#coming right outta work of course it was the one the is always really shallow but I think maybe the lid was off this time or something??

[transsexual-divinity]

Guess who’s in a target parking lot cuz he got a flat tire 🤪🤪🤪

[echantedtoon]

SEDUCTION: UPPER/LOWER MOONS

You try to seduce your demon husband/wife as a means to get outside or distract him enough to get what you want.. However it does the exact opposite of what you aim for.

Warnings for Douma/Karaku/Enmu being their own warnings, possibly some innuendos.

Daki and Zohakutan are mentioned but only PLATONICALLY!!

I'm having a lot of fun writing these scenarios.

You were tired of this now

A you wanted was to go outside for a few hours enjoy the sun or the beautiful night sky full of stars for a little while. But every single time you asked it was always variations of the same answer.

"No. It's too dangerous during these times. You're much safer with me." or "What if a slayer finds out your husband/wife happens to be a demon?! You think they'd spare your life?! They'd kill you on the spot without hesitation!" or "Alright but I'm going with you. It's not up for debate."

This you were never truly able to get a moment to yoursel. Don't get you wrong. You loved your husband/wife to death and would do anything for them! You knew what you signed up for when marrying a demon and right now was a tense time for their kind. But you just wanted FIVE MINUTES ALONE WITHOUT HIM/HER HOVERING OVER YOUR SHOULDER OR CHECKING ON YOU EVERY FIVE MINUTES!!

Although maybe you'd have a solution-

"Try seducing him/her!"

You choked on the green tea and coughed a few times staring at your cousin like she was crazy. Currently you sat in your family home wanting to visit them. Of course your husband/wife insisted on coming too and thus dawned a human disguise to visit his/her in-laws. Right now he/she was having a pleasant conversation with your father discussing the more efficient ways to hunt between a bow and Arrow and a new invention called a gun. They seemed actually interested in the conversation so they didn't notice the talk you had with your cousin venting to her about your husband's/wife's overprotective nature. However you weren't planning on those words to come tumbling outta her mouth with a cheeky smirk.

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me. How do you think I got a rich husband who spoils me?"

"My husband/wife isn't that shallow. A-And that'll never work!"

"Look. You tried everything from bargaining to fighting right? Why not give it a shot? Flattery will sometimes get you somewhere despite what they say."

...Well she did have a point. Nothing you had tried so far had worked, maybe a little bit of flirtation and flattery would work. And your cousin's right. There really wasn't anything to lose since at most he/she would just be amused or annoyed at your actions and spouses flirted with each other all the time. So next time your husband/wife left for 'work' you decided to kick it into over drive.

When your husband/wife returned later two days at night. The home was unusually quiet and dark but he/she detecting no one else around and senses that you were still moving around inside so they assumed you were probably in the middle of going to sleep. They just let themselves in as always sliding the door open but paused eyes widening. The house was completely spotless, not that it was dirty in the first place, but it seemed as if Even the ceiling was polished. A trail of red and pink petals leading away from the door and towards the kitchen where he/she already found a table of fresh raw steak waiting for them lit by candlights.

Needless to say his/her brow rose. Ok. You definitely wanted something because it wasn't your anniversary or any special occasion.

"Y/n, I'm home!", he/she called from the kitchen doorway.

They await hearing your footsteps but are surprised when you turn the corner and are dressed up to the nines. A beautiful patterned flowing Kimono and make up to match as you stand there nervously before attempting to look sultry at them..but it just makes you look nervous.

"O-Oh. I didn't hear y-you come in." They hear the stutter in your nervous look as you attempt to strut, tripping over the kimonos folds and falling on your front, only to quickly scramble back up onto your feet and place a hand on the wall next to him/her with a seductive(hilarious looking and nervous-) grin. "But I-Im glad y-y -you're back! Do you like the surprise? I w-worked solo ha-hard on it just for YOU."

Eyes slowly blink at your already sweating face looking you up and down. Slowly blinking and then your finally get their answer-

KOKUSHIBO:

Six eyes slowly blink one after another at you looking you up and down ... before he sighs briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. Your smile disappears as he just continues shaking his head no at you.

"This ..will not work on me. You should know better than that..However."

You let out an adorable squeak as a finger and his thumb tilts your head up towards his leaning form.

"I can not complain about the gesture. Go change into something you won't trip over and we'll have dinner together."

DOUMA:

He waits until your smile disappears completely after you get nothing but one of his famous Big eyed stares from him. It's only then that he giggles and a second later you're snatched up into his arms with a squeal.

"Oh my. Is this for me?~ How generous of my little wife to surprise me with such a beautiful display. You wouldn't mind if I just jump straight to desert would you?~"

You gulp when he leans in to affectionately rub his forehead into yours with a growl sounding an awful lot like a purr.

You had a feeling this backfired-

AKAZA:

"...PFFT- HAHAHA!"

You're taken off guard when Akaza just doubles over in loud laughter ringing off the walls and filling the house. He can't help it. When you fell over your dress and then got back up to try and seduce him was the funniest thing he's ever seen! Your cute pout was also not very convincing to him.

"I-Im sorry! Hehehehe! It's just when you tried acting like an oiran-..HAHAHA! I swear I love this Bu-But you looked so cute trying to se-seduce me! *snort*"

"Well then you can clean up all the petals yourself and sleep in the basement!"

He wheezed as you cutely stomp away as he holds up a hand.

"N-No! Wait! You are adorable I promise!"

HANTENGU+CLONES:

You're surrounded by your husbands all giving you mixed reactions to your display..it was not what you expected. The first one to speak out was Urami who immediately pointed towards your bedroom.

"Go change into something decent, Woman! What are you thinking dressing up like that?!"

Sekido and Aizetsu are speechless. Staring at you wide eyed and red faced because you looked so pretty but Sekido eventually yanked you away from Karaku. Urogi just sat on the floor laughing loudly when you fell and Hantengu sneakily went into the kitchen to eat all the food before anyone noticed. Only Karaku really reacted by growling out and pulling you into a hug as Zohakutan mentally gags in disgust inside Sekido.

"Why waste such a once in a life time opportunity such as this?~ And after she went through all the trouble.~"

You proceeded to get yanked away by Sekido who lectured you with Urami on proper wear.

GYOKKO:

He doesn't respond to you at first only continuing to stare at you from his pot before his entire face scrunched up scrutinizing your outfit.

"What are you WEARING?!" He asked in such a way that made it like he stepped in goop.

"Um...A oiran's attire?"

"Well first of all that is definitely not your color! Secondly it's too large for you! An oiran's beautiful gown is supposed to flow behind them on the breeze of their footsteps. NOT MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE A TODDLER PLAYING DRESS UP WITH HER MOTHER'S ROBES!! And that hairstyle is totally wrong-...You know what? Cancel dinner! I'm going to teach you the proper art of dressing like the beautious women."

Turns out he's more offended by the fact that your wardrobe is a mess than you actually trying to reduce him and it got you a six hour half lecture half dress up session from the demon.

NAKIME:

Her eyebrow raises looking you up and down for a moment before glancing back at how much effort you put into everything before sighing.

"You could just ask me instead of going through all the trouble."

"You don't like it?"

"I do but just dinner would have been fine. Seeing you make a mess of our flower garden is just irritating."

Her hand motions to the flower petals on the floor and you feel embarrassed how she knew you practically destroyed your garden.

GYUTARO(+PLATONIC DAKI MENTIONED):

Gyutaro.exe has stopped working. His eyes go wide open, jaw slacked, and his entire face turns the deepest red. Meanwhile Daki is giving you a thumbs up from around the corner. Nothing like bribing your sister-in-law to help you dress up to impress her brother.

"What D-Do you think? Pretty huh?.....Gyutaro?"

"P-Pretty."

"Thank you. N-Now about dinner-"

"Pretty."

"Yes. I-"

"Pretty."

"Hun-"

"Pretty-"

Turns out you completely broke his brain seeing his already pretty wife dress up so attractively.

KAIGAKU:

His mind honestly blue screens for a long moment looking you over and over...A pink hue covers his face as his pointed ears pin back to his head. He has to forcibly turn his head away and pretend interest in the food to avoid you seeing the fluster on his face. His voice sputters and he quickly covers it by shoving the raw steak into his maw...but the pink tips of his ears aren't fooling you. Although maybe you did go too far because he doesn't communicate with you until you change back because he won't allow you to see his face.

HAIROU:

He doesn't say anything about it for a long time only looking at you up and down as you nervously still smile awkwardly up at him... Before he clears his throat and calmly takes off his cape before plopping it over your shoulders.

"The surprise is-...I-I-Its nice bu-bu-but you shouldn't have."

He really likes it however and the blush on his face is not helping him to hide how he really feels.

KYOGAI:

He asks you if you're ok from falling over and once you confirm that you are ok he just silently staring at you for a long while before he slowly turns inhumanly slowly towards the candlelight dinner before back to the rose petals on the floor. Before his bottom lip wobbled and honest tears start falling from his eyes as a sob escaped his throat.

"I-I lov-v-ve you so much!"

He's overwhelmed by the fact you'd do something so romantic just for him and he's crying out of happiness. Give him a second. He'll kiss you after but first he needs a second to blabber about how much he loves you.

ENMU:

You don't get time to react before he was upon you. Giggling like a mad man before wrapping his arms around you and pulling your squeaking form against his chest and leaning so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

"Oh darling.~ You could've just told me you felt lonely.~ Going through all this trouble..But I admit, I find you rather ravishing.~"

Maybe you should've just stuck to dinner-

[helloprettybb]

slip of the tongue

i love bucky with all my heart. that’s it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

description: bucky doesn’t really like you. but a night alone and a stab wound may change his opinion.

warnings: violence, bad description of action scene, heated kissing??? not smut but implied

word count: 1.9k

Bucky hates you. It isn’t difficult seeing as you’re Stark’s daughter and every quality in the man is tenfold in you. You’re crazy smart and you aren’t afraid to show it. Perhaps your worst attribute is your arrogance since it’s justified most of the time. Bucky hates how you’re always right and the stupid smirk on your face when you outwit or outtalk someone.

He knows you can tell and that’s the worst part. It seems you do everything in your power to irk him even more. Like trying to talk to him every time he enters the room or asking for every excruciating detail for any minor event. You get on his nerves and nothing could change that.

The team left for a mission this morning so it’s just you and Bucky at the Compound. After doing nothing all day, Bucky decides to go for an afternoon run. He doesn’t listen to music, as he enjoys the sounds of the city between the mindless chatter and the speeding cars, it reminds him of his youth.

Towards the end of his run, Bucky starts toward the Compound when his ears pick up a yell. Going towards the noise, he spots three men assaulting a woman. She tries her best to hold them off, but she is greatly outnumbered and outmatched by the three, burly men.

Bucky springs into action and grabs the man whose hands are around the woman’s throat. Yanking him off easily, Bucky shoves the man to the ground with a force that was probably harder than necessary, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse as he moves his attention to the two other attackers. He grabs the second man, who is slightly shorter than the first and punches him square in the jaw. He releases the woman and stumbles back. The third man lands a few punches on him, but they barely phase Bucky. While fighting off the last man, Bucky doesn’t notice the first guy get up. He also fails to notice the shiny knife in his hand before it’s too late. The man stabs Bucky in the side. Now Bucky’s pissed as he pushes the third man into the wall. He turns toward the man with the knife and knocks him out cold.

He looks around and realizes the woman must have run away. “Good.” he thinks, but only for a minute as he remembers that he got fucking stabbed. He groans as he applies pressure to the wound.

Bucky makes it back to the Compound, but the pain is getting worse. Stumbling inside, he heads for the labs to look for a medkit. But of course, since it’s his lucky day, you’re there, too. You’re probably finishing the project that you were talking about for the past few weeks - something about particles accelerating, but Bucky didn’t care enough to ask. He hopes he can slip by unnoticed, but the gaping hole in his side draws attention to him.

Your head snaps up from your work and you see Bucky hobble by. “Heya Buck,” you start in your usual playful manner. But when you look at the state he’s in, your attitude changes immediately, “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbles. You look down and see that he’s holding his side. His sweatshirt and fingers are covered in blood.

“Bullshit.” you say. Moving around the lab, you quickly find the medkit. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need your-”

“Shut up and sit down.” you interrupt. Bucky’s protests stop as he sits down on one of the stools. You pull up a chair and open the kit.

“Y’know this will probably heal by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but it can’t heal if you bleed to death.” you retort. While the injury most likely won’t kill him, your point still stands. “Can I?” you motion to his hand. He removes his hand and you quickly pull his sweatshirt up to treat the wound. Luckily it’s a shallow stab wound and the gauze you put on is enough to stop him from bleeding out. As you continue to apply the gauze, you have to force yourself to not get distracted by his defined abs and focus all your attention on the wound. Your fingers trace over his stomach and he jumps slightly.

“Sorry,” you mutter. Your hands must be freezing from being down in the lab for so long. Once you finish applying the gauze, you say, “There, all done.” You look up at Bucky and are unable to read his expression. It causes you both to fall into an awkward silence. “So,” you say to clear the air, “How’d this happen?”

“Some guys were attacking this woman. Didn’t know one of them had a knife.” He responds gruffly. You nod in understanding.

You finish patching him up and say, “If you need anything like extra bandages or a beer, just come to me.” Bucky simply nods, unsure what to make of that proposition. He begins to leave awkwardly and almost makes it out of the lab before something in him makes him turn back.

He pops his head in and says, “You said something about beer?”

-

Bucky doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t care. He’s on his fourth beer, but he can’t get drunk so it doesn’t really matter. It’s funny because one beer turned into two and then three and now he’s found himself in a full-on conversation with you. And the most surprising part is that it’s delightful.

Behind your arrogance and quick judgments, you’re really funny. He knew you were smart, that wasn’t a surprise, but talking to you more changed his opinion of you.

“So, Buck.” Usually, that nickname didn’t get to him but a healing stab wound and a couple of beers will change anyone’s perception.

“What?” he asks.

“Got any lucky girl?” He scoffs at that and you look shocked. “What? It was simply a question.”

“It wasn’t the question, doll.” Since when did he call you doll? Just a slip of the tongue, he supposes. “It was the fact that I’d even have someone.” he says honestly.

“What do you mean? You’re a good-looking guy, just over one hundred. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. Damn, you’re growing on him.

“I’m serious!” you exclaim. Your left arm is on the couch and your hand is leaning against your hand. He realizes this is the closest you’ve been besides before when you were tending to his stab wound. “You’re a catch, Buck. What stops all the ladies from falling all over you?”

He rolls his eyes at you again whether at your persistence or wording. “I’m a bad guy, doll.” There it is again.

“That’s not true,” you scoff. Taking a sip from your beer, you casually add, “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for the bad ones,” Bucky raises an eyebrow at that. “Come on, Buck. I’ve liked you for a pretty long time. I thought I made it quite obvious.”

“By annoying the hell outta me?” He jokes.

“Hey, I was just trying to talk to you. Although I know I can come across as….”

“Annoying.” he says back. You give him a look that makes him laugh and soon a smile spreads across your face.

“I actually do care about you. But, I know you don’t feel the same way, so I’m happy just being friends.” Bucky thinks it over for a moment. Just this morning he was thinking about how you bothered the hell out of him. Actually, the more that he thinks about it, he realizes that he never really hated you. Did Bucky like you all along? He’s about to reply when the elevator doors open.

“Oh, you’re back?” you turn to greet the team.

“Hey, what are you doing up so late with Bucky?” Your dad eyes the two of you suspiciously.

You catch onto what he’s implying and assure him, “We’re just hanging out. In fact, I was just heading to my room. See you tomorrow.” You say a quick goodbye and leave before anyone could say anything.

They all turn to Bucky, ready to attack him with questions. “I’m going to head up, too.” Bucky quickly exits. He catches up to you, although he definitely didn’t mean to. Curse his long legs.

“Oh, hey,” you say as he enters the sleeping quarters.

“Hey,” he says. Fuck it, mind as well try it. “So, about the friend thing.”

You wince, “You don’t want to be friends.” You seem a little hurt by it, “I get it, you don’t really like me. It’s not like I can force you, too. And especially after I basically confessed to liking you as more than a friend, I could see how a potential friendship wouldn’t sound too appealing.” You’ve never looked this uneasy. He’s used to seeing you so confident and assured, but this was new.

Bucky lets you finish rambling before he replies, “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little, finally shutting you up. He moves closer, but you stay still. You both can tell what’s about to happen, yet neither is making a motion to stop it.

“I like you. As more than a friend.” You look like you’re trying to play it cool and contain your excitement, but Bucky sees you bite your lip like you’re trying to stop your smile from spreading.

“So…” You start like you’re thinking long and hard about what you’re about to say, “Can I kiss you?” You’re adorable. Bucky takes one last step and pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips are soft against his. Beyond the taste of beer, Bucky picks up some… he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip… cherry lipgloss. He’ll never get sick of the taste of cherries. He thought it’d be a sweet, innocent kiss but when you grab at his back, trying to hold him as close as possible, he knows it’s anything but. You kiss him hungrily as if your life depends on it and Bucky eagerly accepts. He muffles your moans and gasps and thinks about how nice those sounds will be echoed in his bedroom.

Bucky moves you so that your back is against the wall. You moan as his hands trail down your sides and onto your ass. His hands go under your thighs and you jump so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky catches you and pins you between himself and the wall.

Your hands go up to his hair and play with a few strands before pulling lightly. He groans at that, separating from your lips and throwing his head back. With his neck exposed, you trail kisses up and down his throat. Sucking and biting occasionally and making Bucky go crazy.

Two can play at that game, he thinks. He reconnects your lips to kiss you again and starts grinding his hips into you. Your hands go to his back and start scratching against his shirt.

Before this could go any further, Bucky pulls away and asks, “My room?”

And you smile, “Fuck yeah.”

[meat--grindr]

Ohh your writing is wonderful... I’ve actually never requested before so I hope get this right but: could I request Billy Lenz x Gender Neutral Reader (AFAB if it’s brought up) with Billy sucking on his partner’s fingers and discovering they are really, /really/ into it but also super embarrassed about it? Bastard-ness ensues. Hope this request is ok!

Okay? This is waaay more than okay! I’ve been so excited about this prompt since I received it! I’m so sorry for not getting to it earlier. I hope like six months later is better than never though! I’m also super excited to be your first request! I hope this lives up to your expectations, whatever they may have been!

Just a few general warnings beforehand: Billy is really rough with the reader he uses some extremely degrading language as per the canon (I’ve excluded the term ‘piggy,’ though, because I am NOT A FAN™ of that aspect of his dirty talk.) I want to specifically call to attention the liberal use of the terms ‘pussy’ and ‘cunt.’ The reader is never gendered with personal pronouns, but those words are used in reference to them and their anatomy several times. I am of the opinion that Mr. Lenz would use those terms regardless of what hole he’s using, but if they make you uncomfortable, maybe give this one a miss? Furthermore, I would like to mention that Billy is not a mentally well man (obviously) who has had a rather traumatic past with abuse, both of these are discussed within this fic, so please take care of yourselves and read this work responsibly if you want to read it at all. I don’t want anyone to be hurt by my writing because I didn’t warn them properly.

Also, this is my first time writing for Billy, so please forgive me if it takes a little while for me to get completely used to him. He’s a…unique fella, let’s say.

Editing Ripper’s Note: I was just about to post this when I realized I completely misread the prompt! I read it as the reader is really into sucking on Billy’s fingers, not the other way ‘round! I’ve been looking at this prompt, literally since December and still never caught on. I feel like a total idiot. I’m really sorry about that. I’ve decided to post this anyway because A) the kink is still there in the fic, just not exactly as requested, and B) I had already finished it by the time I noticed my mistake. So much time has passed and if the original requester is still keeping tabs on this blog, I don’t want to make them wait any longer. That being said, if you’d like me to write your request properly, please send me a message and I will do my best!

Mind Your Teeth – Billy Lenz (Gender Neutral* Reader) - NSFW

· Slick with sweat, your chest slides against the surface of your desk with each cruel snap of Billy’s hips. You can feel the laboured heaving of his chest against your back as he struggles for breath. It leaves his lips in ragged, staggering puffs, heavy and hot against your shoulder blade, accompanied every so often by the slick warmth of his saliva as it drips down onto your bare skin.

· Despite his gawky build, he manages to loom over you, folding you nearly in half against the desk. He’s made himself rather comfortable, sprawled over top of you. His chest presses against your back, boney ribs grinding against the knobs of your spine through the stiff, itchy fibers of his jumper. It’s sticking to your skin, soaked through in spots with sweat—yours and his—and you can feel it peeling up from your flesh with every movement he makes.

· He’s got you pinned, holding you down against the smooth wooden surface with little more than his weight. He’s surprisingly heavy, and though he doesn’t look it, Billy is a strong man—he’s more than capable both of lifting you off of the floor and pinning you down to it. He’s strong and his hands are by no means an exception to that rule. Though they may be long and thin, and they tremble whenever they hold you, his grip is nearly unbreakable. His clumsy fingers circle your wrists like iron fetters, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of your forearms and cutting little crescents into the skin—just deep enough to sting. You can barely move beneath him—can barely breathe—and he knows this. He has you exactly where he wants you and you’re not going anywhere until he decides to let you.

· Another bruising thrust pitches you forward, and your knees bang against the desk drawers. You cry out, though whether it was for the dull ache in your legs or the sudden stab of pleasure between them, even you couldn’t say for certain. Though if there is any concern at all in Billy for your wellbeing, he’s certainly keeping it to himself. Your outburst only seems to egg him on, as his pace begins to take on a more frantic edge.

· His thrusts are shallow as he rocks into you—it’s as though he can’t bare to withdraw from the tight heat of your body for long. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure, you struggle to feel surprised. It’s all about instant gratification with Billy. Always has been—why should he tease himself or draw things out when he could just pry open your willing mouth and drag his cock against your tongue until he cums down your throat? Still, there is a force behind those thrusts—one which throws you up against the lip of the desk hard enough that you’re sure there will be a solid line of bruising along your midsection before the night is through. Every push of those hips shoves you forward a little more, until your head is nearly knocking against the wall and your toes barely touch the ground.

· Your cheek slides against a slick patch of wood and you realize you’ve been drooling across the desktop. The little puddle at the corner of your lips only grows in size as a particularly deep thrust from Billy wrings another string of wrecked whimpers from your throat. You wish you could pull away from the puddle—longing to drag the back of your hand across your cheek and wipe away the slickness, but there’s little you can do about it with Billy still holding your arms hostage. But at the same time, something about it thrills you—to be ruined like this—held still, unable to so anything but whimper, and drool, and take what you’re given. It’s…liberating.

