#ignoring how ugly the last drawing is

[glxybld-mustdie]

the umbrella academy: apocalypse suite (comic book) mild spoilers i think?? not sure it’s pretty out of context

aight i guess since like,, 16 people likes my post

here’s my fugly art you stinky bastards/j/lh

what do we think do we fw it??

(sorry about the tags by the way)

[paladinsbrainrot]

my favourite stranger things duo 💜 (they have interacted Once)

+ close ups !!

[garzzum]

random oc stuff + erik kcd if he was in dragon's dogma (pawn print on his free hand)

[stitchwraith-stingers]

if your still looking for art ideas I got a few I can share

Cosmo and wanda drinking a milkshake or going roller blading

Hazel and her friends in animal onsies, like that one montage on the owl house

Devin throwing a lemon at his dad, a lemon that hits his dad right in the face.

I've never watched the owl house

[robinsnest2111]

idly wondering with what experts would diagnose me if I was 100% truthful and could remember every single thing that happened to me and every single quirk I developed because of it <3

[biteyoubiteme]

rosé

yeonjun x fem!reader warnings:🔞!!! tw:stepcest, don't like don't read!, vibrator use, no penetration, mentions of biting/teeth used, panty-fucking, prob forgot some sorry wc: 2.2k an: uuummm so look away I guess I still wont take requests for this kind fic and im not tagging my usual taglist so :p pls don't read if you don't like it

“You have to be joking,” your hand is still caught on the doorknob, frozen in place as you take in the sight of your childhood bedroom. Half the space was covered in boxes, labeled in the sideways handwriting of your step-mother. But everything else was frozen in time as the day you had left for college, frozen as the last holiday you had been back, ugly Christmas sweater thrown at the edge of your bed. Even the lone mattress on the ground from where a cousin had spent the weekend was waiting to be slept in. 

And that is where Yeonjun stood, his chuckle caught between shock and humor. He was holding a half-drunk bottle of rosé, the cap still screwed on the cheap glass. “You're not very good at hiding things,” he shakes the liquid enough to draw your eyes to it. 

“Going through people's things is childish,” you mutter, tossing your bag next to the bed, “shouldn't you be in your own room?” 

It wasn't new to see him around the times that you visited, he lived only a town over, closer than you had stayed when the two of you had dispersed from home. He wanted to stay close to his mom, loved to rub it in your face when you came back that he was the better child. Your parents hadn't gotten married until the last year of high school, too soon for you to really find a connection with your new step-mom in a way that yeonjun had found with your dad. 

“They turned my room into a gym,” he kicked at the boxes littering the space, “they haven't gotten around to clearing out yours but it's going to be the guest room from now on,” 

“No-” you groaned, falling back on your bed, “I don't want a roommate for the weekend, I wanted relaxation,” it's not that you care they are changing things around but it was less appealing to have to know every time you came home you would have to spend it in the same room as any cousin, family member, or, like now, stepbrother.  Some selfish part of you hadn't liked how changed everything had become since the added members in the house had become permanent, your room had stayed yours, and if you had anything left of before it was this. 

“You don't want me around? I'm good company,” you can hear the dip in his voice, the low murmur of it making you shiver. You sit up on your elbows, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Don't take that tone with me,” but it's weak, the both of you know it, testing the line drawn in the sand every time you two had the opportunity. Spending time in such close quarters didn’t help it in the slightest. The two of you had agreed, or you had told him, that you wouldn't push it further than the teasing, and yet… 

Yeonjun’s lip lifts in a smirk, just high enough to show his teeth, calling your bluff. You remember that hazy period in time when the two of you didn't have to keep apart, fumbling kisses shared at a party, hands finding places neither of you wanted to pull away from. It was only a few weeks later when you were told about the engagement, the shock was a bucket of ice water thrown over the two of you. Suddenly flirty glances in class turned to frozen glares and when you moved in that last year together it had felt suffocating. It had been a mix of teenage annoyance and rebellion to avoid him, and you did in the short few months you spent in his company. 

Then you had both gone to college, two separate universities on opposite sides of the city. It had been easy to ignore him but easier still to find it in you to heal the indifference into tolerance. But then you found yourself at a party, the lights low and his smile just like this one now. You couldn't blame drinking, couldn't blame anything except the fact that you wanted to kiss him again, needed to devour him in the way that he had consumed your mind anytime you thought of him. 

You had been the one to stop it before it had gone too far, in the backseat of his car, grinding on him, still chasing his lips even as you said ‘We have to stop’ his soft reply of, ‘We should’ without either of you pulling away. It had been on your mind every time you saw him again, especially now. 

“Fine, but I want a thank you, I found all your contraband that you wouldn't want them to find when cleaning your room out,” he lifted the bottle again, “how long did you have this stashed in the back of your closet?” 

You had forgotten all about the bottle, less so about most things sitting in your closet, drawers, or under the bed. You had moved out your important things, anything left was by mistake or unimportant. “Who cares we are adults, a little rosé is nothing to worry over them finding,” 

“And this?” you didn't know what to expect when he lifted his hand, another lone bottle of some other drink you forgot about was nothing to worry about and yet it wasn't that. There in his hand was a slim vibrator, pink and a foreign sight in his grasp. 

“Yeonjun-” you whisper shouted, the two of you were alone in the house, the bedroom all the way up in the attic space. But it felt like you couldn't scold him loudly, your face flushing, heat spreading all over you. And he chuckled, shoulder shaking as he flicked his finger over the button to turn it on, the soft buzz making you clench your thighs. “Put it away,” 

“Should I? I charged it and it would be a shame not to use it, if even a little bit,” he stalked closer, slow like a prowl, already having his sights set on eating you alive. “And you already look like you want it on you,” you watched the way his eyes flickered down to your thighs, rubbing together as you tried to deny that they were doing so. 

“We said we wouldn't,” you whisper, hands twisting in the sheets as he leans down nose so close to bumping yours, breathing in the same air. 

“We said we shouldn't, that never stopped us before,” the last syllable is pressed right to your upper lip, the ghosting of his mouth like sweet temptation against yours, “and all I could think about since the last time was that we shouldn't have stopped, because now you're all that's ever on my mind and you're never even around to rectify that,” he leans in closer, on hand bracing beside you on the bed while you try to keep even a hairs distance from falling into his trap because once you slipped up and found yourself caught you knew you wouldn't even try to escape. “Just one kiss, please,” 

“Just one-” You couldn't even get the words out before he was on you, pressing his mouth to yours, seeking to consume you. Your hands shot out, pulling on his shirt locking him in place as he fell on top of you hardly even trying to keep his distance but you wouldn't even give him that once his lips were on yours. The two of you worked so well together, every little touch was sending sparks up and down your body. You opened your legs instinctively for him, wanted him to fit against you, slot himself in your personal space even if it was only for the length of one kiss. But that wasn't what it was, this wasn't the simple peck but a feast of pent-up want and need reduced to a single moment as if you hadn't indulged before. 

He was hot and hard, grinding against you until you were gasping into his mouth, sloppy kisses now working down your throat as he nipped at your skin, teeth looking to find every sensitive spot you had. He wanted to devour you even if he shouldn't, and you were no better. It didn't matter if you said just one kiss, the two of you knew what it meant, you had said it before and you had him on the verge of finishing untouched in his jeans but he would finish this time, he wanted to reach that spot with you. 

And you wanted it too, not caring about your previous intentions as soon as he was pressed so close to you. He reached his hand down between you two, vibrator on as he pressed it right against your clothed clit, the vibration muffled with all the fabric and yet you gasped, hips bucking up to meet the sensation. “Oh,” his open-mouthed kisses warm against the skin on your throat, your hands sliding up to his hair, twisting your fingers in the strands. He pulls away for only a second, hands falling to the waistband of your pants, needing to get them off of you. “We can't-” 

“Please- I just wanna see how wet you are for me,” he begs, forehead pressed to yours feeling your nod more than seeing it. He pulls your pants clean off, leaving you in the nearly transparent white panties you have on. Yeonjun groans at the outline of you clear as day as the fabric clings to you. He doesn't hesitate to press the vibrator right back over your clit. You try to snap your thighs closed, the one less layer making it so much harder to not react. 

His free hand comes out to trace over your cunt, fingers circling up and down as you throw your head back, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Now look at that,” he runs one finger between the fabric of your panties and your aching center, the digit coming away slick as he lifts it to his mouth to taste, your brows scrunching together as you try to hold back your whine. It's a drawn-out moan that comes from him, “You taste as good as you look,” he presses the vibrator harder on your clit, “let me fuck you- please-” 

“We shouldn't-” you try but it's caught in your throat when he clicks up the vibration, free hand back to running up and down the outside of your panties. 

“Please,” he whispers like it's ripping him apart, not being able to sink into you when you look this good. He presses his pelvis closer to you, his bulge perfect for your grinding hips to try and find a steady pace on. “Please,” he lets his hips drag along with the word, your lip caught between your teeth as you try not to cry out but it's impossible to deny him, especially when he's promising to not put it in, and you know if you say no he will stop and if you say yes you wouldn't stop him even if he did try to do more. And all you wanted was more. 

You nod, needing more of him, needing to feel something more if anything at all. He pushes his hand into his pants, tugging out his cock, veiny and slick with bubbling precum, wrist working to give it a few loose drags. You're whimpering at the sight, wishing to say to hell with not having him just fuck you into the mattress. And you almost do say ‘fuck it’ the second he presses his tip right to your covered entrance, the slick of your panties only causing him to slip, the length of him rubbing over you. 

“I won't- I won't,” he's screwing his eyes closed, shaking his head as he convinces himself more than he's telling you. Just brushing against you, feeling the vibration hitting right under his tip as he grinds down on you makes it so much worse. Every sound he's making is desperate and whiny, echoing in the room as he presses his free hand into the mattress, keeping you pressed down and in the circle of his arm. He can't control the way his hips move, just chasing the high of wanting to be in you and the feel of you so close and yet so far. 

He tries to press his tip back in, properly fucking into your panties even if there is little give before he's back to slipping and grinding back down on your cunt, clicking up the vibrator until you can feel it sending sparks all over your body, the ache in your belly turning into a blinding light before you tremble, tugging him closer to you as much as you can get. “I'm- I'm cu-” It's only a moment before your orgasm crashes into you, your body trying to pull away from the vibration and yet being stuck in place with the weight of Yeonjun over you.

And he doesn't stop or pull away, whimpering as he jerks, cock twitching right before he's spilling ropes of white all over your stomach, t-shirt a mess of it. It's not until he pulls away the vibrator, clicking it off, that he's stopped the slow dribble of cum from shooting out. 

Both of you are breathing hard, Yeonjun's face now pressing into your neck to try and hide, hips still moving, languid as he softens. “Never again,” you try to say, but both of you know the truth, especially when you're running your fingers through the hair at his sweaty temple. 

“Of course, never again,” he mutters but he's leaning right back in to kiss you. 

taglist for those who asked lol @beomiracles @beombunni and im tagging the wonderful @thetxtdevil bc she is the one who came up with this idea and gifted it to me ily mae thank you so bad-

[citrusipop]

image captured by hand . cho hyun-ju

hyun-ju catches you glancing at her and back to that little book of yours, curiosity feeds her as she wonders what is inside.

a.n . i am so sorry if it's been awhile since i've written something, writer's block and the fact college season is back is driving me nuts. i hope you enjoy this short little(longish) story!

It was a lazy afternoon in Hyun-Ju’s shared apartment. Her head rested against the warm windowpane as she gazed at the endless blue sky, her thoughts drifting. The gentle breeze carried the sound of children’s laughter below, blending with the melody of seashell chimes swaying nearby.

Across from her, you sat with your sketchbook balanced on your knees, pencil scratching against paper. Your hand moved with quiet determination, stealing glances at your girlfriend as sunlight framed her peaceful beauty. Each glance inspired you to capture her essence, pouring it into your work.

Noticing your looks, Hyun-Ju tilted her head, a curious smile tugging at her lips. “What’re you doing, hun?” she playfully teased, her eyes studying you. Hidden behind the sketchbook, you hummed distractedly, too focused to notice her pout.

“Y/nnnnn,” she whined, leaning in close until her face was near yours.

“Loveeee,” you mimicked her tone, quickly snapping your sketchbook shut. The thought of her seeing your sketches filled you with nervousness—what if she thought it was weird?

Her eyes flicked to the sketchbook. “What’re you drawing?” she asked, her voice warm with curiosity.

“Just… something. Nothing too detailed,” you replied, heart racing as you tried to keep your secret.

Hyun-Ju’s almond-shaped eyes sparkled with interest. “Can I see? I’m sure it’s amazing,” she said warmly.

Her compliment melted your hesitation. You weren’t confident in your art, being self-taught and wary of criticism, but hearing encouragement from someone you loved made you reconsider.

“I don’t know, you might not like it,” you trailed off, your eyes avoiding hers.

“Please love, I want to see…You never show me what’s in that little book of yours.” She pleaded, giving you those irresistible puppy eyes of hers.

God, that adorable look of hers made you want to give in, but those nagging insecurities held you back, hijacking any chance of Hyun-Ju seeing your sketchbook. Your mind turned into a courtroom, arguments flying back and forth as you debated with yourself. Yet, when you glanced at her again, the genuine curiosity in her eyes was impossible to ignore. She truly cared about what you were creating.

And so, you gave in.

With a sigh, you hesitantly handed her the light orange book. As her hands brushed yours, taking the sketchbook, it felt like you’d handed over a piece of your soul. The weight of it left your hands, but the anxiety remained. You quickly averted your gaze as she opened it, your heart pounding in your chest.

You prayed she wouldn’t say anything mean, regretting your decision almost immediately. The silence was unbearable, every second stretching endlessly. Your mind spiraled, conjuring the worst scenarios. What if she hated it? What if she thought your art was ugly? Doubts clashed in your head, each one louder than the last, waging a war you couldn’t escape.

All your worries drifted away when she say, “Love, you never told me you can draw this….it’s amazing!” Hyun-ju’s eyes gleamed with stars as she flipped through more of your artworks. “How are you so talented? Your sketches are so well detailed and clean!” Her eyes gleamed with astonishment. She was utterly speechless, no words could form as she was so enthralled by the beauty of the images you drew. You. Her girlfriend, an amazing artist. In her mind such talent is worth sharing.

“How could you hide this talent of yours?”

“I just don’t see the point of showing it to others….”

Hearing your words, Hyun-Ju rolled her eyes playfully and pinched your cheek lightly. “It’s worth showing it to me,” she insisted, emphasizing the “me” with a teasing smile as she continued flipping through the pages.

Her fingers paused on a bookmarked page, and her eyes widened when she saw it—a drawing of herself. A bright smile spread across her face as she admired the intricate details. You had captured her perfectly, from the curve of her smile to the sparkle in her eyes. Most of the sketches showed her smiling, and she couldn’t help but feel warmth bloom in her chest.

Laying her head on your crossed leg, she lifted the sketchbook to show you the drawing, her expression filled with pride and affection.

You felt your heart swell and your confidence grow from her praise. Never in your life had anyone shown such genuine love for your work, and it filled you with a newfound motivation to keep drawing. Smiling softly, you ran your fingers through her hair as she pointed out more sketches, her voice laced with admiration.

Looking up at you, Hyun-Ju smirked mischievously. “You should draw Jeong-Hyeok and give it to me,” she teased, pointing at a blank page with a playful finger.

“No,” you replied firmly, shaking your head.

“But love, please? You have the power to draw anything,” she pleaded, her tone both sweet and dramatic, making you roll your eyes and chuckle at her antics.

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!

➺ PAIRING | gyutaro shabana x fem!reader.

