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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 3 months ago

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Untitled Doey X Reader Ch 1

Update: Now on ao3, updates will be posted there (and linked via tumblr) -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/63346465/chapters/162287860

So uh. Decided to do this. I'll put it up on ao3 eventually (with slightly more editing maybe), probably sometime after I get chapter 2 written. And after I figure out a title.

Summary: After the destruction of the Playtime Co factory, Doey finds what little remains of himself falling through the cave systems and into a river, where he's brought practically to your door.

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Doey had been so sure he’d been killed.

He’s died three times after all. It’s a familiar feeling.

Darkness. Numbness. A chilling cold that reaches through his body and wraps around his very consciousness, pulling him down…down…down……

Surely this time he won’t be pulled back. Who’s left to even try? The Doctor’s dead, Doey’s family at Safe Haven are all dead…whatever few remain alive in the factory’s underbelly are probably close behind, if Poppy has anything to say about it.

Doey’s not sure how much time passes between that thought and the explosion. A minute? An hour? A week? A year?

He’s not formed enough to see, nor to hear. But he feels the depths of the factory, of the very caves themselves, shudder and then quake as a fierce explosion rips through the labs. Fire and smoke rush through the lab, then the prison, then Playcare, and finally the factory proper, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

Not everything is burned. Much of the lower levels are made of steel and rock, after all. The heat that does pass over the puddle of dough that had once been Doey is intense, and would probably leave humans and plush toys singed, but it only serves to dry Doey out ever so slightly. Not enough to make much difference though. He’s still too weak and liquified to pull himself together, assuming he could even care to try such a thing.

Silence settles over the factory and the caverns below. Once again Doey is not sure how much time passes before the peace, if it can be called that, is broken.

Something, some support or load bearing wall, finally gives way somewhere in depths, starting a chain reaction, and the whole wretched place begins collapsing in on itself, just as Poppy had wanted. What the fire had spared the collapse does not, and the floor below Doey slants, causing him to slide along it as gravity takes hold.

He doesn’t even try to stop himself from spilling down through the caverns, the bits of dough that still contain hints of who he used to be rolling and tumbling down the crevices. Even the unpleasant sensation of sliding into a frigid underground river can’t motivate him to try and re-form his body.

Doey fades in and out of consciousness, each time wondering if he’s fading in and out of existence. The water eventually warms, and Doey’s aware of occasional glimpses of light as the river carries him out of the underground.

After awhile, the rushing river fades into a shallow, trickling creek. Doey’s dough bumps numbly along the smooth pebbles of the creek bed for a time until getting caught on a fallen log.

He can almost muster the strength to be surprised that he’s made it out of the factory. Almost. But he can’t imagine he’s meant to survive much longer.

So he waits. Waits to sink just a little bit further into the cold, to sink far enough that he won’t be pulled back ever again.

Time continues to pass. Several days, maybe even several weeks. He still can’t bring himself to stay conscious long enough to mark time, but it goes from dark to light and back again more times than he can count.

He lets the days pass, feeling the creek wash over him. He begins to hear again, just a bit. It’s muted from where he is beneath the water, but he can still make out some noises. So he contents himself with listening to the babbling of the creek, the chirping of birds, and the wind through the leaves. He thinks he’s in some kind of forest. How far from the factory he is, how far away from anything he is, he can only guess.

Maybe this is what death is. A drifting, vague awareness…barely aware of his own body, his own senses, but just feeling the world pass by around him.

It’s not terrible. Certainly not the worst thing he’s been through.

Doey has just enough time to adjust to his new existence when he hears something he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Voices.

Hiking through nature is always the first thing people seem to want to recommend to you when they sense you’re dealing with some kind of struggle. Especially those who realize you live on a few acres of mostly forested land.

To be fair, they aren’t entirely wrong…though admittedly you do find it a bit tedious to be recommended the same thing over and over when it’s already been a habit of yours for a few years.

Especially when you hadn’t asked.

But what are you to do when your main source of stress actively--physically--follows you on said hikes?

Ethan Barlowe, who owns the acreage just to the west of yours. You’re not sure how long he’s owned it, but it’s at least a few years more than your family’s owned your plot of land.

He’s roughly middle-aged, a bit older than your parents would have been, you think. He’s taller than you and decently fit, usually wearing some combination of flannel and denim. His face has the slightly weathered look of one who’s spent most of their life outdoors.

“They can even divide up the plot so you can keep your house right where it is,” he’s saying. “You don’t even have to move!”

A sales pitch you’ve heard dozens of times before…and it’s no more compelling today than it had been six months ago.

“Ethan, I said no,” you say for what feels like the millionth time.

“Oh come on! It’s not good for a kid your age to be living alone, without even any neighbors,” he protests.

You give him a deadpan look. Do you point out that, at twenty-four, you’re not exactly a “kid” anymore? Or tell him he’s currently doing a terrible job of selling you on the idea of neighbors in general?

“Look, I’m sure your dad would have rather the house itself stayed with you, even if the land doesn’t.”

That’s a new one.

You stop so abruptly he almost crashes into you. “I think I knew him better than you, Ethan,” you say tightly.

“In some ways, but--”

“In every way!” you shout, actually causing his eyes to widen for a brief second as he takes a step back.

It’s that shout that attracts Doey’s attention. He’s so used to intervening in fights in the Playcare as Matthew, then in Safe Haven as Doey, that it doesn’t even occur to him to do differently now. He immediately begins re-forming his body, listening closely to the conversation as he does.

You suck in a shaky breath. “Get off my property. Don’t ever come here again,” you say coldly.

Ethan stares at you in stunned silence for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head. “You can’t do that. Your dad and I had an agreement about the pond--”

“Yeah, and that’s done,” you say tersely. “Now leave, or I’ll be calling the cops.”

Ethan scoffs. “Right, because you have such a great track record with them,” he sneers.

Doey’s body reforms, and he realizes with a surge of dread that there’s not nearly as much left of him as he’d been assuming.

He’s barely six inches tall!

He’s not sure what he’s going to do now…although, in retrospect, he’s also not sure what he would have done before. You and Ethan would have been too shocked by the nine-hundred pound dough creature for Doey to have done anything in the way of mediating or intervention.

…Though it definitely would have ended the argument.

You and Ethan are a few feet away, on some kind of dirt path. The type that seems to be formed from repeated hikes rather than a deliberate attempt at making a pathway. The path runs alongside the creek, and Doey currently stands hidden in some tall grass and reeds that grow at the edges of the water.

The surrounding area is dominated by the rusty browns of late autumn, the yellows and oranges have faded away as the leaves begin to fall.

Doey’d been down in the factory for so long he’d nearly forgotten that seasons even exist.

“Th-That doesn’t matter!” you protest, though the uncertainty in your tone is clear.

“Doesn’t it? You really think they’ll believe some hooligan kid over me? I got a clean slate, kid,” Ethan smirks, stepping towards you.

Your eyes widen at his menacing tone, and now it’s your turn to step back.

Doey can’t help but glower at the implied threat. He generally tries to not pick sides, but if he were to pick a side, it certainly wouldn’t be Ethan’s.

Ethan grabs your wrist, pulling you towards himself as he glares down at you, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re out in the woods alone. The only nearby houses are yours and Ethan’s, and you left your cellphone at home.

It’s all Doey can do to keep silent as he tries to come up with a plan. If he were his proper size, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself rushing forward and putting himself between you and Ethan.

“Now listen, kid. There’s no way you’re making enough to keep this place. You think you’re fine to coast along on that little nest egg your dad left, but it’ll be gone before you know it. Trust me. I know how the world works. I’m doing you a favor.”

“L-Let go…” you finally manage to utter a meek protest.

Ethan’s gaze hardens, his grip only tightening when you try to pull away.

Doey’s eyes narrow as he resists the urge to let a low, angry growl at how this man’s treating you. If he thought running at the man only to be effortlessly kicked back into the creek would somehow help you, he’d certainly do it, but…he’s not convinced such a gesture would help.

In a split second, the solution comes to him. Well, a solution, anyway.

He steps back into the tall grass, hiding himself.

“Hey, what was that?” he calls out. He pitches his voice up slightly, hoping it sounds convincing as a second person, and answers, “Dunno, sounded like yelling?”

Ethan blanches and quickly drops your hand, taking a few hasty steps back.

Doey grins. The plan’s working! Switching back to his normal voice, he calls out, “Hey, everyone okay over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Ethan quickly calls out. He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting to you. His brow lowers in a warning glare. “Think about it, kid,” he says quietly.

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, heading down the dirt path while you stare after him.

Doey pumps his fist in a silent cheer. That went perfectly! Better than he thought it would, in fact. He’d been hoping Ethan would simply cool it with the intimidation if he’d thought there could be witnesses. Him leaving entirely had been but a distant hope.

Once Ethan rounds the corner and disappears from view among the trees, your gaze snaps towards the voices. They’d sounded close…so close you’re surprised you don’t see any sign of the ones who’d spoken.

“Hello?” you call out, walking towards the creek.

Doey’s smile vanishes and he tenses. He hadn’t considered the possibility that you or Ethan would try to find the source of the voices.

“Who’s there?” you call. You walk forward, the edge of the shallow creek lapping at your boots as you stand only inches from Doey’s hiding spot. “N-Not that it’s…a big deal, but…whoever you are, you…you do know this is private property?” you call out timidly, only to wince at how meek you sound. You’re not exactly feeling confident about protecting your land from intruders at the moment…

Doey flinches. Shoot. Maybe tricking you into thinking there were two more people wandering your property without your knowledge or permission hadn’t been the greatest idea.

“Um, we um, won’t be staying long!” he calls out hastily.

You frown. Why did they sound so much more nervous now? Are they up to something? Or just fretting over their (presumably accidental) trespassing?

And why did their voice sound so close…and so low to the ground? Sound can carry oddly in the forest sometimes, but usually people sound further than they are, not closer…

“You’re not…lost or something, are you…?” you ask.

Something about the simple question tugs at his heart--or whatever mass of clay in his chest serves as such.

Because, he realizes, he is lost. In every sense of the word. More than he’s ever been in his entire life.

He lifts his gaze to you, watching as you continue to glance around for the source of the voice, your brow knit in worry. Worry for yourself, at the prospect of unknown strangers wandering around on your property? Or worry for said strangers, lost in the woods?

Doey could show himself and ease both worries, but that might just cause a whole new set of problems. Not for Doey, of course…unless you have some freezing gas on you, it isn’t as if you can really hurt him. So whatever your reaction, he’ll be no worse off than he already is.

He doesn’t want to frighten you…Many children in the factory, and even adults sometimes, had been frightened of him, especially at first glance. While his height is about average as far as Bigger Bodies go, he’s one of the more stoutly build ones, and his lack of fluff and fur make him a bit less approachable than many of the other Bigger Bodies.

There’s a reason Doey the Doughman was usually portrayed as tiny in the commercials.

…Actually, that’s about the height he is now. So maybe the sight of him won’t be that startling to you after all.

“H-Hello?” you call out, pulling Doey from his thoughts as he realizes he’s been silent for several moments.

“Yeah! I-I’m here!” he says quickly.

“Where?” you ask, still glancing around, clearly looking for someone closer to your own height.

Well. Time to see if he’s going to be punted into the creek. “D-Down here.”

You glance down, seeing the tall grass part. A small blue figure peeks out. You don’t for a minute assume this little thing is the owner of the deep, resonant voice you’d been hearing. You don’t think the figure itself has any sort of voice…it just looks like a little toy made of colored dough. It looks familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

You crouch down for a closer look and Doey scoots back nervously. He’s…really not used to being towered over like this. But he forces a small, awkward smile, lifting a hand in the wave. “H-Hiya!”

You hadn’t expected the figure to move so fluidly. Even his face and eyes change shape as he speaks, and there’s a slight wobble to his round belly and big arms as he moves that a mere remote-controlled toy wouldn’t have.

He’s REAL.

The abrupt realization causes you to squeak in surprise, stumbling back. Your boot catches on a rock and you fall sideways into the creek. As you try to catch yourself, your hand hits the pebbly creek bed, causing a bolt of pain in your wrist.

The creek’s only about four inches deep, but falling onto your side and then thrashing about as you try to scramble away from the creature has left you completely soaked.

Doey winces. Evidently the sight of him is still shocking, even at this size.

But…he supposes you’d’ve never seen anything like him. Unless maybe you’d gone on a tour of the Playtime Co factory as a kid, but even then…grownups almost always dismissed the living toys as some kind of animatronics, sophisticated puppetry, or other such illusion.