· “C’mon, little bitch! Take my fat cock! You can t-t-take it better than that! Take it! Take-Take-Take it good for B-B-Billy!” He babbles into your shoulder, chapped lips scraping against your shoulder as he mouths at your flushed skin. His tongue flickers out, dragging a wet stripe against your skin, scorching hot, then suddenly too cool as it begins to dry in the open air.

· “Such a pretty pusssssy,” He slurs, “Pretty, pretty pusssssy. Gonna fill it up—gonna fill it with my fat ffffffucking cock!”

· You feel him jerk behind you, his muscles going taught as a violent spasm rolls through his body. When he speaks again, the voice that comes is not his own—it’s deeper, rumbling down in his chest, belonging to a man much larger than he, “Why I outta beat that boy! Beat him up good! Beat Billy bad! Beat him good! Beat him up, up, up!”

· His hips still and your heart leaps up into your throat, your pulse pounding hard in the tight space. This can’t be good. You squirm beneath him, trying and failing to turn your head. Your eyes roll wild in their sockets, desperate to get a good look at Billy, but he remains a shadow at the edge of your vision. You remember this voice. He had so many it was difficult to keep track of them sometimes—he’d mimic almost anything he heard; the children from down the road calling to one another while they played, the weatherman making predictions on the radio, even the neighbour’s cat. It was easy to forget which voices and phrases came from where once he’d picked them up and used them enough. But this is one that predates you, and you recognize it with a chilling clarity—the father’s voice: always angry, often violent.

· It frightens you when Billy uses it, though not because of the threat Billy poses to you. Of course, you know to tread carefully when he's in one of his moods—you’ve seen first hand the destruction wrought when his directionless frustration is given direction. But, you know this voice is a far more likely indicator that Billy is an imminent threat to himself. You’ve seen him pacing the floor like a caged animal, trembling hands beating about his head, tearing at his clothes and hair as he works through the frenzy, all the while babbling to himself in that deep, rumbling voice: “Rotten boy! Teach you a fucking lesson! Beat Billy! Bad Billy! Bad, Bad, Bad!” He's blackened his eyes, split his lips and knuckles, shattered countless plates and cut his hands on the shards. He loses himself in that voice, and that scares you.

· ‘Losing himself,’ that’s what you’ve come to call these episodes—those moments when his excitement and boundless energy curdle, souring into anxiety and agitation so quickly it makes you head spin. And in this moment, he’s displaying all the tell-tale sighs you’ve come to recognize—the full-body tremors, the angry voices, self-directed violence—mere threats or otherwise…

· No, this is not good. Of course, this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him do this, and you’re sure it would not be the last, but he’s never done it while you were…playing before. And that worries you. You’re both vulnerable, half-undressed and bent over a desk. Even worse, he was behind you. You’d learned very quickly never to let him out of your sight when he got like this. He was unpredictable—prone to lashing out whether he meant to or not. But he wasn’t beyond helping. If you could just turn your head and look at him—make him see you, help him to ground himself like you practiced, you might be able to talk him down, or at least ease him through the worst of it. Maybe. If you could only get a look at him.

· You flounder for your voice and struggle to keep it steady once you find it, “Hey, B-Billy? Billy, baby, you’re okay, right?” It’s an innocent question you usually begin with when he gets like this. Sometimes he’s too worked up to even begin to answer you, sometimes he tries so damn hard to answer, but can’t—not in a way you could really understand anyhow—and sometimes you can talk it through with him. Every time you try, the reaction is different. You can only cross your fingers and pray for a positive outcome.

· This time, he coughs. It’s a horrible, a horrible, racking sound that echoes in his chest—it’s almost closer to a scream than anything else. Another spasm jitters through him, the joint in his neck snapping loud in the darkness. You feel his forehead collide with your shoulder once, twice, then he stills. His flesh is clammy against yours, and the gentle brush of his hair makes your skin prickle, but he seems calmer. He barks a laugh—his own this time—and nuzzles against your back, smearing your skin with sweat and saliva. “Fuck!” He says, as though that explains everything.

· “Billy? Are you…alright?”

· He chirps like bird, three short bursts of whistling he’d picked up last spring when a robin mad made a nest on your windowsill, “Right as rain, rain, rain!”

· You’re left with a heady rush of confusion and relief as you realize he must have pulled himself out of the hole he’d almost fallen into. A little flicker of pride sparks to life in your chest. He’s come so far.

· Your concern melts away once again into pleasure as Billy jerks his hips. Keening high in the back of his throat, he fucks himself deeper into you. He drags his cock out slow, sounding for all the world as though he’d forgotten just how good it felt to fuck you—as though he hadn’t been doing just that not sixty seconds ago. He scrapes his teeth against your shoulder, the promise of a bite that will surely come and mark you for days. His fingers flex around your wrists, blunt nails biting deeper into your flesh as he falls back into that brutal rhythm.

· Your legs begin to shake as Billy’s cock bumps up against something a bit more sensitive inside of you. Your breath fogs against the surface of the desk as it heaves from your lungs, a thin mist that barely has the time to fade before the next heavy puff of air replaces it. You find yourself struggling to swallow the moans Billy’s working so hard to pull from you. You know how much he likes to hear you—how wild it makes him—and you know there’s no real need to be quiet, not with the dorm cleared out for the long weekend. Still, something—be it a force of habit from living in close quarters with thin walls, or simply your own embarrassment—keeps you quiet.

· “Fiiiilthy whore!” A growl, caught low in his throat, tears through the air between you, “Pretty pussy! Want it full! My cock, my cum…gonna fill it full!” Never at a loss for a string of vulgarities, Billy mumbles against your skin, his words slurring into one another until you can barely decipher one though from the other.

· “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck!” Billy jerks his hips forward, and for the first time this evening, you feel the full length of his cock stretching you out. You jerk beneath him, mewling into the desktop, squirming about as you try desperately to relax around him. You’re so full—so full you can barely breathe, but it feels so good. Your muscles contract around him, unbidden, throbbing with the sudden stretch. It makes him shudder and sigh above you, a wavering rush of air than hisses out between his teeth.

· He holds you there for a moment, trembling almost as much as you are, “Tight fffucking cunt, so fucking tiiight for Billy!” His hips stutter forward in time with his ragged breathing. Desperately, he tries to fuck himself deeper into you, even though he can’t—he’s already buried to the hilt, his hips tucked snugly against your ass. But he gives it the old college try anyhow. He begins to babble nonsensically against your neck, “Ruin it, ruin it! Never take another cock! Full, full, full! I left it in the kitchen, Jan! Not after Billy’s! A low pressure system moving in and—fuck you full, fuck you full, full, full!”

· The tops of his thighs quiver as he grinds into you, and as he shifts, the head of his cock presses against something. For a moment, your vision goes white. Your legs seem to fall away beneath you, your knees drifting south as the pleasure carries away their ability to hold you upright any longer. If it weren’t for the desk, you probably would have slid down into a boneless heap on the floor.

· You gasp, mouth gaping wide, pulling in a great, deep lungful of air. To call his name? To beg him for more? To put wordless voice to your pleasure? You aren’t sure. There is little room in your brain for thought beyond the need for more. Mercifully, Billy saves you from the struggle before you can waste too much energy on it.

· Almost as soon as he realizes your mouth is open, Billy shoves his fingers into your mouth. Two boney digits slide against your tongue, pressing and prodding against the slick muscle. The taste of dust and salt floods your mouth with the intrusion. You wrinkle your nose, and try to pull your head back, but Billy leans down into you, pressing you down further beneath his weight, grinding your ribs into the desktop.

· “No, no, no,” He chides, voice soft and light—almost cheerful. He spreads his fingers apart, rubbing over the hard bumps of your bottom teeth with a tenderness you rarely see in him. “Gotta make room,” His voice rumbles through you as he presses his lips against your flesh, “Gotta stretch it out for Billy, or he won’t fit!”

· He nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder, still rocking his hips into you, pressing against that spot that makes your brain fill with television static, “Billy’s gonna fuck your throat once he’s filled that pretty pussy!”

· Your lips are pulled taught as his fingers press against the walls of your mouth, testing its limits. “Soft and warm! Wanna fuck it! Fuck it deep!”

· His hips buck hard, shoving you another inch toward the wall. You can feel yourself drooling around his fingers—your saliva dripping down your chin in great rivulets and collecting beneath your cheek.

· His knuckles bump against the roof of your mouth as the pads of his fingers find the back of your tongue. You gag around them, struggling to breathe, but Billy just laughs and presses down harder.

· “Again,” His voice comes out in a ragged puff of breath, half-whisper, half-growl, rough as rock salt, “Pussy gets tight when it chokes.”

· You try to suck in a shocked breath, but you can’t manage it around his fingers. Your throat convulses around him as you struggle to breathe.

· You feel his cock pulse inside of you and he groans his pleasure long and low into the darkness, “Yesssss!”

· He rocks into you again, “No one fucks like Billy, huh?” He pulls back, his cock nearly slipping from your body entirely, then he slams his hips home again, “No one fucks you full like Billy can! No one! No one! No one!” The phrase becomes a litany, each sentence punctuated with a bruising snap of his hips. “Know why?” He drags his teeth along the edge of your shoulder blade, “Know why?” You can hear the grin in his voice, wide and sharp, “‘Cuz Billy fills you up from both ends!”

· You sob around Billy’s fingers, your eyes rolling back as he pushes them deeper into your mouth. If he keeps on like this, it won’t be long before you fall apart around him—you want to cum so desperately, you can hardly keep another thought in your brain. Your muscles clench up around him and he laughs, giggling to himself as he hooks his chin over your shoulder. He can feel how close you are.

· His tongue slides against the side of your face, leaving a thick, wet stripe across your cheekbone. His lips scratch rough against your jaw, “Pretty pussy’s gonna cum? Gonna cum all over Billy’s fat fucking cock? Yeah?” His simpering tone makes your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but you nod. Another peal of sick laughter bubbles up in his throat, “You’re gonna cum and Billy’s not even trying! So dirty, dirty, dirty!”

· You whine around his fingers as he babbles on, “Billy could fuck you harder, but he doesn’t need to! Stupid, greedy pussy, silly fucking cunt can cum like this!” His teeth sink into your shoulder and the rest of his diatribe is lost to you. Even so, he continues to mumble filth against the skin caught between his teeth.

· The bite stings, bright and sharp, and you sob around him, clenching your jaw, your teeth digging into his fingers. Billy releases you with a hiss, dipping his head into the crook of your neck. You think for a moment you might have hurt him, but in mere seconds, he’s giggling to himself again. “Sharp, sharp teeth! No good. No, no good. Not for Billy’s cock. Gotta tear them out, make room for Billy!”

· Though you know the threat is mostly empty, the way Billy caresses your molars with the pad of his finger makes you a little nervous. You’re sure if he could get a good grip, he could easily ‘make room,’ and there was probably not much you could do to stop him. But he pulls his fingers back, retreating from the crushing press of your back teeth.

· He presses down against your tongue again, rubbing against the slick muscle fondly. “Need to practice! Greedy cunt needs to learn! Learn to suck Billy’s fat cock properly.” He snaps his hips, as though trying to remind you just how fat it really was—as though there was any change you could forget while it was rearranging your guts for you. “Gonna teach you to take it good!”

· Your eyes roll back at the thought. You can picture yourself kneeling under the desk, Billy draped over the chair, wild hair falling over his eyes as you try to take him all the way down to the base. He’d fuck your throat until your vision goes black, his fingers tangled deep in your hair, nails digging into your scalp. Your own fingers slide desperately between your thighs, chasing your release as he chases his own and god what you wouldn’t give to make the fantasy real—to feel the length of him in your mouth, the rough denim of his pants beneath your hands, the jerk and sting against your scalp as he tugs on your hair. Your cheeks hollow around Billy’s fingers, a pretty whine sitting high in the back of your throat.

· And Billy stops—stops moving, stops talking. He hovers above you, silent and still as a statue, barely breathing. A terrible moment of clarity washes over you and the embarrassment comes rolling in. There you were, still stretched out on Billy’s cock, barely moments away from an orgasm and you were already thinking about another? Were you really that desperate? Your cheeks burn hot against the cool wood of the desktop. Shame licks at the pit of your stomach—it wasn’t unlink Billy to think this way, he was always seeking the next shot of pleasure, but it wasn’t like you. As though it wasn’t bad enough to catch yourself thinking that way…for someone else to do it? It was mortifying…and maybe a little exciting too.

· Your stomach flips as Billy shifts behind you, the burgeoning stubble on his jaw scraping across your sensitive skin. Then you feel it, a smile spreading across his face—it’s a grin you’ve come to know well, all teeth and wide enough to make his jaw pop. Even without looking at him, you know you’re fucked.

· All at once, he lurches to life again, fucking his fingers hard into your mouth, in tandem with the harsh thrusts of his hips. A filthy string of gibberish falls from his lips as he pounds into you, “Greedy! Greedy cunt! Want it in your mouth too? Filthy, greedy fucking whore!”

· You whine, and choke, and sob around Billy’s fingers. Your face is wet with sweat, with spit, with tears, you can’t tell and at this point, you’re far beyond the point of caring. The world has narrowed to a single point between your legs as you teeter on the knife’s edge of your release. You rock your hips back against Billy, meeting his thrusts, desperate for more. You’re so, so close, and Billy can feel it too—the way you tighten around him spurring his pace from wild to frantic.

· His voice is broken, his words panted out between jagged breaths and garbled moans, “Gonna be good for Billy? Gonna cum?” His face is buried in the crook of your neck. He giggles against your flesh as he splits you open, slamming into you like it’s the last fuck he’ll ever have. “C’mon, take what Billy gives you! Take it, take it, t—ta—fuuuck!”

· Your hips stutter as your orgasm throbs through you. You scream around his fingers as you cum, your muscles clamping down around Billy so hard he almost has to stop moving, rolling his hips forward quick and shallow. His howl is lost in the sound of blood rushing in your ears, but you can feel it vibrating through his chest, and down into your back. Your fingers scrabble at the wood beneath you, desperate for something to latch onto—to keep you grounded here as the pleasure threatens to carry you away.

· You sob and slump limp against the desk, letting it bear the brunt of your weight. There’s just no strength left in your body anymore. Your hands and feet tingle with the lingering aftershocks of the adrenaline as you begin to come down from your high, and your breath comes hard, as though you’ve run a great distance. Billy’s hips continue to snap against yours, brutal and quick. You sob into his fingers, the as the relentless pleasure sparks through you, nearly painful to your sparking nerves.

· Slowly, as your ears stop ringing, you realize Billy is still talking, babbling away in several voices. “Like your pussy tight like this. Wanna fuck you full while you cum again and again and again and I told you, Jan, I left it in the kitchen! Make you soaked, keep you soaking wet, make you fucking cry! Where is that cat? Where’s that cat? Where’s the…WHERE’S THE BABY, BILLY?! AGNES? WHERE’S AGNES, BILLY?! Beat that kid! Teach him a lesson! BEAT HIM UP GOOD!”

· His left hand shoots up from your arm and wraps around your throat, fingers flexing around your windpipe, not quite squeezing, yet, but the pressure is far from comfortable.

· “T-T-Teach rotten old Billy a lesson.” A spike of fear shoots through you and you choke around his fingers. This seems to bring his mind back, at least in part, to the present, or at least confuse him enough to serve as a distraction—he makes a noise caught between two voices. The fear that courses through you lends new strength to your limbs as you reach up and claw at his fingers.

· As you attempt to pry him lose, his grip only tightens, fingers locking around your windpipe, “Teach that boy a FUCKING lesson!” The knobby joints of his fingers press hard against the pulse in your throat and you’re sure he can feel it hammering beneath your skin. He’s losing himself again, you’re sure.

· But again, this time was different. He hadn’t stopped fucking his cock into you like he had before, and he’d wavered for a moment, when you’d choked on him. There might be something else you could do to help him. Desperate to keep him here with you in the present moment, you flex your tongue against his fingers. His hips stutter and your heart skips a beat in turn. “Filthy fucking c-c-cunt…”

· You bob your head, hollowing your cheeks around his fingers again. C’mon, Billy!

· “F-Fuck!” It’s not quite his voice, but it’s close, perhaps a little higher, a little more strained than usual, but it’s close. “Where’s the baby, Billy? Where’s the…c-c-cat gone to now?” His fingers begin to relax around your throat, but you keep sucking on his fingers, wanting to make sure you’re well and truly out of the woods before you even think about stopping. If this is going to work, you’re going to make damn sure of it.

· “Fucking greedy little cunt!” You could have cried with relief at the sound of his voice—his real voice. You hum around his fingers, and he laughs, the sound low and rumbly, “Still so fucking eager.” His hips buck forward, pressing deep inside of you. It’s still too much, too soon, and you sob with the overstimulation. The sudden spike of pleasure punches the air from your lungs and shakes your legs from underneath you.

· Billy groans as you pulse around him. “You want Billy to cum? Wand Billy to fucking fill you?” You nod frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he grinds into that spot, filling your vision with white hot splotches of light.

· “Suck his cock, then,” he says, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth again. He spreads them wide, nearly matching the girth of his cock where it fucks you open. Billy jitters behind you, chasing his release with quick, cruel thrusts. Impatient as always, he pushes digs his nail into the wall of your cheek, “Fucking suck Billy’s cock!”

· You jerk into motion as though startled from a deep sleep, pressing your head down against his fingers to take them as deep as you could. Your tongue laves against the digits, prodding gently against his scarred knuckles, playing in the space between them.

· Billy throws his head back, moaning to the ceiling long and loud, “Yessss! Good little pet! Pretty, pretty pet! His fingers stroke your throat as though he’s petting a cat, feeling it work up and down as you swallow around him. “Gooood pet! Suck Billy’s cock! Suck his cock! Su—NO!”

· Suddenly, he stops, his fingers stilling. For a moment, you think you’ve done something wrong. Had your teeth caught against him? Had you hurt him? Should you pull back and ask, or carry on? Before you can make a decision one way or another, Billy thrusts his fingers back into your throat, pressing them in as deep as he could. His knuckles bump against your back molars as you gag around him, trying desperately to breathe through your nose.

· “Lick Billy’s cunt,” For a moment, you’re still, confusion slicing through the pleasure. Billy tries to press his hand forward, his fingertips brushing against the back of your throat, “Lick it! Lick Billy’s cunt! Lick it! Lick it! Tongue his fffffucking clit!” You think about it for a moment, your exhausted, lust-fogged brain struggling to put two and two together, and then suddenly you think you understand. As gingerly as you can, while Billy continues to rock you forward over the desk, you press your tongue against the soft spot between his knuckles.

· This must have been what he’d wanted because the sound he makes is like nothing you’ve ever heard before—a wail caught somewhere between human and animal. You’ve never heard a human sound like that before. Like so many things about Billy, it’s frightening, and yet it fascinates you, attracts you, arouses you. You press your tongue harder against that spot, and the frantic rocking of his hips picks up again—but this time there’s no rhythm to it. He’s close.

· “Fucking lick Billy’s clit, make him cum! Make him cum in your pretty pussy!” You lap at his flesh with quick, deliberate swipes of your tongue. He howls against your flesh, his forehead thudding against your shoulder heavy and hard. “Fuck, f-f-f-fuck, make Billy fucking cum! Billy’s gonna, he’s-he’s-he’s gonna—!”

· In the moment before he cums everything is calm. He stills, and his voice is soft and steady in your ear; “I’m going to ruin you.”

· Then the world falls back into chaos.

· His whole body shudders above you, a bag of jangling bones he couldn’t keep control of if his life had depended on it. His teeth fix themselves deep into your shoulder, slotting into the indentations they’d left not long before. You cry out around his fingers, sure he’s drawn blood this time. You can see it when you close your eyes, visions of thick red blood splattered against his dark incisors floating against the dark inside of your eyelids.

· He shudders, momentarily stilling, then kicking back into motion, seemingly unable to deicide if he’d rather pound you through his orgasm or remain still, buried to the hilt in your tight heat. You feel the heat of him inside of you pulsing against your walls as he cums. His cheek is pressed tight against your shoulder gibbering a collection nonsensical sounds and snatches of obscenities into your flesh, “Pretty pink cunt! ah, ahhhh, fuuh—fuuuh—fuck! Dripping now! Where did you leave it? Left it fucking dripping!"

· You’re sore beyond belief from the pounding you’ve taken, but there’s still a throbbing want underneath. He’d dragged you most of the way to a second orgasm, now all you needed was a little push. Before you were completely at is mercy, able only to receive the pleasure he decided to give you. But now, your hands were free and with them you could do as you pleased. You wriggle beneath him, slipping your hands down between your thighs.

· Your fingers find their prize, and you sob, your whole body jerking forward. Even though you’d cum mere moments ago, you can’t believe how sensitive you are. You’re on the verge of orgasm almost immediately. You press harder the slide of your fingers aided both Billy’s cum and your own. You shudder, whimpering around his fingers. Your muscles clamp down on him once again, throbbing and pulsing as your orgasm builds.

· He hooks his finger inside of your cheek and pulls, “Wanna cum again. Wanna cum in your mouth,” He pulls harder exposing the sides of your teeth, “Billy wants to feel them! Feel them on his cock! Sharp and hard.” He laughs, “But Billy likes it hard.” The harsh snap of his hips that follows has you seeing spots. He opens his mouth as though to gloat, as you clench around him, he loses his words. Whimpering, soft and broken sounds against your neck, he grinds into you.

· Seconds later, you clamp down around him, a second orgasm shooting through you. The sound he makes as you cum on his oversensitive cock is nothing short of feral. He bucks wildly into you, seeking more of a pleasure that sounds almost painful as he sobs into your shoulder. His cock pulses inside of you again, throbbing as he fucks his cum deeper inside of you, as though intent on giving you more.

· And you’re sure he would. Or he would have, if you hadn’t reached back and pushed against his shoulder. He was insatiable—he’d keep going for hours unless you stop him now.

· He pulls his fingers out first, a pearly string of saliva connecting your lips to his fingertips. You cough, scratchy and wet, but when you speak, there’s no pain. “I…I just need a little break, Bills. Okay?” Your chest is heaving as you struggle for air. Billy hums above you, hesitating for a moment. He’s reluctant to give up the tight heat of your body. But at last, after nearly a full minute of grumbling and mumbling to himself, he pulls out.

· There's a sticky gush of fluids against your thigh as his cum beings to leak out of you. You rest there for a moment, the pair of you breathing hard in the darkness, the comfortable weight of his body pressing down above you, the solid plane of the desktop below. Then all of a sudden, you’re being lifted up. You squeal in shock as your flipped about and placed atop the desk. The surface is still cool against your heated flesh. The difference in temperature is a shock to your system and goosebumps break out across your arms and legs.

