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stinkyturd · 26 days ago

Text

When It Rains

Pairing: Leo Kurosagi/Reader

Comments: This one's pretty long, 15.6k. There's probably spacing issues, but I'm too tired to go over it again. FUCK Tumblr's editing system. The format is easier to read on ao3(I cross posted), if you find the texting portions to be a headache. MC is an anonymous Vtuber that makes commentary videos. Leo's a viewer and drama ensues. :')

"Ugh... I hate it when it rains."

Leo’s sprawled out on the couch in the Vagastrom garage, playing on his phone. His feet are kicked up on the armrest, despite the fact that he still has his shoes on. You sat on the loveseat across from him, going over errors on recent case reports. This week you were assigned to help out Alan and Leo, but mostly Alan. To your knowledge, Leo hasn't been doing much of any work as of late. Either that, or he just didn't want you involved in anything that he had his nose in, which would also track.

"What? Upset you can't spy on Alan as easily?" You ask, not bothering to look up from your laptop.

You already knew the answer. The rain was falling hard enough against the tin roof that you knew there was no way he was clearly eavesdropping on the Vagastrom captain from here.

Leo shrugs dismissively. "The rain isn't gonna last all day."

"Alan will be out later," You counter.

"I'll know when he gets back."

“It’ll probably be your bedtime by then," You remark as your fingers dance across the keyboard in front of you.

"I'll be up late. I gotta stream tonight anyway." Leo tilts his head to look at you. "Stay the night and help me.”

"Not happening," You shut him down without hesitation. Leo isn't well behaved enough for you to go out of your way to do favors for him unprompted. Not only that, you planned on recording a video today for your Youtube channel.

It was a side hustle you picked up a few months ago. You report general news and social media gossip anonymously using a voice modulator and a virtual avatar. The idea came to you after reading an article on the spike in popularity with Vtubers. You didn't particularly want the attention that came with a social media platform, so it seemed perfect. Making money at Darkwick proved to be difficult, but somehow you garnered enough consistent views to make a decent amount of income.

The content itself felt opportunistic, but it's popular. You did your best to make sure all details you reported on were accurate and not character assassination like some of the other creators would put out.

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Leo retorts in an accusatory tone.

"I'm supposed to be helping you with Darkwick duties," You correct him. "Last I checked, that doesn't include eavesdropping on your captain's private conversations."

Leo scoffs. "You don't know that."

You ignore his comment and catch him continuing to stare at you in your peripheral vision. He is likely banking on you caving. Unfortunately for him, it won't happen that easily.

Leo narrows his eyes at you. "Get me an energy drink from the fridge."

You let out a one-syllable, humorless, laugh. "Are your legs broken?"

"I just took a hot bath. Don't feel like walking."

"Sounds like a ‘you’ problem."

"...Fine." Leo snaps his head forward, returning his attention back to his phone.

Allowing silence to fall, you continue your work. For a brief few moments, the only noise in the room is your fingers hitting the keys on your laptop.

"...Looks like I'll just have to tell that infantile werewolf the real reason you ditched him the other day," Leo mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your hands still and you finally glance up at him with a sharp look. "What?"

Leo types out a text. "Oh, nothing. I was just speaking out loud."

"Canceling aside, how do you even know that I planned to hang out with Lyca?"

The vice-captain shrugs. "Use that brain of yours for once."

You cease your typing and your fingers curl into the palm of your hand in agitation. "...Have you been snooping around the cathedral?"

"Tch, don't flatter yourself. I just happened to be passing by."

"And you just happened to activate your stigma near my location where no one else is? Get real, Kurosagi," You bite back.

Leo glosses over your comment and continues to antagonize you. "What will the poor pooch think when he finds out that you weren't actually pulled for a mission? You just blew him off to cozy up with King Kamurai."

"It's not like that, asshole! I just overbooked my schedule."

It was true. You had lost track of time that day filming one of your Youtube videos. So much so, that you forgot you had promised to help Jin that afternoon and didn't end up having time for both. You called Lyca to tell him that you had to do a mission to avoid over-explaining, or admitting to your negligence. You knew there was no point defending yourself, though. Leo would spin the story anyway to get what he wants.

Leo tosses a glance your way, his expression mocking. "Yeah? That why you were all dressed up when you left?"

Why the hell was he paying that much attention?

"...That wasn't for him," You protest.

Yet another misconception. It was for a brand deal and you didn't have time to change out of it. But you weren't about to blow your cover to Leo of all people.

The vice-captain rolls his eyes. "Puh-lease. Honestly, it's kind of pathetic that you think someone like Kamurai would actually go for you."

At this point, you're clenching your jaw so tightly that you think it might snap. "You're grasping at straws. For you to be lurking around my dorm long enough to witness all those details is more pathetic. Why are you so obsessed with tormenting me?"

"Implying my gathering intel is exclusive to you." Leo sighs and draws his attention back to his phone. "Spare me, Honor Roll. You're not special. Anyway, if you don't grab me an energy drink, I'll just text the hound my version of your dirty little secret."

"..."

You wordlessly shut your laptop and toss it to the side. Then you get to your feet and head for the mini fridge across the room.

"Put it over ice~" Leo demands in a sing-song voice.

You'd put it over ice, alright.

When you open up the fridge, you pull out a random energy drink from inside the door. The design on the can is gaudy and you don't recognize it-- likely something Leo had been gifted for free from one of his own brand deals. You peel back the aluminum lip at the top and a satisfying hiss rings in the air. There happens to be disposable cups on top of the fridge, right next to the ice maker. You grab one, fill it with ice, then pour the energy drink over the top. Once it's empty, you take some of your pent up aggression out on the can and crunch it up, before it gets tossed into a nearby recycling bin.

You make your way back over to Leo.

Leo clicks his tongue. "Took you long enough." The vice-captain holds out his grubby hand expectantly. "Give it here."

A wry smile pulls at your lips. "Yeah. Sure."

Ignoring the potential consequences of your actions, you bring the lip of the cup to your mouth and spit into the drink before handing it to him. "Here you go, Princess."

Leo stares blankly at the cup in your hand, his expression unimpressed. He takes it from you and brings it to his mouth, drinking out of it anyway.

…Well, can't say you expected that.

Leo flashes a derisive grin. "Try harder next time, NPC. Now piss off, will you? I'm about to record some reels and I don't need an eye sore in the background.”

For a moment you fantasize about beating the vice-captain into a bloody pulp. And why shouldn't you? He's a complete menace, after all. It’s not the first time he's blackmailed you and it wouldn't be the last.

You will get back at him.

“Sure thing.” You maintain a pleasant enough expression as you walk over to your previous spot to retrieve your laptop. After that, you gladly heed Leo's request and make yourself scarce.

–

Later that night, you record a video for your channel. It's short enough in length that you don't spend long editing it. That leaves you just enough time to upload it, before it's time to start getting ready for bed.

The video covered a week's worth of social media news that you had gathered, and also included a segment where you plugged a brand deal for a clothing company. They sent you several outfits for free that you tried on and reviewed. Of course, you made sure your face had been cut out for that portion of the video.

By the time you're dressing down in your pajamas you receive a text notification from your phone that's lying on your mattress. Nothing out of the ordinary– you'd check it once you're done.

And then another comes in. And another. Followed by two more.

You sigh, narrowing your eyes at the device as you pull your pants up. There's only one person that spam texts to you in fragments like that.

Leo.

What could he possibly want this time?

You begrudgingly make your way over to your bed, pick up your phone, and flop down on your stomach. After unlocking the screen, you check your notification bar.

Oh, it isn't Leo.

Just messages from someone on Instagram that you don't immediately recognize. After staring at the screen name for a moment, you realize it's a variation of a name that you've seen in your Youtube comment section– firechicken22. You click on the message.

[Omg]

[U always come in hot with the tea]

[Was about to search for that recent drama w chillygoat cuz ive been busy]

[But u did the work for me 🩷]

You smile at that and type a message back.

[Glad I could help 💕.]

You thought that would be the end of it, but you see them typing again.

[I rly liked the clothes u wore today. Cant believe u got a brand deal w Kimyou, totally jelly. Been tryna get one w them for years.]

Oh? Is this person a content creator? Curiosity gets the better of you and you click on their profile.

They only have a couple hundred followers, and they follow a couple of people– you being one of them. The few pictures they have up seem to be shitposts, not actual photos. And their profile picture is a bowl of spicy ramen. Another text notification pops up on your screen.

[I got a deal w Mior but theyre inconsistent w sending products :P]

You click on the notification again to reply.

[Mior? That's a pretty big deal. You create content?]

[Mhm. This is my alt lol. I avoid dming on my main.]

[Oh? Do I follow you?]

[Nope. I'll let u know if u ever do 😉]

Seems like they don't plan on telling you.

[Haha, alright. Keep your secrets. 🤭]

[I'll drop hints if u keep talking to me. 😏 Kinda wanna get to know u. I like ur takes on stuff.]

You don't mind the idea of messaging this person when you have time. Your following is decent sized, but it's not like you receive a lot of messages from fans. Plus, you were a little curious as to who this could be.

[Sure. I've been a little busy, but I'll respond when I have time. ☺️ I'm glad you feel like you can relate to what I put out. I try to keep things unbiased.]

[Kinda impossible to avoid at some point lol. I think u are impartial enough tho. Every1 glazes chillygoat but shes fr two faced asf– I should know.]

[I haven't spoken with her personally, but I'll take your word for it.]

That Youtuber wouldn't give you the time of day if you wanted it. You were still a small fry.

[We collabed b4 n all she does is yap about this guy that doesnt even want her n only talks about herself. Couldnt get a word in, shes lucky I was in a good mood. Totally not surprised she got caught w her pants down lmao.]

If this person has collabed with chillygoat, they must be relatively big. You're a little surprised they're revealing such a harsh opinion right off the bat.

[That's too bad! I've known some people that can be self-centered like that too. Sucks that you had to deal with that.]

[Nah its fine lol. U cant expect to meet much nice ppl in this industry. Then theres u.]

[There's me?]

[Yup. Ur a little too nice for this platform. :P]

You blink, a little perplexed by the random observation.

[You've never even talked to me outside of comment sections. 🤔]

[Don't need to im good at scoping ppl out. Thts why im talking shit to u, I trust u wont tell on me. 😘]

[I dunno… That's a lot of pressure to put on me. Withholding profitable tea for the sake of being a trustworthy person? 🫣]

[Lol cap. U dont even report hearsay like that nice try 💕.]

[Okay, you caught me. x) Your secret is safe with me.]

[U should add me on Snapchat its still firechicken22. I'll respond on it faster cuz thats the only app I dont have another acc on rn.]

Adding randoms on Snapchat is… dubious at best.

[Snapchat, huh? I have one, but I rarely use it. Are you a guy?]

[Lol yea. What u afraid im gonna send u dick pics? Im classier than that.]

[Hm… 🤔 Okay, I'll trust you. Adding you now.]

[Thx 🫰🏻. Anyway I'll ttyl. Got shit I gotta do. Night. 💤]

[Goodnight!]

You hook your phone up to its charger and bury yourself under the covers of your bed. Tomorrow you would do your morning classes and help at Vagastrom after. Then you'd inadvertently deal with your least favorite person on the planet– Leo.

Ugh.

—

“Oh, Alan! Your keys are falling out of your jacket.”

“Hm…?” The captain stops in front of your spot on the couch and looks down at his pocket. “...Oh.”

A few keys on his ring are spilling out of the fabric sleeve. It looks as if the bottom seam is hanging on by a few threads. You set your laptop to the side and stand to examine it.

“Looks like it needs a touch up,” You remark as you gently nudge the metal accessories back inside.

Alan nods. “Yeah. Must have snagged it on something when I was looking at the undercarriage of that truck.” The captain shakes his head. “I'll just switch it with my other one tomorrow.”

“I can fix it for you! I'm not the best at it, but I am capable of minor repairs,” You offer with a smile.

Alan returns a smile of his own, appearing a little meek. “That… isn't necessary. Aren't you busy right now?”

“I'm caught up enough!” You insist. “I even have an emergency sewing kit on me because I had to fix a tear this morning in class. It's no sweat!”

Alan shoots you a skeptical look. After a few beats he caves and removes his jacket and hands it to you. “Thanks. I'll get you a coffee.”

“I won't say no to caffeine!” You reply genially. Taking the jacket from him, you plop back down on the sofa and get to work. Alan makes his way to the door leading out of the garage and into the main section of the Vagastrom building.

“Wow, so that's suddenly part of your inspector duties, huh?”

Your eyes snap up to see Leo's. He's lying on the couch across from you, just as he was yesterday.

“Yeah,” You answer with a dismissive shrug as you begin to thread a sewing needle from your kit. “Alan is actually kind and cooperative. Unlike you.”

“Sounds like bias to me. Don't tell me you're mooning over that himbo?”

You roll your eyes and begin to adjust the torn pocket of Alan's jacket to make your first stitch. “Always jumping to conclusions. Let's say I was. How is that your business?”

You don't mean it. As much as you adore Alan, you don't know him well enough to have those kinds of feelings towards him. A flash of indiscernible emotion crosses Leo's face for a brief moment. It leaves as quick as it comes, and a mocking grin peels his features.

“Awwh. You wanna fuck him?”

You frown, barely sparing him a glance before returning your attention back to your project. “Don't be so crass.”

“What other conclusion am I supposed to draw? You do so many favors for him that you don't need to be doing and it's laughable.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, keeping your tone level.

“Care is a strong word. I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“Why?” You press as you loop the needle through the pieces of fabric.

Leo's shit-eating grin turns tight-lipped the longer you grill him. “Because you bitch and whine about doing the simplest shit.”

“For you,” You correct coolly. “Try not being insufferable for a change. Besides, didn't you say Sho is your ‘slave’ before? Ask him to do it.”

Ever since the first mission you did with Vagastrom, Sho has been increasingly less patient with helping Leo. The vice-captain has noticed it too, judging by how his expression shifts to a noticeably irritated one after you make the comment.

“Get your eyes checked. Does it look like he's here, NPC?” Leo bites back rigidly.

You hum and suppress a smirk. “Wonder why that is? Maybe he's getting tired of your shit.”

Leo's eyes crinkle as he maintains his cheery facade. He turns his head forward and starts typing away at his phone. “Mmm, yeah. Maybe you're onto something. Guess I gotta get a new servant.”

“Guess you do.” You get the last word in.

The both of you sit in silence for the next few minutes. He texts away on his phone while you sew up Alan's jacket.

Right when you're finishing up the last few stitches, your phone pings, notifying you of a message. You ignore it for now to finish your task and it goes off a few more times after that.

“You getting spam sent to your email? Shut that off, it's annoying,” Leo complains without looking up from his phone.

You roll your eyes as you secure your last stitch and cut the thread. “It only pings for my texts, it will stop.”

For reasons unbeknownst to you, the vice-captain chortles. You ignore it.

“Should be good,” You murmur to yourself as you tug the pocket to test the durability. Deciding it's fine, you set Alan's jacket to the side and pick up your phone to check your messages. When you unlock your phone and pull down your notification bar, you see a few texts from Lyca. You click on one of them.

[(y/n) is it true?]

[that jerky guy thats mean to suba texted me..]

[he said you only hang out with me because darkwick makes you]

[and said that you think i smell weird]

You clench the phone in your hands with a dangerous amount of force as indignant fury builds in the pit of your stomach.

First things first, you text Lyca back.

[Block him, please. I said nothing like that, he's just being a child. I'll come over later tonight to help you study. Please, please, do not listen to him. 🙏]

You stand up, drop your phone to the side, and march over towards Leo. The conniving sack of shit is grinning from ear to ear with his attention locked on the screen in his hand. He's still typing out messages to Lyca, judging by what you can see of the profile picture. Somehow the dumbass still doesn't notice you approaching.

You reach over Leo's shoulder and easily yank his phone from his grip. The vice-captain flits his gaze upwards, the amusement on his expression only becoming more obvious.

“Fucking asshole,” You growl. From a quick glance, you notice that he sent far more than what Lyca reported to you. Without hesitation, you erase the message Leo had started to type out and then delete Lyca’s contact information.

Leo moves to get to his feet and you instinctively take several steps back. “Aaawh, you mad?”

“You wanted my attention that badly, Kurosagi?” You taunt. If not for the influence of anger, your tone would ideally be more unbothered. You're only giving this pipsqueak what he wants, after all.

“Yeah, real bad.” Leo holds out his open palm. “You deleted it right? Give it back, NPC.”

You let out a taunting laugh. “Fat chance.”

Without missing a beat, you spin on your heel and bolt in the opposite direction, Leo's phone in hand.

“Hey…!”

The garage is big enough that you can run around without getting cornered if you do it meticulously. You didn't have a plan other than you knew you wanted to get back at the scheming rat. Leo's feet stomping against the concrete could be heard at your tail as you speed around the perimeter of the garage. You knock over a few stools to trip him up and even mistakenly shoulder check another nameless Vagastrom student in your haste.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry!” You yell back without turning around.

“Can't run for long, Honor Roll!” Leo grabs at the end of your skirt's uniform, but you somehow manage to slip away just in time.

Unfortunately, he's right. As annoying as Leo is he's still got more stamina and agility, being a ghoul and all. You're now on your second lap around the room and the only reason he hasn't caught you is because of the stuff you keep knocking over in front of him. Regardless, you had to exact your revenge somehow– even if you get caught in the process. Making a split-second decision, you run for a nearby bathroom and fling open the door, before promptly slamming it shut behind you.

And there it is. A urinal filled with someone's leftover, unflushed, piss.

Committing to your act of tyranny, you fling Leo's phone into the dirty urinal. You watch as the device clatters against the back of the ceramic before fully submerging into the sewage water.

The door opens behind you and Leo skirts to a complete halt when his eyes land on the urinal ahead.

“...”

The vice-captain lets go of the door, allowing it to hinge to a close on its own. You feel your stomach drop from the silence that follows.

You intend to assess his expression, until the wind is suddenly knocked right out of you, and you're being shoved against a nearby wall.

Leo grabs your face roughly in one hand, while his other rests flat against the tile next to you. He's smiling, but it's completely devoid of warmth. His golden eyes bore into you so frigidly that it sends a chill down your spine.

“Now you've fucked up, (Y/N),” Leo says, his voice oozing contempt. “I didn't back up my recent data and I won't be the one to fish that out.”

You attempt to jerk your chin out of his grip, but he's surprisingly strong. Your hands move to the wrist that's holding onto you. “Let me go, piece of shit,” You manage through your pinched cheeks. “You deserve that and more.”

“How about you get it out for me, hm?” Leo narrows his eyes at you, his thumb dragging roughly over your bottom lip, exposing your teeth in the process. “I'll dunk you in headfirst and you'll catch it with your mouth, kay?”

You glare daggers at him, showing no indication of folding. “I can literally knee your balls and end this in two seconds, don't try me.”

Leo opens his mouth to speak, but then the door flies open yet again.

In comes Mido, a sight for sore eyes.

Alan frowns when his eyes land on the two of you. He wastes no time grabbing the vice-captain by the shoulder and pulling him backwards. “What the hell are you doing, Kurosagi?”

Leo loosens his grip on your face as he's drawn away from you. He grimaces, his lips peeling back as he attempts to jostle Alan's hand from him. “Fuck off, Himbo. This isn't your business.”

“It is,” Alan corrects. His gaze softens when his eyes meet yours. “What's going on, (Y/N)?”

You move yourself off of the wall and hastily begin your explanation. “Leo messaged Lyca lying about all sorts of mean shit because I won't do his petty bidding. He's an asshole! Now Lyca’s upset, so I threw Leo's phone in the urinal.”

Alan nods calmly, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation. His eyes redirect to the urinal that held the phone. “Sounds like Kurosagi instigated, as I expected.”

Leo bares his teeth and jerks away from Alan. “...Fucking simp.” You watch as the vice-captain barrels past him, exiting the bathroom in a huff.

“S-Sorry for the trouble,” You apologize meekly. “I'll clean up what I threw around out there.”

Alan shakes his head. “Don't worry about it. You're supposed to be helping us and he's causing problems with other houses.”

“But still… You're always so understanding. Thanks, Alan.” Your lips curl into an appreciative smile. “I finished sewing your jacket, it's on the couch.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). I appreciate it.” Alan smiles softly back at you. He hands you a canned coffee that you didn't notice he had until now. “Why don't you leave early today, so you can focus on whatever mess Kurosagi created?”

Alan's so sweet. A stark contrast to Leo.

“Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks so much.” You bow politely and accept the coffee from him. “And thanks for this.”

The Vagastrom captain nods and opens the door, gesturing for you to leave first.

As you exit the bathroom and head back towards the couch you notice that Leo is nowhere to be found. You wonder if he's going to pay someone to get his piss-soaked phone out of the urinal or just take the L.

Whatever, he probably has insurance on it anyway.

–

You don't get back to the cathedral until late in the evening. With all that had happened with Leo, you decided to spend your day with Lyca. Thankfully, your werewolf friend was understanding of the situation, because he knew enough about the Vagastrom vice-captain from Subaru.

By the time you're showered and settling in your bed to catch up on social media news, you receive a Snapchat notification from firechicken22. You open it.

[U doin research for ur next vid?]

[Yeah, how'd you guess?]

[Research takes time n its late. :P Best time to do it. Assuming ur in a similar time zone to me?]

Your time zone is the same as Tokyo, even though you're technically separated from it– being in Darkwick and all. You decide to go with that.

[I'm in Tokyo.]

[Lol same kinda. I dont live far from there. I figured cuz ur dialect.]

[Small world. 😊]

[Gonna stream soon so help me pick my outfit. Which one?]

You receive two images. Both are of firechicken22 standing in a full body mirror, but the pictures are cut off from the shoulder up. One photo he's wearing a denim, bright yellow, jacket, with patches of random black lettering. The other is a black color block jacket with a white hoodie underneath. Both are kind of grungy looking and stylish.

He's lean and has thin hands, you notice.

[Hmm… Do you usually wear more dark colors or bright ones?]

[Both lol. But ig my bright is usually in accents not full pieces.]

[Then do the yellow jacket. Spice it up.]

[I'll take ur word for it. I still got an hour b4 I go live so lets play a game.]

A game…?

[Okay, Jigsaw. What kind of game? 🤔]

[Would u rather. U dont post much about urself so I think itd be fun lol.]

You don't exactly have anything to hide. If you were to get more questions about yourself that aren't indicative of your identity, you'd answer them. So far, firechicken22 is the first to ask you to do something like this.

[Sure, why not? Any boundaries I should know about?]

[Nope what about u?]

[I don't think so. I'll just tell you if I don't want to answer it.]

[K u go first. :P]

The one who asks to play insists you go first, huh?

You look up a template on Google and pick something random.

[Alright I found one to ask you. Would you rather be poor but fun or rich but boring?]

[Um def dont wanna be boring. I'll do poor but fun cuz I can just marry rich.]

[Opportunistic, I see.]

[A dog eats dog world lol. My turn.]

[Go ahead.]

[Would u rather hit pause or rewind on ur life?]

A deep one, huh? Well with the Kyklos curse…

[Pause.]

[Interesting lol. Any reason?]

[Does ‘Would You Rather’ require explanations? 😏]

[Guess not. :P Ur turn again.]

[Would you rather give up all the memories, or money you made this year?]

[Def memories. 💴]

Firechicken22 is opportunistic and values money. Not that you can really blame him. It all depends on circumstance anyway, and you don't know his.

[Fair enough.]

[Would u rather have more time or energy?]

[Energy, I'd say. Can't seem to have enough.]

[Lol thought u would say that.]

The two of you trade questions for the next hour. It becomes obvious that firechicken22 really is trying to get to know you. And it's too soon to tell if he's genuinely curious, or if he is trying to coax your identity out of you. As far as you're concerned, there isn't much to gain in doing that because your following isn't that big.

So, maybe he's just a fan. Regardless, you don't intend on revealing anything too personal.

After the umpteenth question exchange, firechicken22 announces his plan to depart.

[Its been fun stranger but i gotta start my stream :P]

[Yeah, you're fun to talk to. Maybe you can send the link to your stream next time? 😌]

[Wanna c me that badly? I dont blame u~]

[I'm curious. But if you're streaming this late I'd be listening rather than watching. I do have morning classes, after all.]

[U go to university?]

Darkwick is kind of like a university, so you'll go with that. You certainly don't plan on revealing the name, though.

[Yeah. Do you?]

[Yup. Maybe I'll let u know who I am soon, or I'll let u guess if u dont recognize me.]

[Take your time, because I can't say when, or if I'll ever show my face to you.]

[The thought crossed ur mind? 😘]

[That's only natural if you bring it up, you know.]

[R u cute?]

[Hideous. 💩]

[Somehow I doubt that lol. Anyway gtg fr now. Nite~]

[Goodnight.]

Once you end your conversation with firechicken22, you realize it's already very late. Your research will have to wait until tomorrow, you decide. You tuck yourself in under the covers of your bed and plug your phone in its charger.

Tomorrow brings another day at Vagastrom. Hopefully Leo leaves you alone.

–

“Here's the ingredient list. Mind helping me gather it, while I find my phone? Pretty sure I left it in my room.”

You are talking to Sho in the kitchen at Vagastrom. Leo sits in a stool at the other end of the kitchen island, eating a bowl of ramen that’s notably bright red. You can only assume it's the extra spicy Buldak noodles he always buys. The vice-captain hasn't said a word to you so far.

“Sure. This is for the curry bread?” You ask as you glance over the sheet of paper.

Sho flashes you a dazzling smile. “Sure is. I'll be right back. In the meantime, I'm sure Leo can direct you if you have trouble finding something.”

“Riiight,” You say sarcastically, your eyes darting back over to Leo. He doesn't look up at the mention of his name.

Sho snickers and pats your back twice before leaving you to it.

You grab the list and begin searching for the ingredients. First you grab the cold items on the list from the fridge, since that was the easy part. Milk, butter, and ground beef. Then the vegetables, spices, panko, and sugar. The only thing you're struggling to find is the yeast and flour. You search the pantry and even open and close a bunch of cupboards. When you're not successful after the second search, you audibly curse.

“Looking for something, Honor Roll?”

Your attention snaps to Leo. His phone is resting on the counter and he's propping his head in his hand, eyeing you with newfound interest. The bowl of ramen is pushed to the side for now, with his chopsticks resting over the top of it.

“...Flour and yeast,” You answer reluctantly.

“Cupboard above the fridge,” Leo answers readily.

You glance up at the fridge and let out a sigh. It's particularly large. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to put a common kitchen ingredient all the way up there?

Leo must be drawing the same conclusion as you because he speaks up again. “That stool by the window is taller than the other ones. Could use that.”

You relocate your attention to said stool. It was out of place and looked like it belonged to a set of furniture that no longer exists in Vagastrom. Regardless, he's right. It is taller. Deciding you'll take his advice; you walk over to it and drag the piece of furniture all the way to the fridge.

Leo sure is being helpful today, all things considered. Maybe he regrets being a douche?

You climb on top of the stool and stand on your toes. It's high enough that you're able to easily open the cupboard above. You instantly spot the yeast and several large bags of flour when you do. As soon as you shift your weight and get your hands around what you need, you hear the stool creak painfully.

“...”

