#like how expressive it is despite being simple

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 8/?)

Violence is a vicious cycle, one you learned long before Silco entered your life. The difference now is that he doesn't shy away from it; he embraces it, urging you to accept the brutality that once repugnant. It's your choice to accept or no.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 8,4K

Warnings: blood and violence, graphic violence, slight hints of reader's past, deaths, description of deaths, attempted murder, threats, use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), kidnapping, canon-typical Silco violence, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

This chapter was written in a non-linear manner, pay attention to the times specified at the beginning of each change of point of view to understand the sequence of actions.

Part 7

03:57 AM

It was easy to get used to.

You no longer had to prepare yourself to smile and please people whose faces would become nothing more than blurs by the end of each shift at the brothel. You no longer had to pretend to be charmed, to act as though it was all part of some glorious destiny, or that you genuinely cared. That forced smile, that nauseating submission, the feigned devotion to bodies and egos you could barely tolerate—all of it was behind you. No more idolizing them as if they were gods and you were a mere offering. With Silco, things were... different. Strangely simple, despite everything. And indeed, it had been far too easy to get used to.

Life at The Last Drop had its own kind of illusion. You walked the hallways with the apparent freedom of someone who seemed to belong there. No one stopped you; no one looked at you with disdain. You were recognized—or at least tolerated—and that gave the illusion of control. But it was just that: an illusion. Deep down, you knew. You felt the watchful eyes of the guards in every corner, aware of their constant vigilance. Pretending not to notice their scrutiny was almost a game. Just like pretending you enjoyed sleeping in, when in reality you spent your nights wide awake, staring at the ceiling or tossing and turning in bed while your mind relentlessly tormented you with things you preferred to forget.

The problem was that The Last Drop seemed to know how to unlock doors in your mind that you had fought so hard to seal shut. Every corner of that place carried an echo — not of physical memories, but of something deeper, more visceral. When you closed your eyes, the dreams came like an attack — memories of the past that you wanted to bury but now insisted on resurfacing, sharper and more vivid than ever. Mostly happy memories. But for some reason, those were the ones that hurt the most.

You were never good at dealing with grief. It had always been easier to bury it, to pretend it didn't hurt, that it didn't matter. But now, it seemed impossible. It was as if every moment in The Last Drop chipped away at that protective barrier, letting the pain seep out bit by bit.

Paradoxically, Silco helped. Not in a gentle or compassionate way, of course. His presence pushed the thoughts and memories away, replacing them with a suffocating anger and a frustrating attraction that consumed you. He was a constant storm, and being near him felt like clinging to a branch while the current threatened to pull you under. And in a way, it helped. The intensity of his presence clouded your mind, wiping away what you didn't want to feel. It was almost a relief.

But at the same time, you hated it. Hated how easy it was to deal with him, hated that he made everything simpler. You wished he were more difficult, more unbearable. Maybe then you'd have the courage to pull the trigger now.

His body lay asleep on the couch in front of you. Silco looked uncomfortably at ease, as if exhaustion had finally overpowered his eternal vigilance. You had laid him down after he'd passed out sitting up, his good eye closed in an almost peaceful expression, while the scarred one remained open, blank, as if still keeping watch — a detail that made him even more unsettling. Despite that, you were entirely certain he was deeply unconscious.

You'd made sure he was drained. Part of you took pride in that. Even though he wasn't exactly young, Silco had handled your energy well — perhaps even better than you'd expected. But that was irrelevant now.

In your hand, the weight of his revolver anchored an impossible choice. The gun was unlocked, the barrel pointed directly at Silco's head. Your finger hovered over the trigger, trembling, hesitant. It hadn't been hard to find the revolver. He kept it in one of the desk drawers, the same drawer where, curiously, you'd found something else. A piece of fine lace — your panties, which he had taken for himself during your last visit to the brothel a month ago. The memory stirred a mix of discomfort and nostalgia, but at this moment, it felt utterly insignificant.

You'd been standing there for at least fifteen minutes, motionless, lost in this internal battle. When you entered the office, this wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't come to kill him. You'd orchestrated this encounter because you needed to examine something you'd found earlier but hadn't had the time to analyze properly. You needed to act without worrying about Sevika's relentless shadow, whose routine you had memorized over the past few days. The middle of the night was perfect, with only the night guards on patrol, their steps and intervals quickly committed to your memory. All you needed was to keep Silco out of the way for a few hours. And you had succeeded.

But then you found the revolver. And now you were here.

He looked so human while he slept. His breathing was heavy but steady. The constant tension in his shoulders had vanished, leaving him almost... serene. So different from the man who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders when awake. Even his scars looked less severe in the flickering light of the desk lamp. It was strange to see Silco like this, almost vulnerable.

But as you watched him longer, you realized that not even sleep brought him peace. Every so often, he would furrow his brow, murmuring something incoherent. Perhaps a nightmare, perhaps a memory haunting him. It made him seem even more... human. And you hated feeling that.

Silco was a monster. A trafficker who had turned Zaun into a suffocating chaos of despair and violence because of Shimmer. A manipulator who didn't hesitate to sacrifice lives to achieve his goals. A man who had very likely kidnapped a child — the child you had sworn to find. A cruel, heartless, soulless killer.

You hated him.

And yet, you couldn't pull the trigger.

Why?

You could blame that small part of yourself that had attached to him too quickly. Too strongly, like a silent plague that crept in before you realized it. The part that held onto the moments between you two as if they were precious relics, no matter how torturous they were. You had to admit, Silco had gotten under your skin, and that terrified you. It wasn't just the sex, though it was impossible to ignore how good it was — intense, almost transcendent, as if you both were trying to devour each other in an effort to feel something beyond just flesh. But it was more than that. Something you didn't want to name.

It was the little things. The subtle ways he showed affection, even in his twisted, fragmented way. Like how he always held you after sex, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as if trying to memorize every inch of you. Or how he always seemed to want to touch you, even outside the heat of passion. Those touches were different, softer, almost reverent, as if he was making sure you were really there. And that damned look of his... A look that seemed to see right through you, beyond your armor, into the darkest corners of your soul. A look that said he saw what you were — and worse, accepted it.

Maybe that was what killed you. That unbearable acceptance.

Or maybe it was his obsession — twisted, dangerous — that somehow resembled affection. Not the kind you'd dream of, but something as chaotic and destructive as he was. Like cannibalism as a metaphor for love, a consuming that was both intimate and fatal.

And now, here you were, with a loaded gun aimed at the man you both desired and hated. Perhaps hatred was just another form of desire, a corrupted and impure version but inescapable all the same. You hated him, above all, for making you feel anything. For breaking through that hard shell you'd built around yourself.

And that was why he had to die.

Because deep down, you knew. Everyone you began to feel something for ended up dead in the end. It was a curse, a cycle you didn't know how to break. Silco would just be another name on that list; you convinced yourself of that. If there was even the slightest chance — no matter how remote — that this feeling, this damnable feeling, could grow, could become something worse, something stronger, you needed to cut it off at the root.

He had messed with your head in a way no one else ever had. More than your time at the Institute. More than the losses. More than anything.

You sighed, the sound echoing in the room like a muffled scream. Your hands trembled, but you moved with precision to open the cylinder of the revolver. Carefully, you removed all the bullets, leaving only one in the chamber. Maybe it was cowardice. Maybe it was courage. Maybe it was the only way to make this decision without overthinking it. Russian roulette. That was it. Fate would decide. It would be easier this way. Easier than facing the truth — that you wanted just as much to pull the trigger as to drop the gun and fall into his arms.

You closed your eyes, letting your finger rest on the trigger. One breath, two. But before you could do anything, the metallic sound of something hitting the floor interrupted your concentration.

You quickly aimed the revolver toward the sound, your senses on high alert. Something had fallen near Silco's desk, breaking the silence that filled the room. Your eyes scanned the beams in the ceiling, searching for any movement or suspicious presence, but you found nothing. Just in case, you glanced at Silco. He was still lying on the sofa, his body unmoving except for a slight shift, seemingly caused by the noise. His breathing remained steady. He hadn't woken up.

You began reloading the revolver, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, though caution lingered. Your gaze returned to the floor, to the object that had disrupted the quiet. With calculated steps, you approached. The tension in your chest dissipated the moment you saw what it was: a small, cylindrical metal object with a design etched on the surface. A blue rat?

You picked it up, studying the lines of the drawing. It seemed childlike, crafted with care but lacking the precision of an adult's hand. Your eyes darted between the object and Silco's ashtray on the desk. The doodles were similar, as if made by the same hand. Involuntarily, you glanced again at the ceiling beams. Why did you feel like this hadn't been there before?

Either way, it hit you like a bullet — like a cold shower snapping you out of the chaos of your own thoughts. Reason returned like a violent tide, pulling you away from the impulsive and absurd decision you had almost made. What you were about to do to Silco... it was unthinkable now, seen under the stark light of lucidity. The weight of regret already pressed on your chest, even though the act hadn't been carried out.

You clutched the metal object against your chest, not caring if it could be dangerous. In truth, it seemed almost irrelevant. The simple cold touch of that piece of metal was what brought your good sense back. You stared at the thing, still confused about how that mechanical rat — which looked very much like an invention or a toy — had ended up in Silco's office. You didn't know its origin, but at that moment, you silently thanked its presence.

You holstered the revolver and walked to Silco's desk, your breaths heavy, your hands still sweaty. Carefully, you began sifting through the papers. The reason that had started this entire plan tonight was somewhere here.

And you found it.

It was a drawing. Simple, made by small hands and scribbled in bright colors with uneven lines. It depicted what seemed to be Silco — the scar on his face and the orange eye made that clear. Beside him stood a little girl with two blue braids. The caricature was clumsy but unmistakable. Your fingers gripped the paper tighter than you intended as you looked at the drawing and compared it with the metal cylinder. There was no doubt. The same style, the same child.

Jinx.

Or perhaps little Powder, if you were foolish enough to cling to false hopes.

You held both the cylinder and the drawing tightly, as if they were relics you couldn't let slip away. With quick, almost anxious steps, you headed for the door. Your thoughts spiraled, blending with the rapid thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. Suddenly, that office had become suffocating, and you needed to get out as quickly as possible. You needed to go somewhere safe, to calm down, to distance yourself from all of this.

From The Last Drop.

From your turbulent mind.

From your conflicting feelings.

From Silco.

Even if you were already taking something of his with you.

Silco's Pov━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

01:05 PM

Heavy breathing, trembling and bloodied hands, the raw pain of repeated impact throbbing in his knuckles. The metallic smell of blood mingled with the scent of aged wood and sweat. The body before him was still alive — at least in strictly biological terms — but the soul of that man seemed to have been beaten out of him. He lay on the ground, each muffled groan only feeding the tension inside Silco.

Silco closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control the wave of rage threatening to overflow once more. He took a deep breath, the air entering his lungs in short, labored gulps, as if the simple act of breathing was a monumental effort. He needed to regain composure. He needed to think. But the words of that miserable fool — that idiot who thought he could open his mouth and try to explain his failure — echoed in his mind, each syllable a cruel reminder of a failure Silco was unwilling to acknowledge.

She escaped.

The idea was so absurd he almost laughed. How? How could that even be possible? He had taken care of every detail. Not just the practical ones, but the emotional ones, too. He had been... generous, more than he normally would be with anyone. He ensured her needs were met, her requests heard. He even allowed her to keep a semblance of autonomy — a dangerous concession, but one he deemed necessary. All to ensure she would stay. That she would accept her new reality without resistance.

So, why?

Why had she escaped? Why had she abandoned him now?

The word lingered in the air: abandoned.

He hated the implication. It wasn't abandonment. It couldn't be. That would imply something he wasn't willing to accept about his own feelings. Something he refused to admit, even to himself. Silco stopped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, fresh blood staining the cuff of his shirt. He felt an internal storm, a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't control: anger, frustration... and a pang of something he hated to acknowledge. Fear.

She was important. More than he was willing to articulate, even in his most private thoughts. And the idea of losing her after finally getting his hands on her was inconceivable.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away. No. This wasn't the time to get lost in such musings. He had a problem to solve. And he would solve it, as he always did.

With a swift motion, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, the movements almost automatic but lacking the care needed to remove all the grime. The stain of violence lingered, in the small cuts and scratches that formed trails of dried blood. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back with a nervous touch.

"I can't believe she managed to escape because of a damn blind spot during the guard shift." Silco growled, his voice deep and low but laden with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavier. He wasn't yelling, but the anger in his words was as clear as the blood still staining his knuckles. "A single window..." he straightened, turning fully to Sevika, his eyes cutting into her like sharp blades. "How did you let this happen?"

Sevika, with her usual steel posture, swallowed hard before responding. "I gave orders for all the windows to be checked after the bar closed." her voice was firm, but there was tension beneath it. She knew it wouldn't be enough.

