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bookshelf-dust · 2 years ago

Text

healing

billy hargrove x gn!reader

word count: 5,445

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of past trauma (starcourt), slight sexual innuendos??

a/n: hi! remember when i made you do a poll for my 1k celebration? and one bed with billy won? well this is that fic! i'm sorry it took so long to get here, but school was kicking the ever loving shit out of me. anyways, i really hope you like it. it's a little different than other fics i've written, but i think that's a good thing. just for context, this is post the end of season three, with billy and hopper being okay and jopper being in full swing. i think that's all i wanted to say. thanks again for 1k followers. that's still so wild to me. i love you. and billy loves you too <333

————

November 1985

“No.”

“What do you mean no? You just fought an interdimensional being, don’t you want a vacation?”

Lucas wipes both hands down his face, flopping down on the arm of the couch beside where Max sits with El between her knees, tying off one of the two braids she’s trying to make.

“Max, can you help me? Please?” Lucas has been arguing about this for fifteen minutes.

She rolls her eyes, but looks up from her work nonetheless. “Billy.”

The man in question crosses his arms, locking eyes with the redhead. “Maxine.”

Max finishes Eleven’s braid and she hops up to join Will where he’s working on a puzzle. Joyce brought it home from work a few days ago, and it’s been spread out on a card table in the corner of the living room since then. Will couldn’t watch The Golden Girls with Joyce from the kitchen table.

“Just come with us, Billy. We all know you hate it here. It’ll give you a chance to get away for a little while.”

Except that’s not totally the truth. He doesn’t hate it here. Not with you around.

“There’s a pool.” Will looks up, a little shyly, from the puzzle, fingers flipping around a single piece. “At the place Robin found.”

Billy nods, and it’s enough to make Will smile at the acknowledgment.

It’d been Steve’s idea, after everything that happened in July. He thought everyone going on a trip together might be a good idea. Go a little ways out from home, calm down.

You and Billy started going to school, though Billy is still working. He found a job at a record store across the street from Melvald’s that opened after the mall went to shit. It definitely wasn’t his first choice, but it works. And he’s slowly fixing up the Camaro.

Steve had offered to pay for the repairs in full, considering he did most of the damage when he rammed the side of it, but Billy couldn’t handle that. So far Max has only convinced him to let Steve cover the really expensive parts. It hurts Billy more than he’d care to admit—having Steve Harrington give him money.

But he can’t lie, going somewhere away from Hawkins, even just for a couple days, sounds really nice. It’s the group part that’s bothering him. He’s still not used to everyone wanting him to tag along, but apparently major trauma brings people together.

There’s the slamming of car doors, and footsteps running up the driveway before the door swings open, Robin bursting in with a stack of movies in her arms. She’s followed by Dustin and then Steve, bags and keys being tossed every which way.

Billy doesn’t see you for a moment and starts to worry maybe you aren’t coming. He’s already supplying excuses for having to go home, but Steve left the door ajar, and after a moment, there you are.

You look sleepy, footsteps the quietest of everyone else as you carefully push the Byers’ door shut behind you. He watches as you accept a hug from Eleven, overhears her ask, “how did your test go?”

He’s happy to hear you tell her it went well. It’s only after you’ve looked at her and Will’s puzzle and snapped a few more corner pieces in that you make a beeline for the open spot on the couch beside Billy.

When you’ve settled, your knee bumps against his. “Hey.”

He looks at you, a little grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His arms are still crossed, thumb playing with the pendant resting on his chest. A chest surprisingly covered by a sweater, though the sleeves are pushed up.

“Hey. Glad your test is over?”

That sound of his voice makes you smile, and he’s never been so grateful for something, even if it’s just an expression. “Yeah.”

You glance down at the new tattoo on his arm, a dark colored snake wrapping around the skin covering his elbow. You run your thumb across the tail that flicks across his forearm, and Billy relaxes into your touch.

“You have work today?”

Billy shakes his head. You’re glad he had the day off. And you’d tell him so if it weren’t for the sudden bombardment.

Lucas is suddenly standing in front of you, having returned from the kitchen where you think he and Dustin may have been cleaning out Joyce’s fridge.

“Holy shit, thank god you’re here. I need you to convince Billy to go on vacation.”

You glance at Max, assuming she’s already tried. She looks rather annoyed. “Lucas, would you sit down?”

The boy looks at Max, and she glares at him. Clearly he knows better and sits down next to her.

“Billy doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do,” you finally say.

The man in question turns to face you. You have to lean your head back some because of how close he is.

“Are you going?” he asks, voice quiet and thick with something you don’t know that you’re supposed to notice.

“Y-yeah. I was gonna. Robin only went on about it to me for an hour over the phone last night. I just think it might be nice to get away for a little while.” Billy doesn’t break eye contact with you, and while it makes you a little nervous, it tells you he’s listening.

“And I can watch Max for you if you really don’t want to go. Just make sure she doesn’t kill Lucas or anything.” Max snorts at your response, though Lucas looks at her in panic, already calculating how best to prevent that sort of situation.

Your gaze softens and you fight the urge to reach out and run your thumb across Billy’s cheek.

Please come with us. I want you to go. I want you there, you think. But it’s not what you say. You don’t know how badly he needs to hear it.

“You really don’t have to go, Billy. Not if you don’t want to.”

“But there is enough space, man.” Steve stands behind the couch, handing El a scrunchie he retrieved from her bag. His voice is calm, informative. “If you decide to go. There’s plenty of room, and we’d be happy if you did.”

Billy could make some smartass remark. But he won��t. He knows that Steve is being honest, and that he’s not trying to be a dick. It seems that witnessing the guy who beat the shit out of you almost die not even a year after he moved to town really brings you together.

Billy gives an acknowledging nod. “I’d be very happy if you did,” Eleven says. She loves having Jonathan as an older brother, really she does, but Billy lets her play with his hair. And in her books, that really ups the scale.

He smiles at her, and El considers that a win.

You notice him shift next to you, and then he’s leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Come with me?” He cocks his head in the direction of the door.

He gets up, assuming you’ll follow him. You always do.

When you’ve shut the door, you move to the porch swing. It’s your favorite spot out here, and Joyce says it makes her happy to see someone use it. She used to sit there with Will in the mornings after Jonathan left for school and read to him. She did the same with Jonathan, but he was a much more fidgety kid, wanting to find something else to do.

Billy lights a cigarette, and you watch where he fidgets with the ring on his middle finger.

He’s standing a little ways away from you so as to not breathe the smoke directly in your vicinity, but you wish so badly that he was closer. You like having him close. The weight of his body next to you, the warmth, how solid his arm feels when it’s pressed to yours or when he slides down on the couch some and it's more so pressed to your side.

“Which part of it are you worried about?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “You really think they want me there? You think Max wants me around?” “Billy, I know she does. And I know that voice in your head is telling you that it’s a pity invite, but it’s not. And, besides…” you trail off, but he’s not having that. He needs you to reassure him.

“Besides what?”

You look up at him. “I want you to go. And yeah, I’ll be sad if you don’t go, but that shouldn’t sway your decision either.” You push your feet against the concrete porch a little harder, and the swing responds to the movement. You move quicker, now feeling very pleased with yourself.

Billy almost laughs at the child-like look on your face, but you look so at home on the swing that he holds it in. A grin escapes nonetheless.

“Say that again.” He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray either Hopper or Joyce have left outside. He’s watching you again.

“What?” He’s not gonna let you go all shy on him now. He needed to hear that. He needs to hear it.

“You know what.”

“I want you to go.”

“Then it’s settled. Need to get out of this shithole anyways.”

————

The place Steve found is about two hours from Hawkins, with three bedrooms, a shockingly luxurious pull-out couch, and bigger common areas than you’ve ever laid eyes on. Excluding the ones in Steve’s house. In short, the rental is like Hopper’s cabin, if Hopper’s cabin were updated and substantially larger. It feels like the kind of place rich people have to take weekend trips. You’d rather not find out how much Steve is paying for the lot of you to stay there.

Robin takes you on a grand tour while everyone else explores the backyard. Dustin is already determined to climb a tree. One of the rooms has two sets of bunk beds, dedicated to the four boys. “To ensure no cootie-spreading,” Robin proclaims.

She and Steve will share the couch, with Max and Eleven in the smaller bedroom.

Robin stops at the end of the hallway. “Which leaves…”

You and Billy.

You and Billy Hargrove.

Sharing a room.

Sharing a bed.

Speaking of, the man in question brushes past you, setting his bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. Robin takes that as her queue to leave and gives you a thumbs up on the way out. You hope she can feel your death stare on the back of her head, and she knows it, being quick to run down the hall.

“So we’re roomies, huh?” Billy says, gathering his hair at the base of his neck. You hadn’t even realized he had a tie on him, and it takes him finishing off a lazy bun to realize it’s a blue scrunchie. You have to bite your lip to keep from saying anything.

“I can sleep with Max and El, if you want. Or–”

That crease between Billy’s brows forms. “Why would you do that?”

You’ve gone all warm. You’d have to sleep in bed with him. And you sit next to him all the time, but this is different. Isn’t it?

Maybe it’s not so weird. You’re just friends. It’s like a sleepover, right?

“I don’t know, you might not want to sleep together or something.”

He cocks a brow, but you catch the double meaning of your words just in time. “You know what I mean, Billy.”

He sits on the end of the bed, and reaches out for you. You move towards him slowly, but the moment you’re within his grasp, Billy spreads his legs and grabs your waist, slotting your body between them.

“You can go if you really want to. If you think I’ve got cooties or somethin’ and you don’t wanna share a bed with me.”

You snort, and Billy drinks in the sound, knowing he’s the one that made you laugh.

“I don’t think you’ve got cooties.”

You realize in that moment that his hands haven’t left their spot on your waist, never straying anywhere else. The weight of them on you is enough to keep you focused on him, and he seems to acknowledge that.

“Then what is it?” he asks, in that low drawl you fear could get out any answer he wanted from you.

You hesitate, but say it anyway. “You don’t think it’ll be weird? Sleeping in the same bed?”

Billy fights the urge to rest his forehead against your stomach. He wants to tell you he’s wished you were in his bed on more than one occasion. Sometimes he just wishes you were there so it wouldn’t feel so cold, so he’d have someone to pull him out of his thoughts before they eat him alive altogether.

“No, I don’t think it’ll be weird.”

You nod your head, and try to move back from him.

Billy whines. “Uh uh. Nope.”

You go to put your hands on your hips, and they graze Billy’s on the way. He grabs hold of them. “You don’t want to have a sleepover with me?”

Billy’s looking up at you with those watery blue eyes, and you know this is a battle you’ll never win.

“Really?”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, and your eyes fall to his neck when he tosses his head back.

“Yeah, baby.”

Baby.

It feels like every cell in your body has been sent into overdrive, like you can’t compute a single coherent thought. All because Billy called you “baby”.

And if he’s being honest with himself, he feels the same way. He hadn’t meant to say it. It’s just that he calls you “baby” in his head all the time, and it just…happened.

“I’d love to have a sleepover with you, Hargrove.”

“Mhm. Thought so.”

This time he lets the laugh out, and it’s a beautiful sound. The kind of sound you’d commit unspeakable acts to hear again. And this time, he does let his forehead drop to rest on your stomach. It surprises you, but you’re not mad about it.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say, and you can feel his chuckle against your skin.

When he quits, you find yourself just standing there, find your hands moving around his back. He’s always so warm. You rub your hands up and down his back, the denim of his jacket rough on your fingertips.

You feel him shift, feel his change in position, the hard press of his chin against you. Billy is looking up at you, and you know he’s hoping you’ll return his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you hate to think of what you must look like from this angle. Clearly he doesn’t mind.

You push a curl behind his ear, a shockingly perfect ringlet that’s too short to be contained like the rest of them.

Billy would be taken aback by the gesture if it weren’t for the fact that you always go this easy on him. Like you know he’s healing, in more ways than one.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know. I wanna go look around.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m sure it’s riveting.” He lets you go anyway, following you down the hall to the rest of the cabin.

————

Your back rests on the base of an oversized chair, one that’s surprisingly comfy, your body in between Robin’s legs. She’s sitting next to Steve, watching you moderate El, Lucas, and Will play Twister. Dustin’s already out.

“Right hand blue.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“Sinclair, have you never played this game before?”

Lucas scoffs, trying to reach the blue on the other side of the mat without toppling into Will. Max went with Billy to the store, but they should be back soon. You have a sick feeling they’re taking advantage of having been given Steve’s debit card.

“Yes, I’ve played the game before. If you’re so good, why don’t you get down here and show us how it’s done, Harrington?”

“Yeah, Harrington, why don’t you show us how flexible you are?” Billy’s voice makes you look up from where you’ve been mindlessly twisting the spinner on the board around with the tip of your finger.

He stands just inside the living room, holding the door open with his leg. He kicks it shut once Max has made it in. She heaves the paper bags she’d been holding up and onto the counter. Steve rises to help unpack them. You follow on instinct, handing the spinner to Robin instead, and Dustin is quick to take Steve’s spot before Mike can.

Billy won’t let you take anything from him, but he will let you help figure out what the hell to do with all of it. “Do I even want to know how much you both spent?” you ask.

He gives you that fucking smile, and you know you don’t. “Max said she wanted to have a spa night–whatever that means–with El, so we sort of split up. I’m sure Steve’ll live.”

“For your information, Lucas,” Steve continues, clearly not ready to let the quips towards his limberness go, “I was the captain of the swim team.”

“What’s that got to do with being flexible, dingus?” Robin directs the two remaining players, the young boy in question having just busted his ass.

“Swimming is an art form, Rob. You gotta learn to respect it.”

You choke on a laugh, and Billy is quick to rub your back while he chuckles into your shoulder.

“Something funny over there?” Steve questions.

You straighten, trying to wipe the smile from your face though it’s to no avail. “Nope, Steven. I’m sure you’re just incredibly stretchy. Like Mr. Fantastic.”

His brow furrows. “Mr. Fantastic?”

Dustin snorts, elbow deep in a bag of chips, and you quickly realize that you probably shouldn’t have given him an opening, but you don’t exactly regret it either.

The lot of you spend the rest of the night in this fashion, playing games, eating way too much food, taking turns smacking the top of the television so your movie will keep playing.

It feels like home. It feels safe. You wish it always felt this way.

————

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when you hear the bedroom door click shut, hear footsteps you can tell are in search of you.

You peek your head out of the bathroom and Billy grins at the sight of you in pajamas, a smear of moisturizer on your forehead you’ve yet to rub in.

He squeezes in the small room, about the same size as his at home, to join you. There’s something about this moment, the domesticity of it, that makes your heart swell. It feels like something you could get used to, getting ready for bed with him. Neither of you have to say anything, you just do your own thing, but having him be there, having his presence–it’s more than enough for you.

When you climb into bed, you try and read for a while, the sounds of Billy washing his face comforting you. You find it easy to read even when he does get in with you, the mattress sinking underneath his weight, the sheets rustling as he moves around experimentally, trying to get comfortable in a bed that isn’t his own.

You feel odd though, reading when he’s right there, so it isn’t long before you close the book and slide further into the covers with him. Billy’s quick to turn on his side, wanting to see you like this.

He watches you yank the blankets up to your chin, looking at him over a blur of fluffy white comforter. “It’s fuckin’ freezin’ in here,” you tell him.

“C’mere then.”

You burrow further into your pillow, fearing you know exactly what he’s going to suggest. “Huh?”

“You’re cold. You always whine about me being warm or somethin’ and I’m telling you to come here.”

“Billy.”

“Stop.” He lifts the covers up some, untucking you from them, and he wraps his arm around your back, tugging you into his side.

Suddenly you’re pressed against him, having slid across the sheets easier than you’d have imagined.

He’s let go of you, his arm hovering over your back. “You want me to hold you or no?”

“Yeah.”

Billy lets his arm drop against your side, his fingers splaying out over your back. He rubs his hand up and down your spine, hoping it’ll warm you up. “This okay?”

“Yes.”

He nods. You’re looking at him like he’s something special.

Billy realizes, in that moment, that that’s how you’ve always looked at him. Even before.

He also realizes that your hands are tucked under your chin and your legs are curled up and into you like you’re afraid of making any contact with him.

“You can loosen up, you know. It’s just me.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, and he can feel it against the skin of his neck.

“It’s okay, I promise. You can touch me.” Billy has this feeling that you’re afraid of hurting him. He’s sure you’ve noticed that he’s wearing a shirt to bed, something he never did before. And he thinks that you’re worried he’ll break.

“You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have said so otherwise.”

He watches you unfold your hands and stretch your arm over him, hooking it around his hip. You want to rub up and down his side, but you’re nervous.

It’s just me.

“Do they hurt at all?”

Your thumb skates up a little further, and you don’t have to tell him what you mean.

“Not all the time,” he says, voice low and thick with drowsiness. “At first, yeah, like hell. Now it’s just sometimes. They can feel a little tight, or just bug me. Depends, I guess.”

You nod, feeling brave enough now to slide your hand up a little further. Your touch is light, barely there. You close your eyes, trying not to think about when it happened. How he’d screamed.

He can tell when you’ve calmed down some, because your arm relaxes and you hug him a little more firmly. You scoot in a little closer, close enough that your noses would touch if you tried to make them.

“Goodnight, Billy.”

He makes the move, dragging the tip of his nose across your forehead. He kisses the top of your head, and you grin so wide you feel like a kid in a candy shop.

“Goodnight, baby.”

————

When you wake up, you almost don’t want to disturb him, but you know you should get out of bed.

Billy is sprawled out on his stomach, having separated from you at some point during the night. His tank top is rucked up from the tossing and turning of sleep, and you look away when you catch a glimpse of pink skin. It doesn’t feel like your place to look.

You wander out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind you. You make it down the hall, and find that Robin seems to be the only other one awake. You should’ve guessed. She told you once before that her body doesn’t seem to let her sleep in.

Steve is still passed out on the pull-out couch, completely covered by the blankets. The only sign of him is a tuft of messy hair against the light colored pillow case his head rests on.

Robin waves at you from her perch at the kitchen counter, a bowl of cereal in front of her. “Want some?” she whispers, pushing the box in your direction.

You fill up your own bowl, having a feeling that Robin is about to ramble.

“Sleep okay?” she asks.

“Mhm. You?”

“Fine. Though, y’know, Steve is a horrific bed hog. Seriously, he was half on top of me the whole night. I might have to bunk with Max and El.”

You laugh, and Robin takes that as her queue to ask what she’s been pondering since she woke up.

“Was it okay? Sleeping with Billy? Well, not like that. Well, I’m assuming not like that, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I just meant like actually sleeping? Please stop me.”

You grin at her. “Please breathe, Rob.” She does, over exaggerating her inhales. “And it was fine.”

“Okay, good. I was kind of worried you’d be frustrated with my matchmaking tendencies. I just really want you two to be happy. And he seems so calm when he’s with you, and I realize I’ve just told you that I’ve been pushing you two together and I��”

You wipe milk from your chin, having almost spit out your cereal. “Robin, sweetheart, it’s okay, I promise. I know about your matchmaking tendencies. But I think we’re just friends, right?”

“Just friends, my ass.” You hadn’t even seen Steve get up, but he’s reaching for the fridge and pulling out a carton of chocolate milk. He really can’t say anything about Dustin’s eating habits when he has the exact same diet.

“Oh my god.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, there’s been something going on between you two since before the world went to shit. I don’t know why you two tiptoe around each other like it’s not obvious that you’re in love.”

“Steve!” you exclaim. “Seriously, what the hell? I’ve been up for like twenty minutes and you two are schooling me on my love life?”

“Or lack thereof,” Robin says.

“Okay, damn. You know what, I’m going back to bed.”

Steve pushes your bowl back towards you when you attempt to get up. “No, you’re not. I’m just saying, there’s no sense in avoiding this. You both clearly feel a lot for each other, and I don’t see any reason to avoid it when you could be together.”

He’s being vulnerable with you, his big brown eyes boring into yours and trying to convey how serious he’s being.

“Just think about it, okay? There’s no harm in talking about how you feel with him. And don’t say that you don’t feel anything, because that’s a goddamn lie.”

————

Billy’s had his swim trunks on all day, but he hasn’t done more than sit in the shade by the pool while everyone else makes a mess and plays ridiculous games in the water.

