#i feel i have a lot of knowledge about the clients' little quirks just the little things and how things run in this particular office

[fazcinatingblog]

hi this is a rant please keep scrolling :)))))

list of things me, dumbass admin struggling through second CPA subject, explains to new guy at work who has a CPA:

telling him that bank charges are always debit because they're an expense

and that rent received should be credit because income

when we're the last two in the office and it's 5pm, telling him to finish up because i want to lock up and get out of here (stupid newbies thinking they should work overtime to "get ahead" lmao not a thing, kiddo, go home) (he's actually two months older than me but shhhh)

drafting tax returns

explaining the accounting when client buys an investment property (I would assume he knew this part but he saw me typing up the returns and he asked about it, so i woman-explained it)

teaching him to do adjusting journal entries for the rental income of a trust

going through reversal entries for accrued expenses (he did eventually correct me and discover the correct invoice to be picked up which was conveniently paid in the year we're doing)

things i want to explain to him:

when the water in the urn gets low, he can use the jug next to it to fill it up (pretty sure it's him using the urn water because he drinks tea, i'm onto him and at the end of the day, i keep finding the urn with dangerously low water level KETTLES AND URNS SHOULD NOT BE EMPTY OF WATER ESP IF THE URN IS TURNED ON)

that he can take lunch at any time

not to go crying to the bookkeeper for help because he doesn't want to bother me while i eat lunch at 1:15pm

[honeyatsu]

Ambiguous [Dabi x F!Reader]

Warnings: Quirkless reader. Physical pain. Graphic parts. Violence. Abuse of power. Spoilers!

summary: In the eyes of the law you were a villain, a traitor, someone who was sick in the head. In reality? You were as average as they come. Quirkless, no combat skills, just you and your degree. You weren’t a villain at all, you were just their therapist. You took your job seriously and refused to break patient confidentiality, under any circumstances.

prompt idea from: @/writing.prompt.s on insta

Now, it wasn’t your intention to be a villain’s therapist.

As soon as you got your degree and license in therapy you were quickly hired at one of the best companies due to all the recommendations. All the studying, volunteer work, networking, it all paid off. It was a good run at first, until you noticed how unappreciated you were at work. They didn’t take you seriously, calling you in more for coffee runs rather than giving you patients. They noted you were quirkless, making you an easy target for bullying at the office. You were a tough girl, giving them a piece of your mind and leaving the same day it became too much for you.

The day after, you went out to search for your own personal office. You were efficient, looking to rent the most realistic options you had. You found one the same day you began searching.

You didn’t have a quirk; you could never be a hero. But everyone needed somebody to listen, everyone needed help even if it wasn’t in the flashiest way.

It wasn’t the best part of town but it was the most affordable and most importantly, it was your own.

It started with parents bringing in their troubled kids, not surprising considering where your office was located. Word about you got around quickly, especially since you offered price cuts to those who couldn’t afford it. You couldn’t help it, as much as you tried to be strict with your professionalism, you couldn’t not offer help just because someone couldn’t afford you.

Sometimes you offered an ear after hours for free.

Villains weren’t your target demographic; you never even suspected a villain to consider therapy.

The feeling of uncertainty washed over you when your first villain client, Twice walked in. He was very open and honest about who he was. You were a bit uneasy on what to do. Now, you weren’t too big on the whole hero versus villain dynamic going on the world. Why was it always good versus evil? Your studies taught you the world wasn’t black and white, people weren’t black and white, people were much more complex than that.

Everyone has trauma and everyone needs help, and this is the profession you worked so hard to obtain.

Who said villains didn’t need a therapist?  

You couldn’t see his face, his latex suit covering him completely. He mentioned it kept him sane. This was your introduction to the mind of a villain.

Word about you went around the villain community, quickly. Your villain clientele grew as your civilian one got smaller.

They never spoke of their crimes, you never asked.

It was their past, what made them who they are today, their nightmares, their ideologies.

You didn’t mind, this was fascinating.

You were compassionate, it was only natural for you to want to help people. But you were also a scholar, and what an amazing opportunity this was for you. Hearing their past, hearing what made them who they are, it was an eye-opener. You wanted to write about this, you wanted the world to know these villains, these people labeled as monsters and inhumane, are just like us. People with problems. People with trauma. People who are broken.

The psychology of villains, to show the world they need saving too.

Of course, you weren’t going to name who is who and you didn’t plan on doing it without their consent. By now you had gotten an idea of your client’s personalities and who wouldn’t be okay with their trauma being exposed nor their brain being picked apart by you.

But it’s okay, because you had a specific client in mind.

He called himself Dabi.

He came in one day, while you were getting ready to end your day on the job. He just barged in, muttering how his partner told him to come see you. Now, you were no push over. Villain or not, you had your boundaries and it wouldn’t be fair to see him with no knowledge of who he was, no appointment, just showing up unannounced comfortably. But seeing the scars scattered around his body and the staples seeming to keep him together, his hypnotizing eyes, you were rather intrigued on who he was and what was his story.

Three hours.

Three hours of him speaking to you about his past, what broke him, and how he believes the world needs to be cleansed of these “false hero’s” as he likes to call it. He was fascinating.

“You’re probably not going to like this idea” you started off, “But I want to write about you.”

He snickered as he got up from the seat across from you. You had an agenda. What else did he expect? “and they said you were genuine.”

You cleared your throat as his hand touched the door handle, “I want the world to know. One of my rules is not to tell the crimes you commit, otherwise I’d have to report everyone to the authorities. I don’t care to write about your crimes, nor do I care to write about you as just a criminal. The mind is fascinating and so are you. You want the world to know about false hero’s? I may not be flashy or aggressive like you, but I can make a point across my own way. But I also like to help. I didn’t choose this career for no reason. I don’t keep myself vulnerable to villains for no reason. Let me help you.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“I’m quirkless.” You said quickly. You never told any of your clients that since you started your own office. You didn’t keep any defense weapons on you and you were no fool. Announcing you were quirkless would be dangerous in any environment, you’re too vulnerable. “You don’t even have to agree right away. You can come in for free and if you still feel like I’m a part of the society you hate so much, you can leave and never come back. Free of charge.”

Dabi let out a hum as he studied your face, looking for any sign of you being dishonest. Your face was serious and stern. He just nodded his head and walked out.

He came back the next night.

After three months, he agreed to help you with your book.

Slowly but surely, you were slipping away from the patient therapist relationship. You tried not to; you really did. But it started with him offering to walk you home, making sure you got there safe. What a danger to society. Your conversations went from professional to rather casual. He would try to see you in more casual settings but you always declined.

You had work to do.

You got popular in the town you were in. You made a lot of friends, completely different from your old coworkers or classmates from the prestigious university you went to. These friends were more genuine.

You got so popular, your old office even heard about you. About how amazing you were, how smart you were, how you were the most genuine and compassionate than most in the profession. They heard about you so much they wondered what made you so different. So young, so inexperienced, so new to have the praise you have now.

Then they found out exactly who you were helping.

And whether it was envy or civilian morale, the authorities got word of you quickly.

And as soon as they figured out who you were, as soon as they did all the research they could on you it was decided: you were just as evil as the monsters you “helped”.

You weren’t even aware you were being watched nor were you aware of how popular you became to the authorities.

Not until now, not until it was finally Friday night; you just had a long day at your office. Only a few more piles of paperwork and you’d be done for the night and be able to enjoy your weekend. If it wasn’t for how loud or aggressive the authorities were while breaking your office door, you wouldn’t even have noticed anyone to barge into your building.

Without chance to even react, you were dragged by these large men, blind folded and hand cuffed before you could even comprehend what was happening. You didn’t fight them off, you didn’t scream, you were frozen in shock and fear. The only thing going through your mind at the moment: I do not get paid enough for this.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on the cold, moldy, ground, back against the uncomfortable wall. The least these people could have done was given you a stall with a bed- or at least take the god damn blindfold off of you before throwing you into the cell.

A traitor to society.

A threat.

A villain.

These were the words spat at you during your arrest. What a joke. This whole thing was a joke. You grew up poor, quirkless, you probably couldn’t even throw a proper punch if you tried. But you were smart, you were kind, you were compassionate, you were the hardest worker anyone knew, and now you were a criminal for wanting to help people.

They threatened you with prison time, they pleaded, and begged. They wanted you to talk, leak information on every villain you knew, their crimes, why they all went to you.

You stayed silent the entire time.

-

Dabi came around your office at the same time every night, he was a little late today since he just got back from a mission but knew you stayed extra hours on a Friday because of all the paper work you had to do.

You could only imagine his surprise and rage as he watched what happened from a distance. For the first time he stood frozen in place, horrified at the scene taking place in front of him. His heart racing in his chest, unable to move, feeling unable to breathe for the first time in a very long time.

You were genuine. You were a real hero. You didn’t need a costume, you didn’t need a quirk, you didn’t need some silly name, nor the fame. You were placed on this horrible Earth to help people. You did help people. Even people like him, who were beyond saving. You gave them something society has taken away from people like him: a sense of humanity. Compassion.

You were the real good in this world.

And that’s why he felt the closest thing he could feel to love when it came to you.

He knew they were going to try to make you talk and he just knew somewhere where his heart was supposed to be, that you wouldn’t.

Your professionalism, your love for your job, your love for your clients, the way you saw them as human, the way you wanted to genuinely save them from themselves, you wouldn’t just give that up.

He knew you.

And that’s why as soon as he saw them take you away, he snapped back to himself. Rage taking over his body, he sped his way to the League of Villains, calling up every client you had telling them what took place.

He was going to save you.

-

Three weeks have gone by.

Your cell was as moldy, cold, and gross as it was the first time you arrived. You had a pillow and thin blanket on one corner of the cell. They fed you once a day, sometimes they would ‘forget’. They beat you, threatened you, tortured you physically and mentally. None of it was enough to break you.

“We need you to help us. Let us help you.”

You let out a poor attempt of a laugh and then winced in pain right after, you were pretty sure you had broken ribs at this point. Although, you wouldn’t even be able to tell, you never even been hit until you ended up in jail. “A promise of help from the same people who hurt me?”

“Bitch.” The cop said before slapping you across the face.

Was this even legal?

You coughed up blood, surprised you even had enough to cough up at this point. You had a question for your clients if you ever got back to work, you might even ask the heros that come in and try to pursue you to speak: was the physical pain really worth the sides they play in the world? Being a regular citizen seemed so much more appealing after this experience.

“You know…I’m a therapist. It sure seems like you need one. Free of charge, I got you.” You made a failed attempt of a sassy remark, quickly earning you another hit in the face. “You know I don’t have a quirk, right? Of course, you do. You guys know everything about me. And I know you see I’m weak, I was weak before you guys even started abusing me.”

“You’re evil, just like them.”

“And what? You’re good?”

Before he had a chance to hit you once again for talking back, he was interrupted.

A hero barged through the door.

None other than the number one hero himself, Endeavor.

If his look could kill, you would have been dead the moment he laid eyes on you.

“Ah, my morally ambiguous hero to save the day.” You let out a small painful smile at him. You were barely conscious at this point, your body slowly giving out. “Here to save me?”

He ignored your remark, as he usually did whenever you tried to talk about anything but your clients.

“We’re under attack.”

There was screaming.

There was fire.

Boom.

Your vision was getting blurry, unable to make out the scene going on in the very building you were in.

“Looks like we’re the ones helping you now, doctor.” You heard a voice say as it got near you, lifting your limp body up. You recognized that voice.

Dabi.

You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t smile, you couldn’t even hold on to him.

My heros. You thought to yourself ironically, before passing out in his arms.

As he escaped the scene, he looked at your bloodied, beaten up body. It enraged him how the very people sworn to protect society and help the community could do this to someone as physically fragile as you.

You had no quirk, no combat skills, you were literally defenseless.

He and the rest of his comrades allowed you into their space. They worked together to bandage you up and make your unconscious body as comfortable as possible. You couldn’t go home, you couldn’t go back to the life that was once yours. Technically, you were an escaped criminal. You had nowhere to go. And for what you’ve done for them, for how much you impacted all of them, they decided they were going to invite you in with open arms.

-

Dabi was constantly checking in on you, more than anyone else. Sometimes he would refuse people coming in to see you, saying how you need as much peace as possible. Realistically, he was selfish and wanted to be alone with you always.

It had been three days, you were still breathing but no sign of waking up.

At least, until now.

First, he noticed your fingers starting to move, then your eyes slowly fluttering, trying to get your blurry vision back in focus.

You didn’t recognize where you were.

Rough skin grazed upon your hand. You slowly turned your head, ignoring the pain it caused you. A small smile formed on your face when you made eye contact with those familiar hypnotizing eyes.

“I told you not having anything to defend yourself was dumb.”

Ah, that he did. You remembered him scolding you for not even having a knife to defend yourself with if anything happened. You reminded him it’s not like you would know how to use it anyways.

“Where do I go from here?” you croaked, your voice as weak as ever.

He lightly placed his finger on your cheek, looking into your eyes. Savoring this moment alone with you. Appreciating the opportunity the world surprisingly blessed him with at this moment. “Stay with me.” He muttered.

“Dabi-”

“Touya.” He interrupted. “Call me Touya.”

You hummed in response.

“I never felt love, for anything. Not even myself. But I’m sure I love you.”

Your head was aching. Your heart was pounding.

“I know. I love you too.” You let out a weak laugh, “Looks like the whole client patient boundary out of the window, huh? Not like I have a job to go back to anyways..” You didn’t even realize you were crying. “Everything I worked for, gone just like that.”

You’ve never been heartbroken before, but you sure this was it. Your life’s work, your pride and joy, your way of proving yourself to the world that you were worthy of this life, gone by the hands of people sworn to protect you.

You were just trying to do your job.

Too deep in thought, you didn’t even realize Touya coming closer to you, cupping your face with his rough precious hands. You didn’t realize how close he was until you felt his hot breath on you.

He kissed your tears away. Placing small kisses throughout your face, trying his hardest not to hurt any part of you that was bruised up badly. He was forced to be soft with you in this moment, something he has never had to be before. His mouth slowly made his way on top of yours and to his surprise, you were the one who leaned in. The kiss was sloppy, it was kind of painful, but it felt right. 

“You are what I’ve been searching for in this world all along. You are the real good. You are precious. You are mine. And I will never let them hurt you again.”

You took in everything he was saying. 

You believe him.

[happyandticklish]

Dinner

Shizaya Week - Day Two (angst with happy ending)

Notes: Angst with a fluffy ending, you say? My two favorite genres of fic, you say? Why yes I will, thank you very much.

Izaya’s fingers tapped absently against his desk, a telltale sign of the impatience rising slowly within him. One hour. He was supposed to be here one hour ago. And yet, his place at the dinner table remained empty. The food that had been laid out, before steaming and delicious, was now a cold and unappetizing sight. Izaya had eaten already, after the first twenty minutes had rendered no sign of the other—no point in wasting both plates.

He sighed, checking his watch again. There were lots of reasons why Shizuo could have been held up, he told himself. It could have been traffic (doubtful considering Shizuo rarely drove). Maybe work had gone late. Maybe one of his clients had been a little too aggressive and Shizuo had stayed behind to deal with the aftermath. 

Unless something had gone wrong. Unless he was alone and injured somewhere and Izaya had no idea. His fingers momentarily stopped their tapping to curl into an anxious fist. He of all people knew how dangerous Ikebukuro could be, especially late at night.

Which it was. By now, anyway. He stood up, the idea of remaining sitting any longer suddenly repulsive to the man. He paced the floor, chewing on his lip idly. He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t help the way anxiety clawed at his chest, whispering falsehoods into his ear.

By the time two hours had passed and still no sight of him, Izaya began to get truly worried. Surely he would have texted, if something had gone wrong? He wouldn’t just leave the other in the dark like that. But then again… maybe he would?

Izaya stopped, a cold seeping into his limbs. Maybe Shizuo had simply come to his senses and realized that there was no point dating someone like him. After all, they weren’t technically official yet. Meetings in alleys and stolen kisses in the middle of the night didn’t count as a relationship. This was their first official date, suggested hesitantly by Izaya as the two lay curled in his bed one night. Shizuo had agreed, his words mumbled with sleep as he pressed his nose against Izaya’s shoulder, kissing him softly; he was always so gentle when they were together like that, entirely unlike his usual persona. Izaya hadn’t thought to check back up with him after that, but maybe he should have? Maybe Shizuo had forgotten about the conversation entirely—they had both been half-asleep at the time, after all.

In the corner of his eye, Shizuo’s plate sat, abandoned and yearning for company. Trying not to feel too disheartened, Izaya grabbed the plate, scraping the untouched meal into the trash. He pushed in the chairs, going about the process of cleaning off the table and starting water for dishes in the sink. Each solitary action made the already sinking feeling in Izaya’s gut heavier. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t foreseen this outcome, but assuming the worst and having it brought to reality were two different things entirely.

By the time 10 o’clock rolled around, Izaya was convinced Shizuo had ghosted him. It made sense. If Izaya was being honest, he was surprised the other had taken this long to show his true feelings on the matter. He collapsed on the couch, an arm thrown over his face dismissively. He tried not to let the crushing disappointment weigh him down, but it was difficult. He felt his eyelids drifting down slowly as the exhaustion from worrying caught up with him. Sleep took him soon after that, a welcome relief after the disaster of a night.

 “Iza? Are you awake?”

The info broker startled at the soft, but tense voice, and jerked forward, nearly headbutting Shizuo in the process. Shizuo caught his shoulders before he could, however, smiling apologetically.

“Hey.”

Instantly, Izaya was bombarded by a rush of relief at the other’s presence, though it was quickly followed by annoyance. “So. Dinner wasn’t important then?”

Shizuo’s shoulders slumped, as though he had been hoping the other wouldn’t bring it up. “Yeah…. I’m really, truly sorry about that. I got caught up with work and then my phone died and I couldn’t call you—” he broke off, guilt creeping into his voice. “I shouldn’t excuse it, though. I should’ve been there. Or found a payphone. Or something.”

As Izaya listened to the other’s ramblings, he felt his irritation disintegrating and a shy happiness rising in its place. Of course Shizuo wouldn’t miss out on their dinner. It seemed simple now, with the knowledge assured. He squeezed the fabric of the couch, resisting the urge to grin like a fool.

“It’s fine,” he said, attempting a casual tone as he knocked his foot against the other’s leg in reassurance. “I’m sure I’ll find it in me to forgive you one day. It’s a shame though—you skipped out on a wonderful gourmet meal cooked by yours truly. Not everyone gets the honor.”

“I’m sorry to have missed it.” Shizuo replied, coming to sit beside him on the couch and quirking an eyebrow playfully. He was temptingly close now, and goosebumps scattered over Izaya’s flesh as he thought of all the ways to make up for lost time.

“If only,” Izaya started slowly, his gaze coming to rest on Shizuo’s lips. “There was some way for you to repay me for forgetting our date tonight.”

“Oh, so it was a date then?” Shizuo pressed him down on the couch, grabbing his hands and pulling them over his head with an ease that sent shivers running down Izaya’s spine. “You know, I think I have just the thing.”

“Is that so?” Izaya replied breathlessly, trying not to sound too excited.

Shizuo smirked, and Izaya squeaked in surprise when instead of a kiss he was met with a shock to his nerves as Shizuo squeezed his hips suddenly with his free hand. He jerked on his arms, attempting to block the other’s touch, but found himself powerless against the other man. He bit his lip, trying to block the trembling laughter rising quickly in his throat.

“A-Ah, wait, p-pfft, heh, Shihizuo!” Izaya giggled, squirming weakly underneath him. Shizuo worked skillfully to tweak and pinch his sides in such a way that the other was soon in stitches. Izaya couldn’t tell if he loved or hated that his boyfriend (if that is what they were) knew his body so well that he could play him like an instrument. “T-Thihis ihihisn’t whahat Ihihi hahahad ihihin mihihind!”

“It’s not?” Shizuo rose an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Really? Is this not cheering you up?”

Izaya kicked his legs out, whining pitifully as Shizuo’s fingers traveled under his shirt, getting at bare skin. “Plehehehehease!”

“You’re not saying no.”

Izaya blushed, averting his gaze. “Yohohou’re insuhuhufferable!”

“I’m well aware. I’m also aware that you love it.”

Izaya squeaked as nails scribbled under his arms, arching back against the couch. The two stayed like that for quite a while, the apartment filled with the sounds of laughter and gentle teasing.

In the end, it wasn’t the worst way that the night could have ended. 

[writinglionqueen]

A Favor

Summary: Being Roman’s babygirl comes with it’s own set of things for you to do, bookkeeping and knowing some of the people Roman meets was one of this things. But this new meeting with a certain Scottish businessman provides something, new. Drew McIntyre is a little bit of a mystery to your knowledge but he comes seeking a favor from Roman; a debt to be repaid. But, his suaveness and looks enraptured your own attention. Must to the behest of your man. 

Warnings: A part to the Mafia Boss Roman series. Something a little later down the timeline. This was an idea I couldn’t get rid of which is why I wrote it now. I mean....their interaction on Friday was 🔥. And like I said in the previous one....this isn’t to be accurate...as much as it’s self indulgent.....just fyi

It’s been a while since Roman had asked you to sit in on a meeting. The very first one you’ve attended with a businessman who was very less than kind to the fact you were at Roman’s side, listening in on their business. Roman, on the other hand, loved having you at his side. And, in all honesty, you loved it as well. It meant the man was trusting you, allowing you to get a taste of the way he conducted his business. 

At that very first meeting, he filled you in on your role in those meetings. You were allowed to speak and have your own mind. You were not meek, only their to listen. You weren’t “Roman’s bitch” as you thought you were in the eyes of the businessman. You had a critical role. Be Roman’s witness. Be a second pair of eyes and ears. It was later, after the meeting had ended that Roman entrusted you with the knowledge that, if you wanted to, you could have a more critical role in his meetings. He wanted you to be a little birdy; rounding up rumors and knowing the truth on those who he conducted business with. 

Technically, it was Heyman’s job to be on tabs with everyone Roman conducted business, but the little stubby man could only know and keep tabs on so much information. Roman just wanted you to round up rumors. When you were not in Roman’s presence, or even around him, no one knew who you were. It was, almost, ingenious that it happened that way. Being the outsider to all of this had it’s perks in that way. If Roman gave you a name, you had the looks and intuition to figure this person for who they were, knowing their rumors in the interwoven webs of this life....and it wasn’t that hard. 

Some men loved having...intimate, interpersonal relations with their staff. Some loved to blab to the right ear or just in general. You were able to slip into their circles, get the information you needed and report to Roman. And when he conducted the necessary meetings, you were at his side, whispering into his ear of the rumors you heard while the people would drone on about things. Often lying in the face of Roman, which you were not afraid to correct with a purr into your man’s ear. It was fun; having Roman’s hand around you, his large fingers stroking your side as he listened to you in his ear when necessary, and even watching the color leave people’s faces as Roman corrected them on the information they tried to spout, being figured out for their truths. Your role was, indeed, fun. 

It wasn’t really a daily thing or an occupational thing. It was only necessary when Roman needed to talk with these people. And, that wasn’t often. People tried their best to ensure that the Samoan man didn’t need to speak with them. Because, usually, a meeting meant a warning. 

Or, in some cases, some business partners wanted to speak with Roman. In that channel, things were different. You still, usually, did your best to learn what you can, but....the reasons for those kinds of meetings varied. Whether it be asking for assistance, checking in with Roman, cashing in a debt, catching up as if Roman was an old friend, or...in the dangerous case....threatening Roman. 

The latter reason was dangerous. Not only to witness but for the person in question. And you’ve only witness it twice. One instance was with a man who was desperate, spouting about how he was going to get the FBI involved. The notion made Roman smile, before Jimmy and Jey gave the man a reason to keep his mouth shut, and Roman reminded the man of who he was and reminded him that he had eyes and ears everywhere, connections like no one else. There would be no way for Roman to get into the trouble the man thought he would, but....there was every reason that the man could lose a loved one, or even his own life for the threat at hand. That definitely made the man quell on his threat.  The other instance, was a threat the Seth Rollins had made to Roman. That one was different. Seth was almost as dangerous as Reigns. Seth has influences and just as many eyes in places as his counterpart. So when he felt as though Roman was stepping into areas that “did not belong” to Roman, Seth was vocal about it and had said so in a meeting. With a look of indifference to the other man, Roman agreed to stick to his own turf. With a smile, Seth left happy to hear that. 

And those two instances answered a question for you; For what reason would a sheep threaten a lion in his den?

Well...if the sheep was a lion just the same, they would have no fear fighting. 

That question and answered always set you on edge when Roman was contacted to meet with someone, instead of Jimmy and Jey picking up the person. 

And it was that small fear you had as yet another businessman had contacted Roman to meet with him. But curiosity drove you more than your own fear. You didn’t know what terms this meeting was coming about. But there was an issue on your end, you couldn’t find a lot of personal information about this guy. 

Drew McIntyre.  

Heyman grumbles about hos this man embarrassed his last client; taking all that he had, leaving Paul to find new work....which is how he came about working for Roman, apparently. That notion was intriguing to say the least, and you tried to get more information on him, but.....he didn’t mingle with his own staff, or enough to cause rumors or anything. He wasn’t in any bad deals or anything, as far as you were aware. And....it seemed, he and Roman went a ways back. You tried to get Paul to spill but the man wouldn’t say much except for what he already told you. Jimmy and Jey also confirmed they had no dirty or anything on this guy. He was clean in that regard. And, he didn’t mingle in public affairs, so you weren’t able to find a clear picture of this man. Drew McIntyre left you curious as to who he was dealing with Roman. And, as such, that curiosity would get the better of you. Especially the night of the meeting. 

As you and Roman waited for this man to be arrive, you took it upon yourself to ask from Roman directly. He was very honest with you anyways and wouldn’t spare you any details. 

You were on the couch, plucking invisible fuzz from your cocktail dress while Roman was at his desk, Heyman not too far away from his boss. Both were looking over documents. Whether or not they pertained to this Drew guy, you didn’t know. But now was an opportune time to ask. 

“So, who’s Drew McIntyre to you, babe?” you asked Roman, your eyes peering over to him. He looked up at your curiously, a document in his hand. Heyman gave you a small look that read he was displeased that you were so upfront about asking Roman about this matter. You gave both men a look of nonchalance and curiosity. “I couldn’t find many rumors about him. He leaves me feeling very curious.” Roman’s lip quirked at that notion. 

“We’ve known each other for a bit,” Roman said. “A couple years ago, the man helped me when I needed it. Now, it seems he wants to cash in on a favor.” A favor? Now that was very interesting. 

“Any particular favor?” you asked. Heyman’s frowned deepened as Roman chuckled. 

“Babygirl, that’s what this meeting is about,” he answered. “So I wouldn’t know. I could guess, however.” You gave a slow nod before you stood up. 

“Curiouser and curiouser,” you murmured, moving over to Roman’s desk. The Samoan’s brown eyes watched you approach. The sparkle of playfulness behind them as he started to collect his documents and hand them to Heyman. 

“Take care of these for me, Paul,” Roman murmured. The small man collected the documents in his hands before leaving the room, to do whatever needed to be done with those documents. You smirked at Paul as he left before you moved around Roman’s desk and to where he sat at the grand chair behind it. 

Roman had moved out from under his desk a little, allowing enough space on his lap for you to sit there, and sit there you did; one leg over the other and your arms wrapped around Roman’s neck. 

“I can tell you’re very curious about him, babygirl,” he said to you. You gave a quiet sigh.

“Not being able to find much has left me feeling like I won’t be helpful to you,” you said back. One of your hands lowered to scratch under Roman’s beard. The action made him smirk. 

“Having you by my side is way more helpful than you know,” he murmured before leaning down to give you a quick kiss. Roman’s phone buzzing on the desk had you turning towards it. Your man reached for it, looking at the message on the screen before putting it back down. “Drew’s here.” Your heart rate started to pick up with the small thrill that was sure to come by this meeting. Roman say the nerves on your face with his inquisitive, dark eyes. “This meeting should run without a problem, babygirl. I don’t think Drew is here to be a pain in my ass....this time,” You giggled at that. 

“Alright, if you say so,” you murmured before giving Roman one last kiss before hopping off his lap. “I’m just....excited to meet someone knew that runs in your circle.” Roman hummed. 