· Before you have a moment to process what’s happening, Billy’s head is between your thighs, his tongue lapping at mess he’d made. Your eyes go wide, and you head knocks against a wall as it falls back, “Fuuuuck, Billy!” Your hips cant up against his face, thighs squeezing tight around his ears.

· “Pretty pussy came twice already,” You can feel him smirking against your inner thigh. “Still wants more? Greedy, greedy, greedy.” You catch a glimpse of his eyes, wide and wild, shining in the darkness beneath is tangled hair, “It’s okay, Billy likes you greedy.”

[fizzychocolatemilk]

You've Got a Friend in Me (You've Got Troubles. I've Got 'em too.) (A Bakudeku Tropetember Fic)

Another Tropetember thingy (this one is a little late though...oops). I classify this one as a fic because it surpassed 1K. This one is for day eight:  5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time). AO3 link is here. It’s slightly angsty...so beware of feels.

tw: use of the f slur, homophobia, unsupportive parents, bullying

(1.)

“You’ll always be nothing but some dumbass, lightning-bolt faggot! You should just pack up and quit the hero course now. You’re too stupid to ever make it further than some lowly sidekick position,” the boy finished his abuse before dissolving into obnoxious laughter. 

 Said boy was one of Denki’s middle school classmates. Denki had accidentally run into him because he was texting Eijirou. The boy had looked over his shoulder and seen Eiji’s name (along with a heart) and started making fun of him for being “a faggot”. Denki knew he shouldn’t take what some asshole said to heart, but the things that he said reminded Denki of other times when he had been put down similarly. Lots of people seemed to think he was an incompetent dumbass who could never do anything right unless he had help, and, while sure, he was a little slow in academics...he definitely had other skill sets that made him a kick-ass hero! That didn’t mean that it was easy to convince himself of that.

 “Denki-kun! Hi!” a voice broke Denki out of his spiral.

 Denki turned toward the voice and, low and behold, it was Izu-kun. Denki gave Izuku a weak smile and a wave as he stood tensely next to the bully.

 “Denki! Who’s this? A friend?” Izuku asked as he walked up to the two. His voice sounded dangerous, and Denki could hear the “or foe?” that came after his words. At 17, Class 3-A knew that Izuku was dangerously protective of his friends, and they all did their best not to provoke his fury in any way. Because a feral Izuku was terrifying. 

 The bully didn’t know this though, and he simply laughed before “greeting” Izuku, “Ah, guess we’ve got another faggot. Or did you not know that Lightning Dolt here was a twink?”

 Izuku’s aura darkened several degrees at the boy's statement but still he shot the boy a bright (but fake) smile, “I’ll give you three seconds to run before I fucking destroy you.”

 The boy’s face dropped and he blinked, “Uhhh...what?”

 Izuku continued to smile, “One.”

 The boy’s eyes widened in panic, “Wait, man!”

 “Two.”

 The boy started running, “We can talk about this!”

 “Three,” Izuku immediately gave chase—or he would have if Denki hadn’t given him a small shock and held him back. Izuku struggled for a second before sighing and turning to Denki, “Denki-kun, you are more than just a brainless idiot and more than just a...a...you know. You’re amazing and talented in your own right and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

 Denki blinked in surprise before blushing lightly, “Thanks, Izu. I really appreciate it.” He smiled genuinely at Izuku.

 (2.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Momo,” the dark-haired woman stared harshly down at her daughter, “You may feel like this now, but one day you’ll find a nice, upstanding gentleman that captures your heart. Not some...punk-rock freak-girl.”

 Momo stared down at her feet and sighed softly before replying, “Yes, mother.”

 However, as she turned to make her way into the dorms, and her mother turned to meet with the chauffeur, she heard a very familiar voice. “Excuse me, ma’am! Yaoyorozu-san! May I have a word with you?” Momo turned to see Izuku-kun coming down the dorm steps and speed walking down the lawn to meet with the two women. He had a slightly dangerous aura (someone outside of Class A wouldn’t even notice), but Momo stood rigid as her friend stood up to her mother, “Yaoyorozu-san. I think you should consider taking your daughter more seriously. 

 “You might not know me well personally, but Yaomomo-chan and I know each other very well and I would consider us good friends. She’s smart, resourceful, and talented, and I think we can both agree that she will make a fantastic hero. But Yaomomo-chan is also responsible and mature, definitely mature enough to make her own decisions about her relationship choices. 

 “My own mother is very protective of me too, but I think that part of being a parent means accepting and supporting children through their choices and the consequences of those choices (good or bad), even if they aren’t choices that you, yourself, would make. I hope that you can come to respect Yaomomo-chan’s decisions about her own future, and find comfort in the fact that I, and everyone else in Class A, will always offer her our full support. Thank you for your time.” Izuku bowed politely before turning to Momo. “Kacchan made dinner. You should come eat it before it gets cold,” he smiled before heading back inside.

 Momo’s mother looked surprised for a second before saying a quick goodbye and hurrying away. Momo smiled after her before whispering under her breath, “You are a marvelous friend, Izuku-kun.”

 (3.)

Hanta was in a rush to get to class. Usually he was pretty punctual, but today he missed his alarm so he wasn’t feeling the best. Anxious and rushed, he accidentally ran into the worst person reasonably possible.

 “Ahah, if it isn’t the plain-faced tape dispenser from Class A!” Monoma laughed, “Late to class, I see! Tsk, tsk, yet another reason Class B is superior! At the very least we’re punctual!”

 Hanta deadpanned at the slate-eyed boy, “You know you’re late too, right?”

 Monoma’s jaw dropped for a second before he regained his composure. He huffed and took another angle, “Well, at least I have a personality! You’re so boring that it’s a wonder anyone pays attention to you at all. You’re almost more invisible than the invisible girl in your class! Not to mention that you’ll probably never get a girlfriend, hah!”

 Hanta rolled his eyes, despite the pang in his heart, before maneuvering himself to speed-walk past Monoma. “I’m literally dating Shou. It’s been the hot gossip for the past few days, and you’re definitely shallow enough to keep up with the gossip mill.”

 Monoma guffawed, “How did a plain-faced peasant like you end up with someone as high class as Todoroki? It’s a wonder, isn’t it? But, of course, I’m sure you’ve been hearing that for the past few days, haven’t you?”

 Hanta knew that he shouldn’t take anything that Monoma says seriously, but he’d been hearing how “unworthy” he was of Shouto for the past few days (since their relationship became public knowledge). The scathing words got to him and it made him doubt himself a little. He sped off towards his classroom, ignoring Monoma’s jeers in the background.

 That day, during a joint training session, Izuku requested to be paired with Monoma...and maybe Izuku went a little harder than he usually did. Maybe Monoma ended up in the infirmary before class ended, but it was training so Izuku couldn’t really be blamed for accidentally injuring his classmate, could he?

 Hanta smiled as he now had an explanation for the flash of green he swore he saw out of the corner of his eye as he was rushing to class after the encounter.

 (+1.) 

Katsuki slapped Deku on the back after training. “What the fuck was that, nerd?! You fucking beat the hell outta the Copycat Freak! Why can’t you ever go that hard when we train?”

 Deku’s face flushed as he turned a blinding smile at Katsuki. Cute. Katsuki shook himself from his thoughts as Deku started talking to him. “I guess I just got really into the exercise, Kacchan!”

 Katsuki could tell that Izuku’s words weren’t the whole truth but he decided to gloss over it for now in favor of focusing on a topic that had been bugging him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mochi Head lately. Skimping on our training. Any specific reason, Deku?”

 Katsuki watched as Deku’s face flushed again, but this time it made a pit grow in his stomach. The pit grew as Deku stumbled over his words for a few minutes before answering, “We’ve just been helping each other study, Kacchan.” 

 “You’re fucking lying, stupid Deku,” Katsuki scoffed as his heart started cracking, tiny pieces falling into the void. “But it’s fucking fine. If you’d rather waste time with your girlfriend like a dumbass then I’ll take the number one spot all the more easily,” he said, but the words felt ashy in his mouth, empty and non-fulfilling.

 He started walking away when there was a sharp tug on his wrist. “Kacchan!” It was Deku. It was always Deku. Katsuki stopped trying to pull away, but he didn’t turn around yet. “I love you! No one else! Ochako-chan has just been helping me work through my feelings for you! She has feelings for someone else!” Katsuki turned sharply to see Deku staring intensely at him. “You are my symbol of victory. My hero. My Kacchan. It’s only ever been you, so please. Please allow me to stand by your side!”

 Katsuki sniffled before completely breaking down in tears from the emotional taxation of the last few minutes. Being the empathetic crier he is, Deku broke down with him and they held each other and sobbed. After a couple more minutes, Katsuki had pulled himself together enough to respond, “Y-yeah, dumb Deku. Keep your eyes on me.”

 Katsuki stood and extended a hand to Izuku to help him up. Izuku stared at him fondly for a split second before taking his offer. They walked back to the dorms side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

[agoldengalaxy]

To Be Trusted

read on Ao3

Bucky witnesses Sam having a nightmare. He does his best to help.

--

Warm water gently rolls down his knuckles as he scrubs at a plate, handing it to Sarah, who runs a towel over it. “Thanks for helpin’ with the dishes,” she says, and he smiles, turning off the faucet.

“Least I can do. You’re letting me sleep on your couch.”

“Bucky Barnes, you are always welcome here, and don’t you forget it.” Waving the towel at him accusingly, she smiles as he laughs, hanging it over the faucet to dry. “It’s nice to have an extra pair of hands around here. Especially tonight, since Sam decided to go to bed early like an old man.” She pauses. “No offense.”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “None taken.”

Sam had been tired out after the Flagsmashers excitement, and neither of them could blame him. But Sarah was his sister, so of course she was still going to tease him for it. “Speaking of which, it’s probably about time I went to bed, too. I’m supposed to be takin’ the kids to Gloria’s in the morning. You and Sam can do your training or whatever it is you Avengers do.”

Bucky smirks again, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We’ll try to make ourselves useful.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She pats his shoulder with a wink, then heads toward the stairs. “Good night. Get some sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, watching her go with another smile. “Good night, Sarah.” She waves, and then he’s standing alone.

Giving the kitchen a once-over, he turns to turn off the lights, stretching his arms above his head. Even though it’s dark in the house, with the only source of light being the moon peeking through the window curtains, he doesn’t feel that sense of dread he used to when he lived in that apartment on his own. Things are so different here with the Wilsons, and he doesn’t think he would ever be able to express just how much that means to him.

He’s pretty tired from everything that happened, too, but he’s so used to powering though that it’s a strange feeling to actually want to sleep. But this house, and that small, worn couch he sleeps on, makes him feel safe. Like his memories can’t reach him here, because he’s busy making new ones.

And right now, the couch looks pretty inviting.

But first, he quietly heads down the hall. The boys’ shared room as well as Sarah’s is upstairs, but Sam’s is right across from the bathroom. And Bucky glances toward the closed door as he passes, wondering how Sam must be feeling. He’s finally accepted the mantle, but surely he must have a lot of pressure on his shoulders; yet, he’s been handling it all with grace. Bucky couldn’t be more proud to call him his friend...and partner.

He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants and exits the bathroom, standing there in the hallway for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark. He’s about to continue walking when his ears pick up a quiet noise coming from behind Sam’s closed door. Bucky’s not one to eavesdrop (unless it’s for a mission), but his curiosity - and concern - is peaked. He steps up to the door, straining to hear something further. It sort of sounds like he’s talking to someone under his breath. “Sam?” he calls cautiously, waiting to hear a response. He doesn’t get one, and the noise continues.

His gaze slides down toward the doorknob, and he can’t help but hesitate. He has this feeling of dread building up in his chest, because he’s pretty sure he knows what’s going to be waiting for him on the other side of the door. He knows because he deals with it all the time. Not as frequently since he began staying with the Wilsons, but still there. And he doesn’t want to have to see Sam like that. But he knows if it were him, Sam would come to his aid, and so the choice is simple. Metal fingers curl around the doorknob quietly, and he pushes it open softly.

The room is almost completely dark, save for the moonlight that streams through his window. Sam is on his back, legs tangled up within the blankets, his face twisted up in pain. His head jerks back and forth, incoherent mumbles escaping through parted lips, body tense and rigid.

Bucky stands there for a moment, his heart aching. It’s exactly what he was expecting, but it still hurts to see Sam so distressed. He’ll be damned if he makes him suffer any longer than he already has. Stepping forward, he places his right hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, hey. C’mon, pal.” It takes a moment, but the words work. Sam’s eyes fly open and he sits up straight, gasping loudly. Bucky moves to stand in front of him right away, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright. You were dreaming. You’re safe.”

Sam’s bare chest rises and falls quickly with each shallow breath, glazed eyes barely blinking, staring at Bucky but not really seeing him. And then his gaze slides upward, and they make eye contact. “Bucky?” he breathes, voice broken, a sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

Just his name on the other’s lips breaks Bucky’s heart. He wonders what it is, but thinking on it for just a moment makes the answer become clear. Sam is always put-together, incredibly strong and brave, a good head on his shoulders. Seeing him like this just hurts, and Bucky almost doesn’t know what to do. But he recovers as quickly as he can, offering a sad smile and moving to sit on the end of the bed.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, keeping his hand on Sam’s shoulder to ground him. “Take some deep breaths, Sam. You’re gonna be okay.”

His eyes fall closed again as he tries to steady his breathing, unconsciously leaning in to the touch. Bucky continues to coax him, knowing it’s what Sam would do for him. It’s nice to be looked after when these things happen; and he’s glad he can be there for Sam this time.

A few long minutes pass. It’s a slow, gradual process, but Sam’s breaths are soon evened out. He opens his eyes again, letting out a quiet breath. “Thanks, Buck,” he mumbles, and it’s genuine. Under normal circumstances, Sam would almost definitely make some smart comment, but now isn’t the time. Bucky nods, slowly letting go of the other’s shoulder.

“You’d do the same for me.” It’s certain, he has no doubt in his mind. Sam is calm now, but he doesn’t look much better than he had a few minutes ago. So Bucky shifts his weight a little. “You wanna talk about it?”

Sam exhales slowly, looking toward the window. “...It’s been a while since I thought about him.”

Bucky frowns, face betraying his confusion. “Who?”

“Riley. My wingman.” He releases another shaky breath. “We were partners when I was in the force. There was nothing I could do to save him. Was just up there to...watch it all happen.” His shoulders sag a little, and he lets out a humorless chuckle. “He’d hate to see me like this. Tell me to get my head outta my ass and keep moving forward.”

Sighing quietly, Bucky offers a small, sad smile. “Sounds like a pretty good guy.”

Sam eyes him for a moment. “You two would have gotten along. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.” Quiet falls between them. Bucky wracks his brain to try to find something else to say. Something to make Sam feel better.

All he can do is lift an arm. “You want a hug or something?”

Under normal circumstances, Sam would most likely laugh at him for even suggesting such a thing, probably assuming that the other was joking in the first place. But he doesn’t laugh, he just stares for a moment, and then he leans forward, resting his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder, much to the latter’s surprise. “If you say anythin’ about this, I’ll kill you,” Sam mumbles, but the threat is empty.

Swallowing, Bucky’s heart skips a beat and he smiles a bit, wrapping his arms around the other. “What, me? Tease you? Never.” If anything, he’s just grateful Sam hasn’t started crying. He has no idea what to do in those types of situations. But this? He can definitely do this. It’s been a long time since he’s embraced someone so fully, but he finds himself glad that it’s Sam who ended up being first after so much time had passed.

He’s warm, and Bucky passes the time by watching Sam’s back rise and fall, much more even than it had been before. He can see the curve of his spine, the muscles relaxed along them, outlined thanks to the pale moonlight. And what a strange situation Bucky is in, he thinks, holding the man who once tried to kill him so gently, hoping that the nightmares that plague him will leave.

Bucky can deal with his own dreams. He doesn’t think he can take knowing that Sam also has to suffer.

It’s been quiet for awhile, so Bucky glances down. “Sam? Maybe you should try to get some more rest. It’s gettin’ late.” There’s no response. He shifts a little, trying to get a look at his face, brows knit together. “Sam?”

He can’t see it too clearly, but he knows by the silence that his friend has now fallen asleep on his shoulder. Somehow. Heat creeps up Bucky’s neck and toward his cheeks and ears, grateful for both the darkness and the fact that Sam can’t see it. He’s not sure why he feels so...warm. Sam trusted him enough, felt safe enough against Bucky that he was able to forget his terrible memory and rest again. And Bucky...doesn’t remember what that was like. To be trusted so fully when for so long, he couldn’t even trust himself.

Slowly, he releases his embrace, taking Sam’s shoulders gently. Maneuvering carefully, supporting his head, he pushes him back to lay against the pillows. Much to Bucky’s surprise, Sam doesn’t stir. His face is a big contrast to what Bucky had found earlier; his jaw is slack, his brows are relaxed, and he looks at peace. Bucky can’t help but stare for a few moments. Under the pale moon, Sam has finally found restful sleep, thanks to Bucky. And Bucky looks on with a fond smile.

After what seems like hours, he moves to pull the blankets over Sam’s chest, who mumbles something under his breath before falling silent again. “Just needed a hug, huh, pal?” he whispers, smiling a little to himself in the way he’d never be caught dead doing if Sam could see him. “You big softie.” Of course, he knows he’s a hypocrite, but he doesn’t really mind much.

Finally, he rises from the edge of the bed, walking toward the door. He knows Sam would rather die than talk about what happened come morning, but Bucky’s okay with that. He doesn’t mind keeping it a secret for him. Glancing over his shoulder once more, he smiles again. “Good night, Sam.”

And with that, he leaves the room quietly, heading to the couch, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, the blanket is thrown over him and a cup of coffee is already poured on the table. A single sticky note reads, “Thanks.” And Bucky grins, getting up to grab the cup and head out the door toward the boat, where he knows Sam will be waiting for him.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

ILLICITUS: CHAPTER 3

Prompt: Y/N is a respectful narcotics agent, she worked hard to have her work recognized in a prominently male work field. She‘s assigned to the most important case of her whole career, investigate and apprehend the biggest drug dealer of U.S.A, the only thing she didn’t count on, was for the bastard to be so damn charming.

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Mob!Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, Illegal substances, cursing, conspiracy.

Tagging: @ziasaph , @mindofasagittaruis , @reigns-5sos , @nicolewoo , @bayley-no-friends , @lilred91 , @auawdo , @jibbles26 , @lustyromantic

Notes: I wonder where this will take me folks... In case you need to find the previous chapters, you can find them on my Masterlist 😉Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

I went speechless for a moment.

“So, agent Y/L/N, I’m still waiting for my answer”

My mind went blank, lacking words that could possibly help me out of this labyrinth that I foolishly placed myself in.

“Dinner’s ready Mr.Reigns. Would you like it to be served now, sir?” The chef announced from the dining room door

“Yes, Marco. Thank you” Roman answered without taking his eyes off of mine.

“Unfortunately, we’ll have to continue this conversation later agent Y/L/N, we don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” He coldly smiles

I just shook my head in response. All of my following actions were performed in autopilot. Eating dinner, drinking wine, engaging a conversation with Mr. Reigns about opera.... Deep down, I was numb, trying not to think how could he had discovered something only Jeffrey and I knew about. What did that meant? Did he really researched me? Was he bluffing? Did he knew who I was before? Was he trying to blackmail me to stay out of his business? Or something worst...maybe Jeffrey was one of Roman’s informers and designated me to the case so he could get rid of me. Knowing that Mr. Reigns would have what it takes to make me disappear forever.

The only thing floating through my mind was her, faintly whispering to me

‘Trust no one’...my mother’s last words, said to me before she died on my arms. Maybe that was my mistake, trusting Jeffrey, letting him in believing in the good old man’s façade.

Now that I’ve set myself in the middle of this puzzle I have to figure a way out, and trust in no one but myself.

‘Be very careful, my sweet Y/N, as for Hell is filled with good intentions’ I heard mom’s life advices when I was just five years old, at the time I didn’t even knew what that meant, but I’m afraid I do now...

“Y/N?” Vaguely, I heard my name being called by him

“Yes, Mr. Reigns?” I faked a smile

“You barely touched your food, is it not at your liking?”

“No, not at all! It’s delicious. I just have a lot on my mind lately”

“I see...maybe a lover has been distracting you?” He tried his lucky shot

“As if that would ever stop your indecent flirting attempts, Mr. Reigns” I smirked

“Touché” He laughed “You’re straight to the point Y/N, I like that. It prevents me from saying shallow pretty words” He took a sip of his wine

“Does that mean your previous words to me were nothing but beautiful lies?” I tilted my head

“Oh no baby” He smiles “You’re different, those words actually mean something when said to you” He winks

“Do you always have perfectly flattering and flirtatious words for everyone, Mr. Reigns?” I tried to hide my amusement

“Only you, baby girl” He smirks “Only you..”

........................................................

“So, how did it went? Did he tried something?”

“Jesus fuck, Jeffrey! You scared the shit outta me! Don’t show up like a fucking ghost like that, damn it!” I said as I added sugar to my tea cup at the cafeteria table

“Sorry, I was just waiting for an opportunity to get you alone so I could ask you, without anybody hearing it” He whispered

I was still suspicious if Jeffrey was one of Roman’s informers, but I couldn’t show that to him, so I played cool.

“Yeah, it all went smooth” I took a sip of my tea

“Did he tried to get inside of your pants?”

“No, he was surprisingly polite. He flirted a little, but nothing disrespectful”

“Wow, I did not saw that coming! Who would’ve taught that the big mob boss could be an actual gentleman?” He sarcastically laughed

“There’s a lot of things we don’t see it coming, Jeff”

“What do you mean, kid?” He gave me a puzzled look

“Nothing, Jeff...just an observation, that’s all” I sweetly smiled

“You’re so weird sometimes, kid” He laughed as he lit up his cigarette

...........................................................

“Agent Y/L/N I need to talk to you, can you meet me in my office please, ma’am?”

“Of course, Matt. I’m right behind you”

He nods and I followed him. Matt is our technology guy, he understands everything from wiretapping to location trackers, I generally don’t have that much of a contact with him so the urgent tone of his voice made me crook an eyebrow.

“What’s up, Matt?”

“I wanted to tell you that the location tracker you requested for Mr. Reigns has been successfully installed, ma’am”

“Location tracker? I didn’t requested any of that”

“No? Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible Y/N, because your DEA ID number was the one used to fill in the request application for the tracker”

“WHAT?? You’re fucking with me, aren’t you Matt? Please tell me that this is a prank!”

“No, Y/N I’m serious, look” He gave me the application paper and once I saw my DEA ID number in the ‘requested by’ section my stomach turned upside down and the room started to spin.

“Y/N, please sit down. Is everything ok?” Matt seemed scared

“Matt, when was this tracker installed?”