Cautiously, you settle backwards with the ingredients in your hand. Much to your dismay, as soon as you rest your heel onto the cushion of the stool, you hear a metal object clatter to the ground.

And then it tips.

“Shit…!”

You lose your momentum as the chair sways, and you unceremoniously crash to the ground on your side. The bag of flour in your arms bursts open and you're suddenly coated in the white powder.

“Pffft…”

…That snicker.

You drop the bag and the yeast, then lift your now aching body into a sitting position. Your eyes find Leo's. His phone is pointed towards you as if he's recording a video.

Leo tilts his head as a devious grin splits his delicate features. “Smile for the camera, NPC.”

Your blood boils.

“You did that on purpose,” You accuse, much more calmly than you feel.

“Me?” Leo poorly feigns a perplexed expression. “Naaah, I don't tinker with chairs.”

You grab a fistful of flour and get to your feet, making a beeline for him. “You knew it was broken, don't fuck with me.”

Leo lifts himself from his stool, the seat sliding back audibly as he does. You watch him shove his phone underneath the waistband of his pants just as you're stopping in front of him. “Ah, ah. Not this time, Honor Roll.”

“You seriously think that's going to stop me at this point, Kurosagi?” You move your hand to fling the flour in his face, but Leo catches your wrist before it can do too much damage. All the same, the powder falls from your fingertips and onto the front of his clothes.

He just laughs, though.

“That all you got? Flour is an easy clean up,” Leo taunts, thoroughly entertained.

His hold on your wrist is firm enough that you can't move it. You dart your other hand forward and go for his waistband, but he captures the other just as easily.

“Delete it,” You demand, unwavering.

Leo steps backwards as you continue to advance towards him, despite the restriction of your arms.

The smile doesn't leave the vice-captain's face. “Nah. You don't get to cost me a pretty penny to recover data and also make demands. That's not how it works, Princess.”

“How is it that you get to push people around however you want and expect no repercussions?” You protest angrily. “We were even, if anything!”

Leo raises an eyebrow and scoffs incredulously. “Even? As if you could get even with me.”

You grit your teeth at his delusional nonchalance. “You must be far too used to people pandering to you, because you're on another level of entitlement!”

Leo doesn't have time to reply before you catch your right leg behind his and push forward with all your strength. As you had hoped, Leo loses his balance and falls backwards. Unfortunately, his hold on your wrists stays secure and you end up tumbling with him.

The second he hits the ground, his grip loosens enough that you're able to tear your arms from him. You waste no time sitting up to straddle him. Your left hand grips the band of his pants while the right dives for the phone inside. Swallowing any embarrassment from the action, you find it resting against the side of his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. By the time you pull it out, you realize he's not fighting you anymore. A slight pink tinge adorns his face, yet he still sneers at you.

“Wow, pervert much?”

You ignore him and look at his screen, which miraculously is still unlocked. Clicking on the gallery, you browse the recent shots.

There is no video, only recent selfies he's taken.

You narrow your eyes at him. “...You were bluffing.”

Leo sticks his tongue out. “Looks like you felt me up for nothing, freak.”

Heat rises to your face. “T-That's totally your fault, idiot! As if I wanted to!”

Without warning, Leo sits up, causing you to slide into his lap. He grabs his phone from your hand and his gaze lands on your wrist.

The vice-captain blinks in surprise. “...Where'd you get that bracelet?”

The sudden question throws you off guard. You glance at the bracelet he's looking at. A unique gold pressed flower bracelet that you got from Kimyou. It’s a pre-order that hasn't been released yet, but the company gifted it to you because of your sponsorship. Leo must know this company, so his confusion is understandable.

“I…” You lick your lips nervously, fumbling for an excuse. “Have a friend that works there.”

You feel Leo's eyes on you and you reluctantly meet his gaze again. He stares at you for a few beats, his expression unreadable.

A short laugh escapes him. “Send me their info, I want a brand deal.”

Phew. Looks like he believes you.

“Not a chance,” You retort.

“Am I interrupting something…?”

Your attention relocates to the doorway. Looks like Sho’s back.

“No, you're saving me. NPC tried molesting me, can you believe that?” Leo lies, feigning a pitiful tone.

The cogs in your head turn and you belatedly recall that you're straddling the whiney influencer.

You scramble off his lap and get to your feet.

Sho places a hand on his hip, shooting his vice-captain a skeptical look. “I don't believe you.”

Leo stands and brushes himself off. “That's ‘cause you're no better than the himbo.”

Sho seems to take notice of the state of the kitchen and gestures towards the fridge, his expression bewildered. “And what the hell happened here?”

“You're looking at the work of this clutz,” Leo fibs, jabbing his thumb in your direction.

“Bullshit,” You argue. “He told me to use that stool and it's broken!”

Sho gives Leo a precarious look. “C’mon man, you knew that was broken. You owe me another bag of flour.”

Rather than arguing, Leo just shrugs and makes his way towards the counter. “What a whole five-hundred Yen? Worth it.”

“Clean it up, at least,” Sho demands.

Leo pulls his bowl back in front of him and picks up another round of noodles with his chopsticks. “Nope. I wasn't the one who spilled it.”

Sho frowns. “Are you being for real? I'm not making (Y/N) do it. She's gotta be bruised to shit from that.”

Leo noisily slurps up his noodles. He takes his time chewing and swallowing before replying again. “Sucks to suck.”

Sho browbeats Leo with a hard stare as he continues to eat. The vice-captain stares at him back with an unbothered expression.

“...”

Sho gives up after a few moments and lets out an exasperated sigh. He makes his way over to the broken stool and picks it up to move it out of the way. “...One day someone's gonna beat your ass and I won't cover for you.”

Leo ignores him and pulls out his phone, setting it on the counter to find something to entertain himself while he finishes his food.

Sho grabs a broom and dustpan that's hanging on the wall and begins sweeping up the flour.

“Hey, let me help,” You offer, making your way over to him.

Sho laughs and shoots you a dubious look. “After the demon here nearly caused a concussion?”

Leo begins loudly playing a video that has a familiar instrumental on it. You talk over it.

“But I technically spilled it,” You point out.

Sho shakes his head as he collects a pile of flour with the broom. “Don't sweat it. You didn't hit your head did you?”

“No, I'm okay! Just a little bruising.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when the audio of someone speaking on Leo's video reaches your ears. It's a voice you're all too familiar with.

The voice modulation for your Vtuber avatar.

Sho scoops up a sizable pile of the flour and dumps it out into a nearby trash can. “Once I clean up I can show you how to make the dough. It's super simple.”

Sho does a brief explanation of the process of making the curry bread dough, but you're far too preoccupied with Leo watching one of your videos right in front of the two of you to pay attention.

Is Leo a fan of yours? It seemed unlikely. You could only imagine the kind of shit he'd say about Vtubers. He always had some negative commentary about people that didn't show their face online when it came to hate.

“...Sound good, (Y/N)?” Sho asks.

The sound of your name snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah… sounds good,” You answer, your gaze still locked on Leo.

The vice-captain doesn't seem to notice your staring. With his eyes trained on the screen of his phone, he abruptly rises from his seat, taking the bowl and chopsticks with him. You watch him throw the tableware haphazardly into the kitchen sink, without rinsing it, before he leaves the room altogether.

Sho finishes up sweeping the last of the mess and dumps it in the garbage bin. “Alright, let me wash my hands and we'll get started.”

“...Yeah.”

–

So, Leo watches your videos.

When you get home later that afternoon, you spend time putting extra soundproof foam up in your room. The issue is, it's not foolproof against Leo's stigma unless you cover every inch of the walls and you only have so much. You decide you'll just continue to make an effort to record on rainy days, if at all possible. Even if Leo happens to over hear, you could just say you were watching your videos, right?

All you know is that he's the last person that should find out about your identity. You can only imagine how much he would dangle that over your head to get you to do his bidding.

Once you dress down and get cozy on your bed, you start doing research for your next video again. Not even an hour later, firechicken22 sends you a message on Snapchat.

[Omg did u see that kodiakmiller started more drama?]

[I was actually just reading an article on that.]

[U probably can already guess but half the shit she says is complete bs. That bitch just virtue signals 2 get attention.]

[I kind of figured that based on the patterns of behavior. I'll keep that in mind when I record.]

You watch firechicken22 type for a little longer than usual before another message comes in.

[Am I the only influencer u talk to?]

[Would you be jealous if I said no? 😏]

[Lol nah. I would tell u to be cautious w em tho cuz most r two faced.]

[And you're an exception?]

[No lol.]

[...At least you're honest about it, I suppose. Should I worry about you doxxing me? 🤔]

[Nah. If I wanted 2 kno ur identity I could find out if I rly wanted to.]

[Oh? You're a tech guy?]

[Thats one way to put it lol. Anyway i already shit talked ppl ik to u. If u wanted u could easily blackmail me. :P]

[Do you talk to influencers outside of collabs?]

[Nah. Just you. 😘]

[Influencer is a generous word for me, haha. Anyway, why me?]

[Hm…]

You watch the ‘typing…’ text pop up again as you wait for an explanation.

[Bc u couldnt b more different than me ig]

[Really? We seem to have stuff in common.]

[Lol ur so cute]

[🤔]

[Anyway meant 2 ask. U got anymore brand deals w clothing companies?]

[Only a newer brand called modflavor. I should be receiving mail from them within the next day or two.]

[Wanna put in a good word for me w Kimyou? 🥺🩷]

That feels familiar. Where have you heard that before?

[Wouldn't I need to know your identity for that?]

[If u knew would u do it? :P]

[I don't see why not. The worst they could do is not reach out.]

Firechicken22 stops messaging for the moment. So, you continue your video research for the time being. Maybe two minutes later you receive a Snapchat, but this time it's an image. You open it.

Skin is the first thing you notice– clear and pale. An exposed collar bone, exposed torso in general. He appears to be posed over the edge of a tub. Your eyes wander up towards firechicken22's face. Soft features, gold eyes, gray hair, smug grin, cute.

Your phone slips from your grip and comes crashing against the bridge of your nose. But you don't even register the pain.

You've been messaging Leo?!

Did he know it was you? Was he just fucking with you? Some of your exchanges with him even bordered on flirtatious. And you admittedly had been having fun messaging him.

… But it wouldn't make sense that he knows, because he's been talking shit about other creators on the platform. And Leo also knows you've been trying to find a way to get back at him for all the bullshit.

…

And maybe this would be the perfect opportunity.

Leo seems to like your content because it's a condensed and unbiased way to consume news. And for whatever reason he seems to like you as a person. But it's not like you act any differently in real life, so why the sudden flip of a switch when you're a stranger?

Another message notification rings audibly. You pick up your phone to view it.

[Heeello…? Don't tell me u have beef with me lol.]

That's right. Snapchat notifies when you open messages and it's probably been a solid two minutes since you've viewed his photo. You decide you'll play dumb.

[No, sorry! I was just trying to recall your name! ☺️ I know I've seen your content around. You're Leo Kurosagi, right?]

[Yup]

[No wonder you're interested in fashion, you always look so stylish. 😊]

[Thx u do too lol 💕]

[That's only because of the brand deals, haha. Don't worry, I'll put a good word in for you with Kimyou. 😊🩷]

[Ur the best 😘. I'll give u a shout-out on my next stream. 🫰🏻]

[Thank you. 😇 You're kind of sassy on your streams, but I feel like I've seen a sweeter side of you through text messages.]

Laying it on thick.

You sometimes watched Leo before you ever came to Darkwick, but never recently. Not since you learned how self-centered he really is.

[Wow, u down bad for me already?]

You would have assumed before the face reveal that firechicken22 is just teasing. But knowing Leo, he's probably egotistical enough to actually think that. You decide to let him have the compliment he's probably fishing for.

[You're very cute, but I'm not swayed that easily.]

[Give it time I could change ur mind 😏]

Why's he being so forward? Leo seems like a shallow person and he doesn't even know what you look like. It could be that he's just toying with you.

[Pffft, we'll see about that. Anyway, I'm going to do more research before bed. Unfortunately I'm a little behind. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Leo. 😊]

[Boooo. 😮‍💨 K I'll ttyl.]

[Goodnight!]

You close the Snapchat app and work on sending an email to Kimyou regarding Leo's recommendation. Afterwards, you'll plot your next move against the sneaky influencer.

–

A couple days pass. You and Leo talk over Snapchat every afternoon and into the evening, while your in-person interactions remain unpleasant as usual. Your text conversations become more personal as you learn more about each other. Leo divulges details about his family and upbringing– things you've never been privy to before. He also asks you a variety of things whenever he wants to keep the conversation going.

You wonder if he really doesn't talk to anyone in his private life like this. Sho seems to know him best, but their interactions are more impersonal, even when Leo isn't treating him like a servant. In a weird way, you feel honored that he seems to trust you enough to confide in you about the little things.

Unfortunately for Leo, that didn't change the fact that you still held a grudge towards him and his reign of terror.

You still had yet to decide how you're going to get back at him, though. It wouldn't be through exposing anything incriminating of him online. Leo knew his way around a computer and you're sure he could identify you anytime if he really wanted to. He would only be more inclined to expose your secret if you did something to alter his reputation.

No, you had to think bigger.

Would it be possible to get him attached enough that if you ghosted it would hurt him?

…It's an idea.

Three days after the night you found out Leo's identity, your modflavor package arrives that afternoon. Since you've got a decent outline of news highlights, you decide it would be a good time to record a video and add a sponsorship segment.

It's a rainy day, so you don't have to sweat the off chance that Leo's lurking around.

You record the news part first to get it over with and then take a short break to message back Leo.

[Ughhhhhh i hate the rain]

[Really? I find it relaxing.]

[It's noisy 😒 wyd?]

[I'm recording! My modflavor haul came in, so I'm about to try stuff on.]

[Fr? Show me.]

You take a photo of some of the outfits lined up on your bed and send it.

[I'm not going to wear all of these, though. The slip dress looks like it'd be revealing if I can't find anything to put under it.]

[Try it on n I'll let u know]

… Leo wants you to take a photo in it?

He did send you a photo in the tub for his reveal didn't he?

It's probably against your better judgement, but you change into the dress.

As you suspected, it is a little revealing. It's a deep red color with a low collar that exposes a decent amount of cleavage. Overall, the dress hugs your body in a flattering way.

Making sure to move your hair out of the frame, you sit on the bed cross-legged and take several photos from the neck down. In a burst of confidence you pick the sexiest looking one and send it.

It takes a minute, but Leo replies.

[Need more angles than that. :P]

… Did he, though?

You get up from the bed and walk over to your wooden full-body mirror hanging on the wall. Leo's never been in your room and has no reason to be, so you're not worried about him recognizing your surroundings. In spite of that, you very carefully take more photos of your dress at different angles without showing your face, or much background. You send them afterward.

[Looks good on u. 😘 If u got a black turtleneck and black belt wear it.]

You hate the way your heart skips a beat.

[I'll look! So it's a no go if I can't find them?]

[Yep it will look cuter accessorized. I can even send u some stuff.]

[Oh, like links?]

[No like literally lol]

Leo's offering to get you stuff?

Totally unexpected, but either way you'll have to decline. When packages are sent into Darkwick, they all use a similar address. The campus cats make the deliveries to the dorms from there using the student's names.

[I don't have a PO box set up yet. I'm sure you understand! The thought is very appreciated, though. 😳]

[Lmk when u do]

[You're sweet when you want to be. 🥰 I'll talk to you here soon, I've got to finish recording.]

[I'll watch when it drops]

[A dedicated fan. 🤭]

[Not to mention one of the first lol]

Really…? You'd have to fact check that, but you do recall seeing his screen name a while back.

[I'm flattered. 🥺 🫶]

[U should be :P]

You're pretty sure you might have the items Leo mentioned in your wardrobe, but you decide not to wear that dress for the video. The filming of the try on haul doesn't take long, but you spend some time editing it and end up uploading late.

Leo texts you goodnight before you ever manage to get back to him.

–

Over a week goes by before you have any notable in-person interactions with Leo.

Subaru invites you to eat lunch with him on a bench outside Sho’s food truck. The both of you ordered beef soboro.

You open the still warm container in your lap as you sit to the left of Subaru. “Looks as good as it smells!”

“It does,” Subaru agrees wholeheartedly. He breaks the poached egg on top with his chopsticks and begins mixing it. “He always goes the extra mile with the garnishes, doesn't he?”

“Mmmhm, it's no wonder he's gotten so popular.” You break your disposable chopsticks apart and glance up at the long line forming outside the truck. It's a good thing you guys came early.

Subaru nods and tilts his head in your direction. “It's been a while since we've been able to sit down and chat like this. How have you been faring? Anything new?”

“I've been good. Not a whole lot has happened recently.”

Not that you can talk about anyway.

“At least I'm not subjected to the demon this week,” You add.

Subaru's expression turns sympathetic. “Ah, yes. He was causing you some problems last week, I heard. I'm sorry you had to go through that, he can be very…” The Hotarubi Captain looks towards the food on his lap as he searches for a delicate way to put it.

“A piece of shit?” You offer bluntly, as you mix your own food.

Subaru laughs. “I wasn't going to say it, but… there is no gentle way to describe it.”

“Yeah, I've certainly never encountered anyone like him in my life. He's seriously one of the most self-centered people I've ever had the displeasure of knowing,” You rant bitterly. “How does one even acquire such a rotten personality?”

“Well… perhaps trouble with homelife growing up. Maybe some level of neglect, skewed ideals, or lack of positive reinforcement,” Subaru suggests coolly.

You wonder if that is the case. Leo told you about his family over Snapchat, but not anything inherently indicative of neglect.

The Hotarubi Captain continues. “Although, some people have a lack of social empathy without any direct cause. I don't want to make any baseless accusations, but there are some people that bully others due to suppressed feelings of inadequacy. They may even try to keep people at an arm's length, so they don't have to deal with the complications that come with forming attachments.”

The hand holding your chopsticks stills.

You consider the complexities behind the idea for a brief moment. It’s a lot to unpack for baseless speculation and the last thing you want to do is feel sorry for the jackass. “...I don't think that jerk can form bonds like a normal person anyway. He's a lost cause.”

Although you've been flirting with him over text and becoming a friend of his anonymously, you don't anticipate him getting that attached. If you ghosted him today, you're certain he'd be petty and angry for maybe a day before moving on. Even then, it would be over a bruised ego, not a lost contact.

“Perhaps you're correct. You know him better than I, after all,” Subaru replies with a smile.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while to eat your food. At some point you open up your phone and scroll funny Instagram reels. You find one that makes you laugh out loud, piquing the captain's curiosity. So, Subaru can get a better view of your screen, you scoot closer on the bench to watch together.

While the two of you begin yucking it up, you fail to notice another student approaching you. You're in the middle of a particularly amusing reel involving a cat with the zoomies, when someone abruptly wedges in between you and Subaru.

“--Hey…!” You yelp.

“Geez NPC. Didn't you see my jacket at the end of the bench?” Leo jeers as he settles himself on the seat, effectively ceasing your interaction with Subaru. “I had this spot saved.”

You frown, barely sparing a glance at said jacket before glaring daggers at the vice-captain. Instinctively, you scoot back so your thighs aren't up against Leo's. “Saving spots? What are you twelve? If it was that important, you wouldn't have left it!”

Subaru scoots to the other end, appearing a little meek at the new development. “O-Oh! Hello, Kurosagi. How are you?” The captain forces a smile.

Leo's eyes shift to Subaru and he gives him a look that can only be described as bitchy. “Oh, it's you,” He says, as if he hadn't noticed the captain before cramming himself on the bench. Leo equips a fake smile of his own, but it's far icier. “Wow, you're so desperate that you're kicking it with this nobody? Your looks must not be enough to keep the baddies interested. That skittish personality of yours is kind of a turn-off, I guess.”

Subaru's jaw goes slack at the casual verbal assault. The captain's cheeks turn red as the insinuation settles in and his violet eyes dart towards the ground. “...Say what you want about me, but (Y/N) is very interesting and pretty.”

Your cheeks flush at Subaru's words.

“...Hah. Eat shit, Leo,” You manage, internally swallowing your embarrassment.

Leo looks at you and his lip curls back in disdain. Surprisingly, he doesn't acknowledge your taunt. Instead, he returns his attention to Subaru. “By the way,” Leo starts, his lips pulling into a tight-lipped, saccharine, smile. “I passed that werewolf kid on the way here. He's standing at the front entrance of the academy and he's looking for you. Said something about his voice command password for his ipad not working? I'm assuming it's ‘cause whatever he was trying to pronounce sounded like gibberish.”

Subaru's face falls. “Again?” The captain sighs and closes up his unfinished container of food before standing. He shoots you a skeptical glance. “Would you mind if I go check on him?”

You shake your head fervently. “No, it's okay! Take your time!”

Subaru's lips curl up pleasantly. “Okay. Maybe we can try again on Monday?”

“Sure! Sounds good to–”

“Ugh, just go already, will you? If I hear any more of this sappy shit I'm going to barf,” Leo complains as he looks up from his phone to sneer at Subaru.

“Leo!” You bark in irritation.

Subaru waves his hands in a placating gesture. “N-No! It's fine (Y/N), truly. I'll message you.”

Before you can say anything more, Subaru is scurrying off.

You turn your head to glare at Leo. “What the actual fuck is your problem?”

The vice-captain leans back on the bench with his legs stretched out, as he taps away at the keyboard on his phone. “What?” He plays dumb, not sparing you a glance.

“Why were you being a dick to him? And did you actually run into Lyca?”

Leo shrugs. “I just told the truth. Except for the werewolf thing.”

Your eyes narrow. “...You lied to make him go away?”

“Who knows?” Leo responds dismissively.

Deciding you lost your appetite; you close your container of food. “...Funny. Almost seems like you're jealous.”

“Of him?” Leo scoffs, jumping to the conclusion. “As if there's anything to be jealous of. He's only relevant to a select community of people.”

You roll your eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

Leo's brow creases. His gaze slowly shifts back to meet yours. For a split second you swear he looks miffed, but he quickly recovers with another fake smile.

“...You?” The vice-captain throws his head back and barks out an obnoxious laugh. “Be fucking for real, Honor Roll. You're not even a little close to meeting my standards.”

You squint at him suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Homely, boring, a buzz kill, useless, annoying.” Leo holds out a finger every time he lists a new insult. “Uptight, brainless, a clutz, obvious surface flaws.”

He's literally just spewing shit now. Somehow, you're not that bothered by it for once. But if Leo's so insistent on you being inadequate for him, you decide you'll begin your revenge arc starting tonight. You wouldn't want to disappoint him if he knew the truth, after all.

Sike.

“You know what? I could say the same for you. You're far below my standards too. I don't need to list the reasons, everyone knows you're insufferable,” You quip rigidly.

Leo sticks out his tongue childishly. “At least I can get a date.”

“Oh? Well, Subaru asked me to go out with him next weekend on an off-campus trip,” You divulge.

Leo rolls his eyes. “And what? Do a mission? Hardly an advance.”

You shrug nonchalantly. “Well, he referred to it as a date.”

A fib, really. Subaru did invite you out to a theme park because he already had business in the area and wanted to spend time together. Lyca even managed to get a permit to come along, so it couldn't be considered a date. You don't clarify that, though.

Leo’s lips twitch faintly. After a few seconds he rises from his seat. The vice-captain pockets his phone and turns heel but pauses to spare you a parting glance. “Good luck with all that. Make sure to wear a full face of makeup. It's the only way you'll stand a chance at keeping his interest, uggo.”

“Uh huh,” You respond, your tone unimpressed.

Just as Leo's leaving, you notice the jacket he mentioned earlier on the edge of the bench. It's white with blue patches on the elbows. Without warning, you pick it up and toss it at him. A sleeve wraps around his shoulder, just barely hanging on for dear life. He grabs the fabric before it drops to the floor and examines it curiously.

“Your jacket?” You say.

“...Yup,” He confirms belatedly.

Leo doesn't put it back on. You watch him sling it over his shoulder as he exits the scene.

–

Later that evening, you text ‘firechicken22’.

[Hey. Are you going to the Sumidagawa festival? I know it's popular with influencers.]

[Maybe lol. All depends.]

[On?]

[Are u going?]

[Depends.]

[??]

[Do you want to meet up with me, if I do? 😊]

You knew that Leo had a good chance of getting the permit to leave for it, considering he's vice-captain. For this event, a lot of permits were being granted to Darkwick students that have been proactive with missions. You even were offered one for this festival because of your hard work lately. Of course, you didn't intend on actually going.

[Yea I do. Meet up w me in the afternoon. The fireworks show doesnt start til 7 but we can visit stalls.]

[Oh, you really want to? 🥺]

[Yep wanna c u irl 🙈💕]

Ugh… why is this sociopathic demon randomly cutesy?

[You might be disappointed if that's the goal.]

[Nah I wont be lol]

[Hah. What makes you so sure?]

Leo types for a little longer than usual before getting back to you.

[Well if u were a total catfish id still b ur friend lol]

This is a side of Leo that you're totally familiar with. He's unapologetically admitting that you may not fit his standards in appearance. There's no doubt in your mind he's genuinely expressing some level of romantic interest here.

[Implying you're into me? 🤔]

[Thought i made that obvious lol]

[...Obvious isn't a word I'd use to describe you, haha. You type with a lot of hearts when responding to comments too. And you're a bit of a shit talker, so I wasn't sure.]

[I dont talk to ppl online a lot like this. Ur the first.]

And you believe that. You're sure now that Leo doesn't talk to any one person as frequently as he has been with you the last two weeks.

Oh, well. You're still going to ditch him.

[Me neither! But it's been fun. 😇 I'll text you tomorrow, okay? I'm probably going to fall asleep here soon.]

[K 🩷]

[Goodnight. 😴]

–

“Kaito…? What are you doing here?”

It's the afternoon of the fireworks festival and you're in the casino VIP room helping resolve scheduling conflicts for Romeo on his laptop. Kaito just walked in wearing the official wait staff uniform. He's holding a silver tray filled with drinks in one hand and the door with the other.

“(Y/N)?” Kaito blinks, seemingly perplexed by your appearance. His face flushes pink and he averts his gaze. “I uh… that psycho said I could pay back some of my debt if I helped him out today.”

You nod in understanding. “That tracks.”

As much as you want to sympathize with Kaito, he's really just digging his own grave by actively borrowing money from Romeo of all people.

“So what are yo– Hey…!”

Taiga shoulders past Kaito, grabbing a drink filled with brown liquid from the tray as he passes. He makes a beeline for the couch you're on and a toothy grin splits his face when he spots you.

“Hey, it's the kitty cat~”

Taiga plops down not too far from you and takes a swig of his drink. He haphazardly sets the glass on the edge of a coaster. You watch it begin to tip, so you hastily lean forward and adjust it properly to avoid a spill.

You can only assume he recognizes you right away because you passed him earlier.

“Hey, Taiga,” You greet him, before your gaze relocates to Kaito.

The blonde walks in your direction and sets the silver tray of drinks on the coffee table in front of you. “Uh, Lucci asked me to walk him here…” Kaito explains nervously, his blue eyes darting from Taiga and back to you.

The captain is already distracted and leaning forward in preparation to shuffle a deck of cards.

“Were you winning too many games again?” You ask the Sinostra captain in a playful tone.