➺ CONTENT WARNING | a little suggestive towards the end. 0,9k words not proofread

➺ NOTE | happy valentine's day to those who don't celebrate 🧚🏻‍♀️ I wanted this to be a janitor bot at first but I didn't want to 'waste' the idea on a bot :') I'm gonna be honest with y'all, the last few months have been pretty rough. I hate everything I write, and it's only getting worse with time. Im not sure if i'll ever get out of that state of mind at this point but oh well, haha. it is what it is I guesssss

Gyutaro had never cared about Valentine's Day before he met you.

Now, he’s pretty sure it’s his favorite day of the year. Not because he likes the holiday itself—no, he still thinks it’s ridiculous how people cling to shallow gestures and empty words, acting as if love only matters once a year when it’s wrapped in ribbons and chocolate. But you? You made it different. You made it...meaningful.

This year you had insisted on celebrating properly, saying something about making up for all the years he never got to experience love. Gyutaro had scoffed at the idea, grumbled about how pointless it was. But deep down, a part of him—one he barely admitted to himself—had been looking forward to it for weeks.

So now here he is; laying on your futon, watching as you carefully set up a tray with all the things you’ve prepared for him. Handmade chocolates, a cup of warm tea, and a tiny wrapped gift.

“You’re spoiling me too much, y'know,” he murmurs, scratching absently at his arm. His nails dig a little too hard into his skin but he barely notices. A small, barely noticeable smirk creeps onto his lips as he tilts his head at you. “Aren’t you worried I’ll start expecting this every year?”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” you tease back, kneeling beside him. Before he can respond, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips, the tender gesture making him freeze.

God. Why'd you have to be so goddamn perfect? He hates it. Hates how easily you manage to drive him crazy with the simplest touch, how badly he wants more, how he's already fighting his own body so that he doesn't pounce on you and take your right here and there on this futon before you even have the chance to go through with the date. He’s pathetic, isn’t he? The thought makes him dig his nails a little deeper into his palm — but before it can get to the point of drawing blood your hand is on his wrist, gentle as always, guiding his fingers away from his skin.

“Hey. None of that, baby.” you interrupt his train of thoughts, bringing his knuckles to your lips. “No self-loathing allowed on Valentine's day, 'kay?"

Gyutaro immediately looks away and huffs, heat quickly creeping up his neck. Fuck, he loves you. He loves you so fucking much his throat tightens with the need to scream it on top of the roofs. He's not sure why the universe suddenly decided to bless him with a love like yours, but, hell. He isn't about to take it for granted.

With a slightly trembling hand, he plucks one of the chocolates from the tray in front of him and pops it into his mouth, desperately needing to shift the focus off himself.

“You made those yourself? Eh, they're not bad, I guess..." he teases, letting out a quiet hum of approval.

“Not bad?” you gasp. “I spent all evening making these, and all you’ve got for me is ‘not bad’?”

Gyutaro grins, watching the way your lips purse in mock indignation. The way you tease him so effortlessly, like he’s just a guy and not the ugly loser he knows himself to be — it makes something warm stir inside him, his dick hardening and twitching traitorously in his pants. But he ignores it, not wanting to out himself as a complete creep to the girl he loves. Instead, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly delicate. His fingers brush against your cheek, feeling the heat of your skin beneath them.

“Yeah, alright, fine..." he rolls his eyes playfully. “They’re perfect. Just like you.”

Your eyes widen for a moment, your lips parting and closing again in shock. Then you let out a laugh, tilting your head to press a kiss to the heel of his palm. “Mhm, that’s better.”

“Hey, don’t get all cocky with me now,” His smirk widens, fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s not every day I hand out compliments, y’know. Don't get used to it.”

You squeeze his hand, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. “Well, I guess that just makes them even more special, then.”

Gyutaro doesn’t argue. The truth is, he'll probably shower you with compliments every day after that. He knows it, and he knows you do too.

His heart beats an unsteady rhythm against his ribs, but he finds he doesn’t mind. He likes this. Likes you.

When you shift closer and tug him into your arms, Gyutaro doesn't resist. He lets you guide his head to rest against your chest and exhales a long breath, his entire body relaxing when your fingers start threading through his messy, tangled hair.

A long silence settles between you then, but it isn’t uncomfortable. He tightens his grip on you, letting his fingers curl into the fabric of your clothes as if that will somehow ground him.

Gyutaro closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest as you kiss the crown of his head. For once, he doesn’t feel like a monster. He doesn’t feel like something broken. He's just... a man, held in the arms of someone who loves him. And for the first time in a long, long time, he thinks that maybe—just maybe—happiness isn’t entirely out of his reach.

[darylsfavoritegirl]

Yk that argument Daryl had with Shane at the barn? Put your own spin on it and include the reader somehow, maybe she even tries to break them up and he is still pissed. Afterwards he goes off to sulk in his anger trying to ignore you, but it’s too hard

۶•ৎ

The Odd Man Out

There you all were, away from Hershel's house, near the barn. Your heart was pumping blood more than what felt like necessary, your knees had become weak, all ready to betray you and cause you to collapse to the ground.

"This is unacceptable, man." Shane breathed out with fire, drawing circles infront of the barn gate.

"All this time..." He didn't finish his sentence and chuckled exasperatedly.

"Shane. Calm down. This is Hershel's land."

"I'll- I'll find a way to figure this-"

Shane came at Rick when Lori got between the two of them, pressing her right hand to Shane's chest. Her eyes scolded him as Shane gave her a quick stare and rolled his eyes.

Shane was staring at the barn gate, hands rested on his hips, shaking his head as all you could hear was him mumbling to himself.

Your eyes scanned the barn and its perimeter, observing every distressed face.

"You know we gotta leave man. Now we been talking about Fort Benning for a while..." Shane turned to all of you as Rick didn't let him say a word and raised his hand as a warning.

"We can't leave." He shook his head.

The side of your eyes caught Carol and how he wrapped her arms around herself, bottom lip trembling, eyes glossy with tears to come.

"My daughter is out there." Her voice was shaky. She looked taken aback as everyone gazed upon her. You could tell she didn't like to be the center of attention, especially at a time like this.

"We're gonna find your daughter, OK?" Lori rushed to Carol, offering a sense of support as she squeezed her arm, they were glued to one another.

Your eyes shifted to Shane as you shielded your eyes from the sun. He studied your face for a second or so. A faint snicker painted his lips. He knew why you had stayed quiet so far, he was the one that you spoke in discreet -though you felt that the cat was gonna be out of the bag any second-

You felt uneasy under his gloomy gaze as you looked away, changing your position in which you rested your entire body weight on one leg, arms crossed. You eyes were fixated on the others for a brief second to see if anyone caught that tense eye contact you happened to make with the most troubled man in the group.

Shane walked past you, not skipping to give you one last dark stare as he made his way to Rick.

"I think it's the time that we all start to just consider the other possibility."

You sensed everyone tilting their heads to his direction. Daryl stood next to you, you almost heard his breathing go more and more shallow, irritation growing denser through his veins as he fixated his eyes on him; squiented as ever, dauntless as ever.

"I ain't leavin' no one behind." He squiented his eyes at him, his body still as a stone as you could see he clenched his jaw firmly.

Shane ran his hand through his shaved head as he clasped his hands over it.

"Nah man, I-" Shane were to start another babbling session on a bothersome argument right when you flinched at Daryl's loud words.

"I'm close ta findin' dis girl. I jus' found a damn doll two days ago" He was coming at Shane when you felt like it was time you partook in this before it got out of hand.

"You found a doll, Daryl. That's what you did, you found a doll."

Shane pressed his lips together as he leered at Carol before speaking.

"All I'm sayin' is she could've been dead by now and we're-"

"Enough. Shane, enough." You looked at him in disbelief, eyes wide with your hand reflexively being up in the air towards his direction as a sense of warning before he took this any further.

"Ya dun' know the hell yer talkin' 'bout."

It was Shane one side and Daryl on the other side. Things got ugly pretty swiftly as you had to step back when Daryl came at him but it wasn't a few seconds later that you stepped in once again, punches flying in the air, some hitting your chin with their elbows. Your head and body were thrown back by their aggression reflected on their action.

Dust particles, the strings of hays that were laid out on the perimeter were awakened by this fallout. Your eyes got stung by them, this was like hell that you had no control in whatsoever.

"Hey, you back off."

"Come on now." Dale asserted.

It was Rick, Lori and you trying to break them up. Under the heat of the sun, with your red faces and greased clothes were you tossed in a fight near a barn full of walkers.

"Leave. Leave now." You demanded Shane. You pointed him with your finger, forehead wrinkled and brows creased as he clapped his hands in an amusing manner.

"You got a real mouth on you, I'll give you that." He cackled and continued with his chest heaving.

"Now you care? 'Cause last time I checked you were the one who said 'it's a waste of time anyway' " He waved his hands next to his head theatrically and thinned his voice as if to mock you.

"That's not what I said prick." You stepped forward, walking slowly as you widened your eyes. You were trying to catch your breath, unevenly panting as your eyes were out of focus.

It was Daryl's voice that stopped you

" 'S this true?" He had his hands on his hips, gazing upon you through his lashes. It was like he was let down, couldn't even stomach looking you in the eyes, though his eyes had an uneasy beam to them, as if what you were about to say meant more than what both of you could ever dare to imagine.

"No" You shook your head, you clenched your fists without noticing. You felt goosebumps swarming all over your body, somehow making you chill under the radiant sun.

"Fuck no." Your head turned to Carol instinctly, and then the others.

It was a moment of suffering. You, standing toe to toe with everyone. Their hesitant stares, their subtle glances that traveled back and forth with everyone else but you had riled you up yet you knew you were in big trouble and perhaps in the wrong.

You spanked your forehead with both of your palms, inhaling a huge breath in as you shut your eyes and stared all of them back.

"Come on. That motherfucker's lyin' to your faces."

" 'S he?" Daryl inquired, though his tone gave away that he thought he knew the answer. You could never wrap your head around how a redneck like him, could be so tender to a woman he despised. Yet there comes to question, didn't he despise you all? What had happened that he was now a decent person, defending someone who wasn't his blood nor his kin like a sworn confidant behind closed door?

Your eyes darted to the others.

"You believe him?"

Them looking down at their shoes was your answer.

"Stupid bitch."

Daryl mumbled under his breath as he walked away with slumped shoulders and a crossbow he had put aside.

Your face went white, shoulders sagging as you did what you had thought of doing all along.

You kept breathing sharply, turning around and lunging at Shane. He took a step back, eyeing Rick specifically to come and get you as he already had done so.

"Lying son of a bitch." You spat, your hair was everywhere on your face. You could hear your heartbeat in your eardrums.

"Easy. Easy." Rick kept his hand above your cleavage, fingers gripping the sides of your arms.

"I'm fine." You fumed as you moved your hair aside from your face.

"Wha's with all tha' if he 's lyin?" Daryl commented while he was tapping his feet to the ground, resembling a jaded eleven-year old in a family gathering. He pointed at you with his hand as he emphasized on the word "that". You had gone mad infront of all of them. You were bewildered, brows raised with a blank stare in your eyes for a few seconds.

"Look, that's not what I said at all." You began. You pouted your face as soon as everyone started putting your words into your mouth and jabbering.

"Geez, am I the only one who gives a damn 'bout this lil' girl?" Daryl snapped, walking around in circles and spreading out his accusing tone to everyone.

You shook your head in apace, trying to select the proper words to utter. You pressed your lips together, face heating under the wrathing heat wave. You looked around like a child in need of emotional support. Hands on your hips as Rick took a step ahead.

"Everyone go. Now. We'll sort this out tonight."

You got a chance to gaze upon Daryl for the first as his eyes were fixated on Carol. After all, they had formed a relationship out of this. You barely remembered anyone getting along with Daryl or him with others. You walked towards the house with thought filling your head and the misconception you felt needed to be debunked.

Few days passed, everyone still being furious with you. Little Sophia coming out of the barn as a walker didn't aid to your situation whatsoever.

You were sitting on a rock near the fields on Hershel's property. One of your elbows were resting on your knee as your other hand was supporting your chin. You were observing the stubble land laid out infront of you, cicadas jumping from one to another.

The wobbly wind was aggravating with the way it was blowing hot air to your face and body when your eye caught someone walking out of the woods into the stubble field.

Your position changed gradually with you fixing your hunchback as your arms fell loose next to you and you stretched your body a few inches taller to see who it was.

Daryl.

His eyes were checking out his surroundings as his crossbow was swinging on his hand. He wiped his hand on his forehead when his eyes noticed you.

Uneasy features were tugged on your face, not knowing what to do or say.

He passed by you, putting his best work not to acknowledge your existence.

"Daryl." You softly said.

Though your hands were resting on the sharp-edged rock , head slightly tilted and eyes scrutinising your knees that had scrapes all over it, you somehow managed to sense him throwing his head back and fully preparing himself to say a word to you.

"Yeah." He reacted.

It took a while for you to turn and face him entirely. He was looking rather fed up with you. His lips were pale and pressed, his goatee beard all tangled, he must've been scratching it and running his fingers through it, you assumed. It was something you had noticed him doing back in the quarry.

"I'm sorry but all I said was 'we might be better off elsewhere' when I happened to be absent-minded around him. You know-"

He squinted his eyes at you, his chest heaving up with a heartburn as he barked.

"Ain't ma headache no more."

"The girl 's dead."

He pointed one of his stained arrow at you, a vein appearing on the side of his neck. He was blaming every inch of you from head to toe.

You stood infront of him, pupils dilated, hands in a loose punch as no amount of air was enough to fill your lungs.

"And I'm terribly sorry-"

"No yea ain't." He came closer at you, crossbow on one hand and arrow on the other. His neck was stretching forward, sweat beading the below of his hairline.

"Don' give me tha' crap." He used his arrow once again, pointing it at you in a circular motion.

"Yer upset only 'cause he outed yea like tha', infront of the whole lot."

"You hear yourself?" You gasped slightly at his words. You were more confused than angry.

"Whatever dis is, keep it ta yerself."

You heard the fading tone in his voice, he grew less and less attentive with you within 5 minutes.

He adjusted his crossbow and arrows on one hand and started ambling towards the house with his hand scratching the back of his neck.

Sun shone through his golden hair, he was walking aimlessly. It was like you had sucked away the energy left in him for the day.

"Your one stupid motherfucker." You hissed, standing on your tiptoes and extending your torso forward to make sure he heard you.

It was all a misunderstanding, Shane twisting your words back then and now no one giving you the time to explain yourself but only putting words into your mouth. You had lost all hope for the situation for the time being, after all it was still so fresh, everyone was still so vulnerable. No one could even dare trying to foresee anything.

"What'd ya say?" He turned his head towards your direction, his body adjusting to his head gradually.

"No one is listening to me but they're believing that troublesack for a man." You fumed in one breath, you avoided eye contact with him.

He blew raspberries without sticking out his tongue, his cynical body language took over your mentality.

"Yer a real peach with yer tears n' all." A half smile on his lips, completely not interested in what you had to say. He had biases about you all along, this was only the cherry on top.

"Do you really think I didn't care about Sophia the slighest?" You asked with an ajar mouth, eyes fixated on his body as in order not to miss anything you could interpret for your own good.

His neck stretched forward once again, the glazing sun was aiming right at him, perhaps this wasn't the best time.

"I ain't yer buddy, ain't yer nothin' " He growled, his hands were gripping his weapon as he wiped his sweat with his arm.

"I sure ain't the one yea should be makin' amends ta" He hushed, turning around.

"I'm not making amends!" You declared.

Which was true, you weren't. You just hoped for to be understood and not have everyone jump into conclusions about you.

You heard him murmur "Sure sounds like it." As he was making his way through the long stubble to the van.

That night, on a chilly weather were you above the van with Dale as you were assigned to assist him during his watch.

