#or stuff you can leave visible fingerprints on

[shredsandpatches]

I mean would you want these on your nice clean books?

[echojulietfoxtrot]

Okay, everyone's had a few days to be sad. But the world didn't end, so there is stuff to be done. Mid terms are in 2 years.

This post isn't going to tell you anything other people haven't done better or in more detail, and I'm not even American, so what the fuck are you listening to me for, but I think it might be useful to somebody as a place to start, and I think it's useful to keep in mind that none of us are helpless - no matter how much it might benefit somebody else to let you think so.

I'll add to it as and when I can.

NOW

Check your ballot. Tell everyone you know to check on their ballots. Spread the word to everyone you can possibly tell to check their ballots. The Presidential election is absolutely not going to be reversed, but local races and initiatives can be decided by twenty, a dozen, two votes. The window's closing on this by now, so check into this immediately if you haven't already. And if there is any possibility for a recount where it might achieve something, make noise for one.

You would be absolutely amazed how much harm can be spared and how much good can be done at the Parks & Rec level, no matter what's happening up top. Do not waste the chance to make friction for bad guys later on, or lay down some tools for the good guys in advance.

Then, if you have a Dem Senator, call their office and urge them to confirm all Biden's judicial nominees now, right now, ASAP. Here's a rough call script.

Btw mid terms are in two years.

NEXT

Spend the next two months -

Buying a little extra boring ass shelf stable food and water on your grocery runs, and build up as much food security as you can. You're probably not gonna need it, but it's good to have, even only as a hedge against inflation or unreliable weather/disaster relief responses.

Stock up on medication you might need if you can. Organize whatever procedures you might need done if you can, including contraceptive measures. And find a reason to need a Morning After Pill or two in the next few weeks, somebody you care about might be real glad you did.

Consider making any big ticket purchases that will be affected by proposed tariffs (electronics etc), or any... slightly less conventional things you want to buy, now - but otherwise it would be a good time to lay some money aside if you can.

Get in the habit of paying for things in cash, and limiting how much information on your habits are out there. Stash a little cash somewhere, for if you want to buy something less visibly in future, too.

Do your homework about your digital footprint. Accounts, posts, doxxable clues, data, behavioral info, browsers, wifi links, cookies, consumer history, always-on "Smart" speakers and devices, think about all of it. Your phone is telling everyone where you are at all times whether the Location stuff is on or not - get in the habit of leaving it at home, so that suddenly not having it is not, in itself, a sign of anything. Your fitness wearables are mapping your entire lifestyle - it is effectively recording where you work, what time you finish, what routes you take, what stores you go to, where your friends live, where you go for recreation, where your family lives and what your relationship is like with them (where's your fitbit at Thanksgiving, Christmas etc?). Don't use fingerprint or facial recognition for anything, ever, if you can help it - apart from cataloguing your biometrics, it is much easier for a third party, police included, to use these to access your stuff than a password. It probably goes without saying, do not digitally document your menstrual cycle in any way.

Figure out what channels you can use in future to retain access to as much as possible if someone decides you shouldn't have it, or wants to know if you look for it. VPNs are a starting point, but not the end point. Do your homework on this now, before you need to know it.

Look into securing documentation that might be of use in future, this includes property, legal stuff like Power of Attorney, passports etc. (Though that doesn't necessarily mean carrying it at all times to everything, just sayin'.)

What's your ACA status? Are you currently availing of absolutely everything you're currently entitled to? If not, work on it. Government resources are always harder to take away from you once you're getting them than to deny you outright.

If there's any gay shit you like or want preserved, it would be a good time to buy/download/back it up. This includes movies, fics, books. It would also be a good time to seek out and subscribe to independent and non-digital gay media, zines, etc, and get to know your in-person scenes. You might be surprised how much stuff still exists and happens in ways that are invisible to the internet, gay and otherwise.

Don't forget that mid terms are in 2 years.

THEN

The mid terms are in 2 years.

Mid terms are 2 years away. Which means the campaigns for them start in a year, which means the work for them starts now.

All else aside, Democrat flips elsewhere in the government structure at that point would make it way, way harder for them to keep smashing everything, and there is work that you can do towards making that happen. For better and sometimes worse, the American political system is a very big and very awkward machine, and King Dipshit and his cronies cannot wave a magic wand to get their way everywhere all the time as a result. Look into your immediate local political scene, and figure out what you can do for it.

You might be getting sick of everyone talking about "building community". What this usually means in practice is firstly, seeking out local or neighboring orgs and groups that are doing what you want done, and joining them; or else, starting them yourself.

That might sound daunting, but it's not hard to start an interest group, just very annoying early on. You'll have to do a lot more printing than you might expect. You're going to have to deal with some deeply irritating people who are, nonetheless, very good at getting good shit done, and you're going to have to learn that's a You problem to deal with.

I'm involved in a couple of local groups in my country and it is WILD how much even one person can get done purely because nobody else gives enough of a shit about boring small potatoes stuff to notice or oppose it. That can be a blessing and a curse, so make it the first one.

Apart from this stuff being generally good, it will stop you losing your fucking mind. No, you're not going to community garden your way out of this one, sure, but that community garden might stop you letting the bullshit beat you into the ground before you can do something more important down the line. And it might introduce you to the girl who knows somebody with the thing that can do the shit you need around then too; it might teach you a lot of practical and psychological stuff you'll be glad of sometime.

It might even teach you how to get much more important things done in your local political infrastructure, who is on your side, who isn't, how to get the best from either - some of the most valuable shit I've learned about my little universe was picked up in the course of volunteering for a haunted house.

I am as guilty as everyone else as looking at the outlook and saying fuck it, bad guys won, but that is legitimately irrational no matter where you live. They never win, not outside of stories, because real life doesn't end like a story does. There is stuff to be done to make life more bearable than it would be otherwise, more bearable until it's possible to make it even better. There is so much stuff to get doing, instead of just feeling bad.

[tickletastic]

Tomato Red

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ship: Liam/Theo, Mason/Corey

Summary: Theo's gotten more comfortable with touch, which seems to mean forgetting to hide the fact that he's ticklish.

Leaning over the counter, squinting down at the recipe card, scrawled years ago by Jenna Dunbar, Theo reaches for the measuring cup, walking Corey through the process of making fresh pasta sauce from Jenna’s fresh garden tomatoes. Corey was a disaster in the kitchen, but he got pretty good at the small stuff with Theo’s lessons, and after mastering alfredo, Theo figured tomato sauce wasn’t too much of a stretch. Corey watched patiently, nodding when Theo introduced him to a new ingredient or method, obediently grabbing every ingredient as Theo asked for them.  

Mason had wanted to learn too, to watch Theo’s mastery as he carefully guided Corey through the process, but Liam managed to goad him into a Mario Kart tournament, with a promise of free coffee for the next week if Mason could beat him. The two of them hunched over each other at the kitchen table, both trying to understand the chaos of the race on the Switch’s small screen, cursing and bickering as they kept passing each other by. Mason insisted on using the living room’s flatscreen to play, but Liam made an excuse and said he wanted to supervise Theo’s lesson, though Mason figured it had something to do with Theo’s reading glasses and the fact that the veins in his arms grew more visible the more he concentrated on the recipe. 

As the match comes to a close, Mason huffs through his nose, leaning back in the creaky wooden chair, declaring he needs a break lest he need glasses for his squinting. Theo sends him a playful glare, and Corey teases Theo about the thick black frames on his nose, reaching to smudge a fingerprint on them before Theo swats him away. They go back and forth, laughing and chiding each other on, until Theo rolls his eyes and turns back to the recipe card in his hand. 

“Would you grab the flour?”

Corey nods, but his mischievous smile is hidden from Theo, and, when he rounds Theo to reach for the flour in the cupboard, he tweaks the older boy’s side. Theo giggles–really, truly giggles– and jerks away from the offending hand. When Corey leans back in, getting Theo in the ribs, Theo just giggles and squirms like this is a normal occurrence, like he’s forgetting to be embarrassed by the sincerity of the interaction. 

When Theo effectively squirms away from Corey’s teasing fingers, a ghost of a smile on his lips, he notices the room has gone eerily silent, save for the annoyingly catchy Mario Kart menu music. He slowly turns around, suddenly self-conscious, and is met with the wide-eyed gazes of Liam and Mason, prompting a blush all the way up to his ears. 

Liam is, first and foremost, proud that they have managed to get Theo to a point where he doesn’t think twice about a friendly touch, doesn’t even flinch when he sees it coming from the corner of his eye, even lets it happen. Months ago, Theo would’ve tensed up at the slightest touch, would’ve made an excuse to leave, would’ve lashed out, but they’ve gotten to a point where he welcomes it, lets Corey tickle him playfully in the middle of a cooking lesson. He is, secondly, entirely too endeared by Theo’s brief, shrill giggle, the way he squirmed and wiggled away, the adorable lopsided smile that pulled at his lips. And finally, he is, of course, also delighted to find out that Theo is, seemingly, pretty damn ticklish. 

When Theo sees the mischief on Liam’s face, and the matching grin on Corey’s, he runs, but he’s nowhere near scared or nervous; Liam can smell the playful chemosignals in the air. In seconds, all hell breaks loose: Theo makes a dash towards the door, narrowly stopped by Corey and Liam blocking the exit, the kitchen chair Liam had sat in ending up on the floor, the flour forgotten on the counter. Theo scurries back to the wall, standing next to the open window, considering his options. His eyes are wide as he looks between Corey and Liam, and he keeps making quick, aborted glances towards the window. As if reading his mind, Liam raises his hands in surrender, and motions to Corey to keep his distance.

“Mason, come get your boyfriend,” Theo tries for a warning tone, but there’s a hint of breathlessness in the demand, a pull of a smile at the corner of his lips.  

From his spot at the table, Mason smirks, shaking his head resolutely, “No can do, dude. I want to see how this goes.”

Theo tries for a glare, but it’s hard to take it seriously when he’s cowering away from a little tickling. “I’m warning you, Mason. If you don’t collect one of these two, noses will be broken.”

“They have supernatural healing, and one of them has supernatural strength, I think they can handle it,” Mason responds, and there’s something in the flippantness of his tone that makes Theo that much more skittish. 

“Are you sure?” Theo dares to move his eyes from Liam and Corey to quickly glance in Mason’s direction, “because I’m pretty sure that Pretty Boy Corey, here, has never had his nose broken.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Corey teases, and Theo flashes him the finger, sticking his tongue out like a child.

“You’re so going to regret that in five minutes.”

Theo glances at the window, and Liam puts his hands up yet again, gesturing for Corey to back up a bit. “Hey, we won’t do anything, alright? Just stay here.”    

Theo nods hesitantly, taking half a step away from the wall. Liam smiles, taking a tentative step forward, and Theo is bolting back in seconds, a leg hiked out the window. Liam is just in time to grab Theo before he can fold himself out of the window entirely. 

Theo hits the floor with a dull ‘oomph’, quickly straddled by Liam at his hips.

“You are such a drama queen,” Liam says, rolling his eyes, a stupidly goofy, fond grin on his lips. He looks down at Theo with that cute lopsided look, that shiny mischievous glint, and Theo almost gets lost in it, almost forgets that the mischief is directed at him.

“I’m the drama queen? I must’ve learned that from you.” 

“From me? You’re the one-” Liam scoffs incredulously, “you know what? I don’t have to take this from you right now. Corey, come here.”

Corey grinned, rushing over to kneel beside Theo, smiling down menacingly at his best friend, reveling in watching him squirm. “I want to hear you beg for mercy.”

“Fat chance,” Theo huffs, eyebrows tight and pinched, “don’t forget you’re like a million times more sensitive than I am.”

Corey blushes, but tries to ignore Theo’s snark, he’s not the one about to get tickled to pieces afterall. “You sure about that? You’re so ticklish you can’t even say it.”

Theo ducks his head, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks from the teasing. He opens his mouth, hoping to try for something quick and biting, before he’s interrupted by his own boisterous, unbridled cackle. Liam’s wandering fingers tease at Theo’s hipbones, digging in and pinching sporadically. 

Liam laughs in response to Theo’s sudden, boisterous laughter, grinning down as the chimera tries to fight off the tickles. Theo gasps and wiggles, caught between tossing his head back and wanting to watch where Liam’s curious fingers go. The pinching at his hips has him hiccuping, squirming and trying to grab Liam’s hands. 

“Good spot!” Corey praises, his fingers starting to draw slow shapes on Theo’s collarbones, “that’s one of his worst spots, I’d say it’s a solid 8/10.”

“Shuhuhut up!” Theo screeches, grabbing one of Corey’s wrists and holding it hostage. Corey can’t help but laugh, Theo’s control of only one hand of his attackers not doing much at all for his situation, the other three still very much taking him apart.  

“What about here?” Liam asks Corey when his fingers wander up to Theo’s sides, scratching and spidering over the bare skin, exposed from Theo’s struggling. Theo goes from cackling to relentless, bubbly giggles, the stream so steady and unending that Liam worries he’s having trouble breathing. 

“Not as bad, like a six maybe?” Corey says, his brows furrowed in confusion, “but sometimes he-”

Theo takes in too much air all at once, and snorts loudly before filling the room with more breathless giggles. 

Liam can’t stop himself from audibly cooing, even more so once Theo starts to blush even harder, heat radiating off of his skin, “you know? It’s hard to believe we were once so scared of Theo when all it would’ve taken to defeat him is a little tickling.”

“Shuhuhut up! Shuhuhut uhuhup! Shuhuhuhut uhuhup!” Theo squeals, bucking harder as he feels Corey’s free hand wander down, dangerously close to his underarm. 

“Shhh,” Corey grins, leaning down so he can whisper directly into Theo’s ear, “don’t interrupt, the adults are talking.”

By the time Corey’s hand has finished its slow crawl under Theo’s arm, Liam’s hands have moved up to Theo’s ribs, and Theo lets out a sound that could only be described as a shriek, before descending into booming belly laughter. 

“Plehehase! I cahahn’t! I cahan’t!” Theo yells, head thrown back as he pushes against Corey and Liam’s hands. He squirms violently until he can’t anymore, fighting and squealing as Liam and Corey take him apart beneath their fingers. When the squirming tires him out, he’s left twitching and laughing as Corey and Liam go to town. 

“That’s a ten!” Corey exclaims, wiggling his fingers where they’re trapped under Theo’s arm. 

Liam smiles, watching tears of mirth form in Theo’s eyes, “any other ten spots I should know about?”

“Nohoho! No! Ihihim begging! Thihihis is mehehe begging! Please!” Theo shouts, kicking his legs behind Liam.

“Alright, alright,” Liam relents, pulling his fingers away. Corey is not nearly as merciful, and his restricted wiggling under Theo’s arm is what sends the chimera into silent laughter. 

When Theo starts to hiccup, head thrown back in ticklish agony, Liam leans forward and tasers Corey in the ribs, swatting him away while he giggles in response. Corey squirms away, backing up until he’s sitting on the floor next to Mason’s chair. Liam leans down, wiping sweat-slick curls off of Theo’s forehead, tenderly wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.

“You alright?” Liam smiles softly down at Theo, hovering an inch away from his face. 

“I will be,” Theo says, his usual sarcasm returning, “once I get some revenge.”

Before Liam can even react, he’s flipped underneath Theo, their previous positions reversed. A nervous grin breaks out on his face, hands up in front of him as a barrier between himself and Theo. He tries for puppy-dog eyes, but feels the nerves set in when he sees the menacing playfulness Theo shoots him. “Have mercy?”

“Not a chance.” 

[bitemedotmp3]

There's been a lot on Uzi's mind recently. It would be nice if most of it was normal teenage angst, but lurking between thoughts of Christmas shopping and awkward conversations with her friends, glowing yellow eyes and stilted audio output slice into her memories, tearing pleasant thoughts to ribbons. Why is it freaking her out so much, Cyn had definitely been worse back on Copper 9.

Had she? Their clash back in their home had been over the fate of the planet, but here it was... personal. Cyn wasn't trying to crack open the crust and slurp up the planet's core (yet), she was cornering Uzi in an elevator and threatening her friends. Maybe it was just easier to distance herself from it when it was something as vague and impersonal as the universe, as opposed to her frickin' roommate.

Snowflakes fall on Uzi's visor, their jagged fractals barely visible before melting on the warm surface. The cold feels nice, keeping her processors from overheating into an anxious puddle. Some super-cool hero she'd become; now she was just worried that some edgy meat-puppet would show up at her house to put nasty fingerprints all over her stuff. She wouldn't put it above Cyn to be annoying just because.

Uzi stops walking, and no one else on the street takes notice. "Ugh," she groans. "Ughhhh."

She sags her knees and lets her head roll back. "UGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Feels a little better now. Sometimes you need a nice bitch and moan.

Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Uzi resumes her walk. If she gets too worked up about the Solver's stupid threats, that's as good as letting it win, so she just won't. She'll distract herself, maybe buy a new video game or music album, or maybe she can see if V's busy and-

"You."

Or maybe people on the street are about to start fighting, that would be fun to watch. Uzi looks in the direction of that venom-filled pronoun, then her eyes go hollow when she sees it's directed at her.

"Me?" she says, raising a brow.

"I've been looking for you. I knew I'd find you, I'm just glad it didn't take very long." The other speaker approaches, a girl with long, dark hair and pointed, fluffy ears atop her head. "I haven't been able to sleep well because of you, knowing you're out in this city... I won't forgive you! Not for taking my name, not for tricking people, not for trying to hurt Mika!"

Uzi looks from side to side, hoping that there's someone standing behind her that she hadn't noticed. The other passersby seem to have thinned out, leaving only her and the other girl. "I think you're confused, dude. I have no idea what you're talking about- Oh! No, I know you! You're Nier!"

Right, the girl Mika has a crush on. Uzi lets her guard down, because she's already figured this whole thing out. Nier is just confused because she became a worker drone for a bit, and Uzi's the only other one in the city. The... stuff that happened with her and Mika in the museum upset her, and now it's an issue of mistaken identity. Thankfully, this is not a work of fiction and thus the misunderstanding will be easy to clean up.

Nier's expression stiffens. "That's right... I'm Nier. You're just some... fake. And I need to get rid of you, or I won't be able to rest."

Uzi takes a step back, her boots crunching in the snow. "Hold on, I promise you've got it all wrong. I'm U-"

"Quiet! I don't want to hear it!" cries the girl, clutching her head. "I can't stop thinking about all the things you did...! You killed them, you ate them, and you tried to eat Mika! I-I can't... stop thinking about their hearts, their blood, everything you did, you... you...!"

Eyes screwed shut, Nier lets out a pained wail. Sobs wrack her voice, and Uzi turns to leave. This is definitely Nier, because the stuff she's saying lines up with the things Mika told her, but Uzi doesn't want to be around for some yandere catgirl's mental breakdown. Better to just let Mika know what's going on, so she can-

"Don't try to run! Death!"