Taiga clicks his tongue. He tents the corners of two cuts of the deck together in a riffle shuffle. “Somethin’ crawled up his ass today. I wasn't gonna listen to him bitch anyway.”

“I understand.” You glance back up to Kaito. “You still owe Romeo from the last time?”

Kaito furrows his brow and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I had the money, but I left it in my jacket, and I can't find it.”

“That sucks. Maybe it's somewhere obvious,” You suggest. “Did you try retracing your steps?”

“I tore apart my room already. Last place I remember having it was outside Sho’s food truck on the bench.” Kaito rakes a hand through his hair in distress. “Checked there yesterday though, no luck.”

“I was just there yesterday during lunch! What did it look like?”

The blonde gives you a piteous look. “White with blue patches.”

…Isn't that what the jacket Leo took looked like?

“Anyway, it's good seeing you (Y/N). I'm gonna get back to work before that guy starts spamming me.” Kaito flashes you an upbeat grin and waves, before pivoting to leave.

“See you later!” You call back.

You redirect your attention back to Romeo's laptop. That is, until your phone pings multiple times at your side.

You slide down your notification bar and can't help the grin that tugs at the corner of your mouth as you catch Leo asking about your whereabouts. You don't open the messages.

Today is a good day.

“Kitty, play blackjack with me.”

You turn your attention to Taiga, your lips pulling into an apologetic smile. “Romeo asked that I adjust his staff schedule for him and I'm not quite finished.”

“Do it later.”

“If he walks in and catches us when I'm not done, he's going to have a cow,” You reason.

Taiga deals you two cards anyway. “Nah, he's brown-nosing a big shot right now. ‘Sides, I won't tell if you won't.” The captain throws a wink your way.

You can't help but express amusement at his antics. Deciding to entertain him for the moment, you set your laptop aside with your phone and scoot closer to the table. “I'll need a refresher on the rules though. And no betting real money.”

Taiga reaches forward to grab his drink again. He takes another swig of it, before dropping it back on its coaster, this time centered.

“Fine by me. We got time.”

–

You stay at the casino until around seven in the evening before heading back home in the pouring rain. It's a good thing you remembered to bring your umbrella with you. The thought crosses your mind that tonight would be a good time to record a video.

Leo didn't continue to message you after the first string of texts, and you still had yet to open Snapchat. The fact that he didn't seem that desperate for your attention helped you feel less guilty about the whole thing. Not that you felt bad…

Leo's ego is probably just slightly bruised, and he'll get over it.

Once you enter the cathedral and make your way up the staircase, you immediately notice several strange things. The door to your room is cracked open and the lights are on. And you couldn't hear it downstairs because of the rain and the soundproof foam you have up, but music is playing audibly too.

…Who the hell could be in your room?

The only person to ever enter without warning was Jiro. And he wouldn't be here at this time– certainly not blasting electro-pop music.

Should you call someone to scope out the building? Is it safe to enter?

A familiar voice reaches your ears and it's enough to dissipate any looming sense of dread that had settled in your gut seconds before. You decidedly march to the top of the stairs and fling open the door to your room.

A body lays sprawled out on your couch, reading a book that's inadvertently concealing their face. You recognize the paperback as one of your manga volumes that had been collecting dust for some time. Not a second after the door makes contact with the wall, the book lowers.

Shit.

Leo smirks and tosses the volume carelessly on the coffee table in front of him. For reasons unbeknownst to you, he's wearing a set of headphones despite the music playing in the background. The vice-captain leisurely sits up and pulls them down to rest around his neck. He reaches for the stereo remote and lowers the music to where it sounds like a quiet lull.

You hear yourself gulp.

“You're out late, huh?” Leo's jaw shifts like he's chewing something.

Maybe he doesn't know. Act normal.

You frown and manage a steady tone. “What the hell are you doing here, Kurosagi? And how'd you get in?”

“You left it unlocked, duh,” Leo replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “And I just wanna talk, that's all.”

You slowly walk over to a nearby end table and set your keys down. “I never leave my door unlocked.”

Leo's eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curling into a delighted smile. “No? You sure did this time.”

You narrow your eyes at him and redirect the topic. “What do you want to talk about? Make it quick, I'm tired.”

Leo rises from his spot on the couch. You instinctively take a step back and almost hit the wall, despite being on the other side of the room. If he noticed, he doesn't comment on it.

“I was just wondering about your friend that works for Kimyou,” The vice-captain explains innocently, his hand moving in an animated gesture. You watch him walk around, his eyes shifting to different areas of the room. “They got socials?”

You cross your arms over your chest, making a point to stay where you're at. “Even if they did, I wouldn't tell you.”

“Why not?” Leo walks up to the back wall and prods at a piece of foam hanging up. A red sphere of gum inflates from his mouth into the size of a tennis ball before bursting. “I thought we were just starting to be chummy too.”

“That's a crock of shit and you know it. I can't stand you. Also, don't move that!”

“Relax, NPC. I was just looking at the type of acoustic foam you have up. It's good quality, I've used this brand when I lived in a studio apartment.” Leo raps his knuckles against the textured surface and his gilt eyes meet yours again. “You sure have a lot of it, though. What for?”

Your stomach churns uneasily. “...Isn't it obvious? Your nosey ass snoops around all the time.”

Leo tents his brows, his expression skeptical. “Just for me, huh? This quantity can't be cheap for a regular Darkwick student.”

“I have savings,” You counter, holding your ground. “Anyway, you asked what you wanted. You know where the door is.”

“I still have more questions.”

“They can wait until tomorrow.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I'm not in the mood. You came in unannounced!” You near shout as your patience wavers.

“Exactly. You would have been way more assertive with escorting me out if it were as simple as that,” Leo accuses as he steps a little closer to you.

You hold your position, unmoving. “What are you implying?”

“While you were out, I took the liberty of doing a little digging.”

Leo knows.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to hide your crumbling nerves. “Digging? What are you on about?”

“Where to start…” Leo taps his chin thoughtfully. Following a brief pause, his features brighten, like he had an epiphany. “Did you know that even if you use a VPN, if you have access to your location enabled on other devices it's sort of a dead giveaway? You should, if you're posting online and all.”

Fuck.

“Posting online?” You feel the palms of your hands begin to sweat. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I had my suspicions when I saw that bracelet. Not to mention every time that you've posted recently, it just so happens to be when it rains,” The vice-captain takes a few steps closer, until he's only a few meters away. Placing a hand on his hip, his eyes scan ambiguously over your form. “And those photos you sent me? You didn't even notice that you caught the beginning stages of bruising on your leg, right after your little tumble at Vagastrom. Then of course, there's that tacky looking mirror in here that’s a carbon copy of the one in the photos.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Your voice betrays you by cracking.

“Oh come off it! You're caught red-handed, so don't act all shy on me now.” Leo laughs derisively. “Tell me why you sent me those suggestive photos. Was it to seduce me? I really didn't think you had it in you. I mean, that takes guts considering how unappealing you are in real life.”

And suddenly you remember just why you took it this far.

You ball your fists up at your side as anger buries any and all feelings of disquiet. “Yeah? If I'm so unappealing, then why have you even entertained talking to me, dumbass?”

Leo squints at your comment, his phoney cheerful demeanor not faltering. “Maybe I just felt sorry for you. You ever consider that?”

“You're full of shit, Kurosagi. If that were the case you wouldn't have told me so much personal stuff or even messaged me in the first place!”

Leo pauses, giving you a sideways look. “All that personal shit may as well be fabricated. I could have been playing you the whole time.”

“I recognized that screen name of yours when you messaged me. You've been a viewer for months, so I don't buy it,” You argue. “What do you even hope to gain by coming here?”

“What made you decide it was a brilliant idea to ask me out just to ghost me?” Leo throws back at you, deflecting the question.

You clench your jaw. “I asked first.”

He scoffs. “Like I care.”

An exasperated sigh escapes you. “Obviously it was to get back at you for being an asshole!”

“Oh?” Leo raises an eyebrow, his expression tickled. “You think you hurt my feelings? That's rich, Honor Roll.”

“What did you really come here for?” You try again. “If you found my IP, it's irrefutable. So what's the point? And don't even try to blackmail me either, because I got shit on you too now, Kurosagi!”

Rather than deflecting with more insults, Leo shifts his stance and stares at you like he's deliberating something. After a few beats he speaks.

“Okay, I'll bite. Let's say I enjoyed your company. Maybe even though I suspected your identity a few days into chatting, I wanted to test the waters. So maybe I didn't bother verifying.”

Your stomach flips when Leo begins to saunter towards you. Unconsciously, you find yourself taking another step back.

The vice-captain stops two feet away from you, his jaw moving visibly as the gum shifts around in his mouth. His lips are tinted red and a little swollen, like he just got done eating something hot. A bitter smirk paints his soft features. “I wanted to see if you'd actually show. And when you decided to ditch without a word, I wasn't entirely surprised. You knew I had the means to find out your identity if I wanted to.”

You did know there was a possibility he'd confront you. The idea wasn’t intimidating enough to stop you from doing it.

“Almost like you wanted to fight with me about it.” Leo's eyes crinkle with mirth as he tosses a cat-like grin your way. “Fess up. Do you like our little disputes, Honor Roll?”

The teasing tone he uses inadvertently sends heat crawling up your neck.

You consider the question. It's not like it's one that hasn't crossed your mind before. Some part of you finds the conflict entertaining, but not when he involves Lyca or any of your friends. And his mean comments do get under your skin sometimes… But could you rightfully say you hated him for it?

“I could ask the same thing to you,” You reply with a smirk of your own. “You're the one bringing it up, maybe it's projection.”

“And what if I do think it's fun?” Leo admits readily. “Judging by your reaction, I think we're on the same page.”

The vice-captain takes another step towards you and loops an arm around your waist. You suck in a sharp breath of air as his free hand cups the side of your neck and his thumb brushes against your throat.

“H-Hey…!“ You press your palms instinctively against his chest, but for reasons you can't pinpoint, you don't shove him away. His cologne swarms your senses– earthy and a little floral. The sudden, non-hostile, proximity makes you feel a little dizzy.

Rain begins to pummel relentlessly against the roof. It's so deafening that if Leo wasn’t so close, his next words might be difficult to pick up.

“I guess you're not half bad now that I get a better look at you. It's a shame you've got the personality of a wet blanket,” Leo drawls, with a notable lack of animosity in his tone.

Your nerves catch on fire when his hand shifts to cup your jaw unexpectedly.

What the hell is he doing?

Leo's grip isn't restricting your movements by much. In fact, you're sure you could get out of this if you really wanted to. Why did his hands have to feel so soft? The warmth he's radiating is so inviting that you're tempted to lean into his touch. Maybe the cold weather is influencing this senseless feeling.

“...Yeah, you should find it really embarrassing that you carried an ‘NPC’ through so many lengthy conversations,” You bite back, your fingers curling against his shirt. “It must have been like talking to a brick wall.”

Leo's thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “Why do you think I'm really here? I need to make sure you keep that info under wraps somehow. A gossip blog highlighting that loser shit would ruin my reputation.”

“Pffft…” A snicker bubbles up from your mouth from his banter. “Wait until they hear about you touching up on me too. That would be so humiliating.”

“Oh, well.” Leo smirks. “I'll adjust the narrative in my favor.”

Thunder claps outside, loud enough that objects in your room shake with the reverberation.

The abruptness is enough to startle anyone out of their skin, but for some reason neither of you move. Maybe it's because your heart is hammering in your chest so violently that you hear it over everything else. And you might be mistaken, but you're pretty sure you feel Leo's beating just as desperately through the fabric of his shirt. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his gaze lingers on your lips, but he seems to be hesitantly dancing around an idea.

You're not sure how the two of you ended up in this predicament, or why he's even reacting like this. What you do know is that Leo's unusual display of nervousness is fueling your own ego for once. You decide to voice your hunch and accept the inevitable repercussions.

“I must not be that unappealing if you're staring at me like that. Don't tell me that after all that shit talking you’ve never kissed anyone?”

Leo's brow creases in annoyance. “Of course I've kissed people before, just not–...” The vice-captain cuts himself off and averts his gaze.

Now, that's a look you could get used to.

“...Just not?” You press in amusement.

Leo huffs, his eyes meeting yours again– this time with determination. “Ugh. Just shut up, Honor Roll.”

The vice-captain leans in, slanting his mouth at an angle and you accept the advance. Your eyes flutter shut when his lips meld into yours.

Butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach as you return the kiss. And despite the well anticipated crash landing, his lips are quick to move against yours with urgency– robbing you of the courtesy of easing into a rhythm. Seeing as how everything with Leo has always been an uphill battle, it's nothing you weren't used to.

You adapt, reciprocating with an intensity that mirrors his own. A tingling sensation begins to linger around your mouth the longer the kissing continues, but it's so mild that you dismiss it unthinkingly. Leo's arm tightens around your waist, and you're pulled right up against him. You decide that the plush feeling of his lips on yours is one you could easily get addicted to.

At some point Leo separates, just barely. His fingers dig into your cheeks, and he regards you with a half-lidded gaze.

“Open,” He demands, his hot breath ghosting over your lips.

The sudden verbal request throws you off guard. Your first instinct is to question him, but you fold after a brief standstill. His tongue delves past your parted lips, and you feel the metal bar of his piercing clack noisily against the back of your teeth. The inflamed sensation you felt earlier only gets stronger as the kiss deepens, to the point where you decide to break away. Just as you're preparing to jerk your face from his, the vice-captain pushes the wad of gum he was chewing into your mouth.

You involuntarily catch it between your tongue and the roof of your mouth to prevent yourself from choking. It's only then that you realize what the burning sensation was from, as the center of your mouth catches on fire.

Leo's hand grazes your upper thigh right as you're extending your palms forward to push him away. The second your mouths disconnect, your hand covers your own, and you start coughing violently from the overload of capsaicin.

The vice-captain laughs obnoxiously at your expense as he steps back from you.

“LEO, COUGH…! WHAT THE…COUGH…! FUCK IS THAT?!”

Tears well up in your eyes and you bolt for trash. Leo continues speaking, but you're too focused on getting the gum out of your mouth to actually listen.

“Carolina Reaper flavor. Pffft, you look so red! Ahahaha…!”

Once you spit the gum into the garbage bin, you immediately head for the sink and fill a nearby glass with water. As you chug it, you remember the hard way that water can exacerbate inflammation, but your options are woefully limited right now. You stand at the sink for a while, drinking a couple of glasses until the sensation dissipates to a manageable level.

Following your recovery, you flip around to reprimand Leo, only to find him perched on the edge of your bed with a phone in his hand. The harsh words you had intended to throw at him die in your mouth when you notice the case of the phone. You pat your now empty pocket to confirm your suspicions.

That idiot had the gall to take your phone too?!

“What are you doing with that?” You hurry towards him as mild panic sets in.

Leo kicks his shoes off and slides farther back onto the bed, as if to give himself a few seconds longer to finish whatever it is that he's doing. “Just removing evidence, chill out.”

“Evidence?!” You repeat impatiently as you stop in front of the mattress. “Give it back.”

Leo plops his head down on one of your pillows. “Two seconds.”

“What the fuck do you mean two seconds? No!” You climb onto the bed and grip the edges of the case to pull it from him.

Thunder cracks outside again, but this time it takes the power with it. The lights in your room flicker for a split second, and then the room goes black entirely. You and Leo blink at each other in surprise, your faces illuminated somewhat by the natural light coming in through the window.

You sigh, your grip loosening on the phone in defeat. “Fuck. This is your fault.”

Leo scoffs. “The weather? Wrong vice-captain.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “My poor luck. I was going to record today.”

A weather alert notification rings loudly from your phone. You slide next to Leo to peer at the screen.

“Severe thunderstorm warning until midnight,” You read aloud. “The campus cats will promptly work to recover the power back in the dormitories. Darkwick staff strongly advises students to remain in their respective buildings for the time being… Shit.”

Without warning, Leo peels back your comforter and settles underneath it, making himself right at home. “Aaawh. Looks like you're stuck with me. Poor you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I could keep you downstairs too.”

Leo's lips pucker into a pout. “After getting the privilege to kiss me? Show some gratitude.”

“You spit hot ass gum into my mouth,” You deadpan.

“It's not even that hot. Not my fault you can't handle it,” Leo retorts.

You stare at the vice-captain for a moment. He looks cute cozied up under your sheets. For the time being, you forget about him messing around on your phone. You realize how confused you still are by the random shift in his actions. “...Why did you kiss me, though?”

Leo rolls on his right side and props his head in his hand as he looks up at you. “‘Cause I felt like it.”

His statement is resolute, yet still leaves more questions than answers.

You shake your head tiredly. “You're so confusing, seriously. Everything you say and do contradicts itself.”

“Maybe you just suck at reading me.”

“Or maybe you do it so I can't.”

The soft accusation makes Leo shut up for a few moments. His expression remains unreadable, and your phone still limply resides in his free hand.

“Get under the covers with me,” He demands, blatantly diverting the topic.

You feel your cheeks turn pink at the sudden request. “Nice cop out. I'm not going to do anything until you tell me exactly what you deleted on my phone.”

“I told you– evidence. Just anything that indicates I'm connected to that burner account.” Leo shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow at that. “I wouldn't have told on you. And you better not rat me out.”

Leo smirks impishly. “It's cold as shit in here, Honor Roll. Get under the covers and your secret is safe with me.”

You click your tongue and stand up to peel back the comforter. “Fine. But it has to be permanently safe if I agree now– no backtracking.”

“Cross my heart~” Leo assures.

You browbeat him for a moment. Once you determine he's being sincere, you slip underneath the covers next to him and prop your head up on a pillow. “I'm taking this back, though.” You grab your phone in his hand, and he lets go without a fight.

“Have it your way,” Leo acquiesces.

You begin checking your apps for any signs of tampering besides what the influencer admitted to. As you flick through tabs, you feel a weight settle against your chest. You redirect your attention to find Leo shamelessly cuddling up against you, his arm looping around your waist.

It's… stupidly cute.

Rather than drawing attention to it, you bury your muddled thoughts to resume the task at hand. You look around for a little longer and determine that Leo had indeed only deleted some messages. He probably knew you wouldn't really do anything anyway. Almost everything he did to annoy you ended up being a ploy for attention.

A message notification pops up from Subaru and you click on it.

[… Kurosagi?]

Huh?

There’s a text beforehand from Subaru and then one sent from your device.

[Hello, (Y/N)! I hope you're in your dorm safe in this weather. I just checked the forecast for next weekend and there is a high chance that it will be storming Saturday. Do you have any plans for Sunday? 😊]

[Sry bozo i have plans. 🤥 Dont bother asking me other days either. 💀 Mayb if sho feels bad 4 u he will cancel service so u dont have 2 contest a refund 🤣🤣🤣]

“Leo, what the fuck?”

A ghost of a smirk appears on the vice-captain's face. He doesn't need to ask what you found. “Hmm?”

“Do NOT text people on my phone without permission. Now I have to apologize! You being here at this time of night is going to look weird, you know?”

“You going on a date with a guy after making out with me is even weirder,” Leo counters, not bothering to lift his head. “He shouldn't be messaging you this late anyway.”

You did tell him it was a date when you were shit talking to each other. But you really don't have the energy to explain all that right now.

You type out a quick apology text to Subaru and set aside your phone.

Having Leo this close to you felt foreign, but it certainly isn't unwelcome. The cold rain harshly pelting the roof of your poorly insulated room feels even more serene when there's a warm body nestled against you. You experimentally run your fingers through Leo's hair to test the waters. A pleased hum reaches your ears amongst the ambient noise, wordlessly inviting you to continue.

You're not sure how your relationship with Leo will be after all this. Romantic? That's something you can't really picture. Not in the traditional sense.

You got yourself a little too involved with Darkwick's most difficult and bratty ghoul. Now you'd have to navigate the consequences that follow.

#tokyo debunker #fanfic #fan fiction #leo kurosagi #leo kurosagi/reader #leo kurosagi x reader

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epiphainie · 5 months ago

Note

i really enjoy your writing and i was curious about what your favourite bucktommy fics are 👀👀

(only if you feel like answering!)

thank you! i feel like i keep reccing the same fics but i adore them a lot sooo... i'll try to mention more this time:

(edit: putting it under read more bc it got really long)

one way trip to the sun by @newtkelly i've read this twice, i adore the writing, the film homages, the nonlinear format. it's made for me

what the agony had been for by @alchemistc honestly, anything by catie but this is one of my fav tommy focused fics and it being by buck's pov is a feature

a promise of forever by @firehose118 i love the flavor of domesticity bucktommy have in this one, it's so comforting

identify me by @kinaaaard i dont know how to explain it but this fic ruined me for some reason

histocompatibility by @rcmclachlan loved it on tumblr, loved it on ao3 again

five ways to fall in love with the man in the mirror by @userautumn i've just read this this morning and it managed to make me cry with its less than 2k words, it's gorgeous

baby, if you think you're able (you need to take this rough medicine) by @dadbodbuck best smut muah

rule four (you were only waiting for this moment to arise) by daisyblaine (idk if they're here) anything with these vibes is made for me honestly, just this liminal piece of character study

an outlier that should not be counted by @dadvans this is a classic to me

old dog new tricks by @watchyourbuck this one makes my brain go brrrrrr age gap smut you will always be famous

mr july by @lazybakerart this is how i aspire to write in buck's pov honestly, his voice is so good here, so buck

jealousy doesn't always come with green eyes by elizabethgee my fav jealousy fic

Versatile by cjr2 (please tag the writers if you know theyre here) i remember this making me laugh out loud

like sun on my skin (so this is love, i know it is) by @buckera im a slut for these types of flash moments on a theme fics and this is so sweet

Awful quiet here since love fell asleep by @cecilyv @liminalmemories21 one thing about me: the first thing i read when i get into a ship is the breakup fics and this is so beautiful my absolute fav

display me by WallabyWhump i think about this all the time, fav smut oneshots top contender

get undressed, leave a mess (worry 'bout it after) by @prettyboybuckley i read this before i watched the show and it changed my brain chemistry, it's so filthy (positive)

#if you know the tumblr @s of the writers lemme know #if anyone wants to be untagged also lemme know #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #fic rec #911 #911 fic #mimi.txt

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s4lv4tions · 1 year ago

Text

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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naughtyneganjdm · 1 month ago

Text

Threads of Desire: A Christmas to Remember - Chapter 3

Summary: Y/N goes to Maggie's apartment to pick up something for work, but is shocked when she discovers a secret that Maggie is keeping. After the day she had, Y/N goes to visit with her friend Daryl Dixon who does what he can to make her feel better.

Characters: Daryl Dixon, the reader (OC), Maggie Greene, Negan Smith (only heavily mentioned), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61111030/chapters/157163035

Warnings: Swearing, Cheating, Angst, Pretty heavy dirty talk, Implied Sex, Smut, etc.

Notes: This chapter doesn't have Negan in it, but he is mentioned. I quickly edited this. I wanted to have more of this up, but life got busy so everything may not be up by Christmas. But I'll do my best to get up the chapters as quickly as I can.

Moving through the streets of New York, Y/N cussed to herself when she worked to keep herself from falling. Of fucking course it had to be snowing right now. It fit her mood and everything that was happening. The sound of her phone going off made her frown when she reached for it to see that Negan was calling her. Rejecting the call, she was quick to put her head down and keep walking. But then immediately after he was calling her back again. Shoving her phone into her purse, she ignored the call not wanting to talk to Negan after everything.

Avoiding Negan now would be her only option with how big of a fool she made of herself tonight. After everything, there were two things she was feeling more than anything right now. Regret and anger. Regret that she let herself get to the point that she did tonight. She had worked so hard to keep her mouth shut about Maggie and how miserable she was. Putting on a façade for the last four years was something she had gotten good at, but she suddenly let go of all that in just a few hours. And anger that the person she thought was her best friend purposely went out of her way to break her heart. Hearing that Maggie was the one to pursue Negan after promising that she wouldn’t was devastating. The sad thing was though? It wasn’t hard to believe. It had become more than obvious that Maggie didn’t care for Y/N in the way that she cared about Maggie. For some reason, it always felt like a competition in life between the two of them. One that Y/N never played along with, but for some reason Maggie was. Maggie had to have the best of everything. And she had won. In her own little game, she won. Maggie had Y/N’s dream job. Maggie was dating the man that Y/N had fallen in love with.

Getting to Maggie’s apartment, Y/N dug inside of her purse to find the keys. Walking inside, the woman at the front desk already knew who she was. They didn’t know her as Maggie’s friend, but as the woman that worked for Maggie. By now? She had been back and forth in Maggie’s apartment so much that the whole staff that worked in that building knew who Y/N was.

Heading up on the elevator, she closed her eyes tightly and tipped her head back when she heard her phone buzzing again in her purse. Undoubtedly that had to be Negan. Who knows how many times he had called at this point. Jumping out of the car at a red light had to be a bit of a shocker for him, but she didn’t care. Everything had become awkward and it was more than enough for one night.

Once more today, she found herself soaked from the snow. This time though? It was much worse. Instead of being in comfortable clothes, she was in a nice dress with just her jacket that didn’t close in the front.

A ding filled the air to alert her that she was on Maggie’s floor. Moving through the hallway, she headed for Maggie’s apartment and sighed. Considering Maggie hadn’t been texting her off the hook about the event tonight, she assumed Maggie was still at the dinner meeting. Opening up the door, Y/N stepped into the apartment feeling her heart rate escalate. Loud breaths and smacking sounds were filling the air drawing Y/N’s attention toward the kitchen where Maggie was laid out across the kitchen table having someone pounding into her.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry,” Y/N immediately apologized hearing Maggie gasp out once she realized that it was Y/N that was there. Stumbling out of the apartment, Y/N was quick to close the door shut behind her. Embarrassment flooded her veins when she headed back toward the elevator. But as she stood in front of the elevator, that feeling soon changed to anger. A moment later the door to Maggie’s apartment pulled open and Maggie was wearing an oversize t-shirt that she had obviously pulled on. Glancing to Maggie, Y/N shook her head and bit back what she honestly wanted to say. “I had no idea you were in there. I was just coming to pick up the project folder for tomorrow because the meeting you had at the end of the week got pushed forward to tomorrow. I didn’t want you to forget it, so I was dropping by to pick it up to make sure you had it.”

“We need to talk,” Maggie stressed with the elevator doors opening. There was a redness flooding into her cheeks with a thin layer of sweat covering her body. There was worry in Maggie’s green eyes when Y/N shook her head. “No, you need to come with me.”

“I don’t need to do anything. Just remember to bring your project with you in the morning or the meeting isn’t going to go very well,” Y/N went to leave, but Maggie grabbed a tight hold of Y/N’s wrist dragging her back to the apartment. “Maggie, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Maggie pushed Y/N into her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her. Y/N’s heart was pounding inside of her chest while Maggie attempted to gather herself. “And…you…you can’t tell Negan.”

“Tell Negan what?” she blurt out, dramatically shrugging her shoulders and throwing her hands up in the air. “That you’re cheating on him and fucking someone else?”

“Yeah, I knew you would be like this,” Maggie rolled her eyes, folding her arms out in front of her chest. “You’re my best friend, so therefore you have to be on my side of things. You can’t tell Negan what you saw today. Because one, that would break his heart and two…you just…well, you just can’t tell him.”