Did anyone outside of the factory even realize that living toys had been in existence for…decades now?

“S-Sorry, pal…didn’t mean to scare ya,” he says, holding up his hands. He slowly approaches you, much the way he would have a frightened child in Playcare…despite you being well over ten times his size. Not to mention an adult.

“Wh-What…a-are you?” you manage to stammer out. Your eyes are locked onto him as he moves towards you, but manage to resist the urge to scramble back any further.

“The name’s Doey!” he says, puffing his chest out slightly. He reaches up to remove his hat, only to find it missing. Of course, there’s no way it would have stayed with him on his involuntary journey. Pity…he liked that hat.

But the problem is easily remedied.

He forms a new hat in his hand, this one the same light blue clay as his upper body instead of the darker blue plastic of his old accessory. Hat in hand, he brightens and takes a bow. “Doey the Doughman!” he finishes, placing the clay hat atop his head.

Doey grins up at you, watching your look of fear fade to curiosity. He can almost see the tension--some of it, at least--leave your shoulders as you relax ever so slightly. You clutch your injured wrist to your chest, canting your head as you regard him.

His kind tone and jovial nature seem to be winning you over, just as they’ve won over so many orphans and factory visitors (and even a few staff) before.

“Doey the Doughman…?” you repeat. You suddenly double take, blinking rapidly as you finally place both the name and his appearance. “A-As in…Doey-Dough?”

“Yep! That’s me!” he says proudly. “And what’s your name?” he asks in the gentle yet exaggeratedly eager tone of an adult trying to get an answer from a very shy child.

“Um.” You’re still reeling from being in the presence of some kind of…talking clay creature, so it actually takes a moment to process and answer the question. But, after a moment, you manage to speak your own name, mostly without fumbling. Mostly.

“That’s a nice name!” he says kindly, his eyes closing into happy crescents as beams up at you. His smile fades slightly, his expression growing concerned. “But that looked like a nasty fall. You alright?” he asks gently.

“Y-Yeah, I um…just tweaked my wrist a bit…” you say distantly.

“Can I see?”

You hesitate. He’s so small…not to mention being made of sculpting clay. It’s hard to imagine such a creature is even capable of doing you harm, and he’s certainly not acting like he wants to.

You’re just about to extend your arm to him when he lets out an embarrassed laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, but you’d probably wanna get out of that creek first, huh?”

Despite your shock, you manage a small laugh at the quip. Not only because you’d managed to forget you were even sitting in a creek, but…well, Doey’s laugh is more than a little infectious.

“R-Right…” you manage. You pull yourself out the creek, taking a few steps to find one of the larger, flat rocks beside the creek to sit on. You don’t take your eyes off Doey for even a second. Not because you think he’d do anything, but…this whole thing feels so surreal, you can’t help but wonder if he’d disappear entirely if he left your line of sight.

You’re debating if you should offer him a hand up, but to your surprise he stretches his arms high above his head (nearly a whole two feet) and grabs onto the edge of the rock, pulling himself up effortlessly.

“Now, let’s have a look, huh?” he asks, holding out his hands.

“I-I think it’s just a sprain…and not even a very bad one…” you say, holding out your wrist to let him examine it.

“Well that’s good!” he says earnestly, taking your wrist in his hands. Holding a human wrist that’s almost as big around as him is a bit jarring, but he doesn’t let that show as he checks over your injury.

You’re surprised that his hands actually give off a bit of warmth. Not much, but more than you’d expect from clay that’s been sitting out in the autumn chill. It also has a bit more give than you’d expected. Not quite as soft as human hands, but just slightly squishy, similar to putty or clay that’s been worked for awhile.

He holds your wrist in one hand, using the other to carefully move your hand up and down, watching you closely for any signs of pain.

“S-So um, where’s the other one?” you finally ask.

He glances up at you blankly. “Other? Oh!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just me,” he says. “Figured one witness might not be enough to drive the guy off, but two probably would be.” He releases your wrist, giving your hand a light pat. “You’re all set! Just be careful with it for a couple days.”

You’d been too surprised at just the existence of this creature that you hadn’t had time to ponder the reasoning for what he’d been doing. But as you do, you cant your head in confusion. “Why’d you want to drive him off?”

Doey seems surprised at the question, mimicking your head tilt as he looks up at you. “Because he was bothering you.” He pauses, wondering if perhaps he’d misread the situation. “...Wasn’t he?”

You grip your sore wrist, lightly rubbing at it. “Well…yeah, but…you just…decided to help me? A stranger? For no reason?”

Once again he meets your confusion with his own. “It’s not for no reason…I don’t like seeing people get picked on…”

“But isn’t it dangerous for you? What if he’d seen you?”

He blinks, momentarily surprised at your concern, but then grins up at you playfully. “Worried about me? A stranger?”

You pause a moment, then give a slightly sheepish laugh. “Heh…point taken…”

“Besides…I’m pretty durable,” he says, placing a hand on each side of his head and briefly squishing it like a bouncy ball.

You don’t find the action as amusing as Doey’d hoped you would. You blanch slightly, giving a slight shake of your head that looks more like a shudder. “This…This is impossible…” you say in a small voice.

His grin falters a bit. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that the wonder and whimsy of a living toy is easy to accept as a kid in a toy factory…less so as an adult out in the woods.

“Where did you come from? And why are you just…out in the woods like this?” you ask. Despite the situation, there’s a note of concern in your voice at the thought of the little guy out here alone. Even if he does insist he’s quite durable.

Some fragments of Kevin and Jack stir unpleasantly at the questioning, but Doey manages to quickly still them. He’s not sure how much he should tell you…how much he could even stand to tell you. But he’s not partial to lying, and some amount of explanation would probably put you at ease.

The slight pause before he speaks is barely noticeable. “I’m from the Playtime Co factory, of course!” he announces cheerfully.

You frown. “The one that was demolished?”

His face falls. “...Demolished?”

Not demolished! Lies. Destroyed. By mean Poppy, mean Doctor, mean employee…HURTS. HURTS US.

Doey shudders, staggering back and wrapping his arms around himself. “We’re okay…you’re okay…” he mumbles to himself. To all the pieces of himself.

His pained expression pulls at your heart, pushing aside the impossibility of the situation. You suddenly realize that whatever journey he’d taken from the now-demolished factory to way out here was probably not a pleasant one.

“I-I’m sorry!” you say quickly. You reach forward, cupping a hand beside him to steady him, though not touching him. “I…I shouldn’t pry…you don’t have to tell me if…it’s painful…”

To your surprise, he slumps against your hand, a dejected look on his face. He’d seemed so bright and cheerful a moment ago…you guess you’d bumped up against quite the wound to have his mood do such a turn.

Well…you can certainly relate to that.

Doey’s not even looking at you as he stays slouched against your hand, hugging himself and occasionally muttering things you can’t quite hear.

He’d managed to slip into his old role of protector and caretaker when he’d stepped in to help you. Calming you down and easing your apprehension had been much like his time before the Hour of Joy, when he’d play with the kids of Playcare. He’d always been good at making kids feel safe…and he’d been relieved to see those techniques could work on you, even if you’re an adult.

He could almost pretend it was the old days. The setting had changed a bit…and you may not be a child, but you still needed protection from bullies and comfort for only minor, very manageable injuries.

Nothing perilous.

Nothing life threatening.

He could still be the protector, the caretaker…just as he had back when the crown had been lighter.

“Um…Doey?” you prompt gently, pulling him out of his spiral and causing him to blink up at you in confusion.

He pulls away from your hand, his own hands fidgeting awkwardly as a halfhearted smile returns to his face. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but…is…is there somewhere you’re going? Somewhere I can help you get to?”

Doey’s eyes widen slightly as he’s caught off guard at the question. He laughs, waving a hand. “Oh, no no, pal, you…you don’t gotta do anything for me!”

“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” you counter. “Besides, maybe it’s…none of my business, but…the woods doesn’t seem like a great place for a little guy like you…” As you speak, a poorly-timed (or well-timed, perhaps) gust of wind cuts through the trees, making your already chilled, wet clothes positively frigid. You shiver, puffing warm air on your hands and rubbing them together. “And I think it’s going to be cold tonight…they say it’ll snow this weekend…”

Doey’s not technically capable of changing color, but you swear the blue clay of his face gets a couple shades paler as a look of pure dread crosses his face. “Well I’m…I’m not…heading anywhere…” he finally says.

“Then…would you like to come with me?” you ask, holding out your hand again.

“With you? To where?”

You laugh awkwardly. Maybe you could have phrased your offer a bit more directly. “My house,” you say.

Doey sputters in surprise, at a loss for words. “Y-Your…house?” he finally manages. “I…you’d…take me in? Just like that?”

“You did help me,” you say. “And I wouldn’t feel right leaving you out here all alone…” you add, your expression softening.

His hands fidget nervously as he glances at your open palm beside him. “If it’s…really not too much trouble…” he says, resting his hand atop one of your fingers.

You smile, shaking your head. “It’s really not,” you say kindly.

He hesitates once more, then finally climbs onto your hand. “Th-Thank you…” he says softly…almost somberly, in fact.

You slowly lift your hand, cupping your free hand near him protectively. You carefully slide off the rock and begin the walk home.

Doey’s a bit of an enigma--in more ways than one. You should be reeling from his mere existence. Maybe you’re just in shock or something, and the staggering reality of a living clay toy will hit you like a brick wall later on.

You suppose you’ll just have to hope it’s a bit gentler than that.

But what’s mainly on your mind at the moment is his behavior. He’d seemed so at ease when you’d first encountered him. Almost more concerned about you than himself. But mentioning the demolition of the factory had shattered that.

You reach the same conclusion you had earlier--whatever circumstances had led a lone, sapient toy to be lost in the woods--so lost and alone he can’t even suggest a place for you to take him--can’t be good.

You keep the hand he’s seated in close to your body, cupping the other hand near it to keep him from falling. Not that you’re walking anywhere near quick enough for that to be a real concern. He’s actually a little surprised at just how carefully you hold him, even after being told he can’t be hurt.

“So um,” he begins hesitantly, wanting to fill the silence. “Does that guy bother you…often?”

“Ethan?” you ask. “It uh…depends on your definition of ‘often’, I guess, but more often than I’d like. He’s my neighbor. He’s been coming by during my walks to try to talk me into selling my land…I guess I’ll just have to change what time I go for walks.”

You’ve already tried that three times now. The first time had brought you a couple weeks of peace. The second had brought one week. The third had brought even less.

“He wants to buy your land?”

You shake your head. “Not exactly. He has some…housing developer or something that he’s in touch with. He wants us both to sell our properties together for a subdivision. I guess they’ll pay more if they know they can get both properties? I don’t…really know all the details,” you admit. “I haven’t been interested in finding out. I just know that I want to keep this place.”

“Is there anyone you can ask for help? A parent or a counselor, maybe?”

You quirk a brow at the “counselor” suggestion…but if he was in the factory, maybe he’s just more used to talking to children? He probably just doesn’t know what options adults out in the real world have at their disposal.

“Well, I don’t have a counselor, and both my parents passed away,” you say simply.

“Oh…you’re an orphan?” he asks, looking up at you sadly, gently resting a hand against one of your fingers in what you assume must be meant as a comforting gesture.

“Er, not exactly? Dad only died a few years ago…I was an adult,” you clarify. “People usually only say ‘orphan’ if you’re still a kid.”

“Do they? I…I hadn’t realized…” he admits thoughtfully. “Still, though…” he adds, looking up at you worriedly, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

It’s the same unspoken question that always seems to hang after you tell people your parents are dead. A question you usually brush off with some platitude about being fine and just trying to live a life that would make them proud before steering the conversation away.

But…Doey’s sadness seems so genuine. Not that you think other people fake it per se, but a lot of them seem more awkward about the potential landmines they might step on or just at a loss for words, but…Doey seems like he’s actually more concerned about you rather than any sort of social etiquette.

He’s probably worked with orphans before, you realize. There was some sort of adoption program or orphanage associated with Playtime Co. You don’t know all the details, but maybe Doey had worked with those kids?

You smile sadly. “I’m alright. They’re at peace. And I’m um…getting there,” you say. Usually you just say you are at peace, but something about his earnest sympathy invites honesty. “I just um…try to do right by their memories, y’know?” you add.

Doey’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’d be very proud of you. You’re very brave, you know,” he says. It’s a line he’d repeated hundreds of times to hundreds of orphans in the Playcare, and then in Safe Haven. And he’s meant it every time, including now.