It’s killing him to watch you in there from time to time, swimming around or sitting in the shallow end. You told him once that swimming calms you down.

It’s not until after dinner, when everyone has moved inside for the most part, though there seems to be the plotting of a water balloon fight out front, that he’s brave enough to head for the pool.

You follow him out there, see him contemplating the water.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Billy drops the cigarette he’d been smoking, snubbing it out. “Thought about going for a swim,” he tells you.

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm.”

“I can go back inside, if you want.”

Billy turns to face you. “No. No, I want you to stay.” He wants you to see. He can’t explain why, but he does.

“Okay.”

He takes a shaky breath, hoping you don’t catch it. You do. You always do.

“I just…wasn’t ready for everyone to see.”

“I understand, Billy.”

You know what he’s really saying. He wasn’t ready for everyone to see. But he’s ready for you to see.

“I can get in first, if that helps. And I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” you say.

“That helps, yeah. And you can look. It’s okay.”

He watches you wade in, watches the way your swimsuit changes color as you tread water.

Billy takes another deep breath, and he’s pulling his shirt off. He’s quick though, diving straight into the deep end, knowing he needs to get it over with.

When he comes up, his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he flips it out of the way, giving you a glimpse of the broad pink scar on his chest.

He meets you halfway, and you think he’s in a serious mood until he’s splashing you like a child.

“You motherfucker!”

You get him back, and he’s laughing.

Billy is laughing and he looks so pretty in the last of the day’s sunlight, beads of water sliding over his collarbones and down his arms, and you feel like you could die. Like seeing him this way is enough. You don’t need anything else.

You try to return a particularly aggressive splash, but he catches your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder.

“Billy!”

“What?” His voice is teasing. He tosses the rest of the way over, your laughter fading out into the water.

You come up, a brilliant smile on his face. Billy’s sure if you stood close enough you’d be able to hear his heart beating.

When you’ve both gone quiet, your eyes drop to the scars on his sides, the way they stretch across his skin, mean and twisting. Some spots are darker than others, and while it hurts you to look at them, you know it must hurt him even more. But he looks just as beautiful as before, if not increasingly so.

“See something you like?” Billy says it on instinct. To hide the fact that he’s worried you don’t really like it. That maybe you think he’s gross looking. But he knows that’s all in his head. He fucking knows it.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Billy Hargrove.”

You say it with such surety, such admiration, that he can’t even begin to doubt that you mean it.

He smiles at you. It’s boyish. You’d do anything to see a million more of them.

He moves towards you, the sky having darkened enough that the outside lights have come on, the lights in the pool too. All that remains of the sun is a slash of deep orange, though the night quickly pushes it away.

Billy’s got you backed up against the wall of the pool now. His hands find your sides.

It’s overwhelming, having him this close. You can feel his breath on your face, see the rise and fall of his chest, the freckles on his cheeks.

When he kisses you, you think your heart stops. His mouth is warm against yours, and he tastes a little like chlorine, but you don’t care. Your hands find his face, and you’re smiling so hard that he pulls away because he wants to see. You don’t let him for long though, pulling him back, wanting more. He laughs into your mouth, and your chest aches with this feeling.

Eventually you do let go, and when you hold his eye contact, he knows what you’re going to say. He needs to tell you first, though.

“I’m in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” you respond.

He tosses his head back in a laugh, and you press a sweet kiss to his throat.

“I’m in love with you too, Billy.”

“Damn right you are.”

You snort against his chest, lowering slightly to kiss his scar. His breath catches. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve you.

“About fucking time!” Steve’s shouting and Robin is yelling, and Max would be making barf sounds if she wasn’t so pleased with seeing her brother so happy.

“So much for that,” Billy says.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

————

“I’m regretting this, Billy.”

“Stop whining.”

Billy wraps his arms tighter around your back, pressing a kiss to your jaw in hopes that you’ll let him keep doing this.

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Get off, please.”

“Make me.”

There’s the sound of a slap, your hand having met his ass.

He raises his head from where he’d buried it in your chest, looking at you drowsily. “You just spanked me.”

And you’d do it again.

“Didn’t work, did it?”

“No. Shut up and take it.”

By that he means continue letting him lay on top of you, his entire body pressed to yours. It doesn’t matter to him that there’s an entire bed, one that’s made for two people.

You settle for playing with his hair, something he seems to enjoy, and you’d mess with him about the fact that he’s essentially purring if it weren’t for him looking so content.

He might be heavy, but having Billy Hargrove sleep on top of you isn’t exactly something you just give up.

He’s never had this before.

Hell, you’ve never had this before.

And he thinks it’s healing him. More than the salve he puts on his scars, or the physical therapy, or fixing up the Camaro.

You’re healing him. You.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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alexiroflife · 3 months ago

Note

hii!! i recently read your ‘Five more minutes?’ story with Choso and am absolutely in love with it, i’ve read it a million times already! i’m so so sorry to ask but are there any plans for a part 2?

thank you so much, and again i’m sorry for asking! take care! 🫶

"beyond that"

"five more minutes": part 2, college au, mutual pining, FLUFF

choso kamo x writing tutor!reader

Synopsis: you and choso, now having been studying with each other for weeks, battle the development of your "little" crushes on one another

to sum it up: at this point, tutoring is the last thing on either of your minds

WC: 4,673

Warning(s): noneeeee, just fluff everywhere

Choso, admittedly, is incredibly nervous.

He doesn't know why after weeks of visiting you as his writing tutor, you have managed to have this affect on him - yet, nevertheless, his heart is pounding and his palms are sweating as he makes his way over to your now usual spot at the library, just outside the school cafe which is attached to the quiet building.

He goes through this every time he has a meeting with you. The two of you will shoot a few texts back and forth about your upcoming meeting time, the brunette would anticipate the day all week until it finally comes and his nerves are eating him alive, his face will burst into flames and his mind will drag him through every possible outcome that could turn out poorly in your presence to make him appear less favorable in your eyes, and then he'd see your face, watch you smile kindly in greeting at him, and all of is anxieties would melt away in an instant.

You have a comforting air about you, though you continue to work his nerves like crazy. While you are beautiful enough to strip the air from his lungs when he lays eyes on you and you are so humbly intelligent that it makes his head spin on his neck, you soothe him with your approach, with your voice, with your gentle advice and teachings that have helped elevate his writing skills immensely, more so than they had developed over the four years he had been attending this school.

As intimidating as you are physically, you bring Choso peace in a subject that has always aroused such stress in his life, and he is so grateful, so baffled by this magical skill that you have that he continues to return to you for more.

He did not mean to develop the crush on you that he harbors now, but how could he not? You are a breath of fresh air, a glimmer of sunlight in a world he previously deemed to be drab and dull. You're light, and fun, and down to earth, and helpful, and unintentionally charming in an adorably shy, giddy way and it makes the violet-eyed man's knees wobble and his throat run dry every time you giggle softly to ease your apprehension in his presence.

Choso loves your tutoring sessions so much, he never wishes them to end. He feels that the hour he now has carved out with you is hardly enough time, and he needs more of you - more of your face, more of your gentle voice speaking directly to him, more of your bright (e/c) eyes that soak up every ray of light that beams into your rented study room, more of the press of your lips together as you smile warmly and fully up at him when he catches on to something you taught, more of your pretty fingers grasping a pen and scribbling over his work, more of the little smiley faces you have begun to doodle onto his drafts alongside your notes.

Choso wants more of you, all of you, but he does not know how to get you. He hardly sees you outside of your sessions, and when he does, its in brief passing and you are too far away to take notice of him catching sight of you. He tries to extend your text conversations when scheduling, but they never go much further than a repetitive expression of thanks for your help or a short inquiry about how your day has been.

You're eating him alive in his mind, and it is driving him crazy. He has no idea what to do with this little obsession he has developed over you except to cling to every second he spends next to you in the library as you work through each and every aspect of his project and then some. Choso finds he has even begun to tune out when you speak to him, his thoughts so entranced by thoughts of you that he is too busy ogling over the new color you have painted over your nails, or the scent that clings to your skin, or the pattern of the skirt that you decided to wear to your meeting with him.

And you, just as smitten with your tutee, feel yourself reverting back to a bumbling schoolgirl mentality when you see him. You're always grinning ear to ear when you catch wind of Choso walking through the door and toward you, his lips curving into a soft smile when he sees you in return. And when you are tutoring him, you pay far too close attention to how far away his hand is from yours when you write over his paper, how the quick brush of your palms sparks your body to life and has you nibbling down on the inside of your lip to suppress a smile.

You like Choso. You like the way he thinks, the way he works, how lowly he speaks as though he is constantly tired, and yet how sprinkles of passion flutter their way into his speech when he discusses his research findings or other unrelated topics like his younger brother. You like the way he sits in his chair next to you, first slouching back with his legs sprawled before him before hunching forward with loose fists to the surface of the table, one leg stretched out while the other bends at the knee under the table. You like the way he focuses, the way his gorgeous lavender eyes flitter over the paper as the two of you work, then up at you when he believes that you are not paying attention, holding the image of your face until you peek up and he's snapping his eyes away as though he has been staring ahead the entire time.

God, you like how he surprises you with his warmth and generosity, his knowledge and selflessness. You like how he looks to the world with curiosity, with a clear goal, and how he acts better than he can form words - you think it proves his genuine spirit, his honesty.

You like damn near everything about him, except for when he has to leave, and he fails to ask to see you outside of an academic setting when he stands before you and stares, stammering whatever he says about having enjoyed the time you've given him. You hate when you have to watch him walk away from you, and how you have to wait another week until you see him again.

You wonder if you have deluded yourself into believing that he could return any form of attraction to you. You catch him staring at you all the time, and you see the bubble of his iMessage pending and disappearing frequently as though he is attempting to think of a way to talk to you but second-guessing so. You think the two of you have good conversations even outside of school-related topics when you are together, and you think he enjoys your company, but he never acts on it. Could it be that you are reading into things? You are his tutor after all. He could be simply behaving respectfully or showing you basic human decency by being kind. You're not sure, but one thing you do know is that you're tired of only getting to see him once a week.

You figure it does not matter when you see that familiar head of brown hair making its way past the cafe and toward the study room on the far left that the two of you have been reserving for the past few weeks. You brighten instantly and give a small wave when Choso's face comes into view. His eyes find yours through the glass and he smiles, waving in turn with rosy cheeks.

"Hi, Cho!" you greet chirpily. Choso's feet almost trip over themselves as he opens the door and walks in, the nickname you have taken to referring to him by still new on his ears, as it makes his heart skip a beat.

"H-Hey," he clears his throat, throwing his bag to the floor and taking a seat next to you. "How are you?"

"I'm good," you smile widely. "I like your outfit."

The brunette looks down at his choice of clothing, an oversized Rise Against hoodie and tattered baggy jeans. "Oh, thanks," he mumbles, looking back up at you. "You listen to Rise Against?"

"No," you admit sheepishly. "I just like the way those colors on you."

"Really? It's just black."

You point to the splashes of yellow and red in the graphic detailing. "Yeah, but the yellow brings out your eyes," you say rather casually, and the tips of Choso's ears burn at the compliment.

"Thank you..." he mumbles, averting his gaze and scratching the back of his neck. "I... um... I like your nails today."

Your brows shoot up as you glance down at your freshly done manicure. "I just got them done yesterday! You noticed they're different?" you smile and he nods slowly.

"Yeah... they had been red for a while. I like the change," he admits before his eyes widen slightly and he looks at you in a panic. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound creepy-"

"You don't," you chuckle. "It's actually really sweet of you to notice. Thank you," you flash him that jaw-dropping grin and Choso swallows hard with an awkward nod and a wobbly smile.

"Sure."

You look down, tapping your hands against the table to ride yourself of the antsiness bubbling inside you. Choso watches the action softly, musing internally at how cute he finds you to be.

"Okay, so how's your paper coming?"

"Pretty good," the brunette eventually responds as he fishes for the said paper in his bag. "My professor's actually been saying that I've made a lot of progress with my writing," he sets the heavily marked paper onto the table along with his computer, which holds a fresh coy he has been working on.

"Really?" you ask excitedly. Diamond eyes shoot to you swiftly out of the corner of his eye as he hums gently in affirmation. "That's amazing, Cho! You should be so proud of how far you've come."

"I'm not all there yet," he emphasizes as the color swirls over his pale cheeks once more. "Even so, I'm only getting better 'cause of you. You're the one helping me out."

"Well, yeah, I'm giving you direction, but you're making the improvements all on your own," you playfully nudge his shoulder, and he topples loosely to the side. You try your best not to allow the bulk of muscle you feel beneath his sleeve to affect you more than it already is as you retract your hand and straighten yourself. "Seriously, you've been doing a great job."

"It's... the bare minimum honestly," he brushes off your compliments, unable to take them on properly without the gears in his head malfunctioning.

"You're so humble," you shake your head.

"I just don't think there's anything to really brag about, that's all," the brown-haired boy chuckles stiffly and you sigh.

"Well, just know as your tutor, I'm proud of you," you say gently, tugging the stack of papers over to your side with the stretch of your arm past Choso's frame.

The purple-eyed senior perks up slightly, blown pupils turning to focus on you as your previous words drill themselves into his brain. You're proud of him? Of him of all people? Hell, he thinks the praise alone from you is going to make him spontaneously combust though you move on as though you have not said anything special.

The session proceeds as normal. Choso shows you the updates he has made in his paper, and you look over his shoulder at the computer screen as he speaks lowly, explaining what you are reading as your eyes skim. At one point, you ask him if you can scroll through the document yourself, and he allows you. He leans back in his chair as you push yourself forward and press yourself to the edge of the table. In doing so, you push into his personal bubble, leaning over his frame so that the top of your head is just below his chin. The brunette's eyes widen as your sugary scent invades his senses, your perfectly manicured finger swiping over the cursor as you mutter his words under your breath with concentration.

Choso feels himself hold his breath within your closeness, blood flooding throughout his body rather aggressively. You have such a strange effect on his body, rendering him weak by simply hovering a few centimeters away and it kills him. He has to fight the urge to lean down and sniff your hair, to run his palm over your hand as you swipe through his computer familiarly, to press his lips to your temple or the exposed skin of your neck as you crane it downward with your free hand pushing into your cheek to support your head.

You're so pretty, so perfect it hurts. He wants you so badly, but he has no idea how to say it- how to get your attention. Do pretty, preppy girls like you even want his attention? Do you think yourself above him though you have made him feel so comfortable, so equal to your intellectual level over the past month or so? Do you think he's pretty the way he thinks you're pretty? Do you stay up in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling with thoughts of his face wandering your mind the way yours does his? Do you think about him like that at all, or are you just his tutor?

Choso breathes in sharply, watching as you pull away to sit upright in your seat again. He watches you speak, the way your slightly glossed lips move to echo a muffled phrase, but somehow his ears are ringing. The sight of you is so loud, so powerful that it overpowers the sound as it travels to his ears and sends signals to his brain. His eyes are still as he looks at you, somewhat dumbfounded, until he’s snapping himself out of it when your voice finally comes back into focus more clearly.

“Choso?” you call his name again, and he hears you this time. His shoulders jump slightly and he blinks.

“Huh?”

You furrow your brows with a small laugh. “Did you hear what I said? Are you okay?”

Just then, Choso can feel his body burst into flames when he realizes that he had just sat and stared at you while you spoke for far too long. “S-Sorry. I’m sorry,” he apologizes profusely, thoroughly embarrassed. He shifts in his seat, a habit you notice he takes to often when he’s on the spot. “I spaced out for a second. What did you say?”

You look at him for a moment longer than you should have as he fights desperately to look anywhere but into your eyes. He inhales and exhales slowly, deeply, as if he is trying to regulate himself, and you try your best not to look like you’re enjoying the sight.

With your teeth sinking into your bottom lip and the corners of your lips twirling upward, you prepare to repeat yourself. “I was just saying that your sentence structure has gotten a lot better… I like what you did especially in the third paragraph."

The purple-eyed man's nose flares subtly. "Oh. Okay," he murmurs, voice dipping lower and lower. "I mean- yeah, I was trying to do something different there... where I transition to talking about the human body as a whole."

"I can see that," you nod, tucking your hands into your lap after tilting his computer back toward him. "I think it flows better. Just make sure you watch your grammar in some spaces too. There should be a comma after that one phrase," you nod to the screen and Choso is quick to turn his head to what you are referring to.

You watch from the side as his jaw clenches and unclenches when he finds his error and hastily clicks to fix it. He's so gorgeous, you think to yourself as you admire the structure of his sharp jaw and the veins running down the side of his neck and into the beginnings of those tattoos that seem to tease themselves to you whenever you're with the bio major.

And oh, do baggy clothes look absolutely amazing on Choso's body. While you're sure he'd look even better with clothes that snugly fit his form, you find his laid-back style to suit him astonishingly well. You like the way his hoodie drapes over his shoulders, the sleeves cupping loosely around large, well-sculpted hands. You especially love how his dark eyeliner accentuates the vibrancy of his irises and blends into the complementation of the rest of his clothes. Choso dresses so well, so uniquely, and you are fascinated by it. You're fascinated by him.

"Alright, anything else? Do you want to look at the most recent section?" Choso turns to ask you but pauses when he finds that you are already looking at him. The two of you blink at each other, and you almost think that Choso is shocked to make eye contact with you again so suddenly. "What's wrong? What... what is it?" he asks, unsure of what you are doing, unsure of himself.

You shrug your shoulders tightly to your ears and look down with a gasy smile. "Ah, nothing," you hiss, pursing your lips. "Sorry, you're just a little distracting sometimes."

His face falls as he tilts his head slightly in genuine confusion. Has he offended you somehow? "Me?" he points to himself slowly and you nod with a tight smile and warm cheeks. "Uh- sorry, I don't mean to... distract you," he says carefully, regretfully, genuinely. "I didn't know I was doing anything to be distracting."

"No, no, you're not," you giggle to yourself and swipe a hand over your heated face with a heavy exhale. "Sorry, it's nothing like that. You didn't do anything wrong."

"...Then what did I do?"

"Nothing," you reiterate as you pick at the hem of your shirt. "You're... nice to look at, that's all," you confess timidly.

Choso can feel his heart plunge into his chest and his pupils shrink slightly when he takes in what you said. For a moment, he thinks he imagined it, but by the way you are fiddling with your clothes and keeping your eyes down suddenly allows him to deduct that perhaps he heard you correctly the first time.

"You think I'm nice to look at?" he asks carefully for clarification and your face tightens along with your nod.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything," you quickly say. "I just figured you were wondering why I was staring at you. I do that a lot, anyway... sorry, this is really awkward. I probably shouldn't have said that."

"No," Chose rushes, and you look back up to see those beautifully pinked cheeks and big eyes again. "No, please, don't- don't take it back," he requests gently, turning to face you in his chair. "No one's ever said that to me before."

You suddenly shoot your head up, staring at him incredulously. "What? Are you serious?" Choso nods in confirmation and you gape. "But look at you! You're beautiful!"

The boy's lips spread into a thin line as more color blossoms over his face. He feels that familiar dampness drip over his palms as he fidgets, looking to you meekly as though you have just bent down on one knee and proposed.

“Beautiful?” he tests the word on his tongue, brows drawing together.

“Yeah… I can’t believe no one’s ever told you that before. You have really good bone structure, and your eyes are… pretty,” you scrunch your nose. “I-I’m only being honest. I thought… anyone could see that, really.”

Choso shakes his head. “Not really. I think you’re the first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense to me at all.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t make sense to me that you think I’m beautiful,” Choso chuckles slightly.

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” he shoots out. “And to be considered on the same level as you is… I never would have thought that.”

Your lips part in shock, your hand immediately flying to conceal your lips as another stupid smile makes its way onto your face. Choso, in turn, angles his brows as though he is angry with himself for allowing his feelings to slip so freely. He cringes softly, berating himself, as his fingers slip into the back of his hair to scratch anxiously at his scalp.

“I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry-“

“You apologize too much,” you beam beneath your palm.

Choso looks over at you, normally so laid back but now with a tortured expression. “I know,” he admits. “But so do you.”

You go to retort but find that you can not, for you have to give him credit for how much he has noticed about you. “Let’s- get back to your essay,” you clap your hands suddenly, blinking rapidly as you pull yourself closer to the table to shove your nose into a page that you have already read a hundred times over.