You sat on one of the camp stools, shotgun laying between your thighs vertically. Though Dale was sitting infront of you, your eyes were fixated behind him. The long roads, the long fields.

"Hey, old man. Rick wants yea back at the house."

You flinched at Daryl's voice becoming less and less muffled as he came near the van.

"Ohh what now." You heard Dale complain under his breath as he got up.

"Heads up." Daryl warned as he threw his crossbow on top of the van while he was yet climbing the ladder.

He didn't expect to see you there. His eyes flickered across your face for a moment or so as he looked around subtly, obviously looking for Glenn with whom you were replaced to assist Dale.

"The hell?" He inquired deadly with half-lidded eyes as he straddled on the chair infront of you.

"Just don't even talk if you aren't good with words." You huffed, not even seeing him fit to make eye contact with.

He remained silent as he rubbed his eyes. He hadn't been getting any sleep.

"Ain't no need fer words with yer bullshit." He scoffed, resting his head on his hands, looking around just like you.

"All this time spent together and you haven't figured out what kind of a person I could be. Not even the slighest, huh?" You sighed, not rushing, taking your time with each word.

Your heart was sinking down your torso, it felt like. Your eyes were droppy, fingers at the tip of the shotgun, seeking to be occupied by anything. Anything but him.

His eyes were glued on your eyes as you weren't bothering to meet with his gaze.

You pegged him for a complex man at all times, deep down you always knew he wasn't someone easy to come terms with. You were not gonna be seen by him, not in this, not in anything.

But at that exact moment, when two of you took a minute to enjoy the calmness, quietness around you, letting your minds talk to yourselves instead of words, you dared to hope for a change.

He could change after all, you saw it with your own eyes.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

A/N: well this request had been on my asks since the beginning of this year... so i hope you still enjoy this anon!! also dumb me accidentally replied to a different request🥲🥲 so if that anon got the notification, im sorry, feel free to request whatever you want bae!!!

also i think i never wrote for season 2 daryl before huh? i hope this was satisfying, he was some constant-nagging redneck in season 1-2 but we love him

[4only1]

Santa Baby - Secret Santa (J-High Edition)

Featuring: Daniel Park, Zack Lee, Jay Hong, Vasco Lee, Eli Jang & Vin Jin Masterlist -----------------------

Daniel Park

Oh sweet Daniel Park, could you truly blame him. He held the bag towards you, so eager for you to open it. He looked proud, proud that he got you this gift, even with his limited time and funds. It took some time, but he meticulously chose it with the utmost care.

You accepted the bag, a bit too excited to open it. Of all the options you could have gotten as a secret santa, he seemed like one of the best options. You opened the bag and pulled out…well, it took you a moment to understand what you were looking at.

“Do you like it? I thought it would look good on you.” His voice was tinged with excitement. 

In your hands was the ugliest shirt you've ever seen. You stare at Daniel, taken back by how genuinely proud of himself he was. He must either hate you or actually like this style. How could the abomination look good on anyone?

“Oh…it's unique.” Is all you can get out without going on a rant of how ugly the thing is. How can a fashion department student have such bad taste?

------------------------ Zack Lee

Zack Lee shoved a piece of paper in front of you, waving it around a bit. A smug look was on his face, as if he was a celebrity giving a fan not worth his time, something unforgettable. You grab the paper, trying to understand what it said. His writing was shit and the drawings on the paper were even worse.

“What is this?” You ask, holding the paper far away from your face, trying to understand its contents.

“I am so graciously offering to teach you, the greatest form of fighting, boxing. I personally will teach you, no need to thank me, but you can call me master.”

You stare at him, deadpanned. He seriously thought this was a good gift. You let out a sigh before placing the paper back into his hand.

“I prefer karate”

------------------------ Jay Hong

Your jaw dropped as Jay pulled out a briefcase. It dropped even further when he opened it, cash was overflowing. You picked up a bill and closely examined it, not believing for a second Jay actually was giving you all this money.

You knew he was rich, but you thought he was just gonna get you some fancy bag or something, not a case full of cash.

He moved, and from what you understood, he was sorry about the gift. He couldn't think of anything and resorted to money at the last minute. He would pay for a gift of your wish and you got to keep the cash.

A smile crept on your face and laughter poured out of you. Jay looked shocked, taking a step back as you looked at him, dollar signs in your eyes.

“Have I ever told you how much I like gold bars?”

------------------------ Vasco

The box Vasco handed you was heavy. You weren't sure what to expect from him. He had the biggest smile on his face, fists clenched shaking in front of him, waiting for you to open it.

“I got you something super precious and special. I hope you take as good care of it as I did.”

You were getting nervous. You place the box down on a nearby table. Looking up, you see Jace peeking out from around the corner, biting his nails. You were scared now. Jace hadn't had a chance to screen the gift before it reached you. 

Carefully pulling the lid off the box, you stared at the gift in shock. Your lips pressed together, forming a thin line and your eyes narrowed. A blank expression made its way on your face before you finally let out a sigh.

“So...what do you think?” The excitement was still in his voice. Pulling out the gift you held it up and examined it before speaking.

“... it's a rock” You heard Jace facepalm.

------------------------ Eli Jang

You should have known better. You heard of Eli's hair cutting ability, but chose to ignore them, thinking they were just rumours from other boys, jealous of how perfect Eli looked.

Oh how wrong you were.

Your once gorgeous hair now looked like a lawn mower ran over it. Some sections were cut down to the roots, while the other, longer sections, stuck out like spikes. You couldn't speak, breaking down on the inside at what this man did to your hair.

“Do you like it? I went for a look that reminded me of you” He truly didn't see anything wrong with it!

“Do I remind you of roadkill?”

------------------------ Vin Jin

“Here, Merry Christmas or whatever”

A roll of toilet paper was shoved in your face. Looking around it, Vin Jin stood, smugly, hand in his pocket. You stared at him, unimpressed at the effort he put into the gift.

“Oi, just take it, I took it from some fancy hotel. I only used it once to wipe my shit, it's fine otherwise.”

Ya, no fucking way were you taking it.

“Keep it” you tell him, leaning as far away from the roll as possible. 

“Your loss then. Don't come looking for me when you need something to wipe your ass with.” Vin says, before stomping away. 

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Welcome to part 1 of the secret santa series! I have planned a total of 4 parts, each with different characters. If you don't see your favourite character in this part, check out the other parts!

Easiest to write for: Daniel Park

Hardest to write for: Jay Hong

[lonely-cowboy]

hi!! how are you? i just wanted to tell you that i am obsessed with your writings omg :’((( i can’t even put into words how happy i am to find your account, the way you write connor is just <33

i was wondering if it’s okay to request something where connor is being protective over fem!reader?maybe some hurt/comfort with fluff in the end <3 I don’t have a specific scenario in my head, so it’s totally up to you, and i would love anything you decide to write for this request!!! also, you are totally free to ignore this if you don’t feel inspired enough by this request, it’s absolutely okay! ♡

thank you! have an amazing day and please sorry for my english, it’s not my first language

ugh thank you my love this is so sweet to hear!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to post, midterms have not been fun my friends. i fear this is not my best work, but i hope you can still enjoy our silly android boy <3 you have an amazing day too!!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

helping hand

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: connor comes to help you when you don't need him. again.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: graphic(?) violence (connor shoots a guy oops)

author's note: i write way too many first kisses and this is no exception. prepare for silly goofy domestic married fluff in the future bc that's what i live for

masterlist ⟡ requests

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You could’ve handled it all perfectly fine on your own. You didn’t need Connor’s help, you didn’t want Connor’s help. You were entirely capable of taking down a runaway vigilante on your own.

Sure, maybe it was stupid of you to run off on your own to the crook’s last known location the second the call was made. But he had been only three blocks away from you. What were you supposed to do, wait for backup? Of course not. You had the opportunity to catch a known criminal, so you took the risk. It was all part of the job.

You found yourself at an empty construction site with your gun drawn and pointed at the runaway criminal. You inched closer to your target– some crazy, murderous, anti-android protestor, there were a lot of those these days– slowly drawing your cuffs. You reached forward to restrain his wrists, fingertips brushing against his skin.

And then you were on the ground. You had been practically tackled, your temple striking the rocky earth hard enough that it looked like the world was spinning.

You sat up uneasily as you tried to orient yourself. Who in the world would have shoved you like that? The only indicator was your attacker’s quick “Sorry, Detective.”

You grunted in frustration as your vision cleared, focusing on the one person you did not want to see: Connor.

In all the time it took you to readjust, Connor had taken the vigilante to the ground. He stood overtop the criminal who groaned between crazed laughter. Connor’s foot pressed firmly into the criminal’s chest, a gun– that certainly did not belong to the android– pointed directly at the laughing man’s face.

You moved slowly from the ground, holding your surely bruised side. Your gaze was locked on Connor’s trigger finger, anxiously anticipating gunfire. You feared what it could mean if Connor pulled the trigger. 

“Connor,” you warned quietly, your voice steadier than expected. 

As you approached, you noticed the twitch of his finger. His LED was cycling through every color imaginable, his brows furrowing and unfurrowing as he held the criminal’s gaze.

“Never even think about touching her again,” Connor spit, his voice so cold that it frightened even you.

The pinned criminal only laughed, an ugly wheezing sound as Connor’s foot dug deeper into his chest. “An android in love, huh? Never thought I’d see–”

Connor’s foot rose quickly, stomping hard on the crook’s face until he was knocked out cold. From the impassive look on Connor’s face, you could tell he was practically seething. But that didn’t matter. Now was not the time to comfort him because you were equally as angry. 

With an agitated huff, you shoved Connor by the shoulders as hard as possible. He barely moved at all, only adding fuel to your fire.

It was then that Connor seemed to snap out of his daze and remember you were there. He turned to you abruptly and discarded the gun, his hands finding their place on your biceps with a firm grip. His eyes immediately scanned over your frame, analyzing you for any damage. The only damage he found was what he had done.

The crease between his brows returned as he reached up to touch your throbbing temple. When he pulled his hand back, his elegant fingers were tipped with your blood.

“Did he do this?” Connor questioned, an edge of doubt in his voice.

“No, Connor,” you snapped, shaking off his hands. “You did this! And it wouldn’t have happened if you had just let me do my job for once!”

His LED blinked a steady red. Funny how it matched the blood on your temple.

“Detective, I was only trying to help,” he reasoned feebly.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Connor! I was handling this just fine on my own! And then here you come to save the day yet again, all knight in shining armor! Acting like I’m your damsel in distress, in need of saving!”

“Did you know he was armed?” Connor asked dismissively, quizzically cocking his head in a way that usually enamored you but only seemed to irritate you now. 

You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out as you processed Connor’s words. Armed? No, you hadn’t known he was armed. But if you admitted that then you would’ve looked stupid, like you needed Connor’s help. Like you were some damsel in distress.

When you didn’t answer, Connor gestured to his forgotten gun. “That was his. He was preparing to shoot you.”

“I could’ve easily disarmed him,” you scoffed, crossing your arms arrogantly. “I’m a trained professional.”

“The probability of success was 29%,” Connor stated matter-of-factually. “A majority of outcomes would have resulted in your death, Detective. I couldn’t take that risk.”

“Then maybe you’re not cut out for this job,” you growled. “This job is all about taking risks, Connor. I knew that when I signed up, and you should too.”

Your harsh tone made Connor pause, though he was quick to recover. He was determined for you to understand. 

“If I can prevent your death, then I will. I won’t let your pride stop me,” he said.

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing into a thin line at the reality of Connor’s words. You knew he was right. He was right, he was right, he was right. But you refused to acknowledge that. 

When you opened your mouth to speak, nothing came out besides a yelp.

So quickly you could barely process what happened, Connor’s grip on your arms tightened as he spun you around. One arm wrapped around your shoulders to pull you into his chest protectively while his other hand moved to your holstered gun.

A single shot was fired. And an accurate shot, you guessed, by the sound of a slumping body.

Peeking past Connor, you found the body of your runaway criminal, a bullethole pierced right through his skull. You made note of the gun beside his fallen body, the same gun Connor had carelessly discarded.

You felt Connor return your gun to its holster before his hand moved to your chin. He turned your attention away from the dead body, forcing you to focus on him instead.  

“I know you’re capable, Detective,” Connor murmured, his voice full of a fondness you hadn’t noticed before. “But that doesn't mean I can’t help. I feel better knowing you’re safe than assuming you are.”

You swallowed hard as you held Connor’s steady gaze. His free hand moved to brush your aching temple. His touch was so gentle you could barely feel it as he wiped away the blood with a frown.

“I only wanted to keep you safe,” Connor explained, his voice holding a tinge of– was that regret? “And I only managed to hurt you myself. Maybe you’re right, Detective. You don’t need me. I’m sorry.”

Your hand moved to tug Connor’s hand away from your temple, holding him in your warm grip. His thumb rubbed against your knuckles soothingly as if it was second nature to him.

“I do. I do need you,” you insisted suddenly, surprising even yourself. One minute, you’re practically yelling at Connor for helping. The next, you’re reassuring him that you’ll always need him. You were confusing even yourself, you couldn’t imagine how confused Connor, the poor android. “I… I do. But… not all the time.”

Again, that crease between Connor’s brows returned, your lips forming a smile at the sight.

“I don’t appreciate you enough,” you continued with a defeated sigh. “I do need you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d already be dead, you’re right. You’ve saved me twice today. But that doesn’t mean I need you to swoop in and save me every single time. I can still handle myself.”

“I know… I know…,” Connor whispered, his eyes unfocused as if lost in thought.

You let a beat of silence pass, watching Connor expectantly. There was something he wanted to say, it was on the tip of his tongue. So you patiently waited until he found the words.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

An android in love.

The criminal’s words replayed in your mind as they suddenly came back to you. At the time, you hadn’t completely processed what he said, your anger outweighing any thoughts of reason.

An android in love.

“Was he… was he right?” you asked after a beat to which Connor tilted his head with a puzzled look. Damn him for not being able to read your mind and immediately know what you were struggling to say. “The guy. What he said… He said that you…”

“Are in love,” Connor finished, his tone flat and conveying not a single sense of love.

“Yeah…,” you shrugged.

“If love can be defined by a desire to keep you safe, then yes, I would say I’m in love with you.”

With you.

With you.

He was in love with you.

You couldn’t hide your wide grin, ignoring the warmth that had suddenly spread to your cheeks. Seeing your grin, the corners of Connor’s lips quirked into a small smile too. Your faces naturally moved closer together until your noses were brushing, the warmth of each other’s breath against your lips.

Connor leaned closer. Closer, closer…

He was going to kiss you, and you were going to ruin it.

“You know,” you interrupted, pulling back no more than an inch. But it was enough to make Connor frown. “I’d rather not kiss next to the dead guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Connor’s smile returned, an affection glint in his eyes. His hand found yours, pulling you away from the scene.

“Backup is on the way,” he said. “They can handle this on their own.”

With his hand in yours, Connor led you away. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. It was a reassurance. A sign that you were safe with him, that he would do whatever it took to protect you. You returned his firm squeeze. Because you would do the same for him. 

[nightlyrequiem]

Pen Pal

Bored and lonely you discover the world of prison pen pals and take on a recently convicted drug lord as yours.

AO3 w.c- 3,783 A/N- I'm not sure where I was going with this tbh. Just a fun little exercise I think. Also I wasn't going to proofread but I'm glad I did because there were so many grammatical errors 💀

Tags/Warnings- Inmate!Valeria, Friendship, Implied Developing Feelings, Open Ending, Prison, Post-Modern Warfare II

Beep.

You slide a can of soup across the scanner. It's dented at the edge and has an ugly yellow 'Half Off!' sticker falling off of the side.

Beep.