You, though, are not used to being spoken to so warmly, so soothingly about the matter. Even your grief counselor had been…well, not cold but…she’d had a job to do, you suppose, so her tone and manner had seemed more…distant, than the way Doey’s been speaking to you.

It catches you off guard, to put it mildly.

You glance away, clearing your throat and pretending to scratch at a spot on your cheek so you could wipe away a stray tear without Doey noticing. “R-Right, th-thanks…” you mumble hoarsely.

It’s been years since you’ve gone to pieces in front of anyone, and you’re not going to break that streak now.

Doey frowns at your reaction. It hadn’t been quite the one he’d hoped for.

You force a smile at him, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him. “Sorry. It’s just…been a busy day. I’m a bit…um…tense right now, I guess,” you say in a flimsy attempt waving off your reaction.

“You don’t gotta apologize, pal!” he says easily, patting your hand.

You emerge from the forest and begin crossing the small patch of grass that surrounds your house, serving as the lawn. You tilt your head towards your home and Doey follows your gaze.

“We’re just about here,” you say.

Doey peeks over your fingers, following your gaze towards the house. It’s one story tall, and…well, it’s hard for Doey to guess much more of that. He thinks it’s slightly bigger than Matthew’s old home but slightly smaller than Jack’s, but between his new size and how hazy those old memories are, even that rough guess is hard to put much stock in.

You enter through a small side door that opens into a mudroom. You kick off your boots and step onto the kitchen. “Do you mind waiting here while I change? I can show you around a bit more once I get into some dry clothes,” you say.

“Of course!” he says easily.

You make as if to set him on the counter, only to pause. “Um, would you rather be on the counter or the floor?” you ask.

He looks amused at the question, chuckling. “Eh, you can just toss me wherever,” he says playfully, waving a hand.

You laugh, shaking your head as you set him carefully on the countertop. “I’m not going to toss you, Doey!”

Once again, something in him warms as you take far more care with him than you need to.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you say, heading to your room on the other side of the house. You lift your hand in a small wave, which Doey returns with his usual large grin.

Once you’re gone, he glances around the kitchen. It doesn’t look much different from any of the kitchens Matthew, Jack, and Kevin had glimpsed in their time before coming to Playcare. Off-white laminate countertops and floors, brown wooden cabinets, flowery wallpaper that’s peeling in a couple places, and the usual assortment of appliances.

You change quickly, not wanting to leave Doey alone for too long. You’re still pulling on your hoodie when you re-enter the kitchen. “Are you cold at all?” you ask. “Do you need like…a blanket or anything? Something to eat?” You pause. “Erm, do you eat?”

Doey’s expression goes slack for a moment and you’re not sure what to make of the reaction, but clearly the question has struck something in him.

“I um! YES--NO!!” He cuts himself off so abruptly it almost sounds like he’s being silenced by someone else. “YES--SOMETIMES!!” He clutches at his head, clenching his eyes shut. After a moment he seems to relax, running his hands down his face to reveal an utterly exhausted expression. Somehow it even looks like he has bags under his eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright…just relax…” you say gently. You reach out to put a hand against him, only to pull back without touching him. You’re not sure if being patted by a hand nearly as long as him would really help with the whole relaxing thing.

“S-Sorry…” he mumbles, looking away shamefully at his outburst. “I um. I…I forgot how hungry I am. I…I usually just…try not to think about it.”

“So you do eat…” you say. “And it sounds like you haven’t in awhile…?”

“I…don’t have to. I’ve gone months without eating. It doesn’t seem to matter. The hunger is…it’s just a feeling. I can tune it out most of the time,” he says, not meeting your eye as he wrings his hands.

You pull back in surprise. “Doey, I’m…I’m not going to make you go hungry!” you protest, aghast.

“But…it’s just…food’s not free, right?” he asks hesitantly, finally lifting his gaze to you.

“Well, no…” you admit. “But it’s not gold bars and diamonds, either.” You smile gently. “Besides, you’re six inches tall…I doubt you eat more than I do,” you say lightly.

He gives a sheepish smile and nervous laugh, which you chalk up to general nervousness. “Heh…right…”

“I was about to make dinner…I usually make enough for a couple meals, so it’d be no trouble to fix you a plate. Whatever you don’t finish can be breakfast tomorrow. Anything in particular you like?”

Doey briefly pulls a face as if he’s literally biting his tongue to keep from speaking…though you’re not sure if he actually has a tongue. “Um. Wh-Whatever you’re eating is fine. Doesn’t have to be anything special, I…I can eat just about anything…”

He hasn’t liked any of the “food” he’s had in years. Not since Hoppy found that last box of candy up in Playcare…and even then, it had expired years before she’d found it. But easing the hunger, even for a moment, had always been such a relief that he’d actually started to forget that flavor is even a factor in food.

You rest against the counter, debating whether to press the issue. After a moment you decide not to. “Mac and cheese?” you offer.

He gives a sigh of longing that sounds halfway like a sob. “Y-Yes. That…that sounds wonderful.”

“Then mac and cheese it is,” you say warmly.

You begin the prep work, letting the conversation lapse as you wonder at your strange new guest. You’ve barely scratched the surface of who and what he is, but it still breaks your heart how reluctant he is to accept any sort of hospitality from you…especially with how readily he’d stepped in to help with Ethan.

It’s possible he just naturally has a very giving and self-sufficient personality, but you can’t help but wonder if someone, or several someones, in his past had made him feel just…undeserving.

The boxed mac and cheese you make is a family-sized meal, so even scooping out two full portions for yourself and Doey leaves plenty for tomorrow’s leftovers.

Doey’s eyes widen at the sight of the full bowl. He tries to utter a protest--you don’t need to give him that much, that just half a bowl would be more than enough, but fragments of Kevin and Jack bubble to the surface, silencing him as their hunger roars within him.

You take the bowls to the table before returning for the silverware. You’re not completely oblivious to Doey’s inner turmoil, but you don’t even come close to guessing the extent of it, assuming he’s just a bit shy about accepting your hospitality.

As you’re reaching for forks, you pause. The forks are longer than Doey himself…would he be able to use one? You open the other drawer, grabbing the smallest measuring spoon you have. It’s still a bit big--but trying to eat mac and cheese with a garden trowel is still easier than eating it with a pitchfork, you suppose.

You set the silverware on the table and return to the counter to get Doey. Before you can, however, he leaps from the countertop, causing you to let out a wordless cry of protest, scrambling to catch him.

He lands with a splat, his lower body flattening against the floor. But before you can even wonder if such an act is painful, he bounces back up, his lower body rounding back out so quickly his feet actually leave the floor for a second.

Doey gives a sheepish giggle at your fretful look. “Eheh…sorry pal, didn’t mean to scare you.” He winks, waggling a finger at you playfully. “I did tell you I’m durable, though,” he reminds you in a slightly teasing tone.

You feel your cheeks warming with embarrassment. “R-Right…it’s um…just a bit jarring to see, is all…”

“Well, I’ll be sure to warn ya next time then,” he chuckles.

You hold out a hand, assuming he’ll still need help getting onto the table. He laughs again, shaking his head as he walks past you. “You don’t need to carry me around either, much as I appreciate the offer,” he says.

Not that he’d minded being held, but…well, it’s probably not something you’d choose to do if you were aware of just how mobile Doey is, even at his smaller size.

You get to your feet as he walks past you. “Oh um, alright…” you say, figuring he knows what he’s talking about.

And indeed he does, for he stretches his arms upward, gripping the side of the table. He then lifts himself so quickly that his momentum carries him over the edge. He rolls as he lands, ending up sitting atop the table facing you. He grins widely, giving you a thumbs up.

“Heh,” you laugh weakly, returning the thumbs up before taking your seat. He’s more physically adept than you’d initially assumed…maybe his time in the forest hadn’t been as harrowing as you’d thought.

Doey manages to keep the more impulsive fragments within him in check. It’s incredibly difficult to pick up the little measuring spoon and eat with anything resembling decorum, but Doey manages to convince Jack and even Kevin that good manners will get them more meals. You’re not going to want to keep making him food if he splatters it all over the table and walls, or even if he just grosses you out with poor mealtime etiquette.

Jack is pretty easily swayed by this argument, as it matches up with his childhood memories from home. Kevin is less convinced--he wants to take all he can before you change your mind, but he’s overruled, and even he can’t completely discount how readily you offered the meal even knowing Doey doesn’t technically need it.

Still, while his manners are far more polite than not, he doesn’t even come close to hiding how much he’s relishing the meal. Each bite causes him to emit a happy little hum at the delicious flavor--oh how he’s missed flavor--and occasionally do a little bounce or kick his feet as he savors the taste.

You try not to react at first, not wanting to make him self-conscious, but eventually a small giggle escapes you, causing him to flinch sheepishly, giving you an apologetic smile.

“S-Sorry, it’s…it’s just very good!” he says with an awkward giggle.

“No sorries!” you say quickly, waving a hand. “I’ve just never had anyone enjoy my cooking nearly that much. If anything, it’s flattering!” you assure him lightly.

Well, that’s a relief, though Doey’s still not convinced flattery would be the first thing on your mind if he allowed himself to eat as greedily as he wants to.

He only eats a little more than half his portion. Not quite enough to fully quiet his long hunger, but enough to appease the fragments of Kevin and Jack. He doesn’t want to appear greedy, and despite your earlier comments, he can’t help but feel he’ll quickly wear out his welcome if he eats as much as a human, especially at his small size.

It’s still a far better meal than he’s had in over a decade, though.

“Mmm…that hit the spot,” he sighs contentedly, laying back on the table. His belly is noticeably distended, to a degree that would be concerning for a human. You debate asking him about it, but decide against it. He seems happy and content, and despite how jovial and even playful he seems a lot of the time, you’ve also seen how quickly that can turn.

Again, you can relate.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says in a more somber tone as he lays back, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. “F-For dinner, and…e-everything…”

“Thank you for helping with Ethan.”

He gives a vague hum of affirmation. “Didn’t do much…Should help with…the dishes…” he mumbles.

You quickly stash the leftovers in the fridge and return to the table. “Doey? Are you alright?” you ask, letting a bit of urgency slip into your tone.

His eyes are closed, his hands folded atop his belly. “Hmm?” he mumbles tiredly.

“You’re…um, you’re just falling asleep, right? Do you…need anything?”

“Mm-mm,” he mumbles. “Just sleepy. Haven’t really…slept in awhile…”

Your brow knits at the statement. Does he mean that literally? Or just that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in awhile? Or is sleep “optional” for him the same way food seems to be?

“Well, why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, then?” you offer.

He doesn’t answer, but you faintly hear the sound of the slow, steady breathing of someone fast asleep.

You don’t want to leave him on the table. You’re not sure how much ergonomics matter to a little dough man, but…surely a bed would be more comfortable? If only mentally.

You gently scoop him up, cradling him in both hands. He stirs slightly, but gives no indication he’s really awake or aware of what you’re doing.

He feels slightly heavier than he did before. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, and you just expect him to feel heavier after that meal.

You carry him to the rarely-used guest room, gently setting him down on one of the pillows. You pull the blanket up slightly, covering him up to his waist. Covered enough that if he gets cold at night he can find the blanket and tuck himself in more, but not so covered that he’s liable to get lost in the (to him) huge blanket.

You lean against the wall beside the bed, watching him for a moment. You can barely believe he’s even real. Part of you thinks you’ll just wake up tomorrow and realize it was all some silly dream.

But…you hope not.

“Goodnight, Doey,” you say softly, finally heading out of the room, turning off the light on your way out.

You wonder if taking him in like this, letting yourself get attached, is really a good idea. You don’t know much about who he is, and you probably know even less about what he is. You don’t know what he might want or need, or what he might do. What he could do.

Then again…he’s a six inch toy made of dough. How much trouble could he really cause?

#poppy playtime #doey the doughman #ppt doey #ppt doey the doughman #poppy playtime doey #poppy playtime doey the doughman #doey x reader #doughey the doughman x reader #canon x reader #x reader #my writing #i am cringe but i am free #doey is an adult #will be romance later #<- last two tags added later for clarity #sorry if anyone got the wrong impression #i thought the x reader (instead of & reader) made it clear that it was romance but i guess that's more of an ao3 thing #doey second chances

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lucid-heart · 2 months ago

Note

Hello… Can I ask for a sex pollen fic about Agatha x reader where reader is infected?