There's a whooshing sound, and Uzi feels her feet give out from under her. No, the pain in her legs and the warning on her HUD are telling her she has no feet, and she cries out as she topples to the ground. Rolling on her back, she grits her teeth and glares daggers as Nier approaches her at a leisurely pace. As she watches, a large, ghostly figure drifts to Nier's side; a dark, humanoid shape with a flowing dress and mourning veil. Uzi's first thought is that it would look awesome on a t-shirt, and her second is Oh great, she has a Stand.

"I could have just killed her, my love..." says Death, her voice a low moan. "No need to drag this out..."

"I know, but I just want to make sure... If she ever comes back, she needs to understand that she can't just-"

"That hurt, you fucking psycho!" shouts Uzi. Oil bleeds from the stumps of her legs onto the snow below, a total waste of the precious fluid. "And you ruined my favorite boots! What's wrong with you?"

"Wh-me?!" Nier stomps to Uzi's side, looming over her. "Did you forget what you did? You're lucky I don't just cut you into pieces right now!"

"Bite me! That wasn't me, idiot!" Uzi can feel her feet are mostly repaired, and her boots too. Nice. "That was your frickin'... dronesona or whatever! It was you!"

"No, no, no! I wouldn't do those things! I'd never hurt Mika, I wouldn't... eat anyone...!"

"Join the club," groans Uzi, trying to sit up. "You were a worker drone, and you were infected, so it made you do messed-up stuff. Don't lash out at me just 'cuz you can't deal, go to therapy like a normal person."

Splashes of water fall onto Uzi's body, making her flinch. She looks up to see fat teardrops rolling down Nier's cheeks as the other girl covers her face with her hands. "No, no..." she mumbles. "I didn't, I didn't... No no no no no no no....!"

"Don't have time for this." Uzi rolls over a few times and gets to her feet, now fully repaired. "If you wanna have a breakdown over your girlfriend, do it away from me."

Nier's look of confusion stops her tears. She looks over at Uzi, brow knit in concern as Death looks from the girl, to the drone, and back. "My... girlfriend? What are you talking about...?"

Shit.

"Distraction! Bite me!" Uzi gathers a clump of snow in her hand and sends it flying with the aid of the Solver. The snowball hits the girl right in the face, and she yelps in surprise as Uzi dashes away. Behind her, Uzi can hear Death wail as her master commands her to the chase, and so she opts not to look behind her.

"Great, cool. Crazy stalker number two," pants Uzi, ducking into a side alley. She doesn't know where she's going, she just wants to take as many turns as she can to throw off her pursuers, get home, and then yell at Mika for not explaining that her frickin' roommate is also a worker drone!

Bleeding out and repair functions left Uzi with a little less than half her normal supply of oil, but it should be more than enough to get her back home. Just need to keep running, and - robo-God, she should've asked for her wings back instead of the cool telekinesis! She ducks under a broken fence and climbs a stack of boxes, starting to feel a tiny bit safer. Just enough that she can chance a glance behind her, and-

"Found youuuuuu...!"

Figures. Uzi hops as Death swings a wicked blade at her legs, hearing the whoosh of air as it sails beneath her feet. "Leave me alone!" she yells.

"Come back and face your retribution!"

"Ugh, is there someone more sensible I could talk to? Someone less murder-y?" Uzi waves her hand again, bringing a pile of garbage into Death's path. It does nothing to deter her however, and her twin scythes slice through the obstacles.

Uzi groans, rolling her eyes. "Or couldn't you at least have waited a few more days until I had time to compartmentalize my last trauma?"

"Stop mocking us!"

Facing forward, Uzi only has a moment before she collides right into Nier. The weight of her frame sends both girls sprawling, and she can hear Nier's sharp intake of breath as she lies on the ground. Don't have time to pity her, thinks Uzi, scrambling to her feet. Gotta get out, if I die here I'll be frickin' pissed!

>[SEVERE STRUCTURAL DAMAGE WARNING!]

She doesn't feel the blade slide into her back. The tip poking out from her stomach when she looks down, narrowly missing her core. A dribble of black flows out from the wound, and when she opens her mouth to cry out, the only thing she can do is cough up some oil. Death's hands grab onto her shoulders, lifting her up as Nier stands, dusting snow off her blue cloak.

"There's no point in struggling," says Nier, brushing white powder from her hair. "Not even someone like you can run from death..."

"Don't wanna hear your monologue," says Uzi, feeling oil dribble down her chin. It hurts, it hurts, and one of her eyes is replaced with a large warning symbol, but there's nothing she can do about it now. "Gloating is for losers. Unless it's me, of course."

Nier grits her teeth and leans in. Her voice is a violent whisper, and Uzi winces at her warm breath against her visor. "Why can't you just admit it? That you did something wrong, and this is what you deserve? You hurt someone important to me, and... I won't let you do it again. I'm going to make you disappear."

Uzi just rolls her eyes and dismisses the warnings in her HUD. Oil leaking, severe internal damage, please find a licensed JCJensen technician, she gets it. "How do you think Mika's gonna feel when she learns about this?"

For a moment, fear races across Nier's face, but it's soon replaced with a mixture of anger and disgust. "She doesn't need to know... When you're gone, it won't be an issue, and we'll both be happy."

Uzi laughs, which trails off into a dribbling cough. "Robo-god, she was really right about you, you have some intense inner darkness. It'd be metal if you weren't such a dumbass."

Rearing back, she spits, sending a glob of oil right onto Nier's cheek. The girl winces as it dribbles down her face and drips onto her blouse, and frowns as she brushes it away with her fingers. "Death... I'm tired of this," she says.

"People come back here, you know that! And I'm gonna tell her myself!" shouts Uzi, struggling in Death's grip. "I'm her roommate you goddamn i-"

She doesn't hear the whoosh this time. She doesn't hear anything. As Death's scythe severs Uzi's neck, her whole body goes limp. The head bounces off the nearby alley wall, and rolls to a stop near a stack of old newspapers. Her mouth is still curled in a snarl of final defiance, but her violet-yellow eyes are gone, replaced with a crimson display: FATAL ERROR.

Death drops the body with an unceremonious thump, and drifts to Nier's side. "It is done, my love..." she says. "Shall we go and tell Mika the good news?"

"Not yet..." says Nier, her eyes still fixed on the small machine's body. "Remember how her feet healed after you cut them off? I want to make sure her head doesn't do something similar..."

"As you wish... I shall remain here, in case I am needed..."

Nier gives the primal a small smile. "Thank you, Death... Thank you for everything."

A minute passes. Then five, then ten. While at first, the snow had melted as soon as it came into contact with the drone's body, it begins to pile up as her temperature lowers. At fifteen minutes, Nier finally relaxes. "I think we'll be alright now... Let's go, Death. Mika is waiting for us."

With the nod, Death dissipates into a black mist, and Nier turns to leave. The body- if you can even call it that, is simply left behind.

Within her chest cavity, Uzi breathes a simulated sigh of relief as the sound of footsteps fades. She never thought she'd be happy to have her consciousness transferred to a gross techno-organic core organ, but it means she won't have to waste time waiting for a respawn. Instead, she just pops the seal on her torso chassis and crawls out, brushing snow off her abandoned corpse.

"Man, I treated her body way nicer than she did mine... In the end, anyways," she grumbles. Skittering around on three spindly limbs, she drags her decapitated head over to her neck stump, hoping the repair function will elect to mend rather than replace altogether. Even if it's purely out of spite, she wants to get back home as soon as she can.

Uzi hops back into her chest and closes the panels. Nestling back into the core housing, she takes a few moments to reconnect all the gross fleshy bits that tether her vital components, and... waits. It's all she can do for now.

After a few minutes, she gets a small notification in the corner of her eye. A small readout that states: >///Run: fnctn ABSLTSLVR; repairmode.exe.

"Oh good," hums Uzi. "Hopefully I can get home with enough time to frickin' kill Mika's crush."

[scumbag-the-hedgehog]

@timeclipsed asked:

❝GOOOOOOOD MORNING!❞

— ;; UNNATURALLY PEPPY EXCLAMATION LOUDLY ECHOING as Scourge's bedroom door slams open, kicked by a foot to allow busied hands to balance the breakfast tray en route to his bed. Full course, as always, but today as it's set on his blanketed lap, there's an extra additive of noticeable effort— nothing to write home about, just small garnishes and quality of life touches meant to make the whole thing a little more genuine. In spite of how emotionless he appears around Scourge, there's clearly a level of care present.

Nowhere more visible in his next words, if nothing else, listed off with the rising of each finger. ❝Go ahead and stay in bed today if you want, fuck the holidays. I got up early to clean the place already. Uh, organized the stuff in the bathroom cabinet like you were meaning to do, chased off one of the bill collectors— oh, I bit his hand, too— dusted and cleaned all those fuckin' nasty fingerprints off the downstairs windows… uhh, there's probably more. I can't remember, but it's whatever, right?❞

— ;; BLINK, BLINK. MOMENTARILY PROCEEDING THAT laundry list, a somewhat surprised look turns into a more amused smile, and, spreading fingers out, he whispers a little "pop!" as if imitating a confetti popper. Shrugging his shoulders, whipping around to head back for the door, he makes his way to leave.

Pause.

❝Oh! Jeez, I forgot,❞ head tilting back, a fanged grin spreads across that face. ❝I've been meaning to say thanks! For being the best rotten evil bastard I've ever met. You rock!❞

The usurper jolts up in a start as the door slams open and Chronos lets loose that exclamation. Before he can let loose a string of curses at the fox for waking him up and bursting in like that, only for his reactive anger to be preemptively quelled by the plate chocked full of pork, carbs, and syrup. Picking up a fork and stabbing it through a piece of sausage and a pancake, Scourge shifts forward in bed and blinks at their sidekick as they start rattling everything that he's managed to get done, vacuously chewing.

He's really been cleaning the place up, huh. The mess was a statement about anarchy or something, back in the day. Might have just been a justification a bunch of teenagers collectively came up with for why none of them wanted to bother cleaning up after themselves when they could just toss their trash in one corner and then not see it again for days. As Chronos starts to head on out and Scourge swallows the biteful in his mouth, there's a moment after that parting compliment where the words just, don't come at first. Until....

"...yeah. Yeah, no problem kid." ...it's still hard to believe that by every metric, he seems to be sincere.

[selfindulgentraptor]

I wanted to do a little PSA of sorts about art style, I've been reflecting on my own recently and have a few suggestions for anyone who feels conflicted about theirs/feels they haven't found it yet:

1. You don't need to find your style because you *already have it*. Art style isn't just one single thing, it's a mix of your inspirations and your personal sensibilities. If 20 artists drew the same thing and I was familiar with your work, I'd be able to pick out your drawing. Every line you draw is influenced by your unique perception-if anything, it's near impossible to *not* leave a visible fingerprint in your art.

2. Your style is always changing, just like the rest of you changes as you gain new experiences. You're not gonna wake up one day and have "perfected" your style. It's gonna ebb and flow and do wacky stuff and that's ok. You might go through phases where you're inspired by one thing and then move on, that's ok, encouragable actually (see point 4)

3. If your art style currently doesn't match your tastes (which is possible btw and very frustrating) then it's time to experiment. Try things you haven't tried before. Brushes, media, subject matter, colours, compositions, etc. that interest you. This might also involve learning technical skills like anatomy or painting or colour theory if the style elements you're going for require an understanding of those things.

4. A great exercise is gathering a collection of other peoples' art that inspires you (ex. Pinterest). You can go through and pick out little things you like. Notice trends and analyze what each piece does successfully. Then go incorporate those things into your art. Heck, even replicate or mimic your references as personal studies. Once you do that you can start to mash together all your favourite things into hopefully a style you're more happy with.

5. Never feel like you're betraying your style for trying something new. Your artistic fingerprint is ALWAYS there, all you're doing is figuring out new ways to show it off.

Personality, I don’t even think about “my style” when I’m drawing most of the time. It kind of just shows up no matter what I do, and knowing that allows me to focus on more important things like tone, composition, creativity in general. So, if you haven’t already, just take a moment not to care what your style is and instead draw what you feel is most appropriate for your current piece.

[the-eccentric-eclectic]

Main points of the links:

Fashion tips for the brave:

Keep your mask on at all times.

Be careful when and where you change into and out of your mask and anonymous clothing: look out for cameras and hostile witnesses. Police are likely to target masked individuals in a 'regular' crowd.

Wear different outfits layered one upon the other; ideally one civilian for entering, one anonymous for the protest, another civilian for leaving. Stay hydrated!

Cover up identifiable marks like tattoos, take out or cover up piercings.

Don't march in a bloc in your regular clothing, especially if it's distinctive.

Carry a bag that's different from your everyday one.

Different shoes from your everyday ones. Also in case of footprints.

No patches or other identifiable insignia on your clothing while in a bloc, unless everyone else has exactly the same ones in exactly the same places.

Don't just cover your face, cover your hair as well, with a ski mask, a makeshift mask made from a shirt, or a wig.

If possible, cover your eyes. Both for indistinguishably and protection from chemical weapons. Don't wear contact lenses if you might come into contact with chemical weapons!

Be careful not to leave fingerprints and DNA evidence! Wear cloth gloves as leather and latex don't protect enough from leaving fingerprints, wipe down tools and other items with alcohol in advance, don't forget the stuff you might have touched but is not immediately visible!

Practice wearing and changing your outfit at home! Mind that your vision isn't compromised, and that you can move in it.

Don't let this give you a false sense of security. Assess your relationship to risk honestly; don't do anything if you're not sure you could live with the worst possible consequences.

The Femme's Guide to Riot Fashion

Cover up your hair. Hoodies, hijab, balaclavas, beanies, wigs are named as examples. Make sure it is comfortable to wear for long periods of time, provides full coverage, and won't slip or come off if you need to engage in physical exertion. Also make sure you won't have to take it off to put on a gas mask or respirator if you might use those. Also, make it small enough to conceal if you suddenly need to flee or blend in with civilians.

Don't wear oil-based makeup, contaminants stick to your skin and are harder to remove. Oil-free sunblock is suggested instead.

Glitter or highlighter can show which side of your bandana was touching your face and which has tear gas on it. Waterproof mascara is also mentioned as riot-safe.

Masks should be comfortable to wear, provide full coverage, be a tight enough weave to serve as a barrier between chemical weapons and your respiratory system. You may want to consider layering a few different masks on top of each other for effect, as long as you don't overheat!

As for your outfit, choose something that allows you to blend into the crowd around you, doesn't restrict your movement, and covers distinguishing features such as scars, birthmarks, freckles, piercings, tattoos. The article suggests a lightweight, full-coverage under-layer and additional layers over it, both for insulation and in order to conceal your identity.

Make sure the outfit allows you to bend, kneel, run, jump, reach, and climb, and make you feel good about yourself; confidence is key of both style and riot safety.

Organic materials (cotton, wool) will absorb chemical contaminants, while synthetic materials (nylon) will help keep your body insulated and provide a better barrier between say pepper spray and your skin, but will melt if they come into contact with something hot like a tear gas canister. So consider layering to get the best of both worlds.

Form-fitting clothes give less risk of being grabbed by adversaries or getting stuck on fences, while looser-fitting clothes are better for concealing your body type and protecting your privacy. Neither is inherently better, do what feels best for you.

Footwear: something that is comfortable and easy to move in, and don't let your shoes make you stand out in a crowd. The article suggests squishy, supportive insoles for steel-toed combat boots or sneakers. Sneakers don't provide as much foot protection or ankle support but are easier to run and climb in. They even say it might be an idea to have a designated set of riot shoes you don't wear for any other purpose, and even keep them at someone else's house.

Jewelry is usually a bad idea.

Umbrellas are great for obscuring your identity or blocking chemical weapons spray.

You might consider a utility belt for supplies you need quick, easy access to.

Also consider bringing bandanas, first-aid supplies, and snacks for comrades.

Liquid antacid and water can help counteract the effects of tear gas and pepper spray.

NO CONTACT LENSES, they trap chemical contaminants against your eyes and cause lasting damage! Glasses can be shattered right in front of your eyes. The article suggests wearing contact lenses, and then wear protective goggles like ski goggles to preserve your privacy without risking long-term eye damage.

Gas masks and respirators should fit snugly around our nose and mouth, seal appropriately, and have a filtration rating appropriate for your needs. For most situations, an N95 rating should be sufficient, but for pepper spray, those with asthma or who are otherwise sensitive to chemical contaminants you should consider an R- pr P100-rated filter instead. If you have a beard, shave a day or two before the action, not the day of as tear gas or pepper spray sucks when it gets into little cuts; gas masks and respirators don't seal properly over hair.

Community matters in protests!

Staying Safe In the Streets: Stuff that hasn't been mentioned in the previous articles yet.

Come prepared: The article mentions examples like water, first-aid supplies, banners, flags, drums, whistles, megaphone, sound system, a sign that doubles as a shield, stickers, spray paint, flares, torches, christmas tree ornaments filled with paint, firecrackers, a hammer, or a police scanner. Wipe it down with alcohol beforehand to get rid of any prints.

Consider using a burner phone.

Stick with friends you trust using the buddy system.

Case the area in advance for targets, materials, danger zones, and escape routes. Plan in advance how and where you can disperse.

Stick together, don't let the crowd get stretched out too far; friends on bicycles can carry messages between the front and back.

Make it clear to the police as soon as they show up that they’re not in charge. Your assertiveness and willingness to protect each other are your permit. Like other bullies, the slightest compromise will embolden them, but if they see that there is no way for them to take control, they may back off. Police will bluff and lie, but you may be able to predict their behavior by what they appear materially prepared to do.

Don’t let officers enter the crowd. Hold banners up along the sides; link arms if you have to. If the police want to grab someone, get in the way. Keep moving so they don’t get a chance to pen you in. If you see them blocking off a street ahead, move fast before they can surround and trap you. Keep them guessing. Quit while you’re ahead.

If the police address you, ignore them unless they specify that you are being detained or arrested. If they seize you, don’t resist unless you’re sure you can escape; resisting can get you higher charges. If you are arrested, invoke your right to remain silent. Answer no questions beyond your name and address, no matter what they say. Never tell the police anything about other people, even if it seems insignificant.

Don’t post anything on Facebook, Twitter, or any other site that you wouldn’t show directly to the police. Don’t brag about anything potentially incriminating, or describe others’ actions. Only talk about what happened in a secure environment with people you trust.

The corporate media will repeat the lies of the police. Politicians will try to discredit you or get you to waste time in endless petitioning. Don’t let them intimidate you or stunt your imagination; don’t get sucked into a private grudge match with the authorities. Our power comes from our courage, our dreams, and the connections we build with other people.