Silco took a step forward, the lamplight highlighting the harsh lines of his face, his expression a mask of frustration and disdain. "Then it seems your orders were being ignored." he retorted, each word dripping with contempt. "An unarmed woman, under constant surveillance, in my territory, managed to disappear without anyone noticing... How the hell does someone like her simply vanish before anyone realized it was too late?"

"The guards—"

"The guards failed!" Silco cut her off with a tone that felt like a whip. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was delivered with cruel precision. "Idiots." he muttered to himself, venom dripping from his tongue. "All of you, incompetent. You let her slip away right under your noses. I'm surrounded by amateurs."

Sevika stood firm, but the clenching of her jaw was evident. She was frustrated, maybe even furious with herself, but she knew that at that moment, any explanation would only anger him further.

"Silco, no one expected her to—"

"That's irrelevant!" he roared, cutting her off again, his voice cold as ice. "She's out. Which means she could be anywhere. Anyone could find her before we do. And if you think that's acceptable, you're all more foolish than I imagined."

He took another step forward, stopping just inches away from Sevika. His eyes, one blazing with fiery orange, pierced into hers with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. Silco could resemble a demon now. "Find her." he ordered, his voice now low but laden with absolute authority. "I want everyone looking for her. Every corner, every alley, every damn hole in this city. No matter the cost. No matter the effort. I want her back."

Sevika nodded firmly, though there was a glimmer in her eyes betraying her own frustration. "Yes, sir." she responded, her voice controlled, though tense.

The title of "sir" tasted so bitter now.

Silco didn't look away. "And get rid of that damn dead weight on my floor." he added, indicating with a slight tilt of his head the still-unconscious, bloodied body lying in the middle of the room. He then watched as the door closed with a dull thud after Sevika left, dragging the unconscious guard.

He remained motionless for a few moments, his fingers drumming softly on the surface of the desk as his mind raced, drawing scenarios, all of them undesirable. He knew she was clever — cunning, even. But the audacity to defy him? That was something he hadn't anticipated.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the rage boiling beneath his skin. The gesture was almost useless. The headache throbbed at his temples, a persistent buzzing filled his ears, and the beating he'd delivered to the guard hadn't done much to relieve the growing pressure in his chest. Silco disliked losing control, hated succumbing to emotion, but this day was testing his limits.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to regain control. Now wasn't the time to fall apart. Not now, when everything was already slipping through his fingers. Slowly, he moved to the worn leather chair behind his desk. He sat down with a weight that seemed to drag the entire room down with him. His eyes fixed briefly on the darkness beyond the window, but he quickly averted them, reaching for the injector in his drawer.

His fingers moved automatically, preparing the dose of Shimmer he needed. He didn't think about the gesture — it was something he did almost unconsciously, like a reflex conditioned by years of habit. Then, he stopped, tilting his head slightly upward.

"How long have you been there?" to an external observer, it might have seemed that Silco was talking to himself, but he knew he wasn't.

A childish voice responded, hesitant and thin, with a trace of apprehension. "Since you started beating the crap out of that guy."

He exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping in a gesture of exhaustion. It wasn't just the anger or frustration that hit him now; it was the awareness that someone else had been watching. Someone who shouldn't have witnessed that.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

Before he could say anything else, he heard the sound of something falling directly onto the desk. A few papers slid to the floor, along with some random object. He turned in his chair and found Jinx there, curled up on herself.

She was sitting in her usual position — hugging her knees, her face partially hidden between them. Her eyes, which usually sparkled with a touch of mischief or curiosity, were distant, lost in some point within the office. In that posture, with her hunched shoulders and chin tucked in, she seemed even smaller than she really was. A reflection of the fragility she rarely let show.

"I see Sevika beating people up all the time..." her voice was low but carried a faint, false attempt at disdain. "So, whatever."

Silco sighed again, this time more controlled, almost resigned. He knew the world he was shaping around Jinx didn't allow for the absence of violence. She would have to learn to live with it, to see it, and eventually to execute it with precision and detachment. Still, there was something different when he was the one committing such acts in front of her. He felt there was a specific image he needed to preserve for Jinx — and a man acting like a mindless, violent animal wasn't part of that vision.

He moved the injector toward her, watching as Jinx hesitated briefly before taking the device. Her small fingers held the object carefully, and she stepped closer to the edge of the desk. Silco leaned back in his chair, tilting his chin upward to let her position it. He felt her hands on his face, still somewhat uncertain as she tried to find the right angle.

There was a slight tremor in her fingers.

"Keep your hands steady." he said, in a tone that even surprised himself. It was soft, almost paternal, as if the irritation he'd felt moments earlier had been washed away from his body. "You're not going to hurt me, Jinx."

"But you always writhe in pain afterward."

"There are pains in life that are necessary." he replied, shifting his eyes to meet hers briefly. His heterochromatic eyes gleamed under the dim light of the office, his expression calm and patient. "You'll understand that better when you're older."

Jinx pursed her lips into a pout, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. But his words seemed to be enough to encourage her. He saw her determination slowly return, and soon she was adjusting the injector to his eye and pressing the button. The sensation was immediate. The injection released the liquid directly into Silco's system, and the pain that followed was like liquid fire coursing through his veins. He felt his nerves throbbing, every muscle in his body contracting in involuntary spasms. The heat of the Shimmer seemed to intensify with every second, his heart pounding fast, almost erratically.

Silco arched his body slightly in the chair, his fingers gripping the wooden arms tightly. A single drop of Shimmer slipped from the corner of his scarred eye, a gleaming, purple tear that fell to the floor with an almost inaudible sound. He took a deep breath, steadying the erratic rhythm of his heart as he wiped his face with the back of his hand, dispelling the lingering trace of that searing pain. He was used to it, despite everything. The pain, the discomfort, the feeling of being consumed from within — it was all part of his routine.

"She could have killed you yesterday."

Jinx's words cut through the silence of the office like a sharp knife, thrown into the air with seemingly casual indifference. Silco lifted his eyes from where he sat, surprised by the sudden comment, but before he could even ask for an explanation, Jinx continued, her voice light, almost casual, as if she were recounting some trivial story.

"You were passed out on the couch." she began, her tone as nonchalant as if she were narrating an ordinary event. "And she just stood there... still. With the gun in her hand, staring at you. She looked like a statue, you know? Didn't move for almost half an hour."

Silco tilted his head slightly, frowning as he absorbed what the girl was saying. "She could've shot at any second." Jinx went on, curling back into her previous position, hugging her knees tightly, her eyes fixed on some point on the floor. "But she didn't."

The silence that followed was heavy, almost tangible. Silco didn't respond immediately. He absorbed the words carefully, letting them settle like a slow-acting poison. He had no reason to doubt Jinx. She wasn't the type to make up stories, especially something so specific. He should have been more surprised by the revelation that the woman, from whom he expected obedience and hatred in equal measure, had once again held a weapon against him. But, to be honest, he wasn't. Of all the betrayals that could occur, this one seemed almost inevitable. What bothered him more wasn't the attempt itself but the fact that she had hesitated.

Why didn't she pull the trigger?

That question lodged itself in his mind like a blade. He knew hesitation could mean many things — guilt, remorse, a fragment of something human she carried for him... or perhaps something more strategic, a game he had yet to understand.

Silco tilted his head slightly to the side, intrigued. "And then?"

Jinx shrugged, as if recalling something trivial. "Then I decided to throw a bomb to distract her."

"You threw a bomb in my office?"

"It was just a smoke bomb!" Jinx protested, looking up at him. "And it didn't even go off."

He leaned slightly forward in his chair, his fingers drumming on the wooden surface of the desk. "Did she see you?"

"No... I don't think so." Jinx replied, frowning as if trying to recall. "She turned in my direction. Looked up, right where I was. It was close... really close. But I hid before she could spot me. Then I ran out when she got distracted."

"You didn't see her leave the office?"

"No." Jinx admitted, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I'd already bolted. I don't know how or when she left."

"You should have told me about this immediately, child."

"I thought you already knew!" Jinx shot back defensively, though she avoided meeting his gaze.

Silco turned to her, his eyes locking onto hers, sharp and penetrating like a father educating his child. He knew she wasn't accustomed to handling situations like this — at least not with the seriousness he expected from her. However, Jinx's survival instincts were an asset, and he couldn't deny that, even in her impulsiveness, she had protected him from possible death.

"Next time, you inform me." he ordered, his voice icy but tinged with a paternal tone he rarely allowed to show.

Silco leaned back in his chair with a sigh, feeling the familiar, throbbing pain behind his eyes intensify. He was trying, with all his might, to analyze the events of the previous night pragmatically, separating the emotions that insisted on creeping in. But he was growing exhausted. Every piece of this puzzle seemed out of place, and the thought that he needed to confront that woman, to make her explain what the hell was going on, only fueled his irritation.

He knew he would find her. It wasn't a question of "if" but "when." And when that happened, she would have a lot to explain. However, as his mind worked relentlessly, one detail made Silco freeze for a moment. Jinx had been in his office. Last night. The same office where he and that woman... Oh, for the Gods' sake. A sudden chill ran down his spine.

"When exactly did you get here last night?" the question came out with a casual, controlled tone, though internally, Silco was on the verge of being consumed by embarrassment. He wouldn't know how to handle the realization that the child knew exactly what he did behind closed doors.

"When she was already standing in front of the sofa."

Jinx's response brought immediate relief. Silco almost exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. At least Jinx had arrived at the end of the night. That was something. He allowed himself to relax slightly, but not for long.

"Are you worried about her?" the question caught Silco off guard, but he didn't show it. He tilted his head, casting a glance in Jinx's direction. She now looked at him with an expression that was hard to decipher.

"No. I just want her back here."

"Why?" Jinx tilted her head to the side, her face twisting into something that resembled indignation. "She's just a prostitute. You can pay for another one."

If Silco had been at the edge of his patience before, that statement dangerously pushed him to the brink. He didn't allow himself to react immediately, but internally, he was both surprised — and, in a way, irritated. Not so much at what Jinx had said, but at the fact that she knew enough to make such a claim.

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her carefully. It was evident that Jinx had more awareness of the world around her than he liked to admit. One thing was her becoming accustomed to the environment he had provided — violence, strategy, controlled chaos. Quite another was her having knowledge and understanding of... intimate details.

"How do you know she's a prostitute?"

"Sevika told me." Jinx shrugged, her expression indifferent, as though there was nothing wrong with repeating what she'd heard. "She said you pay her to keep you company so you don't feel lonely. If that's the case, you can just find another one, or I can stay here so you won't feel lonely. I'm free."

Ah... the sweet, uncomfortable, and relentless innocence of children. Silco had to resist the urge to rub his face with his hands, exhausted. He was not about to explain the complex and often dark nuances of human relationships to her. He didn't have the patience for it, nor the will.

"Her kind of company is different from yours."

Jinx frowned, visibly confused by the vague response. Silco remained silent, showing no intention of elaborating. The explanation stopped there, and he knew it would irritate her. As expected, the girl huffed in frustration, jumping down from the desk with careless energy that sent a few papers scattering to the floor.

Silco watched her as she moved around the office with her typical restless, clumsy motions, touching things she shouldn't and completely disregarding any notion of manners or decorum. Yet, there was something reassuring about seeing Jinx being Jinx, even when everything around him seemed on the verge of falling apart.

"Right before I ran off, I heard her mumbling something about 'going to a safe place.'" Jinx's voice broke the silence, her tone casual as if she were reporting something insignificant. She was now rifling through a pile of objects in the corner of the office, tossing small metal pieces from one side to the other, clearly bored. "Maybe she's in that so-called safe place."

Jinx's words, seemingly spoken without any awareness of their weight, made Silco bring a hand to his chin, diving into careful thought. A "safe place." That could mean anything, but he knew that for someone in her position — a fugitive at a disadvantage — a "safe place" was rarely an abstract concept. He could think of a few places where she might have scurried off like a rat.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the wooden armrest as he analyzed the possibilities. He knew Zaun like no one else. The shadows of its streets, the narrowest alleys, the makeshift hideouts where the desperate curled up, believing they were out of his reach. Silco had eyes everywhere. No one could hide from him for long.

"This could be useful." Silco murmured, almost to himself. The low tone, however, didn't escape Jinx's sharp ears.

She knocked something over on purpose — a loud crash echoed through the office. Then she turned to him with a questioning look. "You're really going after her?"

"I thought I'd already made that clear." Silco replied, not raising his voice but with enough firmness to leave no doubt that the decision had already been made. He knew it was his responsibility, not just as a leader, but as a strategist. That woman's escape wasn't just an affront to his authority; it was an inconvenient reminder that he was still vulnerable to small missteps.