👀👀 I take a long time writng but here we go! First time writing sex pollen so it's relatively tame and consentual (considering sex pollen as a concept). I hope you enjoy! I'll be uploading the fully edited version on my AO3 in a few days (when I get around to it) 😚

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x F!Reader

Tags: established relationship, vaginal fingering, minor choking, sub!reader

Read on AO3

"F-Fuck," you groan as you stumble into your home. "What- What was that?"

Agatha, who has an arm wrapped around your waist, keeps you support until the two of you make it inside. She waves a hand and shuts the door behind you.

"That, my dear," she says, rolling her eyes in frustration, "was sex pollen."

"What?!"

She guides you into a chair and starts bustling around your kitchen. You watch as she starts gathering random ingredients and tossing them into a pot.

"It's harmless," she says. "Well. Mostly. I should be able to brew an antidote."

You hope so. Because at this point, after stumbling your way back from the forest, your body has begun to tremble. Shivers roll down your spine and yet you aren't cold. Quite the opposite. Heat spreads through your chest, flushing your cheeks until they're a deep red.

And it doesn't stop there.

By the time Agatha looks over at you again, you have started to pant.

"Oh." She puts down the vial in her hand and crosses over to you. "Well. It seems to have taken quite a root in you, my love."

"What... What's happening to me?" you gasp.

She rests the back of her hand against your forehead to check your temperature but the feeling of her touch has heat rushing to your core. You moan despite yourself. And Agatha's eyes widen.

"Sex pollen is named for... well..." Her lips quirk in amusement as your plight. "The affects of has on the body. It's an aphrodisiac. And this one looks to be particularly strong."

Everywhere burns. You stare up at her, lips parting in a needy whine.

She takes your chin in her hand and tilts your head back, gazing down at you with dark eyes.

"T-The antidote?" you manage.

Your eyes slide past her to the potion ingredients discarded on the counter. Your pulse quickens and your palms feel sweaty.

"I could make it," she admits. "It would relieve your symptoms. But fortunately, there is a much easier solution, darling."

"And that is-?"

Agatha leans down and kisses you, hard. You moan at the feeling of her soft lips pressing against yours. She steps between your legs, bearing down on you, hands reaching to cup your face. It's amazing but you want more. You need more.

Agatha, as if sensing your pull, slowly lowers herself until she's kneeling between your legs, not breaking the kiss. Her hands lower from your face so she can squeeze your thighs.

"Aren't you a needy one?" she murmurs against your mouth.

"Fuck," you groan. "Agatha-"

"Careful, (Y/N)," she purrs. "You know I like it when you're desperate."

Heat pools between your legs and you shift in your seat, seeking any touch, any pressure to ease the ache of your pussy. You reach for her but she grabs your wrists.

"Agatha," you repeat. "Please. Please, oh god, I need you badly."

"I know." Her eyes flash purple. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

You don't doubt it, not when she's looking like she wants to devour you. Agatha wasn't hit by the pollen and yet you can feel the burning desire coursing through her.

"Sit back, pretty girl," Agatha purrs. "Let's get this out of your system."

You expect her to kiss you again. What you don't expect it the wave of heat spreading through your skin. You grasp at her needily, desperate for any contact, any touch. And she's all too willing to give it to you.

Agatha's lips crash against yours, a mess of tongue and teeth, parting your mouth so she can press inside. She kisses you thoroughly until you've gone dizzy. Or perhaps that's just the sex pollen getting to you. She tugs at your bottom lip until it stings.

"Agatha," you gasp. "Please-!"

"Hush," she murmurs. She trails a hand down your chest, teasing the thin layer of fabric separating the two of you. "Let me play."

Play? It doesn't feel like playing, not as she's grabbing you over your clothes. Agatha always has been a tease. She enjoys riling you up until you whimper and beg, likes the power play of holding that desire right out of your reach. Except today, you don't need the build up or foreplay. You're already soaking and needy for her.

Agatha kisses a line across your cheek until she reaches your jaw. She sucks a hard mark into your skin and hums her appreciation.

She continues down, along the column of your throat, down to the neckline of your shirt. You grab the bottom and tug it over your head.

"Delightful," Agatha says, and her eyes gleam.

Her hands roam over you and you arch into her palms. She slips a hand under your bra, taking a greedy handful as you moan. It doesn't take her long to take it off completely and then her mouth is on you.

"Fuck!" you gasp. "Agatha, oh my-!"

That wicked tongue flicks over your hardened nipple as she takes it between her lips. Any word you could have gasped is erased from your mind. All you know is her and her lips.

Reaching out blindly, you find her wrist and drag it between your legs, desperately seeking the press of her inside you.

"Oh, you poor thing," Agatha breathes. "Soaking through your clothes, are you?"

You bite your lip and groan as she presses her fingers along the length of fabric. You're so sensitive that each motion has your hips jumping, seeking more, wanting her. You look at her, words coming up in a whine.

"I need you," you gasp. "So badly. Please. Please. Just- Anything."

Agatha pauses for a moment and you see the cruel flash of her eyes. She has you completely at her mercy.

But she takes pity on you, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Anything for you, my love."

It takes her moments to undo the button of your pants and to slide her hand inside but those moments feel like eternity. Your chest rises and falls in needy pants, hands falling to grasp the chair beneath you. Good, because you need to support as her fingers find your wet pussy, soaked through your underwear.

Agatha teases at first, circling your entrance, not pushing inside like you want.

"Agatha-!" you whine.

Her free hand catches you around the throat and she pins you back to the armchair with a powerful arm. She smiles at you.

"Now, now. Let me."

Your throat bobs against her palm as you surrender to her.

The tips of her fingers press to where you need it most and you moan, hips stuttering against her. This time, she does indulge you. Two fingers slide into you and it's heavenly. You take her gracefully as she starts to thrust.

Harder, faster, she quickly finds a rhythm that has your nails digging into the arms of the chair.

"Yes, oh god! Just like that!" you moan.

She leans down and kisses you, drinking your moans as she thrusts her fingers in your wet pussy. She is devastating in all the right ways, able to play your body until you can't help yourself. Every nerve feels like it's on fire and you're going to explode.

The noises that you're making is filthy but you could hardly care. Not when she's knuckle deep in you, destroying you from the inside out.

"Go ahead, my love," Agatha murmurs.

You cry out her name as you come. She kisses you again, swallowing your noises of pleasure. She murmurs something to you, a note of praise, but you don't hear it exactly. Not as the blood rushes around your ears and your heart sings for her.

"Fuck," you mumble. "That was..."

"Good," Agatha finishes. "But not enough to satisfy you."

You open your mouth to refute it but you feel the warmth simmering in your gut. The crave, the desire for more. She hasn't pulled out yet, fingers still inside you. You squirm, cheeks flushing.

"Don't worry," Agatha says, as she sinks to her knees. "I'll make sure to flush every bit of that pollen from your system."

And you don't doubt that she will.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #mcu #agatha harkness x you #lucid writing

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sugaredrhubarb · 6 months ago

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A QUICK GUIDE TO AO3 CUSTOMIZATION FROM SOMEONE WHO KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT CODING

ft adding pink to everything and my secret to writing long comments

note: I originally posted this to twt but if that place burns in a fiery pit I spent too long on this for it to disappear, so I'm putting it here too :)

so many people know way more about this than I do, but this is a step-by-step walkthrough of the changes *I've* made, and hopefully it works as an introduction people can build from for whatever they'd like to do

There are a lot of images in this post! (click to enlarge)

to start, AO3 skins

site skins change how the AO3 website appears when logged in (even on mobile), mine is pink and blue!

I'll have my skin turned off throughout the post so the guides appear as they will for you

to create, edit, and view skins, go to the "skins" tab from the left-hand menu. you can also view public site skins from there or from the button in the preferences.

public site skins are made by other users. i would really encourage previewing and exploring them to become familiar with the possibilities (maybe you just want to use one of them and now you're done!)

to create your own skin

on the skins page, click "create site skin"

if you don't know CSS (same), use the wizard! clicking on the "?" will give more information about each option

I only use the colours section you'll see a link right there for hex codes I use pink as a header colour and bue for accent but lots of people change the background colour and that looks really cool!

submit

The next step (optional!!!) is to add CSS from a public skin to your own. I use "ByLine" by Branch. this separates the tag categories and adds spacing to make them easier to read.

here is a before and after using the fic "Landslide" by @roosterbruiser as an example

to see the CSS of a skin, click the title

copy all the text below the CSS heading

in the skin creator/editor press the custom CSS option and paste all the text into the CSS box

you can have both wizard and custom CSS settings, in mine you can see the header and accent colours as well as the CSS

level up: USERSCRIPTS

userscripts are small pieces of code that modify a website. for AO3, this may involve adding shortcuts and buttons or even advanced tagging functions (computer people, I'm so sorry if this is wrong, I'm trying). I use Greasy Fork and Tampermonkey.

This is how I write long and formatted comments!

Greasy Fork is an archive of userscripts and Tampermonkey is a browser extension and userscript manager. You don't need to use these two in particular. please use your common sense when downloading anything or adding permissions to your browser.

Greasy Fork guide on installing scripts

Install Tampermonkey on Chrome

there are TONS of user scripts for AO3. This is another good opportunity to explore all the possibilities. there are lots of more complicated options I haven't explored.

scripts for AO3

i use this floaty review box

and this comment formatting

EDIT: if you use chrome you might need to turn on developer mode in your chrome extension manager - you can google "tampermonkey developer mode" and it should explain that :)

to install (once you have Tampermonkey installed):

open the script you want in Greasy Fork and press install

Tampermonkey will open, press install again

clicking the Tampermonkey extension will let you toggle scripts on and off, and opening the dashboard will let you view, edit, and delete scripts

i find i can only have a few turned on at a time before they cancel each other out, but that depends on which ones you're using and someone more savvy might be able to fix that

how to use the floaty review box - write more comments!

there will now be a "floaty review box" button at the top of the work, it will open a floating text box you can move anywhere on the page. highlighting any text and pressing the insert button will paste the text with italics into the box

anything you type in the review box will appear in your comment at the bottom of the page!

if you have also installed the comment formatting script, you'll be able to highlight any text in your comment and use the new buttons above the comment box to format it

thats all ive got! Hopefully this is a good starting point to get familiar with some of the terms and basics for skins and scripts <3

if you want some inspo for how to comment on fics i made a whole fic rec list on twitter based on comments I've left, it's here. i have a masterlist of recs there mostly for darklina/reylo and similar ships.

the tag #reading with ru has cod recs and me talking about books

#please no one follow me from this im never helpful otherwise #ao3 skins #ao3 #fanfic #ao3 community #fandom #ao3 resources #im sorry if the image quality is awful lmk if I should clarify any of the text!#floating comment box #floating review box #ao3 guide

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stinkyturd · 4 months 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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astracora · 2 months ago

Text

Drunken Confession - Xavier

Characters: Xavier x gn!mc

Warnings: Very Drunk MC, Xavier's Myth Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2428

Written: 25th February 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship, with Xavier and the main MC I write for. Me giving MC bad coping mechanisms and bad grieving habits? So likely. Incredibly likely. Help. It was accidental I swear. They're so messy... I love them. (they get better)

Masterlist AO3

<- Caleb <-Zayne Rafayel -> Sylus-> Poly!LADs ->

Xavier is pleasantly asleep at his desk, when he's shaken awake by a worried Tara. He blinks himself awake, rubbing at his eyes as she peers down at him frantically. He pulls back, stunned at the way she leans into him for a moment. A grumble escapes him, but she does not seem to notice or care.

"Xavier, have you seen them? They handed in the mission report and now I can't find them anywhere?"

The drowsiness and soft embrace of slumber disappears in an instant, and he digs around for his phone. When he finds it, on the floor where he must have knocked it off earlier, he finds it quiet. You've not sent him a message, and you always let him know when you're about to head home if you're at work together.

It's become a routine to walk back to your shared apartment building, after buying some snacks from the corner shop. You wouldn't just forget. Whenever you show him what you've bought, normally some limited edition snack that looks like it will be an adventure for you both, with a mischievous smile and a dare in your eyes.

He enjoys it, even when you shared those vile pocky with him. His luck to always draw the worst one, seemed to carry on to roulette jellybeans, and mystery chocolate. Though your laugh… it almost makes the horrible taste of fish sweets worth it.

So he sends you messages.

Where are U?

Are U ready to leave?

Are U ok?

Tara is next to him, chewing on her pen lid, staring down at his phone like it'll offer answers. When it stays silent, he turns to her, "What happened?"

She shakes her head, hair falling over downcast eyes and fidgets, "We had a support mission, some kids got caught up in it, one got hurt. They had to be transported to Akso. I just got the call that they're alright, they just need some time to recover, but I can't find them."