If you are participating in protests, encampments, or occupations, you should understand how to dress to minimize your risk factors.

Most importantly—if you wish to protect your privacy, you will need an outfit that conceals your identifying features. You should change into it in a location that is not under surveillance, wear it for the entire duration of the activity, then change out of it in a location that is also not surveilled. You should not be seen with any elements of the outfit before or after.

Consider reading these short instructional guides:

Fashion Tips for the Brave

https://crimethinc.com/fashiontips

The Femme’s Guide to Riot Fashion

https://crimethinc.com/riotfemme

[kiyosamu]

remember.

----♡----

pairing: rintaro suna x female reader.

genre: yandere, dark, light romance. // one shot, 4k words.

synopsis: abusive relationships can seem impossible to leave. when you open up to a classmate, your life takes a dramatic turn in the best and worst ways imaginable.

content warnings: assault, domestic abuse (not from suna), descriptions of violence, yandere themes.

----♡----

“hey, kid.” suna’s voice caught your attention as you passed by him in the university corridor. he was quiet, only speaking loud enough for you to hear right as you were walking by.

“hey, rintaro.” you stopped for a moment, refusing to look up at the tall man towering over you.

“i haven’t seen you in a while. everything okay?” he leaned against the wall and clutched a textbook to his chest. “you haven’t even been to class. kinda been missing my project partner.”

“you got my work though, right?” you asked him, partially covering your face with your hair. “i emailed it to you.”

“i did.”

“okay… good.” you cleared your throat, awkwardly shuffling and offering a suspiciously sudden goodbye.

“hey, wait-" suna grabbed your wrist to keep you from leaving. the small amount of pressure more than enough on your deep bruise to make you wince.

suna noticed your pained expression and immediately let go, stepping back.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt you. i just wanted to ask you if-“

“it’s okay!” you interrupted, knowing you’d already spoken to him for too long. you needed to get out of there before anyone noticed. “you didn’t hurt me. sorry, i have to go. bye!”

your behaviour was erratic. your speech was rushed; forced and strained with every word as you tried your best to appear normal.

unfortunately it was much harder to pretend everything was okay than you’d originally thought it’d be.

you quickly turned and headed down the hallway to drop off the assignments to your other professor. the last one you’d have to see for the day before heading home. you were almost there. so close you might not even run into him.

you’d hoped, anyway.

----♡----

after seeing your professor, you walked out into the fresh evening air. the cold stinging your cheeks and the wind pushing your hair out of your face.

your cheeks burned from the freezing air, but it was your black eye was that hurt the most.

“i’m sorry, i just lost my temper.” his words echoed in your head, “you shouldn’t have pissed me off.”

you nodded, essentially agreeing with him. it’s true, if he didn’t get mad, he wouldn’t have hit you. and why was he mad? because of something you did. so really, it was your own fault.

you were the one apologizing to him that night. doing anything you could to make it up to him. all of this with a deep purple bruise forming on your face.

when he finally left your dorm and went back to his, you were mentally exhausted. you fell asleep and woke up right before your second class of the day.

he had started forcing you to miss classes, to do everything at home and only go in to submit your work. this was for two reasons.

the first, you could spend more time with him due to your schedules. if yours was freed then you’d have more time together.

the second was to stop you from talking to other men. completely.

...and then he found out suna was your lab partner.

“i don’t want you working with him.”

“i have to. the professor is the one who chooses.”

“then work from home and submit the stuff online. that guy is a manipulator. he’s dangerous and will take advantage of you. i just know it.”

you’d never gotten that type of vibe from suna, but you obeyed your boyfriend because you didn’t want to know what would happen if you didn’t.

secretly, though, you missed class. you missed working with him. laughing, getting to know each other. he’d become a good friend over the past year and since you had the same majors, you two shared quite a few classes.

he was calm. funny and quiet, but definitely not timid. his energy made him come off tough, but not scary. if anything, he made you feel… safe.

just for those few hours you had together.

and whenever class would end, you found yourself missing that feeling.

----♡----

“i have to go to class tomorrow.” you said, refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend who’d invited himself over to your dorm.

just like he does every. single. night.

“why? you gonna go talk to that suna guy?” he approached you, giving you a terrifying smile that you know wasn’t coming from a place of happiness.

“yuji… please.” your words were barely a whisper when you felt his fingers wrap around your throat. “my professor told me i need to start going. my grades are falling behind.”

his fingers tapped rhythmically against your skin. dancing skillfully as he toyed with the idea of choking you. you held your breath, expecting the worst.

“you should try harder.” he growled, digging his fingertips into your neck and you clenched your eyes closed. “get your grades back up so you don’t have to spend any more time with that guy.”

“okay, okay!” you grabbed onto his wrist and his eyes widened. “i will! i’ll get my grades up so i don’t need to see him anymore.”

“good girl.” he smiled, the evil expression he’d previously worn had melted away into a false image of a kind man. “always listening so well for me.”

yuji leaned in and kissed you. you kissed back, barely, but just enough for him to be satisfied and leave you alone.

“time for me to go.” he sighed as he heard the dorm advisor do a final walk through to knock on the doors and let the students know it was time for guests to leave.

“see you tomorrow?” he asked, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“sure…” you whispered. you trembled under his touch and wanted nothing more than for him to leave your sight.

“good. it’s a date.” he said happily and gave you another kiss, practically skipping down the hallway back to his own room.

you shut and locked your door, desperately wishing that was the last time you’d ever have to see him.

----♡----

“well, well, well.” suna cooed as you took your seat next to him. “as i live and breathe, i never thought i’d see the day. you finally made it to class.”

you nodded and pulled out your books.

“had to. my grades are slipping.” you sighed, looking around at the science classroom. “what are we doing today?”

“lab day.” suna said as he nudged an instruction sheet towards you. “should we put on our coats and get to it?”

“okay...”

you started to have an internal panic attack. your wrists were as bruised as the black eye you were hiding behind your hair.

suna stepped away to get your lab coats.

this would all be visible, and you didn’t want suna (or anyone) to see any of it.

you nervously approached your professor and she looked up at you with a disinterested stare.

“ma’am, i need to be excused from class today.”

“absolutely not.” she scoffed, “unless you want to fail my class, which i know you can’t afford to do, you’ll stay and do your lab.”

you opened your mouth to reply but she kept speaking.

“go put up your hair, roll up your sleeves and get your lab coat on. you should be thankful you have such a competent partner.” she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, “actually, i think the two of you should spend some time together. he’s my top student and you definitely need some tutoring.”

“i don’t think that’s necessary-“

“mr. suna, come up here please.”

suna walked up with a confused look, unsure as to why he was being brought in to the conversation.

“something i can help with?” he asked.

“yes,” the professor smiled, “i’d like the two of you to do tutoring sessions a minimum of twice a week, an hour each time. could you do that?”

“oh, sure. i don’t mind.” he smiled, “was that all? we should get to our assignment.”

you felt backed in to a wall. of course you were okay with this, you enjoyed spending time with suna.

unfortunately, you were terrified of the repercussions.

even worse, there was nothing you could do about it.

when you got back to your table, you put your hair up and silently thought of a plan. keep your head down, don’t make eye contact. maybe he wouldn’t notice.

you rolled up your sleeves and put on your white coat. it was barely long enough to hit your wrists, but did a decent job of hiding the bruises.

the first half of the lab went well. suna explained things in a way that made it easy to comprehend and you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

until you completely forgot.

you began to pour the green liquid into the tube. suna was writing his lab report when he looked up and noticed your mistake.

“oh, hey,” he stood up, putting his hand over yours to tilt the container back up. “you need to pour it slower, like this.”

when it started to pour just as he’d wanted, he let go and you found yourself missing the brief comfort of his touch.

“good job! you did it.” suna smiled and you looked up at him with an excited expression. finally. finally you were getting something right.

when the two of you made eye contact, his smile immediately dropped into a look of concern.

“what happened to your eye?”

“oh,” you stepped back, covering it with your hand. “i fell.”

suna carefully held onto your wrist and you winced in pain. his intentions were to move your hand away from your eye, but he took immediate notice of your reaction and pushed your sleeve down.

the bruises in the shape of fingerprints stained your skin a deep purple.

“what about here?” he stepped closer. you tried to read his expression but he looked completely emotionless.

“from the same fall, i’m just clumsy.”

“and your neck?”

suna pushed back your lab coat to see the same fingerprint bruises scattered around your neck.

you were suddenly thankful you’d chosen the table in the far back end of the classroom. nobody was ever watching.

“yeah.” you said, practically a whisper. “i’m just really clumsy.”

suna leaned down and looked into your eyes.

“why don’t i believe you?”

“five more minutes!” the professor called, interrupting your intense conversation and the two of you snapped back into action.

you finished your lab report and quickly packed up your stuff before rushing out the classroom door.

suna followed closely behind.

“it’s your boyfriend, isn’t it?”

you stopped dead in your tracks and turned around to look at him. suna’s expression was no longer emotionless. he was angry.

“okay,” you sighed, grabbing his wrist to pull him to a secluded space outside. the two of you sat down under a large tree, away from everyone else.

“yuji gets upset with me and… hurts me… sometimes.” you choked out. “i haven’t told anyone because i’m scared of what he’ll do to me. i haven’t left him because i’m scared of him. i’m stuck.”

you hadn’t said these words out loud to anyone, ever, and the way they were flowing so freely had you crying before you were even aware of it.

“please don’t tell anyo-“

“i’ll take care of it.”

you looked up at him. suna looked completely calm, his voice smooth and gaze held on you.

“what do you mean?”

suna stood up and ran his hands through his hair.

“i mean i’ll take care of it.” he smiled, “see you tomorrow afternoon for tutoring?”

“wait, suna-“

“later!” he gave you a passive wave before walking back towards the university building.

----♡----

that evening you waited for yuji to come by your dorm, but he never did.

you waited for him to call you, but he didn’t.

you worried about what suna had meant. maybe he was going to talk to him, maybe even threaten him. you’d hoped he wouldn’t do that, but you really didn’t know what he was capable of.

surely the rumours about him couldn’t be true. an honour's chemistry major being involved in a more sinister, underground group that nobody even knew if it was real or made up?

he was too nice. there was no way.

----♡----

after class you headed back to your dorm to get ready for your evening. suna had asked you to meet him under the same tree from the day before. around 7pm.

you debated on calling yuji, but ultimately decided against it. maybe he’d come to his senses. maybe he was remorseful, and just wanted to move on. to leave you alone and pretend your relationship never happened.

that was what you wished for the most.

----♡----

you stepped out into the cold evening air. the wind blowing softly and brushing the hair out of your face.

you clutched your books to your chest and took a short cut through the back fields separating the dorms from the main university campus.

you checked your phone, you were early. suna would be there in about 15 minutes.

you reached down to grab your phone when it was immediately snatched from your hands.

“you did this, didn’t you?” a familiar voice snapped at you. you glanced up to see yuji, sporting a similar black eye and a bandaged cut on his cheek.

“i- no, of course not!”

he rolled his eyes at your reply, clearly not willing to listen to a word you were saying. yuji grabbed your wrists, forcing you to drop your books and pushed you against the back wall of the university.

“you did. tell me right now. everything you said. who you said it to. and why.” the look in his eyes was horrifying. scarier than any other look he’s given you before.

this made it seem like his previous bouts of anger were nothing but minor inconveniences.

“i didn’t-“

yuji pulled back, immediately hitting your chin with a hard punch that knocked your head back into the concrete wall.

“try again.”

your vision was hazy. mind blurring memories together and you couldn’t even form a proper sentence.

you felt a warm, wet sensation cascading down the back of your neck and were immediately soothed by the feeling. the warmth was comfortable, even though you didn’t know what it was from.

yuji’s hand wrapped around your throat and he pressed his forehead to yours. his fingers dug roughly into your windpipe, causing you to choke out the remaining air in your lungs. you felt yourself get sleepy, closing your eyes and letting darkness overtake you as your body went limp.

----♡----

“hey, wake up.”

snapping fingers in your face had you looking around curiously. you couldn’t focus on your surroundings. it was unclear who was with you, unclear what was happening around you, and unclear why you were there.

the sounds of multiple men. grunting, panting. speaking quietly between deep breaths and harsh exertion.

what were they doing?

“hey.” the fingers snapped in front of your face again.

“what…” was all you could manage to say. your body felt heavy. weak. you were just so tired. all you wanted to do was fall asleep. you submitted to the exhaustion, closing your eyes again.

“don’t go to sleep.” a soothing voice lifted the back of your neck, pressing something soft against your head. “stay awake and listen to me.”

“ya like beatin’ up girls, huh?”

whack

“wanna put a girl half your size in the hospital, for what? to feel like more of a man?”

whack

“a real man would never hit a woman.”

whack

“a real man would beat the shit out of losers who do hit women, right ‘tsum?”

“right. maybe we’ll even put him in the hospital.”

whack

whack

“oh, he’s gonna be there once we’re done.”

you finally recognized the last voice. it was suna.

he spoke again, his voice raspy and dark but still audible from where you were.

“i hope to fucking god you didn’t hurt her so badly that she’s knocked out…” suna trailed off and let out a small chuckle. “because there’s nothing i want more than for her to hear you cry like a little bitch when this blade goes right…”

the sound of yuji’s sudden scream was immediately muffled by what you were sure was the hand of the other man.

“…through you.”

your eyes widened and you were starting to understand what was happening.

all you could feel around you was danger.

you started to hyperventilate. panic was taking over.

“focus on me. come on, we need to get out of here.”

“who…” your head started to hurt now. badly.

“my name is osamu.” he bent down and cradled you in his arms, bringing you close to his chest and picking you up bridal style. “hold on to me if you can.”

“i’m scared…” you whispered.

“i know.” he murmured, carrying you away from the scene and back through the field. “i’ll keep you safe. we need to go to the hospital.”

“what about…”

“the only thing you need to worry about is stayin’ awake right now, okay? it’ll all be okay.” osamu’s voice was soothing. his body was warm and his strong arms supported your body in a way that made you never want to leave his hold.

you gave him a weak nod. even if you wanted to get away, you couldn’t. so you decided to trust in this man and hope for the best.

----♡----

“hey, sweetheart.” the calm voice of a nurse slowly woke you up. “you’re finally awake.”

“where…” you choked out, your throat was dry and you could barely make out where you were. it was all so… confusing.

“you’re in the hospital.” she said as she stood on her tiptoes to change the fluids on your iv pole. “you were assaulted. your injuries aren’t good but you’ll make a full recovery.”

the nurse leaned back down and held onto your hand. “you have a real knight in shining armour, you know. your boyfriend hasn’t left your side since you were admitted. he’s going to be so happy when he finds out you woke up.”

boyfriend?

your heart started to race at the thought of yuji coming in. you looked around, preparing for the worst when you heard footsteps enter the room.

“hey, sleepyhead.”

“speak of the devil.” the nurse smiled, giving your hand a squeeze. “i’ll let you two have some privacy. please press the call button if you need anything, i’ll come back and check on you soon.”

the footsteps grew closer and you heard the squeak of a chair being pulled up next to your bed. you opened your eyes to see suna giving you a compassionate smile.

“rintaro?” you whispered, “what are you doing here?”

“making sure you’re okay.” he crossed his arms, “been here since you were admitted.”

you tried your hardest to remember even coming to the hospital, but you just couldn’t. everything was gone after your head hit that wall.

“what… happened?” you asked, your eyes pleading for him to be honest.

“someone attacked you and your boyfriend.” suna leaned in, “do you not remember anything?”

“i remember yuji being upset with me…” you blinked, your mind working as hard as it could to remember something of importance. “my head hit the wall and it’s kind of fuzzy after that.”

“i see.” suna nodded.

“wait, how did you know i was in here?”

“some people mentioned an attack on campus. i got worried when you were late for our study session, and when your phone rang and you didn’t answer i felt like something was up.” he shrugged, taking a moment to think of his next words. “i called the hospital and asked if you were here, and then came right over when they confirmed it.”

“oh. okay…” you went to scratch an itch on your scalp and were met with searing pain at the slightest bit of pressure. “ow!”

“careful.” he smiled, taking your hand away from your head. “it’s gonna be sore for a while.”

“yeah…” you trailed off, trying to make sense of the situation. “what happened to yuji?”

“why do you care?”

“huh?” you glanced at suna who’s expression had turned sour.

“why do you care about what happened to him? he could've killed you.”

“i just wanted to know if he…” your voice was shaky and you tried to compose yourself. “if there was a possibility of him coming after me again.”

“not a single chance.” suna leaned over the railing of the hospital bed and took your hand. “besides, even if there was, i won’t let anything happen to you.”

----♡----

you’d found out yuji had suffered from severe injuries almost taking his life. he was beaten, stabbed, and his spinal cord suffered so much damage he was permanently paralyzed from the waist down.

while you were relieved the abuse would be over, you constantly wondered who had assaulted him.

you remembered telling suna and him saying he’d take care of it, surely that wasn’t him, right? there was no way suna could do something like that.

----♡----

months went by while you recovered from your injuries. you’d been discharged from the hospital after 3 weeks, and suna had stuck by your side every day.

“i’m happy to say you’ve essentially made a full recovery.” the doctor smiled, shaking your hand. “i’m so proud of your progress. you’re truly a walking miracle.”

“what about my memory?” you asked, “when will i remember what happened?”

“oh, you might not ever remember. you hit your head hard and from what we gather, you were unconscious.” the doctor stood up, clutching his clip board before walking out. “it’s probably for the best that you don’t remember what happened. you should focus on moving on, now. take care.”

----♡----

“well, should we celebrate?” suna asked as you walked out of the hospital together. you stopped, causing him to turn and look down at you. “what’s up?”

“i just wanted to say thank you…” you said, feeling your face getting hot. “i don’t think i could’ve done this without you.”

“you could’ve. you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met.” he leaned down, brushing the hair out of your face. the same hair that used to cover the deep bruises, now showing your true complexion. “and the most beautiful.”

you felt your heart flutter at his sudden compliment. suna’s hands found your waist and you instinctively draped your arms over his shoulders.

“you really mean that?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“of course i do.” he smiled, leaning in to give you the long awaited kiss the two of you had been dying for. his lips were soft and you melted into his arms. he pulled away, resting his forehead on yours. “beautiful in every possible way.”

you felt tears well up as you were being complimented. the sweetest, kindest, most handsome man touching you so delicately and speaking to you with nothing but respect.

you'd completely fallen in love with him, and it was everything you ever could’ve asked for.

----♡----

a few weeks after the two of you made it official, your honeymoon phase was in full force. you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. you were experiencing your first true relationship that made you feel loved and you cherished at every moment.

one evening, you decided to go to suna’s dorm to surprise him.

knock knock

“rintaro?” you called out, opening the door to let yourself in. “are you home?”

