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filmstarved · 27 days

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i can fix him and fuck him.

18+ [logan x female!reader]

nobody can break through logan's walls with ease like you can. and he actually lets you, welcomes it even. he needs it to breathe and when he's ready to walk out of the gifted youngsters door, there you are again.

word count: 5,737

logan sulks. he’s so devoid of love and compassion that he sulks. he’s confused most days, too. unsure of who he is and what he even wants. the people who are somehow closest to him can’t even find their way past the fire breathing dragons that guard the drawbridge to his heart. (scott jokes that he doesn’t have a heart and that the adamantium replaced it and he’s fully pumping cold, hard metal).

logan is a man who answers to himself and doesn’t give people even the slightest chance to ask him a dumb fucking question because he’s not in the fucking mood. he’s never in the mood…unless you put him in one. usually a good one.

you earn a smile from logan as easy as the sun makes it seem to rise every morning and the moon to take its place at night. it leaves the team dumfounded. they believe if you weren’t here, logan would have left a long time ago. they’re right. logan used to search high and low for any excuse to leave. he never knew where he’d go, he’d just…go. but you didn’t dare let him out of your sight. not ever since the professor had brought you to what you call home a little over a year ago now.

deep down, he wanted reasons to stay. somewhere deep inside that metal frame…he wanted things to be right again. he’d find it tiring most days to carry around his grief and anger. but you gave him reasons to stay just one more day.

“so we’re working on that thing for charles together tomorrow right?” you asked on a wednesday, standing so cutely in the threshold of his door that it was almost annoying to him.

“so we’re catching that movie downtown with ororo and hank tomorrow right? it starts at 6!” you asked on a thursday.

“heeyyy, lo…do you possibly, maybe think you could sub for scott’s morning classes tomorrow? he has a dentist appointment…,” you shyly asked on a very late sunday night. (logan heard scott’s jokes about his heart so he made you ask. logan was the only one available.)

but behind his stoic stature and intimidating glare fixed on his face accompanied by knitted brows, he’d always say yes…to you. you were his reason for staying. he knew it but would never admit it. you knew it but played the oblivious part well. and the rest of the team would gossip about it when you two weren’t around. but as long as you were here, logan has nowhere else to be.

although as of late, you’ve been busy. much busier than usual. charles has you creating plans for a mission happening soon. when you’re not teaching mutant ethics 101 to freshmen, you’re hauled up in the lab or library; sometimes darting back and forth between the two multiple times a day leaving very little time to worry about logan.

tonight, you brought your work back to your dorm. as you cleaned up a rough draft of an exit strategy, rain began to tap lightly on the window. you had lit candles littered around the room as well as grouped on your table, a small desk lamp illuminated the surface further. as you reached up to stretch your aching back muscles, you were startled by the sound of a throat clearing.

your eyes shot to the sound at your door where logan stood, leaning against the frame; arms crossed and still like he had been glued to the spot.

“hi lo,” you say. “y’scared me, heh.” you aren’t used to logan greeting you often, especially not this late. he’s over 150 years old, of course he’s grumpy and an early bird. you’re usually the one at his door with requests and invitations to social events he assumes can be nothing short of insufferable. he sighs, his stare dropping to burn holes in the ground. “logan, are you-“

“i think i’m gonna get out of here, bub.”

those words felt like an arrow hitting the bullseye in your chest and then another splitting the first one right through the center.

“wha-what do you mean?…you’re leaving?” you asked, confusion and frustration trembling in your voice.

“it’s too hard being here.”

with that, you stood up from your chair, beelining to him. “c’mere,” you say hushed, pulling on his leather clad arm, trying to unfold them and get him out of the door frame. he doesn’t budge and you pull “the look” that you know he can’t say no to. “come sit with me please, lo.”

he unfolds his arms which allows you to grab his hands to lead him to take a load off on your bed. your bare feet pat on the hardwood floor as you quickly go back to close the door.

you walked back over to him, assessing his body language. ever since he let you use your mutation to “read him” a few months ago, you told him you’d never do it again without his permission. one gaze into his eyes and a touch of his skin and you could feel everything wracking around in his head. anxiety, rage, hate but love, pain. it was hard to feel just for a moment and your heart cracked knowing he was riddled with those feelings constantly.

but right now you couldn’t help it, he was slouched on the edge of the bed, his head dropping to rest in his large hands, and apparently ready to walk right out of the door. your powers are amplified with a touch and even more when you can look into their eyes. from a distance, you could feel a sense of unease and something else… a pressure…built up in your stomach as you surveyed your friend. it didn’t feel bad though…it felt familiar. a good familiar. you stopped reading him and did your best to shrug off the aching stomach feeling and care for your disheveled logan.

he wasn’t emotional, like ever. he hid all that, only showing you what you wanted to see; what he believed you wished him to be — happy, whatever that was. but that couldn’t’ve been farther from the truth. sure, you want him to be happy but also just whatever he wanted to feel, you wouldn’t suppress it or try to change it to fit some ideal of who people on the outside want him to be. yes, he was one of the meanest motherfuckers you had ever met but he was your mean motherfucker. (whatever that means because nothing has ever really been clear between you two).

you walked closer to him, forcing yourself in his diabolical bubble. you stood between his legs, removing his hands from his face to wrap them around your waist. you scooped your hands under his scruffy chin, pulling up to get a look into his bloodshot eyes. oh, he’d been crying.

“lo…,” you muttered. “why were you crying, wolv?” you slide a thumb across his cheek where tears had stained the skin. “why do you want to leave?”

he pulled his face away, breaking his stare with you. he dropped his head forward to rest on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your legs so his hands rested on the back of your thighs. he began to slowly rub the exposed skin of them that your very short night shorts didn’t cover. he lifted the hem of your shirt slightly to press his hot face into the soft, cool skin underneath. he hummed into it, allowing you to feel the vibration.

“logan,” you softly moaned his name under your breath. his fingers press firmly, inching closer to the crease in the skin where your ass meets thigh.

“is this okay?” he asks lowly, when he looks up for confirmation to keep going, you’re already looking down at him nodding. “say it’s okay for me to touch you like this, bub.”

“yes, keep going, logan,” you said curtly. in your voice there is a hint of need. you hadn’t been touched like this since jean’s christmas party, tipsy off spiked egg nog in the garden with a guy whose mutation was a very wet, long tongue. flirting with him seemed intriguing in the moment, but five minutes later, it rendered itself utterly useless due to user error. the sexual tension between you and logan is so potent it usually clears out a room. aside from accidental brushes of hands and quick looks at each others lips mid conversation, neither one of you has acted on it.

his hums turn to growls and soft whimpers as your hands ran through and tugged his hair. your fingers found their way to his nape, splaying out to grip the hair there in your fist. he managed to place a single kiss on the skin right above the elastic of your shorts before you pulled his head back to scrutinize his face.

“you don’t have permission to read me,” he groaned. before you could ask how he even knew that’s what you were doing he said, “you get this serious, focused look in your eyes. i can feel you in my head.”

“logan, what are we doing?” you ask, releasing his hair and stepping out of his bubble.

his hands drop from the absence of your thighs onto his lap and his sighs frustratingly.

“what do you mean?” he asks, admiring your body in the dim light with a semi pressing on the denim of his jeans through his boxers.

“i’m…not doing this with you…if you’re just gonna disappear from my bed before the fuckin’ sun comes up. i’m not doing this,” you said, with your hands on your hips.

he pressed his hands into his knees to push himself up to tower over you. he took two big steps forward and stood in front of you. his hand raised up to brush the back of his fingers across your cheek to cup it and rub his thumb over the warm skin.

he pressed his lips to yours, skillfully allowing his tongue access to it. you let him. “i give you permission,” he moaned in your mouth. “read me. feel how i feel about you…how i’ve always felt about you.”

he welcomed the hesitant slip of your hands past his jacket and under his shirt, shivering and chuckling “mm, cold” into your mouth. you rested your cool touch on his hips and with his mouth obsessed with yours, you read him.

your head dizzied instantly and the hair on the back of your neck stood up. you had never felt anything as strong as this. you could almost taste the colors in logan’s head. your heart dropped to your stomach like you were on a rollercoaster, feeling sick from adrenaline in the best ways. and then, returned that good familiar feeling. this time buried even deeper in your stomach, moving it’s way lower…and lower until logan was swallowing the noises escaping you. before you literally passed out, you dropped your hands and took back ownership of your lips and tongue. breathing heavily, you moved away from him to collect yourself.

a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh and a “well, say something” from logan passed and you opened your mouth to speak before shutting it again.

that…was the best thing you had ever felt. no drug could compare to the euphoria that a minute of kissing logan could bring. you could practically feel yourself lubricating and your upper thighs unconsciously squeezed together as you scrambled to find thoughts.

there were none. your mind already dumb and wanting more of him…more of the feeling. your fists planted firmly on both your hips as if you were grounding yourself to the floor to avoid buckling. you eyed the ground, looked back up at him and forwarded with another heated, taking-in-each-others-breath kiss. your hands found their way to the same place gripping the hair on his nape to which he praised the tug with a moan. he supported your balance as your whines got more whiney and needy and your hands held onto him like life support.

“lay down,” he said into your kiss. it wasn’t really a command, more of a warning because he tossed you on the bed like unfolded laundry.

he stood over you as you collected yourself, darting your tongue out to taste the spit he left behind. you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a look at the man casting a shadow over you. without the sounds of pleasure exclaiming in each others mouths, your ears absorbed the comforting sound of the battering rain. a tree branch smacked the window as thunder rumbled outside.

logan took a moment to admire your presence. starting at the top, he gazed upon your hair that he associates with vanilla and roses and the times he’d touch himself wondering how it’d feel being wrapped around his hand and pulled.

as he removed his leather jacket, he took his time mentally undressing you. feeling even more pressure build in your clit, you bore your hips down into the mattress, rolling them in circles to stimulate the swollen nub. he beheld your tits, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip at the sight of your hard buds under your very thin, white tank top. he threw his heavy jacket to the side, letting it thud in a ball on the ground.

“you look so beautiful, sweetheart,” he said, deeply enthralled by your scantily clad figure laid out in front of him. unable to stop staring, you could see the bulge in his pants get larger and it ridiculously turned you on. with you making eye contact with the crotch of his jeans, he effortlessly unfastened his belt buckle. the metallic buckle clanked to the floor as his jeans and boxers pooled around his ankles.

he stroked himself while he looked upon you. it was like you could read his mind, because you began to touch yourself. the twitch of his lips and darkening of his eyes validated your teasing. letting yourself drop back on the bed, you caressed your body for him. one hand occupied by cupping your tit and pinching and twisting your nipple while the other is exploring the wet spot left on your panties. not being able to handle eye-fucking you any longer, he dropped to his knees on the edge of the bed between your legs. logan hooked his arms under your knees, pulling you close which in your intoxicatingly lustful brain you found funny, so you laughed.

logan spread your thighs open so he could fit in between them to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over your skin. he nibbled here and there, earning soft hisses and hums from your parted lips.

kiss kiss nibble hiss mmm kiss hum nibble nibble bite kiss suck

he spent about a minute just doing that, leaving warm welts in his mouths wake. “i need these off of you, princess.” once he had kissed his way up to the elastic of your shorts, he snapped it. you nodded and he did the honor of pulling them down and flinging them across the room like he was opening presents on christmas morning.

he let out an amused scoff as he ran his trembling hand down his face, caught between ecstatic disbelief at the sight of your black lace panties with little black bows adorning the seams. you mentally thanked your past self for slacking on doing laundry and only having your “special occasion” panties left to wear.

“d’you know how pretty you are,” he said. his eyes traced over every inch of you in excitement like you were artwork he stole from the louvre and made out like a bandit with.

his hand disappeared to slickly stroke himself, his mouth watering in anticipation for your taste. his chest heaves as he takes in the sight of you, studying every curve prettily laid out before him; thinking about every position he wants to see you in and every way he wants to please you. without another groan inducing thought, he lunged forward to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue demanding attention. you drink his breath like liquor becoming completely intoxicated by him. he needed this, he needed you.

“need…to taste…you,” he breathed in between kisses. with this mouth obsessed with yours, his hands caress your tits, his thumbing circles on one of the nubs while he’s pinching and pulling on the other. your head falls back and your neck rolls at the sensation, earning profanities from your pretty, swollen lips. your tit misses the hand that he proceeds to run down and up your thigh to locate the spot in your panties you were playing with a moment before. as he parts from your kiss, he’s hooked two fingers under the elastic, pulling those off swiftly.

you yelp when he pushes your torso down. you stare up at the decorative ceiling as he savors you, kissing and massaging your thick thighs. he’s enjoying playing with you as much as possible before allowing himself any pleasure. he wants your juice to cover his face…his neck…his arm…the bed…the floor too when he gets you to pop like a water balloon.

“logan…please, please,” you beg, pawing at his hair. you lift your head to watch the man between your legs taking in the sight and smell of your pretty, wet pussy. even in the dim light, he could see how much you ached for him. he not so secretly got entertainment from watching you lightly buck your hips up to his face and he would’ve let it continue but your pheromones became overwhelming for him; engulfing his head in it’s enchanting aroma.

like fresh pie on a windowsill, he was drawn into you. logan opened wide to swipe one flat tongued lick up your slit. he had one goal — to knock all sense out of you, to fully engulf you in pleasure. he wants you dumb and begging for him to stay right where he is — at the mansion and also all over you.

logan audibly sucked and popped your clit in and out of his mouth, teasing the most sensitive bit. he’d suck and pop and then lick up your slick, repeating the act. one of his big hands reached up to cup your tit, pinching and twisting and circling. from his hair to the tit he wasn’t playing with, you clawed at whatever would ground you. being eaten by logan felt like floating above the stratosphere.

your wet soaked his beard and it only made him more horny, his cock dripping and throbbing in his fist. tasting you, inhaling you, winning pretty sounds from you, knowing he’s the one making you buck up and fuck his nose only made his appetite for you insatiable. he let go of himself to push his pointer and middle fingers into your needing pussy. you hissed and cursed. the thrill of him devouring you began to reach its peak. his fingers pumped relentlessly into you, curling them to stimulate your g-spot. moans, curses, the gushing of your wet cunt, his sucking and popping and vibrating moans mixed with the rain and thunder grumbling outside filled the dorm like mozart’s symphony no. 25.

he wanted to kiss you, so he did. with his fingers still coaxing an orgasm out of you, he shared the sweet taste. he got back on the bed with you, sliding his free hand under your back to push you up to further to see the mess you were making on the sheets.

“look at how good you’re taking my fingers,” he groaned, inching closer to your ear so you could hear his dirty language loud and clear. “you can come for me, baby.” he peppered a few kisses to your forehead, removing his hand from behind you so he could press it into your stomach. this only heightened the overwhelming wash of pleasure coursing through you.

“lo…logan, i’m-“

“fuck my fingers, baby. use them…oh that’s it…that’s it…i feel that clenching, c’mon you can do it for me. go big baby, make me happy.” his dirty mouth and sporadic clit circling and pumping in and out of you with his tireless wrist pushed you over the edge. you cowered into his neck, pulling on his white tank top and biting the salty skin below his ear as your pussy obeyed, erupting with your juices. out of breath and fucking dumb already, you could feel the wet soak the sheets under your ass.

logan pulled his fingers out of you, landing a light smack on your pussy before licking you clean off of his digits. you fell back on the bed, your arms above your head as you heaved and saw stars.

“‘m not done with you, princess.” he slid off the bed, still delighted by your taste and engulfed in your aroma.

“fuuuck,” you groaned. the pulsing lightning feeling spread throughout both legs as an effect of your rocking orgasm. logan was wicked with his tongue, a devious magician with his fingers and you were his sole audience member wondering about his tricks for sleight of hand.

he quickly tossed his tank, that had tug marks from your attempt to ground yourself, to the side, his muscles flexing under his skin. as he let your post orgasm, cock-dumb brain fog clear, he spit in his hand to fuck his fist. his saliva mixed with the pre-cum leaking from the head, he groaned and sighed heavily at the feeling of giving his dick some sort of relief. you, needy for another hit of him, propped yourself up on your elbows to watch the most delectable creature pleasure himself.

just the sight of him illuminated by candles and flashes of lightning outside as he gets off to how fucked out and dumb you look was enough to have you open up again and play with yourself. the sensitivity from your swollen nub required a delicate touch but your pussy ached, clenching around nothing. his knitted brows relaxed, eyes darting from your pretty face, to your tits, to your fingers rubbing circles where his mouth resided moments ago back to look longingly into your eyes.

“you’re gonna stay,” you said. your hand reached your mouth, your tongue swiping a lick up your middle and ring fingers, wrapping your lips around them to coat them in your saliva. “tell me you’re going to stay for me,” you elaborated. your wet fingers found your aching center.

“there’s no where else i want to be,” he answered. he paced closer to the bed where you laid, his dick basically making eye contact with you as he stopped a few inches away. “you’re mine, you know that?” he noticed your hand slow, “keep going,” he commanded. logan reached out to cup your face, tilting his head to get a look at you obeying his every request. “your face…your mouth…,” his thumb swiped across your lips as he spoke. “your body…your cunt.” he leaned down to kiss your mouth, leaving a string of spit attached to your lower lip. “your laugh…your heart,” he said kindly, his hand massaging your scalp. moans earned from his praise escaped you. “you’re all mine. is that okay with you, baby?”

you’re so bewitched by his aura and his subtle touches make your heart race so fast that you can’t do anything but try to maintain his torrid eye contact and nod.

“use your words, honey.” his thumb returned to the softness of your parted lips.

“i’m yours, logan,” you said, taking his thumb in and closing your lips around it. “if you’ll stay with me, i’ll be yours forever,” you breathed around his thumb, speaking from a mix of eager lust and the terrifying need for him to not to be an asshole, just once.

“i’m not going anywhere…i promise,” he said matter of factly before leaning back down to hungrily devour your kiss. “i need to…fuck you…now,” he cursed in between swallowing moans.

“do what you want…i’m yours,” you said just clearly audible over the storm rumbling outside. you two shared eye contact so intense that you noticed his dick twitch from your peripheral. you took his dick in your drooling mouth, reaching up to squeeze the base of him. it twitched from the warmth, pressure and tongue swiping rhythmically around his angry, red tip. you kept yourself enveloped around his length, bobbing your head to hit your gag reflex. the added lubrication drove him crazy, his abs twitching under the toned skin of his abdomen. you moaned around him purely from the enjoyment you got out of having him stretch the corners of your mouth, feeling the sting from it.

logan reached down with both hands to hold your head steady while he sped up thrusting into your throat. your gags and gasps for air, his praise and the storm filled the room beautifully.

“fuuuck, baby, keep that throat open for me please,” he begged. his hands left their position to find a new one — one supporting his thrusting hips, the other petting your head. “oh, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock down your throat…you’re taking me so good, sweetheart.”

he pulled his dick out of your mouth to smack it on your face, complimenting how gorgeous you look. he kissed and licked the mess off of your mouth.

“mm, baby i need to know how good you feel.” with that, he rounded the bed to lay down. “c’mere, baby.” you turned around, crawling on all fours to obey him. his cock in its usual place to be, in his fist, leaks pre-cum in anticipation for you to smother it with your warm, clenching pussy.

“lay down,” he said.

“damn, yes sir,” you say, jokingly annoyed with all of his demands. you lay down next to him, your knees instinctively parting slightly. he lays on his side, resting his hand on your stomach, rubbing his large hand in flat circles.

“d’you know how long i’ve thought about this moment with you?” he asked, leaning in to kiss and suck the skin in the crook of your neck. you lustfully sighed at the sensation of his hot breath. his hand finds its way between your legs again, tickling and tapping at your slit. “i want you to read me the whole time i’m inside…can you do that?”

“are you—“

“yes i’m sure, i feel so fucking good right now and i haven’t even felt you. i want you to feel that and more,” he explains, pulling your chin in to taste the desperation on you.

before he came just from your kiss and rutting against the sheets, he hovered above you. his lips stayed attached to your chest, kissing lower and lower to suck a tit into his mouth, flicking your nipple with his tongue then biting softly on the nub. his hand disappeared from the side of your head to grab hold of his shaft, flicking his tip against your clit. his head dropped as he watched and listened to your slick coating his cock. he quickly swiped up and down your pussy trying to savor every fold and feeling. his brows furrowed, not being able to resist your warmth, he lined himself up with your hole, using his hand to guide just the tip into it.

“oh…fuck,” he groaned in excitement. he pushed in just a little more which caused you to hiss. his head shot up and eyes scanned your face for any sign of regret or unsureness. “are you okay? d’you want to stop?”

“no, baby,” you giggled, lifting your arms rest around his neck, one hand always finding a way into his dark locks. “just been a while…keep going, i’m okay.”

with your permission, he pushed in a little more. he let out a deep groan at the feeling of you stretching to form perfectly around him. you gasped, pressing a hand into his chest, feeling a similar sting to the one you felt in the corners of your mouth earlier. against his want to start thrusting his whole length into you, his went slow, watching your demeanor for cues to keep going.

“you feel…fuck…like it was made for me,” he said which caused the butterflies in you to flutter their wings even faster. “are you okay?” his chest heaved and his breath fanned your face.

“fuck me…please logan,” you said. your hands reached his hips, pushing them down onto you. without wasting another minute, he did.

he bent your knee more to press it into your chest as his hips repeatedly slammed down hard, his balls smacking your ass. with one hand giving him better access by positioning your leg higher, the other cupped and squeezed your bouncing tit.

“oh my…fucking god,” you moaned. you had let the walls of your mutation down, allowing yourself to be flooded by not only your pleasure…but the love logan feels for you plus the absolute sheer euphoria that he was experiencing deep inside of your pussy. it coursed through your body like a steam engine leaving the station. it had felt like you had been brought to five earth shattering orgasms before the one that was bound to shake you again soon.

“you know you feel so good, look at that fuckin’ fucked out smile. can you feel it? can you feel how good you make me feel, baby? don’t stop readin’ me, princess. it’s all for you,” he praised for you to hear every word.

“holy shit…mm fuckin’…ahh!” your hands couldn’t help but find their way above your head, subconsciously reaching for the bed post for something to ground you again.

“here, baby, hold onto me.” logan grabbed your wandering wrist with his free hand, slapping your hand on his chest which you pressed into as if you were pushing him away. before your cock drunk mind could register what happened, he had flipped the two of you so you were on top.

logan looked so fucking pretty under you. you took a second to breathe and take in the view before bending your knees to put yourself in a squatting position on his cock. you placed your hands on his heaving chest for support as you started to bounce your ass on him. ‘oh this is so fun’, the thought making you giggle in elation as you drilled down your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel him stimulate the deepest parts of you. his thumb bored into your clit, drawing circles on it.

as you kept bouncing your wet pussy on him just how he liked, logan lifted his knees up behind you and pushed you back onto them. he moved his hand away from your clit and picked his head up to watch his dick disappear deep inside you. then, he spit. his saliva landed on your pussy and stomach. he went back to stimulating you, fully realizing how much that turned you on from the tight clench around him and the extra juice running down his ass onto the sheets under you two.

he, still playing with your clit, summoned your face closer to his with the middle and ring fingers on the other hand. once closer, he grabbed your neck to kiss your fiercely.

“you’re my good girl, huh?”

‘mhmm’ was all you could muster with his hand around your throat and his hips still ramming his cock into your stretched out hole.

“use those words for me, baby. are…mm, fuck…you my good girl?”

“ye…sss, baby i’m your…good…oh my fucking…girl!!”