“I bet you are,” he said to you, standing to his feet with a small groan. You looked back to Roman, peeking at the outfit he decided to wear for tonight with a small bite of your lip. The same textured, navy shirt he wore when you two first met, dark dress pants and dress shoes. He looked good but, then again, he always did. 

“Anything I should know about our guest before he’s actually up here?” you asked Roman. The man’s brow quirked in thought. 

“He’s...a very large man,” Roman said. 

“Large....large how?” you questioned. 

“He’s a little taller than me, some would find it imposing,” he answered. “It will be a lot more apparent the closer you are to him. He also loves his wife more than he cares to be around people. Which is probably why you didn’t find a lot on him. He saves interactions for when he needs to. He’s a very reserved individual, which is more than I can say from when he was younger.” 

“Really? you asked. “How come I didn’t find any news on that?”

“He got a favor from a man in Hollywood named Dolph Ziggler, had some things wiped for Drew,” Roman answered, checking his phone one last time. You gave a nod. No wonder you couldn’t find things on him. But....you’d probably learn a few things about this man from this meeting. 

A knock sounded from the door, drawing your attention. 

“Come in,” Roman called while moving closer to you. His hand settled on your waist and he drew you into his side. 

Heyman opened the door, leading in a man who’s size had you frozen in place. Roman wasn’t kidding when he said he was ‘large.’ He didn’t look like a businessman though for the way he was dressed. He had on a deep maroon shirt under a leather jacket. He was clad in dark jeans and a pair of dress shoes that, surprisingly, fit the look. His long dark hair was neatly pulled back and his own, dark beard was trimmed to perfection. He was just another definition for gorgeous. Something alike Roman’s own looks, but yet...unique and intriguing to you. He had your full attention. 

Jimmy and Jey followed Paul and Drew in, closing the door behind themselves before taking their usual place behind the couch reserved for the guest. Both made sure to have their hands clasped in front of them, standing with respect and discipline.  

“Roman,” the guest greeted brightly in a thick Scottish accent with a voice just as deep as Roman’s. His smile gleamed in the lighting of the office and, you couldn’t help but watch as he reached for Roman’s outstretched hand. 

“Drew,” Roman greeted with politeness. Drew’s bright blue eyes panned to you. He wore a pleasant smile on his face and....you did your best to ensure you knees didn’t buckle under his soft stare. 

“And who is this?” Drew asked reaching for your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles like a gentleman. His accent was so nice to listen to, something deep and mellow but nothing that would make it hard to understand him. And you were so caught up in how the Scotsman talked that it barely registered you didn’t answer his question until Roman answered it for you, giving Drew your name. The man couldn’t help the smile on his face at your lack of answered, but he allowed your hand to fall back at your side. “I heard you found yourself someone new after all this time but I didn’t expect her to be a such a lovely sight.” The compliment from a man like Drew had your face feeling hot.

“Yes, indeed. I lucked out in that department,” Roman said, motioning towards the set of couches to your left. “Shall we get on to business?” Drew gave a nod.

“We shall,” the Scotsman answered with a tone of playfulness as he sat his large form on the couch opposite of the one you and Roman found yourselves in. Heyman made it his mission to stand right behind Heyman, watching in on this meeting. The man in front of you got comfortable where he sat, sitting all the way back, arms across the back of the couch and one of his legs crossed over the other. “The drive over here was awful,” Drew commented. “After work traffic and I see they’re building a new bridge on 27th street.” The man’s eyes looked between you and Roman before landing on you. “It’s just awful. Nearly got out of my own car because someone wasn’t paying attention to the road. Would’ve knocked their teeth in.” He was smiling at you, observing the way you gave him a small polite smile in turn. 

“What do you do for work, Mr. McIntyre?” you asked politely, in part to get to know Drew but get information you needed for later. Drew smirked at you, lip quirked in a way that made your heart flutter. 

“Please...call me Drew,” he said off the bat. “Mr. McIntyre is a little...too formal for me. Just call me Drew.” You did your best to not smile outwardly at that. 

“Ok then, Drew....what do you do for work?” you corrected with a small, intrigued smile to the guest before you. 

“I run a firm that deals in business consulting,” Drew answered. “Basically help others get to where they need to be in life by giving them honest truths about certain aspects of business.”

“So like....the hard knocks of business....the economy, business deals, branding and things like that?” Drew’s blue eyes held a level of pride and amusement to your question. 

“Pretty much,” he answered, “My own business has been knocked down in the past and I took that as a learning opportunity, show, I’m just helping others so they don’t go down a self destructiveness my own business did years ago. And I’d rather be blunt about that information than sugar coat things.” You nodded along to his information. You were going to look into it later....just in case.

“Sounds like an interesting niche of work,” you said to Drew. He smiled. 

“I like it,” he said, happily. “Lately it’s been better after I’ve taken care of Lesnar’s business. Huh Paul?” Drew’s eyes looked to Paul who was standing behind Roman. “His company’s management could’ve been better....or at least....on his own part. I see you found it good here with Reigns. I’m impressed with you Paul. This seems like a better fit and better line of work than what you had with the old brickhead.” Heyman stayed silent at Drew’s teasing but the Scotsman paid that no mind as he looked back at you. “Lesnar wasn’t a very great boss in his own right. Not showing up when his employees needed him, skimping them of their own hard work and money. It was no wonder why it went to shit under him. When I got involved with his business, things improved and we figured the only issue was with the boss and not the employees. But, I figured he couldn’t handle that hard truth and left then I took it upon myself to appoint someone who was better fit for the job. I didn’t think they’d let you go following that incident, Paul. In all honesty.”

“I also left on my own cogeneses, thanks for asking,” Paul mumbled.

“That’s good on you Paul. I hear Kofi and his partners have transformed that business into something fun and unique,” Drew said absentmindedly. “Good for them.”

“And what is Lesnar doing now?” you asked in curiosity. The man would probably still hold a grudge on Drew for him interfering. 

“Probably on a farm somewhere away from people,” Drew answered. “Paul would know more about that though, I’m afraid.” Drew couldn’t help the teasing bits at Paul and, you couldn’t help but smile that he was trying to annoy Roman’s own little consultant. “I kinda want to know a little about you. What do you do?” 

The question made you freeze. No one had asked about your own occupation. And....you weren’t sure if you were allowed to answer it. 

“Currently I’m a student,” you answered Drew’s question. His eyebrow raised and he looked a little curious himself.

“What do you study?” he asked. “Besides the people Roman hangs around.” You smiled at that. The little bite of playfulness from Drew’s part almost made you forget about the Samoan beside you. 

Almost.

“We’re off topic,” Roman said, his arms tightening around you. Drew’s eyes casted to Roman, trying to decipher the tone you could hear as well; the smallest zest of jealousy from your man. “It’s late, Drew. I have things to take care of tomorrow.” That was a lie but you didn’t want to say that in front of your guest. 

The man looked to you, a little smile on his face because he probably knew the tone in Roman’s voice as well. 

“What made you want to cash in your favor from a couple years ago?” Roman asked. The blue of Drew’s eyes went to Roman a the question. The playful and happy nature of his seemed to wash away. A neutral look replaced the smile and he sat up straighter on the couch, choosing to lean forward. He rested his thick forearms on his thighs while looking to Roman. 

“I’ve been having a problem with a certain viper as of late,” Drew answered, lowly. 

The “viper” Drew was referring to could only mean one person; Randy Orton. You figured out after a while of being around them that the boys had their own nicknames for certain people. For Seth, he was called “The Messiah” sometimes. The CEO of LEGIT BO$$ fashion company was none other than called “The Boss” when talked about by the men. Everyone that Roman knew or had been in contact with in his circles had a nickname. “The Viper” was just the chosen nickname of a guy who ran a company that was infamous in keeping people hidden. 

Why would a guy like Drew be having problems with a guy like Orton?

You looked to Roman who nodded. 

“Has he been causing problems of merit for you?” Roman inquired. Drew snorted. 

“Understatement of the century,” the Scotsman muttered. You looked back at Drew who crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “He’s been threatening to take something I care about away. Make...” Drew paused to look over at you. “Make them ‘disappear’ like he tried to do to Wyatt all those years ago. Just, poking his nose into my business. Figured I could use the favor to look into this matter for me.” 

“I see,” Roman murmured. “Are you asking me to take him out....or ensure he stays away from what’s yours?” Drew sighed, deeply through his nose. 

“I won’t be sure until Monday,” Drew answered. “I wanted to be sure he isn’t a threat. Especially after. So....I am asking for your men to look into seeing what his plan maybe....and who he has in his corner.” 

“Orton usually works alone,” Roman commented. 

“I meant in terms of bringing his own troubles with him,” Drew said. “I hear Wyatt may be trying to get back at him for the incident from a few years ago.” Roman nodded. 

“Makes sense,” he said to Drew. “Wouldn’t want Wyatt to be your problem as well.” 

“Precisely,” Drew murmured. “So....is this a favor you can provide for me?” You looked to the man at your side, seeing him think. 

“To cash in the debt you provided me a couple years ago...yes, I can look into Orton and his matters, and make sure he won’t be your problem....or Wyatt,” Roman said with finality. Drew let out a small breath of relief. 

“Thank you, Roman,” Drew murmured. “I’ll consider that debt to be repaid when you can say, without a doubt, Orton or Wyatt won’t cause me anymore trouble after Monday.”

“You know I’ll try my best,” Roman agreed. “If that is all you wanted to inquire about, then I think this meeting is over.” With that, Roman’s arm left you and he went to stand, followed by Drew. Both men reached out for each other, shaking hands in finality to the favor Drew wanted. 

“Again, thank you,” Drew said to Roman. 

“You’re welcome, McIntyre.” The Scotsman gave Roman a small smile before his blue eyes flickered to you. Standing to your feet, recalling the difference in height as the man towered over you. However, you reached out your hand to shake Drew’s nonetheless.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to the man. Drew smiled, his hand accepting yours to shake a couple of times. 

“The pleasure was all mine,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your knuckles one last time before dropping your hand. The way your face felt hot at the small act. Your hand moved to fiddle with the fingers of your other hand as Roman’s hand draped along your shoulder. It was an act of Roman being a sweet kind of possessive. He obviously jealous by the large, imposing man, but not in the way you would’ve expected. 

The way Drew smirked at that, made your heart skip a beat. Why did that look good on him?

“The boys will see you out,” Roman said. Drew gave a nod. 

“Until next time, little one,” the Scotsman murmured before he followed the twins out of the room while saying, “I’ll keep in touch, Reigns.” Roman said nothing back but watched as Drew left the room just the same. 

“That man can be such an arrogant jackass,” Heyman commented behind Roman who hummed his agreement. 

“He can be,” Roman muttered. You looked up at Roman, seeing his eyes casted tot he door still. 

“Aww, are you jealous?” you teased Roman. The man looked down at you. He was frowning. 

“No, I just didn’t approve of the way he was looking at you and how you were looking at him,” he answered quietly. 

“Baby, that’s jealousy,” you teased, turning to Roman fully. 

“This isn’t funny, babygirl,” he mumbled. You couldn’t help the smile and giggle that escaped you. 

“And what are you going to do about it, huh?” you asked Roman, encircling your arms around his neck, drawing him down just a bit.

“I think, I’m going to make sure you remember who’s babygirl you are,” Roman said, lowly. You giggled because the notion sounded delicious. 

“I look forward to it,” you teased before kissing Roman. The Samoan made a noise as his arms encircled your waist. 

“I’ll take this as my que to leave,” Paul muttered as he went to leave the room. Roman pulled away from your lips. 

“You and the boys can go home and lock up, I don’t need anything else tonight,” he was quick to say to Paul before his lips moved back to capture yours, enthralling your heart into a quicken pace because you knew where this was going to lead off to. 

You already know that your his babygirl. 

And no one else’s.  

In all honesty I got a little sleepy close to the end so I don’t think the ending is all that great...but I hope that this kinda was the expectation of the reader meeting Drew and Roman getting a tad bit jealous....idk lol ~Bri

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[nerdified]

Procedural Notes: Patient #3 (FKA Hugo Jensen)

NOTE: [At the time of this audio recording, Mr. Hugo Jensen (NKA Norville Nerdlinger) has just begun the process, and is restrained. The identity of the speaker is unknown. This transcript is reproduced here in order to assist with identification of this man, who has since disappeared, absconding with an undisclosed amount of the process agonist. Efforts to locate him have, to date, been fruitless. If anyone knows anything about this man or his whereabouts, please report the information to Central Command.]

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

Quiet, now. It’s no use struggling.

I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite.

I see that look in your eyes, like you don’t think I could hurt you. You’re probably right. I’m not much of a fighter. But I know what you think of me, and other guys like me. I’ve been listening to you on the phone, you know. Hacked your telecommunications. What was it that you called me, on that call with the client yesterday?

Oh, yes, I remember. A walking pocket protector. I’ll admit, that was a new one for me. I’ve had “pencil-neck” and “four-eyes” and the good old-fashioned “nerd” lobbed at me before, but “walking pocket-protector”… Heck, it’s got a little poetry to it!

Shh. I know, it feels strange. It’s a little unsettling, at first, I’ll agree. But you’ll get used to it. It’ll go easier for you if you just relax and quit fighting it. In time, you’ll even begin to like it.

I’m sorry about the gag. Unfortunately, it’s just the beginning of the process, so I have to leave it in for…twenty-three more minutes, at least, if my calculations are correct.

Ha! Who am I kidding – my calculations are always correct.

I can see from your eyes that you hate my guts right now. That, too, will change.

You see, what’s about to happen to you isn’t out of the ordinary, or even very noteworthy. As far as I can tell, it happens to a lot of guys, especially those that zip through their twenties and then hit that speed bump called thirty, bank accounts empty and career opportunities shot. Those of us who didn’t win the genetic lottery couldn’t get by just on our looks and our charisma, like you did.

I remember how it felt when I was in high school, and guys like you were all A+ students and perfect jocks, too… gosh, it’s enough to make me swear.

But no. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. You couldn’t just be a jock, be good at sports, and leave the academics to the rest of us. We didn’t ask for much, you know. We just wanted to be left alone in our science labs, and in our tutorials, in our lives.

There's no escaping guys like you. You’re everywhere, and you’re spreading. For a time, we ignored it. Figured it was some kind of anomaly. But it wasn’t – it was a trend. And despite the fact that we didn’t see it coming, we are now prepared for its end.

Like I mentioned – it won’t surprise most people to see you change. Maybe a few of your close friends will worry about you. Express some concern. But by that point, you’ll already have accepted your new self. You’ll be able to say “This is just who I am,” and it’ll be their choice how to proceed. That’s a side benefit, by the way, of the process. You get to find out who your real friends are – and, spoiler alert: they’re not exactly big football fans.

You have to be prepared for some major shake-up in your life, though. The good thing about the process is that it won’t faze you in the slightest. Everything will be gee-whiz gosh-darn super-duper spiffy keen neat-o, if anyone asks, and for you, it will be.

Now, I know those terms are a little outdated. We’ve had to make a bit of an adjustment to the process in your case. The earlier version wasn’t quite strong enough for you, so we’ve had to over-compensate in a few directions. You won’t just be a little bit nerdy, you know, a couple of odd quirks, some new hobbies. For example, Derek – well, that’s his dead name, he goes by Derwood now – Derwood can sometimes get by in normal society. He even kept a few of his old friends. He’s just more into things like superhero movies, and he’s left behind all knowledge or passion for sports. I think I even saw him reading a comic book the other day, come to think of it.

But that’s not going to be you. Oh, sure, you might develop a taste for superhero movies, but if you do, it won’t just be a passing interest. You’ll become a rabid fan. I believe…obsessive…is the operative word, in fact. Yes, you see, that earlier version of the process would have worn off, and you’d have been back to your old self in no time, which would wreak havoc on your psyche, not to mention put our entire operation in jeopardy. We can’t have that.

It looks like some time has passed, but not quite enough for me to remove the gag yet. Do you feel your perfect white teeth shifting around in your gums, almost impatiently? Nod once for yes.

You don’t have to nod at all, not if you don’t want to. I don’t need you to confirm for me what I can already see happening in your eyes. Speaking of your eyes – how’s your vision? I can see you starting to squint every now and then. Trying to see past that blur? Don’t worry. I’ve already got your glasses, right here, for when it gets too bad for you to see. Talk about your Coke-bottle lenses - my calculations again predict that you’ll settle somewhere around…hm…negative six diopters, which is even worse than mine.

To put it simply: you won’t even be able to read the big E on the eye chart without your glasses on.

I know, you’ve never been to the optometrist in your life. You never needed to. And don’t think about getting contact lenses, either. I mean, go ahead and try, if you really want to embarrass yourself.

Oh, I can see it now: timid, nerdy little guy like you, shuffling into the doctor’s office – you say you want to get contact lenses, and they get you in the back for a fitting. They show you how to do it, you know, hold your eyelids apart and then just plop the lens on there. But you have to do it three times before they’ll let you leave with them, and you won’t even be able to get one in, because you’ll keep blinking it out. I wish I could be there to see it, honestly – you, all frustrated, trying to swear, but only able to say things like “Fudge!” and “Gosh darn it!”

It’ll be so beautiful. I’m getting teary just thinking about it.

I’m glad you’re starting to settle down a bit. Let me know when you need your glasses. Maybe while we wait, I’ll get started on your hair. That trendy fade has got to go, and so does that scruff on your face. At the start, you’ll have to shave a lot, but as the process continues, you’ll start producing more of a 5-alpha reductase enzyme. This will convert your testosterone into dihydrotestosterone, or DHT, which will actually miniaturize your follicles. Kind of like using a shrink ray on them! Oh, and there will be no taking of inhibitors, like finasteride or anything like that – our process contains a potent agonist, with an affinity of 0.25 to 0.5 nM for the human androgen receptor.

It’s all very scientific, I assure you. And with the miniaturization of your follicles, your sebaceous glands will begin to over-produce sebum, which results in – you guessed it! Acne. Pimples. Zits. I know you’ve never had to deal with that before, so I’m just preparing you for it now. Pizza-face, I think the popular nickname is. Get ready for a lot of that.

Let’s see…what else can I tell you.... Gosh, this is kind of like the orientation for a new job, isn’t it? Ah, yes. I know. Speaking of jobs...

Yeah, this is the tough part. It’s all very natural, I assure you. Just like with your friends, your co-workers will come to see you in a different way. I know you have quite a few cutthroat underlings who would eat one another alive to get your corner office, and the moment they sense you’re not as much of a threat as you used to be, they’ll swarm.

I give it two weeks, tops, until you’re gone. If you choose that road. Or you could make it much easier on yourself and resign. You won’t be financially ruined – not with all that new information surging through your brain – you’ll be an asset to the right company, the right department. Maybe IT will take you. Or accounting. Maybe you won’t work corporate. Maybe you’ll work retail.

God, that’s cruel even for me. I wouldn’t wish retail on anyone, even a jerk like you. But there’s no telling what could happen. For all I know, once the process has completed, you could end up one of those Geek Squad guys at Best Buy! Have you seen the uniform they have to wear? It’s company-mandated dress code. You’ve seen them, haven’t you? White, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. Black polyester clip-on necktie; black, pleated trousers; black lace-up shoes…and white socks. Yes, white socks, kept completely spotless and bright. All this is enforced, too, with routine inspections, to make sure you’re being compliant!

You see, there’s really an infinity of possibilities for you. If anything, this is a new chance for you – a fresh start. I know it feels scary, all this change. But change is the only constant. Everything is always in flux. Heck, every seven years, your entire body regenerates – every cell is new and different, so why shouldn’t your personality and identity change, too?

It’s logical, isn’t it? Nod once for yes.

Good! You’re starting to come around, aren’t you? Like I said, it won’t be so bad if you just accept it. If you don’t fight it. That sudden urge to position your tongue up behind your teeth when you say ess. Eth. Eth. How your voice keeps breaking, and in the most unfortunate ways, and at the most unfortunate times – all of this is being etched into your muscle memory as I speak to you.

There isn’t much longer now until I can remove your gag, and I can see that the physical alterations are beginning. Too bad all that hard work at the gym all these years is so easily eroded by our process, but then, those muscles were mostly for show, weren’t they? Well, no longer. It isn’t exactly sarcopenia, but it’s close. You’ll be at least one and a half, possibly two, standard deviations below the relevant population mean, and no amount of exercise will restore your former abilities.

Yes, the ropes are looser now, because you’re much smaller. Rapid onset muscle deterioration. You could struggle out of them. Maybe you could even escape. You could try. But there’s no way you’d make it very far without your glasses. Who would believe you, anyway? What would you even say?

Like I said, you might as well give in. It’s not so bad, once you get used to it. And you’ll have me. I’ll be with you for the whole beginning process, so you can acclimate to your newly nerdy life. You won’t be able to continue living in that luxe apartment you’ve got – no, you’ll be moving into a nice little basement apartment I’ve got fixed up for you, in the suburbs outside the city. The landlords have just got it refurbished, with some nice wood paneling, and there’s a spare twin bed that should be just your size! There’s also tons of room on the walls to put up all your posters. You won’t need much room for anything else, really. You definitely won’t be needing that enormous closet of tailored, fitted button-down shirts, or all those sneakers, definitely not those expensive Under Armour boxer-briefs. What a waste. No, the new you is way more frugal with his money, seeing as he’s paid so little of it. The new you doesn’t even think that much about clothes, or fashion.

This must be a lot to handle. Maybe I should have a little mercy on you.

Tell you what. I’ll let you choose your underwear. How’s that, pal? That make you feel any better? Nod once for yes.

See, I’m not that bad. That’s right. So, here. You can choose…Hanes, or Fruit of the Loom?

Oh, I see. You thought I meant what kind of underwear. Haha, no. You’ll be wearing tighty-whities from now on. Sorry, them’s the rules. Besides, you won’t need much support…down there, if you catch my drift!

Don’t look so horrified. You won’t even notice that it’s gone. Mostly. You’ll still have some length, just, you know, not a lot. You won’t be able to call it a “cock” or a “dick” ever again, either. Oh, look how cute – you’re blushing just hearing me say it! You might call it something else, like your ding-a-ling, or your wiener.

Okay, okay, I can tell you’re getting embarrassed, you’ve gone all red and blotchy in your cheeks. We don’t have to talk about the … “no-no place” anymore, little buddy.

All right. Here’s your glasses. I’ll just set them on your nose, for you…there. Wow, they sure do make your eyes look tiny!

I can tell you’re getting near to the end of the process, and I’m curious to see how big your two front teeth have gotten. From that bump in your upper lip…gosh, it looks like you might be giving Bugs Bunny a run for his money!

You’ve really been behaving better, so I’ll bring you a mirror, okay? So you can see for yourself. I must say, it’s already quite the improvement. I wasn’t expecting your hair to turn so red, or get so curly. Maybe if you can’t get a job at Best Buy, you could run away and join the circus as a clown!

I’m just horsing around with you, pal. Don’t pass out on me. You promise not to scream? I hate it when they scream. Nod once for yes.

You’re a little excited, aren’t you? It’s okay. You can tell me. I bet you get a little more excitable than you used to. Maybe you even get a little clumsy, with the loss of all that hand-eye coordination. Trip over your own two feet and go sprawling.

But who knows. There’s so much potential.

And you’re just the beginning, too. Let’s just say that my proposal for introducing you to the process wasn’t well-received by Central. What do they know? They have this power, and they don’t use it. Well, you snooze, you lose, by golly! If you have a gift, you use it, otherwise it goes to waste.

Anyway. Enough of the supervillain speech. You don’t need to know anything more. It’ll probably be wiped out in the massive crush of nerdy trivia about Star Trek and Star Wars that’s going to download into your brain soon, anyway.

So, this is it. Are you ready to see? Nod once for yes, and I’ll pull the cloth off this mirror here.

Alrighty, dweeb, you asked for it. Here goes.

Say salutations to the new you!

[END TRANSCRIPT]

[aerugonian]

what are some of your fav kakashi centric fics?? ive never been too into naruto but kakashi??? i love him

You’re in luck because the only Naruto fics I read are Kakashi-centric, lmao. Here are some of my favorites (strap in because this is gonna be long – and I hope you like time travel, because there’s a lot of that here.) Fics are listed in no particular order. 

Just the Usual Habits by Applepie (G / gen / 3.9k words / completed / no warnings)

Sakumo has no idea where all of these habits of Kakashi's are coming from. In which five-year-old Kakashi forgets the existence of his left eye, loses his ability to lie believably, and is a little too knowledgeable about the Birds and Bees. Still, no matter what oddities went on in Kakashi's head, one thing is certain – the boy will always love his father, through thick and thin.

Nukenin by WhisperingDarkness (T / gen / 17k words / completed / no warnings)

In the sealed scroll he finds a Bingo Book – his own page marking him as an S-class nukenin with flee-on-sight orders.

“Ok. That is definitely different.”

In his head he blames Naruto – even if his number one unpredictable student had been nowhere near him on this mission. When things go this stupidly impossibly wrong it must somehow be the future Hokage’s fault.

Once More with Feeling by Chicken_Train_And_Laser_Beam (M / gen / 137k words / wip / violence)

After an unexpected turn on a mission with Team Seven, Kakashi Hatake wakes up in the past, trapped in the body of his thirteen-year-old self. Despite being torn away from his own, familiar world, Kakashi resolves to change the future to better the lives of those he loves. Yet, fate is not so easily mastered, and he's not the only one playing the game.

Reversal of Roles by Ranowa Hikura (T / gen / 112,510 words / completed / violence)

Obito didn't push Kakashi out of the way during the Battle at Kannabi Bridge. This one change eventually leads to Godaime Naruto being sent back in time with the leader of the Akatsuki- Kakashi. They arrive at the day of Naruto's Academy graduation, and Naruto must work with the man he hates the most to stop war from happening. Time travel, AU, Kakanaru friendship.

Branches by Mockingone (T / gen / 55k words / completed / no warnings)

Kakashi falls off a tree and lands in a different world. Literally. Now he's in a dimension where nothing makes sense—but he's used to that. Kakashi plans to wreak as much havoc as he can and find his way home... if he can.

What You Knead by AgentMalkere (G / gen / 38k words / wip / no warnings)

It started, as most things did in Kakashi’s life, with a mission gone wrong.

(In which Kakashi accidentally acquires an emotionally healthy coping technique.)

Ear to the Wall by Vodkassassin (NR / gen / 84k words / wip / chose not to warn)

The Minato-sensei beams at him, and replies, “Kakashi! I’m glad you’re awake,” and, yup, that’s Minato-sensei’s voice.

Kakashi falls back down against the bed, closing his eyes. It’s too short of a way down, and he clenches hands that are too tiny and feeble and not his in dog-print sheets he hasn’t owned for decades.

Wolves of Fire Country by Midnite_Republic (T / Kakashi/Izuna / 51k words / wip / chose not to warn)

Wave changed a lot about Team 7, but not enough to make them entirely functional. Also someone should have really reminded Kakashi to pay attention to that tiny part of his genius brain that recognises random patterns, before he called a rest stop on the way home on top of an old, decayed Uzushio travel seal with an over-chakra-charged Uzumaki.

And he thought the month of the Wave mission was long, now he's stuck with the team, in a place he never expected to have anything to do with, with no way back.

Maybe he should have paid more attention to history, or stayed in the academy long enough to have history classes.

Why we build the wall by Dissenter (NR / gen / 49k words / wip / mcd & violence)

A Kiri nin gets trapped in a cave with a Konoha nin near Kannabi bridge. Some things are inevitable.

Or the AU where Kakashi is born in Kiri but still somehow ends up as team seven's teacher.

Outrunning Karma by Anjelle (T / gen / 52k words / wip / no warnings)

Kakashi was forty-two and the world ended in a sea of smoke and ash. Kakashi was forty-two and there stood a man in the carnage, untouched and unfazed as the village burned around him.

Kakashi is nineteen and the world ends tomorrow, and he will do everything he can to make it right. Even if it means making friends of his enemies. Even if it means erasing everything.

Even if it means staring into the face of all that he hates and smiling.