Jinx shrugged but didn't seem particularly convinced. "If she doesn't want to be found, it's gonna be tough. She seemed... smart."

The corner of Silco's lips curled into an almost predatory smile, devoid of any warmth or kindness. "No one in Zaun can hide from me for long, child. No matter how clever they think they are."

Jinx, however, quickly lost interest. She climbed onto a chair and started swinging her legs, her restless movements starkly contrasting with the heavy tension lingering in the air. Silco watched the scene for a moment, the contrast between his calculated calm and the girl's restless energy almost making him smile.

He let out a low sigh, his hand resuming its rhythm of tapping against the arm of the chair. This woman thought she could disappear, that she could find some refuge in his city without him noticing. Foolishness.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

01:10 PM

You covered your mouth with your hand, pressing it firmly to muffle the sound of your breathing. Your body was frozen, pressed against the rough, cold wall of the apartment as if trying to merge with the structure. Any movement, no matter how small, could draw attention too soon.

In the next room, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed on the worn wooden floor. Two men. You didn't need to see them to know they were big and bulky — the kind of enforcers who could break bones with a single blow. The rhythm of their steps was slow, almost lazy, but the tension in the air betrayed that they were alert, ready to act at the slightest sign.

Running wasn't an option. They were in the way of the only exit — the front door of your tiny apartment, which looked more like a crumbling ruin. You knew that if you tried to run, they'd catch you before you even made it to the hallway. That left only one option: fight.

All of this could have been avoided. You knew Silco would eventually send men to your home. That's why you were here — not to hide, but to gather everything that could connect you to Vander and take it somewhere safe, somewhere no one, least of all Silco, could find it. The plan was simple, straightforward, and would've been quick if everything had gone as you'd envisioned. All you had to do was grab the bag and disappear for just a few days. They'd only notice the disappearance later, when it was too late to track you down.

But something had gone terribly wrong.

The two brutes had burst into the apartment before you could leave. Maybe they had followed some trail, or maybe Silco was faster and more cunning than you wanted to admit. Now, instead of being on your way to the mines, you were cornered in the living room, forced to hide like a trapped rat. You had no idea how they had reached your apartment so quickly. The Last Drop was far enough away that you should've had time to escape.

You heard one of them rummaging through your room. The wardrobe door slammed open and shut violently, the contents inside being tossed carelessly onto the floor. Soon after, the sound of the bed being dragged scraped through the silence, followed by the bathroom door being opened in a rush. More sounds of objects falling and hitting the floor echoed around you. And as they did this, they talked to each other, but you couldn't focus on what they were saying.

Your mind was racing like a runaway horse, each thought slipping away before you could hold onto it. You needed a strategy — something that didn't force you into a prolonged direct confrontation. Not because you were a coward — you had already proven you weren't — but because you simply couldn't afford it. There was the risk of blacking out if you overused that, and in this moment, blacking out meant dying.

In an ideal scenario, you'd need to take them both down in under ten seconds. Beyond that, your chances of success would plummet to near zero. But there was a problem: they were too far apart, making it impossible to ambush them both at the same time.

Silco's dagger in your hand was heavy, though not uncomfortably so. It was the weight of something familiar, almost reassuring. The cold metal handle felt like it was molded to your palm, as if it was always meant to be there. A bitter memory surfaced: you were made for this. Every fiber of your being, every enhancement, every grueling training session — it was all for moments like this, for killing.

That thought gave you the certainty you needed. You rose from your crouched position, your muscles already tense, ready for what was coming. Instinct took over. In one swift motion, you kicked a metal can lying near you. The clang was loud, metallic, reverberating off the walls. Silence. One second. Two.

Quick footsteps came in your direction. Heavy, determined. They were moving like predators that had finally cornered their prey. Both of them stormed into the room at the same time. Each was armed with a knife, their eyes locked on you. The bigger one had an arrogant smirk on his lips, as if he had already won.

"Come on, sweetheart." he said, his voice slow and condescending. "Just come along like a good girl before you get hurt. We've got orders to bring you in alive, but accidents happen, don't they?"

You didn't reply. There was no need. They weren't here to talk, and even if they were, it wasn't something that mattered now. Your gaze fixed on the two men as you felt the steady pulse of adrenaline course through your body. The dagger's handle pressed against your palm so tightly your knuckles were white. You exhaled through your lips in a long sigh, like a pressure valve releasing, as a wave of forced calm took over your body. It was almost ironic, given the chaos about to unfold.

And then it happened.

That familiar sensation began. The world around you slowed down, as if time itself hesitated to move forward. The tingling started in your eyes, a subtle electric current dancing through your vision. The edges of your field of view flickered, and every detail around you sharpened. The man on the left, the more confident one, had a small, poorly healed cut on his lip. The other, hesitant, gripped his knife with stiff fingers, as if afraid it might slip.

They moved at the same time.

The first came straight at you, his knife aiming for your left shoulder. You dodged before the motion could complete, twisting your body to the side and forcing his blade to slash through empty air. A swift movement of your dagger in response left a trail of blood along his side before you repositioned yourself. The second man tried to capitalize on your supposed distraction, coming at you from the side. But your reflexes were beyond what he could anticipate. Your free hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it with a quick, brutal motion until you heard the dry snap of a dislocated bone. He screamed, but you didn't hesitate. Your dagger found his throat with surgical precision, a quick, clean slash.

The man dropped to his knees, hands clutching his neck as blood poured between his fingers.

The first had already recovered from the initial strike and charged again, his confidence now replaced by fury. He attempted a wide, lateral slash, but you lunged forward, closing the distance into his guard before the knife could reach its mark. A swift motion and your dagger found the spot between his ribs. His scream echoed through the room as you stepped back, letting him collapse to the floor like an empty sack.

Your body hit the hard floor right after, your knees striking the surface with a dull thud. There was no pain — or maybe there was, but exhaustion swallowed it before you could feel it. Everything seemed distant, as if the world around you was submerged in a dense fog. Your muscles were stiff, refusing to respond, while warm, sticky blood dripped from your nose, tracing lines down to your chin.

Five seconds. You'd spent five damn seconds.

Panting, you let the dagger fall to your side, your fingers trembling too much to hold it any longer. Your eyes, previously alight with that unnatural glow, were returning to normal. You blinked, trying to adjust your blurred vision. The room spun around you, the contours of the walls blending into a strange dance of shadows and light. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, mingled with bile threatening to rise. You tilted your head back, closing your eyes, trying to grasp at the remnants of strength you had left. But that damned side effect was like an anchor, dragging you down, draining every last ounce of energy.

You lay there on the ground for long minutes, perhaps longer than you should have. Time lost all meaning as you forced yourself to breathe, a simple task that now felt like an endless climb. But you realized you had made a mistake. You could have won that fight with ease. You knew that. After all, you had been conditioned to handle worse situations. But after all these years, your precision and practice had rusted. Complacency was a slow poison. And now, you were paying the price.

There were three of them.

You noticed this too late. The realization only came when footsteps began to echo around the small space, drawing closer until they stopped in front of you. Your vision was blurred by the effort, but even so, you forced your eyes open enough to take in the scene. A man was crouched, staring at you with a mix of boredom and curiosity. Judging by his relaxed posture, he no longer saw you as a threat.

"She took down two." he said, his disinterested voice cutting through the silence. It wasn't directed at you — that much was clear. Something gleamed in his ear — a communicator, probably. The device emitted a faint blue glow, and you recognized it immediately: Piltover tech. The bastard was talking to someone, and you could imagine who.

"Yeah, she seems to be retreating." he continued after a pause. His head tilted slightly, as though listening to a response. "Ten, maybe fifteen seconds? I don't know, I wasn't paid to count the seconds." another irritatingly long pause. "But listen, buddy... your boss paid us to bring her in, nothing more, so stop complaining."

Your hand slid across the floor, searching for the dagger that had fallen nearby. Your fingertips brushed against it, and you grasped it tightly, ignoring the pain radiating through your body. The man kept murmuring, perhaps to someone on the other side of that device, but you no longer heard him. It didn't matter. Only one thing mattered: you would not go back to Piltover. Not again. Never again.

The idea forming in your mind was suicidal. You knew that. But the alternative was worse. Going back to them? No. You would rather die here, now.

The familiar tingling returned to your eyes — a mix of adrenaline and desperation that allowed you to ignore exhaustion and pain but also reminded you there were limits, and you were dangerously close to them. Blood began to flow from your nose again, faster this time, a clear sign your body couldn't hold out much longer.

"Send more people to clean up this mess." his voice echoed through the room, each word carrying the weight of an irrefutable command. He didn't even glance at you as he spoke, exuding the arrogant confidence of someone who believed they had already won. Maybe it was the boredom in his posture or the lowered guard he displayed, but you knew at that moment he had made a fatal mistake. "That chemical baron will be a problem if he finds out—"

The sentence died in his throat.

The muffled sound of a blade piercing flesh and the sudden shift in his expression were almost cathartic. He froze, his eyes wide, disbelief written across his face. His hand instinctively rose to his neck, trying in vain to stem the blood gushing between his fingers.

You barely had time to register the scene. Your body gave out, too heavy to support anymore. Your knees buckled, and you collapsed onto the floor. Pain exploded at the back of your head as it hit the rough wood, but you could no longer focus on anything except the sound of the man collapsing beside you.

The blade was still embedded in him, the weapon he never saw coming.

Look at that — you really hadn't lost your touch. Silco was right, after all. You were like him. A trail of ruins followed your every step. But unlike him, you had tried — truly tried — to stop being the monster they had created. Tried to believe you could be something more. Something different. And yet, here you were, falling back into the same cycle.

The edges of the world began to blur, a black void swallowing everything. For a moment, you hoped this was the end. If you had to choose between going back or dying right there, on that filthy floor in Zaun, death seemed merciful.

Silco's Pov━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

01:45 PM

The scene in that modest apartment was, for Silco, a spectacle as unexpected as it was disconcerting. Not because he wasn't accustomed to the sight of bodies, the acrid smell of blood, or the chaos of a devastated space. Silco had seen more than his share of brutality. Zaun was a land that chewed up and spat out the weak without mercy, and he had long since grown desensitized to the sight of piled corpses and spilled blood. But something about this scene unsettled him deeply — perhaps because it wasn't supposed to be this way here, in this space, in what should have been her private refuge.

He stepped forward, his heavy boots creaking against the worn floorboards, breaking the oppressive silence as he approached the focal point of the carnage. Sevika was crouched beside the two bodies on the ground, analyzing them with her characteristic calm. When Silco drew close enough, she glanced up at him, her expression a mix of seriousness and faint cynicism.

"They're not our men."

Silco narrowed his eyes and took a few more steps, stopping beside her. He examined the bodies closely, leaning slightly. The stab wounds in their torsos and necks were precise, almost surgical. There were no signs of a disorderly struggle or desperate attempts at defense. Whoever had done this knew exactly where to strike — and how to kill.

"Find out who they belong to."

"He's alive!" a shrill voice suddenly called out, echoing off the aged walls of the apartment in a tone that grated on Silco's ears. He turned slowly toward the source of the sound, his eyes narrowing with an expression teetering between disdain and cold fury.

The young, wiry medic Silco had brought along as a precaution visibly flinched under the weight of that penetrating gaze. Trembling, the medic adjusted his glasses in a nervous gesture and pointed toward the third body in the room.

"Er—This one still has a pulse." the doctor stammered, his hesitation making his voice weak. "But it's very faint. The cut on the throat... it didn't hit the main artery, but he's lost a lot of blood. If we don't treat him soon, he won't survive."

Silco strode toward the fallen man, his footsteps echoing like hammer blows on the wooden floor. His presence seemed to fill the space, his shadow looming over the doctor in an almost suffocating way. He stopped beside the body, his gaze fixed on the faint rise and fall of the chest that confirmed shallow breaths. A life hanging by a tenuous thread.

"Make sure he stays alive." Silco ordered, the underlying threat in his tone as cold as it was precise. "Or you'll join him."

There was something about the calm, measured way Silco spoke that made the threat all the more terrifying. The doctor swallowed hard, hurriedly opening the small bag of supplies he carried. Bandages, glass vials containing various substances, needles, and a small tube of Shimmer were quickly spread out on the floor, his trembling hands working to stabilize the injured man.

As the doctor busied himself, Silco let his gaze wander around the room again. That's when he saw it. Near the body on the far right — the one the doctor was trying to save — the blade still glistened with fresh blood. He crouched and picked it up carefully. His dagger. The blade he'd used with her the night before in a very different context, now stained again, but this time with someone else's blood.

The dark, viscous blood stained Silco's glove, leaving marks that seemed to seep into the leather like an uncleanable curse. He stared at the stain with a mix of disgust and restrained fury. His lips twisted into a sneer as he slid the bloodied dagger into his pocket, as if tucking away not just the weapon but the promise of vengeance it carried.