“I don’t lie to Negan,” Y/N declared, venom in her tone with Maggie rolling her eyes at the response. “What the hell are you even doing anyways? Negan is perfect. What are you doing fucking around on him?”

“Your undying loyalty to Negan is a little fucking pathetic Y/N. I hope you realize that,” Maggie hissed, throwing her right hand about. Whoever Maggie was screwing was in the background getting into something which had the both of them distracted for a moment, but Maggie pulled Y/N back in to focus on her. “Listen, Negan is the man that I want to marry, but I’m still young. I want to be able to have some fun before I ever consider doing something like that.”

“If you want to have that kind of life, then why are you dragging Negan along?” Y/N blurt out, every muscle in her body tensing up when she reached for her jacket that was wet. Pulling it off, she tossed it aside onto the counter and Maggie gave her a once over. “What?!”

“You wore that tonight?” Maggie seemed to be stunned with how she looked, but soon realized that she was distracted and pulled herself back into the moment. “Y/N, I like Negan. A lot. Okay? Negan is not someone I want to give up. He’s very good at sex and you know he has a big dick. That’s not really something people want to lose.”

“Wow,” nothing more could escape Y/N’s lips. “Just…wow.”

“Give me a fucking break,” Maggie scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air. “I know you have your little crush on Negan, but I’m your best friend. Your loyalty should lie with me. Not him. Fuck, it’s because of me that you actually got to see Negan naked at all. You never would have if it wasn’t for me. So maybe you should be a little thankful toward me and show me some appreciation.”

“I’m sorry, but what?” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how out of the field that comment was. “So now I shouldn’t tell Negan about you fucking someone else because I was able to see Negan’s dick with your help?”

“I’m not wrong,” Maggie stressed her feelings toward Y/N eliciting an eye roll from her longtime friend. “You had the hots for him for so fucking long and I’m sure that getting to see him naked around the apartment all the time helped fuel your little fantasies of him.”

“Wow, you can go fuck yourself Maggie,” Y/N snarled attempting to move around Maggie only to hear the sound of something being dropped behind them. Looking over her shoulder, Y/N let out a loud exhale when she saw Guy Vixen walking around Maggie’s kitchen completely naked. A breath caught in her throat realizing that it was their boss that she had walked in on fucking Maggie. “Holy shit.”

“I know you told me to wait in your bedroom, but…I didn’t want to,” Guy’s thick accent slurred from his lips, waving his hand about after he grabbed a glass for himself. “I was thirsty and I got sick of waiting for you and…”

Guy paused when his eyes connected with Y/N’s. Moving around the bar that was at the center of the kitchen, he stopped when he stood before her, “Oh hello. Look at you. You are ravishing. Maggie, who is this. Is she a gift? Something that we can both play with?”

“I uh…” Y/N dropped her head down to see that Guy was still very much up from the action that she had interrupted. An uncomfortable breath escaped her throat when Guy lifted his hand to drag his finger down over the center of her chest toward her breasts. “I work for you. Well, I work with Maggie.”

“Oh! You’re that cute little thing from this morning?” Guy questioned, closing the distance between the two of them. “Fuck honey, if I knew you looked like that under all those clothes I would have invited you a long time ago.”

“Guy!” Maggie snapped, but it didn’t draw the brown eyes of their boss to pull from Y/N. Tugging slightly at the material of Y/N’s dress had it pulling forward with Guy attempting to get a look at Y/N’s breasts. “She’s not here as a third!”

“She may have not come with the intentions of being a third, but now that she’s hear soaking wet…” Guy swept his fingers down over her arms, stepping forward causing Y/N to take one step back. “Don’t be shy. I have enough in me to share with the both of you. You can ask Maggie, she’s tried him many times. And he delivers every time.”

“And suddenly we are talking about your dick in third person,” Y/N felt her face grow hot with her boss like this before her. This was the man that she admired growing up. The person that inspired her to even get into the business. So to say this was uncomfortable? It was an understatement. Not that Guy wasn’t good looking. He was incredibly good looking. And he didn’t look bad naked. He had a very chiseled physique. Unlike Negan, you could tell that he worked out a lot. And his rippled abdomen, buff chest and veins that were prominent in his arms showed it.

Noticing that she was staring at his arm, Guy flexed his arm slightly to bulge his bicep, flashing her a bright smile. “You like the way that looks? Little offended that you are looking there and not at my penis, but the arms and chest are nice so I don’t blame you for getting a look in.”

“Maggie,” she spoke her friend’s name feeling cornered when Guy blocked her in, placing both of his hands on the wall beside her. “Mr. Vixen?”

“Just Guy,” he smiled, letting out a disappointed breath when Maggie worked her way between the two of them. Pressing into Guy’s chest had him rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air. “Come on Maggie. Have a little fun here. You two are hot. I’m hot. I think the three of us could really have fun. You two can make out a little. I’d love to come on her tits.”

Lowering her head, Y/N looked down at her breasts and wondered if she had really kept them hidden that much since people had been so drawn to them tonight.

“Guy, it’s not going to happen. We aren’t those kind of…friends,” Maggie suggested, not sure how to get the man to back off in the least. “Just go back to my room and I’ll be there in a few minutes. I promise.”

“You get me excited for something more only to turn me down and disappoint me,” Guy pouted, palming down over the center of his chest toward his mid abdomen. Locking eyes with Y/N, he threw his hand up in the air and smiled. “Since Maggie is a buzzkill, if you ever decide that you want to have sex, just come see me at work. I’m not kidding when I tell you that I’d love to come all over your tits. They are incredible.”

“Guy!” Maggie interrupted him after Y/N let out a nervous laugh at how forward he was being. “Anyone else and you’d be worrying about a massive sexual harassment charge right now.”

“I’m telling the woman that I’d like to fuck her. I don’t think that’s bad,” Guy stressed, stumbling back toward Maggie’s room with Maggie pushing into him. Waving his hand at Maggie, Guy got her to step away from him and he laughed. “Fine! Be that way. But I’m just letting her know that I mean it. The offer is on the table.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N gave Guy an answer with him pointing at her, smiling over the top when he headed back into Maggie’s bedroom. Once he was in, Maggie slowly turned to look at Y/N. “Things make so much more sense now. Although, I did think he was gay so that’s surprising.”

“He’s pansexual,” Maggie alerted Y/N suddenly feeling awkward about the exchange between Guy and Y/N since she was just having sex with the guy. “I’m not sleeping with him because he’s the boss. We’ve been doing this off and on because…”

“I didn’t even suggest that, but now that you put it out there…” Y/N breathed out, folding her arms in front of her chest knowing that it did come off strange that Maggie was in fact fucking the boss.

“Don’t even start with me,” Maggie warned throwing her finger out at Y/N who leaned back against the wall. “You can tell that he’s very…forward. And it’s easy to fall for it with the way that he looks. So I don’t want to hear that I’m screwing my way to the top.”

“I never said that,” Y/N reminded Maggie feeling a sense of happiness in the moment that Maggie felt bad about the situation. “You did.”

“Regardless, you really have no right to judge me,” Maggie claimed, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. A sound of frustration fell deep from within her. “I know you’re just jumping at the idea to tell Negan I’m cheating on him so you can get your nails into him.”

“Get my nails into him?” Y/N repeated, a fire building up in her veins. “You know, Negan told me a few interesting stories tonight. Here you are begging me to be your best friend and be loyal to you, but Negan let me in on some things that made me realize just how much of my best friend that you aren’t.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Maggie wondered, her eyebrow arching when she braced her hands on the counter.

“You knew how much I liked him,” Y/N spoke quietly, trying to make sure that Guy didn’t hear their fight about another man. “I told you how in love with him I was and you still went after him. You swore to me that you wouldn’t. You even promised me that after he brought you those flowers that you wouldn’t let anything else happen, but then you did. And I thought it was on him, so that’s why I never really held you responsible. But tonight he told me that you kept coming back to his class to flirt with him. That you’re the one that kept coming. That you were the one that swore to him that I wouldn’t be coming home the night you fucked him on the couch. You knew I was coming home. You set it up so I could see what you had done…”

“I…” Maggie looked like she was going to rip into her, but stopped when she thought about what Y/N had said. “You know what? I’m not even going to fight about it. Yeah. I went after Negan. For four years, I had to listen to you whine about how in love you were with this guy. And then I walk in to see how fucking hot he is. And after four years? You didn’t try a fucking thing. So I didn’t see the big deal. Negan was hot. You weren’t making your move. That’s not my fault. Plus, it’s not like I had to work that hard to get him to come to me. You can be in love with someone all you want, but that doesn’t mean that he has the same feelings toward you. Which he obviously didn’t. It’s not you that Negan has feelings for Y/N, it’s me. You were never going to hook up with Negan in the first place. I needed you to realize that so you could fucking move on with your life. Instead, you’ve remained incredibly loyal to him and his daughter, but you’re never going to get what you want. Even if you do run off to him and tattle on me about what you saw here. It’s been eight years Y/N. If it hasn’t happened yet, it’s never going to. You’re not his type. And he doesn’t like you like that.”

Parting her lips, Y/N went to say something, but felt that lump returning to her throat again. Maggie was right. She witnessed that firsthand tonight. Negan didn’t like her like that. So what could she honestly say to combat that?

“It’s your fault for not trying first,” Maggie stuck to her guns about the situation with Negan, tipping her head from side to side. “Not that he would have said yes because…trust me. If he didn’t want you when you were taking care of his kid, he was never going to want you. You’re just a glorified nanny Y/N.”

“Fuck you Maggie,” she shook her head, trying to get Maggie to move but Maggie wasn’t budging. Frustrated, Y/N stepped back and shook her head. “You are the worst fucking friend in the world. You know that?”

“Why? Because I have the things that you want but never fought hard enough to have?” Maggie snapped back, closing the distance between the two of them. “What exactly makes me a bad friend, huh? As far as I’m concerned, I’m the best fucking thing that happened to you. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be nowhere. I’m the one that brought you into Vixen. I make it possible for you to live in the city that you always dreamt of living in. I’m the one that makes sure you put food in your mouth. I allowed you to fill your dirty little fantasies to finally get to see Negan naked in the ways that you wanted. When I look at it? I’m the best friend you’ve got. All of those things I can take away from you in an instant. Your job. Your home. And with one conversation with Negan, I can take him and Jordyn away from you too. So why don’t you show me some gratitude instead of threatening me over a crush you were too much of a pussy to try anything with.”

Backing down, Y/N started to feel small again realizing that Maggie was right. This job was the only thing keeping her in New York City. Talking to Negan tonight confirmed with her that she couldn’t get a job to fall back on. If she lost her job, she would lose her apartment which meant she would have to leave the city. And after hearing all the people talking about Maggie at work tonight with Negan, she knew that with the proper persuasion, Maggie probably could have Negan kick her out of Jordyn’s life.

“That’s what I thought. Big and bad until reality smacks you upside the head,” Maggie grumbled under her breath with the color flooding into Y/N’s face. “For fuck’s sake. I have been dating Negan for four years and you still have that fucking crush controlling you. If you haven’t figured it out in eight years, it’s time for you to wake the fuck up. He doesn’t want you Y/N. So what is running to him and telling him that you found me sleeping with someone else going to do?”

“Is Guy the only one?” Y/N inquired getting a laugh from Maggie in return. “That’s a no.”

“Does it matter how many people I’m sleeping with on the side?” Maggie pushed, stealing a quick look to her bedroom to see that Guy was laid out across her bed skimming through things on his phone. “It wouldn’t change the conversation regardless. You should be loyal to me. Not him. Yes, I’m sleeping around with multiple people. No, I don’t want to stop it. It’s not cheating if it’s not an emotional relationship with someone. Then I would feel like I was cheating on Negan. Otherwise, it is what it is.”

“Negan deserves better than this Maggie,” Y/N alerted Maggie of how she felt about the situation, even knowing that Negan would never want to be with her.

“You don’t really know him Y/N. So don’t tell me what he does and does not deserve,” Maggie snapped at Y/N, rolling her eyes at the comment in general. “Negan isn’t the Mr. Wonderful that you think he is. I’m going to assume that you don’t know all of him because the way at which you are his loyal little dog shows it.”

“I know Negan isn’t perfect,” she countered, shaking her head at the idea that she didn’t know all the parts of Negan. She was around him for four years before Maggie ever came around. “I’m pretty sure I know him more than you do.”

“I’m pretty sure you don’t,” Maggie corrected her, tipping her head from side to side. “Come back to me when you’ve had him balls deep inside of you and then we’ll talk.”

“You think that having sex with someone means you know them more?” Y/N breathed out with Maggie licking her lips in an arrogant sweep. “That’s very ignorant.”

“Whatever Y/N. I don’t care to have this conversation anymore. I’m busy and I’d like to get back to my night,” Maggie hissed out, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. “I just need to know if I should expect you telling Negan about this or not. So what’s it going to be? You going to go running to him? Tell him everything? Because if you plan on running to him, you don’t have to show up to work tomorrow. You’ll be looking to find yourself a new job instead.”

Staying quiet, Y/N knew that she had to swallow her pride and keep this to herself. No matter how much she hated her job, she loved this city more and she loved Jordyn. Maggie had the power to make her lose both things. Moving around Maggie, Y/N reached for her jacket that she had thrown on the counter. Pulling it back on, she went to leave only for Maggie to call out to her.

Stopping, she waited for Maggie who moved into her office. Coming back out with the project that she had showed up for, Maggie held it out to her and bit down on her bottom lip, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah,” Y/N accepted the folder, her eyes narrowing when Maggie offered up a big smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

And with that, she left.

----

There was no question that it would have been for the best if Y/N went directly home. It was late at night. She was drunk. Things were emotional. More than anything she should have been sleeping all of this off. Undoubtedly she would be having an early morning tomorrow. One where Maggie would likely give her endless amounts of shit after everything that happened tonight. Yet, she found herself headed somewhere else. Everything felt like it was spinning and she was almost afraid to go home to be alone. Right now she was experiencing everything so strongly that she knew she needed to talk to someone.

Tomorrow was going to be hard. It went against everything that she was to keep something like this from Negan. But Maggie was right about a lot of things. And she needed to talk to someone who could help her through this. Someone who understood what she was going through and knew most of the details. And there was only one person in the world that she had been completely open with about everything. That was her friend Daryl Dixon.

Y/N had also met Daryl during her freshman year of college. After getting an art degree there, Daryl worked at the college for years. A few of the professors ended up liking him so they hooked him up with a job on campus. Pretty quickly, they hit it off after meeting at a party. They were always running into each other after their first meet and it felt like the world was just telling both of them that they were meant to be in each other's lives. Even though he was older than her, they just clicked. Back when she was in college Daryl, Maggie and Negan were the three people she was the closest too. Daryl knew everything. And he was the only person that she could be completely honest with about things.

Unlike Negan and Maggie, she and Daryl had more in common. They were both very passionate about their work, but neither of them were making the kind of money that Negan and Maggie were. Daryl lived in a studio apartment in the Meat Packing District of New York City. After leaving Maggie’s apartment in the upper East side, she got a ride to his apartment. Yes, it was late at night, but she was pretty certain that he would be awake. Daryl didn’t usually sleep much. These were the hours when he thought his creativity spiked. Just like her, Daryl’s brain often never had time to silence itself.

Sluggishly moving through the hallways, Y/N stopped when she reached Daryl’s door. Pressing forward, she heard the faint sounds of music playing alerting her to the fact that he was very much awake. Knocking at the door loud enough for him to hear, she waited. Holding her shoes in one hand, she leaned against the wall across from his door. Movement inside let her know that Daryl heard her. It didn’t take long for him to unlock the door and slide it open with a heavy thud.

Standing before her, Daryl was completely shirtless wearing only a pair of torn, weathered down blue jeans. The button in his jeans was undone and his hair was a mess. There some paint splattered over both his torso and his hands that made her smirk when she saw it. A cigarette was loosely hanging from between his lips, with his eyebrows bouncing up when their eyes finally locked.

“What in God’s name are you wearing?” Daryl snorted, his head tipping to the side as he lifted his arm to rest it against the doorframe. Gazing over her body, Daryl couldn’t but be amused seeing her dressed in what she was. Especially since he had never really seen her like that in his time being near her. “Did you come from some kinda party or somethin’?”

Instead of saying anything, a long exhale escaped her throat and when he finally noticed the expression in her eyes, Daryl knew that she needed him. Stepping aside, without question, Daryl waved her forward motioning her into his apartment.

“I take it you had a hard day?” Daryl commented, pulling his cigarette from between his lips after she lowered down just enough to walk under his arm and into his apartment. Grunting out, Daryl closed his door with a firm slam, locking things up behind him. Dragging his bare feet along the floor, Daryl headed back toward the painting that he was working on leaving her standing at the middle of his mostly empty apartment.

Daryl was a simple man. Truthfully? If Daryl would have decorated the place a little nicer, this could have been a beautiful apartment. It had huge windows that looked upon the city and it was a lot of space. On the left side of Daryl’s apartment was a very simple bed and a dresser for him to keep his clothes. At the opposite side was the kitchen area where Daryl had a bar set up where he could sit and eat. Near the middle was a single couch that had an older television sitting out before it. And toward the back of his apartment was where Daryl kept his studio for his art. This was the place that Daryl worked out of. So there were plenty of art supplies, canvases and things of that nature. Since it was Christmas time, Daryl had what she would have guessed to be a five-foot artificial Christmas tree at the opposite corner of where his bed was at the left side of the apartment. The star that was on top of it looked like it had seen better days. There were no ornaments on the tree. It just had the white lights that likely came with the tree when Daryl had bought it. Along with that, there was a line of string lights that Daryl had hung up around the bedroom area of his apartment.

“I like what you’ve done with the place for Christmas,” she pointed toward the lights provoking a grunt to fall from Daryl’s throat while he continued painting whatever it was he was working on. “It’s very much in the Christmas spirit.”

“At least I put something up,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, with his cigarette still hanging from his lips. “You mentioned the place being depressing the last time you were here, so I decided to brighten the place up a bit.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was impressed,” she implied, stepping forward across his apartment. Curling her arms around her, she realized that she was freezing. “I’m sorry for coming here. I just didn’t know where else to go. And I didn’t want to go home.”

“You never have to apologize to me. You’re always welcome in my home,” Daryl declared, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray that was in the distance. Rubbing his hands together, Daryl cleared his throat and shrugged. Really Daryl didn’t seem too bothered at the idea of having her there. “I enjoy the company.”

“You told me that you hate being around people. You’ve said that many times,” she reminded him, getting him to roll his eyes at her comment. “You’re a loner. You like to remind me of that all the time.”

“Yeah, I hate most people. Just not you. You’re different,” Daryl muttered under his breath, simply shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. Once his blue eyes looked upon her again, Daryl frowned and pushed his chair away from his canvas that he was working on. “Do you want some pajama pants and a t-shirt? You look wet.”

“Are they clean?” she teased getting the middle finger from him in response. It made her laugh as he stood up from the seat with a groan.

Heading toward the bedroom area, Daryl pulled open one of his drawers. Pushing through some of his things, he grabbed a t-shirt and then opened another drawer for the pajama pants. Holding them at his side, Daryl approached her and held it out to her.

“They are freshly washed, I promise you,” Daryl scoffed, his face scrunching up in irritation when he threw them out to her and she laughed when she caught them.

“Thank you,” she muttered, looking down at the clothes. They did in fact smell like they were freshly washed, but she couldn’t help giving him a hard time since most of his things were covered in paint. A lot of people would give Daryl a hard time about looking dirty so he always got annoyed at those kind of comments.

“I happen to think I smell great you know,” Daryl reasoned with her looking to his hands to gaze upon the paint that was covering them. “Let me go clean up and wash this paint off of me while you change. After you get that dress off of you, we can throw it up in the bathroom to dry. I have some coffee on if you want something to help you warm up.”

“That’d be great,” she appreciated how quick he was to help her. This was like Daryl though. He’d happily welcome her into his apartment, no questions asked.

Watching him closely, she started to take off her clothes while he walked off into the bathroom. In the distance she could see his reflection in the mirror while he worked to scrub at the paint over his hands. By the time she was dressed in what he had given her, Daryl was waiting for her by the bathroom to help her get her dress up to help it dry. Motioning her toward the kitchen area of his apartment, Daryl grabbed her a mug when she went for the coffee. Setting it down on the counter, Daryl headed back toward the painting that he was working on leaving her there to prepare her coffee the way she wanted it. What amused her about Daryl is that he had two mugs. One that was his and one that he kept for her when she came over.

Grabbing one of the stray chairs that was in Daryl’s apartment, she was careful to hold the mug in one hand while she dragged her chair over beside Daryl to get a look at the painting he was working on. Taking a seat, she got comfortable and took a minute to gaze upon his art. It was a stunning portrait of a woman. And it was big. What surprised her about Daryl was how he didn’t have more jobs than he did. When Daryl did portraits, they were incredible. He was a hell of an artist and she was always impressed with the things that he was working on.

“You are so talented,” she blurt out, eliciting a scoff from Daryl who never really thought much of himself to begin with. “She’s a pretty girl. Who is she?”

“It’s a commission piece,” he answered, his fingers curling around the seat that he was on. Bracing his weight, Daryl joined her in looking at the painting. “There is something about it that doesn’t feel right.”

“You say that about all of your pieces,” she reminded him, cupping her coffee mug in her hands hoping to warm up with it there. Even though the coffee might help her sober up, she just preferred the warmth of the mug there for now. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Or not hard enough,” he countered, his right eyebrow arching up when he turned to look at her. A stray piece of his dark hair fell into his eyes. Pushing it back behind his ear, Daryl looked upon her expectantly. “Okay, so spill your guts. What happened? I know Christmas is the worst time of the year for you with work.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with me venting to you?” she wondered, showing a sense of worry about coming to Daryl only to complain about her life. Standing up from the stool that he was on, Daryl grabbed one of his normal chairs and pulled it in front of her. Turning it around, Daryl straddled the chair and lowered down, crossing his arms over the top part of the back of the chair.

“When have I ever had a problem with you talking to me?” Daryl seemed frustrated that she would even ask him that. Shaking his head, Daryl sighed loudly and lowered his head to rest his chin on his arms. “After this long, I think you know I will listen to you anytime you want to talk.”

“I don’t know Daryl. I just feel bad that I always come to you when I’m upset. I just think you may be my only real friend at this point,” she confessed to him, hating to say it but it was how she felt. Daryl was the only person that she had a bond with where it didn’t feel fake with him. There was nothing about their relationship that was conditional. “I don’t want you thinking you’re my last resort. Because you’re not. I appreciate you and everything you do for me. You’re just the only person that makes me feel like I can really be me. The only person that I can be honest with.”

“That’s because I am,” Daryl snorted, giving her a wrinkle of his nose. It had her smiling when he threw his hand up in the air. It was blunt, but he probably wasn’t wrong. “But that’s okay because you are the only person that I feel that way with too. So go for it. Tell me what’s up.”

“Before I go off and make myself look bad, do you have something that you want to talk about first?” she wanted to open the door to give Daryl the opportunity to talk about his life so she didn’t feel like such an asshole about things.

Chuckling at the idea, Daryl shook his head and nodded toward his painting, “What you see behind me is the only difference in my life right now. Same old, same old. Just painting. I’m a very boring person.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she refused, shaking her head in response.

“You’re delaying talking about why you are here,” Daryl pushed, tapping his hands against the back of the chair with his blue eyes narrowing. “So go ahead.”

“I’m just…not happy,” she whispered, having a hard time looking Daryl in the eye when she finally admitted things to him. “Every day, I find myself hating my life more and more. I used to be able to hold it in, but today, I just…I let a lot of it slip and that’s not like me.”

“Everyone has their breaking point. You just waited four years to have yours,” Daryl thought aloud, “I’m surprised it took you this long. I would have erupted in the first year from all of it. The first day really. Maggie really needs to be knocked on her ass.”

“Daryl,” she couldn’t help but be amused at how simply he said things. Shrugging dramatically, Daryl didn’t seem to care that his comment sounded harsh. “I can’t do that.”

“Oh, you can do that. And you should do that, you just won’t,” Daryl stressed, throwing his hands about while he spoke. “You just won’t. All because of a stupid promise you gave her father. I doubt her father knew that she was such a cunt. And I don’t think he’d want you being miserable to make sure his daughter had a good life.”

“Touché,” she exhaled loudly, knowing that Daryl hated Maggie. In her years of being close to both Daryl and Maggie, it was very obvious that the both of them heavily disliked each other. And they always did. Not once did they let up on it.

“I don’t know why you hold so tightly to that promise,” Daryl’s southern drawl had her sighing loudly. “Never did I understand it. I don’t think he expected you to make yourself miserable to lift his daughter up when she didn’t deserve it. He’d probably want you to put Maggie in her place.”

“Hershel was the closest thing to a father figure I had in my life for a long time,” she reminded Daryl, but that was a response that he never really went for. There was always an excuse she had as to why she continued to let things go with Maggie and he hated that. “You know I’m alone.”

“First of all, fuck you. You’re not alone. You have me,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, leaning back enough to place his hand in over the center of his bare chest. “Second, just because you’re alone doesn’t mean you have to suffer through this bullshit.”

“I don’t really think I can put up with much of her bullshit anymore,” she acknowledged, the lump in her throat growing along with the ache in her chest. After tonight she felt like her tolerance was completely starting to disappear. “I have finally realized that Maggie was never really my friend in the first place.”

“No shit,” Daryl scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. That was something he tried to convince her for a very long time, but she never seemed to open her eyes to the truth. So to hear her talking like that made Daryl happy. “I’ve always told you that. Anyone with eyes can tell she uses you to make herself feel better. Common sense Y/N. She stole your work in order to get a job.”

“She said that was an accident,” she alerted Daryl who grumbled a slew of curse words under his breath.

“Right,” Daryl bit down on his bottom lip, his body tensing up because there was no way he believed that comment. And really? She didn’t either. It did feel purposeful at the time. “She took the job you always wanted. The job she didn’t even want. She just did it to do it. Now, she wants it cus’ she likes the attention it gets her and she still uses you all the time.”

Giving a single nod, she knew that Daryl wasn’t wrong.

“A friend don’t fuck the guy you’ve been in love with for years either,” Daryl slurred, his southern tone growing deeper with him lifting his hand to wave it about to make a point. “Maggie wants to hurt you because hurting you proves she’s better than you. And you let her hurt you. We both know she’s a fucking cunt.”

Sighing loudly, Y/N forced herself to look down at the ground. There was a warmth flooding into her face and she hated to admit Daryl was right, but she knew he was correct all along, “You’re not wrong.”

“I’m happy you’re finally agreeing with me, but what did she do to make you say fuck this?” Daryl inquired, his eyebrow arching up in curiosity. “Usually, you put up more of a fight than this for Maggie.”