Kakashi is nineteen and Naruto is five and there is still time. Instead of counting his losses, he'll make the most of it.

komorebi by tomorrowsrain (T / Kakashi/Obito / 80k words / wip / no warnings)

In which Kakashi and Obito survive the Kyuubi attack, get exiled from Konoha, learn how to survive, and still manage to become legends along the way.

(The bratty genin are unexpected, though.)

The Hidden Prodigy by Applepie (T / gen / 106k words / wip / chose not to warn)

Somehow sent back into the past, Kakashi is given a second chance to relive his childhood. He is determined to make the most of everyday and to fix the horrors of the future, but sometimes simple determination is not enough to save everyone.

Change Fills My Time by 100demons (M / gen / 73k words / completed / mcd & violence)

Thirty year old Kakashi was supposed to have been killed by Pein during the Invasion. Instead, he wakes up in the body of his twenty year old self.

(It gets a lot more complicated.)

Nidaime Otokage by DuskBeforeDawn (M / gen / 30k words / wip / violence)

No one knew him.

His father was still alive.

His Sharingan acted like it had always been his.

Kakashi was twenty-two years in the past of a different world.

a heap of details, uncatalogued, illogical by 100demons (T / gen / 8k words / completed / no warnings)

Oh,” she says, white hands clenched into tight fists. “I’m-- I was your student. Haruno Sakura.”

Kakashi tilts his head, gray eye analyzing her carefully for tells. He finds nothing. “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” he says flatly.

(Kakashi wakes up fourteen years old.)

Lost on the road of life by RavenShira (M / gen / 80k words / wip / violence)

Kakashi had everything well in hand. He had stepped down from his reign as Rokudaime Hokage, his porn collection was as well worn as should be and his free time was spend with either Gai's challenges or helping out on various tasks while trying to make it seem like he wasn't there to help out. Annoying the hell out of everyone that crosses his path was as easy as breathing – easier now that he didn't have to be polite and diplomatic about it anymore.

So what if he agreed to a teeny-tiny favour of his once student and now successor? Not even Naruto could mess up just scribbling down a fuinjutsu for Kakashi to check over before he got back to his own, very busy life.

… Right?

Or: The one where Kakashi travels back in time, thinks he can fix stuff but clearly gets in over his head.

What’s the Worst That Can Happen? by Applepie (T / gen / 90k words / wip / no warnings)

Life was going quite well, if you asked Naruto Uzumaki. So why did he have to listen to Kakashi of all people? Now, they've time traveled to the past, smack dab in Minato's era, when the soon-to-be Hokage was sporting a team seven of his own. Let history run its course? Never! Kakashi-centric.

Wanted by Anjelle (T / gen / 17k words / wip / no warnings)

Kakashi is your run-of-the-mill hand for hire, except that he's not. Boasting a spotless record with the skills and name to back it up, he's one of the most highly sought after mercenaries in the Land of Fire. He has just one rule:

No Leaf missions.

Unfortunately, his latest client, Tobi, is looking for just that. And there's no doubt in Tobi's mind that Kakashi will accept.

It's only a matter of time.

-

-

 (and a bonus crossover section!!)

Silver-Haired Stranger by TheSimplestWriter (T / gen / 34k words / wip / violence / ATLA)

Kakashi dies protecting his village fighting against Pein... Except he actually didn't and is now in the middle of a desert. Great. [Kakashi swaps one war for another, but he only wants to get back home. Things happen along the way.]

Copy That, Copycat by Nakashira (G / gen / 19k words / wip / violence / BNHA)

Kakashi Hatake dies the Copycat-nin and is reborn with a copycat quirk.

Everything becomes a disaster, and Monoma is tired.

Wonderboy by Tsume_Yuki (T / gen / 19k words / wip / chose not to warn / BNHA)

Who knew some dimensions had actual child labour laws?

In which Kakashi is reborn, the Hero Commission doesn’t put all their eggs in one Hawks shaped basket and Shouta isn't getting paid enough to deal with this shit.

Otherwise known as Kakashi in 1A.

CCG Public Enemy No 1 by euphoric image (T / gen / 19k words / wip / no warnings / Tokyo Ghoul)

Kakashi had a single red-and-black eye for more than half his life. Now, he has two.

Victory Series by ewfte (T / gen / 96k words / wip / violence / BNHA)

A fact about Todoroki Shouto: that is not his name.

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝hey, Mr. Villain.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku (Villain) ]

「Scenario of Villain Deku with reader who's an information broker. The two met one another in a bar and has a really interesting relationship with one another. The reader sells information to both heroes and villains, completely disregarding their status.」

MIDORIYA IZUKU (VILLAIN)

Sometimes, you weren't sure which side you were on. Was it on the good side or the bad side? But all you knew that things like these were fun. Surely, this line of work isn't something your parents would be proud of. Then again, you could no longer remember their faces after being abandoned by them and sent to an orphanage. You were what people would call an information broker. Selling information was very fun. Not only you could name any price you wanted but you could witness the chaos and conflict that erupts. There were heroes and villains who knew of you but you were always equal to your clients, no matter what side they belong to.

The only reason you were only able to run free was thanks to the heroes and villains who kept your existence a secret from one another. One of your favorite places to trade information was a small bar in the back alley and it was known to very few people. You have befriended the bartender who happened to be the owner. He was a man no older than 40, someone very knowledgable about alcohol. You find yourself sitting by the bar, shrugging off your vest, and stretching your arms. The bar was empty, the seats were unoccupied. The bartender quickly acknowledged your presence and smiled at you.

"Good evening, [Last Name]-san. A long day at work, I suppose?" the man began to prepare your drink while you made yourself comfortable. There was gentle music playing in the background, one that soothed your nerves. A soft sigh left your lips as you rested your elbows onto the table, supporting your head with your left hand.

"You know it. Anyway, you have to hear this, barkeep. There was a car crash today. I was trading information with a mafioso and apparently the information he just traded with me was top secret. Later that day, it's reported that he's hospitalized from the car crash." you said while the bartender gently placed a coaster and a glass filled with some liquid over it.

"Then I was almost killed because my client slipped out the fact that he had passed on the information before being taken away. Well, I managed to escape."

You grabbed hold of the glass and swirled in the contents as the ice clinked against the walls of the cup. A river of clear-golden cider flowing over crystal cubes. The glass was then raised to your lips and you inhaled the scent of your drink. A sip was all it took. The taste is like a hypothetical melted scoop of apple gelato. It's as if you were drinking the juice from ten apples in one gulp—multiplied by alcohol. It has a nice tartness without becoming syrupy sweet. The taste had you humming and sighing in the content. The stress from putting your life on the line was suddenly washed away.

"Almost all critical and classified information in the world is in your hands. Your head's full of them that's more valuable than gold. There must be as many enemies as there are stars in the sky who wish to torture you for information." the bartender was busy wiping glasses as he said this.

"But you seem so happy." he smiled.

"Well, it's because the information seems to be interesting and I look forward to others that might mix things up a bit in this case. Because I have a feeling it's far from over." you chuckled gently.

You always appeared to be an innocent civilian outside your work. You didn't have any friends at all aside from the bartender and probably the very few people you always traded information with. While you drank, you had your phone in your right hand, looking through the news on heroes. They seem to be performing well recently, stopping villain attacks, helping, and protecting civilians. In a way, your job is helping people but its completely different from what heroes normally do.

A plain white long-sleeved top finished off with a black vest, a tie, and black trousers. If he weren't sitting two seats away from you with a drink in hand, you would easily mistake him as a bartender. His face looked a bit young, framed by a short mess of fluffy dark-green hair that sticks up at odd angles. Somehow it looks really fluffy too.  His eyes are large and somewhat circular, their irises the same green color as his hair. He has a set of four symmetrical freckles in diamond formations, one on each cheek. You recognized him as one of the most notorious villain.

"So you're the infamous informant broker?" he spoke first.

"And you're the villain, Deku right?" you asked.

"Oh! Am I that famous?" he perked up.

You chuckled at the sight of his face lighting up in surprise. Sure it probably was him just messing around with you and faking an expression. Deku smiles at you in response and you couldn't help but think that he looked quite attractive despite being a villain. You've heard a lot of rumors about him but honestly, this was your first time seeing him face to face like this. And you couldn't help but think that he's quite attractive. Overall he looks innocent but you've met countless villains before and you could see the crazed look in his eyes. 

"So, you needed something from me? You're quite lucky to run into me in this getup." you said, setting down your drink back onto the coaster.

"Are you implying that this is how you really look?"

Your quirk was a strong one but you never really used it for combat, you often it used to hide your identity and to escape. The name given to your quirk was Illusion. It revolves around the use of illusions, allowing you to create illusions that deceive many people. You can also determine who sees and hears the illusions and who doesn't. When the targets strike the illusions, they will break after a few hits. You often used your quirk to change your appearance and sneak into places, it was easy to deceive cameras and people with a little bit of acting. 

"Perhaps." you shrugged with a coy smile.

Deku was surprisingly a talkative person and a smooth talker. You've had your fair share of guys that flirted and tried to pick you up but none of them actually caught your interest. Most of the time, you would do this for the sake of obtaining information. But with Deku, you were genuinely interested in whatever topics he brought up. It was as if you were talking with one of your old friends. You felt at ease and even thought that lowering your guard wouldn't be a problem at all. Then again, the bar was a quiet place with only you, Deku, and the bartender inside. He was a gentleman through and through, even going as far as to pay for your drinks.

The two of you had an odd relationship. You both flirted with one another often, acting like lovers when you're actually not. However, you couldn't deny that Deku is an attractive person.

You’d always meet Deku in the same bar at the same time. Sometimes he’d pay for your drinks and sometimes you’d pay for his. He was probably one of the very few people that actually meet up with you just to spend some time instead for information. He often went on about his day, talking about how he just got rid of an organization that was using his name, spreading false rumors which caused other organizations to attack them. It was very interesting for you to hear him talk about his thrilling life. As an information broker, you often assisted people who're living a lifestyle where they know they could lose your life at any moment was to be expected. 

It was the kind of lifestyle you can never relate to. Of course, just like any other human, you feared death. You preferred listening to stories of people living that lifestyle you could never imagine yourself in. You actually loved watching from a distance whenever a fight breaks out. It's like watching an action movie for free and thanks to your quirk, you get a front-row seat to it.

"Damn, they’re at it again."

"What's it this time?"

"The port on the north, there was a fight between two organizations and it blew up!" 

You heard people whispering about that while you were walking around town. At that moment, you recalled blurting out that a certain organization was planning on shipping high-quality explosives to Yokohama. The only people you told that to were ones that were really close to you. As you stepped into the bar, you were greeted warmly by the bartender and the music. Your eyes landed on the familiar figure sitting by the counter, casually sipping their drink and looking like he has been here for quite a while.

"That was quite an explosion, Deku-kun!" you exclaimed, skipping over and taking a seat next to the man. He let out a chuckle in return, his posture was relaxed and just by looking at him, he was giving off an innocent vibe.

"Hm? What are you talking about?" he feigned innocence with a smile.

The two of you conversed like usual. It was all over the news that there were theories that Deku was the culprit behind this explosion but the police didn't have enough evidence. On the other hand, you had been observing the whole incident from a very safe place. It was very thrilling, there were quirkless people with weapons and a ton of action. The explosion was one that attracted attention and woke up countless of people. Despite being within a safe distance, the heat from the explosion and the noise managed to deafen your ears. You knew that it was him because you only remembered babbling about it while you were in the bar. What’s more, it wasn’t a fight between two organizations. It was only Deku single-handedly destroying the entire port.

”Maybe I should’ve become a detective instead.” you hummed.

”No way. This job suits you well.” Deku said with an innocent smile, leaning against you.

”With that innocent vibe you give off and your quirk.....And not mention, your irresistible charm and draws in men.” Deku takes hold of your hand and gently strokes the back of your hand with his gloved hand.

“Don’t tell me that you’ve fallen in love with me?” you teased playfully.

”Perhaps I have.” Deku answers within a heartbeat. He sounds pretty serious for once, dropping the playful smirk that he usually has. But that serious look disappeared and was replaced with that usual grin he had. He chuckled and told you that he was just joking. You rolled your eyes in response and watched as he sipped his drink.

"Any man would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend. I know I would be." Deku rested his elbow on the counter, holding his cheek with his hand and looking at you.

"Is that your way of asking me out?" you smiled cheekily at him.

"Not today sweetheart. I will ask you out in a way that will blow your mind." Deku said with a confident smirk. You could only smile at him.

"I look forward to it."

On the next night, instead of heading to the bar, you decided to head elsewhere. The streets were still busy with people crossing the road and cars passing by. However, you took another road that was small and vacant. You were closing in on an abandoned building by the port which was currently used as a storage. As you looked up into the sky, you could see a few heroes flying in the air and making their way to the same destination as you were. You laid low, ensuring that no cameras and people caught you snooping around. 

When you arrived at the abandoned storage building, you could hear a conversation going on while you sneaked into the building, and found the perfect spot to watch everything unfold. This kind of information will really sell well, especially to the news reporters. You kept quiet, holding onto a voice recording tool as you sit atop a bunch of crates, swinging your legs back and forth.

"Villain Deku. On the criminal charges of complicity in 140 murders, 67 cases of extortion, and sundry other crimes. You are under arrest."

"I guess I have finally been caught." Deku raised his hands in defeat. He was out of tricks, even injured from fighting against heroes. He was laying atop of broken crates, blood running down his face and his body ached all over. His wounds weren't that major but if he moved, it was still painful. Not to mention, his pristine white dress shirt was soaked in his own blood.

Deku finds himself closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

"Hey, Deku. Do you want to live?" 

Your familiar voice caused him to open his eyes. He has never felt this relieved to see you here. Seeing you smiling at him made him smile too. His gaze softened into the one that you’re used with, one that was playful and loving.

All of a sudden, the moon emerged from its hiding spot behind the clouds. The moonlight cast a silhouette over your figure and with the help of your quirk, you were well disguised, looking like a completely different person. You stood at the top of a stack of crates and the spot where the moonlight shone onto the building. Using your quirk, you changed your appearance, from your hair to your clothes. Instead of making yourself visible to only Deku, you decided to reveal yourself to everyone. While everyone still has their attention on you, you hopped off the crate and landed on your feet gracefully. The people Deku were fighting against heroes who were looking into the port explosion incident.

"Oh! You came to save me?" Deku's eyes gleam in surprise. 

"I can't have you dying." you stood in front of the villain who was knocked down with debris of the crates scratched up his skin. You paid no heed to the heroes who were telling you to get out of the way and wondering whether you were an accomplice or not. 

"Not when you promised me a date."

"What kind of magic are you gonna show me today?" Deku finds himself smiling at you. He knows the full extent of your quirk and has seen you actually use it before. It was very versatile. You could create a smokescreen and use that chance to escape. Or you could create illusions of soldiers to distract the heroes and escape. Honestly, the things you could do were endless. You pulled out a grenade from your pockets and waved it around.

"Nothing. Just a simple old grenade." you grinned.

You both miraculously escaped despite your half-assed way of escaping. Normally, you always planned everything carefully to avoid people looking for you. However, you just felt like taking a risk today. You took Deku to your apartment to patch him up. This was your very first time actually bringing someone to your apartment and you couldn't believe that Deku was the first-ever person you've brought.

"I feel like I just did something really bad." you muttered to yourself as you gathered the medical supplies you had laid out.

"Would you feel better if I took you out on a romantic date as thanks?"

"Maybe." 

Total: 2595 words Published: 09.09.2020

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ First time writing for villain Deku! Hope you liked it anon! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! How does one write for villain Deku? Our very first time But we hope you enjoyed this, anon! ― author Natsuki

Requests are open! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[quinntheebrain]

Two Wrongs

Hi friends! So I kinda did a thing and i just wanted to share it with you. This was my first time writing smut so it’s a little rough but just bear with me. I promise I’m working to get better lmfao. 🤮

Warnings: +18

Word count: 5,551

When your professor first asked you about tutoring and therapy for the children of one of his friends you were skeptical. The hours were accommodating, the family sounded nice and the money was great. At the time, it almost seemed too good to be true. Finding a decent job while pursuing your master’s was hard and this opportunity just dropped out of the sky. So, even though it would increase your workload, you decided to interview for the job.

To your surprise, the family who had requested your help was the Aizawa’s. Also it wasn’t your experience that landed you the interview, it was your quirk. The family wanted someone whose quirk was strong enough to protect their children when they weren’t around. You hadn’t trained to be a pro but you could use your quirk efficiently and that pleased the family. With your impressive educational background and your power, you landed the job.

The first four months were smooth. You’d go to their residence a few times a week to complete therapy with their adopted daughter, Eri, then tutor her along with their younger son, but one day things changed. Aizawa was put on a case and his wife was so busy with work that they asked you to become a full time babysitter and housekeeper. You couldn’t resist the money so you accepted. The changes were a lot but you worked around them. Becoming the children’s babysitter was one the simplest and hardest tasks you had ever taken on because though the work was easy, he made it hard for you.

The more you spent time in the Aizawa’s household the more this feeling grew inside of you. It started as a harmless crush. You’d blush whenever Aizawa entered the room or whenever he said your name. Your commute home was always spent thinking about how he looked, smelled and sounded while the conversations you two shared played on repeat in your head. You made sure you looked your best everyday. Sometimes, you’d even send him to work with lunches prepared specially by you. Then he started visiting you in your dreams. The vivid images of your employer’s nose nuzzled in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he thrusts in and out of you would wake you from your slumber in cold sweats and completely drenched between your legs. Finally, it got so bad that you just couldn’t bear to be around him. The minute he entered the house you’d gather your things to leave, rushing out the door before he could take a good look at you. You stopped leaving him the lunches he had started expecting everyday. You even almost quit the job because your feelings for him were so strong.

It was stupid of you to form a crush on the man. He is your employer and on top of that he’s married. How could you be so foolish to think anything would ever happen between the two of you?

———--------

Aizawa opened the door to his home to immediately be greeted by the smell of fresh baked cookies and the sound of laughter. He was hoping his children had been put to sleep and his wife had returned home, but that wasn’t the case.

Walking into the kitchen, he cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his two children and their babysitter. “Why are they still up?” He picked up his son, Satoshi, while patting Eri on her head.

“I tried Mr. Aizawa, I really did, but I couldn’t resist those faces.” You teased as you pointed to his children, who had put on their best pouting faces. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “But, homework is finished, they’ve eaten dinner and bathed. I decided to bake them some cookies to pass the time.” You counted on your fingers as you listed off the accomplishments for the day.

“Well, they can take those cookies with their lunches tomorrow. March on upstairs and lay in bed. I’ll be up to tell you a story in a minute.” Placing Satoshi back on the ground, Aizawa turned his attention back to you. He watched as you broke a cookie in half and “sneaked” a piece to both of his children. You waved at them as they ran upstairs. Once he heard their footsteps shuffling above him, he asked the question he was dreading the answer to. “And my wife?”

You took a cookie for yourself before placing the rest in a container. “Called from the office. Something about a critical mistake in the files for her client.” You shrugged, not really understanding the excuse she had given you. While talking, you washed the pan you used to bake the cookies on. “She told me to tell you that her and her team are staying late to fix it.” Placing the dishes on the drying rack, you turned your full attention to Aizawa who was undoubtedly worn out and irritated.  

“Hm.” He shook his head in disbelief. Mrs. Aizawa had recently been spending a lot of late nights at her office. She had the space to work from home so her frequent absences were not adding up. Aizawa didn’t want to assume the worst but he couldn’t come up with any logical reason for this reoccurring excuse. “I’ll finish cleaning. You head home. It’s getting late.” He walked around the counter, taking the dishrag from your hand.

The hint of suspicion in Mr. Aizawa’s eyes as you explained why his wife wasn’t home made it clear; they were definitely having problems. Maybe that’s why Mr. Aizawa had been giving you this look that made you tremble. It’s almost like he does it purpose; the little glances he gives you before sending you home. The way his eyes take in your whole body before giving you a gentle smile. It was unfair. He had to be aware of your feelings. Even though you’ve spent the last 3 months trying to repress them, you still felt it was painfully obvious.

Clearing your throat, you drowned out the thoughts of being bent over his kitchen counter and taking every inch of him. “Right. Let me go grab my things.” You walked into his living room where your things had been spread across his coffee table.

Aizawa followed closely behind, watching you bend at the waist as you grabbed your things. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t find you attractive. He was honestly shocked when his wife suggested her as their babysitter, but it was your quirk that made her so adamant about hiring you.

Opening the door, he followed you outside. “Be safe and let me know when you make it home.” Your apartment on your university’s campus was a little far from Aizawa’s house. He always had you text him or his wife once you made it home.

“Yes sir.” You waved as you disappeared into the night.

Your commute home was full of clenching your legs together in an attempt to control the passionate throbbing you felt. The minute you entered your apartment, you dropped your things by the door and scurried to your room. You had intended to text Aizawa and let him know you made it home but when your eyes landed on the pink toy across the room, you knew relieving your throbbing pussy was more important. Setting the mood for yourself, you turned on your red light and put on some music before tossing your phone on the bed. You slowly stripped yourself down, imagining his intense glare on you as you danced around the room. Lying back onto your soft cotton sheets, you set the vibrator to the highest setting before placing directly on your clit and releasing a loud moan. Grinding against the strong vibrations almost made you cum quicker than you wanted to. Your left hand gently traveled up your abdomen, stopping at your breast. You massaged it before tweaking your nipples in between your index finger and thumb. As heat pooled in your lower belly, you removed the vibrator from your clit and shoved it inside your aching cunt. Your left hand flung out, reaching to grab the sheets.While doing this, your hand accidentally grazed your phone screen and unknowingly started a voice message to your employer. The sounds of your messy pants and your sweet voice calling out his name were all recorded then sent to him without your knowledge.

————-----------------

You had actually gotten the children to sleep this time and you were close to falling asleep yourself. It was well after midnight and Aizawa nor his wife had returned home. When the children first fell asleep, you spent the hours completing class work and after that you cleaned the house. Now, with all your work finished, you were completely worn out. Turning your music on to relax, you quickly fell asleep.

The sound of a turning door knob woke you from your cat nap. Rubbing your eyes, you watched the door carefully, hoping it wasn’t an intruder. When the door pushed open you immediately noticed Aizawa’s hand, only it was missing the ring. As your eyes traveled up, you noticed his torn sleeves and the fresh wounds littered over his arms and once he stepped inside you realized he must’ve been in a very serious fight.

Aizawa was pissed that his wife wasn’t home. After the night he had, he just wanted for her to dress his wounds then ride him lazily until he came and dozed off. Instead, he found you, staring at him with concerned eyes.

“Working late again?” He asked as he threw his bag on the sofa parallel to you and took off his shoes. You didn’t even answer but the sympathetic look on your face gave it all away. Mrs.Aizawa called earlier, giving you the same excuse as always. “Sounds like bullshit if you ask me.” He said under his breath but loud enough for you to hear. You had no idea how to respond nor were you concerned about his wife right now.

“Let me clean your wounds.” You rushed to the downstairs bathroom and grabbed a first aid kit from under the sink before he couldn’t even protest. “You should sit Mr. Aizawa.” You yelled as you hurried back to him.

Sitting next to him, you opened the kit and grabbed the supplies you needed. You cut off what was left of his shirt so you could tend to the wounds on his chest.

“You don’t have to do this.” Aizawa watched as you moved from the sofa to kneel in between his legs, bringing yourself closer to his wounds.

“I want to.” You smiled softly, focusing on his injuries. “Tough fight?” You briefly looked up into his eyes before turning your attention back to nursing him.

He chuckled lazily. “You don’t know the half.” This is the conversation he longed for after a hard night. Someone to listen as he unpacked his eventful days. Aizawa wasn’t normally the chatty type but there are times when he wanted to vent like everyone else. “My quirk doesn’t work on mutant types so it took a little longer than normal. The bastard put up a hell of a fight.”

“Yeah, he got you good but you should be fine once I’m done.” Your sing-song tone made Aizawa crack a smile. After you finished his chest you moved on to his arms. You individually covered his wounds with sterile bandages then wrapped his entire arms in gauze. It felt nice being this close to him and you could only hope he felt the same as he continued to talk about the day he had. You listened, remembering every detail. You were just happy that he felt like sharing with you. “Alrighty. You’re all finished.” You handed him four ibuprofens before standing to your feet.

He coughed. “Thank you.”

“I’ll go grab you a water.”

You headed toward the kitchen completely unaware that your injured employer trailed close behind you. The real reason you rushed to the kitchen was so that you could clear your mind. After seeing Aizawa all beat up, you wanted nothing more than to care for him, but that’s what his wife is for. Just touching him as you dressed his wounds had you riled up. The way he stared at you as you focused on his injuries didn’t help either. It was a different look from the arrogant one he gave you before you left his residence after completing your work for the day. The look that told you he’d absolutely destroy you if given the opportunity. This look was so gentle, almost like he was looking into you. For a brief moment, you felt like you were his. You felt as if his wife didn’t exist and instead he loved you, but the reality was that could never happen. You’re old enough but still too young for the aging hero. He could never be seen with you on his arms. What would his kids think? Their babysitter, the help, being in love with their father? Would they even understand what had happened? Of course they would. They’d go from loving you to hating you instantly. Also, there was no guarantee he’d leave his wife anyway. Maybe this was all some big misunderstanding that would blow over in no time.

“Get your shit together.” You scolded yourself while snatching the water bottle from the fridge. Of course, you had love interests closer to your age but none of them drew you in quite like Aizawa did. He was the epitome of the man you wanted in your life. You thought about him so much that no one else could compare. How could you fall into something so one sided? Slamming the door and turning around, you were met by Aizawa. “Shit.” You muttered in shock, back pressed against the refrigerator door. “You should be sitting.”

“I feel fine, really.” He assured you. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. It was nothing, really. My mom is a nurse and I was a clumsy child.” You laughed as you fumbled with the top of the water bottle. Once you got it off, you slid it across the island. “I should be going.” You tried to rush past him to head into the living room, but he stopped you.

“It’s too late. I couldn’t let you walk alone this time of night.” He paused, taking the four pills and drowning them down with water. “You can take the guest room for the night.” You just nodded. It was very nice of him to offer his home to you. Aizawa let out a sigh before continuing your conversation. He really didn’t want to talk about this but he needed a second opinion. “You’ve been around my family for some time now.” Aizawa paused, taking a sip of water. “What do you really think my wife is doing?” Aizawa had already found his answer. At this point, he just wanted to know if it was as painfully obvious to you as it was to him. There is no way Mrs.Aizawa thought she was being discreet.

“Oh! I shouldn’t say.” It would be rude to give your opinion on this topic and you didn’t want to be the reason he didn’t trust his wife, but that was a ship that had already sailed.

“I asked.”

“Well.” You bit your tongue, wondering if you should give your honest opinion. You cared for the entire family and your words could impact their lives. “I think it’s odd she’s been working so many late nights, and instead of telling you, she tells me. She’s always so quick to get off of the phone, but that’s ordinary behavior for a busy person. It's just on days that I do see her, she has this look, you know? Like she’s trying to hide something but falling apart in the process. I don’t want to say she’s cheating but she’s definitely keeping something from you.”

“Hiding something, huh?” He laughed as he walked to the bar and poured you both a glass. “You know, I got so desperate I checked her transactions and the gps on her phone. A hotel right outside the city. I almost followed her but I got caught up in something.” He lifted his arms in reference to the fight he had been in. You weren’t shocked to find out she was cheating, but you were shocked he told you. “It was probably for the best.” He shrugged, closing the space between you two. “I’ve been thinking about you, anyway.” Aizawa said casually. That’s why he told you.

Your eyes grew wide and your mouth dropped. He had only ever said those words to you in a dream. Unsure how to reply, you fell to your usual cop out: downplaying yourself. “Well I guess that makes sense. With your wife being so inconsistent, I’ve taken on a few more roles. Seeing me interact with your kids, cook and clean could’ve easily triggered -.”