He thinks about times he's failed to protect people, the guilt holding him down. Chains around his legs, slowing each step. He's had to forcibly break them time and time again, just to keep moving. Just to keep walking towards you. Xavier's life is you and fighting wanderers. He knows yours is just as focused on putting your life into your role as a hunter.

It wears down the soul, it always has.

"I'll go find them." He stands, he doesn't know where to start truthfully, you may have gone home, so he'll start there.

"Tell them-" Tara pauses, fidgeting, and then gives Xavier a smile he knows is meant for you, not for him, so he makes a note to inform you of it when he finds you, "they did everything right, we did everything we could."

Xavier thinks it goes without saying, of all the things he admires about you, the drive to keep being better is one of those things. When it counts, when it matters most, you do not stop, and you do not give up.

It is one thing of many, but he knows what Tara is thinking.

You're blaming yourself.

He knows how that feels. Meteor showers, and wounded heart in the catastrophe he could not hope to stop.

Guilt settles strong and heavy, and he needs your hand to help raise his own. You need his, he hopes, to raise yours.

He leaves the Association quickly, teleporting as soon as he's outside onto your balcony. Normally he'd be more conscious of your personal space, but his worry and his anxieties bite on his heels. He can't lose you, not again.

He can't lose you.

The balcony door is locked, but there are no lights on. He knocks, and hears nothing. There's a moment, where Xavier is staring at the door, debating breaking the lock, when he hears his phone go off.

Starlight.

"Wh-" He barely manages to open his mouth, when you giggle down the phone.

"Xavi, what's up?"

"Where are you?"

You're quiet for a moment, and he tries to imagine the possible answers. Spiralling into distress the longer it takes for you to respond.

"Are you ok?" He tries again, but you're still quiet.

He thinks about the times you've been uncomfortable in front of him, wavering on the edge of speaking. Mouth opening, closing, thinking and stirring. Running over and over in your head. He swallows down his words, and forces himself to still.

"Do you remember Fluffy?"

He remembers every little thing he's shared with you, everything about you, every thought and word. He will never forget a single thing, especially because you didn't remember. Instead he says, "Of course."

"I'm where we met them. If you want to join me?" It's a question, unsure and hesitant. You don't sound sad, but then it can be hard to read your feelings based on your physical and verbal interactions.

Xavier never has to think too long on time spent with you, sad, or happy, he'll fly to you at a moment's notice. "I'm coming. Wait there for me."

His ability to teleport, truly is a relief, when he appears in the garden, to see you lay down. You're staring up at the sky, a flower in your hand, pulling the petals off absently. Fluffy is chirping nearby, but mostly minding their own business.

You reach out a careful hand to pat Fluffy's head, humming to yourself, phone still resting in the other.

There's silence as he approaches you, sits down next to you, and holds himself back from reaching out, to take your hand. Instead, he watches as you turn your face to him, and smile. He feels the anxiety settle, but as he lies down to join you, he can smell it. Alcohol on your breath, faint but there.

He doesn't speak, isn't sure what to say, not for a second. There's a lot he wants to ask, or affirm. He wants to comfort you, he just can't work out where to start, so he starts with Tara. "The kid is ok." He offers.

Watches as your eyes widen, blinking and then you smile. Really smile at him. Relief colouring you. "Good. I'm glad." You turn on your side, releasing your phone, so you can pillow your head against your arm. Hair falls over your eyes, so he reaches out to push it behind your ear. Twisting a wave for a moment around his fingers, and then pulling back before he aches for the heat of your skin. "They shouldn't have to suffer for my mess up."

"You didn't mess up." He knows that, he knows it for sure. He knows it in the pride of Captain Jenna when she talks about you, he knows it from Tara's assurance, he knows it from what he sees everyday. He knows it as easily as he knows you're his beacon.

You sigh, "I should have been faster. They should never have gotten hit."

When will you learn you're just one person?

"Just a kid…" There's a flash of agony, and he thinks about the catastrophe, when he'd stepped in to protect you. The fear and pain of a child facing a creature that was too dangerous, too powerful, and too hard to understand. "No kid should have to see something like that, let alone be hurt by one." Your voice is breaking at the edges, guilt tying you down. You close your eyes to escape from him.

He moves closer, so that his arm gently touches yours, you're so close. The brush of contact makes you open your eyes, and this time he catches your gaze with his own. He hopes you hear him, "Sometimes-" He swallows, and your free hand brushes his where it rests between the two of you, "we can't do everything we want to do. Sometimes, we fail where we think we should have succeeded."

A monster in a forest, and a protocore thrown back at a man he'd learned to hate.

A body under a meteorite shower, and a protocore too late to be worth anything.

The bodies of those he was supposed to lead, driven to bestial rage and betrayal.

"You did everything you could, even if you had failed, which you didn't, you did everything you could." He takes your hand in his, squeezing it once, before going to release. You don't let him, holding onto his hand, entwining your fingers, moving closer so your breath warms his cheeks. "It's ok."

"I just want to help Xavi. It feels like everytime I can't do it right, perfectly, I'm… I'm not doing enough." Tears fill your eyes, trembling on lashes. Waiting to be given permission to fall, and you fight it, like you always do.

"I don't think it ever feels like enough." Is his honest answer. It certainly feels like no matter how many Wanderers he fights, he'll never make a dent in what leaves a scar on this world. On your home. "We just have to keep trying." Even if he's tired. Even if he aches.

Even if he feels himself struggling to stand up.

He has to keep going.

Your eyes search his face, and he hopes he's not showing his weakness to you now. So you will come to him with the fears you refuse to share, that alcohol has carried on the breeze to him now.

Whatever you find, you move closer, and on reflex he extends his arm out for your head to rest on. Arm carefully settling over your waist. You close your eyes to get comfortable in his arms. His fingers twitching with the urge to hold you even closer. Against his chest, against his heart. "Thank you, Xavi."

He doesn't respond, just hums as he rests his head next to yours.

"Maybe I should take some tips from Lumiere." You mumble against his arm, and he flinches, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. Your one eye cracks open to see him, and you laugh. Once, loudly, and then breakdown into giggles.

His mild irritation, and not so mild jealousy, eases up as he watches you relax. As the guilt sheds away, in favour of a feeling he's all too familiar with. The need to keep moving forwards.

You'll be ok, and he will too. You have each other to help move forwards, and one day you'll come to him first with your stress and strain, and not seek out relief anywhere else.

Though he certainly doesn't dislike how close you are, even though he fights back his urges like they are barely chained. "I'll come with you on missions instead." He grumbles, leaning forwards to rub your nose with his, gently.

You open your eyes properly to look at him, bright twinkling mismatched gaze that reminds him every moment what he's fighting for. Your smile is small, but your laugh is music to his ears. A comfort and a joy. "The best partner one could ever ask for." You say on an exhale, he's close enough to feel the heat off your cheeks as you say it.

He lies with you there for quite some time, resting and listening to Fluffy's song. While your eyes close, and you relax, he watches. It's rare he gets the chance, but sleep seems to evade him.

"I like it here." You speak, cracking open an eye, and he almost flushes from being caught staring at you, but you don't comment on it, simply add, "It's the first place I got to know you a little better."

His heart thumps, skips, skitters. His throat tightening. You speak about wanting to know more about him sometimes, often in frustration. When he disappears, when he doesn't share something with you. It's the times you get closest to arguing, he thinks. He wants you to know everything about him, but there's so much, and it's so heavy to carry. He's not sure he's ready to find the words.

Xavier hopes he'll be ready one day. He hopes you'll accept him regardless when that happens.

He is not one for faith. Not anymore. Not since the foundations of his belief were crumbled at the hands of his own family's cruelty.

He thinks he can believe in you though.

Your eyes close again, and he extends his hand. Wanting to touch you again, place his hand on your cheek, stroke over skin, run fingers through your hair. He wants so much, all the time, the yearning a deep pit in his stomach of so many years without you. Not lost. Never lost, when he seeks you and finds you again. He has so much to catch up on though, but he's scared to push his luck. To test your limits, and lose you.

"I want to know you better, Xavier. You're important to me." Your lips brush his arm when you turn your head, getting comfortable when the exhaustion from the day catches up with you.

He's shown you so much already, all the way in the past, and now the you in front of him, but he will show you everything. Whatever you ask, he would offer you. If you wanted him to be your knight, he would.

Important could not begin to describe how precious you are to him. Could not touch on the undeniable adoration he holds for you.

He will give you everything, he will. If you can be patient, if you can give him time. He will. He swears it. You're already asleep when he finally finds his voice again, when he feels the ache of hundreds of years subside. When he stops feeling every guilt and shade and shadow on his shoulders.

When your breathing evens, and he strokes over your cheek like he wants to. Just for a moment. The smallest fragment of time, the briefest heat of your skin. You'll move forwards tomorrow, and you'll be ready to keep fighting again. He'll watch you be strong, and he'll fight alongside you as long as he is capable of doing so.

"You're everything to me, Starlight. One day." He promises, holding you closer, so that the chill of the evening breeze will not wake you from sleep you do not find easy.

Whether you forget him tomorrow, or forget this evening. None of that matters. Your future is what he cares to protect, and he'll keep doing so, as long as he can, until he cannot fight for it anymore.

And if he gets his way, forever. At your side.

#love and deepspace #lnds #lads #wonder writes #lads x reader #lads x mc #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier shen #xavier #xavier lads #lnds xavier #l&ds xavier #xavier x you

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epiphainie · 8 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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destinationtrekk · 8 months ago

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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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azriona · 1 month ago

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Friday Five Rec List: Stucky Edition #1

Okay, fine, it's Saturday, be quiet. Rec lists are awesome and I used to do these all the time. I'm organizing these by pairing since that makes the most sense, but as I create more of them, I'll try to keep them linked together. Anyway, Stucky was requested first, so here's five of my favorites. All links lead to AO3.

Want a different pairing? Check out the Friday Five Masterlist!

Ain’t No Grave (Can Keep My Body Down) by spitandvinegar

(E, Canon Divergence, Stucky, warnings for drug use, past non-con, and mental illness, aka “The One with the Goddamn Kids”)

Post CAWS, Steve is in New York, trying to find Bucky. Bucky, however, has given up on trying to find himself, and instead has taken on the mantle of “Revelations John,” a religious-inspired vigilante systematically taking down Hydra with extreme prejudice. Oh, and he’s also adopted a couple of Goddamn Kids, as well as a serious heroin addiction. This is about how he found himself again. All of the characters are wonderful in this, and I love how they are so very different from each other but also very recognizable. Steve’s religiousness (he goes to church twice a week), Sam’s practicality, even the Goddamn kids’ brightness and determination. Bucky’s personality shifts are delicately handled, as are his addiction and mental illnesses. Sam’s theory on Steve as a War Refugee is my favorite thing.

❤️

Operation Gros Michel by SquadofCats

(Explicit, Stucky, Canon Divergence after CA:TWS, Steve & Bucky take on Florida, definitely not about bananas)

Steve and Bucky move to Florida, learn to garden, learn to surf, learn how to be again. And then they become renegade activists and only sometimes Avengers. It’s a lengthy exasperated love letter to Florida with some of my favorite original characters, and Steve and Bucky in Speedos live in my head rent-free entirely because of this fic.

❤️

Hot Neighbor and the Sunshine Baby by ZenaidaMacroura

(Mature, Stucky, Trans!Steve, parenting, slow burn, no powers AU)

Steve and Bucky are both single parents to two little girls who are best of friends. Which is why Steve’s simultaneous crush and inability to say two words to Bucky without putting his foot in his ass is a huge problem. Don’t worry, it works out. Eventually. Bucky saying all breathily “Yeah, I can do that” lives in my head rent-free, btw; this fic’s fault.

❤️

The Steve Rogers Problem by relenafanel

(Mature, No Powers AU, Actor!Steve and Fanboy!Bucky, a love letter to fandom and fanfic honestly)

Bucky Barnes writes smutty fanfic about the characters in actor Steve Rogers’ TV show—and then he realizes he and Steve were childhood friends and Steve’s back in town and wants to renew their friendship. Basically, it is every fanfic author’s worst nightmare. (Mine, anyway.) Hijinks ensue. There’s an AU within the series where Bucky isn’t a fanfic author, and it’s equally delightful.

❤️

Strays by snarklyboojum

(Teen, Bucky on the run, not-Alpine, post CA:TWS)

Bucky saves Steve from drowning, follows him to New York, adopts a kitten, breaks into Steve’s apartment multiple times, and somewhere along the line learns to be a human again.

