly had the upper hand and wrenched the stake away from him, throwing it behind him. I barely stopped myself from calling out Dean’s name. 

“You think you can kill me? A puny man, kill a god?” Daemon spat, the rage clear in his voice. 

I charged towards them, knife raised and ready. I was only a few steps away when Dean saw me over Daemon’s shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise before he could stop the involuntary reaction. I saw him immediately look away again, not wanting to give me away, but it was too late. Daemon had seen it. He whirled around to face me and knocked me aside without a thought. It was as easy as if he’d been swatting at an irritating fly. Dean yelled my name just as I collided with the wall. My breath, which I hadn’t even quite gotten back after my long sprint here, left me in a whoosh. 

I watched in fascination and horror as Dean took advantage of the momentary distraction to rush at Daemon. He kicked his legs out from under him before climbing on top of him, pinning him to the ground. They struggled for a few seconds before Dean was able to snatch the oak stake from where it had been discarded on the ground. 

“No, Dean! The knife!” I yelled to him. I had dropped it at some point between Daemon’s blow and hitting the wall. Dean didn’t question me, didn’t hesitate before dropping the useless weapon and searching for the knife. But it was out of his reach and it was clear he wouldn’t be able to hold Daemon down much longer. I started to struggle to my feet to grab it for him, but before I was able to, a large body ran into my line of sight, blocking my view of Dean, and stooping to pick up the knife. 

I tensed, terrified that there was some unknown second thing to deal with now, but soon realized it was only Sam. He picked up the knife and turned to his brother. Without speaking a word to each other, Dean rolled out of the way just as Sam plunged the knife down into the heart of the monster. 

Dean was red faced and breathing hard – and who could blame him after wrestling with a being with supernatural strength – but otherwise seemed alright, so I turned my attention to Sam who was closer and who I worried could have any number of injuries after being knocked unconscious. 

“Sam, are you-”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean demanded. Stunned at the hardness of his voice, I turned to look at him and realized that what I’d mistaken for exertion was actually anger. He was livid. I’d never seen him so angry, at least not with me. Why was he angry? This completely unexpected reaction left me feeling small and confused.

“What?” I asked. “What do you mean? I was just trying-” 

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” He yelled. He took a step in my direction and a grimace crossed his face as his leg seemed to struggle slightly under his weight. He grunted, the only sound he would let escape. I remembered his yell, the noise that had guided me in this direction to begin with. He was hurt. Dean, who sat stoically with teeth gritted, never letting more than a grunt escape while Sam dug bullets out of him or sewed up horrible gashes, had cried out in pain. That had scared me more than anything else tonight, the idea of how badly he must be hurt to not be able to hide it.

“Dean,” Sam started in a warning tone. He might have been about to defend me or to tell Dean to cool his temper so we could talk calmly, but I would never know. Anger flared up in me, completely overriding the confusion and uncertainty Dean’s words had caused. 

“Well you nearly were killed! So I guess it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” I shouted back. I wasn’t actually angry, I knew, just reliving the terror of the last half hour mixed with the relief of seeing them both ok and the worry at their injuries. In short, I was overwhelmed and Dean yelling at me had frayed my already shot nerves. 

“We would have been fine.” Dean deflected.

“No you wouldn’t have! When I got here Sam was on the ground, dead for all I knew, and you were hardly about to win in a battle of strength. And even if you had, your weapon was useless. You would have died!”

“You’re the one who decided you didn’t want to fight! And that’s fine, you know we’re ok with that. But you can’t just not train and then run into a fight with no idea what you’re doing!”

“Guys, maybe we should-” Sam tried again.

“No!” I yelled. I saw a look of surprised hurt in his eyes. I felt bad for snapping at him when he hadn’t done anything wrong, but I was too fired up to backtrack now. “If Dean hasn’t had enough of a fight tonight, then let’s fight! I may not be trained in hand to hand and weapons the way you are, but I assure you, I can yell at you all night long.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and I saw the muscle jump in his jaw. 

“Sam, can you give us a minute?” He asked in a forced calm tone. 

Sam hesitated, looking back and forth between the two of us before agreeing. “Alright. But you’ve got ten minutes before I’m coming back in after you to make sure you’re not strangling each other,” he warned before leaving the room.

We glared at each other for a minute, neither of us speaking. After what felt simultaneously like an eternity and only a moment, Dean started talking again in that tone that was an attempt at being calm, but I could clearly hear the tenseness and anger underneath.

“You can’t just-”

“You said that already,” I interrupted immediately. His jaw ticked again, and I knew shouting at him when he was trying to deescalate the situation was not appreciated. He tried again in that same infuriating tone, a little more strained this time.

“Sam and I hardly need you jumping in to protect us. We know what we’re doing.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?” He yelled back, patience worn thin.

“It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not because you couldn’t have won! I was doing some more reading after you guys left and I realized I gave you the wrong weapon.”

“Then you call us! You don’t come running in after us!”

“I did call you! Neither of you picked up! I couldn’t just sit there and wait for you to die!”

“Of course you could have! Don’t you think we’d rather take our chances with bad weapons than to have you in the line of fire?”

“What would you have done Dean?” I screamed at him. “If it were you sitting around knowing that I was going after a monster with a weapon that wouldn’t kill it? What would you have done?” I felt confident this would be the end of it. After all, there was no doubt in my mind what he would have done, and he couldn’t possibly deny it.

“That’s not the same thing,” he said. He was still angry, but he said this in a quieter voice, the kind of quiet that meant I’d truly struck a nerve. 

“Why?” I asked, ready to swoop in with the metaphorical killing blow and win the argument. “Because I can’t fight, so of course I’d need you to come save me?”

“No.”

“Hypothetically saying I was as well trained as you then. Or that it was Sam. The point still stands. You would have done exactly what I did. You wouldn’t just sit back and let us die, so why would I?”

“I told you, that’s not what I meant,” he snapped. “How do you think we would feel if something happened to you? What if we couldn’t protect you and you got hurt?”

“How do you think I felt, Dean?” I stomped over to him, getting right in his face, letting him see how much I meant what I was saying. “I didn’t know if you would be alive or not when I got here.” I stopped for a breath, the intensity of the emotions I’d felt in that moment hitting me once again. “Don’t tell me I don’t understand what it would feel like. I know exactly what it feels like.”

“It’s not the same,” he said again, stubbornly.

“How is it not the same? If anything, it’s worse for me. You and Sam at least have each other. If I lose you guys, I have no one. I will not lose you. Do you understand me? If that means putting my own life on the line, I’m ok with that.” 

“I’m not!”

“Well that’s just too bad, isn’t it, because it’s my life, not yours!”

“You’re not understanding me! If you would just let me explain-”

But apparently I wouldn’t. I wasn’t doing it on purpose, but I just needed him to understand what I was saying. So I cut him off in the middle of his request that I not do so.

“No, I told you that I understand perfectly. It’s you who isn’t understanding! I’ve never been more scared in my whole life than I was when I heard you yelling in pain.” In the back of my mind, I registered that Dean’s expression had turned from anger to determination. But my brain didn’t seem to fully process this fact, not that I would have known what to do with that information even if I had. My emotions were driving me now, and there was no stopping the words pouring from my mouth.

“I thought that whatever happened, it must be really bad. And maybe I was too late to save you. And it’s my own stupid fault you needed saving in the first place. How could I-”

This time, Dean cut me off. It was only fair, after all I’d done the same to him. This was a much nicer, much more pleasant, much more unexpected way of interrupting though. He leaned down, crashing his lips against mine. As my body seemed to be running on instinct and adrenaline right now, I responded immediately, wrapping my arms around his neck, meeting his demanding kiss with enthusiasm. 

I ran one of my hands through his hair, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between my fingers. My other hand ran down over his shoulder, to his bicep, then over to his chest, loving the strength I could feel in all those hard earned muscles. His hands were wandering too, in my hair one second, traveling over my back the next, and then on my waist.

My brain, which seemed to have shut down for the past few moments – minutes? – decided to start working again, practically screaming at me that this was Dean I was kissing. Dean, apparently experiencing the same returning brain function as me, pulled away. He took a careful step back, creating some space between us. That was probably good. I couldn’t think with him so close. Not after that. His cheeks were flushed red for a whole new reason now and his hair was sticking up in an annoyingly attractive way. I could see by the surprise in his eyes that he hadn’t been planning on the kiss being that intense. 

“It’s not the same,” he repeated, his voice as calm as if we were having a normal conversation on any old day. As if we hadn’t been arguing minutes before. As if he hadn’t just given me the most mind numbing, spine tingling kiss of my life. “Because I love you. And I know that that probably wasn’t the best way to go about telling you, but I need you to understand what it would mean to me to lose you. If you lost me, you’d lose a friend. It would suck, but you would move on. But you’re more than that to me, and I don’t know how I could survive losing you.”

“Have you not paid attention to a thing I said?” I asked him, taking a step forward to eliminate the space he’d put between us. “I told you, if I lost you and Sam I would have nothing.”

“Yeah, but that’s not really true. You could make more friends easily enough.”

“But you’re not just my friends. Sam is my best friend, true, but I love him like he’s my brother. Losing him would hurt me just as bad as losing an actual brother. And you… I couldn’t move on from you any easier than you could move on from me. I love you too.”

“Yeah,” Dean winced. “Like a brother. I know.”

“Not like a brother,” I said, wrinkling my nose a little. “Do you really think I would kiss you like that, or at all for that matter, if that’s how I thought of you?”

“I would hope not,” he agreed. 

“So, basically, you’ve been yelling at me this whole time about not understanding you when, in reality, I understand perfectly, just like I said from the beginning.” I couldn’t help but gloat a little at being right.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched slightly in a repressed smile. 

“You know, I think you owe me for scaring me nearly to death earlier,” he said happily.

“I owe you?” 

“Yes. When you came running in here I swear my heart stopped. And then I had to watch you get thrown across the room…” He winced at the memory and I could tell how upset it made him, but he quickly shook it off and kept up his cheerful tone. “I think you took at least three years off my life. Lucky for you I’ll take payment in kisses. One for every year less I’ll live thanks to you.”

Part of me wanted to argue, but the other part was too giddy to even care. 

“Alright,” I agreed easily. I stretched up onto my tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth. I wanted to continue the intense kiss from earlier, but there would be time for that later. This seemed like the appropriate response to his gentle, teasing tone. “There’s one.”

I kissed him again, and then once more, feeling like I could burst with joy the whole time. 

“There,” I said after the third kiss. “Does that make us even?”

“For now,” he smiled. “I have a feeling I’ll be finding lots of excuses for more in the future.”

“How’s this for an excuse? I think you took at least five years off my life. I’ll be needing some compensation here as well.”

He grinned. “And I fully intend to pay up. Once we’re home though. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

I was a little disappointed to have to be done kissing him. But I knew he was right. We should get out of here. I knew he was in pain, and I still didn’t know how Sam was doing. Besides, it was only a temporary stop. Once we were home I would have as much time with him as I wanted.

Home. Just the mention of it made me long for it even more. But even though I couldn’t wait to be back, even though I’d spent the whole time here waiting for the moment we could leave, the past few minutes with Dean had made the whole thing worth it. 

Maybe New York wasn’t so bad after all.

Tags: @123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

[andreawritesit]

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: Aizen x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none really.

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

Prologue: Here

Chapter 1

Time had passed. Hinamori had recovered almost fully and the Soul Society was starting to regain the peace that had been disturbed by the treacherous captains. Head Captain Yamamoto had finally issued a statement regarding the betrayal and the ex-captains. The three squads left without their captains were being monitored by their lieutenants for the time being. After trying really hard to ignore the memories, you had finally taken up on Ukitake’s offer and moved to another room. Aizen’s face haunted you day and night. Not the one you were used to, the one with glasses resting on his nose and a kind smile on his face, no. The face that had taken over your dreams was the one he unveiled while leaving the Soul Society; the one that no longer had strands of hair decorating it, the one that had discarded the kindness from itself. With the vast lifespan shinigami had, you wondered if any amount of time would ever heal the scars he had left on your soul.  Whatever short amount of time you had felt peaceful was once again destroyed by Aizen’s schemes. Orihime Inuoe had been on her way back to the World of Living when she disappeared halfway. Every possibility was taken into account and an emergency meeting had been scheduled with the Captains and lieutenants present in the World of Living. Upon hearing that Orihime had apparently healed Ichigo’s injuries, Yamamoto had decided that she had defected on her own and declared her a traitor. That hadn’t stopped the orange-haired man from heading to Hueco Mundo by himself. All that had led to this:

You were currently with Kisuke Urahara, the banished ex-captain of squad 12. You were helping him with transporting the real Karakura town to Soul Society as word had spread that Aizen would be attacking the town shortly. You had nearly lost your mind by this point. After all, you’d be seeing him again. You were sitting on the roof of a house, thinking over how your reunion with your traitor of a husband would go. Would he even acknowledge your presence? He hadn’t hesitated to stab his loyal lieutenant. What if he had also never cared for you, even once? What if he decided to kill you too? Would you be able to strike him back?