Choso watches you for a second before a smile crosses his lips. He ducks his head down, dimples prodding into his cheeks as he revels in the moment the two of you just shared and the way you are so hastily trying to keep yourself together. It’s cute. You’re so cute.

The time flies by just as quickly as it always does during your tutoring sessions, and before you know it, your session is over and the time you rented out for the study room has ran out.

The two of you routinely attempt to mask your disappointment as you pack your belongings in tension-fueled silence, flashing shy smiles whilst gathering your things side by side.

Choso jumps to hold the door for you as you walk out, to which you thank him with a bright grin. The two of you venture out of the library together, outdoors and onto the steps leading up to the building.

You sigh, brushing a piece of your hair back as the breeze waves over you. “I guess I’ll see you again next week?”

You look up and Choso is staring down at you with a hum, clutching the strap of his satchel bag tightly. “…Guess so.”

“Alright,” you nod stiffly. “I’ll text you.”

“Okay.”

You stand there, looking at each other for a bit longer before you give in and nod again. “Okay. Bye, Cho.”

You move to start heading into the direction of your dorm when the brunette steps forward abruptly. “(Y/n), wait,” he stops you, and you pause.

You swiftly turn back around, eager to stay. “Yeah?”

“I… uh,” he stammers, eyes darting over your face nervously. He leans back and forth on his shoes, unsure of how to proceed yet knowing that there is something more he wants to say. “I really- I appreciate… no, I really like our tutoring sessions together.”

You smile warmly, folding your hands before you. “I like our sessions too. I’ve told you that before. I think you’re a great mentee.”

He gulps. “Yeah. I think you’re a great teacher… but, I mean I like… I like our sessions beyond just working.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I guess… what I’m trying to say is that I like spending time with you.”

You feel your heart in your ears and your cheeks aching from how hard you’re smiling. “I also like spending time with you.”

He perks up. “As more than my tutor?”

You laugh softly with an enthusiastic nod. “As more than your tutor, yes,” you affirm. “I think you’re really cool. And I meant what I said earlier about you being attractive.”

A swift breath of relief escaped Choso as he looks down with a gentle smirk, cheeks pinkening. You think it’s endearing to watch such an intimidating-looking man crumble so easily before you like a toddler picking a flower for his playground crush.

“Cool,” he chuckles, picking at the belt buckle of his bag strap. “You’re pretty too. Like, really pretty. You’re gorgeous.”

“You said that earlier,” you tease, and flames further ignite the poor boy’s face.

“I-I know. I thought I’d just say it again… I don’t know,” he murmurs. “I’m not too good at this kinda stuff.”

“You’re doing a great job, Cho. Keep going,” you encourage, biting into your lip.

The twenty one year old’s eyes flicker to the sight before they snap back up to you. “Okay,” he exhales. “I don’t wanna just see you once a week.”

You nod. “Me neither.”

“…I wanna see you more than that.”

“So do I.”

“Would it… be cool with you if I asked to hang out with you sometime? Maybe tomorrow…? We could go grab some food together… I- I have my car. I’d take you.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Choso’s brows lift as he looks at you, your expression expecting and welcoming to his advances. You’re swaying back and forth as he somewhat does the same, one hand digging harshly into his pocket while the other that grips the strap of his bag tightens. “…Do you want it to be a date?” he asks slowly. “It doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it. I mean, we can just go as friends.”

“Choso.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“…Oh,” he stills. “Then…?”

Your head tosses back as you laugh loudly, the skin beneath your glimmering eyes creasing. “I want to be more than that with you. Please ask me out on a date.”

Choso feels a weight lift from his shoulders as he slumps with relief. “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you giggle. “Go ahead.”

The brunette shakes his head and rubs a hand over his warm face, biting back his own smile. He looks back up at you to meet your twinkling (e/c) gaze, heartbeat in his throat. “Will you go to lunch with me tomorrow? As more than friends?”

You bounce on the soles of your feet, shoulders raising to your ears again as you lean giddily to the side. “I’d love to.”

A grin breaks onto Choso’s face as he takes you in. “Okay. Good, I’m glad. I can pick you up at 12?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll text you what dorm I’m in tonight.”

“Okay,” he nods happily.

“Okay,” you grin.

“…So I’ll see you later? Or, sorry, tomorrow?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay,” he repeats, and you laugh again.

“Okay.”

“Sorry,” he scrunched his face. “You make me nervous. I’m sorry if I’m- sorry.”

You roll your eyes, stepping into him. He watches your movements carefully, slightly confused, before he feels your palm press to the side of his face. His eyes go wide when you tilt up and lean in, pressing your soft lips to his cheek in a quick, sweet peck. His body freezes, his blood pumping through his heart vigorously as you lean away and lower your hand with a cheeky smile.

“Stop apologizing,” you advise and he nods instantly.

“Okay,” he obliges, dazed.

With another soft giggle, you turn on your heel to part ways. “Good job today, Cho. I'm excited for our date tomorrow.”

“T-Thanks,” he mutters. “Me too.”

You flash him one more smile before turning and walking off. Choso’s eyes glue to your fading figure, his fingers grazing the space in which your lips touched his skin with awe.

He does not miss the way you turn over your shoulder as you walk away to give him one last wave, and he returns it eagerly, his heart fluttering and head disappearing into the clouds, rendering himself a dumb mess by the likes of you.

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hauntedwitch04 · 2 months ago

Text

Video call

Sam Winchester x reader

Words: about 1.2k

Warnings: smut, brat Sammy

Author's note: Hi loves<3. So first day of this kinktober! So happy to share again my fics with you. Hope you enjoy it<3

kinktober 2024 - taglist

You haven't heard from the boys in two days, and you're starting to worry.

You get out of the shower, drying your hair with a towel when you hear the computer make a rhythmic, cheerful sound, and immediately with run to answer the video call.

You read your fiancé's name on the screen, and immediately a shiver of happiness runs down your spine, before a little voice in your head reminds you of what he and his older brother had gone through on the hunt they went on far from what you now call home. As soon as you answer, you see his handsome face reveal itself before you, with his usual infectious smile that he often only turns to you. His happy eyes immediately make you let out a sigh of relief, realizing that he is all right, though that doesn't stop you from taking a good look at him.

"Love, how are you?" he breaks the silence after a few seconds of you standing in silence watching each other. You smile and shake your head.

"I should be the one to ask how you're doing, you're the one who went on a suicide mission with Dean." He comments and Sam can't help but laugh at your words.

"Suicide mission seems exaggerated to me, we have done much worse things. This was a simple ghost, nothing out of the ordinary." He says as if he were talking about today's weather.

"To think that a few years ago ghosts were the strangest thing we encountered."

"Yeah, those were good times, other than demons, angels, God and Lucifer." Sam comments, shaking his head as he takes a good look at you.

"Did you just get out of the shower?" Your fiancé asks as he looks around for a second in the dingy motel room where he and Dean are staying. His brother has gone out for a drink at the bar, so Sam is sure that for some time he will certainly not be bothered by the elder Winchester.

"It's not nice to peek into the cleavage of a lady Sam Winchester, you know." You say as you purposely lean forward so that your breasts are even more visible, knowing that they are one of the few Sam's weak spots when it comes to you.

"Come on baby, all I've been doing for a week is thinking about you and all the unpronounceable things I would do to you if I had you here in my hands." He says whining.

"You are lucky then that just this morning I bought a little something for you. I've been waiting to show it to you when we meet again, but I might make an exception to the rule and show it to you." You say as you get up from the bed you were sitting on. "But you must promise me that you will close your eyes and wait."

"Scout's honor." Sam says bringing one hand to his chest, while with the other he slides the computer lower, thus managing to pull down the zipper of his jeans and over his boxers massaging the erection that was becoming more painful as the minutes passed.

After a few minutes you reappear in front of the screen in a sheer satin dress that reaches just below your ass, through which you can see everything. This perfectly wraps your breasts and also allows you to see the microscopic panties you are wearing. In his eyes you are always a godness, but in this moment, he swears he never believed this much in something supernatural, because for sure you are not human, an neither an angel or a siren, a new species, his and only his.

Sam lets out a sigh as he feels he might burst out at that same moment.

"God, help me." He whispers in an under voice.

"There is no one to help you Sammy boy, just you and me." You say sensuously, as you sit back on your heels, making your tits stick out even more prominently, pointing out your turgid nipples through the thin fabric to your boyfriend, who by now had pulled his dick out of his boxers and started gently massaging it, fearful that he might orgasm at any moment. On seeing this you cannot refrain from bringing your right hand down to your thin panties, the only barrier separating you from the most sensitive spot on your body. He begins to touch you gently as you see him close his eyes and rest his head against the wall behind him.

"Eyes on me Sammy." You incite him as you uncover your breasts with your left hand and begin to massage them, moaning with the pleasure this simple act brings you. But that is not enough and you know it. You will never cum as you do on his thick finger, on his sexy hands. You start to imagine that is his hand to touch you on you cunt, and in the exact moment you feel yourself closer than ever to the orgasm.

"We'll see if you're still this commanding when I get home honey." Sam says, moaning as his eyes fix on the movement of your hips, on your fingers as you chase a pleasure he knows you can't get to without him. He continues to look at you, chasing with you the same high you bith crave. The man then remains mesmerized by your tits that continue to move as if in a dance to the sound of your moans.

"Good, that's the way to move. I know you can't come except with my fingers anyway, don't you love?" He says in a sensual tone as you nod too caught up in the pleasure. "You are my little slut, you can't cum if I'm not the one that is making you cum." He continues. "Words, babe, I want words. I want to know what my voice is making you while you ride that preatty hands of yours thinking is mine."

You moan while your finger starts to go faster while you can't say a single word, your brain to lost to even comprend that anymoment Dean could come back. While you are loosing yourself, Sam start to stroke his cock even faster than before, reaching everytime somewhere closer to the pleasure he longs for. You hear his moans and you understand that he is cumming, so you start to touch you clit faster, feeling your pleasure near. In this moment, where you where on the peak, ready to fall in that sinful sensation, when he suddenly tells you to stop.

You open you eyes, closed for the pleasure you where feeling coming near your orgasm, and you see him looking like a god, while he still slowly stroke himself, glowing from his previous pleasure.

"You wanted to provoke me with the little thing you are wearing, now you don't get to cum sweetheart. You'll wait until I come home tomorrow, and I'll get to tear that dress on the floor. See you love, sleep well." He ends the calls like this, sending you a kiss while you are still there, unsatisfied and angry with him, but at the same time turned on for the things he will do tomorrow when you will be together again.

Taglist:

@alinabookworm @lynbubble @beanpods-blog @bartonsgirl @chaos1864 @anu-piyakya97 @alexyzm0on @elliexHerron @throwing-up-butterflies

#sam winchester x reader smut #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagine #supernatural x reader #kinktober 2024

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galaxysupreme17 · 24 days ago

Text

Agatha's Trial

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader

Alice Wu Gulliverx fem!harkness!reader

Y/n stirred, blinking sleepily as she lifted her head. Around her, everyone was still asleep. Alice's arms were snugly wrapped around her, making Y/n smile softly. She carefully extricated herself, trying not to wake her girlfriend, then stretched quietly as she scanned the campsite. The first thing she noticed was the absence of her mothers—a detail that, in her experience, was never a good sign. A familiar presence appeared behind her, and she turned to see Rio standing there.

"What do you want, Mother?" Y/n asked, meeting Rio's eyes with a guarded expression.

Rio chuckled as she stepped closer. "Now, now, Mija, no need to be so defensive."

"With you? Defense is always the best option," Y/n replied coolly, crossing her arms.

Rio's expression softened, though she tried to keep her tone light. "Oh really? Just a few hours ago, you said you missed me. Admit it—I was always your favorite mom."

Y/n's eyes flashed. "You were also the mother who abandoned me. At least Mama stayed, even when losing Nicky destroyed her."

Rio's face fell, but she recovered quickly, pointing a finger at Y/n. "You don't know the whole story, Y/n. I had to leave. Your mother never forgave me, and you know that."

Y/n scoffed, shaking her head. "You don't get it. Mama forgave you the moment it happened. She still loves you, even after everything. What she hasn't forgiven is you leaving without fighting for her. For us. She was shattered, but you actually listened when, in a fit of grief, she told you to leave and never come back. The one time you should have fought her, you didn't. Not only did I lose my brother, but I lost my mother too. Mama tried hard to be there for me but couldn't help feeling she'd failed."

A tear slipped down Y/n's cheek, which she quickly brushed away before turning on her heel and heading back to the group. Rio opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came. Y/n had understood far more than Rio realized, even at ten years old.

Back with the others, Y/n noticed Lilia stirring awake with a gasp. "They're coming! We have to go!"

Y/n frowned as she gently shook Alice awake. "What? Who's coming?" she asked, helping Alice to her feet.

Hurriedly putting on her jacket, Lilia replied, "The summoning spell—we left the door open!"

Alice tightened her grip on Y/n's hand. "What did you see?"

Before Lilia could answer, Rio appeared, smirking. "Go on, Lilia. Tell them."

Lilia glanced at the others, her expression tense. "The Salem Seven."

A shiver ran down Y/n's spine as Lilia continued, "When Agatha killed her original coven—"

Jen interrupted. "By stealing their powers."

"Because her own mother tried to have her executed," Rio added defensively.

Jen glared. "Are you seriously defending a known serial killer?"

Y/n, irritated by the insult toward her mother, took a step forward. "Back off, Jen."

Alice pulled her back, looking around anxiously. "Come on, someone finish the story!"

Lilia continued, a little shakily. "Agatha spared the young children of the coven she killed..."

Rio gave a dark smile. "And now they're a feral, hive-minded coven, hell-bent on revenge."

Just then, Agatha burst around the corner, shrugging into her jacket. "Lesson learned: always finish what you start. And mercy? Overrated. Alright, everyone, grab your stuff! Let's go!"

The group bolted, running until they reached a dip in the road with a thick brush surrounding it. They heard a wolf's howl ahead and strange noises behind them.

Teen, thinking quickly, suggested, "What about a hexenbesen?"

Everyone except Rio and Y/n immediately shot the idea down, but Y/n's face lit up. She'd always loved flying on brooms.

Soon, her mothers were setting up, and Jen and Lilia also paired up. Seeing the odd number, Y/n turned to Alice. "Trade partners?"

Alice gave her a reluctant look. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. I'll ride with you," Y/n replied with a reassuring smile.

Teen's face lit up as he realized Alice would trade with him. Meanwhile, Agatha and Rio looked puzzled when they saw Y/n standing alone. Y/n caught their expressions and shrugged. "I'm riding with Alice. I'll be okay."

As Teen finished his broom, one of the Salem Seven lunged at him. Quick-thinking, Alice struck it with her broom, allowing Teen to complete his spell. Agatha and Rio led the group into the air, and Alice soon followed, pulling Y/n up onto the broom, wrapping an arm around her waist while Y/n clung to her shoulders.

"We need to get off the road!" Y/n shouted over the wind. Everyone gained altitude, Alice laughing with exhilaration. Y/n leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, which made Alice smile. She turned her head and caught Y/n's lips softly, letting their foreheads rest together afterward.

They soared onward until the air around them shifted strangely. The group began to panic as they felt an unseen force dragging them downward. Alice tightened her hold on Y/n, determined to keep her safe.

"The next trial!" Teen shouted as a small house appeared in the distance. Just then, one of the Salem Seven appeared, insects spilling from its mouth as it prepared to attack. The group sped toward the cabin, dismounting as they reached it. Alice held Y/n close, shielding her from the chaos around them. They barely made it inside before Agatha slammed the door shut.

"Alright, we're safe," Agatha panted, trying to catch her breath.

Jen pointed to the dark figures gathering outside. "Safe? The entire Halloween aisle is outside waiting for us!"

Agatha rolled her eyes as she adjusted her hair, picking a few bugs out. "They can't get in, can they? We must complete the trial and get out before they break through."

Alice looked down at herself, then at everyone else. "So... what? Kiss, marry, kill?"

Y/n wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, I really hope not."

Teen suddenly realized he was missing his spell book and started to panic. While searching for spells, Y/n glanced down, noticing that her outfit matched Rio's almost exactly—except for a purple trim on her clothes. It was ironic, she thought, as if fate was screaming who her parents were.

Y/n's thoughts were interrupted by Teen's voice cutting through the silence. "Whose trial is this?"

Rio leaned against the window, gazing out at the blood moon's eerie glow. She chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. "Agatha's."

Y/n's head whipped around to face her mother, worry flooding her expression. Sensing her daughter's gaze, Agatha turned, catching Y/n's anxious eyes. She tried to reassure her with a gentle smile, but an unmistakable hint of fear lingered beneath her calm facade.

"The blood moon," Lilia whispered, glancing at the crimson glow in the sky. "When the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest."

Teen looked to Lilia, confused. "Wait. I thought talking to the dead was your department?"

She gave him a small, knowing smile and shook her head. "A common misconception. I read people; I read time. But spirits? Talking to them was just a con."

Rio stepped forward, smirking as she raised her dagger disguised as an ordinary hairbrush. "And who better to commune with the dead than someone who's put so many in the grave?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "That's rich, coming from you."

A board game flew off the shelf as if on cue, skidding across the floor and landing with an ominous thud by Teen's feet. He bent down, picking it up and examining the dusty box. "Looks like the road wants us to Ouija," he remarked, holding it up to the others.

Then, a sharp beeping echoed in unison from everyone's watches, signaling instructions for the next part of the trial. After a brief scuffle over who got to read the message first, the group reluctantly agreed to gather around the board. Each placed their hands on the planchette, and Y/n chose a spot close to Agatha, her protective instincts kicking in.

They began the session, and Agatha's hands soon lifted from the board, her fingers twitching as if guided by an unseen force. Her body started to jerk, her eyes rolling back as her voice became unnatural. But Rio, unfazed, just rolled her eyes.

"She's just scared," Rio muttered dismissively.

At her words, Agatha dropped the act, blinking and returning to herself, though Y/n shot Rio a glare of pure frost. They resumed, and this time, the planchette began to spell out words slowly but surely: "P-U-N-I-S-H A-G-A-T-H-A." The message repeated, each time faster and more aggressively, until Agatha yanked her hands away from the board.

The room seemed to pulse with dark energy, a chorus of low, guttural voices rising around them, chanting, "Punish her."

Agatha slumped to the floor, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut as the chanting grew louder. Y/n stepped toward her mother, but before she could reach her, Rio grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"Stay with me, Y/n," Rio warned.

Y/n pulled free, her protective instincts overriding caution, and rushed over to her mom, checking to ensure she wasn't injured. Agatha, noticing this, removes her hands and covers her daughter's ears, attempting to protect her.

"What do we do?" Alice asked, looking between her friends, panic etched across her face.

"They already told us. Punish Agatha!" Jen shouted, and the voices went dead silent as if by command.

Y/n rose to her feet, planting herself firmly between Jen and her mother, her expression fierce. "Like hell, you will."

Jen crossed her arms, unfazed. "I'm sorry, Y/n, but that's the only way to pass the trial. Your mom's done... terrible things. We all know it."

"Oh, and you're a saint?" Y/n snapped back.

Teen tried to ease the tension, but his voice was gentle. "Come on, there's got to be another way."

"We could tie her up," Lilia suggested, though there was a hint of doubt in her voice.

"You can't be serious," Alice said, inching closer to Y/n as a show of support.

"Or," Rio interjected, lifting her dagger and tilting it thoughtfully, "we could just slit her throat." Her tone was casual, but Y/n knew her mother well enough to sense the underlying bitterness in the remark.

"Let's not be so hasty," Agatha cut in, her tone calm but firm as she pushed herself up, standing protectively in front of Y/n. Y/n took a step back, her heart pounding.

Suddenly, the lights flickered, casting the room in darkness, then snapped back on. Alice looked around frantically, a pang of dread in her voice. "Where's Y/n?" Her question hung in the air, and the group's expressions shifted from confusion to fear.

Agatha turned sharply, scanning the room. "Y/n? Sweetheart, where are you?"

Rio's face hardened as she called out, a note of worry slipping into her voice despite her best effort to hide it. "Y/n, Nena, come back. We won't hurt your mother."

The lights flickered again, plunging the room into darkness once more. Teen fumbled around, finally finding an old lamp. When he switched it on, he pointed it toward the ceiling, gasping at the sight above him.

"Oh my god, what happened to her?" Jen's voice cracked as she staggered back, pressing herself against the wall.