“in here, baby.” he replied from the kitchen. he was sharing an apartment style dorm with two other men, but you hadn’t met them yet. they weren’t ever there when you were.

“we finally get to meet your girl, huh?” one of them cooed as you walked in. he had dyed blonde hair and smirked at you as you walked by. “damn, she’s a looker, huh ‘samu?”

samu… why did that sound familiar?

“don’t be such a pig.” the other boy replied. you realized they were twins when he stood up and walked over to you. he smiled, holding out his hand. “nice to meet ya, i’m osamu.”

osamu.

no.

“my name is osamu…”

it couldn’t be.

“…hold on to me if you can.”

no, no, no.

the memories of the night of the assault came flooding back to you.

it only took a moment to realize...

...it wasn’t a random assault at all.

[euphoricsunflowers]

held against the window — lee hoseok/wonho

request: Could you write a smut of wonho being a secretary and the reader the ceo. OR they are both ceo's. Maybe fuck him against the window of the office building.

a/n: of course darling <33 hope you enjoy <3 gif is mine

disclaimer: that is this is just a fanfic so in actuality please discuss what you are and aren’t comfortable with beforehand with people and don’t just jump into stuff like this. aso please don’t involve other people (aka public sex) in your sex life. please read with caution.

word count: 2.5k

content: sub!wonho, dom!fem!reader, ceo!reader, tall!reader (i’m sorry but there’s literally only like one line and i’m doing this for me) ceo!wonho, fingering (m receiving), pegging, minor nipple play, minor dumbification, fucking him against a window,

summary: he’s a powerful ceo just like you are, but he’s just so sweet and docile and soft that you wonder if he’s even the same person.

lee hoseok.

smart. calculated. muscular. dangerously attractive.

he’s an enigma, in a sense, to you. he’s rich, he’s insanely intelligent, he’s beyond adept at running his company, and he’s just so gorgeous that you wonder how he isn’t the cockiest asshole ever, but he’s also so kind and so sweet and so startlingly shy that it all just throws off everything about him.

“mr. lee is here, miss,” your assistant pops their head in through the door, “should i show him to your office?” you nod, murmuring a small “thank you” before you focus back on your laptop, finishing up typing before the door opens once more, and the man of the hour steps inside your office.

“hello,” you say.

“hello, good morning,” he smiles back, looking almost cute in the way he smiles, sitting in the chair opposite from yours at your desk, “thank you for taking time out of your day to meet with me- can i call you y/n?”

“go ahead,” you tilt your head as you hear him talk, but you don’t honestly pay attention to what he’s saying, too lost in his eyes and the fact that his shirt is way more unbuttoned than seems appropriate when meeting another company’s ceo.

he keeps talking, but it’s becoming visible how out-of-it you are, especially when he tentatively waves a hand in front of your face to get your attention, “everything okay in there?” he jokes.

“yeah! yes, i’m fine, hoseok, please continue,”

“are you sure you want me to?” he asks, voice still soft but now it’s almost teasing in its softness, and it’s startling, flustering because obviously, you don’t. your mind is everywhere but this conversation, “i can- we can do something else if you’re not too interested in what i’m saying.”

“god, i’m so sorry, hoseok-”

“don’t be, it’s okay,” he murmurs, getting up out of his chair, “well, come on, come and get me,” he murmurs cheekily, and you cautiously step out of your chair, closing the distance enough to whisper and have him hear, “look, if i’m reading this wrong, then just let me know and i’ll apologize, leave, and probably never look you in the eye again if i’m being honest,” he giggles out of nervousness, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, “but, if i am reading this right, then kiss me.”

“you’re… demanding, you know,” you complain (not really) as you pull him in fully, touching his jaw gently with the tips of your fingers as you kiss. his lips are so soft and thick that you just can’t help but pull on his bottom lip with your teeth gently. he breathes out a soft and inconspicuous moan, exactly what you wanted, and his hands find your hips as he pulls you closer, and his every movement seems to drive you insane, “how are you so…?”

he tilts his head in confusion so cutely that it stirs a certain feeling inside of you, “so what?”

“so…,” you blank before the perfect word hits you, “perfect,” he huffs, but you continue, “genuinely, you’re just so enticing, you’re so beautiful,” your lips find his neck, gentle in the way you nibble at his neck, even as he squirms in your grasp, making you simply just hold him tighter against you, “you’re so docile and passive, it’s everything i want.”

his small, gasps and breathy moans keep you going, intent on dragging more out of him, “you- can people see us on the outside of that window??”

“if they look up, maybe, but we’re on a very high floor,” you respond between small bites on his neck, and as you become less and less gentle with him, he whimpers, “hoseok,” you whisper, “if you at all need or want to stop, just let me know, okay?”

“i- uhm, okay, i don’t want you to, though,” his hands hold your waist loosely, playing with the edges of your tucked-in shirt.

you chuckle endeared at his response. he’s so sweet (both in the way he tastes and the way he acts) it makes you wonder if this man was even real, “good, because i enjoyed that whimper much more than i should have,” he breathes heavier after hearing those words, so physically affected it’s like this man was created and molded to your exact tastes, “since you brought up the window, let’s give everyone a show, hm?”

“you- uh- what? what do you mean?”

“you know what i mean, baby,” you mumble, the pet name so sickeningly sweet off your tongue that he can’t help the way he succumbs to you, “i’m going to fuck you so hard against the window,” you pull him as you take cautious steps back towards the window until your back hits the window, “i’m going to make sure the whole city knows that the lee hoseok is just my little whore.”

you take the breath out of his lungs with every word past your lips and his knees go weak at your words. you flip over to hold him against the window, finally getting him where you want him.

“is that what you want, hoseok?” you ask, but you know the answer. he nods, biting his bottom lip anxiously, “you want everyone to see you like that? that’s so naughty,” you tease.

“i- oh god-“ he exclaims with a heavy breath as you flip him over, feeling upon his body even if his shirt is in the way, letting your hands wander a little lower to grope his ass. he bites his lips, but he can’t hold in his moans for very long.

“you feel perfect against me, baby, so perfect,” you wrap your hands around him to unbutton his shirt, “let’s get this off of you, hm?” he shyly helps you shrug the fabric off of him, “don’t bother with trying to not get fingerprints on the window, they’ll be a reminder of who touched it.”

your hands resume touching him, running against his skin, feeling up every perfectly built muscle on his torso, noticing how he went from overwhelmed and sensitive to teased and desperate so quickly, noticing how hard he’s gotten. aside from moans or soft curses, he’s quiet. you keep your eyes on his facial expressions, especially when your fingernails brush his nipples, “ah-!” he cries out.

“oh? that’s enough to get a cry out of you?” you smirk, seeing him become flustered at your taunting, “then you’re really in for it, baby. i’m gonna fuck you so hard you see stars, and if we break the window?” you lean in to really whisper to him, reaching down to start unbuckling his belt, throwing it off of him, “then good. i’ll be smiling while i pay for the repairs. now, strip all the way down.”

as he obeys, you do the same, throwing off all your clothes and making an absolute mess of your office. you search through one of your drawers, “ah, there it is,” you say, grabbing a couple more things and setting them on your desk before returning to hoseok, now naked and trying to cover himself as he stands a little bit away from the window, “baby, if you’re uncomfortable with any of this, i need you to tell me,” you say you press kisses to his shoulder to soothe him a bit.

“no, no i’m okay! this is really hot, actually, i’m just-” he’s more nervous as you guide him towards the window again, and he puts him hands up against it just like before, “i’m just getting shy.”

“it’s cute, hoseok, i like it when you’re shy,” your hands massages his skin, specifically at his hip as a way to keep him in place and also comfort him, “but if that shyness becomes discomfort, tell me.”

“i- okay,” he nods, and your hands once again find his ass, and he whines just like he did before.

“you have such a nice ass, you know,” you murmur absentmindedly as you squeeze, “i mean, the rest of you is perfect too, god i just can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“i- i want to touch you too,” he whispers, “i just- you’re giving me all the attention, and you’re so pretty yourself that i just- i want to make you feel good too.”

“maybe later, hoseok,” the way your lips say his name is like a venom and he loves it, it’s all he wants to hear, “for now, just let me have you.”

“oh-okay,” he stutters, giving in so sweetly, “i’m yours, y/n, yours.”

“you’re adorable,” you coo, pressing a kiss to his shoulder again before your wet and cold fingers press against his hole. he’s not even sure he saw you put lube on them but he’s startled when he feels the touch. even still, he lets you push your fingers in to the first knuckle, keeping them still for a moment before making slow circles.

“you can- you know,” he mumbles, and you laugh at his shyness before pushing your fingers in more, watching the strain on his face with a subtle sense of pleasure, he’s just so cute like this. he groans, “oh my god, you- oh, fuck- your fingers feel so-”

“and these are just my fingers, hoseok. imagine how wrecked and fucked out you’ll be with my strap on even deeper in your ass,” you press a kiss just below his ear, taunting him with your words slightly, “i doubt you’ll even be able to stand, but i’ll keep you held up against this window so you don’t have to worry that the people down there don’t get to see how slutty you are.”

he moans with a cry as your fingers brush that spot, and his eyes shut as his cheeks go red with embarrassment.

“did that feel good?” you ask, rubbing your fingers over the spot to try and drag that same reaction out of him, and he’s just a beautiful sight. he’s trying to catch his breath, he’s failing to catch his breath. his eyes roll back as his head falls back against your shoulder, “aw, can you not handle the pleasure? it’s just my fingers, seok. you’re going to need to prepare yourself if you’re getting this messed up over just my fingers.”

“i want- i want more than just your-“ he breathes, his voice so dry and airy that it makes him sound so much more desperate, “please fuck me.”

“sure thing, doll,” you kiss the side of his neck (making him flinch at the now sensitive skin from all your bites. he’s pretty sure you left some bruises) your fingers leaving him makes him whine, but feeling the cool touch of the strap on against his ass reminds him that this wasn’t over; it hadn’t even begun. you push it in slightly, seeing the overwhelmed look

on his face almost makes you hesitate, but you get it fully inside of him before you wait to continue, keeping him still against you while he adjusts, you say, “it’s so fun to think about how someone as powerful and influential as you is, in reality, just a cute little hole for my strap,” he jaw is slacked and his eyes are shut, like he’s not even mentally present at all, “you just look so cute and dumb, it makes me want to lose all control and fuck you until you break.”

“please. please, fuck me- fuck- until i break,” he whines, even pushing back against your strap slightly, and that’s your queue to let go of that caution you’ve been holding, and just go for it. you almost pull out completely just to push back in entirely and harshly, and he cries out.

“you’re really in for it, baby,” you say as you rock your hips back and forth, finding a comfortable pace for yourself that is still intense and overwhelming for him, making sure to hit it deep, holding him close by his waist and pushing harshly, “now, don’t be shy, moan for me.”

he does, crying out moans so beautiful you’d think he has the voice of an angel. he keeps his arms against the window, above his head, and he looks down at all the people. he thinks about what they’d think if they looked up and saw him like this? would they recognize him? why did the though of being caught like this both horrify him and excite him like no other?

but all those thoughts fade away as he gets more and more worked up, only really focused on how good he feels and how he wants to feel even better, “you look so pretty and docile like this, hoseok, but you know, i bet you look even better when you’re cumming,” your hand reaches down to give some attention to his cock, and he moans even louder, even more, “i can’t wait for you to completely fall apart.”

“i- oh, fuck, fuck, god-” he stammers, getting closer, so startled by how easy he was to get this close, this fucked up, but your hand works his cock so good and you fuck him so good that he can’t help that all the stimulation is becoming too much, and he’s getting closer to the edge, “fuck, i’m gonna cum, please-”

“cum, hoseok. show me just how much of a whore for me you are,” you mumble in response, and that’s enough to push him over the edge. he arches his back, his head thrown back like before, and he cries out a loud moan as you continue to fuck him through his orgasm, keeping pace until he starts to whine instead of moan, and that’s your queue to slow down and pull out, holding him up because he might not be physically strong enough to stand if you didn’t.

“t-thank you, that was- that was amazing,” he breathes heavily as you turn him around gently, keeping him up as he catches his breath, “let me return the favor now, please.”

he seems okay enough for you to let go now, and you move to sit on your chair instead, “i mean, if you would like to eat me out until your jaw is sore, then by all means, baby: enjoy your meal.”

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @foenixs @hobilluvvr @vanillaknj @yr-domxfantasies @treasure-hwa @fleurshopsub @rubyscloud9 @silencefavarchive @nct99 @bigkpopstan @monstaxdirtywonk @rosiethefairy @domreaderrecs and always feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist <3

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

i had a craving for some warm apple cider and it reminded me of etrry. he would fuck that shit up omg omg christian girl fall is totally alienrry he would love going to the apple orchards and shit

The first time he tries a pumpkin spice latte, his feedback makes Y/N’s stomach flutter with endearment.

Harry smack his lips as he savors the spices and cozy notes in the drink, furrowing his brows in thought as he picks through all of the different emotions the taste produces. After a moment, his entire body relaxes, and a homey smile makes its way across his dimpled cheeks. “It tastes the way a warm hug feels.”

Y/N’s lips twitch as she sips from her own drink, letting his interpretation sink in. He’s recently taken to relating flavors to feelings and experiences, and the analogies he conjures up always amuse her to no end. “That was pretty poetic of you.”

Harry simpers over the brim of the coffee cup, hugging it with both hands as indulges another gulp. “Thank you, I think.”

She can’t help but notice how big his hands are— how they easily dwarf the paper mug, and how pretty his nails look covered in sage green polish (she’d painted them that color for the sake of irony, and he’d thought the joke was hilarious). The more she dwells on every detail of his hands— the veins that chisel over the back as he tightens his hold, or the length of his nimble fingers, or the small alien hieroglyphic tattoo along the area between his index finger and thumb— the more her thoughts derail towards the graphic end of the spectrum. Specifically, how he’d had those same hands all over her body the night prior.

How they had been tangled in her hair as they stumbled towards her room blindly, too lost in the sensation of each other’s lips to give anything else much attention. How his hands had felt as they hurriedly coasted down her chest and along the bottom of her sweatshirt, pulling it off in one swift motion so he could taste every inch of her skin, his tongue leaving a sweltering heat along her cleavage. How they had gripped her knees and spread them open as he situated himself onto his stomach on the mattress, a faint white cast sheathing his irises as he’d seen the way she was already dripping in anticipation. How his palms had held her down to the bed as he’d bobbed his head between her thighs, his tongue lapping at her sloppily as he’d moaned into her clit, the sound wet and guttural as his back muscles visibly tightened while she’d tugged at his curls and scratched at his scalp. How one hand had grasped her hip desperately as the other wrapped around her throat, its first two fingers weighing on her tongue as she’d sucked on them feverishly, wisps of his name escaping her throat as he’d pounded raw pleasure into the pit of her tummy. How he’d whimpered and gasped into her ear as his nails dug memories into the skin of her waist, and how she’d caught a glimpse of his fingerprints this morning in the mirror, dusted across her flesh in the form of bruises.

Harry’s voice yanks the girl out of her head. “What are you drinking?”

Y/N isn’t really one to crave coffee during the afternoon, so she’d picked up a bottle of rosé on the way home from grocery shopping, right before going to the drive-through at the nearest Starbucks to get him his beverage. He’d seen a commercial for it on TV the other day, and had expressed his interest for it during breakfast as she’d shoveled scrambled eggs onto a plate while he cut up a green apple across the kitchen island, popping a slice into his mouth while neatly organizing the others along his circular platter. And how could she say no to him, especially when he’d been standing there with such a hopeful look in those olive green puppy eyes, his cheeks puffed out with fruit and her teeth marked all over his neck and chest.

“It’s, uhm—” She clears her throat roughly, expelling the image of Harry’s toned stomach and thick happy trail from her brain. She snaps her gaze up to meet his, and the blissfully unaware innocence behind his tone and over his features makes blood rush to her cheeks. “It’s rosé.”

Harry sets down his cup carefully on her coffee table, shifting further back onto the couch and slouching into the cushions, his legs spreading open casually as he settles in. “That’s a type of alcohol, correct?”

Y/N glances down at his thighs momentarily, where his mesh shorts are riding up dangerously high. “Yep.”

If he notices, he doesn’t to show it, seen in how his accent maintains the same nonchalant curiosity as before. He throws an arm around her shoulders easily, scooting his body closer to her own across the sofa. He’s gotten way touchier since they started sleeping together, and she can’t say she doesn’t like it. She likes it more than she should, probably.

“The same liquid in those spiked ciders you got me last time? The sour one that incapacitates you?”

Y/N scoffs lightly at his accurate description, willingly leaning into his torso and folding her legs up under herself as she props her wine glass on her knee. “Mmhm. But that only happened because you drank the entire pack like a moron, remember?”

Harry rolls his eyes at her chastising tone and flat expression. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Maybe you should have asked me before randomly drinking things from that shelf in the fridge.”

“You were in the shower.”

“You could have waited.”

“I was thirsty.”

“There’s a water filter at the sink.”

“I wanted juice.”

“There was grape juice beside the milk.”

“I wanted apple and the bottles had pictures of them on the label. My apologies for using my practical thinking skills and measures of deduction.”

Y/N sighs in good-natured exasperation, shoving him with her shoulder as revenge for his snarky comebacks. “Well, look where your practical thinking skills and measures of deduction got you— bent over the toilet bowl with puke shooting out of your nostrils. Now you know that anything with the word, ‘alcohol’ on it needs to be taken in moderation. Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” The young woman takes a sip from her glass, savoring it patiently as the sweet and tangy flavor filters through her taste buds. “Lesson learned, then.”

“Unfortunately.” The alien deadpans, pinching along the underside of her underarm just to feel her squirm and squeak. He smiles childishly at her reaction, giggling as she curses at him under her breath.

“You almost made me spill my drink.” She grumbles, getting comfortable once more against his warm body. “And this is the good stuff, too. I’d break the bottle over your head.”

“A bit rash, I think.” Harry snorts sarcastically, eyeing the pink moscato for a moment as it swishes inside her chilled cup, her fingers leaving smudges in the condensation. He then lilts his gaze back towards her own, his tone soft and full of wonder. “Can I try?”

“Promise not to throw up all over my floor again?” The girl quips tauntingly, jutting her chin towards her rug symbolically.

Harry exhales in surrendered embarrassment, lifting his hand and hooking their pinkies together. “Pinky swear.”

Y/N nods her head in the agreement, fending off a fond grin as she lifts the glass to his plush, rosy lips. “Go ahead, then, Area 51.”

The alien snorts softly at the nickname, well aware of its origins now that he’s learned more about Earth’s relationship with extraterrestrial components. Those documentaries on the Discovery Channel are quite educational.