“No.” He shook his head. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he waved it in your face before tapping his screen. “This is what I’ve been thinking about.” You visibly cringed as you heard your voice on the recording. His eyes rolled back in satisfaction as he listened to you moan his name. Burying your face in your hands, you tried to avoid Aizawa’s gaze. “Don’t hide yourself from me. You sounded so pretty. ” His husky voice sent chills down your spine. You were so close you could feel his breath on your neck and you could smell the drink he had started sipping. His lips hovered slightly over your ear. “Tell me, what do I have to do to make you sound like that again?” Aizawa nibbled at your lobe, causing you to let out a soft moan. “That too was easy.” You blushed. It had been forever since a man touched you so even the smallest touches sent you over the edge.

You wanted to return the favor; make him feel as flustered as you did, but you were just too scared to touch him. It made no sense; you just had your hands all over him, but the implications of this encounter was different. This was far more intimate. You always said if given the chance, you’d pounce, but you knew that wasn’t true. All you could think about was his wife walking through the door or the children running downstairs, but you could tell that was the least of his concerns. Grabbing your hand, he placed it on his waist while giving you a look of approval. He had decided wholeheartedly that this is what he wanted so now it was up to you.

He saw the hesitant look on your face. “Listen, I know this is a sticky situation so if you don’t-.”

“No.” You hushed him while looking down at your hand. Your fingers gliding gently over his skin. “I want to.” You were already breathless at the thought of him making love to you. He didn’t reply with words. Instead he closed the space between you, allowing his bare and battered abdomen to press against your clothed body.

He smelled of sweat and medical ointments; a scent that only turned you on more. Aizawa spent his nights saving the city from villains, but who was there to save Aizawa at the end of the night? He deserved to be pampered with love so without a second thought you kissed him. Wrapping his hands around your waist, he pulled you in and held you in his toned arms. He groaned at the pain from placing pressure on his wounds but he didn’t let you go. Your hands snaked around to his back, fingers tracing over the scars that had been left from previous battles.

Every time you thought of having sex with Aizawa, you imagined him ripping off your clothes and being so rough you cried. So, this gentle kiss that had you melting into him was surprising. It was better than you could’ve ever imagined.

“Counter, now.” He helped lift you as you jumped onto the counter. Aizawa attacked your neck with kisses, stopping to suck on the soft skin above your collarbone. You threw your head back, allowing him more room to move along your neck. He pushed your dress up, giving him a view of your pretty black silk panties adorned with red roses. Arousal was evident by the damp spot on your underwear. He wasted no time getting you out of those. “Fucking hell.” He squatted between your legs to take a better look as his hands traveled up and down the insides of your thighs. Aizawa pushed your legs open and positioned your feet on the chairs on either side of him.  He left one hand attached to your thigh while the other moved to rub lazy circles on your clit. You bit down on your lip, trying to be silent for the sake of his children. “So fucking wet.” He whispered to your cunt. The greedy look on his eyes told you he was anticipating your taste.

“I know, love.” You panted as he sped up the pace of his fingers. Aizawa had you aching for more contact. With a mischievous smile on your face, you took a fist full of his hair and pushed him into your dripping cunt.

Generous wasn’t the word. You couldn’t even think of a word to describe this.

Aizawa was eating you like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted. He started off with short, quick licks, teasing you but also figuring out what you liked. Eventually he switched it up, letting his flat tongue lap up your juices as it glided over your folds. You released your grip on his hair to grip the counter with both hands. Steadying yourself, you grinded against his tongue, moving your hips to the rhythm Aizawa had created. He plunged one finger inside of you, sucking roughly on your bundle of nerves. You tried to push his head back but he overpowered you, adding one more finger to your cunt to send you over the edge. Replacing his fingers, he tongue fucked your entrance before latching his lips onto your clit again. This time he added three fingers to your cunt, preparing you for his cock.

“Oh my - fuck. ” You whimpered as you tried to squirm away. Aizawa wrapped his hands around your waist to keep you still as he slurped your juices. He looked up at you with that arrogant smile while steadily pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“I can’t wait anymore.” As he lifted himself up, you noticed the bulge in his pants. Pulling them down, he allowed his rock hard dick spring from his boxers. You licked your lips in anticipation as he teased you by wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking himself gently.

“Shit.” Your eyes were focused on the precum close to dripping onto the floor. You knew Aizawa would be large, but this was unexpected.

“I know, love.” Aizawa mimicked you with a smile. He took this opportunity to pull down the straps to your dress, exposing the fact that you didn’t wear a bra. Your nipples perked up when met with cool air. He took your breast in his hand, massaging way better than you ever did on your own. His tongue worked magic on your nipple, while you toyed with your puffy clit. Your soft moans were like music to his ears. “God, you sound so pretty. Wonder what you sound like when you're stuffed?” You whimpered at the question; Aizawa knew you’d be a loud mess underneath him. Jumping down from the counter, you pampered Aizawa with kisses. You sucked on his neck, leaving marks and making him groan as he gripped your ass. “Turn around.” He growled into your ear, smacking your ass more harshly this time.

You followed his instructions, turning away from him before whipping your head over your shoulder to look back at him. His rough palms massaged your spine as he guided you to bend over the counter. Your cheek pressed against the cool marble, you prepared to take all of him, just like you dreamed. Aizawa slapped his cock against your ass a few times before sliding into your aching cunt, hissing as he pushed further into you. Your breath hitched as he stretched you out, completely overwhelmed by the feeling he gave you. After a few deep breaths, you rocked back, giving you both some much needed friction. Swirling your hips, you were practically dancing on his dick, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“You keep going like this, I’m gonna cum.” He smacked your ass hard enough to leave a mark causing you to bite your hand instead of moaning loudly. Once he got used to your rhythm his thrusts became more intentional. Using his hands to guide you back, Aizawa slammed you onto his cock.

“Aizawa, please.” You begged, not really even knowing what for, but it was the boost he needed. Lifting his foot onto the stool, Aizawa achieved an angle that you had moaning into the counter. Turning to look back at him, you showed him the tears forming in your eyes. “Right there, baby.” Reaching your hand under both of you, you cupped his balls, toying with them as he picked up the pace. “Fuck, I’m about to -.” Snapping his hips into you almost made you weak in the knees. He leaned onto you, whispering sweet nothings to talk you through your orgasm. You felt your juices dripping down your legs once he pulled out of you. With a deep exhale, you turned to face him. “Your turn, go lay on the couch.”

“Whatever you say.” He ran his fingers through your drenched folds before leaving you in the kitchen alone.

You took a few seconds to collect yourself before gulping down the cup of liquor he had poured for you earlier. Walking into the living room, you were prepared to conquer him. Aizawa had been more than generous to you tonight and it was finally time to return the favors. Aizawa was laid back on the couch, hands behind his head, cock still rock hard, with a small smile on his face. You teased him, doing a little dance that ultimately made him laugh. You would’ve done it longer but once he beckoned you to him using his index finger, you ran.

“So, what are you gonna do for me?” You literally almost came from the question, but instead of answering you squatted over him and lowered yourself onto his cock. “Shit, baby.”  He held you by your waist as you bounced on him. His eyes followed your hand, watched as you skimmed over your soft skin before kneading your breast in your hand. “You look so pretty, riding me like that.” He slapped your hand away from your breast and replaced it with his own.

It was rare that you stayed on your feet for so long in the position, but he deserved it. You gave him everything you could, letting your hips roll as you looked at him with big doe eyes. “Aizawa, you’re perfect.” He moaned at the words, pulling your nipple a little harder. He laughed a little as if you were joking, but you weren’t. You rolled your eyes, tired of being on your feet, you dropped to your knees. He moved to rub circles over your clit again, but you slapped his hand away. “I’m serious.” You pant. “I would never do you like your wife. I’d never leave. I’d be your pretty little housewife.”

“Fuck.” Aizawa groaned, throwing his head back. He attempted to rub your bundle of nerves again and this time you let him. You moaned at the touch, close to another orgasm. “Don’t say that baby girl. Especially when you don’t mean it.” He pulled you down to trap you in another sultry kiss.

“I do.” You managed to break the kiss to talk. He grabbed you by the neck, forcefully pulling you back to him.

“I’m so close, baby.” Aizawa was a slobbering mess under you. This is all he wanted from the beginning, but with you, he didn’t feel like being lazy. “Get up.” You immediately slid off of his cock. Turning around and dangling the upper half of your body over the arm of the sofa, you tooted your ass into the air. Using your hands, you spread your ass cheeks, giving Aizawa the perfect view. “Damn, stay just like that, so fucking pretty.” Aizawa crawled behind you, rubbing his cock against your folds.

“Stop teasing - fuck Aizawa.” You cried as he slammed into you.

His strokes were so reckless you knew he was close. He pounded into you, giving you all of him in those last few thrusts. “Fuck.” He exhaled, pulling out of your soaking wet cunt. The loss of contact made you sad, but this wasn’t about you. Turning, you grabbed his cock, putting it in your mouth to swallow his cum. You passionately sucked on his tip, making sure you got it all to the last drop. “Swallow it all.” You stuck your tongue out, showing him that it was all gone. Smiling, he grabbed you by the chin to pull you into a kiss. His chapped lips moving in sync with your own, parting just enough for you to slip your tongue through.

Straddling his lap, you broke this kiss to look into his eyes. Gently stroking his face, you noticed he was starting to doze off. “Tired?”

He hummed in satisfaction. “You were just what I needed.” Aizawa peppered kisses all over your neck and face. “Let’s go get some sleep.”  Patting your thigh, he signaled you to get up.

Slowly, you both stood to your feet, stretching and adjusting your dress before you walked in the kitchen so he could grab his pants. You’d be sure to sanitize the counters in the morning, but right now you just wanted to dive into bed.  You followed him up the stairs, admiring him the whole way.

You stopped in front of the guest room door, leaning against the threshold. “You know I meant what I said, right?” Tilting your head to the side, you ran your hand along your neck. “I know now might not be the time, but when it is, I’ll be here for you.” You smiled softly before yawning. You were absolutely drained after tonight. “See you in the morning? I’ll wake up early and cook breakfast so I don’t look suspicious.”  Putting your hand on the door knob, you started to feel sad.

What mistake did you just make? You’d wake up tomorrow and this night won’t matter anymore. You’d be his housekeeper. He’d be your employer. His wife would return home and they’d work out their issues. Even though he didn't have his ring on now, you knew it would be back on his finger soon. This one night of pleasure would make your life a living hell. During this moment of realization, you decided it would be best if you quit in the morning. You pouted at the thought as you opened the door.

“Hey.” Aizawa called out to you, making you stop in your tracks. “My room is at the end of the hall. I thought you knew that?” Your eyes lit up and he laughed at your excitement. You quickly turned around, running behind him to make it to his bedroom. Aizawa held the door open for you, smacking your ass when you ran past him. Closing the door, he joined you in his bed. Flipping on his side, he turned to face you. “You’re right, now isn’t the time, but when it is I’m going to take you up on that offer and you better not back out. You talked a big game downstairs.”

“You really are perfect, Aizawa.” You smiled, brushing his hair out of his face.

“From now on, it’s Shouta when we're alone.” Grabbing you by the waist, Aizawa tugged you closer to him. Leaning in, he kissed you, using his teeth to bite down on your bottom lip. “I can’t wait to hear that name roll of your pretty lips.”

“Well Shouta. ” You laughed, using a sultry voice that caused him to groan a little. “What are you going to do when your wife returns home tomorrow?” His face scrunched up at the question.

“She’s not.” Aizawa laughed before pecking your lips once more.

“The kids?” You asked unable to rest until all your conscious was completely clear.

“We were gonna ask you to move into the outhouse to help with your commute anyway. I’ll just tell them you're sleeping in the house until renovations are finished.” You smiled. That was very sweet of them. “Now, can we get some sleep.” He wasn’t annoyed, just tired.

Wrapping his arms around you, Shouta quickly dozed off. Listening to his soft snore made you smile. For the last 7 months this is all you wanted, now it was so close you could taste it and unlike his future ex wife, you wouldn’t let it go.

[runpogorun]

Show Me Your Scars

Here is my DDE 2021 New Year’s Day fic @daredevilexchange (a few days late, shhh) for @matt-murdok. Sorry it was late, but I hope it was worth the wait!

This is set in that horrible time after season 2, when Matt and Foggy aren't on good terms. Matt is working with the Defenders. @metaderivative and @iheartallthethings were amazing with their help on this fic.

Read it here, or over on AO3.

Enjoy!

_____

Foggy doesn't bother to announce his arrival with a knock. If Matt is conscious, he'll have heard Foggy long before he slid his key into the door. If Matt hasn't heard him… well, Foggy isn't letting himself think about unconsciousness, or worse. 

It's dark in Matt’s entryway, of course, vague blotches of colour mottling the cavern that Matt uses as a lounge. Foggy drops his keys and a sigh on the side table, and flicks on the hall light. He can see a tuft of dark hair at the end of the couch, and his back is thankful he won't be scraping Matt off the floor. 

"What are you doing here, Foggy?" Matt's coherent, even. Wonders will never cease.

"You know, it's great being wanted." Foggy nearly turns on his heel to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes slow, deliberate steps, as he moves away from the warm light of the hall and towards the purplish billboard-lit gloom of the lounge. "It makes my day. Or, whatever you call this sort of time."

Matt grunts but doesn't turn his head to track Foggy as he ambles over to perch on the edge of the coffee table. Matt's half-sitting, stretched out full length. His eyes are closed, and he looks pinched, in pain, even as the lights dance across his face. Foggy can’t identify any visible injuries. "There's no reason for you to be here," Matt says.

"That's where you're wrong." Foggy waits, but Matt gives him nothing more, so he sighs. Matt seems to make him sigh more and more these days. He decides to stick to fact. "Jones told me you might need a welfare check."

Matt shakes his head slightly without opening his eyes, so Foggy stops trying. He stands, walks to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, snagging a bottle of pills from the shelf on his way back. He puts the glass on the coffee table, where Matt can reach it easily, and shakes the bottle before throwing it on Matt's stomach. "Ibuprofen." Matt opens his eyes, picks up the bottle and runs his fingers over the braille label, like he doesn't believe Foggy and needs to confirm for himself. 

Foggy thrusts his hands in his pockets and watches as Matt twists the cap off the bottle with some difficulty, and shakes out two capsules. He swallows the pills, then reaches out, groping for the glass, but his aim’s off. He must be feeling pretty bad. Foggy takes Matt’s flailing hand and guides it to the glass. 

“Thanks,” Matt says, grudging. Foggy knows how much Matt hates feeling helpless, so he shrugs. Matt drains the glass, and manages to get it back on the coffee table without smashing it. “I’m fine, really.”

“Yeah, sure,” Foggy says.  Matt really does look miserable. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his breaths come short. Foggy casts about and spots a blanket hanging over the back of one of the armchairs. He picks it up, shakes it out, spreads it over Matt. God, he hates this asshole. “Ribs?”

Matt nods, curtly, then says, “You don’t need to stay.”

“Oh, I know.” Foggy paces over to the window and looks through one of the grimy panes, down into the darkened alley, still with the heavy humidity of summer, then back over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”

“C’mon, Foggy. What do you want here?” Matt squirms slightly, pulling the blanket around himself.

“Whatever. I’ll get out of your hair.” Foggy turns and leans against the brickwork, holds up a finger. “Just tell me one thing.”

Matt raises a questioning brow, as his hands squeeze the blanket.

“What’s CPLR 3211?” Foggy asks.

Matt frowns in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me. CPLR 3211. What is it? What’s it for?” 

“Motion to dismiss?” Matt replies. “Or is this something cryptic?”

Foggy relaxes and wanders closer to Matt. “Nah, you got it right. I’m just testing your lucidity.” Testing that Matt’s safe to be on his own.

“With my knowledge of New York’s consolidated laws?”

“It’s not something you’d forget easily.”

Matt concedes the point by tilting his head. “So now you  want me to dismiss you?”

“Don’t imagine you’re the one calling the shots, here.” Foggy stands where he is, studying Matt’s face while he tries to decide between coffee, alcohol, and the door. “You know it would be an enormous pain in my ass if you died, right?” Foggy asks. “So I need you to promise that if I leave you won’t die.”

“I will never die,” Matt quotes, the corner of his mouth quirking.

Foggy snorts, suddenly on the edge of laughter. "Yeah. Okay, Gary." He sobers, looking again at Matt’s taut face. “Don’t lie to me. Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Foggy nods absently. “Gary was a better actor than you.” He doesn’t really believe Matt’s ‘fine,’ but Matt also doesn’t look like he’s lining up to shuffle off this mortal coil. “You want any help getting in bed?”

Matt closes his eyes again, shakes his head. “I’m here for the night.” 

“Need the bathroom?”

“Foggy. I’m not an invalid.”

“Okay.” Foggy nods. “Okay. See you, man.”

Matt says nothing as Foggy walks away. It’s for the best, really.

_____

He spots them, a  week or so later, walking towards him on the opposite side of the street. Matt’s grinning like an idiot, and Jess is trying to hide her own smile, looking at him with fondness. Foggy’s glad they’re working together, he really is. Matt needs someone looking out for him, and Foggy appreciates the sporadic texts she sends him. Matt’s even holding her elbow, the way he used to hold Foggy’s. 

Foggy readjusts the strap of his briefcase where it’s suddenly cutting into his shoulder. Because he can’t tear his eyes away he sees Matt’s smile falter, his head tilt, and because Jess is looking right at Matt she catches it, too. She tenses, scans the street as Matt shakes his head slightly and mutters something. Jess relaxes, turns her head to look across the street just as they draw level and locks eyes with Foggy, raising her brows. Foggy half-smiles then looks away and carries on with his journey. He can’t let this derail him. He has clients to meet, a reputation as a capable lawyer to uphold. He even manages to whistle.

And if Karen can’t meet him for drinks that night, and he spends the night crying into his whisky glass alone in his apartment, no one needs to know.

The next day he gets a text.

Sort your shit out

I’m not the one with the shit, he replies.

Then he adds, Thanks for texting last week. 

Jess replies surprisingly quickly. He was pissed at me

He’s an asshole

Agreed

Keep him alive, please, Jones

Jess doesn’t reply to that one.

_____

Foggy sees Matt in other places. At the courthouse, in a cafe. He can’t help but scan him for injuries, knowing that his heart’s pitter-pattering in his chest betrays his concern, and finding no new injuries, subsequent relief. Or pulling at the sight of a poorly-masked limp, a black eye not-so-hidden by dark glasses.

When Foggy sees Matt unexpectedly, he tries to feel revulsion, but he can’t. Instead, being close to Matt Murdock summons pain, and frustration, and despair.  The feeling swirl and threaten to drown him, and he waits for them to coalesce into a single entity, something he can name and vanquish. He expects it to be disgust, loathing, or even hatred, but that hasn't happened yet. And Foggy can’t work out why. So he learns that after he sees Matt he’ll lose his appetite, that his breath will catch, that his body will worry.

There’s something else that he feels, in the centre of his chest, but he stubbornly refuses to name it. All the time and betrayal hasn’t weathered away its rough edges, and it has a habit of spiking him at the most inconvenient times. It would bring him to his knees, if he let it.

Matt always plays their encounters perfectly straight, never betraying what he might be reading from Foggy’s traitorous body, never straying from polite yet distant when they need to interact.

Foggy knows there’s chatter at the courthouse - What happened to Nelson and Murdock? They  were practically married, and now I never see them together. 

Foggy lived through the past months, but he doesn’t know, either. He doesn’t know how they ended up here, and if they can ever get to a new place.

_____

The next time Jess contacts him, she calls. At the panic in her voice he bolts out of his warm bed. Foggy has never heard her panic before.

When he arrives at Matt’s apartment his hands are shaking and he struggles to slide his key into the lock, but before he can manage it the door swings open, revealing a broad chest, clad in a hoodie flecked with bullet holes. Luke nods and steps aside wordlessly as Foggy pushes past him, searching for Matt. 

All the lights are on, which isn’t saying a lot. The poor lighting casts deep shadows, appropriate for a man with too many dark secrets. Foggy has eyes only for Matt, stretched out on the couch again, bare to the waist and with an arcing red line of sutures across his chest. His breathing is so shallow that for a moment Foggy fears the worst. Matt’s deathly pale, his lashes dark against his cheek, and gives no sign whatsoever that he’s clocked Foggy’s arrival. The bright splash of red on the floor paints a picture in crimson that takes Foggy back to another night, another pool of blood. Foggy feels his legs weaken underneath him.

Foggy turns to look at Claire, where she’s kneeling beside the coffee table, cleaning up her supplies. Surgical instruments clatter into a plastic box, alongside the once-sterile wrappings of her surgical kit and little suture packets. It’s less tidy than usual, as though Claire was rushing. Claire’s hands are shaking, and her movements are jerky. She looks like she’s gone beyond her standard frustration, like she’s been grappling with fear.

Claire glances at him, then back at her work. “If Danny hadn’t got here quickly….” Claire cuts herself off and swallows hard, composes herself. “There’s only so much I can do like this.” She gestures angrily and shakily at her supplies, at Matt’s prone form, and throws bloody swabs into the box. “This isn’t an operating theatre.”

Foggy lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Claire,” he says. He knows it’s inadequate, that it doesn’t even begin to cover what happened here tonight or any of the other nights before.  . 

Claire pauses, her tidying finished, and there’s a stillness to her. It’s like the night has drawn in, circling the three of them in a hideous diorama. Foggy feels himself frozen and watches as Claire looks at Matt, still as death. She shakes her head minutely, then slowly rises to her feet.

Jess is suddenly there, holding a cup of coffee in Claire’s direction, and the moment passes. Claire takes the cup with resigned relief, and Foggy shivers in surprise. He hadn’t noticed Jess at all. He looks over and sees Danny slumped at the dining table, chopsticks in hand and an empty take-out container beside him.

“Drink that, and I’ll take you home,” Jess tells Claire, then looks at Luke. “You’re in charge of Fisty.” Luke nods, and wanders over to Danny, poking him in the side with a finger.

“Ow!” Danny yelps, and stands up stiffly.

“Quit being so dramatic,” Jess grouses.

“It takes a lot of energy to channel my Qi like that-” Danny begins, but Luke picks him up and hefts him over a shoulder. Danny protests briefly, pounding ineffectually against Luke’s back, then gives up, sagging in defeat. Luke nods at Foggy, and makes for the roof access stairs, disappearing up them more quickly and quietly than a man his size should be able to.

Claire knocks her coffee back, and discards the cup on the table, looks hard at Foggy. “You need to stay with him.”

Foggy nods. “How long will he be like this?”

She shrugs. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Danny’s fist is kinda miraculous, but I think it has limits.”

“Just tell me what I need to know. Please.”

Claire and Jess exchange a look, and Jess clears her throat. “Luke and Danny were working together, Matt and I were doing a different area. Matt got cut bad. It was deep,” Jess supplies. “We were close so I called the others then got him here, and Claire met us, but…” Her already-pale skin turns whiter still, and she swallows hard.

“Luke and Danny showed up when we needed them to,” Claire says. She looks again at Matt, and he watches her watching Matt. “He’s going to need to rest for a few days,” Claire says.

Foggy laughs mirthlessly. “Have you met Matt?” he asks.

“He might not have any choice this time. Keep him warm, make him drink and eat. Call me only if you need to. You know the drill.”

Foggy nods, following Claire and Jess with his eyes as they disappear around the corner. The front door opens and closes, and Foggy is alone with Matt. He rubs his arms, feeling the sudden chill of fall, and looks down at the person he once called his best friend. Matt’s still unconscious, and he looks cold. 

In Matt’s room Foggy digs out socks, sweats, and a hoodie, and the soft blanket Matt keeps at the end of his bed. He spreads the blanket over Matt, and piles the clothing on the coffee table. Foggy allows himself another look at Matt’s face, and he feels the spiky thing flip over in his chest. He tucks in the edges of the blanket, to keep Matt warm, and goes to make himself a coffee.

Foggy’s left a few magazines and a couple of novels at Matt’s apartment, and they’re still in a small, neat pile on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He retrieves his old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and sits down in the armchair closest to the window. From here the billboard lights Matt’s face, and Foggy can look up every few pages to check that Matt’s still breathing.

Foggy sets the book aside and stretches, and walks over to stand above Matt. Matt’s skin in waxy, but his breathing is smoother, a little deeper. Foggy should be angry at Matt, but he’s just sad, worried and lonely. He wants his best friend back.

Foggy sinks slowly to his knees and reaches up a hand to stroke back Matt’s hair. His skin is clammy, which Foggy remembers tends to happen when someone nearly bleeds out. His stomach twists again with fear for Matt, and for a fleeting moment Foggy imagines a world without Matt in it. It’s a dark place. But Matt is here and breathing. Foggy finds himself leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Matt’s forehead. 

Because this is Foggy’s life, Matt chooses this moment to stir and groan, and Foggy jumps back.

“Jess?” Matt asks, eyes pinching tightly.

“Sorry, man, it’s just me.”

“Fog?” Matt croaks, uncertain. “I can’t, I’m not.” He swallows and his eyes open, roving aimlessly and frantically as he brings one hand to the wound on his side. Foggy’s seen Matt’s eyes wander like this before, when he’s disoriented, so he grabs for Matt’s clammy hand and gives it a squeeze. Matt holds on tight, a drowning man clutching a lifering, and the lost look fades from his face. He clears his throat. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago. Jess called me.”

Matt closes his eyes again. “Claire was here.”

“She was.”

“She stitched me up.”

“Ye-es. And I think that, maybe, Danny did the magic healing glowing fist thing? Claire seemed kinda upset.”

“Because Danny took over?”

“More like…” Foggy swallows, fighting down an edge of panic. “She nearly lost you.”

“Oh. Mmm.” Matt pauses, like he’s taking stock of his body. “That tracks.” His tone lacks inflection.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Oh fuck you, Murdock.” That earns him a half-smile. “You thirsty?” Foggy asks, reaching for casual, but falling wide of the mark.

Matt swallows, with effort, and licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”

Foggy lets go, and doesn’t miss that Matt flexes his hand, like he hadn’t realised they were still holding each other, before slipping it under the blanket. 

In the kitchen, he fills the electric kettle and puts it on to boil for tea, then retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. There’s not much food on hand, looks like Danny got to the leftovers, but at least there’s bread for a sandwich.

“It’s late, Foggy. Go home to bed.”

Foggy aggressively ignores this, setting out two mugs with tea bags, and retrieving milk and sugar. He starts slapping together two PB&Js, and finds half a block of dark chocolate in the usual spot. The jug clicks off, and he fills the mugs. The familiarity of the task is soothing, distracting. Matt doesn’t seem to be as aware of Foggy’s movements as he usually is, and he hasn’t tried to sit up. 

As the tea bags steep, Foggy prepares himself for the conversation he knows is coming. He has to be the instigator. 

Tea bags out, Foggy adds milk and honey. Matt doesn’t like his tea sweet, but he gets less choice on a night when he nearly died. Foggy he tucks the water bottle under his arm, picks up the plate of sandwiches and chocolate, and carries Matt’s mug over to the lounge. “You need one of those lap trays they make for old people.”

Matt groans as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Foggy stuffs a piece of chocolate at Matt’s mouth and he makes a face, but takes it without protest. The blanket has slipped down, and goosebumps stipple Matt’s chest, his nipples standing out, hard. Foggy hands Matt the hoodie and Matt takes it with surprise, running his hands over it to orient himself before slowly and painfully pulling it on and lifting the hood up over his head.

“Drink your tea,” Foggy says, and goes back to collect his own. He snags the whisky bottle and pours a hefty tot into his cup before returning to sit in one of Matt’s armchairs.

“Do I get some of that?” Matt asks. 

“Maybe when you’ve got your blood volume up again.”

Matt’s surprisingly tractable, eating his sandwiches without complaint. Of course, it’s not particularly reassuring because Foggy knows it means that Matt’s got to be feeling terrible. 

They sit in relative silence, Matt seemingly focused on drinking his tea without spilling it, until Foggy realises it’s past 5am. He pulls himself out of the airchair and goes to switch on Matt’s espresso machine. 

When Foggy moves away, Matt reaches for the rest of his clothing. Foggy lurks in the kitchen while Matt dresses slowly, awkwardly, dropping his pants and kicking them under the coffee table. Foggy’s seen this enough times to know better than to offer help. Matt pulls on one sock then sits back, panting. Foggy despairs for Matt and his abysmal sense of self-worth. He wishes he could love Matt into healing, but he knows it doesn’t work like that. When Matt stands to pull up his sweatpants he sways slightly and clutches the back of the couch for balance. Foggy looks away, attends to the coffee, makes his own Irish.