“Ahem.” You turned around at the sound of the very obviously fake cough. Ukitake stood behind you with a warm smile gracing his face. Maybe the cough wasn’t so fake… 

“Captain Ukitake, I’m sorry I didn’t notice you there.” He laughed and sat beside you. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were lost in your thoughts.” His voice was gentle. 

“Yes. I was thinking about…”

“About Aizen?” You sighed and held your head in your hands. It was so obvious how rattled you were with the situation. Ukitake didn’t say anything but wrapped his arm around your shoulder and gave you a light pat. The white-haired captain had been by your side throughout these turbulent times. His calm presence had been a silent shore in the loud sea of your emotions. Even now, when there was an inevitable war looming over your heads, he had found time to sit down and reassure you, knowing that the upcoming confrontation would be the hardest on you. 

“What if I won’t be able to stand against him? All this time, I’ve been telling myself that I’m strong enough to keep my emotions in check and stand for what’s right. But what if I’m not? What if when I see him, I’ll fall back into his arms? What then Captain?”

“I understand why you feel that way. We have known Sosu-Aizen for a long time. His betrayal came as a shock to all of us. But you shared a deeper bond with him. You have known him in the most intimate ways. I say I understand but the truth is that I will never be able to feel what you do. To have someone so beloved abandon and betray me… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to go on as you have. You’re stronger than you believe you are. And even if you do fall weak to your emotions, there’s nothing wrong with that. He is your husband; you have loved him more than anyone. It won’t be unseemly if you want to run to him in a moment of emotional vulnerability. Just don’t let him use your love as a weapon.”

You didn’t say anything in response. Every word he said was true and yet there was still doubt lingering in your mind. Not because you thought Sosuke might sway you to his side, but because if you did show emotional attachment to him still, you might lose everything else. Yamamoto had been very strict in his words when he had said that anyone found to have any sort of contact with the traitors would be counted as one and dealt with as such. You were torn between your feelings and your duties. And yet all you could do was wait. Wait until he showed up there.

Ukitake sensed your despair and hugged you sideways. You wanted to hide away in his embrace but he let go of you quickly. Getting up, he offered you his hand.

“Come on now, get up. Time to meet up with others.” You took his hand and stood up. He was right. It was time to get up. 

-------- at Urahara’s shop ---------

The meeting had gone by quite quickly. They all had their orders. You were sitting next to Urahara who was busy tinkering around with something. At first, you focused on the teacup in your hand. But soon curiosity got the best of you and you glanced his way. You almost wanted to facepalm when you saw what he was doing. Kisuke Urahara, in this time of war, was fixing his fan. You put the cup down and tapped his shoulder. He turned around quickly and gave you his signature stupid smirk.

“Oh, is the beautiful miss interested in my doings?” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s words.

“No sir, not quite. I’m only wondering how your poor fan got broken like that.”

His smile turned upside down and he let out a dramatic sigh. “How kind of you to ask. This is the doing of Yoruichi sama. She’s so careless around things. She has broken my delicate fan four times already.”

“How impolite of her! Breaking a man’s fan like that!”

“Exactly! And when I request her not to be so reckless with my things, she just hits me in response. She has no regard for me or my things.”

His words bring out laughter from you, a sound you hadn’t heard in a while. Kisuke looked at you with a gentle smile and went back to fixing his fan. After a few moments, you finally stopped laughing and stood up.

“Hey Kisuke?”

He turned to look at you and you nodded at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”

“You know for what. I’ll be with the Captains and lieutenants now.”

He tipped his hat at you and you left the room. After looking around for a bit, you finally found the others assembled on the roofs of some houses. You went to them and stood next to Ukitake who welcomed you with a smile. Shunsui was sitting on a roof, looking as bored as ever. Upon your arrival, he stood up and walked to where you and Ukitake were. 

“Well well, if it isn’t the one who stole my best friend!” he commented as he nudged you with his shoulder. You smirked back at him and hung your arm around Ukitake’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t my fault if I’m better company than you, isn’t that right Captain Ukitake?” The Squad 13 captain just shook his head at you both. 

Your little banter was suddenly cut off by the abrupt presence of dense spiritual pressure. And soon enough, a Garganta opened right above where you were standing. Everybody rose up into the sky and readied themselves to unsheathe their zanpakutos. You stood between Ukitake and Shunsui, hand on your own zanpakuto. You were trying your best to calm your nerves and then you felt it. He was here. Surely enough, three people walked out of the opening. Your eyes went straight to him. Aizen. He was standing between Ichimaru Gin and Kaname Tosen. His eyes almost immediately found you and you both were locked in each other’s gaze. He looked so different yet so familiar. His hair was slicked back, with only a few strands falling across his face. His glasses were gone and he looked taller than before, if it was even possible. While observing him, you felt someone grab your wrist. You saw Ukitake from the corner of your eyes as he squeezed your hand to reassure you.

This wasn’t missed by Aizen’s keen eyes as he saw Ukitake’s hand grab yours. An unexpected emotion flashed in his mind and he had to look away. Had you finally moved on from him? With the Squad 13 captain? He scoffed at his own assumptions and summoned Gin to him. 

“Anytime now.”

Gin understood his captain at once. After all, they had come to this wretched town for only two things, the Oken and his captain’s wife. But before they could even move an inch, Yamamoto used his Ryujinjakka to trap them inside the burning fire. 

You watched in awe as the Head Captain conjured a fiery prison for the traitors. As the fire encircled them, the last thing you saw sent chills down your spine. Aizen had smiled.   

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

tag list @fabulouslyflamboyant5 (let me know if anyone else wants to be added) ---------------------------------------------------- Next part: here

[intothedysphoria]

There was a boy who lived on the other side of town.

Hawkins was a small town but it had a pretty explicit wealth divide. There were a solid wall of three streets where people had three, even four story houses and their own pools. Walk beyond that line and it looked pretty grim. Well, his parents said it did. Steve privately thought the people who lived in those houses looked much happier.

Except for one house. The Hargrove’s.

The dad was ex Marines and was a fucking piece of work. He’d go on ranting about anyone and everyone in the mall, clutching his wife’s hand in a vice. She was quiet and didn’t really seem to do much apart from occasionally pushing her daughter into getting more dresses. The kids were far more interesting.

A red headed thirteen year old girl who trudged around with a skateboard and him. He looked like a movie star but he was constantly limping, like he was injured. Supposedly, he’d taken Steve’s arbitrarily assigned crown but he didn’t even talk to anyone. He just scowled and sometimes Steve saw him crying.

It was all really sad and Steve was going to do something about it. He wasn’t sure what but he was at least going to try.

Steve tried to talk to him once after class. Hargrove looked him up and down then promptly spat on his shoes. The nice ones he’d just got for Christmas.

He talked funny too. It wasn’t just because he was from California, Steve had watched enough tv to pinpoint that accent. He talked rough and gutteral, with a harshness to his voice that suggested he’d been smoking from the age of 10.

Hop arrested him for minor drug charges on Christmas Day. The news spread fast in a town like Hawkins. Not because he’d been smoking weed but because they’d had to carry him out on a stretcher.

The hospital bed was his cell. Steve sent flowers because it felt like the right thing to do given the circumstances. Poppies.

They were still on Hargrove’s bedside table when he left. Medical fees had been paid off by the town. Mr Harrington had even snuck a 100 dollar bill into the pot.

One day Billy approached him. There was a vulnerability to him, shoulders hunched as he asked if there was anywhere he could stay for the night. Neil Hargrove had kicked him out.

Billy was enamoured by Steve’s record player and ran to his own collection to shove them under the needle. Apparently Joy Division was what he played to everyone before he introduced them to the heavy stuff. Steve would have almost preferred Metallica or WASP to Love Will Tear Us Apart. There was something so incredibly bleak about the lyrics and Steve wondered if that was how Billy saw the world.

Steve had leftover pierogies and latkes in the fridge but Billy politely said he preferred to make his own food. He then made a soup with scotch bonnet peppers in which looked delicious but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to handle.

Billy took the bed. Steve took the couch. There was a pile of porn mags buried under the pile of stuff and Steve knew he should’ve just left it. He was just curious and toed a page open.

There was a photo which looked like it had been taken behind an alleyway, of a large, bearded man in denim with another man in a suit on his knees. That magazine was shoved back down to the bottom of the pile.

Billy was queer. Steve had seen videos from New York, Los Angeles, London recently, of gaunt men on hospital beds, clinging to the hands of kind faced women. The news had said that was what happened if you were queer. Agony. Death. But Billy seemed fit and healthy.

Billy wasn’t going to die of that disease. Of AIDS. Steve wouldn’t let him.

The next morning, Billy used the shower for too long, ate nothing but a single slice of toast and left by 6AM. Steve watched him go and wondered if he would come back.

Come back he did, promptly that same evening. Billy made a grilled cheese, which of course had ghost chilli in it, and watched MTV. They had a long conversation about nuclear disarmament which Steve only half followed, then they both went to bed.

Things went on like that for several weeks. Billy would put on a wide variety of records and sometimes they would dance. Sometimes Steve would just watch Billy shake his head so hard, it may as well have fallen off.

They started sharing one meal for a change. Stir fry, steak with mashed potatoes, something Billy proudly proclaimed as toad in the hole, which was just battered sausage. All things his grandfather had taught him to cook.

The sleeping situation also got more complicated.

Due to the length of time that Billy was staying over now, there didn’t feel like there was any point in Steve staying indefinitely on the couch.

So they shared a bed. Steve listened to Billy taking long, deep breaths each night and wondered if he was a queer too.

That question was answered on New Years Eve.

Steve had drunk quite a lot. Billy had probably drunk more. Soft Cell was playing on the radio and Steve was humming along to the tune, making popping sounds with his mouth to the synths.

The song changed to a new track from Frankie Goes To Hollywood and Billy grabbed his arms, spinning them both across the room. It was fun, then Steve felt like he was going to be sick so they had to stop.

Billy was lying down on the floor next to him, giggling with flushed cheeks, then declared he hadn’t had a midnight kiss yet.

He was obviously joking but something in Steve’s chest took it deadly serious because he was climbing into Billy’s chest. They were breathing in the same air.

Billy blinked twice, eyelashes glowing and Steve decided to stop caring.

The kiss didn’t set him alight. It didn’t kill him. It didn’t even eject him from the house. All it did was send a warm tingly feeling down his back and towards his groin. The feeling was indescribable.

Billy asked if they could do that again.

Steve said yes.

For @shieldofiron @robthegoodfellow @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @harringroveobsessed @bigdumbbambieyes @thatgirlwithasquid for being so cool I hope you like it (I am genuinely so ill right now I probably won’t remember that I wrote this in like two hours)

[jamil-s-wifey]

Hello :3 Can I get a long scenario with my dearest Jamil?

I really love him so much >///< so here is my scenario, I hope you can accept

Jamil got sick and has a fever. MC stayed beside him and nursed him for 3 days without blinking and finally he recovered. He started to remember her care during his illness after his fever dropped. And when he woke up, MC hugged him tightly. A bit long, huh? 😅 I would be happy with little NSFW, not gonna lie.

Well hello there, fellow Jamil enthusiast~ It has certainly been a hot minute, hasn't it? It is my utmost pleasure to present you with the *long-awaited* scenario at hand! A bit of NSFW, some heart-warming fluff and Jamil finally getting a GODDAMN break, coming right up! It's not full on NSFW, just a lil bit, as requested, I don't know why it turned out like that- still, I hope this is good! (Tbh, it fits the scenario)

P.S. This hit close to home, I used to be a very sickly child and I still catch all sorta sicknesses a lot easier than normal people. So, what he will experience here is all based on very PERSONAL and very SALTY experience. 🙃

"What am I gonna do with you? You can't keep pushing yourself so much!" You murmured, pressing a cold cloth to Jamil's forehead as he slept soundly.

.......

Jamil hated being sick. Pretty normal right? Everybody hates being sick.

But to Jamil, sickness meant pushing through and continuing with his chores, regardless of his wellbeing. Imagine cooking above a hot stove with a high temperature. Can't be pleasant, can it?

But even the hardest stones could crack under enough force - such is the way the world works. It was towards the end of the day, as Jamil was preparing Kalim's dinner, when he felt his body give out under him. All day he'd been going around with a fever, he felt as if his own body was rotting on the inside, screaming at him to stop and have a break. His eyes were watery and felt as though they were burning in his eye sockets.