“Last night, why?”

Oh fucking great! Last night when I was with Roman at his house, if he finds out about this he will of course presume that I was the one who’ve installed that and I can’t afford to have him as my enemy. Whoever was setting up to me, was smart and slick.

“Who has access to all of the agents internal ID numbers, Matt?”

“Well, anyone who is smart enough can get those pretty easily if I’m being honest with you. Why?” He looked at me with worry upon his green eyes

“Because I think someone is trying to set me up” I murmured

TO BE CONTINUED

Please let me know your thoughts on this series so far, feedbacks are always nice and appreciated 🥰❤️

[stiltonbasket]

but ALSO okay so first of all thank you so much for the ficlets so far they are Adorable and i love them so much. second of all i am so glad you opened prompts again bcuz. i have. smth ive been wanting to read for a WHILE. so. prompt: junior generation post-canon, they all have super high standards for romantic partners cuz they spend time with Super Lovey Dovey WangXian. not like jiang cheng's List but smth a la Tenille Arts's Somebody Like That iykwim

i hope its not too late to insert a detail to my prompt!!! (i ran outta chara space in the og prompt message and then forgot ^^" ) but theres just one thing!! i really wanna see!!!! in the wangxian spoiling each other bit!!!!! (and the juniors being all That is Love Why Should We Settle For Less) -- i want lan zhan walkin around at one point with his hair in a braid and flowers braided in!!! and if asked he gets all soft and looks at it and is like "wei ying did it" ahhh i love the image <3

can anybody find me (somebody to love)

by stiltonbasket

“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?” 

(Or, the one where Jin Rulan visits the Cloud Recesses, contemplates his love life, and gets a new point of view on the Lan sect's taxation policy.)

Jin Ling is seventeen the year his dajiu marries Hanguang-jun, and finally gives Jin Ling the right to call Lan Sizhui his cousin. Sizhui’s always been his cousin, of course—they’ve been cousins since Jin Ling was born, even if neither of them knew it—but he couldn’t say so, because that would mean telling everyone that Sizhui was born a Wen. And telling everyone that Sizhui was a Wen would lead to terrible things, so Jin Ling keeps his mouth shut until after his dajiu’s wedding.

“You could just say that he was born to us during the Sunshot Campaign!” Wei Wuxian laughed, when he finally heard why Jin Ling wanted him to hurry up and take his three bows with Hanguang-jun. “Half the cultivation world already thinks he’s ours, anyway.”

But regardless of whether he could call Sizhui his biao-ge in public, Sizhui is first and foremost a very dear friend; and so are Lan Jingyi and A-Qing and Ouyang Zizhen, though Jin Ling’s best friend is probably Zizhen, just like Sizhui’s is Jingyi. He visits them in Gusu as often as he can, since all of them save Zizhen live there, and even Zizhen hangs around the Cloud Recesses more often than not. 

“Don’t you have a clan of your own?” Jin Ling frowns, when he visits his dajiu around midsummer to find the younger boy eating xiaolongbao in the jingshi’s new kitchen. “How come you’re still here, A-Zhen? The lectures ended weeks ago!”

“I’m almost sixteen,” Zizhen yawns, reaching for a shallow dish of black vinegar and soaking a salted mushroom in it. “Father says I’m old enough to go where I like, and Lan-xiansheng said I could keep studying with the Lan disciples as long as I stayed.”

“You’re just here for the food,” grumbles Jin Ling. His dajiu is a good cook when he doesn’t cover everything in chili peppers, and Jiujiu once told him in confidence that Wei-dajiu’s food was the closest Jin Ling would ever get to having his mother’s. But a steaming plate of xiaolongbao lands in front of Jin Ling before he can really start thinking about that, and then his baby cousin crawls into his lap and steals one of the soup dumplings.

“Ling-gege pays taxes,” three-year-old Lan Yu says serenely, poking a hole in the xiaolongbao and sucking out the broth. “Xiao-Yu can have one more?”

“Taxes?” Jin Ling stares at him. “What in the world does he mean?”

Wei Wuxian laughs and comes back over to give him another succulent soup dumpling to replace the one Xiao-Yu stole. “He’s pretending to be the sect leader,” he explains, ruffling Jin Ling’s hair on his way back to the stove. “And he found out about tax management this morning, since Lan Zhan and Xichen-ge are thinking about lifting the luxury tax on goods from some of the minor sects. But A-Yu thinks taxes are presents for the sect leader, so…”

“One more bao tax for xiao-Lan-zongzhu!” Xiao-Yu says imperiously, holding out his chubby hands. “Ling-gege give, please?”

“That is not polite, Xiao-Yu,” Hanguang-jun scolds, sweeping into the kitchen with A-Yuan and Jingyi behind him and A-Qing bringing up the rear. He lifts Xiao-Yu into his arms and sits him down on the bench next to Zizhen, and then he reaches up for a stack of patterned bowls and passes them around to the others. 

Jin Ling still hasn’t gotten used to eating at the Chief Cultivator’s table, even if Hanguang-jun is technically his uncle now. Sometimes Hanguang-jun even does the cooking, and feeds Wei-dajiu with his own chopsticks while everyone else watches, and then Jin Ling tries to choke himself to death on the bamboo shoots in his yan du xian before deciding that Lanling can’t afford to lose the first decent zongzhu it’s had since his great-grandfather’s time. 

“I wish I was married,” Ouyang Zizhen sighs dreamily, resting his cheek on his hand as Xiao-Yu tries to steal his dumplings next. On his other side, A-Qing’s cheeks flush crimson, and she stares resolutely down at her hands while Hanguang-jun offers her a plate of savory vegetables. “It looks so nice, Wei-qianbei.”

“It is nice,” Wei-dajiui winks—and oh, gross, because Hanguang-jun is blushing now, and staring at Wei Wuxian as if he’s the most amazing thing in the world. “Marrying Lan Zhan is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Mm,” Hanguang-jun says quietly, putting a heaping spoonful of potato congee into his husband’s bowl. “Wei Ying is the best thing that happened to me, too.”

Ouyang Zizhen wails. 

“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?”

“What, you want an arranged marriage?” Wei-dajiu frowns. “ I never went through the process myself—” and Hanguang-jun reaches out and squeezes Wei-dajiu’s waist, as if even thinking about Wei-dajiu seeing a matchmaker was too much— “and I don’t really know anyone who did, since Yunmeng’s a lot freer about these things. Are you sure, Jingyi?”

“I’m not asking for a matchmaker,” Jingyi says, tossing his long ponytail over his shoulder. “I want to know what to look for if my love of a lifetime comes along. So what were you looking for?”

“Nothing when I was your age, A-Yi. I thought I would spend my whole life at Lotus Pier, and marry one of the shijies or shimeis who liked me. But then I met Lan Zhan, and…”

And then his ideal became Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling finishes, chewing on a mouthful of mustard greens. Everyone knows that, Jingyi!

Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t end there. It goes on for the better part of an hour, and all through the course of coconut pudding Hanguang-jun made for dessert, and Jin Ling can’t even leave because that would be rude, and the food is too good to pass up even if Ouyang Zizhen wants to ask about kissing now.

“How old is old enough to have your first kiss?” he inquires, while Lan Sizhui giggles into his hands and elbows Zizhen to make him stop. “I’m sixteen, so is that too young?”

“I was thirty-eight when I first kissed Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says dryly. “I would advise patience, unless Ouyang-gongzi already has a beloved one in mind.”

Jin Ling wants to die. Why is his extended family like this?

“Pudding tax,” Xiao-Yu announces from his lap. “Ling-gege, can A-Yu have a bite?”

“I’m Sect Leader Jin, though. I don’t have to pay you taxes.”

Xiao-Yu gives him a serious little nod before turning to Sizhui. “Yuan-gege, pay pudding taxes.”

“You’ve had enough pudding,” Sizhui scolds; and indeed, the dishes are mostly empty now, except for the serving bowls in the middle of the table. “Come on, A-Yu. Let’s go visit the rabbits.”

They end up at the rabbit field about ten minutes later, after Jingyi and Sizhui help Hanguang-jun with the dishes. Jin Ling thinks it must make a very strange picture: after all, one doesn’t often see three Lan juniors, one Ouyang sect heir, one Jin sect leader, and one Lan baby lying in the grass with bunnies climbing over them. But the peace and quiet is beautifully welcome after the political unrest in Lanling and the dog food in Wei-dajiu’s tiny kitchen, so Jin Ling closes his eyes and settles down for a nap with a small white rabbit on his chest. 

“I think Shufu was right,” he hears A-Qing say. “There’s no point in having a list of requirements. Look at what happened to Jiang-zongzhu.”

“His first list was terrible, though,” Zizhen objects. “And he’s going to be married by next spring, so it worked for him in the end. After he fixed his requirements, I mean.”

“Gossipping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Sizhui says tranquilly. “And what Father meant was that having a list means you might miss your fated one when they come along, so it’s best to think about what you want, instead of what your beloved should be.”

“I’d like it if my wife liked to eat my cooking,” sighs Zizhen—he’s an excellent cook, too, and Jin Ling knows for a fact that A-Qing’s favorite food is the shrimp and water spinach Zizhen’s mother taught him to make. “Then I could cook, and she could wash our children’s hands and bring them to the kitchen when I was done, and we would all eat together.”

“I think I’d like a husband who knew how to do my hair,” A-Qing says, not even trying to be subtle. Jin Ling has seen the combs Zizhen keeps giving her, even if they’re far too young for a courtship, and Zizhen is always the first to offer assistance whenever A-Qing’s hair falls out of its bun. “Even a plain bun is too hard for me, since my hair’s so bushy.”

Zizhen nearly drops his rabbit. “Oh,” he whispers, blushing so hard that his neck turns red. “That’s good!”

Jin Ling wants to die. He can’t stand visiting Lotus Pier because his jiujiu is obviously courting, even if he won’t say he is, and now he’s going to have to watch A-Qing and Zizhen flirt until Zewu-jun and Ouyang-zongzhu give them permission to get married. 

“What about you, Jingyi?”

“Huh? Oh, I want to marry someone who won’t mind how loud I am,” Jingyi shrugs. “Or someone even louder than me, so we can make trouble together. A-Yuan?”

“I haven’t really thought about it, actually,” Sizhui sighs. “I’m Zewu-jun’s heir, so I have to get married, but I’m not sure if I want to.”

A moment of silence. 

“Then you won’t have to,” Jin Ling says. Everyone stares at him. “Zewu-jun didn’t get married, and Hanguang-jun wouldn’t have if Wei-dajiu didn’t come back to life. You can just choose an heir born to one of your cousins, since Jingyi was going to inherit the sect before Hanguang-jun adopted you.”

The others swoop in to assure Sizhui that no one’s going to make him get married, and Jin Ling folds his arms behind his head and wonders if his biao-ge could possibly be like Zewu-jun: a yi xin yi shen, whole in heart and body, who eschewed marriage in favor of cultivation. It would explain a lot, Jin Ling thinks, because even he knows what it feels like when someone makes his heart beat fast and his face turn pink, and Sizhui’s never felt that way. 

(Jin Ling tries not to think of Nie-zongzhu’s hot-tempered archivist, who knocked him into the dust with her saber the last time he visited Qinghe and then told him he had pretty eyes. Nie Shiyong is a few years older than him, and he usually ends up nursing several new bruises each time he meets her, but Jin Ling is man enough to admit to himself that he likes her. Maybe.)

“Xiao-Yu is sleepy,” little A-Yu says, interrupting his embarrassing train of thought before it can go any further. “Yuan-gege, I have a nap?”

“You can just sleep here,” Jingyi suggests. “The grass is soft enough, right? And you can use one of us for a pillow.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui chides, and Jin Ling hears the long grass rustling as his cousin gets to his feet. “Come on, A-Yu. I’ll take you home to A-Niang.”

“No need,” someone else says; and that’s Hanguang-jun’s voice, coming up the hill from the direction of the jingshi. “I am here. A-Yu, come.”

Jin Ling scrambles up to greet his uncle by marriage (sect leader or not, jiujiu would kill him if he greeted the Chief Cultivator from the ground) and then he reels back and blinks in surprise, because Hanguang-jun’s hair is up in a loose braid instead of a half-topknot, and somebody seems to have decorated the braid with a row of half-bloomed lotus flowers. 

“Wei Ying did it,” Hanguang-jun says, with a small, soft smile that makes Sizhui and the others gasp. “He will do the same for your hair, too, if you ask.”

And then he lifts Xiao-Yu up into his arms and carries him away, leaving Jin Ling still frozen mid-bow with Jingyi and Zizhen gaping behind him.

“I think what Hanguang-jun meant is that the first requirement for marriage is love,” Lan Sizhui remarks, when Jin Ling finally snaps his mouth shut. “And that no matter what we want, or think we want, we shouldn’t settle for less.”

(Jin Ling is the first of his friends to marry, and he never forgets his biao-ge’s advice until the end of his days.)

[thiswasinevitableid]

for mermay, indruck, 5, sfw? poison could refer to a love potion of some kind, or maybe a blue-ringed octopus (or other poisonous sea creature) mer?

Here you go!

Even with his future sight warning him this would be awkward, Indrid twitches his tail nervously as Juno, the volunteer checking him in to the venom donor clinic, frowns at her intake form. 

“See, trouble is, because today’s a mer donor day, most of them give their donations from barbs. You’re gonna have to give from your fangs right?”

“Yes.” Maybe he should just cut his loses, come back on one of the Naga days, and hope no one tries to kill him.

“Volunteers gotta go through special training for milking fangs, so you may have to wait until one of them is available.”

“I do not mind waiting. I came to donate, and I have no urgent engagements. Is there somewhere I can be out of your way?”

Juno smiles, “We got some nice sunny rocks--hold that thought. Duck, you just get here?” She calls this to a human in khaki clothing. His black hair is streaked with grey--matching Indrid’s tail--and his smile is so bright Indrid wants to bask in it.

“Yep! Thacker got to the station a little early so I could clock out sooner. Seems like you got somethin’ I can help with.”

“Sure can. Duck, this is” she glances at the form, “Indrid. He’s a mer, but he needs to donate via fangs.”

“Roger that.” The man holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid shakes his hand, his visions having taught him this is the correct way to reciprocate the greeting. 

“How long can you be outta the water?”

“Quite some time.”

“Great, in that case we’ll just go to the normal milkin station rather than me luggin things down here. Right this way.”

Indrid slithers up the beach behind him, drawing perplexed stares from humans and distrustful ones from the other mers. Duck holds open the flap on a tall, tan tent and Indrid heads inside. 

“You ever given venom before?”

“No. I, I am only recently back in the area. When I heard about the program I knew I could be of help.”

“Sure can. Sea krait, right?” Duck gestures to the silver and black of his tail. 

“Yes” Indrid smiles; most people just say snake.

“You reptile cousins can really fuck a human up. And who knows, your venom might be one of the kinds they can engineer multiple anti-vemons from.”

“I would like that. I like humans, and wish to help you. It is not your fault so very many things can kill you.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, “what happens if a King Naga bites you? Or even another venomous mer?”

“....I die. Ah, I, ah, see your point.” He smiles, sheepish, “apologies, although I wish to help humans, most of them prefer to stay far away from me, and so my manners are not always what they should be.”

“No harm done. Here,” he steps up onto a short stool, holding out a half circle of plastic filled with strong, astringent liquid, “put this in your mouth and bring your fangs out; we learned we have to disinfect them right before we milk.”

“PHeelphhh” Indrid winces as the liquid stings his senses. 

“I know, it ain’t pleasant. Won’t be much longer.” The human stretches a thin sheet of rubber across a shallow circle, checks his watch, and then steps back onto the stool, “okay, when I say open, open your mouth wide so I can slide that one out and get this one in position. Don’t bite down until I say to.”

Indrid nods, opens his mouth when commanded. Even with the disinfectant in his noses, Duck’s scent is overwhelming from so close up; sweat, sunscreen, soap, and something woody that must be his deodorant. He bites down when Duck says, drops of venom pattering into the container. The human keeps one eye on the time, explaining that he doesn’t want Indrid to exhaust all his venom accidentally, thus rendering him vulnerable or unable to hunt. 

“Aaaand done, go ahead and put those fangs away.” Duck removes the collection jar, labels it and puts it in a fridge as Indrid stretches his jaw, tensed from giving such a prolonged injection bite. 

“Now, we always give donors a thank you; come pick what you like.” He swings open a second fridge. Indrid cocks his head, studying the packs of what he knows to be sushi and the different types of fruit. Flicking out his tongue, he scents something delicious, and picks up a bottle of pink liquid.

“I will have this Guava Juice.” He pops the cap and dips his tongue in for a taste, then for a second and a third. A charming noise enters the air, like a bird who long ago gave up on being dignified. Duck’s laughing. 

“Sorry, wasn’t expectin that to be so cute.”

Indrid blushes; that’s not a word generally applied to him. 

“Thank you for the juice. And for acomodating me.”

“Any time. Welcome to come back the next time we host a drive.” The human holds the door open for him, waves as he slithers down the sand, sipping his juice. 

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

“Hello, Duck.”

Duck doesn’t even turn around before he replies, “Nice to see you back, Indrid.”

This marks the fourth venom donation day the mer has come to, and he always gets paired with Duck. Duck doesn’t mind one bit; Indrid might be alarming to look at, not the elegantly finned, otherwise humanoid creature most people expect a mer to be. His scales appear on his arms and shoulders, and there’s even a patch of them on the back of his neck. His eyes are blood red, his smile wide and a little alarming even without the fangs showing. He’s also sweet, in an odd way, and takes genuine interest in Duck’s wellbeing and daily life. 

Honestly, Duck wouldn’t chatting with him at a time when he isn’t jamming venom collection jars into his mouth. But asking to hang out with a patient is weird enough without the added difficulty of that patient needing to be in the water most of the time. 

They go through their usual routine, Indrid helping himself to a mango juice this time before waving goodbye. 

Two days later, Duck is checking on tree specimens when he senses red eyes on his back.

“You do not want to touch that trunk, there is a very large spider in that knot.”

“Indrid?”

“......no?”

“Just a prescient voice in the trees?”

“Yes. I am a very helpful tree.”

Duck turns in the direction of the river, one that feeds directly into the sea, “You know I ain’t gonna be mad if you wanna talk, right?”

“Of course, it was merely an attempt at a goof.” Indrid comes into view, peeking out from the bushes on the shoreline, “I was curious about your work and wanted to see you in action.”

“Afraid there ain’t much of that. What you’ve seen is kinda the gist of what I do.”

“I find it fascinating all the same. May I continue watching?”

Duck smiles, “Sure.��

Indrid turns out to be excellent company, in that he’s quiet for large stretches of time only to ask Duck about the exact thing he wants to talk about. It’s not until Duck is wrapping up and readying to head inland to the ranger station that Indrid asks an entirely new kind of question.

“You are a long way from home, aren’t you?”

He nods, “Spent decades in my home town, feelin like I couldn’t leave, like I had a responsibility to stay. When the chance to work out here, to try to preserve this fuckin amazin ecosystem, popped up, I decided it was time for a change of scene.”

He shivers as Indrid’s tail pets his ankle and the mer sighs, “I am glad you did.”

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

Indrid becomes a regular work companion after that. Sometimes he arrives with helpful information, like which paths might have tourists in need of assistance or where Duck can find the specimen he’s looking for, other times he comes just to talk or listen. These days, Duck finds himself hoping for the glimpse of silver and black in the water that announces his friend’s presence, and enjoying the appreciative looks he spies Indrid giving him when he thinks his back is turned. 

So when something slithers in the bushes behind him, he simply calls out, “What’d you think of those cookies Juno brought in yesterday?”

“I do not know of what you speak, human.”

He whirls, finds a King Naga staring him down. This is probably bad, probably the reason rangers are required to carry a machete or hatchet, but he doesn’t want to be wrong and hurt someone just because they startled him.

“Can I, uh, help you with anythin, sir?”

“Yesss, you can. Be a nice human and stay where you are. I hate having to chasssse my food.”

“Uh” he steps backwards, keeping one eye on the fanged mouth, “that ain’t necessary. Know plenty of places you can get food, if you want.”

“Meager portionssss. And not half assss tempting.”

“Look man, I don’t wanna fight, so please just back off.”

The naga hisses, winding closer at an alarming speed. Then there’s a burst of movement and a flash of silver.

“You stay away from him.” Indrid rises as tall as he can, his body between Duck and the threat. 

“Mind your own busssiness, ssseagoer.” 

“Someone trying to make a meal out of my friend is most definitely my business.” 

“Sssso be it.” The naga lunges. Indrid pushes Duck out of the way and catches his opponent, the force of the strike sending them both sliding down the incline towards the river. The naga outweighs Indrid by a considerable amount, keeps pinning him down only for the mer to wriggle free at the last moment.  Duck knows the agreement is humans stay out of Naga/merfolk conflicts, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to sit by and let Indrid get killed for his sake. 

Right as he locates a large, hopefully sturdy branch, there’s a tremendous splash. The naga thrashes in the water as he’s pulled downstream. Indrid is underwater, holding his opponent in such a way that, the next time he strikes, he has to put his head beneath the current. Right into Indrid’s waiting grasp. The mer keeps his head trapped as his tail whips back and forth. It’s only when the naga is mostly limp, and Duck afraid he’s just witnessed a murder, that Indrid releases him. The half-drowned creature drags himself onto the shore, slithering away without a second glance at Duck. 

“And, and do not come back!” Indrid pants from the shallows, struggling to pull himself back onto the sand. Duck hurries down to him, and Indrid reaches out his hand, concerned, “Are, did, did he hurt you.”

“No, not a fuckin scratch. ‘Drid, pretty sure you just saved my fuckin life.”

“Oh good.” Indrid’s smile is bright, even as his eyes grow blurry, “it is nice to end things with a worthwhile deed.”

Duck sees the puncture wounds in the merman’s arm the instant before he passes out.

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

Indrid wakes up, which is in and of itself a surprise. As is the fact he’s half submerged in water. Rolling over with a groan, he discovers he’s still on the beach where he fought the naga. His bandaged arm aches but is intact, someone has thoughtfully placed a pillow under his head, and there’s a small tent just up the incline. Sound asleep in a sitting position outside the tent is Duck. 

He wriggles and crawls his way to the human, arms giving out as he reaches him, which means his head lands in Duck’s lap.

“Huwhazzat? Oh fuck, ‘Drid, you’re up.” Instead of pushing him away, Duck cradles his head and pets his hair, “thank fuck, I was so fuckin worried. Dani said it might take a few days for you to recover but I couldn’t stop worryin.”

“Duck? How long have you been here looking after me?” 