Foggy puts Matt’s coffee on the coffee table in front of him, although Matt’s lying down and doesn’t reach for the cup. Foggy sits down again in the armchair, balancing his mug as he leans back, and fixes Matt with a stare he hopes Matt can feel. 

“So.”

“So. You heading out?” 

“I’m here to look after you,” Foggy says.

Matt scowls a little. “Don’t you have work?”

“It’s Saturday.” Foggy spreads his hands wide, like a magician presenting his trick. “I can stay all weekend.”

Matt makes a noise of frustration. “Just go, Foggy.”

“No can do. I’m staying.”

“You’ve left before.”

Foggy feels a stab of anger. “Because you told me to. You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around again.”

Matt’s jaw tenses, and Foggy takes a deep breath, willing himself to regain some calmness. When he speaks again, he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.

“We’ve already been through this, and I have no interest in doing it again.” He takes another breath. “You matter to me, Matt. Once upon a time I met this cool guy and we became friends and spent tons of time together. I even started a business with him.”

“And then you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was,” Matt says, with a wide, dismissive gesture.

“Yeah, and it sucked.” Foggy looks down at the hands in his lap and realises he’s wringing them. 

“So why are you still here? I thought we were done.” 

Foggy looks up at that. “I’m not done.” 

“Foggy. I feel like shit. I don’t want to do this now.” Matt does look like shit, but that’s not the point here.

“Yea, well, you never want to talk about it on the rare day you’re uninjured, so...”

“So drop it.” Matt’s face is blank, emotion masked, facing the wall in front of him, not Foggy.

“Stop pushing me away, Matt”

A flicker of anger crosses Matt’s face. “You’re only here out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.”

“Misplaced? Matt. Why can’t you accept that I want to be here?”

“Because you don’t. Because I’m...”

“What?” 

Matt closes his eyes and tips his head back, inhales like he’s praying for strength.  Then he straightens, facing Foggy head on. “I’m not worth it.”

“This again. You must think I’m a poor judge of character.”

“Maybe when it comes to me,” Matt says, nodding.

“You’re such a selfish asshole.”

Matt nods again, agreeing, which is frankly irritating. “Also, I’m not. Not. I…”

“Not what, Matt? Reliable? A good decorator? Because I already knew that.”

“I’m not.” Matt stops again, takes a deep breath. “It’s not you, it’s me. You know that. I’m just…” Matt still can’t finish the thought.

“Are you trying to say that you’re not likable? Because I think you know that’s not true. You’re… magnetic.”

“Until people find out who I really am.”

Fogy shuffles forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning towards Matt. “Matt, I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. Okay? You have inherent worth as a human, and you matter to me, very much. And that isn’t contingent on us getting along all the time, or you avoiding injury, although I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get hurt. So stop trying to push me away, because I like things a lot better when we aren’t fighting. Or we can squabble, but it’s not the end of the world.”

Matt’s averted his face, away from Foggy and the billboard. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head slightly, and doesn’t reply.

“I love you, man,” Foggy says. “And it hurts seeing you be self-destructive. But that doesn’t stop me loving you.”

Matt squeezes his eyes shut, and Foggy sees a glistening tear slide down the curve of his cheek. Matt’s jaw works, and Foggy waits him out, giving him time to speak.

“There’s a difference between what you tell me I should know, and what I believe,” Matt finally says.

Foggy hates everyone who has left Matt over the years. But he can’t hate Matt.

“You’re so smart, Matt, but you don’t understand feelings at all.”

Suddenly the space between them yawns, impossibly far, and Foggy has to bridge it. In a rush, he stands and moves to sit beside Matt on the couch, and he reaches across Matt’s lap to pick up his left hand from where it’s balled in a fist on his thigh, forcing Matt to turn his shoulders towards Foggy. 

Foggy looks at Matt’s hand. The knuckles are bruised, of course, but it’s the same hand that he’s seen reading, skimming over surfaces in a real or feigned search for information, the same hand that’s so often held firmly but lightly to Foggy’s elbow.

Gently, Foggy unfurls Matt’s fingers, spreading them wide and lifting Matt’s hand to press against the centre of Foggy’s chest, with his own hand spread above it.

The rest of Matt unfurls along with his hand, softening and reaching towards Foggy.

Foggy watches as the lines of tension in Matt’s face ease, and he seems to tune in to the beat of Foggy’s heart. The spiky thing in the middle of Foggy’s chest warms and pulses and softens, and Foggy finally lets himself name it - it is love. Foggy’s love for Matt. And Matt Murdock might be clever with words and stupid with emotions, but no one feels the world the way Matt does.

Foggy leans forward and kisses Matt’s forehead again, gentle and warm, then presses his forehead to Matt’s.

“I’m tired, Foggy.”

Foggy murmurs in agreement. “I know. So am I. And I miss you.”

Matt reaches with his other hand to cup Foggy’s shoulder, a finger playing over the scar under the sleeve of Foggy’s sweater.

Foggy kisses Matt’s forehead again, then pulls back slightly. “You haven’t touched that scar before, have you?” Foggy asks. Matt pulls his hand away, like he’s just realised what he’s doing, and shakes his head, frowning. “It’s okay.” Foggy has to release Matt’s other hand, but he shrugs his left arm out of its sleeve and pulls the bottom edge of his sweater up so that his entire arm and half his torso are bare. “Feel away.”

Cautiously, Matt reaches out with his right hand and touches one fingertip with unerring accuracy, exactly where the bullet left its mark. Foggy watches as fleeting emotions chase each other across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital,” Matt says. He presses his palm flat over the scar for a moment, lifting his hand away only to press a kiss of his own to Foggy’s skin, to his scar. Foggy shivers.

Matt’s hand moves again, sensitive fingertips trailing from Foggy’s arm across to his chest and grazing a nipple. He pauses, all five fingertips there with the lightest of touches over Foggy’s heart, before his hand spreads out. Foggy feels the contact like it’s a brand.

Foggy lifts his right hand. He has to unzip Matt’s hoody, but then he’s pressing his own hand over Matt’s heart, and confusion, joy and hope are chasing each other across Matt’s face.

Matt leans forward and kisses Foggy on the lips. It’s sweet and gentle, but when Matt presses in more firmly Foggy moves back.

Matt doesn’t look like he’s about to jump out the window, but he does look uncertain. “You don’t want...?” Matt asks.

“Oh, I do. You have no idea. But you’re hurt and tired and you have a very soft bed in the next room, and maybe we’ve done enough talking for now.”

“Want to spoon?” Matt asks, and the hope on his face nearly breaks Foggy’s heart.

“Yes I do, my spoony little friend. And we can talk later.”

Matt smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun burst over rain-drenched lands that had almost forgotten a sun existed. “Later.” And Foggy takes Matt’s hand in his, helps him carefully to his feet, and leads him to bed.

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

Let Me {Katsuki Bakugo}

Quirks were just like any other physical ability in that overuse lead to strain. Training was always the preferred method of avoiding that strain, extending the limit to which pain or side effects would begin, but support items were also a viable option for the modern pro hero. Oftentimes, support items were used in conjunction with training so that if the item were to be lost or damaged during combat, a hero would still be able to perform their duties.

Katsuki Bakugo had spent years training his body to push past its natural limits for his quirk, and his mind to withstand the pain of overdoing it. He wasn’t stupid, though, he knew that adding in the bracers for his hero costume were an excellent idea to help him fire off explosions larger than what he could handle on his own. It worked well for him, and he had put a lot of villains behind bars thanks to the combination of skill and enhancement.

Even when the bracers were destroyed, disintegrating right off of his wrists and forearms, he got the job done. Ground Zero was a pro who did not take kindly to losing.

Which is exactly why his wrapped arms and shoulders were throbbing painfully as he stood on the platform of the train station near his agency, the late afternoon sun at his back. His messenger bag felt like lead as it dug into the muscle of his right shoulder. Every so often, his fingers would twitch from the strain throughout his arms.

He stepped on to the local train to head home, his mind only fixated on resting for the rest of the night and for the weekend upcoming. As he sat down, he let out a soft sigh of relief at the fact that the train car was essentially empty, allowing him to let his bag rest on the seat next to him. He legitimately didn’t think that he could manage moving it onto his lap.

Eyes half-lidded, he watched the LED screen scroll through the stops until his own displayed. With a deep breath to ready himself for the weight of his bag once again, he stood to exit the train.

“Shit,” he mumbled tiredly. He continued out of the station and trekked the final three blocks home, grateful that only his arms were out of commission; he could at least make it home without them.

That thought was immediately rescinded when he came to his apartment building and realized that he needed to scan his keycard to enter the lobby. His keycard that was in his wallet, which was somewhere in his messenger bag.

He glanced down to his bag, defeat overtaking his features as he stiffly moved his arm to dig around the main compartment. He fumbled through the contents, his muscles awkwardly uncooperative as he bumped against his empty bento box and the tangled headphones he could’ve sworn were neatly put away after his morning commute. Once his fingers felt the smooth leather of his wallet, he plucked it from the depths of the bag, slowly tapping it against the reader to enter the building.

Pushing the door open with his hip, he sped to the elevator and jammed his finger into the buttons hard, his arms tingling uncomfortably. The numbers ticked higher until settling on 17, a quiet ping sounding out when the doors parted. Stepping out onto the blue carpeted hallway, he moved towards the apartment marked 1701 at the opposite end of the hall.

The sight of his girlfriend lounging on the couch greeted him once he opened the door and between that and the knowledge that he could finally rest, he felt his aching shoulders sag in relief as he dropped his bag to the ground by his kicked off shoes.

“Welcome home,” she greeted quietly, sitting up to make room for him next to her. “I have the heating pads ready for you if you want those first, but I can grab some ice packs if you prefer. Oh, and your compression sleeves are clean and sitting on the night table.”

He stared at her, not registering her words at first, but when she stood up and crossed over to him, her soft hands cupping his face, he snapped back to the moment.

“You did good today. I’m proud of you,” she said, pecking him on the lips. “All thirty-five hostages rescued and not a single casualty other than the bank building about to undergo renovations anyway.”

Bakugo’s brows furrowed. “I don’t need a reward for doing my job.”

“Katsuki, I’m not rewarding you for doing your job, I’m giving you what you need to feel better since you overused your quirk. My plugging in two heating pads and pulling your compression sleeves out of your drawer was to save you five or ten minutes of dealing with your pain. Forgive me if I’m not interested in seeing my boyfriend suffer any longer than he has to,” she said coolly, lips pouting slightly.

He sighed. “That’s—I’m not trying to be an asshole. The last few hours have been hell, but I really do appreciate you helping me. Thank you.”

That allowed the pout to reform into a smile.

“You really have to learn to let me take care of you. You’d think after three and a half years together you’d get it through your head,” she teased, tapping two fingers against his forehead, secretly tickled that he couldn’t swat her hand away. “Now, heat is usually what you prefer first, so do you want me to grab those heating pads to put on your shoulders after we unwrap your arms and put the sleeves on?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled in agreement, watching as she disappeared into their bedroom. He crossed over to the couch, the plush cushions encouraging his body to relax as he sat down.

She reappeared with his compression sleeves in her hands and plopped onto the couch next to him, setting one sleeve to the side as she reached for his arm closest to her.

“You need to fire whoever wrapped your arms for starting at your wrist and going up. It’s usually easiest clipping the end at your wrist so your shoulders aren’t limited in their mobility,” she explained, gently pulling his arm out towards her and letting his hand rest on her thigh as she set about unwinding the fabric from his arm. As she worked, she could feel the tightness of his tendons and the heat of overuse, his muscles twitching every so often beneath his skin.

Once he was finally free of the bandages, she slid the compression sleeve up his arm and adjusted it to the proper position before standing and moving to his other side to repeat the process on the opposite arm.

“Shoulda been a nurse,” Bakugo mumbled as the second sleeve was put in place.

“Nah,” she disagreed. “You know I’m not good with blood. Plus if I were a nurse, who knows if Ochaco and Izuku’s wedding would’ve actually happened, honestly.”

“Got that shit right,” he said. “I still don’t know how you got green and pink to look nice together.”

She waved a hand flippantly as she got off the couch. “The right shade of mint and the right shade of blush aren’t that hard to come by; any good wedding planner knows that. It just takes some time. I’m gonna grab the heating pads for you.”

He watched her leave the room once again, gingerly bending his arms now that the compression sleeves were securely in place. They still felt heavy as he moved them around to try and work out some of the soreness, and he grimaced at the pull of his tender muscles.

“Now that pink on your cheeks would make a good color for my clients,” she mused from his left, startling him. “Maybe we should save the stretches for after dinner, yeah? Rest up with the heat on your shoulders and I’ll get cooking.”

“You don’t have to cook,” he said, reaching for the heating pads. “We can just get takeout from the ramen place on the next block.”

She held the heating pads out of his reach. “Nope, I’m making stir fry while you rest your arms. Now pick a comfortable position and let me take care of you, asshole.”

“You sure you’re quirkless?” he grumbled as he settled down into the couch cushions and she arranged the pads on his shoulders, the heat making him relax slightly. “They had to have missed your stubborn ass attitude when they diagnosed you.”

“The extra joints in my toes don’t lie; your girl’s quirkless,” she chuckled, kicking her foot up and turning to the side, wiggling her toes within her sock.

He grunted, allowing his head to tip backwards to rest on the back of the couch.

“Rest up,” she murmured, running her hand through his hair. “I’ll take the heating pads off in about ten minutes and get you when the food is done. If you wanna fall asleep, I’ll wake you for stir fry.”

An overwhelming part of him hated being told what to do to feel better, like he was some little kid who needed his parent to watch over him so he didn’t hurt himself even more. But he paid attention instead to the smaller voice within his mind that told him to listen to her, to let her take care of him. It wasn’t that she thought he was weak, he reasoned, but just as she’d said when he had snapped when he came home, she wanted to help him feel better because she cared about him.

Sighing as her hand fell away from his hair, he blinked up at her. “You gonna make it spicy?”

“I’ve got everything to make the Szechuan style we saw on that cooking show. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, closing his eyes and allowing the heat of the pads to soothe the ache in his shoulders.

He heard her soft footsteps retreat into the kitchen, and then the quiet bangs of cabinets opening and closing. The background noise lulled him to sleep before long, the comfort of being home and knowing his girlfriend was nearby making it that much easier to relax.

The next thing he knew, the heated weight of the pads had disappeared from his shoulders and the spicy scent of dinner was hanging thick in the apartment. Blinking open his eyes, the first thing he saw was a familiar, warm smile.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said happily. “I hope you enjoyed your cat nap.”

He hummed, sitting up straight and assessing his arms’ condition. Stretching didn’t hurt as much but it still wasn’t pleasant; at least eating wouldn’t be painful.

Rising to his feet, he followed her to the chabudai that was already set with a bowl of stir fry and chopsticks for each of them.

Bakugo had never been overly impressed with mealtime gatherings that seemed to only be had to make small talk and have the “how was your day, honey?” questions he’d been a reluctant party to when he was growing up, but when it was just the two of them alone in the apartment, he liked it. It was enjoyable to recount his day’s events and watch her reactions to the gritty details of his job that he admittedly only threw in to get a rise out of her, and even better when she’d stroke his ego with praise. Listening to her tell of her days planning the arrangements of who knew how many weddings was something he looked forward to hearing, too. With as many roles as he played and tasks he had to complete at the agency, there were moments where he was in awe at everything she managed to accomplish for the people who hired her.

Quirkless as could be, she was one of the most sought-after wedding planners in the country because of her involvement in executing both the Shinto and Christian ceremonies of Deku and Uravity. With the endorsements of two new, rising heroes on her resume, she had attracted a lot of attention of other pros who were willing to pay a handsome amount for her services. Bakugo’s attention was also caught during the planning phase and the actual ceremonies, but not for her wedding planning services.

Three and a half years later, he was grateful that the damn nerd had brought her into his life, but he would be absolutely damned if he’d ever admit it out loud.

Even as she waved off his loud insistences of helping clean up their dishes, he was grateful.

“For heaven’s sake, Katsuki, it’ll take me like five minutes to get the leftovers cleared away and our bowls washed!” she sighed. “Go wait for me on the couch, I’ll be right there. Queue up that movie about the spies we need to watch.”

Grumbling the entire time, he set to work arranging the few throw pillows on their couch into a small pile that he would inevitably end up draped over while she curled against him. He grabbed the fluffy grey blanket that he knew she would want too despite the heat in the apartment and the natural warmth his body produced.

With the remote in hand, he took his place on the couch against the pillows he had set up, the blanket to the far side so that she had room to press against him, which is exactly what she did as she came in from the kitchen. She pulled the blanket around herself as he tucked her under his arm, the blanket over his arm and partially covering his chest. A quiet mumble to begin the movie came from her and he obliged.

The plot, he quickly realized, was predictable and stupid. He should have expected that really since it was Kirishima and Kaminari who had suggested the movie during their last get-together and of all the movies they had suggested to him since their time at UA, he had only ever enjoyed three. So, he checked out of the scenes on the screen and let his mind wander—the day had been long enough that he probably deserved some more time to not do or think of anything important.

His eyes closed as he moved to lay more on the pillows he had gathered earlier, but his face contorted into a grimace as it sent twinges down both of his arms.

Her weight against him disappeared, gingerly guiding his arm from around her shoulders. “Are you alright, Katsuki?”

“Yeah,” he gritted out, the dull throb that had appeared distracting. “Kept them in one position for too long. They locked up on me.”

“You want me to grab ice this time or should we go with heat again?” she asked. “I can try massaging your arms if you think that’ll help?”

He shook his head. “No, its fine, just… keep watching the movie.”

“This movie sucks, the guys were full of shit when they said we’d like it, so let me help you instead.”

“You don’t—”

“If you’re about to tell me that I don’t need to take care of you or do something that’s going to help you, I will fucking scream,” she warned, cutting him off. “Can you just let me do what I can to take care of you? I don’t like seeing you in pain and if there’s something I can do to help alleviate it, I’m going to do it!”

He took a heavy breath before speaking. “I swear that I’m not trying to piss you off, I just… you know I’m shitty at asking for help or whatever. And I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

She sighed, lifting a hand to thread through the hair at the base of his neck. He was a complicated bastard on the best days, but he was her complicated bastard and she couldn’t ever imagine a time when she wouldn’t want to make their relationship work.

“I know that you’re able to take care of yourself, Katsuki,” she said softly. “You’re great at taking care of me and I appreciate it more than you know, but sometimes I can help you too. Relationships are a two-way street; we take care of each other, you know?”

He felt her tug on his hair lightly, small zings of pressure a better feeling than the pain he’d been experiencing so far that night.

“Maybe a massage would help,” he relented, voice quiet.

She smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Let’s leave the tidying up for the morning and head into the bedroom where you can sprawl out more.”

Bakugo hummed, once again ignoring the large part of him that was uncomfortable with being tended to, and stood up, stretching his back before heading into their bedroom. He fell face first onto the mattress, the once-pristinely made bed flying askew with blankets rumpled under him and the two throw pillows flopping over sadly.

“What a view,” he heard followed by a low, playful whistle.

He turned his head so that she could see his exaggerated eyeroll, a few giggles escaping from her as she moved to climb on the bed with him.

She tossed a leg over his torso and settled into the dip of his lower back, her hands splaying out across his shoulders. The tension was still radiating through him like it had earlier and she was determined to help ease his pain however she could.

“I’m gonna take the compression sleeves off,” she said, hooking her fingers into the band at the top of his left arm. When he gave a quiet hum of consent, she peeled the sleeve down as gently as she could and slipped it off of his wrist. Repeating the process on the other arm, she tossed the sleeves on the bedside table and traced the reddish indents on his skin softly.

After a moment, she returned her hands to his shoulders and started to knead into the muscles there, working up the amount of pressure she used to work out the tightness. His skin still felt warm from the overuse of his quirk, but it was much better than when he had first come home.

She worked methodically to massage down his arms, varying the pressure she used when he would wince or suck in a breath, unable to let himself show the pain and soreness she knew he had to be feeling. Once she reached his wrists, she started at his shoulders and repeated the process again, happy to not have as many signs of discomfort from her boyfriend. The tension beneath his skin was considerably less when she finally pulled her hands away from his wrists for the second time.

“I hope that helped a bit,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of his neck.

He let out a content breath. “Sit up.”

She straightened back up and raised up onto her knees from her sitting position on his back. Bakugo flipped over onto his back beneath her and she settled back down to sit on his thighs while his hands came to land on hers. His arms were still sore with a dull ache, but the soft touch of her massage had helped soothe the pain to something more than manageable.

“That definitely helped,” he told her, looking up at her through the hair that had fallen into his face. “I should be good after getting a decent night’s sleep, but you worked out most of the tightness. Thanks for that. Thanks for everything you did tonight.”

She brushed the hair out of his eyes with a tiny smile. “I told you, I don’t like seeing you in pain. I love you way too much to let you suffer if there’s something I can do to help.”

Bakugo sat up at her words, one hand sliding up to her hip and the other going to the back of her neck as he kissed her. Her hands wrapped loosely around his neck and she kissed him back, feeling him relax even further.

Breaking apart, he let out a happy sigh and rested his forehead against hers with both of their eyes still closed. “I know I probably don’t say it enough, but I love you too.”

“I know you do, even if you don’t say it out loud; you say it when you let me take care of you like you did tonight,” she said quietly, nudging her nose against his. “You’re a man of action, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

He smirked, then pressed his lips back to hers. Curling his arm around her waist, he used the placement of his hands to gently maneuver her off of his thighs and down to lie with her back to the mattress, his body covering hers. He braced himself on his forearms and continued kissing her, deepening it with a soft bite to her bottom lip and feeling his skin heat for a different reason when she allowed him into her mouth. It was short lived, though, because his arms started to tremble, and before they could completely give out to make his full weight fall onto her, he rolled off of her and onto the other side of the bed, their kiss breaking far too soon for either of their tastes.

“Damn it!” he snapped, the tremors fainter without needing to hold himself up.

She grasped his hand in hers as they laid side by side. “Katsuki, it’s okay if you need to rest. We can pick right back up with this tomorrow when you’re not as sore.”

“After having a shit day like this and coming home with a piss poor attitude, you did all this shit to make me feel better and I can’t even thank you by taking care of you in bed,” he ground out through gritted teeth. He glared off to his left, not wanting to show his disappointment in himself. “Some man of action I am.”

He felt the bed shift and a hand cup his jaw, slowly moving his head to turn and look at her. Their hands still clasped together between them, he realized that she had moved to lie on her side and face him.

“Have I ever told you how goddamn self-depreciating you are?” she asked with a pout to match the one he had unknowingly adopted in the past minute. “Because it’s definitely one of those things we need to work on.”

She then sat up and once again tossed a leg over him, settling herself down firmly in his lap, causing a low groan to slip past his pout. Eager to hear it again, she smiled and began to slowly grind against him.

His eyes fell closed and his hands landed back on her thighs. “Is this about to be another moment where I’m supposed to let you take care of me?”

“My man is so smart,” she praised, leaning down to kiss him and pick up right back where they had left off moments ago.

He lifted his hips slightly to gain more friction, her slow motions not nearly enough for how worked up he was feeling, and his fingers found the hem of her shirt, pushing it upwards until she had no choice but to break the kiss to toss it aside.

With her bare skin exposed, he ignored the heavy feeling in his arms to run his fingertips across her stomach and up the expanse of her back, popping the clasp of her bra with more precision than he expected from his formerly fumbling digits. He then worked the straps down her arms and threw the fabric aside easily, his kisses moving along her jaw with the intent of finding the best patch of skin to mark as his hands came up to cup her chest, kneading the soft skin.

“Your shirt too,” she gasped out as he scraped his teeth across the side of her neck. Her hands snuck beneath his t-shirt and glided up his torso, the ridges of muscle all too familiar under her fingertips. Within a minute his shirt joined hers on the floor and she pressed their bare chests together as he continued to create a mark on her neck, her small whines filling in the silence of the room.

He pulled back once he was satisfied with the mark he had left, smirking when she let out a soft moan as he moved his hips harder against hers. The quiet, breathy moans she let out were all the encouragement he needed to tuck his fingers into the waistband of her leggings and underwear, tugging them down slightly.

Pushing herself up and off the edge of their bed, she slipped both pieces of clothing down her legs and kicked them off to the side before climbing back onto the bed as Bakugo stared at her, his joggers and underwear also shed in the time she took to stand up and discard hers.

She reclaimed her place in his lap, feeling his excitement against her thigh as she leaned down to mold her body against his, cupping his jaw to reconnect their lips in a hard kiss that only became deeper when his tongue ran across her bottom lip. Her hands threaded through his hair as they continued to kiss, a low whimper escaping her when one of his hands left her hip to press between her legs.

“Katsuki,” she panted, breaking the kiss and burying her head in the crook of his neck as she felt two of his fingers rub her clit with slow but firm strokes. His pace could almost be called lazy, but she knew that he was anything but when it came to their intimate moments, ever generous and attentive.

Her heavy breaths changed to quiet whines as he worked his fingers lower, gently easing both of them past her folds to get her prepared. The noises she let out were perfect to him—even though they had the freedom to be as loud as they wanted in their own home, it just wasn’t how either of them expressed their pleasure. Low murmurs and breathless moans were their language in those moments, only the other able to hear and understand.

“You’re the best part of bad days,” he whispered, rhythmically curling his fingers in search of the one spot he knew would cause her whimpers to become even sweeter. “Coming home to you means I fuckin’ won, no matter how shit the day was.”

The end of his sentence was punctuated by a higher pitched moan when his fingers hit just right.

“Please, I’m ready, Katsuki,” she said quietly, shifting to kiss below his ear as her hips bucked into his hand. “Let me have you.”

Bakugo groaned as he withdrew his hand and she sat up to position herself over him, thankful that they had taken their precautions that made condoms unnecessary. Each time they were together, he felt closer to her, but once they were intimate without any barriers, he had no desire to ever go back and risk the newfound level of closeness discovered when it was only the two of them and their passion.

His hands went to her hips to guide her into place, and she moved to lower herself down onto him, each of their eyes falling closed at the feeling.

“Fuck,” he breathed out as she took him completely, his already waning self-control growing even thinner, “I… you feel so good.”

She let out a choked laugh, placing her hands on his stomach for stability. “You do too. But I can make it feel even better.”

Lifting her hips almost completely off of him, she paused for only a moment before dropping back down with a gasp. She rolled her hips to start a rhythm as she began to ride him, every few movements lifting up and dropping back down. With the firm grip on her hips and the placement of her hands on his stomach, she kept her balance to make sure her movements remained uninterrupted.

Bakugo began to buck his hips up into hers as she brought herself down onto him, both of them moaning at the new rhythm’s intensity. His right hand left her hip to once again apply pressure to her clit, knowing she needed just a bit more to reach her orgasm.

“Y-you always know what I need,” she said breathily. She was close, and she knew he had to be too.

He smirked, his half-lidded eyes making it that much sexier, and let his fingers make fast figure eights to get her closer to the edge than she already was.

“Cum before me or with me, your choice,” he said lowly, feeling his muscles tense, coiled and ready to reach the high he was desperately chasing.

Her cheeks flushed, she rushed out, “I’m-I’m c-“ but cut herself off with a whimper of his name as she bent forward to press her body against his tightly as her orgasm shook through her, drawing out his release at the sudden tightness around him. After a few moments when the initial sensitivity began to disappear, she pulled off of him and lowered herself onto her side to face him. Immediately, he turned to her and his arms came around her back to pull her close as hers curled around his biceps, his skin prickling slightly at the feel of her nails digging into him and concentrating the dull ache in one area. They were both panting heavily, her body trembling against his. The afterglow was starting to hit them both, and as their breathing came more slowly and evenly, they sank again into slow, deep kisses that were sure to extend the time they could float on their own cloud nine.

Uncurling her now-loosened fingers from his biceps, she ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair and pulled back slightly to look him in the eyes. He watched her, one hand tracing an easy up and down pattern on her back.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I love you too,” he returned quietly. “Thank you for always being here to take care of me. I promise that I’ll always be here to do it for you too.”