Harry sifts his mouth over the rim of the glass, making eye contact with Y/N to let her know he’s ready for her to pour the drink in. She tilts the wine, watching it funnel past his lips to gauge how much is an adequate amount. She pulls back, observing as he nurses the liquid pensively, his brows creasing like before as he distinguishes all the different flavors present. He smacks his lips again, blinking slowly as he forms his opinion, licking at a drop that had escaped the corner of his mouth.

“So?” Y/N inquires, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “What’s it taste like?”

Harry cranes his sight over to her, the studious expression on his face melting into one of slight smugness, as if what he’s about to say is something amusing. The left edge of his mouth jolts upwards, a sly smirk carving its way across his face as he presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek almost arrogantly, his eyes raking down her body in an objectifying once-over. His descent stops at her clasped thighs, which he focuses on for a few seconds longer than she deems acceptable, and then his gaze travels back up to lock with her own. There’s now a different type of darkness to the jade swirling around his pupils, electrified by something he has yet to express to her fully, but seems excited to do so.

The young man leans forward, and Y/N almost falls back at the sudden closeness of their proximity. He ghosts his lips over the curve of her jaw and across the slope of her cheekbone, stopping at the shell of her ear as if he wants to share a secret. He drags his pillowy lips over the area with every intention to rile her up, his skin cool and damp from the beverage, but unbelievably warm beneath the initial shock of that caveat. His breath carries the same juxtaposing sensations— it’s cold on impact, but heats up the farther it travels across the side of her face and down to the pulse in her neck. His words are low and heavy, but sultry and smooth like the wine they’d shared; a seductive whisper that intoxicates her in a fiery manner that no amount of alcohol ever could.

“It tastes like sex. It tastes the way you do between your thighs, and it feels the way you feel when I’m buried between your legs. And if I close my eyes and savor it, I can taste you whining my name into my mouth, and I can taste you begging for it on my tongue.”

[citrinesparkles]

cat.

jason todd, eventually x gender neutral reader. 1,388 words. notes: this is part one of i don't even know how many and i cannot believe how wildly out of hand this got. this was a 500 word idea and it's gonna be at least three parts someone help (thanks to @angelz-dust for being so patient with me and encouraging on this!!! would never have made it out of the drafts without you <3) warnings: danger to kids, mention of a couple arguing, animal illness (spoiler alert: it'll be fine i Promise), a little (lot) different than my usual edit: part two here!

"let me be perfectly clear: if you even think about showing back up here, i will know, and i will make your life a living hell until i finally put you out of your misery. understood?"

"yes! yeah man i get it. understood."

"then i'd get going, if i were you." the man scrambled to his feet and bolted off across the playground, leaving jason to shout after him. "and warn any buddies you might have, too!"

he picked up the discarded knife and pocketed it. he then turned around slowly, hands visibly empty in a careful attempt not to scare the two kids behind him- well, careful not to make it worse, anyway. they, understandably, seemed a little shaken already.

"are you both alright?" he asked softly, slouching just a little to seem as harmless as possible.

probably would have been easier if they hadn't just watched him threaten someone.

the older kid- probably fifteen, if jason had to place a bet- nodded silently before glancing back at the little girl he was still hovering in front of protectively, who was just... staring.

she couldn't have been older than six.

"jazz?" the boy asked, voice tight. "are you hurt?"

he was ignored. "are you superman?"

the question, innocent and earnest and a little timid, made jason laugh. "not quite, kiddo."

she tilted her head like a curious puppy, furrowing her brow. "why are you wearing a jacket?"

jason glanced up at the boy, who seemed comforted by her mini interrogation. good.

talking was a good sign, too, so jason crouched down to meet her at eye level.

"because it gets cold out here!" he said, raising his hands up with a small wiggle of his fingers. "gloves, too."

"well, duh," jazz said with a giggle- a win, jason thought. "no fingerprints."

he nodded. "also helpful."

"and the hat to hide your face!" she said proudly, stepping forward a little to point at his helmet.

"wow, you've got the whole thing figured out, huh?"

"mhm! my friend ricky loves batman and his friends. he talks about batman and nightwing and spoiler and robin and red robin and red hood and batgirl all the time! they hide their faces like you, ricky thinks it's because of bad guys."

"they're kinda cool, huh?"

"nightwing's my favorite," she said firmly, as though it was something she had considered at great length and was fully prepared to defend.

"not red hood?" jason smacked a hand to his chest in mock hurt, shifting back dramatically. "i'm crushed, truly."

"no, ricky says red hood used to be an alien, but then got bored and now he annoys batman for fun instead. that sounds mean."

...well, okay, maybe he did annoy the big guy for fun a little. "that's an interesting theory, all right."

"ricky's got all kinds of theories. he thinks batman's a robot-" jason snorted- "and that nightwing was like pinochle."

"you mean pinocchio," the boy corrected quietly. "pinochle's what gramma plays."

"pinocchio!" she exlaimed, with a "ch" sound in the middle that made jason smile. "a doll that got turned human. that's how he does all the flips and stuff, he's got magic."

"hm, ricky seems like an interesting guy," jason said thoughtfully, making a big show of rubbing the chin of his helmet. "what do y-"

he was cut off by a loud, insistent meow, and jazz gasping even louder before taking off to the bushes.

"w- hey, don't rush off like that!" he said, shooting up off the ground as the boy sighed.

"there's this cat that she's been taking care of," he explained quietly. "the thing's got attitude for days but i think it's sick or something. jasmine's been bringing it little bits of tuna and chicken, but it's not like we can get it to a vet."

jason hummed. "why do you think it's sick?"

"it's thin, with its eyes all watery and sunk."

"might just be malnourished," he muttered.

"she's been trying to find it a home, y'know."

there was a wink-wink-nudge-nudge quality to the kid's voice that did not go unnoticed.

on one hand, it was good to hear something other than fear from him, but on the other... "what part of the tactical armor makes you think i'm an option?"

"the part where you just stuck around to check on us instead of running after that guy."

okay. maybe the quiet thing hadn't been so bad. the cocky 'amateur psychologist' thing was a little grating.

"you the real red hood?" the kid asked suddenly, shaking jason from his internal grumbling.

"what do you think?"

"i think you just saved our lives, and i wanna know who i'm thanking."

jason turned to him with a flourish. "red hood, baby saver extraordinaire. at your service."

"baby- dude, i'm seventeen!"

okay, so he would have lost his bet. "noted. still a baby, trust me."

"what are you under there, twenty something? whatever, grandpa."

jason chuckled, turning back to watch jasmine pet a small cat under one of the yellow lights littering the park. "you did well, looking out for her with that guy. you got a name?"

he scoffed. "would've been better if i'd kicked him between the legs right when he opened his mouth, instead of letting him get started on the whole 'what're you kids doing out so late?' bit," he muttered darkly, pausing for a moment before answering. "my name's jordan."

"well, jordan, what are you guys doing out so late?"

"mom works nights, and the neighbors were fighting. it was loud enough to wake jazz up, and it wasn't the kind of thing she needed to hear. i figured a trip to see her cat would be less awful than hearing them call each other things i wouldn't even call my friends." the breeze picked up, rustling the trees and catching on jason's jacket. "and then the asshole with the knife decided to make a bad night worse."

"is jazz your sister?"

"yeah, she's a good kid," jordan said, fond and warm. "sorry about the whole ricky thing, though. he's obsessed with those vigilante conspiracy videos and tells her all about them at school."

"no, no, it's fine. i can't wait to tell wing about his new origin story, he'll love that."

jasmine suddenly came bounding back towards them, grabbing their hands and yanking them to follow her. "c'mon, you need to meet cat!"

"you call it cat?"

jordan bristled subtly. "is there a problem with that, red?"

"no, no, it's an appropriate name. just making sure." jason waved his spare hand at his head. "helmet makes me hear things sometimes."

jordan opened his mouth, but his sister plowed right over whatever he was going to say, pulling on jason's hand again. "cat, meet... what's your name?"

"red hood."

"you can't be red hood!" she whirled around, indignantly putting her hands on her hips. "there's already a red hood in gotham. besides, you're not even wearing a hood, so it doesn't fit anyway."

jason turned his head to jordan, who was smiling- a good sign, but probably a bad omen for whatever he was about to say. "she's right, man. it's not a hood."

"tough crowd," jason muttered. "uh... then you can call me, uh-"

"bucket!" jasmine suggested happily, tapping his helmet. "because this looks like a bucket."

if there was one thing vigilantism had taught him, it was that sometimes you actually do need to pick your battles. this...

this was not worth fighting.

"sure, fine, whatever. hi, cat, i'm red bucket." he turned away from the kids- both of whom looked entirely too happy about the whole 'bucket' thing, he thought- and crouched down to finally look at the cat.

it did look a little sick, actually.

it was gray, and thin, and-

and now it was headbutting his knee like it was trying to push him over.

"cat likes you!" jazz cheered.

"sure does," jordan said pointedly. "isn't that interesting?"

jason opened his mouth, but his snarky comment died in his throat when the cat settled down right in front of him and blinked slowly up at him with a sweet tilt to its head.

...shit.

just- shit.

he sighed, standing up and looking back to jordan and his stupid, entirely-too-pleased-with-himself grin. "so, jazz," jason grumbled reluctantly, "where does cat live?"

[parvuls]

fic: need seek no further

Jack shrugs. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

a disgustingly fluffy, plotless ficlet about how well jack knows bitty and how he perfected the skill of nonverbal communication through the force of sheer will. also, the frogs.

read on ao3

.

.

Dex called Bitty one evening in early May, let Bitty shower him with hellos, and then stated, “We won the NCAA championship.” He said it matter-of-factly, like maybe Jack and Bitty hadn’t been there when it happened, like Jack hadn’t watched him cling to Bitty for a full minute after the stands had spilled onto the ice.

“You did,” Bitty replied, raising his eyes to meet Jack’s with confusion wrinkling between his brows. His phone was set on the kitchen island between them, Dex’s voice filling their kitchen through speaker phone while Bitty’s floured hands were busy kneading dough. Jack was keeping him company on another last-minute testing session for his rhubarb pie recipe, even though the last proof of his book had been approved by his editors over two weeks before. Jack was running out of team members to send leftovers to.

“And Whiskey got voted captain,” Dex continued.

Jack watched as Bitty squinted down at his phone. Bitty had spent half an hour on the phone with Whiskey the night of the banquet; he hadn’t disclosed the details of their conversation to Jack, but his face when he’d returned to their room, had sat down next to Jack on the bed and had leaned his forehead on Jack’s bicep for a long while -- Jack had seen that face before. Had known that expression meant pride.

“So we were talking about it just now,” there was the sound of more people whispering furiously in the background, and Jack thought he could maybe hear Chowder’s unsteady voice calling out, hey Bitty!, and only then he began contemplating the solid possibility that Dex may have been a little drunk. “And -- so we won last year, with you, and now we won again, and we wanna keep winning, right? So we gotta make sure to keep doing everything that’s working.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Bitty said agreeably, faintly amused. It was obvious to Jack from his tone that Bitty, at least, had already realized Dex was a little drunk, but was only too happy to play along.

“‘Swawesome,” Dex said fervently, like Bitty had agreed to something very important. “So you see why Whiskey’s gotta learn to make a pie.”

That stopped Bitty in his tracks. Jack blinked, watched Bitty’s long fingers halt their motions in the dough, the pressure of his fingerprints leaving crescent grooves behind. “William Joseph, that doesn’t make a lick of sense,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at the screen of his phone like Dex could feel their weight on him through the line. But then he seemed to think it over again, and the pitch of his voice rose as he demanded, “Wait, are you sayin’ Whiskey’s willing to learn how to bake?”

“He says he’ll do it for the win,” Dex said, and Bitty gaped at the phone, then gaped at Jack, and with his cheeks pink and his eyes wide he exclaimed, “Of course I’ll do it!”, like there’d ever been any other option to consider.

Jack kept it to himself, but he had no doubt in his mind that there hadn’t been.

.

.

.

Dex, Chowder and Nursey wait for them at the doorway of the Haus, broad shoulders wedged together in the narrow doorframe.

Bitty had said before they left home, “You don’t have to come, sweetpea,” and Jack had said, simply, “I want to,” and had meant it. It was only in the summer months that Jack had the privilege to see his friends whenever he wished to, and now that the Falconers were out of the playoffs -- well, Jack was feeling a little more withdrawn lately, even quieter than usual, but this felt like something he genuinely wanted to do with the time on his hands. There was also the fact that soon the frogs would graduate, and with them gone Jack would be too far removed to visit the Haus comfortably, even if Bitty still could.

Right now Jack could, and he wanted to, so Bitty and he got in Bitty’s car and drove the forty-five minutes down to Samwell, Bitty’s phone hooked through the aux and his hands tapping on the wheel to the beat. He was nervous, although Jack wasn’t sure exactly why -- only knew it was obvious in Bitty’s restless hands and the frequency he switched songs midway through. Jack reached out and placed his hand on Bitty’s thigh, squeezed, and let Bitty burn his nervous energy whatever way he deemed best.

“We did all the shopping!” Chowder announces as Jack and Bitty walk up the porch steps, and then immediately bounces forward and wraps Bitty in a hug. His long limbs envelope Bitty within them, and soon Jack’s dragged into their circle, too, feels Nursey’s arms fold around his shoulders and Dex’s tentative hand patting him on the back. It doesn’t overwhelm him like it could’ve, maybe, a year or two ago -- it just feels nice, familiar, welcoming. A display of affection he readily returns.

When the huddle breaks, the five of them shuffle through the door and head straight into the kitchen. It looks about the same as it has since Bitty took over it five years ago -- no longer just a room with a fridge full of beers and a broken down table, but a real kitchen, with Suzanne’s hand-sewn curtains and clear countertops and the oven that Jack is still irrationally fond of. Although it seems like it’s been revamped in the months since Jack has last seen it; the cupboards’ hinges are no longer busted, and there are actual shelves stacked along the walls. Jack assumes the likely suspect is Samwell Men’s Hockey current captain, and has to curb a revealing smile that would surely draw questions. It’s another unspoken team tradition, Jack thinks, recalling freshman Will Poindexter: no one leaves it entirely unchanged.

“Y’all are joining us for some baking lessons?” Bitty asks Nursey and Chowder, hand almost unconsciously drifting over the edge of the counters. He looks good there, really, looks right. He’s not the same as he was when he graduated and certainly not the same as when he first claimed this kitchen, but to Jack, Bitty would always look right in the sun streaming through the Haus’ dusty windows, puttering between pots and pans.

“Nah, C and I will get out of your hair for that, but Whiskey isn’t back yet so we’ve got some time. And anyway --” Nursey glances sideways at Dex and Chowder, fails at stifling a smile, “uh, the waffles heard you were coming today, Bits.”

“Going by their reaction, they’ve definitely missed you,” Dex says, arms crossed over his chest, his face serious but a single upwards quirk to the corner of his mouth. It could be a chirp at the waffles, maybe, but Jack is almost certain that it’s sincere nonetheless.

Bitty turns to the shopping bags spread across the counter and starts picking them apart, taking out the ingredients for inspection before setting them down with that same nervous energy, the one that rarely ever follows Bitty into his domain in the kitchen. Jack watches him smile at Dex, honest but jittery, and realizes what he should’ve already known -- how very important it is to Bitty that this goes perfectly.

“Oh, bless them, I’ve missed them too! I’ll tell them hello so we can get started right after,” Bitty says, setting down a bag of brown sugar and taking out a packet of butter from the bag. He looks -- momentarily disappointed, and Jack frowns, searches Bitty’s face. It’s probably only visible to Jack, who recognizes the subtle shift in Bitty’s jaw and the fleeting movement of his eyebrows, but still. He follows Bitty’s eyes down to his hands and to the butter in them, and surveys it for a moment, deep in thought.

“You’ve got two seconds to prepare yourself, bro,” Nursey warns, and then Bully, Hops and Louis descend loudly into the kitchen, flock around Bitty like ducklings. Bitty’s always had that effect on hockey players, on people, even before he got the C. It’s with intense fondness that Jack thinks it, knows the feeling intimately as someone who’s lucky enough to experience that affect every day. He can’t blame them for the way they beam down at Bitty, fight for his attention, laugh when he laughs at the rising volume of their clashing, simultaneous stories.

It’s a good opportunity if nothing else, though, so Jack shoulders his way between Bully and Louis, brushes two fingers over Bitty’s elbow to get his attention. When Bitty turns his head, Jack takes advantage of his height to lean in and say into Bitty’s ear, “Hey, bud, I’m stepping out for a moment.”

Bitty smiles at him, reaches up to stroke a hand down Jack’s cheek just warmly enough to be soothing, just quickly enough to be appropriate. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and thinks, it will be. He pauses, looks down threateningly at the waffles, and leans in to kiss Bitty's temple swiftly, before someone he can’t intimidate as easily as these sophomores could try fining him for it. The space he leaves between Bully and Louis closes as soon as he leaves their side, Bitty disappearing from sight behind their tall forms, but the sound of his cheerful laughter rings after Jack as he walks out of the kitchen and exits through the front door.

.

.

.

When Jack comes back he has to open the door one-handed, the other one busy clutching the handles of a grocery bag. His cap is pulled down low, a protective measure from the crowd that swarmed the Stop and Shop on Pemberton, so it takes a few steps into the Haus’ hallway for him to notice Whiskey hovering in the kitchen doorway, apparently stopped right on his way out of it.

“Jack,” Whiskey looks surprised -- or maybe still mildly star-struck, Jack has always had trouble telling with his face. “You’re here. I haven’t seen you.”

“Got some stuff from the shop,” Jack raises the bag by way of explanation, adjusts his hat, and after a brief moment of stillness hunches his shoulders to bypass Whiskey into the kitchen.

Whiskey bends his neck to peer down into the bag as Jack passes. He looks somewhat horrified at what he finds, as much as Whiskey ever betrays his emotions -- a slight frown, a barely noticeable widening of his eyes. “We need more groceries for this thing?”

Jack shrugs, noncommittal. They don’t, really, but. “Eh. Bittle likes Cabot butter best.”

The frogs and waffles have moved to the den while Jack was out -- he can hear them now, Bully’s low voice and Chowder’s quick speech and Hops’ rolling laughter -- but Bitty must’ve heard Jack come in, because he appears next to Whiskey in the kitchen doorway. His gaze darts between the two of them before it lands on the bag hanging from Jack’s fingers, and Jack reaches in to pull out one stick of butter, holding it out so Bitty can see the brand. Bitty’s eyes light up when he realizes, go round and bright, and he declares, “Sweetpea, you shouldn’t have!”, in the tone that means he’s beyond pleased that Jack did.

“That's more butter,” Whiskey says, staring at Bitty and then at the butter already stacked on the counter from the frogs’ shopping trip, clearly bewildered.