“open your mouth.” he fucking spit in it. you moaned tasting him again and feeling it on your face. “good…fuckin’ girl,” he complimented, kissing you and then squeezing your cheeks to spit on your tongue again.

your body started to go limp and your eyes were practically glued together. you could feel the searing hot orgasm burning up inside. you could feel logan in a way that you never thought possible. everything.

his love, his passion, his longing, his fear, his anxiety, his lust, his heart…everything was yours in this moment. high on his feelings, you let your head fall back coming undone on top of him.

“oh you’re so pretty…that’s pretty, baby, keep…fuck…use me, it’s all for you.” his words took you further and further into ecstasy. it was a really good fucking trip that you never wanted to end. the pain of his cock fucking you out and his grip clutching your skin like he’d fall off earth without doing so made you moan so intensely that not even the thunder outside could compete.

he could tell you were a few fucks away from collapsing but so was he.

“baby…you keep clenching around me like that…i’m gonna fuckin’ fill you,” he said. you kept bouncing on it, wanting him to even feel a fraction of how he just made you feel. he closed his eyes trying to last as long as possible in the heaven that he found in you. his thumbs bore into your hips as he used them to ground himself.

“i want it, baby…fill your good girl up.” you leaned down to speak into his ear and then carry on kissing his neck, letting him claim your moans as trophies.

“fuuuuck…fuuuck,” he moaned as his thrusting became sloppy and you weren’t bouncing as much anymore. his abs twitched again along with his face.

SNIKT!!

you hissed at the cool metal of his claws against your skin and the feel of him throbbing severely inside you as he let himself paint your walls. you thanked him in pleased moans before falling on his chest. still semi-hard inside, he kissed the top of your head to which you looked up and he gave you a proper kiss. he let himself twitch out a few more dribbles of cum inside you before pulling his claws back in to carefully rub your back.

a few beats of silence went by as you listened to each others hastened breaths and the rain tapping the glass.

“…i love you, logan.”

“i think you know how much i love you, baby,” he said, smugly remembering how you looked coming on his dick, further escalated by his letting you read him.

you two snuggled naked under the covers and as you laid on his chest and listened to his light snoring, you read him again.

ease and silence…and love.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #xmen fic #wolverine smut #i hate everyone but you #logan howlett #wolverine #hugh jackman

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kmuradesu · 4 months

Text

.‘ENTITLED’.

husband!gojo x pregnantwife!reader (afab)

» summary: leaving the busy streets of Sendai city back to its outskirts, the two of you got a bus. there aren’t any seats available, and being pregnant meant being able to sit in the priority seats. looks like they’re taken.

» CW: pregnancy, exhaustion, mentions of jizz, bus ride, stubborn civilian, teeny-weeny angst if you squint, protective satoru, threats, all happy, no swears, not proofread!

» a/n: this has been sat incomplete in my drafts for a month, only until now I’ve motivated myself to finish it (lmao). I don’t know what it is, but I love pregnancy fics with jjk.

———————————————————————

After a slow-paced stroll through the bustling streets of Sendai City and a bunch of offers from Gojo telling you he’ll buy whatever you want, the lingering sense of exhaustion finally caught up with you.

You had managed to make it an hour and a half.

The beads of salty sweat were becoming more prominent over your glossed skin, your breath being lost easily but being hard to get back. The overly frequent back aches weren’t helping either, it was like this baby was already overweight inside of you.

You couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as your soft, now clammy, hand weaved with Gojo’s, the wedding bands glinting a perfect chrome against the sun’s humid rays. You didn’t want to become a burden, neither a random woman in the city known for sweating abnormal amounts of sweat. “I think the baby’s had enough, huh sweets?”

Your loose gaze lifted upwards to meet his, immediately feeling the cool radiating from his cerulean eyes. Strangely, through the navy lenses in his shades.

“..yeah, me too.” You breathed.

“Okayyy, let’s get the bus back - save you walking around with that watermelon inside you.” Purposefully, Satoru presented you and your bump a judgy look.

“..thanks.”

Rolling your peepers with sarcasm, you gently swung your hand with his back and forth.

“Hey, that’s what it looks like to me!”

“Well it’s your sperm, blame your own genes on the fact it’s fat!”

“WHAT?! FAT?! I’M NOT FAT. I’M A TALL SKINNY KING! AND SO WILL BE MY BABIES!” The man was very much offended, that open-mouth and crossed brow face he pulled was all you needed to know.

“..oh REALLY? WELLI KNOW FOR A FACT ITS NOT MY GENES CAUSING IT!”

And all the way to the bus station you continued on with your quarrel on who’s genes caused your bump to be so big already.

Both you were just kids in adult bodies.

——

After earning an unusual load of overcritical glances from passers-by, you finally reached the bus station where many people stood.

Looking around with concern, your brows gently furrowed, a little confusion clouding your mind. It was good that Satoru could read you like a book.. sometimes.

“It’s okay, they’ll let us go past.”

The white-haired man muttered into your ear, placing his hands on your clothed shoulders.

“What if they don’t?”

“Oh they will.”

The way he said those words made you feel something, like it was your hormones playing tricks on you.

And so soon enough after waiting for a couple minutes, you had a glimpse of the scheduled bus turning around the corner.

“C’mon then.”

Placing a hand on the flat of your bump you both moved forwards, attempting to shift to the front.

“Satoru, I—”

“Just go baby, they’ll move for a pregnant queen like you.” He reassured, eyeing the men who weren’t moving out the way at first. Like they should, the women knew to make way, all flashing you sweetened smiles as you passed them.

Eventually you had gotten to the front with a man standing in the lead. “See?” Gojo smirked, watching you tilt your head back to see his beautiful face.

“M’kay..”

——

The doors of the vehicle swung open with a but too much vigour it almost took out the poor man standing next to them.

After Gojo, being the most pampering partner ever, paid for the tickets, he ushered you forwards only to discern no available seats. Gojo would be more than happy to stand, but it was you he worried about since you were already breathless and weak to stand.

The priority was stocked up with disabled and the impaired too apart from one space.

However that man who clearly perceived you were carrying a baby, sat in the seat in front of your face - glancing at you as he did so.

How selfish. Is he not embarrassed?

“There’s no seats left Gojo, I can’t stand anymore.”

Subtly you whined, being a little irritated that you couldn’t sit down and would have to uncomfortably stand as his baby rearranged your organs.

“..hm. Let’s see.”

“Wait—”

He shuffled to the man.

“Heello. Excuse me, but my miss is pregnant. Would you mind sparing the seat?” Gojo politely asked, hanging on to the pole situated in the middle of the aisle.

“What? Err no, sorry.”

That man was not sorry at all. It made you cringe.

Gojo’s expression paused, pressing his pastel lips together in irritation. Why wouldn’t this man listen?

“May I ask why are you being so difficult?”

After hearing those words, you knew this was going to veer off sideways. Almost everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene unfolding, all looking up from the windows and screen to see two men ‘bickering’ it out.

“Difficult? What do you mean, I was here first.” It seemed like the man had issues already, as he started to flail his hands around.

“My wife is pregnant, if you didn’t hear the first time. You’re sat in a priority seat, which where she should be sitting. Are you disabled?”

He was getting defensive. It was crystal clear that the man was not disabled, nor pregnant at that matter.

“..um no? But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not giving up my seat for some cripple.”

A cripple?!

That’s it, Satoru had had enough and was desperate to split this man in half. Not a single person could insult you because he would already be on them like a hawk.

Anyways, the fact that the nasty being had called you a cripple, couldn’t help but make you feel a little too much like a burden, and your gaze saddened.

“You’ve gone too far. No-one. Absolutely no-one, is to offend my wife like that. So, jackass, vanish any place other so she can sit.”

“Or else?—”

“There is no ‘or else’ fool. You’ve already screwed the wrong person, so I suggest you move. Don’t do something stupid.”

The man, looking quite intimated, eventually got up and sulked off past the two of you.

“Thanks.” Satoru fake smiled, stalking him ‘till he had gone else where, far away from you.

All this drama had made you forgot about the achy pain surfacing your body, which immediately flowed back as realisation hit you.

“..oof-” It had subconsciously left your lips, and it made Satoru’s brows cross.

“Here you go my love. Is it hurting?”

He concernedly asked, holding your velvet hands as you lowered your rear on the much-needed seat.

“I’ll be fine, just what I needed.” You smiled back at him, tucking a stray hair behind you ear as you breathed out.

“I’m glad. Some morons just think they are ‘entitled’.”

—————— thank you for reading! this is my original idea and have worked hard on this. so please no translating, copying, posting my work on a different platform, or modifying my work. all rights reserved - kmuradesu

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manny-jacinto · 4 months

Text

“The first draft I read…it was happening a lot earlier on and I felt that wasn’t great because they’ve made a deal,” he says. “Also it was, like, what are these people even feeling available to? Like, maybe they’re both a bit asexual at the beginning.”

Burke explains that he, Miller, and Taylor-Joy “wrestled the whole thing out,” talking through all the different possible permutations of the relationship. Miller was insistent that there was something of a romance between them. Taylor-Joy saw it as a kind of marriage, but in a “weird environment where one is having to be very careful.” Burke, meanwhile, fought for the notion that the two of them push romance to the side until they believe they are riding off to a safer place. “I thought it was the most romantic version,” - Tom Burke about Praetorian Jack and Furiosa's relationship

#furiosa a mad max saga #furiosa: a mad max saga #furiosa #praetorian jack #furiosa x jack #jack x furiosa #tom burke #george miller #anya taylor joy #ace #asexual #aroace #I'M GONNA SCREAM. this man GETS it #both a bit asexual - KING YOU ARE SO RIGHT???

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halfwayhearted · 1 month

Text

Real Love Is A Hard Attack — S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: It takes an accident for him to realize just how deep your feelings for him are.

Word Count: 1.1K+

Disclaimer/s — Gunshot mention, slight violence, a little angst (?), OOC Spencer perhaps, and no use of Y/N! I think that’s it.

A/N: Clearing out the drafts, requests always welcomed… hey… 🤍… Also I noticed I made the reader ask a lot of questions and then continue asking after he said he was fine, so… sorry! :3

Searching the entire bottom floor of the building, you feel the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand the longer you continue to look. Like they’re about to just up and vanish off of you. This place was quiet, too quiet, eerily quiet.

…

You get the point.

You, Reid, and Morgan were the first to walk in along with a couple SWAT officers, but when you had gotten nothing on the device used to communicate with them, you made your way up the stairs, that’s where they were. Where they were supposed to be. But, were they?

Hotch’s instructions were clear: 'Move in, keep silent, stay vigilant.' His anxiety was palpable to anyone within a five-mile radius. This UnSub operated with extreme precision, to an extraordinary degree. The Ohio PD had almost caught and locked him away previously; had they only been aware of his premeditated escape strategy and his precise timing for executing it.

Being careful as to not make a single sound with each step you take, you raised your gun and walked forward. God, the hallway was long. So long. The amount of horror movie vibes you got was enough to make your skin crawl.

Reaching the corner, you’re just about to round it when a gunshot sounds throughout the building. The echo making your ears ring. Morgan. Reid.

Focused solely on them and them only, you hasten ahead, oblivious to the looming shadow. Suddenly, rough hands shove you against the wall, causing your head to snap back and meet the brick surface. As you gather yourself, you witness the figure sprinting down the corridor, pursued closely by Morgan and the SWAT team.

No Reid, no Reid, no Reid, you repeated in your mind as you shook your head to dispel the dizziness, to no avail of course, yet it didn't prevent you from trying to reach him. As your vision gradually returned, you spotted Reid on the floor, propped uncomfortably close to the wall.

No, no, no.

“Spencer!” You cried out, dropping to your knees next to him. Your eyes scanning over his body for any signs of blood, leaning over him, you continue to search for anything. Nothing. Search harder!

That’s when your gaze lands on the bullet lodged into his vest, with a sharp inhale, you carefully unclasp the Kevlar vest and throw it aside. Check his pulse, what are you doing? You needed to calm down, you know you did. But this was Spencer. The man you’d—now, hold on a minute.

Focus.

Placing two fingers to his neck, you just about cheered at the sound of his heartbeat. It was racing, but it was there.

“Agent down, medical assistance possibly required.” You say shakily into the device strapped to the collar of your own vest, breathless.

“Reid,” your voice is quiet as you move your other hand to pat his cheek, “Spencer.”

Hearing his groan sounded like a melodic tune to your ears, you leaned forward and rested your head slightly on his stomach before looking up at him, you knew he was fine, but it didn’t stop the complete and utter relief you felt at hearing anything but the mans silence.

You rested a hand on his arm, “Hey, hey, easy. Are you in pain? Hurting? Talk to me.”

“UnSub is down and apprehended,” Rossi’s voice rings through your ears, and no doubt Spencer’s when you see him flinch, “Medicals almost here.”

“Fine,” he croaks out, “I’m fine.”

Nodding your head, not sure if he was trying to convince you or himself, you slowly helped him lean forward. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

“I’m not… I’m not hurt.”

That wasn’t really my question, was what you wanted to say, but decided it was… best not to mention it. “Can you stand? Do you want to stand?” You ask, looking at him with a gaze so soft he wanted nothing more than to just sit there and stare. “Reid—come on, grab my hand.”

Holding out your hand, he hesitantly grabbed ahold of it and hoisted himself up. Letting out a groan as he leaned against a random desk.

“Are you okay?” The second time you’ve asked.

“Stop,” he rasped, “I’m okay. I promise.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, your eyes scanning over his figure once more. “You were shot, Spencer,” you paused, then added, “Let’s get you downstairs, yeah?”

With a nod, he moved toward the door and stumbled. That there was enough to tell you that calling for medical was the right decision. You quickly stood beside him, took his hand, and used it to drape his arm over your shoulder.

After reaching the last stair, Hotch looked up at the two of you, “The ambulance is out front. What happened? Are you okay?”

“He was shot—it hit the vest,” you answered.

Just then, Emily and Morgan walked in, their expressions etched with worry as they helped you both the rest of the way. Emily's eyes soon widened in alarm when she noticed something, “Hey, are you okay? Your head—” It’s bleeding.

Your head? Oh, your head. You'd almost forgotten the searing pain from being literally shoved against a brick wall.

The paramedics guide Reid to sit on the back of the ambulance, they start performing all the necessary checks, fearing the bullet might have caused unseen damage despite hitting the vest.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but trip over your own feet before even attempting to respond to Emily's question. This prompted the other paramedic to look at you with concern, “Ma'am, are you alright?”

Looking over at him, you stammered, “I, uh, I hit my head.”

That made Spencer snap his gaze toward you, eyes wide with panic and confusion. You had hit your head, probably got a concussion, and yet you were still there, helping him. Why?

Hearing that made her partner rush to your side, directing you to a seat with a sense of urgency as he quickly checked your condition.

He furrowed his brows deeply, casting a glance over at Morgan, who was casually leaning against the ambulance. Morgan's eyes roamed over his features while he tilted his head slightly and said with a gentle yet probing tone, “Spill it, kid.”

“She has a concussion,” he murmured, “And she was helping me.” Again, why?

The man let out a sigh, saying, “You might be a genius, but sometimes you can be anything but.” With those words lingering in the air, he strolled over to where you were sitting, ruffling your hair and laughing when you swatted at his hands.

You might be a genius, but sometimes you can be anything but.

What did that even mean?

Well, he knew what it meant. The real question was what steps could he take to act on it. Because if there was one thing he was certain of…

It was that he felt the same way.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

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sinfullyrosey · 1 year

Text

Shrimpmer!Reader

Floyd Leech X GN!Shrimpmer!Reader X Jade Leech

Warnings: Mild Violence, Brief Mentions of Accurate Shrimp Cleaning Methods (kind of gross)

I literally had written up a mini fic showcasing the tweels first meeting Shrimper!Reader… and lost it. Have no idea where it is. Searched through my drafts and got pissed, so just started over from scratch.

Can be read as platonic but with a lot of sus behavior ngl

The Basics (aka an Introduction to Shrimpmer!Reader)

Shrimpmer!Reader is a cleaner shrimp, a type of shrimp known for cleaning off parasites, algae, insects, and other bad stuff from fish. They’ve even been known to eat the mucus and infectious material around a fish’s wound to reduce infection and aid in healing. There are different species of cleaner shrimp, ‘scarlet skunk’ or ‘white-striped’ cleaner shrimps being known for cleaning the mouths of moral eels specifically.

Shrimpmer!Reader specifically comes from a family of cleaner shrimps that have a long-standing business partnership with the Leeches. Their family provides their cleaning and patch-up services to better the mereels’ health and heal any injuries, and in turn, the Leeches provide protection. It’s a mutualistic relationship where both benefit. And congrats, they were assigned to the tweels when they were but a mere fry and twins were still little elvers.

But what is it that Shrimpmer!Reader does exactly? Well, they have a cleaning station set up (i.e. a flat rock for the tweels to lay on while they work) and they go over the twins’ body, ridding it of any parasites and other debris. Picking at their scales and skin like a fine-tooth comb. They’ll even clean their sharp teeth using specialized brushes and tools to make sure nothing is stuck and strengthen the dentin (real shrimp physically go inside eel’s mouths, but shrimpmers are too big for that). Whenever the twins come to them with an injury after one of their scuffles, Shrimpmer!Reader will clean and disinfect the wound, being sure to remove any parasites, then wrap up the wound to heal faster.

In terms of anatomy and size difference, Shrimpmer!Reader is much smaller compared to the twins, but not on the same scale difference as real shrimps and moray eels. They’re not tiny enough to fit in their mouths but are small enough to be carried with ease. The best comparison I can give is like with the dwarves and Neige, but the tweels’ eel forms are much bigger compared to regular humans, so Shrimpmer!Reader would be shorter compared to a human as well. Floyd would joke about them being “child-sized.” Just like the Octatrio, their bottom half is that of a white-striped cleaner shrimp while the rest of their body has the matching miscolored skin, fin ears, and a pair of long, white antenna on the top of their head. No, their hands aren’t claws/pincers, but they do have sharp nails that aid in cleaning.

The Shrimp and the Eels Headcanons

Like mentioned above, Shrimpmer!Reader was assigned to Floyd and Jade back when they were all still children. Each new generation of Leech ends up being assigned a cleaner shrimp who are around the same age so that they can grow together and build a proper symbiotic bond. You just ended up unlucky ‘cause Mr. and Mrs. Leech had twins and you were the only available one in your family at the time. A two for one deal, as it were.

Rough first meet (the twins are asses even back then), but you eventually adjusted and they learned how much they actually enjoy getting all those nasties off of them. You were gentle and efficient, it was very soothing, almost therapeutic to them. But it was only after one particular cleaning where Floyd came to you, a week after he got into a fight, wound infected and riddled with parasites, that they fully realized just how much they needed you. Neither twin skipped a cleaning or wound treatment after that.

You are tiny and not built for fighting, so the twins are more than happy to do so for you!~ Some predator is stalking you, trying to get a taste? Floyd is already grabbing them by the tail, pulling them away from you and towards his own dangerously sharp jaws. Another merperson is bulling you, picking on your smaller size? Jade’s looming right behind, tail at the ready to squeeze the life out of them. Most of your patch-up work was from attending to their wounds sustained in fights defending you.

Floyd and Jade both have their tails wrapped around some poor, unfortunate soul who was pulling on your antenna. Jade is taunting the crying fry while Floyd is “playfully” biting their tail fins.

“Jade, Floyd, let them go already. You’re going to get in trouble…”

You do meet Azul later on, though never quite befriend him per say. His contracts made you uncomfortable and untrusting of his intentions. In turn, Azul was stiff and reserved around you on the account of the overly protective eels threatening to chew his tentacles off if he tried anything.

You’re not a student at NRC nor a student of RSA. Magic isn’t your forte (or your concern really), the tweels are. Which is why you do visit the schoolgrounds frequently, especially after the two (mainly Floyd) start complaining about “needing their shrimp.” They’re not even in their eel forms most of the time, but they do still get into fights and the nurse on staff isn’t good enough.

Congrats, you’re now the Leech’s designated Health Support Cleaner Shrimp, or whatever bullshit the twins pulled out of their tails when forcing requesting to Crowley that you be allowed to stay at Octavinelle! Double congrats, because you also work at Mostro Lounge as a janitor because you literally clean for a living!

In your human form, you are much shorter than most of the other students and you have two long cowlicks that resemble your antenna. You aren’t the biggest fan of this form, finding two legs to be difficult to navigate, especially since you kind of skipped the prep class. Floyd was impatient and claimed him and Jade would just teach you themselves. An unwise decision really.

I mean, you could also just request to have the potion adjusted so you can be taller too, I guess idk the twins aren’t going to tell you that.

You sometimes turn back into your merform with the tweels and swim together because you miss it. Floyd definitely missed curling his tail around his little shrimp and pinning you down with his much bigger size. He especially loves to flip you on your back and watch your little feetsies wiggle around in a panic.

Jade misses the cleanings more than anything else. Being a vice dormleader while also working at a lounge and doing schoolwork is stressful for one eel. So, being able to just relax and have you attend to him while he prattles on about mushrooms is absolute heaven. That’s not to say he doesn’t mess with you either. Jade will gladly use your height against you by putting your cleaning supplies on a higher shelf, so you’re forced to ask him for help, teasing you all the while.

No, you can’t clean anybody else, merfolk or otherwise. Only them. Azul almost lost a tentacle after suggesting such a thing when he noticed business was running slower.

You’re their cleaner shrimp, and they’re your eels. Anybody aware of the Leech’s influence know to back off lest they end up missing under mysterious circumstances.

Oh yeah, and the tweels, at some point, made it a habit to kiss you after you finished cleaning them under the guise of you “cleaning their teeth.” It’s become something so casual between you three now that when Azul caught sight of the twins and you locking lips, he nearly fell over at not realizing the three of you were (supposedly) an item.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Floyd Leech X Reader #Jade Leech X Reader #GN!Reader #I had indented to add a section dedicated to reader dating the tweels but I got creatively burnt out at the end #maybe I'll post a part two at a later date

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igotlovestruck · 1 year

Text

right where you left lover girl [ charles leclerc , ben chilwell ]

[ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 ] — charles leclerc x singer!ex!reader ; ben chilwell x singer!reader . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ 🫂 °. *

[ 𝗗𝗘𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦 & 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ] — mostly angst, some romance . ⊹ ✶ ㄔ ℹ️ °. *

࣪˖ 💭 .. 𝗘𝗬𝗔’𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 ⌕ clearing my drafts again 😵‍💫 if you ask me, i’m obsessed with singer!reader fics lol

this work is purely fictional. names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. © httpsuniverse, 2023. do not steal, repost in other platforms, translate and/or claim this work as your own.

cleclercsource

26,929 likes

cleclercsource double date in wimbledon 🎾 charles, alex, kika and pierre spotted in today’s game!

view all 2,719 comments

user alex looks so pretty and i know she’s nice because i met her once, but i miss y/n ☹️

user :(( i do too, but it’s just not meant to be. they both want different things and are in different places in the relationship

user damn why did THAT hurt

user no offense/hate towards alex but the fact that y/n and charles have been together since they were thirteen just...pains me and i’m not even part of their relationship

user me too!! 😭 they literally went through ups and downs together and saw their careers go big :(

user yeah but i hate to break it to you guys but it’s been two years since they broke up and charles being in a new relationship is okay, they’re both adults! i mean, you guys know that eventually they’ll meet somebody, no?

user what pains me the most is that y/n hasn’t released anything since she and charles broke hp 😣💔 i miss my girl

user they look like mean girls

user i would be scared to walk past them

user love how alex is just happy to be there hahaha she’s so cute

yourusername

liked by yourlabel, sabrinacarpenter, selenagomez and 3,286,048 others

yourusername oh hi hello 👋🏻 i know it’s been a while since i’ve last released music and contributed to the industry, and i see everyone’s tweets saying how much they miss me and guess what? i missed you guys too, so here’s a little something for being so patient with me🤎 this song is very personal and important to me and i hope you’ll love it just how i loved writing it. right where you left me is now available to all streaming platforms 🎶

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sabrinacarpenter 🫶 masterpiece

selenagomez proud of you✨😍

user omg y/n!!!