Didn't see your favorite! Send me a rec!

#stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #bucky barnes #steve rogers #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers fic #fic rec lists #fic rec #i should be good and go hunt down the usernames for the authors #but i have children who are attempting to burn down the kitchen so please forgive me for not

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s4lv4tions · 2 years ago

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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 · 4 months ago

Text

Threads of Desire - 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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aheckinmess · 6 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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midnight1nk · 5 months ago

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EPISODE CONCEPT #7

What if... SMG4 takes a vacation?

[more below cut]

For context... c'mon, can't a guy catch a break? :) Time for a vacation! [Also available on AO3 + Wattpad]

Let's hope Four doesn't waste all the bajillion dollars I just gave him. Am I right, @bowlolol? (yep it's part 2 of concept #5 - link)

"No regrets."

Four zips up his suitcase with an exhausted yet satisfied "hmph". He sat the case up to its wheel, facing the Crew. "You guys have always been telling me to take a break from editing, especially because of WOTFI and Marty months ago. It's about time. Besides, I just finished editing the video I've worked on for the past week."

Four pulls out his phone and presses the "Publish" button on the YouTube studio, making a video public. "And...there, I should be good for the whole vacation," he said. "I mean, who wouldn't want to see a 10-hour complication of Kermit clips!"

Puppy-eyed Mario falls to his knees, putting his hands together. "SMG4, please take Mario with you!"

"Sorry, Mario, but the giveaway only had one ticket to give out. It was such a good deal too!" His finger points over to the pile of empty RIZZ soda cans in the corner of the room, it admittedly took forever to find the ultra-rare can with the QR code. "Totally worth it."

Mario went over to Four, pleading him to sneak the Italian Funnyman(TM) in his suitcase. In the meantime, Meggy was on a video call with an old friend.

"Thanks again, Auri, for being SMG4's guide. Just make sure he doesn't lose his suitcase like I did," she said.

Auri giggles. "Of course, anything for you, partner! I'll be sure to meet him at the port. Guy with the blue "S" cap, right?" Meggy nods in response, Auri does a salute. "Alright. But I hope his ship gets here before the storm does, heard it was going to be really rough."

"Yeah, SMG4 can get a bit seasick. Well, we're just about to drop him off by the docks. I'll talk to you soon, Auri!"

After Auri says goodbye, they hang up and Meggy turns to see Mario being dragged around by his grip on Four's ankle. She asked, "Ready to go?"

Four gave her a thumbs-up. "You bet!"

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

The Crew waved Four farewell as he did the same as he was on board the ship heading towards Port Aurora. Once the ship was out of sight, they all went back to what they were doing, content with the fact that Four wouldn't be in front of the screen all day. Well, everyone except Mario, who was staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom out of boredom.

Don't get him wrong, Mario is happy for Four. Ever since the 'perfect' incident, each of them was secretly weary of Four spending too much time editing a video. Not that they could stop him completely, he's a YouTube content creator after all. So, they would occasionally go up to him and ask him for something or straight up to take a break. Mario remembered he did it one time, when he asked Four for milk. Sure, it wasn't the most solid plan but it was at least something that distracted him for a bit. What other plan was there anyway?

Ask him for a cup of sugar? Pfft. That's pretty lame excuse, even for Mario.

Mario groaned, getting off from his bed. Four finally takes a break but without him around, the poor plumber is left alone, bored. There wasn't really anyone to go along with his funny shenanigans. So, he tried it with his other friends.

Luigi ended up having to clean up the mess he made at the flower shop. Melony was busy working on her second book. He got bored listening to Boopkin's stories. Three was also busy, running the cafe and streaming. Saiko was in band practice with Kaizo.

Then, there was Meggy. From what he could tell, Meggy was unsure if she could keep her red beanie. Unsure what to do with her life anymore. He couldn't blame her, after Western Spaghetti and what Mr Puzzles did. It was a lot to take in. It'll be best to give her some space, away from his silliness.

So, he tried doing stuff on his own, like reacting to some Nintendo memes in the game room. But it didn't feel the same. Tari was also there, focused on a gaming session with Belle and some other online friends.

However, seeing how Mario drooping in his chair, Tari paused her game. "Sorry guys but I need to do something real quick. Be right back." She mutes her microphone and heads over to her friend. "Hey, Mario? You feeling okay?"

"I'm just so bored," the red Italian said. "Wish SMG4 was here."

"Oh, Mario, it's only been a couple of hours. He won't be back until after 3 weeks."

"ONLY A COUPLE OF HOURS?" Mario shouted, his eyes shot open. Panicking, he went to shake Tari by the shoulders. "Tari, someone is messing with the time gods! It's the end of the world!"

Tari, being used to Mario's energy, simply grabbed his hands in reassurance. "You really miss him, huh?"

"He is Mario's best friend." He calms down, his eyes starting to water. "We have done a lot of stuff together."

"Hmm, do you want to hang out with me?"

"Thanks, but it won't feel the same."

She takes a moment to think, her pointer finger on her chin, until an idea comes to mind. "Why don't you send SMG4 a video postcard?" Tari asks, capturing Mario's curiosity. "I'm sure SMG4 misses us too, so maybe you could send a video of our friends. Around the Showgrounds. You could ask him to do the same in Port Aurora. That way, you guys will still be in contact."

Mario's eyes sparkled, jumping with enthusiasm. He shakes Tari's hand, thanking her, before running out of the game room. With a camera in hand, he goes around recording everything he can and the first person he went to was Luigi, of course. Mario apologized about the mess but he is willing to make it up to him by helping out doing some labor. Luigi was happy at the offer.

While Luigi handled customers and arranged flower arrangements, Mario was going around doing deliveries. It was the best part, after all, steering the wheel while making airplane noises. Nearly crashing into several cars, y'know the usual. But then he passed by Meggy's house. Wanting to cheer her up, he asked Meggy to come along.

Meggy shakes her head. "I don't know, Red."

"C'mon, it'll be fun! Certified Mario promise."

"Well, okay..." She complies with a note of hesitation.

Mario let out a "yippee" and carried her to the delivery truck like a sack of potatoes. As Mario drove, Meggy was reading off the list for him since he's not a fan of reading. Her finger stopped at a particular address. "Wait, 'Wright'? As in, Phoenix Wright?"

"Oh, yeah. That was the lawyer guy you're a fan of, right?"

"Can we go see him?" She asked, sudden enthusiasm simply blooming from her.

Mario was surprised by it but he smiled, gladly changing the route for her. Stopping at a tall office building, Meggy and Mario went in and searched for Phoenix Wright's office. At the reception desk, they saw the man himself, talking to two younger lawyers in red and yellow.

The secretary, seeing the duo, called out to Phoenix. "Ooh, looks like someone got a nice bouquet!"

Phoenix, seeing the familiar faces by the desk, excused himself from his co-workers before greeting the M&M duo. "Hello Mario, Meggy! It's been a while. Do you guys need more legal help?"

"No, Mario's just here to help Luigi out." Mario holds out the bouquet, red roses as the order said.

Phoenix grabs it from his hands and examines the card attached. From reading it, he grew a fond smile on his face. "Thanks for the delivery," he said.

Like a polite student, Meggy raised her hand. "Um, actually, I could use some advice. Between friends, if that's okay."

Phoenix tilted his head, gears turning in his mind, before he giver her a nod. "Sure, why don't we take a walk?" He said before turning to the secretary, handing the flowers to her. "Truce..."

"Don't worry, I'll let them know," Trucy reassured. "Just be back before we need to meet for lunch."

"Oh, yeah," Phoenix chuckles. His face then turned serious, almost grim. It was enough to know it was supposed to be mocking. "Wright, I reserved this days ago and you're here drenched in rainwater. This is what happens when you're late," he impersonated with a mid-Atlantic accent before returning to his normal self. "Alright then, take the wheel. We all know how Apollo was last time."

"HEY!" A shout can be heard from another room. "That wasn't even my fault!"

Phoenix and Trucy shake their heads. He guides Mario and Meggy out, and to a nearby park. Mario had some packages to deliver nearby so he left the other two to walk alone.

"So, what's in your mind?" He asks.

"It's just..." Meggy sighs, trying to tie her thoughts to something cohesive. "A lot has happened."

Meggy goes on to explain what happened after the Nintendo lawsuit. The 'It's Gotta Be Perfect' incident, Western Spaghetti. Mr Puzzles, Leggy. With the Crew, every day is another adventure but it's starting to take a toll on her sometimes.

"Everything I am was because of One-Shot Wren," she explains. "Splatfest, Desti. I idolized him so much that I didn't know what to do with myself after what happened. I get where he was coming from, I do. But he hurt my friends, me. It's like I lived through a lie, my entire life. I just don't know what to do anymore."

"I see." He nods emphatically. "Y'know, you remind me of a friend. He, too, idolized someone, put them on a pedestal. I think it was because he knew what he lost, and he wished he could have it back. Like you, he pursued the same career his idol had, following every guideline to a 'T'. When he discovered his idol was nothing but a cruel man, he felt lost. What else can you do when you are just a pawn in someone else's game?"

Phoenix pulls out a golden locket from his blazer pocket, clicking the tiny latch open. "So, he went to rediscover himself. What it means to be a prosecutor, was what he told me. He found that answer, pursuing the truth. He taught me a lot of things, and I guess I did the same for him."

Phoenix hands the locket to Meggy, to finally see what was inside. It was a small family portrait. Other than Phoenix, there was another man around the same age, his face more sharper and with warm gray hair. Then there were two teen girls, one with a raven black ponytail, and another girl that Meggy recognized as the secretary she just met. What caught her eye was the gold rings both men wore.

"Wait, you're married?" She asks, handing the locket back.

Indeed, there was a golden band on his ring finger. He laughs. "Not a lot of people suspect the infamous Turnabout Terror being married to the city's Chief Prosecutor. Yes, before we got into law, we were childhood friends."

"Ah, well congrats! You seem to have a nice family."

"I do. And don't think we don't have our hardships. The point is, Meggy, it's not too late to rediscover who you are. If you want to continue with Splatfest, do it. If you want to continue doing law, do it. But do it for yourself, not to prove something to anyone. Like I said, the truth can help you a lot when you want to find it."

"Thanks, I really needed this," Meggy says, giving a firm nod. The spark that once was lost in her soul started to come back once more.

Mario comes back to get Meggy, and both say goodbye to the lawyer. Meggy soon learned about the postcard idea Tari proposed and wanted to help Mario out, thinking it was a great idea. After the deliveries, they went along filming postcards for everyone.

Luigi and Shroomy prepare a giant flower float for an incoming parade. Melony and Swag presenting the publishing gathering of her newest book. Boopkins having a friendly hangout with Hatsune Miku, talking about anime. Tari and her friends are in a gaming tournament. Bob trying, and failing, to get rich at a nearby casino. Saiko and Kaizo performing in a live audience.

After gathering all of the film, Mario went to go edit them in Four's room. Four, being a content creator and all, would surely have the best editing software.

Pulling the app up, Mario noticed Four left a project open, labeled "video3_draftdraft(unfinished)".

"Huh, a 10-hour compilation of Kermit clips..." Mario concludes by skimming through the video. Not thinking too much about it, he shrugs. "Ah, classic SMG4, he forgot to save and close out." Mario went ahead and saved it, dragging the file to the 'Complete' folder Four had. The outlier, the rest of the files in that folder were either labeled "final" or "(ready)".

"All done," he proclaims with a thumbs-up. "Now, time to do the postcard."

After editing the videos into a single one, Meggy came to check in on how he was doing. Overall, it looks awesome. Except for one thing...

"What do you guys want?" Three asks. Of course, he could be annoyed but he was more confused by the comedically large camera Mario held. "And what's with the giant camera?"

"We're gonna send SMG4 a video postcard!" Mario said before Meggy chimed in, "It's almost complete, we just need something from you."

Hearing this, Three smirked. "Well then, I'll gladly make a clip all about me!"

"SMG3, be serious," Meggy says. "This isn't time for you to gloat, you can do that any other time. It's more than a postcard, it's to show that we care about SMG4 as his friends."

"Friends?" SMG3 repeated, his smirk fading away to a new mix of expression, bashfulness and denial. He looks away, crossing his arms. "Uh, no. No, we aren't friends."

Both Meggy and Mario shared a suspicious yet amusing brow. Yeah, sure. "So.... can we film?" Mario asks.

"No."

Mario and Meggy blinked, surprised. "What? Why?"

"Because I said so."