“Since you got bit. So three days ago. Sarah got some anit-vemon down for you, and Dani swam up to bring you extra medicine just in case. Oh, and Barclay brought you food, I been tryin to get it into you when you were a little bit awake.”

Indrid manages to sit up, curling his tail around them, “You did not need to do all this for me. I knew the risks when I came to your aid. You did not need to save me in return.”

“Fuck need, I wanted to. You, you mean so fuckin much to me.” Duck strokes his cheek, runs his fingers up his tail, “I missed you so much the last three days, realized how so often the part of my afternoon was you comin to talk to me.”

The futures take an odd turn and Indrid shakes his head to clear them, certain he’s seeing wrong. 

“And, uh, and I wanted to ask, uh, when you’re feelin better do you, uh, wanna have dinner with me. Like, uh, on a date?”

“Yes, so very much” Indrid drapes his arms around him, resting their foreheads together.

“Mind if I get a little kiss to tide me over?”

Indrid dips his head down, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before rubbing their cheeks together with a purr, “Apologies, but my kisses must be close mouthed. I’d hate to nick you with a fang.”

“Fine by me.” Duck kisses his shoulders, rubs his tail, “any kind of kiss from you is a goddamn blessin. Besides” he murmurs in Indrid’s ear, “sure we can figure out lots of other things to do together.”

“Absolutely” Indrid purrs, “but for now, would you care to join me for a swim?”

[redhawtriot]

Tinder Games (BNHA x Reader online dating)

Let’s get one thing straight: You loved to ‘play’ Tinder.

At first you felt a considerable amount of guilt from the mindless swipes that you would dish out and believed that it was completely shallow to begin a connection to someone based solely on looks.

However.

The more that your thumb slid across the front of your phone, the less impersonal the action felt and soon the guilt faded into the back of your mind like a lost sock.

Besides, you never really met anyone off of one of the site. It became more of a game really. You played to see who you matched with and would rally up some meaningless but nevertheless interesting conversation with strangers and maintain them just as that—strangers.

Until a certain someone ruined that trend.

Y/N

Age: Y/A

Work: Y/W School: Y/S

Just looking for someone to paint me like one of their French girls. Send me your best pick up line!

Izuku: I don’t wanna sound rude or anything but you are so beautiful and I would love to have the chance to get to know you ❤️ if that’s okay.

Y/N: Bio.

Izuku: ...Huh?

Y/N: “If you wanna be my lover, you have gotta give... me your best pick up line.”-- Spice Girls (don’t look this lyric up just trust me)

Izuku: Okay... Um.

Izuku: Is your name Y/N? because you’re beautiful and I would like to get to know you❤️ if that’s okay.

Izuku: plz.

Y/N: you make a compelling argument.

Y/N: Okay deal.

Todoroki: I will be there at 8:18 to pick you up. 

Todoroki: I need your address.

Y/N: Woahhhh there Buck-a-roo🤠. Lets slow down a little there buddy.✋

Todoroki: I am very confused. I am sorry if I offended you in some way but I thought that you had asked for me to give my best pick up time.

Y/N: Line***

Todoroki: Oh so there is a line? What time will you be finished with my competitors?

Y/N: No a Pick up Line*** it’s where you say something witty to grab the attention of someone you want to... court? is that a term that can be used here...?

Todoroki: Oh my mistake... I am assuming I have grabbed your attention enough with my foolishness.

Y/N: You have assumed correct. 

Todoroki: so the next step is courting. 

Todoroki: I will be there at 8:18 to pick you up.

Todoroki: I need your address.

Y/N: I-- okay.

Y/N: Hey you super liked me but never messaged me...?

Bakugou: And?

Y/N: And I was really looking forward to your pick up line.

Bakugou: You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m doing that weird shit.

Y/N: okay bye.😒

Bakugou: whatever idiot.

Bakugou: Hello?

Bakugou: Fine. 

Bakugou: You look like trash. Let me take you out.

Y/N: Now was that so hard?🥰

Bakugou: ARE YOU GONNA COME OUT WITH ME OR NOT??

Y/N: Let me think about it...

Y/N: I was jk! Jeeze!

Y/N: Stop whatever you're typing right now!

Y/N: I can literally feel the rage through my cellular data.

Y/N: I’ll go out with you! Ok? (against my better judgement)

Bakugou: Good.

Kaminari: Baby girl, let me take your world by storm. I’ll be there in a flash like lightning, and make you wet like rain, then we can bang like thunder. 

Y/N: Oh god. You have a weather quirk don’t you?😷🤢🤮

Kaminari: Your quirk must be making me fall in like with you.🙃

Y/N: fall in like with me...?

Kaminari: Of course I will. Your wish is my command, princess.

Y/N: I hate that this worked out for you so much. 😂

Kaminari: 😈

Iida: Good Evening. My name is Tenya Iida. I would like to propose a formal invitation to you to meet at a nearby convenient location so that we can become better acquainted.

Y/N: nope. try again. with more soul.

Iida: Excuse me? I don’t think I understand your dilemma. 

Y/N: I need a pick up line. Only then will I decided if you are truly worthy of my affections. Aaaaand ACTION.

Iida: I don’t see how that will aid this situation.

Y/N: *yawn*🤭  

Iida: You cannot yawn through text!!!

Iida: Oh my goodness, I caught your yawn! It’s contagious! You can yawn through text!!

Y/N: Haha I’m still waiting on my pickup line lover boy.

Iida: Hopefully my admiration for you is just as contagious as that yawn was.

Iida: Now, when are you available to get together?

Y/N: Right freaking now.

Y/N: So you never gave me your best pick up line, but is it okay if I give you mine?😊

Kirishima: yeah, man go ahead!

Kirishima: Im sorry for not messaging you. You’re kinda out of my league honestly... I just wasn’t sure if you would really answer.

Y/N: pardon my French but exscusez moi?!? outta your league? Um no. It’s the other way around. 💀

Kirishima: I don’t agree but thank you.

Kirishima: actually no, let me come up with the pick up line. That wasn’t very manly of me, was it?

Y/N: “yeah man go ahead” You can do it!!!

Kirishima: Roses are red, My hair is too, youre the embodiment of my dreams come true,

Kirishima: Im already falling, so hold my hand, I’d always protect you if I was your man.

Kirishima: hello?

Kirishima: Uh... Y/N ? That was kind of corny. Sorry if that went too far...

Y/N: no ... it’s just. I have something in my eye🥺😭

[yamalegacy]

OVERLOAD & BUNNY GIRL

[ prologue ]

SUMMARY: A new small group of villains is spreading chaos all over Japan and no hero agency seem to know what to do about them — they are perfectly organized, always manage to escape arrest, never cause any casualties and its members remain impossible to identify. All heroes can do is wait for them to strike again and hope that they will be able to capture them.

mirko x villain!female!oc

Any place that made it impossible to avoid large crowds made it on her list of things that she found too obnoxious to deal with, though they often could be found of her ‘Places that cannot be avoided to lead a life worthy of a decently responsible adult’ list. Either way, she hated every entry on both those lists, as they brought nothing but misery to her antisocial existence.

Subway trains were among the worst of the worst. The overwhelming stench of sweat emanating from the man behind her and his bag digging into her ribs were not helping her enjoy the experience right now. At least that one was not one of the touchy kind who thought he could allow himself to feel her up and throw a shitty excuse along the lines of “Sorry, train’s packed”, which was no excuse at all, really.

Things only got worse at the next stop. Distracting herself by unlocking her phone and scrolling through social medias, she had not paid any attention to the new passengers who had stepped inside the train. When she felt something oddly warm and soft tickling her nose, it was too late.

Fluffy bunny ears. There was a pair of fluffy white bunny ears tickling her nose. Fucking obnoxious.

"Hey, bunny girl," she called, and the ears twitched at the sound, "could you keep your ears out of my face?"

"Fuck, sorry," the bunny girl said as she glanced above her shoulder. Sharp red eyes struggled to meet soft green ones — much higher than the little bunny seemed to have expected.

The taller woman blinked. Those red eyes and long lashes, those sharp features and that beautiful, seemingly flawless tan skin. She knew them. She had stared at the little Pro Hero figure discarded on her desk at home just before leaving for work that morning, and even if it had been hours, she hadn't forgotten. That Mirko was a lot prettier than a low quality figure had given her expectations for.

"I don't sign autographs when I'm not in costume," the bunny said after an uncomfortable moment of mutual silent staring.

"I don't want one."

The bunny turned her back to her again, a fluffy ear hitting her smack in the face, and she was certain that she had noticed a flustered blush on the pint-sized Pro Hero's cheeks. How cute. Heroes really were something else, with their out of proportions egos and inability to handle rejection. One more reason to her to loathe their very existence.

But well, that Mirko woman was cute when blushing. (At least it was a discreet blushing, not like her own overwhelming red flush that reached all the way to the tip of her ears whenever she got embarrassed, which thankfully only happened on rare occasions). Poor little bunny.

There was only a handful of stops left before she could step out of the train to walk the rest of the way home, get away from those fluffy ears still too close to her face, from all those people standing too close to one another. Too close to her. And she could not have been more grateful.

As the doors opened yet again, a crowd pushed inside the already packed train. Too much. She could feel too many people pressing against her body, an elbow jabbing her in the ribs as someone struggled to stay upright, a knee harshly bumping into her own. Her left hand cramped up immediately, pain spreading up her entire arm at the tension building inside her body, ready to boil over and explode at any moment.

Bad. It was bad. Real fucking bad.

She gritted her teeth, breath coming out in heavy, shallow puffs, and shut her eyes tightly to focus on keeping it together. Too much noise. It felt like her head was about to implode, threatened the pressure growing inside her skull. She needed to step out, to breathe—

Just before the doors could close again and seal her disastrous fate, strong, calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist and dragged her out, pushing through the crowd for her.

She heard the train leave the station, and before she could process anything else, she was sat on a small, uncomfortable bench. The first thing she saw was a pair of red eyes staring right back at her, as if to try and see through her, to read her thoughts.

Mirko, the Rabbit Hero (Was she really Mirko the Hero when she wasn't wearing her ridiculously revealing bodysuit?), was kneeling in front of her, looking at her with a slight frown, wrist still held tightly in her firm grip.

"You okay there? You look like you're gonna explode, or something."

There was a hint of teasing in the bunny girl's voice, and the woman found herself scoffing at the tone, at the words. She wasn't about to explode, but close enough, considering how messy things could get when her Quirk got overloaded. That bunny had definitely saved many lives without even realizing what she had done.

"I'm okay. Don't worry your pretty Pro Hero head over me."

Through shaky breathes and the pain invading her body, blood pumping against her eardrums, she almost couldn't recognize her own voice. Had she always sounded so pathetically weak? There was no way in hell her voice had always been so croaky... right?

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?" the bunny cooed. That teasing tone again. Though it was much more obvious this time.

But bunny girl wasn't looking at her face anymore, her gaze instead focused on her left arm — she stared for several seconds that seemed to drag on forever, before she started to press the pads of her thumbs roughly over the tensed muscles, massaging the pain away. Her fingers were calloused, but there was a level of knowledge in the way her thumbs moved up and down; it was genuinely helpful.

"You got some water in that bag of yours?" the bunny asked, throwing a quick glance at the messenger bag that had been discarded on the floor. When she nodded in response, Mirko reached for it with one hand, the other one still rubbing at her fingers, and easily took out the bottle, and held it between her thighs so that she could unscrew it open with only one hand. "Drink up. You need to stay hydrated. Cramping like that isn't normal, ya know."

Was that stupid Pro Hero genuinely worried about her health? She wanted to roll her eyes, to laugh, but she found herself unable to. So she grabbed her bottle and drank.

"It's just my Quirk acting up," she explained, unwilling to give the fluffy little Pro Hero more details. "It's not usually that bad, is all."

The bunny girl's hands moved up from her fingers, to her wrist, to her forearm, applying pressure with her thumbs. A shiver ran up the woman's arm as a finger found its way just under the material of her rolled up sleeve. She should have put an end to it, moved her arm away from that hero's grip — but it actually helped, eased the pain of the cramps, made the dangerous tension recede and quiet down to a whisper.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Uh?"

Mirko frowned.

"You could have just ignored me. Everyone else on that train ignored me."

The bunny girl shook her head.

"There should always be someone willing to help. And just ‘cause I'm not wearing my costume, it doesn't mean I don't wanna help others, right?" Mirko smirked. "And my face was right into that dude's smelly armpit. Good excuse to get outta there, ya know."

The woman wanted to laugh, but, still struggling to catch her breath, she just coughed instead. She noticed then that Mirko had retrieved her hands now, that the massaging had stopped. She almost missed the warm contact, the way it so effortlessly eased the pain that had been building up for months now.

"What are you? Eighty and retired?"

"Do all heroes insult the citizens they are supposed to serve and protect?"

"I sure as hell do!"

The Pro Hero was grinning, her teeth pearly white — a pretty smile, no matter if it was overflowing with too much confidence and cockiness.

"Think you can get up?"

At the bunny girl's question, she merely nodded, still unsure. The pain had eased, but it had not left. It coursed through her veins, ever present. She knew that she needed to do something about her Quirk soon, or things would not go as smoothly next time she would feel that pressure inside her body again. There wouldn't always be a stranger in a train willing to help her. Bossman really needed to hurry the hell up.

She watched as the bunny got back up from her kneeling position and extended a hand towards her. She took it and allowed herself to be hoisted up from the bench. And, before she could try to reach down for her bag, the bunny had already grabbed it for her, going as far as hanging it over her shoulder.

“Be good and take better care of yourself, doll face, ‘kay?”

She scoffed at the comment and shook her head. Being lectured by a Pro Hero known to be reckless — she only knew that Mirko was reckless because she had done some research after (accidentally) acquiring the stupid little figure — was a new low in her life.

“There won’t always be a hot stranger in the train to help you.”

The sentence was punctuated with a wink. The only reaction that she could give the hero was a mere roll of her eyes. Who knew a bunny girl could be so obnoxious without even having to try?

“Is flirting part of your Quirk?” she inquired, eyes fixed on the shorter woman.

“Nah, that’s just my natural charms! C’m’on, let’s get out of the station before a crowd comes in, don’t want you to explode, right? Wait— you wouldn’t actually explode?”

“Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t,” she answered, shrugging. It earned her a bark of laughter from Mirko.

They walked side by side for a handful of minutes, not exchanging a word. It was weird. She didn’t know how she had gotten herself in such a situation, playing nice with a Pro Hero.

“Alright, doll face—”

“Stop calling me doll face.”

“Then tell me your name.”

The hero was smirking, proud and cocky.

“You could call me Yumeko, but we’re not going to see each other again, bunny girl.”

The hero extended a hand towards her.

“Usagiyama Rumi.”

“Thank you for helping me. Goodbye, bunny girl.”

“Bye, doll face! Try not to explode all over the pavement!”

AOYAMA YUMEKO ( 青山 優芽子 )

QUIRK:: lock & load. allows yumeko to absorb shocks and store them in her body to weaponize them by concentrating the energy of the shocks in certain parts of her body.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Core Drive - Clean 1.05

A/N: Wow this one has been in the works for far too long. Apologies all around. Logan’s time in rehab is coming to an end, and he has to make some decisions about what life looks like for him going forward. What does he want from his second chance at life? And who is he going to include in it? There is one more part of this section to come before this story really kicks into gear and I cannot wait. 

Warning: depression, drug use and addiction, trauma, abandonment, death 

Word Count: 7,371

On Miguel’s last day at the inpatient rehab facility, he asked Logan to join him for a walk down by the water. The weather wasn’t great for it, but Logan could sense that the man was looking for more than a pleasant stroll. The gray clouds filled the sky, blotting out the sun and cooling the air temperature, but Logan followed his friend out into it without questioning it, neither of them speaking until they’d reached the railing that ran parallel to the beach, Logan stopping after Miguel, waiting for him to say something. 

“You know I’m outta here tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question, and Logan wasn’t sure what the point was. Yeah, of course I know that. Miguel swallowed, the muscles of his throat working under his skin before he let out a laugh. “I mean, yeah obviously.” 

“Miguel,” Logan shook his head, the longer strands of his hair falling into his eyes. “What…” 

“Look I know we talked about...a lotta shit, right?” We sure fuckin’ have. There were few people aside from you and Ezekiel that he’d shared as many details about himself with. But there’s still a lot he doesn’t know.  “But...I just thought maybe we take one last chance to… talk about…” He sniffed and looked over at Logan. “About what we...what got us here.” 

Logan’s eyes widened then as a pair of wild horses galloped into his vision along the shoreline, their hoofprints forcing flashes of a very different horse running through very different sand. Fuck...this is how he wants to spend his last… He sighed heavily though, knowing that Miguel’s suggestion was likely for the best. It was good, having an ally, someone like Miguel who was intimately familiar with the type of struggle that Logan was fighting to free himself of, and he knew that part of having an ally meant letting them know your weakest parts. “Yeah,” he breathed the word, barely audible over the waves. “Yeah that’s...we should.” 

The two men had leaned against the rail then, Miguel prompting Logan to begin, asking him to tell him more about the trip to the park that had set everything in motion. “I know you said...in group once, you said something happened, that your brother in law did something to you on that trip… is that… did that have something to do with you usin’?” 

Before long, Logan had launched into the grittier details that had played out in his nightmares for the better part of the last nine months. He skipped over the things that he knew Miguel already knew- that the trip was supposed to be a bonding experience for him and his sister’s future husband, that the man had lost his sense of reality and snapped, that he’d abandoned Logan in the park and manipulated his family upon their return. He elaborated on the parts that Miguel didn’t know- the extent of his injuries both physical and mental, and how his time alone in the desert broke him. 

“Everything- the… the vultures, the bison, the fuckin jackrabbits, the,” he nodded towards the foamy surf where a strong, chestnut colored banker stepped confidently up to a white and brown filly. “The horses. It’s all fake. None of it’s real.” There was no way that live animals could be safely and humanely used in the parks. They, like the Hosts, had been built, their actions simulated and determined by a few lines of what he was told was simple code. “For me it was always…” Logan leaned against the weathered wooden post, arms crossed, his right hand squeezing his left bicep just above his elbow. He narrowed his eyes, focused on the arch of the darker horse’s mane as the animal tossed its head. “It was easy to keep...to remind myself that it was just a game. You know?” 

Logan saw Miguel’s shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Nah, I mean,” he laughed, folding his arms over the railing. “I never been to Westworld or, what’s one of the other ones you got?” He smacked the splintered wood, flakes of dried paint chipping off. “Shogun World?” He laughed again and shook his head. “Shit man, I’ve never even been to goddamn Disneyworld, so…” He shrugged again and even Logan had to let out a snort of laughter. I sound like an entitled fuckin prick right now. “So when it comes to your fancy as fuck vacations? Assume I don’t know nothin.” Miguel used the back of one hand to slap Logan on the arm. “I don’t assume you know shit about the Bronx right?” 

You sure don’t. “That’s fair.” Logan turned to look down at Miguel with a smirk. He shook his head and let the smirk fade as he sighed, eyes going back to the pair of horses, their tails flicking as they trotted along beside one another. “So,” he gestured with one hand, waving it before letting it fall back to its original position. “They… all the Hosts in the parks, they’re all characters in a storyline.” He blew out a sharp breath. “They’re all fuckin clichés. The town drunk, the sheriff, the-“ he felt his top lip twitch in disgust. “The rancher’s daughter, and it’s all… well for fuckin sane people, it’s all easy enough to remind yourself thats it’s not real. They’re just fuckin robots and it’s not…” He sniffed as he recalled the way that Dolores’s programmed painful screams did nothing to him but pierce his ears. “Even watchin’ ‘em die it just… it was a game. Didn’t matter.” 

The white and brown horse nudged her companion and then both horses broke into a gallop, their hooves splashing through the shallow water as it receded around their ankles. Logan heard Miguel’s whispered damn and he silently agreed. “The horses there though…” Logan kept his eyes on the pair down on the beach, but in his mind he saw a very different beast. “It’s harder to forget that they’re…” he flinched. “When the Hosts die it’s… it’s dramatic. And realistic and...satisfying in a sick fuckin way. ‘Cause it’s what you go there for. But the horses it’s… watchin’ them die it’s different.”

He curled his fingers into fists and he could feel the fine filament strands of the robotic horse’s faux mane.  

“That damn horse he had me on?  Shit, they must’ve programmed it to just go. Y’know? Not stop until the rider told it to or,” he inhaled through his nose, “or the narrative demanded it or whatever. But at that point I was so… I was out of it. I couldn’t tell it to stop, I had no fuckin… I had no clue where I even was.” He flinched, top lip curling. “It kept fuckin’ going and I… well I guess figured that I was better off on it than trying to wander around alone, but fuck, I…” He looked over at his friend then as the two Banker horses they’d been watching got closer. “I wasn’t ready for how it was gonna fuck me up when that thing died. It just…” 

He closed his eyes then and he saw himself crawling away from the collapsed horse, raw sobs emanating from his chest as the sun scorched his bare skin. When he opened his eyes again the corners were stinging with tears. Fuck. 

 “I remember bein’ on it, feelin’ it move and then...then it just went still, stopped movin’, it…” He swallowed as another set of tears fell from his eyes. “It dropped. I felt it’s muscles stop and I looked in it’s eye and it was done. It ran itself out and it didn’t even know it was comin’ because it wasn’t alive. 

“But you were.” Miguel spoke quietly, a soft damn following his words. 

Logan nodded. “Yeah. That...that was when I first thought I was gonna die and I...shit… It was the most scared I’ve ever been. Dyin’ alone? Without… anyone there.” Your name slipped into his mind. Without seein’ her again. “That’s when I realized I didn’t have my… the picture that I had with me? The one I brought to help keep myself grounded if I needed it.” Before that trip he hadn’t needed his emergency reminder in over a year. He’d only brought the photo of Juliet in case William needed it the one of you he’d brought purely because he wanted to. But when he found himself actually in need of a reminder that he wasn’t alone, not in the real world, he’d found himself without it. “Once I realied that I… I lost my shit. Went completely out of it, spent a couple days like that and…and started thinkin’ I shoulda died, that it’d be better.” 

“Fuck, man.” Miguel sniffed. “That’s…” Yeah. I know. 

Logan shook his head. I’m not… yeah it’s still there, but I’m not a mess about it anymore. At least not now. It actually… He blinked a few times, feeling strangely lighter. It actually feels good to talk about it. “Yeah, so-” 

“So you really… that girl really means something to you then.” Again, it wasn’t a question- not in the way Miguel had asked it, and not in the way that Logan felt about his answer. 

“She is.” She’s… 

“Then why don’t you write to her, man?” 