Jack twists his body, turns his back to them to find an empty spot somewhere on the counter. “Cabot has a half percent more fat, and Bittle likes his crust flaky,” he explains absently while emptying the contents of the bag onto the spot he chose. It’s important to Bitty that this goes perfectly, and while Jack can’t control Whiskey's abilities in the kitchen, wouldn’t be able to fix baking mishaps if those occur, this is something he can do. Make sure Bitty has the best conditions to work in, grant him a little peace of mind.

When he turns back around Whiskey is gone, and it’s only Bitty standing behind him, his eyes twinkling and his lips parted slightly.

“What?” Jack asks, confused.

There’s a long stretch of silence while Bitty just looks at him. Jack’s rarely comfortable with intense scrutiny from others, but Bitty -- Bitty’s gaze is soft, and he looks at Jack like he’s something good, something to admire. It’s a look he gives Jack often, usually accompanied by the gentlest of kisses, the warmest of hugs, the kindest of words. Sometimes Jack’s mind is slow to catch up, too stubborn to be convinced of his own worthiness, but this is the look Bitty gets when his emotions are broadcasted so loudly that even Jack’s mind has to pipe down and listen.

Bitty takes a few steps closer, grabs Jack’s palm between both his hands. “Marry me?” he asks breathily, with a smile curling at his lips.

Warmth flutters in Jack’s stomach at the words, and an answering smile grows on his own lips. The ring glints on Bitty’s finger whenever he moves his hands, is glinting now, where his fingers are curled around Jack’s in the sunny kitchen. It’s been a distraction many times in the past year, but each time Jack sees it he’s reminded of what Bitty and he have promised to each other. The future that is still to come.

There’s no one in the kitchen but them, and the Haus residents sound busy enough in the other room that no one would notice if Jack stole a lone moment. “Sorry, I can’t,” Jack deadpans, grabs Bitty by his hips and gathers him into his arms. His fingers slide over the soft fabric of Bitty’s clothes and find the gap between his top and his shorts, dipping inside to rub against Bitty’s warm skin. “It’s a tempting offer, but I’m already engaged.”

“Leave him, then,” Bitty says without missing a beat. He tilts his head up to nudge Jack’s cheek with his nose, wraps his strong arms around Jack’s neck. His face is so close to Jack’s that Jack can count his pale eyelashes, can see the splotches of fading pink on his skin. He’s been spending a lot of time editing his cookbook on their balcony since springtime has arrived, and his body tans nicely but the bridge of his nose has been reddened and peeling for a while. “Run away with me.”

Jack can’t help the temptation, kisses Bitty’s right cheek and then his left one. “Sorry, bud.”

“Why ever not,” Bitty sighs, most dramatically, and uses his grip on Jack’s neck to lean his upper body backwards. “A man who knows his butters? You better believe I’m willing to fight for you, mister.”

It’s the sincerity in his voice that has heat prickling across Jack’s skin, raw pleasure squirming in his chest. It’s a futile battle, though, a battle Jack realized was lost when he dropped Bitty off at this very Haus after their very first summer together, longingly watched him skip up the stairs and thought, oh, I wanna marry him. “I can’t,” he tells Bitty quietly, pulls him closer so the words stay trapped between them, rough and intimate like a secret. “I love my fiancé too much.”

“Oh,” and Bitty flushes at this, red blossoming on the apples of his cheeks like he’s flattered -- like the ring around his finger hasn’t been there for a year, like Jack hasn’t taken to kissing it before kissing Bitty goodbye on nights he leaves for games; like Jack loving him too much to ever consider anyone else is still a novelty, a compliment, after all this time. “Well. Lucky him.”

Lucky me, Jack thinks, and bows his head to fit his mouth to Bitty’s in for a lingering sweet kiss.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 20

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: enjoy xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

Y/N was sat on the floor of her bathroom, leaned against the absurd quantity of objects barricading her door. She would be alright, she would be alright. Only someone with super strength could break through it ... or an axe. As that thought crossed her head all she could think of was of a little memory of her childhood. She and her younger brother had padded down the stairs to where his parents were watching a movie she would later learn it was the Shinning. She couldn’t forget the scream she had let out as she saw Jack break through the door using an axe and right now, right now all she could think of was that, something breaking through her door and harming her.

She looked at everything in her bathroom thinking of what she could use as a weapon to defend herself. Suddenly her friends back home forcing her to choose reusable razors were her best of friends. She could probably arm someone with the razor blade or try to stab them with eyebrow scissors. Bucky had once told her the damage doesn’t need to be big, only in the right place.

She continued to stay sat down, mumbling to herself she would be fine until she heard footsteps. They were loud, heavy and echoey. Her breathing stopped, hands over her mouth fully knowing any sound would give away her location. However was walking in her flat kept walking and the steps got closer and closer until there was a knock on her door.

     - Y/N? Y/N, it’s Steve. Open the door. - her heart returned to beating, breath normalising as she broke through her barricade, opening the door. It was really Steve, standing in front of her and was this another situation, she wouldn’t know what to act but right now, right now he was the best thing that could’ve arrived.

Steve however seemed to lose colour to his face as the mirror became visible to him. Bucky hadn’t told him what was written in the mirror and if he didn’t know, he wouldn’t definitely be pleased about it. 

    - I checked the flat, there’s no one here. Whoever wrote that isn’t inside the flat, you’re safe. - he put his hands in his back pocket, seemingly conflicted of what to do or what to say. His eyes whoever were glued on those words, scribbled in big letters, tarnishing her reflection. He felt guilty for those words he had told her, maybe Bucky was right in being mad at him. - Do you want some tea? Yeah, you should get some tea, maybe some food? 

   - I really don’t want any of that.

   - It’ll help you calm down.

   - I’m calm! - the words came harsher than she anticipated, tears pooling at her eyes as she turned her head away from him. However, turning his head away from him meant looking straight into the mirror, those words in front of her, written across her forehead only added salt to injury. She held her hair, trying to hold in the tears. No, she was not going to cry, she was not going to cry.

    - Hey ... - Steve pulled her in for a hug. - It’s okay. I’ll make you some tea and we’ll wait for Bucky. I promise no one is gonna come in and harm you. 

   - I don’t want Bucky to see me like this. - she wiped the tears with her back of her hand.

   - It’s okay, just come with me okay? - Steve took her by the hand to the kitchen but not before locking the bathroom door. He’d deal with that later. Walking into the kitchen, things looked normal. Everything looked so normal, Steve wondered how someone could’ve easily entered her flat. - You can wash your face in the sink, it’ll hopefully reduce some puffiness and the red eyes. I’ll put on the kettle and we’ll have a tea, okay?

 She didn’t reply to him, merely nodding before making way to the sink in the skin. Shaky hands reached to the tap, moving it and causing the cold water to start streaming. Her mind got lost in sound, not wanting to get lost in her insecurities. The sound of water running, water boiling in the kettle and the cold feeling of the water against her warm skin. She felt like crying again. She shouldn’t be crying, she shouldn’t be a cry baby, she told herself. The water kept running, being slashed onto her face occasionally until the sound of the kettle on the background ceased.

Turning off the tap, she wiped her face clean with some kitchen towel before turning to face Steve who held one of her mother’s Christmas’ mugs up to her. She had that mug for what felt like ages now, the painting was starting to chip and there were English Breakfast tea stains on the bottom yet she couldn’t let go of it. She couldn’t let go of the only thing which seemed to make her feel as if she could control her life in a house filled with agency bought furniture. 

  - Is Bucky coming? 

  - Yes, he is. Just stuck in traffic. Brooklyn traffic is quite bad. - he chuckled, trying to break the ice. - We once got jammed in it when we were trying to leave Coney Island. Bucky hadn’t told his ma and she gave him an earful. 

   - Was it worth it? - she laughed of the thought of Bucky getting reprimanded by his mother.

   - Yeah, he made me ride the Cyclone over and over again until I threw up and then tried to bribe me with ice cream. 

   - I know, he told me. - she smiled at Steve, taking him off guard. Bucky had talked with her about him? He wasn’t expecting that. Bucky barely spoke to him after the incident at the compound, if he did it was normally because he had no choice and if he were to guess he would say the two of them would probably be bad mouthing him behind his back. 

    - Wh ...

    - Y/N. - she turned her head to the familiar voice, jumping from her seat when she saw Bucky standing in the kitchen, catching his breath in a white wife beater shirt and light grey yoga trousers. She wrapped her arms around him, letting his warmth involve her as he kissed the top of her head, arms supporting her against him. His eyes roamed the room, falling on Steve. - What are you doing here? Where’s Sam?

   - Sam had his meeting ... I offered to come check on Y/N instead. 

   - How nice. - the sarcasm rolled off his tongue, something which came by unappreciated by Y/N who looked up at him with disapproval in her eyes. 

   - You should probably take her to a hotel for a few nights, maybe your Brooklyn flat? I can get Natasha and Tony to come take a look at her flat, look at the security cameras, scan for fingerprints. 

   - I can protect her, I don’t need your help. 

   - Can I show you something? - Steve remained his regular calm self, arms crossed over his chest as he motioned with his head towards the bathroom. Bucky was reluctant to get away from her, afraid if he let go something would happen to her. She, on the other hand, pulled away from him, giving him a reassuring look. His hand unlaced from hers as he followed Steve onto the bathroom. 

He expected broken glass, artefacts that would show a break in but as Steve opened the door, the bathroom was intact. There was no broken glass, no forced entry just the word Slut scribbled all over her mirror. His blood boiled, fists clenching as he went to grab a towel to scrub it of the mirror but Steve stopped him.

    - We need to examine it, first. It’s no good scrubbing it off. Right now, you need to take her out of here. We’re not sure how the person got in or how he got out, if there’s a blind spot he might try to use it again. Go to a hotel, register under one of your old alternate identities or to your Brooklyn flat.

   - Yeah ... uhum ... you’ll sort it from here or should I drop her off in Brooklyn and return?

   - Go be with your girlfriend, Bucky. - Steve smirked at the word, not remembering the time he had called anyone Bucky’s girlfriend.

   - Should I pack? - Y/N poked between the two friends.

   - No, I’ll ... I mean, I’ll get Sam to drop some of your stuff wherever you guys go. 

   - Thanks, Steve. - the actress gave him a quick hug before disappearing onto the kitchen to grab her bag and phone. 

    - I’ll see you around? 

Bucky didn’t reply, instead turning on his heel and leaving the blonde hero in the bathroom. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t want to say anything and so he left him there, instead walking to the kitchen and taking Y/N by the hand. She thought better not to say anything until they were in the car. 

     - What happened between you and Steve? - she asked once they were stuck on the traffic leading back to Brooklyn. 

     - Nothing happen between me and Steve, princess. - his eyes were glued onto the road, hands gripping onto the steering wheel. 

     - Really? Because if my best friend of more than fifty asked me a question, I wouldn’t just leave.

     - It’s really nothing, Y/N. He was rude to you and he didn’t apologise, that’s all. 

     - No that’s not all. - she turned her head to face him. - At least it doesn’t feel like that’s the only reason. Do you wanna tell me? Is it because he was the first one on the flat?

     - No, listen ... Y/N, it’s complicated. 

     - Do you want to be mad at Steve?

     - It’s more complicated than that, princess.

     - It’s a yes or no question, Buck. 

Bucky sighed, turning the wheel towards Brooklyn once the traffic cleared. The conversation ended there but it didn’t end in her mind. She didn’t want Bucky to be mad at Steve because of her, or him to be mad at Steve at all. Yet, she wasn’t going to push his buttons, she knew better so she just put her hand on his tight, head tilted against her own shoulder, watching his wild blue eyes on the road. The drive seemed longer as he tried not to look at her. He didn’t want her to get caught up in whatever he was dealing with Steve. Maybe it was wrong of him to get mad Steve due to things he had bottled up for years, yet, he just couldn’t help it. He wasn’t a baby, he wasn’t a cripple, he shouldn’t be treated like one. 

He drove up to his street, exiting the car first to check if there was any danger before opening the door to her. She looked around the neighbourhood, it was rather picturesque. Open large streets with close by apartments with little trees in front. It was the type of neighbourhood you would see in a coming of age movie. 

      - Come on. - he took her hand in his, walking her to his flat building. She stargazed at everything, watching the beautiful doors and matts until she reached Bucky’s door, the only door without an entry mat. - Listen, before you get it, you should know ... it’s not the best flat in the world. I’m still ... doing some things.

      - I’m sure it’s charming. 

      - If you don’t like it, we can go into a hotel. I want you to be ...

      - James. - she interrupted his rambling. - I’m sure it’s great.

      - Okay ... - Bucky insecurely opened the door of his flat, pushing it open with his feet to allow her in.

She furrowed her brows as she entered the empty home. There was no furniture, just boxes and a furnished kitchen, possibly bought that way. Now she understood why he was so insecure about opening the door, while she had too much in her flat, he had too little. Y/N moved further into his flat, opening the first door she saw which proved to be his bedroom and her heart shattered. There was no bed, just mattress on the floor and a few notebooks surrounding it. No pillows, no sheets. Nothing. 

     - Uh .. we can buy you a bed. Whatever bed you’d like. - Bucky came up from behind her, kissing her shoulder. 

     - Bucky, how long have you had this flat?

     - For a while now ... I know it doesn’t look good but I was thinking about buying some paint ... Yet, I don’t really know if I get to be like this for a while.

      - What do ... Oh. - she turned around and placed her hands on her shoulder, giving him a slow, soft kiss. - You’re not going back to that. I know you’re not, you’re strong. This is your home, you should treat it like a home. 

      - Princess, I don’t need much.

      - Well but if you don’t get a bed, I’m afraid I won’t sleep with you. Sounds dangerous. I don’t want to end up in A&E and explain to the nurse that my spine is cracked because my boyfriend doesn’t have a bed. 

      - Holding sex? That’s a low move, princess. 

      - IKEA. We need to go to IKEA.

      - Are you sure you don’t want to rest? I mean, you just wen ...

      - We could get meatballs. - she interrupted him, clapping happily. - Meatballs and home shopping, it’s gonna be marvellous. 

      - Y/N, we can order in meatballs.

      - But not IKEA meatballs. Come on Bucky, it’ll be fun! It’s like playing the Sims but in real life. 

     - I’m not gonna question you about what the Sims is. - he smiled at her excitement, pulling a strand of her hair behind her ear. - Are you sure you don’t want to test the mattress? I think I can make you like the bare mattress.

    - I know, love. That’s exactly why I’m not gonna try the mattress. - she held onto his shirt, little smile on her lips. - But I do think you need to change out of your pyjamas and maybe put some shoes on. 

    - You’re being awfully demanding of me, Ms. Y/N. I might have to punish you later.

    - Bed first and then you can do whatever you want. 

taglist: @disasterbii​​​ @lookiamtrying​​​ @buckysteveloki-me​​​ @americasass81​​​ @jamesbarnesappreciationclub​​​ @lostinthebeans​​​ @mariahthelioness29​​​ @buckyandsebastian​​​ @peaches-roses-sins​​​ @theadorasabditory​​​ @sipsteacasually​​​ @saiyanprincessswanie​​​ @booktease21​​​ @noiralei​​​ @learisa​​​ @everythingisoverratedbutgreat​​​​ @uglipotata72829​​​​ @naturalthrone22​​​​ @husherstan​​​​ @mandiiblanche​​​​ @vicmc624​​​​ @newyorkgoddess​​​​ @itsallyscorner​​​​ @chipilerendi​​​​ @emzd34​​​​ @writerwrites​​​​ @bluevxnus​​​​ @that-girl-named-alex​​​​ @captnrogers​​​​ @nsfwsebbie​​​​ @sarge-barnes-sir​​​​ 

[agere-fandom-time]

Hello! Could you please make a fanfic about regressor!eraser head and caregiver!Present mic?

Yes I can! If you haven’t already read Mod Kat’s fic with these two, you’re missing out: it’s on AO3 right here! 

Here’s your new story, written by me! It’s below the ‘keep reading’ or you can check it out on AO3 if you prefer. 

Content Warnings: Shouta and Hizashi are married in this fic, and at the end they share some affection as a couple when Shouta isn’t regressed (cheek kisses). Aizawa is a non-verbal regressor. Sensory issues are mentioned but don’t flare up, as is Hizashi’s loss of hearing. Vague mentions of villains (and villain-related trauma). Shouta experiences memory loss as part of his regression and finds this distressing. 

-Mod Stella

“Hey Shouta, I’m home!”

Hizashi closed the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the table beside the door, bending over to begin the long process of unlacing his boots. Silence greeted him in the house, which wasn’t unusual. Shouta could be asleep, or just focused on his work. It was hard to guess what Hizashi would come home to, on the days that he patrolled alone. Shouta’s sleep schedule was erratic by nature, and had been since they were teens. The chaotic hours of hero work and heavy workload as a teacher had only added to the uncertainty, and Hizashi was lucky to get one night a week where Shouta slept next to him in their bed.

Kicking off his boots, Hizashi turned his attention to the speaker around his neck. It was held on by a series of metal buckles, only unlocked by his own fingerprints so that it couldn’t be torn off by villains that got close enough for hand-to-hand combat. It was second-nature to reach behind himself and fit his fingertips into the divots that would unlock the device and let it drop into his other hand.

Breathing deeply, Hizashi stretched his neck from side to side and dropped the speaker on the table beside his keys. Shouta’s capture weapon was hanging on the set of hooks, and Hizashi threw his jacket beside it on his way into the apartment.

Shouta wasn’t at the coffee table, although there were some papers spread out across it, many of them already bearing Shouta’s scratchy comments, his pen strokes as sharp as his criticism. The kitchen was empty, no sign of how recently he’d eaten. Finally, Hizashi pushed the door to their room open.

Sure enough, Shouta was in the bed, but he wasn’t asleep. He was sitting against the headboard, his knees drawn up to his chest and his gaze fixed on the opposite wall. As the door opened, Shouta’s eyes moved towards the hallway.

“You okay, babe?” Hizashi asked, staying in the doorway. Sometimes Shouta needed space and quiet, and Hizashi didn’t want to intrude if this was one of those times.

Shouta blinked at him, a slow and deliberate motion, and didn’t reply. His hair was pulled up behind him in a messy ponytail, and he was wearing one of Hizashi’s pyjama shirts with an American band logo on the front.

Hizashi recognized that expression. “Are you feeling little, baby?”

Shouta blinked again.  

“Do you want company?” Hizashi stepped inside the room, but didn’t approach until Shouta gave another languid blink as confirmation. “Okay, gimme space there.”

Shouta obediently pushed the covers back, and Hizashi wiggled his way underneath. The bed was pure heaven after a shift on patrol, and he sighed happily as he took his feet off the floor and shoved them under the nice warm blankets. One of them brushed against Shouta’s leg, who made a small noise of complaint.