She smiled. “How do your arms feel?”

“Still sore, but I’ll be alright,” he replied with a shrug.

Hugging him to her, she pressed a kiss to both of his cheeks and his forehead before giving him a lingering kiss on his lips, one he eagerly tried to chase when she finally pulled away to stand up. He grunted in annoyance but couldn’t deny that the image of her in front of him looking very blissed out and sporting a red and soon-to-be purple love bite on her neck was one he would be happy to stare at for the rest of his life.

“I gotta clean up,” she said as she walked into their bathroom.

Bakugo took the moment alone to reflect on his day. He would for sure chalk the work part of his day up as shit, no two ways about it. Any time he overused his quirk was a bad time, but also the paperwork he had to submit to get his spare bracers upgraded so that the same situation didn’t happen again in the future was frustrating and repetitive. Well, that was most paperwork he had to do, but his extremely sour mood didn’t do much to help.

But then he came home. He came home to a beautiful, hardworking, and thoughtful girlfriend that did every goddamn thing in her power to help him and make sure he was okay after overworking his power to the point of pain. She took care of him in quite literally every way possible and fuck, was he just so damn grateful.

Her voice stirred him from his thoughts as she came out of the bathroom and announced, “Your turn!”

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he bent down to scoop up his underwear and sweatpants from earlier to place in the laundry hamper on his way to the bathroom. As he crossed the short distance, he watched her grab his discarded shirt from the floor and set it aside on the bed. Typically she would wear his civilian clothes to sleep in, and he would bet any amount he had in his wallet that those were her intentions.

After cleaning up and brushing his teeth, he shut off the bathroom light and made his way to his drawer to find a pair of shorts to sleep in, easily plucking them out and slipping them on as he threw himself back into their bed. He settled down into his pillow and watched her put her hair into her preferred sleep style, naked still except for a pair of tiny shorts.

“Anything you need me to grab before we turn in for the night?” she asked, turning around to face him as she slipped on the dark shirt he had worn home to sleep in.

Fuck, she looked so good in his clothes and for heaven’s sake, he couldn’t take it any longer.

He raised a single finger from where his hands laid on his stomach. “Just one thing. Can you go into the closet and get my UA blazer?”

She leveled him with a curious gaze, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Please?” he added with a pout.

“Now I was told that fantasy was going to be a one and done type of deal,” she teased, walking towards their shared closet to retrieve the blazer.

She easily found it, slightly dusty from being smushed against the wall with the rest of the uniform he hadn’t touched in years. Maneuvering it off of the clothes hanger, she draped it over her arm and turned back to him. When she started to shift it over to him, he stopped her.

“Look in the right-hand pocket.”

Dipping her hand into the pocket, she felt smooth leather at her fingertips as they curled around the object.

“C’mere. You can toss the blazer.”

She kept her palm closed around the black box as best she could as she shakily set the blazer aside. When she turned back to him, he gestured her towards him, and she complied, slowly moving back onto their bed. Gently, he took her free hand and pulled her closer so that she was sitting on his lap once again.

“I’ve had this in that pocket for two months,” he said, tapping the exposed side of the box from where it lay in her hand. “Been trying to think of the best way to go about this because you plan weddings for a living and hear so many engagement stories… I wanted ours to be perfect so that anytime you hear your clients tell theirs you just think ‘yeah, but ours was better.’ Knowing you, though, you wouldn’t want any of that fancy or elaborate shit, you’d just want something us and honestly, what’s more us than stir fry and sex on a Friday night? So, after talking about letting you take care of me and me taking care of you, how about we just take care of each other until we’re old as fuck? Marry me?”

[harlot-of-oblivion]

The Devil’s In The Details

All work and no play makes Dante a dull devil. But he soon finds a cure for his boredom when a smokin' hot detective comes a-knockin' on his door.

The title and overall feel of this chapter is inspired by the song "A Girl Like You" by Edwyn Collins.

Chapter 3: Never Met A Girl Like You

You look up Dante’s profile as soon as you get back to your desk. The Lieutenant was not exaggerating that this man’s file is incredibly long; it almost reads like a fictional novel filled with colorful characters and bloody descriptions. Unfortunately, all these reports are real and if any of what you read is remotely true, then you really have your work cut out for you this time.

It all starts with the infamous demon attack on Sparda Manor, which is common knowledge to most locals nowadays. The only body found in the rubble of their burnt down home was Eva Sparda, the matriarch of the family, and the rest of the family was pronounced dead soon after the incident. You narrow your eyes at that little detail…it’s rather strange that they just jumped to that conclusion even though there isn’t enough sufficient evidence to back up the claim.

The next notable part of the profile is all about the escapades of Tony Redgrave. You resist the urge to facepalm yourself while reading about all the events that occurred under his on the nose alias. It all seems to be standard fare on par with mercenary work, so you skip ahead a little until hitting another infamous incident involving some crazy ass tower…a lot of information about what happened has been redacted except that the Son of Sparda was definitely involved as well as an associate only known as Lady.

You read ahead again and raise an eyebrow at the strange report about a beautiful woman smashing through his shop while riding a motorcycle. This mysterious woman is later confirmed to be another associate known as Trish. Then it seems he left to do some outside work, so there isn’t much details except for a few witness statements here and there. The most noteworthy detail is the sudden appearance of a young man bearing a striking resemblance to the white-haired mercenary known as Nero.

A memory flashes before your mind at the name. You’ve seen this young man before; it was during the Red Grave incident involving the demon tree. You did not get the chance to speak with him…all you can remember is nodding to a young man with short white while leading a group of citizens caught in the demonic fray to safety. And speaking of that debacle, you skim through the reports about Dante’s role in that devastating event, which again seems to be scarce except that he was definitely hired to take care of whatever or whoever planted that freaky ass tree.

From what you can glean from the extensive damage reports, complaints about disturbing the peace, and the high rate of death and destruction…it paints Dante as a womanizing playboy who shows no concern for the wellbeing of others, which makes him a highly dangerous individual. Your fingers tap on your desk as you carefully sift through the information you have just gathered, noting that some of the reports have a healthy dose of prejudice attached to them. A good detective knows that preconceptions should never be taken at face value when searching for the truth. So, perhaps he’s more of a flirty troublemaker with a pension for hunting demons, which has earned him quite the reputation among mercenaries and police alike. You lean back in your chair and mentally weigh the risks of seeking out this infamous devil hunter in hopes of ridding the city of another demonic threat.

The soft chiming of your phone breaks you away from your deep contemplation. You pull it out your pocket and shuffle through a series of texts from Carmen. A couple of them are pictures of the victim’s garage, specifically a set of golf clubs found in the corner. She goes on to explain that this could be the murder weapon, but she will have to run some tests to confirm her suspicions. You take out your sketchbook and update the depiction of the crime scene with a drawing of a golf club with a question mark beside it. The other texts inform you about the safe key and missing dog. Carmen didn’t find any kind of safe or lock box that goes with the key, so she’s just adding it with the rest of evidence for further investigation. And there is still no sign of the family dog either.

No surprise there, you thought while texting her back about your heated argument with the Lieutenant and your plan of seeking outside assistance from a demon hunter. You also let her know that Graves is fine, just shaken up from the missing body that could very well be the zombie bride she gushed about earlier. While waiting for her response, you check your email for the record of medical examiners that Graves sent, and you file a report about the missing body from the morgue.  

After completing those tasks, you decide to grab a quick breakfast and do some more investigating before setting out to find the Legendary Devil Hunter. You collect your sketchbook and grab another cup of coffee on the way out, gulping it all down in a few long sips while you walk through the station. Your phone chimes multiple times as you approach the exit, but you withhold from checking it as you slip past a slew of reporters standing outside the station. All of them are none the wiser as you gear up for a long ride before hopping on your motorcycle.

You rev the engine a couple of times before zooming out of the parking lot with a loud roar, hoping that you can make it to Devil May Cry before closing time.  

(A few hours later…)

Another day spent doing absolutely nothing, Dante thought drolly as he rereads yet another dirty magazine while rock music blares from the jukebox.

It’s late afternoon and there is still no sign of Morrison. The phone rang a few times, but none of the callers gave a password. Dante knew that business has been slow recently, but he’s going to die of sheer boredom at this rate! He leans back in his chair and props his feet up on his desk, not really ogling the half-naked ladies in the magazine as his mind wanders through less vulgar musings.

Dante’s life has taken one hell of a U-turn for the better ever since getting back from hell with his brother in tow and having a very awkward but needed conversation with Nero. Just the fact that he even has a nephew still makes him shake his head in wonder, and having Vergil back to being his old cranky self…it all seems too good to be true. But a few pinches every now and then, as well as some stabs from his dear brother, knocks some sense back into him and erases all doubt from his mind.

Dante has never felt more alive now that he has finally found his family. And it would truly be a shame if this tedious dry spell takes him out before he gets the chance to really enjoy it. Morrison better bring the cure to my boredom before I find it myself, he thought, absentmindedly turning a page while letting out a huge yawn.  

A loud knocking echoes throughout the shop. Dante glances up from his magazine towards the entrance. Huh…that’s not Morrison, he surmises as more knocking bangs on the door. “It’s open!” he announces, not one to turn down a potential client coming to him directly. He tosses aside the dirty magazine as the door swings open to reveal an attractive woman entering the shop.    

Dante’s brow quirks in curiosity as you look around with mild interest. “Well, well…what’s a pretty lady like you doing here?” he asks nonchalantly while his keen eyes roam up and down your form, already spotting the concealed gun holstered inside your riding jacket.  

“I’m looking for the owner of this shop,” you inform in a calm and even voice while slowly approaching the landing area of his office. “Is that you?”

Dante smirks mischievously. “That depends on who’s asking, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Your stern voice startles him for a moment as you step up to the landing and pause by the edge of the carpet under his desk. You’re close enough now for him to get a better look at you; confident stance, sharp eyes, and a stoic face that could rival his brother’s stony expression. And yet it still captures his full attention despite your cold reception of his playful retort.  

“The name’s Dante,” he introduces himself as your head swivels around, taking in every detail of his office as you walk around his desk. “And if you’re looking for the bathroom…it’s in the back.” Dante motions with his head as you get closer to the couch, which gives him an opportunity to check you out from behind. His eyes linger up your slender legs and the curve of your ass…but then he does a bit of a double take when he notices a knife hidden in one of your boots.  

“Legendary Devil Hunter, Son of Sparda…and the embodiment of sloth apparently,” you muse aloud, stoic shell cracking a little as your lips curl into a grimace while examining the copious piles of trash strewn all over the floor.

Dante crosses his arms with a shrug. “I see my reputation still precedes me,” he quips back cheekily as your gaze turns towards the small bar in the corner.

“Please tell me that hasn’t just been hanging there rotting since the Red Grave incident,” you mutter in disbelief while pointing at the Empusa nailed to the wall with numerous swords and one small dart.

“What does a babe like you know about Red Grave?” he inquires casually while his eyes narrow suspiciously.  

A subtle spark of anger lights up your eyes. “Stop calling me babe.”

Dante slides his feet to the floor before leaning over on his desk. “How about you give me the pleasure of your name and maybe I’ll call ya by something more your style,” he offers with a wink, hoping to rekindle that spark of yours with his flirty banter.

Your smoldering eyes squint hard at him for a moment, the fierce spark now glittering as you reach inside your riding jacket. “Detective Y/N of the Red Grave City P.D.” You take out your badge and flip it open to show him your photo I.D. as you move close to his desk. “And if you call me anything but Detective…I’ll show you why some of the boys down at the station call me Ice Bitch,” you warn with a low growl filled with simmering anger.  

“Ice Bitch, huh?” Dante repeats while giving the badge a quick glance so that he doesn’t miss the show when the sparks start flying. “I dunno…you sound pretty fiery to me.”

Dante watches with fascination as your eyes burst with searing heat, but your entire face remains completely composed. It’s not exactly the kind of show he was hoping for, but there is still time to figure out what really lights your fire so long as you are here. There’s just something about you that begs him to stoke the flames flickering in your eyes…maybe it’s the way you carry yourself with utmost confidence around the shop despite the infamy around his name and reputation. Or it could be that fiery spirit hidden beneath your frosty exterior…all he knows for certain is this:

He’s gotta have more.

“So, what does the fuzz down at Red Grave want with a guy like me?” he asks, relaxing back into his chair with an amused grin, detecting another knife hidden up your sleeve as you put away your badge. “Wait, wait…lemme guess: you’re here to arrest me for being too damn good lookin’,” he jests, arching his brow while stroking his chin in a dashing manner.

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t illegal to have a scruffy beard and unkempt hair,” you retort smoothly while straightening out your jacket. “I’m here to request any insights you have about demons.”

“Well, you definitely came to the right place,” he boasts, dramatically waving his hands around the shop before tilting his head inquisitively. “Is this for a case?”

You raise a well-trimmed brow in surprise. “You catch on quickly…yes, it’s for a case,” you confirm, resting one hand on your hip while the other hangs down by yet another knife in your pants pocket. “We need to determine if demons are involved in a series of disappearances and murders.” You pause for a moment, blinking your eyes once as you tilt your head in thought. “There’s also the possibility of a Devil Arm being involved as well. And if either of those are true…” You trail off with a weary sigh before finishing your explanation. “Maybe we can team up and work on this case together.”

Dante kicks one foot up to rest atop his knee. “It sounds like you already know a lot more than your average cop,” he notes while his brow twitches with interest at your proposal.  

“When you live in a place like Red Grave, you learn to pick up on a few things…” The spark in your eyes dims down while a haunted look flashes across your impassive face. “Never know when it might save your life,” you quickly explain, crossing your arms as your expression hardens, but the dull ember of your eyes glimmer softly.

Now that’s a look I know very well, Dante admits silently, having seen the very definition of anguish staring back at him in the mirror for years. “Alright, you wanna know more about demons…why come to me? I know for a fact that there are plenty of mercenaries in your area,” he points out with an exaggerated twirl of his finger.

“Because you’re the best of the best, Mr. Dante.”

This isn’t the first time that Dante has heard those exact same words. His usual response is to just laugh it off and comment about hearing it all before…but this time it’s different. The absolute certainty evident in your voice sends a chill down his spine. And the spark in your eyes is roaring with the flame of total conviction as you seemingly stare straight into his devilish soul.

“Hmm…you sure are painting a pretty interesting picture,” he imparts, fidgeting a little under your intense gaze, which makes him wonder if you’ve noticed just how tight his pants have gotten while talking with you. Not that he minds…but it seems you are more interested in business than pleasure right now. So, he brushes that notion aside and scoots his chair closer so that his arms can rest on the desk. “Look…I’m really flattered and all, but you’ve overlooked one minor detail: mercenaries and cops aren’t really known for working together.”

Dante flashes you with a toothy grin, hoping the reluctant act he’s putting on will illicit another feisty show. “Oh, I didn’t overlook it,” you reveal, quickly snuffing out his attempt at lighting the fuse with a shake of your head. “I just don’t give a damn.”

“Really?” He leans in closer over his desk as he pokes that wild temper of yours from another angle. “Didn’t know it was okay for you to break the law whenever you want and openly carry that gun just because of some fancy badge,” he provokes with a challenging smile.

Your stoic face contorts into furious scowl as the spark in your eyes ignites in searing rage. You quickly close the distance between both of you and slam your hands down on his desk, proving that he skipped lighting the fuse and just kicked the entire damn barrel into the fire! But it doesn’t bother Dante one bit as you lean in real close to his face over the desk, inflamed gaze boring into him while you launch into an explosive tirade.  

“Now you listen here! I took an oath to protect and serve, and that’s exactly why I’m here now! I did not work my ass off for this badge just to waltz around with this gun! And I have no intentions of abusing that sacred trust the citizens of Red Grave have put in me!”

You pause to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing in a calmer but still irate tone. “Your expertise and experience with demons may lead to the break in case we need…and it’s what I need to uphold that oath.” The harsh scowl on your face softens as the rage in your eyes dies down to a flickering flame of hope. “I need your help, Mr. Dante…I can’t crack this case wide open and finally bring this insidious killer to justice for the families and friends of their victims without you.”

Dante stares at you in awe as your impassioned speech buzzes around him like a temperamental honeybee. He couldn’t help but to watch your lips as you unleash your fury upon him…wondering if your kiss would be just as passionate as your volatile rage. And you are so close now, waiting for his response as you loom over his desk like an unmoving statue. But your intoxicating scent ensnares his senses while an all too familiar presence awakens inside him. His heart beats faster as blood rushes straight down his groin, forcing him to subtly readjust himself under the desk while the devil within purrs beneath his skin.

The door behind you suddenly swings open before he can come up with some clever one liner about enjoying the show. Morrison strolls on in and effectively pulls both of you out of the intense moment as he starts talking. “Hey Dante! Word on the street is that a detective from Red Grave City has been snooping around and…Oh!” He stops in his tracks when he finally notices you. “Looks like you’ve arrived before the rumors, Detective,” he notes smoothly while lighting up a cigar.

“I’m a firm believer of getting the whole picture before putting my pencil to paper, Mr. Morrison,” you divulge coolly without tearing your fierce gaze away from Dante’s stunned face. The corners of your mouth twitch into a fleeting smirk as you straighten up your posture while backing up from his desk. “I’ll be in the city for a couple more hours. You can find me at the Simmer Down Diner if you change your mind…and if you don’t come around, I’ll just assume that your answer is no.”

You turn and step down the landing before walking past Morrison towards the entryway. Dante’s eyes follow your every move, hypnotized by your swaying hips and confident stride as you reach for the door. “But make no mistake, Mr. Dante,” you murmur, grasping the handle as you turn to look over your shoulder. “There’s a serial killer on the loose and I intend to catch them with or without your help.” Your eyes sparkle with determination with those final words as you open the door and exit the shop.

“Did I hear her right?” Morrison questions, puffing on his cigar as he walks across the shop towards the couch. “She wants your help catching a serial killer?”

Dante keeps his eyes on the door as he nods. “Yep. Seems so.”

“Huh…that’s something you don’t see every day.” Morrison takes a seat on the couch and flicks his cigar over a nearby ashtray. “What’d she offer you in return?”

“We didn’t get that far when you busted on through the front doors.”

Morrison puffs on his cigar in quiet contemplation for a moment before cracking a knowing smile. “You’re thinkin’ about following after her, aren’t ya?”

Dante finally turns away from the door towards his dear friend. “What makes you say that?” he inquires, casually leaning back in his chair while Morrison shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“You never could resist a beautiful lady asking for help. Even when all they brought was trouble…you still hear them out and almost always take whatever bait they dangle in front of ya.”

Dante shrugs at his friend’s logic while pondering about possibilities of working with a detective. On one hand, he’d have to play nice with the police and not break too many laws if he agrees to help you. But on the other hand, he gets to hang out with a smokin’ hot detective with one helluva temper. And if he takes up your offer…his heart throbs while the devil in him purrs at the thought of reigniting the flame in your eyes and seeing more of this sizzling chemistry between the two of you.

“You know me too well, Morrison,” he discloses with a puckish grin. “I’ll let ya know if I take the bait this time.”  

Morrison waves his cigar in the air as if to say told ya so as he gets out of his chair with a small flourish. He recalls the restaurant you mentioned as he steps out the shop, knowing it to be one of many greasy spoons in this area of the city. His hands are practically shaking with anticipation as he summons Cavaliere while a blur of different emotions swirl around in his head. If you can get this kind of reaction out of him already, then he’s gotta see where this may lead because honestly…he’s never met a girl like you before.

And now that he’s had a taste…he wants so much more.

Read Chapter 4

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 2/20

link to part 1  

You pass weeks in a distracted, miserable state. Two, three, a month. Longer. At first, you chalk it up to the huge secret you now have to keep. A secret that feels as big as All Might himself. By a complete accident of time and place, you’ve come into possession of valuable intel on the most wanted criminal in Japan, possibly the world. Every day, you consider spilling the details to your best friend, who you also happen to work with. But how would you possibly bring it up?

“Oh, hey Kiko, guess what, I met a guy! Yeah… he’s super hot, tall, bit of a dark side. His name? I’m not sure, but professionally he goes by All Might.”

You can only imagine the confusion and disgust that would elicit. Even from Kiko, who usually tries to support your decisions, no matter how bad. The knowledge itself needles at you too, day after day. This information about his quirk could be the key to capturing him or bringing him down— forget using it to advance your own career. You could go to the police with this, you could go to Endeavor’s hero agency. You could change things. You could save lives. To your shame, that guilt isn’t strong enough to betray All Might’s confidence. He had trusted you. The number one villain trusted you with his secret identity, and apparently still does, because he hasn’t hunted you down and executed you. (Yet.)

Maybe he can’t. Your analytical mind spins theories in the absence of more definitive information. Maybe that muscle form takes a lot out of him, energy-wise. Maybe it’s too hard to maintain for long, and that’s why he sometimes disappears for days and weeks on end. And what about that whole coughing up blood thing?

By the third week, you’re using what little spare time you can find at work cobbling together a timeline of every documented All Might incident, closing in on a thousand entries in a hidden spreadsheet on your computer, and you’re only up to what most subject matter experts would consider the midway point of his active period. You haven’t found any patterns yet, nothing definitive, though as a foreigner yourself, his mysterious stint in America raises so many questions. 

“Hey!” A chipper voice and a knock-knock on your cubicle divider make you close the spreadsheet. You turn and see Kiko there, smiling and curious. 

“Hey!” 

“Whatcha working on?” 

“Oh, you know.” You wave your hand airily. “Nothing, really, just some busywork for Mr. Shimada.”

“Well, come on! It’s team lunch today.”

“Aw, really?”

“Yes. And you can’t skip. You’re looking too skinny.” That couldn’t be true, but the accusation reminds you of All Might, how he looked like he never got enough to eat. At least, one version of him. Kiko is sweet to be worried about you. She’s always so kind and considerate, always making sure you don’t bury yourself in your work, inviting you to lunch and for midday walks to get some sunlight. 

“Okay, okay. I’m not trying to get out of it.” You lock your computer screen and collect your jacket from the back of your chair. It will be nice to get a break outside of the office for sure. Given the sensitive nature of your work, your building is a secure one, with no windows and checkpoints to get in and out. Other than a few cultural holdouts, the workplace bears little resemblance to a traditional Japanese office, having adopted some more western practices, like cubicles and excessive use of PowerPoint. “Have you heard back from the Licensing Bureau?”

Kiko heaves a big sigh, which tells you that she hasn’t. “I thought I would last week at the latest, but nothing.”

You follow her into the elevator. “That’s weird. Don’t they usually send confirmation or denial pretty promptly?”

“Most petitioners receive the news right after their test.” She shrugs, throwing you a little smile as she precedes you into the lobby. “Guess I’m special.”

“Of course you are,” you laugh, rolling your eyes a little, but you mean it. She has pure hearted intentions about becoming a part-time volunteer hero. Discussion about the intricacies of Licensing Bureau policies and mailing schedules continues all the way to the barbecue restaurant where together you conclude, that her unusual quirk must be holding up their decision. It makes sense. Reanimation, her ability to create a zombie from a dead body, is dangerous and powerful, and is rightfully quite closely controlled. It’s also very much at odds with her sunny, happy personality. She rarely brings it up, but you know she regrets not having a more standard type of quirk. She’s also one of the few people who know about your quirk and has been a steadfast guardian of the secret.

Nothing much happens at the team lunch. Office gossip, rehashing the latest news, etc. Though, you do find out from Mr. Kawada, your supervisor, that you are one of two analysts who have been selected to support and consult on a new account the firm is taking on. So exclusive that you aren’t even allowed to know who the client is yet. You act grateful, mustering as much enthusiasm as you can— it’s a great opportunity— but inwardly, you’re daydreaming about All Might. That’s been happening more and more. 

When you get back to the office after lunch, you’re roped into a meeting with Mr. Kawada, and Mr. Shimada and the rest of the team leads. You know you should be paying attention but you zone out through most of it, replaying that fateful night in your head. 

A couple days later, the obsession reaches a critical level. You have to find him. Not as an analyst, not to bring him to justice. You just have to see him, and you don’t quite understand why, but it’s a need, a hunger that grows sharper and more potent each day. 

Riding the train to work, you start searching in your web browser. ‘All Might’. Too much noise. News articles from twenty different sources all about the same recent attacks clog the entire first page of results. When you get into the office, you go through the motions, sitting down at your workstation, logging in, all on autopilot. 

The only thing you can think about is All Might. As time has passed, you try harder and harder to keep fresh that image in your mind of how he looked in his other form. The skinny one, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He hadn’t been any less intense like that. 

You refine your searches, hitting wall after wall of no results or way too many. A passing coworker’s idol-themed lanyard catches your eye; you finally hit on an idea: ‘All Might fan club’. That gets you something. You navigate to the first result, an outdated page with a garish background and little animated pixel version of All Might in the corner of the screen. Dancing. you have to admit it’s kind of cute. Suddenly, loud sound plays through your computer’s speakers. 

“I am on a website! I am on a website!” It’s All Might’s voice— his villain voice, which has people in other cubicles peeking over the dividers at you to find the source of the noise. Panicking, you close the tab. Then, after making sure your computer’s volume is muted, you find your way back to that same page. Sure enough, there’s a link at the top titled I LOVE TO MEET MY FANS. Following it brings you to a listing of a mailing address and… yes. A phone number. 

Heart racing, you copy it down on a sticky note, tuck it in your purse and, before it can register in your mind as a bad idea, slip out of the office. 

The train back to your home stop is nearly empty in the middle of the day. A few tourists, old people, some kids playing hooky. 

You turn your phone over and over. It said he loves to meet his fans… what fans? Doesn’t everyone hate him? Maybe that’s how you should open the conversation. Hey Mr. All Might, I know you’re universally reviled but I thought I’d hit you up anyway. The idea makes you snort-laugh. No. Just keep it simple.

You: hi.

A few seconds later, during which you stare at your phone, the three ‘typing’ dots appear. Then go away, with no message coming through. Could this really be him? Or is it just some weirdo’s phone number? Some otaku impersonating All Might on the internet. Not like you are in any position to be accusing someone of obsession.

You: this is the girl you met in the alley. You pause for a second, thinking of how you could signal to him who you are. He might meet a lot of girls in alleys. 

You: I saw you shrink.

A moment later, he replies with your name. Shock hits you; you click the screen off, black then click it on again. Your name is still there.

Him: I tHOUT I told =you to standstill and bee silent. 

It’s him. With lots of typos, but it’s him.

Oh, god. What are you doing? 

You don’t reply again until you get inside your apartment. Standing just inside the front door, with your shoes still on, you write out three versions of a witty retort, and erase each one. Stupid. What are you even trying to get out of this? 

You: I think people deserve to know who you really are. 

Nothing. Nothing for an unbearable minute that feels like another week gone by.

You: I’m going to the media. 

You’re not. You don’t know why you just told him that.

The three dots appear and disappear, again, with no new text. You watch the screen for what seems like an eternity, still standing in your entryway with your purse on your shoulder. 

And then there’s a thundering knock on the door.

Link to part 3

[takadasaiko]

Love Me Twice: Chapter Four

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: An op pits Jacob against an old enemy, but when a client will only take the best, Gina volunteers him for the job.

Chapter Four

April 2020

The squeal of the train's breaks sounded their approach to the platform as a prim voice announced their imminent arrival and warned commuters to mind the gap. Jacob Phelps adjusted a leather messenger bag on his shoulder, the opposite arm occupied by a pretty young woman with dyed blonde hair and striking green eyes. "Don't be nervous," she said, her tone so light it was almost teasing. "Daddy's going to love you."

Jacob let a small, hesitant smile quirk his lips. "I'm not nervous."

"You're such a bad liar," she laughed as the train pulled up to the platform and the doors opened.

"I am," Jacob lied, risking a glance at his mark. Emily Atwood, thirty-years-old and the only child of the aging CEO of a British conglomerate that he'd been hired to steal data from. It had taken nearly a month of groundwork, but only a couple of weeks once he'd actually made contact with her. She thought he was Jack Tallert, an accountant that had recently been transferred to his firm's London branch.