This again. Miguel had been on Logan’s ass about how important it was to try to reach out to the people in his life and let them know how he was doing, let them know that they mattered to him, and that they were still a part of who he was learning that he was. But I never see him writing any goddamn letters. 

 “It’s not that simple, Miguel, I can’t just…” he closed his eyes and saw the way that you looked at him when he told you that he didn’t want you to be waiting for him to finish treatment- when he told you that it was for the best if you left him in your past so that he could focus on a future that wouldn’t bury you both. He could still feel the way that your hot tears soaked his overgrown beard when you kissed him for the last time. Even though he knew that you were hurting, he watched you put your pain aside to tell him that he deserved to be happy. It was pain that he had caused by letting you get so close to him, by leaning so hard on you, and he wasn’t eager to resurrect that hurt for you. I could still fuck this up. “I can’t do that to her, not when I don’t know how long I’ll... “ Logan shook his head and opened his eyes in time to watch the two horses turn and bolt along the shoreline, a spray of sand and ocean foam flying from their hooves. “I can’t put her through it all again just to-”  

“You wanna know why I never write to anyone, Logan?” Miguel spoke quietly as he watched the waves cover the horses’ tracks and Logan snapped his attention towards the other man,  a lump moving down his throat as he swallowed. “Why I sit here and write shit to myself insteada reachin’ out to people I care about? People that care about me?”

Normally this was exactly the type of conversation that Logan would try to avoid- personal information, intimate truths, things that required a balance of trust to share. But Miguel had proven himself time and again to be someone that Logan could talk to, someone that wanted to help. He blinked as his friend turned to face him, deciding that it might just be time to return the favor and hear him out. “Why?” 

“I got no one to write to. Not anymore.” The flat tone he used for the last two words made Logan blink, his forehead creasing. What does that- Miguel cleared his throat, coughing into his fist as he returned his gaze back to the beach and leaned over the railing again. “Shay...my girl she… she’s gone, Logan. She ODed right in fronta me, right in my arms.” Damn. “She was… she and I we, we talked about the future a lot, talked about gettin’ clean together, gettin’ out of the shithole neighborhood we were livin’ in and... ” He took a breath and it didn’t matter that his hood was blocking the side of his face, Logan knew that the man was crying. ”And still, watchin’ that happen to her, it wasn’t enough to get me to stop. My brother, he died in prison, withdrawing.”

 A caustic, humorless sound came from Miguel’s lips as he blew out a breath. Jesus. Logan felt his grip on the railing tighten . “Got arrested ‘cause he passed out in a parking lot and the cops found stuff on him so instead of gettin’ him help they charged him with felony intent to sell.” Logan listened intently as the man he shared a room with for the last five months revealed a chunk of truth large enough to sink anyone. Jesus Christ, Miguel. “My brother never hurt anyone but himself. He wasn’t a dealer, didn’t have a gun, he had a problem, and he never got help for it, and then they just… in prison, they just let him fuckin’ die.” A tear fell from Miguel’s face as the younger man lifted his hand up to wipe harshly at his eyes. “Like he was nothin’, like he was...like he wasn’t even a person.” 

Logan cursed under his breath and softly kicked the post of the railing that they were leaning against. What do I even...that’s fucking horrible. For half a second he imagined Juliet getting that news about him- that he’d spent his last moments on the floor of a dirty cell, begging to be treated like a human being- and it caused him to shudder.  No one should have to...that’s… He tore his eyes from the coastline and the horses running along it and turned towards Miguel. No one deserves that. He didn’t know what to say, but Miguel’s pause ended with a sniff relieving him of the need to do anything but listen.  

“And the thing is? I know that what he did...what Shay did, me, you...all of us,” he gestured back at the building behind them. “I know it was illegal. But it shouldn’t be about fillin’ jails because that’s how you fill graves.” A weight fell into Logan’s stomach then as he pictured you standing in front of a stone, his name etched into it as clear and crisp as the pain that was etched into your face. No. Standing straight again, Miguel shifted his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Look, point is, you can’t beat yourself up about the decisions you made and the things you did when you were usin’. It’s a fucking disease, Logan, and you can’t punish yourself… or her, just because you survived it.”     

That’s not what I’m...I’m trying to protect her. She’s better off without me. It was what he’d told himself time and again to ease the ache he felt from missing you. She doesn’t deserve-  

“I almost died on her, Miguel. Twice. Twice, I… fuck, the second time? I stopped goddamn breathing I-” Logan shook his head, grip tightening on the railing. “Bein’ with me, that was punishment for h-“ 

“Do you love her, Logan?” It was as direct a question as Miguel had ever asked him, the young man’s tawny eyes suddenly seeming to hold at least double the wisdom that someone his age should be capable of. 

What? Logan blinked slowly as a fine mist started to fall. His mouth dropped open but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never allowed himself to use that word in regards to you, even if he knew the answer to Miguel’s question. I never told her that. I… He shook his head. “I never...we didn’t...that’s not what-” 

“Logan.” Miguel turned sideways, leaning his hip against the railing. “C’mon man, no bullshit.” Logan swallowed, turning as well so that he could face his friend. “I don’t care what you told her or didn’t tell her. I know she means a lot to you. I know you got a picture of her next to your bed.” 

The image of you smiling as you stood in front of the Golden Gate Bridge filled his mind. It was the same photo he’d brought with him to Westworld, the one he’d needed in the desert, the one that made even the worst nights during the past five months bearable. Like he did everytime he looked at it, he recalled the way he felt when you’d sent it to him, recalled the text you’d sent along with it. Wish you were here, Logan. He took a breath and closed his eyes, imagining the distinct weight of your hand on his chest, of your arms wound around his body, of your laughter and the warmth that came with it. I wish I was there too, but I… “She…” 

“From what you’ve told me about her?” Miguel narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Shit man, I know that girl loves you.” Logan sucked in a breath. She… “So I’m askin’ you- Do you love her?”  

“I-” His throat tightened then as Logan was faced with the reality of speaking his true feelings about you aloud for the first time. Shit, I… He was terrified not only of how sure he felt about his answer, but also of how long he’d known it without acknowledging it. He swallowed the dry lump that threatened to choke him, then let out a ragged breath. “Yeah,” he finally said, staring at the wooden rail, voice thin and raspy. “Yeah, Miguel.” Logan looked up then, meeting Miguel’s knowing gaze. “I love her.” 

“Then you should reach out to her, man. Let her know how you’re doin’. She…” His hand came to Logan’s shoulder, clapping the top of it and squeezing once, and Logan watched a flicker of pain pass over Miguel’s face. “I’m sure hearin’ how well you’re doin’ will be...good for her.” He dropped his hand then, and cleared his throat, turning back to the beach, but the horses they’d been watching at the start of the conversation were gone now. 

He thought back to the brief interval between the night of Juliet’s wedding and the night that made him see that he needed to make a change, remembering the good days and how you were a part of every one of them. One morning in particular flooded his memory, and he turned his back to the waves to stare blankly at the building he’d called home for the last five months as it played out. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..

“G’morning, Logan.” 

He felt your sleepy words vibrate against his cheek before you pressed your lips to the skin above his beard with a hum. Arms instantly tightening around you, he pulled you flush to his body as you let out a breath in the form of a warm laugh. Turning his face to find your lips with his, he kissed you before even opening his eyes. It was a habit he’d formed for the mornings when the sun had woken him instead of his nightmares, letting your smile as he kissed you be the first thing that he felt. It was a reminder to him that there were moments, days worth fighting for, and that you were there, fighting with him.  

“Mornin’.” He spoke without moving his lips, kissing you again the second that the word was out of his mouth. You sighed into it and one of his hands came up to the back of your head, fingers carding through your bed- disheveled hair. Your touch moved from his chest up to the side of his neck, fingertips tracing the curve of his ear before pinching the lobe lightly and pulling down. Damn, that feels… Logan groaned quietly as he pulled away, finally opening his eyes to drink you in. Goddamn. You were looking at him through your lashes, eyes still puffy from sleep, the golden sunlight coming in through the drapes falling on your hair, on your skin, casting shadows along your curves, and he couldn’t help but wish that every morning could begin exactly like this one. “How’d you sleep?” He leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss before letting you answer. 

You curled your fingers where they’d fallen at the base of his throat, humming your surprise as you kissed him back. “I slept well,” you answered, bringing your lips up to his nose before sliding yours along it. “Seems like you did too, huh?” 

He swallowed, fingers absently moving over your skin where his hands lay on your body as you tucked yourself back against his chest, your palm finding the center. “Yeah.” When was the last time I could say that? He rested his cheek on the top of your head, inhaling deeply through his nose, breathing in the scent of your hair. “Slept great.” 

You drew lazy patterns over his sternum before moving your fingers up to his collarbone, dropping your thumb in the dip where it met his rib cage. “Good.” He felt your breath hit his throat before your lips landed there and his eyes fell shut again. This. This is why I… what I have to hold on for. Mornings like this.   

They were still few and far between, mornings like this one, Logan knew that. He knew that you knew it, too. But moments like this made it hard to believe that only three weeks ago he’d woken up hooked to I.V.s, the medications working to bring him back from the brink that he’d sent himself to on the night of his sister’s wedding. It was hard to believe that only twenty-one mornings ago you’d tucked yourself against him just as you had now, only it had been in a narrow hospital bed and your cheeks had been wet with tears. Logan took another deep breath and flattened his hands to press you closer as he let it back out. Almost… but not there yet. Just… He ducked his head down to kiss your temple. Just have to keep trying, keep goin’. Then we can-

“You hungry? Think I saw some eggs in the fridge last night.” You pulled yourself back to look at him as you spoke and he blinked his eyes open once more, hands sliding down your sides as you propped yourself up on one elbow. “I’m not much of a cook, but I-” 

“Not yet.” He cut you off, sitting up and pulling you with him, flipping you beneath him as he reversed your position. You clutched his biceps, laughing as he dropped his weight down on top of you, one of your legs winding around one of his. “Wanna work up an appetite first.” He licked at the skin behind your ear before taking it gently between his teeth. You sucked in a breath, nails scratching lightly down his triceps. “And I think I know a good way to do that,” he released your earlobe and bit down on your shoulder, eliciting another hiss of pleasure and a roll of your hips into his. “What do you think?” 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

You had made him breakfast eventually, though by the time the two of you had gotten around to eating it was well into the afternoon. Logan could still taste the under-salted scrambled eggs you’d cooked. They were fuckin’ terrible, she was right. But it finally hit him that it was that morning- the lazy touches, the greedy kisses, the shitty eggs- that stood out from the others. It was that morning and moments like it that made him sure. I love her. And she… 

“I’ll be here for you, Logan...when you get back.” 

That’s what you had said to him the night before he’d left for the East Coast and the facility he stood in front of now. “I told her not to…” A far off rumble of thunder drowned out the rest of his words as he turned back towards the ocean. 

“Huh?” Miguel looked over, squinting through the steady drizzle that the mist had become. “You say somethin’?” He brought one hand up to pull the hood of his sweatshirt further over the top of his head, but neither man made a move to get out of the rain even as it picked up, soaking Logan’s hair. 

“Before I left, to come here?” Logan sniffed, nodding at the foamy surf as it rushed up the shore to swallow the hoofprints left by the Banker horses. “I told her not to wait for me.” The water receded, taking with it any evidence that anything, man or beast, had ever made its mark in the sand. If one wave could erase all of that, he had to wonder what six months would do. I told her to… He closed his eyes, letting the wind pelt him with wayward raindrops. I told her not to love me.  

Miguel blew air out through his nose in a dry laugh. What the hell is funny? “Shit, man.” Logan straightened up and drew himself up to his full height, looking Miguel in the eye. “You rich types. You all think just ‘cause you say somethin’ everybody’s gotta listen.” He let out another short burst of air. “You really think she just stopped carin’ about you, Logan? Just ‘cause you told her to?” He shook his head. “Nah, that ain’t how it works man.”

The idea that he might someday have you in his arms again- have you and be whole enough to keep you, whole enough to give himself to you- nearly made him dizzy. But that’s not… I can’t expect… “She...Miguel, I told her I didn’t want her around for all this.” Why would she- 

“Damn you got a thick head, you know that?” Logan pressed his lips together then, eyebrows high on his forehead. What? Miguel went on. “Lemme ask you somethin’. If it were the other way around, her tellin’ you to forget her, not to keep stickin’ around, is that all it’d take for you to just,” he shrugged, “forget about her? Outta sight, outta mind?” 

The answer came swiftly and with absolute certainty.  No. 

Logan stiffened, remembering the look in William’s eye when he’d tried to make him see reason; when he tried to make him see that Dolores wasn’t real, that the man had someone real waiting for him. His fingers curled around the wet wooden railing, squeezing as more of the peeling paint fell away in flakes. “Now you’re scheming to become part of the family.” His own words swam through his head, and he saw William’s blue eyes glaze over as he stared at the blonde haired Host. “Marrying my sister, whom incidentally you seemed to have completely fucking forgotten about!” Logan had pulled two photos from inside of his jacket then, flipping past yours to get to the one he’d taken of his sister in Times Square a few years earlier. “Her?” Tucking your photo back in its place inside the inner pocket, he waved Juliet’s smiling face in front of her soon to be husband. “Here, keep it.”  He leaned in then, shoving his sister’s photo into William’s pocket. “You apparently need the reminder.” 

“No.” The single syllable came out more loudly than he’d meant for it to, his top lip lifting, almost offended that Miguel had even asked the question. Swallowing, he shook his head and licked at his lips. “No,” he said again, “I could never forget about her.”  

“Well what the hell makes you think it's any different for her, huh?” Hands still in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, he elbowed Logan lightly as he challenged him. 

Logan shifted his weight, absorbing Miguel’s bony jab and regaining his balance. It’s different because… She’s… I’m… “Fuck, Miguel, it’s different, it should be different, because I’m a-” 

“Don’t fuckin’ blame this on you bein an addict.” Miguel’s tone suddenly turned serious, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring. 

Logan felt his own eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise. But I-  

Miguel was quicker than Logan’s thoughts, waving one hand dismissively as though he could read them. “Nah. That’s  not…” He sniffed. “A? You’re five months clean, man. Five damn months, that’s fuckin’ something, and you worked hard for it. And B? Your girl knew, Logan. She knew you had a fuckin’ problem, and it wasn’t enough to…” He trailed off, cursing under his breath. “Look. You needed to take time to get right with yourself and that’s all good. You had to do what you had to do, but don’t twist it. She loved you, and if I had any damn money to put on it?” He finally let one side of his mouth lift in a small smirk, tone lightening again. “I’d bet she still does, man. Yeah. It’s been a while, and yeah, you leavin’ was probably just as hard on her as it was on you.” Logan winced at that but Miguel went on. “For different reasons, obviously, but…” But? “Shit, I know it woulda taken a fuck of a lot more than me tellin’ her not to wait to make Shay give up on me.”

Damn. The realization that his struggle didn’t negate your love for him hit him just as hard as the fact that he’d shared so much with Miguel over the last several months, and yet this was the first time the man had opened up to him as much as he did. He never told me about Shay… or his brother, I never… The waves were riding atop one another to combine and amplify their crashing, the rolling thunder becoming less distant as the storm that had chased the horses away came closer. 

The sound of the rain hitting the wooden boards that made up the walkway that the two men stood on grew heavier as the droplets themselves began to double in size. Miguel blinked up at the sky, a fat drop splashing on his cheek. “Hey, c’mon man, let’s get back inside, it’s-” 

But Logan didn’t let him finish, instead throwing his arms around the man in a tight but brief embrace. It wasn’t characteristic of him to show that he cared about people, at least not anyone that wasn’t you or his sister, but somehow through the course of their time together, Miguel had earned a place in that small circle. There were no words that Logan could come up with to thank the man for everything that he’d done for him since his very first night at the facility, so he didn’t try. Fuck. I’m gonna miss him. 

At first Miguel didn’t respond, standing frozen as four seconds turned to five, but then he returned the hug, clapping Logan twice on the back. “Yo, it’s all good man.” He pulled back and gave Logan one more clap to the side of his arm. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.” Yes I do, I- “No,” he read Logan’s furrowed brow and spoke before the thoughts could materialize. “You don’t.” He shook his head, the hood slipping down his back. One hand flew up to tug it back into place over his short curls before dropping again. “You know this was my second time through here,  right?” Logan nodded, still unsure where this was headed. “Yeah, well… Well I only got through it okay this time ‘cause I had you.” What? Me? How could I have- “You meet who you need to when you need to, right?” He laughed and looked back up at the sky, squinting one eye. “Somethin’ my mom always said.” He looked back at Logan then,  hands already back in his pocket. “Hey can I…call you? Once you’re outta here and back home and all… settled? I just…” He shrugged. “Hell, man, I ain’t tryin’a make it a three-peat an you’re-” 

“You fuckin’ better call me.” Logan cut him off. I mean it. His throat felt thick and he struggled to swallow down the unexpected emotions. 

Miguel just nodded, his features arranged in an uncharacteristically serious fashion, the two of them now soaked through to their tee shirts as the drizzle finally gave over to full-blown rain. “Alright.” He cleared his throat and tossed his chin in the direction of the building. “C’mon now, I don’t wanna spend my whole last night here dryin’ off.” With that he turned and started walking, the Atlantic Ocean to his back. Logan shook the shock of everything he was feeling and followed, his thoughts and heart racing, but Miguel swiveled back around and he stopped short. “And Logan? Write to your girl. Even if it’s just to tell her you’re headed in the right direction. I’m sure she…”

“Yeah.” Logan’s response was quick, his voice thin but sure. “Yeah, I will.” 

The two of them began walking, traversing the path back to the facility that had brought them together. He didn’t stop again, but another thought seemed to occur to Miguel and he swiveled his head towards Logan. “Hey one more thing.” 

Logan rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Goddamn, what else can you possibly have to fucking say?” 

Miguel’s face split into a shit eating grin then. “Just a reminder to be nice to your new roommate. He’s gonna be havin’ the shittiest damn day of his life and it’s gonna be your problem for at least 48 hours.” 

“Ah, shit.” Logan recalled his own first day there- the pitiful way he felt, the anger and confusion, the feeling that none of it mattered and it all hurt too much. He recalled thinking about smothering Miguel in his sleep because the man wouldn’t shut up with his positive bullshit. I wouldn’t have made it through that night without his bullshit. “I’m gonna get someone as bad as I was, aren’t I?” 

“Yup,” Miguel laughed. “That’s how it works man. But you never know if you’re who they need to meet, right?” 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

“I wanna go to Law School.” Logan sat down in the purple chair in Zeke’s office as he made his declaration. 

Zeke took his glasses from his face and pulled a small microfiber cloth from his pocket to wipe them with as he stepped around from the door to take his seat opposite Logan. “Okay. You wanna back up and tell me where this is coming from, Logan?” He flipped the small cloth to fold it and tucked it back away before perching the frames back on his nose. 

Logan twisted in his chair to face his counselor and the man he’d come to respect more than almost anyone he’d ever met. “You kiddin’ me, Zeke?” He turned his upper body back around as the other man sunk into his wheeled desk chair with a sigh. “This whole time you’ve been askin’ me what I’m plannin’ to do with myself after this place, what I want to change?” Zeke nodded and gestured with both hands for Logan to continue. “Well, I got three weeks left, and I know what I want to change. I want to change what happened to me, but I can’t. I know that now, and I know I can’t run from it or…or ignore it, either.” 

“No, that’s true, you can’t.” Ezekiel dropped his hands to the clutter-covered surface of his workspace.

“But I can change what happens next.” Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees and pointer fingers steepled together to tap the edge of Zeke’s desk.

Zeke’s lips twitched slightly, eyes lighting with encouragement behind the lenses of his glasses. “Yeah, you can. You get to decide how your story goes from here.” He dropped his chin and drew his eyebrows together. “So, law school, huh?” 

Logan nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “I want to figure out how to… what to do about Delos. I want...I need to protect the, my…” Zeke lifted one eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Slow down. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Opening his eyes again, he continued. “I can’t let William take control.” His lip curled involuntarily on the man’s name but he shook it off, moving his head from side to side. “It’s not even about what he did to me, it’s… He’s dangerous for the company.” And for Juliet, and probably a lot of other people. “But in the meantime? While I work on what to do about him? I want to…” Logan rubbed his fingertips over the sweaty centers of his palms. “Zeke, I wanna help people like...like us.”  

He released another breath then, eyes narrowed and focused on the man who still sat silently across from him. There. That’s my decision, that’s what I want to change. Logan licked at his dry lips and sat back in his seat, waiting to hear Zeke’s reaction. I don’t need his approval, I’m doin’ it, I just- 

“Damn.” Ezekiel blew out a burst of air through his nostrils. “Damn, Logan.” He smiled, eyes warming to a melted caramel. Despite the fact that he’d made up his mind regardless of what his counselor had to say about it, Logan sighed in relief and felt some of the tension ease out of his jaw. He thinks I can do it. “You really do go all in, don’t you?” I do. “Well I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t warn you that law, as a profession? The lifestyle isn’t exactly friendly to-” 

Logan laughed then, a genuine smile joining it. “All due respect here, Zeke?” He cocked his head to the side and Ezekiel gestured for him to go on. “I’ve been around lawyers my whole goddamn life. I know. Its a lotta pressure and a lotta them drink and…” he blinked, eyes refocusing. “They do a lotta shit. But I’m not… I won’t-”

“Logan.” It was Zeke’s turn to cut him off. “I know you won’t. I know you can keep fighting like you have been, and I know you’re only getting stronger. You’ll just have to… stay on top of it. That’s all.” He held up both hands. “But I think it’s a hell of a plan, and I think you’re gonna make a hell of a lawyer” 

“Thanks, I...that means…” Logan couldn’t help the small swell of pride that he felt knowing that Zeke was in his corner. “Thank you, Zeke.” 

He hadn’t told Miguel- but I will- but hearing his story, about what he and the people he loved had gone, helped push him towards his decision. I’m gonna figure out my shit...what to do about William, but… I’m gonna help other people with their shit, too. 

“This isn’t all you are, Logan, I promise you that.” You’d told him that one night after laying your lips to the faded but still present marks that lined the inside of his left forearm. He absently reached over and pressed his thumb into the bend in his arm. She was right.

In the back of his mind, an old, warped version of his own voice called out, desperate for attention. You serious? You won’t last two months. You’ll be back, you’ll- 

But he didn’t even answer it, choosing to let it fade entirely. Fuck you. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

Logan sat at the table in the common area, a pad of paper in front of him. He held a pen between his pointer and middle finger, tapping the end of it against his thumb. It was Monday on the second to last week that he’d be a patient in the rehab facility he’d checked himself into after his second overdose in only a few months had made him see that on his current course, his time was short and his options were limited. The last six months had been some of the hardest but most eye-opening and life changing that he’d ever experienced, and though in a way he felt more like himself than he had in far longer than he could say, he also felt like a completely new person; a different person than the man you’d known before he’d left. 