For a moment, he felt an almost uncontrollable urge to crush the fallen man beneath his boot, to reduce that pathetic heap of flesh to a pile of broken bones. But Silco knew how to control his impulses. It wasn't blind rage that gave him power, but cold, calculated anger. He took a deep breath, burying the desire to kill under layers of self-control. There would be time for that later. First, he would extract everything he could from this wretched creature. Then, he would decide what to do with the useless lump of flesh. Perhaps leave him to rot in the gutters, a feast for Zaun's rats.

"I managed to stabilize him!" the doctor's voice broke through Silco's thoughts, tinged with relief and pride, as if he had just saved the world. Silco shot him a quick glance and noticed the faint purple hue around the wound. The man had used Shimmer. Clever, Silco thought.

"Take him to The Last Drop." he ordered, his voice low but razor-sharp. The command was followed immediately by a frenzy of movement from his subordinates, who began lifting the semi-conscious body with clumsy haste. "And get rid of the other bodies." he added with indifference. Those corpses didn't deserve the privilege of a burial. Their insignificant lives had ended as they were lived: worthless, disposable.

He didn't even glance back as he left the scene. There was nothing there that warranted any more of his time. She had been here. She had fought, survived. But she wasn't safe. That was as clear as the blood now staining his gloves.

Silco would bring her back, even if it meant turning all of Zaun upside down to do so.

Part 9

AUTHOR'S NOTES: The next chapter will be a little more violent than this one, so be warned. If you're here for the obscenity, you'll have to wait a bit. To make it easier to visualize both this chapter and the next ones, you can imagine her ability as a mix of the strength and resistance of the bestial version of Vander (in this case Warwick) and the agility of Jinx after Shimmer. Destructive for both the person being attacked and the attacker. You'll understand better as the story progresses.

↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓

(Adding people to the list will probably end in some future updates as it is getting too big, so take advantage now to ask to be added. If you want to continue receiving updates consider following me.)

@heidiland05

@defmxl

@rubyoff1cal

@silcoisatan

@edynmeyer1

@metamorphoserequiem

@casualunknownrunaway

@qlovalova

@kinavet

@aise-30

@bubbabobabubbles

@artist4theworld

@lovelyjulieee

@pollomoon

@celi-xxmoon

@starryhiraeth

@spntiel

@vxllys

@hotchners-wifey

@unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker

@ultrahoney

@mysteriouszer0

@thisisarcanereverie

@prettyrose189

@coffeesefied

@sarynnah

@apexie100

@mommymilkers0526

@mikimimic

@shugar0cone0alt

@sunshiines-stuff

@lynnieluvsu

@ficsamillion

@koshehehe

@hayleynott

@malkentaj

@twililty

@fandomsinthegalaxies

@mikuley

@anthy-j-ander

@angelsdemonsmonsters

@buggnuggies

@fudosl

@strwwbbrri

@taefect94

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 01

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

The first days of school are supposed to be exciting—or at least, that’s the idea you’ve gathered from TV shows and a few overly romanticized books.

But for you, ever since you first walked into your pre-k classroom in shiny Mary Janes, it’s been the same story. Year after year, right up to today, in your polished Chanel loafers, you’ve loathed it.

If anything, it’s your least favorite time of year.

Everyone is too happy. Too enthusiastic about seeing each other. People making plans left and right, hugs, laughter—none of it involves you. You’re left to sit and watch, stuck in your silent little bubble while the world keeps spinning around you.

Not that anyone’s being intentionally cruel. No, you know this is more on you—on your quiet, awkward nature that seems to freeze any potential interaction before it even has a chance to begin. So you can’t really blame them when, even as you sit dead center in the classroom, your classmates talk over and around you like you’re invisible.

You sink lower in your seat, hoping it isn’t too obvious how Kaminari is leaning across you to chat with Kirishima, who’s seated just behind you. Each laugh and cheerful exchange only makes you feel smaller.

God, you hate day one.

Class doesn’t officially start until 8:45 a.m., but your alarm—set to chime with soft jingles—woke you up at 5 a.m. sharp.

You went through your entire morning routine with the precision of someone preparing for a photoshoot: exfoliating every inch of your skin with vanilla-scented soaps imported from France, carefully styling your hair to perfection, and spending far too long at your vanity.

A layer of sparkly gloss on your lips, clump-free mascara on your lashes, pink blush dusted on your cheeks, and the lightest touch of pearl shimmer on your nose—everything had to be just right.

Even picking out your outfit took an hour, despite the fact that it’s a school uniform, and no one’s likely to look twice at what you’re wearing.

Still, it boosts your confidence, makes you feel like you’ve got some control. Your black designer loafers and knee-high black socks set you apart from your classmates, most of whom stick to the standard brown shoes provided by the school.

Your jewelry is minimal but elegant—sparkling diamond studs in your ears, a small stack of delicate rings on your fingers, and a few simple bracelets on your wrists. Beneath your uniform blouse, a dainty diamond pendant rests against your chest.

Yet, even with all that effort, you still feel small, like your presence is nothing more than background noise. You stare blankly at your desk, drowning in the chatter of the classroom around you.

“Bakugou! What’d you do this summer, man?!” Kaminari’s voice rings out, pulling your attention.

Your gaze lifts to the boy sitting at the front corner of the room, his expression as uninterested as ever. Bakugo barely spares Kaminari a glance before responding in his usual blunt tone. “I trained and worked with best jeanist, dunce face. You were there for most of it.”

Dunce face. If Bakugo ever called you something like that, you’re pretty sure you’d have an existential crisis right then and there. But Kaminari? He just laughs, brushing it off with a carefree grin, as if Bakugo’s blunt insults are part of his daily routine.

The boys keep up their banter, the sound blending into the general noise of the classroom while you sit quietly, feeling like a shadow in the background—there, but barely noticed. Just another morning, same as always. That is, until something weird happens.

“What about you, Y/N? Did you do anything fun?” Kaminari asks, suddenly turning toward you.

You blink, your brain stuttering to process his words as the chatter around you dies down. All eyes shift toward you, and you feel the heat rising to your face. Instinctively, your hands clam up, but you fight the urge to shrink away, forcing yourself to meet Kaminari’s expectant gaze.

“I, um… I traveled.” Your voice is soft, hesitant, and wow—could you sound any less enthusiastic?

You glance around nervously, your eyes flicking toward Bakugo. As expected, he looks utterly disinterested, his expression blank as if he’s already tuning you out. Figures. 

Swallowing down the tightness in your throat, you turn back to Kaminari, offering a tense smile. “Across Europe. I… brought souvenirs for everyone.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

Kaminari’s yellow eyes widen in genuine surprise, and Kirishima looks equally taken aback. You can tell they hadn’t expected you to say much—let alone reveal that you’d thought to bring back gifts for them. You’re not exactly known for being vocal, and this is probably the most they’ve ever heard you say at once.

“Oh, that’s really cool!” Kirishima beams, his usual warmth shining through as he gives you an approving nod. “You didn’t have to do that, though!”

“Yeah, that’s super nice of you!” Kaminari adds, grinning widely. Beyond his dumb antics, the electric boy really does have a sweet smile to him, and for a second, the tension in your chest eases just a little.

You shift awkwardly under their attention, unused to being in the spotlight like this with your peers. “It’s nothing, really. I can give you the gifts after class,” you mumble, waving a hand dismissively, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

“So cool! What countries did you go to?” Kaminari asks, leaning in slightly with genuine interest.

“Well, I stayed at my grandparents’ vacation homes, so mostly Western Europe,” you explain, your manicured hands practically clawing into your skirt as you try to project calmness.

“What’s this about Western Europe I hear?! That’s so cool, Y/N!” Mina suddenly bounces into the conversation, and your heart practically drops out of your chest. How does she so easily swoop into conversations she wasn’t even part of? You know these are her friends, and she’s comfortable with them, but still—you can’t help but admire her confidence.

“She was there over the summer, and she got us gifts too!” Kaminari shares excitedly, as if you aren’t sitting right there. Your cheeks burn violently under the sudden attention.

Bakugo stays silent, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression, but you swear you catch the briefest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he looks away. Maybe it’s your imagination, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t stop your mind from swirling.

Mina gasps and clasps her hands together. “Wait, you got us gifts? That’s seriously so sweet! Thank you, Y/N!” she chirps, her gratitude genuine.

You manage a tense smile, nodding politely, but before you can reply, Sero chimes in with a grin. “So you stayed at a vacation house too? Gosh, that sounds way cooler than ours. We were only there for a week.”

Your brows raise slightly. They all went on vacation together?

“Hey, we can’t complain,” Mina snorts, nudging Bakugo, who scowls in her direction. “It was on the beach, and we had Chef Bakugo at our service the entire time.”

“At your service is bold as fuck to say, Raccoon Eyes,” Bakugo scoffs, arms crossing in a way that only somehow makes him look even bigger. “If I hadn’t cooked, you all would’ve starved on cups of ramen.”

Your eyes, if they could, would sparkle at the visual. How does he even fit in his uniform?! His arms strain against the fabric of his sleeves, and the way his blazer clings to his broad shoulders almost makes you forget how much you hate first days of school.

You catch yourself staring for a second too long and quickly look away, heart pounding. Seriously, calm down. You don’t have a crush on Bakugo. You can’t have a crush on Bakugo. It’s not like he even knows you exist—aside from right now, where you’re sure he’s more focused on the conversation than you.

But still… he’s hard to ignore.

Denki, in his usual silly mood, throws himself into an exaggerated pose, dramatically praising Bakugo as though the blonde had single-handedly saved his life on that trip. “Our fearless leader Bakugo, slaving over a hot stove so we didn’t perish!”

Bakugo rolls his pretty red eyes, muttering something about “idiots” under his breath, and somehow the sight sends your heart into a chaotic rhythm again. God, I need to get ahold of myself.

Conversation flows smoothly without you really, but you still sit and smile, at least somewhat involved which is more than what you've really ever gotten- though it's interrupted by the sight of Aizawa opening the class doors.

“I want to see the progress you’ve all made over the break. You have 15 minutes to put on your costumes and meet at the training arena. Don’t waste time.”

Your brows lift slightly in surprise at the sudden announcement. A performance test, right off the bat? Instinctively, nerves creep in, but they’re soon replaced by a flicker of excitement.

You can’t wait to put on your new costume. Your mother had pulled some serious strings to have it custom-made by her design team, and you’ve been itching to see how it feels in action.

Grabbing your suitcase, you fall in line with your classmates, heading toward the locker rooms. Once inside, you quietly move to a far corner, grateful for the privacy. You flip open the suitcase, and your heart lifts as your eyes land on the carefully folded fabric inside.

The bodysuit is breathtaking—an iridescent pink material that seems to shimmer with every shift in light. Attached to the waist is a short skirt shaped like delicate flower petals, each edge subtly sparkling as though dusted with stardust. It’s both beautiful and practical, designed to move with you and enhance your quirk.

With steady hands, you slip into the form-fitting suit, the breathable fabric molding to your body perfectly.

You adjust the petal skirt, ensuring it falls just right, before sitting down on the bench to put on your boots—sleek, sturdy, and designed for agility. As you lace them up, you take a moment to glance down at your fully assembled outfit, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

It’s more than just a costume—it’s a statement of everything you’ve worked for, a tangible reminder of how far you’ve come.

Already, little girls across the country are asking for dolls that resemble you, despite the fact that you haven’t even graduated yet. Your internship at your mother’s prestigious hero firm is impressive, sure, but it's your image that truly captures the public’s attention.

After all, who could resist a hero who looks like a princess, wielding a quirk that blooms like pink flower magic in the midst of battle? It’s easy to see why your visual appeal has taken center stage—there’s something undeniably captivating about a hero who sparkles as much as she fights.

It’s surreal, considering the incredible feats of your classmates, that you're one of the ones that are being eyed most.

Todoroki, Midoriya, Bakugo—they’ve long since cemented their place among the best, their power unquestionable.

Yet, somehow, you've found yourself thrust into the spotlight, unexpectedly pushed forward as one of the frontrunners in the public eye from your graduating class.

It’s almost ironic, considering how incapable you are of even talking to your classmates. You’re not as strong as they are—not by a long shot. You don’t have their raw power or battle-hardened skills.

But in a world where appearances sometimes speak as loudly as strength, your presence has somehow captured the hearts of the country.

Again, painfully ironic.

You stand and smooth the glittering fabric of your bodysuit once more. Taking a steadying breath, you step toward the mirror. With a flick of your wrist, your quirk activates.

Delicate cherry blossom petals glow softly, the faint pink hue shimmering as they materialize from your hands and float effortlessly through the air. They slot themselves into your hair, pinning back the front pieces with the kind of precision you’ve long perfected.