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yourusername 🤎 wish you all the best with healing

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user thanks y/n, now i do have a reason to cry today 😍

yourusername stopp bahahaha enjoyyy

prodbymika

250,297 likes

prodbymika glad to have produced another song and film a music video with my bestie 🫶 here’s some behind the scenes of y/n during recording and filming the music video of right where you left me <3

view all 17,926 comments

yourusername mika my love!!! ☹️🤎 thank youu couldn’t have done it without youuuu 🫶

user wait that place on the 3rd photo is familiar

user it’s charles and y/n’s place from their 24 hour with vogue video 😭

user omfg that’s probably why it’s titled right where you left me 😭

user the 😭 restaurant 😭 she 😭 and 😭 charles 😭 loved 😭

user fuck me im trying to move on 😭

user y/n wearing the same clothes she would wear during date nights with charles 💔☹️

yourprivate

yourprivate i know eventually it will lead to one of us meeting someone new. i hope she’ll love you the way that i did, more than how i loved you, charles. and i can’t believe that it’s been two years since we broke up. in my mind i’m still 23, living in my own delusion that one day you’ll come back to me. i loved you, charles_leclerc. and i still do. i really meant it when i said i wish you both the best. now, it’s time for me to move on and leave the place where you left me.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─────────────────

yourusername

1,926,472 likes

yourusername me doing big girl things 😄 bye bye monaco 🇲🇨, hello london 🇬🇧 ready to make new memories, new songs and of course, new apartment tour video soon :p

view all 1,827 comments

user omggggggg the chances of me running to you are HIGHHHHH

yourusername see you aroundddd <3

user AAAAAAA

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user no bc imagine the adjustment!! she lived there even when she and charles broke up :(

user my girl can finally FINALLY breathe

benchilwell

liked by masonmount, reecejames, judebellingham and others

benchilwell you’re my, my, my, my lover 🩷

view all 23,816 comments

jackgrealish mate, that’s so cheesy 😂

reecejames i know something you don’t 🤧

masonmount i know something you will never know 😂

user NAHHHH QUIT PLAYING WITH US

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yourusername

liked by cmpulisic, reecejames, masonmount, benchilwell and others

yourusername guys meet my london boy 🩷

view all 28,493 comments

benchilwell i told you not to post that picture of me

yourusername 😵‍💫 but you looked so cute and you helped me compose a song

masonmount he did? 😨

yourusername took us a while, but yep 🫡

user im so happy for you y/n!!!!

— ❤️ by yourusername

user why is y/n, a person who loves chinese food, dating a man who hasn’t eaten chinese food

yourusername don’t worry, i bought chinese the other day. he’s no longer chinese food virgin. i took his virginity.

benchilwell y/n y/l/n.

yourusername 😚 you liked it though

benchilwell okay fine yeah

user why do i feel like a new album will come out ...

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, benchilwell, prodbymika and 4,836,917 others

yourusername suprise (well... not so surprise haha) !! been working on this album the past year and it’s finally here and i can’t wait to share it with you guys so HERE YA GO 🩷😚 the whole album is dedicated to, of course, my lover, my benji, benchilwell i love youuuu and this album is my love letter to you (you spoiled the lyrics on your previous post 🙄 but its ok i forgive u now pls come back faster bc i miss u) enjoy everyone ! lover girl, y/n 🩷✨

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benchilwell i love you angel 🩷

yourusername stopp im shy i miss you

benchilwell 😂 im coming over

user y/n in her lover era 🥹 happy for her, she deserves this!

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user “all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing” BENJAMIN JAMES CHILWELL YOU ONE LUCKY MF

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charles_leclerc congratulations on another amazing album, y/n!

yourusername thank you charles! 🫶

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yourusername we’re still friends guys, chill 😂

sabrinacarpenter YOU ARE AMAZING, Y/N

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formulaforza · 1 year

Text

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it.

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired.

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel.

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing.

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t.

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly.

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything.

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you.

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately.

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be.

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page.

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months.

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear.

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus.

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive.

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception.

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches.

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years.

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust.

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks, a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit.

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property.

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with.

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile.

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses.

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way.

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy.

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you.

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be.

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty.

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks. “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly.

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest.

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special.

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you.

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail.

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard.

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine.

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender.

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in.

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary.

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest.

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you.

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster.

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken.

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small.

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to.

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines.

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it.

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side.

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by.

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day.

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands.

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan.

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support.

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be.

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

read part two, everywhere, everything, here!

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da-rulah · 8 months

Text

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-”

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well.

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick.

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him.

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market.

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years.

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...”

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret.

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-”

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned.��

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow.

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-”

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.”

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.”

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living.

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world?

No.

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he?

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials.

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said.

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake.

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?”

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back.

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school.

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.

You wished you could live like that.

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth.

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-”

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?”

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud.

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-”

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...”

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing.

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.”

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this.

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!”

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!"

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!”

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again?

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself.

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.”

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed...

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.”

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights.

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial.

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?”

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.”

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in.

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being.

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to...

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount.

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter.

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?”

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had.

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh.

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?”

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.”

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.

“Big plans tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75”

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.

You.

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years.

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!”

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be.

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart.

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.”

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it.

A sob.

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob.

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick...

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.”

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic.

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone.

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob.

He held the phone to his ear again.

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...

“R-Raynor... street...”

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you.

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.”

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible.

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere.

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could.

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably.

Something in him cared.

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side.

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you.

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered.

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-”

“Okay...” you sniffled.

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up.

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much.

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night.

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak...

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all...

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?”

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?”

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother?

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you...

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue.

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water.

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed.

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?”

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.”

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...”

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here.

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold.

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.”

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.”

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes.

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.

“Is she...?”

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.”

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now.

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.”

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought.

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles.

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you.

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.”

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him.

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window.

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call.

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself...

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock.

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could.

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer...

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin.

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently.

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes.

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken.

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up.

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically.

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.”

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in.

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too?

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.

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coveholdenmyluv · 1 month

Text

I. Midoriya - New Beginnings

Synopsis. Stained and calloused, the commission has nurtured your palms into silent artillery and trained you to fight the wolves they throw you in with. Not at all accounting for the possibility that you too might learn to bite the hand that feeds you.

Or alternatively - in which the Hero Commission recruits YOU to go undercover as a student in UA to keep a certain class, who already seems to be a magnet for trouble, in check...

It's safe to say you get a little more than what your briefing covered.

A story of the finding of self love, a family, and a new beginning.

Series masterlist.

Chapter warnings. emotional manipulation, minor death, this is sort of a set up chapter?, kind of a long chapter, the latter half is very chill. pls read prologue first!

Chapter synopsis. You’ve been summoned to the HPSC headquarters! Hopefully they’re planning on giving you that vacation you dream of.

1| Only in Our Dreams. 10.9K words

"Mercy, please! I swear, we meant no harm. It was just for some extra cash, I've got my girls at home!"

The man cowered near the back wall as you intimidatingly stepped towards his hunched position. The leisure steps you took barely made much noise at all, yet the soft pats of your boots were deafening. His whimpers reached their maximum volume when the soles of your feet came into contact with a limp limb laying on the concrete, and his head flew every which way to gaze at the lifeless bodies of his companions strewn around him.

He feared to meet the same fate.

"Do they have a mother?"

"No!" The man shrieks, "That's the reason that I'm doing what I'm doing. I just want to give them a better life." He explains honestly. "I've barely even found a babysitter, I've got my ma watching them!"

You chuckled bitterly at his justification - instantaneous hysteria that you've heard countless times before.

"Illegal drug trafficking, right? How's that working out for you and your girls?" You asked in a sneering manner, to which he simply sputtered as he struggled to elucidate any further. "I've gotta say, you're good at what you do. The police are having a hard time tracking you down. But of course, your little side hustle has been causing the citizens in Kyushu to grow rampant. The heroes based in the area are beginning to go into overtime, thus leaving them tired and malnourished. We can't have our dutiful saviors walking around enervated, can we?" Your right palm lifts into the air and a crisp chill invades your palm whilst the radiant gleam of your dainty sun mark begins to swell.

"No, please! My girls- You're a hero aren't cha'? You can't- you wouldn't!" He squeals and squirms as you corner him. His eyes gape at you in horror and look to nearly burst out of their sockets as his pitiful cries reach their peak.

"Your girls will be better off with your ma." You state as your palm draws near his face. "Scum needs to be dealt with, you understand, don't you? This is for the good of our cause."You rasp, steeling yourself to proceed with the actions that will surely haunt you until the moment you reach your deathbed composed of wilting and withering black dahlias.

"You're no hero, you're the devil incarnate. An angel of death! You'll get what's coming to you, Aeron. Mark my words, I'll be cheering for your downfall from hell-" He begins, only for his ardent proclamations to dwindle in their power as your palm finally makes contact with his rugged skin.

You watch as his limbs go limp, surveying his body for the telltale signs of the remaining life to dispel. Though, those aren't what notify you of your completed mission, instead it's the warm draft that floods your body and inhabits every crevice available.

The feeling is supposed to invigorate you, supposed to bring forth newly born vitality, but in reality it makes you nauseous to the point where you yearn to clutch that wretched right palm onto your lips.

"Go ahead and save me a spot then. If those are the consequences of fulfilling my purpose, then so be it." Your excruciating voice grinds out. You can nearly taste the bile adhering to the walls of your throat, forcing your retreating hand to clutch into a fist and fingernails to pierce into the skin of your palm.

Nausea.

You hate the rising feeling of nausea - with nausea comes profuse perspiration, retching, dyspnea, and remorse.

Your line of work bears no room for penitence.

With corpulent and dense inhalations, you gather your bearings to go forth with the completion of your mission. Slipping your cell phone out of the pouch strapped to your waist, you dial the numbers ingrained into your muscle memory - carved and sealed with cement into your bones.

"Assignment fulfilled. Another clean job." You state in a low tone into the speaker.

"Nothing but the bodies is being left behind, correct?"

"Affirmative. Not an ounce of blood spilt."

"Heavenly. Flawless work once again, Aeron. Attain the photos and head west once more. We have more to discuss, my dear."

"Roger that, ma'am. Arrival time should be soon, expect my appearance at ten past eleven hundred."

"Noted. You've done us well, hero."

The long tone indicating the call had ended allows the knot in your chest to lessen its grip and release the breath you hadn't quite heeded before. The hand clutching your phone lowers itself to your side as the corner of your lips soften and warmth fills the apples of your cheeks. The crease to your brow alleviates and you can feel the effect the praise has on your conduct.

It's almost pathetic how easily your nausea fades at the approval the woman expresses for your actions.

After you comply to your post mission orders, you make your way to the vehicle delegated to take you to and from your superiors. There, a very much not unexpected ring tone chimes in your ears.

"Gooood morning!"

Your hand instinctively pulls the device away from your ear drums, a wince creasing your face. "Well, it was just a second ago." You grumble into the speaker.

"You left the house before I could tell you, punk. What did we say about wanting to start having breakfast together again?"

Your eyes soften and guilt paws at your insides at his reminder. "I know, I'm sorry. I had an early mission and didn't want to wake you. It was very last minute too." You explained.

"They aren't overworking you again, are they?"

"What? No, it's fine- I'm fine. It was an easy one today, so."

Keigo audibly sighed on the other end of the line, "I still don't like how all of your missions are classified. You'd think that I of all people would be spared some info, but alas, I guess I'm not trust worthy enough for that."

"Don't say that, it's just... different." You attempt to expound without unveiling what the commission deems as too much. Tip-toeing the edge of compromise and divulgence. "Besides, I'm never allowed any details pertaining most of your missions either. It'd be unfair if you were the sole exception. You're not as special as you think you are, Hawks." You subtly tease.

His buoyant guffaw resounds in the confined space of the cabin you sit in, forcing your lips to purse in amusement. "Ouch, I'd beg to differ." He retorts. "Anyway, where are you headed now? It sounds like you're in a car." He asks.

"Yeah, I'm heading west. Wish me luck. Do you think they're finally summoning me for that vacation time I requested? Bali sure is calling my name." You suggested sarcastically. In reality, you knew the notion was far too good to be true, though that never stopped you from entertaining the idea.

"Only in our dreams. Maybe if you told them you were going somewhere nearer than Indonesia? What about Honshu? Mount Fuji might be cool to see, right?"

You appreciated Keigo's willingness to join your wishful chants, even if it was all for naught. "Do you think it's possible to build a house directly on it?"

He laughs at your question and you can almost visualize the way he clutches his stomach, which he is definitely doing considering the slight wheezes you caught lingering in the sound. "No sane person would risk their life to live on a volcano, psycho." He berates.

You shrugged, "But, just imagine the view. Hell, even a home at the base would be divine." You suggested, telling yourself these were merely words, though deep down you know that some amount of truth laid hidden in the thick of their woods.

"Tell you what, in a couple of years we'll actually start looking into it. Who knows? Perhaps by some work of a miracle we'll be in a situation that allows exactly that by the upcoming." He offers, and a fond smile paints the skin of your lips as your eyes soften once again, though this time it was not because of grasping praise. This time, your cheeks filled with warmth at the thought of one day living in a cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but yourself and the man you see as your own blood. Well,him and Kitty. "By the way, I'm talking about the vacation thing, not the living in a volcano idea. That is suicidal."

"Only in our dreams, big bird." You sighed in resignation. "Anyway, how's Tsukuyomi doing?" You asked.

"He actually just walked into the office," He announced and you could hear the faint excited greeting he dealt the boy with upon his arrival. "We might head out on a patrol soon." He informed you, which you assume was his way of making the teen on the other side of the line aware of as well.

"Alright I'll let you go, but take the boy out for a walk along side you, at the very least. Don't leave him behind, you know he's the only one who genuinely still attempts to sustain the same pace as you." You reminded. The intern had expressed his annoyance with his lack of contribution towards any successful arrests during his time at the agency so far, and to be frank, you couldn't blame him. To most, Hawks moved too fast to be able to cooperate with properly.

The man also continued to claim that his interest in mentoring a student from UA was nothing short of a sudden change of heart, which you still don't quite believe. While your trust in him runs deep within your veins, with every passing day you grew more wary. Something in your instincts warns you that there has to be some underlying issue revolving the situation. An issue you wouldn't be surprised to be signed and dated by the Hero Public Safety Commission themselves.

But, you knew when not to pry.

"Yeah, yeah." He had begun to leisurely waft away your advice, before his tone of voice differed from any he had used in your entire short conversation. "Hey," The words he spoke next were low and dangerous.

"Be careful."

The leisure grip on your cell phone tightened, your fingers acting as the bars to the cell withholding the quiver of your lip, masking the trepidation creeping its way up your throat and replacing it with insouciance.

"Aye aye, captain."

Heavy footsteps coming from yourself and the guard behind you reverberated off of the long barren walls of the hollow hallways in the Heroes Public Safety Commission headquarters. The aroma that filled your nostrils was overbearing with the scent of recently used cleaning products and your dead dreams...

Okay, perhaps you were being a tad bit dramatic, but not without good reason!

Although you pledged your life to the commission's cause and would never dream of disobeying your saviors, you were still at the peak of your adolescence - with raging hormones that demanded an eye roll every fifteen minutes. Every time you trudged the same path down the abyss hallways, a minuscule portion of your soul would wither. It was not always like this, though as you aged, the officers that directed the trails that which your life would take grew bolder. So much so, that the last dozen twists and turns had left a sanguinary in their wake.

The exchange would go as such: you would receive the orders and complete them without error.

It's what you are a paragon at, obeying orders was a phenomenon that was drilled into you as a small child. These missions and interactions with the higher ups were meant to stay within the walls of this very building, meaning you couldn't even vent to the sole person that could possibly understand. Keigo was excellent at keeping the two of you in check for the public, while you were the perfect underlier pulling the strings to keep the public in check for the commission.

After all, it's what you were born for. The reason you were gifted with the quirk that you wield; your inherent purpose.

Knuckles meeting cold metal pulls you away from your thoughts, muscle memory working in your favor, having knocked on the slate grey door innumerable times before. It doesn't take long for it to be slid open by another man dressed identical to the one behind you. They donned all black attire bar the small pieces of armor in different locations of their body, presumably to better suit their specific quirks. Once all of the weapons strapped in various places on your body were removed and within the safe keeping of their arms, the guard behind you turned his stance to guard the door you stepped through.

Security doesn't abate for the higher ups anymore, not since the incident with the former chairman years ago.

The slight shuffle from the black boots of your hero costume announced your arrival. Near the wide windows and before the ash colored desk placed in the vacant room stood the woman you've acquainted yourself with since you were young. A woman well into her fifties dressed in a lilac pencil skirt, and matching button up with white heels, crossed her arms and upturned her nose well into the air at the sight of you. She had always done that, you presumed the reason was to assert her rightful place above you, something you found that you never minded and had coerced out a side of you that forced your own nose to face the ground in submission.

A man not too far behind her in age was also a ways away from her side, though you had never been in contact with him as you were with the woman. He sported light slicked back grey hair and a black suit, with a stern expression gracing his wrinkly features. You had met him over the years, but due to the strict rules of your earlier tutelage, you were never given the chance to interact with many other than the few you are still allowed to now in the present.

"Good morning, Aeron. Thank you for coming here on such short notice, and especially after a mission so well done." She spoke gently.

Aeron is who she spoke of, your hero name and the only moniker attached to you to exist. Whether she still remembers your birth name or not you were clueless of. The only person you knew of with that knowledge was Keigo, albeit even he only made use of it in the safety of your own home. Though he never failed to remind you he thought it suited you better than, 'Aeron, goddess of battle, slaughter, and war', chanting about how smoothly the name you were born with rolls off the tongue.

'Always the charmer, that one.' You reminisced with an affectionate smile.

"Good morning, Madam President. As always, I am glad to have been of aid to you and make it my duty to meet your expectations." You say as you bend over in a bow to present your respects.

"We're enrolling you into UA High." The man spoke curtly.

Sustaining your position while nodding your head, you reply, "Yes sir, UA High- wait what?!" You end with the raise of your head as you direct your shell shocked irises their way. The woman herself froze along with you, it seemed as if she was going to keep the small talk flowing before her intentions were thwarted. It was almost comical how large her turquoise eyes had widened. Standing upright, you clear your throat and speak with noticeable cracks littered in your question. "P-pardon me, could you repeat that?"

'Hooooly shit, oh my gosh. Okay, I've never asked for shit but just this once, can any celestial being work their magic or whatever and make them not make me kill a kid!? I'm gonna need so many vomit bags if I were to go through with this. Screw that, would I even be able to? Well... maybe if one were to turn out to be a sick pervert with no boundaries and god awful balls on their head, than yeah okay I can roll with that-'

Not without giving the man a dirty glance, the chair woman tries her best to mend the unraveling situation before her. "What he meant to say was that, we need you to go undercover as a student at UA High." She says, satisfied and clearly very confident that her statement would be enough to ease you into compliance.

It's safe to say that it was far from enough, very far. Like, miles away. What ever happened to 'hello' or 'how was your day'?

"Right, uhm... If you don't mind me asking, why would I need to do that?" You ask, masking your dubiousness with a forced comprehensive expression.

"I'm sure you've heard of the recently infamous class 1A, correct?"

"Yes, they're all the citizens are speaking about. Especially, due to the recent events of the sports festival a few weeks ago." You answered, before the realization dawned upon you. "Wait a minute, are you trying to tell me that my mission is to enroll into class 1A? I'm not understanding, why the hell would I need to do something so distressing?"

"Calm yourself, Aeron. We simply want you to be and act like a mere late enrollment. We need someone on the inside to keep an eye on those children. They need to be kept in line." The president says.

"I assume you're aware of the USJ incident? After their performance at the sports festival, we know for a fact that the USJ won't be the last of the trouble they get themselves into. Most recently, we have reason to believe that a group of three students, all from class 1A, were heavily involved in the Hosu incident which involved The Hero Killer: Stain. Far more involved than the reports state they truly were. Of course, we don't know this for a fact, so we won't act on this situation specifically, but that alone is enough to raise alarms for us." The man explains.

The Hosu incident happened just two days ago, in which The Hero Killer: Stain was finally apprehended and sent to Tartarus Prison. The reports stated that The Flame Hero: Endeavor was the hero that defeated and arrested him, saving three student interns. You hate to admit it but considering the class was only in their first year, if what they were suspecting is true then these instances were very alarming.

"The group of three students you believe to be heavily involved, they were the interns, weren't they? Who were they specifically?" You ask.

"If the reports were telling the truth - Tenya Iida, Shoto Todoroki, and Izuku Midoriya. All of which made it to the top ten in the Sports Festival."

You hummed in thought, "Tenya Iida and Shoto Todoroki... both of these students hail from powerful families. I'm assuming if your theory is true, the cover up was not purely for their sake. Something like this could tarnish the reputation of hero society as a whole, considering one of them is the youngest son of the number two hero. Someone had to have taken this into consideration..." You deduce, but these thoughts only thrust you into confusion once more.

The only person you could think to make the decision of fabricating headlines for the sake of hero society's reputation is the woman before you. But if that was so, why was she acting clueless?

"Aeron, I know that look. Don't go poking your nose in situations you have no place in, this isn't the first time and I can certainly make it so that it ends in the same way it did last time, if you're so hellbent on making this a habit." She warns in a sickeningly sweet tone, her voice contradicting the fangs presenting themselves in her eyes.

"Apologies, President." You hastily correct yourself and force yourself to redirect your attention to the situation at hand. "That won't be necessary."

"We simply need someone to act as a sort of bodyguard for the time being, as well as giving them slight shoves in the right direction. If even one of them shows signs of acting up, you know what to do. You'll need to send reports of your time with them and if any extra measures need to be taken, we'll handle it. It won't be forever." The woman said in an attempt to ease your worries, though you couldn't tell if her sympathy was authentic or spurious, which admittedly frightened you to no end, considering one of your redeeming qualities involved easily reading the people around you.

"So... a spy?" You point out, which was not far at all from the truth. They want you to send reports of your time at UA, which more than likely will be done in secrecy.

"Well, more of a bodyguard spy sort of situation..."

"They would never let me in this late into the year, they're most likely gearing up for final exams right now. Not to mention, babysitter was never on the resume that I turned in." You state matter-of-factly.

"Except, you never turned in a resume, Aeron."

"...My point still stands."

"You're the only one we could trust with this, and the only one with the skills to pull this off."

"That's just because everyone else here is an ancient geezer-"

"Aeron." The woman cuts you off sternly, and in another much softer tone of voice, she tries another tactic. "Remember, we're the ones who saved you from your old home. Don't you want to repay us in the form of your loyal services? You've pledged your life to our cause, you certainly remember what that cause is, correct?"

In a matter of milliseconds, your expression alters itself. Your eyes soften their natural edges and your body translated every form of meek. Almost robotically, you site the words ever so familiar to your tongue. "I pledge to lie my life down for the cause of protecting and serving our society, bettering the lives of the many civilians housed on our soil."