"Someone, get her down!" Alice cried, her voice laced with panic as she stared up at Y/n, who was somehow contorted and suspended against the ceiling, her limbs twisted in unnatural angles.

Rio stepped forward, her voice steely. "No one is touching her."

"But she's going to get hurt!" Lilia protested, her hand covering her mouth in horror.

Before they could make a move, Y/n's body dropped from the ceiling, hitting the ground with a hard thud. Alice stepped toward her, but Teen grabbed her arm, holding her back.

"That's not Y/n," he whispered, eyes wide with fear.

Y/n's body began to move in unnatural jerks, her limbs twisting as if controlled by an unseen force. Her head snapped up, her gaze vacant and hollow.

"She's possessed for real," Teen gasped, backing away.

Rio took a protective step forward, her voice firm. "No! She could get hurt. No one is to touch her."

"Then how can we help her?" Agatha cried, moving to Rio's side, both torn between the need to act and the fear of making things worse.

Before they could decide, Y/n's body went limp, collapsing to the floor. But before anyone could reach her, she disappeared again as the lights flickered and dimmed.

"Where is she?" Rio's voice cracked with desperation as she searched the room frantically, her face pale.

Just then, a white fog began to form by the stairs, curling upward, thick and heavy like smoke. Rio's face darkened with recognition. "That's a ghost. I hate ghosts," she muttered under her breath.

Agatha's gaze sharpened, her breath catching in her throat. "Mother?"

At the top of the stairs, Y/n reappeared, looking dazed as she cradled her injured knee, struggling to heal it.

Agatha's face contorted with rage as she glared at the foggy figure. "What did you do to my daughter?"

Evanora Harkness's ghostly figure smirked, her voice dripping with malice. "You must continue the witches' road without her."

A horrified gasp escaped from Alice. "No! No way!"

"Leave her with me, and you may go free," Evanora taunted, her smirk twisting cruelly.

"You will not take my daughter!" Agatha shouted, her voice breaking, tears pooling in her eyes.

Rio placed a steadying hand on Agatha's shoulder, her voice soft but fierce. "She's coming with us, Agatha. She's not staying here."

Evanora's gaze turned venomous. "You do not deserve to have any children. You were evil the minute you came into this world. What makes you think I would let you continue this rotted bloodline? I certainly succeeded with the other one."

Her words hit Agatha like a physical blow. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Y/n, finally healed, locked eyes with her mother, her expression fierce and unwavering.

"Mama, don't listen to her. You are amazing. You made me who I am," Y/n said softly, her words cutting through the room's darkness like a beacon.

Before Evanora could respond, her figure flickered and vanished, but not before her malevolent presence seemed to seep into Y/n, whose body twisted again, contorted and crawling down the stairs. Alice, anger flooding her features, pushed past Agatha.

"Leave my girlfriend alone, you Bitch!" she yelled, unleashing a blast of magic.

"Alice! Be careful!" Agatha shouted, reaching for her.

After a tense struggle, Evanora's spirit finally left Y/n's body. Y/n crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath. Alice was the first to reach her, pulling her into her arms. Agatha and Rio knelt beside them, their hands trembling as they checked her over.

Agatha hugged Y/n tightly, her voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry, my sweet girl."

Y/n managed a weary smile. "It's okay, Mama. I'm okay, I promise."

Rio brushed Y/n's hair back, her fingers lingering. She embraced her, Y/n melting into her warmth, and then turned to Alice, who held her close, her face buried in her shoulder. They watched as the door creaked open, signaling that they had passed the trial.

Later, the group began working to make a fire, while Rio and Agatha stood off to the side.

Rio turned to Agatha, her expression soft but uncertain. "Agatha, I... I'm sorry."

Agatha looked at her, surprised. "For what?"

Rio chuckled bitterly. "I always thought you hated me for what I did... for leaving."

Agatha's eyes softened as she reached for Rio's hand. "I was hurt, Rio. I wanted you to stay, to fight for us."

Rio's gaze dropped. "I see that now. Agatha, I have always loved you. I just... I hope you can let me back into your life."

With a gentle smile, Agatha squeezed her hand. "You've always been a part of me, Rio. I'd love for you to stay."

Rio pulled her close, their lips meeting in a soft kiss that was filled with years of longing and forgiveness, a promise of a new beginning.

As they pulled apart, Y/n nudged Alice and whispered, "Looks like they finally figured it out."

Alice grinned. "Three centuries is a long time to wait."

Hand in hand, Agatha and Rio joined the others by the fire, the warmth of new hope settling over them all.

#x reader #reader insert #agatha x daughter! reader #agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario x daughter!reader #rio vidal #agatha harkness #agatha all along season 1 #agatha harkness x daughter!reader #alice wu gulliver

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aayakashii · 24 days ago

Note

I remember you did something kind of similar already, but I was thinking what if Vagastorm had an S/O that can or likes to carry them around sometimes? :3c

Omg I am obsessed with your art btw 😭😭 I love it so so much, it always makes me laugh!!!!

And yesss I did it here!! Which is wow a LONG time ago so I'd love to give it a go again, with a fresher opinion on them all hehehe

Vagastrom with a S/O that loves to carry them around (with pictures ?!)

Alan

He's absolutely horrified with this situation

Please put him down

Doesn't matter if you're EXTREMELY strong, he still thinks and acts as if he could hurt you even if he's not doing anything

Literally the type of guy that needs to go through exposure therapy in order to get used to the most minuscule touches

So you'll have to work hard until he allows you to carry him around sometimes

You can begin slow, after he's used to you hugging him

You can go for a hug, squeeze him tight and then finally lift him for a few seconds

He'll still be alarmed, but slowly he'll get used to your random bursts of affection that lead to you carrying him around

Once he's used to it, however, he thinks it's actually kind of relaxing

Feeling weightless for a little while in your arms is an unexpected bonus of his relationship with you

And he won't lie that it brings him great comfort that you're strong

Don't get him wrong, he still acts as if you're easily breakable

But maybe not as much... Just a little bit 🤏

Alan before he got used to being carried vs Alan after he got used to being carried

Leo

Oh he LOOOOVES it

But only when he wants it, of course

As soon as he realizes you are strong enough to carry him around, he WILL be using this opportunity to be as lazy as possible

What do you expect from the guy who is plenty capable of doing anything with his ghoul strength but still asks Alan to open cans for him 😭

You will become his little lackey whenever he wants to be carried and you will 100% like it

Some of those weird cats are going around cleaning the dorm? Get up and carry him somewhere else xox

He found a new trend on tiktok abt partners carrying each other? Come here real quick and let him film a new video for his feed thx

Now YOU want to carry him out of nowhere when he didn't ask for it??

Now that's some audacity

Be ready to either be pushed away or to have some bubblegum stuck on your face for a long time 🫶

He's like a poisonous animal, except instead of shooting out venom when he's distressed, he shoots out hazardous, life-threatening bubblegum

But hey, you should know better...

Don't pet the cat if the cat doesn't wanna be pet, duh

Leo when he doesn't want to be carried vs when he wants to be carried

Sho

He finds it extremely embarrassing

No, you don't understand. He LIKES it. And THAT'S why it's embarrassing.

When you come running towards him while he's working, hug him tight and then lift and spin him around...

And he knows he's blushing like a fucking school girl in front of all of his customers..........

Please stop 🤚

Actually, no. Don't stop. But please do that in private so he won't lose face in front of his customers.

Especially in front of that kid from Frostheim who he almost beat up. How is he going to defend his pride when he's tucked all comfortable and cute in your arms, being held high???????

Toxic masculinity aside, he loves to be carried by you

Loves to feel like you like him so much that you can't help but hold him so tight like that

He does the same to you and soon it becomes a competition of who's gonna carry who first when you two meet afterhours at his room

His favorite thing, however, is when he manages to kiss you while he's being carried

If you're going to make him all flustered like a little lovesick dumbass, then you bet he's gonna do the same to you 🫵‼️

Sho when he's screaming inside and blushing bc you're carrying him in public vs Sho when you two are alone

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker headcanons #alan mido #leo kurosagi #sho haizono

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lllivia · 3 months ago

Note

can i request?

pranking Jackie, that u got a hickey from someone else so you can get back at her after she pranked u :p

Happy April Fools Day!!

Jackie Taylor x f!reader

TYSM FOR THE REQUESTT, literally the perfect timing since its April 1st today 😭😭 (I completely forgot about this for MONTHS 💀)

summary: getting revenge on your girlfriend after last year's April Fools Day

warnings: modern au, infidelity prank, not proofread, slightly suggestive at the end

Wow maybe this is a little bit too far you can't help but think nervously as you look over yourself in the mirror, makeup brushes scattered across the sink counter.

As you pat your finger one last time over the now very convincing hickey the sense of guilt that was creeping up your throat quickly disappears when you recall the godawful prank your conniving little girlfriend pulled to deserve this.

Last April Fools Day you had come home exhausted from a long day at school with a strong need to shower. And you didn't really think much of it as you stepped under the hot stream, letting the water run over your hair and body.

you'd scrubbed off all the grime left from soccer practice before you lastly reached over to your shampoo bottle, eyes still closed as you felt your way over to it before squeezing a generous amount into your hand.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK"

You yelled at your own reflection the second you stepped out of the shower and looked in the fogged up mirror where everything seemed to be normal - except your now bright pink hair.

"What the fuck what the fuck oh my god" you rambled frantically as you quickly searched the name of your girlfriend into your phone, immediately knowing that she was behind this.

"Jackie what did you do!" Is the first thing your raised voice said after she picked up the phone call, irritation bubbling up as she burst out laughing when your disgruntled face shows on her screen, her plan had clearly worked.

"Happy April fools day!!" She responded breathlessly, still not done laughing.

"This is not funny Jax - I look like a clown oh my god" you continued and looked up into the mirror again. Well it didn't actually look that bad - but still.

"Well then you'll be my sexy clown baby, you look hot, I have to say pink is definitely your color" Jackie giggled evilly back, way too smug for your liking as you continued glaring.

The dye hadn't washed out of your hair for like a month, and ever since then you had been planning what would be the best way to get back at Jackie.

Everything was ready, you had already set up for her to come over today to just watch a movie and hang out, so it would be perfect to 'accidentally' flash the self made bruise at her while you were cuddling or something.

Your phone suddenly pings.

'I'm standing outside 💕' - Jax 🐰⚽

You quickly cover the makeshift bruise on your neck before walking to the front door, a little bit anxious.

"Hi baby" your girlfriend grins and greets you as she steps inside, immediately making herself comfortable as she throws herself onto your large couch.

"Hi Jackie" you smile back, rubbing your clammy hands on your shorts before following her slightly on edge.

"I know I said we'd go to the arcade but I'm kinda tired today so can we please just watch a movie here?" you sit down next to her and pout, giving her your infamous puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah that's fine.. On one condition" she replies in a serious tone making you sweat even more.

"What?" Surely she hadn't figured out what you were doing yet right?

"You have to win me the biggest teddy they have the next time we go to the arcade" She answers smiling widely.

Pushing her playfully you can't help but roll your eyes lovingly. "yeahh yeah of course"

An hour goes by as you cuddle up together, enjoying each others presence as you watch some movie in the background. Deciding now was the time to finally get back at her, you shift a little, making the bruise more visible to where she was sitting.

Another few minutes go by before it's Jackie's turn to shift uncomfortably as she studies the mark clearly planted on your neck.

"What the fuck is that" she musters.

"Hm what?" You answer, hiding your tiny smirk as you look over at her.

"What the fuck is that bruise on your neck."

You brush your hair back over the mark, acting both confused and slightly defensive.

"I don't know what you're on about Jax" you shrug.

Her eyes blaze with anger as she forcefully grabs your face by the chin, turning your head to the side before studying your neck more closely.

"This is clearly a huge fucking hickey y/n, who was it?"

"No one- it's fine Jackie let's just finish the movie" you pull away.

She stands up.

"I'm leaving, this is such bullshit - I thought we were doing good - perfect even. And then you have to go make out with some whore" she says harshly, blinking away the tears that had slowly crept up on her before storming towards the front door.

Shit that had gone way worse than you were expecting - you weren't even sure what you were expecting from this.

"Jackie wait! Shit" you stumble over your own legs as you rush after your furious girlfriend. "It was a prank! I'm pranking you ok, I just wanted to get back at you for last year"

Just as she was about to turn the handle you catch up with her "I promise, see?" You carefully turn her face towards you again.

"What."

You reach up and rub your hand over your neck forcefully. Turning it red with not only with the bloodflow rushing up towards the friction but also the eyeshadow getting smudged all over.

"It's makeup, it was all fake baby. It was just an April Fools prank - a really really stupid one at that"

You say hastily and caress the girls cheek softly, soothing her.

She looks away again, blinking a couple of more times to process before smiling slightly. "..I guess you got me this time" but then she swats your hand away from her and comes dangerously close. "But if you ever EVER do something like this again, I will kick your ass."

You chuckle "mkay if you say so" then grimace "how about we go out, I feel like I kinda owe you"

She purses her lips for a second before looking you over. "Or- we could stay right here, and I could show you what real hickeys look like"

You scoff smirking "how could I say no to that"

#jackie yellowjackets #jackie taylor smut #jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor #yellowjackets #yj #shauna sadecki #shauna yellowjackets #shauna shipman #lottie yj #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews #natalie scatorccio #natalie yellowjackets #ella purnell #made by lllivia

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 1 year ago

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 14

Part 1 Part 13

Even with rationing, it doesn’t seem to take long for the water to start running dry. Days, maybe, but it’s hard to say without a clock. The red of the sky never fluctuates. It’s red. Red, red, read. Steve’s starting to hate the color.

They’ve slept three times, but Steve suspects the boredom of rotting in the Munson’s trailer might be getting to them. There’s only so many games of truth or dare you can play until you start to drift.

So, water’s been getting low. The crease between Eddie’s brows has grown deeper each time he takes a furtive swig.

“We should go get water,” he says.

Steve doesn’t want to go out there. His shoulder still aches, sharp agony turned dull. It’s black around the edges, flesh turning necrotic. He hasn’t let Eddie see it since that first day; doesn’t want to needlessly frighten him.

“Steve?”

Steve heaves a sigh before heading to the door where he left his sneakers. “Maybe grab a few shirts to filter that shit again?”

Eddie follows him, plopping down to tug his boots on while Steve shimmies his own shoes on leaning against the door, one foot at a time.

“I was thinking we’d just take it back here and filter it in the bathroom,” Eddie says, yanking his laces tight. “Seems safer to do it with a locked door between us and anything trying to eat us.”

Steve thinks of his own house and the monster that got inside. Remembers the way the lock clicked on the door to the back porch. Had they locked the front? Did it matter, when that thing had knocked down his front door like it was made of tissue paper? He keeps his mouth shut.

“Good thinking.”

They go. It’s not a long trip, except how all trips feel long when there’s ash falling from the sky, and a shotgun clutched tightly enough to make your fingers numb, and Eddie Munson biting his lip to keep quiet at your side.

Steve feels woozy, like he used to during his brief stint in middle school wrestling. Coach would tell him to drop a certain weight and he would, counting calories at lunch with Carol, both ignoring Tommy’s snide comments. He’d only lasted a year. Didn’t like the uniforms, or the weight limits, or the violence.

He feels just the same now, only worse. He knows you’re supposed to eat sugar after you donate at the blood drive. Steve donated a lot of his own blood to that thing’s claws and hasn’t eaten anything at all.

The quarry looks just as the same as last time – bloody. They form an efficient assembly line – Steve plucking lids of bottles and passing them to Eddie where he’s standing with his toes in the water. Eddie fills them as Steve prepares the next bottle, taking the filled one back and replacing the lid before doing it all over again. It moves quicker without the need to sift.

It still feels like too long by the time they’ve packed all the bottles away.

It’s quiet on the way up the incline. Quiet through town. It’s quiet all the way up until they hear the sound of pounding feet.

Steve hears it first. He reaches out, snagging Eddie’s elbow, as the sound of steps move closer.

“Wha–” Eddie starts.

“Shut up,” Steve hisses.

They’re on the path heading toward the trailer park, just before the pavement turns to gravel and the trailers come into view. The forest looms on their right. That’s where the sound is coming from.

It sounds like a person. It can’t be that thing – it had moved silently except the vocalizations from its mouth. But, what if it’s a trick? What if it’s a trap? What if he and Eddie have both cracked and there’s nothing there at all?

He shoves Eddie a step behind him, the other boy stays alarmingly quiet as Steve raises his shotgun and puts his finger on the trigger, scope trained on the noise coming toward them through the woods, ignores the way his hands are shaking.

What bursts through the trees isn’t what they could have ever expected. It’s a kid with a tragic bowl cut. He’s got a dirty flannel with a garish red and yellow vest thrown over it. The knees of his ratty jeans are covered in dirt, his palms scraped, like his foot had caught on a few roots in his mad dash away from something Steve doesn’t even want to think about.

His pupils are pinpricks, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as he looks from Eddie to Steve, who still has his finger on the trigger. Pointing at a kid. He drops his grip on the trigger, slowly lowering the shotgun even though all he wants to do is drop it, kick it as far away as possible, and hold up his empty hands as a show of how dangerous he’s not.

It's a fucking kid. He can’t be older than thirteen.

“It was behind me,” the kid says.

Eddie sucks in a harsh breath behind Steve, and he knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. Bloody claws, and petaled mouths that open to display rows of teeth in gleaming, concentric circles.

“Shit,” Steve says, “Go go go!” He turns to jog down the path, picking up his pace when he hears two sets of footsteps following in his wake.

He reaches the door first, and yanks it open just as he hears it – an inhuman shriek. It’s indescribable. And unmistakable.

When he turns back, Eddie and the kid have just come into view. He gestures them wildly to speed up, to get through the door, to fucking run.

It unfolds in front of him like a dream: the way Eddie’s dragging the kid by his arm, feet moving fast enough to blur even as it feels like they’re not making any headway at all. The way the shriek grows louder.

When they finally make it to the Munson trailer, they fall through the threshold, tripping over the rug at the entryway. Steve closing the tissue paper door behind them. He stands, braced for impact, gun raised and pointing at the closed front door.

The shriek grows louder, and louder, and louder, until it peters off. Fades away. Like the thing had found new prey to terrorize. It takes long minutes of tense silence for Steve to lower the shotgun, turn to the other two huddled behind him.

Eddie has his arms up, as if he can shield the kid from that thing should it huff and puff its way through the matchstick front door. Hell, maybe he can. But, at Steve’s lowered gun, he drops heavily to the couch, slamming his forehead to his hands, fingers gripped into his hair hard enough that it has to hurt.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Steve asks, looking at the kid. It comes out harsher than he means it to. The kid flinches, takes a startled step back toward Eddie.

“What Harrington means,” Eddie says, raising his head just enough to glare at Steve, “is are you okay?”

The kid sniffles, turning toward Eddie. His fists are balled at his sides even as he nods. “I’m fine,” the kid says, voice shaking enough to give his lie away.

“And what’s your name?” Eddie asks.

“Will,” he says, fingers loosening, shoulders falling. “Will Byers.”

Eddie gasps theatrically. “Not any relation to the great Jonathan Byers?”

For the first time, the kid smiles. It makes him look even younger. Steve’s stomach churns. “He’s my brother,” Will says, smiling shyly down at Eddie.

Steve has a hazy memory of a boy with an equally tragic bowl cut, disappearing into the hallways of the high school, sinking into the bleachers of sporting events, face hidden behind a camera. He wonders if that’s Will’s brother. If he’s missing him.

“And how did you get here, Will?” Steve asks, carefully modulating his voice. Keeping it even. Keeping it low. Will flinches, but he doesn’t step back again. Eddie still glares at Steve from behind the kid’s head.

“The Demogorgon,” Will says, “It got me.”

Part 15

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #i accidentally deleted half this part and had to write it AGAIN which was infuriating

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frickingnerd · 7 months ago

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accidentally in love

pairing: shinjiro aragaki x gn!reader (+koromaru & akihiko sanada)

summary: shinjiro and you find yourselves tangled up in koromaru's leash, leading to an (not so) accidental kiss…

tags: silly & wholesome fluff, mutual crushes, wingman!akihiko (&koromaru), kissing, shinji & reader taking care of koromaru

accidents could happen to anyone. but none of this was an accident, nor a coincidence.