You work efficiently. Zoned out and scanning on autopilot, almost lulled into a trance by the robotic beeping of the other scanners around you. It's a scorching summer day and the AC is on full blast. Chilling you through your thin work uniform and sending your skin puckering with goosebumps.

Beep.

You scan the last item, a bag of whole grain bread and plaster a half-dead customer-service smile on your face.

"Thank you for shopping with us today, do you have a points account with us?" You ask. The man's face twitches with annoyance. He was probably bothered about signing up while he was shopping and you long to tell him that you hate it too, but you'll get into trouble if you don't ask.

"No." He replies, moving to start bagging up his groceries.

"Would you like to sign up for one? You can get forty-"

"I'm good, thanks." He interrupts you. The man bags his items and hurries off, leaving your till empty.

You sigh and lean against the counter. Resting your head on your hand. You feel exhausted. And not from the kind that can be fixed with a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep. (Not that you're getting that either.) It's the kind that seeps into your very bones and infects your blood like a disease. You can't believe you have at least fifty more years of this before you can retire. Muffled laughter to your right draws your attention and you glance over. Seeing two of your coworkers, Adrienna and Catalina, deep in conversation.

"I just can't believe he was actually a woman this entire time!" Adrianna says. Catalina nods eagerly.

"No, I know, I was shocked. Obviously, women can be evil and powerful or whatever, I just never thought about it much." Catalina replies.

"Are you guys talking about El Sin Nombre?" You ask, wanting to join in. "Did you know she was a part of the special forces for a while?" You look at the two women expectantly, but it seems they're too engrossed in each other to have heard you. Embarrassed, you awkwardly scratch your arm and glance around, wondering if anyone saw you getting ignored. 

Las Almas was being terrorized by a faceless individual going by El Sin Nombre. Essentially the boogeyman. Nobody knew what he looked like or who he was, but everyone knew of his cutthroat cruelty. He popped up overnight like a pimple right after the death of the previous reigning drug lord, La Araña and his son. El Sin Nombre was bigger and badder. Had more men, more fire power, more control over the government. You still remember the events that led to her getting caught.

Foreign military had rolled in like they owned the place. Making everyone uncomfortable, almost as much as violent armed men that used to patrol the streets did. In a matter of days chaos erupted and the little quiet town of Las Almas was sent into a state of emergency. Especially when one of the militia groups went rogue and started raiding homes and illegally interrogating and accusing citizens of being involved in the cartel. You remember how scared you felt when you locked yourself down in your little apartment. Having to listen to the angry shouting outside and gunfire.

All of that resulted in the infamous El Sin Nombre being apprehended and arrested. Her identity being revealed to the public days later as Valeria Garza, a former Mexican Special Forces officer. Previously dishonorably discharged for killing hostages in some mission years and years ago. You had seen her picture on the news. Of her being led into the maximum security prison on the outskirts of the city. Privately, you thought her to be a good looking woman. Short dark hair, tan skin, and a face matured by age. Severe dark brown eyes narrowed defiantly. She exuded confidence and power, even in her mugshot.

But that's the last time anything excited has happened in Las Almas. You sigh and flick a dust ball off your register. That, and the recent break up you went through. Though even that was hardly interesting. Just two people who decided they were no longer compatible anymore. But you still miss them. Life is so lonely, even when you're surrounded by other people.

Six hours feels more like six days. But finally, you get to clock out and go home. Enjoying a warm, safe walk back to your apartment. Once inside however, you're less eager. It's quiet and empty inside your home. The only thing waiting for you being a sink full of dishes and a frozen TV dinner in the freezer. You change into shorts and a t-shirt and chuck your uniform into a corner. You pause by the sink and ultimately decide that it can sit for a few more hours. You treat yourself to computer time instead.

Having no social life, you spend most of your time scouring the internet for entertainment and communities you could squeeze yourself into. But even people on the internet fall into exclusive cliques. Your posts go ignored and you're too shy to even try using discord. So you content yourself with lurking instead. Your guilty pleasure is Reddit. You like reading other people's stories and discussions. You can pretend you're the jury passing on judgement though you rarely ever engage past upvoting or downvoting.

While you're scrolling through various different posts, one catches your eye and you click on it to read more. It's someone talking about their prisoner pen pal. Sharing some funny excerpt from one of their letters. The seed of an idea starts forming in your mind. You do some cautious research and find that there's a whole community surrounding the art of writing incarcerated people. Curiously, you do some deeper digging. Finding official websites with inmate's profiles. It's encouraged for them to stay in contact with the outside world. Something to do with helping with rehabilitation or something.

You look up all the female prisoners located in Las Alms. Browsing through an official government website. A familiar picture stops you from your bored scrolling. Dark hair and dark eyes glower at you through your computer screen. Along with a list of her name and public info. Valeria Garza, inmate 9989, and a long, long laundry list of crimes. She's currently being held in a penitentiary. Excitement gathers in your gut. You could send her a letter. Then you frown. Can you send a letter to someone in maximum security prison? You quickly google it and feel relieved to find that you can.

You push your laptop to the side and grab a pen and paper. Giddily writing out an introduction for yourself and asking her about herself. You re-write the letter a few times, the corner of your living room slowly growing with crumpled paper balls. At last, an hour and a half later, you perfect your first letter. Carefully reading it over. Though you're not even that hopeful she'll read it, let alone respond to you, you still grimace at the thought of it reading as awkward. You envelope it, write down the details on the face of it and then set out to hand it over to the post office.

*                      *                  *

Weeks pass by without a response, and even though you knew the likelihood of receiving one was low, you still find yourself feeling disappointed. It's probably for the best anyway. You shouldn't be starting up a communication with an infamous drug lord anyhow. You go about your life with ebbing excitement. Carrying out your grocery store shifts with all the enthusiasm of a rock. Life continues as usual. Customers continue to be entitled and borderline incompetent, your coworkers continue to ignore your exitance when they aren't asking you to cover their shifts, and you remain friendless both online and in real life.

But when you check your mailbox and sift through the bills, a certain envelope catches your eye. It's not the formal the kind that comes with bills. It's a letter, you realize with growing excitement. And it came from the Las Almas Penitentiary. 

You hurry inside and slam the door behind you, throwing off your shoes with glee. You plop yourself down on your sofa and tear open the envelope, sliding out the letter inside. The scrawling handwriting is small and neat, but hard to read but it'll take a little more than illegibility to deter you.

'Hello. I was surprised to receive mail from a name I didn't recognize. I had assumed you were a journalist of some kind, but it was refreshing to learn that you are not. It's very sad that you're so desperate for human connection that you're resorting to writing letters to prisoners. I'll entertain you for now. There's not much else to do in here.

The food here is terrible, thank you for asking. I miss warm, home cooked meals. I miss fast food too. No, it's not scary in here. It would be for someone like you I expect. My reputation serves as a Sheild, though there are a few ballsy women who want the recognition that would come with killing me. They'll never be successful, of course. They do make us do work. I'm on janitorial duty. I have the very elating task of scrubbing toilets. With how filthy this place gets you'd think none of these women were ever potty trained. Most of them are just sick freaks who get off on making messes, I'm sure.

It's hard receiving news in here. Even with the contacts I do have. Anything interesting I'm missing out on in the outside world?'

The letter is fairly short, and a little cutting. Her snide comment about you being desperate, in particular. But you're too excited over actually getting a response. It's like being noticed by a celebrity. You re-read it, then grab a pen and paper and start working on your response. At first, you tell her how happy you are to have received a response, but then you realize that'll just earn you more mockery and snide remarks. So you scrap it and start over, trying to seem calmer and more collected. You express your sympathy for her food situation, and for her work situation. There's not much to tell her about the world. Because it hasn't really changed since she was arrested. You tell her as much, wondering if she'll feel relieved or disappointed by that fact.

You're in much brighter spirits after mailing off your letter. So much so that sometimes when you smile at customers and tell them to have a nice day, you actually mean it. Even staying late to cover Catalina's shift doesn't dampen your mood. You do inventory and clean and then walk home. Valeria's letter comes in two weeks later. In the same generic envelope, they give to all the prisoners. You curl up on the sofa and tear it open, a cup of warm tea beside you.

'Your sympathies are appreciated. It's a little disconcerting to hear that nothing has changed. It feels like all the work I did was pointless and I left no impact at all. I'm hoping that my presence is at least still felt on the streets of Las Almas. It would be terribly embarrassing for my efforts to have resulted in nothing changing. And so soon, too. I worked too hard to make Las Almas stronger.

Never mind that though. Aside from your desire to connect with anyone regardless of their quality as a person, I want to know why you chose me. You clearly know who I am and what I did. Are you a hybristophile? The more dangerous the better? You'll be sorely disappointed to find that I'm not receptive to that kind of thing. I have no intentions on entering a relationship. Especially not one borne from some odd fetish.

And to answer your question, yes people have sex in the showers. There's no such thing as shame in here. The water is also always cold. And shoes are a must or else you'll get a fungal infection in your feet. Showering is another thing I miss terribly. I haven't felt clean since I got here. You mentioned that you work at SunTown. How's that treating you? Do you plan on working there forever or do you have better plans for your life?'

You're offended that she thinks you're talking to her because you're weird. And you're hurt that she's brought up your job and the course of your life. As a matter of fact, you don't have any higher plans for your life. You've considered college many, many times but you can't think of anything you'd like enough to invest that time and money into. That being said, you don't want to work at SunTown Grocer for the rest of your life. But you suppose you shouldn't be shocked by her rudeness. Criminals aren't renowned for their manners.

You write her a response. Choosing to be a little abrasive yourself and subtly mocking her own predicament. You tell her you're a free bird going where the wind blows you. Code word for 'I have no direction in my life.' You also deny the hybristophile accusation. And call her presumptuous for assuming you were seeking a romantic relationship from her. You're bored and lonely, and conversing with a criminal kills two birds with one stone. You also have no intentions of trying to court her.

*                         *                       *

You and Valeria exchange letters back and forth over the course of four months. Slowly building an unexpected bond. Her snide comments become less hostile and more teasing, and in turn, you become more confident with your replies. You even open up to her about your life. Things deeper than just you not liking your job. You tell her about your ex, about your coworkers that you want to befriend but can't seem to no matter how hard you try. You also tell her how you're struggling with bills. Everything seems to be raising but your salary.

A week after you send your letter, a black duffel bag filled with five grand mysteriously shows up at your door. You almost choke at the sight of so much money. You know it has something to do with Valeria. and the thought makes you nervous. Her sending you money wasn't your intention when you told her about your financial struggles. You just wanted to vent. She never mentioned if she still had contact with her remaining free cartel cronies, but you suspect she does. This all but confirms it for you. Nothing else would explain the sudden appearance of money right after you complained about. What worries you is it potentially being dirty money. But shamefully, you don't turn it away. Valeria doesn't mention it in her reply letter, and you don't either.

What she does mention, is her desire to see who she's talking to. Something that makes you nervous. You're not sure if you want a drug lord knowing what you look like. But you started it by writing to her in the first place. And she has your address anyway. It really can't get worse than that. What's really making you nervous though, is what she'll think when she sees you. It would be so humiliating if she thought you were ugly and decided to stop talking to you. But you take a picture of yourself anyway. Dressing up casually but also nicely and using the best lighting and angles you can. You land on a nice picture of you by your living room window and print it out. Stuffing it into the envelope alongside your letter. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you walk down to the post office and hand it over.

The wait for her reply feels much longer than usual. There's a heavy fear inside of you that she won't respond at all. Getting ghosted by an inmate would probably be your last straw. But that doesn't happen. Her letter comes in two weeks later like always and you nervously read it.

'You look so much more normal than I was expecting. I'm actually kind of disappointed. I thought you'd be hideous from the way you describe yourself and how other people seem to treat you. 

Anyway, I've added your name to the visitors registry. As nice as it is looking forward to your biweekly letters, I'd like to speak to you face to face sometime. It would be nice not having to wait weeks for a reply to a simple question. It would be nice to receive a casual visit for once. Come Thursday at six, we can have a real conversation then.'

Her assessment of your looks should offend you. But somehow being called 'normal looking' by Valeria makes it sound like a compliment. You re-read the last part of her letter multiple times. Wondering if you're seeing things right. She wants to meet you. Well, she's decided that you will meet by the sounds of it. You could just not go, but you know you'll be there after work. 

Thursday comes fast and your shift goes by even faster. You're nervous and giddy to meet your pen pal in person. It occurs to you while you're stressing over your outfit that your feelings may have developed past curious. You don't want to dwell on that though. Choosing to ignore the idea completely. There's no future to be had with a convict who's going to spend the rest of her life behind bars.

The drive to the prison isn't too long. You're stopped at the gate and made to show your I.D. The man takes his sweet time to check if you're on the visitors list before finally letting you through. You find a place to park and walk inside, entering the lobby. There are a few people waiting in chairs. Some looking very down. You walk past them to the man at the front desk. He types away at the computer without acknowledging you. You stand there few a few awkward minutes, waiting for him to notice you but when he doesn't you clear your throat.

"Um, hi," You start. He looks at you with a bored expression. "I'm here to visit someone."

"Name?" He says. His voice is as inspired as he looks.

"Mine?" You ask uncertainly.

"Yes. And the prisoner you're here to see." He sighs.

"Oh." You tell him your name. "And I'm here to see Valeria Garza?" 

At her name, the man perks up, one thick brow raising. 

"... Okay. Go right through there. You'll be searched and then let through to the visitor's area." He tells you, pointing to a doorway to the right. You walk over and let an officer pat you down. you're nervous, like you accidently shoved all kinds of illegal things in your pockets on accident. But you're deemed safe and let through. 

The room looks like you'd expect it to. One long table stretching from one side of the room to the other. with glass separating the visitors from the prisoners. There are three other people visiting, talking through a phone connected to the table. At the very end, clad in a beige jumpsuit and staring right at you is Valeria. Not wanting her to see how nervous you are, you walk towards her and take a seat in front of her. She looks different in person. Her hair is longer, and she looks tired. But there's still an aura of defiance surrounding her. Her expression is cool and detached. She picks up her phone and you do the same.

"Hi." You say.

"Hello." She replies. She doesn't say more, just blinks at you calmly. You shift in your seat. Is that it? All that anxiety and excitement just for some polite greetings?

"You're better looking in person." She speaks. Your face warms at the compliment. Yeah, you're definitely not harboring just friendly feelings for her.

"Thank you. You look... well." You say. 

Valeria scoffs.

"As well as anyone in prison can look, I suppose. I'm certainly overdo for a haircut. I haven't had my hair touching my shoulders in years." She says.

"Oh. Well... it looks nice." You reply, smiling lightly. 

Valeria's lips twitch upwards. "I guess it does. How have you been? Still trying to befriend those girls?" She sniffs disdainfully.

"No. They don't want anything to do with me and I'm fine with that." You say. Though you're still kind of sad about it. It's probably not personal but it's hard not to take it that way.

"Good." Valeria shrugs. "They're just a waste of time. Better to surround yourself with good, intelligent friends then to befriend just anyone because they're convenient."

"Intelligent huh?" You say dryly. It sounds like Valeria's referring to herself. She seems almost pleased to be your only real friend.

Valeria leans back in her chair.

"And how have you been financially?" She looks at you closely.

You stare back. "I've been good. Got some help from someone." You reply vaguely. Aware of the guards behind you.

"Good." Valeria nods assuredly. She leans closer and when she speaks again, her voice is lowered conspiratorially. "I'll be getting out soon. I wanted to tell you in person." Your eyes widen.

"They're releasing you already?" You ask quietly. You thought she got life. She smiles knowingly.

"Something like that." She says. "I thought you'd want to know. Seeing as we're such good friends and all." She says it like it's a secret that only the two of you share.

You smile back at her but something twinges in your gut. She makes it sound so sinister. You have a sneaking suspicion that something big is about to happen.