But that’s for the better. And I’m not… I’m still… He sighed. I’m still me, I’m just… what’d Zeke say? He tapped the pen again. Stronger. 

Your face filled his mind for the millionth time since last he’d seen it, and he heard Miguel telling him again to write to you, to let you know that he’d come up from the depths that he’d been drowning in. He’d been surprised to find that writing to his sister, though he had no idea if she’d read any of it, had been simple. He had so much history to call in with Juliet, so many memories to hang on to and to hope for, that all he had to do was tell her that he hoped he’d get the chance to have them back some day. 

With you it was harder, because there hadn’t been anything established between the two of you, not really. But that’s not really true, is it? He saw the way you smiled at him through a mouthful of barely edible eggs, legs crossed as you sat perched on his countertop, wearing his shirt. Goddamn. With her I had… everything, no matter what we never said. 

He wanted it back, craved it, and though he hadn’t spoken to you since you pulled your lips away from his cheek, he found himself wondering if you didn’t want it back, too. If anyone deserves to know I’m doin better, it’s her. Its… 

He’d sent his application in to Stanford earlier that week, and he wanted more than anything to tell you, to be able to call you over when the decision email came so that you’d be there with him when he found out if he was accepted or not. But I… I can’t just show back up in her life again, not after how I left. He frowned down at the paper, the blank lines staring back up at him. 

Finally, he brought the tip of the pen to the top of the pad, hand moving over it to reveal your name in dark black ink. I can’t just show back up but I can… I can start somewhere. 

Once he’d started his letter to you, Logan found that the words flowed more easily than he thought possible. He’d explained things he wouldn’t have been able to months earlier, acknowledged and thanked you for things that you’d done for him and ways that you’d helped him without even knowing it. He’d apologized for the ways that his addiction and the things that surrounded it had hurt you, and when all was said he’d written three pages, front and back, signing his name near the very bottom of the third page. Yours, Logan. 

Maybe one day I can be yours again. Before he could rip the paper to shreds, he shoved it in an envelope and scrawled the last address that he’d known for you, hoping that you still lived with your roommate in L.A. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

Exactly seven weeks after sending in his application to Stanford School of Law, Logan sat at the counter in his kitchen. He blinked at the screen in front of him as it refreshed for a third time, reloading only to display the same message as before. Holy shit. His eyes widened as his breath left his lungs in a hurry. For a split second he thought about deleting it, the old ghosts that he’d fought so hard to rid himself of now screeching their last cries. Worthless. Junkie. Impetuous. Unstable. Embarrassing. They were all words that Logan was familiar with. But they all paled in comparison to the word that was in bold font in the email that was open on the laptop before him, the death rattles of the things that he once let define him silenced by that one, single word. 

Accepted.  

.

.

.

General Tags:  @something-tofightfor​​ @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​​ @suchatinyinfinity​​ @malionnes​ @thesumofmychoices​​ @gollyderek​​ @pheedraws​​ @beautifuldesastre​​ @alraedesigns​ @dearmarii​​ @fific7​ @traeumerinwitzhelden​​ @obscurilicious​​ @luminex3​ @bisexual-space-slut @vetseras​

Logan Tags:  @valkblue​ @belladonnarey​ @ymariejp​ @drinix​ @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise​ @nananananananananananabatman​ @qhostboyyy​ @ofgeneticperfection​ @delosdoll​ @blackbirddaredevil23​

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from any of my tag lists. thank you so much for reading! 

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Old Fears

Whumptober Day 18: Panic! At The Disco Prompt: Panic Attacks/Phobias

Summary: All the Jim Twins meant to do was pull a harmless prank on Yancy. Instead, they brought back Yancy's worst memories.

Warnings: Panic attack, claustrophobia, flashbacks

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober 2020 series)

Enjoy!

~

Every once in a while, the Jim Twins get the mischievous inclination to prank the other egos.

Nothing serious, nothing harmful, nothing emotionally manipulative. They don’t set up jumpscares or fake their own deaths or do anything malicious. But they’re not above throwing a bath bomb in the washing machine, or putting toothpaste between the two halves on an oreo cookie, or hiding an item belonging to one person in the room of another. While they might cause momentary frustration, they’re forgiven quickly, and never ruin anyone’s day.

Well, usually. The Jims have miscalculated before. But today will be fine! The prank they line up is simple: Once someone walks by their set-up and trips the line, a system of pulleys will go off, pushing them into the hall closet and locking the door behind them. The Jims don’t really know how it works; Bing helped them make it. But regardless, they set their trap up in an often-traveled hallway. Across from the door and the trap, they set up a tiny camera to record what happens, both to see if it works and for humorous posterity. They put a tiny night-vision camera in the closet as well. They don’t intend to keep the person locked in the closet forever, of course; if no one comes by to let them out for a while, the Jims will either do it themselves or ask someone else to do it, depending on who gets trapped. Ed is known to drag the Jims by their ears to Bim to inform him of their misdeeds, so they’ll probably have someone else pull him out of the closet if it happens.

But that doesn’t happen, because not long after they go to their rooms to watch the camera feed on RJ’s laptop, Yancy walks into view.

“Is he gonna…?” asks RJ, vibrating with excitement. CJ watches with equal excitement.

They can see the exact moment Yancy’s foot trips the first wire. He stops and looks down, having felt his foot hit it. That gives the trap’s pulleys enough time to go off, one by one, swinging open the closet door and pushing Yancy in. He yelps as he’s shoved, and the door slams on him and locks as soon as he’s inside.

“Hey!” he yells from the inside. The Jims switch to the feed of the second camera, and watch him jiggle the doorknob and whack the door indignantly. “What the hell?? Lemme out! Whoever did this, youse ass is done for when I get outta here!!”

The Jims can’t help it, they crack up. They laugh so hard that RJ falls out of his chair and CJ snorts hard enough to make his nose feel weird. It takes them a good minute to get themselves under control and return to watching the camera feed, expecting Yancy to be in the process of kicking the door down or cursing up a storm. But he’s doing neither of those things. At first, Yancy just seems bored in there, but the longer the Jims watch, the more concerned they start to get. Eventually, CJ taps RJ’s shoulder to get his attention before signing to him.