"That's right, and you were cursed with a quirk that directly contradicts life as we know it. We're the only ones that can aid you in putting it to good use and help you repent. After all, the only thing that it's useful for is death, you're lucky that I'm here to guide you and allow you a way to do good things with it. You're already on the route to becoming a true hero." She explains and then gifts you a gentle and motherly smile. "This is your purpose."

She poke the truth, and that fact was the reason you sometimes despised the ability you were born with.

"Right," You utter softly, and after a few more seconds of your pondering, in a voice more fragile than before, you ask, "And this is absolutely necessary? Those kids are training to become heroes, you saw their performances. In my opinion, they're more than capable of taking care of themselves. I'm not so sure they need my guidance." You say sincerely.

This time, the man speaks up. "It is just a precaution. You said it yourself, those kids are very promising, they're our future. You and Hawks are the best of the best that we have had here with us, but that just isn't enough. It'd be a shame to see such talent go to waste."

You allow another round of seconds to escape your grasp as both adults await your response in silence.

"I'll think about it."

"..."

"Oh, you're not asking me, are you?"

"No no, we'll allow you to think it through this time." The woman assured you. You nod in appreciation and let your gaze fall to the ground as even more beats of silence gloss the room. Both adults seem to find the ceiling highly interesting.

"Have you thought about it?" They ask in unison.

"Why bother calling this a proposition when you know that I can't possibly refuse?"

"Well, technically we never called it a proposition-"

"Fine, you're right. We won't try to deny it." The woman admits, suddenly getting serious.

You exhaled in exasperation, giving the idea further thought. This particular mission differs from any of the others you had ever embarked on. The closest experience you've had to attending a class is the sporadic lectures run by Mera you are required to attend whenever your superiors see fit. Actual school is something you had never thought you would have the chance to experience, and you were unsure if you ever truly wanted to. Though, this would allow you to brighten society's future without using your quirk for sin. A path to brighten Keigo's future and aid in the accomplishment of his long term goal, something you longed for:

Aiding in the achievement of his dreams, his prosperity, and his happiness.

You bow once again, the small wisps of hair on your forefront falling forward along with you. "Enrolling into UA High School - If babysitting some brats is what it takes to ensure a bright future for our people, then I'll gladly take on that task."

You are Aeron, a mere girl whose hands have been stained alizarin crimson with sins that could never be undone. You long to live in a world where peace and tranquility are innate, especially to the person you hold dearest. You've pledged to lie your life down for the sake of society's future, but you intuit that you'd lie down society's future for his.

"Wait wait wait, can we hit the pause button for a sec?" You blurted as you sat in a cushioned rolling chair. Your elbow was propped onto the table as your palm held the weight of your right cheek, and countless files with the words 'Top Secret' stamped in red ink were sprawled across the table before you. "I'm still not so sure this can truly be considered top secret, taking into account how frequently I'm seen with Hawks. I don't mean to sound like I've got a big head, but we can't ignore the fact that I'm not a complete nobody. People are bound to recognize me as Aeron and word will get around that I've joined UA... not that I'm doubting these orders, but wouldn't that just garner more attention towards these students? Bringing further problems their way?"

The last two weeks have been filled with back to back meetings regarding your mission. Yokumiru Mera, a member of the HPSC that you had come to know since your youth, was dictated as your supervisor for your time at UA and he is not enjoying the responsibilities it entails anymore than you are.

His heavily lidded eyes gradually slid to acknowledge you without so much as an ounce of enthusiasm painting his dark irises, and in a weary voice he replies, "The mission's endgame itself is the aspect we consider to be top secret, Aeron. Your identity wouldn't, nor could it, be kept a secret. We understand that you're no stranger to the public's eye, and although you might not be as relevant as Hawks currently is, you certainly aren't too far behind."

You brow quirks curiously, "Right," you hum, "So, I'll keep being regarded as my hero name for the entire time that I'm enrolled into UA... because that isn't suspicious at all." You mutter.

The man was either too sleep deprived to recognize your sneering or he was purposely ignoring your attitude. "Yes, that's precisely what you'll be doing. Since your birth name has ceased to exist for a while now, it'd be far more suspicious to suddenly present yourself with a newly constructed alias. You'll just be the Aeron the citizens have already acquainted themselves with - a late enrollment with no connection to working directly under the commission's command as an agent aiding the next generation of heroes and making sure none of them get themselves or anyone else killed. At all costs."

You sighed dreamily, "Ah, yes. Aeron: the alluring, mysterious, up and coming, symbol of hope, poster girl-"

"Aeron." Mera grumbles harshly. "You haven't even been in any posters." He mumbles.

Your concerns made sense, there was no doubting that fact. But, like always, the commission had already taken care of most details, so in full transparency- it was the hours upon hours of sitting in meeting chairs and browsing PowerPoints that was inducing your complaints.

"We've taken care of your admission, so there is no need for an exam to determine your eligibility. According to these documents, you were enrolled through recommendations." He assures you.

"What about my living situation? Am I expected to walk to Musutafu every morning?" You question, and then move to thread your fingers together and wring them pleadingly, "If that's the case, can I pretty please with an ice cream sundae on top be assigned a driver?" You plead.

"We've already secured your housing in an area near the school. Of course, you'll be living on your own for the time being." Which wouldn't be a problem, considering independence is lulled along with the territory of being a child soldier.

"Did you get me an Airbnb?"

"That is irrelevant. Now, onto the next topic that we need to cover." He diverted and then altered the screen being projected onto the wall to display the first of many files you were expected to review and memorize.

"These are the students you will be required to befriend in order to make the job easier."

That is a detail that should not prove to be difficult for you, having had interpersonal skills drilled into your psyche from a young age, making you a master at deception and infiltration... if only you were taught how to wield those skills against the teenage mentality and intellect.

"First up-"

A photo of a boy with lustrous blond hair parted on its side and gleaming amethyst eyes appeared on screen, along with a list of various details regarding the flamboyant adolescent.

"Yuga Aoyama. Age is fifteen and birthday is May thirtieth." Mera begins to read the information on the list whilst you held a copy of the file in your hands.

"Oh, I know a fake French when I see one." You mutter to yourself, squinting at the photo.

"One hundred and sixty eight centimeters tall, or five foot six. His quirk is Navel Laser, which grants the user the ability to fire sparkly twinkling laser beams from their navel." He continues in a drowsy tone. "His recently chosen hero name seems to be 'Shinning Hero: Can't Stop Twinkling'."

With your brain already working on committing every possible detail to memory, your eyes narrow in inspection, "Okay, that weirdly makes sense. I just hope he doesn't regret that when he's older."

"He seems to highly value vanity, as well as always have a smile engraved onto his face. He can usually be seen eating alone, by choice, and is an overall highly flamboyant person."

You internally questioned how they had even acquired such personal information, including his eating habits. Given the numerous photos to support these claims, you guessed that the commission already had their eyes trained on these students far before they decided to ask for your support.

Though you soon would be replacing those exact eyes acquiring the information they deem necessary, and the thought of such espionage left a bitter taste on your tongue.

This time, the screen flickered to display a girl with a rose colored complexion that matched that of her hair. Her irises, though portraying a vivid yellow, contrasted the pitch black of her sclera.

"Next, this is Mina Ashido. She is currently fifteen years old and her birthday is July thirteenth. Her quirk is called Acid which is pretty self explanatory, it allows the user to create corrosive liquid from their skin, with it being naturally resistant to the acid it produces. Her chosen hero name is 'Pinky', and she seems to be highly outgoing. She doesn't excel academically, but more than makes up for that in her athleticism."

"Mina Ash-i-do." You drawl out the syllables of her name. "These first two students were matched up for the first round of the one v one battles during the sports festival. If my memory serves me right, Ashido displayed her athleticism by swiftly dodging Aoyama's spurious attacks, leading to her victory." You ponder aloud.

"Having a quirk that conveys power has little to do with victory. If you're loaded with stamina, that alone has the ability to take you a long way, as you know." Mera adds with a knowing lilt. "Moving on."

The photo faded to display a pale skinned girl with pitch black pools for eyes and swamp green long pin straight hair.

"Tsuyu Asui is fifteen years old and was born on February twelfth. She's on the shorter side, at one-fifty centimeters tall, making her four feet and eleven inches."

Your head tilts and your eyes squint as you inspect the image before you. "She... sort of looks like-"

"She wields the quirk called frog, which is so self explanatory that I won't even bother to elaborate. Her hero name also hints at this, being the 'Rainy Season Hero: Froppy'."

"Kermit." You finish.

"She's a straightforward and aloof child who can sometimes come off as very blunt. She's the eldest of her siblings and would quite frequently act as their main caretaker, this resulted in the molding of her very mature and responsible ethics. She also excels in aquatic environments."

Before Mera had uttered a peep about her quirk, you had already held an inkling of what it might be. While she was still undeniably human, her appearance did, oddly enough, resemble that of a frog.

From what the man in front of you has told you, she, nor the prior two students, would not pose a threat to your mission. This was a good sign.

"Next, Tenya Iida."

This boy being shown had inky navy blue slicked down hair and eyes the color of freshly bloomed saffron, framed by a pair of silver eyeglasses.

"He's fifteen years old with his birthday being August twenty second and he is one hundred and sixty nine centimeters tall, or five foot ten and a half."

"This is one of the students who made the top five in the sports festival, though I don't recall seeing him at the award ceremony." You utter aloud.

"Because he didn't attend the award ceremony, I'll get to that soon." Mera answers your obvious question. "His quirk is engine, which allows the user engine-like protrusions somewhere on their body, allowing them to move at extraordinary speeds. This child has them on his calves,"

"Which is almost too perfect for the intended use." You finish.

"Precisely." The man agrees, "His hero name was formerly 'Tenya', but has recently been changed to 'Turbo Hero: Ingenium'."

"Like his older brother, which if I remember correctly, had those engine-like protrusions on his arms. He was also a recent victim of the Hero Killer: Stain, wasn't he?" You ask.

Mera nods his head, "Correct, unfortunately we have yet to know if or when he will make his recovery, but it seems that Tenya has taken the liberty to keep the legacy going."

"I see."

"You are to keep an extra eye on him, Aeron. After all, he was one of the three children who encountered the Hero Killer, and we still don't have a clue if the reports were tampered with. If it comes to be that he engaged in combat with Stain, that means he is more likely to break the law once more in his deluded sense of justice. You are to prohibit that, by all means possible. Or, at the very least, do what you can to keep him from being caught." He whispered his last sentence underneath his breath, though he couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes.

"Essentially, I am to act as his PR specialist..." You mutter in return. Was all of this simply a ploy to make the President's job easier for her? You suppose you shouldn't complain in that case, as you were grateful for any opportunity to repay your debt towards the woman.

Still... you couldn't stop yourself from internally groaning at your new job description.

"As you know, he comes from a family of successful heroes, which means he doesn't fall short on the topic of wealth. An influential family like that should not have their name tarnished by the scar of a mischievous adolescent. See to it that it doesn't." Mera continues swiftly, "He is also the class representative and extremely dedicated to his studies. He previously attended Somei Private Academy, and placed sixth in the UA entrance exams, with fifty two villain points and nine rescue points. He is a stickler for the rules, ironically, and will snitch on you if given the opportunity."

"How fitting."

The photo then transitions to that of a female with short auburn hair and doe auburn eyes. Her full cheeks were adorned with a natural rosy blush, adding to her enchanting charm.

"Wow, she is beautiful." You utter breathily.

"Ochako Uraraka, age fifteen, with her birthday being December twenty seventh. She is one hundred and fifty six centimeters tall, which translates to five foot one and a half. Her quirk is called zero gravity, which allows the user to remove the effects of gravity from solid things upon touching them with the pads of her fingers."

Your brows raise at the description of her power, "That has a grand amount of potential, if honed correctly."

"Her hero name is 'Uravity', and she placed third in the UA entrance exams, with twenty eight villain points and forty five hero points. She is bubbly, empathetic, determined, and a quote 'cutie patootie'."

"A what?-"

"Unlike her previous classmate, she received the short end of the stick when it came to her financial situation."

'She reminds me of Kirby...' You entertain yourself.

A boy with blond hair slicked forwards, instead of the common opposite direction, and pitch black eyes came next. "Mashirao Ojiro is fifteen years old and was born May twenty eighth."

'Kind of plain looking.' You think.

"He stands at one hundred and sixty nine centimeters tall, five foot six and a half, and has a quirk named tail, which grants the user a prehensile appendage that extends from their lower posterior. His chosen hero name is 'Martial Arts Hero: Tailman'. The only other notes we seem to have gathered are that he has a quote, 'wack quirk and wack look that certainly won't help him climb any ranks after graduation' end quote."

"Oof, so harsh yet so true." You wince.

"Don't be rude." Mera offhandedly scolds. "Moving on, Denki Kaminari is fifteen years old and his birthdate is June twenty ninth. One hundred and sixty eight centimeters tall, making him five foot six short."

"He was born with his future merch logo imprinted in his hair. I'm not going to lie, that's kind of iconic." You comment regarding the boy with blond hair, and a unique black lightning bolt on his left side. His eyes, which were arguably the most striking thing about him, were a shade of metallic yellow that nearly mimicked pots of gold.

"His quirk is called electrification, which grants the user the ability to charge in electricity and emit it out of their body as a sort of protective aura that electrocutes anyone who attempts to form contact."

"Which they'd be stupid to do." You comment before shaking your head in disbelief, "So many powerful quirks with so much potential in one place, it's almost unreal."

"His hero name is 'Stun Gun Hero: Chargebolt', and he's a very friendly himbo with excellent social skills. He's a well meaning jokester that hits on women, and sometimes men, respectfully."

You give yourself a moment to digest the information, pondering if this was actually imperial to your mission, which you realize is probably not the case.

"Who is writing these notes?" You ask.

"Irrelevant." Mera answers curtly, "Next is Eijiro Kirishima."

"Oh, this was one of the guys who had the only tie in the sports festival. If my memory serves me right, he won that tie breaker, correct?"

"Very correct, like the others, he is fifteen years old and was born on October sixteenth. He's one hundred and seventy centimeters tall, making him five foot seven. His quirk is called hardening, which gives the user the power to harden any part of their body. This quirk protects them from most physical threats. His hero name is 'Sturdy Hero: Red Riot'."

"That's my favorite one so far."

"He is a beefy himbo that placed second in the UA entrance exams with thirty nine villain points and thirty five hero points."

Your brows raise slightly, "Impressive."

"He has a scar right above his right eye and... hmm..." Mera seemingly begins to trail off, his dark eyes squinting at the file he holds in his hand.

"What?"

"These notes are stupid, I don't want to read them." He states and the screen flickers as the next student's portrait is displayed instead.

"No way hold on, I want to know everything Mera. What if I need this information one day?"

"Trust me, you won't need to know this. Much less, see it in writing. Let's move on-"

"You know, you saying that is just making me want to know more. Come on, I thought we were cool."

"I am cool, you just wouldn't leave me alone since the day you learned my name."

"It's a cool name, I like names that roll off my tongue like that."

"I digress, if you want to know so bad, read it yourself." He says and slides his version of the file across the table, having it land directly before your eyes.

"Oh." You sigh, reading the bullet point that Mera was being dramatic about, "He has a 'big ahh forehead'..." The urge to look at the small photo of the red head at the top of the page was instinctual, anyone would have done the same. So that's exactly what you did. "Well, they're not wrong."

"Aeron." The man grits, rolling up one of the many files he had left and bopping you on the top of the head with it. "Don't be rude. You have to learn to be their friends, that can't happen if you don't learn to filter your opinions."

Fixing the hair at the top of your head, you groan, "Aren't you supposed to be able to be yourself with friends? What's the point of establishing myself as their companion if I can't even do that?"

"Not in this case, no. Keep in mind, this won't be a normal 'friendship', your relationship with these children will be completely fabricated. Fake. You need to put a leash on yourself and, if needed, present yourself with an entirely new persona in order to fool them."

You grumble, "Well, don't be surprised if I don't end up their friend at all. I'm not going through with this to make friends."

"You kind of actually are, that's sort of the entire mission."

"Well, I won't be enjoying it."

Mera chuckles, "There's no harm in milking this for what it's worth, why not go and bask in the positives your mission might bring you? Friends your own age would do you some good, at least I think so, anyway. Not to mention, a break from whatever the President has cooking up for you in the future."

You stutter, "What? Don't state it like that, I'm very grateful for the opportunities the President has granted me."

"Sure, kid." The man relents, and for a moment, if you were somehow a passerby watching this moment from the outside in, you could have see the turbulence, or perhaps guilt?, knotting and twisting itself in the visible disruption on his face. The hesitation he feels in continuing to push you so far, in aim to create some robotic servant who would never even think to make the same mistakes as the ones before her.

"Let's continue," He decides. "Now, Eijiro Kirishima is known to be a very kind student, and his hair takes a full three minutes to set. He is also a fake red head."

"What's his natural hair color?" You ask, intrigued.

"Black."

"I could see that."

"Next, we have Koji Koda. Age fifteen and birthday is February first."

This student's appearance surprises you, as it seems his body is a permanent version of Kirishima's hardening quirk. This boy has no hair at all and was only blessed with small beady irises.

"One hundred and eighty centimeters tall - six foot one. His quirk is anivoice and it allows its user to communicate with and command animals through speech. His hero name is 'Petting Hero: Anima', and despite his quirk, his personality is much mellow, as he rarely ever utters a word."

Mera doesn't waste time exploring this student further, as he swiftly moves onto the next. This student dons dark brown spiky hair and black eyes. Though, his lips were the most attention stealing aspect about him, considering they were bigger than the average pair.

"Rikido Sato. Age fifteen, birthdate June nineteenth. One hundred and eighty five centimeters tall making him six foot one. His quirk is sugar rush, which allows the user to multiply their strength five-fold for three minutes for every ten grams of sugar they ingest. His hero name is 'Sweet Hero: Sugar Man'. Due to his quirk, he has developed a grand skill for baking."

"I'm so jealous right now." You mutter, "Do you think he'll make cake when I join the class? Considering I'll have to be their friend, it'd be stupid to decline, right?" You ask Mera.

"I'm glad you're taking my advice of milking this for what it's worth, though I'd prefer if you went about it for the interactions these children could bring you." He answers.

"So, is that a yes?"

"Probably." He answers, "Next, Mezo Shoji."

This student had silver hair that was parted and styled to obstruct his right eye. A light blue mask consumes the rest of his face, leaving very little of his actual face to see the light of day, and unlike the two most people are born with, this boy has six arms.

"He's fifteen and one hundred and eighty seven centimeters tall, making him six foot two. His quirk is named dupli-arms and it grants the user a set of arm-like tentacles adjacent to their arms that can transform into duplicates of any other body part. Hero name is 'Tentacle Hero: Tentacole'. The only notes we have of this one are: always has a mask on, gentle giant, selfless, and empathetic."

"This quirk just screams that he'd be an ideal scout." You determine.

"Kyoka Jirou," This time, there was a girl on screen. She has short length indigo hair and triangular onyx eyes. Cables the color of her pale skin were connected to her earlobes, making her quirk a simple guess. "Age, fifteen, birthdate, August first. She's one hundred and fifty four centimeters tall, making her five foot one and three fourths. Her quirk is names earphone jack and it grants its users long controllable earlobes that work like headphone cables. Jirou's earlobes are shaped like jacks at their ends, allowing her to plug them into a variety of objects. Her hero name is 'Hearing Hero: Earphone Jack'. She has a very laidback personality, is a talented musician, and can be empathetic towards those she deems her friends."

'She has bottom lashes to die for.' You notice, though you decide to keep that thought to yourself.

"Hanta Sero is fifteen years old and was born on July twenty eighth. He is one hundred and seventy seven centimeters tall, which translates to five foot ten." This student has pin straight black hair that went to about his neck, and matching color eyes. He also has probably the most straight teeth you had ever seen. "His quirk is called Tape, and it allows the user to eject adhesive tape from openings located on both of their elbows. His hero name is 'Taping Hero: Cellophane'. The notes on him are claiming that he is very sociable and laid back, though also loud and humorous."

"Tape elbows?" You hum, and Mera could have sworn he saw a visible question mark floating above your head. "I'll admit, I like the hero name. It's catchy."

The next student was someone that has recently become very familiar to you, given his internship at the Hawks Agency.

"This is Fumikage Tokoyami, he's fifteen years old and his birthday is October thirtieth. He is one hundred and fifty eight centimeters tall - five foot two inches. His quirk is Dark Shadow, which grants the user a shadowy, monster-like being from within his body that they can materialize and de-materialize at will."

It's almost comedic to hear Dark Shadow described as some sort of vicious 'monster', considering during which the time that you had acquainted yourself with its owner, he was anything but.

"His hero name is 'Jet Black Hero: Tsukuyomi'." Mera continues.

"Hearing his hero name in full is always so damn cool."

"He is relatively reserved, noble, dependable, and regarded as a very strong student. He placed ninth in the UA entrance exam with forty seven villain points and ten rescue points."

"Considering the amount of aspiring contenders, he placed pretty high in those rankings." You point out.

As the screen transitioned to another student, you realize that you recognize this one immediately as well, his two toned hair being a dead give away.

"Shoto Todoroki is fifteen years old, and stands at one hundred and seventy six centimeters, making him five foot nine inches tall. His quirk is named half cold half hot, and it allows the user to generate ice, frost, and low temperatures from the right side of their body and fire, flames, and high temperatures from the left. However, the user is unable to manipulate either element that comes from an external source; additionally, they can only create them from within their own body. His hero name is 'Shoto'."

Pursing your lips, your fingers tap against the desk as you squint your eyes at the portrait. "A boring hero name is bad for marketing. Though, at least he's good looking."

"He would formerly come across as cold or aloof, but he has recently noticeably grew to be more open and friendly. Although, he is highly intelligent in his studies, he is on the denser side when it comes to social interactions. He is wise, powerful, intelligent, popular with the ladies and also very fortunate when it comes to his parent's financial situation. Which is expected as the son of the number two hero."

"It seems he underwent character development?" You ponder, "I support that, I guess. Wasn't he also one of the students that was implied to have been involved in the arrest of the Hero Killer: Stain?"

"Great memory, Aeron. Indeed he was, which is why he is another you will have to keep a mindful eye on." Mera advises you, "I've heard he is a tough one to decipher, but I trust that won't pose too much of a problem for you."

"It won't." You confirm.

"Now this next student is," He changes the photo displayed on the wall, but for some reason it seems the projector has ceased to function.

"Mera, what happened?"

The man gives you a blank stare in return, "What do you mean?"

"The projector isn't working. It's not showing the photo, I've told you before, this thing is ancient. Who even uses projectors anymore?"

"Nothing is wrong, the student is right there."

"Are you blind? There's nothing there."

"Aeron, that is the student. Toru Hagakure, age fifteen. One hundred and fifty two centimeters tall, making her exactly five feet. Quirk, invisibility. Hero name is 'Stealth Hero: Invisible Girl'."

You remain silent, mouth slightly ajar and eyes anywhere but the man before you. "Well... now I feel bad."

"Take it in stride, Aeron. Don't embarrass yourself any further. Anyhow, moving on, she is very outgoing and girly." Mera continues, not at all deterred by your glare.

"Whatever." You grumble as you cross your arms before your chest, "She totally stole my brand with the stealth part."

"Next up, Katsuki Bakugo. Age is fifteen years old, birthdate is April twentieth."

Though, your pouting doesn't last long as you almost explode with laughter at the arrival of the next photo.

"His quirk is called Explosion and this quirk allows the user to emit explosions from their hands by detonating the nitroglycerin like substance that they sweat. His hero name is still undecided and he placed first in the UA entrance exam with seventy seven villain points and zero hero points. His personality seems to match his quirk. He excels both physically and academically. He perfected reading at the age of four and is considered a natural born genius. Though, he has trouble working in teams and is victory thirsty. Due to his parents both being fashion designers, he grew up very fortunate."