"Oh. Yeah, that's great to hear." You finally respond. "We can actually hang out."

"Mhm." Valeria nods, looking pleased. "It's good to have friends you can count on. Someone unassuming who will have your back."

You shift, feeling unsure now. "Of course. That's what friends do for each other."

"Good. I'm glad you agree." She says calmly. "I'll be seeing you real soon, and there won't be a sheet of plexiglass between us then." 

Your time runs out and you stand. Looking at her through the glass. Something in her words tells you that's she's up to no good. And now you're somehow involved whether you want to or not. You just hope your feelings don't cloud your mind from doing the right thing.

[deeversuswords]

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki x Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥ AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥ TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.6k

a/n: Hi! Welcome to the start of my Go-Big-or-Go-Home project! After one year of toying with the idea, outlining, drafting, rewriting, and suffering, part 1 is finally leaving the box. All I'm gonna say is...this isn't a light read and the ride will be long and bumpy as hell, but I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did writing it (many tears were shed).

Enjoy!🧡

BREAKING: Truth Exposer returns! Is Nakamura Yui done for? In a shocking revelation, Truth Exposer shatters the carefully curated image of rising fashion designer Nakamura Yui. The vigilante accuses Nakamura of being behind the poor working conditions of her employees and using blackmail to silence them. It doesn’t stop there. The designs Nakamura claims as her own appear to belong to her manager. As always, the known vigilante backs the allegations with evidence, including a detailed report outlining Nakamura’s actions and possible motivations. The scandal continues to shake the fashion industry. Stay tuned for further developments.

“Remember the guy I’ve been seeing?” the woman in front of you asked her friend, staring at her phone screen.

Her friend gave her a smug look and giggled. “Your police officer boyfriend? Oh, I remember him. Are you finally official?”

The woman’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sort of. But that’s not important. He told me something interesting the other day. A rumor.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Dynamight is on Truth Exposer’s case. For two years now. Isn’t that strange?”

“Dynamight?” Her friend’s reaction was loud enough to draw attention, prompting the woman to hush her with a finger firmly pressed to her pink-stained lips. “Sorry. That’s just shocking. No way it’s true.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’d have caught that vigilante by now.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Don’t be so sure. My, uh, somewhat boyfriend said his superiors are growing restless because…” She looked around as if she was about to impart the secret of the universe. “There’s no evidence, it seems. Almost as if…”

“Truth Exposer doesn’t exist?” her friend offered.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her expression shifting to one of concern.

You stifled a yawn as your attention drifted from the chatty women to the rest of the ice cream parlor and rolled your shoulders. The ridiculously long queue was killing you with boredom. What were you thinking? Coming here on a Saturday evening in the middle of freaking July. Summer was in full swing, and the chase for its sweet treats manic. Unbelievable how you’d ignored that simple fact and acted on your cravings, gleefully skipping past every single convenience store and making a beeline through half the city to reach your current location.

Your clothes stuck to your sweaty skin, making your eye twitch in irritation and sheer disgust, but that was what you deserved when you stubbornly refused to satisfy the cravings with simple ice cream. Picky tongue demanded artisanal. Rich, intense, creamy flavors.

Among the locals, the location was popular, open during the summer months, and closed for the rest. Each year brought a new theme, and this time around revolved around tropical islands. The seashell pillars from last year were replaced with artificial palm trees, their long, wide green leaves holding the baby blue shaded ceiling with splotches of white cotton. The intention was for the fluff to resemble the peaceful clouds of a sunny sky, but to you, it looked like something met its tragic end.

And then there was the floor, beloved by many, hated by you—sand. Actual sand. Points for the clever idea of upping the authenticity, but that was where your generosity ended. Minuscule pebbles invaded your shoes the second you walked in, and the constant sensation of something poking into your feet every time you stepped drove you mad. The beach was where it belonged, next to the ocean, not in your ice cream parlor.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other and carried your visual exploration to the ice cream display. Fruity aromas escaped into the cool air, scenting the atmosphere with their sweet perfume. Delightful. If only your sense of smell was as average as everyone else’s. Your nose suffered from the notes of sweat, cheap cologne, and heated synthetic materials.

“What are you getting?” the woman from before asked her friend.

“One Tsukuyomi cup and one Pinky,” her friend responded, pointing at the mentioned pro heroes who were part of the lineup of themed ice cream flavors.

The woman’s expression turned judgmental. “Blackberries and bubblegum?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Your gaze landed on the two options when vibrant orange with black swirls tugged at your attention, and you could almost feel the arrogance of who was represented radiating off it. Your whole face scrunched up, because your silly stomach fluttered in anticipation of something you wouldn’t buy, even if the man himself paid you for it.

When it was finally your turn, the most pleasant smile slapped itself on your face as you pointed to the display, saying, “I’ll have everything you’ve got left of Dynamight’s ice cream.”

Everything stilled into awkward silence as the cashier blinked at you from behind the counter, his face flushing a faint shade of red. You blinked back, and smiled wider, confused about the reaction. What the hell was going on? Weren’t you clear in your wording? You said you wanted Dynamight’s ice cream.

Dynamight’s…ice…cream—

Shit.

“I mean, I’ll have everything you’ve got left of the Dynamight-themed ice cream,” you tried again, pretending your earlier request hadn’t sounded like you’d just asked for a different kind of ice cream. Although, if that was the color of his in-pants equipment, you'd probably book him an appointment with a doctor instead.

Defeated groans and whines saved you from the awkwardness, and you stole a glance at the group wanting a sweet piece of him as your fingers tapped to a random cheery rhythm on your thigh. Closing time was approaching fast, so restocking wouldn’t happen. You were terrible for robbing them of their dream, but pissing him off held much more appeal. So, so terrible.

“The ice cream comes with themed containers too?” you asked the cashier upon seeing your purchase stuffed into a container with the key pieces of his hero suit drawn on it.

“Yes,” the cashier responded, smiling back at you. “This year is special. The pro heroes themselves reviewed the products, and had the chance to participate in the process if they wanted.”

“Oh.”

Something told you Bakugou went all in. Put on the apron and the chef hat and the gloves, and dove hands first in the fresh ingredients. Checking the quality, tasting, and mixing, and probably swearing when things didn’t go his way. Images of him in a domestic role popped like inflated balloons in your head and sprinkled the authenticity of the situation over your synapses. Nothing about it was far-fetched, he was a married man and a father too.

Even though he kept his private life private, his wife had no problem sharing about it and praising him to the moon and stars for everything, including his incredible cooking abilities. Her husband this, her husband that. Your eyes rolled every single time you had the displeasure of hearing her. It was painfully obvious Bakugou didn’t appreciate her sentiment, but what was new?

So-called picture perfect couple, though not once did he publicly display a hint of affection. Not even one brief look full of love in her direction. You recognized fed up when you saw it, and he was already beyond that state.

Besides, he wouldn’t—

“Here you go, Miss.” The cashier interrupted the forbidden thought coming through. Forbidden for its smugness.

You paid for the ice cream and picked up the special bag it was packed in, designed to prevent the sweet treat from turning into melted mush. Then left the parlor, in denial about how satisfied you were with the purchase.

The street noise and its buzzing activity immediately assaulted your heightened senses, something you’d learned to appreciate in the past few years as it made the world much more interesting. Vivid colors, nuanced sounds, layered scents, pleasant textures, hidden tastes. Life was easier when you could sense the reminders of its worth in your experiences, just not in this moment. Your mind remained anchored to his existence and the dimming of the fire in his eyes with each passing month.

His last appearance, which wasn’t work-related but was clearly another PR move orchestrated by his wife, left you rather morbidly curious about the behind-the-scenes. It was a charity event, supposedly raising funds for research into the evolution of quirks, yet he looked like someone had blackmailed him into being there. You expected him to be interested, especially since his two-year-old daughter was slowly approaching the age where her quirk might manifest, but no—Bakugou’s expression remained frozen in a subtle scowl, his gaze vacant.

Trouble in paradise, maybe?

You scoffed. Who cared? Not you. It was none of your business.

The game was just that—a game. Disconnected from reality, impersonal.

Personal was finding a nice, quiet spot under the starry sky, preferably out of sight, where you could sit and satisfy your craving for something sweet and cold. That was what you needed, not putting Bakugou’s life under a microscope and critically examining it like a specimen.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Not as two people living in the same world, under the same sky, breathing the same air, anyway.

Quickening your pace, you navigated the crowd, grimacing whenever some sweaty stranger brushed against you, and stopped at the crossroad, squeezing your way into the front row. As the green light ushering the cars by illuminated the moving traffic and the rancid smoke rising from the exhaust, you debated between going left or right once you crossed. The decision was quickly made upon spotting the small park tucked between the buildings lining the two side streets flanking it.

No bench was occupied, marking it the perfect spot for your little adventure.

Red turned to green for pedestrians, forcing the traffic to halt, and you followed the flow of the crowd when the back of your neck pricked with alert. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles, adrenaline kicking up a notch in your veins. The urge to swivel around and inspect burned at the edges of your instinct, but you resisted.

If you were indeed being watched, or worse, followed, the dumbest thing would be to let them know you knew.

You strode forward, pretending nothing was wrong. As if the inside of your skull wasn’t ringing like a cathedral from the brutal reverberations of alarm bells rising in volume, with the biggest Run. Run. Run! sign on its altar, bathed in divine light.

What more signs did you—

An arm seized your waist and yanked you into a hard body.

“Keep walkin’,” a deep voice spoke, and the blood drained from your head.

Impossible. This wasn’t happening.

Panic exploded in your chest, and your fight-or-flight instinct roared to life. Your unoccupied hand clenched into a fist and struck with every ounce of your strength into his gut. A low grunt followed your retaliation, drawing the attention of the crowd. You didn’t stick around for more.

You ripped yourself from his hold and burst into a sprint that would put him to shame, mentally cursing your luck. Or maybe it was fucking karma for buying that stupid ice cream. Speaking of, you hurled the bag in a random direction. Someone screamed as it flew through the air before hitting the pavement with a thud.

No indulging today—only running for your life to escape the hound currently hot on your heels.

Free of the dead weight, you skidded around the corner onto the side street, gritting your teeth as you sprinted faster. Your shoes pounded the ground, nearly drowning out the sound of his footsteps, which were closer than expected. You risked a glance over your shoulder and locked eyes in a brief, yet overbearingly intense connection with the red gaze fixated on you. Oh, joy. Your heart jumped into the first rocket and shot for the moon overhead.

Think. Think. Think.

“Screw this.”

In a moment of absolute recklessness, you bolted into the sparse traffic just as a car approached. Honks blared. Tires screeched. Death’s chilly claws scraped down your sweaty back. You hopped onto the hood of a car and slid over the heated metal to the other side, safely.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?!” His rage ripped through the humid air, bringing it to a paralyzing boil with a boom so loud you felt the shockwave shove you forward.

And then you were hauled off your feet and slammed face-first into the tall shrubbery fencing the park you’d wanted to enjoy that evil ice cream in. Heavy panting consumed your hearing as steely arms banded around your body, locking your arms in place, their muscles made of something that couldn’t be human. Rigid with power and strength.

“Goddamn it, woman. You’re a handful,” he panted in your ear, the rough rasp of his voice sending a very, very inappropriate shiver down the length of your body pressed against his front.

“Explains why your hands are so full,” you quipped, sarcasm the sin you shouldn’t have committed with the man who ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His coiled arms constricted around your ribs, expelling a gasp from your lungs amidst the heaving breaths. “I didn’t peg you for a ribs-breaker, Dynamight,” you spat his hero name.

“You’re a slippery one, so gotta hold on tight, Truth Exposer.” He spat yours in return.

Laughter wheezed out of your mouth. “Who? Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“That the card you wanna play?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. C’mon. We ain’t havin’ that talk here.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere with you.” You jerked in his harsh embrace, and squirmed like a worm on a hook, trying to escape the gaping maw of a hungry fish, growling, “Let me go. You can’t just randomly restrain someone. It’s power abuse, assho—hero!”

Despite your continuous protest he clearly didn’t give a fuck about, Bakugou dragged you away from the street, struggling and kicking, into the dead-end alleyway behind the park. He shoved you toward the wall, next to a dumpster buzzing with flies, and you managed to catch yourself in time before your face made contact with the filthy concrete.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you dry-heaved a few times from the rotting smell of garbage, having been under the scorching sun for more than a day. Whatever the hell was in there had been triple-cooked and extra ripened.

“Can punch, but can’t handle a little bit of stink?” he mocked, and you whirled on him, glaring fiercely.

“If I puke, I’m puking on you. How’s that for a little bit of stink?”

One side of his mouth quirked into a cocky grin that had your earlier panic morph into an irrational urge to wipe it off his face. Your hands clenched into trembling fists, nails biting into your palms.

“Don’t. You had your shot,” he said, his arms crossing over his chest, muscles flexing with the motion. “Be smart. Accept that you can’t win and let’s have a nice little chit-chat, yeah?”

Your brows lifted as you leveled him with a hard stare. Sweat slid down his temple, some dripped from that high bridge of his nose and onto his parted lips, and it was those beads you followed the descent of. They gathered on his chin and dripped on his veiny forearms before splattering on the ground at its feet.

Of course, the bastard was dressed to show off, even when he was out hunting... for you. Tank top and shorts so randoms could drool over his biceps and strong legs? Check. Custom-made cap to hide his identity? Check. Latest trendy sneakers? Check. You’d bet half your fortune his underwear was expensive too, probably tight over his ass and...

No.

No, no.

No, no, no.

Still, against better judgment, your eyes lingered on the cut of his body, taking note of everything that mattered. Bakugou could snap you like a twig if he wanted to. So could you—mentally, at least. One touch, poisoned with ill intent, and he’d drop like a felled tree. Brain stunned. Nerves fried. Unable to scream for help, or beg for death.

If only you could muster that intent toward him.

Gaze bouncing back up to his, you felt your composure stumble. His own roved over you, slow and deliberate, like a teasing touch. As if memorizing you was the sole reason he existed. Your heart skipped, tiny kicks against your ribs. Traitorous little bitch. Your senses too; they completely zeroed in on him.

Steps away, yet his cologne suddenly overpowered the putrid stench around you. Spiced heat, tangled in notes of something that was naturally him. He smelled…good. Good enough to cloud your judgment and weaken your knees.

Would he taste the same?

No. Stop. Your moral compass shuddered. He was your ticket to confinement. And a married man.

“Chit-chat about what?” You aimed for a steady voice; what came out was breathy.

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re Truth Exposer. The biggest pain in my ass for the last two years.”

Bakugou stalked forward. You stepped back. Forward. Back. Again and again, until the ridged concrete wall halted your retreat. Distance didn’t seem to exist in his mind where you were concerned.

Shouldn’t he be more cautious? He barely knew anything about you, let alone the extent of your quirk. Officially, it heightened your five senses to an overstimulating, terrifying degree—all of them, or whichever you chose. You never bothered to update the information at the Quirk Registry and had no intention of doing so.

“So you say. Proof?” You flicked your gaze to the alley opening, tracking the occasional passing car while listening for sirens. Nothing. A slow smile played on your lips. “No police?”

“Nah. Can drag your stupid ass to ‘em myself.”

“Then why aren’t you?” You snapped your fingers near his face, taunting. “Ah, right. Because there’s a difference between thinking someone did something bad and suspecting them based on proof. You, Dynamight, have a little problem with the second, don’t you?”

His palm slammed above your head as he leaned in, warm breath tickling your lips. “Backhanded admission?” He scoffed. “Cocky little shit. Think you’re gettin’ out of this?”