She was an easy enough mark. Trusting and head over heels for the man she thought he was. It would have been enough to almost make him feel guilty if he ever got invested enough to feel much at all on an op. He let the part he was playing take over and natural charisma and training did their equal parts to get him where he needed to go. He'd always been good at it, even before St Regis, but Bud had helped him hone a skillset that had put him at the top of his class. Thankfully a decade's worth of missing memories hadn't dampened that too much, even if it had left him with a desperate need to fill in his gaps of knowledge that anyone around him would know.

Emily tugged him forward from the train and they started up towards the street above. She chattered away about their dinner plans and if they should see a movie that weekend. Or a play. She'd prefer a play. They had a lovely cast for…

Jacob nodded at all the right moments, picking up on key words but otherwise focused on the plan as they stepped out into the cool spring afternoon. The client that had hired him needed a set of plans that were being tightly guarded by the company's security. No one under the fortieth floor even knew that the product was on the horizon, and no one under the fiftieth had access to the details mapped out to make it happen. Emily's father would have them on his computer, certainly, but that was risky. Daniel Atwood's personal assistant should have them too. She had been Jacob's original in for direct access, but it didn't take a lot of research to find out that he was nother type. She would be out to lunch - a very nice lunch with her girlfriend that Jacob has pulled a discrete favour to make happen - so no one would be there to watch her computer. His cell phone was already set to connect with her laptop from the office next to hers, so all he had to do was keep the conversation going while the tech did the heavy lifting. If he played his cards right he'd be on a flight Stateside in just a few hours.

"What do you think?"

The words pulled him out of his thoughts and Jacob blinked hard. "That's a…. good idea?" he tried.

Emily smiled sweetly at him and reached forward, adjusting the collar on his overcoat. "I promise it's going to be just fine. Don't believe everything you hear about him on the telly."

"I've got you with me. What could go wrong?"

"That's the spirit." She tipped up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before letting her hand slide down into his and tugging him into the building after her.

                                                   -------

McCready had always had a strict radio silence rule. No contact until the op was finished. If you broke that rule, it better be mission critical or he'd burn you faster than you could start stuttering out your excuse.

The reasoning behind the rule had been proven time and again over the years, and it was one that Gina hadn't seen any benefit in changing during her four years that she had been leading St Regis now. Funny, even after she'd proven she wasn't someone to be trifled with, there was always the one idiot that thought he was different. That thought he could push her around. That's what brought her to moments like this one.

April in New York City could bring snow or sun, but that particular Thursday morning it was somewhere in between. She sat at a table in Union Square Park, tablet in hand. Jacob would have teased her for it, saying that if she were a spy worth her salt it would have been a newspaper. She couldn't fully blame him. It wasn't his fault he was a decade behind the times, not that he would have made the choice if he wasn't. He'd always been a fan of old spy tropes.

A scream for a doctor drew Gina's attention and she looked up to see what the crowd around her saw: a congressman home from DC's walk in the park with his wife turned dangerous as he clutched at his chest, hunched over to the point that he was melting towards the ground. She watched as people circled around, finally closing off her view. People were on their phones. Some were calling for help, others hoping for their five seconds of fame once they uploaded the video to whatever platform they thought would get the most views or get snatched up by one of the 24-hour news networks to play again and again until something more interesting came along. The congressman would never make it to the hospital, though. That's what he got for breaking protocol.

She put her tablet to sleep and leaned down to fit it back into her bag, ready to make her exit. When she straightened, though, she wasn't alone at her table. A woman had claimed the seat across from her, utterly unphased by the drama taking place a few yards away, and her icy blue stare was fixed on Gina.

The woman was thin, red hair fighting the grey that should have stolen the colour at this point in life, and well dressed. She tilted her head a little to the side, studying Gina carefully. "You don't look bothered."

"Neither do you," Gina answered, slipping easily into a New York accent.

A very small smile tilted the corners of the newcomer's lips, amused, but her gaze remained sharp. "Your accent's good."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. Let's not waste time."

Gina felt a nudge against her boot under the table and she risked a glance down to see that the woman had pushed a backpack towards her. "They don't like unattended bags here. Makes people nervous."

"I'd say you better check it out then."

She was playing a game, that much was obvious, but something in Gina could respect that. It wasn't just anyone that could sneak up on her, especially on high alert. This woman had been in the game, even if she wasn't currently. She knew what she would find in the bag even before reaching under the table for it. Her fingers ghosted along the stacked bills and she let her own lips quirk upward, her accent slipping back to her own. "Are you trying to propension me?"

"Absolutely. I want your best man for a job."

"I don't know you."

"You don't know most of your clients. That's why you vet people." The woman held a card between two fingers and Gina read the name Brigitte Tremblay in scrawled text. "Take a look - deep as you want - and give me a call."

"What's the job?"

"Protection. That's all I say until we have a contract in place. Do your due diligence and give me a call at the number on the other side of the card. I'll get you the qualifications I'm looking for so that you can choose your best operative."

Sirens sounded and Gina risked a look on instinct. When she turned back, Brigitte Tremblay was gone, her card and bag of money the only sign she'd ever been there at all.

                                                  -------

It was exhausting playing the boyfriend sometimes. Bud had loved putting him in those roles. He'd said Jacob was born for them. Gina was less interested, but this job had needed a skilled operative that could manipulate many moving parts and make sure that it all came together quickly. Two months was their limit. Jacob was managing it in less, even if he would be due a bonus for having to deal with the nonstop droll of suckups that followed Emily Atwood around hoping to get a good mentioned to her dear ol' daddy. She wasn't bad, but the people that surrounded her took every ounce of skill he had to smile at rather than snap their necks. With the way things were going, he'd be lucky if they made it up to her father's floor by next week.

"I'm so sorry, Alistair," Emily said, the grip she took on his hand pulling Jacob out of the stupor that Alistair's story had put him into, "but Jack and I were supposed to meet Daddy twenty minutes ago. Do say hello to Martha for me."

Jacob offered a small grimace that was supposed to be a smile as Emily pulled him away and towards the elevators. Once the doors were closed she sank back against the far wall. "They're exhausting."

"Least I'm not alone in that," he chuckled.

The lift wouldn't budge an inch until she swiped her badge, entered a code, and pressed her thumb against a reader to take them all the way to the top. Jacob saw the small signs of worry and reached out, his touch against her arm soothing. "Hey. Don't worry about them."

"It's hard not to. They're vultures. Everyone wants something from him. From us. It's hard to know what's real."

Jacob offered a reassuring smile and shoved that irritating tickle in the back of his mind away. It had been with him for the last couple of years. Since the op that stole his memories. He didn't know what it meant or why it happened, but it cropped up at the most inconvenient of times.

The elevator dinged and emptied them into the hallway. Emily led them around the corner and towards the CEOs suite at the end. The office next to it - Atwood's personal assistant's office - was already dark, meaning she was likely gone for lunch. Perfect. Jacob waited until Emily had fully passed the empty office before casually slipping his hands into his pockets, deft finger working to set his phone to send the signal. He caught the light from the computer waking up out of his peripheral, no one the wiser of it. The only thing he had to do now was keep the conversation going until the files had transferred and he could be Stateside again in under twenty-four hours.

Emily tapped on the frosted glass door as she pushed it open. "Sorry we're late. We...oh."

Jacob followed up behind her to see what had stopped her. Daniel Atwood stood tall and as imposing as he appeared in press releases, but he wasn't alone. With him was a smaller man. Persian. Asal Younes. Not that that would be the name he would have given Atwood. It looked like St Regis wasn't the only one after the intel.

He hadn't seen the man in years, but they had certainly left an impression on each other. Younes had gotten an upper hand on him and managed to leave Jacob with a broken collarbone and cracked ribs, but Jacob had returned the favour with a bullet lodged in the other man's chest and a second to the gut. As far as he knew they hadn't seen each other since, but grudges like theirs didn't dissipate with time. They festered.

"Sorry, love. This will only take a moment," Atwood said and turned back to his conversation.

"Alex Sharif," Emily said very quietly. "He handles Daddy's security."

Well that was interesting. Either Younes has found an in through security- a risky play - or he'd given a cover name to Atwood when he hired him to protect the intel, which didn't make sense. Either way, there was no question he'd been recognized, only how it played out.

He stood frozen in his place, mentally calculating every exit available to him, when he felt Emily's hand slip into his. "Let's wait outside."

She led him out and nodded as he made an excuse to slip off into the restroom to check the status bar on the phone. At ninety percent completion, this might just work. Whatever Gina was paying her new tech guru, it wasn't enough.

The door to the restroom opened and Younes' lips quirked up into a dangerous smile, gun already in hand. "I had heard a rumour that you'd gotten out of the game, either by choice or by force, but here you are. Hands on the counter."

"You've got it wrong."

Younes snorted and motioned until Jacob turned and placed his hands facedown on the counter as instructed. "Not even you can talk your way out of this. What's this?" He pulled the phone out of Jacob's pocket.

"Just downloading some tunes," he answered flippantly.

"Corporate espionage is a crime, my friend."

"So's trafficking, murder, and a half dozen other things you specialize in, so what's your point?" He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye and saw his moment. Jacob kicked out, heel of his boot connecting with Younes' knee with a sickening crack, and he spun to go for the gun. He caught the other man's wrist in time to throw the shot from it wide and shoved Younes back hard against the wall. He dropped the gun as expected, but then slammed his head forward to send Jacob reeling back. Definitely not expected.

Jacob staggered, struggling to blink through black spots that were dancing in front of his vision, and pulled himself around in time to block the next blow. Arms up, a fist collided with his forearm rather than his face and he swung around with his elbow to clock Younes in the temple. The other man crumpled hard and Jacob grabbed the gun from the floor and stuffed it in the back band of his slacks.

A couple of curious people were already at the bathroom door as he stepped out, the commotion gaining their attention. Jacob motioned behind him. "Two guys just went at it in there. Someone should call security."

He pulled his phone out, making a beeline for the elevator and hoped beyond hope that he had what he needed. His lips quirked up at the corner at the sight of a completed status bar and he slammed the heel of his hand into the down button for the elevator. It didn't immediately open for him and he risked a look up to see some asshole had taken it down to the ground floor.

The bathroom door slammed open behind him and he turned, finding Younes stumbling his way out. There was no way that the elevator would make it in time and if they had it out in front of all of these people, someone was bound to snag a photo for identification. The stairwell it was.

Jacob took the two flights up to the roof rather than the fifty-some-odd flights down. At least there wouldn't be cameras up there.

He burst through the door to the roof, and dialed a number. "It's Phelps. I have the intel. Have the plane waiting at Luton Airport. I'll be coming in hot." He reached for the gun and pressed his back against the brick wall of the outer stairwell, eyes squeezed closed and he waited.

The door opened and he leapt into action. He swung around, but Younes was ready for him. He knocked the shot wide just as Jacob had done before, but Jacob used the momentum to swing him around. The two men slammed hard to the gravel roof, rolling and punching and fighting. "You really don't let things go, do you?" Jacob growled, from his place pinning the other man down.

Younes slammed his knee into Jacob's left side and threw him off. He landed hard enough that it took a half second longer than it should have for him to regain his bearings. Younes was on him when he did and he kicked up, catching him in the middle and vaulting him over.

He heard the startled yelp before his mind registered just how close to the edge they were. Jacob rolled to his stomach and pushed himself up, feeling the damaged muscles in his left side pull painfully as he shuffled his way to the edge of the roof where Younes was hanging by his fingertips. He peered over and tilted his head curiously. "Just not your day, is it?"

"You son of a bitch."

Jacob snorted and turned. "Always sucks to see you, Younes," he called over his shoulder and heard another yelp as Younes finally lost his grip.

                                                  -------

He hadn't slept on the flight. Between verifying that the data made it to the intended recipient and coordinating with the cleaning crew to wipe all physical traces that he'd ever come into contact with the Atwoods, there hadn't been time. He'd just put his phone down to slouch deeply in the comfortable seat when he felt the rumble of the gears coming down and the pilot reminded him that they'd be landing soon. He must have missed the first announcement.

Both landing on the private airstrip and the drive back to the St Regis compound were a blur as exhaustion started to really set in. He needed a shower and maybe a very long nap. Food could wait.

Hot water poured over knotted muscles. Jacob leaned forward, palm pressed against the shower wall to keep him on his feet as watched as red-tinged water circled down to the drain, rinsing the remaining blood from his skin and hair that he hadn't been able to scrub off from his fight with Younes.

The shower door opened behind him and Jacob nearly lost his footing as he turned. Gina gave him a playful, dangerous smile as she barred the door. "Hello, handsome. How was London?"

"Successful. The data's been transferred and will be released as soon as the funds are."

"Just what I want to hear."

Her gaze traveled him up and down and he snorted a laugh, shaking his head. "You planning on joining me?" There was always the crash at the end of an op. It had never been something he'd dealt with particularly well, but the last couple years had proven even more difficult. He woke up at all hours with whatever he was dreaming about - or remembering- just out of reach and the strangest sensation that something wasn't quite right. The job usually helped distract him. Sex wasn't bad either.

Gina frowned. "As much as it pains me to say, you don't have time."

"I just got back from a two month job. I think I've got time," he countered, but her look said it all. Okay. That was a quicker turnaround than normal. "Guess I don't, huh?"

"Everything we have for you is in the file on your bed. Your meeting with Brigitte Tremblay in the City at eight. I'd wear more than that."

"What's the job?"

"Don't know. She said she'd only tell our best."

Gina turned to leave and Jacob pulled in a breath. He was going to need a cup of coffee.

                                                  -------

Jacob had always liked New York City. Violent homes as a child had taught him to read situations to survive, but as a teenager on the streets he'd sharpened those skills. New York had been a training ground in watching a wide range of people and mimicking every inch of their visible personalities. By the time Bud had picked him up by fourteen he was well on his way to fitting comfortably into any other skin but his own. Now, years later, he'd managed to turn it into a lucrative career.

The file Gina had given him was thin with only the name of the client - Brigitte Tremblay - along with the brief background run on her and her list of requirements. She had deep enough pockets to dictate terms, from the sound of it.

Brigitte Tremblay sat alone at a table just outside of a bakery, red hair peeking out from under a hat and over the scarf around her neck. She was a striking woman in her late 50's, her sharp blue gaze discreetly watching every person that passed by. She was good. A professional of some form or fashion, which left Jacob curious why she'd decided to hire out. There was only one way to find out.

"Ms Tremblay," he greeted as he circled around, but nothing about her reaction signaled that he had startled her. Just the opposite, her thin lips quirked up ever so slightly at the corners as if she'd won a bet Jacob wasn't privy to.

"Brigitte, please," she answered and motioned to the chair across from her. The file Gina had given him indicated that she did business in Canada, but there were hints of other locations in her accent. "You must be the top operative I was promised."

"From the little information you were willing to provide, yeah," he answered as he took the seat.

Her smile didn't fade as she studied him. Those piercing blue eyes lingered on him long enough that even Jacob felt the impulse to squirm under the observation. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"The best, like I told your boss." She leaned down and pulled a file from her oversized purse at her feet. It was thicker than hers, but she didn't hand it over immediately. Instead she held it up as if it were a prize to be earned. "I expect full confidentiality in this operation. Once you take the job you will speak to no one about me, about what's in this file, or anything connected to it. Not even your boss, do you understand me?"

"I got it."

She held his gaze. "Do you? I don't accept failure."

Jacob held that intense gaze without budging. "There's a reason my boss sent me rather than any number of operatives. I get the job done. No matter what. Your secrets are part of that job."

There was a beat of silence between them as Brigitte seemed to consider what he'd said. There was a shift, so small that Jacob almost missed it, before she said, "I'm glad we understand each other," and handed over the file.

Jacob opened it to find a photo of a young woman staring up at him. "So what do you need from Elizabeth Keen?" he asked, the name striking an almost-memory as it left his tongue. A hospital bed, everything around him blurred, and a denial. He didn't know any Keens.

"Are you alright?"

Jacob blinked hard, finding Brigitte staring at him. He mentally shook it off. "Sorry. Jet lagged. You were saying?"

"I was saying I want her protected."

"Protected? Why? From who?" He flipped through the notes. "She's a fed."

"Yes she is."

"So what's the connection?"

"She has something of mine. Until I'm ready to retrieve it, I need her out of harm's way. You'll find a number of potential threats I've already uncovered. My guess is there are more."

Jacob flipped through the dossier. The files contained notes about a task force she was a part of, outstanding cases that might pose a threat, and one name that caught his eye. He looked up at his new employer. "Her CI…"

"I'd suggest you stay off his radar. No one should see you. You'll be her shadow. You'll report any new or evolving threats to me unless they put her in immediate danger. I've rented an apartment for you to work out of under the name Thomas Henderson."

"I develop my own covers."

"Not this time." She tilted her head a little. "You do look like a Tom," she mused and stood. "The details for your cover are in the back of that file and this-" she reached for her bag, pulling a burner phone from it - "is for you to contact me. Remember, Tom, she's not to see you."

"That won't be a problem."

"It better not be. Good luck."

Jacob watched as she walked away, a strange and uneasy feeling settling over him as he turned his attention back to the file in hand, Special Agent Elizabeth Keen staring up at him.

                                                  -------

TBC

Notes: Bonus points to anyone that recognizes the name Younes from canon. Hint: Tom mentions the name a whopping one time with another name as someone that might be after him. If you guess you will earn the author's eternal entertainment and virtual cookies.

Also, for those that have been worried about Gina being an issue... please know this is short-lived and only because Gina's taking advantage of the situation. Deep breath, my friends. The Keens will actually cross paths quicker in this story than the last Tom Lives! AU that I wrote.

Next Time: Liz works with Katarina, Red gives the Task Force a new Blacklister, and Jacob tries to figure out who Maddie Tolliver is and what her connection might be to Elizabeth Keen.

[artificialqueens]

Amoretto - Chapter 4 - (Branjie) - Dreamyunicorngirl

A/N: well, it’s been a while. but as a special treat AQ will get two chapters from me today (not just because i forgot to submit this one months ago lmao). thanks to meggie for being an amazing beta! hope you enjoy this little chapter :)

The wind is carrying flowers through the air, placing them in her glowing hair. Naked feet collide with cold asphalt. A crescent moon hides in broad daylight as Terra’s creatures of the night try to find a sleeping place during the day. Fireflies, the only servants not denied a break, lead Cupid to her new destination, colouring the air around them in a sweet red shade.

Brooke’s chest is blooming, while electrical impulses flow through her limbs. A light head accompanied by a cold gust of air bringing life back into rotten lungs - reviving her tired soul. Glowing from the inside out at finally knowing at last: she isn’t alone. The discussion of the past night is tightly hidden at the back of her mind, a trunk she shall open at a later time, one that shall not destroy her calm exterior. Gusts of wind carry away the heavy package deeply rooted at the bottom of her stomach, freeing her of her everlasting worry and spiraling thoughts for a minute, cleansing her mind.

But she can’t forget the task at hand, no matter how cathartic the moment is.

Stormy eyes trained on her new destination, a beauty salon across the street. It’s an early Saturday morning - the shops just opening their doors for their new customers. Sultry smells hang in the fresh morning air, coming from the bakery next door, eliciting  stomach growls from business men and women who had to skip their breakfast in favour of arriving at work on-time, working overtime just to make their deadlines on time.

Strong wings carry the silent being in between the crowd of hurried employees attempting to catch their way too early buses after stopping at Starbucks for their well-needed coffee. Dark blue eyes carefully study the busy crowd around them. And as each shoulder nearly brushes against hers, threatening to see her stumbling down the pavement, the fallen angel welcomes her anonymity for once.

A bleach blonde jersey girl, who seemed to have a lot of similarities with a life sized Bratz doll, opens the door of a brightly lit beauty salon for her first customer of the day. Eyeliner straighter than herself and a bright pink lip pulled into a smirk as she studies the girl opposite her. Ravenblack hair and long fluttery lashes stare right back at the young woman. Shy cheeky smiles are shared before the blonde girl slips back into her professional role and offers the girl a seat, starting to bombard her with way too many questions.

Brooke watches their interaction from afar, knowing her victims before the fireflies could even reveal their destiny to her. Venus’s pattern is one she knows by heart.

Cupid shoots the first arrow the moment the Jersey girl (Brooke learned that Ariel is her name from the endless ramble about herself) trips over her own feet and pours an entire cup of tea over her client. A beet-red faced girl stumbles over her apologies as the other woman just laughs off the accident; hands brushing as nervous fingertips try to clean the coffee spot on the young woman’s sundress.  Another arrow flies through the air. A match made in heaven. Or hell, if you ask Brooke.

The blonde creature turns around the moment the last arrow hits her victim’s chest, not able to watch the sickly sweet scene any longer. Her pulse runs high as she flees the crime, trying to escape the stinging pain in her chest. Not able to pinpoint the present emotion right away, yet still hoping the daggers will disappear.

The world twirls around her as she tries to escape the city, running away from the fireflies who had shown her the way to her victims. Not wanting to have a second look at the newly-born star-crossed lovers, not daring to see the hidden pain behind each layer of skin.

Blonde curls sway in the wind as the dark creature bans her way through the busy streets. People keep filling the space around blonde beauty as she hectically tries to find her way back home. Her eyes flicker across the scene, seeking a way out, yet constantly falling on seemingly happy couples engaging in PDA. Being forced to endure their sickly sweet gestures, watching them glow from within. Her head snaps back and forth as her breath gets heavier, snow white hands shaking as she tries to keep control.

In the corner of a dark alley the blonde finally comes to a halt. Her heaving body slumps down the wall, head hitting the concrete wall with a small thud, giving her the chance to finally shut out the world around her.

Yet her mind doesn’t let her go. Scenes flicker in front of her closed eyes. Every match ever made in hell. Couples falling apart in her presence. Being doomed for eternity. Each face imprinted in her memory, usually kept tightly hidden at the back of her mind, barely seeing the light of day.

While the cold-hearted woman finally catches her breath, the movie in her mind is filled with a tune full of perceived happiness. Toothy grins and big hugs are presented to her. Each memory painting a brightly lit picture - full of love. The raven-haired girl giggling at Ariel’s clumsiness, a punk proposing to his longtime sweetheart, parents bringing their kids to their first day of kindergarten.

It takes everything left in her not to gag.

And then there is Vanessa. Brooke can see her pretty clearly. The way she talked so hopefully about finding her one true love one day. About feeling so connected to other people. Her bright smile and sparkly eyes the moment she shares her philosophies about love.

Yet still not being able to answer Brooke’s burning question - why do people fall in love?

What even is love?

Love is human, Cupid gathers.

Love is something Brooke doesn’t really know. Never got to know. And never will get to know.

Or could she?

Her mind goes over all the brief encounters she had with the feisty woman. The way she had made her feel. Was it even the right word? Could she feel anything besides the pain infused emptiness in her chest?

Brooke has to admit, she does enjoy Vanessa’s company. Definitely and wholeheartedly enjoys not being alone, having someone to talk to, someone to look forward to seeing again. Hearing her thoughts or just being around her is way more pleasant than she could have ever imagined.

But is that love?

The blonde beauty shakes her head. Wings stiffening at the stupid question. Of course it wasn’t love. Sparks weren’t exploding where heart is supposed to be and not a single butterfly found its home within her abdomen. Nothing she is supposed to feel which could indicate her ‘being in love’.

Yet that answer isn’t enough. Her thirst for finally knowing what love still isn’t stilled. Yet she knows that she is running out of resources, running out of possibilities to finally understand.

God damn it. Why did no immortal ever had the brilliant idea of writing a handbook about humans and their quirks. That would make Brooke’s life a hell lot easier.

Before she even knows how to fix her inner turmoil, her wings are carrying her to the inner city library. A place where knowledge has been kept for the past centuries, tightly hidden in an ever persisting place. Maybe there might even be a handbook of love. Or at least something that can convince Cupid that love isn’t as cruel as she claims it to be.

Naked feet hover over the ground as ice cold eyes scan the labels of each bookshelf. Books about the ancient Greek to self-help and cooking books. No bright red label called love to be seen.

Yet in between the shelves of sci-fi novels Cupid stumbles across two blushing teens. A boy with blond curly hair picks up the books gathered at the brunette’s feet and hands each of them to her. With a sweaty hand cradling his own neck he apologies for running into her. Shy smiles are shared as the boy starts asking his counterpart about one specific book in her hands.

Brooke silently watches the interaction between two from afar, but with each minute passing and each new giggle from the pair she suddenly feels the strong urge to inch closer. Desperately wanting to know what all the blushing, giggling and smiling is all about.  

Yet all of a sudden her wings start to itch and the creature of the dark feels the sudden urge to reach for her arrows. She tries to bite back the urge, knowing that the couple in front of her isn’t one chosen by Venus.

But as if her fingers had a mind of their own, they start to inch closer to the red stained arrows strapped to her back.

However, as her fingertips slowly wrap around the base of a particular lively pulsing arrow, someone grabs her and pulls her behind another bookshelf. An ice cold hand clasps around her lips as the creature whispers into her ear,  “You shouldn’t be here.”

[csykora]

Coming in with another Nicky question! Has he always had the eyebrow twitch? I get twitchy when I'm anxious, considering I only notice it when he's doing interviews I figured that may explain it.

Honey, I think you gotta give yourself more credit for outstanding knowledge of Nicke Backstrom. I’m not that up to date on his face. (Semin, yes, obviously, I can tell you how many dimples he’s got from memory, but not Backstrom.)

So let’s talk through what we see here and how to turn that into an assessment.

2019 Exit Interview with Eyebrow 

Here it is in 2016’s exit interview if you…want…to watch that

Ragebrow 2016 

Backstrom’s left eyebrow keeps quirking up in the middle and the settling back into place. It’s not moving down or in to crinkle between his brows. It’s a repetitive but irregular movement. It’s not happening constantly or rhythmically. It happens when he’s talking and making expressions, not when his face is still.

what’s that muscle

The muscle at play here is part of his frontalis (A above), a broad segment of muscle fibers which run down your forehead. Contracting them crinkles your forehead and raises your brows. Some people can contract the frontalis on one side or the other to raise a single brow, which I gather (I received eyebrows from whatever god wrought Holtby’s body hair) is real weird to those of you who can’t. Some people can use some of the fibers of the frontalis and maybe the corrugator, which runs along your eyebrow and crinkles it down to frown, to raise one end of an eyebrow or another.

resting or intentional

I see clients with both “resting” and “intentional” muscle funkiness. ‘Intentional’ doesn’t mean you’re trying to do it, it means it happens when you’re trying to do something else: someone’s hands look relaxed at rest and start to shake when I ask them to pick up a pencil and write. Something is going haywire when your nerves try to send the signal to activate your muscles. ‘Resting’ means it happens all the time because something is sending constant signals to your muscles.

This isn’t a resting shakiness, which narrows my options.

twitch, tremor, tic

These are helpful descriptions we usually use for different movements. (People also use them for whatever we feel like all the time, which isn’t wrong but can be confusing.)

A twitch is a fiber rapidly contracting along the length of the muscle when it isn’t supposed to (sometimes you’ll be able to see this in an athlete’s thighs after exercise, like a cord pulling tight under the skin).

A tremor is a general shaky movement of the limb/structure which the muscle is struggling to support normally (not clearly back-and-forth along the length of the muscle).

A tic is a full-fledged little movement—blinking, quirking your lips, tapping a finger.

While the first two are pretty much just involuntary and have to do with some hitch in how our nerves are sending signals to our muscles, a tic is generally seen as a movement that our body for whatever reason has some level of compulsion to do. It’s a little body-habit. This doesn’t mean that a person is choosing to do it (for some people the tic is just gonna happen and the rest of us need to get over it) but that in certain circumstances (if they’re relaxed or paying attention) they may suppress it, and then if they’re stressed and forget it comes back again. 

(Many of us can think of the goofy thing we didn’t know about until someone filmed us doing a presentation in middle school one time and oh god does everyone notice I do that with my nose all the time and now we’ll never be caught dead “”acting natural”” on camera again)

‘Stress’ here doesn’t necessarily mean ‘something unpleasant’, but any situation with high stimulation, where your system’s spinning a lot of plates and doesn’t have time to micro-manage your tics. 

In Backstrom’s case, I don’t think it’s a sign he’s particularly anxious, shy, or upset, just focused. He has a stutter with prolonged sounds and stoppages in his speech: when does interviews, he’s using a couple tricks to increase the fluency of his speech. Doing that probably distracts him from obsessing over what his eyebrows are up to the way you or I might, so the tic is less suppressed and happens more often.