"They should have kept his photo blank like the last student, they did him so wrong using the one from the sports festival." You murmur, before you begin to dwell on the information Mera had provided you. The blond seems very well off. Granted, the only view you were granted of the boy was at the surface, but if you were to judge him at that level, you wonder why he looked so angry all the time.

The photo of the blond boy then transforms into another, creating an almost comical contrast.

"Izuku Midoriya, age fifteen. Birthdate is July fifteenth. Height is one hundred and sixty six centimeters tall making him five foot five and one fourth. His quirk is a physical enhancement type of quirk that boosts physical abilities. His hero name is Deku, and he seems to be timid, polite, determined, and he also talks to himself a lot. He placed seventh in the entrance exam with zero villain points and sixty rescue points."

You hum as you inspect the photo, the one that Keigo had pointed out had made him look as if he desperately needed a toilet, and yet again you get that annoyingly nagging feeling creeping up the back of your neck.

Why does he always give you goosebumps?

"This one and the one before look as if they are total opposites, even their points in the entrance exam were basically inversed." You point out.

Mera chuckles slightly, "It's funny you say that. According to our espionage, they've known each other since childhood."

Your head tilts in curiosity, "So, they're close?"

"You could say so."

Your eye twitches in irritation, "I still don't think I like this guy. He gives me the heebie jeebies. I mean, come on... nobodies hair is that fluffy." You grit.

"I think there are more pressing matters regarding this one, Aeron. For example, this was one of the other students involved in the arrest of the Hero Killer."

"Yeah well, I had already gathered that he's someone I needed to keep on my radar even before the president had informed me of that incident. Considering the fact that he uses a quirk like a toddler first manifesting their own. It's so weird. I don't know of any other quirk that hurts someone as much as his hurts himself, and especially as a teenager. You'd think he'd have a grip on it by now."

"It'd do you well to keep in mind that, that is what UA is for. Helping teens learn more about and improve their quirks. Perhaps he was just a late bloomer? Or maybe that's just the card he was dealt. Quirks evolve with each generation, implying we cannot rely solely on past records. We have to learn how to adapt with the new age of heroes we are being dealt. And, considering this year's sports festival performances, we've got a long way to go in regards to preparing for the year they graduate and become pro's." Mera continues to school you, only forcing your pout to grow in volume. You hate it when he makes sense.

"I'm still going to be wary of him. That much you can be sure of."

"Well, why not make it apart of your mission to aid him in learning to control this quirk? Since his inability to handle it is bothering you so much." He suggests.

"What? No way. I'll avoid him every chance I get."

The blond man simply sighs in resignation, probably deciding the argument was not worth whatever he was getting paid to be here. "Sure, let's move on." Mera alters the photo to display the next student.

"Oh, brother." You mutter, recognizing and already feeling the incoming headaches this next student would bring you.

"Now, I don't want to spend any more time than I have to on him. So, forgive me if I skim over his file." Mera decides, and his dark under eyes only seem to deepen. "Minoru Mineta, fifteen years old and born October eighth. He is one hundred and eight centimeters tall making him only three feet and six and a half inches short. His quirk is called pop off and it allows the user to produce sticky spheres from their head that they can pluck painlessly. His hero name is 'Fresh-Picked Hero: Grape Juice'. Mineta is perverted, small, and surprisingly intelligent. He is one of the ones you'll need to keep an eye on the most. Specifically because you are female, a quality he takes great interest in."

"Blech."

"And finally-" Mera begins, the screen displaying the photo of a girl with long silky black hair tied into a high pony. "Momo Yaoyorozu, age fifteen, and birthday is September twenty third. She is one hundred and seventy three centimeters tall, making her five foot eight. Her quirk is called creation and it allows the user to materialize different objects, such as weapons and tools, from any part of their body. Her hero name is 'Everything Hero: Creati'. She is highly intelligent, self conscious and another one fortunate in the money department. She is also the Vice Class Representative and gained some popularity due to her recent internship. You can probably see her on a billboard due to a popular commercial." He finishes with a sigh.

Your brow raises in intrigue, "Really? Good for her. Not to mention she is rich, pretty, and smart. Whoever sits up on the high throne certainly does pick favorites."

"Now Aeron, I know I've already reiterated this plenty of times, but I feel like I need to do it once more. The key to success is to gain the favor of at the very least, most of these students. That means, you'll have to appear affable and sociable towards them. So you know... not yourself." Mera explains, gesturing towards your slumped form.

His words have you rolling your eyes in order to hide the way in which your jaw almost dropped at his blunt words. Though, Mera certainly was never one to filter his own sentences. "I know, Mera. I have to learn to get along with them."

"Not only that but we want you to become someone that they can rely on. It is both beneficial for the mission end game and for the information that you are expected to relay back to us." He elucidated. "Think of it as becoming, somewhat of an older sister figure towards these kids."

"I could never be an older sister to anyone."

"Well, try."

"That reminds me, I'm a year older than all of them, what's up with that?" You ask.

"Paperwork is very easy to forge miss Aeron, during your time there, instead of a sixteen year old, you'll go back to being a fifteen year old instead. Which shouldn't be too much of a change, there really is no difference."

What he said was true... to most. But to your sixteen year old mind, there was a colossal gap between the cerebrals of a sixteen and fifteen year old. Withholding yet another eyeroll, you simply nod your head as stiffly as you could.

Mera stifles a yawn and rubs his eyes in exhaustion. "Alright, let's call it a day and get some food into our systems, yes?" He offers and you swore you could've kissed his feet.

"Yes, please." You say exasperatedly. "What do we have on the menu today?" You ask, expecting the normal portions that included your protein, carbs, fibers and vitamins. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Why don't we get sushi today?" The man offers, and you can almost see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "My treat."

"Wait, really?" His offer understandably astonished you, leaving you gaping at the older man, before you narrow your eyes suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

"Don't make me regret this, just come on." He says and wearily starts his waltz towards the door.

Your eyes widen in shock at his kindness, and an excited smile embraces your face. Not needing to be told twice, you very quickly gather your files into a pile and place them into your bag.

Madam President and as well as Mera had made it crystal clear that if these files were to fall into the wrong hands, it'd be the demise of UA...

...so they very wisely let you, a teenager, handle them.

And so with another day of review complete, you make your way to the sushi place across town for the first time ever.

As you step foot into your eerily quiet penthouse, you yawn and stretch your arms high above your head, feeling as though you could touch the clouds even though you were nowhere near your elevated ceiling. The only word that roamed your mind as you thought of your subject today was... unique? Or perhaps interesting was a better way to describe the class, but one thing you knew for sure is that they were bound to be a handful.

You briefly wondered if they had ever heard your name in passing, or perhaps glanced at a photo online that the paparazzi had taken of you. What was their opinion on you, a mere stranger, and how would that opinion change when the day to meet them face to face had arrived?

For a second, you even pondered if your opinion of yourself would some how alter itself.

But, that was obviously a stupid thought. There's no way a measly group of teens would ever affect you that much. Not that you've ever met or interacted with a group of teens before. In fact, if not for Tokoyami, you would have never interacted with someone your age up until this point. You hoped the rest of his class was at least somewhat as tranquil as that boy had came off in your short interactions.

Soft snoring suddenly reaches your ears and forces you to follow the sound. Those snores lead you to your couch, and as you walk up behind it, you take in the sight that was Keigo, fully decked out in his silk sleepwear, sprawled out on the cushions. Though, the detail that really makes you reel is the fact that he's not alone.

Kitty is curled up on his back as Keigos supple wings cradle her slightly. Kitty seems to have awoken, blinking her sleepy eyes up at your form. And for the first time since you've been recruited for the mission, the fact that you'd have to leave them behind, even if just for a short while, fully marinates within your brain.

And it hurts you, because they're the only constants you have in your isolated life. The only constants that you don't mind, and the only ones that bring you peace.

You detest the fact that you'd be leaving Keigo alone, yet again, due to the commissions orders. But what else was there to do but accept it? It's not as if you could go against their commands, and even if you could, you don't think you'd have the will to. Because, as independent as you truly are, it doesn't escape your mind that at the end of the day, Madam President is a person you would always recognize as one of your main dependents. It was simply the way in which you were raised.

After slipping out of your clothes and replacing them with what was, coincidentally, a matching set of silk sleep wear as Keigo, which was totally not done on purpose? You have no idea why anyone would suggest that, you grab two blankets from the closet, and carefully drape the first onto the form of the man currently snoozing and use the other for yourself as you settle in beside him.

And after one large red wing subconsciously decides to drape itself over your frame bring you closer to his body, you decide that no matter how many expensive or fluffy blankets you coddled yourself with, none would compare to the warmth that this moment brings you.

You're grateful for the peace you are allowed and you secretly hope that your slumber isn't intruded on by the horrors of your nightmares once again.

As you allow your mind to doze off, you can't help but wonder how school- or your mission would go about. You don't quite recognize the feeling that is in your chest at the moment but you know that what ever it is, you don't want it to flee.

A/N: two chapter set up is DONE. Let’s get into some canon content next! The next two chapters are out now!! Lmk if you want me to make a tag list!

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hesokuri-wars · 10 months

Photo

The next 4-star set has been announced and we’ve got more high school Matsus! This time they’re ready for swim class, simply called the Swimsuit (High School Student) set.

They attack many enemies at once and have high HP and attack. They also power up the skills of other characters within the same set as well as characters from the original 3-star Swimsuit set.

This set will be available in the gacha on July 00!

💙 Mod Kara

⬆️ Mod Kara’s words from 2019 ⬆️

⬇️ Mod Ichi’s additional commentary as of 2023 ⬇️

IF TUMBLR WOULD FINALLY LET ME POST THIS THAT’D BE NICE. ANYWAY.

As you can see above, Hesokuri Wars was going to add a set of the 18matsus in swimsuits, but for whatever reason, they ended up never seeing the light of day. A bit of an explanation on how these pics were uncovered:

Back then, the news bubble that popped up whenever a player launched the game was sourced from a webpage. Given that the staff would sometimes write the news in advance, they had a full section prepared announcing the release of this set, and so Mod Kara ripped the images from there and drafted this post in anticipation of its release. Needless to say, that never happened, but we couldn’t just post these, so these guys have been stuck in limbo for the past 4+ years. Buuut now that the game’s been shut down for over a year, it’s probably fine to release them, right?

Gotta wonder what happened that caused them to never be put into the game. Cheers to the set that never was!

🐾 Mod Ichi

#hesokuri wars #hesowars #money wars #osomatsu san #osomatsu san the movie #osomatsu #karamatsu #choromatsu #ichimatsu #jyushimatsu #todomatsu #news #mod kara #mod ichi #memorial and legacy #it would feel wrong to delete mod kara's words so i won't #not deleting the tags either

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grogusmum · 1 month

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY/SNEAK PEEK

Dieter Bravo x muse!f!Reader

A Xanadu inspired AU

A/N: Just a little proof that I am working on this idea threw out there earlier in the summer

Prologue: Don’t Walk Away

“Dieter, I foolishly thought a loving person could…” Anika was past crying, but the sadness in her eyes would break anyone's heart. But Dieter was too angry, so instead, he spat -

“No,” she sighed, “help you. Fill the void that you had been filling with -”

“Fix me!?”

Dieter knew Anika loved him and didn't make a project of him, at least not on purpose. But he was feeling defensive -

“What, Anika?”

“Every excess. I was enough of a distraction for a little while. But my novelty has worn off, I guess.”

And that is when Dieter’s tears began to fall.

“I’m sorry, Dieter, this is goodbye.”

He wanted to yell, cover all his insecurity and pain with rage, but he could never do that to Anika. But he couldn’t bring himself to be magnanimous about it either. All he could muster was a broken ‘fine’.

The fire is dangerously high, but Dieter doesn't much care as he tosses another painting on the fire. They’re shit and only represent his manic despair. When he reaches the bottom of the pile, he shuffles back into his studio and pulls out his most recent sketch pad. It fights him a little, and when he gives it a forceful tug, some loose drawings float to the floor. He trains his eyes onto the one on his croc clad feet.

The Cliff Beasts Debacle was finally complete, with his wife walking out the door. The one and only good thing he said came from that ridiculous film, and the fucked up experience of making it. Dieter would love to say he just threw himself into his work, but parts began scarce ever since. (Shocker.) So he drowned himself in whatever mind altering substance was available and painted. It only reminded him more of the worst time of isolation while making that wretched movie. So, not helping.

It’s you.

Eyes wide and a playful knowing smile; at some point, he had added color, and your eyes look so real. He looks around at the other drawings, some large sheets of good art paper, some torn scraps, all you. His muse. His beautiful muse. Now, if he was with anyone and described you as such, they may think he’s waxing poetic about a lover who supported and inspired him. Sure, you were his lover. And you did support and inspire him. But when he says you were “his muse”, he means it. Literally. A daughter of Zeus… and Mnemósine. Not that he can't pronounce her name, so he kind of forgets about the titan goddess of memory (to her vexation).

Dieter picks up the watercolor; his hands trembling. He looks out the picture window at his impulsive bonfire. He grabs a few items in his art studio, bursts out the door, rounds the pool, and places the portrait on a nearby table. Out of his pocket, his pulls a zippo lighter and a small bit of wood, lights it until the end is glowing, and sends off a sweet smoke.

“Terpsichore!” the actor intones. He’s only ever used the name one other time. Generally calling you by the name you gave him. But for this, he uses your greek name. The Official One. Trademarked and all that.

“I - I beg - I beseech you, return to me. You came to me once, and I squandered your gift and, um, yo-your favor. I have learned my lesson. Just let me prove it to you.”

The glow of the fire flickers on his face in the halflight, and he murmurs your name. The one you gave yourself, the one he moaned when you touched him - “Please come back to me.”

Suddenly, the Santa Ana winds kicked up, and his rendering of his lovely muse is pulled from his hand and flies up on the draft made by the fire. He can't see if it went into the blaze or not, only that it went up and over. Then the quiet but for the snap and pop of the flames was interrupted by the blare of a fire truck siren, called by a neighbor, no doubt.

THANKS FOR READING 💚

#dieter bravo xanadu au #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x muse!f!reader #sneak peek #suspended in time

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cottoncandyafterdark · 1 month

Note

Hello, Nanami's alphabet was so good, and I was wondering if I could request Senku (as adult ofc) NSFW alphabet too? I hope it's fine, thank you!

Got it right here! =D Thanks for the request, hope you like this alright! To be honest, I always have trouble seeing Senku in sexual situations, so I did my best to keep it true to him and how I see him while still being sexy. Hope you enjoy, thanks for waiting!

Fandom: Dr Stone

Character(s): Senku Ishigami

Warnings: None

ao3 | Ko-Fi

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a moment to catch his breath, but after that, he's surprisingly cuddly. He might not usually be one for physical touch, but he's not so averse to it that he'll leave you dry. Plus, just about everyone needs a hug once in a while- this is his once in a while.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's not so focused on the physical, at least, not to the point that there's a specific part of your body he's more attracted to than any other. He thinks you, as a whole, are very attractive, end of sentence.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Mostly irrelevant because he pretty much always uses a condom. He doesn't have penetrative sex until they can make condoms in the stone world, and then always uses them until they re-invent other forms of birth control, or you discuss having kids and decide to try for a pregnancy. Whatever comes first.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he first decided to broach the subject of sex with you, he wrote down and practiced what he would say because he felt his typical blunt "brutal honesty" attitude wouldn't go over super well in this particular instance. He tried as hard as he could to make it sound like he hadn't spent hours rehearsing. He still has the notes where he drafted it hidden away, but if anyone ever found them he might die of embarrassment.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yeah, it would be a shock if he had any experience before he met you. He's never been in a serious relationship before, and he's certainly not one for casual sex, so, yeah, you're almost certainly his first. He has no clue what he's doing your first couple of times having sex, but he'll get the hang of it pretty quickly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He's a fan of cowgirl and any other position where he's sitting or laying down and doesn't have to exert himself too much (not that he's lazy, but his physical strength and stamina is... Well... You know. He's Senku.) Don't take that to mean he's submissive, though; Senku is quite the power bottom.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He doesn't really purposely try to be humorous, but if something funny happens, he can laugh and go with it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

As funny as it would be, he doesn't have any green streaks in his pubic hair- it is white/platinum blonde, though. He keeps it trimmed and well-groomed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be quite romantic, in his own way. For Senku, an emotional connection is a non-negotiable prerequisite for sex, so he almost has to be. He might not show his love in the most traditional of ways, but if you know him, and you do, you'll be able to feel it in the way he touches and talks to you during.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't do it all that often, especially once he's in a relationship. On the rare occasions he gets horny enough to want that release, he's going straight to you. He only jerks off on the rare occasion that he gets really horny and you just aren't available for whatever reason.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's mostly vanilla, but he's pretty into dirty talk to a point you could probably call it a kink.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed. Maybe a chair in a private place if he's feeling spicy. He has a fantasy of fucking you in the lab, but knows that you probably shouldn't actually do that (too many dangerous chemicals).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Really, you just have to tell him straight up that you're horny and want to fuck. If he's in a good mood and not too tired, that'll start getting him nice and worked up on its own, then the foreplay will really get him ready to have some fun.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No pain, no fluids, and no completely unprotected sex (at least, not without a lot of discussion and a clean STD test beforehand.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He likes giving oral a little better than receiving it. He enjoys receiving, of course, but feels it can spoil things a bit if he comes before the 'main course', so to speak. But when giving, he can just focus on your pleasure, especially if you have a little more stamina than him and he can make you cum once or twice without any fear of ruining anything.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually, he lets you set the pace, but he prefers it to be on the "fast and rough" side.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not really his thing. His sex drive isn't very high, so a quickie just feels like a wasted opportunity. If he's in the mood, he wants to really enjoy it, and that usually means taking his time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Experimentation is core to science, isn't it? So yes, he's game to try out new things. As for anything risky... Not really his thing. It's not like he's scared to take calculated risks, he just doesn't find them particularly sexy.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

We all know Senku isn't the most physically inclined guy. Unfortunately, this does affect his stamina in sexual situations, too. He can go for one round, and if you want more, he needs quite a bit of recovery time- though this is lessened if you go for a position where he doesn't need to exert himself as much, like cowgirl or other 'riding' type positions.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He kind of likes toys, though only uses them for his partner, not himself. He sees them as a tool mainly for foreplay- not the main event themselves. Of course, there's not many options for toys in the stone world... Though that may be a private little side project he works on occasionally.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Only a little bit. He's not trying to deny your orgasm or anything, just, draw out the foreplay a little bit more than is strictly necessary. He just wants to get both of you properly worked up and if that requires a bit of teasing, so be it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's very quiet. To the point that if you're in the dark, you could think he's fallen asleep or something. But he knows most people like more noise from their partner, so he'll start to fill the silence with words, since he's just not the type to moan and groan a lot- see entry W.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is shockingly good at dirty talk. You're honestly not sure if it's natural talent or he's copying what he's seen online or what, but his talent at whispering just the perfect thing into your ear to get you going is unbelievable- and unbelievably hot.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick is about 5 and a half inches in length and also has a pretty average girth- nothing special in terms of sheer size, sure, but we all know it isn't the size of the wave, it's the motion of the ocean, right? ;)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Quite lower than average, honestly. He needs a bit of motivation to get him going, so you'll have to get used to being the one to initiate most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually dozes off after 10-20 min if he stays in bed- which he often does, because he gets pretty tired, especially after more intense rounds. He doesn't stay asleep for long, though, it's almost always more of a nap than anything.

#dr stone #dr stone x reader #dr stone headcanons #dcst #ishigami senku #senku x reader #dcst senku

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seungkwansphd · 2 years

Text

to boil a frog

pairing: seungcheol x reader wordcount: 15.6k summary: you & cheol go back, like way back. growing up together, you never felt anything more for him than a proximity based fondness, but things are a little different since you moved back to town. genre/themes: tattoo artist!coups, childhood acquaintances to lovers. brother’s best friend (but it’s not so much a theme as it is just a statement of fact). S L O W B U R N. idk that this is even fluff but more like just romance? mention of alcohol, tattoos, needles...cat?

a/n: truly idk what this is and why. it’s so long & self indulgent, but i’m in my soft era i guess, hah!

“Hi, I’m here for my tattoo with Seungcheol?” you checked in with the unfairly stylish receptionist at the front desk of the tattoo and piercing studio. “I booked for 3pm.”

“Okay, yes, here you are!” they smiled up at you, “If you want to just take a seat, I’ll see how he’s doing with prepping the room.”

“Perfect!” you smiled before moving towards the waiting area.

Your foot bounced excitedly as you waited. In addition to being excited to get your first tattoo, you were doubly excited because you had history with Seungcheol. He’d been one of your brother’s closest friends growing up and despite not keeping in touch since they’d left for college, you’d really enjoyed following his artistic evolution on social media. You weren’t sure if he’d recognize you anymore, to be honest. It would be funnier if he didn’t.

“YN?” the receptionist returned, greeting you with a smile, “He’s ready if you’d like to follow me!”

“Sure!” you stood, “I love your dermals, by the way! The placement is so good,” you gushed as you followed them through a short hallway.

“Ah, thank you so much! They’re probably the piercing I worry about ripping out the most, but I do love them,” they chuckled before gesturing to an open door. “He’ll be right through here.”

“Awesome, thank you so much!” you grinned before stepping through.

“Hey,” Seungcheol greeted you after hearing your footsteps. His back was still turned to you as he finished wiping down his countertop. “YN, right? You know what’s funny, one of my friends has a sister who shares your exact name. Like last name and everything,” he chuckled before turning to greet you.

“Huh that’s weird,” you mirrored his laugh, trying to hide your curiosity as his eyes finally met yours. His eyes scanned your face for a few moments before he rolled his eyes and let out a loud laugh.

“Oh I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” he laughed, “What the hell are you doing here?” he leaned back in his chair, looking at you with slight disbelief.

“Mm, here to get a tattoo,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah no shit, but why are you home? I thought you were living that big city life now,” Seungcheol rolled his eyes at you again. You had always been a sarcastic scamp as a kid and it didn’t surprise him that this was still true.

“Oh did he not tell you?” you asked, referring to your brother. “I’m moving back. Well closer at least. I got a different job offer out here.”

“Oh no, I hadn’t heard,” Seungcheol shook his head, “To be honest, Jihun and I don’t talk all that much anymore. Not since he moved, at least.”

“Ah,” you nodded, “That makes sense. Time zones and whatnot.”

“But that’s cool! New job and I bet your parents will be glad you’ll be closer.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “They are verily psyched.”

“Well that’s dope! It’ll be good to have you around again,” Seungcheol laughed before shifting topics, “So this tattoo. Did you have something in mind? You’re my last appointment, so we can take some time drafting and working on things.”

“I was actually planning on just picking something from your available flash,” you confessed, “I’m a big fan of the latest set. But…,” you flashed him a cheesy grin, “If you’re offering, I’m not gonna turn down a custom design from you. And I expect a friends and family discount, of course.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Seungcheol laughed heartily. You were making the same face you used to make at him in high school when you were in a bind and needed help.

“Not much,” you laughed, eyeing some of the designs up on the walls. “Honestly, I’m down for whatever,” you shrugged.

“How about this? Pick out a few of the flash designs that you like and we can weave something together. I think that’d be fun.”

“Deal,” you grinned, accepting the binder of flash sheets from him. Pursing your lips, you flipped through it in its entirety before going back to the beginning to point out the ones that had caught your eye.