He couldn't even reach a chair to sit, before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor - too dizzy and too weak. Rarely did he ever get this sick, but this time it was bad. He moved to a more comfortable position and remained like that, trying to gather enough strength to get some medicine..... He most certainly didn't realise he'd fallen asleep, too tired to move, nor did he hear Kalim's worried voice when he found him on the floor in the kitchen.

And Kalim? Kalim was terrified! Quickly he called on his dorm members to move him to his room and immediately called you, crying on the phone, worried that Jamil might never wake up. (That's not how colds work, Kalim-) Worried about Jamil, you immediately rushed to the Scarabia dorm, medicine in hand.

_____________

And now here you are, in the present, taking extensive care of your near delirious not-quite-boyfriend-but-kinda-love-interest. He'd occasionally wake up and exchange barely audible pleasantries with you, drink his "extra healthy and full of good stuff" chicken soup (whatever that was supposed to entail) and then fall back into slumber. His fever has gone down drastically, but the utter exhaustion left in its wake has kept him bedridden. Apparently it was a seasonal fever, which just so happened to hit Jamil, who in turn chose to ignore it in the beginning.

You'd taken the liberty to remain situated in his room for about three days.

Day one was the worst - high fever, clattering teeth and a sleepless night to boot. You'd change his shirt every time he'd drench it in sweat whilst fighting off the fever. You'd switch up the cloth every time it lost its cooling effect, you'd remained by his side the entire time, least he needed something anything at all.

"Once you get better, I'm so gonna yell at you for not taking better care of yourself.... You're lucky I love you." You'd mumbled, barely audible in the quiet of the room as he slept.

Day two was better - he slept through most of it and you could in turn prepare some soup, as well as cover most of his chores, get a pass from the teachers AND even leave him some of your notes for when he recovers. (Look at you go! He'd better propose imo)

Now, on day three he was evidently much healthier. Finally he gave up trying to get out of bed, and instead lay resting, drinking his medicine, feeling utterly pampered by you.

_____________

"How long have you...been here?" You seemed pretty tired in his eyes. The moment you heard his voice you immediately threw yourself gently on him, gently crushing his bones in a hug.

"A while." You responded, face buried in his chest. In reality, you hadn't had a proper night of sleep in about 3 days. You DID sleep, Kalim even prepared a guest bedroom, but you chose to remain next to Jamil for most of the time. "Do you know how worried I was?"

"You didn't have to do all this, you know? You could've get sick too."

"I could've, but I haven't. For somebody with such a keen eye and monstrous deliberation, you really don't know how to take care of yourself properly." You quipped back, moving to sit on the bed next to him.

"As, so I'm being reprimanded now." His gaze softened. "Thank you....for taking care of me these last few days... I've forgotten what it's like to not have to worry or do anything... I feel like I've slept a lifetime... I don't know how I could possibly return the favour."

You can't stay mad at him. He knows it, you know it. Hell, even the Great Seven know it.

"Return it by recovering completely."

He chose not to continue the conversation. He knew arguing was pointless.

"You know, while I was sleeping, or trying to, I was mostly aware of what was happening around me." He began, pushing himself up, in a sitting position. "When you'd quietly hum to yourself, or cuss when you couldn't find something..."

"Ah- well, did you now? Sorry if you had a difficult time falling asleep because of me. " you felt your cheeks warm up a bit.

"No no, please. It's fine. You've taken such good care of me. I just... couldn't help but hear something, which perhaps I wasn't meant to."

He reached out, tangling his hand in your hair.

"Something about you loving me?"

...

Nope, all that heat in your cheeks? Gone. Now it was just coldness and dread.

He saw your frazzled state and chuckled. "I guess I'm really lucky, to have you to take *such* good care of me, huh."

He leaned in, but stopped just centimetres away.

"I shouldn't."

You heart dropped even lower, if that was even possible.

"I could get you sick.~" There was a lilt to his voice, but his eyes showed concern.

"Oh, for fuck's sake-" you leaned in, smashing your lips onto his. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you towards him.

Naturally, you moved to sit in his lap, his hands moving to your waist.

"Your feelings are returned, for the record." He mumbled in between heated kisses. The more heated the kisses became, the more his hands would wander until-

In the blink of an eye, he flipped you over, so that you were underneath him. Skillfully he unbuttoned the first few buttons of your uniform, revealing more of your neck and collarbones. "I think I have a way of returning the favour. You took such good care of me, I think it's my turn~"

His attention moved to your neck, leaving heated languid kisses and playful bites on your skin. His hand trailed down to spread your legs, moving between them. Every single touch of his was intoxicating. Pretty quickly your shirt was thrown on the floor, the supple flesh underneath - covered in hickeys.

"Are you not going to undress as well? Or should I do that for you?" you asked, breathless, yet teasing in manner. Well. As teasing as one could get, given how achingly turned on you were. "Like you didn't have more than enough time to appreciate the view, during these last few days." he teased right back, but his hands moved to grip the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time." He practically purred, fingers gliding over your stomach, gently trailing lower and lower.

"Of course, you can tell me to stop anytime."

"I don't want you to."

"As you wish, my dear. Then I'll make sure to indulge, taking, tasting, touching every single part of you. "

[goddessofroyalty]

So this was based on a silly joke I have in my head about hormonal birth control not working for omega!Sanji for (spoilers) reasons and him and Zoro then ending up with 3 kids on the pirate journey because they keep breaking condoms.

Anyway this is just them finally making it back to the Baratie and having to face up to Zeff about it (from Zeff’s POV)

Pairing: Zoro/Sanji

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg

---------

Zeff will admit he is slightly surprised at the swell in Sanji’s stomach when he showed up again as part of what seems to be the new Pirate King and crew’s Victory Tour.

It’s not that Eggplant had given him no indication of it – he had been getting more and more jittery every damn time he’d gotten in touch as the Strawhats made their various stops before reaching the Baratie. Saying how some things had happened during his travels and that he’d needed to talk to Zeff about them in person. But Zeff had assumed it was to do with his damnable family. Not that his woman-obsessed omega son had gone and got himself knocked up. By an alpha, going by the new layer of scent clinging on top of the one he remembers to be Sanji’s.

And, because wonder’s don’t fucking cease, they’ve only just gotten through their tearful hug when a little green-haired girl comes running over. Clinging to Eggplants leg and staring up at Zeff with curious, familiar, blue eyes.

“I thought you were staying on the ship Princess?” Eggplant says, brushing a hand through her hair. And Zeff is equally sure that actually Sanji told her to stay on the ship as he is that his boy was as much a pushover to his daughter as he had been any woman who had stepped foot into the Baratie before he left.

“You know she wasn’t gonna’ as soon as she found out this was your old home.” And there was the newly minted World’s Greatest Swordsman and apparently sire to Zeff’s grandkids walking in like it had been his home as well and not the place he had gotten nearly cut in half by the former owner of the title.

And, fucks sake, there was another little one resting on his hips as he does it with that same matching green hair.

“I do remember teaching you about the importance of making them wrap it,” Zeff grumbles, because going by the age of the older one the two it hadn’t been all that long after Sanji left that he had gotten himself knocked up. “I know you said you weren’t planning on getting with any alphas but I know you were still listening.”

Eggplant goes red at it before glaring at Roronoa who gives a grin back that is entirely too filthy and leaves Zeff sure that he doesn’t actually want to know.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Zeff asks more to move the topic away from his kid’s sex life before he finds out more about it than he wants to.

They had been exchanging letters and calls on and off the whole time and never once had Eggplant mentioned that he was going to be or had become a granddad in any of them.

“I did try to but I couldn’t say anything too direct in case it got intercepted,” Sanji explains, resting a protective hand over his middle while the other curls around the girl at his side.

It makes some degree of sense. Best way to keep the two, soon to be three, pups from being a target is to have nobody know they exist in the first place.

Maybe Zeff should have guessed something like this was up when Sanji had asked him how he had dealt with the stress of raising a kid in the dangerous world they lived in. But he had just assumed his boy had finally matured enough to realize how much of an antagonistic dumbass he had been at times.

“I did want to tell you though,” Sanji continues, his voice guilty.  

Roronoa has moved close to his mate’s side, not touching though. Which is probably what Sanji actually wants – always had been a bit funny about any too direct an offer of comfort. Something Zeff’s probably as much to blame for as anything else in his life.

“You have no idea how many times I nearly did.”

“Probably for the best you didn’t,” Zeff says because he can’t have his kid feeling guilty for doing the smart thing. “I don’t know if I’d have been able to keep away if you did.”

Neither he nor his ship these days are made for the journey to the Grand Line. And it wouldn’t have been good for Sanji or the rest of the crew of his to have an old pirate getting underfoot while they were making names for themselves on history’s pages.

“Hell, I’m gonna’ struggle letting you sail off with my grandkids with you now. You better come visit more than you have been!” He doesn’t actually hold it against them and damn well know the reason why this is the first time he’s seen them since Sanji left to join a pirate crew. But he still missed years of his grandkids lives as a result and they had better make up for it.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

One of the more interesting aspects of Stayed Gone is the implication that, prior to his disappearance, Alastor must have been producing some quality programming.

Despite it's obvious importance in the modern world, TV apparently only started outcompeting radio in Hell after Alastor vanished. Seven whole years ago. And when Al returns, Vox's first response is to freak the fuck out about whether he's gonna keep his audience.

That's fucking crazy.

And we can be pretty sure that people weren't just listening in out of fear, either. Or because Alastor was making any major effort to crush all other forms of media.

If this was purely about which Overlord was the most powerful, then Vox's verses would surely have focused on emphasising his own strength. Instead, they're all about calling radio outdated. Vox is genuinely worried— apparently based on experience— that Alastor is going to outdo him in terms of sheer entertainment value.

Which raises the obvious question: what were Al's shows actually like? (Aside from those early broadcasts guest-starting the screams of the damned, obviously.)

We get kind of a taster in the song:

“Salutations! Good to be back on the air. Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated Hell to a broadcast— Sinners, rejoice!— instead of a clout-chasing mediocre video podcast. Is Vox insecure, pursuing allure? Fitting between this fad and that, is nothing working? Every day, he's got a new format! Is Vox as strong as he purports? Or is it based on his support? He'd be powerless without the other Vees! And here's the sugar on the cream: he asked me to join his team! I said no, and now he's pissy, that's the tea!”

Obviously he's doing it to music, so there's going to be some difference in the cadence of his voice from that, but still, he's talking noticeably quicker than he does in person. And he gets right to the point.

Compare it to his commercial in episode 1. There's a big difference in terms of both how much respect he's showing his audience (“well hello there, you wayward sinner!” vs “good to be back on the air”), and how much relevant information he delivers.

Alastor is a great character to watch, but most people who interact with him directly seem to find the experience either annoying, awkward, terrifying or all three.

Mainly because Al seems to go out of his way to put people off even when he's actively trying to get them to trust him, by making condescending asides or constantly dropping references to his own power. On air, however, he greets everyone politely and even drops what is almost an apology for being gone so long (“I know it's been a while”), then immediately gets to the information that he knows they're really listening for.

Alastor may not respect Charlie, Adam or Lucifer, but he does respect his audience.

And the content he's producing makes it clear why people are still tuning in. Al has the gossip. Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench may not be unbiased exactly, but they're clearly trying to provide sources for their claims and maintain some veneer of professional news reporting.

Al, meanwhile, is quite happy to provide strong opinions and baseless speculation about public figures, content that is less fitting with the professional image that Vox seems so desperate to keep up, but that is likely to attract a bigger audience.

What gets me curious now, however, is wondering what else he used to provide.

Again, radio was apparently the medium for news and entertainment in Hell until Alastor left. Implying that a) radio was at the time fulfilling many of the function that TV now provides, and b) Alastor was involved enough in this that it collapsed/got overthrown the moment he left town.

Did Alastor have an empire similar to the Vees? Did he run a bunch of channels? Did he have DJs and sports commentators and presenters on his payroll?

Given that radio seems to have collapsed completely after he left— did they all go running to Vox when he was presumed dead? Was the Vees new empire in part built on the ruins of Alastor's old one?

Or did he do the whole thing solo and just run like, a bunch of different shows. (In which case, since radio's bread and butter has always been music, Helluva Boss fans can now have fun imagining him interviewing Verosika Mayday about ‘Vacay to Bonetown’.)

[scary-grace]

the new postmodern age (chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Written for @threadbaresweater's follower milestone event, and the prompt 'a day at the beach'! Congratulations on the milestone, and thanks for giving me a chance to write this fic.

dividers by @enchanthings

Before the war, you were nothing but a common criminal, but in the world that's arisen from the ashes, you got a second chance. Five years after the final battle between the heroes and the League of Villains, you run a coffee shop in a quiet seaside town, and you're devoted to keeping your customers happy. Even customers like Shimura Tenko, who needs a second chance even more than you did -- and who's harboring a secret that could upend everything you've tried to build. Will you let the past drag both of you down? Or will you find a way, against all odds, to a new beginning? (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2

Chapter 3

Tenko doesn’t come to the café the next day. He doesn’t text you back, or answer your call, but you know he hasn’t blocked you because your messages get delivered. That’s a relief, but not much of one. He doesn’t have his laptop, so he can’t work. What’s he doing today? What happened to him? Is he all right?