Knowing Three, perhaps too well, Meggy knows he's hiding something. "Well, if you want to, you can just film it yourself and send us the clip. We'll leave you be, c'mon Red."

Three watched as M&M duo walked back to the Castle before being back in the cafe. Nearby Eggdog barked, warning him that it was almost time for his stream. "You're right, thanks Eggdog." He patted Eggdog's head. "Pfft, sending a sappy video to SMG4. As if!"

He went ahead to stream Mario Party for tonight, the usual routine. After thanking the chat for the subs and donations, he logged off and pulled out his notebook to write about the day. Just as he turned to a blank page, his finger stopped at a particular page and he stopped to see what it was. It was the drawing he drew at the end of WOTFI 2023, of him and SMG4 sharing a coffee together. Three's face softens.

It's such a phenomenon, isn't it?

Rivals, friends, none of it matters when it comes to Four and Three. They would always cross each other's paths, bounded by a cosmic link. And yet, the roles they play were already set in stone the moment they landed in the Mushroom Kingdom. Good and bad, light and dark.

Two sides of the same coin.

It was always one pressing the other, to keep on their toes. Three supposed that was the thrill of it all, his life ever more exciting. He always wondered if Four felt the same way. If he suspected that it was the case, then it would be even more proof that they can keep up each other's pace. Three knows Four, and Four in return. It's what essentially saved Four from the 'perfect' incident.

Other than Four, no one else could truly understand. Even with Four, there are secrets Three hoped they would never see the light of day. It was the role he was chosen part, and the show must go on. If he revealed all of himself to the rest of the world, surely people wouldn't be happy about it. Hell, people already despised him for not being threatening anymore. How far was he truly going to go for them? For Four?

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he supposed he could do a clip.

Indeed, take after take, he tried to make a video he was satisfied with. But no matter what he did, his words weren't right. His silence wasn't right. Naturally, he was frustrated at that fact but he pushed himself to give one last take.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Looking over their shoulders, Three's eyes chased after the mouse cursor. He already sent the video to Meggy, trusting her more than Mario. Three already knew Mario would tease him for what he essentially said to Four. Regardless, he kept an eye on the M&M duo editing the video, occasionally warning them to not look at his clip. To not even think of listening to it.

After saving the video, Meggy exported the final video to Mario's phone. "And, I think we're done!" Task completed, Mario and her share a high-five.

Three reminded, "You better delete my clip from your messages, Squid."

"Don't worry, I got it," Meggy reassured, rolling her eyes. She shows her phone screen as proof that she has in fact double-deleted the video.

"Yippee! Mario can't wait to see Four's reaction!" Mario cheered. When Mario sends the video to Four, a warning pops up on the screen, No signal. "Meggy?"

Meggy looks over the phone Mario shoved in her hands. "Hmm, that's strange. There should be a signal on the island, let me call Auri."

It took a couple of rings but Auri finally responded. "Meggy! I'm so sorry," Auri apologized, his voice sounding like he was about to cry.

"Auri, calm down," Meggy instructed with patience. "What happened?"

"I promised I would find your friend. But when the ship arrived, I was running late and he wasn't at the port when I got there. I tried looking everywhere, but I've lost him."

"Hey, it'll be alright. Maybe he went off on his own," she reasoned, but it was clear that she was starting to get stressed out.

"I'll call the hotel." Three pulled out his phone and dialed the number Four gave to them, putting it in speaker mode.

The receptionist answered, "Hello, this is Hotel Aurora. How can we help you?"

"Hey. Listen, we're looking for a friend who booked a room in your hotel. His name's SMG4."

A pause, the muffled sound of the keyboard typing in the background.

"Sorry, sir, but we don't have anyone under the name SMG4."

"What are you talking about?" Mario jumped in, confused. "He was the winner of that giveaway the Rizz Soda company had."

"What giveaway? We hadn't received anything from any company about that."

Meggy, Mario, and Three all looked at each other, their eyes widened at the implications. It's only been a few days, where in the world is Four?

The Showgrounds went into complete chaos. The Crew tried contracting Four with no response. They contacted the cruise that took Four over sea and according to their logs, Four never got off that ship. Meggy asked Auri for a team to search the island.

Waiting was agony. But what else could they do?

Mario apparently did, suggesting to use the tracker on Four's phone. It worked last time when Mr. Puzzles planned with Puzzlevision. After contacting the phone company and requesting Four's last location, they couldn't believe what they heard next.

Four's phone was in the Mushroom Kingdom. As if he never left.

The Crew immediately contacted everyone they knew to create a search party. Bowser, Shroomy, the military, FM & X, Wario, Waluigi, the Anti-cast, all of the Mario recolors. All of the volunteers as well as the Crew gathered outside the SMG4 Castle while Meggy stood on a stage with a megaphone.

"Alright, everyone. SMG4 could be here in the Mushroom Kingdom but the tracker couldn't pinpoint where it is! We need to split up to cover more ground. If anyone finds him, contact us and tell us where he is." Meggy scans over everyone's worried faces. She takes a stable breath, someone has to be a pillar. "Just be careful out there. We'll get SMG4 home."

The crowd scattered, each going their own way, but Meggy pulled Mario aside. "Red, I know it might be impossible but there's a place I want to check out," she explained and held up her Splattershott. "Want to be my backup?"

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

BOOM

Meggy and Mario busted in through the office door, a trail of unconscious patients on the floor behind them. Ugh, the Meme Rehab. They didn't exactly have a choice but it was better to be safe than sorry. They glared at the man who was now cowering in the corner of the room.

Meggy goes over and picks him up by the collar. "Alright, Mr. Niceguy, where's SMG4?"

Mr. Niceguy merely stared back, confused. "SMG4? But I haven't—"

Meggy slaps him, interrupting. "Don't play dumb! Tell us where you're hiding him!"

The doctor lets out a high-pitched scream. "I swear I don't know where he is! I swear it on my mother's ashes, please don't hurt me!"

"Uh, Meggy." She turns to Mario, who's pointing out at all the containers filled with other patient's brain lobes. "Mario thinks he's telling the truth. No SMG4 lobe here."

"The red guy is right, I would've done another lobotomy on him if he came back. I swear that he didn't, though."

Meggy sighs, exasperated. "Great, another dead end. I'll let the rest know then." She lets the doctor go, to send a text to the search party's group chat.

"He was such a great patient," Mr. Niceguy, mutters. "Well, if he wasn't so weird."

Mario and Meggy shared a confused look, then to the doctor. She asks, "What do you mean by weird?"

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Hearing a ding from his back pocket, Three saw Meggy's message of Four not being in the Meme Rehab. As much as it seemed uplifting, It only made Three's concerning suspicions grow larger. Walking down the path, he spotted something familiar. He ran and picked it up, it was Four's phone. Turning it on, he saw the dozens of abandoned calls and messages, dating all the way back to the day SMG4 supposedly left for that vacation.

Looking ahead, he saw a figure on the horizon, a dot of blue, and his blood ran cold. He begged each and every star, hoping Four wouldn't be back here. But he was. Three sent a quick text to the group, telling them that he found him and where, before he ran towards that dreaded place.

Four was standing by the edge of the Pit of Peach's Castle ruins, looking down at the demonic gateway.

Once Three managed to get closer, he slowed down his pace to a halt, afraid that one wrong move would scare Four into falling in. "SMG4?"

Four doesn't say a word but he slightly tilts his head, listening.

Three huffed in disbelief. Is Four serious right now, he asked to himself. "What, you're not gonna say anything? Where the hell have you been? Everyone has been going around like headless chickens, they thought you got kidnapped! I thought..." He stops himself, wanting to say more, but genuine worry wins within him. "What are you doing here?"

A beat. A roll of thunder rumbling overhead.

"You guys shouldn't be jumping to conclusions," Four said, his tone unusually calm. "I'm fine, SMG3. I actually had a great time during my break. It helped me with a lot of things."

Three approached him slowly as light rain started to drizzle. There was another ding from his phone but he shut it off. "C'mon, let's just get out of here."

"I've been thinking back at all the stuff I did. What I chose." Four shakes his head with sorrowful regret. "No matter what I do, everything goes wrong."

Three's arms reached out. "Four..."

Once Three's hand was hovering over Four's shoulder, Four gripped his arm. Within a blink, Three was flung into the air and slammed, the impact causing the ground to crack. Three groaned, thinking that Four might've broken his back, until Four picked him up by the throat. Three's hands immediately tried to pry himself free but Four's grip was firm. With enough strength, Three looked at Four and he felt his heart sink.

Four's eyes, they were pink.

A familiar goo enveloped his eyes, the pink plunging into the dark void. His expression was blank, before it suddenly formed new eyes. Jagged and irregular, glowing white. It wasn't Four anymore. He wasn't even human. One eye was shaped like a triangle and the other was circular. After a blink, a wicked grin crept on Four's face.

"I should've saved the USB over you," Four said, his voice becoming an eerie echo. "It would've made things a lot better, wouldn't you agree?"

Three choked, "Four... don't..."

By Three responding at all, Four frowned, his eyes cycled into different ones. "You have no idea how many hours, weeks, I sacrificed for that perfect video! And then, you had the audacity to say we're friends, you just wanted to save your own skin," Four snapped. After a second, Four took a breath, returning back to his triangular and circular set of eyes. "But that's about to change, and everything will be perfect."

Maintaining his grip, Four holds Three over the edge. "Goodbye, SMG3."

The unnatural strength gathered in his arm, Four tossed Three into the pit, and with that, time seemed to slow down. From the corner of his eye, Three could see the satisfaction beaming off of this man. It isn't Four.

But it was too late. There was nothing Three could do other than to meet his demise.

Suddenly, a force grabbed him by the side, and was pulled out of the way to solid ground with a thump. Three placed a hand over his head and sat up, to discover that the force was Mario. The red plumber looked exasperated, more of worry than anything else.

Four asked, surprised, "What?"

There was a flinch in his eye, as if it was sensing something from behind. Then, when time slowed once more, he dodged the paintball that raced towards him, missed by a hair. The paint, along with the goo covering him, was gone. Four spun around, a trail of pink light from his eyes shimmered like a comet, until he landed in a defensive stance. He moved like a glitch. As the trail faded away, he growled at his newfound threat.

The terrified Crew ran over the hill, Meggy leading them with her Splattershott. "SMG3, get away from that thing!"

She takes another shot. Effortlessly, Four manages to dodge that shot as well. He glared at Three, a silent promise that he'll be back, before escaping. A clash of thunder strikes the ground and the Crew loses sight of him. As Mario helped Three up, the Crew finally reached to them.

"SMG3, did SMG4 look different to you?" Mario asked, concerned.

"Yeah, his eyes were pink. The goo...." Three said, still stunned by what occurred. But he shakes his head, confusion and frustration taking over. "Can someone tell me what's going on?! Why the fuck does SMG4 have that goo from the incident?"

The Crew looked at each other, unsure what to say to Three. What can they say? Meggy, mustering up the strength, took a step forward. "There's something you should know."

Recalling everything from the interrogation in the Meme Rehab, the surgeon explained that during the lobotomy, he discovered something unnatural in Four's body. It looked like goo. When he tried poking at it, the goo grew eyes and screeched. He felt like his ears were about to bleed so he quickly finished stitching Four's head up. His curiosity, however, got the better of him.

Taking a sample of Four's blood, he examined it under a microscope and observed tiny black specks plaguing the red blood cells before consuming them. Becoming one.

"It never left," Meggy explains. "That goo has been taking over SMG4 this whole time, reacting to his emotions. He said that, at the rate that it was going, there won't be anything left of him." Her last words faded into a mutter.

Three's eyes searched Meggy's face, unable to process what she just said. "Wha...what are you saying?" He asks, Meggy responds with only visible hesitation.

"Meggy." She refused to look at him so he grabbed her by the arms. "What are you saying?"

Meggy takes a breath, her mind trying to find a way how to put it delicately for Three. But in every way she sliced it, it just wouldn't be fair for this man. She had to tell him, the way it has to be.

"SMG4... is dead."

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

He wanted this to end. Begged for it. He wanted someone to shake him by the shoulders, to wake him up. From his nightmare, from this sick joke. This level of cruelty, he wanted it to stop.

This was no nightmare.

It has been a week since the Crew last saw "SMG4". It was best for it to stay that way, but they knew that thing would stop at nothing to take its vengeance. While the rest of the Crew was preparing the Castle for a grand meeting with the search party volunteers, Meggy was on the other SMGs. Other than the Crew, they were on an expedition and the first to receive the news. Currently rushing back to the Mushroom Kingdom from essentially dropping everything immediately.