“It’s a buildup of things. The abuse I take every day. The lack of acknowledgement or credit for the work that I do and the ideas I provide her with. It was no different today than the rest of the days, but today she was supposed to do an event for Negan. Be a key speaker at an event to try to get donations for the college we used to go to,” she educated Daryl on how her day began. “Apparently she had a sudden meeting that she couldn’t miss. So she told me to step in for her. Didn’t ask me. And like I always do, I saved Maggie’s ass. I went to this event and I started talking to Negan. I was very blunt with him tonight. I couldn’t hold it in about being miserable. And I couldn’t hold in my feelings about Maggie. I just let them rip. I asked him why he fell for Maggie and he told me that the day after she met him she kept going back every day to flirt with him. Saying she was very blunt about it. Persistent. And the day that I found them having sex together on our couch in our apartment, Maggie told Negan that I would be gone all night because I would be spending time with you. Maggie knew very well that I would be coming home. She staged it so I would see it.”

“See, this is what I’m saying,” Daryl scowled, his blue eyes narrowing. “The bitch deserves to get knocked on her ass. She’s not your friend. She never was. And Negan needs a swift kick to the balls for falling for it.”

“She promised me that she wouldn’t let things go any further. She knew how much I loved him and she still did that,” she felt her heart breaking considering this was the person that she took care of more than anyone, other than Jordyn. For so long she thought Maggie was her best friend, but no one had ever hurt her as much as Maggie had. “I asked Negan what he loved about her today, what it was that drew him to her. It’s obvious that he’s head over heels in love with her. Just the way other people talk about her says he can’t stop talking about her. And then I asked him what he thought about me.”

“You’re just asking to be hurt,” Daryl hissed at the idea of whatever it was that Negan said because now it was starting to make sense why she looked so upset. “I hate that piece of shit too.”

“He told me that he got with Maggie because she reminded him of Lucille and that she was the first person to show interest,” she recalled what it was that Negan had said while they were together. “I can’t imagine he didn’t know how I felt about him.”

“Unless he was fucking stupid,” Daryl declared getting her to laugh at how firmly he made that statement.

“He told me that he views me as his angel. The woman who saved him. And like I’m the mother to his daughter,” she informed Daryl what Negan had said, breaking it down in not so many words. “And then I asked him why he didn’t try to hook up with me. He uh…he laughed.”

“I told you I never liked that motherfucker,” Daryl put emphasis on his words, throwing his hand about when he spoke. “I know you think that he’s this special guy, but he always rubbed me the wrong way. Allowing you to take care of his daughter while he was off having a mental fucking breakdown and then fucking your best friend? Fuck that dude Y/N. I don’t understand why you are so head over heels for him in the first place. The one time I sat in his class, I felt like he was the most arrogant prick I’d ever listened to. The ego on him was fucking huge.”

“There are parts of him that I know that other people don’t,” she was quick to defend Negan, but then she even rolled her eyes at her own comment. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about things because he doesn’t feel the same way about me and I know that. Tonight confirmed it for me. But it doesn’t stop there.”

“Oh boy,” Daryl couldn’t believe that there was more. Especially after the whole Negan thing. Knowing that Negan confirmed that he didn’t like her like that should have been the main thing to devastate her. If there was something worse, Daryl knew it had to be bad.

“I went to pick up something for work,” Y/N nodded in the direction of the things she brought with her from Maggie’s house. “I walked in on Maggie having sex with our boss. And I mean, he was really giving it to her. Good. The first thing she jumped on was begging me to not tell Negan. But then her begging went to her down talking me putting me in a corner. She threatened to take away my job if I told Negan about her having an affair. I guess it’s pretty normal for her to fuck a lot of people. She told me that if I told Negan what I saw, she would get Jordyn taken away from me. She would take away my job. And I’d be forced to leave New York because I’d have no income.”

“That’s when you should have said fuck you Maggie, I’m calling his ass right now,” Daryl snorted, his throat tensing up along with the muscles in his chest. Tossing his hand up, he pointed at her when he saw the color flooding into her face. “But you didn’t.”

“She is capable of that Daryl. I can’t get another job. I’ve been a glorified slave over the last four years. And then I asked Negan today if he could get me a job in the film industry and he told me it was pretty much impossible,” she repeated what Negan had told her earlier getting Daryl to roll his eyes. Dropping his head down, Daryl grumbled under his breath and shook his head. “I need my paycheck. I can’t keep my apartment if I lose my job. And you know how much Jordyn means to me.”

“I’ve seen you with Jordyn. That little girl would not allow that to happen. Maggie could shit talk you to Negan, but Jordyn loves you. You are unfortunately like that little girl’s mother. You co-parent a child with Negan without having the man nut in you,” Daryl rambled on, getting a tiny laugh from her throat at how forward he was about things. “And your job? So what? Lose your job. I’ll move you in here with me until we can get you on your feet. You’re talented. Your talent will speak for itself eventually. And if you can’t get something, I can talk to Carol.”

“We’re not going to get the help of that woman that you had an affair with when you were younger,” she frowned at the suggestion of it making Daryl laugh. That was something Daryl always said to her when she was upset. “I know the two of you are like good friends now, but it would feel weird.”

“She works at the rival company of Vixen,” Daryl reminded Y/N of the hookup that he had who could help her. “I’m sure if we wanted to, we could give her some of your work and she’d easily get you a job there. You would be like their secret weapon against Guy Vixen and fucking Maggie Greene. There are options. Do not let that woman overrule your life.”

“It’s Jordyn I’m the most worried about,” she knew that the other things were bad, but it was Negan’s daughter that left the lasting impression on her. “I know how much Negan loves Maggie. If she wants me out of their lives, I’ll lose that little girl. And I’m not really her mother so it will be easy for Maggie to achieve.”

“God,” Daryl huffed out, lifting his hand to bury his head at the center of it. “Why did you have to fall for Negan? Falling for me would have been so much easier.”

“Yes, I know,” she sighed loudly, falling back against her chair with Daryl slowly lifting his head. Arching his eyebrow, Daryl’s blue eyes locked on hers and she shook her head. “You remind me of that all the time.”

“I was head over heels in love with you when we first met,” Daryl stated, biting down on his bottom lip recalling what it was like for him when he first met her. “If you would have just fallen for me instead of that prick, things would have been a whole lot easier for you.”

“But I don’t think we would have been this close,” she spoke honestly, her eyebrows furrowing with Daryl speaking up about them getting together again.

“You know the first time that you slept with me was when you found Maggie and Negan together, right?” Daryl pointed out, leaning back in the chair drawing attention to his chest and it made her suck in a sharp breath of air. “I took advantage that night and it was wrong.”

“I was throwing myself at you hard and I knew how you felt about me. So if someone is bad in the relationship, it was me,” she defended Daryl who tipped his head to the side, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “I thought that was the way to make myself feel better. Sex with you makes me feel better.”

“So is that why you’re here? You want to have sex?” Daryl offered causing her to smirk and have color flood into her face further. “I’m not joking. Us having sex has helped you feel better multiple times. I have a brand-new pack of condoms in the nightstand. We can get naked, turn off the lights. Open up the windows and let the light from the city flood in. Keep the tree and the string lights on. And we can have sex during the winter storm. It can be a whole new experience for you.”

Biting at her bottom lip, she gave Daryl a look that had him huffing out. Throwing his hands up in the air, he shook his head and tapped his hands against the chair again, “We have sex all the time Y/N. I don’t get why you’re second guessing it now.”

“We have sex when we’re horny Daryl. I don’t trust random strangers,” she admitted to him, an ache flooding her chest with the expression that he had over his features. “Plus, you’re my best friend. I feel like if we continue to have sex, the lines are going to blur.”

“If that was the case, the lines blurred a long time ago because we’ve had sex a lot,” Daryl countered, sucking at his bottom lip, his blue eyes locking with hers and it made her heart skip a beat. “I think it’s so good because we are close.”

“It sounds like you’re the one that might want the sex,” she noted, licking her lips when she started to consider Daryl’s offer.

“So what if I do? It makes both of us feel good for a while. I’m telling you, if Negan knew how good you were at riding a cock, he would give up Maggie in an instant,” Daryl spouted off getting her to choke at how blunt he was being about the sex life that they had shared together. “I’m just saying, I’ve never nutted so hard in my life.”

“Thanks Daryl,” she snickered at the thought, shaking her head when she considered what Daryl was offering. “I guess, just with Negan…I’ve never felt so unwanted in my life.”

“Then come here,” Daryl wiggled his fingers about, getting up from the chair and moving over toward the bed. Dropping down on the bottom of it, Daryl started to push at his jeans working them down his legs. It had her staring out at him from where she was seated on the chair. “I’ll make you feel wanted. Show you the things you wish he would.”

“Sex doesn’t fix things Daryl. It feels good for a small amount of time, but that’s it,” she reasoned with Daryl, getting up from the chair that she was seated in to stare down at him as she approached the bed. “These are genuine things that I’m worried about. Things that…”

“Things that aren’t going to go away overnight. Nothing I say is going to fix these things cus’ you are going to do what you want to do at the end of the day,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, outstretching his fingers toward the nightstand. Pulling open the top drawer, he pulled out the pack of condoms and snagged one of the foil packages from it. “You want to feel special. I see it in the way that you are looking at me. Let me make you feel special.”

Sinking his fingers into his boxers that he was wearing, Daryl pushed the material down his body by lifting his hips up. Letting the material pool at his ankles, he kicked it aside and wiggled his finger at her again, “You know I’m drunk.”

“I’m never not drunk,” Daryl slurred with a grunt, his blue eyes watching her closely when she looked down at his naked body. By having the discussion that they were, Daryl was somewhat erect. “It’s not like either one of us would be taking advantage of the other. We’re two friends that enjoy having sex together. You’re looking for someone to make you feel good. I enjoy any time I get to spend with you. If this isn’t what you want, I’ll just as happily lay down in bed with you and we can talk the rest of the night.”

Biting down on his bottom lip, Daryl watched her movements as she stepped forward. Moving for the windows, she pulled apart the curtains to let the light in from the outside. Heading next for the lights, she turned them off only allowing the city lights to flood into his apartment along with the Christmas lights. Stepping in front of Daryl, she felt her heart rate quicken with the way that he was staring up at her in the shadows. Working out of his t-shirt, she tossed it onto the bed and then worked on the pajama pants. There was something in the way that he looked at her that made her feel seen. That made her feel special.

“Do you think I have nice breasts?” she wondered, standing before Daryl naked and it made him smirk. Since those were the main topic of tonight, it was something that had been on her mind a lot. “Because tonight, everyone kept talking about them. I didn’t realize how capable they were of drawing attention.”

“I think you already know the answer to that question,” Daryl braced himself when she moved carefully in over him. Pressing his hands in over her sides, Daryl gave her hips a firm squeeze with her right arm hooking loosely around his muscular shoulders. “They are nice breasts. So of course they could make anyone do anything. You should use them more often.”

Pulling her in over his lap, Daryl reached for the condom that he grabbed being careful to work open the foil packaging. Faintly, her hands dragged down over his shoulders toward his chest. Caressing up over the side of his neck had Daryl tipping his head to the side and she pampered his neck with tiny kisses. Sucking in a sharp breath of air, Daryl’s eyes came to a tight close before forcing himself to focus. Working his condom on, Daryl grunted and curled his arm around her waist to pull her firmly in over him. Clasping her chin between his thumb and index finger, Daryl got her to lock eyes with him and he dragged his thumb over her bottom lip.

“I wish you allowed yourself to see you the way I always saw you,” Daryl slurred, lifting up enough to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. Reaching between the two of them with his free hand, he helped to lead his body to hers. It had her eyes closing tightly, the warmth of her breath vibrating against his when she moaned at their bodies being joined together. Hovering his lips over hers, Daryl brushed his thumb at the side of her neck and tipped his head back. “You are so much more than you give yourself credit for.”

Allowing her to make the first move, Daryl was silent when she took her time lifting her hips and then slowly lowered them over him. Staring up at her with awe, he was breathless with the way that her head tipped back. A rush of pleasure flooded into her face and it was something he knew that he was addicted to. Palming down over her back, Daryl stopped when his hands squeezed firmly at her bottom helping to aid her movement over his rigid length, “You’d be the most arrogant woman alive if you gave yourself that opportunity.”

“You wouldn’t like me arrogant,” she hushed him, pressing wet kisses over his bottom lip. Cupping his face in her hands, she allowed her right hand to caress in over the side of his neck. Sinking her fingers into his hair had him tipping his head back with her lips hovering in over his. “You like me the way I am.”

“But I’d rather you happy,” Daryl commented, his eyelids growing heavy with his sharp breathing filling the dark room with their bodies moving in unison. Winces fell from Daryl’s throat when her movements gradually grew harder and faster. Dropping his head down, Daryl rest it against the side of her neck with her clinging firmly to him. “Negan is a goddamn fool.”

“I think I’m the fool,” she alerted him, tugging firmly at his mid-length hair. Bouncing her hips over him harder had Daryl moaning against her flesh, the warmth of his breath causing chills down her spine. “I should have known that he’d never love me or want me.”

“Then that’s his loss,” Daryl grunted, forcefully rolling her over onto her back. Crawling carefully in over her, Daryl hooked his arm around her, bringing them closer together. With his free hand, he swept his thumb in over her jawline and let out a tremoring breath. “Anyone with half a brain would see how special you are. He had eight years to see it and he never made a move. So that’s his loss. Don’t forget how special you are. How beautiful you are.”

Daryl’s thrusts were slow, his breathing broken with every roll of his hips against hers. Meeting her in small kisses over and over, Daryl cradled her head tenderly. Lowering in closer to her, he braced his weight and started to move faster having her pants fill the air. Nibbling at her bottom lip, he groaned with her fingers digging into his flesh.

“Look at me,” he breathed, curling his fingers around the back of her neck, his lips hovering over hers. Just close enough for his lips to skim faintly at her bottom lip. “Never doubt how perfect you are.”

Lifting up, she stole a kiss from Daryl’s lips knowing that this was a bad way to do things. What should have been a onetime thing between them had grown to be pretty consistent. With how she knew Daryl felt about her, it made her feel like a bad person every time she let this happen. Daryl never hid his feelings from her. So for him to know that she was head over heels in love with Negan, yet she was still having sex with Daryl pretty frequently felt wrong. But there was something about the way that Daryl looked at her. Touched her. Spoke to her. It all made her feel special. Something she hadn’t felt in many years.

And that’s why she had trouble turning him down. Not only tonight but all the other nights before. Although, she needed this more than she even knew. Because Daryl was the only person that made her feel seen and tonight proved that.

----

Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @pixelb4rbie @ibelongtonegan

@smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan

@redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted

@akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03

@sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf

@promiscuousbarnes @lanadelnegan @peachihellcat @dilfsandmartinis

#Daryl Dixon #Norman Reedus #Daryl Dixon x reader #Daryl Dixon fanfiction #The Walking Dead #The walking Dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #Negan Smith #Negan #Negan fanfiction #Negan x reader #Negan x you #daryl dixon x you #Daryl Dixon Imagine #Negan Imagine #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #threads of desire

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destinationtrekk · 5 months ago

Text

nightfall

Your Captain returns the favor.

2.2k, teen, mentions of sex at the end, cursing, wesker being awkward, cuddling, mentions of murder and canon-typical violence

a/n: this is so unedited it's not funny but i had the worst writer's block halfway through and i finally finished it. it's been eating at my brain for a week so i'll come back and edit it in a few days.

all my fics are cross posted to my ao3

-> masterlist

-> sequel to daybreak

-> nightfall on ao3

Once again, it had been a heinous day.

A string of murder cases revolving around children had left you bone-weary, exhaustion carving out your body like a dog gnawing on a bone. Your heart ached, stomach tied in knots, and worst of all, you hadn’t eaten in days. Chris and Jill had forced you to snack on things throughout the week, but you couldn’t stomach more than a few chips here, half a sandwich there. No one could, really, not after looking over the gruesome case files day in and day out.

Although your day was downright awful, you had caught the guy responsible - some ex-Umbrella asshole with too much money and chemicals in his possession. You knew the press were going to have an absolute field day with your team’s main sponsor.

That was someone else’s problem though. Right now your problem was sitting right in front of you - a blank police report waiting to be filled with the vile and vicious details of your week. The cursor flashed steadily, taunting you to put to words the living nightmare you had been stuck in.

You had to take a deep breath to steady yourself. It’s over, you told yourself, it’s fine, you’re fine-

A broad, warm grip on your shoulder, and your eyes shot open. You reared your head to look over your shoulder, caught off guard by the touch, and you sucked in a breath at the sight behind you.

Captain Wesker looked just as ragged as you, his hair uncharacteristically ruffled and his sunglasses balancing low on his nose. His blue eyes were narrowed at you, his icy gaze calculating as it roamed your face.

“You’ve been staring at that monitor for nearly half an hour.” His voice was a low murmur, barely a rumble in the quiet room. You frowned, turning away to see - oh. The S.T.A.R.S. office was empty, except for the two of you. You would be embarrassed to be the last one working so late, having not even started your last report, but all you could really think about was how exhausted you were.

“Sorry, Captain-”

“Don’t.” He cut you off curtly, his hand sliding off your shoulder, his fingertips lingering just a second long enough for you to notice. You met his gaze again, and were surprised to see the same weary expression across his face. “You’re barely awake, just finish it tomorrow. It’s already been a week - one more day won’t hurt anything.”

It was odd for him to be so flippant about a report, especially on a case as large as this, but you didn’t have the energy to fight him. You just nodded and turned your computer off, slumping back in your chair. It was silent for a moment, but not awkward, as if you were both lost in separate thoughts.

“You should be home, asleep already.” Wesker’s voice jolted you awake. You hadn’t even realized your eyes were closed. You swallowed and blinked groggily a few times, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

“Wouldn’t be able to sleep even if I was home,” You muttered, leaning forward to start lazily gathering your things into your bag.

“You seem to be sleeping well enough here.”

You glared up at his smug expression, his eyes peering at you over the top of his sunglasses. You considered him for a moment, and then sighed. “There’s not noisy neighbors here, or-”

You clenched your jaw and stopped yourself. No way could you tell him you were having nightmares. He wasn’t your boyfriend, as much as your lovesick brain wished he was. Even still, he narrowed his eyes at you like he was searching your mind for answers himself.

Without warning he stepped closer, directly beside you, and dropped his hand on your shoulder again. Just as you turned your upper body to face his (directly inside your personal bubble, by the way) he was pulling you against him.

The way your cheek pressed into him was a little uncomfortable, neck strained at an odd angle, and your arms unable to reach to touch him back. He was stiff as a board above you, hand clenched around the back of your neck like he had to keep you pressed in place.

Oh. He was trying to comfort you, the same way you had comforted him. It had been weeks ago, you were a little surprised he even remembered it. You huffed a laugh, much more awake at your sudden realization. He let you pull away reluctantly, grip lingering on your neck like he wasn’t allowed to touch you anywhere else.

He looked even more uncomfortable than you had felt pressed into his stomach. You couldn’t help an amused smile. “You’re not very good at this, you know.”

Wesker scowled and his cheeks and nose were dusted pink. “You didn’t have to say it out loud.”

His obvious embarrassment made you laugh again. The stoic man could light up your day with just a look, and now here he was - struggling to give you comfort as easily as he could accept it. You turned in your seat, pushing your knees between his as he grunted above you, widening his stance just a bit. When you raised your head to meet his gaze again, he was pulling his sunglasses off, folding them into the open collar of his uniform.

You let your hands touch his outer thighs, hesitantly sliding them up until you could hook your fingers in his pockets. The Captain didn’t stop you, just hummed low and put his hand back on the nape of your neck. He squeezed, just once, before he spoke. “You need more than a nap at your desk, honey.”

The pet name sent a jolt through you, burning up your neck and cheeks and making your fingers tighten their hold on his pockets, inadvertently tugging him closer. He didn’t move, seemingly tense himself. “Did that make you uncomfortable?”

“No- no! I liked it, actually.” You mumbled bashfully. His hand slid around your neck to raise your chin, forcing you to look into his sharp blue eyes again. He paused for a moment, eyes roaming your face, before he thumbed carefully at your lower lip. He seemed deep in thought, though his blush was gone and his expression was cold.

“I was going to sleep here tonight, in the quiet room. You’re welcome to… join me, if you like.” He grit out the words like it was painful to ask, and you couldn’t respond except to huff a laugh at his awkwardness again.

You could sleep here, you’ve done it before. The beds weren’t comfortable, and the lights couldn’t be turned off because of the chance of a sudden emergency. It sounded more appealing than driving all the way home in the dark, just to collapse at home exhausted and alone. At the very least you would be warm next to another body.

“I just can’t have you crashing on the way home,” His voice was gruff, like he even had to justify the request. “Chris already totaled a cruiser this year, it was hell explaining that in the budget-”

“Yes, Captain, I’ll sleep here.”

Wesker froze mid-sentence, and then nodded. “Good.” He backed away a few steps to let you stand, waiting patiently for you to gather your things. The walk to the quiet room was thick with an awkward silence, and you couldn’t figure out why. Usually the two of you were close in private, having soft, heated conversation with lingering touches and teasing names. Now it felt like he could barely stand the thought of looking at you, much less sleeping in the same room.

He held open the thick wooden door for you, and you huffed as you stepped through. The room was ice cold, as usual, and the lights had been dimmed since you last slept here. The room was small enough that it took just a few steps for you to drop your bag onto the bottom bunk you usually slept in and Wesker cleared his throat. You turned to face him, and he was positioned stiffly next to the bunk closest to the door.

“I usually sleep in this one.” He looked pained again, his eyes narrowed like he was accusing you of stealing his spot, despite being across the room. You tilted your head in confusion, and then your eyes widened. He actually meant to join him, like, in the same bed.

Wesker seemed ready to take it back, poised to escape the room the second you rejected him, but you did the opposite. You dropped your bag at his feet and kicked it under the bed, dropping to the thin mattress and beginning to untie your boots. He stood still at your side for a second before sitting beside you, taking off his boots and tucking his sunglasses under the bed as well.

When you looked back up at him he seemed much more relaxed, like the possibility of your rejection had been his greatest fear. Now that you were beside him, slouching in exhaustion, his easy air was back.

You don’t wait for him as you slide under the scratchy blanket, unable to pull it over your shoulders until he stands and his weight releases the other edge. It’s hard to get comfortable when it feels like you’re laying on cardboard, but you tell yourself it’s just one night. Hell, probably just a few hours. No way did Wesker have a night to waste cuddling you, of all things.

You’re just laying next to each other now. You look over and his eyes are closed, but his breathing tells you he’s still awake. You aren’t so sure what to do now, insecurity beginning to take hold. Had he meant cuddling? Or did he just want to-

“Stop staring, you’re thinking loud enough that I can almost hear it.”

A blush paints you red as his gruff voice breaches the silence of the cold room. He’s got an arm around your shoulder to tuck you into his side before you can protest, and you’re not surprised to feel how warm he is. He’s like a heater even when he’s just pressed against you in his office, but now you’re not sure you’ll even need the itchy blanket at all. He shifts onto his side, just enough that you’re not straining your neck to rest on his shoulder while using his bicep as a pillow.

You’re face to face now, Wesker tilting his chin to brush your noses together in an unusually sweet gesture. It makes you blush and smile, and you’re suddenly hit with the intimacy of this closeness.

“Sorry.” If you leaned forward, just an inch, your lips would be brushing with each word passed between the two of you. He huffs, and it feels for a moment like you’re sharing the same breath.

“Get comfortable,” he grumbles, eyes slipping shut. “I’m not letting you up until you have to clock in tomorrow.”

You suck in a breath and nearly squeak when he squeezes you tighter and slots a thigh between yours, lifting one of your legs to prop over his. He slides his free hand down and cleanly pulls your leg up to his hip, and now you’re truly slotted together like puzzle pieces. There is no way he isn’t doing this on purpose.

You can tell he feels your heart pounding through your chest by the way he smirks, tilting forward that single inch to brush your lips together. “Something wrong?”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep,” You narrow your eyes at him and resist the urge to kiss him - he’s so close, and so warm, and it would be so easy. Thankfully he makes the choice for you, slotting your lips together in some lazy semblance of affection, his tongue sliding along your lower lip when he tugs on it, his bite gentle but firm. It makes you press impossibly closer, a breathy moan escaping before you can catch it.

He releases your mouth and chuckles, squeezing his hand around your hip and bumping your noses together again. “You are going to sleep. I was serious about keeping you here as long as I need to.”

You’re starting to feel the first crawl of desperation in your core, and you have to close your eyes and count your breaths to fight it off. “We can’t…postpone sleeping? Just a little longer?”

That pulls a real laugh out of him, something low and pleasant. He lifts his head to tuck you under his chin, and here you can hear the solid thump of his heartbeat. “The first time I fuck you won’t be in a precinct bed, lamb. Go to sleep, and maybe you’ll get a reward in the morning.”

That sends an electric jolt through you, and now there’s no way you’re sleeping, not with his hips slotted against yours and him gripping a handful of your ass and the thought of him fucking you bouncing around in your head. He doesn’t say another word though, and you find yourself slowly dozing off despite yourself.

He’s gone the next morning, of course, but he can’t have been gone long with the way you’re wrapped around his warm pillow. You can hear the bustle of the early officers outside, and you roll onto your back and cover your face in your hands. You’re fucked.

#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #trekk writes #stars wesker #re1 wesker #fluff #albert wesker fluff #albert wesker fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction

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aheckinmess · 3 months ago

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Day Twenty-One: Kinktober 2024 - MHA Edition

Read on AO3.

Tags/Warnings: Hate Fuck, Female Reader, Fingering, Grinding, Hickeys, Biting, Degradation Kink - A Bit, Pro Hero Bakugo, Pro Hero Reader, Katsuki Bakugo, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, Dynamight, Bakugo Shits On Your Technique, You Don't Take It Lying Down, Both of You Turn Feral, Insert Markiplier Meme, "And if You EVER Come in Here Again With a Goddamn Opinion, I'll Shove It So Far Up Your Ass It'll Never See the Light of Day Again," Weather's Nice, Aged Up, Of Course, My Sleep Deprivation Demon Now Fears Me

Word Count: 550 words

Summary: You really, really hate Bakugo.

Day Twenty-One: Hate Fuck -> Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo is a bastard and he knows it.

Every hard stare, every grind of his teeth – he fucking pisses you off and even though he knows it, he’s still an asshole to you. Especially because he knows it.

“Your technique is sloppy, you damn extra!” He sneers.

“Your attitude is sloppy, bitch.” You blow him a kiss. “Besides, if you’d moved faster, we might have caught the villain.”

“You were here before me, dumbass! If anyone needs to be faster it’s you!” He’s chest to chest with you, sweat glistening on his neck as he works himself up again.

“I don’t recall asking for your goddamn opinion anyway, Dynamight!”

When he grabs you by the neck and kisses you, your entire body lurches. Your hormones beg to get closer, but on principle you rear back and deck him in the face.

In the next move, you grasp the collar of his costume and yank his bloody, smirking face forward to kiss him again. God, he might be an asshole but he exudes sex appeal.

He slams you back against the wall, his teeth digging into your flesh and leaving love marks there, despite the definitive lack of love between you two. You’re just aching to put him in his place. This is a challenge. A feral competition to force each other into a vulnerable position.

You want him to need you.

The only problem is that you need him, too. Your fingers claw at any bare skin you can find, lingering around his shoulders and along his neck. As your hips grind against his covered cock, his greedy hand rubs between your legs. The skin tight costume leaves little to the imagination as it allows you to experience his rough touch through the thin fabric.