It should disturb you that the latter question matters more to you than the others, mattered more than the fact that you slept with a customer and the fact that he’s apparently a supervillain in disguise. It’s the supervillain part that should overwhelm everything else – but you’ve spent the last five years living by the principle of judging people on who they are now, not what they were in the past. You can’t drop that principle now. Not with how you feel about Tenko. Not with what you saw him do.

You keep up a happy face at work, like always – there’s no such thing as a bad day for a reformed criminal, you should remember that you’re lucky to have gotten a second chance – but beneath the surface, you’re in turmoil. You save a babka for Tenko, but you know deep in your heart that he’s not coming in today. If you want to give him his stuff back, you’re going to have to go to him.

You don’t know where he lives, but you have enough information to figure it out. During the afternoon, as the steady stream of customers trails to a stop, you collect what you know – the exact time Tenko’s power went out, the list of outage alerts the town posted, naming the exact time and the affected neighborhood. When you match Tenko’s text to the outage alerts, you see that he lives in a lightly populated neighborhood on the edge of town, so far out that you’re surprised he didn’t lose power sooner. It’ll be a long walk from your café, but the weather is nice, and it’ll be a while before the sun sets. When five o’clock comes, you close up shop, package the babka to take with you, settle Tenko’s backpack on your shoulders, and set off.

You try to get your head in the game as you walk. Tenko probably thinks you’ve guessed who he is. That’s probably why he left. You’re not just dealing with a customer you slept with; you’re dealing with an undercover supervillain whose identity’s just been revealed. You need to be careful going in there. You don’t know what kind of mood he’s in. You don’t even know if he’ll want to see you. If your positions were switched, would you want to see him?

You would. You’d want to know you still mattered to him, and you’d want what you’ve always wanted – for someone to come find you, to make sure you’re okay. Even if it’s the last thing Tenko wants, you have to try.

Tenko’s neighborhood is sparsely populated, and of the houses there, you rule out most of them immediately – they were built three years ago, and you can’t imagine Tenko moving once he got here. One house is way too big, a fancy lodge used for weddings and corporate retreats. It leaves exactly one place. A house set back in the woods, away from the shore, serviced by a dirt road and barely visible through the trees.

It looks like the kind of place people go to get murdered. If you were a normal person, you’d think twice about going down that road. But you hung out in scarier places than this when you were a criminal, and unlike back then, you have at least some idea of what’s waiting for you in there. You pick your way down the dirt road, skirting the overgrown patches on your way up to the front door. Almost immediately you notice that something’s wrong. The doorknob’s completely gone, as if it’s just crumbled away.

You swallow hard and knock on the door. It sways slightly in place. “Tenko?” When there’s no response, you try again, without the knock. “You left your backpack and laptop at my house. Can I come in?”

“Leave it there.”

As fast as your heart leaped at hearing his voice, it sinks again at his words. But you did what you wanted to do. You checked on him, and you brought him his things, and you don’t want to stay where you’re not wanted. “Okay,” you say. You slide his backpack from your shoulders and set it down carefully on the steps. You put the babka next to it. “Um – you’ve got my number, if you want to talk. I want to talk to you, but I understand if you don’t. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

You turn away and start down the path, your eyes stinging, blinking hard. You think you hear the door open, but you don’t look back – but when your phone buzzes, you yank it out of your pocket in record time. The text is from Tenko. come in if you want to

The relief that sweeps over you feels too strong. You turn around without texting back, gathering up the backpack and the babka before pushing open the door. Tenko’s house is dim, the curtains pulled shut. His TV is muted with a screen full of static. You can’t see him, but you can hear the dry sound of his fingernails against the side of his neck. His voice is flat. “Why are you here?”

“I was kind of shaken up after what happened yesterday. I thought you might be, too.” You take a few cautious steps forward. “I was worried.”

“Don’t lie.” The kitchen is empty. So is the bathroom, and the bedroom when you peer through the door. “You saw. You know.”

His breathing rattles ever so slightly. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you say. “I like you.”

“You sure about that?” Tenko’s voice takes on a mocking note. “I think you’re just here to see if it really was a villain you fucked.”

“I don’t –”

“Don’t say you don’t care about it. You do.” Tenko won’t even let you finish the sentence. “It’s all you care about now, so take a look.”

He’s been sprawled out on the couch, but now he stands up. Hood down, mask off, and it’s perfectly clear who you’re looking at. Shigaraki Tomura turned to dust on the battlefield, but he’s here right now, in the living room of a house that’s falling apart. He stares at you, and you remember a thousand still photos, a thousand news broadcasts, all capturing the same light of madness glowing in his eyes. There’s no such thing there now. Whatever drove Shigaraki Tomura onwards, fighting to destroy until his last breath, isn’t there anymore. It’s easy for you to hold his gaze.

He’s the first to look away, his jaw clenched. “What were you expecting me to do?” you ask. “Scream and run away?”

“Call the cops. Or the heroes.” His shoulders lift, the fall. “Maybe the press. You can tell them all about your one crazy night with the villain who came back from the dead.”

“I didn’t want it to be just one night,” you say. He looks at you, then looks away. “I still don’t.”

“Yeah. I guess your tell-all with the press will be more exciting if we fuck a few more times.”

“Hey,” you snap. “If you’re waiting for me to freak out, stop waiting. It’s not going to happen.”

“You’re out of your mind.” He’s turned most of the way away from you now. One hand is clawing at his neck. The other’s up over his face. “Were you under a rock during the war? Did you see what I did?”

“I saw,” you say carefully. “I know what you did. I know that’s the person you were. I know that’s not who you are now. I make decisions based on the person I see in front of me, not by who they were before – as long as they’re trying to be someone different.”

“You think I’m different?” He laughs. At least, you think it’s laughter. You need it to be laughter, because if it isn’t, it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard. “You must be high.”

“I’m not.” You keep watching him. “You could have let that kid drown yesterday. My quirk couldn’t have saved him, and my plan was even worse. No one would have known the truth except you, and maybe you could have lived with that. I don’t know.”

You’re half expecting him to interrupt and tell you that he can, that it’s easy. He stays quiet. “You decided to save him, though. Even though it could mess things up for you. Even if it meant people might find out who you used to be. I know what you did before. I like who you are.”

It’s silent. He scratches one more time at his neck, a hard, sharp dig that draws blood. Then his hand falls away. “What did you tell the cops?”

“It wasn’t a cop thing. Just EMS and the fire department,” you say. You wonder if that will make him feel better. “The kid was unconscious by the time you got rid of the log. He didn’t see anything. I told them a wave came up and moved the log enough for me and him to get free.”

“And they believed you?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t they?” You’re a criminal who used to lie on the regular. You know when someone’s bought your story. “When the kid woke up, he remembered I was there, but not you. You’re safe.”

He doesn’t say anything. You figure he’ll kick you out if he wants you gone and stay put. Some part of you is desperate to find out what happened, how he came back from the dead, how he ended up here instead of in prison forever. The rest of you doesn’t care very much. The ideals you’ve lived by for the past five years won’t let you care, and even if they did, you wouldn’t want to. In some ways, it reminds you of how you feel about the Day of Peace. Not forgetting the awful things that happened. Being thankful for what’s there now.

You’re hoping he’ll break the silence, and you get lucky, sort of. “My couch is disgusting,” he says. “You can sit down if you want.”

You wait for him to sit down, then join him, setting the backpack down at his feet and passing the babka his way. He stares down at it blankly, like he’s never seen it before. “You like me.”

“Yeah.” You watch as he pulls off a piece and eats it. “Should I keep calling you Tenko? Or do you want –”

“Tenko.” He peels off another strip of pastry. “Sensei gave me the other name. It died with him. And me.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You look down at your hands in your lap and remember Tenko’s gloved fingers laced with yours, your fingers closed around his wrist as you rode him. “You’ve got questions, right?” Tenko says. You nod. “Ask.”

“I do want to know what happened,” you admit. “I mean, you died.”

“Wasn’t the first time.” Tenko shreds another piece from the babka and eats it. “The heroes had this kid who could Rewind people. Turn back the clocks on their bodies. I guess there was enough dust left for it to work on me.”

Tenko tells you that the heroes Rewound him as far as possible, but they couldn’t go back all the way – just to the point before All For One’s quirk was transplanted into him. After that, they used quirk-canceling bullets to erase his quirks one at a time. Tenko was kept in a secret facility for four months, almost dead to the world but not quite, while the world he meant to destroy began to rebuild itself. The heroes ran out of bullets before Tenko ran out of quirks. When they were finish, he only had one left – Decay. Tenko tells you between bites of babka, then leans back against the couch. “They woke me up after that.”

“They?”

“It was All Might’s idea,” Tenko says. His eyes are closed. “He couldn’t give up on saving me, and he dragged Midoriya in on it, too. They told me about the new laws that were being passed and their plans to help my friends, and then they said it would only work if I stayed dead.”

Todoroki Touya’s words cross your mind: Deku made him a martyr. “Everybody else was redeemable,” Tenko says, “but not me. After what I did, nobody cared about how I got there. I’d rot in prison for the rest of my life, and knowing I was still out there would remind everybody that evil really exists. Me being alive was going to undermine their push to get villains recognized as people, and it was going to screw my friends over. What I did – it was never just for me. It was always for them.”

You think about the first six months after the war. The question of what to do with the surviving members of the League loomed over everyone, and Deku was right in the middle of it, insisting that they deserved a second chance. That everyone deserved a second chance. He swore up and down that villains aren’t born evil, that it’s about choices, and more than that, about chances. And everyone was in a softer mood knowing that the greatest threat to Japan, to the world, was gone. Shigaraki’s death made people feel safer. Knowing he was still alive would have put a bullet through any chance of reform. “So you agreed?”

“They weren’t asking,” Tenko says. “Their plan was for me to live. No rehab, no charges, nothing. They gave me a new identity and a job and money so I could pay rent somewhere. I can’t be found out or it’ll ruin everything. I can’t let my friends know I’m alive or it’ll ruin everything. I dye my hair and wear that stupid mask and hide in plain sight, and I’m supposed to do that forever. And live a happy life.”

His voice takes on a flat, bitter note. “Half the time I wish they’d let me stay dead for real.”

You’ve never found yourself in anything like Tenko’s situation. You never will. But you know that feeling – of waking up every morning and wishing you hadn’t, of dragging yourself through each day with no purpose and nothing to look forward to, no hope that anything would change. Nobody ever made you feel better by telling you how much you had to live for. You touch Tenko’s shoulder lightly to warn him, then wrap your arms around him in a tight but awkward hug from the side, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. Tenko’s hand comes up to grasp your wrist, and for a moment you think he’ll pull you away, or worse. But his hands are still gloved. All he does is hold on.

“This is your fault,” he mumbles after a while. “You and your stupid free WiFi.”

You manage something like a laugh. “What did my WiFi ever do to you?”

“It’s better than mine,” Tenko says. “I had a reason to go somewhere. And somewhere to go.”

Your throat closes off in an instant. That was what you wanted this whole time. Even if it was what you had in mind when you opened the café, when you added the internet, you never expected it to work on the person who used to be Shigaraki Tomura. So many things happened because he stopped by that day, and not all of them were because of you – he’s the one who kept coming in, the one who kept talking to you, the one who asked if he could come over two nights ago. You remember what Tenko said after the power went out, about wanting to find out if living differently would work. You wonder what he thinks the answer is.

“Do you like me?” Tenko asks, and you nod. “Do you still like me?”

“Yes.” You’ll probably get tired of that question at some point, but maybe you can get Tenko to a point where he doesn’t need to ask before that happens. “It’s getting late, though. And I’ve got an early morning.”

“So you need to go.” Tenko’s voice is dull.

“Probably,” you say. “You can come too, if you want.”

“You really want a supervillain in your house?”

“You let a convicted felon into your house,” you point out. “We’re sort of even.”

Tenko shakes his head. “Not even close to even.”

“I’ve done more time than you have,” you point out, and Tenko snorts. “Come on. Grab what you need and let’s get out of here.”

You let go of Tenko to get to your feet, then hold out your hands to help him up. He doesn’t let go once he’s standing. “I like you, too,” he says. “You know, right?”

You nod. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have let me in.”

Tenko studies you, and you look back at him. You have the whole picture now, or close enough to it. Even knowing what you know, you like what you see. You lean forward, rising on your toes to kiss him, and when he kisses you back, you taste chocolate and cinnamon on his lips. You’re still tasting it as the two of you walk back to your apartment, hand in hand.