“Unless you can back up your assumptions, yeah.” You stepped closer, erasing the last bit of space between you, your voice fading to a whisper. "Breaking news: Pro Hero Dynamight detains a civilian on baseless suspicions. Has dropping four rankings finally pushed him to cross the line in hopes of climbing back up?”

Low, rumbly chuckles spilled from his lips and onto yours. You blinked, taken aback by the pleasant sound and his open amusement, barely registering his fingers grasping your jaw. “Like I give a shit about my ranking when I found you. Now all I gotta do is follow your scent and wait for you to slip. Once you do that, I’ll be right there punishin’ you for it. Wanna guess who’ll shoot up in the rankings after?”

You stared at him for another beat before you jerked your head away, grimacing. “Following my scent? What are you, a dog?”

“Worse.”

“A stalker, then?”

Bakugou never got the chance to respond. His phone rang, blasting the most obnoxious sound in existence. Clicking his tongue, he fished it out of his shorts, gaze locked on yours, daring you to move. He snapped at the caller.

“This better be important. I’m busy.”

Being this close made you into an involuntary participant in the conversation. Bless your hearing, or curse it.

“You need to come home. It’s about your wife. And Yua,” the woman on the other end urged. His mother?

He instantly straightened. “Is my kid okay?”

“She’s fine, but come home.” Her voice sounded exhausted.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, and your expression shifted into surprise. Shouldn’t he be running already?

“I caught her with another guy. What do you think, Katsuki? Can it wait?” Her tone suddenly whipped at the air through the speaker.

Another guy? Your mouth dropped open. His wife cheated on him? That wasn’t something you ever expected to hear.

“On my way.” He ended the call, pocketing his phone, and the weirdest thing happened.

When someone learned of their partner’s betrayal, there’d be hurt, anger, disgust; neither was present anywhere on him. Bakugou was either an expert at hiding his emotions, or something else was going on.

“Have fun sleepin’ with one eye open.”

He flicked your forehead, then jogged out of the alley, leaving you gawking at his retreating form, hand smacked over the stinging spot.

What the hell? And was that excitement you noticed in his eyes for a second before they left yours?

Ridiculous. In what world would he be excited about—

Your breath hitched. Was Bakugou waiting for something like this? For a reason to…end his marriage? Why?

Curiosity wrapped dangerously around your racing heart, and you shook your head. “Not my business.” It wasn’t. What he did, with whom, where, how. His life, in general, was not your business. “Move on. Pretend none of this happened. You didn’t hear. You didn’t see. You didn’t feel.”

Silence descended over the dead-end alley like a heavy mantle, fabric made out of secrets and denied truths. Each gone moment was more oppressive than the last. Your defenses asphyxiated under the pressure. Cracked. Loosened your self-control.

Weakness clawed to the surface.

You slapped your cheeks lightly a few times. You needed to remember why you had to stay far, far away from him. Somehow, he found you, putting your freedom at risk.

Your options took priority, your life, not his. Never…his.

The reason you spaced out, staring at the alley’s entrance, at the spot you’d last seen him, wasn’t the foreboding feeling creeping inside you; it was the unknown of your next move.

[cursedwretch]

What Lurks Beneath - Chapter 4

Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 7343 Words (oops); Rating 18+ MDNI

AO3 | Prev

CW: Some minor spice ahead! Pubic displays of affection, mentions of female anatomy, a smidge of soft dom!Viktor

I despise short-notice meetups. It’s my mantra as I fiddle with the buttons of my blouse, dread curling in my stomach while I change from my standard uniform into an outfit more bar appropriate. Shucking on my coat, I jog downstairs and out my door. I curl in on myself immediately, drawing my coat tight against the chilled air currently snaking its way down my spine. I would bail entirely there wasn’t the sole, simple reason I agreed to go in the first place:

Some monster inside me has grown used to Viktor’s sporadic presence in my life, and I find myself eager for the easy way out of this... void. I really should apologize. And I have tried. I just happen to chicken out. Repeatedly. Which is exactly how I found myself invited to this event in the first place earlier today.

I stand, hovering down the hall from the Hextech labs, trying to will my stubborn feet to move forward. Eyes affixed to the door. It’s Nathan greeting me that breaks the paralytic making its way through my bones.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Nathan’s voice is leading, full of a promise I opt to ignore in favor of his next words, “Jayce will be there, Alisa—“

He rattles off more names, though I’ve stopped listening. I let him go on, watching the door at the end of the hall. It cracks open.

“Sure,” I interrupt.

His eyebrows fly up, “really? Great. I’ll pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there,” my answering smile is tight-lipped. I hope the subtext is clear enough. He nods, opening his mouth to speak.

“Great, see you!” I turn on my heels, straining to maintain a dignified pace despite every muscle in my body wanting to bolt. Right then, right there.

It’s not a matter of pride. Honestly.

I just don’t want to face that again—that palpable disappointment. It makes my chest ache, a hollow and rotten sink worming its way through my heart. A tad overdramatic? Fine. Yes.

It had only been a few days. Still, Viktor strikes me as the kind of man with walls so high, any perceived slight would result in another being rebuilt and reinforced. Brick after brick until the only option left is to take a bulldozer to his heart just to get back to where you started.

Either way.

I truly, truly hate last minute events.

The bar itself is chock full, with a long, mostly empty table sitting towards the back. A touch out of place, considering the standing-room-only atmosphere throughout. I cringe as I make my way there.

Viktor is the first I spot—seated with his back to the entrance beside Jayce and a woman I distinctly recall being his date at the gala a short while ago. Jealously rears its ugly head, burning and wriggling a hole through my heart. I smile weakly at them as I follow Nathan, taking a seat toward the center, my back to the wall.

The rest of the party grows steadily as people filter in. Filled with strangers, and a few familiar faces peppered between. Sky, who shared a few of my ecology classes during my time as a student. A few colleagues from my department. Pupils of Heimerdinger’s.

I sip at my drink, watching the liquid swirl inside the glass as I listen to the conversations surrounding me. Content with eavesdropping, I stay quiet. Viktor does the same, though I avoid looking his way at all costs.

To my dismay, I can’t stay a voyeur forever.

“I hear you’re researching a restoration project? In the trenches?” It’s Nathan who asks, finally turning my way.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat as I correct, “yes, in the Undercity.”

There’s a scoff at the other end of the table, though I don’t catch who it’s from as I take a deep swig from my drink. I can feel Viktor’s eyes on me, boring little holes along my skin. I don’t dare look over.

“Interesting,” Nathan leans in, “all hypothetical then?”

“Good luck cleaning up after the sump trash,” the same person mumbled from down the table. This time, I’m able to pick him out as he stares my way with a cruel grin. The man has a shock of white hair, and is quite over adorned, even for Piltover. Gold stacks of jewelry hang off of his fingers, long nails tipped in the very same. Not someone who works with his hands then. His eyes hold a challenging glint.

I take it, narrowing my own. I distantly recognize him as one of the sons of a merchant house, though I can’t recall the name. Relatively unimportant, then. And clearly not involved with the academy. Someone’s plus one.

Likely Nathan’s, judging by the familiar look he gives him: eyebrows raised, lips tight, a silent broadcast of ‘shut up’ across the table.

“No,” I cast one last cold glare in the direction before returning to Nathan, “I plan on following through.”

I give in, daring a glance towards the other end of the table. Jayce is bouncing between Viktor and I—expression oozing with concern. He sends a curt nod my way before he places a touch to Viktor’s arm, touch lingering there as he stands. Viktor swallows. He scratches his fork against the small plate before him.

“You won’t get funding,” comes another voice: Nysa Virellian. A former classmate of mine. Her words are measured and sure, naturally. Her family, owners and operators of a prominent trading fleet, have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.

“I may. With the right angle,” I shrug.

Jayce heads to the other end of the long table, hand clapping down on the man from earlier’s shoulder. He speaks in low, hushed voice. I can tell by the receiver’s gulp, face flaring bright red, that it isn’t pleasant. With a harsh pat to their back he’s standing, coolly returning to his seat.

Emboldened, I continue, “it affects us too, you know.”

Another scoff.

I arch my brow, pointing to the picked over pastries scattering the table. “We use fish for fertilizer, you know. Degrading habitat mean less fish. Less fish, less wheat. Less cakes to stuff your face with.”

The table grows quiet. Admittedly, I’m being a bit preachy. But my fuse is short, and I don’t particularly feel like putting up with being picked over by near-strangers tonight like a carcass slaughtered for their entertainment alone.

“Not exactly a compelling argument. The are other sources for both wheat and fertilizer—we are a trade hub, after all,” Nysa brushes me off.

I sigh, deep and ragged.

Nathan pats my hand above the table as he speaks, “keep at it, you’re just getting back into the swing of things.”

Patronizing bastard.

Rage, white hot simmers up my throat, threatening to bubble out. It’d be too easy to turn that acid his way, he’d make such a large target for a few choice words. Too insecure, too advantageous. I swallow. I pull my hand away instead, placating him with a tight smile.

Leave it, my heart chants. And so, I do, taking the awkward lull as an opportunity to drain the dredges from my glass.

There’s that warmth again.

I glance up to find Viktor staring my way, eyes burning into mine with an otherwise blank face. I shift, holding his gaze, as the conversation picks up around us. Thankfully, they shift away to lighter topics. One thing is certain: no one in Piltover wants to talk about the Undercity for long. Jayce’s voice cuts our spell, sending us scattering to find fresh focuses as he previews the progress they’ve made with their research.

I wait. Until enough time passes to not be horribly obvious, I take the first opportunity available to slip away, eager to rid my lungs of the stagnant, perfumed air of the bar.

The alley provides just that. Cool, crisp. Dim but warmly lit, incandescent lights providing a warm glow throughout.

Clean.

So, shocking clean.

I’ve never noticed how clean our alleys were prior to my trips with Viktor. Until I saw how easy it is for a city to slip into disrepair and filth when the lack the basic resources for survival. Who sweeps a damned alley when survival means clawing your way through earth itself. Hopeful to find a something of worth for us up above. My stomach turns at the thought, signing. There are many things I haven’t noticed, it seems.

I close my eyes, arms wrapping my coat tighter to my skin. I’m debating leaving entirely as the door behind me cracks open. Footsteps let me know another has joined me.

I feel, more than see, Viktor step into my periphery.

“I have been meaning to talk to you,” he starts.

I swallow, sighing as I look to where the alley meets the street, away from him, “I don’t have the heart for any more debates tonight, Viktor.”

“Mh? No, no. That is not my intention.”

I turn towards him, taking him in.

His arms are crossed, expression guarded. Walls up. I note his cane—rested gently against the brick wall. Still feeling uncharacteristically stubborn, I wait. Let him be the first to speak.

“You were right,” he acquiesces. His mouth pulls into a little grimace that lets me know exactly how rarely he says those words. He continues, “I have no right to dictate where you can go.”

I blink. My own words escape me in an easy exhale, “at least we’re guilty of the same sin.”

His eyes crease, warm.

“For what it’s worth,” I frown, “I’m sorry, too, Viktor.”

His gaze falls away, fixating on something over my shoulder in the distance. I wonder if that was the wrong thing to say as he worries at his lip with his teeth.

“It is,” his voice is gentle as he trails off to find the right word, “unpleasant to be underestimated.”

He casts a glance back towards the bar door. My reply comes out in a hum, nothing more to add. He’s right. Uncomfortable doesn’t cover the half of how it feels. As I let the last of my guilt fester under my skin, he half-shuffles in place.

Another cold wind brushes past my neck, bringing a tantalizing, tempting little thought to the forefront of my mind. The drink giving me just enough confidence to follow through. “Speaking of research,” I smirk despite myself, “I’m heading back to the academy. Want to hear the latest?”

He nods, eyes positively alight. “Yes, although, perhaps, I was hoping—would you like to see our prototype?”

“Viktor, of course,” I laugh.

 ***

I catch him up on my research on the walk over, fighting back the utterly childish urge to go giddy at the way he listens. Eyes wide, fervently nodding at each development. When we finally reach the lab, Viktor fishes out a key, a soft smile as he holds the door open.

Stepping through, I let myself take it all in. For once. I’ve been here before, many times, though usually only ever on quick drop-ins between meetings. I’ve never bothered to look at the details.

It’s cleaner than one would expect, a long workbench lining the wall perpendicular to the door. Well, at least left side was utterly spotless. The other had books and notes and boxes scattered atop the workbench. Not messy, just lived-in. At the center of the room held a device—near identical to the prototype showcased the year prior at the Distinguished Innovators Competition. This one, however, appears to be slightly larger, now holding slots for multiple crystals in the chamber.

“This is terrible for your eyes, Viktor,” I tease. It was dark this time of night, only a little a light filtering through the central window.

He laughs, “I believe I can survive a little dark.”

He walks towards the device, elegant fingers plucking two of the crystals out of the slot, leaving just one. They’re placed gingerly in a box atop the table.

“We have successfully localized the effects,” he explains as I join him, standing at his side, “and can, effectively, control the velocity and distance of transportation.”

He turns down one of the nobs with one hand, fiddling with a sequence of runes with the other. I lean in, watching carefully. He moves with a practiced ease. Turning towards me, he asks, “Ready?”

I let out a soft yes, and watch as the device sparks to life, pulling the very breath from my lungs.

Viktor watches with a cheeky grin. He plucks a screw from his pocket, tapping it through the air. There’s a shock of blue light, and it lands on the floor three feet ahead with a rattling clink.

“How does it work?” I step forward, rounding the device to see it from the side.

“Theoretically, the runes open a path as the very fabric of existence folds in. Letting the object slip through,” he turns the nob up a hair and I find myself feeling a little lighter. He sends another screw through, this one landing against the door with a plink.

“Wow.”

He beams, turning the machine off with a shrug. The picture of faux nonchalance. His eyes scan the blackboard across the room as he speaks, “there is still much to figure out—augmenting payloads, for example...”

I watch as he trails off, a kernel of a thought sparking behind his eyes. He staggers forward to the blackboard, scribbling corrections to the long equation across it. I follow, pulling up a chair to watch as he works.

Moments stretch into minutes and, brilliance aside, playing the voyeur to the genius can only stay entertaining for so long. As my eyes rake across his form shamelessly, my thoughts turn from vague investment to something far more interesting. The slope of his shoulders—all lean muscle with a vague indication of an angular blade, sharp and pleasing peeking from beneath his shirt. I imagine how it would feel beneath my fingertips. Better still, my lips.

I cough, sputtering. Thankfully, my reeling goes unnoticed as he mulls his problem, tapping the chalk against his mouth, a white mark left in its wake just beside his mole. Hesitant to leave, I curl up, pulling out my own notebook to work. Greedy.

We stay like this for quite some time. It’s comforting. The room silent save for the occasional hum, the rare rustle of the other shifting, both lost in thought. It isn’t until my eyelids start drooping that I decide to take my leave.

“Vik,” I yawn, “I’m going to head out.”

He comes back to his body with a hushed ah, standing a little straighter as he turns back my way. His cheeks flush. “My apologies,” he clears his throat, “I have a bad habit of losing myself.”

I shake my head, smiling as I crack the door open. “No need. It was nice, Viktor.”

As I step out he calls my name, eyes warm as he watches me go with a gentle, “goodnight.”

It becomes a ritual of ours over the next few weeks. Not every night, but most. At first, he comes to collect me, dropping by my lab after the academy halls have grown quiet.

“At the very least, come work where there is a little comfort,” he urges.

He does have a couch. One that I’m positive Jayce insisted they procure after one too many late nights spent in the lab. I don’t point out the irony. Instead, I follow.

Most nights, I find my way there on my own as the sun sets. With my journals and materials in tow, I curl up, making a little home atop that very couch.

Tonight, he sits in front of the window, the warm glow of the sun highlighting the edges of his hair, liquid gold streaming into the room. His fingers twirl at the hair behind his ear, long legs elegantly crossed—an ankle atop his braced knee.