So cute!!

“Oh Y/n, you look so good!” Ochako gushes, her eyes wide and sparkling as she clasps her hands together. Your cheeks flush at the attention, feeling the heat rise as if all the energy of the room is focused solely on you. The sheer amount of social interaction today has already left you feeling a little winded, but you force a smile, the best one you can muster.

“Thanks, Ochako,” you reply, gesturing to her newly upgraded bodysuit in black and pink. “You look great, too.”

In fact, everyone looks great. It’s surreal, really.

To think back to when you all first started, and now, seeing how much you've all grown—both in your abilities and in how you carry yourselves. It’s a strange feeling, being a part of it all, like you’re watching the shift from the sidelines rather than standing in the middle of it.

The sudden memory of Aizawa’s emphasis on “15 minutes” jolts you back to the present.

With a quiet shuffle, the girls make their way out into the arena where the rest of your classmates stand. You settle yourself on the outskirts of the group, perching on one of the benches, the space around you familiar and comforting. You’re content to just observe this time, no pressure to dive into conversation.

It’s easier this way, you think, as no one pays you any mind. Your eyes wander over to Bakugou, who, unsurprisingly, is at the center of the chaos.

He’s snapping at Kirishima, his fiery temper on full display—but you couldn’t care less about the words exchanged. What draws you in again is the way his costume fits him, perfectly tailored to his frame, an expression of his raw power.

God, he looks good.

Before you can let your mind wander any further, Aizawa’s voice slices through the air, snapping everyone’s attention back to him.

“Alright, guys, let’s start,” he announces, his tone calm but commanding, as usual, a checklist in hand. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

You focus, brow furrowing slightly as you listen to the rules. Capture the flag? Sounds easy enough, right?

The rules are simple: whoever holds the flag is considered the villain, and the team tasked with capturing it are the heroes. Straightforward.

But then, the teams are announced—randomized, of course—and before you know it, there’s a bright yellow flag strapped to your waist. And just like that, you’re the villain.

The weight of the flag feels less like an accessory and more like a target now. Great. It’s fine! You can handle it. Your quirk’s flashy and not the best for stealth, but you’ve worked with it before. No problem.

You straighten up, waiting for Aizawa to announce your opponent. You can practically feel the tension building as the seconds stretch on.

“Bakugou Katsuki. Hero.”

What?

Suddenly, it feels like the world stops spinning for a moment. You’re hyper-aware of the eyes on you and Bakugou, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze fall between the two of you, curiosity in the air. Mostly because, well...

You and Bakugou had literally never been paired together for anything in the three years you’ve spent together at U.A.

It sounds odd, but despite being in many different classes, projects, and assignments together, it’s never happened. Not once.

And now, here you are. Your first time being paired with him. Oh god.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you look over at him, unable to stop yourself. Your breath catches when you realize his red eyes are already locked on you.

His hero mask rests casually on his forehead, pushing back the messy platinum strands of his hair, only adding to his beautiful face. His expression is neutral—almost indifferent—but in your eyes, it only makes him look more dangerous.

You swallow hard, and your pulse spikes.

Bakugou Katsuki... is going to try and catch your flag?

Your hand naturally falls on the flag tied to your waist line, holding it to you, and you don't miss how his sharp eyes follow the movement.

Why, of all times, does your face suddenly feel like it’s on fire? Your heart races in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else entirely. Oh god, help you. You’re in trouble

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[rinsthighsweat]

They are in a long distance relationship

Rin, Shidou, Barou, Nagi and Bachira | masterlist

۶ৎ Rin Itoshi

Rin isn’t expressive, but he takes the relationship seriously. He dislikes long phone conversations but makes an effort to stay in constant contact.

Prefers simple but direct messages: “Training. You?” Though his responses may seem cold, they reflect his genuine interest.

Video calls are rare because they make him uncomfortable, but if he knows they make you happy, he’ll endure them, keeping a serious face while you talk.

Staying focused on football is easier because of the distance, yet he thinks about you more often than he admits.

“I’m bad at this, but I want this to work. Is that enough for you?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Shidou Ryusei

Shidou is unpredictable, even in a long-distance relationship. He sends random messages, from weird memes to passionate confessions.

He has no shame in calling you at odd times just to say something bold or make you laugh.

He misses physical contact the most and openly expresses his frustration: “How much longer until I see your face again? I’m done with this.”

Despite his chaotic personality, his unexpected dedication ensures you never feel neglected.

“When we meet, you’re not leaving my side. Got it?”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Shoei Barou

Barou isn’t great at expressing affection over distance, but his commitment to the relationship is solid.

He keeps conversations short and focused, often asking practical questions: “Did you eat? Don’t skip meals.”

He prefers voice messages, finding long texts a waste of time. His messages often sound like orders but carry genuine concern.

Though he won’t admit it, the distance frustrates him because he feels he can’t protect you properly.

“Stay strong until we meet again. Don’t act weak.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Seishiro Nagi

Nagi hates extra effort but surprisingly keeps in touch because he cares more than he shows.

He prefers video calls over texting since they’re less work. He’s often lying down, sleepy-eyed, staring at the screen.

Though lazy by nature, if he notices the distance is affecting you, he makes a conscious effort to talk more and listen better.

��Being apart is annoying… but being without you would be worse.” It’s one of the rare emotional things he might say.

“Seeing you again sounds nice, way less effort than all this.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

۶ৎ Meguru Bachira

Bachira treats a long-distance relationship as a fun challenge and does everything to keep it exciting.

He sends messages filled with emojis and pictures of random things in his day.

He surprises you with spontaneous video calls, sharing whatever silly thing he’s doing at the moment.

The distance never dulls his enthusiasm, as he constantly reminds you how much he cares.

“Distance doesn’t matter. As long as we keep smiling, we’re good, right?”

[call-me-casual]

I’ve been thinking about them so here’s a Scott Tracy [TAG edition] headcanon dump:

1. This is a bit of a retcon of an older headcanon, but Scott is 26 at the start of S1, just at the edge of turning 27, and 29 on the brink of turning 30 at the end of S3. I originally put him as 27, but I will die on the hill that Alan is 17 in S1 based on the uk driving age and I think I’ve seen somewhere that an old magazine or something said the age gap between Alan and Scott was 9 years?

2. Probably not going to be very popular but I headcanon that in the world of TAG, Scott was never in the military or GDF. No bereznik, no nothing. Instead his possible “militaristic” behaviour comes from Jeff’s training and Scott’s tendencies to copy his father.

3. Scott may have the colouring and significant facial features of his father, but actually has a good amount of his mother’s traits, such as his lanky build and personality. He loves his dad dearly and aspires to be like him, but also appreciates the little things his mother gave him that didn’t leave him a simple clone of his dad. He also inherited a few traits from his mother’s side in general.

4. Scott’s behaviour is often him attempting to act like Jeff for the sake of the others. It started as him trying to figure out how to lead, but there was also an underlying factor of him wanting things at home to stay as similar as they could. This is “Commander Scott”, whilst his real personality shines when he banters with his family, expresses his own interests and feels more comfortable.

5. Linking to headcanon 2 is what I like to call “The silver prince of Tracy Island”. Scott is a valuable asset, and people know this. Even before iR, organisations and militaries were scrambling to try and get hold of the firstborn of the legendary Colonel Jeff Tracy. They think that the kid who wants to be just like daddy will be easy to manipulate. But Scott always turned them down out of a desire to stay with his family and his incredibly pacifist nature. One of these organisations was the GDF, at the time run by a not so nice man. Not long before the Zero-X, they attempted to basically kidnap Scott and force him to serve, but were stopped by an irate Jeff who came in and saved him. This incident lead to the man in charge being investigated and replaced by Colonel Casey not long after Zero-X. (This is partly influenced by an old thread that I can’t find for the LIFE OF ME-)

His brothers know what happened, they know that there are people who want Scott Tracy for their own gain, and they are determined to protect him as he’s protected them. Sometimes, one might find a brother or two sitting vigil over their brother’s rare instances of sleep. His royal guard.

6. Scott’s pacifist nature comes from the fact that his earliest memories include the fresh Conflict of 2040. He became aware of the destruction through Jeff’s own experiences and hearing many, many news broadcasts and conversations. Scott may have been young, but he understood the gravity of what adults talked about following the conflict, when it was fresh in everyone’s minds. Whilst he doesn’t remember this, it was monumental in forming who he is today. He’s not a TOTAL pacifist (as seen when he attempts to punch evil Indiana Jones-), but he is determined to never take a life. He knows his father’s regrets, and promised to never repeat them.

7. Scott is stronger than he looks. Yes he’s light as a feather and could almost be called a twink, but he’s actually mostly lean muscle. iR promotes training for strength rather than show, so Scott isn’t very buff looking. He does however, lack a lot of body fat and can sometimes struggle to warm back up. His uniform is thickly woven and padded inside as a result, and on windy days at the island, Virgil will attempt to swaddle his big brother in blanket-thick towels post-swim.

8. Despite only stating “looking up at the night sky” (ouch) and “swimming” as his hobbies in that interview, Scott does have a few things he enjoys! Flying is obvious, but he also enjoys playing football (the REAL one, where you KICK the ball), hiking, model making and using burner accounts to wind up the bigots of 2060.

9. Scott has some variation of separation anxiety, even if he’ll never admit it. If a brother comes home after a close call or particularly long/dangerous mission, he’ll essentially wrap himself around them and refuse to let go. Because he’s mad at himself that he couldn’t protect them more, scared of what could have happened, and needs to assure himself that he hasn’t lost his baby brothers the way he lost his dad.

10. When there’s a particularly annoying or just frustrating board member at Tracy Industries, Scott will perform a series of secret pranks to get under their skin without any real consequences. The investors fear the coffee machine after it got filled with non-toxic washing up liquid found its way inside. He sits with Gordon to brainstorm new ideas.

11. If picked up from under the armpits or grabbed by the back of his shirt collar, Scott will go limp and one can perform the cat “temperament test” on him. Beware that this only occurs when there is a level of trust, otherwise expect resistance.

[catacropolis]

Twisted Wonderland Fear and Hunger AU

Jamil Viper

Jamil Moonschorching

The Deceiver

Growing up as a servant for the Asim family meant that every day was filled with strict responsibilities and menial tasks. His main duty as a servant of the Asims was to tend to the every whim of the heir of the Asim silk industry, Kalim. He hated him. The Asim silk industry was a thriving and highly successful conglomerate of fine and expensive fabrics. And their heir Kalim was probably the least fit person to run the company. As pampered as a pet , Kalim was a naive fool and Jamil despised him for it. He had spent years of his youth trying his hardest to teach the young heir about the responsibilities of his position and prepare him for his life ahead of him and yet he couldn't understand how the young man couldn't grasp such simple concepts. 

He would find himself spending his off time dreaming of what life could be like if he were Kalim. To him it was clear as day that the heir was incompetent and Jamil himself showed such promise. Above all he wished for a better life for him and his family. They were all talented and strong willed individuals. It seemed frankly ridiculous why they were not in power as he grew older. 

When Jamil reached the age of 13 his family began training him in studies of Gro-goroth The god of human sacrifices. Utilising his teachings he became skilled in magic associated with Gro-goroth.  When getting involved with the old gods he has been warned about the corruptive side of Gro-groth’s power. Learning to balance his power to the best of his abilities the underbelly of the Asim house assisted in Jamil's training believing that he would become the ultimate bodyguard for the heir. 

Unbeknownst to them, Jamil's hatred towards Kalim grew day by day. His patience wearing thinner before after years of his loyalty to the house he snapped. He had hurt Kalim . the person he had dedicated his entire livelihood to protecting. A part of him reveled in the power that his actions gave him but the realisation of the consequences dawned on him like an angry cloud. 

If the head of the house found out about his actions he and his family would truly meet a fate worse than death. 

With what little resolve he had left he fled the house and swore vengeance upon Kalim if his family was endangered . wandering the endless deserts of his homecountry he found himself on a train headed to Prehivil. 

Jaim and kalim both embody multiple roles in twst alone one that stuck out to me recently was chapter 7s connection to jamil being the genie 

And in a way it makes a lot of sense so the design is also somewhat reflective of that 

He's still trapped in this life that he desperately wants to escape from but he's lived this life for as long as he can remember so he doesn't even know how to live outside of that responsibility but he also so desperately wants to escape from that life 

Twst Jamil has expressed his interest in leaving. leaving the scalding sands and his old life behind and exploring the world and going somewhere that he has never been, that's nothing like the life he's had to live till now. 

Unlike the genie his master can't just wish for his freedom and it will be granted . kalim doest have that power his father does . 