However, the costume causes some difficulty when he goes to reach inside your bottoms. With a growl – Bakugo is never one to be shown up, after all – he forces his hand in until his fingers greet the wet puddle you’ve made for him.

“You like this, huh?”

“I don’t see why not. Your cock certainly seems to like it.” You grip his hair and pull back, exposing his throat to you while you grind against his hidden erection.

You work on sucking a hickey into his neck while his finger makes quick work of your sensitive nub. He starts slow and works up to teasing flicks until you’re squealing – you arch into the wall and leave scratch marks on his back as he nearly tips you over the edge.

When you finally shatter, he silences your loud shrieks with his free hand. His eyes never leave yours as you ride through an angry amalgamation of ardent hatred and underlying affection.

Dammit, you will not fall in love with this man!

You reach for his cock next, determined to return the favor and prove you’re more than capable of making him feel just as good…but he stops you.

“Meet me at my place tomorrow night.” He demands, holding out his hand for your phone and punching in the address before returning it. “And make sure your technique at sex is better than your technique at fighting villains.”

You watch him leave with a reminder flaring in your head.

Bakugo is a bastard and he knows it.

Continue with Day 22

Tag List: @loll82829, @enigma-and-oasis

Interested in JJK, too? Check out Day 21 with Geto.

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carryonthroughtheages · 3 months ago

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Carry On Through the Ages 2024 Masterlist

COTTA is a Simon Snow fandom event where content creators celebrate their love of history along with their love of Snowbaz. We had open posting this past week, and I am so excited to see the incredible content everyone came up with!

Here's a handy list of contributions:

Fanfiction:

(You can also view our collection over at AO3 here)

"give them hope, give them strength, give them life" by @wellbelesbian (Tumblr post) Rated M, Chapters 2/2 posted, late 20th century AU.

A look into Simon and Baz's life through the years. Set after Shoulder To Shoulder, Hand To Hand (from COTTA 2023).

"Fin de siècle" by @ninemagicks (Tumblr post) Rated T, Chapters 1/5 posted, a turn-of-the-20th-century AU.

It's 1900, and as one century is set to be put to rest, its successor seems destined for a treacherous start. T. Basilton Grimm-Pitch, famed Book Keeper, spends his days repairing magickal texts infected by a rampaging spell-chewing malaise. When he receives a knock at the door late one night, he allows a stranger to slip into his life whom it might prove difficult to ever be rid of... ...Simon Snow, naturally, is no ordinary customer. He couldn't tell you the last book he read if his life depended on it, for one thing. The other thing is that he's really a thief, and one on a mission. No magickal bookshop or much-maligned Book Keeper is safe...

"The Bishop's Escape" by @run-for-chamo-miles (Tumblr post) Rated M, Chapter 1/1 posted, medieval era AU

Simon and Baz find a connection. Then, they try to hold onto it. Baz has to battle the conformist voices in his head, and Simon needs some time before he’s ready to open up about his past.

"My Favorite Things" by @run-for-chamo-miles (Tumblr post) Rated T, Chapter 1/1 posted, 1960's AU

1965; Simon gets Baz tickets to a show at ABC Theatre.

"In Truth" by @fiend-for-culture (Tumblr post) Rated M, Chapters 3/12 posted, Regency era AU

A Regency Era AU in which the long absent Tyrannus Basilton makes a reappearance in society at the start of London's Social Season much to the thrill and torment of his former roommate one Simon Snow.

Fanart:

“Spit it out Pitch, I know you’re plotting something!” by @alexalexinii (Film Noir)

"An old photograph" by @ic3que3n (inspired by a vintage photograph)

"Hostis Humani Generis" by @lamentable-comedy (Pirates!)

"Soda Jerk" by @rimeswithpurple (Norman Rockwell inspired, 1950's)

"A Prophesied Rivalry" by @iamamythologicalcreature (Ancient Egyptian AU, collab with @monbons)

"Baz and the Prophecy" by @monbons (Ancient Egyptian AU, collab with @iamamythologicalcreature)

Thank you everyone for a truly phenomenal event!

And a huge thank you to @bazzybelle for creating this fandom event in the first place. Thank you so much for trusting me with this <3

See you again next year for COTTA 2025!

(If I missed anything in this list, please let me know! And if you submit something after this goes up, lmk and I'll edit your entry in. Cheers!)

#carry on through the ages #cotta 2024 #historical au #historical fanfiction #snowbaz #historical fanart #the simon snow trilogy #simon snow series #simon snow #baz pitch #fandom fest #masterlist

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wizzdot · 6 months ago

Text

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch4

Description: chapter 4 - I’m not entirely sure if this is any good. I need to go through and edit it but I’ll do that when I’m closer to knowing what’s actually gonna happen 🤣 we will wait and see! I’ve posted this on ao3 as well - same username and title. I love Wes Anderson, hence the Isle of Dogs theme. Feel that it fits the theme of this fic too. Anyhoo..

I allow Gaz to lead me to a well lit room. It looks like some sort of living area. Comfortable sofas and carpeted floors. This was totally foreign to me after my time spent in the facility. I felt so out of place. I flit my gaze to Gaz who must notice my discomfort or awkwardness, and he beckons at me to sit down on the sofa. I am still zipped up inside his warm jacket, which smells of a warm vanilla scent mixed with some variation of citrus fruit.. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it is comforting and calming. I try not to make it obvious that I am taking in his scent.

The others are already situated in their seats. I feel all of their eyes itching into my skin. I shrink back into myself again. The pack Alpha, their Captain, clears his gruff throat before speaking. "We have received information from Laswell. She has found your file and is going to send it over as soon as it is secured in the system.. she has told us you are not a direct threat to us. Is this correct, Laika? Can we trust you?"

I feel like scoffing at him. Me? Can they trust me? It's almost laughable that a pack of four huge Alpha's think that I, a drugged, undesignated girl, could threaten them. Not to mention that I am not in the best of shape due to lack of nutrition and poor sleeping habits. "Well..?" he prompts. I met his gaze for the first time since they'd found me. "I pose no threat to you or your pack members, Captain" - I decide to address him officially as pack Alpha. He stands a little straighter than he was before, obviously happy with my answer. I feel a sense of relief wash over me before dropping my gaze back to the floor.

A growl echoes through the silence, the others all looking between each other to find the source of the sound. Their eyes land on me. I can feel my face redden under their scrutiny - my stomach is the source of the growl. "S-sorry" I stutter anxiously. Gaz steps forward slowly and smiles down at me. "C'mon, let's go and get some food. I could eat too." He nods towards the left and I follow the motion with my eyes and see an open door to what looks like a kitchen. I stand up nervously and follow Gaz, taking the widest possible route around the masked man and Soap, still not trusting them.

I step into the kitchen area and Gaz opens the fridge and inspects the contents. "What d'ya like?" he asks. I shrug. "Not really eaten much since- since I've been their asset.. I-I used to like soup though.." - "Soup? Let me check the cupboards. Think we've got tomato.." He moves around the kitchen smoothly, opening and closing cupboards when he doesn't find what he is looking for. I stand in the corner quietly, trying to avoid getting in the way. "C'mere" he beckons me over - "tomato or chicken?" he nods to a stack of four tins -two of each flavour- stacked neatly in the overhead cupboard. "J-just whatever is spare will be nice. Th-thanks" I whisper. "C'mon, love, try to stop being so shy with me.. you can trust me, even if you aren't sure about my packmates yet, yeah? I promise you they're good men underneath their tough exteriors.." he tries to convince me. "S-sorry.. I'll try harder" I murmur. I decide to try and be bold - I step closer to him and look over his shoulder into the cupboard to inspect the tins of soup. "Tomato would be nice.." I utter quietly. Gaz's smile is instant. It lights up the entire room, my eyes drawn to it. Wow - he had beautiful teeth. Sharp canines, gleaming white.. It reminded me that my teeth had been neglected - only able to brush them a couple of times a week when they allowed me to shower. I suddenly find myself feeling self-conscious. I haven't even properly looked in a mirror for at least a year..

I step back again, feeling a little anxious after my inner thoughts had caught up with me. Damn him and his big, perfect smile. And his deep, kind eyes. "How buttery do you want your bread?" The question snaps me out of it. "Butter?.. uhm.. same as you?" I question my own answer. "I've not had butter for ages. Just stale or mouldy bread.." I admit. He sighs sadly, but immediately tries to cheer me up. "You should see how Soap takes his bread. I swear he would use an entire block of butter per slice if he could. It's gross" he says jokingly. I release the smallest giggle at that. He is smiling so brightly now that he knows that he successfully made me laugh. My defences drop for a split second thanks to the growing comfort I am feeling in Gaz's presence, and my mouth blurts out before I can catch it "they scare me..”

Gaz snaps his gaze back down to mine - "What? Who? Soap..? He is harmless" - "and the masked one" I add blushing, anxiously. "That's Ghost - the masked one. He can take a while to warm up to strangers.. he won't hurt you though. Promise" he reassures me. My eyes follow his hand closely as he gently places it on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me, I assume. I try not to tense up or flinch at the soft touch. I just stare at his hand until he slowly withdraws it. I jump slightly when the microwave dings. Gaz pours the soup into a bowl and hands it to me with a plate full of buttered bread. I stand there confused, just staring at the food that I am holding.

"C'mon, hope you don't mind eating on the sofa. We usually just eat off our laps.." he shrugs. "It smells nice.." I compliment, following him as he holds the kitchen door open for me seeing as I had my hands full. I, once again, take the widest route around Soap and Ghost.. I sit down at the very end of the sofa and wait for Gaz to sit in the place next to me, subconsciously using him as a barrier to the outside room.

"What did Gaz make you for tea, lass?" the rich Scottish voice chirped. I jump in my seat slightly. I quietly respond "Tomato soup" without looking at him, remaining hidden behind Gaz's body. Soap leans forward and looks right at me "Smells delicious. Any leftovers, Gaz?" he asks. "Make your own... tins are in the cupboard" - "Awkt, but you made her some.." - "I'm not microwaving soup for you, Soap, piss of mate" - "Fuck sake, ya prick, though we were supposed to be packmates.." The duo go back and forward like this in a light hearted tone for a couple of minutes. "I - I don't mind letting you have this.." I offer anxiously, shakily holding my plate out towards Gaz, feeling guilty that I'd taken their food.

Gaz gently guides the plate back into my lap. "Don't be silly, bug, you haven't even started it and you haven't eaten properly for ages. Get eating!" He instructs, I listen - ever obedient. I gently lift the spoon to my mouth and slurp the soup into my mouth. I swear it's the best thing I've ever tasted. I hum quietly to myself. Unbeknownst to me, Gaz and Soap are watching me with a fond smile on their faces. I eat about half of the bowl, and a slice of bread before feeling utterly stuffed. I slowly lift my gaze from the food and glance at Gaz. "I can't eat any more.." I whisper. "You sure? You've not eaten much.." - "I'm full.." I reassure him. Soap suddenly sits forward in his seat again, making me shrink back slightly again. "Ya done, Lass?" - "mmhmm" I murmer shyly - "Here, hand it over then!" he says keenly. Before I can even process his words, he has leant over Gaz and stolen the bowl and plate from me and was groaning in pleasure at the taste. I blush slightly, embarrassed, that he hasn't even replaced the spoon I had been using. "For fuck sake, Soap, you know she's jumpy. Tone it down a bit - yeah?" Gaz suggests to Soap. "Aye, sorry just starvin' - Sorry wee'yin" he gobbles around a mouthful of bread. I just stare at the scene in front of me, lost for words.

With warm food in my belly for the first time in forever, I start feeling sleepy. I slowly unzip Gaz's jacket, now that I'm warm again, and hand it back to him. "Thanks.." I whisper, placing it on his lap. Gaz tries not to show his disappointment that you are no longer wearing his jacket - his scent. "Are you wanting me to show you to the spare room? Think it's set up ready to use.." he offers. "If that's ok.. I - I don't want to be a hassle.." - "None of that, now.. C'mon, follow me."

I stand and follow obediently again. I enter the hallway after Gaz. The walls are wallpapered with a white floral pattern. It's light and airy. Gaz walks up a set of stairs to an upper level, I follow him closely. He stops on the upper landing and points to the left hallway. "It's the second door on the right. You'll have your own bathroom too." I nod and hesitate before walking independently down the hallway, feeling a little insecure, but deciding to be brave anyway. I get to the door and slowly twist the door handle. I glance back at Gaz who just nods and turns to go back down stairs to join the rest of his pack.

I step into the room and take stock of everything in it. The walls are covered in blue and white striped wallpaper. There is a window on the back wall of the room. I check out the bathroom which is to the right hand side of the room - it has a shower, sink and a toilet, with another smaller window behind it. I step back into the main room and look at the bed. I hesitate before slowly lowering myself down on it. It's soft. I should feel comfortable, but instead I feel exposed. Unsafe. I decide to look around the bathroom again, digging through the cupboards to see what I could use. I find a few toothbrushes, still in the packs, so I remove one and hurry to brush my teeth. It's funny how such a small bit of self care can make me feel cleaner. I decide to strip from my filthy clothes and step into the shower. I turn the water on, accidentally blasting myself with freezing water before it started to heat up. I don't even squeal, being all too accustomed to cold showers. I do, however, moan when the water starts to heat up. I check out all of the soaps and products on the rack in the shower. It all looks like male stuff but I don't care. I absolutely lather myself in it. I repeat it several times over. Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. And so on...

I finally step from the shower when my skin starts to wrinkle. I haven't felt this clean since - well - probably ever! The wall of steam floods the bedroom when I leave the bathroom. I get myself dry and search the chest of drawers for something clean to sleep in. From the looks of the contents inside, it looks like standard military style clothing. I find some dark joggers and a khaki t-shirt. I quickly dress, finding myself having to seriously tighten the drawstring around my waist of the trousers and roll the sleeves up of the long sleeved t-shirt. I climb into bed and pull the covers tightly around me. I toss and turn before finally dozing off.

*Gaz's POV*

I show her the directions to the room she is to stay in, deciding to stay back and let her check it out for herself. Soap had stayed in that room a few nights ago when he pissed everyone off so badly, Ghost decided to punish him by throwing him out of the pack bed for the night. I just hope he had left it clean enough for her. I walk downstairs to the rest of my pack. I sit back down in my space next to Soap, who immediately chucks his legs over me, to rest them on my lap. I massage his legs for him, making him purr. I smile softly at my pack mate.

Price speaks up then. "Kyle - what's going on with the girl then..?" - "She's scared.. terrified. Fuck knows what they've done to her but none of it has been good. I think she is warming up to me though" I reply. He nods in agreement. "Kate sent over her file. It looks like she's been tortured and drugged to comply. Her designation is unknown - but she has been the asset behind all four of the most recent Makarov hits. And several before these too, before we were called up, so she certainly isn't as harmless as she makes out." I find myself nodding too, trying to piece together what all of this means. "Who is she, then?" Soap asks. "Her government name is Y/N Y/L/N - they called her Laika - apparently she was always co-operative, or obedient, I think is the word they used. I guess she was thrashed into submission. They say she is of a gentle, anxious, nature but the drugs helped 'level' her - whatever that means" Price explains.

"Turned her into a puppet, that means. A puppet to do all of their dirty work" I spit back, disgusted and angry. "So the drugs, are they still in her system? Is that why she isn't giving off any scent or signs of her designation?" I ask. "That's something we are going to have to ask her, Kyle. The file mentions that she gets 'topped up' every couple of months when she starts showing resistance" - "Poor girl was trying to fight it" I interrupt Price.

"Don't start getting attached, Garrick." Simon grumbles at me. "Piss off" I snap back.

"I'm tired, let's go to bed, yeah, talk about it in the morning?" I suggest. "Yep, Kyle's right, bed - all of you" Price orders. We all stand and make our way to our room. I glance toward the door of Laika - Y/N's - room and all seems quiet. Hopefully she is sleeping, I think inside my head.

*Back to Laika (Y/N's) POV*

I wake, startled - seeing visions of pools of blood I had been the cause of. Seeing lifeless eyes of those I had killed. I leap out of bed and start feeling my arm for my handkerchief. Shit shit shit. I'd left it somewhere. I slide down the wall panicking, trying to remember where the hell I had put it. All this time at the facility and I'd managed not to lose it. It comes to me all of a sudden. Gaz's jacket. My handkerchief is in the pocket of his jacket. I sneak out of the room and try to quietly tip toe downstairs. The stairs are a bit creaky but being quiet is my speciality. I finally find my way to the room we had been sitting in when I had returned the jacket to Gaz. It wasn't there. My stomach sinks. A single tear falls from my eye. I slump on to the couch and try not to weep. I can't go rooting about looking for it. I will just have to calm myself down and go back to my room. I try to gather myself.

Five, or so, minutes later, I stand and start to make my way back up the stairs. I avoid all of the creaky parts of each stair and successfully make it to the upper landing. I turn toward my room and gently close the door. I fail to notice the dark, masked Alpha, watching my every move. He slinks back into his pack's room, not waking them.

I try to settle back in the bed, failing miserably. I find myself crawling under the bed with a pillow and blanket, feeling safer in an enclosed space. I finally settle into a restless sleep.

#john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #omega reader #abo dynamics #poly 141 #pack dynamics #slow burn #eventual smut #task force x reader #reader insert

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probssomethingorother · 1 year ago

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Post- Silver Lake Brainrot

I've wanted to put one of these together for a long time (..a long, long time 🎶), and just never did it. With the new year upon us I thought it would be a great time to finally give it a go.

If you are like me and need to know what happened after Joel and Ellie walked away from Silver Lake, here are some fics to scratch that post-8/winter itch. For now I will just list them below, but I may eventually compile them into like a public Ao3 bookmark collection (if I can figure out that magic). [Started! Click the link]

These are going to be the mostly canon compliant/canon-vibes fics, and that's not to say other alternate version of event fics aren't good, I'm just not focusing on them atm here :)

Under the cut, the list is broken down into five fic length categories. Stories are not in any sort of order within each group, and I was only pulling from Archive, so if there is a Tumblr original floating around out there that you are surprised didn't make the list, that is why. In the same vein, I know I probably missed a lot of Ao3 fics. If you think something should be included (ao3 or Tumblr) just let me know!

And lastly, if you click n' read on any of these please try to give the writer some love via kudos or comments! ✨ Spread the good vibes!!

[Disclaimer - If I could find the author's Tumblr I have @'d them, but if I couldn't it's their ao3 name only. If you know an author's tumblr and I haven't linked it, or I have chose the wrong tumblr, or you just don't want your tumblr linked, please feel free to reach out and I will edit!]

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨....

🅰 🅵🆄🅻🅻 🅰🆂🆂 🅱🅾🅾🅺 (100k+)

>> please don't go by @toointojoelmiller

🅱🅸🅶 🅱🅾🆈 🅲🅻🆄🅱 (10k+)

>> Understanding Your Daughter Who isn't Really Your Daughter by @onlinepigeon

>> Back & Forth by @probssomethingorother

>> Dinosaur by @femmefacetious

>> I've come to know (life is a slow, beautiful heartbreak) by @the-relvin-temult

>> In the After by @probssomethingorother

>> and with you alone by @penandinkprincess

🅼🅴🅰🆃🆈 (5-10K)

>> Awake and Dreaming by @wordswordswords7

>> Let My Arms Bring You Comfort by @ellies-little-gun

>> There's no need to be brave by stained_glass_horizon

>> when she needed me i wasn't around by @periwinklwt

>> drifting by some_pomegranate_tea

>> i start for the great temple by @march-flowerr

>> cold is the water by @marceltheshellwithflipflopson

>> fix me up by survivorellie

>> if we make it through december (we'll be fine) by @marceltheshellwithflipflopson

>> teeth as sharp as cathedral spires by @actual-changeling

>> life, in the after by @dad-joel

>> things we lost to the flames by @dancingonmoonbeams

>> you’re my baby, say it to me by alternatemind

>> Winter's Edge by mikichi

>> the view between villages by @howlingbuchanan

>> Silver As The Snow (it must be cold) by @cgetbrmj

>> Keep Going for You by @someone-worth-racing-for

>> i’ll be coming home soon (long as i can see the light) by @outer-edges

>> This Bitter Earth by mahuika

>> Back to the Middle of Nowhere by @wordswordswords7

>> triage by @penandinkprincess

🆂🅼🅰🅻🅻 🅱🆄🆃 🅼🅸🅶🅷🆃🆈 (3-5k)

>> hold me twenty minutes to sleep (and some things you just can't speak about) by @compassinmyhead

>> Violent Heart by @timelesslords

>> I'll See Us Through by GardenerSnake8822

>> Please Hold Me While I Break Apart by @ellies-little-gun

>> there is fear in love by @durincorporated

>> never let you down again by @timelesslords

>> nothing but bones by gravefaeries

>> a wall between us and the world by @afjakwrites

>> these things eat at your bones (and drive your young mind crazy) by @outer-edges

>> Push through it by @probssomethingorother

>> Let Me Help You by arnabus

>> i'm beyond repair, let me be by thisisthehill_i_die_on

>> rambles and promises and bedtime stories by some_pomegranate_tea

>> never let me go by @ggardengirl

>> to see what i see (woe is me) by awoodenthicket

>> Reassurance by little_mack101

>> facultative by @penandinkprincess

>> it's how we show love by @outer-edges

>> care (how love is shown) by cosmic_idiot1

>> you love me so hard and i still can’t sleep by @marceltheshellwithflipflopson

>> aftermath by @boopernatural

>> With every heartbeat I have left I’ll defend your every breath (I promise I’ll do better) by @memelovescaps

🆀🆄🅸🅲🅺 🅲🅾🅽🆂🆄🅼🅿🆃🅸🅾🅽 (<3k)

>> i’ve always had a violent heart by @mattsbooknook

>> The Parable of the Lost Sheep by riversiders

>> Aftermath by @purplesunrisefanfic

>> how our souls, born to heal, become so prone to die? by @apuliae

>> A Violent Heart by @val-creative

>> No Apologies by @mentallyinlothlorien

>> Aftermath by galaxiesreader

>> These Hands are Clumsy Not Clever by my_immortal_parody

>> never goes away (but it all works out) by @timelesslords

>> Cargo by @mentallyinlothlorien

>> so slip your hand inside my glove (hold me) by @dulce-chisme

>> it's how we show love by @outer-edges

>> Lullaby by @sillysunshinesstuff

>> unforgiven by @eedsknees

>> Endure & Survive by iheartjoelmiller

>> you may bury my body, down by the highway side by ChristmasEve12

>> Touch Me Not by Sokeyy

>> Aftermath by HurtandComfortWriter

>> Broken Violent Heart by ARightFarPiece

>> Indelible Scars, Pivotal Marks. by thefactimadethissaystomuch

>> every night i dream of you by @anpantae

>> Winter's Fury by @dinobotbitch

>> The Aftermath by lettucehater007

>> you are my purpose by prefectrainflowers

>> Be Fruitful and Multiply by Rainy_Rayne

>> do you ever think of me and my two hands? by @eedsknees

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leoncillo · 2 years ago

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Sooo uhhh the clones' colors reminded me of Uno cards and I couldn't get the idea out of my head so I wrote this, but it's messy and not really edited or fleshed out and written on my phone. I might put more into it and put it on AO3, too. This is like only the second fic I've ever shown to the public. Uh yeah. >.>;;

Aizetsu/Sekido/Karaku/Urogi x Reader, Zohakuten is their little brother. Reader is gender neutral. Reader is Black.

Uno with the Hantengu Clones

You walked with a pep in your step ready to get home to your apartment and four demon boyfriends and their little brother. You knew during they day they tended to get antsy because they couldn't go outside freely and this usually resulted in-

"Leave me alone, Karaku!" you heard your sorrowful boyfriend shout as you approached the door.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath before adjusting the groceries in your arms to open the door.

"Okay! Okay! I'll stop, Sekido! Ahh!" you watched as your easily angered boyfriend choked his green eyed brother with his staff for messing with the blue eyed one.

"They're home! They're home!" you heard as your feathered joyful ball of energy of a boyfriend as he nearly tackled you in an embrace. "We're so bored! Play with us!"

You pushed him away to get a little space and protect him from the sunlight long enough to get the groceries on the counter.

"I figured you would be so I got a little card game at the store. The cards reminded me of you guys. I don't know how hard games back when y'all were younger were, but it's pretty easy. First, could I ask for a little help putting things away?"

Sekido, the angry one, let go of Karaku and roughly pushed him towards the kitchen and Aizetsu and Zohakuten followed. They each you a kiss on the cheek as they passed by to grab items from the bags. Except Zohakuten who gave you a simple nod and glare. He's a bit shy, that one.

"So many plastic bags. This makes me sad. You should get reusable bags, dear." Aizetsu said, his eyes glossy with unshed tears.

After ten minutes or so, you lead the boys back into the living room and told them to sit down at the low table for the game. A small part of you figured this was probably a horrible idea, but the curious side just had to see what happened.

"This game is called Uno" you said as you explained the rules and dealt their hands for them.

"Are you not gonna play with us?" Urogi asked, watching you sit in a chair a bit far away.

"No, no. I'm goo-"

"Gimme all your green cards. I don't want these other colors" said Karaku.

"I would rather have blue i-if that's alright" said Aizetsu.

"And I want red, but according to them, that's not how this works, you imbeciles! Stop switching cards!" said Sekido

"I hate this already. I don't even have a color, either. Hmph." said Zohakuten

You sighed as you dealt out the cards AGAIN before smirking to yourself in your seat with your phone recording. You wondered how long it would be before the first incident.

"Ha! Draw four, Aizetsu!" Urogi happily shouted as his brother was on the verge of tears.

"That's so mean! I already have 15 cards."

"Just take it like a man and draw the cards, damnit!"

Urogi watched in a fit of giggles.

"I demand the new color be red!" shouted Sekido. You peeked at his hand and raised your eyebrow as it was mostly yellow.

The pile was only red for five seconds before Karaku made it green.

"MOTHERFUCKER" said an extra angry Sekido who had to be held back by Zohakuten and Aizetsu before he smacked his brother over the head with his staff.

"I hate all of you!" said a pouty Zohakuten as he had his turn skipped.

"Wait, you two, come here" you asked Zohakuten and Aizetsu to the side to give them a tip as you could see they were going to get bullied.

When the game resumed, Zohakuten and Aizetsu both put down draw four cards making it so that Karaku had to draw eight.

"No fair! You told them to do that! You can't pick favorites" said Karaku ready to blow the whole damn table away with his leaf.

"I don't even see that being allowed in the rule book! What gives?!" shouted Sekido.

"You read the rule book? T-These are house rules. It's how me and my friends and family play! Besides you guys are always so mean to my sweet boys" you said as you held Aizetsu's and Zohakuten's heads against you.

"Can I be pet like that, too?" asked Urogi completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

By time the game was over, no one had actually won and the room was in shambles and the table in splinters, but you were all in a cuddle puddle to cool off. You sent the video to Hantengu's main body to share with the other upper moons.

#hantengu clones #sekido x reader #aizetsu x reader #karaku x reader #urogi x reader #Zohakuten #demon slayer #modern au #black reader

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daddy-dins-girl · 1 year ago

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First Date: Frankie Morales

HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY Y'ALL!