[uruhaxrukifanfics]

please give me something so angsty it will make me come back here just to say "i can't believe you've done that to me!!"

The bed was big and comfy, could still barely fit six people, but for just Kouyou - or Kouyou and Takanori both - there was more than enough room to keep anything from getting weird, probably. He’d managed to pull himself up into sitting by the time Takanori knocked from outside the hotel room door, calling him in and reminding him to make sure the door was locked behind him.

“There you are.” He mused with a lazy smile.

An impressed whistle filtered from his puckered lips as he revealed himself fully, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you get around like this,” Takanori greeted with a teasing quirk of a smile, leaning against the wall beside him as he folded his arms across his chest and eyeing Kouyou from where he shifted his weight to his left hip. “Anything else you wanna fill me in on, Shima?”

Kouyou snorted. “My clients get around like this,” he corrected. “I work in hotels. Being nice to the housekeepers is the best way to get decent service. Now, get your tiny ass in here. Order something off the room menu to soak up all those shots I heard you drink. You’ll appreciate me in the morning.” Kouyou didn’t care that it was overpriced and ridiculous when he wasn’t the one who had a credit card on the tab. It was common knowledge when you bought a room for a rent boy you were going to lose at least a hefty price on the tab. They might get bent out of shape over it, but between the lot of them they could certainly pay it. “Let me see your wrist.” His high was already wearing off again – coke always wore off so quickly – so it made him reach out for Takanori all languid and slow, lazy.

Takanori scoffed, a small pout managing to steal its way to the forefront as he sucked his teeth. “You didn’t hear anything,” he mumbled, pushing himself off the wall nice and easy so that he could make his way over just as told. His bag was what he tossed aside and left by the nightstand, standing close and looking for the menu Kouyou spoke of. When he found it, he grabbed for it and tucked a leg underneath himself when sitting on the edge of the bed with Kouyou’s guiding hands reaching for him after he removed his shoes.

“You shouldn’t have hit him–”

Takanori huffed, defensive. “I know–”

“–but I bet you didn’t leave a mark like this.” Kouyou pointed out with a frown as he took in the bruise encircling the other’s slender wrist that bloomed purplish-red., ever so gentle and careful even as he turned Takanori’s arm in his hold. It wasn’t right. Takanori deserved someone better. Would he leave his husband if Kouyou told him the truth? Maybe, but where would he go? What would he do? What would Kouyou do? It was too much to consider, and once again he found himself deciding that he just couldn’t.

These days it felt like he kept having to make that decision every time he saw him.Takanori shook his head. In the end, to him, it didn’t matter how bad it was. His bruise would heal and fade, and… what happened will try to be amended for. He didn’t need forgiveness, but at least he would be the first to admit to what he shouldn’t have done. And for that, he would be apologetic for. They’ll work it out tomorrow, if his husband would spare him the time to talk. Internally, he sighed. If he went ignored tomorrow, he’d understand. “It’s stupid, don’t worry about it,” Takanori assured absently. “It didn’t look so bad earlier, I promise.” His eyes languidly roamed the selections of food he could order in via the telephone on the nightstand, but it was Kouyou’s silence that made his hooded, slightly red eyes glance over at him. “How’re you feeling?” “Hmmm.” Kouyou didn’t give him much of an answer except a noncommittal hum, because while Takanori and he were trying this ‘open’ thing, when it came to information about his job at least, he probably didn’t need to hear details about the client he was hired for. Takanori didn’t push for an answer, and Kouyou was grateful. He didn’t want to talk about it. Just like Takanori seemed to not want to talk about his own bruises, so he let him be, only nodding in agreement as if it were some unsaid queue. But what silence gave to Takanori created a bit more awareness in his alcohol-muddled mind to the fact that Kouyou, upon further inspection, also had bruises. Bruises that marked the hands that handled his bruised wrist, arms, even more on his hips and thighs, but the boxers and t-shirt he wore mostly hid them well. They were marks Kouyou made people pay extra for, he knew, but it was something he fuzzily recalled his old childhood friend not liking so much.  Turning his wrist carefully in Kouyou’s grasp, he used the leverage he had to catch ahold of Kouyou’s hand before he could retract it and he didn’t stop, didn’t pause to catch his gaze as he brought it close for his viewing. His hands mimicked the kind, careful treatment Kouyou had given to him, near-permanent-bedroom eyes so intent to see the bruises that he knew hadn’t been there the last time he saw him. A palm steadily scaled up the underside of Kouyou’s arm to outstretch the limb more comfortably and, once scooting up closer on the bed’s edge so he wasn’t leaning from an awkward distance, he dipped his head to press the softest kiss he could muster to a bruise at his arm, leaving in its wake a print of his lipstick. Kouyou’s breath hitched in his throat a little.Oh.It was a thoughtless action. An action running on the fumes of care and wanting to cover what marked him. It was a temporary fix, but Takanori found the action satisfying all the same and he did it again, took his sweet time; as if he had all the time in the world. Another bruise, another patch-up in the form of dusky red lipstick that, whenever he pulled back to marvel at his own work, he erased with his thumb to smear it away. Gone, but still there in traces. When he reached the inner side of Kouyou’s wrist, he let Kouyou’s palm cup his cheek and leaned into it, holding it in place for a moment before turning just enough to press his lips deeper and linger, with no intention to clear it away like he had done the rest. His eyes swept over it with satisfaction before leaning back into Kouyou’s palm, and then, only then, he glanced up at Kouyou under the fan of his eyelashes; inky locks spilling over a shoulder.It had been far too long since Kouyou wanted to sleep with someone. Sure, he got attractive clients sometimes that he didn’t mind, but if they’d approached him in a bar, or weren’t paying him, he still wouldn’t have wanted to. Sex wasn’t something he wanted all that often. Despite his job, he didn’t exactly do anything casual. Without the involvement of feelings, it was just work. Why would he work if he wasn’t getting paid, right? But watching Takanori made him want. He didn’t even know if he could get off right now, between his previous client and the bump of coke left as a tip with his payment, but that wasn’t really what he cared about. What he wanted was to push Takanori back, lay him out, make him moan–“Want to lay down with me after I eat?” Takanori asked in a low murmur with a soft, short-lived quirk of an eyebrow and a tiny smile that cut into Kouyou’s reverie. It was a question Kouyou could give him a verbal answer to, this time. “Help me undress?”“…Yeah.” Kouyou still hadn’t moved his hand from his cheek, hadn’t realized he’d been stroking the skin with his thumb until Takanori turned away to shed off his blazer and unbuckle his belt. He needed to get himself together.That was hard to do when Takanori moved his hair aside so Kouyou could unfasten his necklace while the other fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. He almost managed to control himself, unfastening the hook and leaning over to place aside the necklace on the nightstand by the phone, fingers hovering near the bottom of Takanori’s spine, just before the curve of his arse. But almost didn’t win him any prizes, because when Taknaori’s shirt slacked down his shoulder to expose skin to the air conditioner’s chilly air, Kouyou couldn’t help but slowly slide his hand along the warm skin shown to him.  His fingers splayed atop the scatter of tiny moles and faint freckles, eyes soaking them in like constellations painted across a night sky, before descending his mouth to press wet heat to the juncture where shoulder and neck met, lingering there. Takanori’s breath hitched audibly in surprise, a soft, wordless, tiny noise around the part of his lips it slackened around as his eyelashes fluttered, and it seemed as if he thought nothing of it to tilt his head and expose the length of his neck just a little more, his hand blindly finding the back of Kouyou’s neck to hold him there and shiver. He used Kouyou for balance by leaning a bit of his weight against him after discarding his shirt, shimming his hips free a bit to let his slacks pool around his ankles once slipping over his legs.

This was a bad idea. But now that Kouyou was having it he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know what had come over him, other than that he wanted to. He so rarely got to do anything he wanted. If Takanori had pulled away from him or told him off he would have stopped in a heartbeat; it would have broken the weird spell he was under, no matter how out of it he was, but Takanori didn’t. He held him, sought out for his hand that wasn’t plastered to his back and guided it close to press a lingering kiss at his palm before resting it gently at his throat once his head lulled back atop of Kouyou’s shoulder, plastering his back to his chest. And with it, he took away whatever worries Kouyou had, gone so easily and tossed to the wind.“Taka,” Kouyou breathed his name like a prayer, slowly kissing and sucking on the spot of skin his mouth claimed until it was red under his ministrations and then moving to another, biting down carefully whilst tracing Takanori’s bared throat and giving a slight squeeze before trailing feather light down his chest, down down down, and stopping just above the squirm of hips when his fingertips brushed the line of discovered panties– Panties. Kouyou felt dizzy.“Fuck,” He nearly growled, his other hand gripping Taknaori’s hip and squeezing, dragging him in a little closer so that he had Takanori plastering his back up against his chest; coaxing a soft moan right out of him. “Taka.” He nearly begged, moving up and breathing his name wrapped around an unvoiced plea in his ear, needing that permission. He would never do anything Takanori wouldn’t want, but if he let him, he’d do anything.

That could have been their window to place an end to this before it got out of hand. It should have made Takanori pause and think – actually think – and stop, the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand said he had a husband, probably waiting for him to come back no matter how out of hand their argument had gotten. A husband that was inconsistent, hardly home, and hadn’t touched him like this since…“Yeah,” Takanori breathed with a nod of his head, a thrill tickling the base of his spine. “Yes–” He just needed to get his hands on him, starved enough to need Kouyou’s hands on him, and that was what pushed him to turn so he could crawl his way into Kouyou’s lap and straddle him, cupping his face in his hands and finally meeting his gaze. “Do it,” he edged on in a whisper as he brushed their lips together, his tone husked in arousal and want. “Take them off me.”That was all the consent Kouyou needed to make whatever sense of control he had over himself, any thoughts that he shouldn’t be doing this, snap. He gripped Takanori’s hips and squeezed carefully again, rolling his hips up against him and pressing in for a deep kiss, smothering anything else Takanori had in mind to say. He didn’t have to say anything more.  His pupils were so wide they were overtaking the rest of his iris, breath hitching already, and he nodded in agreement as if it were an afterthought. His hands hooked under Takanori’s legs and turned them on the bed big enough that he could just roll right on top of him, flipping Takanori’s world askew. Takanori would have used that same momentum to push and turn them himself, but being spread open and held in place did things to a man that had him seeing stars. Takanori, under any and every means necessary, was no exception to it.Settling between the spread of Takanori’s legs that his hands kept parted, Kouyou shivered. “Baby, look at you,” He murmured low and husky in awe under his breath, kissing and nipping his way slowly down Takanori’s neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

Takanori’s head tilted back into the mattress with an unintelligible noise and heart aflutter, his fingers burying in Kouyou’s hair after finally, finally, getting a chance to feel the shaved, faded undercut so intimately; arching into the onslaught of kisses Kouyou heatedly planted on his skin in his slow endeavor down his neck to reach his chest, mouth lingering on his stomach.  His stomach and hips softly trembled under the mercy of Kouyou’s lingering ministrations, and when Kouyou’s teeth dragged the lacy garment down far enough to free his heavy arousal he made sure to lift his head and catch every sight of it. He didn’t want to forget this – he prayed he wouldn’t forget in the morning how Kouyou looked sucking a mark right at the juncture of his hip and leaving a matching bruise on the inside of his thought before–“Jesus– holy shit,” he swore in a colorful streak – that Kouyou grinned at – through a deep moan the moment Kouyou’s mouth found him, his head thumping back onto the mattress with desperate fingers curling in the other’s hair  as if would help  him. He couldn’t stop the way his left thigh gave a strong jolt underneath the palm of Kouyou’s hand as he was held in place, or how his hips automatically shifted to slowly rock into the moist heat of Kouyou’s mouth that felt too overwhelmingly good; helplessly, blankly, staring up at the ceiling in a heap of agape dusky red lips and flushed pink from the highs of his cheeks to the length of his neck. Kouyou thought he looked stunning, trying to keep his eyes open and whispering little pleas for Kouyou to keep looking at him the way he did. Keep looking at me just like that, please– He nodded, of course. Gave him exactly what he wanted and sucked him down to the very hilt, his hands moving from holding Takanori’s legs spread to settling on his hips where he did not hold him down but encouraged him to rock up and use him. He could listen to Takanori moan under him for the rest of his life. It was so different; he hadn’t had sex for fun since the divorce with Yuu, and he hadn’t realized how sad that was until now. That it was with his married friend was something he’d have to deal with later, but for now he wanted to make Takanori feel good, make him come.

The back of Kouyou’s throat was enough to bring a man to his knees if Takanori was standing up as clipped sounds of pleasure twisted around the wet, lascivious sounds from fucking into his mouth without holding himself back whilst holding Kouyou’s head close. And when Takanori came, he came gasping helpless moans high for the heavens, toes curling– grinding trembling hips up against Kouyou’s face as his head thumped back into the mattress; eyes screwing shut and unable to keep their gaze locked. Kouyou’s mouth lingering to swallow him and chuckle around his mouthful only made his entire body flinch in oversensitivity, a breathy whine pulled from him as he shook his head and pushed weakly at Kouyou’s shoulder with a huffed laugh caught between a moan bubbling richly from out of him, hips squirming a twist in Kouyou’s hands whilst Kouyou slipped off of him with a lewd, little wet pop.That didn’t mean he wanted Kouyou to take his hands off him, no matter how sensitive he felt.“Oh, fuck,” Takanori sighed dreamily after a moment of trying to gather his thoughts together to form a coherently structured response. No set of words in any vocabulary could explain how floaty he felt, dazed and… shit. Holy shit, it had been one of the best orgasms he’s had outside his collection of toys and he laughed and laughed until his eyes grew teary and the zoo in his stomach dared to whisk him away if he didn’t get his hands on Kouyou any sooner.  His hands needed to be on him now without an inch of his t-shirt stopping him from skin-on-skin contact, to feel Kouyou atop of him. And when he did have him, immediately settling right between the spread of his legs after discarding his shirt when he somehow found the strength to slip a leg out of his lacy panties simply so it could hang off his left ankle, he cupped Kouyou’s face in his hands and gazed at him with heavily lidded eyes. His thumb traced over his lips in a slow brush after taking the time to pepper kisses up and down the column of his neck and the sharp structure of his jawline.Despite the fact that it was Takanori, Kouyou was still surprised by the gentle caresses, the soft kisses that left little red smudges over his face. Even with the boyfriend experience included in his work, it was a softness he didn’t encourage, let alone receive, often. He didn’t realize how badly he wanted it… For a sex worker, he was positively touch starved. But when Takanori kissed him, it was the best part. Not an ounce of hesitation in sight. He nearly purred, squeezing Takanori’s hips and kissing back deeply, needy. He rolled his hips against his lazily, delighted to find that he was so hard, it almost hurt. Still, he didn’t rush, kissing Takanori languid and slow. He knew he would never get this again, but he was going to make it count."I want to lay you out,” He murmured between their shared kisses, voice low and thrumming. “Make you come again, and again, with my fingers,” kiss. “my mouth,” a deeper kiss, drawing back a smidgen just to breathe a whisper that would curl along the roof of Takanori’s mouth: “my cock.” Takanori’s mouth slacked in need, anticipation trickling hot down his spine and making him dizzy. “I think I can, what about you? Hmm? Maybe take you out onto the balcony and press you up against the glass, give some of the people in the upper floors across the way a show. You look so fucking good.“

Let him count the ways… How many times could Kouyou make him come in a single night? Could Kouyou keep up? Could he? Hell, he didn’t even know, but it seemed like it was a challenge waiting to be taken to find out. “You better make promise on taking me on the balcony later,” Takanori husked, running his fingers through Kouyou’s hair as he cupped the nape of his neck with his other hand. “I want them to see how good you make me feel when you fuck me.”Kouyou wouldn’t brag or anything, but he was good at sex. Sure, most people thought they were, but Kouyou was a professional. It was what he did for a living. But this? This wasn’t work. This was a delight, how insatiable Takanori was under him, around him, over him. He felt like he was eighteen all over again, young and easy and chasing the ocean’s waves that always returned to crash along the shore no matter how many times it strayed away, and not thirty. Every time he thought they were finished Takanori would shift or move or make a sweet sound that had him rearing to go all over again, all over the hotel room. The bed, the floor, the bathtub, the bathroom countertop.The balcony.Another orgasm wasn’t possible, Takanori said. No matter how full he wanted to be of Kouyou, again, no matter how much hearing him call him baby set him off – and other names of endearment that never failed to get home going throughout the night – he just… it was too much as Kouyou rolled his hips to fuck him slowly just as he wanted. But the pleasure was there, thrumming under his skin and coiling tight in his groin with a sob of pleasure. Kouyou just needed Takanori to keen his name when he came one more time, for the rising sun to bare witness just as the moon had and hear how he successfully coaxed it out of him, eyes wet and painted fingernails dragging across his back for the umpteenth time as he trembled in Kouyou’s hold; it would see reason why Kouyou’s chest fluttered as they panted heavily, clinging to one another and daring to never let go.Takanori was perfect. Kouyou had touched all of him, tasted him, listened to him keen and cry in pleasure, and he was sure of it. There wasn’t a single person in the world more perfect than Takanori Matsumoto and he didn’t want to let go of him, didn’t want to move away or out of him right away, so he didn’t. He rested atop of him, trying desperately to catch his breath in stuttering little gasps that found safety on Takanori’s chest and the comforting hand passing through wet locks; the scatter of little kisses pressed close to his forehead his eyes closed against as they found stability together in each other’s arms. He was all fucked out, had expended more energy with Takanori than he had on his client before him, and between the lot he was pretty sure he was going to sleep until tomorrow. Never mind that later entailed everything would come crashing down on them and they would have to talk.  But, later was later and sleep was needed, and the pair ended up passing out in a matter of minutes after shifting to do so. At least for a few hours. Takanori stirred from his sleep only when Kouyou carefully shifted out of him, and to soothe the near-automatic sensation of being empty he gripped onto Kouyou, drowsily mumbling for him to come back so he could cradle his head back to his chest, where it belonged; oblivious to the rising sun and the early morning that bled into the afternoon.When either of them stirred, Kouyou was the first to wake. Simply because he was starving, and his head was throbbing. They’d drank all those little alcohol shooters last night – including more than a few body shots – but a bump of coke and alcohol didn’t mix. Not the next morning, at least. His tired body shifted and he rubbed his face against the pillow under him with a low groan. There was the feeling of a body next to him, but that wasn’t too uncommon, so it took him a while before he carefully wiggled out of the loose grip around his waist and sat up, rubbing his head. He felt like he’d been hit by a train – or fucked by one – with how much his entire body ached and betrayed him.He finally forced his eyes open, looking down at the sleeping soundly beside him and… he froze. Takanori. He’d thought… Well, admittedly, he’d thought it was a dream. That Takanori had drunk-dialed him around the time he’d finished working, that he’d come here, that they'd– fuck. Fuck. Last night had been… ridiculous. And amazing. Absolutely amazing. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to have sex for… well, fun. Until now.Had he just ruined everything?Kouyou worried his lip. Had almost reached out to brush some of Takanori’s hair away from his face. Almost, started to even, before he caught himself and pulled back. Would he be upset with him? Maybe he wouldn’t care – maybe he and his husband had some open-relationship agreement or something and he just hadn’t realized it. He almost wished that was the case, because then he could feel a little better about Takanori’s husband hiring him, if that were the case… But he had a feeling it wasn’t.He didn’t regret sleeping with Takanori, not like he did sleeping with his husband, but if he lost Takanori because of it, it would be even worse.“…Taka?”The sound of his name earned a groggy little noise out of him, hellbent to keep his eyes closed. Takanori was dimly aware of the faint-nausea waiting for him to sit up all too fast and the brightness of the day being too much for his eyes that would feel like there was a little too much pressure behind them. “Kouyou,” Takanori echoed back after a moment, careful and slow. He peeked open an eye just to be sure of his surroundings. Kouyou’s heart felt as if it was lodged in his throat when their gazes met. He didn’t… look angry, despite the deep sigh he slowly exhaled with a slight shake of his head. Not that he could really tell, with how exhausted they both were. “Lay back down. I’m not talking about this while sitting up. I don’t have the strength to.” Kouyou managed a weak, exhausted chuckle, sliding back down to lay out next to Takanori again – not wrapped around each other like they were before – but Takanori’s fingers itched to trace his fingertips over Kouyou’s brow, down the slope of his nose and over his cupid’s bow like he had when they found themselves in the bathtub hours ago. Instead, his fingertips twitching softly against the pillow caught Kouyou’s attention. “…We were both– Pretty fucked up last night.” “To say the least,” Takanori agreed, joining in with his own weak, exhausted chuckle, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eye with another deep sigh. His smile eased the small ache in Kouyou’s chest a little bit as they simply gazed at each other in the lulled silence they shared, tracing over a lone dusky patch of freckles on his cheek once his smile simmered down to just a faint yet soft tilt. “I won’t… say I regret it. I won’t say sorry. It isn’t a regret to me.” He reached out to rest his smaller hand atop of Kouyou’s, as if to further assure him as he shrugged a bare shoulder. Kouyou didn’t know why he expected Takanori to freak out. Having him admit that much was was more than he’d expected to get, but Takanori always surprised him. No matter how he insisted they couldn’t ever do this again was–No, that was fair. Perhaps sad, but fair. Of course they couldn’t. Takanori was married. Married to someone that was cheating on him, but–He wanted to tell him. He should tell him. Right now. Before things got more out of hand. “Taka-“ Kouyou started–“But I can’t do this again. Last night was amazing, but I just…” –but he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, because he hadn’t known what he was going to say. He couldn’t tell him. He just couldn’t. “…Yeah.” It really had been amazing. Really, really amazing. It was a memory Kouyou was going to hold onto forever. “I get it.” He added gently, because he understood. Of course this couldn’t happen again. No matter how much the feeling of something sinking to the bottom in his gut wanted it to.Now that he knew he did… he didn’t know how he was going to function around Takanori. Knowing what he felt like, what he tasted like. How on earth was he going to go back to just being friends?Takanori worried his lip, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “…If it makes anything difficult and awkward, I’ll understand. If you wanted to stop being friends.” Just saying it made Takanori’s throat constrict on itself, making the effort to swallow around it a touch difficult. Kouyou’s short answers were a little worrisome, and he didn’t even know if it was okay to touch him after everything, didn’t know what was fine and what wasn’t anymore. It would hurt a hell of a lot if Kouyou left, but he could live with it. It wouldn’t be anything he hasn’t picked himself up from before, after all, but this was different. The circumstances were so much more… complicated. “No,” Kouyou immediately argued, reaching for Takanori when Takanori started to retract his hand and carefully grabbed  for his arm before thinking better of it and letting go. Touching wasn’t a good idea. They were both still naked and sticky and curled in just a little too close, even with how spacious the bed wazs. It was dangerous. If he said the wrong thing here, it would fuck him over. “God, no. I don’t want to stop being friends with you because we had amazing sex. That’s crazy.” He insisted, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. “I’m just– fuck, Taka. I’m so hung over. I think I’m dying.” He admitted, even if he knew that wasn’t really all of it. It was enough. He could shove down the rest, the ache in his chest, the want, the longing. The urge to curl back up around him, to tell him to remove the ring from around his finger and stay here, with him. And for what? He was a sex worker riding the line of an addict. Kouyou wasn’t a good boyfriend, an alright friend.He was a great one time, mad-at-your-husband-fuck. That was all he was good for. The last thing he needed was for Takanori to realize that.But he was rewarded a bubble of soft laughter when he just didn’t have the right words to say, and Kouyou relaxed under the blanket of Takanori’s warmth that draped over him as the back of Takanori’s hand brushed against his between them. “That makes the two of us.” Takanori quietly murmured with an amused smile, and Kouyou returned it with his very own.Once they stepped out of this room, it would be the end. They wouldn’t speak of it and never mention it to each other again. It was the best option for them both. Nothing could become anything more by default, so there was no need for him nor Kouyou to think otherwise. Not that Takanori thought he would, mind. He wasn’t that foolish to believe that Kouyou would want anything more, even if the circumstances were different. Besides, what else could Kouyou possibly say between the agreement on brunch and a shared bath? I haven’t had sex for fun since my divorce? Nope, too pathetic. You were perfect and your husband doesn’t deserve you? Also, a no. I think I’m in love with you?Hard. Fucking. No.And it probably wasn’t true, anyways. Sex did that, hormones and adrenaline having a track history of making the brain wonky. So what if he’d been feeling this warm ache in his chest long before they slept together? Long ago running from no one that chased them with laughter on their lips and snowflakes in their lungs; first love epiphanies under streetlights and missing heartbeats with a whispered goodnight tucked into the softest kiss he’d ever experienced outside of Takanori’s home doorstep after walking him home. That wasn’t for someone like him. Not anymore. He’d been foolish to think he could have it with Yuu; he would be even more of a fool to think he could have it with Takanori.But Kouyou could agree to food and a hot bath, to making Takanori laugh and flush all in the same breath when they mutually observed their collateral damage made last night to compare hickeys and marks and whistle at the scratch marks on Kouyou’s back that stung when he soaked in the hot bath. Perhaps it was because they wouldn’t ever sleep together again that it meant something nice. After all, Takanori certainly wasn’t trying to flatter him because he wanted to have sex again. He was the one who said they couldn’t. If Takanori wanted to, he would. Awful, he knew. But he’d always had a hard time saying no to him.They ate their respective breakfast into a comfortable lull of silence until they stretched out in a relaxed soak. It was exactly what their sore muscles needed. Once they were finished with their bath, Takanori stepped out first to retrieve towels and toss one Kouyou’s way after securing one around his waist and using another to dry his hair. Staying another night wasn’t an option on the table for him to take, despite Kouyou staying to rest. It wasn’t meant to be there in the first place. But if Kouyou had asked him to stay? If Kouyou stopped him in the middle of getting dressed, or further drying his hair, or from trying to find his goddamn panties – he found them on the balcony draped on the railing; Kouyou laughed until his sides hurt – and so much as suggested he stay another night?

He didn’t know. He truly didn’t knowIt never came. Even when he asked Kouyou to fasten his necklace around his neck.

“I’ll text you the moment I get home and my phone’s charged,” Takanori promised as he adjusted his shoe whilst making his way to the door. The damn thing had died in the middle of the night and he’d had to see about taking a taxi back home. He didn’t mind it, though. Kouyou paid for his ride last night, and he wouldn’t let him do it again.“Alright. Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of your ride?” Kouyou asked curiously, shifting off the bed adorned in one of the hotel’s white, fluffy robes to see Takanori off. He’d kept a considerable distance while he looked for his things until he was completely dressed, but now that he was and it was obvious he was leaving he could approach him, walk him to the door at least.

Takanori shook his head and mustered up a small smile as he looked up at Kouyou and paused in the doorway. After this, he was closing the book and he didn’t plan on reopening it. But… he could leave something to seal it closed, couldn’t he? Something that was nice and itching insistently at his gut.

Before he thought too much about it, he reached to rest his hand at the crook of Kouyou’s neck and pushed up to meet the gentle, downward pull he coaxed Kouyou to lower in halfway into hugging him goodbye, and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a kiss print in its wake when he pulled back slowly. Gentle. Like flowers kept forever, tucked away in an old book.

“Take care, Shima,” He murmured close to his skin, absently stroking his thumb across the nape of his neck.

“I’ll see you soon,” Kouyou promised, resisting the urge to lean into that touch for a moment longer before Takanori let him go and stepped right out. The door swung close with a sound of finality and he stood there for a moment or two longer, just staring at the closed hotel door before passing a frustrated hand through his hair, helpless to the soft tremble that seeped into his deep sigh as he pressed his fingertips gingerly to his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose under the realization that he had almost turned his head to kiss him; almost asked him to stay. Asked him to stay. Not just for tonight, but longer. To make that jog out and stop him from getting into the elevator in nothing but the robe on his back and the hangover clinging to his bones and tell him to stay here, with him. Just him.“Fuck.”He was in love with Takanori. Again. That hadn’t ended well for him when he was eighteen, and it wouldn’t end well for him now.

After all, love wasn’t for people like him.