“how come everyone but us got sick? shouldn't we have caught a cold too, if we're around them all the time…?”

shinjiro had the same thought as you, but you were the one that dared to say it out loud. there was something weird about the entirety of S.E.E.S. getting sick, except the two of you. even aigis was out of business, leaving shinjiro and you as the only two who could look after koromaru now.

“there's no way they're all sick…”

shinjiro mumbled under his breath. he stared forward, watching koromaru run through the living room and bark happily, while he was lost in thought.

“i think… they're just sick of having to do so much work around the house. so now they all decided to fake a sickness…”

you silently nodded. it was the only thing that made sense to you. even if it was out of character for them to all lie like this. sure, junpei regularly tried to get out of work by faking sickness. but someone like mitsuru or aigis? that was certainly odd.

“either way… it's not too bad, right? having to take care of koromaru isn't really work!”

as koromaru heard you say his name, he stopped and tilted his head, his tongue hanging out and he seemed to be smiling at you. you smiled back, unaware that seeing your little interaction with the dog brought a small smile to shinjiro's lips as well.

“maybe we should take him for a walk! he seems more restless than usual today…”

koromaru barked in response, almost as if he wanted to agree with shinjiro. that little guy was smarter than most dogs and he seemed to understand very well what was going around him.

“come here, boy!”

shinjiro knelt down and tapped the ground, causing koromaru to come running up to him, happily jumping at shinjiro and barking.

“can you grab his leash?”

shinjiro patted koromaru's head, as he looked up at you with a smile. you quickly nodded and went to grab the leash, before handing it to shinjiro.

as shinjiro locked the leash with koromaru's collar, you held the dog in place. he seemed so eager at the idea of walk with the two of you, that he couldn't stand still.

“there we go!”

shinjiro and you were both still kneeling, when you let go of koromaru. but just as the two of you wanted to get up again, koromaru seemed to have a sudden burst of energy. and before you knew it, he started running around the two of you, wrapping you up in his leash.

“h-hey, hold! koromaru–!”

shinjiro remained a firm grip on the leash, in case koromaru tried to run off. but that only resulted in the two of you being caught within the leash, as koromaru showed no signs of stopping.

“w-wait, let me help you…”

shinjiro and you were pressed against each other, with very little room to move. both of your faces were red and shinjiro tried to avoid eye contact, as he attempted to untangle you from the leash.

but just when it seemed like he had figured out how to get you out of this mess, koromaru started running. and once again, the two of you were pulled closer together. only this time, it wasn't just your bodies pressed against each other, but your lips as well.

“woof–! woof–!”

koromaru had stopped, as soon as the two of you kissed. he happily barked and finally sat down, his tongue hanging out, as he seemed to smile at you. almost as if he had just been waiting for this to happen…

the kiss lasted longer than necessary. especially given it was supposed to be just an accident. but after a few moments, shinjiro and you pulled away from each other – at least as far away as you could, while still being tied together by koromaru's leash.

“s-sorry, i–”

“it was an accident–!”

both of you blurted out at once, blushing furiously. but both of you knew it wasn't just an accident. the first few seconds were an accident. anything after that was just the two of you wanting to prolong the kiss.

“y-yeah… an accident!”

shinjiro and you awkwardly stared at each other for a moment, unable to get away from each other. just when you both slowly leaned in again, you heard voices from upstairs.

“is everything alright here~?”

it was akihiko, who tried to hide an amused smile, when he spotted shinjiro and you wrapped together in koromaru's leash.

“do you need a hand~?”

you nodded embarrassed and akihiko walked over, helping untangle the two of you. shinjiro and you lingered close to each other for another moment, after akihiko had finally removed the leash, before both taking a step back.

“what are you even doing here? didn't you say you were sick!?”

shinjiro was a bit on edge after that kiss. he tried to hide how flustered he still was, by immediately confronting akihiko about his seemingly made up sickness.

“oh, that? well, i feel a lot better now! must've been just some morning sickness!”

“mh, right…”

shinjiro glared at akihiko, skeptical of what he was saying. truly, he didn't believe a word. but he didn't want to start arguing now.

“anyways…” akihiko smiled. “if you want, i can take koromaru on a walk now! i figured the two of you might want to do other things…”

shinjiro and you both froze up. had akihiko seen the kiss? did he see the first one? or had he noticed the two of you leaning in? if he noticed, then surely…

shinjiro's eyes met yours. the same thoughts seemed to run through your head, as you stared at each other. even akihiko noticed it and grinned amused, as he took koromaru's leash from shinjiro's hands.

“we'll be going then! have fun, you two!”

and with that said, akihiko left the dorms, leaving you alone with shinjiro…

after closing the door behind him, akihiko roamed through his pockets, looking for something, as he tried to listen in on you and shinjiro for a bit. he could very well imagine what the two of you were talking about in there…

“here, for you~!”

eventually, akihiko pulled some dog treats out of his pockets, kneeling down to reward koromaru.

“you were a good boy, koromaru! playing your part just like we practiced~!”

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sidekick-hero · 3 months ago

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First Love, Second Chance (Part 4)

(steddie | teen | tags: exes to lovers, canon divergence (Eddie lives), future fic (set 2001) | Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

He stood up abruptly, his hand slipping out from under Lisa’s. “Uhm, thank you, Lisa. I just… I have to… bathroom. Be right back!”

Before she could respond, he turned and practically bolted toward where he’d seen Eddie disappear, his heart pounding with every step.

The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and clean, and, thankfully, empty — except for Eddie, who stood by the sink, washing his hands. Steve burst through the door, and Eddie’s head snapped up at the sudden intrusion.

“Steve?” Eddie's voice was laced with confusion, but beneath it, Steve detected a flicker of alarm. Even after all these years, the shadows of the Upside Down still hung over them, making them more wary and jumpy than any thirty-something had a right to be.

Steve took a few steps toward Eddie, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “It’s okay, Eds. Everything’s good. I just… I wanted to talk to you, I guess.”

“Talk to me? In the bathroom?” Eddie's confusion remained, but now there was a hint of amusement in his voice, a twinkle in those familiar doe eyes. “What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait?”

“Do you miss me?” Steve blurted out before he could stop himself, the words spilling out unplanned. He hadn’t meant to ask that — hadn’t even thought about asking that — but now it was hanging in the air between them, and all he could do was wait for Eddie’s response, his heart hammering in his chest.

Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise, and Steve felt a pang of self-consciousness, but he couldn’t take the question back now. Eddie’s brown eyes — eyes Steve had once gotten lost in so many times — searched his face, as if looking for some kind of trap, or maybe an explanation for why Steve was asking something so loaded after almost a decade of silence.

And then, slowly, Eddie’s expression softened, the lines around his mouth easing into something gentler. “What do you think, Steve?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” Steve replied, his voice quieter, almost tentative.

Eddie’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile playing at the corners. “Do you miss me?”

“Uh-uh,” Steve countered, shaking his head with a tiny grin. “I asked first.”

A smile finally broke free on Eddie’s face. “Alright, fine. Yes, I do.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, the hope in his voice unmistakable.

Eddie stepped closer, just a small movement, but it brought them so near that their chests were nearly touching. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice soft but certain. “More than I should… considering I was the one who walked out that goddamn door.”

“Eddie,” Steve began softly, feeling the weight of Eddie's guilt like a shadow between them. He hated how Eddie seemed to shoulder the blame for their breakup when, in truth, it wasn’t about blame at all. They’d just ended up at a crossroads, wanting different things. It wasn’t like either of them had set out to hurt the other. It was just… life.

But Eddie cut him off before he could say any of that. “No, please. Let me say this.” His voice trembled with urgency. “I’ve thought about you, about us, so damn much. Most of my songs are about it, actually. And I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for a long time now, but… I think we’ve established I’m a coward sometimes. I thought about calling you a thousand times over these past years, but I was scared you wouldn’t want to hear from me. And maybe I deserved that, but the thought of it… it hurt too much. But now we’re here, and you’re talking to me, so… no more running, right?”

Steve didn’t say anything, because Eddie already knew he’d never thought of him as a coward. He’d always told Eddie to cut himself some slack, and he still believed it. Instead, Steve reached out and took Eddie’s hand, the warmth of it familiar and grounding, like it belonged there.

“I should’ve fought for us,” Eddie continued, his voice thick with regret. “I realized it the moment the door closed behind me, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. I convinced myself that because we wanted different things, that had to mean that we weren’t meant to work. I was so young and stupid. You were my first, Stevie. My first lover, my first love, my first relationship. My first heartbreak. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I needed to get out of Hawkins, to get away, to try and leave all that crap behind. Be free to travel with that hush money, try to be a rockstar. And you…”

“And I wanted to settle down,” Steve finished quietly. “To feel safe again for the first time since ’83. Build a life, a home, maybe even a family…”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Only later did I realize we could’ve found a way to make it work. I never asked you to figure out a plan with me, to see if we could meet somewhere in the middle. I just… gave up. Not on you — never on you, Stevie — but on us. And that’s my biggest regret. I wish…” Eddie’s voice cracked, his words coming out in a raw whisper, “I wish I’d stayed. Tried to figure it out instead of running away.”

Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand, taking a moment to absorb everything he’d said. He remembered their last conversation so vividly — Eddie standing there with his bags already packed, spouting things about them not working, saying Steve deserved a chance to find someone who could give him everything he wanted. It had blindsided Steve back then, left him reeling, wondering what he’d done to push Eddie away. They’d had their fights, sure, but nothing that ever seemed so final. He’d never understood where Eddie’s words had come from… until now.

“I just don’t get it,” Steve murmured. “Why? I thought we were happy. I always thought you were happy, too. Until I came home and found you packed up, saying you had to leave. What happened?”

To Steve’s surprise, Eddie’s eyes were brimming with unshed tears. He swallowed hard, his voice coming out small and broken. “I don’t know,” he admitted, sounding ashamed. “I think… I think I got scared. Scared of how much I loved you and how happy you made me, even in that godforsaken town. Then… Wayne sent me this old journal of my mom’s that had come in the mail. My cousin found it while cleaning out her parents’ house. In it, she wrote about meeting my dad, getting pregnant, and how her whole life changed overnight. But she was happy because she loved him, and she was gonna be a mom, and she was convinced she’d love her kid so much.” Eddie’s voice cracked again, and Steve felt him tremble. “The way she talked about my dad, about her life and her dreams… it reminded me of me. She wanted to be a singer too, you know. But she gave it all up — for him. For me. And then she died and I never had a chance to ask her if she had any regrets.”

“Oh, Eddie…” Steve whispered, dropping Eddie’s hand to pull him into a tight hug. “Baby, I’m so sorry you went through that alone.”

“I wanted to tell you. I should’ve told you,” Eddie’s voice was muffled against Steve’s shoulder, his tears hot against Steve’s skin. “But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want you to think I was comparing you to my dad or that I wasn’t happy with you. But reading all that, it messed me up. I got lost in my head and… I did something stupid. I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Steve held him tighter, feeling Eddie’s heartbeat against his own, a rhythm he had missed more than he’d ever admitted. “You didn’t lose me, Eds,” he whispered, his lips brushing Eddie’s ear. “I’m right here. And maybe… maybe this time, we don’t have to figure it all out right away. Maybe this time, we just… try.”

Eddie pulled back, his eyes wide and searching. “Do you…” He paused, clearing his throat as if trying to steady himself. “You mean that?”

Steve offered him a soft smile and nodded. “Yeah, I mean it. I missed you, too. I’ve spent so much time wondering where it all went wrong, what had happened. And I’ve wondered if I should’ve fought harder for us. Because while you walked away… I let you. I didn’t try to stop you or get you to talk it out. I just… accepted that maybe you didn’t love me anymore. I thought, everybody leaves, so why not you too?”

“Steve, no,” Eddie blurted out, but Steve gently shushed him.

“I know now that wasn’t true. I’ve learned a lot about myself these last few years. Robin even convinced me to see a therapist and, well…” Steve chuckled, a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who would’ve thought, but it actually helped. What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad you told me everything. But I don’t want you to feel like it’s all your fault. We both made mistakes, we were both young, and we were both dealing with a lot of trauma. But, despite what the kids might think, life doesn’t end at 30. Who’s to say we can’t try again?”

The look of wonder on Eddie’s face would have been almost comical if Steve’s heart wasn’t pounding in his chest. Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, a smile began to form on Eddie’s face.

“I… I’d really like that,” Eddie said at last, as Steve’s hands continued to gently rub his arms. The tears had stopped, but Eddie's eyes were still red-rimmed and slightly swollen. “To be honest, I knew you and Robin had moved here ages ago. Henderson told me. I’d hoped I might run into you someday, though I never imagined it would happen like this.” He hurried to add, “I didn’t plan on it. Jeff kept pushing me to get back out there, signed me up for this without me even knowing.”

“Wait… so he filled out your profile?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because that means we could have been a match! You didn’t even fill out the questions yourself.”

Eddie laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. “He didn’t mention anything about questions. But I’m sure you would’ve been my perfect match, Stevie. You always were, I was just too stupid to see it.”

“No, I think you just didn’t realize that you were my perfect match too, dummy.” Steve replied, affection dripping from every word.

As they spoke, their faces drew closer, their breaths mingling. It felt almost like a miracle that no one else had walked in, but Steve wasn’t about to question their luck.

“You’re right,” Eddie murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Good thing I have you to remind me.” And with that, he finally closed the gap, leaning in and brushing his lips softly against Steve’s, sealing the moment with a kiss that felt like coming home.

Part 5

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #my writing

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ch0k3herwithaseaview · 8 months ago

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@jegulus-microfic | march 25 eyeliner | words: 819

tw: child abuse, blood, mentions of violence in the past

James was going mad, and it was all Walburga’s doing.

It all started when Regulus finally got out of this horrible imitation of a home. The boy was barely past his sixteenth birthday at the time; when he fell out of the Potters' fireplace, Regulus looked even worse than Sirius did the night he ran away. The older brother has been beaten up badly but could manage to stand on his own; on the other hand, the night the younger brother got out, he was fighting for a breath like a man drowning; his whole face was swollen and covered in blood.

When Regulus appeared in their living room, only James and Sirius were home. At the sight of him, they both panicked to the point where they forgot how to think. All Sirius could do was turn Regulus onto his back and hold his head so the younger boy wouldn’t choke on his own blood while crying and begging anyone who would listen to keep his baby brother alive. At the same time, James was running around the house, looking for something—anything—to help his best friend’s brother.

Thankfully, Effie and Monty arrived only a few minutes after Regulus, and as soon as they processed what was happening, they took all three boys to St. Mungo’s.

Not even a week later, Regulus looked like nothing had ever happened to him. At first, all he did around the house was eat, sleep, and argue with Sirius, but as time passed, the arguments turned into talks and helping each other. James didn’t have to ask to know the Black Brothers were trying to fix their relationship; he saw it in the way Sirius talked about Reggie and how he started bringing the younger boy with them on nights out and letting him into his own world. The change was noticeable in Regulus, too; he opened up a little, spent time with James’ parents, and started trying out muggle stuff like records, Polaroid, or cigarettes. Maybe James didn’t know him well, but he understood that those little things were important both for Sirius and Regulus.

In the first half of August, when Regulus was at their house for a little over a month, James found him sitting on a bench in their backyard. He was reading ‘Crime and Punishment’ Effie gave him, while James’ own copy waited to be read under his arm.

“Do you like it?” the Gryffindor asked, taking a seat next to Regulus.

The boy raised his head slowly, evidently reading the last few words on that page. When their eyes met, James literally lost his mind. Not only that, he also lost his ability to hear, feel, and think—everything except for seeing—because right there in front of him sat the boy he always found beautiful, yet at that moment James couldn’t come up with anything as mesmerising as Regulus’ silvery eyes outlined with heavy black. This mix must’ve outshined the star Regulus was named after. James felt like he could fly just by looking into those eyes; he started thinking of a son-

“Potter? Are you quite alright?” A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled James out of his haze. He blinked once, twice, and a third time for good measure before he closed his mouth (When did I even open them?), swallowed thickly, and mumbled something unintelligible. It was Regulus’ time to blink. After a second, the boy burst out into a loud laugh. “Oh god, Potter, come on! It’s just a little bit of eyeliner; Sirius wears it all the time!” Reg kept laughing, still holding James’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” the older boy managed to spit out when the other started calming down. “But he doesn’t look half as good as you do.” Regulus froze, the grin on his face turning into a sheepish little smile, a pretty pink creeping up his pale cheeks. “Oh,” James started, wondering why he’d said that. “I—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I’m so, so very sorry, I—"

“That’s alright, James. I’m-“ The younger boy cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I’m glad you like it,” he finished, biting his lower lip and still smiling a bit.

James, whose smile was normally big and bright, smiled shyly at Regulus.

“Do you mind if I-?” he pointed at his book. The younger Black looked over at him and shook his head slightly.

“Not at all; we can discuss the story later, if you’d like?” It came out as a question more than a statement, so James nodded once and started reading from where he finished last night.

The silence surrounding them was comforting—just a little buzz of bugs flying around and wind rustling leaves on an apple tree a bit ahead of them. Surrounded by all of it and still slightly nervous from earlier, neither of them noticed the glances they were stealing at each other.

#jegulus #dead gay wizards #starchaser #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #marauders #the marauders #walburga's a+ parenting #angst/comfort #by: allyeardepression #hogwarts au #fluff #hurt/comfort

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thisfanisgonesorry · 1 year ago

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keep talking — könig

got into cod because someone told me he was 6’9 and so i told them i wanna 69

tags: light angst, bros injured, smut, dubcon kinda, phone sex except its a walkie talkie. rushed ending lowkey, ambiguous relationship. ambiguous ending ooo. light blackmail, soldier!reader, y/n is watching better call saul (dont @ me), povs might be weird idk

⚠️

“König, how copy?”

Nothing. Literal radio silence.

“König, I’m talking to you. How copy?”

“I’m here.” He grunted after a long period of silence. “Bad copy.”

“I say again. Did you get caught in the crossfire?”

The battlefield surrounding König had bullet shells everywhere, he laid carefully in the ground, trying to hide his large body from any further incoming fire.

“I did.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“What are your injuries?”

“I’m fine.” He growled.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. Too much dust.”

“König, are you in a safe place? I’m gonna need you to stay there until it’s safe enough for someone to get you.”

“Affirmative.” He panted.

“I need you to say something, König.”

“Minimal damage, only flesh wounds. A few hits in the right leg.” He grunted in frustration. “I got my vest, I’m fine.”

He laid in the ditch, looking around the empty battlefield, only being able to make out clouds of smoke and dust as gunfire continued from the distance, the fight being gradually dragged away from him. He winced as the blood kept pouring out of his thigh.

He dug his fingers into one of the bullet holes in the pants, using it as a weak point to rip the fabric. His hands were too dirty to try and tend the wound himself, so he turned the leg of his pants into makeshift shorts; pulling the fabric down his leg and using the length of it to make a tourniquet for the wound.

“Come in, König.”

“Scheiße.. What?” He barked into the receiver. “I’m not dying, fräulein.”

There was a silence as he tried to shuffle his large body into the ditch, giving his leg room while trying to stay undetected.

“We can’t risk that.” I finally said from the other end.

“Then talk to me. I’m not dying. Don’t treat me like it.” He spoke sternly.

“What do you expect me to talk about?”

“Anything. Just don’t mention that I’m bleeding out.”

“The mission—”

“Not the mission.” He snapped again. “Your day or something.”

“Sorry, um..” I paused, lost on conversation.

There was a moment of silence and he groaned at the hesitance before the receiver burst to life again. He felt a pang of guilt as he palmed himself through his cargo pants. He’d been shot at enough times to learn that the fastest way to get rid of pain is to replace it with something better, and in situations where first aid was out of the question for the foreseeable future, this was all he had unless he decided to just put up with it.

“Okay.” I started. “I started watching a lawyer show. It’s really good.” I started rambling slightly about the show until I ran out of information that König would care for.

I tried to jump from topic to topic seamlessly but a one-sided conversation wasn’t easy to keep going.

“I don’t really have a lot of spare time, so I’m running out of things to talk about.�� I commented, noticing a lack of response. “König?”

“I’m alive.” He spoke through shaking breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm..” He nodded, despite me being unable to see him.

“I say again. Are you okay?”