“Sorry, baby. Cold feet, I know.” Hizashi made more of an effort to keep his toes on his side of the bed, stretching out an arm to invite Shouta to cuddle. He really needed a shower after the work shift, but as heroes, the two of them never minded cuddling while one or both of them was sweaty.

Sure enough, Shouta shifted over and tucked himself under Hizashi’s arm, pressing into his side.

“There we go.” Hizashi curled his arm around Shouta’s back, getting him settled. “Long day, huh? It’s good to see you.”

Shouta stayed quiet. Hizashi didn’t mind that. When Shouta felt little, he was usually quiet. Hizashi could talk enough for them both, easily. And Shouta didn’t mind listening to him babble.

“I was thinking of this bed the entire way home,” Hizashi confessed. “And a little bit of patrol before that. Just daydreaming about how soft the sheets are. It’s the good stuff. Thank god we dished out for them.” Hizashi wiggled his butt on the mattress to make his point. He could feel Shouta smiling against his chest. “I was thinking about you too,” Hizashi said. “Hoping you were in the mood for some cuddles.”

Hizashi kissed the top of Shouta’s head, where he’d curled up under Hizashi’s arm. Shouta grumbled and burrowed deeper, almost disappearing into Hizashi’s armpit.

“Oh, come out of there,” Hizashi laughed. “I’m a stinky man, you don’t want to hide under there.” He tugged the shoulder of Shouta’s shirt, who emerged to frown up at Hizashi.

“Yeah, I know, I’m the meanest for not letting you nap in my armpit,” Hizashi said. “Come on, baby, let’s get you a smoothie. I’m guessing from the lack of dishes that you haven’t had dinner, and you’re gonna be cranky in the morning if you don’t eat anything tonight.”

Shouta visibly considered this, twisting his mouth slightly as he thought. Finally, he sighed and nodded, sitting up and away from Hizashi’s embrace.

“Here, you can have my soundblockers for the blender.” Hizashi took them off his head and hooked them around Shouta’s neck for when he would need them. They protected what little hearing Hizashi had left when he was using his quirk on patrol, but when they were at home they were more often in use by Shouta. They helped with his migraines and generally bad sensory days. Hizashi knew from experience that little Shouta usually had problems with big noises, so he was always careful to suppress his quirk and keep the volume on electronics low while Shouta was regressing.

Shouta raised a hand and touched the soundblockers around his neck, looking down at them for a moment. Then he raised his eyes to meet Hizashi’s and offered a big toothy smile.

“There’s my precious Shouta,” Hizashi grinned back. “Hi, baby.”

Shouta reached out and took hold of Hizashi’s face, one hand on each cheek. He kept Hizashi turned towards him, their gazes locked. Still smiling, Shouta’s eyes narrowed as if he were trying to use his quirk. To anyone else, the expression would have looked entirely terrifying, but luckily Hizashi had almost two decades of experience with reading Shouta when he didn’t feel like verbally communicating.

“Uh-huh, I love you too,” Hizashi said, bopping Shouta on the nose.

Shouta withdrew, wrinkling his nose and brushing his fingers against it like he was trying to rub off the remains of Hizashi’s affection.

“You wound me,” Hizashi told him, pressing a hand to his chest. “Come on, kiddo, time for dinner.”

Hizashi popped out of the bed, trying to hide his wince as his work-weary feet hit the floor again. Shouta was slower to untangle himself from the blankets, but eventually got to standing. Hizashi hid a smile as he realized that Shouta had discarded his pants somewhere along the way and was wearing some cat-patterned boxers with the stolen shirt.

“Is light bad? Do you want some sunglasses?” Hizashi asked before he opened the door. The light in the bedroom had been off, the glow of the city outside the open curtains leaving the room dim.

Shouta hesitated, glancing towards the city lights behind them, and then shook his head once.

“Let me know if that changes,” Hizashi said, and led the way out into the hallway, Shouta following close behind. Their apartment was familiar, the bathroom to the right and the open living area where their belongings mixed on the shelves. Mostly Hizashi and the various things he’d bought for Shouta over the years, honestly. The other man would live like some kind of monastic hermit if left to his own devices. Thank goodness he had Hizashi here to spoil him. Speaking of which…

“Where did you leave Hana?” Hizashi wondered out loud, glancing around the apartment. Shouta’s stuffie usually lived on their dresser in the bedroom, but Hizashi hadn’t seen her while he was in there.

“Mmm.” Shouta wandered into the living room and retrieved the stuffie from under the table, careful not to disturb the papers spread across the top.

“Oh, was she keeping you company while you were working? What a good kitty!”

Shouta came back to Hizashi’s side, Hana in his arms. She was a big stuffed cat, soft as anything and patterned with a tortoiseshell coat. Satisfying to hug and perfect to use as a pillow when Shouta fell asleep on the floor. One of Hizashi’s best purchases, if he did say so himself.

Shouta pressed his cheek against Hana’s head, rubbing it back and forth with his eyes closed.

“Okay, kiddo, here’s your chair.” Hizashi pulled out Shouta’s chair at the kitchen counter and watched him take his place, Hana held in his lap. “Do you want music or quiet while I make your smoothie?”

Music, Shouta answered in sign language, then wrapped his arms around Hana again. A little smile was curling his lips, and Hizashi found it impossible to resist smiling back.

Hizashi shot back the sign for awesome!! and made sure the volume was pretty low before he switched on the radio on top of the fridge. It rarely left the frequency of Hizashi’s station: Shouta liked to listen to Hizashi’s shows when he was away, and Hizashi liked to check in on the interns and other hosts when they were running things. Made it easier to solve problems on the fly when people started blowing up his phone if he already knew what was going on.

Music flowed into the kitchen, and Hizashi hummed along as he assembled the various pieces of the smoothie, frozen fruit from the freezer and fresh bananas sliced into the blender with practised ease. Whenever Hizashi checked on Shouta, he saw him rocking slightly to the music, hands busy with Hana’s fur, eyes following Hizashi’s movements around the kitchen.

“Time for soundblockers, baby!” Hizashi warned, and made sure that Shouta had the headphones over his ears before he screwed the lid onto the blender and smoothied it up.

Retrieving a swirly straw from the drawer, Hizashi added it to the smoothie and put it in front of Shouta.

All done! Hizashi signed, and Shouta pulled the soundblockers off, pushing them across the counter towards Hizashi. “Thank you!” Hizashi said, and went to hang them by the door with the rest of their hero gear. There were doubles of most of it inside their bedroom for emergencies, but their work costumes remained in the main space.

By the time Hizashi got back, Shouta was working on the smoothie. If their lives were different, Hizashi would love to snap a photo of his adorable husband with his hair up, dressed in his shirt, and drinking a bright pink smoothie with a straw shaped like a heart. But with the constant threat of hackers, and public appearances to keep up, that wasn’t the sort of thing that Hizashi could take a photo of. Instead, he just smiled and tucked the memory into his mind where he wouldn’t forget it.

Hizashi sat next to Shouta and let the radio fill the silence, bobbing along to the music and keeping his humming low as Shouta worked away at his late dinner.

“Mm- Hizashi?” Shouta asked, and Hizashi immediately turned his attention to him.

Shouta was blinking down at Hana and the smoothie in front of him, clearly a bit lost.

“Hey, babe. Welcome back.”

“How long was I- gone?”

“I dunno, you were little when I got home. You had Hana with you while you were marking, so you must’ve been fighting it at some point.”

“I remember that.” Shouta rubbed his eyes, and Hizashi quelled the urge to tug his hands away and remind him to use his eyedrops. Adult Shouta got to make decisions like whether he rubbed his eyes when they were itchy. “I wanted something to do with my hands, so I got Hana. Marked some more, and then- I think I was going to take a nap?”

“Makes sense with the outfit,” Hizashi teased lightly.

Shouta looked down at himself and shrugged. “It’s cozy.”

“Uh-huh. Softie.” Shouta frowned at Hizashi and took another slurp of the smoothie through his swirly heart straw. “You were in the bedroom when I came home, spaced out. You didn’t seem upset, though, just out of it.”

“I might have fallen asleep.” Shouta dug his knuckles into his temples. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, I don’t think you were there for long. I only got home a couple hours after you, and you did a lot of marking.”

“Yeah.” Shouta was trying to sound like he wasn’t bothered, but Hizashi knew he didn’t enjoy when his regression ended up giving him gaps in his memory. It was too much like villain quirks that got in your head and messed things around. Every hero had a horror story about lost time, missing memories.

“You were really cuddly when I got home, but I knew you hadn’t eaten yet, so I dragged you out here, found you Hana, and made you a smoothie. I’ve only been home for about half an hour.” Hizashi glanced at the numbers on the microwave to make sure he was telling the truth, and nodded. “Yeah, thirty-five minutes.”

“Thanks.” Shouta discarded the straw, throwing it perfectly into the sink, and drank the rest of the smoothie straight from the cup.

“Any time, babe, you know that. But I do really need to take a shower.” Hizashi had been putting it off until Shouta was ready to take care of himself, but he was desperate to get out of his work clothes.

“Go ahead,” Shouta said. “All yours.”

“I love you, babe. And seriously, it was no trouble.” Hizashi slid off his chair and pressed a kiss to Shouta’s cheek, resting his forehead against his husband’s temple. “I don’t mind taking care of you when you’re tired.”

“I know.” Shouta’s little smile was back, pulling at the corners of his mouth. He turned his head and kissed the tip of Hizashi’s nose. “I love you too, now go take a shower. You reek.”

“So mean!” Hizashi pouted. “So mean to your loving husband!”

“My loving husband is a stinky man.” Shouta poked Hizashi in the side, making him yelp and back away. “Go shower. I want cuddles in bed, so dry your hair before you join me.”

“Yes sir!” Hizashi grinned, and stole one more kiss before he headed for the bathroom. Life was busy, but life was good. And that was all Hizashi needed.  

[soysaucevictim]

“todo da vueltas como un carrusel”

(See warnings/summary on Ao3. This one gets pretty violent.)

<Prologue/Start>

Chapter 3: Change The Formality

Leaving the Lair was jarring. It was like parts of himself pulled away, yet they remained within grasping distance.

Roman reconvened with his brother on the rooftop, the sun was still visible, but he didn’t have a sense for how much time passed.

Remus shouted and waved at him, “So, how’d it go?!”

Roman dropped down onto the ceiling, hugging himself, “It went… well?”

Roman was growing confused about his feelings, looking down at his hands, half-expecting to see his claws again. No, they were merely “human”. Remus noticed him appearing to space out, “A trip, huh?”

“I-I wish I could hold onto before– but I’m starting to question that.”

Remus beamed, “Good enough for me!”

Roman was again glad Remus was there, experiencing these things. He had no idea how he would have been able to cope if he had to do all of this alone. His thoughts circled back to his childhood, how he tended to push the other kids away from him due to his predilections. His intensity frequently scared them away. He was taught that these games with classmates were just that, games. Lighthearted romps for an hour or two and you moved on, come what may. He understood this, but he couldn’t describe just how much he felt the need to win.

Roman was suddenly overcome with feelings of profound loneliness and started to cry. “I-I guess never had the chance to–”

Remus was concerned and confused. For how much he understood his brother, he was never great in the Dealing with Feelings Department. “… ‘chance to’ what?”

“… be a normal kid.”

“I have no idea why you still latch on to that. Especially after everything. After revisiting yourself, just now.”

“I mean. I know that now, I guess. But I think… I wanted to believe I was like them, so I didn’t have to feel so alone.”

“Well. You’re not now! You still have me! And there’s probably a lot of other Beasts like us!”

“… y-you’re right.”

Why haven’t they noticed others like them? Why was Janus the only one who reached out to them for this? Roman felt weird about the notion of meeting more monsters like himself.

He felt weird calling himself one.

-

“... never seen anything like this in their careers. Here’s our reporter on the ground, Dani Wexler, to tell you more.”

“… Thank you. I am at the Golden Delicious Orchards. In recent memory, this could only be described as the strangest case of burglary this community has experienced. I am with the district chief of police, Scott Dennis.”

On the screen was the reporter in front of a building, with what looked like law enforcement and a family of three. It was mostly obscured, but Roman could see scorch marks and a gaping hole through one of the building’s sides. It was unmistakable.

Remus left the news on when he left their house. Roman got antsy when they announced the Fair being around the corner, but almost paid it no mind until he remembered everything. Roman immediately sat down in rapt attention.

“What can you tell me about what happened, sir?”

“Well. We think the perpetrators entered the community from over there,” the officer pointed roughly in the direction where the twins entered.

As the cameras swiveled, the officer continued, “They then entered through the back door of the property…”

The officer was interrupted by a livid, rude and unfortunately familiar voice, “MONSTERS! Monsters did this! They fucking blew up my house and took our STUFF!”

It was Steve. Roman couldn’t help but snort, especially after the expressions the officer and reporter gave him.

The officer cleared his throat, “Yes. We are pretty sure the culprits were thorough in their endeavor, since they haven’t made it easy for us. We admit that whoever they were, this was either carefully planned or that they had extensive prior experience.”

Roman almost spat his drink.

Steve was practically screaming, “What happened when you dusted for fingerprints!?”

Steve’s parents and the officer were trying so hard to stay composed in front of the camera, “Excuse me. Those details are sensitive, as this is an active investigation. We aren’t at liberty to furnish details such as that.”

Steve was clearly having none of this, “Have you heard of a burglar stealing random ass trophies from someone? Or-or–”

Steve looked like he was about to sob, “… my precious Woody doll. And PEZ Dispensers...”

Seeing and hearing the abject distress in Steve sent a thrill through Roman, far more intense than when they initially made their getaway. Was this one of those Beast things? Who was he kidding, he knew it was. There was something about the obvious grief he felt from them losing prized possessions, that was absolutely… intoxicating?

Roman shook his head and muttered to himself, “You really ARE a monster, aren’t you?”

Elizabeth, Steve’s mother, interjected quietly, “Yes. Officer, don’t you think this was beyond bizarre? Who would have any need for a bowling trophy?”

The patriarch barely contained his fuming, glaring at the camera man and occasionally looking down to Steve. The officer looked somewhat defeated and addressed the reporter, “I’m afraid that’s the only information I’m at liberty to discuss here. If any of your viewers have any leads to offer, the tip line is...”

Roman turned off the TV.

He was still euphoric over Steve’s suffering, but he felt a twinge of something else. Worry.

-

Roman kept going back to the sensation of his Hunger being appeased. He thought the initial sensation was something, but this was in a different league. He wanted that again, he never experienced something so exciting and gratifying before. Remus took notice, “Am I missing something or–?”

“I-I saw the news and-and-and–”

Remus giggled. He recognized where this was coming from, since he caught the rebroadcast. So, he let his brother stammer on jubilantly. “Oh MAN, the look on Steve’s face! Priceless!”

Remus waited for Roman to catch his breath before talking, “Sooo… wanna do something like that again?”

“YES! I mean, I don’t know. I-I don’t want to be caught, now that they’re back in town and–”

Roman ran his hand through his hair dumbfounded, “I-I… ¡Ch-chancecito!”

Roman took a seat on the sofa, feeling overwhelmed again. Remus sat next to him and awkwardly patted his shoulder, not verbalizing anything.

Roman’s thoughts returned to worry, “Do you think Steve knows?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“About us?”

Remus shrugged carelessly, “Do you really want to know, though?”

Roman slumped into the back of the sofa, frustrated, “We just graduated. And he still hates our guts! I don’t think it’s a great idea. What would we even say to him, anyways!?”

Remus shrugged again, not really inclined to press the issue either.

Roman grunted, wanting to go back to savoring the treasure in his mind, “Whatever. Table it, I guess.”

-

The twins were strolling toward one of the many downtown coffee shops, it was midday. 

Despite trying to avoid him, Steve was there. They stopped in their tracks, short of Steve noticing them.

Steve had a similarly athletic build to Roman and both happened to wear their jerseys from school. Steve also wore clear signs of stress in the dark circles around his eyes, mirroring Remus’s default bedraggled look.

This was the first time in months that they saw him this close, and noticed he had an obvious five o’clock shadow. They couldn’t help but compare that to Roman’s clean-shaven face and Remus’s patchy mustache that was growing in. A slightly disturbing blend of both of their looks, all told.

Steve was drinking an iced coffee. Roman guessed the drink had dangerous amounts of caffeine or that Steve probably shotgunned a bunch of energy drinks earlier in the day. Steve was twitchy as he fiddled absentmindedly with his phone. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice the twins about to round the corner into his view.

Roman whisper-shouted at his brother, hoping to not be heard and barely joking, “This is the first time I actually kind of regret what we did.”

Remus chuckled, “Suuure… but, now what? We can’t be standing here forever, like a bunch of camotes, Ro.”

“I know! I’m just– I’m just thinking…”

“Thinking? Pffft.”, Remus was starting to fidget restlessly in Steve’s blindspot, “If you don’t do something, I will.”

Roman saw Remus had produced some of his tentacles. He watched as they went for the table where Steve was seated.

Roman’s eyes widened, “Oh no. What are you doi–?”

Remus winked at his brother before he lifted the table, knocking Steve’s drink all over him. They heard a clipped, “What the–!?”

Remus obviously wasn’t done, holding aloft the glass and metal piece of furniture, rocking it like a cradle. Roman smacked his own face, “Are you– are you serious right now?”

Roman stole a glance around the corner seeing just how utterly confused and upset Steve looked. Steve scrambled to record this phenomena. Before he could, Remus struck Steve’s hands holding his phone with the table. In the same action, Remus smashed the table into the side of the cafe building.

Steve stood there wincing at his hand, scowling. Everyone that was there besides Steve ran away screaming, at that point. Remus loved that, wearing an extremely manic grin.

Roman was getting concerned about why Steve didn’t run off like the rest, “Should we turn around?”

Remus was getting lost in the haze of destruction and was about to grab at Steve. Roman tried to snap his brother out of it, “DUDE!? I think the guy’s hand is broken, we should really–”

Steve heard them and faced them. “YOU.”

Roman nervously laughed, noticing something on Steve. A holstered pistol, barely concealed. “H-Hi there, Steve. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Remus didn’t seem to care as he grabbed a few more pieces of furniture and threw them every which way. A table landed on a parked car, a few chairs and the trash bin into the street, and a potted tree at the building again. The indoor customers and staff could be seen cowering for cover at this point. He was clearly feeding on their fear, completely distracted.

Steve’s eyes widened as if he could see what Remus was doing, “You have t-tenta–?”

Roman moved to shake Remus by his shoulders. That seemed to work to reorient Remus, “What just–?”

Roman grabbed his brother’s wrist and started to make a run for it, “No time, Rem!”

Steve took off after them, shouting and panting, “I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT! YOU’RE GOING TO PAY.”

Roman didn’t know where they should go, he might be able to carry his brother off in the sky. But there were too many people staring at the three of them and he wasn’t actually sure he could. He was internally going, “Think. Think. Think.”