“RJ, I think something’s wrong.”

~~~

At first, Yancy is angry.

He doesn’t know who set up this stupid prank, but he’s looking forward to throttling them once he gets out of this closet. He tries the doorknob, tries hitting, even tries kicking. But it doesn’t work; the door is locked tight. As far as he knows, no one else was in the hallway, so he’s stuck here for the time being.

Stuck.

In this locked, dark room.

“Ugh, this is stupid,” he mutters, kicking the door one more time for good measure.

So maybe his heart is beating a little faster, maybe his mind is starting to race. But he knows he’s fine, it’s just a closet. This was just a dumb prank that someone pulled on him, and whoever shoved him in here is probably going to let him out in a few minutes. Yancy can deal with a few minutes.

After all, solitary used to last much longer than a few minutes. He’d be in that windowless room for hours, sometimes days. Once it was even two weeks, and Yancy can’t even remember what he did to deserve it. He only remembers the way the days melted together, how each second began to feel like an hour. He remembers counting cracks in the wall, trying in vain to listen to the conversations happening nearby, just to have any mental stimulation at all. By then, he knew better than to make a fuss while in solitary, but his first few trips to that room were marked by screaming and pounding the door until his throat and fists were raw.

Yancy starts to breathe a little faster, a little shallower.

But this closet is not solitary. There’s some items in it, for one thing: A mop, a bucket, some cleaning sprays and gloves. Yancy doesn’t know for sure how any of it looks, because the room is also dark, another difference from solitary. He feels along the wall but finds no light switch. He supposes that makes sense; the closet is too small to warrant a light inside. That’s the last difference between this and solitary: The room for solitary wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to pace around in, at least. This closet is hardly big enough to take a few steps in any direction.

The more Yancy thinks about it, just because this situation is different from solitary doesn’t make it better. He tries the doorknob again. No luck. The room is too dark, it’s too cramped.

“Hey,” he says, trying to put some power and anger into his voice, “Let me out! Lemme outta here right now! When I find out who youse are I’m gonna knock ya into next Tuesday, I swear!!”

“Don’t make threats like that,” says a voice in the back of his mind, unbidden, “The guards don’t like that, it’ll only make them keep you here longer.”

Yancy shakes his head, trying to dispel the thought. This isn’t solitary. This isn’t solitary. But the room is so dark he’s forced to imagine what he sees. He tries the door again. He whacks it with his hand.

“Let me out of here,” he gasps, words coming out softer and weaker than he intended to.

It’s too dark in here. He can’t see anything at all. It’s too enclosed. Yancy can hardly move. He can’t even pace. The room is too small, too hard to see through. He tries the door again. And again. He hits it. He hits it again. His breathing gets shallower, his heart beats faster. He grabs the sides of his head, trying to get a grip. He staggers backwards, lightheaded, but bumps into the bucket and nearly falls over. The room is so small that the arm he throws out to catch himself hits the wall and keeps himself standing. A whimper escapes his throat.

This isn’t solitary. This is worse.

With sudden ferocity, Yancy throws himself at the door, pounding relentlessly.

“Lemme out!!” he screams, “Lemme out, please! This ain’t funny anymore, get me out! Out, please, I have to get out–”

His words are cut off by his own sob. He slides down against the door as tears keep coming. He doesn’t want to cry, the guards always make fun of him for crying. But he can’t make them stop. He knows he’ll be in even more trouble for causing a fuss, and it only makes him cry harder. He can’t even remember what he did. What did he do? Why is he stuck here?? But it doesn’t really matter, he knows that. He crawls to the back of the closet to sit in the back, staring at the door, crying and waiting for the guards to let him out.

It happens sooner than he thinks it will. The door opens, and Yancy blinks against the light. He hurriedly wipes his face, trying to remove the evidence of tears from his face, despite still crying. It takes him a moment to realize that the door hasn’t opened to Happy Trails, that it’s not a guard or Warden Murderslaughter who’s opened the door.

The open door shows a hallway of Ego Inc. Standing in the doorway is Illinois, panting a little like he ran to get here, eyes full of fear and worry.

Yancy starts crying harder again.

“Oh, angel,” Lio murmurs, coming into the closet to pull Yancy into his arms, “You’re alright, Yancy, you’re safe. You’re in Ego Inc., you’re home. I’m right here.” He stands, pulling Yancy up with him. “C’mon, let’s get out of this closet.”

Yancy lets Lio put an arm around him and lead him out of the closet. That’s when Yancy realizes Lio isn’t the only one who’s come here; the Jims are standing in the hallway, nervously looking at Yancy, sadness and guilt written all over their faces. Yancy wipes his face again, trying to stop his tears. He hates crying in front of people, he hates being weak. He feels Lio kiss his temple and squeeze his shoulders before hearing him address the Jims.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he says icily.

“We have, Adventure Jim!” RJ exclaims. Yancy takes his hands away from his face in time to see CJ nod in agreement.

“Anything else you want to say?” Lio asks.

The twins look down nervously, then look at Yancy, eyes big and sad.

“We’re sorry, Prison Jim,” RJ says earnestly, “We didn’t know you’d get so upset. It…It was supposed to be a silly prank. ”

“We didn’t mean to hurt you,” CJ signs, “We’re really, really sorry.”

The Jims did this. They were the ones who locked him in that godforsaken closet. For a prank.

A rush of anger, of shame, of embarrassment cuts through Yancy’s lingering panic. He’s lunging out of Lio’s hold and punching RJ in the face before he can think twice about it. RJ cries out and stumbles back, hands coming up to his now-bleeding nose. CJ grabs him to keep from falling over at the same time Lio puts an arm in front of Yancy to keep him from punching again.

“Hey! Hey,” Lio says, keeping his voice steady and calming, “That’s enough, Yancy, they didn’t know any better. Let’s get out of here, alright?”

Yancy’s burst of anger fades quickly, leaving him exhausted. There’s suddenly nothing he wants to do more. He lets Lio lead him away, not bothering to look back at the Jims. He doesn’t regret punching RJ, but he doesn’t feel self-righteous about it either. He’s just tired and trembling and still crying just a little.

Lio takes Yancy to Yancy’s own bedroom. Yancy’s bedroom is not like solitary at all, and it’s not like the closet, either. Lio turns the light on and closes the door, but doesn’t lock it from the inside. Yancy sits on his bed, lets the familiar feeling start to ground him. The theater posters on his wall help, too. But most helpful is Lio, who comes to sit beside him. He puts an arm around Yancy again, kisses his hair.

“I’ll stay here as long as you need, alright?” he murmurs, “Whatever you want from me, I’ll do, sweetheart.”

All Yancy wants is to bury his face in Lio’s chest, and for Lio to wrap his arms around him in the only tight space that doesn’t make Yancy afraid.

So Yancy does, and Lio does, and they stay that way for a long while.

[deputyrhiannonhale]

Nodus Tollens Chap 3

(ooc) here is the third installment of my story! Same general tags apply, especially canon-game violence and strong language.

chapter 1 chapter 2

tagging: @ja-crispea @dieguzguz @f0xyboxes @shelliechen @returnofthepd3 @deputy-janai @deputyjessicaquinn @xbaebsae @veinereastath @sharky-broshaw @shallow-gravy @ec-10 @hopecountygazette @ramadiiiisme

~~

Rhi was on an ATV flying down the road putting as much distance as she could between herself and the Holland Valley. She was well aware that if John wants her there, he’s definitely got a way to get her there. Tom was nice enough to tell her the way off Dutch’s island, but said he would rather stay back and make sure Dutch stays covered. Rhi thanked him for his help and made her departure.

Her hazel eyes were now searching the sides of the road for any dangers, animal or otherwise when she spotted another person on their knees in front of a cult member. She pulled out her gun, firing a warning shot before skidding to a stop nearby. Gunshots whizzed by near her head and she cursed as she tumbled off the ATV and she hid behind the tree, taking deep breaths. A warning shot was the wrong method to use, she realized now, it’s becoming glaringly obvious that she is going to have to shoot to kill everytime and that epiphany caused Rhi to sigh heavily. 

Rhi peeked around the trunk in time to see the woman she was trying to save sweep the legs of the cult woman out from under her and she crashed to the ground hard. Rhi took the moment to run over and finish her off with a single shot to her head. Rhi then doubled over, she really hadn’t been prepared for this kind of buffoonery when she transferred here from Billings. She hadn’t even had to use a weapon until she got here.

“I can see you’re working through an existential thing, but could you give me a hand here?” The lady on the ground inquired, rolling onto her side to reveal her hands were bound. Rhi let out a surprised noise, brushing her brown hair from her face.

“Fuck, I am so sorry!” She exclaimed while moving to kneel beside her and deftly untie her wrists, the woman laughed good naturedly.

“It’s ok...it’s an odd situation here.” She conceded while rubbing her wrists and standing up and taking the rifle off of the cult woman. “She ain’t gonna need this anymore.” 

“Odd is an fucking understatment.” Rhi agreed, searching the body for handgun ammo, and cursing when she found none, and the woman laughed again, nodding.

“Oh, if you’re needing any assistance, that Boshaw fellow is close by. When he found out what was going on he started laughing like a crazy man.” Rhi looked up from her knelt place on the ground, hazel eyes wide and her heart rate sped up when she heard Boshaw. As in Sharky Boshaw? Rhi knew she would probably have to face him again eventually, but she was caught off guard that it would be so soon. “Grabbed a propane tank and ran towards the Moonflower Trailer Park...what? You ok? Looks like you just saw a ghost.” The woman asked, and Rhi half nodded, waving her hand dismissively.

“I’m great...just...stunned.” She partially lied, standing to her full height and brushing off her knees, and gave the lady a weary smile. “The trailer park you say. Right up that road there?” Rhi asked, thumbing over her shoulder at the dirt road off to the left, and she nodded affirmation. Rhi groaned inwardly, how would seeing Sharky again after all these years be?

Rhi sighed, as she dismounted her ATV, looking at the trailer park in front of her, placing her hands on her hips. She was not ready to go in here, meeting Sharky again after so many years was sure to be...eventful, to say the least.

After their first and only interaction when she was 16, Sharky actually helped mold her future, not that he knows that. But little rebellious Rhi meeting someone who actually was a badass and witnessed what kind of trouble it gets, made her realize that not all attention is great.

It's when she really started looking up to Earl and the profession he is in, and guided her to be on this side of the law.

Dust came up in little puffs as she walked deeper into the abandoned park, hearing Sharky up on top of one of the trailers, she came to a stop near it, looking him over, her hands still resting on her hips. She chewed on her bottom lip, before making an exasperated noise, looking up at the sky in an aggravated manner and climbing up the nearby ladder.

"Hey, get the fuck outta here, Johnny-law. I know my fuckin’ rights." Is what Sharky greeted Rhi with once she stood to her full height on the trailers roof. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, before stepping towards him, he still sounded the same. Maybe a little more gruffness in his voice from what she guessed was years of smoking.

"Oh, so you know that setting fire to things with a flamethrower is still technically illegal?" Rhi asked, sarcastically, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, shifting her weight to her right leg, tilting her head back to look at Sharky in the eyes. She was surprised to see that there was no recognition in his blue eyes for her, she was just another cop to him at this point.

She shouldn't be surprised, though, as she didn't have that much of an impact on his life as a whole as he had hers.

"Hey, I come out here and I'm not botherin' nobody." He swept his arm in a gesture over the trailer park grounds, pointing at different speakers set up. "I play some of the best music and just let loose here. In a pants free, consequence free environment." Rhi blinked at the speakers as he spoke, before her eyes travelled back to him and trailed down to see he was definitely still wearing pants and she couldn't help but laugh slightly.

"Uh, Sharky-" He gave her a confused look, and she tilted her head in question and then it dawned on her. He wants to know how she knows his name already. 

"I know, ya wanna know why I'm still wearin' pants. No one knows what the next few minutes hold." He stated, moving over to some pedals he has mounted on the roof. Ok, so maybe he didn't catch that she called him Sharky. "By the way, my name is Charlemagne Victor Boshaw but if you require a little brevity in your day to day life you can just call me-"

"Sharky, I know." Rhi finished for him and this time he gave her a more suspicious look and she folded her arms over her chest. Why does the fact he doesn't remember her nettle her so much?

"How in the fuck do ya know that? Don't think I've ever seen ya around here, little girl." Rhi's nostrils flared slightly at the way he said "little girl" it sounded so much like when they were all in the police station all those years ago. So condescending, almost like he could never take her seriously.

Rhi made a "tch" sound, clucking her tongue, her jaw setting in her rising anger and she looked at him out of the corner of her eye and in a deadpan voice, responded:

"Man, fuck you." And with that, it was as if a light bulb lit up blindingly in a dark room. Sharky's blue eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly agape as she watched it slowly come to him who she was.

"No fuckin' way. Bitty Rhi?" It was Rhi's turn to give him a confused look, only Hurk Jr ever called her that. Does that mean he talked to Sharky about her off and on throughout the years? "Should have fuckin' known, of course you'd become a cop. You've been a snitch from the beginning." Rhi's anger exploded at that accusation, she never got over that he always thought she was spying on him and Hurk that day.

"Silencio fucker. I never ratted on you two that day. I had just rolled into town. Besides, who do you think convinced Earl to let you go?" They were both snarling at each either, but Sharky was the one to back down, his anger reducing to surprise. 

"That was you?" His voice was a lot softer than she had ever heard, and she nodded, her eyes looking away from him and back to him quickly as if to say "uh, yeah". The two stared at each other in silence, sizing each other up, before Sharky finally scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a cop now.” It was Rhi’s turn to scoff and she turned her face to the sky, shaking her tiny fists in frustration.

“Of fucking course a hillbilly ass like yourself wouldn’t fucking change. Outsiders are the devil.” She ended her sentence mimicking his accent, while simultaneously walking back to the ladder to gingerly climb down, still mouthing. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to help me kick this cults ass, but you know what...nevermind.” She called, walking backwards away from the trailers, throwing her hands up in the air before looking back up to where he had been to point at him. Rhi became surprised when she saw that he was following her down the ladder, and her arm dropped back to her side. “Why are you following me?” Her anger had deflated to confusion.

“I can’t have ya runnin’ around like a crazy woman, Dep. Ya might hurt someone...or yourself.” Sharky teased, and Rhi’s eyes narrowed at him, before her index finger came up to poke him in the chest.

“I’ll have you know I can take care of myself.” She promised and he chuckled, holding up his hands in a defeated manner.

“No doubt, Munchkin, but still you’ll need someone to show ya around.” Sharky pointed out and Rhi considered it. He did have a point, sure she had spent a few summers here, but she hadn’t gone everywhere during that time. Her hazel eyes looked him up and down before she scoffed again, giving him a small but sardonic smirk.

“Fine. But I’m driving, Charlemagne.” She mocked, causing him to grimace as she turned and walked back to where she parked the ATV.

“Hey!” Rhi shouted over her shoulder as she and Sharky were taking a break and stretching, they had saved numerous people along the road, and Rhi needed a breather. Sharky made a noise as he dropped a cigarette butt and snuffed it out with the toe of his shoe. “Hurk Jr around, I haven’t seen him in ages.” Sharky turned to face her, about to answer when he saw the orange glow of the sunset catching Rhi’s face just right as she ran her fingers through her hair trying to brush out tangles, and his mouth fell agape instead.

“Uh…” Was all Sharky managed to get out and Rhi looked over at him, her right eyebrow raised, and then she turned to look behind her to see what had Sharky so enraptured, but there was nothing. She had begun to get nervous, thinking it was a bear, but it was literally just a drop off to the Henbane River below. She shrugged and looked back at him.

“Sharkster...ya alright?” Rhi stepped towards him, snapping her fingers in his face, and it broke the trance and he shook his head to clear it.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m great. Hurk is stayin’ at his dad’s up in the Whitetail Mountains.” He answered, motioning in the direction of the mountains and Rhi gave him a quizzical look before nodding, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Right…” She turned to go back to the ATV, but turned back to Sharky after a couple of steps. “You sure you’re ok. You looked weird-” Her words were cut off when he walked into her, she stumbled back but his hand shot, grabbing her elbow to steady her, pulling her against him, and she blushed. “Didn’t realize you were right up my ass, Charlemagne.” She tried to sound teasing, but it came out rather defensively, and she broke free from his hold, taking a few steps back from him, her tone catching him off guard.

"Didn't think ya were gonna turn on me either." His tone however did come out his intended way of just being playful. He wasn't sure how to take Rhi, sometimes she seemed rather friendly, but then it was like she realized she was being open and a wall slammed down behind her eyes, blocking everyone from her innermost thoughts. They had spent nearly a whole day together now, and everytime he thinks they are getting friendly, Rhi pushes him back an arms length away again.

Rhi’s eyes studied him suspiciously, had what he said been a tease or was it being passive aggressive about their past again? Sharky then gave her a soft almost puppy innocent smile and Rhi’s eyes widened, a slight blush tinted her pale cheeks, and her defenses melted away. She wanted to slap herself, because, sure, when she was 16 she had found him attractive enough on their first sighting, but that was the rebellious part of her...right? That part of her that was like ‘oh, Step-Ass would absolutely hate you bringing someone like him home’.

Rhi shook her head slightly to clear it before giving Sharky a smile small in return. “Sorry, I guess I’m embarrassed I nearly fell down…” She lied, laughing nervously, before climbing back onto the quad, and patting the area behind her, and Sharky quickly joined her.

“Hey, Dep, ya know who I’d bet would be happy to see ya?” Sharky asked, leaning down to speak into Rhi’s ear as she sped down the road, and a small shiver ran down her spine as his facial hair tickled her earlobe.

“Who’s that Sharky?” She replied, turning her head towards him slightly to make sure he heard her. She was just hoping her talking while driving this fast didn’t have her eating bugs.

“My auntie.” Of course! Addie! Rhi had missed her so much and hadn’t really visited much two years ago while she had been recovering, she just talked to her on the phone more than anything...having been so preoccupied with John. Feeling her anger rising again, she cleared her throat.

“Abso-fucking-lutely! Let’s go see Addie!”

Slowing to a stop close to the Drubman Marina, Rhi vacated the quad after she was sure Sharky was off, she sighed. Of course the cult was here too, she thought to herself as she ran her fingers through her hair in a very frustrated manner. She was just beginning to walk up the slight incline to gain the higher ground when her radio beeped. She froze, it was nighttime now, so the noise seemed like it resounded loudly. She grabbed it quickly, nearly dropping it in her hurry, she juggled it for a couple of beats before finally getting a good grasp on it.

“Deputy...I hope I didn’t wake you.” John again, and Rhi cursed lowly, rolling her eyes, and giving Sharky a motion of hanging herself and he chuckled.

“Not at all, asshole, Sharky here has been keeping me company.” Rhi knew that would ruffle John’s peacock feathers. “The hell do you want? Y’know, since this is Faith’s region afterall…” Rhi pointed out, smirking to herself, and she heard John scoff bitterly.

“Ah yes, Charlemagne. Not sure he is going to be the best fit for you my dear.” Rhi blinked, confused by that answer and she shot Sharky a quick look, but he seemed to not be paying full attention to the conversation at hand, his face cast upwards looking at the stars.

“Oh? And you are?” She asked, turning her back to Sharky and walking back towards the quad, not wanting him to overhear anymore.

“Do you remember that night before you left for Billings?” Rhi’s jaw muscles bunched and flexed, her free hand clenching into a tight fist. Of course she did.

“The night that it was clear you were hiding something from me but I was too stupid to acknowledge it?” She hissed through her teeth, and John was quiet for a few beats.

“Yes, that night.” John agreed and Rhi stared down at the radio as if she couldn’t believe he just brushed off what she said. 

What she didn’t realize was, on John’s end, he had placed the radio on his forehead. He hated that he had to lie to her back then, it had been at Joseph’s request that John reach out to her, being certain Rhi needed to be brought into their loving family. He had gotten close to her during the handful of months she was there, and before he knew it, Rhi was leaving Hope County altogether.

“We watched the stars that night.” He continued, standing out on one of his balconies, looking up at the stars, he couldn’t help but think about that night. Rhi’s mind flashed back to her and John sitting on the waters edge, as she pointed out the different constellations, John leaned close to her, one arm draped around her shoulders. How could this be the same person, he acted so different back then. She sighed, looking up at the stars too. 

“We did…” Her tone was soft as she remembered it all. “What happened to you…?” It was a bitter question, rhetorical because she was sure he wouldn’t answer such a question, to him, he was probably always the same him. To her, he was two faced.

“You thought I was a perfect fit back then.” His voice was back to being cocky and she growled, she hated that he could switch on a dime like that. “I’m at my home, if you want me to prove how perfect of a fit I am.” The sultry tone of his suggestion caused a hot feeling to run to her core, and Rhi’s face turned blood red at her body’s reaction. Unsure of how to even respond to such a statement, she let out a shaky laugh.

“Oh, John.” Came the weakest comeback she’s ever done in her life, and she knew she had to do better. “I’m not that easy, you’ll have to work for it.” She tried to sound as seductive as she could, not being used to flirting, especially like this, before replacing the radio onto her belt.

“Watch your back then, Deputy.” It was a warning that should have scared her, yet it had sent an inexplicable thrill through her entire body, and she smirked, she was ready for him and whatever he sent her way.

[trans-shuichisaihara]

pregame!Kaito goes for his interview. There’s more than was shown on the tape.

warnings for mentions of abuse, homophobia, and depression/caregiver fatigue

[Read on AO3]

Kaito's breath came out in short, heavy huffs, heart pounding as if he'd just run a marathon. Across from him, the head interviewer's only response was to quirk an eyebrow.

"That was quite the passionate display. But you can stop lying now."

Panic flickered in his chest, and Kaito's immediate response was to double down. "Wha--No! I meant what I said!"

She was unfazed. "Now now, don't get so defensive. I understand, you're just saying what you think we want to hear. You must really want to participate in the next season of Danganronpa, huh?" She gave him a warm smile, no trace of mockery in the curl of her lips. "So that's why I want to hear your real reason. I want to find real fans, not just those who are looking to feed their bloodlust."

She leaned forward, chin on her palms. "So, tell me about your life. What drew you to Danganronpa?"

Kaito hesitated. A torrent of conflicted emotions rushed through his body, filling every crevice with the desire to run away. He didn't have to answer. He could leave, return to his daily life as if he'd never even applied in the first place.

... The idea seized his heart with the icy grip of despair.

He averted his eyes and swallowed. It took another few minutes to get any words out, but she was patient, saying nothing as the room was consumed in an awkward silence.

"Have you ever regretted meeting someone?"

She didn't answer his question, and that was probably for the best--it was rhetorical anyway. He continued. "Dad worked in one of those office jobs where he regularly put in twelve hour days. He'd come home and take his stress out on everything in our two-bedroom apartment. At first, it was just the furniture, but then... Well, it escalated.

"Apparently he caught Mom with another man one day. He came home in a rage, breaking anything she owned or used regularly. Wasn't much, since she'd given up on replacing stuff he broke in earlier fits." He paused, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. "When he ran out of stuff, he turned on me. It... It was the first time he'd beaten me. Probably 'cause Mom was always protecting me."

He clenched his fists. "... She never came back. Last I heard, she filed for divorce then married the other guy. Never came to rescue me--guess it was too much trouble." It still hurt, and talking about it was like sticking his hand into a pile of smoldering ashes.

"Managed to live with him for a few years. Middle school was hell though. I spent as much time out of the house as I could to stay out of his way--of course, without being out so long that he got mad about that too. Studied a lot, got into a good high school. Thought the business school I chose would make him happy." He shook his head. "Always seemed like nothing would make him happy though."

As he poured his heart out into the open, she nodded along. He was glad that despite her having a notepad in front of her, she didn't write anything about what he was saying.

He pushed onward. "Got curious in high school. About... About other guys. You know?" He sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I, uh, looked up some stuff on the internet, and didn't clear my search history. Never been that good with computers, didn't even think about it.

"So he found out, and reacted by beating the shit outta me. As if that would fix whatever was wrong with my head or something. He ended up breaking my nose." He paused, tracing the crooked cartilage. "I was cowering on the floor--hoping he would stop kicking me, blood dripping everywhere--and I just... had this sudden realization that I was done."

He inhaled, then slowly exhaled. "I left that night and never went back. Should've done that long before, but... He was my dad, you know? I knew he just had a lot goin' on. It's still hard to blame him, even though I know it wasn't right."

At some point, a bottle of water was placed in front of him. He finally took it into his hand, cracking the lid off with a sharp twist and downing a third of it. He still had more to say, so his throat was thankful for the cool, refreshing sensation it brought.

Honestly, he hadn't expected to spend so much time talking about his dad. Perhaps it was because he never really had the opportunity to get all those emotions out properly.

"Anyway, so I ended up taking myself to the hospital after throwing some essentials in a bag. I was sittin' in the waiting room, plugging my nose with a tissue, and that's... That's when I met him. Ouma Kokichi."

If he hadn't started to zone out, lost in his memories, he might've noticed how her hand twitched towards her pen--ultimately, she didn't pick it up, but her eyes shone with interest as the conversation shifted.

"He was havin' this panic attack or something, and so I started talkin' to him to help him calm down while we waited. And, well, I thought he was kinda cute, so... When we both got released at the same time too, it kinda felt like fate, you know? One thing led to another, and we decided to rent this crappy one-bedroom apartment together."

He sighed. "I dunno, things just got so intense so fast. Like don't get me wrong, I care about him a lot, like, a lot a lot. But... It's hard. I ended up dropping out of school so that I could work and pay for our apartment."

"What about him?" she asked, her first question finally breaking the flow of his monologue.

Kaito frowned. "He... He can't really go outside all that much. It stresses him out, so he stays inside unless he really has to leave. But he's doing some online school stuff, so..."

She hummed. "Sounds unfair. You have to do all the heavy lifting while he gets to complete his coursework at his leisure. Say, how many hours are you working?"

"Uhh..." He hadn't quite thought about it. "I have a few different part time jobs. They don't really like hiring high school aged teens full time. Labor laws and all that. But... it's probably more than 40 hours a week, if I had to guess."

She nodded. "So after the stress started to build up, you turned to escapism?"

The accuracy of her statement nerved him out. "... I guess you could put it like that. There was a used copy of that spin-off game, uh, Ultra Despair Girls. Never really played Danganronpa, but the back said something about destroying those weird bears, Monokumas or whatever, and... It was kinda appealing, for the action aspect." He scratched the back of his neck. "Didn't expect it to be so... relatable. Ended up bawling like a baby on my couch at four in the morning because of that first boss battle.

"So, uh, I decided to give the series a chance. Haven't seen a lot, just the games really. Watching other people play them is free, after all. Usually just listened while I worked--that was really the only time I could find for it." He couldn't watch it at home, after all; Kokichi hated anything to do with Danganronpa, and the thought of being told off for consuming it made Kaito's heart feel like it was going to rip itself in two.

"It was like... Even though I wasn't personally playing it, I could tell why it was so popular. It really does bring hope to people, makes 'em see that even they can make a difference. Got me thinking the same thing after a while."

He gave her a wry smile. "But I guess you've sorta guess that it didn't work out like I wanted it to." She didn't respond, but that was fine. "I thought if I worked hard enough, maybe I could help Kokichi. I tried to ease all his worries and take care of him so he could focus on getting better. But..."

He shook his head. "It just... never happened. Again, nothing I did was good enough. I just... I just wanna be able to help people, to be good enough for once in my life. So when I saw that you guys did these live action DR games, well... I just started thinking about how nice it would be if I was able to fix everything like one of those protags in the games. Befriend others, watch them grow in a positive way instead of staying stagnant... Sounded a whole lot better than the daily grind."

He let out a shallow laugh. "Horrible, isn't it? Running away from my responsibilities for such a selfish reason. It'll break my grandma's heart if I end up dying, after all. But..." He trailed off, biting back the truth that death sounded better than returning to his fatigued life just outside the room.

She once again hummed, and finally moved to pick up her pen. She clicked it, but didn't write anything when she brought it to the paper. "So, what you would want is to help others achieve their true potential? To make them feel like they can do anything? A cool, mentor type... Hm... I could definitely see a place for you."

Despite himself, when she wrote HERO on the paper, his heart swelled with genuine hope.

[breanime]

Heartworm (Part One)

Guess who got her internet baaccccck! This gal! So @songtoyou sent me this request and I IMMEDIATELY started getting ideas. This could be up to or past 5 parts, I don’t even know! It all depends if you guys like it and want more! This is kind of a soft re-imagining of season 2.

Request:  How about instead of Billy going to his stupid psychiatrists place to seek refuge, he goes to the home of a girl who he was in a serious relationship with. Like, this girl is the only person Billy could ever see himself settling down with. However, once he got money, status, and power from Rawlins he pushed her to the side and eventually dropped her from his life. But once she sees the state Billy is in and how sad, scared and alone he is she wants to help him.

Part One is based on Halsey’s Without Me, particularly these lyrics:  

Found you when your heart was broke I filled your cup until it overflowed Took it so far to keep you close (Keep you close) I was afraid to leave you on your own

I said I'd catch you if you fall And if they laugh, then fuck 'em all (All) And then I got you off your knees Put you right back on your feet Just so you can take advantage of me

*gif not mine* (I gotta stop using this gif lol)

You stood frozen in your living room, eyes glued on the TV. The news was saying that Billy, your Billy, was a murderous traitor and a danger to society. You watched as they showed footage of Billy’s apartment up in flames. They said he bombed it himself after killing a handful of Homeland Security agents, they also said that he hired mercenaries for his Anvil staff. The government seized his assets. He shot Curtis in the shoulder. He knew about Frank’s family. He set them up to be killed. Billy. Your Billy.

Except he wasn’t your Billy anymore; he hadn’t been your Billy for three years. You sat down on the couch, legs numb with shock, as you took in what the newscaster was saying about your ex-boyfriend, the only man you’ve ever loved. They flashed a picture of him on the screen. The caption read: “Armed and Dangerous, Do Not Approach”. The newscaster was saying something about Homeland and Frank going after Billy, but it was all starting to sound like white noise to you. Your mind said to get out of town and run until it was all over, but your heart wanted to reminisce, wanted to remind you why you even cared in the first place.

“…and I’m gonna have a Rolls Royce,” Billy said, one arm behind his head and the other wrapped around your waist, “I’m gonna drive it to meetings, rich assholes love a power play.”

You smiled up at Billy, you loved listening to his grand plans for the future. “Are you gonna be a pocket square kind of rich asshole or a ‘Maureen, hold my calls’ kind of rich asshole?”

“Mm,” Billy pulled you closer to his naked chest, “I’m gonna be a pocket square kind of asshole,” he answered, “that’s the best way to run a business.”

“Of course,” you agreed, snuggling up against him, “you’re gonna be a big shot. And I’m gonna have to make an appointment with Maureen just to see you.”

Billy tsked and put a finger on your chin, lifting your face so you were eye-to-eye. “That ain’t never gonna happen,” his dark eyes bore into yours, “I’ll always have time for you.”

You smiled and pressed your lips against his. You felt Billy’s arms tighten around you, lifting you up until you were laying on top of him. You kissed him again, slowly parting your lips, inviting his tongue into your waiting mouth. His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust when you pulled back. You rubbed your nose against his. “I love you.”

His smile made your chest heave with adoration. “I love you too, Y/N.” He kissed you again. “I promise I’m gonna make you proud one day, baby. I’m gonna get us outta this shit hole and out you somewhere nice, where you belong.”

You shrugged. Money and status meant a lot to Billy, meant success, but you were happy enough where you were. Yeah, your apartment was kind of small, and yeah, the heat stopped working every few months, but you’d lived in worst places. Besides, you had Billy. He made you so unbelievably happy; you could have lived in a cave—as long as Billy was with you, you’d be fine. “You know I’m already proud of you,” you told him, “You’ve accomplished so much already.”

“Mm,” Billy kissed the top of your head, “I can do more.” He kissed your nose. “I’m gonna get this security shit together.” He kissed your right eyelid. “I’m gonna get us a place uptown.” He kissed your left eyelid. “And I’m gonna make it so you don’t ever have to work again.” You sighed as he kissed your cheek next. “I ain’t gonna let anyone look down on us anymore.” He kissed your other cheek. “I’m gonna make you so happy, baby.” You felt yourself melt when he finally kissed you on the lips. “I’m gonna take care of us…

…I’m gonna take care of you.”

You turned the TV off, cradling the remote to your chest. You felt your breath getting shallower and casually recognized your erratic heartbeat. You didn’t know what to do. You believed the news—you weren’t sure about the details, but you knew Billy well enough to know that he would do anything for power. You had seen the change that money bought him firsthand, and you didn’t like it at all. You thought about calling Curtis, but you didn’t want to bother him. He was probably up to his neck in cops and paperwork and…Homeland Security, apparently. You wondered how it came to this. Frank was alive. Billy was a wanted man. Curtis was wounded. And you…were alone.

You spent the night on the couch, too numb and confused to get up. You dreamt of Billy and woke up shivering. You got up and made yourself a cup of coffee. Your phone was on the counter, and you frowned as you picked it up. You had missed calls from your mom, your best friend, your boss, and your sister. You had no desire to speak to any of them. You also had a call and voicemail message from an unknown number. Hitting the speaker button, you played the message.

“You’re gonna hear some things on the news.” Billy. “They’re true. I…I did all those things they say I have. By the time you get this message, I’m either gonna be on the run or dead.” It sounded like he took a breath before continuing. “I wanted to see you before I go, but…that’s not gonna happen. So just… Just know that I…” A sigh. “…I think about you all the time. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, a lot of bad choices, done a lot of shitty things, but… I only regret one thing: letting you go. I wish… I should have fought for you more. I should have…” There was some shuffling, and you thought Billy might have put the phone down for a moment. “Listen, they’re gonna say a lot of things about me, and people are gonna try to tell you that I’m heartless and evil, but I want you to remember…You loved me once. You’re the only one I could ever be honest with, the only person in this world who knows who I am. Just… Remember that. And… I’m sorry, Y/N. Goodbye.”

You stood in your kitchen and listened to Billy’s message for at least another 30 minutes. By the time you went back to the couch and turned the TV on, Billy was pronounced near-death and was being kept under constant surveillance at the hospital. Frank Castle was said to be ‘in the wind’ and Anvil was being torn down and all the profits split up. The news interviewed a medical professional about the chances of Billy making any kind of recovery. They predicted he would be dead in six months.

You turned the TV off and wept.

It had been nearly a year since everything went down with Billy. The coverage for Billy’s case had pretty much stopped after a month, and people were onto the next scandal now. Curtis had stopped by your place and told you that Frank left town. The visit had been brief, but he told you what Billy had done—confirming what you’d heard on the news—and said that his orders had come from someone named Rawlins. Rawlins, you understood, was dead. Curtis had word from Frank to tell you that he had been given a new identity by the government and was going to hit the road for a while. When you asked why he’d want you to know that, Curtis had just said: “you needed to know it was over”. You should have felt anger, or pity or sadness but… you felt nothing. You had been operating on auto-pilot, swimming in a thick fog of numbness, since Billy had been arrested. The last thing you could remember feeling, really feeling, was a deep and intense sorrow when you listened to Billy’s message. He had broken your heart, left you, and then revealed himself to be a monster and you…You were just tired.

“I don’t know what you want me to say Y/N,” Billy’s back was to you. You had barged into his office at Anvil, demanding to see him, but now that you were there… The way he was talking to you was cold and detached. His stance was rigid, his focus was on the recruits below him, not on you. This Billy—CEO Billy—was not what you had signed up for.

“I want you to say you’re sorry,” you said, “I want you to say you care.” Billy didn’t say anything. You clenched your fists. “Look at me, Billy.”

He turned. He was wearing an expensive three-piece suit and his hair was impeccably cut. His eyes, the eyes you loved, the eyes that looked at you with such care and affection, were hollow.

“What happened to you?” You asked, looking him up and down with disgust. “You never come home, you barely spend any time with me—”

“What do you want, Y/N?” He said, irritation clear in his voice. “I’m busy. I’m working. I’m trying to afford the penthouse we live in and the car you drive.”

“I bought my own car,” you reminded him, eyes narrowed as you glared at him, “And I work, too, but I make time for the people I love.”

Billy sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I told you, you don’t have to work.”

You sighed then. He was missing the point. “Billy,” you tried again, “I’m tired of this. I can’t keep being an afterthought for you. I need you.” You tried to look in his eyes, but he avoided your gaze. “I miss you.”

Billy walked over to you and put a hand on your waist. He pulled you towards him and kissed you. “I miss you, too,” his voice was husky as he moved his lips to your neck, “I know I’ve been working a lot lately, but we’re so close…”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to have a conversation, but it was hard to think of words—let alone form any—with his mouth on your skin. “Will you come home tonight?” You asked, breath short and voice heavy with lust.

“Mm hmm,” his hand slid to your ass as he kissed you again, “I’m gonna be all yours tonight.” He licked into your mouth and smiled when you moaned.

You felt his hardness pressing against your front and you deepened the kiss. “I don’t know if I can wait that long,” you whispered.

Billy chuckled and released you from his grip. You glared as you watched him walk over to his desk. He pressed a button on his phone and leaned over to speak. “Hold all my calls,” he ordered, smirking over at you, “I don’t want any calls or interruptions for the next hour.” He walked past you and you heard him lock the door behind you. His eyes were gleaming when he turned back to you and he looked like himself, like your Billy, again. His smile made your heart skip a beat. “Take your clothes off, baby. I want to spend some time with you.”

You sat up with a start. It had been months since you’d last dreamt of Billy. You looked around you and cursed under your breath. You had fallen asleep on the couch. No wonder you were off. You hadn’t been able to have a full night’s rest without sleep aids since…since Billy had left that message on your phone. If you didn’t take a pill before you went to bed, you would dream about Billy. You didn’t want to dream about him, you wanted to ignore the ache in your chest and the emptiness in your life and just… Get over it. Get over him. You felt a headache coming on, so you shuffled to the bathroom for a quick shower before bed.

Your mind kept going back to Billy as you got ready for bed; you remembered the strain in his voice in the message he left you, how he used to laugh when you stuck your cold feet on his back, the way he stared down at you as he shifted inside you, driving you wild. You could see his eyes, dark and expressive and so full of love when he looked at you, every time you closed your eyes. You gave up on sleep and went back to the couch, deciding to just spend the night watching horrible night time TV until you could get Billy out of your head.

You were finally getting into the Real Housewives marathon you had been watching when you heard a knock on your door. You glanced at your phone: it was 11 pm. Who the hell would be at your door at this time? You grabbed your phone in case you needed to call the police and stood on your tip-toes to look into the peephole. Your mouth fell open at the same time your phone hit the floor with a dull thump.

Billy Russo was standing in the hallway of your apartment. And he was covered in blood.

*************************************************************************************

I have the next two parts locked and loaded! Pleaaase comment and let me know if you want the rest. The more feedback I get, the more I update! Thanks for reading, and may Billian be with you.

BTW, I got the title from this “emotion that’s hard to describe word”:  Heartworm: a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

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