“Gut. Ich bin prima.” He spoke. “Tut höllisch weh.” While I couldn’t make out what he was saying, his sarcasm and frustration was detectable from a mile away.

“English, König.”

“Hurts like hell.” He groaned out.

All of his actions could be explained one way or another, his ambiguous silence, his heavy breathing and grunting. From one end it seemed like a man in pain. On the other end of things, he had his head thrown back in the dirt, stroking himself slowly as the words filled his ears.

His breathing was ragged, hissing and panting as he tried to distract himself. He would manage to build his composure when he needed to talk through the comms, but besides that, he was a mess. Whining and grunting as he tried to focus on the sweet voice on the receiver instead of the stinging metal that was sinking into his skin.

He desperately jerked himself off, stroking his dick tenderly. “Keep talking.” He groaned. “Bitte, I’m bleeding everywhere. Hurts.”

“König..?” I began to feel suspicious at his pleas, it was so unlike him to be like this, he’d been shot before without acting this strange, he was swaying between aggressive and gentleness. “Are you..?”

“No.” He answered quickly, to the point where it raised more suspicion. He cringed at his own reaction, realising he sold himself out, and admitting it with his chest bare.

“König.” I said more sternly.

“Ich musste es tun, es tut so weh und deine stimme fühlt sich so gut an.” He groaned, using the wrong head to think, barely comprehensive as he rambled in a language I couldn’t even speak.

I took a deep inhale, his ramblings proving my point. “Say again in english please.”

“Yes.” He managed to get out.

“Yes, you’re jerking off?”

“Musste, kleine.” He panted, and while I still couldn’t make out his words, I understood that he was admitting to it, and by the sounds eliciting from his throat, it was clear that he wasn’t stopping. “Zu sagen dass es mir leid tut wäre eine lüge.”

“König.”

“Please.” He finally spoke out in english. “Please, keep talking.”

“What do you expect me to say?”

“Anything.” He groaned, and there was a moment of silence as we both sat in thought. His harsh demeanour melted quickly, he had no right of way to be a snappy colonel here as the need consumed him wholly.

“Do you expect me to talk dirty to you? Tell you that I bet you’re so hard and aching? That you’re probably leaking everywhere?”

“Scheiße, ja.” He nodded to the blankness of the battlefield, knowing that I couldn’t see his enthusiasm but wanting to express it anyway.

“And that’s all for me?”

“Ja, ja.” He panted out with need. “Need you.. Please?”

I sigh into the receiver and his breath catches in his throat, he gently massages his tip, enough to keep him going but not enough to build any pleasure. Guilt slowly began to consume him but he refused to let that be the other option. He didn’t want to sit in the dirt, bleeding out and crying out in pain instead of ecstasy.

“What do you want me to say?”

“What.. Do you want to say?” He responded carefully, keeping himself calm enough for this conversation to go smoothly. “Please, I’m.. Uh, werde abspritzen.. Orgasm.” He struggled out, his mind going blank.

“You have a lot of explaining to do later.”

“I know.” He groaned. “Tell me.”

I sucked my teeth. “I don’t know what to say to you, König. You want me to tell you how I want you buried deep in me?”

He let out a moan. “That.” He gritted.

“You’re fantasising about how good my pussy feels, right?”

“Ja, gute muschi.” He moaned, and soft slapping sounds began to be audible through the radio. I felt glad that no one else could listen into this line. He muttered incoherencies in English and German, it was hard to keep track of what he was trying to say.

The shame kept threatening to lay heavy on his conscience, though he managed to push it away every time it tried, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come back later.

“You sound close.”

“Am.” He swallowed thickly. “So sexy. So beautiful.”

“Mhm? Want me to say something about how I fuck myself in my quarters? Gotta keep myself quiet so the others don’t hear me through the shitty paper-thin walls?” I started. “Or how I’m tight because I haven’t got a boyfriend? My Colonel doesn't give me enough time off, y’know?”

The passive aggressiveness was something he made a mental note of, something to save for later to make up for his actions. Right now, he was focused on the orgasm threatening to rip through his body.

“Mhm, like that.” He whined, covering his mouth and his sounds becoming more muffled. “Scheiße—” The embarrassment in his voice lingered in the line for longer than his words did but it didn’t dissuade him. “Can explain this.. Later. Ah, please, right there.” He managed to curse out.

He panted and groaned, a mix of ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ filled the air, surrounded by something or other in german. It was hard to tell what was happening through the walkie talkie, though before I could respond, his dick twitched in his hand, spilling cum from the tip, leaking over his hand and down onto his pants.

He threw his head back into the dirt, trying to regain himself, his afterglow of bliss successfully distracting him, but not enough to not worry about the growing guilt. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

“So.. You can explain why you were out of position or why you were jacking off?”

“Both.” He breathed. “I can do both. I’m sorry.”

“Evac van is on its way, it might take a bit to find you.” I tried to bite back a smile. “You should clean up.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “Thanks, uh.. I’m..”

He sighed, knowing better than to keep apologising, mindlessly wiping his hand on his pants, not caring too much of the stain and trying to reorganise himself. He crawled around the ditch, trying to make his position more obvious to the humvee, he could vaguely see it in the distance.

“Tell me you’re not mad, right?” He spoke through the radio, trying to walk towards a more visible vantage point where the enemy wouldn’t see him if there were any lingerers despite the fact that the fight was most certainly further down the open field at this point.

I laughed through the radio, and the cackle of life it brought to the abandoned field was uneasy as he slowly tried to move towards the van.

“No, not mad, but I definitely plan to use this against you in the near future.”

#cod #konig #smut #konig smut #konig x reader #konig x you #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #call of duty x reader #konig x y/n

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livelaughlaw3 · 5 months ago

Text

Reconciliation through s*x

Prohibited under 18

TW : creampie, unprotected s*x, bl0w j*b, p*netr*tion, definitely smut, angst, sadness, fluffy end <3333

You are with Shanks in this story. (He has two arms because he's too smart to have lost his arm that way and Oda already said it was his editor who told him to tell that story.)

You argued a lot but for a few minutes at most. All this because of a woman who is a little more enterprising than the others who are used to gravitating around your man. She placed her hand on his forearm and placed a free drink on the table for him when he politely refused. You would have liked him to be much more vehement in his refusal.

After 10 minutes of arguing, everyone went their separate ways, ready to explode. You showered, got into bed and covered yourself. You knew you were in the wrong and you knew you said things you didn't mean. You realize that you must have hurt him a lot. As he has been very busy lately, all of this has affected your confidence in yourself and in him. You shed a few tears but can't sleep. You lay on your side, facing the wall, arms curled up against your chest.

After an hour, you hear a knock on his bedroom door. “It’s Shanks, can I please come in ?..” You sigh, his caution and maturity making you feel even worse. “Yes..”, he inhales and opens the door slowly. He glances at you, you look so weak and vulnerable. He curses himself internally, feeling that your voice is broken, because of the tears you must have shed. You sit and look at him, like a five year old would look at him, and hold your arms out towards him. Desperate to reconcile with your man, you absolutely want a hug. “Please..”, his heart skips a beat hearing you beg him. He walks up to you, on autopilot. He's desperate to hold you too, even though he doesn't think he deserves you or your affection. A lot of emotions run through him, desire, guilt, love, regret. He sits on the bed, at your feet. Your arms are still in the air, in endless waiting. He wants the same thing as you but not before apologizing and explaining. Except that he knows full well that you want physical contact and affection first, then explanations. You know him like the back of your hand, you pull off the blanket, climb into his lap, hug him tight as you burst into tears. He helps you and holds you tightly then rubs your back to calm you down as he hugs you too. "I love you !!! I can not live without you !!! I'm sorry for everything !!! I never wanted to argue or make you suffer!!! I beg your pardon !!!" You cry on his shoulder, he hugs you.

He can’t hold back and kisses your cheek then moves down to your neck quickly. He wants to mark you to make sure everyone knows you belong to him. You’re still shaking and crying in his arms but it’s replaced by your soft moans. He loves the fact that you respond to his lips like this but hates himself for causing you so much pain. He leaves a trail of kisses and bites on the skin of your neck. You ask him “Can we make love now ? I'm sorry and I know I shouldn't ask this right now. But I want to… I want to show you how much I love you and I need you.” He lets out an almost feral growl when he hears you speak.

You remove his belt, he holds you close and kisses you passionately. His hands wander over your body, going under your clothes. He stops for a moment to catch his breath “I can’t resist you..”. You are still saddened but answer him “I love you.. I need you..” He smiles at you “I love you too. I would be gentle. Will you tell me if I hurt you ?” You nod, needy. His lips trail down your neck as he guides you onto the bed. His weight pins you to the bed, your body beneath his. His desire for you grows by the second. “I would do anything to make up.” You smile “Be gentle.. but also.. a little rough.” He bites your neck again “I’ll give you everything you need, I promise baby.” You kiss him again, pushing your body against his, your hips against the growing bulge in his pants. He lets out a heavy moan as his tongue enters your mouth.

You take off his pants and boxers and unbutton his shirt as he continues to pepper your body with kisses. He whispers to you “I don’t deserve you.. But you are everything to me, you know that right ?” You smile at him, he kisses you again “I know I screwed up and hurt you. But I love you more than anything in the world.” You nod, crying but smiling, through the kiss. He wipes away your tears, continuing to kiss you. You remove your dress, leaving your naked body exposed. “You’re so beautiful..” You guide him towards your entrance, his breath catching in his throat for a second. “Are you sure, sweetheart ?” You nod and kiss him. He smiled “Whatever you want, my love.” He tries to control himself and pushes slowly and carefully inside you. He moves gently to stay soft as he feels surrounded perfectly. “I feel so good, angel.” You spread your legs for better access “Keep going Shanks..” He smiled, his pupils growing as he looked at you. His lips resume their bites on your neck. “I will, I will give you everything you ask for, love.” You smile “Faster, deeper Shanks..” He obeys you, his pace quickening “Like that ?” and his body moving with relentless roughness. You nod, he smiles “You take everything I give you, fine, my moon. You want everything I have and I'll give it all to you. It feels good ?" You nod, your eyes rolling back sometimes.

He continues his rapid pace and works to go as far as possible, sinking completely until your pelvises are almost glued together. Both of you begin to see the stars and a piece of Heaven, with each thrust. You moan continuously, he loses himself completely inside you. He moans and breathes heavily “Take it all baby, there you go, you’re close.” He feels you pulse and tighten around him. He feels your water release as you reach your climax. He feels himself filling you deeply, his body shaking with pleasure and need. “You’re amazing doll, you always take me so well.” You hug him to make him lie on your body. He groans as he feels himself getting harder against your thighs. Your breaths are labored and your two chests beat against each other.

“Again ?”, he laughs “Yes my love, are you ready ?” You nod, needy. He stands up, groaning as he sees you naked in front of him. He grabs your hips, looking into your eyes “Hang on, angel, I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going to give you every inch of me, you’ll feel me for days.” You kiss him, pulling him close to you. You feel him entering you, deeper and faster. “That’s it honey, moan for me. Let me hear how good I am doing you. I just started with you.” You moan a lot and louder, making him reach his orgasm, much faster than he ever imagined and faster than you. Two more deep thrusts and you feel his hot cum inside you. He stops, disappointed in himself, looking at you. “God, I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to.. I can do better, I promise.. Just let me try.. please..”

You smile at him and hold his face in your hands, your palms caressing his cheeks and your fingers playing with the strands of his hair that fall in his face. “It’s nothing, little heart, it’s very flattering. You love me too much to hold on for long. I love you." He feels his cheeks blush with affection “B-But.. I wanted to make you feel good..” You smile “Baby.. you’re adorable. You gave me enough tonight. You’re everything I need and want.” He suddenly feels relieved.

You sit back down “Let me do it now, it’s my turn.” He raises an eyebrow, perplexed. “Let you do what, baby girl ?” You laugh “You gave me a lot tonight, Daddy.. and you ?” You have him sit on the bed then lie on his back, placing the pillows comfortably behind him. Surprised and a little embarrassed as you kneel between his legs. “You don’t have to..” He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as he sees and feels your mouth already at work. He moans loudly but already feels overstimulated. “Doll.. I'm already too sensitive..” But he feels you going even faster, the pleasure coursing through his body makes him tremble and shiver “G-Gently.. Honey.. I'm already.. sensitive..” He now feels the wet warmth of your tongue and your response “You can take it Daddy.” He stammers “I.. I can, I’m already close..” You continue your magic and he sees your saliva forming bubbles around it. The sensation bringing him closer and closer to the peak. “Ohh.. God.. O-Oh.. God.. F-f-f-f..” You give one last thrust with your mouth as the pleasure washes over him. “Aaaaah.. Haaaaaa..”, you help him with your hand to ride out his orgasm. “Mmmmfff.. oh.. f-f..”, you see him laboriously trying to catch his breath as his body shakes all over.

To tease him, you only touch the tip with your fingers. But he already feels too stimulated with his different previous orgasms “Ooh.. N-n-not so much..” He sees you resume your magic with your mouth, taking him deep. “Ooooh.. I’m so sen-mmmf.. s-sensitive, baby..” He holds back, still shaking, dropping his head onto the pillow behind him. “F-fuck.. sweetheart.. You feel so damn good.. I’m close !” You continue to moan to help him with one last turn of your tongue, powerful and hot, he reaches yet another orgasm. The sensation is close to a drug, his body trembles all over. You lay on top of him, covering him with your body and kissing his collarbone to help him. He holds you close and tries to regain normal breathing. You tease him “Somebody’s extra clingy today !” He laughs, you regain your seriousness “Do you forgive me ?” He nods “Of course my princess. Of course. I love you."

You fall asleep against each other, using only your dress to dry and cover yourselves. The next day he was all lovey-dovey.

Enjoy - Do not copy or repost anywhere. Republish of course if you like it. I made edits on Tiktok too if you want to check 🫶🏻🫶🏻

#red haired shanks #shanks #shanks x y/n #akagami no shanks x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x gn reader #shanks smut #yandere shanks

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scary-grace · 4 months ago

Text

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

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

dividers by @enchanthings

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

Chapters: 1 2 3

Chapter 2

One of the dubious perks of living in a coastal town is fairly mild weather in the spring, but every so often it kicks up with a vengeance. The windows in your apartment are rattling with the wind and rain, and you keep getting power outage alerts on your phone. Your power is still on, along with about half the town’s, and the café has backup generators if anything goes wrong. But tomorrow’s the one day a week that the café is closed, anyway, so you’re curled up on your couch under a blanket, trying to make yourself read a book instead of scrolling your phone. It’s going all right, but when the phone buzzes on the coffee table next to you, you pounce on it with shameful speed.

It's a text from Tenko – Shimura. It’s from Shimura, who you’ve gotten into the bad habit of calling Tenko in your head. my power just went out

that sucks. You wonder if you should offer to help, but what would you even do? did you lose any files?

autosave. but the deadline’s tomorrow and my WiFi went down too. That still begs the question of why Shimura’s texting you about it. town still has power. can I hang out in the café and finish the project?

Now you get it. Shimura’s in hot water and he needs you to bail him out. It’s the kind of thing you’d do for a friend. A lot of things you and Shimura do are the kind of things friends do.

Not that you’re friends. You never see each other outside the café; you ran into him at the grocery store a few months after he started coming in and he pretended he didn’t know you. But inside the café, when it’s quiet, the two of you talk. You learned what he does for work – beta-testing computer games and identifying spots that need a patch – and he learned that you have basically no life outside your job, which he can’t judge you for because he doesn’t have one, either. When the two of you traded phone numbers, it was a work-related thing. Since the babkas have gotten popular, he texts on days when he’s planning on coming in, so you know to set one aside.

Except that’s not all he texts you about. He texts you about the most random things, in massive bursts between days of radio silence, and when he comes into the café again, he keeps talking about whatever it was like you’d been talking about it the whole time. It’s like he has no idea how to carry on a text conversation. Or how to have a friend.

You don’t have a great idea of how to have a friend, either. Let alone a friend you have feelings for. If Shimura was just your friend, you’d have texted back by now. Shimura texts again. I get it if you don’t want to come back into town when the weather’s shit. i would have asked about your place but I didn’t want to make it weird

Not weird. You answer without thinking too hard about it. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have power. You should probably come over now.

yeah. address? Shimura gives a thumbs-up once you send it. thanks.

You give him a thumbs-up, too. You’re already worried you’ve made a mistake.

The power’s still on by the time Shimura knocks on your door, which is one of your worries dealt with. You’ve changed out of your pajamas, and you moved stuff off the kitchen table and hid it in the hall closet so he’ll have a space to work. You’re feeling almost normal by the time you go to let him in, and he slinks through the door, looking like a drowned rat and shivering like a kicked puppy. “It sucks out there,” he mumbles. “My heat went out, too.”

“Mine’s still on. And I’ve got blankets and stuff if you want them,” you say. Shimura is still wearing his mask, but his hoodie is soaking wet, and when he takes down the hood you see that his hair is wavier than you thought. Or maybe it’s just the water. “The WiFi password is on the fridge. Make yourself at home.”

Shimura takes off his shoes and pushes his hair out of his face to peer at your apartment. “Nice place.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not. It’s not a mess and there aren’t holes anywhere. It’s nice.” Shimura gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret. “Thanks for letting me come over. Uh –”

He runs out of whatever he was going to say, but you’ve got no idea what he was going to follow up with. The two of you stand there for a second. Shimura’s hoodie is so sopping wet that it’s making puddles on the floor. “Okay,” you say finally. “Give me your hoodie and I’ll put it in the dryer.”

“You have a dryer? I drag my shit to the laundromat.”

You used to, but then you found out about all the petty things civilians do to make people like you feel unwelcome. Shimura hasn’t noticed because Shimura’s undercover. You wait while he peels off the hoodie. You’ve never seen him without it, barely seen him with the hood down, and beneath it, his clothes are just as oversized. His arms are bare and pale – and scarred. You wrench your eyes away, take the hoodie to the dryer, and take the opportunity to compose yourself along the way. You have a friend over. Normal people have friends over. You’re helping a friend. It doesn’t get more normal than that.

When you come back, Shimura’s hard at work at the kitchen table, laptop open and notebook at his side. You don’t want to distract him. You have a feeling the two of you are racing the clock with the storm and the power lines, so you sit down on the couch with your blanket and pick up your book. No way are you going to be able to read. When you’re at work, you have a million things to do. Right now, there’s nothing for you to do but watch Shimura.

He's focused on whatever he’s doing, typing fast but lopsided. It takes you a second to figure out what the problem is, but once you do, you’re startled – two fingers on his left hand are basically paralyzed. Maybe that’s why he wears the gloves. His hair falls to his shoulders, and although it’s black, there’s a flatness to the color that tells you it’s not natural, and that he did it at home. Maybe you should offer to do it for him when his roots start to grow out. You’ve never seen the lower half of his face, but apparently you didn’t need to in order to give yourself a crush on him.

You like him. You’re being silly about it. And you’re staring. You stick your face back in your book.

But it can’t hold your attention for long when he’s here, and when you inevitably look back up, you find Shimura already watching you. “What?” you ask.

“Get over here. I need your help with something.”

“I don’t game.”

“It’s not about gameplay. It’s –” Shimura beckons to you impatiently, and you abandon your book and blanket to peer over his shoulder at the screen. “Something’s wrong with this stage. It looks like shit. I told the devs that, and they said I had to be more specific –”

“It’s the color saturation,” you say. Shimura looks up at you. “And the shadows are wrong. If the light source is supposed to be coming from above – like the sun – the shadows should be in different spots. Or there should be shadows, and there aren’t any. That’s why the character looks like – that.”

You glance away from the screen, at Shimura. “What kind of game is this?”

“It’s a dating sim. Shut up,” Shimura says. “I don’t get to pick what I test. What was that about the shadows?”

“They need to fix the lighting.”

Shimura looks irritated. “They’re gonna want specifics.”

“The stage looks flat because they haven’t added shading to match the light source,” you say. Shimura pulls up another document and types something into it. “Shading gives dimension. And the color saturation is too high. That’s why it looks like –”

“A fucking eyesore.” Shimura minimizes the document, then clicks a dialogue option to advance the game to the next screen. “Same problem here?”

You nod, but it’s not the only problem. “Is this supposed to be a schoolgirl sim? High school girls don’t talk like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I was one,” you say. You read the response to Shimura’s chosen prompt again. “This skews really young. Like, twelve or something.”