"This storm is affecting us a lot more than what we were expecting," SMG1 reports. "But, we promise you that we are on our way. Just stay put."

"Okay then, bye." Meggy hangs up. With a shaky exhausted breath, her hands held her head. Tari, noticing Meggy's distress, walks over and brings her into a side hug.

Boopkins asks her, "Well, what now?"

"Once SMG1 and 2 are here, they can handle it."

"And do what? Use their meme powers to scare the goo away?"

Saiko exclaimed, "Bob!"

Paying no mind, Bob points at Meggy. "You said it yourself, that goo basically went full 'Venom' and took over SMG4! If he is dead, it's going to find a new host."

Boopkins says, "Bob, you're not suggesting..."

"Oh, I'm very much suggesting." Bob pulls out a rocket launcher out of thin air. "It's time to obliterate that son of a bitch."

"He's right."

Everyone else, besides Bob, pans over to Meggy in shock. "What?"

"Now that I thought about it, SMG4 hasn't been himself ever since the incident," Meggy said. "It's more than just trauma. Sometimes he's strong out of nowhere, or how he got good aim back at WOTFI. He's been acting strange this whole time, I just couldn't see it."

The rest exchanged guilty looks, perhaps they were really to blind to notice. And Four paid the price.

"We managed to save him the first time but..." Meggy looks over to the door to Four's bedroom. "It was because Four was still in there."

Melony asks, "And, what if..."

Meggy shakes her head. "No. He's really gone. I think, to save everyone, the goo has to go. For good. That's what he would've wanted."

The room filled with silence, it was almost suffocating. Four's behavior, the debate was did they see or did they wish not to see? Either way, this was the price and they agreed that death would give mercy to Four's soul from the pain and suffering he had to endure.

Without anyone noticing, Mario slipped into Four's room, he needed to talk to him. The room was dark except for some sunlight peeking through the closed curtains. Just like outside, it was silent here. Other than Mario was Three, curled up in Four's bed, refusing to face the door. His hair was in a loose and greasy mess, and he wore a light gray hoodie. It was one of Four's.

Mario walked over to him, passing by plates of food pilling up on Four's desk. Untouched. He sat on the edge opposite where Three lay, who was unfazed of the mattress shifting by the weight.

"...SMG4 isn't dead," Mario said. A beat. He elaborates, "Mario doesn't know how, he just does. SMG3, you're his partner. You guys are cosmically linked. You must've felt it if it broke, right?"

SMG3 stayed silent in response. Mario took a breath, steadying himself on what he was about to say.

"They're planning to go after him and..." His voice starts to quiver. "They can't kill him! I can't! I didn't ask to kill my best friend, SMG3. I... don't think I can."

Silent, once again. Mario lets out a sigh and stands up. "I just don't want to lose another friend." He leaves Three alone in the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him.

What Mario couldn't see were the silent tears that rolled down Three's face. The news of SMG4's death. The world completely changed, like someone pulled a rug from under his feet.

And nothing was the same again.

The minute they returned to the Castle, Three had beelined to Four's room. Perhaps because he was still in denial, he tidied the room up. Four was never exactly an organized person anyway. Three made his bed, dusted his shelves, and threw out the food takeout bags. He held on to that hope, that Four was gonna come in at any second and be normal again. That everything will be fine again.

That he'll be back.

Even when tears started to form in the corners of his eyes, he refused and refused and refused goddamnit. He'd known Four for years, he had been his long-time rival for meme's sake. Four was stubborn, and resilient. The sight of his determination shined brilliantly in Three's eyes, it blinded him as a rival but admired it as a friend. So, why? Why was this the thing that stopped Four?

Those thoughts spiraled in his mind as he folded up one of Four's hoodies. From its touch, Three remembered when his partner wore it, that tender smile on his face. It was always reserved for Three. One memory was all it took for Three to terms with this undeniable fact, breaking into an uncontrollable sob and burying himself in the hoodie. Back then, when he had control over the YouTube Remote, he asked to take Four's place.

This was what he asked for. And there he was, a complete mess.

After that, as the rest of the world was, he went numb. His friends came and went to check up on him. Food, condolences. They begged to say something, anything.

He didn't.

Sitting himself up, he looked down at what he clenched in his fist. It was a small USB that appeared identical to the pod Four landed in the Mushroom Kingdom with. Blue and white, fashioned in a bracelet. Ever since their pods flew away, these USB keys were left behind. During the confrontation at the Pit, Three somehow yanked it off from Four's wrist.

Being isolation, it gave him time to think and one question remained, where did this goo even come from, before the 'perfect' incident? That keyboard, it must be a lead. It doesn't matter how many precautions he had to prevent something like this from happening, he needed to find answers. He already failed Four once, this was the only way he could make it up to him.

With what Mario just told him, he was running out of time.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

"Hey, Gary. I know this is out of the blue, but I need a favor."

In the depths of the Dark Web, a light passes through the underground labyrinth. Three, a flashlight in one hand, fidgeted with the drawstring of Four's hoodie. No one must know where the realm's Archives are, much less that he was one of the Meme Guardians who had access to it.

"Is this about your cafe of yours?"

At last, he reached to a stone-bricked door, moss creeping through the cracks, and his hood was pulled off to allow himself to be scanned. With a confirming beep, the door rolled itself open and a computer covered in dust awaited for him inside. He swiped some of it off with a sleeve to find a small rectangular keyhole.

"No, not this time. I need you for a mission, you're the only one in the Dark Web I can trust."

Taking it off around his neck, Three held his black and indigo USB key, strung as a pendant. He inserted it into the keyhole and twisted it. The room suddenly awakens in light, rows of digital manilla folders circled at the ready.

After Three pressed a couple of buttons and scanned his photo, the database became a hurricane, narrowing down from millions. Only a few dozen closely matched the input he put in. He picked up each and every folder, his eyes skimming past unnecessary details until it came to one.

A folder, dated back years ago, long before he was a Guardian, perhaps held a start...

CLIENT NAME — Winston [REDACTED]

AGE — [REDACTED]

PRODUCT — Failed Lab Subject #18

He read through the shopkeeper's notes, how a man asked for a transmutation device that is compatible and adapts to biological matter. "The new evolution" was what he said. The buyer claimed that was a personal experiment on plants, Three highly doubts that it was.

From one file to another, Three chased a lead of this "subject #18" into a spiraling rabbit hole. A laboratory, unsanctioned experimentation. A weapon. All to lead to one name:

Project Horus

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Everyone in the Castle stood around the table, a sense of mourning settling in. Who knew it would have to come to this?

"How did the goo even get to SMG4?" Tari wondered. "I thought it went down with Peach's Castle."

Luigi responds, "Someone must've brought it back, maybe the keyboard wasn't needed."

"Well, SMG1 and 2 better be here soon and fix this mess." Saiko stepped up, "Forget the kingdom, the whole world will be in danger."

"As if they were there the first time," Swag said, being reminded of the 'perfect' incident. He pulls out a grenade. "I'd say let's blow that goo to smithereens.

Then, they all started to jump in with their own suggestions, shouting over each other that their idea was better. Bowser offered his airship, Steve his buckets of lava, the military their tanks. Bob with his (illegally-obtained) weapons, Saiko her hammer.

But when the question came of who was going to be the one to finish Four, they beat around the bush.

Mario looked at all of them in disbelief, a pit forming in his stomach. It just couldn't be real. His best friend, one he had known for years, was gone. And here they were, debating how to kill the shell that was once Four.

Meggy could feel his pain and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Red, I'm..."

The doors of the Castle burst open, distracting everyone from their argument. To their surprise, "SMG3?"

Indeed it was. Three, abandoning the hoodie and loose hair, marched in with a fresh new look. He wore a purple belt holding his black overalls, and his iconic gloves inverted in color. On one arm, he wore a red and white checkered band while the other had a simple stubbed black band. Gary was close behind him with a cart full of weaponry.

"None of those are gonna work. That goo mutated from too many experiments that it's practically invincible." Three goes over to the table and leans on its surface with his knuckles.

"How would you know that?" Bob asked.

"The goo was created by a secret government experiment to explore and survive the Great Beyond," he elaborated. "Or am I wrong, Chris?"

They all turn to Chris, then back to Three. Bewildered but it was clear that they demanded an explanation.

Swag steps in defensively. "Hold up, you can't just accuse Chris of anything! Besides, there's no..." But he looked over at Chris, who was tense. "Chris?"

"I'm not accusing Chris of anything, calm down," Three says to Swag. "He might've known about the experiment but he didn't do any of that stuff himself."

Though he was reluctant, Chris sighed in defeat. He confessed, "It's true. I remember when the whole base was in total chaos when the subject managed to break out of its containment chamber. Project Horus."

"After that, it got captured and experimented on twice. A lab in the Dark Web, and Mr Puzzles," Three adds. The Crew freezes with a note of recognition in that name. He changes the subject, "We're not going to be here all day pointing fingers on who's going to be the one to kill the goo. I'll do it."

Meggy intervenes, "SMG3, I don't think..."

"I was SMG4's Meme Guardian partner. It's only fair that I'd be the one to take it down." He looked over to Mario and lowered his head apologetically.

Chris asks, "If the government couldn't even control it, what makes you think you got a chance at this? You barely made it last time."

"SMG4 was the one who gave it to us," Three replied as Gary tossed him a black and red rifle.

The Dark Web lab's weapon, dubbed "The Ultimate Virus", has a single "bullet" powerful enough not only to kill any entity, but it erase their existence entirely. This includes erasing any memory of it from everyone who interacted with said entity, in this case, the goo since it's all that remained.

Why remember the monster that killed Four?

Though, it is useless by itself, without two particular keys. Well, except if you happened to be lucky. Inserting his and Four's USB in their designated slots on each side, the rifle sparked to life. Its miniature lights glow red, ready to fire in Three's command.

Three's eyes masked with determination, vengeance. "Whoever wants to join, prepare yourselves because there will be no coming back."

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

There were a few who would know about this place. Passing from the Showgrounds and through the woods, there is a flower field on a nearby cliff, overlooking the sea. It's quite calm, the only company other than oneself was the sound of the whispering breeze and the waves kissing the rocks below. Right above, there was a spectacle of stars.

Three twirled one of the white lilies between his fingers, his cap laid next to where he sat. As expected like an old friend, the wind blew through his ponytail that was tied with a long white ribbon. A finger delicately trailed on its petals, his face in utter turmoil and loss.

"SMG3, are you sure you're up to this?"

Four was the one who brought him to this place. Three had a nightmare one time and was brought here to help with his nerves. Ever since then, this was their secret spot. At least, it used to. Now, it all belongs to Three.

"My partner is gone, Gary. If I can avenge him by killing Horus, then I won't regret anything."

The goo, "Horus" was the name the Dark Web lab gave, was the one who took SMG4 away from him. Three could put the rest of the blame onto Mr Puzzles. Or Winston, whatever his damn name is. Perhaps, in another timeline, he would've given Mr Puzzles a chance to redeem himself. Three used to be like him, after all. But to go this far, this has to end. He has to end it.

He had contacted Gary for a favor, to bring in the best of the best of his inventory for his friends to defend with. With the material strong enough to withstand Horus, they'll be fine. However, there was a doubt, lingering in the back of his mind. One he wasn't willing to show to the Crew.

"SMG4, if you're still in there somehow, show me a sign," Three said. "And I won't shoot, I promise."

He let the wind take the lily from his hand and watched until it flew far, far away. After putting on his cap that hid his ponytail, he got up and walked back into the Showgrounds. The Crew needed a leader for tomorrow, after all.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

His pink eyes stared above, fascinated by the stars shining ever so brightly. You get tired of the same old red tentacles roaming around in this pit. Not that what was left of Peach's Castle helped his boredom either. But the stars, he didn't know why he was so captivated by them.

Horus supposed this was the consequence of waiting in one place.

Suddenly, he spotted some movement and narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what the object was. Though it was impossible, he thought it might've been a falling star. It didn't seem to present any threat. He curiously waited until he was able to catch it. It was a white lily. His eyes flashed blue.

"...Three?"

But he shook his head and dropped the lily, eyes returning to pink. No, he needs to focus on what's important.

The host must live.

✧-✧-✧

[ To be continued... // PART 1 // PART 3 ]

That's right, my dear fellows, this was part 2 of Concept #5 all along [*insert villain laugh here*]

#smg4 #smg34 #smg4 smg3 #👁️#smg4 meggy #smg4 mario #ink episode concepts #a bit of ace attorney cameo here :))

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