 (I have a lot of thoughts about the complexities of Jamil and Kalim as people their dynamic is so convoluted and morally gray on both ends that neither is completely innocent or guilty and it's so fascinating) 

( could you tell that Jamil is one of my fav characters to think about ) 

 The multiple heads of the snakes is a combination of a few different design ideas 

First, its a reference to the snake hair Jamil gets in his ob design.

Second, i wanted to feel a lot like a gorgon head of snakes.

Third, the multiple heads represent Jamil's inner conflict of wanting to escape from his old life but not knowing how to since it's all he's ever known ( ex . Levi after the war returning to Prehevil despite all the pain it caused him because other than war Prehivil is all he knows and despite not liking the town doesn't know where else he could go )

The deceiver is a being of self-interest trapped by outside forces and despite its monstrous power, it can't break away from its own chains. In losing himself he loses any chance to find the life he wanted for himself. trapped in a fate controlled by higher powers once again.  His legs twist together into a solid pillar forming like an incomplete snake's tail. His appearance shifts into one resembling a naga . his legs becoming one restrict his movement only further imprisoning him into the reality he finds himself to be in. 

He is the deceiver yet he hides no part of himself. An example I could correlate this to would be Samaries moonscorching. dysmorphia is the embodiment of Samries view of herself and her deteriorating body and yet when she becomes dysmorphia she is happy in a way  and calls herself radiant 

Similarly, the deceiver shows the hidden truth and most vulnerable aspects of jamil that he keeps hidden from the world 

Samarie was one of the inspirations for his moonscorched form 

One of the abilities the deceiver would have is mind control ( ex the father snail enemies)

A lot of his attacks would probably be less physical and more mental/ psychological attacks that drain mind 

 Jamil would become the deceiver Day 2 morning  if the player during day 2 morning fails to encounter jamil and doppleganger kalim 

In the interaction, Jamil is within the city of Prehevil when he comes across a doppelganger Kalim if the player does not expose the doppelganger to Jamil his encounter with Kalim will escalate  causing him to Moonscorch ( ex Samarie and Marina)

for more information about this au

Au Masterpost

[f1girliefics]

Charles Leclerc and His Mystery Love: A Quiet Romance in the Spotlight

In the glamorous world of Formula 1, where speed, fame, and luxury crash, it’s rare to find a love story that feels real.

Yet, Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy, seems to have found exactly that.

Leclerc, known for his calm demeanour and fierce talent in racing, surprised fans earlier this week when photos of him walking hand-in-hand with a woman outside a small café in Monte Carlo began circulating online.

Unlike the supermodels Charles has been seen with in the past, the mystery woman appears to be not a supermodel.

A Simple Start to an Extraordinary Romance

According to sources close to the couple, the two met in a quick encounter months ago.

“It wasn’t anything dramatic,” a friend of the pair shared. “They met at a local grocery store. She paid for his items when he forgot his wallet, and that’s how it all started. Charles couldn’t stop thinking about her after that.”

The mystery woman, whose identity remains private for now, isn’t from the world of motorsports or celebrity circles.

She’s described as someone with a quiet life, working a regular job in Monaco.

“She’s not into the limelight,” another insider noted. “She genuinely cares for Charles, not his fame.”

A Rare Public Appearance

Their public outing sparked immediate curiosity.

Dressed casually in a light sundress and sneakers, she appeared at ease beside Leclerc, who sported a relaxed look in jeans and a white shirt.

The two were seen laughing and sharing quiet moments over coffee before strolling down the streets, oblivious to the attention around them.

Fans quickly took to social media, expressing admiration for Leclerc’s choice.

“I love how real she looks. It’s refreshing to see a celebrity dating someone who isn’t a model or influencer,” one fan tweeted.

Others speculated on how the relationship might affect Leclerc’s performance on the track.

A Love Beyond the Spotlight

Despite being one of the most famous drivers on the grid, Leclerc has always maintained a level of privacy about his personal life.

However, those close to him say that his new relationship has brought a noticeable change.

“He’s happier, more relaxed,” a Ferrari team member revealed. “She grounds him in a way that’s hard to explain. He’s found someone who sees him for who he is, not what he does. I believe everyone needs someone like that.”

When asked about the photos during a recent press conference, Leclerc smiled but remained secretive.

“I prefer to keep my private life… private,” he said, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his feelings.

What’s Next for the Couple?

With the Formula 1 season in full swing, it’s unclear how often the pair will be able to spend time together.

However, those who know Leclerc well believe that this relationship is different.

“Charles is serious about her,” one insider claimed.

As for his mystery girlfriend, she seems content staying in the background, supporting Leclerc quietly.

Whether or not she’ll appear more frequently at races remains to be seen, but one thing is clear.

Charles Leclerc has found someone special, and the racing world can’t stop talking about it.

In a sport dominated by high speeds and high stakes, it’s nice to see that, sometimes, the most significant victories happen off the track.

[leggerefiore]

Heyooo, do you remember your “dealing with a jealous ex” with Pokémon men? How about a part 2 with more Pokémon men?

maaaan rereading that. I would have done a few things differently. Here it is.

cw: jealousy, exes, previous relationships mentioned

characters: Lear, Cyrus, N

👑Lear💎

🪙 Grimsley, your previous partner, had been many things. Half the time he was a broke who needed to bum off you after using or losing his winnings. The other half was a manwhore who spent his time in other people's beds as an indulgence of one of his many vices. You had liked him. He was charming and surprisingly kind. Evenings were spent showing you different places around Unova and leading a life that felt foreign to the typical and expected. Though, you found yourself heartbroken at his cheating. He insisted that he would stop and that he was sorry. He was not, you felt. So you left him, your eyes set on getting far away from him and Unova.

🪙 Pasio was a hot topic at the time, and a visit proved the place to meet all that you heard and more. It was a haven away from the feelings that burned inside you related to Grimsley. All the events and excitement made it easy to forget. The PML was fun to watch, too, with you missing a few matches to rest. Seeing the change of heart of the owner of Pasio and supposed prince, Lear, had made you curious about him. He seemed easily approachable, so it was simple to begin something akin to a professional relationship with him. You helped with events and found yourself spending quite a bit of time due to that.

🪙 Slowly, you both found yourselves growing closer than the professionalism would allow. Lear enjoyed the genuine company, wanting to hear your opinions and thoughts on Pasio and taking them to heart. Your joy became important to him, while his own became something you sought to make occur more frequently than it had previously. He was day compared to the night of Grimsley. A certain innocence hung over him and made your relationship somehow more pure than whatever you had with Grimsley. To him, you were to rule at his side like some fairytale story. He never even gave other people so much as a glance when you were with him.

🪙 What you missed, however, was the presence of a certain gambler on the island. He did not miss you, though. Icy blue eyes had been watching you as you went around, waiting for the perfect time to strike and reconnect with you. Yet, the more he waited, the more you seemed to slip away. That prince… He wondered what you saw in him. Financial stability? Really, he seemed like an overgrown brat – Barely more than a child in personality. He was not going to easily give up, despite what he saw unfolding. This must have been your cry for help or some kind of punishment for him.

🪙 Lear felt a bit shocked by the gambler's request for a private meeting but accepted it nonetheless. Nothing could be worse to the monthly request by those two conductor twins about a rail system on Pasio. He shuddered to think about being stared down by them both again. So, he found himself sitting across from the man. Grimsley fit the bill of a fellow man of the highest class, manners shown and expressed with ease. Lear almost felt confident in the meeting producing something fruitful. Until, you had entered, seeing the familiar man sitting across from your boyfriend.

🪙 Grimsley placed his coffee down and glanced at you both, looking back at Lear. A cruel smile split his lips. He had been waiting for you to appear, indulging the prince just as he had learnt during his younger years. The upper class were all the same in feeding egos and revealing their hands. Lear was truly some child at heart. Those sunglasses could not hide the truth from his deciphering eyes. “You know, darling, I didn't think you'd target a virgin,” he shot a cold look at you.

🪙 Lear nearly spit out his own coffee while you glared at him. You wanted to intervene, but simply felt too shocked by his audacity. Even Lear was too stunned to react for a moment. Then, he stiffened his posture and sighed. You cut in before he could, however, simply too offended by him. “And what is that supposed to mean?” you questioned. His brows knitted together as he rested his head on his palm. Before he could dare ask why you left him for some inexperienced fool, Lear cleared his throat.

🪙 A frown was on his face. “My sexual conduct is not your business,” his voice was surprisingly controlled, “I'm going to ask you to leave at once, or I will call Sawyer to have you removed.” You watched as he stood and walked to your side with little reaction. He pulled you into his side and glared at Grimsley. “Whatever previous relations you had with my betrothed are irrelevant now,” he finally a bit of frustration pour out from him, “If I see you near them again… I'll have you removed from this island at once.” You could feel him shaking. Glancing at Lear, you could see the nervousness in his eyes, barely masked by his shades. His confidence was covering his deep insecurity. You knew he was debating if he could compare to someone as experienced as Grimsley was.

🪙 Grimsley blinked as you wrapped an arm around the prince's shoulder to support him. Betrothed…? The word hit his ears painfully. The threat of being removed from the entirety of Pasio was likely no small threat either. The prince screamed to be the type who has tantrums. Is that really what you wanted…? He could not understand your choices at all. Then, he considered what he had liked about you at first. This felt far from over, but he knew this was where he had to strategically withdraw. “Oh, I'll be on my way, there's no need to call your bodyguard on ol' Grimsley,” he waved a hand as walked past you both, “See you.” He pondered just how to resolve this without angering a literal monarch while leaving the villa.

Lear had a thousand questions for you afterwards, mostly related to what the hell Grimsley meant by you targeting a virgin.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ Lysandre was a person you found fascinating. He was passionate about his beliefs and clearly confident in his choices. The man you saw in public was impossible not to pay attention to. Tall, handsome, and supposedly descended from royalty. It was hard not to fall for him, especially with how sweet he had been in your private relationship. Gifts were frequent alongside expensive dates. You felt like his entire world. Yet, somehow, you felt distressed by his talks of beauty and the ugliness of the world. What could have once been dismissed as nothing more than a far too passionate viewpoint showed itself as something far worse. Something you had to run from.

☄️ You fled Kalos, heading to a place far away from it all. The shining city of Lumiose felt like a distant memory as you settled into one of the smaller cities within the Sinnoh region. It was far less developed than what you had seen in certain parts of Kalos yet ahead in many other ways. It was a new start. A beginning to escape the painful memories that plagued you. The snowy, mountainous region had many historical sights that fascinated you instead. It was at one of these that you met a man who caught your attention. A silent, stoic exterior came from him, tempting you into seeing what was underneath it all. So, you struck up a conversation and caught him off-guard.

☄️ Cyrus, his name was. Apparently, only twenty-seven years old. He spoke you to you about the myths of the region in a way that surprised you. Listening to him, you felt like there was more than him than the stern expression on his face. It was persistence that saw you breaking that facade and letting you see the real man who lurked just under. A sad, hurt man with many issues that remained unaddressed. Somehow, you felt it far too easy to grow into something more with him. A tender, careful relationship built on a tentative trust. It would only grow into something more serious with proper nurture. A change in the man was plain to see with how his mask fell around you. He was desperate for anyone to meet the emotions he claimed to so-despise.

☄️ Lysandre, however, had not given up. Your abrupt leaving with only a note explaining your disinterest in continuing your shared relationship had not been enough for him. He had grown obsessed with your beauty – You were someone he needed to be with him in his perfect world. A rumour had reached his ears about where you had run off to alongside just want you had been doing there. Sinnoh, a region that rarely crossed his mind. He made himself a reason to visit – Another engineer was there. A discussion with him gave him the perfect excuse to visit the region without drawing suspicion from his followers. The idea of it getting out that you had fled from him drew out terror.

☄️ A meeting with this Cyrus proved quite fascinating. The man was genuinely talented engineer with a comprehension that he almost wished to have on his side. Something about Xerosic left him concerned. It had been refreshing to discuss things from a different perspective than his own. This may be youthful energy or whatever else he had heard about. Yet, something interrupted their discussion. The doors to the office opened and revealed a person that Lysandre simply had not expected. Had you heard of his visit…? Had you hunted him down? Ah, perhaps everything was going better than he thought. “My love…” He started, standing up to approach you, “Have you reconsidered your choice?”

☄️ A choked sound came from Cyrus behind him. Lysandre paid it no mind. You, however, stood horrified in the doorway. It was plain to see that you had not expected for him to be here. Yet, that a left a question to the Flare Boss about why you had come here at all. Cyrus had managed to regain himself quickly, embarrassed by the emotional expression that left him. You blinked before finding it in yourself to reply. “No… I made my feelings clear, Lysandre,” you shook your head, “I'm not here for you.” Your gaze met Cyrus's own. A silent demand for an explanation was present within them. This reply had not been the one Lysandre had wanted. He towered over you, glaring down at you. He despised the idea of using force, but there was no way that he would leave without you.