You haven’t worn a dress in a while, and you’ve worn a formal dress maybe never. It’s really uncomfortable. So are your shoes – low heels, but heels nonetheless, and even the scant makeup you’ve put on feels like a mistake. You really don’t want anybody to see you like this, but you promised you’d show at least one person. You snap a selfie and send it to Tenko. I hate this outfit.

i’ll decay it for you if you’re still wearing it when you get back. Tenko texts back right away. He usually does. when are you coming back?

You got a hotel room, but only so you could have somewhere to change clothes. You’re not planning on sleeping over. Tonight, on the last train.

good. The typing bubble hovers for long seconds. you look hot. don’t hook up with any heroes.

As if. You roll your eyes. Don’t worry. I only date people who’ve done time.

What you and Tenko are doing isn’t dating. To you, dating means something casual, and it isn’t casual – not when you basically live together, not when he calls you his girlfriend, not when he pays for half the groceries and inexpertly folds the laundry and spends every night wrapped around you whether you’ve had sex or not. It’s serious to him, and it’s serious to you. The kind of serious where if you got invited to an important event, you’d ask for a plus-one if you didn’t have one already.

You got a plus-one for this event, but it’s not one you can take Tenko to. For a gala celebrating the reauthorization of every criminal justice reform bill passed at the end of the war, it’s safest for you to go alone.

You gave testimony this afternoon before the vote – you, aided and abetted by your probation officer, who was able to show hard data on what you’ve accomplished, as well as share five years of survey responses from the people in your town, which displayed a marked positive trend in their perception of former criminals. You got to hear other program participants and their probation officers testify, too, and their results were similar to yours. The NCRA is working as intended. It’s working well enough that the government decided to expand it. During the next cycle, accomplices to violent crimes will be eligible, too.

Present Mic’s nomination of you for early release from the program was accepted. They’re going to clear your record gradually, starting with your earliest convictions, which means that although you’ll be hanging onto your felony conviction for another five years, your record will be clear before you’re thirty-five. The bigger deal to you is the forgiveness of the interest on your startup loan. Now all you have left to do is pay off the original balance, and you can do that by the end of the year. And you get to take down the sign in your window informing everybody that you’re part of the NCRA.

You don’t plan to do that. You plan to leave it up, and to keep answering people who ask questions, as long as it takes for offering second chances to become the norm rather than the exception. If you can change even one person’s mind, give even one person a shred of hope, it’ll be worth it. It already is.

Tenko texts you back, after laugh-reacting to your message. are any of them going to be there?

Spinner and Toga were at the hearing. You send a thumbs-up, and Tenko responds. if you can talk to them without getting in trouble, find out how they are.

Definitely. A thought crosses your mind. Is there anything you want me to tell them?

i can’t talk to them

Could they talk to you, you ask. If they knew you were alive?

i guess. but they don’t so it doesn’t matter

Huh. You need to think about this, but you’ve got to go. You’re going to be late. You text Tenko a quick heart emoji, then stuff your phone in your purse and hurry out the door.

You’re the only person in formal wear on the Shinkansen, and you make yourself even more conspicuous when you start changing the color of your dress, trying to make it look even slightly better. By the time you get off the train, you’ve created some kind of nightmarish watercolor effect that will draw more attention to your dress than your face. You decide that’s as good as it’s going to get and meet up with your probation officer just inside the venue.

Present Mic greets you with a grin. “Hey, now that’s a look!” he pronounces. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you say. “It’s kind of unreal.”

“You earned it,” Mic says. “Congratulations, listener. How would you feel about not being a listener anymore?”

That’s right – now that you’re off probation, you won’t need a probation officer. You won’t see Mic again. The thought makes you sad, even if it’ll decrease Tenko’s stress levels by a factor of twelve. “Because I was thinking,” Mic continues, “you’ve got a pretty good story here. Why not guest-star on my show and tell it?”

You cough. Mic snags a drink off a passing tray and hands it to you, all while making his sales pitch at full volume. “I mean, they just made a whole new group of people eligible for the NCRA. Who better to spread the word than one of the originals?”

One of the originals. That’s you, isn’t it? You were on mental health watch in an overcrowded jail when you first heard the news, and you showed your first signs of life in days in your efforts to find out more. You swallow some of your drink – it’s alcoholic, but only lightly – and Mic keeps talking. “You’ve been a good example for the civilians. Why not be a role model for other criminals, too?”

“I don’t think I’m a role model,” you say hastily. “But, um – if you wanted me to come on and talk about how the whole thing works, then I will.”

“Nice. My people will call your people and set something up!” Mic cackles at his own joke. “Finish that and let’s go. I’ve got some people I want you to meet!”

You have no idea who he could be talking about, but you get two nasty shocks one after the other – first, that Mic is married to Eraserhead, and second, that he brought Eraserhead as his plus-one. You probably should have been better prepared for the possibility of running into someone who captured you, because every hero you run into is someone who captured you. Or who didn’t capture you, given that you also meet Endeavor, and he pretends the two of you have never met. Almost every hero you’re introduced to is someone who faced Shigaraki Tomura in battle, who was injured at his hands. People who observe the Day of Peace the other way.

Mic finally runs out of people to introduce you to and you earn a temporary reprieve, which you use to sit down. You spend all day at work on your feet, but at work you’re not wearing heels. You lift your feet partway out of your shoes, hoping you’re subtle about it, and dig your phone out of your purse. Tenko’s been texting you. The first text is a photo of the biggest, ugliest spider you’ve ever seen – on the floor, in your kitchen. The next is a picture of the kitchen floor, empty. don’t worry I took it outside

You and Tenko have talked about this. You try to take them outside, but you aren’t mad at him if he kills them. His next text makes less sense: I changed my mind.

About what? The typing bubble is up, promising another message and probably a clarification, but you hear a familiar voice nearby, and you’re pretty sure it’s someone Tenko wanted you to check on. You look up, and sure enough, it’s Spinner. The woman he’s talking to has a familiar voice, too. Neither of them sound very happy.

“I had to rent this thing,” Spinner is saying despairingly. “When it comes back looking like this –”

“Maybe it’ll fade?” the woman pipes up. “I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t tripped –”

“It’s not you. And it’s not gonna fade.” Spinner sounds even mopier than before. “They’re going to call my probation officer and I’m going to get busted –”

“Over a stain?”

You know an in when you hear it. You slide your feet reluctantly back into your shoes, get to your feet, and make your way over. There’s Spinner, a big red-wine stain blooming on his white shirt. The woman next to him is tiny, maroon-haired, and holding an empty glass. She looks familiar, but you’re not sure from where. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” you start, “but if the stain is the problem, maybe I can help. My quirk –”

“You’re the color girl!” The short woman’s eyes brighten. “Oh, I was hoping we’d run into you! We –”

“If you fix it, will it stay that way?” Spinner asks. “If it goes back later, they’ll think I lied to them.”

“It’ll stay,” you promise. You extend one hand to touch the shirt and change it back to white, setting the color to stay from now until the heat death of the universe. “There. Good as new.”

“Thanks,” Spinner says, embarrassed. He takes a second look at you. “I saw you at the vigil this year.”

“I go every year,” you say. “I would have said something, but you and the others never look like you want to talk.”

If you go next year, you’ll be in the same boat as Deku – wanting to tell them that their friend’s alive, unable to say a word about it. “Yeah, we really don’t,” Spinner says. “Nobody gets it. They can’t, since they never knew him like we did.”

You nod. Your phone buzzes in your purse and you ignore it. You really should have silenced it before you got to the party. “I’m so glad you could fix Shuichi’s shirt,” the short woman says. “He was so stressed. But I wanted to talk to you, too! I’m Aiba Manami.”

That’s where you know her from. “La Brava?”

“That was me.” She smiles slightly, sadly. “I don’t remember your villain name –”

“I didn’t have one,” you say. “And if we met in lockup or something, I’m sorry I don’t remember. I was kind of – out of it.”

“Oh, we didn’t meet! Don’t worry,” Aiba rushes to reassure you. “It’s more just that I – um –”

She breaks off. “She’s not gonna laugh at you,” Spinner says to Aiba. “Just tell her.”

“So, um –” Aiba looks down at her shoes, which match her dress. And her earrings. Her whole look is way more on point than anything you’ve ever worn in your life. “I’m eligible for the NCRA now.”

“Congratulations,” you say at once. You could have sworn you heard that La Brava and Gentle Criminal were pardoned after the war, but they must have pulled something else. “Job training?”

“She’s got that. She’s great with computers,” Spinner says, almost proudly. Something dawns on you. “She’s got a better idea.”

“I want to open up an internet café,” Aiba says. You try to hide the goofy grin that crosses your face and probably fail. “I could set up the network in an afternoon. But I don’t know anything about running a restaurant.”

“Neither did I when I got started,” you say. Looking back, you’re amazed you had the guts to throw yourself into a business where the margins are so tight. “If you get a space that’s already up to code it’ll be even easier. I had to do a ton of renovation before I could even think about buying equipment.”

“Did your loan cover all of that?”

You nod. You know you’re getting way too hyped, but it’s hard not to talk about something that saved your life with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm. “Part of the deal is justifying all your expenses. Your probation officer will review them to make sure you’re staying focused, and if they see a reason to give a little extra, they will – or at least mine did. That becomes more to pay back, though, so it helps to be careful. Do you know what kind of food you want to have? Or are you just planning to do coffee? Coffee keeps costs down but it’s also faster, so if you’re charging by the hour for internet access –”

“I kind of don’t want to do that,” Aiba says. You blink. “You said yours is free.”

“It is,” you admit, “but I didn’t add it until five years in, when I already had a customer base. Adding it when I did just picked up some people who hadn’t stopped by yet.”

Like Tenko. Every so often he makes a joke about being lured in by the free WiFi and winding up with a coffee addiction, a pastry addiction, and a girlfriend. Aiba looks a little disappointed, and you feel a surge of guilt. “The thing is, I was starting out under different conditions than you’ll be. You had name recognition as a villain, and an iconic look – I mean, you still do. People will come in just to see what you’ve got going on. So you’ve already got some customers there. The trick will be getting them to stick around.”

Aiba nods. She also grabs Spinner’s hand, and you blurt out the question before you can think about whether it’s a good idea. “Are you two together? I thought you and Gentle Criminal were a thing.”

“Me and Gentle love each other a lot,” Aiba says. Spinner looks like he’s doing okay with someone who you’re pretty sure is his girlfriend talking about how much she loves some other guy. “We just don’t love each other like that anymore.”

“They still talk all the time,” Spinner says. “He came along on our first date to supervise.”

“Poor Shuichi,” Aiba giggles. “He thought we were trying to make him our third.”

So Spinner’s dating. And unlike Todoroki Touya, he hasn’t broken his probation. You know Tenko will want to know more. “How are you doing? I don’t know what your terms are like, but I’m guessing they’re strict.”

“Pretty strict, but my PO is pretty fair,” Spinner says. His PO is Ryukyu, if you remember right. “Since I don’t screw around like Dabi does, I get to travel in-country and stuff. As long as I clear it far enough in advance.”

“We’ve been meaning to take a trip,” Aiba says, and you get a hit of inspiration. “We just can’t decide where to go.”

This time you’ve made a decision to speak, so it doesn’t count as blurting out. Or so you tell yourself. “My café is on the coast. Why don’t you come out there? It’s really nice this time of year, and if you wanted to stop by the café, I could show you the setup and bookkeeping and everything.”

Aiba’s eyes brighten. Spinner looks less sure. “How do they feel about heteromorphs around there?”

“I think it’s on the safe list. A customer told me that one time.” You watch as Spinner pulls out his phone to check for himself. “I definitely don’t want to boss you guys around. But if you’re serious –”

“I am!”

“Then I want to help as much as I can,” you say. “You’re welcome to swing by.”

Spinner looks up from his phone. “It’s on the safe list,” he reports, and Aiba beams. “When do you want to go?”

They decide on two weeks out, and you suggest that they show up on your last open day of the week, so you can show Aiba what a full week’s expenses, documentation, and income look like. You give them both your number so they can text for recommendations about where to stay, a weird anticipatory feeling humming with in you. This could work. You know Tenko misses his friends, but he can’t contact them himself. But if they just happen to run into each other –

It could work. You want it to work. Your phone buzzes with texts as Aiba and Spinner tuck theirs away. You can make this work for Tenko.

“Spinner!” someone calls out. You look up and see Deku waving from across the room. “Hi!”

“Shit, not him,” Spinner mumbles. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

“I could pretend to faint,” Aiba suggests.

“No, he won’t buy that. I just –”

You remember the conversation you overheard at the vigil. Spinner has a lot of good reasons not to want to talk to Deku. “Pretend you’re getting sick. I’ll run interference and you can make a break for it.”