Seungcheol couldn’t help but approve of the way you reviewed the designs in full before pointing out your favorites. You seemed to gravitate towards botanical, insect, and occultish designs which made sense, given how many times you’d attempted to cast spells on him and Jihun as children. More than a few times at sleepovers, they had woken up to find that rocks, leaves, and twigs had been strategically placed around them while they’d been sleeping. He couldn’t help but chuckle fondly as he recalled a specific incident where you’d snuck up on him to pluck out one of his hairs. When pressed on the issue, you’d calmly explained that you needed it for a spell to make him go bald.

“Okay, those are all the ones I like best,” you nodded at him, waiting for feedback.

“Alright, let me work something up. You can chill in here,” Seungcheol took the binder back from you, flipping between the designs you’d marked with sticky tabs and moving to draft up something new.

“How long’s it gonna take?” you made a face at him, “Can I go look at the piercing portfolios instead?” you asked, not really appealed by the idea of just sitting and waiting.

“I mean sure,” he shrugged, “Ask Wren for them,” he pointed back towards the reception area, “I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”

“Yay!” you popped up excitedly, clapping your hands together as you walked back towards reception.

“Hey Wren, can I take a peek at the piercers’ portfolios? And also can I ask you where you get your hair done? I’m moving back here soon, but I haven’t lived here in a while and could use a stylist rec.”

“Oh of course!” Wren smiled brightly at you, “So do you know Cheol from when you lived here before?” they asked as they pulled out the piercing portfolios to hand to you.

“Yea, we grew up together,” you nodded, flipping the binders open, “I wouldn’t say we were friends? But he was close friends with my brother so he was at our house a lot.”

“That makes a lot more sense,” Wren nodded with understanding, “I was wondering why he was so chatty with you! Usually his room is way more quiet.”

“Oh yeah, we go way back. A lot of shenanigans,” you grinned as a few septums caught your eye.

“So where do you live now?” Wren inquired after giving you the Instagram handle of their current stylist.

“I’m actually in the process of moving back! I got a job in the next town over, but I was thinking I’d move back around here since there’s more to do? This is actually mostly an apartment hunting trip.”

“Oh my goodness, well let’s be friends when you move back! I’ve been trying to get Cheol to come out and do things more with me and my partner, but he’s kind of introverted so he doesn’t bite all that often.”

“I don’t know that I’ll be able to convince him either,” you laughed, “We’re not exactly close. But I would love to be friends! I don’t know too many people who live here anymore.”

“Okay, deal! Let’s exchange phone numbers then. It’ll be good to hang out with someone less grumpy than Seungcheol,” Wren teased, eyes dancing at the man in question as he entered the reception area.

“So grumpy!” you giggled playfully at his expression, “I’m going to leave you a bad review for poor bedside manner,” you couldn’t help but tease him.

“You’d be grumpy too if you had two imps bothering you!” Seungcheol protested with a pout, before beckoning you with his hand, “Now come on, I’m done with my draft.”

“Okay,” you shrugged, following him back to his room.

“What do you think? It might be a little bigger than you had planned, but we can scale down if needed.”

“No, I love it!” you sighed, eyes sparkling as you looked at the design. The final draft was a staghorn beetle with a third eye on its thorax surrounded by a wreath of botanical work that included some of your favorite plants and flowers.

“I had a hard time deciding between a moth or the beetle,” Seungcheol mused, “But you were always a little…unique, so I went with the beetle.”

“Thanks, I think,” you narrowed your eyes at him, unsure if he was sassing you. “I’m a huge fan of this. I think you chose great. Now as far as placement, I am thinking thigh? Left thigh?”

“Do you wanna go this big?” Seungcheol asked. The tattoo artist in him thrilled the idea of the placement, but he wanted to make sure you weren’t overcommitting.

“I mean, I’ll be honest, that wasn’t what I had planned. But don’t you feel like…it deserves it?” you pulled up the leg of your shorts in the mirror to try and envision the placement and it just felt right. “I think at least let’s pop the stencil on so we can see it. But my gut says yeah.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded. That was a good idea.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” you nodded furiously at him after he had placed the stencil on. “She’s just gonna be a big bitch, I don’t know what to tell you, Seungcheol. It just feels right, right?”

“Yeah, I agree,” Seungcheol grinned at you, “We can do this in multiple sittings too, so don’t feel like it needs to all be done in one day.”

“I’ll let you know,” you smiled up at him, “Eee! I’m excited!”

“Alright skippy, let’s get you up on this table and we’ll get started,” Seungcheol patted the tattoo table. He made a few adjustments so that your thigh was positioned at a comfortable working height before getting started. “How’s that?” he asked above the buzzing of the tattoo gun.

“Not too bad, actually,” you were surprised to find out, “It’s just…buzzy?”

“Hah! I mean that’s good, okay I’ll keep going then,” he laughed, ducking his head back down to continue working.

The time passed surprisingly quickly. You and Seungcheol caught up on a variety of topics until you ran out of things to talk about. After that, he let you choose some music and you simply watched him work quietly. By your math, it had been around two years since you had last seen him and seven since you’d had an actual conversation with him. Somehow he looked both the same and different. He had always been sturdy, especially in the legs, but he seemed to have filled out more in the arms and shoulders in recent years. His face looked exactly the same, but his hair was now longer than you remembered it ever being in the past. It suited him.

“Doing okay?” he checked in as he worked on a section of shading. He had been going over the same area of skin for a while and was wondering how you were holding up.

“Yup,” you nodded. It was starting to get a bit sensitive, but you weren’t ready to tap out just yet. You focused on inhaling deeply through your nostrils and exhaling slowly through your mouth, which helped.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly as his left hand moved to grasp you at the knee, turning your inner thigh out to face him a bit more.

Your eyes flashed to him and your breathing pattern halted as you processed his words. With the soft praise, the somewhat breathy tone of his voice, and the pressure of his fingertips at your inner thigh, you found yourself shivering. Whether Seungcheol was aware of it or not, you found yourself deeply flustered by his praise and wildly confused at your reaction. Swallowing, you tried to gauge whether he even registered what he had just said, but he seemed to still be deeply absorbed in shading.

“Should we take a break?” he looked up suddenly, “You’re getting squirmy, it seems like.”

“I-, uh, yeah,” you did your best to act normal, “Yeah a break would be good, I think,” you managed to answer him.

“Okay,” Seungcheol stood up, “I could stand to stretch my legs anyways.”

“Sounds good,” you gave him a thumbs up as you raised your arms above your head to do some stretching yourself.

Seungcheol peeled off his gloves and turned to take a sip of water. His expression creased once his back was turned to you. Why the hell had he said that to you? It certainly hadn’t been on purpose, but as soon as it left his mouth, he’d wanted to wince. He could only hope that you hadn’t heard it or registered its weirdness.

“Do you need any water or a snack? We’ve been at it for a while,” he offered, pulling open a cabinet to reveal a handful of water bottles and a variety of snacks.

“I have water in my bag, if you don’t mind grabbing it for me? I would eat something though.”

“Should we order something? It’s getting to be around dinner time, I wouldn’t mind eating something proper,” he suggested as he handed you a granola bar.

“Oh yeah! Build in another break in a couple of hours, that sounds good. What’s good to eat around here nowadays?” you asked through a mouthful of granola.

“Tomato Pie is actually still open, if you feel like pizza,” Seungcheol chuckled as he scrolled through restaurants on his phone. “Otherwise it just depends on what you want?”

“I’m not feeling pizza. Let’s save TP for another time,” you shook your head, “What about sushi? Something light or fresh.”

“Oh sure! Um, how about this place?” he offered you his phone. You scanned the PDF menu before nodding.

“Yeah that looks good! I’ll do roll 37 in a combo.”

“Cool, I’ll have Wren order for us. They might want to eat too,” he nodded, stepping out of the room momentarily. Before too long, the sound of the tattoo gun was droning and you fell into an easy quiet with Seungcheol again.

“Please tell me more about Cheol as a kid,” Wren asked desperately as they swirled udon around their chopsticks.

“No,” Seungcheol grumbled.

“Of course!” you answered over him.

“Do y’all have a favorite memory together? Or a most distinct one?”

“Favorite?” your brows furrowed in concentration as you tried to think. “Like I said, he and I weren’t really friends? But, oh!” you clapped your hands together suddenly, “But this one stands out! It was the end of summer before Jihun and Seungcheol were leaving for college.”

“Please don’t tell this story,” Seungcheol buried his face into his hands, ears turning pink.

“Oh it’s cute though!” you argued, but you wouldn’t tell it without his consent. You waited a moment for him to lift his head again, eyebrows raising in a way that you knew to mean ‘go ahead’.

Eyes sparkling, you recalled the night before your brother and Seungcheol moved away for college. You had been nearly inconsolable as you and Jihun really had been close growing up and you simply couldn’t imagine finishing high school without them. He and Seungcheol had tried all manner of things to cheer you up, but nothing worked until they whipped out an emergency dance routine to your then-favorite boy band. They hadn’t really put all that much effort into learning it and mostly tripped over themselves, but it had done the trick and you’d laughed so hard that you cried. That was still an incredibly fond night for you.

“Oh and he was blonde then too! That was an era,” you wrinkled your nose as you finished telling the story.

“He can dance?” Wren looked at you incredulously.

“No, he can’t! But he tried, and that was what was important,” you chuckled heartily. “Honestly, Cheol was kind of just a good person. He was usually nice to me, but generally I just saw glimpses of him around.”

“You’re failing to mention all of the times that I bailed you out when Jihun was busy,” Seungcheol gave you a pointed glance.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you shook your head playfully at him. “He’s always been an old man like this.”

“He is responsible like that, isn’t he?” Wren nodded at you. “Our Studio Daddy.”

“Eugh yuck!” your skin crawled as you heard Wren refer to Seungcheol as Daddy. “No no no, don’t like that one bit!”

“You and me both,” Seungcheol rolled his eyes at both of you as he finished up his food. “You done? Let’s finish this bitch up. We’re getting close.”

“You good to lock up, boss?” Wren asked as they cleared their dishes.

“Yeah, you’re good! Just turn off the reception lights and lock the door when you leave. Don’t want any randos wandering in.”

“Sure!”

“So are you in charge?” you asked after Seungcheol had settled back into to finish up the last sections of shading on the beetle legs. Wren kept referring to him as ‘boss’, but you couldn’t tell if it was just good natured ribbing.

“Kind of. I hate being called boss, but I do own the studio now. The last owners were ready to retire and move, so they made me a good deal. I don’t feel like the owner yet, but I guess technically I am.”

“Wow, that’s…that’s really impressive, Seungcheol. I’m proud of you,” you smiled genuinely at him.

“This is weird, you’re never this serious,” he raised an eyebrow at you, a little uncomfortable to receive your genuine praise.

“I know, but I am serious!” you laughed, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ve been following you for a while. I’m proud of how you’ve developed your art form and now you even own the studio! I think that’s super dope.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, ducking his head down to hide his blush under the guise of inspecting his work. It wasn’t too much longer before he was finished and applying tattoo dressing. “So for aftercare. Everyone has their own opinion, but I like Saniderm. Keep this one on for 24 hours and remove and wash. If you want, you can apply another sheet. Try to wear loose clothing as much as you can, but life is life. You can always call if you feel like it looks weird, but basically treat it like a wound cause it is.”

“Cool, sounds good!” you gave him a thumbs up. “What’s the damage, boss?”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes at you before working up a number that was on the low end of reasonable.

“That’s too low,” you decided, counting out bills until you reached a number that seemed more fair. “Dinner money’s in there too.”

“I-,” Seungcheol was slightly surprised. Not that he thought you’d be stingy, but because he was still accustomed to the you that begged rides off of him and never had gas money.

“I’ve had a big kid job for years now, don’t look so shocked,” you smiled at him, tucking your things back into your bag. “It was really good to see you, Coups. Maybe Wren and I can talk you into a night out sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he half smiled at the old nickname as he waved you out the door. His lips curled into a full smile after the door swung shut. It had been good to see you.

…

“Hey boss?” Wren popped into Seungcheol’s office, trying to seem casual.

“I told you don’t call me that,” he looked up from his sketching. “What is it?”

“Do you have any strong friends that could help move some furniture this weekend? They will be paid.”

“You’ve never paid me to move furniture for you,” he narrowed his eyes at Wren, “Also didn’t you just move like a couple months ago? Why are you moving again?”

“Not me, YN. They just texted me. I guess the moving company cancelled at the last minute, so she’s scrambling for options.”

“Oh, shit. That sucks,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, brow furrowing at the situation. “I mean I could probably scrounge up a few friends.”

“Huh, okay!” Wren fixed their boss with an odd glance before plopping into the empty chair across from him. “Did you and YN ever date? Or like…have a thing?”

“What? No,” Seungcheol made a face of slight distaste at his receptionist. “That has never even crossed my mind until now. And I find it unpleasant.”

“Ugh, boo! Friends to lovers is the best trope,” Wren frowned, “I should’ve known you’d be a party pooper about this too. Oh well, I’ll let YN know that she can count on at least one of you meatheads to show up. I’ll get the address and stuff from her too!”

“Sounds good,” Seungcheol nodded, making a quick note on a scrap piece of paper to see whether Mingyu would be free and to exchange phone numbers with you so you could contact him directly.

…

“Hey Cheol?”

“Huh?” Seungcheol looked up from his desk. He had been very much in the zone, so the interruption had him slightly befuddled. “Oh, YN? What are you doing here?”

“Do you mind if I chill in the lobby and charge my phone? I didn’t see Wren, they must be doing something else, but I didn’t want to just be like a loiterer without someone knowing,” you huffed.

“Yeah, I mean, but you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?” he asked. You didn’t look completely upended, but you were a little frazzled.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine! I just got lost and my phone battery died so I couldn’t pull up a map,” you grumbled, shuffling back to the waiting area and setting your bag down. You rifled through briefly to pull out a charging cable. “I decided to bus and walk home after work, since I’m still trying to get the layout of the city, but I got super lost. I slightly recognized this neighborhood from when I drove in for the tattoo. So here I am!” you gestured as if to say ‘ta-da’.

“Ah, I see,” Cheol couldn’t help but laugh as he took a seat next to you in the lobby. “How is work going?”

“Pretty good! I’m picking up the quirks of the software that they use, but for the most part, the job is very similar to my old one and I’ll be good at it. I like my coworkers too, which is always good.”

“Good,” he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“How was your day? Busy?”

“It was okay,” he shrugged, “No tattoos today, I have Wednesdays set aside for bookkeeping, paperwork, and other businessy activities. Not my favorite, but gotta do it.”

“And how’s that?” you grinned at him, “If I remember right, you weren’t the most mathematically inclined.”

“You remember correctly,” Seungcheol grimaced.

“If you ever want help with the bookkeeping stuff, let me know. I can build a mean spreadsheet,” you offered. Despite not having been close with him in years, you felt invested in his success.

“Really?” he cocked his head at you, surprised.

“Of course! We were friendly before, right? We can be friends for real this time,” you scrunched your nose playfully at him. “Plus I definitely owe you for sending me Mingyu and Chan. Lifesavers, those two.”

“Yeah, they’re alright,” Seungcheol chuckled. “I might take you up on that spreadsheet thing, cause doing the math by hand is strange and unusual punishment.”

“Sounds good, just text me,” you nodded, eyes lighting up when your phone had charged enough to power itself back on.

“YN!” Wren called your name excitedly as they returned to the reception desk. “Sorry, I was taking inventory. What are you doing here?”

Seungcheol returned to his office as you gave Wren the rundown of your unfortunate turn of events. You wanted to be friends this time around, huh? That could be alright.

…

“I’m starting to regret this whole ‘friends’ thing,” Seungcheol groaned as you dragged him towards the bar. The rest of the studio staff was already there, but he had taken his time closing up, hoping that Wren would’ve run out of patience and just left without him. In the past, this strategy had been successful, but that was before you were part of the equation. You had a longer attention span and just when Seungcheol thought he’d gotten away with it, you’d popped up at his side, asking him if he was ready to go.

“No take backs,” you teased, only releasing the grip on his sleeve after you’d pulled him full inside the establishment. “Wren! We’re here!”

“Finally! Did he do his usual thing of taking way too long?”

“Yes, you were right,” you laughed, hopping onto an empty barstool.

Cheol narrowed his eyes at you. While he had grown to be able to handle Wren’s brand of shenanigans, he wasn’t sure how to feel about your powers combined. He watched you chat excitedly with Vernon about lizards or something before deciding that he needed a beer.

“Anyone else need drinks?” he asked, glancing across the table.

“If you’re buying, then yes!” Hoshi jumped up excitedly and appeared at Seungcheol’s side.

“YN, what do you want?” Wren tapped on your shoulder gently as they moved to order with Cheol.

“Oh, whiskey soda with a cherry?”

“What?!” Wren’s eyebrows pinched together, “Miss girl, this is a dive bar. Can you please

order something normal?”

“Hah! Well then just get me a beer or something,” you shrugged, eager to get back to discussing the Galapagos marine iguana’s algae based diet with Vernon.

“What the hell are they even talking about?” Wren did a double take before their boss tugged them towards the bar.

“It’s better that you probably don’t ask,” he chuckled as he hailed the bartender.

“Hey what can I get you?”

Wren rattled off the group’s order before looking back at you. “Shit, and some sort of beer,” their brow furrowed as they scanned through the options.

“You got cherries back there?” Seungcheol cut through Wren’s thinking.

“Yeah,” the bartender fixed him with a surprised look.

“Okay, then a whiskey soda with a splash of sour and a cherry. Nix that beer.”

“Weird, but sure,” the bartender laughed, moving to fill the order.

“I don’t think she asked for sour?” Wren asked Seungcheol.

“She always forgets to say it. She won’t like it without it,” he shrugged with a wry smile.

Wren watched their boss out of the corner of their eye. In the few weeks of knowing you, Wren had done a little bit of poking and was surprised that you and Seungcheol both independently maintained that nothing had ever happened or even threatened to happen between you two. In fact, you both had such a surprised reaction that made it seem like neither of you had even entertained the possibility. Yet, small things like this happened every so often and would surprise Wren anew that things were just platonic between you two.

“You got it all?” the bartender asked again, watching Cheol and Wren haphazardly gather up the six drinks between them.

“I think we’re good,” Wren finally nodded, leading the way back to the table. “Okay, so…,” they trailed off as they doled out the drinks around the table.

“Oh! I thought I was getting beer?” you were surprised when you received your drink.

“They had cherries,” was all Seungcheol offered up in explanation.

“Oh, well thanks!” you beamed at him before taking a sip.

“So what was the name of that documentary again?” Vernon asked, drawing your attention back, “I might just leave now to watch it,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled out his phone to make a note.

“Oh come on,” you chided him, “We just got here! I’ll give you the name of the documentary at the end of the night, as incentive,” you suggested.

“That’ll work,” he grumbled slightly, slipping his phone into his pocket and turning his attention back to the group’s conversation. Hoshi was regaling the group theatrically about something or the other.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. He was surprised that you’d managed to convince Vernon to stay out. That was something that even he couldn’t pull off sometimes.

“So YN, are you liking your new job?” Hoshi asked after sharing his many personal thoughts and feelings about Tiger King.

“Yes!” you nodded, “I really like everyone at the practice! My trainer is super funny and nice and she said I’m basically ready to fly solo next week,” you grinned, a little nervous now that all eyes were on you.

“Remind me what you do again?” Joshua asked kindly. He was one of the piercers at the studio that you had probably spent the least amount of time with.

“I’m a vet tech! So, you know, helping with exams, running analyses, and giving vaccinations. That kind of thing.”

“Ah, so we have some things in common then,” Joshua quipped about the vaccinations.

“Hey if you’ve got a passion for stabbin’, might as well get paid for it,” you joked, prompting a chorus of laughs.

Eventually, the group broke off, some heading to the dance floor and others moving to play darts. You watched the game of darts until you were ready for a refill. As you waited for the bartender, you fished the cherry out from your melting ice cubes. It was the best part, after all.

“What’re you drinking there?” a voice to your right drew your attention.

“Hm,” you regarded the man with a suspicious glance, “I don’t think I'll tell you. You look like you’d tease me for it.”

“Oh? Well it’ll be tricky to buy you a drink, then,” he chuckled, a little taken aback by your response.

“I-,what?” you blurted out after processing his words.

“I’m Yejun,” he smiled at you, “Can I buy your next drink?”

“Hm, I suppose you can!” you chuckled. You observed his side profile as he flagged down the bartender. “So do you live here, Yejun?”

“I do,” he nodded, “Do you?”

“I do now,” you grinned, “I actually grew up around here and recently moved back for a job. Things are kind of the same, kind of different.”

“Oh really? How long has it been since you lived here? And what’s different?” he asked, smiling charmingly as he leaned against the bar, turning to face you fully.

Seungcheol watched intently as you chatted with this man. His brow furrowed slightly trying to gauge whether he needed to intervene. For a while, your expression was wary, but eventually you broke out into a teasing smile and he could tell that the attention was welcome. You were more than capable of holding your own, Cheol knew that, and so he returned to watching darts.

Wren was stumped as they watched Seungcheol watch you. For a moment he’d almost looked jealous, but that tension eventually dissipated and he returned to darts as if nothing had happened. When Wren looked at you again, you were happily chatting with a man at the bar, which was somehow even more confusing.

…

“Ah, I’m so glad you were free this weekend! You’ve been so wrapped up in Yejun that I feel like I barely see you anymore!” Wren tittered animatedly as they wrapped you up in a hug.

“Wren we hung out on Tuesday,” you laughed, shaking your head.

“Yes, and it’s been far too long between then and now. Speaking of, how are things going with Yejun? If he’s not treating you well, I will bring the boys to beat him up!” Wren threatened.

“There’s no need for that at all,” you shook your head vigorously, “Things are going good! I don’t know that I feel super…serious about him, but it’s been fun so far!”

“Hm. Well if you’d rather just date someone at the studio, I’d prefer that so I could see you all the time! I think Vernon is single, and you both love those damned lizards.”

“Hah! Iguanas,” you corrected them as you scanned down the list of cocktails. An aperol spritzer sounded good in the day’s warm weather. “No, I won’t date anyone at the studio. I don’t date friends, that’s a recipe for disaster.”

“You’re smarter than most,” Wren laughed. Couldn’t fault your logic.

“How are things with the boys? I feel like it’s been a bit since I’ve seen everyone. Anything interesting happen lately?”

“Oh, we might have a stray cat hanging around?” Wren clapped their hands together, “There’s a calico that showed up both yesterday and today.”

“Really? No collar or anything, I assume? Does it have a clipped ear? Is it friendly?”

“No, no, and yes,” Wren answered, “Should we do anything special for it?”

“Honestly, we should try and grab it so that we can take it to a vet to get it checked out. See if it’s microchipped. I can bring some stuff from the office and maybe let’s pick up some wet food after lunch? You can bring that to the studio.”

“Sounds good!” Wren nodded gamely. “Aside from that, nothing new at the studio. We’re a boring bunch these days.”

“You know honestly, that’s not a bad thing,” you smiled.

“We should go out for a happy hour sometime this week,” Wren suggested as your entrees arrived. “Maybe Thursday? You can bring Yejun!”

“Oh sure! Are we going to try and bring Seungcheol? Or not worth the fight?” you scrunched your nose up playfully.

“I mean, I always want the whole gang to be there. But might need your help again.”

“I can be on Coups duty,” you laughed, “It’s light work.”

“Alright, well if you’re in then I’m in,” Wren laughed. You did seem to have a way with Seungcheol that nobody else did.