The echo of his partner fill the room in errant scraps of paper and discarded coffee mugs, though our paths seldom cross.

“Doesn’t Jayce ever work late?” I ask.

“Eh, Jayce is usually quite good at keeping a healthy schedule.” There’s no hint of judgment or resentment there. Only a quiet understanding and that ever-present undercurrent of admiration.

My pen taps against the page.

“Did you two ever..?” I start, wincing as the words exit my mouth.

Viktor straightens a little, turning to look at me. “Date? Yes,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t work out?”

“Eh, that depends entirely on how you define ‘working out,’” he shrugs, shifting his notebook to his lap to write as we speak.

I blink at him from across the room, completely at a loss for what to say.

He continues, “eh, it was short lived. When we first started working together. We quickly discovered we wanted different things and our research was too important to risk.”

I hum, skeptical, “that’s rather rational.”

He looks up at me, eyes guarded as he speaks, “he is my partner, our relationship is not something I’d jeopardize willingly.”

Noted. It’s a fair statement but one laced with a hint of warning. I’m not sure of what, exactly.

I cross my legs, head tilting as I continue to poke the proverbial bee’s nest, “no friends with benefits, then?”

Viktor scoffs, smirking as he returns to his notes, “no, Jayce cannot handle something like that. Cleaner to stay partners.”

“And you can?” My brow arches, “handle it, I mean.”

“Yes,” he says, voice smooth and confident, not even bothering to up from the page. So he had then. Maybe does still? As if clairvoyant, his pen pauses against the page as the cogs whir in his mind, clarifying, “not that I have for quite some time.”

I chew on my lip. Interesting.

***

Our steady ritual proves to be the most productive I’ve been in my life to date. Something about the quiet warmth of another while I work, freeing my mind of that constant need to be present, on guard. Safety. I wonder if Viktor feels the same.

Still, it can only do so much. I hit a wall with my research. Humming, I tap my pen against my notes. It’s the third night I find myself stuck on this problem: Tetrachromis fluviatilis, more commonly known as Shimmercale. A clear keystone in the Pilt with a population on a steady decline. Despite more than enough food to eat. No disease present. No reason to poach them. They simply... vanish.

There’s little impact my work can have without understanding the cause.

My eyes float up to Viktor, who is hunched over the workbench once more. A half-constructed model plane lays on the table. One arm curls around his chest, fingers prodding at his shoulder as he rotates it in the socket.

A quiet wince has me standing up, walking over.

I press my hand to the nape of his neck, warm beneath my fingertips. He stills, looking up at me.

“Shh,” I coo, turning his head to face forward, as I replace the hand at his shoulder with my own.

“What are— ah,” he lets out a soft noise as my thumbs connect with his shoulder, smoothing out the knots in his muscle with a light touch. His sigh is stilted.

“This ok?” I breathe.

He nods, his voice tight, “Yes.”

I continue, pressing a little deeper, drinking in every little response. Once-taught muscles relax, turning him into putty in my hands. His neck hangs forward, giving me better access, as his breathing picks up.

I can feel the faint vibration of the hushed, rumbling groan that slips from his lips.

We both still. Just for a moment.

I let out a satisfied hum, and leans back, head tilting up until the back of his head rests against my stomach. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded as he watches me. I press my thumb into the space where his neck and shoulder meet, and his breath hitches, arching towards my touch. Another ragged gasp is tears from his throat as I repeat the motion, my other hand dipping forward, tracing the hint of collarbone poking out from beneath his shirt. With a hungry gaze, I watch his lips. Softly parted, panting. Like a man starved, desperate for air.

Oxygen.

My hands still.

He blinks, eyebrows pinch together.

“Air,” I hiss, letting him go.

His whine is downright pained as he watches me rush to grab my notebook, bringing it over to the bench. I scramble into the chair beside him, rambling. “They’re dying out. I haven’t been able to figure out why but—it’s oxygen, Viktor.”

The confusion melts away as I speak, eyes lighting up. He leans in, his hand coming to rest along the back of my chair as he reads over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of him enveloping me. It feels right. I rifle through the pages, pausing to tap at the diagram I was searching for.

“They host a type of plankton in their gills. They convert the ammonia in the waters into air, but,” I flip through the pages of my notebook, “see, here. They thrive off of these minerals—which are in excess thanks to all the runoff. The population density rises, as does the byproducts. They’re getting oxygen poisoning.”

He blinks, worrying at his lip, “and reducing runoff would fix this?”

I nod, fervently. “Yes, although that’s rather unlikely. However, there are ways to mitigate it.”

I continue scribbling notes, feeling him watch with keen interest. The time stretches on until, eventually, his head bobs forward. Forehead hitting my shoulder and snapping up again. I turn to see him blinking away the exhaustion. As if watching me write was worth it.

 I smile, “c‘mon, get up.”

He looks up at me blearily, but follows my guidance without a word, letting my lead him with a hand against his back until he’s slumping down onto the couch. His legs stretch out with an automatic yawn before tensing—face pulling into a grimace as his eyes flutter closed. I run my fingers through his hair once, watching the tension melt from his face. Greedy.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, pulling the spare blanket draped across the back of the couch over him.

***

We don’t see each other over the next few days, both buckling down on our own preparations for the symposium. It isn’t discussed. But, the tacit, unspoken understanding is there nonetheless.

On the first night of the weeklong affair, the hallways of the main building of the academy are stuffed to the brim with scholars and scientists. Posters line the edges of the halls—graphs and images, findings from just about any study one could imagine. I fight my way through the thick crowd, keen on nabbing a spot in the back of the auditorium where Jayce and Viktor are scheduled to speak.

Eventually, I succeed. Watching with bated breath as the lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated. The crowd quiets to a dim murmur as Jayce takes the stage. It’s busier than I anticipated, the rare socialite and politician seated amongst the throngs of scientists.

They certainly brought a crowd.

Predictably, Jayce does the speaking. In fact, I can’t see Viktor at all on the stage. I frown. Eyes scanning the wings for him as Jayce recites the words Viktor had written on previous nights. There are a few modifications here and there but, predominantly, untouched. Save for one part:

Jayce’s voice booms out over the crowd, confident and steady as his walks to the prototype, his speech drawing to a close. He gives an easy smile as he says, “I present the next step in Hextech’s future.”

With a press of the button, the crowd hushes to complete  silence as the air in the center of the stage electrifies. A blue glow fills the auditorium. From the podium, Jayce collects a familiar model plane—Viktor’s, from the night previous—and tosses it through.

It vanishes.

The audience murmurs, questions floating through the crowd.

It’s a voice behind us that answers. Lilting, a little uneven, but with an unexpected air of confidence. “As you can see,” he holds up the model plane, “with this, we are one step closer to becoming the center of trade across all of runeterra.”

The little magician.

He beams up at Jayce, and I laugh as the crowd absolutely loses it. Applause thunders through the room as Jayce steps down from the stage, making his way towards his partner as the poor man is quickly enveloped by dozens of scientists—undoubtedly peppering him with questions. It’s nice. Seeing him be the center of the attention for once. Judging by the warm smile touching Jayce’s eyes, he thinks so as well.

I slip through the crowd towards the exit, craning to catch Viktor’s attention through the cracks of the crowd. Somehow, I succeed, honeyed eyes shining into mine as I mouth well done. His answering glance is part proud, part petrified.  Satiated, I slip out the door.

***

My own presentation, a slot secured by Heimerdinger both to my relief and chagrin, is in a much smaller auditorium on the last day of the symposium. Thank the gods. A short speech to summarize and, hopefully, intrigue investors. Terrifying nonetheless. I pick at the skin around my nails as I run over my cards for the 50th time today from the wings.

As the speaker before me finishes, I stumble forward to the podium.

It’s bizarre distilling down mountains of research into a ten-minute talk. I operate on autopilot alone. It goes by faster than I imagine, and I’m finishing the last of my well-rehearsed words. The applause is subdued as I take my leave. I’m distantly aware of Haynes fuming from his seat in the front row. Heimer is there, as well, with a satisfied look gracing his features. He’s proud, I realize. I must have done well enough, then.

I nod his way as I step down, walking along the wall of the auditorium as the next speaker takes the stage. Towards the back, I see Viktor and Jayce leaning against the wall. Jayce leans to whisper something into his partner’s ear, his right hand squarely resting on Viktor’s back. I resist the urge to fiddle with my top as I approach.

Viktor murmurs my name, “you did well.”

Jayce’s hand slides from Viktor’s back to shake mine, “you’ll have no trouble securing funding at tonight’s party.” Before I can reply, he gives Viktor an overt look, knowing and coy, as he steps back, “I’ll see you there.”

Viktor gawks back at him, annoyance written across his face clear as day.

“Thanks,” I mutter, bringing Viktor’s attention back to me.

He shifts, nodding. “Will we? See you there.“

“If I can get changed in time, yes,” I laugh. There was plenty of time. I should have just said yes. I dig the toe of my shoe into the carpet.

“Good,” his eyes slide around the room as he leans in to whisper, “we’ll introduce you to some of our investors.”

Part of me wants to deny him, say I can network just fine without the support, thank you.

“I know,” he says, ever the mind-reader, “however, you’ll do well to remember: you have an uphill battle. And, to be honest, you’ll find some of our investors less likely to be scared off by your choice of locale.”

I swallow. Right. Investors of his must have been able to make peace with his own background, though his work was much more tantalizing. A different circumstance entirely.

“You have the backing of multiple counselors,” I cock my brow at him.

“As will you,” his smirk is downright filthy as he speaks, “go, get dressed.”

I gulp.

***

The ballroom is elegant and frankly overwhelming. I blink up at the chandeliers littering the ceiling, filling the room with a warm, intimate glow. The crowd, however, is anything but intimate. So many people are stuffed in this single room I find myself asking if this really was invite only as the hosts claimed.

Nonetheless, Nathan is quick to find me. Coming stand at my side, I imagine he’s eager to use me as an excuse to rub elbows with Piltover’s finest. He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, “your speech was good.”

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to wince. I can’t say I attended his.

I fetch a glass of wine from one of the servers as they pass. Nathan’s fills the dead air, droning on about the different talks he attended, who he’s met, who might give him funding. I half-listen, scanning the room for a familiar face.

It’s not a face that I find, but a familiar mop of wavy hair instead. My breath catches as I take him in. Oh I really would like to scream. He’s traded his usual uniform for a suit: black as night and perfectly tailored. Gold piping lines the seams, highlighting just how lithe he really is. A burgundy collar pops out from beneath his jacket. He looks dark, dangerous.

The rotten, malformed part of me chants delectable.

He turns, eyes catching mine and, a moth to flame, I float forward. I’m vaguely aware Nathan is following. Judging by the way his eyes ice over as he spot my companion, Viktor is too. This won’t do. Viktor walks toward me, meeting us in the middle. Thankfully, he is in fine company, meaning Nathan quickly extricates himself from my side to chat with one of the councilors. Not even bothering to greet Viktor, who stared daggers at his retreating back.

Viktor turns towards me, eyes raking down my form before looking back towards the group. He mouth quirks down, “your date?”

“No,” I breathe, “I came alone.”

His mouth twitches, but he schools his feature into a neutral position. “I see.”

I imagine I look much like a fish out of water, mouth gaping and working to reclaim the air that seems to have left my lungs. “You look good,” I finally manage.

There’s another quirk of his lip threatening to betray him before he turns, holding his arm out. I take it. Of course I take it. He’s warm beneath my fingers.

He leans down, whispering in my ear. “I believe I promised some introductions.”

I nod, looking up at him. I brush my hair behind my ear on instinct. He lets out a short, low laugh and my heart picks up. Turning towards the group, he points against the ground with his cane—a tap to the right. My eyes follow.

I feel his breath ghost along my skin as he dips down to speak once more, voice low and dangerous, “Silas Thorne, one of our early adopters. A bit of a skeptical man; but, ultimately a fine topsider.”

I nod, taking it in. As best as possible, at least. I huff a laugh at the slip of the term topsider. An insult rarely uttered in Piltover.

“House Kiramman, as you are aware. You’ll find an ally in Cassandra,” he continues, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks, “To the left, Holloran.. Mh, not worth your time.”

My breath is drawn from my lungs as he continues rattling off names. I blink, nodding, until he peels back at last.

He looks down at me, mouth pulled into a wicked grin.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t have you pegged as so socially adept,” I say.

His eyes crease, head tilting as he shrugs. “Eh, for me, it’s a matter of survival. Or, was. Before Jayce and Hextech.”

I swallow, frowning.

So much laid bare in just a few words. Despite everything, it is far too easy to forget what he’s been through. What he’s had to tolerate to get where he is. And to say it so readily, the picture of nonchalance. As if it’s just another basic fact of life. I’m still reeling as he asks, “ready?”

My dress suddenly feels much too tight. Seams clinging against my ribs keeping the air from my lungs. I blink, looking up at Viktor as I nod, “sure.”

His hand finds the small of my back; his touch a warm, soothing balm on my stuttering heart.

He leads me to Cassandra’s side first, easily slotting into the group as he introduces us.

Her eyes light up, putting pieces of some unspoken puzzle together as she shakes my hand, “Jayce tells me have a rather interesting project. Habitat restoration of the river Pilt?”

“In the distributaries in the undercity, yes. Though I hope to renew the Pilt itself one day, perhaps.”

This seems to please her, her chin tilting up as she smiles, “your research is actionable, then.”

I nod. I’m fairly certain I look like a bobble head.

“Have you secured funding yet?”

“Not quite,” I chew at my lip, shifting my weight to my other foot. My shoulder brushes against Viktor’s chest. It’s steadying.

He gaze is shrewd as she asks, “tell me. Why the undercity?”

I stick to my canned argument, citing the economic benefits for Piltover—trade, fishing, health. She takes it in, with a look that says she can already read the subtext written beneath every page: to help, to do something worthwhile for the betterment of us all.

These conversations repeat throughout the night. A monotonous refrain of the same questions. How interesting, why the undercity? Who is financing? Why there? Somewhere along the evening Viktor has drifted away, standing beside Jayce as they speak with Heimerdinger. He listens to them speak, a gentle curve to his eyes as he looks down at the Yordle.

When the conversation with my last magnate of the evening has grown stale, I gracefully make my exit. Eager to join my friend’s side.

Nathan, however, stops me with a hand at my shoulder. I suppress the instinct to sigh, facing him.

“You’re the popular girl tonight,” he smirks.

My stomach turns. I give him a tight-lipped smile, “hardly.”

He presses forward, invading my space, “have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight?”

I look away as I mutter, “thanks.”

While we had dated on rare occasions, my interest in him waned as it became clear that it would never delve into anything more interesting than superficial sex and the occasional date for social events. Nothing particularly worth going back for. I thought we’d had a tacit agreement on this. However, it appears I am wrong.

I glance over to Viktor, who watches the exchange with a ferocity that was utterly rare. His upper lip curls, narrowed eyes looking at us from beneath stark brows. As his eyes land on me, they burn. Annoyance mixed with something else. My breath hitches.

Nathan, it seems, misinterprets this entirely. Catching me by the elbow, he leans in to whisper, “how about we get out of here?”

I choke.

Viktor shifts more of his weight to his cane, head tilting back as he stares.

“No,” I stutter, “I, ah.. No. Sorry.”

I don’t look back as I walk off, face flaring up. Undignified. I’ll blame the drink later, should it come up.

Like gravity, I’m pulled to Viktor’s orbit. He smirks, wicked and cruel as he glares past my shoulder as I approach. There’s a glint to his amber eyes and my mouth runs dry as he muses, “hm, I almost feel bad for him.”

I gape, floundering. Utterly thrown by this fresh side of him. I can feel the heat from his gaze as he waits for me to reply.