“Thanks,” Spinner says. Aiba���s already acting woozy. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, see you soon.” You set off across the room and intercept Deku before he’s halfway there. “Hi! I don’t know if you remember me, but we talked at –”

“The vigil! Of course I remember!” Deku smiles. “I was wondering if you’d be here. Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” you say. You feel a little weird being congratulated for being a civilian again when you’ve just been engaging in some lowkey villain behavior. “I wanted to come thank you in person. If you hadn’t been advocating for this stuff, I don’t think there’s any way it would have passed.”

Deku’s smile softens, saddens. “I can’t be a hero anymore. This is the next best thing, right?”

“You could look at it like that,” you say. “Or maybe you it’s that you can save more people this way than you ever could have working as a regular hero.”

“People say that to me a lot,” Deku says, and you cringe. “But it’s not usually people like you saying it.”

People like you. People whose lives changed because of the initiative Deku spearheaded, which he only took on because he failed to save Shigaraki Tomura. “It’s easier to believe from you,” Deku concludes. “I just wish I knew what he thinks of it all.”

You know exactly what Tenko thinks about it. He thinks you have to do too much stupid paperwork. He doesn’t like that the hero who monitors you is someone whose quirk is way outsized for your power set. He thinks it’s dumb that the only reason you stopped going to therapy even though, to quote, “you still have issues”, is because you knew the heroes were reading all the notes on what you said. And at the same time, you know he’s glad you opened the café. You know he’s glad he met you. And it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let Deku and All Might fake his death, and if Deku hadn’t made it count.

Deku sighs. “I know I can’t,” he says. You really have to admire the coverup here – anybody who hears Deku express his feelings about Shigaraki will think he’s just really fixated on how Shigaraki’s doing in the afterlife. They’ll never guess that he’s really talking about Tenko, who’s alive and well and living in your apartment. “So I’ll think about it your way.”

“Okay,” you say. “Works for me.”

The two of you smile awkwardly at one another. Then Deku changes the subject. “Have you seen Spinner? I thought he was over there, and I wanted to –”

“I think he just went to get some air,” you say. “It’s a lot in here. I bet he’ll be back.”

Deku nods and hurries off, and you take a second to catch your breath. Tonight’s been a lot, but all in all you think it was a success. You didn’t look stupid in your dress, or if you did, no one said anything about it. You’re going to get to help out somebody who wants to join the NCRA. You got at least a little bit of the point across to Deku about what he’s done since the end of the war. And you set up a chance for Tenko to see his best friend again.

Tenko was texting you, wasn’t he? He was saying he’d changed his mind about something. You unearth your phone and swipe past the texts from unfamiliar numbers identifying themselves as Aiba Manami and Spinner to reach Tenko’s text thread. Spider, no spider, didn’t kill it, changed his mind – but now there’s follow-up. Follow-up you really should have taken the time to read before going to talk to Spinner.

don’t try to talk to him. Tenko’s serious enough to use punctuation, which means it’s as serious as he ever gets. i don’t want to fuck him up and i don’t want to find out i faked my own death for nothing.

You cringe in horror. You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do when you get home.

“This is crazy,” Tenko says. “You know it’s crazy, right?”

“You don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to be there,” you say. You’re amazed Tenko is awake this early – usually he sleeps in when you go to work – but he’s here, leaning against the counter while you go through your opening checklist and yawning behind his mask. “It’s up to you if you want to talk to him or not.”

“He’s gonna be pissed at me.” Tenko slouches. “This fake-my-death shit – we were friends. I’d be pissed in his spot.”

“He and Toga both said they missed you,” you counter. You remember their sadness at the vigil and feel a distant ache in your heart. “Maybe he’ll be pissed at first, but then I bet he’ll be happy.”

“I can’t believe he has a girlfriend,” Tenko says. “One time he got his ass kicked because the hero he was fighting told him he was her type.”

You wonder what Spinner’s going to say when he finds out Tenko has a girlfriend. If he finds out. If Tenko decides to reveal himself. It’s the day Spinner and Aiba are supposed to get here, and you still have no idea what he’s going to choose.

Tenko wasn’t happy when you got home from the gala and came clean about what happened. He wasn’t angry, either – not when you told him you talked to Spinner, not when he found out you invited Aiba to come check out the café. The word you’d use was confused. Confused as to why you’d set up a way for he and Spinner to meet again. It could mess everything up, you remember him saying. Why would you risk that?

It doesn’t have to mess everything up.

Tenko shook his head. Aren’t you worried I’ll go back to it?

To being a villain? No. You and Tenko were sprawled out on the couch together. He’d yanked you down into his lap the instant you came close enough. When I was still on the other side of the law, I didn’t have friends, or allies. Most common criminals don’t. But you did. We all knew about the League, and how close you were. I used to think about how nice that would be.

You were understating it a little bit. You were jealous of the League’s closeness, of how clearly and obviously they cared about one another. The crowd you ran with was more likely to stab each other in the back than help each other out. I want you to have that again, you continued. If you want it.

Tenko didn’t answer you then. He just kissed you, and then the two of you made out on the couch until you fell asleep. The two of you have talked about it almost every day since then, and Tenko still hasn’t made up his mind. And it’s okay. He’s got until Spinner walks out the door to decide.

Osono knocks on the door, towing the pastry cart, and you abandon the opening checklist to hold it open for her. “I’ve got some new seasonal items today,” she says. “Mostly fruit – strawberries, peaches, that kind of thing. And – huh. What’s he doing here?”

She’s pointing at Tenko, who was taste-testing your flavored syrups until a split second ago. He ducks down behind the counter and vanishes from view. Osono stares. “Was that Shimura?”

“Yes,” you say. Osono raises her eyebrows. “We’re seeing each other.”

Seeing him is kind of understating it. He basically lives in your apartment and you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him. Osono’s eyebrows lift even further. “Since when?”

“Since –” You count back in your head. “Two months ago. Are there any allergens in the new pastries? I’m assuming they aren’t vegan.”

One of them’s vegan. You make a special label for it, and Osono helps you arrange the new pastries in the case, while Tenko stays hidden behind the counter even though she’s already seen him. The one time she comments on his presence is when he steals a pastry off the tray before she can put it in the case. “So you’re the one who’s been eating all the babka.”

“Mmph.” Tenko’s mouth is too full to respond, and once he’s swallowed the monster bite he took, he looks at you. “I can pay for that.”

“Just buy milk the next time we go grocery shopping. That’ll cover it.”

It’s not until Osono’s left that Tenko emerges from behind the counter. He’s grimacing. “That was stupid.”

“Telling her?”

“Hiding from her. Now she’s going to tell everyone that you’re shacking up with a freak.”

“She just knows we’re dating,” you say. “I didn’t say anything about living together.”

“Yeah, not until you mentioned us buying groceries.” To his credit, Tenko doesn’t call you a moron over it. “I don’t give a shit what they say about me. It matters what they say about you. Do you really –”

“Yes.” You kiss Tenko’s cheek over the mask. “And I still like you.”

Tenko’s voice is muffled. “I like you, too.”

It’s a busy day at the café. Tourist season is in full swing and the weather is bright and warm, which means everybody wants a blended drink and nobody wants to stay inside the café to drink it. You have four or five blenders going at a time, loud enough to partially deafen you but with enough capacity to keep you from falling behind on orders. You barely have any time to talk to Tenko, but he’s keeping busy, too – in the same spot as always, looking over the decision tree for a computer game. You’re not sure, but you think it might be the game he wants to make.

Spinner and Aiba show up just before closing, when you’re still swamped. You can’t even see Aiba – she’s that short – and Spinner calls out to you instead. “We’re gonna check out the beach for half an hour and come back”

“Sounds good,” you holler back over the sound of the blenders. Half an hour. You can clear the customers out, get your paperwork in order, and give Tenko some warning of what’s to come.

The nice weather’s worked in your favor all day, and it keeps working in your favor – you don’t have any trouble shooing out the customers once they’ve got their drinks. You flip the sign on the door to closed, drop all but two of the blenders in the dishwasher, and go to check on Tenko. He’s working hard at something, and you don’t want to interrupt. You sit down across from him and tap his foot under the table to let him know you’re there.

He looks up. “Did they leave?”

“For a little bit. They’ll be back soon.” You watch as Tenko pulls down his mask, unhooks it from over one ear. “How are you feeling?”

“If it happens, it happens,” Tenko says. “I’m not going to talk to him. But I’m not going to hide, either.”

“Okay,” you say. “I won’t mess around with it, either.”

“Any more than you already messed around with it.” Tenko kicks you lightly under the table, but he’s half-smiling at the same time. “I like having the choice. Didn’t get a lot of those before.”

“I know.” You hold out your hands for his, and Tenko gives them to you so you can raise them to your lips. He’s wearing his gloves, like almost always. “I –”

The bell rings, and both of you jump. It’s probably a good thing it cuts you off, because you have no idea what you were going to say next. Tenko’s grip on your hands tightens, and you kiss his knuckles again before standing up and hurrying to the door. Spinner and Aiba are out there, looking windswept but happy. “Come on in,” you say. “Do either of you want a drink?”

“Something cold,” Aiba says, and Spinner nods in agreement. “Do you have blended drinks?”

“Definitely.” You left two blenders out for precisely that reason. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Tenko’s arm pop up, giving you a thumbs-up. He wants one, too.

Since you know which one he wants, you start with his first, while your guests study the menu. Aiba’s eyeing the fruit flavors, but Spinner’s watching you. “Who’s that for?”

You could lie. But you’re keeping up appearances as usual, not making anything happen that shouldn’t, and if anyone else was asking, you’d answer honestly. “I have one person still hanging out back there. It’s for him.”

“I thought you were closed,” Aiba says. “Do you usually let people stay past closing time?”

“No. But he’s my boyfriend,” you say, “so it’s different.”

“Do you give him free stuff?”

“If he behaves,” you say. Tenko leans out from the booth to glare at you, and you struggle to keep a straight face. “Which he does.”

“If I gave you free stuff, would you stick around my café?” Aiba asks Spinner.

“No, I’d pay for stuff,” Spinner argues. “I don’t want to, like – grift, or something. Or take stuff away from people who will pay.”

Aiba frowns. “What if I want to give you free stuff?”

“I have a little room in my budget for stuff like that,” you say. “I’ll show it to you when we go over the expenses and stuff. Have you decided what you want yet?”

Aiba opts for white chocolate and strawberry. Spinner points at the drink you’re pouring into a cup for Tenko. “Can I get whatever that is?”

“Sure. And you can sit down wherever,” you say. “There’s no password on the WiFi, so knock yourself out. I’m just going to bring this one to my boyfriend, and then I’ll be right back to start yours.”

“I can take it to him,” Spinner says. Your heart lurches, and you shake your head, but Spinner’s already holding out his hand. “Seriously. If he won’t come up to get it himself –”

“Are you modeling good behavior? That’s so cute!” Aiba actually has to jump up to plant a kiss on Spinner’s cheek. She looks at you, grinning. “He’s so helpful. He never pours tea on me by accident.”

You don’t even want to know, and right now you’re in a bind. If you refuse, it’ll look weird. If you don’t, you’ll be setting Tenko up for a face-to-face meeting with a friend who’s spent the last five years thinking he was dead. What would be the normal, not-suspicious thing to do? Accept help when it’s offered. “Thanks,” you say, and pass the drink over to Spinner.

Then you turn away, back to the blenders. You can’t watch.

Aiba watches you make the drinks, asking how you know the proportions without measuring, asking how you came up with the recipes. You answer over the sound of the blenders, and all the while, you watch Spinner over the top of her head. Spinner dropped off the drink without incident, but he’s stopped to look at your latest mural – another sunrise, this one in the east over the ocean. Tenko kept suggesting weird things for you to paint, like the low-tide line or a slimy knot of kelp and seaweed, but when you started working on this, he sat and watched you the entire time.

You should do more like this one, he said when you were done. I like the horizons.

Spinner apparently likes them, too. He’s saying something to Tenko, who’s not responding and who’s probably face-first in his laptop. Spinner’s a nice guy, but you can sense him getting annoyed, and as you turn off the blenders, you hear him lose patience. “Did I do something to you? Why are you acting like –”

He breaks off suddenly. You see him take a step back, then another, until he collides with a table and chair and almost falls over. Aiba turns, concerns, as Spinner rights himself, stumbling over his words. “It can’t – you were – I thought you were – we all thought –”

“You were wrong,” Tenko says. “Get over it.”

You cringe. At the back of the café, Spinner explodes. “Fuck you!” he snaps. “That’s all you’re going to say? Get over it? Do you even have a clue, you bastard? We all thought – if you say get over it one more time –”

“Get over it.”