Masterlist

AO3 link

Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: Based on this tumblr Ask. A full one-shot based on a quick little headcanon drabble I wrote about what a first date with Frankie Morales might look like. There's a little of backstory for Reader because it's me and you know I just can't help myself.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Fluff and smut (because we like to strike a delicate balance here). Porn with a sprinkle of plot (again, delicate balance). Cuteness overload during your date with Frankie (sign me up for this date please). Heavy makeout session. Mutual masturbation. Fooling around in the back of Frankie's truck because of uh... reasons. Read to find out! I think that's it for warnings. As far as my stuff goes I'd say this is pretty tame? lol. But if I missed anything lmk!

Notes: I hope there aren't any glaring mistakes here. If I find any I'll come back and edit. Tbh I wrote 99% of it on my phone because our wifi was down for THREE DAYS here (RIP me!). It finally came back this morning just in time for me to post this for Frankie Friday ❤️

You tap your phone’s screen to illuminate it and check the time for probably the fifteenth time in as many minutes to make sure you’re not running late yet as you stand over the bathroom counter putting the final touches on your appearance, wanting to look perfect for tonight. Nerves flutter in your tummy like butterflies and you have to constantly remind yourself to calm down, take it easy.

“It’s just Fish, nothing to get yourself all worked up about” Benny had offered earlier, unhelpfully.

Sure, to your cousins Benny and Will it was just their longtime friend and military buddy, but to you it was the very cute, though very shy, sweet guy that you had met for the first time only recently since you came to “temporarily” crash at your cousins place.

Temporarily had turned into three months far faster than you anticipated. You needed a fresh start, to get out of a not great situation and it was actually your Aunt who had suggested the move to you during your phone call to her on her birthday. Your mother had already been filling her ear with your personal drama it seemed and though she didn’t want to pry, she did want to help and she suggested getting away for even a couple of weeks, that her sons had lots of room at their place and would be happy to have you for a while. After a few phone calls with both Will and Benny they had settled any doubts you might’ve had and welcomed you with open arms when you showed up at their doorstep with little more than a single roller suitcase and a small potted plant under your arm. It was about all the possessions you had left after the less than amicable split with your ex that left you couch surfing at your friends for months before the transition to Will and Benny’s.

So now here you stand, in the bathroom of the guest bedroom you have been calling your own for three months, getting ready for a date with the painstakingly handsome pilot himself, Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales.

You know how badly your cousins have been teasing you about the date, you can’t even begin to imagine the ribbing Frankie must have been taking from them since he’d asked you out last Sunday at a barbecue Will and Benny had been hosting and they’d somehow gotten wind of it. You’re surprised Frankie even kept the date, to be honest. Your cousins, you love them with all your heart, but they can be… a lot. You’re very glad Frankie didn’t back down to the pressure though. You’d seen him a fair bit in your few months here and have been dying for him to finally ask you out. You’d flirted enough and though he’d been quiet and shy in the beginning, the more you got to know each other, the more he seemed to come out of his shell around you.

So now here you were, moments before Frankie was due to show up at your door and you silently cursed yourself for not being as ready as you should be. You wanted to be ready and standing outside by now so that Will and Benny couldn’t get any more jabs in to poor sweet Frankie if he had to stand at the door waiting for you, but as you pull on the short, light denim jacket over your sundress you hear a bark of laughter from Benny and already you know you’re too late.

You quickly press some lip gloss on, run your hands through your hair to make sure it’s falling exactly how you want it to and then take a deep breath in the mirror and quickly scurry out of the bedroom to hopefully save the man that is standing outside on the porch.

“No keeping her out past curfew, no drinkin’ and drivin’, no crazy parties or gettin’ too handsy on the first date”

Benny is listing things off on his fingers to poor Frankie like he’s your father scalding your prom date and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Will, you said you’d both be nice” you complain out loud to the older of the two brothers. Will wasn’t much better, but sometimes talking to Benny was like talking to a toddler amped up on a pack of Skittles, there was no getting through when he got over excited about something.

The most ridiculous part about it was that you and Benny were about the same age so it was a little comical, though sweet in his own way, how he tried to ‘big brother’ you.

“Ah c’mon Ace, we were just joshin’ him a bit” Will replies, bright white smile gleaming at you with a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

Ace of course being the nickname they had stuck you with since you were old enough to remember. Any family event you’d ever attended whenever there was any sort of game or sport going on the two boys always ensured you were on their team, likely because you were the only one close in age to them but you liked to tell yourself that it was also because the three of you always had fun together. They have always been so competitive and any time they won (largely due to their own efforts) they were sure to tell everyone that it was all because of you, that you were ‘the ace up their sleeve’ even when you barely did anything. Hell most softball games you preferred to sit in the grass picking flowers while they ran circles around you like pro athletes, but it was sweet how they always made sure to include you and make you feel good about yourself.

“Well we agreed you two goons wouldn’t scare him away” you remind them with a playful roll of your eyes and a swat to Benny’s shoulder when you finally reach the doorway.

You can see Frankie’s appreciative gaze roam over you from head to toe and as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and nervously adjusts his ball cap you know he’s itching to say something to you but probably weighing the pros and cons in his head about the two extra sets of ears hearing what’s meant only for you and so you decide for him. You shove past your two cousins, quickly tell them you love them and not to wait up and push them far enough back in the house so you can slam the door shut, finally leaving you on the porch with just Frankie.

“Hi” you breathe out, a smile spreading across your lips. He looks casual but deliciously handsome in a pair of dark tan khaki pants and an untucked light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up, putting his tanned and muscular forearms on display. He still has his infamous Standard Oil hat on, hints of chocolate brown curls peeking out from underneath it. You don’t think you’ve actually ever seen him without it, come to think of it. You try to picture him without it and an image just doesn’t come.

“You look beautiful” he tells you, a hint of shyness in his tone and a blush rises in your cheeks that didn’t come from a makeup stick.

“Thank you. I’m sorry about tweedle-dee and tweedle-A-D-D in there” you joke, gesturing a thumb over your shoulder at your two cousins who are currently fighting each other over who gets to look through the small pane of glass next to the door to watch your interactions with Frankie on the front step.

“Unfortunately I’m very used to it” he quips, giving you a warm smile. “Shall we?” He asks, sweeping an arm out towards his truck idling at the curb and you nod your head and lead the way.

Before you reach the truck however Frankie jogs up behind you to brush past and ensures he reaches the passenger door handle before you do and opens it wide, offering you a hand to help you up and inside. You both decide to ignore the whooping yells and hands slamming on the glass next to the door at the top of the walkway behind you.

“Let’s get the hell out of here, shall we?” You offer once Frankie’s climbed into the driver's seat next to you and he chuckles but nods his head.

“With pleasure” he agrees and pulls the truck away from the curb.

You’re driving for nearly an hour. Frankie had apologized already on several occasions, admonishing himself for not preparing you beforehand to make sure you wouldn’t be too hungry when he picked you up. You tell him it's fine countless times but he still admits he should’ve discussed his plan with you ahead of time.

“Hey, if what you say is true and these really are the best tacos I’ve ever had, you’ll not only be forgiven but I’ll be glad I was ravenous by the time we get there” you tell him and finally he seems to accept it and offers you a small smile, hand going to the dial on the radio to turn the classic rock tunes up just a little bit for the last few minutes of your drive.

The drive is nice. The ocean follows along in your journey when you look out your window and the way the sun sits in the sky you know it’ll be threatening to set not long after you arrive at your destination. Truth be told you were a little nervous when you first started driving and Frankie mentioned how long the trip would be. You worried that you wouldn’t have much to chat about or that it might get awkward but it had been anything but. Besides Frankie’s little bouts of anxiety about whether or not he should’ve mentioned to you what time you’d actually be eating, everything was going better than you had expected. The conversation seemed to flow easily between the two of you. You had enough jumping off points, with both of you having more than your fair share of stories or anecdotes about Will and Benny. You shared stories of your youths while Frankie caught you up on some of the more recent goings-on with them that you hadn’t been privy to since, before recently, you obviously spent a lot less time with them in your adult years versus the childhood ones. Before long the conversations shifted more to yourselves and your own personal lives and before you knew it Frankie was pulling the truck into a crowded parking lot in front of the beach.

You make your way through the throngs of people on the boardwalk, Frankie’s warm hand on your lower back a steadying presence as he guides you through the crowds towards the brightly painted green and yellow food truck off in the not-too-far distance. Your mouth is watering already and you’re not sure whether it’s for the tacos or the man on your left with the broad shoulders and thick arms but a gentle, calming touch.

If you had to venture a guess, it would be for the latter.

Frankie, to his credit, was absolutely right about the tacos. You’re halfway through your third one when you finally tap out and call it quits, unable to possibly stomach another bite - despite how delicious they are.

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t” you admit defeat to what’s left of your dinner, tossing your napkin on top of your paper plate and holding your hands up in surrender and the corner of Frankie’s mouth curls up into a smirk.

“They’re good right?” He grins at you from across the picnic table while he stuffs the last bite of his own into his mouth and you roll your eyes dramatically at how good in fact they were.

“They were amazing, seriously. Well worth the drive and the wait” you tell him sincerely and then before you can talk yourself out of it you reach across the table to place your hand on top of his and give a little squeeze with your fingers.

“Thank you for dinner. I’m um… really glad you asked me out tonight”

That confession earns you an ear to ear grin from Frankie who swallows down the last bit of his dinner and then turns his hand palm-up so he can hold your fingers in his grasp.

“Me too. But, the night’s not over” he offers with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“There’s more?” Your brow line lifts to your forehead. “I’m going to need a few minutes to digest first” you laugh, placing a hand over your stomach and Frankie chuckles but nods his head in agreement.

“Take all the time you need,” he tells you.

The sun is beginning its descent from the sky as you sit at the table a while longer, happily chatting about everything and nothing. You ask Frankie more about his young daughter and can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips the way his face lights up when he speaks about her or shows you his favourite pictures or videos of her on his phone.

With your food finally settled you’re back to wandering the boardwalk again with Frankie leading the way. He stops you at an ice cream truck and you groan at the idea of having to shove more food into your stomach but the childish grin and teasing nudge to your side with his elbow convinces you to take him up on his offer anyway and you ask for small scoop of the bright orange Tiger Stripe flavour in a dish while Frankie opts for a waffle cone of classic Mint Chocolate Chip.

With no small effort you manage to finish the sweet dessert and toss your garbage into a nearby receptacle and Frankie nudges your shoulder with his and gestures with an outstretched arm towards the beach.

“Wanna go walk it off?” He suggests and you give him an easy smile, more than excited about taking a romantic walk down the beach at sunset with him.

The warm sand squishes between your toes as you walk the length of the beach. Frankie had insisted on carrying your shoes for you when you opted to take them off; the strappy sandals hanging from the fingertips of his right hand while his left brushes experimentally against the back of your right and you turn your palm towards him and he wastes no time taking hold, your fingers interlacing. You smile and press a little closer into his shoulder.

“This is perfect” you sigh as soft waves lap at your feet and the sun bids it’s final adieu for the evening, disappearing just past the horizon on the other side of the ocean.

“So I did good?” Frankie smirks at you and you let out a little laugh, nodding your head.

“Ten out of ten would recommend” you answer without hesitation.

“Recommend to who? If you think I’m taking Benny on a date next you’re poorly mistaken” he jokes and it earns an outburst of laughter from you as you grab onto his forearm with your free hand and lean further in still.

“You guys could make a pretty cute couple” you tease and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head in laughter.

“Already got the prettiest Miller on my arm, thank you very much” he affirms and your giggles die down as the blush re-emerges and you turn your gaze down to the sand at your feet and squeeze his arm just a little tighter as a thank you to his easy compliment.

You walk a little while longer, your fingers still entwined and your free hand wrapped around his arm that’s holding your hand, snuggling as close as possible while you continue to chat and joke and tease each other.

Being with Frankie seems so easy. Normally you were so nervous during first dates and it’s been so long since you’ve actually been on one you could barely remember what it normally feels like but you’re certain it’s never felt like this. You felt comfortable. And maybe a lot of that had to do with the fact that you’ve already met with and hung out with him on numerous occasions now there was less to be nervous about. But you think it’s mostly him. He’s so easy going and calm to be around; he just puts you at ease with one upward curve of his lips or the way his soft brown gaze seemingly bores into your very soul with a single look.

Besides that, you knew he must be a pretty decent guy or Will and Benny would’ve had something (aside from friendly teasing) to say about it. They were the big brothers you never had growing up, always looking out for you until your lives took you all down very separate paths and if they trusted Frankie with you, you knew you were in good hands.

Hands that were currently, mind you, smoothing up and down your sides as Frankie pressed you into the passenger door of his pickup as you stood on the street outside your temporary home saying your goodnights.

“Kiss me” you breathe into the limited space between your two bodies that are thrumming with unspent energy.

Not bothering with a verbal response, Frankie closes the distance between you, his lips capturing yours finally for that first kiss you’ve been craving since he picked you up hours ago. He tastes like mint and chocolate, and although normally it would be one of the last options you go for at the ice cream shop, the way it tastes on Frankie’s tongue instantly makes it your new favourite.

The energy in the cab of his truck the whole ride back had been tangible, his right hand on your thigh, yours trying not to dig into the plush material of the seats as you tried to focus your mind on anything other than ordering him to pull the truck into park so you could crawl into his lap and thank him properly, the way you wanted to so badly.

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, his mouth trailing now from your lips down your jaw and to the side of your throat as his hands grip your hips. The scruff of his beard brushes the delicate skin of your neck when he nuzzles further into you and heat instantly pools in the lower part of your belly, causing a little moan to slip out. You feel your breath quicken, heart rate speeding up to keep pace with Frankie’s that you can feel through your clothes with how closely he’s pressed against you. Your arms raise to wrap around his neck, hands playing with the soft curls at the back of his head, running your fingers through them (something you’d been dying to do since the first time you met him, if you’re being honest with yourself).

“Should’ve taken me back to yours” you whisper against his ear as he continues to nip, lick and kiss at your throat.

“Santi’s on my goddamn couch” he groans, annoyed.

You remembered, now that he’s said it. Santiago, another military buddy of your cousins that you’d met a few times and one of Frankie’s best friends, had been having problems with his girlfriend and a week ago she had actually kicked him out of their shared apartment and with you taking up residence in Will and Benny’s guest room, that left Frankie’s couch.

“Shit” you mutter. You don’t dare take him inside to your room. Though the house looks dark and the boys are probably asleep, that’s not something you’re going to chance. At least not on a first date. You don’t need their judgment, nor do you need Frankie holding anything back from you due to the unfortunate circumstances.

His mouth is back on yours, unable to stay away from it for long it seems. His tongue pushes inside and strokes alongside yours, causing a little shiver to run down your spine. He licks into your mouth, exploring every cavern and swallowing all your little whimpers and whines. Frankie was an amazing kisser. You can’t help but wonder how talented his tongue may be elsewhere; the thought alone sending a fresh wave of arousal through you and causing another moan to slip out which Frankie responds to with one of his own. His right hand leaves your hip and goes to your thigh next, gently raising your leg off the ground to wrap around him and a gasp escapes you when his hand slips under the hem of your dress and trails upwards towards your hip.

“Fuck, Frankie” you breathe, pulling back just enough so you can start peppering kisses to his strong jawline.

“Tell me to stop, fuck, you need to tell me stop” Frankie pleads. You can feel his obvious desire for you pressed into your stomach as his left hand moves down to grope your ass and pull you even closer against him.

“Mmm, don’t want to” you hum into his throat and he groans in desperation, rocking his hips into you and causing a delicious bit of friction where you need it most. Your whole body is tingling, feeling like you could combust at any moment. Your muscles are tense, hands fighting for purchase on any part of him they can grab onto, eager to keep him from convincing himself to pull away from you.

Just when you feel him begin to pull back you do the only thing that comes to mind and turn in his grasp and reach for the back passenger door of the crew cab, swinging it open and pulling him back towards you by the collar of his shirt.

“Fuck, Sweetheart” he stops dead in his tracks, feet outside on the ground still while your ass hits the back seat so you’re seated sideways on the seat, facing him.

“Look, I might not be up for Gentleman of the Year Award or anything, but I’m not… I can’t have our first time be in the back of my truck. You deserve so much better than that”

Your brain doesn’t miss how he says ‘first time’ like it implies that there will be more times, and god you hope there is. And while you don’t disagree with him that fucking in his car like teenagers isn’t maybe the most romantic way to do this, you still need something and you don’t want this night to be over yet.

“Just… come fool around with me a little bit” you shrug, coy little grin tugging at the corners of your lips and you see on his adorable face the moment his resolve crumbles. He’s hopping up into the truck in a flash, slamming the door shut behind him. He pushes you back onto the bench seat so you’re flat on your back and finally rips his hat off his head and tosses it carelessly somewhere to the floor and you’re in a fit of giggles at the playfulness of it all. The laughter dies on your lips however when he’s kneeled before your spread legs and drags your knees up to his hips and presses himself down on top of you, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss while his lower half grinds into yours.

“Is this OK?” He murmurs into the side of your face as his kisses trail towards your throat.

“Mmm hmm” you nod frantically. “More than OK” you promise.

He hums into your throat and brings his right hand to your breast, his large hand covering the mound and gently massaging the soft flesh, kneading and squeezing just right as your little moans and the way your back arches to push your chest further into his touch encourages him.

“Fuck,” he growls before shoving the front of your dress and cups of your bra down so he can get his mouth on bare skin.

He pulls away from your throat and shuffles down slightly, leaning down to swirl the tip of his tongue around the pert bud and then gently pull it into his mouth. He alternates between sucking it into his mouth and teasing with quick flicks of his tongue while nimble fingers pay the other equal attention and you writhe underneath him, grinding into his leg, desperate for any friction you can create.

“Perfect tits” he mumbles into your skin before his mouth switches sides. Your hands are in his hair, gently tugging and scratching over his scalp and the way he occasionally groans and grunts at your actions you know he likes it. You wish you weren’t shoved inside the back of his pickup right now. Oh the things you would let his mouth do to you if you weren’t…

After long minutes of attention spent on your breasts his mouth is finally back on yours. He moans into you when his tongue wraps around yours again and you decide to play a little dirty yourself and wrap your lips around his tongue and suck it into your mouth, just for a moment and then you release. You feel his hardened cock twitch against your hip when he grinds it into you.

“Tell me what you want, Baby” he asks between ragged breaths as his lips create a hot trail of open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

You decide to show him, rather than tell him, and reach for his right hand and bring it underneath your dress to the aching need between your thighs and he practically growls into your throat when he feels the damp spot that’s already formed on your panties.

“Oh my god” he groans, taking his first two fingers and rubbing your lower lips over the soft, soaked lace.

“Oh fuck, Frankie, you feel so good” you whine, not caring how wrecked you sound already.

His mouth covers yours again, his kiss hungry and needy as his fingers bravely dip under the waistline of your panties to finally touch your naked sex and push through the warm slick folds.

“Oh my god, make me come baby, please. Fuck.” You beg, your hands wrapping around his neck again and grabbing on for dear life. It’s been far too long and Frankie is quickly unraveling you into a mewling desperate mess.

“I’ve got you, Hermosa” Frankie promises, his breath hot against your ear now and you don’t doubt that he does. His skilled digits are already driving you crazy and he’s barely begun. Maybe it’s because it’s been a while, or maybe Frankie just really knows his way around a pussy.

He plunges two fingers inside of you and you cry out at the welcomed intrusion, whimpering into his shoulder at how he’s nearly got you undone already.

“God you feel fucking amazing” he groans into your heated flesh.

“Fuck Frankie, don’t stop, please” you whimper.

He doesn’t. His fingers continue their torturous assault, pumping in and out of you and occasionally coming out to rub tight little circles around your small bundle of nerves that causes your arm to shoot up in the air, palm of your hand pushing hard against the ceiling of the truck cab as your impending orgasm lingers threateningly.

“Let me touch you, please” you beg and Frankie growls in response before his free hand goes to his pants and nearly rips them open so he can push them down to his thighs and your hand immediately wraps around his throbbing length.

“Holy shit” you breathe. Your fingers failing to quite reach all the way around his impressive girth. He’s warm and heavy in your hand, precum steadily leaking from the head that you gather in your hand to use to coat down the rest of his length.

“Christ” Frankie grunts, unable to stop himself from thrusting his hips once to fuck into your hand. “Shit I’m sorry it’s um, been a while” he confesses shyly and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“For me too” you tell him, easing his nerves. “God Frankie, I’m so close”

With that he pulls his hand away from you for only a moment, bringing it to his mouth to wet his fingers with his tongue and then they’re back on your clit, experimenting between rubbing and circling and pressing and even lightly pinching until he finds out exactly what makes you squirm under him and he doubles his efforts, working you faster and faster with the pads of his fingertips until you’re coming hard and fast with his name on your lips as you rock into his hand to chase the pressure of his touch.

“Oh fuck, that’s it” Frankie groans into the hollow of your throat, his fingers sticky and slick with your release. “God you’re so beautiful” he praises, pressing kisses to every inch of flesh he can reach.

His fingers continue to languidly stroke through your folds, easing you down from your high while his own breathing picks up at your continued actions below; practiced strokes of your hand wrapped around him while your thumb occasionally ghosts over his slit, gathering the evidence of his arousal and smearing it all over the thick and sensitive head.

“Fuck, I’m close” he warns, eyes screwed shut in concentration, his forehead now resting against yours. “Fuck!” He curses again and then quickly sits up on his knees, causing your hand to fall away from him and he takes himself in hand to finish himself off, not wanting to make a mess all over you or your pretty dress. Not having much option he yanks his shirt up instead and coats his own stomach with white hot ropes of his release until he’s left heaving and panting on his knees before you, free hand clutched tight on your knee beside him, fingers digging in deep enough you think they’ll leave bruises.

You’ll wear them like a badge of honor.

“Shit,” he breathes and then huffs out a little laugh. His eyes dart around for a moment and then he reaches into the little pocket on the back of the front passengers seat and pulls out a somewhat squished little pack of wet wipes (one of the conveniences of having a small child you presume, always lots of supplies around that adults might not otherwise think of keeping handy) and grabs a couple sheets and wipes up the mess he made of himself before shoving the wipes back into the pocket. You’re staring up at him, tip of your pointer finger between your teeth and a coy grin playing on your lips.

That was by far the absolute hottest make out session you’d ever had. Where has Frankie Morales been all your life, and what had you done to deserve him now?

“Are you still OK? That was… OK?” He asks and it’s sweet how he doesn’t even know how badly he just rocked your whole world.

“Ten out of ten would recommend” you retort teasingly, lifting your foot to push gently at his hip and he rolls his eyes playfully and lands a little swat to your thigh.

“Smartass. Maybe I oughta trade you in for Benny after all” he quips. “Get a lot less lip I bet”

“Hmm, but probably a lot less tongue too” you tease right back and he groans as you yank him down on top of you by his collar once more.

You’re not quite finished with Frankie Morales just yet.

Taglist: @yorksgirl @chronically-ghosted @rav3n-pascal22 @suzdin @boliv-jenta @senaar-ika @nerdieforpedro @theywhowriteandknowthings @within-the-depths @axshadows @iamasaddie @macabremads @prolix-yuy @vickywallace @survivingandenduring

If you'd like to be added, lmk!

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #frankie friday #frankie morales fanfiction

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ladykailitha · 10 months ago

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Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 15

The second part being released today. And it's looking like people really want more of this AU. Which, I really should have seen coming.

So once I get my backlog up for Moonlight and Indiana (I just need to write one more chapter each to get the stories up to three chapters) I will start working on it for you.

And because I've been zooming past my daily goal of 400 words a day (I'll often get 1500-2000 words a day) I've decided as a way to pump the breaks so that I don't get too far ahead again is to spend my evenings editing stories for my beta to edit for AO3. I already have one in the works, I'm just waiting for her final edits to put it up on AO3.

In this we have Steve being awesome at what he does, he dodges one hell of a bullet because Robin is awesome, and Eddie falls just a little more in love with Steve.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

****

Steve was busy leading up to Eddie’s rut, Chrissy being right about him getting more clients just from being on Eddie’s arm.

Everyone clamoring to see what it was that made Eddie fall head over heels in love with the omega escort.

Steve ate up the attention. He had talked to Eddie about the actress and how it made him feel.

Suddenly Eddie was all apologies. The actress was a good friend of his and he had just been so excited to see her that he forgot what it would look like to Steve. Especially since Eddie hadn’t introduced them. Plus it had left Steve open to Tommy’s sneering.

Steve had backpedaled then. He hadn’t meant for Eddie to make a big deal out of it. He had thought that Eddie would apologize, they’d fuck about it and Steve would learn that with Eddie being as famous as he was, Steve would just have to learn to share him.

But Eddie wouldn’t let him. He had hurt Steve’s feelings over something that he could have and should have avoided. Now he knew why Tommy’s words had stung as badly as they had.

So he showered Steve with all the affection in the world. Taking him on picnics to the beach one day and bowling and miniature golf the next. Fancy dinners and shopping sprees. Intimate to formal, fun to stately. Concerts and plays.

Every spare moment Steve had was spent being wined and dined by Eddie.

The courting was intense, but then again so was Steve. He liked intense, he was intense.

Steve was getting ready for a final rut, before Eddie’s next week when Robin called him up.

“Hey, what’s up?” Steve asked in confusion. “What’s up?”

“Management just flagged the client.”

Steve’s blood ran cold. It took a lot for management to flag a client. They always did checks on their clients before letting them hire their escorts. But sometimes they’ll do a deeper check if they feel something is off.

“What caused the flag?”

“Something in the wording,” Robin said. “I had been trying to pin down where I had heard it before. It was only yesterday I realized it sounded like some of the stuff the alpha from the Grammy’s was spouting as we hauled his ass out of the venue.”

If Steve was cold before, now his spine was ice. “Holy shit.”

Robin hummed her agreement. “So I had Hopper dig deeper. It’s–it’s not good, Steve.”

“Just tell me.”

“The idiot had used his real accounts to plot your kidnapping after going through all the work to hide who he was to the company,” Robin said grimly.

Steve sat down on the sofa with a thump. “Was he–did he know where I–Robin I’m scared.”

“I’m already in the elevator, babe,” she said softly. “He doesn’t know where you live or even where Eddie lives, okay? Starcourt alerted his security detail as soon as the plot was uncovered.”

Steve breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Will I still be able to service his rut?”

“Yes,” she said, “I’m at your door, I’ll tell you all about it, face to face, okay?”

“Okay.”

Robin let herself in and hurried over to the sofa to throw her arms around him.

“Everything is okay,” she promised. “There hasn’t been a successful kidnapping of a Starcourt omega since the 1940s. Trust us, we’ve got this on lock.”

Steve nodded. “Tell me about Eddie’s rut.”

Robin grinned mischievously. “You’re going to love it.”

“Oh?” Steve’s interest was piqued. That interest drew him from his fear and anxiety, just like she knew it would.

“It’s going to happen here.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit!”

“It gets even better,” Robin said sing-song.

“How could it get any better than that?” Steve asked once he had picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Management is letting him know where you live,” she squealed.

Steve’s hands went to cover his mouth. “Shut up! Tell me everything!”

So she did.

She broke down what would happen if Eddie’s rut broke through the scent.

She went over the different things that would happen due to it being in Steve’s room with his nest, but it was amazing news.