Shimura’s face twists with disgust. “How do we fix that?”

“Fewer exclamation points,” you suggest. Shimura writes that down. “Does it have to be high school girls? For this game?”

“They’re supposed to be college girls so it’s legal. The outfits are how the dev wants it.” Shimura rolls his eyes. “But he’s a pro hero, so it doesn’t matter that he’s a perv. Right?”

“I didn’t know there were pros making computer games,” you say. “I know a lot of them have side hustles, but – pervy dating sims?”

“Pervy dating sims. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“I’ve been captured seventeen times and only twice by cops,” you say. “I don’t really have a bubble.”

“Seventeen times,” Shimura repeats. “I can’t tell if that’s a flex or not. Who got you?”

“Um –” You think it over. “Kamui Woods, back when he was field-testing that Lacquered Chain Prison thing.”

“That thing fucking sucks.”

“Tell me about it. Death Arms nabbed me at one point, but he dropped me when I turned him green.” You’re still proud of that one, even if you got in worse trouble for it than usual. “Endeavor actually caught me tagging something once. I would have been screwed, except I guess he was looking for a more high-profile case.”

“So he just let you go?”

“Yep.” You think back on the other times you got booked. “One time Fatgum got me. And then some work-study kids from Shiketsu High.”

Shimura snorts. “Kids got you?”

“My quirk’s not very dangerous,” you say. By that point you’d learned that turning people different colors could net you an assault charge. “And then it was Eraserhead. Four or five times. I can camouflage with my quirk and he could turn it off.”

Shimura nods. He’s clicking through screens on the dating sim. “What about you?” you ask. “Who caught you?”

“I only got taken into custody one time,” Shimura says. “I had run-ins with, uh – Eraserhead, Present Mic, Thirteen, All Might, Endeavor, Kamui Woods, Ryukyu, Miruko –”

Those are all big-name heroes. You have to wonder what Shimura did. “But I guess Midoriya’s the one who made it stick,” Shimura concludes. Midoriya? It takes you a second, and Shimura fills in. “The one with the stupid name. Deku.”

“Oh.”

Deku’s active hero career was fairly short, and all his fights were big ones. Shimura must have been working for somebody powerful before the war, or during it. Shimura’s shoulders stiffen, suddenly. “Forget I said that.”

“Okay,” you say. Maybe he’s embarrassed about getting captured by a student, even if you just told him you did the same thing. “If you forget I got arrested seventeen times.”

“Deal.” Shimura clicks through a few more screens, then curses. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” You peer at the screen, and Shimura blocks it. “Is it proprietary or something?”

“No, it’s porn,” Shimura says. He’s scowling. “There’s not one route in this game that doesn’t end with the player getting laid by three characters at once.”

Three seems like a lot, but – “Isn’t that kind of what dating sims are for?” you ask. Shimura shrugs. What little of his face you can see around the mask is flushed. “Wait, is this how you have to test them? Playing through every route?”

“And getting all the bonus cutscenes.” Shimura rolls his eyes. He glances at the screen. “Great. There’s audio.”

“What kind?” you ask. “You have to check if it works, right?”

“Maybe it’s background music,” Shimura says. He presses play.

It’s not background music. It’s exactly what you’d expect, and it’s painfully loud. Shimura scrambles to mute the game and pauses it two seconds after a shot of something anatomically improbable. “Let me guess – the lighting’s fucked up here, too. Right?”

“And the facial movements don’t match the audio,” you say. “Did the developers send you this before it was ready?”

“No, they’re just on a budget. This is as ready as it gets.” Shimura shows you a dialogue prompt. “Do women say stuff like this?”

“Um – no. Not as a first-time thing. If this is a first-time route.”

“It is.” Shimura groans. “I still have a quarter of the route left. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“The couch. I need your help with this and you only have one chair at your kitchen table.”

Your couch is sort of messy. You shift the blankets and pillows around to make room for two. Shimura props his feet on the coffee table, sets a pillow on his lap, and balances the laptop on it. “If you spot any more off-balance graphics, tell me. I already made a note about the dialogue.”

“Can you turn the brightness up?” You sit down next to him. The contrast shifts, and you wince. “The light’s wrong.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Unless that love interest is supposed to give off light.” You don’t know anything about this game. Maybe it actually is about glowing college girls in high school uniforms who really like foursomes. “If she isn’t, that’s a problem, because she’s the light source for the whole frame. And if she is, there’s no shading, so it’s flat again.”

“Ugh.” Shimura rolls his shoulders. “This is gonna be a long night.”

It’s going to be a long night, but it’s also sort of fun. You haven’t hung out with a friend in a while, and it’s nicer than you remember. You decide you want hot chocolate, so you make a cup for Shimura, too, and you learn a lot more about making erotic dating sims than you ever wanted to know. By the third porn interlude, Shimura’s basically out of patience. “This is a waste of time.”

“You’re getting paid for it, right?” you ask. Shimura nods. “Is there something you’d be doing if you didn’t have to do this?”

“Yeah. I’d be talking to you about something other than this dumb game.” Shimura hits the skip button five times in a row. “What were you doing when I texted?”

“Trying to read.” You point out the book on the coffee table and Shimura inspects it. “I used to read a lot when I didn’t have a phone, but it’s hard to get back into it when the phone is right there. That’s why I texted back so fast.”

Shimura’s frowning behind his mask. “Why didn’t you text me first?”

“To ask if your power was out and invite you over?” you ask, puzzled, and Shimura’s frown deepens. “I’d text you more if I thought I could get away with it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Um, just that I’m not sure how much you want to talk,” you say, “and I don’t want to annoy you. That’s it.”

“You know what’s annoying? That.” Shimura clicks through a few more screens. “We can’t talk at the café because you’re busy. You never ask to meet up when you aren’t busy. When else are we supposed to talk?”

“Shimura –” You must have missed something, somewhere. Some little detail that makes all of this make sense. The lights in your apartment flicker, and your stomach jolts. “I think the power’s going.”

“Shit.” Shimura starts typing faster, splitting his screen between the game and the document where he’s been making corrections. “Shit!”

“If the internet goes out, I can use my phone as a hotspot,” you offer.

“The signal won’t be strong enough. I have to send so many fucking screengrabs.” Shimura’s fingers fly across the keys. “If you want to help, start praying that the electricity holds out long enough for me to get this done.”

“I’ll pray,” you say. “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your job and going back to a life of crime.”

Shimura laughs at that, raspy and sharp, and keeps typing. You watch as he clicks through stages, skips cutscenes he’s already played, hits a key on his keyboard that generates screengrabs of any stage he’s found an issue with, all while typing into a note document at the same time. He’s fast. You’ve never seen him work this fast in the café, but then again, you’ve never really gotten to observe him in the café, either. You’re always busy. Too busy to talk – at least not as much as Shimura wants to talk. He wants to talk to you more. Has he really been waiting for you to make the first move?

The lights flicker again, the room going dark for a split second before brightening up again. Shimura’s no longer typing – instead he’s watching a file upload to a server, progressing a few megabytes at a time. You switch from facetiously praying to actually praying. Your power only needs to hold out long enough for Shimura’s upload to finish.

The entire status bar on the upload turns green, and a checkmark appears, confirming it’s complete. A second later, your power goes out, plunging your apartment into near-total darkness.

Shimura breathes a sigh of relief. “That was close,” he says, and shuts the lid of his laptop, making the darkness complete. “Now I don’t have to return to my life of crime.”

“Good,” you say. “I’d be sad not to see you at the café again.”

He said he wanted to talk to you more, so it’s probably safe for you to say you’d be sad not to see him. Your eyes haven’t adjusted enough to make out more than Shimura’s shape in the darkness. “I looked up the NCRA thing. You could have gone for job training. Why’d you decide to open up a coffee shop?”

“I didn’t just want to make money.” You got asked this same question when you applied for the NCRA in the first place. “People always told me that I was selfish, because all criminals are selfish, so I wanted to make something for other people. I wanted to be able to give other people something I didn’t have when I needed it.”

Shimura sets his closed laptop on the coffee table with a quiet thud. “You really seized the day with this stuff, huh?”

“I didn’t want to live the way I was living before,” you say. “It was either stop living or try something else.”

“Did you think it would work?”

“I didn’t know,” you say. “I wanted to find out.”

That’s what it was, more than anything else. You told yourself you’d go one day at a time, that at the end of each day you’d decide if it was worth trying again tomorrow. At first it was out of spite. The early days of the NCRA were filled with detractors, people who thought criminals and villains deserved to rot in prison or worse, and every day you went without violating your probation was a day you spent pissing them off. But soon it was more than that. You worked on names for the café, too focused on finding the right one to pretend it didn’t matter. You taught yourself to use an espresso machine, and you wanted the chance to use it. You put your first mural up and started planning the next one. Without meaning to, surviving out of spite became surviving for yourself.

“Yeah,” Shimura says after a second. “I want to find out, too.”

Something about his tone of voice captures your attention. You turn to face him, turning on the flashlight on your phone, but the brightness makes you flinch. You lower it partially, and Shimura’s hand comes up to force it down the rest of the way. “Don’t,” he says. “I have to take off my mask.”

Anticipation puts a twist in your spine, and as your eyes readjust to the darkness, you see Shimura unhook one side of his mask, then the other, lowering it away from his face. You’ve never seen the lower half of his face before. “Why did you take it off if you don’t want me to see?”

“Because I want to kiss you and it would get in the way.”

You thought your crush on Shimura was going nowhere fast. You didn’t think there was any chance he’d want you, too. His gloved hands settle at your waist and stay there, shifting you closer to him. You feel his breath against your cheek a moment before his lips, dry and cracked, meet yours.

It’s a quick kiss. Quick, and tentative. He draws back, but he doesn’t go far. You can still feel his breath against your skin, and when you lean forward again, he kisses you a second time. A second time melts into a third, a fourth, blending so seamlessly into each other that you lose count. Kissing Shimura doesn’t set you on fire, but you can’t remember another time where you felt curious like this. Where you’ve wanted to see what another kiss will do, rather than losing patience and pulling away.

The power doesn’t come back on, and just like the darkness emboldened Shimura to take off his mask, it emboldens you to unfold your hands from your lap and touch him. His kisses grow more insistent as you run your hands along his back, when you rest them against his shoulders, fingers uncurling along the length of his collarbones. Shimura’s hands don’t leave your waist, but his grip on you tightens. It tightens further when you run your fingers along the side of his neck.

You’ve seen him scratching there, so it’s not hard to imagine it’s a sensitive place. You draw back from kissing him and press your lips against it, and Shimura speaks, his voice even raspier than usual. “Did you like me this whole time?”

“Huh?”

“Did you like me this whole time? You gave me free stuff when I came in.”

“I gave you discounted stuff,” you correct. You kiss his neck again. Shimura stirs discontentedly under your hands and mouth. “You were a new customer. I wanted you to come back.”

“You saved a pastry for me the day that hero showed up,” Shimura says. “Did you like me then?”

He’s really stuck on this. “Why do you want to know?”

“I couldn’t tell if you liked me or not. I thought you did, but I wasn’t sure.” Shimura’s head tilts, exposing more of his throat, but you’re more interested in his shoulder, partially revealed by the neck of his oversized shirt. “I want to know when.”

“It would have been when I saved the pastry for you, except you were kind of a dick that day,” you say. Shimura snorts. “After that. But before your birthday. I meant it when I said I’d go to your party.”

“You’d be the only one.” Shimura’s hands leave your waist, sliding beneath your shirt. He’s still wearing his gloves, but his exposed fingertips are rough. “Next year.”

He’s thinking way ahead. How do you feel about that? “Yeah,” you say, edging closer to him. “Next year.”

Part of you feels crazy for this. You’re crazy for making out with Shimura on your couch, yanking off his shirt and letting him unhook your bra, tangling your hands up in his hair and tugging it ever so slightly and feeling a sharp stab of desire when he gasps against your mouth. The rest of you doesn’t care. There will always be something within you that doesn’t evaluate risk quite right, that doesn’t care about the aftermath when something you want is right in front of you. Shimura is the first thing you’ve wanted in so long that’s got nothing to do with the faultless new life you’ve been trying to build. You want him, and some part of you will always be bad at saying no to what you want.

An alarm goes off on Shimura’s phone and scares the two of you apart. You’re closer to it, and when you grab it, you notice two things right away. First, that Shimura’s alarm is labeled “go to sleep, moron”. Second, the time. “It’s two am.”

“Shit.” Shimura lifts the phone out of your hands and silences the alarm. “You need to wake up in three hours.”

“The café’s closed tomorrow.” You’re sort of touched that he remembered how early you have to wake up on workdays. Your heart is still beating too fast. “Do you need to go?”

“The streetlights are still out.” It’s pitch-dark outside your window. “Can I crash on your couch?”

“You could,” you say. “The bed’s more comfortable, though.”

“Yeah, no shit. It –” Shimura’s head snaps up. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t done here.”

“Me, either.” Shimura stands up, and so do you. “Let’s go.”

Your apartment is tough to navigate in the dark, even for you, and Shimura bumps into every obstacle you know about and a few more you didn’t think would be a problem. He swerves to avoid the edge of your kitchen table and walks straight into the corner of the hallway that leads to your bedroom and the bathroom. “Fuck!”

“Back up a few steps,” you say. Shimura backs up. “Take two steps to the left. No, your other left.”

Shimura curses again, quieter. “Either this place is a fucking labyrinth, or –”

“You got so wound up you walked into a wall,” you say. Shimura snorts. “You’ve never been here before, Shimura. Take it easy.”

“Tenko.”

“Hm?”

“It’s Tenko,” he says. You get the faintest hint of butterflies in your stomach. “We made out for three hours and you invited me back to your bedroom. Quit it with the Shimura thing. I’ve been using your name the whole time.”

“Okay. Tenko.” You step forward until you’re right in front of him. “Hold out your hands.”

He holds them straight out at shoulder height and narrowly avoids smacking you in the face. You take them both and pull them down, noting how badly Tenko startles. “You’ve been using my first name, but you don’t want to hold my hands?”

“I don’t get why you want to hold mine.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you say, puzzled. You take one step back, and another, and another after that, until your back hits your bedroom door. “Like you said, I asked you to stay over.”

“I asked to stay over. You said –”

“I remember.” You can’t believe you did that. You don’t regret it, but you’re a little floored. “I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t want to hold your hands, too.”

Tenko steps forward, crowding you against the door, and kisses you without letting go of your hands. It feels different than the earlier kisses, not frantic or heated, not light or uncertain, not slow or deep or inexorable. This feels like a movie kiss, the kind at the end of a romcom where everything and nothing’s been resolved. Your life has never been a movie. There’s every chance that this is a mistake. But you don’t mind setting it aside for a little while, from now until you fall asleep. You keep kissing Tenko in your lightless apartment, and you don’t let go of his hands until it’s time to open your bedroom door.

You’re not hungover when you wake up, and when you think about it, you’re not actually confused. You know why it’s warmer in your bed than usual, why you feel like that, why the first thing that hits you is uncertainty, anxiety. Shimura came over last night, because the power went out in his apartment and he still had work to do. The power didn’t go out in your apartment until after his work was finished. And you shouldn’t be calling him Shimura in your head, because sometime between the couch and your bedroom, he told you to call him Tenko – and then he gave you a lot of chances to get used to saying his name.

Your face goes up in flames at the memory, but there’s no stopping it, and there’s no relief in waking up. When you turn your head, you see Tenko asleep on his side, the shadowy scars on his back interrupted here and there with scratches you left. It’s the scratches more than anything that hammer it home to you, more than the fact that you’re naked or the soreness between your legs. You slept with Shimura Tenko last night, and you let him come inside you, and you didn’t pee after sex like you’re supposed to do. You didn’t even clean up. What did you do?

You sit bolt upright in a panic, and beside you, Tenko stirs. “Too early,” he mumbles. One hand reaches out for you, closes three fingers and a thumb around your forearm, and yanks you back down. “Sleep.”

“I don’t usually sleep late,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I don’t usually sleep.” Tenko’s halfway back to it already. You glance at the hand holding your arm and realize that it’s ungloved. You’ve never seen Tenko without his gloves. “Don’t ruin it.”

You’re ruining his sleep by getting up? How? The question is answered when he flops back against you, forcing you into the role of the big spoon whether you want it or not. You know he doesn’t sleep well. You’ve seen dark circles under his red eyes, and he wouldn’t have set a two am alarm that calls him a moron for staying awake if going to sleep was easy for him. Tenko’s a guest, and your friend – maybe – and whatever else he is or isn’t, you slept with him last night, and he slept over. Maybe you should just be grateful that he didn’t flee the scene. You’ve heard guys do that the morning after. It’s not something you’ve seen before, because nobody you ever slept with before stayed the night. They wouldn’t have, even if you’d had a place to stay.

You lie back down and wrap your arm loosely around Tenko’s waist, turning your head and pressing your cheek against his shoulder. There’s scar tissue under your cheek, just like there was on his neck, just like there is on his back and his arms. Something horrible happened to him. You don’t have the first clue what it is, but it’s in his past. He’s here. You close your eyes and do your best to fall asleep.

When you wake up again, there’s light slanting through the window, and your ceiling fan is on. The power’s back. Tenko’s here, awake, but he must have left at some point, because he has his mask on again. He’s also got his phone in his ungloved hand, scrolling away at something. His other hand, still gloved, rests on your bare back. Not doing anything, not starting anything. Just – there.

You clear your throat. “You’re still here.”

“Where else was I gonna be?” Tenko gives you a weird look. His bedhead is absolutely horrendous. “I don’t have a new project yet and it’s your day off. So we can hang out.”

You think through what you were going to do today. It wasn’t much. Mostly errands – laundry, picking up a prescription. But you’d planned to do something fun, too. “Want to go down to the beach?”

“The beach?” Tenko sounds like he’s thinking about it. Then he shakes his head. “Too many people.”

“On the main beach. I go to a different one. It’s a lot quieter over there.” You look up at him. “After a storm like last night’s there should be tons of good stuff washed up. And if you want we can come back here to hang out afterward. Or go to your place.”

“My place is gross,” Tenko says. He grimaces behind the mask. “I mean – I’m not gross. It’s gross. Everything has a hole in it. And I don’t have, like – I don’t decorate. It’s not –”

“It’s okay,” you say. “We don’t have to go there today.”

“Some other time,” Tenko says. “I have to clean.”

“I’d have cleaned if I’d known you were coming over.”

“This place is clean.” Tenko’s fingers tap a pattern on your back. “Fine. I’ll go to the beach with you. If anything bites me I’m leaving.”

“We’re not getting in the water. It’s still too cold,” you say, laughing. “But sure. Fine. You’ve got a deal.”

“I’m serious. If something bites me –”

“I’ll protect you.” You sit up as he scoffs, leaning in to kiss his cheek over the mask. “You agreed to try it. It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell Tenko’s frowning when you draw back. “We had sex last night and I get a cheek kiss?”

“I’m not making out with you through your mask.”

“Close your eyes, then.”

You do. You’re not sure why Tenko’s so insistent on only taking off his mask when you can’t see his face, but you don’t have a problem respecting that boundary as long as he still kisses you every so often. Just like last night, you feel Tenko’s breath against your skin before his lips meet yours – but while last night you had curiosity, now you have memories, and heat floods through you as you kiss him. When Tenko pulls you down into his lap, you don’t argue with him. He's already half-hard, and he hisses sharply when you shift against him. It’s all too easy to imagine his expression.

You saw shadows of it last night, and you remember something else, too. “Did you make me close my eyes so I wouldn’t call you pretty again?”

“Not pretty,” Tenko mumbles. “You’re weird.”

Maybe, but you’re not wrong, and you also know it’s not a mood killer. A few more kisses and Tenko’s hard again, his hands grasping your hips and pulling you down towards his cock. No condom, again. You didn’t have one last night, and you’re still not on birth control, but – you sink down on him for the second time in twelve hours, and your thoughts flutter uselessly alongside your eyelids. You had your period a week ago. You’re not going to get pregnant. It’s – fine –

It’s so close to noon that you can barely call it morning sex, but if this thing with Tenko keeps up, morning sex is a strong contender for your favorite kind. Or maybe you just like riding him. Maybe both. It’s slow and easy, and Tenko leans back against the headboard, letting you do most of the work. He has one request, though. One thing that’s odd. “My right hand. Hold it down.”