Nothing worthwhile comes to mind as I croak, “almost?”

His stare is knowing, but he chooses to ignore my reply. I note a flush on his skin as he sets his emptied glass down, leaning in, and I’m keenly aware that whatever his next words are, they will be my damnation.

I’m saved by Cassandra’s hand atop my shoulder. I turn, letting out a shaky exhale as I greet her once more.

Her elegant hands pass me a card as she cuts right to the heart of it, “I’d like to sponsor you,” she says, certainly not one for mincing words, “Let’s arrange some time to speak over tea. Soon.”

It’s exceptionally jarring, considering.

I feel Viktor’s chest at my back as he peers over my shoulder. A little off-kilter, and less-than-dignified. Nosy. Certainly the wine, then. I swallow, taking the card from her hands. One side holds her family emblem foiled in gold, the other a pneumatic code.

I nod, “yes, yes of course. I’ll be in touch.”

She gives another smile, nodding to Viktor as well before taking her leave.

My head thoroughly spins. Between the wine and the complete, utter whiplash of the last few minutes, it’s all far too much.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I croak.

Viktor smirks at me in a way that screams, ‘you won’t die, you dramatic girl.’ Charitably, however, he does not voice it. Instead opting to loop his arm through mine as he speaks lowly, “let’s get some air, hm?”

I follow, clutching to his arm like my own personal lifeline. He leads me out the banquet hall, to a hall equally as grand. Tall windows line the entire exterior wall, each tucked into an alcove. To the right lays the exit. We take the left. Towards the end of the hall, he guides me into an alcove, hand sliding from my skin to unlatch the window, cracking it open.

The air is crisp, grounding. Moreso are has hands finding their way to my shoulders, thumbs drawing an idle path to sooth my stumbling pulse.

“She wants to sponsor me,” I breathe at last.

He beams down at me, “yes. I anticipate more will follow.”

I rub my face, “one is more than enough, gods, Viktor, I—“ I swallow, looking up at him, “thank you.”

His mouth parts, brows pinching. “No need, you did—“

“Viktor,” I urge, “let me give you the credit you’re due.”

That seems to strike a chord. His brows raise, and he swallows thickly. Nodding, hesitant as he whispers, “you’re welcome.”

His hands find a strand of my hair, twirling it with his fingers as I so often see him do to his own as he works. There’s a far off look in his eye as he stares at the motion. He swallows, coming back to me with a slight nod of his head. An answer to some unspoken question.

“You did well,” he says at last, amber eyes glinting before falling to my mouth.

He takes a step closer.

“You did, too,” I exhale, “I never got to say.”

He lets out a gentle huff of a laugh, “I said a single line.”

He watches me carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation as he steps closer, closing the gap. He smells of tea and aluminum and him. My heart races, every nerve standing on end.

“Viktor,” I say. Not a warning, but a prayer.

One he hears.

He swallows, harsh and hard as his head dips down, pressing my back against the alcove wall. He halts, lips hovering above mine as our breath mixes in the gap between, letting out a whisper of my name. I gasp it in like air. I could subsist off my name on his lips alone.

His hand slides up from my shoulder, ghosting along my collarbone, my neck, my jaw—until my face is nestled securely within the palm of his hand. He swipes at my cheekbone with his thumb, tilting my head back.

I let out a noise—strangled and sharp and desperate. Once honeyed eyes are now blown black, fluttering closed as he dips down until I can just, just feel the warmth of his lips. I crane my head, chasing after it.

His hand at my neck holds me put. Letting out a ragged breath, pressing every inch of his body against mine.  It’s not nearly enough.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for quite some time,” he muses, voice far too even for my liking.

A thumb swipes across my lower lip, and I shudder. Another shaky breath against my skin—whisky and wine and want—before he’s closing the gap. Pulling me into a kiss so searing I’m sure I’ll burn up right then and there.

I whine into his mouth, and I am rewarded with hands falling to my hips, pulling me sharply against him. My own hands tangle into the soft curls of his hair and I could cry. I tug, pulling his mouth off mine. He pants, looking down at me with wild eyes.

“As good as you imagined?” I smirk.

He groans, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of my mouth, “better.”

I gasp as he pressing another searing kiss along the bend of my jaw, stopping at the juncture. “Like honey.”

His leg slots between mine, pulling me against his thigh as he presses his lips against my ear. “I wonder where else you taste so sweet, hm?”

I whine, my fingers scrambling for purchase in his jacket and hair. Teeth nip at my ear, tongue darting out to sooth at my skin before he whispers, “you must be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, a frantic little motion. He lets out a rumbling laugh as his lips trail down my neck. I shudder with each kiss. He mouths at the juncture of my neck, and I bite back a moan, hips rolling against his thigh instinctively. Desperate for friction. His thumb is sharp against my hipbone, pulling me down harder.

“Good girl,” he smiles against my skin. His hand trails down my neck, to my collarbone, down to the edge of my neckline—gliding along the seam, finding their way back up to the strap. A calculated flick and it’s falling down my shoulder.

He chases after with his mouth, guiding my hips to roll against him as the cup of my dress slips downward. He mouths at every inch of the newly exposed skin. The crest of my breast, the soft dip between. My head swims, eyes fluttering closed. The feel of his soft hair the only thing left tethering me to this plane. A thumb brushes across my nipple, followed by his tongue. I gasp, and he stills.

My eyes blink open as I pant down at him, watching. Rapt. Judging by the sinful smile he gives me, he’s well aware the picture he paints below—wild hair tangled between my fingers, his lips wrapped around the peak of my breast.

“Quiet,” he reminds me, hand rising to press flat against my lips. I whine, grateful, nodding.

Distant laughter stops him, he lets out a sigh as he stands, chest pressing to mine. His hand rights my dress as his arm comes to rest against the wall. Propping himself up.

I roll my hips, shamelessly in search of friction.

He smirks, dipping down to whisper, “mh, you’re desperate, aren’t you? You want me to touch you right here in this hall?”

I shudder, “please.”

His laugh is low and sinful, heat coiling in my core as his fingernails rake down my thigh.

“Not here,” he purrs, “not like this.”

It’s full of promise.

A familiar voice calls our names from the other end of the hall. Heimerdinger’s. And it’s a bucket of ice water across us both. He groans against my ear before standing, leaning to grab his cane from its resting spot against the window.

“More benefactors,” he says with a lopsided grin, breath still uneven.

I let out a soft laugh as my hands glide up to fuss at his collar, smoothing it down in place beneath his jacket. His eyes are gentle as his own fingers card along my hair, righting it. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, whispering, “come, let’s go.”

A/N: Viktor kinda (really) fucks, y'all. And really likes parallel play apparently lol. I'm a little proud of the somewhat dubious science in this once, tbh.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, captivity, possessive behavior, non - consensual touching, hinted past stalking, hinted non - con, i keep making fairy tale references kfjhks My ko - fi <3

You actually feel calm now, almost at peace - although you can never be truly peaceful in the forest, you guess this is as close as it can get. You flip through the pages of the book, scanning the fireplace with the corner of your eye. It needs more wood, but it still keeps the cottage nice and warm. You tug at your big fluffy sweater - and think about just how domestic, how cozy this scene would be if you couldn't hear his footsteps creeping up behind you. You clear your throat and clutch the book closer to your stomach, trying to ignore him - hoping he'll go away if you pay him no mind. And just like the last few times, he sticks around like mud.

"Are you reading those fairytales again?" Raven calls out mockingly, the click of his tongue teasing your ear. He grasps your shoulders lightly, trying to take a peek at your book from behind the chair. You try to close it, but his hands quickly find your wrists, holding them in place. Now hyper - aware of his chest pressing against your back, you give in and let him look as his body heat spreads to your neck. "Such a pretty illustration, isn't it?" He hums to himself, a fox - like grin ruining his delicate features. When you don't respond, he just keeps going. "The knight kills the monster and rescues the princess." He reads the caption under the drawing, playing curious. "They live happily ever after." He flips the page. "The end." He mouths, averting his gaze.

You clench your fists and try to count to ten before you say something you will regret. You don't know why or how, but just one look at his face is enough to set you off nowadays. And anger is a losing battle - anger has you laying across his knees with your panties in your mouth, muffling your pained cries he likes to pretend are moans as he paints your butt red. So you shut up and bide your time.

"How sweet." The man chuckles with malice, quickly turning towards you just like a snake would curl around an unsuspecting little mouse. "I guess life really imitates art. Just like you and me." He observes with a self-satisfied smirk, reaching to light his cigarette. You hate when he smokes inside the house - the nicotine fume sticks to the walls for hours and you start choking and coughing, but he shows little concern for your heath; not that it's a huge surpirse to you.

"What do you mean?" You raise one eyebrow, hoping to at least take your mind off the nasty, overwhelming smell. If he sees your unease, he doesn't mention it, choosing to inhale even deeper, with his full chest. "You're the pretty damsel in distress." Raven explains calmly, charcoal eyes sinking into your vision like claws. It makes you feel naked, vulnerable - dissected to your very molecule. "And I am your knight." He lets his sharp teeth reflect in the dim light. "I saved you from those pesky insects who kept sulling you." You cringe at the way his tongue piercing drags against his canines. Track - track. "Aren't you glad I removed those obstactles for ya?" He gives you a crooked, sarcastic smile. "I think your hero deserves a little reward for all the trouble he went through just for you."

You blink away the tears as you are forced to remember it all in one breath. The police sirens - the investigation. The blood on your family's threshold. The used condoms hanging on your door for all neighbours to see, and the thousand messages calling you ugly names for months on end.

"You're no hero." You mumble under your breath, digging your nails deep into your palms - desperate to keep your tongue behind your teeth. But he hears you - he always does, and he just nods in agreement, coming close. Coming to take you.

Raven stands before you, hovering over you with one hand on the ashtray and the other tilting your chin up so you'd have no choice but to look at him and him alone. "Perhaps you're right." He admits, taking a puff off his long cigarette and blowing it in your face right after - simply in love with the way your eyes narrow in frustrated defiance as you wave away the thick smoke. "Perhaps I am not the hero, but the monster. The dragon." He laughs to himself, stubbing out the burning fag. You don't know what it is that he finds so funny, but you wish you knew so you could laugh along instead of crying.

He cages you in against the sofa, causing you to press even harder against the soft backrest. The message is clear - you'd let the house consume you before you let him as much as kiss you.

"It fits the story nicely, don't you think?" The man remarks, playing with a strand of your hair gleefuly just like a child would. You assume he derives some sick pleasure from touching you so casually - from caressing you, petting you, holding you. It's not even sexual, but it always shakes you to your core, and maybe for him that's the best part - where you can't go anywhere, but in his arms.

"Huh?" You break from your thoughts, growing confused. "Your analogy." He explains while still all over you. "It makes sense. I fought for you, and I won you fair and square." His eyes light up with the ferocity of a hunter. "I wanted you so I took you like the greedy bastard I am. I have no regrets - and if that makes me a villain, then so be it. I will burn the world down if it means you'd be all mine." His fist wraps around your loose locks, almost gentle, but not quite. There is something unnatural in his smile - you can't help, but imagine blood dripping from his chin. "But there is something your magic tales get wrong." Raven whispers diabolically, snapping his fingers. Everything goes dark - and his coat slips down on the floor.

"W-what?" You ask, shaking like a leaf - both afraid and deadly curious. You try to sharpen your senses, but you remain blind to his shadow - and the way it moves right between your legs, positioning them around his hips. You feel his manhood prod at your pubic bone, and you heart sinks to your stomach. "The ending." Your captor mutters, pushing you on your back, and you curse the electronic chair when it goes all the way down with little fight. "The moment when the cards are on the table..." He all but tears off the first button of your shirt. "And the princess is all alone with the monster. Face to face - with nowhere to go."

His tongue is hot on your neck - you try to push him off, but he pins down your wrists with feral force, growling like a wild beast. "And this time no one is coming to save her."

[pressureplus]

Ok ok hear me out.. what if, you did a part two of “Reflection” but the reader finally gets to read Sebastian’s document? And kinda sees how similar they look. It’s kinda dumb because it wouldn’t really much to write about but it’s just a thought 😭

No no, don't apologize. I can work with anything as long as its got 1 sentence or three descriptive words and a vibe! I can easily make you a part two!

Doppelganger

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟ ◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

At last you purchased that damn document of his. It had sat on his desk almost teasingly out of your hands. A previous attempt to grab it had ended with his hand pressed over the classified file and a smile. His words spoken slow, as though you were stupid, as he explained that you certainly didn’t have enough for that. Now you could finally touch it all you want. A part of you was feeling a bit sassy when you snatched it right off his desk proudly. The thousand data pieces you just sold to him being shuffled away. You ignored that, for the most part, more focused on finally getting your hands around the classified information you’d been curious about. Finally popping open the file to see what it is he’s been leaving on his desk, you’re met with tons of information. A few pictures falling out that you don’t quite manage to catch.

You ignore them, taking a seat in Sebastian’s shop as he moves around the room, shuffling different pieces of paperwork and chips into places. His hands reaching up for the vents above his head and tugging out a few spare pieces of equipment. You can hear him opening the packs her wanders around with, attaching things to the straps around his body. You choose to ignore that for now. Instead choosing to read the file in front of you. Your eyes scan over the first line, catching onto three things at once. His technical experiment name, his codename, and finally his legal name. Your eyes scanned each individual word quietly. The shuffling in the background not particularly drawing any of your attention. There’s that shoot to kill statement you’ve heard a thousand times before. You’re starting to understand why he’s so aggressive. You’d be pretty pissed too if you were an experiment gone wrong, especially if you hadn’t even done the crime you were accused of.

At last you shut the file, eyes being drawn back to the images now laying on the ground. You scoop them both up. In your hands is an image of current Sebastian, larger and aggressive. He looks damn near ready to shoot the camera. On the other image…you. No wait, not you? His jawline is a bit sharper and he’s got a scar on his face but he looks so much like you. Honestly, it’s a bit shaking. A mugshot that isn’t yours but looks so much like you. The more you stare at it the more begins to make sense to you. The dots connecting on why his reaction to your face was so aggressive. Why he tends to almost stare a little too long. You thought it was because he found you ugly, or because he was trying to grieve the death of a loved one. In some ways, you suppose, he is. He’ll never have this face again. He’ll never be able to see himself properly in the mirror and he certainly wasn’t the innocent man accused of a crime he didn’t commit anymore. How many people had he killed trying to get what was necessary to escape? How human was he anymore, without his face, without his body. Was it human desperation, or animal?

“You never told me you were so pretty.” You joke as Sebastian jolts. It seems he’d gotten so wrapped up in adjusting things that he hadn’t even realized you were still in here. His eyes flick from your face down to your hands. You turn the picture of him around, pointing at it. This only seems to make him mildly uncomfortable as he looks away with a huff.

“Could you not have opened that anywhere else?”

“Sorry…it’s just…you really are handsome.”

“I was, I guess. That was a long time ago now quite obviously.” He slithers closer, scooping up his file and taking the pictures back. He’s careful to push them back into the titled document before shutting it. Then and only then does he hand the folder back to you.

“You still are, maybe you look a little different now, but you’re still very pretty.”

“That’s not a funny thing to joke about.”

“I’m being serious, Sebastian. You’re pretty with or without a human face. Even if this one isn’t really ideal…I still think you look great.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve still got yours intact.”

“If it’s too painful to look at, I can fix that by wearing my helmet all the time? I just want you to be comfortable. I want you to know that even if you’re not human anymore that doesn’t make you…a monster.” He hesitates, the words sinking into his skin. He’s quiet for a good while before sighing. His hand coming up to his face to drag downward, a display of his exhaustion.

“Just…get out. Take your folder, your batteries, and go back to getting that crystal.”