☄️ “I would advise you to stop intimidating my partner,” Cyrus's voice cut in with its usual cadence. His steps to your side were concise and reflected no hesitation in himself. He stood with you, making no direct contact but remaining firmly at your side. Lysandre was astonished. What… kind of move was this…? How had you settled for someone like him…? He bit his tongue on the physical appearance of Cyrus, but he found the man's attire choices odd and certainly not complimentary. “I had thought you came here to discuss a possible deal between our firms, but it seems that you intended to harass my partner,” Cyrus continued, “I ask that leave you at once.”

☄️ Lysandre stiffened. You hid into Cyrus's side, basically clinging to him. The Kalosian man held a bit of height towards the Sinnohan man, but intimidation would not work here. You seemed so attached to him, too. His heart ached. As much as he wished to whisk you away back to Kalos and have you in the beautiful world he intended to create, it simply was not to be. Cyrus would not let this happen, especially. He had heard the rumours about the blue-haired man's supposed plans. He was in the heart of an enemy's territory. “I shall be going then,” he nodded, “… I wonder if they have any clue what you are up to, however.” He strode away. You stood shocked by the entire situation. It seemed you would be left behind with the ugliness of the old world, Lysandre thought.

Cyrus turned to you after he departed and clearly wished for many answers. You, meanwhile, felt terrified by what Lysandre meant that Cyrus was doing.

🌿N👑

🟢 Dating Colress had been an experience. The scientist was utterly fascinating to observe. His pure dedication to his research and nothing else led to many different circumstances for you that certainly could have led to your or his arrest. His lack of morals notwithstanding, he was a decent boyfriend. His interest in bonds extended further than just that between bringing out strength in pokemon. You had become a part of his research. Yet, the thing that had finally driven you to leave was his assault on Opelucid. The madness had proved too much for you to bear.

🟢 So, you left completely and cut ties with him and Team Plasma. You hung around Unova, wandering around, trying to find where to go next with your life. Honestly, you had been following Colress unconsciously while being unsure of what to do. Now, you had freedom, and it felt like far too much. Though, your travels led you to encountering a strange man. He stood watching the clouds on Victory Road. Admittedly, he caught your attention due to his beauty, but then when he noticed you, he mentioned that your pokemon spoke and told him that you seemed lost.

🟢 Your friendship began in wandering together. You both felt lost and without a purpose. It was easy to speak with him, as he seemed impossible of cruel judgment. The bond you forged with him felt light-hearted and playful. His claims of speaking to pokemon appeared real enough for you to believe him. His lack of knowledge about the world led to a more imaginative view that lifted your heart. You fell in love with him far too easily. Your feelings being accepted by him with a smile that you are certain could break the worst spiralling thoughts.

🟢 It was as the of you two wandered together that you found yourselves in the tropical region of Alola. He was fascinated with the regional variants present within of other pokemon while you found yourself enjoying the slower pace of the region than Unova had. You both found the sights beautiful – The abundant nature and peaceful coexistence with pokemon putting N into a gentle happiness. He was happy to see many going without pokeballs. Yet, it was as you two explored that you encountered a familiar man.

🟢 Colress had been shocked by your sudden appearance – With Ghetsis's adopted son, no less. Your hand was intertwined with his own. The scientist felt a strange feeling pierce his controlled front. Why…? The thought plagued him. You had left him suddenly, but he grasped the reason, he had thought. Yes, attacking a city was a step too far, even if he was just following Ghetsis's orders. You had a line, and he crossed it. Yet, the idea of you moving onto someone like the so-called king of Team Plasma left him stricken. “… I could have never predicted this,” the words left him unconsciously, “I thought you quite were supportive of my research.”

🟢 N was clearly lost at his words. He had known of the scientist but had not given him much regard outside of that and his disagreeing feelings about his goals. You, however, stood stunned. Why was Colress here…? You tried not to think too much as you processed his words. “... I cannot support someone who ignores laws to satiate their curiosity…” You shook your head, “I thought you would be able to figure that out.” Colress scoffed at your words, clearly annoyed. He attempted to closer to you, wishing for a private conversation. N stepped in front of you and gave a harsh look at him, shocking the scientist.

🟢 “... I…” He tried to find the words, “I don't believe they wish to speak with you. Leave them alone.” Colress blinked at the man. He had never been able to understand quite what was up with N. He apparently was fond of mathematics, but nothing seemed quite so logical about his claims of speaking to pokemon. Colress narrowed his eyes. He supposed that N's assessment was not incorrect. The two seemed to stare into one another eyes for far too long. “Please leave,” N continued. You stood behind him in some bewilderment by his actions.

🟢 Colress knew better than to tempt law enforcement. Yes, he might have turned against Ghetsis, but he was not exactly clean on his record. He nodded and stepped away. The odds that you would go from one man involved with Ghetsis in some way to another was utterly fascinating. The bond between you and N interested him, too. Many questions he had, but he supposed the answers were not available as it stood. “… You seem happier,” Colress noted, letting himself back away from his feelings, “I'm glad.” He finally walked away, typing these findings into his keypad. N and you stood in confusion for a few moments until he was entirely out of sight.

N turned to you with questions about your previous relationship. You just clung to him in turn. It felt oddly taxing just seeing Colress again.

[da-janela-lateral]

I'll never get people who don't watch MP100 exclusively for the artstyle because what do you mean? Do you think he is ugly? Do you have an adverse reaction by looking at him? Would you rather have Generic Anime Prettyboy #368637 blessing your eyes with conveniently handsome dullness for 37 episodes? Never speak such things. He is perfect the way he is.

[sysig]

Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)

[welcometogrouchland]

Also in the replies of the Steph concept art on twitter announcing she was gonna be in a new project at DC (posted by Travis Mercer), there were at least 3 comments saying "will Tim be there?" I don't care how hard you ship timsteph I'm exploding you with my eyeballs if you do that on my girls post again

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

one thing i was not prepared for when i started this rewatch of sdmi has been for it to finally sink in how absolutely heartbreaking daphne's whole deal is. this poor kid, man

[sapsolais]

-

[takeyourdailydoseofcyanide]

they were already incredibly suspicious to me, every last one of those supposed “professionals.” i think I’m more suspicious than I ever was now - somehow that was possible. I’m even more apprehensive, perhaps even fearful.

solidarity between people who want to take psychiatric meds to function and those who don’t.

What’s important is that we both have autonomy, informed consent and safe access to treatments we want, and to not be forced, coerced or pressured into those we don’t.

[3liza]

last time my mom visited I was talking to her about parenting and how I appreciated a lot of the choices she and my father had made about raising me and my brother and she agreed that just listening to the child and taking them seriously was the One Weird Trick to cutting out like 60% of conflicts between parents and children. and she said one time I was about three or four years old and we were all going to the grocery store, and at the threshold of the store I just had a meltdown. i was overwhelmed, I was crying, I was just at the end of my rope like kids get sometimes. and instead of dragging me through the store my mom and dad stopped what we were doing and just asked me what the problem was. and I was able to say I didn't want to be there, I couldn't do it, I wanted to go home. and she says she and my father just looked at each other and back at me and said "okay" and we all went home that day instead of forcing the grocery store trip. and I had so few public meltdowns as a kid despite being pretty autistic because, I think, I knew that if I ever really needed to leave, my parents would understand and back me up. and that was the case throughout my childhood. which paradoxically (one might think) resulted in me having fewer incidents of being overwhelmed in the first place, which then made me better able to handle increasing amounts of stress and so on. it also taught me that expressing feelings and communicating them to my caretakers wasn't going to be punished or ignored or called weird, so unlike many other autistic kids who get judged or rebuked for expressing sensitivity or opposition, I didn't need to constantly blockade everyone and internalize everything all the time.

it's a pretty simple concept whether your kids are autistic or not, but most parents don't seem to get it. their parents taught them to just force everything and let the child deal with it alone so they just repeat the cycle even though they know how it feels.

[solxamber]

Holding Them and Not Letting Go with: Housewardens + Jamil

a little something before i go all in for the milestone events <3

Other parts: Vice Housewardens + Rollo, Neige ; First Years

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle goes bright red the second you wrap your arms around him, stiffening in your hold like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He tries to splutter something coherent—maybe a reminder about PDA rules, maybe a request to know what’s going on—but his voice gets tangled up, and all that comes out is a confused murmur.

You don’t let go, though. Instead, you squeeze him a little tighter, prompting him to look down at you, his eyes widening with soft confusion. “Is… Is something wrong?” he stammers, gently pressing his hand to your shoulder, trying to read your face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer with a warm smile. “I just love you, Riddle. That’s all.”

For a moment, he’s frozen. Just love him? He feels his heart stumble, so unfamiliar with this kind of simple, generous affection. In his childhood, hugs were formal gestures, love was measured and conditional—a reward to be earned, rarely felt freely. But here, with you… you’re holding him because you want to, with nothing expected in return.

Slowly, Riddle’s hands find their way to your back, and he pulls you close with a tenderness that surprises even him. There’s a quiet ache in his chest, an overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief, like he’s filling up with something he never knew he was missing. He clings to you, unable to speak, as though afraid that words might shatter the beautiful warmth settling between you.

You both stay like this, tangled together in silence. In this simple embrace, Riddle feels more seen, more loved, than he ever has before. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever—a happiness he never thought he’d be allowed to have. For the first time, he feels completely at peace.

Leona Kingscholar

You wrap your arms around Leona, your grip firm as if you’ve decided you’re never letting go. At first, he’s as stoic as ever, arching an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Oi, herbivore…what’s this all about?” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But when you stay silent, he lets out a chuckle, amused by your stubborn clinginess. “If you’re hoping to trap me, you might wanna try harder than that.”

After a few more moments, his teasing fades. You’re still holding him, your head resting against his chest, heartbeat steady against his. He tries to check if youre upset and realizes then that you’re not sad, nor do you seem upset; you’re simply content. When he starts to pull back to look at you, you give him a warm smile and quietly say, “I just…love you.”

The words wash over him, soft and simple yet deeply affecting. His expression shifts, from nonchalance to something much more vulnerable. To Leona, who’s spent much of his life overshadowed, unwanted, and fighting for recognition, the idea of being someone’s first choice feels like an impossibility.

And yet, here you are, holding onto him like he’s the only thing that matters. He swallows hard, not saying anything, but the look in his eyes says it all.

He finally allows his arms to come around you, drawing you in with more intensity than he’d probably ever admit aloud. His tail snakes around your waist in a protective loop, pulling you even closer, as if anchoring himself to you. “Don’t go getting mushy on me,” he mutters, trying to sound unaffected, but his grip tightens just a bit more.

But despite his usual attitude, he’s never felt this…full. Full of pride, full of warmth, full of something he’s struggled to admit he even wanted. And it’s all because of you, the one person who looked past his rough edges and stubborn exterior.

He chuckles softly, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering, “Guess you got yourself a lion for life, herbivore.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is hunched over his desk, papers and ledgers strewn around him, eyebrows furrowed as he works late into the night. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you gently climb onto his lap, resting yourself against him without a word. His body goes rigid in surprise, the usual control he wields over his composure completely shattered.

“Are you... feeling alright?” he asks, voice a little breathless, struggling to keep himself calm as you press your face into the crook of his neck. “Are you sick? Is there something wrong?”

You just shake your head, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I just love you, Azul,” you whisper softly, a warmth in your gaze that sends his heart into overdrive. “And I’m so proud of you.”

With that, you wrap your arms around him again, holding him close, and suddenly, all the strength in him unravels. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this—how much he craved reassurance, wanted to know he was worth it.

All his insecurities, fears, and memories of feeling out of place resurface, but they’re softened by your presence, and with just one hug, you’re able to ease away all that self-doubt he keeps buried.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around you, his grip firm and filled with an unspoken desperation. He clings to you as though you’re his lifeline, as though you’re the single steady point in his otherwise frantic world, and for a few moments, he allows himself to just feel—to let go of the worries, to set aside the constant weight of expectations.

The mountain of paperwork on his desk feels meaningless compared to the comfort you bring, and all he wants is to stay like this, holding you as closely as he can, reveling in the feeling of being loved for who he is.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is in his element, animatedly discussing ideas for his next big celebration. His hands gesture widely, his voice bright, detailing elaborate plans for decorations, food, entertainment—he's clearly in his happy place, and you can’t help but feel utterly captivated by his joy.

Without even thinking, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly mid-sentence. Kalim laughs, hugging you back with his usual enthusiasm, though a bit of surprise colors his expression when you show no signs of letting go. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

You lean back just enough to grin up at him, eyes shining. “I’m perfectly okay. You just looked so radiant talking about the party—and I love you.”