You curl your fingers around his wrist and pin it to the headboard, and his hips jerk sharply. “Yeah. Don’t let go.”

His right hand’s immobilized, but his left stays on your hip, fingernails digging in as you increase your pace. With your eyes closed, with nothing to ground yourself but Tenko’s touch, it’s all too easy to lose yourself. You come on his cock in a rush of pleasure that leaves you gasping, and Tenko’s wrist strains in your grip as he loses control seconds later, a low moan wrenching itself out of his mouth. He’s shaking beneath you, and when he speaks, his voice is a wreck. “This was a bad idea,” he says, and your heart plummets. “Now I’m too tired for the beach.”

You laugh breathlessly. “I bet we can rally,” you say. “Let me know when it’s safe to open my eyes.”

Even once Tenko’s put his mask back on, he doesn’t want to let you out of his lap. You get up anyway and stagger to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the way. You definitely look like you had sex twice in the last twelve hours. You don’t look half as anxious as you feel. You vaguely remember telling yourself not to worry about what this means last night, but you and Tenko are going to have to talk at some point, because not knowing what’s going on is stressing you out.

You have to kick Tenko out of bed when you get back from the bathroom, because not changing the sheets is also stressing you out. So is not having very many choices in the breakfast department, even though you had no idea he was coming over and even less of one that he’d spend the night. You can provide coffee, at least – the espresso machine you learned on is still in your kitchen at home. You upgraded the café’s as soon as you possibly could.

You don’t have the usual flavored syrups here, but you mix two cappuccinos instead. Tenko pulls his mask to one side and tries a sip. “This is good,” he says, surprised in a way that should offend you but doesn’t. “Next time I’m ordering one of these.”

“Instead of the mocha?”

“Instead of the coffee.” Tenko takes another sip. “I found frozen waffles in the freezer. Can I eat those?”

“Yeah. The toaster’s over there.”

You discover a few seconds later that Tenko wasn’t actually planning to defrost the waffles before eating them, and you spend a little while being appalled before you show him how to toast them properly. The two of you eat standing up in the kitchen and finish your coffee, and Tenko plugs in his laptop while you switch out the laundry. “I can leave this here, right?” he asks when you come back to the living room. “We’re coming back after?”

“Yeah.” You watch as Tenko leaves his backpack but pockets his phone and keys. “Let’s go.”

Your anxiety was held at bay for a while, when you had things to do, but now it’s just the two of you walking side by side down the street, and you’re agonizing about whether to hold his hand. Tenko’s hand brushes with yours once, twice, before you lose patience. “Do you want to hold hands?”

Tenko’s eyes widen over his mask, and he doesn’t answer you, but a moment later, his hand closes awkwardly over yours. You haven’t held hands in a while. You don’t think this is how it’s supposed to work. But you’re holding hands with Tenko. That’s what you wanted. Everything’s fine.

“Why did you move here?” Tenko asks, as the two of you pass the street that leads down to the main beach and keep walking. “Out of everywhere?”

“It was strongly suggested by my probation officer that I get out of the city,” you say. “He thought I’d be less likely to fall back into my old ways if I was in a small town, since I’d actually know the people whose buildings I was defacing.”

“Didn’t you get busted for tagging your own house?”

“Yep.” Looking back, it was an incredibly stupid move. Your parents were already at the end of their rope with you. You should have known they’d cut you loose. “And I’d always wanted to live near the ocean, so it worked out. What about you?”

“I needed somewhere out of the way,” Tenko says. “It didn’t matter where.”

“And you got here five years ago?” You keep walking past the second beach access road. The road to your beach is a lot more out of the way. “We must have gotten here around the same time, then.”

“I was first. I’d been here three months when you started renovating that building.” Tenko’s eyes seem far away. “It was good timing. People were starting to ask questions about me, but then they switched over to you instead.”

“Glad I could help.” You feel funny about the fact that you were running interference for him, four and a half years before he ever set foot in your café. “And I’m glad you picked this place for a fresh start.”

“People like me don’t get fresh starts,” Tenko says. You’re about to point out that as a person without a record, all he has to do for a fresh start is move, but he speaks before you can. “I’m glad I ended up here, too.”

You’ll take it, even if you have a lot of questions about everything else he just said. The two of you walk in silence for a little while. It’s a cloudy day, with only faint sunbeams sneaking through, and the wind carries a faint chill even though it’s officially summer by now. “What should we do when we get back?” Tenko asks.

“We aren’t even there yet.”

“Yeah, but I want to know what I have to look forward to,” Tenko says. You roll your eyes. “You don’t play games. Do you want to learn?”

“Maybe,” you say. “I’m not going to be good at it. I’d slow you down.”

“You’ll get better fast if I’m the one teaching you,” Tenko says. “There are lots of different games. I can teach you to play any of them. Except dating sims.”

“You don’t like playing dating sims?” You fake surprise, and it’s Tenko’s turn to roll his eyes. “Do you have to test a lot of them?”

“I test whatever people send me. That’s why it’ll be easy for me to teach you,” Tenko says. “They’re all the same underneath. I haven’t played one in a long time that was actually a challenge.”

His grip on your hand relaxes slightly, his fingers sliding through yours to lace them together. “I used to really like games. It sucks.”

You squeeze his hand slightly. You’ve been there, or somewhere like it. It took you a long time to get back into art after you joined the NCRA. “Have you ever thought about making one? A game?”

“Like the kind I’d want to play?” Tenko seems to perk up for a second. Then his shoulders slump. “Nobody else would want to play it.”

“It sounds like you’ve got an idea, though.” You nudge him lightly with your shoulder and he stumbles. Oops. “Want to tell me about it?”

He hesitates for a while. A really long while. Then: “It’s mystery and horror, but not jump-scare horror. There are monsters, but they aren’t the real problem – or the ones you see aren’t the ones you should be worried about. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, the player character – it’s all going to be second-person – wakes up in a room they don’t recognize with no memory of how they got there. You can remember some things about your life, but how you got from where you’re supposed to be to stage one of the game is a total question mark. So there are two initial objectives. Figuring out what the hell is going on and getting the hell out of there.”

“Okay,” you say. It sounds stressful. “How do you do that? In the game.”

“You have to find a way out of the building first.” Tenko looks surprised that you’re still asking questions. “And that’s easy enough, so then –”

For a game he thinks no one else would want to play, Tenko’s put a lot of thought into it. He’s still talking about it as the two of you make the turn onto the beach access road – about the storyline of the game, the twists and reveals he’s thought of, the need to tweak the design and color palette to make everything seem just slightly off. The question of music or no music, and if music, what it should sound like. You like hearing him talk about something important to him, something he’s excited about, even if the concept of the game is giving you heart palpitations. You don’t think there are many things that make Tenko happy. You’d like to be one of them.

You get down to the beach at last, and just like you were hoping, it’s basically deserted. The tide is on its slow, steady way back in, but the beach is strewn with logs and twists of seaweed and kelp, and you’re willing to bet that there’s some sea-glass lying around in the debris along the high-tide line. Tenko studies it, significantly less ambivalent than he was a second ago. “When you said there’d be more stuff, I didn’t think you meant trees.”

“A storm can dredge up all kinds of things,” you say. “And last night’s storm was pretty bad. Come on.”

Tenko lets you pull him a little closer to the water, until you’re both walking on hard-packed sand. You get distracted by the debris field almost immediately, and you let go of Tenko’s hand without thinking so you can search for sea-glass more efficiently. Tenko’s tone of voice makes it clear he’s amused. “So this is like a scavenger hunt for you?”

“I guess.” You come up with a brown piece, followed by a green one, both of them old and smooth. “I want to make something for the café. I’ve been collecting it since I moved here.”

“Five years and you still don’t have enough?”

“The idea for the project keeps getting bigger,” you admit. Tenko snorts. “You can go on ahead if you want. I don’t want to slow you down.”

“I want to hang out with you.” Tenko crouches down next to you on the sand. “This is fine.”

You find multiple pieces in the time it takes him to find one, which he offers to you. It’s a pretty piece, sky-blue and frosted over, but you shake your head. “You found it. It’s yours.”

“I found it for you,” Tenko says, but you notice that he pockets it. And that he keeps looking.

The two of you wander from debris field to debris field, the tide inching up behind you. You’re comfortable with the silence – it’s how it usually is when he’s at the café, after all – but beneath the veneer of ease, questions are eating at you. Questions you don’t know how to ask or how to answer. Your crush on Shimura Tenko is intense, but it’s never been something real. It was just proof that you were getting back to normal, that you could live a life not dominated by the need to prove to the rest of the world that criminals are people, too. You never expected your crush to turn into sleeping with him, him staying the night, him wanting to hang out the next day – and even if you had expected it, you’d never have expected it to happen so fast.

“You were right,” Tenko says. You glance at him. “No people. It’s not as bad.”

You nod. “I’d come back if you wanted to,” Tenko says. He tilts his head, studying you. “Do you want to?”

“Do you want to do all this again?” you ask. He gives you a weird look. “The whole sex, sleepover, hang out the next day thing?”

“That’s what people do, isn’t it?” Tenko’s giving you an even weirder look now. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about –” The distress is building beyond what you can handle. You force yourself to take a deep breath. “What we are. To each other. After that.”

He’s not giving you a weird look anymore. He’s looking at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. You feel like the dumbest person anybody’s ever met, ever. “Like, are we friends with benefits, or –”

“You said you like me,” Tenko cuts you off. “I like you. Do you think I just – with anybody? I’ve been here for five fucking years. Do you know how many people have my phone number? One. The day that hero showed up, I never would have come back, except –”

His hand comes up, scratching his neck with gloved fingers. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t like you. Why do you think it took me so long?”

It? What is he talking about? “I do like you,” you say. “I really like you. I just didn’t think anything would happen. Or happen that fast.”

“Hooking up like that was your idea,” Tenko says. You don’t want to own up to that, but it’s true – he was the one who kissed you, but you were the one who suggested heading back to your room. “Do you wish we hadn’t?”

“I wish I’d been better prepared,” you admit. Tenko blinks. “If I had condoms things wouldn’t have been as messy.”

“I like it messy.” Tenko states it so plainly that you feel your face heat up. “We’ll get condoms. You can stop freaking out whenever you want.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you say. “I just –”

The scream comes out of nowhere, cutting off a thought you didn’t have a prayer of articulating properly. “Help!”

It’s a kid’s voice, high-pitched and splitting with fear. You can’t identify where it’s coming from, and there’s not even a question of what you’ll do. You and Tenko trade a glance, then rocket to your feet. Tenko takes off down the beach. You head back the way you came. “Keep yelling!” you shout to the kid. “Let us know where you are!”

The kid keeps yelling, getting steadily less coherent. They must be closer to you than to Tenko, because their voice is getting louder. You veer closer to the water’s edge, your heart in your throat. The water’s already rushing up around the logs the storm left behind, up to your ankles and getting higher. The kid’s scream takes on a new urgency. “Hurry! The waves –”

You skitter around a log, giving it a wide berth to avoid the deeper pool of water beneath it, and find the kid, halfway trapped under another log and struggling to keep his head above water. He spots you, opens his mouth to scream again, and catches a mouthful of seawater from the wave that’s just rolled in.

You duck down beside him, hoisting his head and shoulders up, buying time. You suck down a breath and let loose a shout of your own. “Tenko! Over here!”

It seems like an eternity before he appears around the side of the log. He looks at the kid, then at you. “What the hell happened?”

The kid is crying too hard to answer, but it’s not hard to guess. “He must have been climbing on the log, and it rolled over on him.”

“What were you doing out here alone?” Tenko demands of the kid. The kid doesn’t answer, and Tenko’s red eyes flash with rage. “Who was supposed to take care of you? Why aren’t they here?”

“Hey,” you snap. This isn’t helping. “I need you to call emergency services. Tell them we’re at Fourth Beach and there’s a kid in trouble.”

Tenko pulls out his phone and dials, while you try to strategize. The tide is coming in faster now. Even if emergency services gets here at their top speed, there’s a good chance the water will have already covered the kid’s head. Based on the way he’s panicking, you don’t think he has a quirk that lets him breathe underwater, and you have a fleeting thought about heroes before remembering that you’re in a rural town. There are no heroes here. You and Tenko are going to have to get him out yourselves.

Your quirk is worse than useless for this. You don’t know what Tenko’s quirk is, or if he even has one. Tenko shoves his phone in his pocket and hurries back to your side. “They said they’re coming.”

“How long?”

“Ten minutes.”

The kid doesn’t have ten minutes, and all three of you know it. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm. “When the next wave comes in, we can use its momentum to roll the log forward and pull him out from underneath it.”

“It’s huge,” Tenko says. “That won’t work.”

“It rolled from him stepping on it,” you say. “We can do this.”

Tenko doesn’t argue with you. He turns to watch the waves, looking for a likely one, while you explain the situation to the boy. He’s going to have to hold his breath while you and Tenko push the log, and then one of you – probably you – will pull him out. He starts to protest, but then Tenko calls out that a wave’s coming up, and the boy switches to sucking down air instead. Good. You hold him up until the last possible moment, then get to your feet. You take up a position at Tenko’s side, set your feet as firmly as you’re able to in the shifting sand, and shove hard at the log as the wave washes up around it.

You think you feel it move, a little bit. But then the water recedes, and you scramble back to the kid, and as soon as his head breaks the surface, he howls in pain. “My leg!”

You must have rolled the log back on it – or forward, or something. “We need a bigger wave.”

Tenko shakes his head. He looks like he’s going to be sick. You can hear sirens in the distance, but they’re too far away. The kid is screaming, clawing at your shirt, and you struggle to comfort him, promising that help is coming, promising it’ll be okay. It doesn’t work, or else what happened to his leg in your failed attempt to move the log is worse than you thought, because his eyes roll up in his head and he goes boneless in your grip. You shake him, terrified, desperate to keep his head above water as another wave crashes against your back. He’s going to die. A kid is going to die while you’re holding him, and there’s nothing you can do.

You can’t look at his pale, slackened face a second longer. You look up instead, and that’s when you see the solitary crack running across the log’s surface.

It wasn’t there before, and now it’s not alone. One crack turns into a dozen, and dozens more, spreading and colliding with each other until the log simply crumbles away, leaving nothing in its place. Nothing except Tenko on the other side, both hands outstretched – and ungloved.

Something twists in the back of your mind, but the kid is free now, and the tide is still coming in. You start dragging him up the beach, trying to get clear of the high-tide line. A quick glance at his leg shows you that it’s broken, badly, but you can’t worry about it now, or get lost in the fact that it’s your fault. The two of you make it onto dry sand just in time for a trio of paramedics to race down the beach, carrying a stretcher and pursued by five or six terrified people. “What happened?”

“He got – stuck,” you manage. Your teeth are chattering. You aren’t even that cold. “Is he going to be okay?”

The paramedics have questions for you, even as they shoo you out of the way. Did he swallow water? Yes. Did he breathe water in? You don’t know. How long has he been unconscious? A minute, maybe less. Time feels uneven, unreal. You don’t have a clue what’s going on, and you stand blankly off to one side, unsure whether you’re supposed to stay or go. Maybe you can go. Everybody knows where to find you if they have questions, and you’ll calm down faster if you and Tenko can –

Tenko’s not standing next to you. You look up and down the beach, but you can’t see him anywhere.

Maybe emergency services scared him off. He booked it pretty fast at the sight of Present Mic. You pull your phone out of your pocket to text him, but your phone’s dripping wet and unresponsive. Now you really need to get home, and maybe Tenko’s there already. He saved someone’s life. If he’s freaked out even slightly as much as you are, you want to be with him.

But something is nagging at you as you speed-walk back through town, something about Tenko’s quirk. You never asked what it was, but the gloves were enough for you to infer that it had something to do with his hands. And maybe he doesn’t feel all that comfortable with it. You wouldn’t either, if you had a quirk like that. The way it looked, how fast it moved – it was almost like –

You stop dead in your tracks on the side of the road. Tenko’s gloves. His red eyes. His dyed hair and scarred face and mangled hands, and a quirk that lets him destroy things he touches. Even their initials are the same. Shimura Tenko, and. And. Your mind won’t let you finish the thought. You won’t let yourself jump to conclusions like that. You need to be sure. You force yourself into motion, back to a speed-walk. Then into a run.

Back at home, you drop your phone in a bowl of rice and sit down at the kitchen table with your laptop without bothering to change out of your wet clothes. You haven’t been a criminal in half a decade, but you still know how to search the internet like one. This isn’t dark-web level, and it’s not illegal, but you could raise red flags, and if you’re right – you connect to a VPN, open a web browser you’ve never used before, set your cache to empty every five minutes, and type in your first query.

‘shigaraki tomura quirk’ gets you a long list. You have to scroll all the way to the bottom of the first page you click on to find the quirk you’re thinking of, and when you read the description, your heart sinks. You navigate away from the webpage and type in a new prompt. ‘shigaraki tomura decay’ gets you more pages analyzing the quirk itself, all of which feel unnecessary and unhelpful. You know what Decay is. You need to know what it looked like. You modify the search. ‘shigaraki tomura decay video’.

YouTube has nothing, courtesy of aggressive content moderation. You dig a little deeper, finding lesser-known, sketchier hosting sites, and the first video that pops up is of the destruction of Jaku City, at the very beginning of the war. It happens so quickly – too quickly to see anything except the way the buildings implode into nothing. You need an up-close view, so you modify your search, scrolling past video after blurry video until you find one tagged as part of the Deika City massacre.

The quality looks okay. You click on it and find yourself watching a group of people thundering up a street, headed for something just out of frame. A moment later, whatever it is ducks through the corner of the frame. A pale hand rises up, making contact with the face of one of the people in the group. And then you see it. Cracks spreading across their face, just a few at first, and then they spread so rapidly that the person simply falls apart where they stand.

You just watched a snuff film, but that’s not what makes you recoil. What Shigaraki Tomura did to the person in that video is the same thing Tenko did to the log on the beach. It’s the same quirk. They’re the same man.

Tenko’s hair is dyed, and it’s not dyed well. You never asked what his natural color is, but you’re betting it’s white, which is why there’s no way he can get someone else to color it for him. If he walked into a salon with white hair, red eyes, no eyebrows, and a scar over his right eye, there’s not a person in Japan who wouldn’t recognize him instantly.

You type in another query: ‘shigaraki tomura face’. It turns up a lot of photos of him with the signature hand over his face, but you get at least one without it, and the reason why he wears a mask all the time becomes clear in an instant. No eyebrows – happens. Plenty of people have red eyes. But add in the scar over the left side of Tenko’s lips, a scar you ran your thumb over last night, and the birthmark Shigaraki has just below the right corner of his mouth, and he’d be unmistakable. No matter how many bad dye jobs he did on his hair.

You shut the lid of your laptop with shaking hands and sit back in your chair. Shimura Tenko, your regular customer, who slept over last night, who you like and who likes you, is the same person as Shigaraki Tomura, an unrepentant supervillain who’s been dead for five years. It doesn’t make any sense. If Shigaraki had survived the war, he’d be in maximum-security prison for the rest of his life, not beta-testing video games and hanging out in your coffee shop. Shigaraki Tomura is dead. You met the hero who killed him.

Or did he? You remember thinking how odd it was that Deku kept referring to Shigaraki watching what he was doing, wishing he could talk to him. You remember what he said when Spinner asked about Shigaraki’s ashes: There was nothing left of Shigaraki Tomura. But somebody else walked away from that fight, and he’s got Shigaraki’s quirk – and the only time you’ve seen him use it, it was to save someone’s life. You can’t say for sure, but the circumstantial evidence is compelling as hell. You know who Shimura Tenko is. And you’re halfway convinced he used to be Shigaraki Tomura.

You fish your phone out of the bowl of rice to check if it’s working yet. It isn’t. You’re going to have to wait a little longer to reach out to Tenko. His backpack and laptop are still here. He’ll be back for them, probably tonight – and if not, you’ll see him at the café tomorrow, and you can give it to him then. And when you see him again, you can sort this out. There’s nothing else you can do right now.

You tell yourself that, make yourself believe it, and spend the rest of your one day off every week getting your chores done. And even though it’s been an exhausting twenty-four hours, even though there’s nothing you can do, you still toss and turn through the night, thinking about Tenko. Worrying about him. Wondering who he was before this, and wondering at how little it matters to you.

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