“You son of a bitch,” Spinner snarls, and he drags Tenko out of the booth. Tenko lets him do it, lets Spinner grab him by the front of his hoodie and shake him until the hood falls down. “You asshole, Shigaraki!”

“Shigaraki?” Aiba stares in horror, then goes for her phone. You reach across the counter and catch her wrist to stop her. “Let me go! If Shuichi talks to him – if anybody finds out –”

“Wait,” you say. Your hands are shaking. You take a deep breath. “Give it a second, okay? Just wait.”

Tenko finally gets tired of the shaking and plants his feet. “Are you gonna beat me up?”

“I should!” Spinner’s fury falters for a second, wavering into confusion. “You let us think you were dead, and all this time –”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Tenko says. “Do you want to keep shouting at me or do you want me to explain?”

“I don’t understand,” Spinner says. “I thought –”

“Yeah,” Tenko says. “I know.”

Spinner’s eyes well up, and you let Aiba go so she can race to his side. Tenko, meanwhile, snags his drink from the table and makes his way back to you, ducking behind the counter. “I was right,” he mumbles. “He’s pissed.”

“Give him a second,” you say. “It’s a lot to cope with.”

“You coped just fine.”

“I didn’t know you before,” you remind him. You set out two cups for Aiba and Spinner and pour their drinks before retrieving the whipped cream. “It wasn’t personal to me that you’d faked your death. It was personal to him.”

Tenko nods, but it’s clear that he’s dissatisfied. “I shouldn’t have come in today.”

“Give it a second,” you say again. You drop half a strawberry into the whipped cream on Aiba’s drink, then feed Tenko the other half, because his mask is down and his mouth is open. “If it went the other way, you’d need a second, too.”

Aiba’s still trying to comfort Spinner when you bring the drinks. Tenko trials after you. You set the drinks down on the table Spinner ran into, trying to ignore the way Aiba’s glaring at you. “You set this up,” she accuses. “You made Shuichi cry!”

“That was me,” Tenko says. He sits back down in the booth. “It was my choice to be here. If I hadn’t you’d never have known.”

“Why?” Spinner demands. His voice is watery. “It’s been five years. Why now?”

“I didn’t have a way to get in contact with you before,” Tenko says. “They made it pretty clear that I’d fuck up everything if I reached out on my own.”

Aiba hands Spinner a lacy handkerchief. Spinner wipes his nose. “Who’s they?”

“Maybe we should all sit down,” you suggest. “There’s a lot to explain.”

“Um, okay.” Aiba still looks wary, but you’re pretty sure the two of you are on the same side – you both want your boyfriends to quit fighting. “Come on, Shuichi –”

She manages to get Spinner into the other side of the booth, then slides in after him. You nudge Tenko until he scoots over and sit down, too. It’s quiet while Aiba tries her drink, Spinner tries his, and Tenko realizes you don’t have one and slides his over to share with you. Something about that breaks whatever’s keeping Spinner quiet. “How’d you get a girlfriend?”

“How’d you get a girlfriend?” Tenko retaliates. “Toga has more game than you.”

“More than you, too,” Spinner says. He’s glaring again. “What are you doing out here? What do you even do all day?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Tenko takes his drink back from you and takes another sip. “One of us has to talk first. You’ve been doing more stuff than me, so it should be you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come back from the dead,” Spinner says. “You first. This is really good, by the way.”

He’s looking at you. “Oh,” you say. “Thanks.”

“Everything she makes is good,” Tenko says, which isn’t true by any stretch of the imagination. “You want me to talk first? Fine. As long as you don’t start trying to beat me up again.”

“I wasn’t trying to beat you up.”

“Or bite me –”

“I never bit you!” Spinner protests. “Stop lying about shit!”

“You totally bit him,” Aiba says, patting Spinner’s arm. “It was on TV.”

You remember seeing that, and experiencing a moment of pure bemusement before going straight back to running for your life. “You were supposed to be unconscious,” Spinner mutters. “I’m not boing to bite you and I’m not going to beat you up. Start talking.”

You remember how Tenko explained it to you. You let him tell it at his own pace, and you were quiet, not asking questions unless you really needed to know. Spinner asks questions every two seconds, fixating on tiny details, lingering on parts of the story that Tenko clearly doesn’t want to talk about. When Deku’s name comes up, you see Spinner’s jaw clench. “That little shit. I don’t care if Stain called him a true hero. I’m going to kill him!”

“It’s a waste of time,” Tenko says. He looks a little curious. “What did he do?”

“Lied. He’s been lying to me and Toga and everybody for five years! He told me there was nothing left of Shigaraki Tomura when he knew damn well –”

“That it’s not my name anymore,” Tenko says. Spinner blinks. “Sensei gave it to me. Even if I could use it again, I wouldn’t want to. Midoriya didn’t lie to you. Technically.”

Spinner scowls. “But even if he wanted to tell you, he couldn’t,” Tenko says. “That was the deal.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you let me finish a sentence,” Tenko says. Someone kicks you under the table. “They used that kid Overhaul tortured to bring me back as far as they could – to right before I got Sensei’s quirk – and then –”

You get another kick. It’s Aiba. You’ve got no idea how she’s able to reach you from her side of the table, but you look up, and when you do, you see she’s holding up her phone. You take yours out, but she shakes her head sharply, then slides hers across the table to you. There’s an open Note. We have to talk like this. The government intercepts texts.

That’s not a surprise. You type a response and pass the phone. What do you want to talk about?

Aiba types really fast. Spinner, meanwhile, is trying to argue with Tenko about why he should have contacted the League anyway, consequences be damned. Aiba’s response slides back across the table. Shuichi’s tried really hard to change things. Harder than anybody else in the League, and people treat him terribly even when he’s doing nothing wrong just because he has a mutant-type quirk. I won’t let Shigaraki ruin it for him.

“He’s not going to ruin –”

She kicks you under the table, and you go back to reading. How do you know he’s not just biding his time and waiting for the right moment to come back?

You don’t. You aren’t naive, and you know that there’s no way to tell for sure what’s going on in someone else’s heart. Anyone can play any part, as convincingly as they’d like, until the moment they can’t take it any longer. You would know. That person used to be you.

And at the same time, you judge by action. You judge by Tenko not lashing out at Spinner even though Spinner’s provoked him. You judge by him keeping his hands covered, even though you know he can control his quirk. You judge by him keeping his head down, staying out of trouble, not seeking the spotlight or railing against the system. You judge by how he let you into his world, how he’s let you make yourself at home just as he’s made himself at home in yours. You judge by how he saved someone’s life.

I worry about him going back as much as I worry about me going back, you finally type. I can’t say never. I can say that things are better now than they were before. We could go back. I just don’t think we’d want to.

Aiba takes her time reading over your answer, and when she responds, she changes the subject. I think we should let them talk now. Will you still tell me about how you run your cafe?

“Of course,” you say out loud. You slide out of the booth, only for Tenko to catch your hand. “I’m just going to walk her through the business stuff. Send up a distress signal if you need me to come save you from Spinner.”

Spinner snorts. “Bring it over here instead,” Tenko says. His grip on your hand shifts, and you realize all at once that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay while this happens. “I’ll move my shit off the table.”

He clears away his laptop, and you bring over the binder where you keep your expense reports, inventory sheets, income tracking, tax forms, and all the extra forms you have to fill out as part of the NCRA requirements. Aiba doesn’t look worried about it, although Spinner visibly blanches at the sight of so much paperwork. “Manami, I know I said I’d help you with the stuff, but –”

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” you say. You turn your attention to Aiba. “Where do you want to start?”

“I made a list,” she says. “Tell me about the loan application first.”

While you and Aiba go over the finer points of the initial stages of the NCRA, Tenko explains to Spinner. You listen with half an ear as he goes over everything, speaking quickly and with more assurance than he did when he told you, and you’d think he was comfortable with the story if not for how tightly he’s holding your hand under the table. It triggers a strange mix of feelings within you. You’re proud of him for trying to explain, for reaching back out to his friend. You’re a little worried that it’s stressing him out this much. And you feel – lucky, almost. Lucky that you’re the person he turns to. Lucky to find him. Or lucky, maybe, that he found you.

Aiba’s smartwatch beeps as you’re looking over the expense reports, and she sits up. “Shuichi, the sunset! We have to go.”

“Right.” Spinner looks kind of drained. So does Tenko. “It’s supposed to be really good here. We were gonna go down to the beach to watch.”

“You know the sun goes down on the other side of the country, right?” Tenko snarks. You elbow him. “Go check it out. I’ve never seen it, so don’t take my word for it.”

Then you should come with us, too,” Aiba says. Tenko startles. “And you!”

She’s looking at you now. “I don’t know if I can. I have to finish closing down –”

“We’ll come back and help you after,” Spinner says. He looks like he’s warming to the idea, even though a sunset beach walk is the kind of thing you’re supposed to do with just your girlfriend, not your best friend you’re mad at and his girlfriend who set the whole thing up. “Come on.”

You close up shop in a hurry, and the four of you set off for the beach. The crowds on the main beach are big, like always, so you lead the way to Fourth Beach, just like you did the day you found out who Tenko was before. Spinner and Aiba walk a little ways behind you, hand in hand, Aiba taking two steps for every one of Spinner’s. You match Tenko’s pace, like always. You watch him out of the corner of your eye. “How do you feel?”

“Weird.” Tenko sidles closer, leaning against you for a moment. “I’m not like he remembers me. I am, but I’m not. The last time we talked we were about to destroy the world, and now we’re just – normal.”

“You don’t think he wants to be friends with normal you?”

“I don’t think he thinks normal me is me,” Tenko says. His grip on your hand tightens for a moment. His hand shakes. “If there’s nobody down there – if it’s just us four – can you change my hair?”

A jolt runs through you. “Just for a little while,” Tenko says. “So he quits looking at me like I’m an imposter. Change it back when we leave.”

He looks miserable. You want to tell him that he’s not giving Spinner enough credit, that Spinner just found out today, that it’s probably still going to take time for Spinner to get used to the former Symbol of Fear slurping blended drinks in an internet cafe in a seaside town – but none of that is going to help. And he’s just told you what he thinks will fix it. You tighten your grip on his hand. “I’ve been meaning to offer to help with your hair,” you say. “I know you’ve been dyeing it yourself –”

“And I suck at it,” Tenko says. You didn’t want to say it. “You have better things to do with your quirk than fix my shitty dye job.”

“I can do a lot of things with my quirk at once,” you say. “What color do you want it today?”

Tenko’s quiet for a while, long enough for you to make the turn onto the path down to the beach, long enough for you to slow down and let Spinner and Aiba pass you. He doesn’t speak until you’ve both looked up and down the beach, confirming that the only people there are the ones who came with you. “Turn it white.”

“Okay,” you say. You let go of Tenko’s hands and beckon him closer. “Come here.”

When he’s close enough, you cradle his face in your hands, wait for permission to unhook his mask so you can kiss him. As he kisses you back, you run your fingers slowly through his hair.

He didn’t even own a hairbrush when he first started staying over at your apartment. You didn’t realize he was using yours until you started finding strands of matte-black hair caught in its bristles, and you didn’t realize how he was doing it until you caught him yanking the brush hard through the knots in his hair. It took a while for Tenko to grasp why you were offering to do it for him, but then he let you, and it’s become yet another small ritual in your lives. You don’t use a brush anymore. After the first few times, the knots are so small that you can draw them apart with your fingers.

If you were at home, you’d take your time changing Tenko’s color, a few strands at a time – but right now, you can’t. You run your fingers through Tenko’s hair, eyes closed, and when the two of you separate reluctantly, you open your eyes to check your work.

Even knowing what you know, knowing almost everything, there’s still a single moment of shock when you look at him. Maskless, white-haired, it’s impossible to see him as anyone but Shigaraki Tomura, Symbol of Fear, would-be destroyer of worlds – but only for a moment. Then he covers the back of his neck, glances awkwardly away and back again. “Does it look right?”

“Yeah,” you say. You take his hand again and start the walk down to the beach. “Let me know if you want to change it back.”

The sunset hasn’t quite started yet, but the sky is already beginning to change colors. The tide’s low, too, and you suppress the urge to tell your guests not to climb on the few beached logs with an effort. Tenko must be thinking of it, too, because he calls out to Spinner. “If you get stuck under one of those things, I’m not saving you.”

“You wouldn’t need to. I’ve still got my strength quirk. Unlike you, so –” Spinner looks back up the beach towards you and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Tenko’s new hair color. “Fuck, don’t do that!”

“Do what? Look like me?” Tenko challenges. You wince. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I wanted you not to die,” Spinner says, and then it’s quiet, other than the crash of the waves and the distant cries of gulls. Tenko’s grip on your hand is tight and shaky. “Maybe it’s better this way. I couldn’t kick your ass in League if you were locked up in Tartarus.”