The rest of lunch was filled with odds and ends of conversation before you and Wren walked to the supermarket to pick up a few cans of wet cat food. Wren headed back to the studio and you drove to the veterinary office to pick up some supplies. A humane trap, a cat carrier, and a kitty straightjacket accompanied you back to the tattoo studio.

“I’m here!” you announced as you brought the trap into the reception area.

“Um, what’s happening now?” Minghao, one of the other tattoo artists, looked on curiously as you fiddled with the gate of the humane trap.

“I told YN about our new friend! She’s going to help us trap it so we can take it to the vet.”

“Oh, I see,” Hao chuckled before returning to his room. Since you’d moved back home, you’d clearly established yourself as Wren’s new partner in crime. It was usually entertaining.

“Okay, I think I got it,” you nodded before grabbing a can of food and walking back outside to place the trap against the side of the building. You popped the can open and placed it at the back of the trap. “Now hopefully we catch the stray cat and not some other beastie,” you muttered to yourself as you walked back inside. Last time you’d set up a humane trap, you’d woken up to a livid raccoon instead of the stray you’d set out to capture.

“Hey Wren, can you order more of these supplies please?” Cheol dropped off a list at the receptionist desk, barely registering your presence. Between your help setting up his profit and loss statements and just general shenanigans with Wren, you’d become somewhat of a regular at the studio.

“Sir, yes sir!” Wren saluted playfully before waving you out the door. You had errands to run yet, but you let Wren know to call you if and when the stray showed back up.

…

“Oh my gosh, she is so so cute! I have named her Sausage Patty, we shall call her Patty and I love her very much,” you gushed over drinks. The studio had organized a staff outing again and Yejun had opted to join, so all of your people were in one place.

“You said this was a cat?” Yejun asked, “I thought your place didn’t allow pets?”

“It doesn’t,” you sighed, “But Cheol can keep her in until I can find a new place, right? It isn’t too terribly long before my lease is up,” you pleaded with him hopefully.

“Ah,” Yejun shifted uncomfortably, “I, um. We should talk later,” he ducked his head to whisper in your ear.

“Oh, okay?” you nodded at this ominous feeling request.

“So Yejun, tell us about yourself,” Wren prompted, eager to get to know the person you’d been dating. “YN has mentioned some things, but I’m nosy.”

Yejun chuckled good naturedly and shared his age, where he had lived before here, and that he worked as a financial advisor at the local bank.

“Oh interesting, do you enjoy that?” Joshua asked, eyes dancing.

Seungcheol fixed Joshua and Hoshi with a warning glance as Yejun answered Joshua’s query. He could tell that the boys did not find Yejun particularly interesting, but they didn’t have to in order to be nice. You were the one dating him, after all.

“It’s alright,” Yejun shrugged, not picking up on Shua’s teasing. “There are things that I like and things that I don’t, but that’s any job, isn’t it?”

“Sure is!” Hoshi chimed in mischievously, “For example, Seungcheol is the thing that I don’t like most about my job.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cheol laughed, “If this is where the conversation is going, then I’m going to grab a beer,” he announced. Joshua took the opportunity to join him at the bar.

“My god, our YN is dating a banker? Where did we go wrong, Cheol?” Joshua bemoaned jokingly as he leaned against the bar.

“Joshua,” Cheol warned him, the slightest edge audible in his voice. “Be nice.”

“He’s so dull,” Joshua pressed on, “She can do better.”

“That’s not our business,” Seungcheol shrugged as he accepted a fresh beer from the bartender. “If you can’t be nice, then I suggest you stay away. YN will take it personally if you tell her you don’t like him. Just leave it.”

“Fine,” Joshua ran his tongue over his teeth with displeasure, “A banker of all things. Please.”

“You remember when you dated that flight attendant, right? We all kept it to ourselves until things ended. YN is our friend now, so you can do her the same courtesy.”

“I wish you’d given me your honest feedback then. That was a major waste of my time,” Joshua bristled as he recalled that toxic relationship.

When they returned to the table they found that Hoshi had wandered off with Vernon to play darts and Wren was doing their best to hold the conversation with Yejun. There really wasn’t anything specifically wrong with Yejun, he just didn’t have much in common with any of them. Seungcheol briefly wondered what you two talked about, but it left his mind just as quickly.

“So what did you want to talk about earlier?” you asked Yejun hesitantly as he walked you to your door. There was a nip in the air and your cheeks were flushed pink as you looked up at him.

“Oh, yeah,” his expression filled with unease, “I guess I should let you know that I’m allergic to cats. It hadn’t really come up before, but it’s relevant now.”

“Oh,” your expression fell at this news. Somehow it was both a big deal and not a big deal. On the one hand, you were still in a very casual stage with Yejun and wouldn’t be able to live with Patty for a while even if you and Seungcheol did manage to work something out. But on the other hand, if this was a deal breaker, you wondered if you were just wasting your time. You loved animals and couldn’t envision a future without them. “Are you allergic to other animals too? Or just cats?”

“Mildly allergic to dogs, but my cat allergy is quite severe,” he answered apologetically.

“I see,” you nodded, “Well…I would say that since I’m still not sure I’ll be able to convince Seungcheol to keep Patty for me in the meantime and I’m at least five months out from being at the end of my lease, I’m not sure this needs to change anything between us? What do you think, though?”

“I agree,” Yejun smiled with a sense of relief.

“Great,” you grinned up at him. “Well, I’m home. Maybe we can do something next week?”

“That sounds great!” Yejun pulled you in for a quick peck before moving to drive himself home.

…

“Hello?” Seungcheol’s brows furrowed as he read the name on the incoming call. “YN? Are you okay?”

“Hey,” you sniffed, second guessing yourself. You briefly considered hanging up, but decided it would be helpful to have a sounding board. “Are you busy?”

“No, what’s up?” he shook his head, noting that you hadn’t answered his question.

“Can I swing by? I need some advice. Or maybe just to talk, I’m not sure,” you muttered, pressing your palm against your cheek.

“Yeah, of course,” Cheol nodded, “I’m home right now so come by whenever. Patty would like to see you too, I’m sure.”

“Okay, I’ll be over soon then,” you nodded forlornly before ending the call.

You second guessed yourself the entire way over. Maybe this wasn’t a big enough deal to bother Seungcheol about. Maybe you should’ve called Wren instead. But you knew that Wren would not be impartial and you knew, in your gut, that if it wasn’t a big enough deal to bother Cheol about, then you wouldn’t have called him. Before you knew it, you were parked in front of Seungcheol’s place and you weren’t about to drive right back home.

You walked up the steps and tried the doorknob. With all of the shared cat custody, he had gotten into the habit of leaving the front door unlocked when he knew you were on the way. Today was no different.

“I’m here,” you announced generally as you slipped off your shoes. Cheol appeared with a beer before you had gotten the second one off.

“You sounded like you needed a drink,” he smiled sympathetically at you.

“You know all about me nowadays, huh?” you laughed, taking the cold beverage from him.

“Little bit,” he grinned, “So what’s up?” he asked after you took a seat at his kitchen table. You gestured for him to sit down next to you before you answered.

“Yejun and I broke up…I guess? Is it even breaking up if you were just kind of dating?” you thought aloud. “Whatever you want to call it, we will no longer be a thing.”

“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that,” Seungcheol’s expression creased with worry. “Do you want to talk about what happened? Or what’s helpful?”

“I’m not too torn up about what happened,” you thought for a moment, trying to identify your feelings, “But I am sad. But I don’t feel like I should be sad because it wasn’t that serious? Also he was allergic to cats so was it gonna work out anyways?” you were surprised when you felt the tears pricking at your eyes. You had done such a good job of keeping it together all week, but now talking about it in such clarity really broke something free inside of you and suddenly you were crying.

Seungcheol froze. He had never seen you cry before and he was at a loss about what to do. He wanted to be supportive, but didn’t really know what that should look like for you. Did you want a hug? Did you hate hugs? It frustrated him deeply that he didn’t already know the answer.

“What would be helpful right now?” he found himself asking.

“It’s silly, but I could use a hug,” you sighed, almost rolling your eyes at yourself. You’d never really been one for physical affection, but the thought of being wrapped up in Cheol’s arms seemed comforting in a way that you needed desperately right now.

He moved immediately, standing over you with his arms outstretched. You stood up to fit yourself into him and his arms folded around you without thought. You were surprised at how natural it felt. You allowed yourself a few more sobs into his chest before letting yourself just feel warm and secure in his hold.

Seungcheol experienced the whole gamut of human emotion as he held you. Anger at Yejun for causing you to feel this way. Empathetic sadness. Relief when your crying stopped. And…pride at the feeling of being able to provide you comfort. It was very different and new to Seungcheol to see you in this emotionally vulnerable state, but not unpleasant by any measure.

“Okay, I feel better,” you chuckled sheepishly, pulling away from Cheol and wiping at your cheeks. “I should go home and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” he nodded at you, surprised at the instinct he felt to pull you back in.

“Thanks Cheol. Seriously.”

…

“I think I’m getting cold feet,” Seungcheol grimaced after seeing you mix up the bleach in a somewhat alarming way.

“No, no take backs!” you frowned, turning your foil-covered head towards him.

Several days ago, you had bought the largest containers of bleach powder and developer that they sold at the beauty supply store. You kept saying that you weren’t torn up over Yejun, but you figured why not allow yourself to partake in some of the traditional post-break up rituals? An entirely new haircut didn’t appeal to you, but adding some vivid color did seem fun. You weren’t totally sure how Seungcheol had caught wind of this undertaking, but when he’d thought out loud about going blonde again, Wren had been insistent. Whether it turned out looking good or his hair fell off, it didn’t matter too much to Wren. Both outcomes were equally pleasing.

“I-,” he grimaced, “If I end up having to buzz my head, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Cheol, relax,” you tried to reassure him, “I have done this before. Now just sit still.”

Seungcheol sucked on his teeth before acquiescing and sitting down on the stool in front of you, allowing you to get started. You grinned happily as you ran your fingers through his hair, sectioning them off and applying the bleach to the foils. The way he enjoyed feeling your hands running through his hair was a little surprising to him, but soon he found himself just watching you and smiling at the way you smiled.

“Are you excited to be blonde again?” you asked around three quarters of the way through. “Was the last time in high school?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Cheol thought for a moment, “Didn’t you help me and Jihun that time too?”

“Probably? Like your guys’ senior year?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “That was a good look, if I do say so myself.”

“I agree,” you nodded as you grabbed a spare grocery bag to pop over his completely foiled head. “Okay, now we can let that process for 30 minutes. It should start to feel warm, mine kind of does already,” you touched your own foils gingerly.

“Okay, you wanna watch something while we wait?” he shrugged, flipping on the television.

“Sure,” you nodded, sitting down on the couch. You giggled happily when Patty hopped onto your lap and you scratched her under the chin.

“She loves you,” he chuckled, watching you interact with the cat.

“She loves you too!” you insisted, “Go see your dad,” you whispered at her playfully, which she ignored.

“No, she’s your cat and your cat alone. I’m just her landlord,” Seungcheol chuckled, unable to keep himself from thinking about the implication of ‘dad’.

“Okay, time to check!” you jumped up when the timer sounded. “Let me check mine first and then I’ll check yours,” you announced as you moved to the bathroom mirror.

“How’s it lookin’?” Cheol asked, leaning against the door jamb.

“I think a little longer, I’ll check again in fifteen. Now come here,” you beckoned him over. He moved to face you and spread his feet apart until you could see the top of his head. You peeled back a few foils and were surprised to see that it had lightened sufficiently. Lucky bastard. “I think you’re good to go, Seungcheol! You can rinse that bleach out and then I’ll tone you.”

“Word,” he nodded, helping you remove the rest of the foils and tuck them into garbage. You massaged your fingers through his hair, evaluating the rest of the strands before confirming he was ready to rinse. Without a word, he tugged his shirt up over his head before moving to grab the shower head.

“What are you doing?!” you almost shouted, alarmed by the shedding of clothes.

“I don’t want to get my shirt wet,” he shrugged, somehow pleased at the way you jumped.

“Let me get out of the bathroom first,” you grumbled, flushed in the cheeks as you made your way back into the living room.

“Okay, I’m done. You wanna check your foils again?” he emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel.

“Yes,” you nodded, trying to look anywhere but at him as he had not put the shirt back on.

After you had also rinsed the bleach out from your ends, you started mixing up toner and color. For a second time, you were applying and massaging solution into his hair.

“This feels nice,” Cheol remarked with his eyes closed, enjoying your touch.

“Does it?” your eyebrows raised, trying to stay composed. You didn’t need to look at his bare chest. You didn’t. “I guess that makes sense, like a scalp massage, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyes slowly opening again to meet your gaze through the mirror. His lips had curled into a half smile and the way he looked at you made your heart stop for a moment.

“Okay, go pop another bag on your head and let that process for 20-ish minutes?” you glanced away, clearing your throat needlessly. As Seungcheol flopped onto the couch, you applied the tanzanite hair dye to your bleached ends, doing your best to avoid staining his bathroom permanently.

“Okay, my timer’s up!” Cheol announced as he burst into the bathroom again unceremoniously. Apparently you’d zoned out after applying the purple dye and you jumped at his intrusion. “Scoot,” he grabbed you at the waist and relocated you easily. He grabbed the showerhead and leaned over the tub, rinsing the silver toner out of his hair. You intended to leave, you wanted to leave, but when it came down to it you couldn’t do anything but stare at his broad back, mind frazzled at the way he had lifted you up so easily.

“Damn,” Seungcheol whistled appreciatively, regarding himself in the mirror, “This looks good!”

“You’re welcome,” you nodded surely at him, “And you doubted me.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry, you killed it,” Cheol grinned at you. Without thinking it through, he pulled you into his chest and gave you a squeeze.

“Cheol, dye!” you panicked, pushing him away. “See, now you’re purple,” you frowned, looking at the splotch of purple on his chest that had transferred from your hair. Without thought, you swiped at it with your fingers, hoping to wipe it off before it stained too badly. It took a few passes, but eventually you gathered it all and rinsed it down the sink drain.

“Thanks,” Seungcheol coughed, nerves alight at the friction of your fingertips woefully close to his nipple. A quick shudder ran through him before he could gather his thoughts and compose himself.

“Okay, now get out, I’m going to rinse out my color. Mine’s gonna be messy, so I’m just gonna take an actual shower,” you shooed him out insistently.

After you closed and locked the door for good measure, you let out a sigh. What had you been thinking, touching his bare chest like that? You must be out of your mind. Jumping into the shower, you let the water wash the dye from your hair and the thoughts from your mind.

Seungcheol ruminated while you showered. He had already acknowledged that something in him had shifted after you’d visited him last week. You had always just been Jihun’s sister and that hadn’t really changed much since you’d moved back. However, seeing you in that emotionally vulnerable state last week had started to chip away at the way he thought of you.

“Whew, okay, the ordeal is done!” you laughed as you emerged from the bathroom pointing at the towel wrapped around your head. “I picked a darker one, but I can’t promise that the purple is gonna wash out,” you chuckled sheepishly, skin pink and glowing from the shower.

“I’m not worried about that,” Cheol shrugged, “Now take a rest, stylist,” he teased, patting the couch cushion next to him. Patty chirped in protest at the noisy impact, but settled back into his lap eventually as you finished the show you had started earlier.

…

“Cheol, Cheol!” Wren beckoned Seungcheol as he was walking through the hallway towards the stockroom.

“What?”

“What do you think about starting a Tiktok account for the studio? People seem to really like them, it could help us drum up some business!”

“I don’t know…,” he rubbed his chin contemplatively, “Are you going to run it? I want no part of it, to be honest.”

“Yes, I will!” Wren nodded furiously, “This looks way more fun and I could definitely do it between my normal job responsibilities.”

“I-, okay. But people have to agree to be in your videos, okay? None of this sneaky filming business,” Seungcheol furrowed his brows at them before returning to his office.

To Seungcheol’s surprise, Wren really took initiative of the social media management and within a month or so, had amassed a significant number of followers. Wren was always on their phone anyways, and so kept on top of the latest trends and viral sounds. Seungcheol was also surprised at the ways in which the internet seemed to love their ragtag group. Folks found Joshua to be painfully handsome, Vernon and Hoshi to be side bustingly funny, and Wren to be endearing. You had even featured in a handful of videos when you’d happened to be at the studio and commenters the entire week afterwards playfully demanded ‘more YN content’.

“Cheol, have you reconsidered showing your face on Tiktok?” you asked after watching a ‘the art versus the artist’ tiktok.

“No,” he shook his head firmly.

“Aw man, this would’ve been a good video too!” you pouted, turning your phone to show Wren.

“Oh damn it, yeah it would be!” they shouted woefully.

“What is it?” Coups asked, feigning indifference.

“Okay, so the concept is showing art and then the artist that made it. Cheol you’re so talented, I feel like this is such a nice way to showcase your work!” you pleaded with him, though you were not particularly hopeful. When he didn’t reject you outright, you offered him your phone to show an example.

“Hm,” the corner of his lip pulled back as he contemplated. Your heart rose hopefully in your chest, was he genuinely considering this?

“YN can be in the video too! She’s a good example of healed work!” Wren clapped excitedly at the prospect. “We can start the video zoomed in on her thigh tattoo and then zoom out to show you!”

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows at you in an unspoken question. It seemed that he was in if you were too. Holding back an ecstatic squeal, you nodded, over the moon at finally getting Cheol to agree to be in a Tiktok.

The first section went smoothly. Wren positioned you in front of the studio window for flattering lighting and then zoomed in on your thigh. The second part where they would zoom out to a video of Seungcheol was not as seamless. First they wanted to try a solo shot, which didn’t pass muster. Then you tried posing next to Cheol, which Wren deemed ‘too stiff’. Finally, they took over full creative control and positioned Seungcheol behind you with his face above your shoulder. After a few more failed takes, he didn’t even register it when he leaned forward to mumble idle threats into your ear. Something about ‘never should have agreed to this’ and ‘I don’t know that we need a receptionist anyways’, which made you chuckle.

Wren stilled in the midst of filming. Their gaze moved from the screen and lifted over the phone to observe you directly. The sight of Seungcheol with his face tucked into your neck and making you laugh was so tender it made Wren want to scream at the both of you.

“You got it?” Seungcheol looked up suddenly.

“I mean…I got something,” Wren replied, bemused.

…

You were excited. Jihun was coming home for Thanksgiving! By your math, it had been well over a year since you’d last seen him, so your parents were going all out. They’d invited all of your friends, but Seungcheol had been the only one to take them up on the offer. It was going to be nostalgic, the five of you together, but holidays were all about nostalgia, right? You’d spent the day with your parents, helping them prepare the house and meals. Seungcheol had been assigned to pick up Jihun from the airport when his flight arrived that afternoon, so you were surprised when you heard a knock on the door a little after noon.

“Oh, who-?” your mom wondered as she opened the door, “Seungcheol, darling, you’re early!”

“I know, but I thought I’d come see if I could help with anything until then,” he shrugged, stepping into the threshold.

From the kitchen, you did a double take. Seungcheol was wearing an unbuttoned button down with a matching t-shirt underneath and accessorized with a medium weight chain necklace. He looked nice, which made you momentarily self conscious that you were still wearing chores clothes. You threw him a quick smile before returning to finish washing the sheet pans that were no longer needed.

“Can I help?” he offered.

“You wanna dry?” you suggested, pointing out a dry towel. He nodded and settled in next to you, drying off anything you handed to him. “What time does Jihun’s flight get in again?”

“Three, so I’ll probably leave around two. There’s probably airport traffic today.”

You nodded as you finished up the dishes and set the gloves aside to dry.

“Mom, what else can I help with?” Seungcheol had already wandered off in search of your mother.

You rolled your eyes. He had called your mom ‘Mom’ since you were kids. The first time had been an accident and you had replied ‘No, she’s my mom!’ quite indignantly. Your mom had chuckled and patted young Seungcheol on the head, reassuring him. At first he continued to call her ‘Mom’ mostly to irritate you, but over time, it sort of just became reality. Seungcheol was over at your house so much that he really did feel like family at times.

“You’re so thoughtful, Cheol,” your mom beamed up at him, “You can come help Dad and I wrap dumplings if you like.”

“Sure,” he nodded, hip checking you away from the kitchen sink so he could wash his hands. You huffed indignantly as you took your seat at the dumpling table as well.

“So Seungcheol,” your dad cleared his throat, “How are things at the shop?”

“Good! Not much has changed since you were last there,” he cocked his head thoughtfully.

“You’ve been to the studio?” you queried, confused at the idea of it.

“Yes, of course! We had to congratulate him once we heard he was taking it over. I’m not sure we’re tattoo people, still, but our Cheol is a business owner now!” your dad laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s still a small town, YN,” Seungcheol chuckled, “Not much happens without everyone knowing about it.”

“That’s true,” your mom nodded. For example, she had heard through the grapevine that you often hung out with Seungcheol and his staff at Anne Kim’s bar. Apparently quite an edgy group of youngsters. The Kim’s had long ago given up running the establishment themselves, but it was a good source of passive income and town information.

“That’s so funny, I can’t imagine you there!” you giggled.

“They brought me a cake and everything,” Cheol chuckled, recalling that day fondly. It had taken some explaining to get everyone to understand that they were not, in fact, Seungcheol’s own parents and the cake had done a good job of quieting them all down.

“That’s so cute,” you gushed.

When you’d been younger, it had sometimes bothered you how easy it was for your mom to love your friends in what felt like the same way that she loved you. Now that you were older, you could appreciate her capacity to love in a different way.

“I should go get Jihun,” Seungcheol announced, placing one more lopsided dumpling onto the tray before standing up.

“Drive safe!”

“Will do,” Seungcheol smiled at your mother, disarmingly charming.

“What a good boy,” she preened happily as you finished wrapping up the dumpling filling. “Have you hung out with Seungcheol much since you’ve moved back?” she asked, even though she knew the answer already.

“Occasionally,” you shrugged, but as you did the math you realized that you’d probably seen him more than anyone else in recent days. “I’ve probably hung out with his receptionist, Wren, more though. They’re nice!”

“Oh, Wren! Yes, I remember from the studio. They’re just cute as a button, aren’t they?” your mom chirped. So you weren’t willing to admit that you were closer with Seungcheol than you’d ever been before. That was okay.

“Yes, they really wanted to come for Thanksgiving too, but they decided to go to their partner’s family’s instead.”

“Well, you know you don’t need an excuse to bring them around. Our house is always open. You too,” she gave you a pointed look. You grinned sheepishly. You knew they always wanted you to visit more.

“I’ll bring them around!” you nodded affirmatively.

“In fact, the rest of the shop can come too! They’ll keep us young,” your dad added suddenly. Your dad had always been quieter than your mom, but every so often he said something that left you absolutely slack jawed. This was one of those times.

“I’ll let them know,” you shook your head with a chuckle. “I’m going to go shower and change now.”

Your parents waved you off goodnaturedly and you retreated to your childhood bedroom. Everything you needed was in your duffel bag, but you couldn’t help from getting distracted by all of the stuff that your mom had kept exactly the same. Filled with nostalgia, your fingertips skimmed across the figurines, books, and other memorabilia. Your diary caught your eye and you pulled it out by the spine, curious to read some of your old thoughts. It was all cringey as hell, but it made you laugh as you thumbed through. As you reached the end, something fell out from the pages which surprised you. A polaroid of Seungcheol from the night you had told Wren about many months ago at this point. It was from the night before he and Jihun had left for college and the last time you remembered him being blonde prior to this most recent bleach job. You smiled softly as you peered at it in disbelief. Seungcheol looked the same, but different. His roots were a touch more grown out than they were right now and he was wearing that dog tag necklace that he had felt was so cool back then. What a handsome doofus.