He stares at you for a beat, completely dazzled, and then his face breaks into the brightest smile as he spins you around, laughter bubbling from both of you. When he finally sets you down, he pulls you close, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m so glad you chose me,” he murmurs softly, his forehead pressing against yours. The simple joy radiates from him, a warmth and gentleness that wraps around you both. It’s a pure, unfiltered happiness that you feel too, knowing that you chose him, and he chose you.

You stay wrapped up in each other, reveling in that perfect moment, glowing with the warmth of shared love. For now, with his laughter filling the room and his arms securely around you, nothing else matters.

Jamil Viper

Jamil walks into his room, the exhaustion from managing Scarabia weighing heavily on his shoulders. But before he can even remove his shoes, you’re already there, waiting for him. Without a word, you step into his space, your arms winding around him in a gentle but firm embrace.

His body relaxes instantly, the stress of the day melting away as you run a soothing hand down his back. The warmth of your touch settles over him like a blanket, but after a few moments, he notices you haven’t let go. The silence stretches, and his concern grows.

He pulls back just slightly, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft, careful, as though bracing for something serious.

You meet his eyes with a smile, your voice tender but full of affection. “I’m fine. I just… I love you. I’m proud of everything you do. You work so hard, and I see all of it. I just wanted to be here, with you.”

A deep warmth spreads through Jamil at your words, the weight of the day almost forgotten as he pulls you back into him. This time, his hold is even tighter, more possessive, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, this moment will vanish. His face buries itself into your neck, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of you—your presence, your comfort.

For once, he allows himself to fully sink into the embrace, no longer needing to wear his usual mask.

With you, he doesn’t have to hold back his feelings. For the first time in what feels like forever, he lets his guard drop, the emotional wall he’s spent building his whole life crumbling in the warmth of your arms.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers, the words barely audible as he holds you close. His voice is thick with emotion, a mixture of tenderness and longing. “I never want to leave your side.”

In the comfort of your touch, Jamil realizes something. He’s never felt more at peace, more cared for, than he does in this moment. He holds you tighter, savoring the feeling of being loved so deeply, so completely. No matter what happens, he knows this is where he belongs—in your arms, and with your heart.

Vil Schoenheit

It’s been a long day, and by the time you reach Vil, all you want is to collapse into his arms. But before you can even speak, he’s already analyzing you, frowning at your slumped posture, the bags under your eyes, and the way you haven’t had time to take care of yourself. "Did you eat today? Are you even sleeping? Honestly, I can't—"

And before he can finish his lecture, you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

He catches you with his usual elegance, barely flinching. His lips curl in that slight, amused way, but the concern in his eyes softens as you cling to him, not letting go.

"Darling, What's wrong?" he asks, his voice taking on a gentler tone as he instinctively pulls you closer. You can feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingers as you bury your face in his chest.

"I missed you," you murmur. "I'm just happy to see you. I love you. And I love that you worry about me."

Vil’s chest tightens at your words, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. He gently strokes your back, the movement slow, deliberate. “You’re something else,” he teases, his lips twitching, but there’s warmth in his voice. “You know you should’ve eaten something, and yet here you are, throwing yourself at me.”

His hands remain on you, though, pulling you closer, stroking your back with a tenderness he rarely shows in public. He may pretend to be exasperated, but the way his fingers gently brush the length of your spine betrays his true feelings. Deep down, he’s touched by how much you put up with him.

"You should be scolded for your own good," he starts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. There’s no real bite to his words this time. Instead, he just holds you tighter, deciding that, just for tonight, you don’t need any more lectures.

“You’ll never be rid of me now,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re welcome to lean on me, always.”

In the comfort of his embrace, you let go of the day’s stress, finding peace in the warmth of his arms. There’s no need for anything else, just this moment, just him.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s explaining the intricate details of a new strategy, his eyes wide with excitement. But then, suddenly, you set your controller down and throw yourself at him in an unexpected hug, effectively cutting off his speech. His hair flares a brilliant shade of pink as his brain momentarily glitches, clearly unsure of how to process what's happening.

And he is in full panic mode. His mind, always working a mile a minute, goes into overdrive trying to figure out what he did wrong, or if he's somehow messed things up.

“Uh—are you okay?” he stammers, voice filled with concern but entirely thrown off by the situation. You don’t answer with words, just a soft smile as you bury your face in his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, “and you’re adorable.”

He’s used to being alone, to being misunderstood, to retreating into his games and hiding from the world. But here you are, in his arms, embracing him for no reason other than that you love him.

Despite his anxious thoughts swirling, he awkwardly places his arms around you, his body stiff at first, unsure of what to do. It takes him a moment before he relaxes, and as he holds you, his mind starts to clear. All those fears—of not being enough, or of being too much—slowly fade away, replaced by something that feels warm and real.

You, who listen to him ramble about things no one else would care about. You, who understand when he’s not up for going out, who accept him as he is. He feels so undeserving of someone so kind, but at the same time, something deep inside him stirs. It’s happiness. It’s love.

His arms tighten around you as he buries his face into your hair, his heart racing with a mixture of overwhelming joy and disbelief. He’ll never understand why someone like you would choose him, but as long as you’re here, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus stands before you, holding the gargoyle he crafted with such care, the stone masterpiece shimmering in the soft light. "This is for you," he says softly, his voice full of pride. His eyes shine with the unspoken hope that you’ll appreciate the effort.

Before he can say anything else, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He freezes for a moment, unsure, before his own arms encircle you with surprising gentleness. He’s always craved touch, but the depth of affection you offer fills him with awe.

The two of you stand there, the moment stretching on in comfortable silence, until Malleus pulls back slightly, his eyes searching your face. "Are you alright?" His voice holds a hint of concern.

You smile at him softly, your words simple but filled with a warmth he rarely hears: "You mean the world to me. I love you."

Malleus's breath catches in his throat, and before he can think, his arms tighten around you. He pulls you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away. His heart races as he feels the weight of your love, the pure acceptance and tenderness you give him. The loneliness he’s lived with for so long, the misunderstandings, the isolation—none of it matters now.

He’s here with you. You see him, not as a prince or a fae of great power, but simply as Malleus. And that, more than anything, fills him with a kind of peace he’s never known.

Malleus buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tightly as if to make sure this moment doesn’t slip away. "I will never forget this," he murmurs softly. "I will cherish you... forever."

In your embrace, he finds something he thought was impossible—a sense of belonging. He smiles, feeling the warmth of your love seep into him, and he knows he is truly loved.

Masterlist

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, looking up skirt, panty stealing + sniffing + licking, masturbation, professional misconduct, 18+ minors dni.

pervy electrician!toji who unintentionally shows up a little earlier at your house than he was supposed to and is rewarded with the sight of a very unprepared you hurriedly rushing to answer the door in just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks.

pervy electrician!toji whose usual disinterested expression he has permanently plastered upon his features during work hours morphs into one of subtle interest as his dark eyes leisurely drag up and down your figure — and damn, he never gets sent out to clients as hot as you.

pervy electrician!toji who greets you with a simple nod as he brushes past you to get inside, his scarred lips involuntarily twitching up into an amused half-smile at how you ramble out several apologies for not being ready for his arrival.

pervy electrician!toji who casually waves it off and assures you that he doesn't mind; and he definitely doesn't mind when it means that he gets to watch you walk around in front of him wearing that shirt that barely even covers your ass.

pervy electrician!toji who is as well-mannered as he has to be when conversing with a customer, but makes sure to inject a little more charm into his voice just for you as he drawls out "well, what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

pervy electrician!toji who silently pats himself on the back when he notices you grow slightly flustered at the polite term he used to address you by, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you explain the issues you've had with your power frequently cutting out lately.

pervy electrician!toji who has to make a concerted effort to bite back a scoff when you explain that despite being married, your useless husband has no idea how to fix the problem himself so you had no choice but to resort to calling his company.

pervy electrician!toji who can hardly even comprehend that your sorry excuse for a husband just went to work for the day and left a precious thing like you here with no power; some fools really don't know how good they have it, do they?

pervy electrician!toji who finds a rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips when you joke lightly that you'd make him a cup of coffee if there was any power for the kettle. so you're pretty as hell and you have a good sense of humour... oh, he's in trouble.

pervy electrician!toji who investigates the fuse box located at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink while you dash upstairs to change into something more appropriate, humming a quiet tune under his breath while he works.

pervy electrician!toji who figures out what the issue is in no time at all — there's a small leak dripping from the pipe leading from the bottom of the sink that has trickled down and fried some of the wiring; shouldn't be too hard to fix.

but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to create a reason for him to stay around here just a little longer.

so, pervy electrician!toji 'accidentally' makes the leak even worse by using the spanner on his tool belt to stretch the hole in the pipe slightly wider, causing any working part left in the fuse box to fizzle out into uselessness as a result.

pervy electrician!toji who has to pretend to be inconvenienced by the problem that he just worsened once you return to the kitchen, scratching the side of his jaw and telling you that it'll take him atleast a couple of hours to try and salvage the fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who isn't exactly lying when he says this; just refraining from telling you the whole truth that there is no way to fix the ruined thing now. the entire box has to be replaced and he doesn't happen to have a new one with him today.

...looks like he'll just have to come back tomorrow, too.

pervy electrician!toji who keeps himself busy pretending to attempt to mend things under the cupboard, but finds it quite hard not to be distracted by your pretty self sitting atop the counter where you insisted on staying to keep him company while he works.

but, at the end of the day, pervy electrician!toji is a man, after all — a man who can't help himself from sneaking a quick peek up the edge of the skirt you changed into, holding back a groan when he catches a small glimpse of your patterned panties.

pervy electrician!toji who claims he needs to use your bathroom a little while later, making sure you don't follow him up the stairs before sneaking through the hall until he finds you and your husband's shared bedroom.

pervy electrician!toji who finds himself rifling through his client's underwear drawer like a damn horny teenager, hastily pulling out a pair of cute panties similar the ones he knows you're wearing downstairs right now.

pervy electrician!toji who is way too worked up to feel any sense of shame as he pushes his baggy work trousers down, exposing the extremely noticeable tent and subsequent wet patch staining the front of his boxers.

"fuckin' hell," pervy electrician!toji rasps as he shoves a hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his painfully throbbing cock as he begins languidly stroking himself. "driving me crazy here, girl." he mutters to himself.

pervy electrician!toji who can't stop himself from holding your panties up to his face, cursing under his breath when he remembers that these are a clean pair from your drawer. no — he needs a used pair if he wants to be able to properly get off.

pervy electrician!toji who sifts through your laundry hamper like a starving man searching for scraps of food in a dumpster, his movements fuelled by the sheer need to release the overwhelming desire coursing through his veins.

pervy electrician!toji whose scarred lips twitch up into a victorious smirk when he finally finds a dirty pair of your panties, wasting no time in pressing his nose against the slick-stained crotch and inhaling your scent. and fuck, is it an intoxicating smell.

pervy electrician!toji who is utterly pussydrunk without even being near your actual cunt, tongue instinctively flicking out on its own to lap lightly at the soiled material, a pornographic moan falling from his lips afterwards.

"shit. tastes s-so sweet, heh." pervy electrician!toji grunts as he resumes those earnest tugs of his furiously hard cock, his sloppy mouth just coating your dirty panties with his glistening salvia.

pervy electrician!toji who is cumming in record time like a downright pathetic and touch-starved virgin, one press of his thick thumb against his weeping tip causing it to spill rope after rope of milky release into his boxers.

pervy electrician!toji who does actually go to the bathroom after he's pulled his trousers up and shoved both pairs of stolen panties into his pockets, cleaning himself up as best he can and checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn't look too wrecked.

pervy electrician!toji who saunters downstairs and faces you with an easy smile as if he didn't just jerk off with your used underwear pressed against his mouth, sharing the news that he'll 'unfortunately' have to return tomorrow to replace the broken fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who tells you his usual bill for the basic work he's done today, although secretly gives you a considerable discount — one because it's you, and two because he didn't actually do anything to fix your power issue and instead deliberately made it worse so he could stay longer.

pervy electrician!toji who releases an amused chuckle when you frantically dart around the house in search of your purse, coming to the sheepish conclusion that you must've left it in your husband's car that he drove to work this morning with.

pervy electrician!toji who simply shrugs and suggests that you pay him when he comes by tomorrow instead. little do you know, however, that you've already paid him... just in the form of an orgasm and two pairs of panties instead of money.

pervy electrician!toji who is counting down the seconds until he can see you again as he drives home in the company van, body relaxed and sated from his previous climax and pockets stuffed pleasantly full with stolen underwear.

he'd say that was all in good day's work.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy lifeguard!gojo <- PREVIOUS PART.