“You couldn’t kick my ass at League if I had on handcuffs and a straitjacket,” Tenko shoots back. “GTA, maybe –”

“Street Fighter, absolutely. Hand to hand combat isn’t your strong suit.”

“And sense of humor isn’t yours, if that’s the best hand joke you’ve got –”

They sound like they’re arguing, still. They sound like they’re arguing, but they aren’t. Tenko’s grip on your hand relaxes just enough that you can pull away, so you do. You leave them to talk and continue up the beach alone. Aiba’s taking photos of the sky as it goes pink and purple and gold, high over the hills. You leave her to it as well, but you commit the colors to memory, so you can use them later if you need to paint another horizon one day. You might. You probably will.

You believe in second chances, but this doesn’t feel like a second chance. It feels more like a miracle than anything else, the small kind, the kind you don’t notice until everything’s already fallen into place. The kind you would never have imagined when you moved here, six months after the war, hoping against hope that you could start over.

You stare up at the sky until you get a crick in your neck, then turn away to face the sea. The moon will be up soon. You haven’t painted a moonrise yet. Maybe this next time you will.

“Hey.” Tenko’s snuck up on you. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back against him. “How’d you end up over here?”

“How did you end up over here? I thought you all were watching the sunset.”

“They wanted to kiss or something,” Tenko says. “Not my thing. So I cam to find you –”

“So we could kiss or something?” you ask, and Tenko snorts. “Or just to make sure I didn’t get stuck under a log?”

“You wouldn’t be that dumb.” Tenko hugs you a little closer. A few strands of his now-pale hair brush against your cheek. “Thanks. For getting Spinner to come out here.”

“Did you guys patch things up?”

“Not much to patch up. He just had to get it out of his system,” Tenko says. “He’s already trying to figure out how to get Toga down here.”

Another member of the former League of Villains hanging out at your cafe. It makes you nervous until you remember that you’re not on probation any longer. You wouldn’t have been in trouble for that even before. “Is that something you’d like?”

“It would be good to see her again,” Tenko says. “To see all of them. But I don’t think that’s what you signed up for.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not like with those two.” Tenko doesn’t have to tell you who he means. “There’s no rehabbing this. I didn’t talk to anybody in five years because anybody who got close enough could get close enough to guess. If you stick with me, you’re going to be hiding something your whole life.”

It always puts you a little on edge when Tenko starts talking about the future. You’re never sure how seriously he’s talking about it, if he really means it when he brings up staying together your whole lives. “I know that’s not what you wanted,” Tenko says. “You spent five years here tying yourself in a knot trying to be normal –”

“And look how many friends I made.” You kept to yourself, too. Being friendly to your customers isn’t the same thing as having friends. “Maybe it’s a good thing, if your friends are around more. We won’t have to hide anything from them.”

“You aren’t listening,” Tenko says. “Do you really –”

“What’s the alternative?” you ask. “Not for me, for you. That you never talk to anybody and never try anything new and never find things that make you happy? That’s not living.”

The thought of Tenko shutting himself away again – not just from you, but from everything – hurts more than anything nonphysical has a right to. “The world exists the way it is because of you. You should get to live in it.”

“Me?” Tenko scoffs. “Good try.”

“Yeah, you.” Spinner’s voice rings out from behind you. You peer out around Tenko to see he and Aiba approaching. “Deku feels so guilty for fake-killing you that he guilt-tripped everybody else into fixing things.”

“Not everything.”

“No, but some stuff,” you say. “If the laws hadn’t changed, I’d still be in prison.”

“Me and Gentle would have been, too,” Aiba adds. “And Shuichi.”

“I’d have been in Tartarus on a double life sentence. Toga’s and Dabi’s charges were even worse,” Spinner says. “You promised me and the others that you’d show us the most beautiful horizon we’d ever seen. This one looks pretty good to me.”

He gestures out over the ocean. The stars are already out, and the moon is just beginning to clear the horizon, a thin, bright crescent that casts a slender blaze of light across the water. You think he’s right. It does look pretty good, but there could be prettier ones, too. Maybe. You won’t know for sure unless you’re out here tomorrow.

So you will be. You’ll bring Tenko with you, as many times as you can, as many times as it’ll take, and maybe you’ll never make him see the world the way you do. But you can remind him that you like him when he asks, and switch in the other word sometime soon. You can find ways to bring his friends back to him, and maybe make friends with them yourself. He might think of it as hiding, but that’s not how you see it. It’s just part of living in the new world. You like living in it with him.

It’s quiet for a long time, all four of you watching the waves. One of Tenko’s arms unwraps from around your waist, but only so he can grab your hand and pull it up to his mouth. His lips brush against your knuckles, so soft that you can’t quite call it a kiss, and he keeps your hand there. When he speaks at last, it’s through your fingers, never looking away from the place where the ocean meets the sky. “Yeah,” Tenko says quietly, and you feel a smile break across your face. “It’s not so bad.”

[bemusedlybespectacled]

Question: I enjoyed s1 OF OFMD, but for various reasons I never actually got around to watching s2 (pick up most of the plot from tumblr tho). What exactly went wrong in s2 that got so many people upset?

Oh, boy. Very long rant incoming.

So, for context, S2 had a significantly smaller budget, which necessitated moving the filming location to union-unfriendly New Zealand, reducing the number of actors/number of appearances of established actors, and cutting down the number of episodes from 10 to 8. In a show where each episode is only about half an hour long, that last one alone was enough to seriously hamper any character development or plot. I am very comfortable putting the vast majority of the blame on HBO because of these financial decisions.

The short version is that Jenkins et. al. needed to address and build on the problems left hanging in S1 while also getting the characters to the end of their character trajectories in case there was no S3 while also leaving room for additional episodes in case there was a S3, in a grand total of four hours, and failed.

The long version is that there were a bunch of what I'd consider small problems in isolation that came together and exploded in the S2 finale.

The reduced cast necessitated breaking up the crew (ex: having Swede marry Jackie and stay on land with her, so they don't need to pay Nat Faxon for all eight episodes) and not spending as much time on their relationships as S1 did.

The reduced time meant that the entire season was rushed (in contrast to S1, which takes place over at least several weeks if not months, most of S2 takes place in roughly five days), leading both to a lot of telling rather than showing (because they don't have time to show you), including vital character and relationship development.

This includes:

Having the Kraken half of the crew beat Ed to death after months of being abused by him – abuse that is clearly shown to have given them PTSD and a well-justified fear and hatred of him – only for them to be okay with him two in-universe days later;

On that note, having Stede dismiss the crew's concerns about Ed because he loves him and also we only have three more episodes left to fit in everything so we need to get over it really fast, even though Stede is supposed to be well-meaning and caring (even if he's not good at it all the time);

Resolving the issue of Stede abandoning Ed in one day, then having them "go slowly" in their relationship for two days and then have some spur-of-the-moment sex, and then the next afternoon have them break up over their diverging career aspirations, and then the day after that resolve that problem and retire on land while the rest of the crew sails off into the sunset;

Stede becoming a fantastic pirate captain over the course of one day, becoming wildly popular in the piracy world two days later, and then deciding the day after that to never be a captain again because he is retiring with Ed;

Having Ed and Stede decide to retire together as what is implied to be the end point of their relationship arc, when none of Stede's issues from S1, like his poor self-esteem, have been so much as mentioned by anyone, implying that he's either magically gotten over them or they don't matter all that much, actually, even though they were the catalyst for basically everything he did in S1;

Ed having two separate character crises – "I am an unlovable person" and "I want to do something with my life other than piracy" – not spending a lot of time on either one, having moments that clearly indicate he is still working on both problems and they have not been resolved, and then apparently having them both be resolved in the final episode despite nothing occurring to actually make that happen, and in regards to the latter, despite the story actively undermining it by repeatedly showing he can't do anything other than piracy;

Related to the above, Ed ending the series as allegedly being loved by the crew as a family (thus solving Crisis #1) despite this never actually being shown, demonstrated, or even fucking alluded to onscreen. If anything, it shows the exact opposite.

This last point is especially galling to me because of what is probably the most divisive issue in the fandom right now: killing off Izzy Hands after giving him seven episodes of character development.

The show begins with the Kraken crew clearly trying to use the skills they learned as part of Stede's crew to cope with their incredibly shitty situation and care for each other, which includes Izzy. Izzy, on his end, tries to protect the crew and speak up for them, which results in him being repeatedly hurt (both implicitly, as Ed at one point says "that's another toe" in response to Izzy advocating for the crew and we later see he's missing more than one toe already, and explicitly, as Ed shoots him in the fucking leg in front of the crew when he stands up for them).

This camaraderie is shown again and again and again. Frenchie, Jim, and Archie take care of Izzy while his leg is infected, at risk to their own lives. Izzy's misery over losing his leg is what unites the PTSD-ridden Kraken crew and the well-meaning-but-ignorant-of-PTSD marooned crew, who are initially at odds, to make him a new prosthetic leg. Izzy gives Lucius advice about forgiving Ed. Izzy is introduced to drag and opens up enough to sing at a crew party, and the whole crew is having fun together while Ed and Stede are in their cabin having sex for the first time. Izzy gives Stede pirate captain lessons and bonds with him when Ed leaves him. Izzy provokes the season's villain into focusing on him and then gives a big speech about how piracy is about belonging to something, giving the rest of the crew time to try to escape.

Recall that Season 1 had some pretty well-established universe rules, one of which was that it runs on Muppet physics/magical realism. People can jump off yardarms, hit the side on the way down, and be perfectly fine. People can get stabbed in the liver and it's totally okay because it's probably not that important, and even can stay pinned to a mast all night that way with only mild discomfort. Buttons can talk to birds and see long distances without a spyglass and put hexes on people. Good people can be hurt (Stede is stabbed repeatedly), bad people can die (the Badmintons, Geraldo), but no one we care about is ever killed.

This is repeated in Season 2: Ed is beaten into a coma with a cannonball and wakes up like Sleeping Beauty after a spirit journey, with no injuries to his face or body. Buttons turns into a seagull after spending an episode doing a magic ritual and is never seen again (because they couldn't keep paying Ewen Bremner due to the budget cuts). Jackie microdoses her husbands with poison to build up their immunity, so that she can later pull a Dread Pirate Westley and poison the British with shared drinks.

So: in the finale, the villain of the season is taken hostage by the pirates (for reasons? unclear how that fits in the plan), happens to have a gun on him (no one checked??), shoots Izzy on the right side and then leaves with no repercussions. The entire crew stands around silently doing nothing while Ed cries over Izzy and tells him that he's his only family.

And Izzy fucking Hands, the guy who just spent eight episodes bonding with and protecting everyone, uses his last words to reassure Ed that him becoming Blackbeard/the Kraken was Izzy's fault and that the crew is Ed's family and they all love him. No one else says anything to Izzy or tries to comfort him or help him in any way.

I repeat: in a show predicated on the idea that bullies and bigots die stupid deaths while queer people and POC are basically magic, a show that was praised for being kind to queer people by not making them worry about their faves suffering or dying, a show founded on the strength of the relationships between the characters, the guy who went through a season-long arc of learning to embrace his pirate found family and his own queerness is shot for stupid reasons on the side we're told isn't important and dies while everyone just stands there. His last words are about the whole crew loving Ed when the only person that the whole crew has loved all season is him.

Anyway, never mind all that, let's cut to Lucius and Pete getting married and Stede and Ed retiring!

Complicating all this is that people who liked Izzy (or even said anything insufficiently mean about Izzy) were harassed for months in between seasons with insults, slurs, and actual fucking death threats. Izzy's growth was kind of a vindication for liking him: it meant that, despite all the harassment, we were right to like him and care about him as a character. Even people who didn't like him initially started to like him during Season 2.

And then he dies, and now there's a bunch of people saying that Izzy fans are big whiny babies who can't handle fictional death, and actually his death was so meaningful and beautiful and the only logical end to his arc, and it can't be bad writing because people die in real life all the time, and also he admitted he fed Ed's darkness so actually he was a terrible person all along anyway and they were right to hate him (and his fans)!

So, yeah, there are a lot of reasons why it's so hated, and I'm probably only addressing the problems of the pro-Izzy people (from what I can tell, BlackBonnet shippers who don't like Izzy think Ed and Stede's relationship is fine and dandy, but I'm sure that there are other criticisms they have that I have not addressed). I'm not even addressing the issues with Jim and Oluwande's relationship this season (and whooo boy are there issues).

It wasn't a universally bad season. There were episodes I really loved and still do. But the finale was a train wreck, and because it was a train wreck, a lot of people are looking back at what happened before the wreck and realizing that, oh, the train lost its brakes and steering because of the budget cuts and the engineers kept throwing fuel in the engine to make it go faster, and huh, now that I think of it, that part earlier in the trip was really wobbly but I didn't pay much attention to it at the time because I was sure the engineers had everything covered.