“Woof, nostalgia is one hell of a bitch,” you muttered under your breath, surprised at your own reaction.

Shoving your thoughts aside, you jumped into the shower and focused on getting ready. The warm water soothed you infinitely and you hummed contentedly to yourself as you finished getting ready. You changed into a cute yet comfortable outfit and headed down the stairs to join your parents. You were in the middle of contemplating a cookie when the front door opened dramatically.

“I’m home!” Jihun announced excitedly as he entered the house. To your surprise, not one but two figures followed him inside.

“Jihun-a!” your mom cooed excitedly as she moved towards the door. “Oh who’s this?”

“Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend Hyejin!”

“Oh my goodness, what a surprise!” your mom tittered excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me so I could have prepared?”

“Mom, you’re always prepared anyways! I wanted to surprise you,” Jihun shook his head.

Your parents tsked appropriately at Jihun while ushering Hyejin inside. As they tittered over her, you threw a look at Seungcheol.

“Surprise!” he wiggled his hands weakly, which made you burst out laughing. You rolled your eyes before joining the family in the living room.

“Hyejin, this is my sister, YN,” Jihun gestured towards you as you entered.

“Hi,” you grinned excitedly at Hyejin. “I’m very excited to share with you all of Jihun’s most embarrassing stories!” you shook her hand with a little too much vigor for your brother’s tastes.

“I’m so excited to meet you all!” Hyejin smiled. She was so pretty!

“Genuinely, you’re so pretty, what the hell are you doing with Jihun?” you couldn’t help but ask mischievously.

“YN,” Seungcheol furrowed his brow, “Easy.”

“You’re right, I’ll let you settle in. I’ll ask later,” you whispered surreptitiously to her, drawing a small chuckle. Instead you joined Seungcheol as your parents lightly grilled Hyejin and Jihun about their relationship. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell any of us,” you mumbled at Cheol. “Did he share much on the drive with you?”

“No, not much,” he shook his head. “I was surprised too, I haven’t seen her on his socials or anything. Must be recent?”

“Hm,” you shrugged.

Seungcheol watched you as you looked on with interest. You looked really cute in your holiday cardigan. You could feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you. You kept your eyes facing forward, but you couldn’t help a light shiver before you decided it was time to rejoin the fray. Seungcheol looked on from the kitchen, allowing you this familial moment. Dinner passed quickly, everyone enjoying the opportunity to catch up with or get to know each other. You found that you were a big fan of Hyejin. She was funny, clever, and so easy to talk to. Seungcheol and Jihun caught up easily, like old times. Your parents looked on happily at their lovely little family.

“Okay, time for a movie!” your mom announced once everyone had finished eating.

“Movie?” Hyejin wondered and the rest of you stood.

“Family tradition, movie theater after an early dinner,” Cheol answered with a smile. “Are we playing for right to choose? Or perhaps because we have a guest…?” he gestured to Hyejin.

“Oh I think guest chooses,” you nodded supportively.

“Really?” Hyejin was surprised. “Okay, let me see what’s showing,” she laughed, pulling out her phone.

“Ooh I'm excited, good choice again Hyejin!” you bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited in line for concessions.

“Behave,” Seungcheol grabbed you by the shoulders, pinning you in place.

A jolt of heat darted through your chest at his grip. You suddenly flashed back to the day of your tattoo. This was a very similar feeling to when Seungcheol had grasped your upper thigh and murmured ‘good girl’ to you, effectively knocking the wind from your lungs. You stilled, unable to face him.

“Good girl,” he went on to commend you thoughtlessly as he perused snack options.

You blinked. A sharp exhale left your lungs as you struggled with the effect this was having on you. You wanted to punch Seungcheol, how could he be so careless with his words!

“Popcorn,” you answered the teenager when you got to the front of the line.

“What size?”

“Large,” you answered. You had saved room.

“Should we just share a bucket?” Cheol suggested.

“No! Get your own popcorn,” you scrunched your face at him. The possibility of accidentally brushing hands with him was too much to consider right now.

“Okay, damn,” he chuckled bemusedly as he went to order his own popcorn.

You knew you were acting odd, but you couldn’t help yourself. In an effort to distance yourself from Seungcheol, you wandered towards Jihun and Hyejin, eavesdropping on their conversation. They were discussing something boring so you wandered towards your parents instead.

“YN-ah,” they beckoned you towards them. “How are things since moving back? I know it was always a little small for you here,” your mom asked genuinely.

“You know,” you thought for a moment, wanting to answer honestly, “I was worried I wouldn’t be happy moving back…but I’ve made some good friends and I’m actually pretty happy!”

“That’s great,” your dad smiled at you.

Your mom studied your expression closely, but you didn’t give much away. She was curious whether your contentment was tied to Seungcheol as much as she hoped it would be. Your parents had always been big fans of Cheol throughout childhood. Part of it was proximity, of course, as Seungcheol had been at the house almost constantly throughout middle and high school. But the other part of it was that they saw the ways in which Seungcheol complimented both you and Jihun. Seungcheol had always had a calm energy and presence that didn’t hinder you from being yourself, but also tempered your personality when occasionally necessary.

“Movie time!” your parents announced, ushering everyone towards theater six. As everyone paired off, you found yourself sitting next to Seungcheol.

“We should’ve just shared a popcorn, we paid basically double to have the same amount in separate bags,” he pouted at you.

“I want to have my own bag, leave me alone!” you whisper shouted at him, scrunching your face at him in the dark.

Hyejin giggled as she watched you and Seungcheol with fascination. Jihun had mentioned that you all had been childhood friends, but not that you two were dating. She wondered how long it’d been since you and Seungcheol had gotten together and whether Jihun even knew. She’d have to ask after the movie was over.

“That was good,” you nodded surely as everyone piled into the car. “I was especially a fan of the scenes where the fruit and vegetable carts were upturned. Love me a good ‘my cabbages’ moment!”

“Me too!” Hyejin giggled

The ride back was filled with excited discussion, laughter, and some good natured teasing. Your parents helped themselves to a slice of apple pie and let you all know you were welcome to the leftovers if you got peckish before they retired to bed. Eventually Jihun and Seungcheol wandered off to look at something in the basement, which allowed you to visit with Hyejin more.

“So how long have you and Seungcheol been dating?” she asked.

“W-what?” you sputtered. “Me and Cheol? No, we’re not!”

“Oh, I’m sorry! Are you really not?” she flushed, “You two seem so close!”

“No, no, don’t be sorry!” you leaned towards her, not wanting her to feel embarrassed, “We are close! But we’ve known each other for years,” you tried to explain.

“That really surprises me. You two seem very much in step with each other,” she mused. She had literally watched him eat the chestnuts that you’d pulled out of your stuffing and set on a side plate.

“I-, I mean I guess we are closer than before these days. I moved back to town a few months ago and Seungcheol is probably one of my closest friends right now,” you thought out loud. You weren’t sure whether it was just the longevity of the relationship, but there was a deep comfort that you had with Seungcheol that just couldn’t be beat.

“Ah, I see,” Hyejin nodded, tipping the rest of her wine back.

“Do you want another drink? Or maybe we can go bother the boys?”

“Why not both?” she laughed, so you led the way.

“Oy, degenerates! What are you doing down here? Smoking weed?” you teased as you bounced down the stairs.

“I mean we could be,” Jihun’s voice called back.

“Holding out on us,” you rolled your eyes playfully at Hyejin as you rounded the corner.

“Hey,” Hyejin grinned, looping an arm around Jihun’s waist and squeezing affectionately.

“Yo,” you punched Seungcheol awkwardly in the shoulder before flopping onto the futon next to him. “It’s been a damn minute since we were all down here, huh!”

“Yes it has,” Cheol’s eyebrows raised dramatically as he considered the length of time. “Probably haven’t been back since before college started.”

Jihun nodded in agreement and they both took turns sharing fun stories with Hyejin until your eyes started drifting shut. These beers really took a toll on you these days.

“Hey, YN,” Seungcheol’s voice and shoulder nudged you awake.

“Hm?” you murmured.

“You should go to bed,” he suggested.

“No, I’m fine! I’m just resting my eyes,” you protested, struggling to keep the aforementioned eyes open.

“Oh not this again,” Seungcheol shook his head. He had fallen for the ‘resting my eyes’ line a grand total of twice before he’d learned his lesson. That just meant you had already dozed off and were going to fall asleep again shortly. “YN, if you don’t go to bed now, I’m going to carry you up.”

“Do it, you won’t,” you goaded him sleepily. You managed half a yawn before he had hucked you over his shoulder and carried you up the stairs.

Jihun had been scrolling through his phone, and so looked up with slight confusion to see Hyejin grinning knowingly.

Seungcheol dumped you onto your bed as gently as he could manage, but you still landed with a loud ‘oof’. He scoffed as you curled into your pillows and comforter like a caterpillar into a cocoon. Why couldn’t you just admit you were tired like a normal person?

…

A few weeks after Thanksgiving, you were at Seungcheol’s again spending quality time with Patty when Jihun Facetimed him unexpectedly. Patty was sitting on your chest on the couch when Seungcheol picked up.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

“Not much, I was just calling to check in. Thanksgiving made me realize that I’ve done a shit job of keeping up with you so I want to change that!”

“Oh, for sure,” Cheol laughed, a little surprised. “Oh, YN is here too!” he directed the phone to you and Patty. You waved from underneath her.

“Oh, YN is there?” you heard Hyejin’s voice in the background. “That reminds me, I’m gonna to text her!”

[hyejin]: ‘hey, I saw an ad for this yesterday and it made me think of you!’

You squealed in excitement at the attached screenshot she sent of a frog stun gun. It even had a little butt on the back! Patty jumped off of your chest in protest of your loud noise, but your excitement was difficult to contain.

[yn]: ‘OMFG. THNEED’

[hyejin]: ‘right?!? when they do their next shop update, i’m ordering for both of us!’

“Coups, look!” you hopped off of the couch excitedly to show Seungcheol, completely derailing his conversation with Jihun. “It’s a frog. And a self defense stun gun. And it has a butt!” you flipped through the pictures excitedly. Seungcheol nodded good naturedly at you before returning to his discussion with Jihun.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” your brother's voice floated across the room. Seungcheol explained the situation, to which Hyejin sent you a slew of texts rapidly.

[hyejin]: ‘are you sure you’re not dating seungcheol?!?’

[hyejin]: ‘you can tell me if you are. i wont tell jihun!’

[hyejin]: ‘im cool!’

[yn]: ‘im not!’

You furrowed your brows slightly. You and Hyejin had kept in touch since Thanksgiving and she had taken to fussing over you like an older sister. For the most part you loved it, but this probing about Cheol made you feel…confused. It wasn’t the first time that people had mistaken you as a couple and you almost understood why. No, the thing that was difficult to contend with was the fact that you…didn’t hate it?

[hyejin]: ‘okay 👀 im just sayin not many people would let a cat live at their house just for a friend’

[hyejin]: ‘but maybe im wrong!’

You sat up and watched Seungcheol over the back of the sofa as he chatted with Jihun. You didn’t bother to process what they were saying, but you watched the way the corner of his lips lifted into a half side, revealing one of his dimples. You’d seen his dimples a million and one times before, but this time it felt like your heart shot up into your throat, clogging it. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you tried to clear it either, that bitch was stuck. Seungcheol threw you a ‘you good?’ glance before returning his attention to your brother. There was nothing remarkable about it. There was no reason it should make you nervous. And yet, the slight pinch between his brows and the clear concern in his eyes made you squirm.

“I gotta go!” you announced to Seungcheol and Jihun, waving casually at them before pulling on your shoes. Patty gave you a departing headbutt and you were out the door.

“I thought she didn’t have plans today,” Seungcheol’s expression was clearly confused after you left.

While you drove home with all of the windows rolled down in an effort to regain composure, Seungcheol tied up his conversation with Jihun. The house felt quite empty now that he wasn’t on a call and you were also gone. It was a surprising thought for him to have, since he’d long ago gotten accustomed to being alone and in fact quite liked it. But he’d be an idiot to ignore the fact that his life had changed dimensionally since you’d come back into it.

You’d coaxed him into a closer friendship with his staff members, gifted him the furry little gremlin that he now looked forward to coming home to, and you yourself had become someone that he thought of often and cared for deeply. He��d been unsure whether it was the same kind of proximity based fondness that you had shared before, but upon further consideration, he concluded that this was not the case. These days he didn’t just tolerate you. He sought you out. He wanted to fill his time with you. He wondered if you felt the same.

…

[wren]: ‘come on, please?!’

[yn]: ‘i’m tired 😩’

You frowned at your phone. You weren’t actually so tired that you didn’t want to go out, but you felt a sort of reluctance to go because you’d been avoiding seeing Seungcheol. It had taken some time to sort through your feelings, but you’d finally accepted that you were struggling with an attraction to him that you needed to get over. You were sure you could, you just needed time.

Seungcheol ran his hands through his hair as he finished up his profit and loss statements for the month. It had been a good month. In fact, an extraordinarily good month, which also meant that there were many more transactions to account for. In the past, he probably would’ve rather walked off of a bridge than do his P&Ls, but the spreadsheets that you’d help build for him were a genuine lifesaver. You’d even helped with figuring out how to automate data downloads from the PoS system which saved him and Wren a huge amount of headache. He really needed to treat you to dinner or something as a thank you.

[seungcheol]: ‘when are you free?’

You stared at your phone. What the hell was in the water today? Your heart had jumped when you’d seen Seungcheol’s text. You were of two minds: one wanted to read and respond to it immediately while the other wanted to throw the phone into a garbage chute. As usual, you let both sides percolate before reaching a happy compromise. You read the text but didn’t respond until later.

[yn]: ‘kind of depends. what for?’

[seungcheol]: ‘i want to take you out.’

[seungcheol]: ‘as a thank you for the p&l spreadsheets’

Your hopes rose and fell just as quickly as you read the texts in sequence. It was a professional matter.

[yn]: ‘that’s not necessary! friends help each other’

His brow scrunched upon reading the word ‘friend’. It sent such a pang through his chest that he wasn’t expecting, but he felt persistent today.

[seungcheol]: ‘i dont see why that should stop me from showing you that i appreciate you. let me know when you’re free for dinner’

Your heart flip flopped in your chest. How could you get through a dinner with him when just a text affected you like this? And yet you had no valid reason to say no.

…

You tapped your toe nervously as you waited for Seungcheol. You had decided on Friday after work and he had insisted on driving you, because he had wanted to keep the restaurant a surprise. So here you were, 6:12 pm on Friday and incredibly, unreasonably nervous about dinner. You wondered if you could still cancel.

[seungcheol]: ‘here’

“So much for that,” you muttered to yourself before stepping out of your apartment. The only indication of dress code that Cheol had given you was ‘don’t look like a hobo’, so you’d chosen a simple black dress with a colorful and fun cardigan. There was a slight chill in the air, so you pulled the cardigan a little tighter around yourself as you climbed into his car.

“Hey,” he broke into a smile as soon as he saw you. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you replied as you buckled your seatbelt. You gave him a quick once over as he backed out of the parking space. He was dressed in all black and the visual focal point was a half-pearl, half-chain choker necklace that really stood out. “Oh I like that!”

“I thought you might,” he grinned at you as he leaned back, settling into his seat after getting onto the highway. “It seems your kind of style,” he explained when your brows furrowed.

“Ah,” you nodded, not quite sure what to say. “So where are we eating, will you tell me now?”

“Yes. We’re going to Kyōten, in the city.”

“What?!” you glanced at him, slightly alarmed, “That’s kind of a haul!”

“It’s not too bad. Plus our reservation is at 7:30. I budgeted enough time.”

“Still, you don’t have to drive that far! We could’ve eaten somewhere in town,” you grumbled.

“I’ve been wanting to try this place too. Not everything’s about you, baby,” he teased. This was true in part. Seungcheol was interested in the omakase menu at this restaurant, but he likely wouldn’t have gone by himself. “How’s work been, by the way? I feel like I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

You flushed at the moniker ‘baby’ before pushing through it to answer him. It was true, you’d been working a handful of extra shifts at work here and there in preparation for the holiday season. But you’d also been making yourself scarce because you still couldn’t control the physical reaction that you sometimes had to Seungcheol. You omitted that part in your answer, but did share a handful of funny stories that had happened at work lately. Seungcheol, in turn, updated you on some of the interesting happenings at the studio as of late. Hoshi had finally been able to do the largest tiger flash that he had available, which had been incredibly exciting to him. Joshua had attended the annual APP conference and made a lot of good contacts. The studio was working out details on a guest piercer spot in the near future. Before you knew it, you had pulled into the parking ramp near the restaurant.

“Oh it’s windy!” you remarked as you stepped out of the car.

“Here,” Seungcheol pulled a spare puffer jacket out of his backseat and handed it to you. You’d wrapped it around yourself gratefully as you completed the short walk to Kyōten.

“We have a reservation for 7:30. Seungcheol,” he informed the hostess. She nodded kindly and led you through the dark space towards the sushi bar. You remarked at the beautiful architecture and decor as you hopped onto the bar stool. “I’ll just stand, if that’s okay?” he asked the hostess, tucking his stool slightly to his left under the bar.

“Have you all done this before?” you asked the people sitting next to you as you waited.

“No, we haven’t!” they shook their heads, “Have you?”

“Oh thank god! No, I definitely haven’t. You haven’t either, right?” you asked Seungcheol, realizing you didn’t know.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Don’t be nervous! Just eat what they give you,” the couple on the other side of the bar from you smiled kindly. “The chefs here are great, they’re very interactive and fun. Just have a good time.”

Reassured now that the ice was broken, the six of you chatted before the chef came. The pair next to you shared that they were celebrating their second anniversary. They had also driven in and were staying for a long weekend in the city.

“That’s so fun, I love that! We’re just here for the night,” you smiled at them, the sake warming you from the inside out.

“What about you two? Is this a special occasion?”

“Sort of,” Seungcheol answered, draping his arm across the back of your stool as he did so. “It’s a thank you dinner for YN. She’s been a huge help with my business this year, so I thought I ought to show her my appreciation properly.”

“What do you do?” Miseon asked curiously.

“I run a tattoo and piercing studio,” he answered.

As he explained in more detail, you felt like your back was itching, the way you were hyper aware of his arm draped behind you. Seungcheol had gotten closer and closer to you as he’d engaged in the conversation with Miseon and Nuri. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to physical closeness with him, but the interior of this restaurant was so intimately lit that it tricked you into overthinking the whole situation. Even after the chef arrived and dinner commenced, he didn’t distance himself from you at all.

“Would you like to join us for a few drinks? We’re having such fun with you!” Nuri asked once you were all back on the sidewalk.

Seungcheol looked to you, indicating that he was game. The way you smiled back at him, flushed in the apples of your cheeks, made his breath hitch.

“Sure!” you nodded excitedly. You’d also really enjoyed Nuri and Miseon and were happy to keep the night going.

The four of you did some quick googling before settling on a bar a few blocks away. At the second crosswalk, you’d been a little too engaged in the conversation and nearly stepped into oncoming traffic. Without thought, Seungcheol had hooked his arm around your waist to pull you back and simply left it there. Your eyes flew to him at this touch. He was looking straight ahead and you were surprised when the idea of planting a kiss along his jaw popped into your mind. You flushed and shook your head when his head turned to look at you again.

The bar was cute and the next hours passed quickly as you chatted with Nuri and Miseon and enjoyed the ambiance and music. A few times you had looked up to see Seungcheol’s dark eyes trained on you from across the bar and you’d flushed each time. Before too long you were saying your goodbyes and driving back home. The car was quiet as you and Seugcheol both reflected on the night.

Even though he had framed it up as a ‘thank you’ dinner, you felt like that label didn’t quite fit. You might have been overthinking it, but Kyōten had been so intimate and the way that Seungcheol’s touches seemed to linger felt different than your usual closeness. You’d also been mistaken as a couple a few times and neither of you had bothered to correct them, which you usually did. Perhaps it was the context of being in a city you didn’t live in, but it just didn’t seem important this time.

Seungcheol tapped his fingers against the gearshift as he drove. He’d known Kyōten might be a little more romantic than your typical dinner with a friend, but he’d chosen it because he’d overheard you share with Wren that you were really interested in trying omakase style dining. It hadn’t been totally conscious on his part, but he’d found himself finding ways to be closer to you throughout the evening and he’d been surprised at how you’d responded. You hadn’t shied away from his touch and he’d seen you blush a few times throughout the night in ways that made him wonder if his attraction towards you wasn't completely one sided.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, glancing towards you as he drove down the dark roads.

“Yes,” you beamed at him, “Although you spent entirely too much money, Cheol.”

“Hey!” he cut you off with a stern look, “I told you, this is a show of my appreciation. Let me just appreciate you.”

“Hm,” you pursed your lips at him, trying and failing to not imagine those words in a different context.

Seungcheol pressed his tongue against his cheek. He’d always enjoyed the way you reacted when he teased you.

“Thanks for driving,” you threw him a smile before reaching for the door handle. You were eager to get out of this car, which felt entirely too hot right now.

“I’ll walk you,” he announced, leaving the car as well and stepping to your side.

“Oh?” you were surprised. This was not typical.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” he commented as you stepped onto the front stoop of your apartment building.

“Me too!” you beamed, eyes creasing softly at him.

“I want to tell you something,” he cleared his throat and your heart stopped.

“O-kay,” you nodded a moment later when you were actually able to retrieve your voice.

“I-, uh,” he cleared his throat again when he tried to speak. “You are very important to me, so I want you to know that nothing has to change between us after I say what I say.”

You blinked at him, heart racing so fast that you were worried you wouldn’t be able to hear him over its beating.

“My life has changed a lot since you moved back. I am closer to my friends, the shop is doing really well, and I have a cat that I guess I love now. And that’s mostly because of you, so thank you for that. But also, I, uh, my feelings about you have changed. I think about you often and my house honestly just feels empty when you’re not there. So I like you,” he felt like he was shouting now, so he tried to reign it in, “I like you and you don’t have to say anything, I just want you to know.”

Your brain had screeched to a halt and you were frozen throughout most of his confession. The cogs started turning again as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead and let you know he’d text you tomorrow. He was back in his car when you’d gathered yourself enough to run after him.

“Hey!” you practically jumped out in front of his car as he tried to leave the parking spot.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he shouted, jumping out of the car after slamming on the brakes and putting it back in park.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You couldn’t explain why, but you were fuming. “You need to be less careless with your words!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Seungcheol threw his hands up, completely caught off guard by the fact that you were…yelling at him?

“You can’t just call me ‘good girl’ while you’re tattooing my inner thigh or tell me you like me and then leave? What about me and my sanity?”

“What?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows raised into his hairline as he processed what you had said. Surely you didn’t mean…?

He was taking too long to understand so you walked towards him, grabbed him by that damned pearl chain necklace, and pulled him into a kiss. He was surprised for just a moment before he was kissing you back intently.

“Were you doing it on purpose?” you asked between kisses.

“What?” he asked, not totally grasping what you were asking.

“Was it on purpose?” you reiterated, fingers teasing at the hairs on the back of his neck. “Your little touches, grabbing my waist? You were driving me crazy,” you exhaled sharply.

Seungcheol paused at this confession, drawing back to look at you fully. His eyes raked over you and you grew hot under his gaze.

“It wasn’t, but I guess I couldn’t help myself,” he chuckled, lips curling into a half smile.

“Turn your car off,” you demanded and Seungcheol was more than happy to comply.

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