He made the split second decision to have them duck into an alleyway. Ahead, there was a fire escape stairwell next to them. “Rem?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you be okay if–?”, Roman gestured up to the sky.

Remus gulped, with a rare expression of hesitation. He heard enough of Roman’s nightmares and was keenly aware that he was built for the ocean, not the air. Roman sighed, as if he understood and expected it. “Okay, let's get up that fire escape then, get to the roof, and–”

“– go from there?”

“Yeah.”

Remus lifted himself up by his tentacles to get into the stairwell, knocking the ladder loose as he fit himself in the space, and ran up the stairs. Roman jumped up, boosted by his wings. Once Roman’s claws grasped the railing, his weight lightened on the structure with his wings, to scale the thing…

They could see that Steve entered the alleyway.

Steve screamed at them, recognizing immediately the unnatural abilities the twins were displaying. The twins sped their way up toward the roof of the complex, Steve closing the distance.

Steve managed to barely grab the bottom rungs of the ladder, mostly with his good hand, pulling it down and scrambling his way up toward them. Once in the well himself, there was about a three-floor distance between him and the twins.

The twins moved faster upwards, too focused on the task to get chatty. Steve found the ability to keep shouting up at them, “COME BACK HERE.”

The twins had no interest in stopping once they got to the top of the stairs. Roman was the first on the roof leaping from the top floor railing toward it. It was an open balcony, so Remus lifted himself up over to him, shortly afterwards. The twins then began scanning the nearby buildings for a path to lose Steve.

Steve was scarily adept in scrambling onto the roof, muscling himself up to them. How was he able to summon that strength, with a busted hand no less? Roman knew something was very wrong about Steve.

Steve seethed as he reached for his pistol, “I KNEW you two weren’t normal. I-I just didn’t realize just how HIDEOUS you actually were!”

Roman stood next to Remus, feeling torn up about what was happening. “It’s not like we asked to be this way!”

“I. DON’T. FUCKING. CARE. Your evil must be STOPPED!”

Steve took aim, and without thinking, Roman boomed, “NO–”

From Roman’s mouth, an enormous gout of flame erupted instantly. Steve, in a blinded panic, aimlessly fired a shot and dropped his pistol. The wall of heat and light was so intense, it forced Steve to back away towards the edge. Before Roman could register it, he heard Steve scream as he tumbled over the ledge of the roof.

When the flames dissipated, the twins stared at each other. Roman especially, not wanting to look until they heard a sickening thud.

They looked over the edge. Even from as high up as six stories, he saw Steve in gruesome shape down there. There was a lot of blood. This was a moment where he wished he didn’t have this new enhanced sight. He turned back towards the roof and began hyperventilating, “O-oh God. Did we– did I– oh God.”

Remus was looking like he was attempting to process what just happened. Looking over the edge, it was not quite as clear to him just how bad off Steve was, but he could only imagine. Remus looked at Roman again, who was shutting down in front of him.

Remus wished he was better at helping his brother, only to realize a dull pain from his cheek. A small mercy that the bullet only grazed him. He didn’t know if he could’ve bore it if either of them…

His thoughts interrupted when he heard some noises from the body, it sounded like groaning. Remus shook his head and looked over the edge again. “Uuum, Roman? What’s happening down there?”

Roman was hugging his knees and barely registered what Remus said, “¿¡Qué más podría ser!? We– I killed–”

Remus didn’t want to make his brother see it again, but he needed him to. Remus carefully nudged his brother to face the edge. “Ro, vamos.”

Roman hesitated as he submitted to the cajoling. He had to blink away his tears and rub his eyes, when he peered down at something unspeakable unfolding. Steve’s twisted limbs flinched until they slowly relocated themselves. Steve rolled over and he heard another grotesque scream erupt from him.

“A-am I seeing things?”

“I definitely heard that. How in the fuck?”

They peered over and Roman could see the bones mending and the wounds stitching themselves together. They watched with alarmed confusion as Steve slowly got up to his feet. Steve’s breathing was labored, so he didn’t have it to yell anything at the twins.

Roman saw the intense hatred in the scowl Steve held, as they made eye contact. It was unlike any other moment they had as kids. He felt like he was dunked in ice.

Steve limped away, with no choice but to retreat. He’d allow the twins to have this one.

Roman slumped back down onto the roof and sat against the ledge. He hugged his knees, shaking, before erupting into pained laughter. There was another small surge for Roman winning this fray, but it didn’t abate his feelings of disgust and terror.

Remus just sat next to him, feeling a similar sense of madness. Both swept up in a newfound fear and the highs they felt.

Roman weakly asked, “W-what… Just happened, Rem?”

Remus only shook his head.

-

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[andypantsx3]

ab intra | 1 | ab initio

pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi / Reader

length: 18,811 words / 6 chapters

summary: When a wave of disturbing crimes sweep the city, underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou is assigned to work the case with you. What’s even more frustrating than his obnoxious personality is the fact no one will tell you why he’s involved. Things only get more suspicious from there.

tags: romance, thriller, misunderstandings, pro hero AU, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, suicide mentions, brainwashing, consensual mind control, some violence

ab intra [ ahb in-trah ] — adverb, Latin — from inside; from within.

The victims couldn’t remember anything. The ones who had been left alive, anyway.

You sighed, tapping a fingertip idly against your desktop as you stared blankly at the notes on your computer screen. The fact that no one could remember who the perpetrator was, what they looked like, or even anything that had happened during that window of time was extremely unhelpful, and gave you almost no leads to go on.

You’d spent the better part of last week combing through CCTV footage surrounding both the museum and the bank, but nothing had proved decisive. There had been crowds of thousands going in and out of the museum, eager to see a new exhibit on historical wedding jewels, and as far as you could tell, everyone who had entered the grounds was accounted for, either dead or alive. It was much the same for the bank.

Footage from inside both buildings had been summarily destroyed, so there was no telling what had happened inside either. All you knew was that at both locations on two different days, it had been business as usual. Then the buildings had been robbed, five people had turned up dead, and scores more had lost upwards of thirty minutes.

The people who had died all appeared to have committed suicide--one leaping out a window from the top of the museum exhibit hall, another choking himself to death with his tie. There were no fingerprints, no weapons, no memories, nothing you could work off of.

It all pointed to a mind-altering quirk.

You’d pulled as many records as you could, spent the entire weekend scurrying around the courts in order to get as many restrictions lifted as possible, and ended up with a list of only twenty people, when you knew there were hundreds more. It was nearly impossible to get access to information on people’s quirks, even more so to get access to files on those who possessed abilities like this, due to the sensitive nature of their powers.

It made sense, given the kind of discrimination that could take place based on that information alone, but it was still infuriating, knowing the culprit could be in any one of those hundreds of files you’d been unable to get ahold of.

You’d done your best to follow up on what you had been able to get, however, researching the background of every person whose documents you'd been allowed access to. You’d been in the middle of one of the few files, nursing a coffee and something like a migraine, when a manila folder slapped you in the back.

“Captain wants you in his office,” your coworker Aya said, chuckling when you startled and spilled coffee onto your keyboard.

You whipped around in your chair to stare at her accusingly. “You did that on purpose.”

She flashed you a cheeky grin. “You’ve been wandering around the precinct like a zombie for days. You need some livening up.”

You honestly just wanted some livening down, for this case to solve itself and for you to be able to sleep for a week. But you didn’t say as much, digging a box of kleenex out of your file cabinet and sopping up the rivers of dark coffee pooling in between your keys.

“Captain was in a mood, so I recommend you pick up the pace,” she said, and you sighed, climbing out of your chair and throwing on your jacket. The captain always kept his office at a temperature only a polar ice cap might find suitable, and you needed to be properly equipped if this turned out to be more than a quick chat.

Aya’s theory was that he kept it so cold in there to dampen the burning hatefire of rage within him. You just thought his alien species preferred an icy freeze like that of space.

You hurried into the stairwell and down a fluorescent hall, stopping just outside a tall oak door with a little carved plaque that read Noriyasu Nagumo, Captain. You tapped twice, and the door opened inward immediately like someone had been waiting for you just on the other side.

Which, you discovered as you stepped inside, they had been.

A man with unruly indigo hair stood just inside the door, looking you over with a somewhat indifferent expression. He was tall, nearly lean, strapped with sleek muscle that was almost imperceptible through the black of his jumpsuit, and he wore a long scarf and dark, mask-like device at his neck. His eyes were an even deeper purple than his hair, giving his appearance an almost fey quality, and they were bright with a keen watchfulness that felt at odds with his disinterested look.

He was very striking, and you might have thought him handsome if it weren’t for the deep shadows beneath his eyes, or the strange sensation that washed over you as you looked at him, a prickle of feeling that told you there was something more to him than was plainly visible.

A sense of foreboding settled in your stomach as you registered his black jumpsuit, boots, and the strangeness of the items around his neck. It all screamed hero costume, and your mood immediately took a nose dive. You'd worked with heroes before, and it was hardly an experience you wanted to repeat.

At the other end of the room, your captain sat behind his heavy desk, a dark eyebrow raised and a stern look on his weathered features.

“You’re late,” he said by way of a greeting.

You glanced between the two men in question. “I came as fast as I could. Am I interrupting a meeting?”

The captain shook his head, gesturing both you and the purple-haired man to the chairs in front of his desk.

You took a seat, scooting imperceptibly farther from the man when he sat down next to you. Something about him raised your hackles, an aura of subtle command that made you feel like a cat whose fur had been brushed backwards. Coupled with his dismissive expression, you could already sense he was bad news.

“This is Hitoshi Shinsou,” the captain said, indicating the purple-haired man. “Shinsou is a hero on loan from the Public Safety Commission.”

You gave him a cursory once over. You’d never heard of him.

“Shinsou, this is Y/N, one of my investigators,” he continued. “She’s working on the museum and bank heist case we discussed earlier.”

This put you on edge. “What does he have to do with my case?” you asked warily. You’d been on at least three investigations with heroes before, and you knew all too well how things went. You didn’t need some asshole to contribute absolutely nothing to the case and swoop in at the last second to grab all the credit.

“Shinsou is being added as a resource to this case,” Captain Nagumo said. “You will operate as if he were co-lead on this investigation.”

Oh hell no. This case was especially complex and the last thing you needed was to slow down and onboard some random hero, just so he could muck about and up his credentials. People's actual lives were at stake here.

Your nails bit into your palms, and Shinsou smirked as if he knew what you were thinking. “Captain, with all due respect, there is nothing that indicates the need for a secondary lead on this assignment.”

The captain fixed you with a disinterested look. “And yet here you have one. Now that I’ve made introductions, please get Shinsou up to speed on your progress.”

"I can work faster on this alone," you argued. "How about we call Shinsou in when I've found something and he can help with the apprehension?"

Captain Nagumo's face went still. "This is not a request. Shinsou will be working this case with you."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the captain’s look shifted into something angrier and your teeth clacked together. There was a reason Aya spoke so openly about his inner hatefire--his temper was the stuff of legend. At least once a day the hallways echoed with the sound of his screaming, and you swore you'd once caught him suspending an officer for looking at him the wrong way. You’d gotten off easy with him so far, buoyed by your excellent track record, but the look he was giving you told you that could quickly change.

Shinsou leaned forward, and your eye darted to him quickly. “Why don’t you bring me to your desk and show me what you were working on?”

His voice was low, smooth, and strangely compelling. You found yourself entirely distracted from the captain's darkening mood, opening your mouth to reply before you could think better of it.

“I--,” you began. There was a small pause, then your temper caught back up with you. You exhaled through your nose. “Fine,” you said, climbing to your feet and heading for the door without a look backwards. “If you don’t want to get left behind, let’s go.”

You heard the scrape of a chair as Shinsou stood to follow you, a murmur as he bade farewell to the captain. Then he exited the office after you and shut the door quietly behind himself. You turned down the hall, walking briskly, like with any luck you could leave him in your dust, but he caught up easily enough, keeping pace with his long legs.

“How much did Captain Nagumo tell you about the case already?” you asked as you led the way up the stairs, taking a calming breath to soothe yourself. Professional, you could be professional. You'd managed it with all the heroes before.

“Not too much,” Shinsou replied in his low drawl. “Just that there had been break ins, multiple suicides, and a lot of missing memories.”

You pushed open the door to your floor and gestured him through, then stalked over to your desk. It had previously been a point of pride for you that your workspace was clean, devoid of the mountains of paperwork that cluttered everyone else’s because you knew how to keep on top of your reports, but in the last week, your desk had slowly started to amass a small tower of files not unlike those on the surrounding desks.

You shoved a bunch of files over and dragged over a chair from the staff conference table. “Sit and let’s chat, then.”

He dropped into the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and you sat across from him.

“So why did they send you?” you asked.

Those purple eyes flicked over you. “To help.”

You suppressed an eye roll. Very informative. Some huge help this guy was already proving to be. “Obviously, but why you? What interest does the Public Safety Commission have in this case?”

He rolled a shoulder. “Dozens of people show up without their memories, and you think the police force can handle this without help? I'm here to provide support.”

He had a point but that still answered like zero of your questions. “So why you, specifically? What are you bringing to this case?”

A slow smirk made its way across his mouth. “My good looks and big brain.”

Your headache from earlier made a brief showing at your temples, and your small puddle of patience began to dry up. So this was how it was going to be.

“Fascinating. Well that will be a huge help, no doubt. Good thing they sent you.”

Shinsou's smile widened. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

You eyed him irritably. “Listen, I don't mean to disrespect your profession. Heroes are great and totally needed for patrols and raids. When it comes to investigations, though, you slow things down, and I don't have time for you to hold things up.”

As you spoke, there was a sudden, small tug at the back of your mind, like a thought on the edge of resurfacing. You stopped short, brow furrowing. Had you forgotten something urgent?

Shinsou raised a dark eyebrow, pulling your attention back to him. “Is that so?” he asked.

Something like dry amusement layered in his tone, and the rest of your patience vanished. Was his quirk raising blood to a boil? If so, he wielded it with unparalleled skill and dexterity.

“What’s your background?" you demanded. "And your quirk? I’m assuming they didn't add you to this case for your charm and social grace.”

He smirked again. “I’m afraid that’s above your clearance level.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. Above your clearance level? He had the gall to waltz in here and insert himself into your case, and then refused to give you any basic information like why he was here at all or what your expectations should be for his partnership? Christ, he was even worse than the other heroes you’d worked with. They, at least, had pretended at being friendly when stepping in to work with you. Shinsou was something else completely.

You felt your hand curl into a fist under your desk. “Fine then, let me guess. You're an emitter type -- astounding levels of absolute bullshit.”

He let out a surprised laugh and leaned forward, like you’d suddenly sparked his interest. “You’ve got quite the set of claws for such a little kitten.”

You didn’t know how it was possible to be getting this angry, but it was happening. “Then I suggest you work with me here, if you don’t want to get stuck with them, Shinsou.”

His eyes darkened and he considered you for a long moment. There was that gentle brush in your thoughts again, like you'd forgotten something, and your brow wrinkled. Before you could focus on it, however, the feeling was gone, and Shinsou was slowly leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I’ll work with you, kitten, but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Try me,” you ground out.

“I’m here on behalf of the Commission,” he said firmly, “and my reasons for being here, my background, and my quirk are all information that is well above your security clearance. I work for the Commission, not you or your captain, and I will not be answering to you, operating on your orders, or sharing any information just because you think you deserve to know it.”

You stared at him. You could feel the little half moons your nails were leaving in your own skin but you couldn’t unclench your fist.

"You seem to think that heroes do nothing but stand around until they can grab the credit, which makes me think that you will try to hide elements of this case from me. I'll tell you just this once that you will cooperate with me to the best of your ability, or I will make sure you are taken off this case entirely," he said.

“Great,” you said, gritting your teeth. “Glad that I have a partner who I can know nothing about, can’t ask questions of, and can’t trust to give me the same courtesy I have to give them. I can’t think of any partnership set up for more success than this one.”

A wry smile curled the edge of his mouth. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

You glared at him over the top of your files but he just stared back, unaffected.

Eventually you gave up, huffing, and shoved a file at him. “Fucking fine. We’ll start here. I’ll walk you through my theories and then you can read over the case files for the details.”

Shinsou took the folder from you in a slender, long-fingered hand. “Generous of you, kitten.”

You fixed him with a baleful gaze. “Don’t call me that.”

He said nothing, but the look on his face told you that you might as well be speaking to a brick wall for all the good it was going to do. He flipped open the cover of the folder and gave it a cursory inspection.

You rolled your eyes. Fine.

“We think it’s some kind of mind quirk,” you said, pointing to a line in the folder. “Either that or a team including some time-based quirk. The details are light, however, as no one can remember what’s happened to them in the time they’ve lost. The suicides make me think that even if there’s a time freeze quirk involved, there’s somebody else with some amount of mental manipulation in on the operation, since none of the people who died had anything other than self-imposed wounds.”

Shinsou nodded, his eyes skimming the page. “A lot of mind quirks could influence memory in different ways.”

You inclined your head in agreement. “I’ve been trying to track down people with mind-related quirks to see which types could be involved, but the courts are impossible to get around. I only have data on like twenty people who’ve previously been in trouble with the law, and none of them seem related to this case.”

Shinsou hummed low in his throat. “Why don’t you walk me through the details of each of the break ins, and then we can talk about what other avenues we might be able to take.”

You nodded again, and launched into an explanation. Over the next few hours you talked him through both the museum and the bank robberies, meticulously detailing all of the timelines, the victims, key witnesses, and locations. You covered all of the floor plans, the CCTV footage, the documents you’d collected, and the crime scene photos. Shinsou listened attentively and--surprisingly--asked intelligent follow up questions, your conversation taking you deep into the evening until your shift was almost over.

Eventually, Shinsou’s phone vibrated, and the rustle of the other investigators’ jackets brought you out of your bubble.

Shinsou stood, glancing at his phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then, kitten,” he said.

You eyed him sourly, bad mood returning. “If my prayers go unanswered, then yes.”

He chuckled and pocketed his cell, lifting a vague hand at you in farewell. Then he was out the door, leaving you to stare after him in resentment.

Aya popped up at your elbow as soon as he'd gone, letting out a low whistle. “Who was that, Y/N? He was pretty cute.”

You scoffed, turning to your desk to gather up your things to head out to the train. “If you think demons plumbed from the depths of hell are cute, then sure. He's going to be hell to work with.”

Aya laughed, giving you a conspiratorial look. “I don’t know. I’d let him plumb my depths, if he wanted.”

You choked, and Aya chuckled again before waving herself off. “You should think about yours as well,” she called as she disappeared through the doorway. Her cackle echoed down the hall behind her.

You gawked after her, headache finally settling in behind your eyelids.

This was going to be a very, very long case.