“What made them decide to let Eddie in on the secret?” Steve asked when she was done.

Robin set down her tablet she had used to go over all the information and turned her full attention to him.

“Because he tried to cancel his rut servicing with you but with you still getting paid because he was worried that you might be followed to his place,” Robin explained.

Steve blushed a deep red.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He looked up at her with glistening eyes. “He really loves me, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, yes he does.”

****

Steve didn’t have any other clients that week, so he spent the week getting his penthouse suite ready for his alpha. He already knew Eddie’s favorite snacks and how he could just eat handfuls and handfuls of trail mix as long as there weren’t raisins. So Steve subtly tried out other dried fruits and found he loved dried apricots. So those replaced the raisins.

Protein shakes were okay as long as they had some chocolate in them. But he could tell if there was any herbs to them. Thyme, basil, you name it, if it was there, Eddie wouldn’t drink them.

It was actually kind of fun tailoring the rut servicing to what Eddie enjoyed. Cotton sheets over satin. Certain brand of bottled water. How often he was lucid during the five days.

His nest was carefully packed away into another room, so that Eddie’s scent didn’t get embedded into the materials. There would be plenty of time for that when they bonded, doing it too soon could result in a faux bond and Steve would get sick.

Which was the last thing either of them wanted.

Steve was fluffing the pillows for the millionth time when Robin radioed that Eddie was about to pull up. He made his way to the front of the hotel and watched as Xander pulled up to the curb.

Eddie stepped out onto the pavement and looked up at the hotel in shock.

“La Rose?” he asked Steve in confusion. “Isn’t this where we met up for drinks after my interview?”

Steve grinned, taking Eddie’s bag from Xander. They walked past the hotel bar and Eddie turned to him.

“Holy shit!” he gasped. “It is! I thought we met up here.”

Steve giggled. “We did. I just came down the elevator instead of arriving by car.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” he asked, bumping Steve’s shoulder with his own.

“Robin,” Steve said proudly. “She can work any magic she wants to with management. I swear she has blackmail information on key members.”

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “That sounds like Buckley.”

They finally got to Steve’s floor and he pointed to a room to the far right. “That is where you’ll be taken if I go into a mini heat.”

“Wouldn’t they want me to be far away from you as possible?” Eddie asked.

Steve shook his head. “They want to whisk you away to a nearby room on the same floor so your scent could calm me down and help me through my heat. If they took you off the premises I could get rejection sickness.”

Eddie blinked at him a moment.

“Oh.”

Steve smiled and led the way to the door that would lead to his apartment. He opened the door and moved out of the way so Eddie could enter first.

“Wow, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “This is amazing. You live here all by yourself?”

“On this floor,” Steve answered. “Have a seat, we’ll talk about the coming rut and then get you settled. I’ll just put your bag in my bedroom.”

Eddie did as he was told, sitting on the nice fluffy sofa.

“All right,” Steve said, sliding onto the sofa next to Eddie. “So walk me through your ruts, what happens?”

Eddie squirmed a little. This was Steve Harrington, professional escort, and not Stevie, his hot omega boyfriend speaking.

“My pre-ruts start hard and fast,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “Then they last five days and I’m barely lucid through them. It’s how I got caught by that omega who told me they were infertile. I wasn’t conscious for much of it.”

Steve nodded. “When do you lower the light in wherever it is that you spend your rut?”

Eddie blinked at him. “Lower the lights, what do you mean? You don’t have sex with the lights on?”

“You’ve always had light on during your ruts, even at night?” Steve asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Not lucid enough to turn them off,” he said with a shrug.

Steve picked up a remote from the coffee table and closed the drapes and dimmed the lights.

He could see the physical change that came over Eddie. His shoulders relaxed and his eyelids drooped. His skin color which had been pale and clammy when he arrived was starting to get color back in his cheeks.

He tilted his head up as he examined the lights. “What is this feeling? I feel warm and drowsy.”

Steve sighed. “It’s how ruts are supposed to start. But it’s not mentioned in health class or anything. The bright lights signify to our poor little lizard brains that we’re still out in the open where we can be attacked, instead of safe in our caves. It wasn’t until the advent of modern light that it was ever a problem for alphas, but the science of it has come a long way in recent years.”

“Huh.”

Eddie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You think that’s why I’ve had trouble staying lucid because I’ve been forcing myself to be on high alert all the time?”

“Could be,” Steve agreed. “But even if it isn’t, you can trust me to keep you safe. I will not trick you and I will not harm you. You want condoms on all the time, I will be sure to change them as often as required. I’ve been on birth control for twelve weeks as you requested.”

Eddie blushed. “Thanks for sending me the video of you taking the pill every day, that must have been so humiliating for you.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m an escort, the amount of humiliating things I’ve had to do, that doesn’t even make the top twenty.”

“What, now?”

Steve laughed. “Alphas will sometimes hire us for humiliation roleplays. Did a fair number of those before I was big enough to reject them. But I know a couple of omegas that live for that shit, so if a new omega is really uncomfortable with it, the roleplay will be passed to one of them.”

Eddie blinked again. “Darlin’, the more I learn about your profession the more intrigued I am.”

“At least you’re intrigued,” Steve chuckled. “Most aren’t. They tend to be pearl clutchers about it.”

“Not even the highest paid actresses have to do the kind of work you do,” Eddie breathed. “Why aren’t there award shows for you escorts?”

Steve smiled sweetly. “Because it’s all confidential. But maybe I can convince a couple of my friends to do our own version of that for booze and prizes. I think it’d be a hit.”

Eddie grinned. “Oh to be a fly on that wall.”

Steve reached out and rubbed his arm. “How are you feeling? Is the pre-rut still progressing or have you hit full rut yet?”

Eddie frowned as he took stock of his body.

“Still in pre-heat,” he said thoughtfully. “Huh. My uncle was a beta, so he wasn’t able to teach me this sort of shit, but you would have thought that someone along the line would have said something.”

“The education in this country is still woefully behind for anything regarding sex,” Steve said ruefully.

Eddie snorted. That was like calling a hurricane a little summer storm.

“But at least they teach you this shit,” he said.

Steve grinned. “Indeed they do teach me this shit.”

He got to his feet and gently led Eddie to the bedroom. He got undressed and sat down on the bed. He took Eddie’s hand and directed it to his thighs.

“Is it time, baby?” Eddie murmured, looking down at this beautiful, smart, talented omega in utter awe.

“Almost, alpha,” Steve purred. “But being in bed when it hits is easier on the knees.”

Eddie cackled and Steve’s omega chirped happily.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed back, “the things that cute little noise does to me.”

Steve laid down on the bed, as pretty as a picture and oh how Eddie wanted.

He got undressed and slid the first condom on. He straddled Steve’s hips and kissed him deeply.

“Oh, Stevie,” he murmured. “I feel so good.”

Steve stroked Eddie’s cheek. “And I promise it will continue to feel good for the next five days.”

Eddie looked into his eyes and believed him.

****

Part 16 Part 17

Tag List CLOSED: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @redfreckledwolf @emly03 @itsall-taken

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

@maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

@wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @yikes-a-bee

@littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @y4r3luv @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt

@apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @eyehartart @mangoinacan13 @demolvr

@ellietheasexylibrarian @rememberthatiloveyou @slowandsteddie @r0binscript @alyelf

@melodymeddler @mogami13 @annabanannabeth @disrespectedgoatman @manda-panda-monium

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #omega steve harrington

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laylajeffany · 11 months ago

Text

Intentions are Everything | Chaos Universe OneShot for @fridayd13th

Summary: Wednesday and Enid (age 22) reconnect on a rainy night after routine and the season of life they are in keep them apart. WC: 4k exactly (welcome to layla's <5k challenge) Rated: T (I’m at work it would absolutely end best in sex but a Clifford the Big Red Dog stuffie is looking at me in my supply closet and I feel judged.)

Note: As I’m experimenting with some new writing rules for myself to set myself to different standards and expectations for future projects (not even fanfiction); I’m weaponizing my competence and refusing to use my available contract hours assisting others who do not have withitness and follow-through. When I’m at work and not with the children on a break per required of my union contract, I’m locking myself in my supply closet to write! I'm too efficient! Everything is done through April! However, it’s simply not the correct setting to be working on my multi-chapter work; I need at least two hours at a time for that. These one-shots have to be prompted by someone else (I can’t have stewing on the content), under 5K, and I’m not allowed to work on them at home. I'll probably upload these to AO3 once I have a few of them complete.

The prompt "Wenclair/Domestic/Chaos Universe/Rainy Day" was from @fridayd13th - thank you so much for everything you’ve done to support my writing over the last year, and all the other fanfic authors you have impacted by your sharing, comments, and kindness. Thank you! & a Black Menagerie update is in the editing phase and will be up tomorrow sometime!

It wasn’t supposed to rain.

And not just because she already had outdoor plans, but there hadn’t been a drop forecasted (Wednesday had been checking obsessively). If there was a way to light the sky on fire, she surely would have…only to have that flame extinguished, immediately – like her carefully structured night out.

That was dramatic. (Wasn’t she always? And to think, Enid was the one at the theater that evening.) With a silent pivot, Wednesday adjusted course without hesitating, not wanting to waste a moment, even if it included one of the heaviest sighs she’d ever released. She couldn’t be taken down by reanimated corpses of bigots, genocidal maniacs, werewolf councils, Hydes, or the weather.

Life had gotten between herself and her fiancée over the last few months, and as she managed to be surprised by a late April rain, it showed. Between her endless lectures, bookwork, and mock trials, Network meetings and Enid’s grueling six-day-a-week performance schedule that only had her off on Mondays (Wednesday’s latest day at law school, naturally), their time together that didn’t involve one of them working on something was rare and precious. After a heated argument the week before, ended by the redhead who lived in the basement unit of their townhouse, Wednesday had stormed off to New Jersey. A train ride and taxi to her family’s home had her barreling into her mother’s study wet (it had been raining then too), upset, and in the foulest of moods.

It had taken Morticia quite some time to put together the fractured pieces of information her daughter was revealing and advise the same thing that the other wise woman in her life already had; Enid and Wednesday just needed to spend meaningful time together. When all of their hours in one another’s space were domestic routines and transitional time trying to catch each other up on the latest without being part of it, they were bound to spat.

Enid had been more than a little bit upset that Wednesday’s solution to their problem was running away and had hotly asked for the night apart when Morticia said that she thought it would be more practical for Lurch to drop her off than deal with the train again. At the notion of spending the night alone in her parents’ house settled in, Wednesday had a meltdown the likes of which they hadn’t seen from her in years. Morticia had slept with her when she finally convinced her to at least lay down, likely in fear that she was going to slip into a meditation and wind up in the wrong side of the ether because of her twisted energy.

The next morning, she’d had a long and overdue chat about romance with both her parents. They spoke from the heart – it was mushy and disgusting. Their own experiences made her want to bury her head in the sand. Yet - Wednesday had desperately needed to hear it. She and Enid were a far cry from the two of them. Though she might’ve possessed some Gomez-like traits every now and again, Wednesday was her own, unique breed and would love her own way, too. But, to her chagrin, hearing their perspective did help – and it put her plan into motion.

Enid wasn’t home when Wednesday arrived – she had a matinee that afternoon and then an evening show as well. With all her focus, Wednesday tidied up their apartment not only in proper order, but also made sure she’d put Enid’s favorite sheets on the bed, started the incense she liked the best, and ordered all her prized snacks for the week when she had groceries delivered. After a long talk with the couple downstairs, about recovering from a blow-out (they were more than familiar with that topic), Wednesday also committed herself to certain actions for the week ahead.

Unfortunately – the experimental medication she was on, after the sleepless night before, forced her to fall asleep when she laid in bed, trying to write a formal apology to her fiancée – afraid of forgetting something if she just tried to speak it all. It would still be from the heart, but scripted so she made sure to make every point.

That was how Enid woke her up with sweet, gentle kisses when she’d gotten home from her show, close to eleven. She had a fresh release of tears, and Wednesday’s notebook in her hand, stroking her cheeks and promising – she was forgiven, and that she was also sorry, for how she’d responded and reacted to everything.

In her grogginess, Wednesday made a promise – that she was going to give Enid a real date; she was going to honor her with something special, not routine, not a drive-by conversation. She wanted to give her a night that Enid could treasure.

And so, with two hours until her show released that Friday, Wednesday cooked, baked, transformed the attic space and prepared the environment with all the heart and ambiance-creating ability she had.

Locating her umbrella and stepping into black Wellies, she took the pink ones by the door into her hands and a jacket when she realized the temperature dipped as well. With a black and white striped snake over her shoulders tucked into her collar to stay dry, she made the familiar trek out of their Upper West Side apartment to Midtown – a journey she used to take when she was committed to making it to Enid’s show at least once a week.

How quickly things changed when novelty wore off. She hadn’t been to the theater in at last four months, she realized – vowing to change that, too.

One metro ride and a few blocks walked in the rain later, she stood outside the theater door, grateful the rain would keep most of the obsessive, obnoxious out-of-towners from lining up for autographs. Her snake poked his head out curiously when the door opened a few times, hoping for Enid, but it was always orchestra first, Wednesday reminded Augustus softly.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Only three other cast members groaned at the rain before heading out themselves before Enid let out a full whine upon opening the door, then a completely delighted gasp. “Wednesday! Ohemgee, you did not have to come all the way here!”

“I didn’t want you caught in this beautiful weather without proper gear,” She said, passing Enid’s rainboots to her. She let out an excited squeak of appreciation, dipping back in and swapping her shoes, then accepting the rain jacket before positioning herself under Wednesday’s umbrella, wrapping an arm around her waist. Holding the handle and depositing a kiss to her lips, ignoring how she still had on her stage makeup and dreadful, bright red lipstick that probably transferred, Wednesday clarified, “There is an obvious change in plans from our rooftop dining experience in Brooklyn. But our evening is not ruined, simply altered.”

“Awe, well – that’s so sweet. I didn’t even know it had started to rain! I’m glad I don’t have to be super bummed out, either. Thanks for taking care of everything! Hey – how was the exam?”

“Grueling. Torture. It took me every available moment to finish. Naturally, I scored a hundred four,” Wednesday said with a little smirk as the sky emptied itself onto the city, hard raindrops rattling the waterproof covering above them as they moved to the subway station. “And the show?”

“The usual,” Enid shrugged. “Friday night crowds are notoriously off – though this one wasn’t so bad. I don’t know. It’s been almost seven months now – there’s rumblings about auditions the Crazy for You revival moving to the US, I’d for sure be auditioning for that – this role has me feeling a little...locked in. I’m not, like, over it – but I’d be up for something different.”

“Insert here a cheesy line about being crazy for you in any show you’re billed in. I also recognized on my way here – I haven’t come out to watch in so long. I’m genuinely sorry for the pacing of our time together and the inadequacies I’ve brought, Enid.”

“Oh, you do not need to apologize for that, Wednesday! This is my job, as much as it’s art. It’s not like I’m going to catch you in the courtroom on any kind of regular basis – that’d probably be sups inappropriate. Well – we know in the future that I’ll see you in the Supreme Court – but that’s like, you coming to opening night of me as a leading lady. It’s different. I don’t expect my partner at a weekly curtain call.”

“Still,” She said as they waited on the platform after taking the slippery stairs down, keeping her umbrella folded low to drip onto the already sopping tile, “I do like watching you perform. Even if this isn’t my favorite show – I’d like to see you soon. I’ll leave father and Em behind, though.”

Enid giggled. “I don’t mind their…enthusiastic reception to my stage presence,” Enid found careful words as the train arrived – packed, of course, for a Friday night on the 1 in Midtown. Finding a place to stand where they wouldn’t be absorbing too much liquid from others who’d been caught in the rainstorm unprepared, they took the short ride back uptown, making it home just as another couple was about to enter their shared foyer.

Emiliana and Josie were soaked to the bone, obviously caught in the storm, and in Emiliana’s case – thrilled about it. Josie looked a little less than enthusiastic and both Wednesday and Enid backed away when her wife tried to embrace them. “It’s their date night, too – leave them alone,” Josie warned, tugging her back by the shoulders with a sigh.

“Well, I do not think they are going to be dining on roofs, bien-aimée!” Emiliana argued, about to go in again when Josie popped the lock on the lower-level unit with a groan, wishing the girls a good night – whatever they ended up doing, before ushering Emiliana downstairs while she spoke rapidly in French about which movie she wanted to watch and why would she need a shower, she was already wet?

Unable to hide her smirk, Wednesday took off her boots, setting them on a rug while Enid popped the umbrella open to dry off (chancing her luck) and shrugged out of her coat, hanging both damp garments on a hook before locking the main door, then opening their own when they entered the kitchen.

Enid’s enhanced smell must’ve picked up right away what Wednesday had baked for her. She looked at her with a little gasp, a near twinkle in her eye. “You didn’t? You did! Oh, Wednesday!”

“Snickerdoodles are upstairs already,” She said quietly – hating the way that ridiculous word rolled off her tongue; but if they were Enid’s favorite, easy-to-prepare desert – of course. “As is everything else that I could prepare in advance, there are a few things I need to finish now. Everything you need for your favorite bath is out and ready for you.”

“Awe, not possible,” Enid said with a little pout. Wednesday crossed her arms, suspicious about that – Enid’s preferences had hardly changed since she was seventeen and they first started their innocent soaks together. “You won’t be in it!”

Almost snorting, she rolled her eyes and kissed Enid’s cheek. “I cannot be two places at once. Yet. I’m still working on that spell. Go on – I’ll meet you upstairs in thirty minutes.”

“Alright. Thank you, Wednesday.” She returned the sweet little kiss before shaking her head and planting a long one on her lips, despite the lipstick. Wednesday refused to cringe, merely returned it before Enid pulled away with a laugh, wiping the red off her with her thumb. “I frickin’ love you.” With that she winked and headed up the stairs of the narrow unit.

Putting the rest of her plan into motion, Wednesday poured her attention into finishing the meal that she’d started, heading up to the attic to light the candles with a wave of her hand to complete the ambiance she’d started to set up.

Bringing up the last of the food on a butler’s tray she’d stolen from home ages before, Wednesday glanced at the time, hearing the sound of a drain circling. Taking her place up near the small, circular window that was pattered in rain. She lifted the bow of her cello, starting to play a melody of their favorite songs.

Enid took a familiar place on the bench in front of the window, watching Wednesday with a look of love she could see out of the corner of her eye. Her snake traveled from Wednesday’s neck to Enid’s pink, loungewear covered shoulders, licking her cheek, making her smile.

Finally finishing, she stood up, taking Enid’s hands, kissing her fingers before tucking her at the low table of the attic in front of the futon. Plating her a favorite rare beef dish, Wednesday started the small record player on an entertainment unit before taking a seat beside her.

They ate with comfortable conversation flowing – Enid brought up the show she was interested in again, Wednesday asked her to describe the plot – and stared at her with hearts in her eyes as she animatedly detailed the storyline and the roles she’d want to play within it. As she stacked the dirty dishes, moving the tray to the stairs, Wednesday put the cookies on the table, then flushed a little as she began to remove materials out of a basket. Giving a shrug, she hoped that she was matching the energy the moment called for as she explained, “We were going to go to that gallery…but – I…maybe you want to make something to add to ours up here?”

She gestured to the various crafts that Enid had hung up above the futon – a few embroidery pieces she’d experimented with, paintings, collages…

Enid nodded brightly. “I’d love to make something with you.”

The next forty minutes were spent painting on a canvas, the two working together to come up with an inspired design – an interpretation of their snake in the springtime – Augustus looking at it and offering his feedback, requesting more pale pink cherry blossom petals all around him.

As they finished, Wednesday took the dirty brushes and palette along with the dishes, hurrying them down to the sink before returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Enid had moved to the cushions, her expression of dopy desire a bit contagious as Wednesday poured her a glass and took a seat. She indicated her own intentions by sitting as close to fiancée as possible, a stacking her legs on top of Enid’s thighs as she twisted into the corner of the couch – just a touch obnoxiously. Enid giggled before taking a sip, drawing an arm just above her knees. She pressed a kiss to Wednesday’s lips, letting out a sigh. “You probably feel like the need to reconcile was largely on you, given how you ran…but it wasn’t, Wednesday. I’ve been just as distracted, and every bit as much to blame for us not spending the time we need together, too.”

Augustus appeared from her collar again and Wednesday smiled at the snake with the gentle sort of parent-like love she’d had for him since the start. “Hey, buddy…do you think you could take yourself to your enclosure for a little while? There’ll be a pinky for you in the morning.”

He let out a small hiss and twisted down her arm, leaving the two in full privacy. Wednesday had another long drink of wine and made a hopeful suggestion. “I have two more exams next week, but then the summer term doesn’t begin until mid-May. Is there any time over the next few weeks that you’d be able to get away from the show for a few days?”

Enid laughed. “I haven’t used an understudy yet! Our swings would be thrilled – I’m sure I could take some time, for us.”

The way she said it made Wednesday chug the rest of the wine in her glass before taking Enid’s from her, sweetly, and placing both on the table. She adjusted her position, sitting fully on her lap. Enid’s arms fell around her waist, pulling her close for a kiss. Wednesday sighed into it, lazily dropping her arms around her shoulders, drawing herself closer, chests touching – even if they were just in comfortable sweatshirts – she loved the feeling. Enid let out a little sound of contentment as her tongue dipped into her mouth, pushing them even closer.

Enid pulled away with a sudden gasp – their teeth almost colliding as a bolt of lightning and crackle of thunder turned the nighttime rain shower into a thunderstorm. She giggled and groaned, sighing into Wednesday’s shoulder as Wednesday felt her heartrate skyrocket and decrease. Tangling her fingers into Enid’s hair, Wednesday just held her close, there, resting her head just on top of hers. “I love you,” She muttered quietly. “I’m really glad we spent tonight together, not just in routine, even if it wasn’t what we planned.”

“Me too,” Enid squeezed her middle, looking up with a sweet gaze. “I love you. I can’t believe how we let time get away from us. Hey – let me send a quick text to let my manager know I’m going to be out of the show – then I’m getting my laptop and my planner – we are so booking a trip for after your exams!”

Letting her go – even if she might’ve rather extended that time together physically, Wednesday figured she could get her fiancée all worked up and excited about time off together and then spend the time together in bed. Enid returned just moments later, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she gave herself a week off without asking – but expecting. Loving that for her self-confidence, Wednesday stretched out on the futon while she started to ramble excitedly, opening a glittery pink date book, actually blathering about what to fill in it. Her excited ramble went on for almost two straight minutes before she paused, mid-sentence, blushing as she glanced back at Wednesday. As she opened her mouth, Wednesday reminded her, “If you dare apologize for looking forward to spending time together…” She snapped her lips together and Wednesday smirked, putting her chin on Enid’s shoulder as she leaned over her. “There’s a full moon next week, too. We could maybe go somewhere that has a forest nearby if you’d like to wolf out. It’s been months, Enid. The Solstice was the last time…it just happened to be on a Monday, otherwise you probably would’ve taken your potion then, too.”

“You really want to spend time off chasing me through the trees?” Enid asked skeptically.

Dropping into a sit beside her, Wednesday took her hand into her own, letting her thumb rub a circle over the ring on her left. “I want to spend my time off with you. That’s all, Enid. I don’t care, particularly, what we do. I would like you to make sure you’re not disconnecting with the wolf part of you…we know the consequences of that. But if you don’t think you need to wolf out to stay connected, that’s fine, too.”

“Hm,” Enid laced the fingers that were playing with hers between them and kissed Wednesday’s cheek. “You know – we could really disconnect from the world, and only connect to each other – which always helps. Go to the Zypher property, be surrounded by mountains? We haven’t been in…what, two and a half years now?”

Liking the sound of that, Wednesday nuzzled her neck, also liking that it wouldn’t involve her traveling by plane, but the thought of being without running water and electricity for an entire week wasn’t quite what she wanted to deal with. Who would’ve thought – Wednesday Addams, a woman of the modern world?

“Or – we go to the Addams house in Jericho? We’d be able to bathe far more conveniently – but still have the woods.”

Enid chuckled into her lips with a kiss. “Fair, fair,” She spoke, pulling back. “Promise me you won’t get tangled up in a Network conspiracy while we’re there?”

With a single nod, Wednesday leaned in for another kiss. “I won’t even tell them we’re in town.”

“Well, that’s not nice. Aunt Larissa would ream you if we bumped into her at the store picking up stuff for dinner and hadn’t told her we were coming.”

“Grocery delivery,” Wednesday refuted. Enid shot her a look. “We can have one dinner with them. One. I’m very serious. This is going to be our time, Enid. We…we need it. It’s going to be a long summer – I’m so close to done, and the last two semesters are going to be grueling. Remember, I will be hospitalized at some point because I’m going to be so in over my head and taking horrible care of myself and refusing to let you do it for me,” She sighed – wishing she’d never had that vision, years ago. “But until then – we have this time together. I want it to be meaningful – just us.” Thunder made the entire place rumble and Enid nodded, then let out a little sound of sympathy as a slithering snake hurried himself up the steps and into Wednesday’s lap, trembling. “It’s okay, buddy,” She whispered, kissing his cheek as she held him close, letting him circle back around her neck. “Well, just us and the boy.”

Enid acknowledged what she’d said before, “Meaningful. It sucks to think that a lot of the time we do have together isn’t meaningful – and I guess I didn’t really understand that until this all blew up,” She sighed. “It’s hard to think that just because you spend every night sleeping next to the love of your life, it can get routine, so fast. I hate that. I don’t want that for us.” She thumbed her planner. “Do you think – we could pen in some more date nights? This was really nice. Not just dinner because we both happen to be home…which; has been rare for us – but intentional dates. I think we need to make sure we have at least one a month? Once a week would be better – but until you’re finished with school, I think we should be a little more realistic -”

Wednesday tilted her head in a bit of good news. “Actually, we can. Every Monday. My evening course was moved to Tuesdays and Thursdays for the summer class.”

Letting out a little gasp, Enid tossed her arms around her fiancée. “That’s amazing! OhEmGee, this is perfect! Hey – how about we put our first Monday after vacation at that Brooklynn rooftop and gallery, hm? I mean, truthfully – I think I preferred this, just us doing our own thing up here -”

“Then, let’s plan to do our own thing up here,” Wednesday argued gently. “Why go out and force ourselves to do something that neither of us really want to do? Just because it’s what is expected of a couple on a date? You know I would always rather be in with you. We can make it special, so long as we intend to.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Of course. I’ve long ago learned, intentions are everything, didn’t I? I suppose I just never applied it to our long-term romance.”

Enid kissed each cheek, then the tip of her nose. “I do believe I have some intentions for how I’d like to close out this night.”

Wednesday dropped her hands to her hips. “Hm. Funny, so did I. What if our intentions don’t align?”

She gave a playful growl, then nipped her lip playfully, making Wednesday close her eyes and give a little groan. “Yeah,” Enid pulled away, “I’m pretty sure – we both want the same thing. Come on. GusGus, bedtime, buddy. This date night continues for another hour!”

“Oh, that’s all?” Wednesday teased, earning a playful push as she smirked, fully intending on making meaning out of every moment of the rest of their night together.

#fanfic #wednesday 2022 #wenclair #chaos for the fly #prompt fic #CftF One-Shots

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