#this is the one and only thing i want Hell Yeah

[leashybebes]

8x15 coda redux

after that, there's this. this is rough as hell, gang, and i don't know if i'll ever polish it up. i mostly wrote this on my phone in between pulling up weeds in the garden.

Evan cries on him for several minutes. His whole body shakes with it, and the sound of it tattoos itself indelibly on Tommy's eardrums, overwriting every other horror that's ever jolted him awake from a nightmare before. And then something happens that Tommy's only ever seen happen before in warzones and in the mirror, when he's had a white-knuckled grip on a hand basin, and an even tighter grip on the remnants of who he is as a person.

Evan pushes away from him, sits up, scrubs his hands over his face. His shoulders straighten, his back stiffens, his jaw tightens. He clears his throat and a different person looks at him out of Evan's eyes, made dull by the low light and the things that have happened. They've never knowingly worked a sanctioned scene together before, but he thinks this is what Evan must look like when he takes charge in the field.

In a croaky but remarkably steady voice he says, "I need you to go."

"Evan - " Tommy tries to protest and Evan holds out a hand.

"I need you to go check on Ravi and the others. Ravi first. Then Karen. If I'm not out in ten minutes, I need you to call Eddie."

"I - "

"Tommy." Evan's voice is flat, worryingly steady for a man who was so thoroughly falling apart a couple of breaths ago. "I'm telling you what I need from you. Do it, please."

Tommy does as he's told. 

He finds Ravi and Karen together, isn't sure what he says past Evan sent me. He borrows Karen's phone, his own having been confiscated somewhere along the way, and he counts down the minutes carefully while he keeps one eye on Ravi.

Once ten minutes have elapsed with no sign of Evan or Athena, he scrolls through Karen's contacts until he finds Eddie's number. He doesn't bother to calculate the time difference to El Paso. This isn't a 'wait until a civilized hour' kind of call, and he hates that he's the one making it. Not for himself, but for Eddie, for Evan. He doesn't think he's what either of them need right now.

There isn't enough time for it to be awkward between Eddie answering a call from Karen's number and hearing Tommy's voice.

"Fuck," Eddie says. "Who?"

"Bobby," Tommy tells him.

"Shit. How - how bad?"

"Eddie…"

"You're - you're kidding."

It's a reflex, Tommy knows that. Eddie doesn't think that poorly of him, whatever else he might think.

"I'm really sorry."

Eddie's voice is tinny when it comes next, like Tommy's abruptly been put on speaker. "I'm finding a flight. Everyone else?"

"Physically, yeah. They'll be fine. I think Karen's going to start laying out FBI agents if we don't get to a hospital soon."

"FB - Man, what the fuck happened?"

Tommy gives him as much of an overview as he can, then stops abruptly. There's activity at the main doors.

"Eddie, I gotta go. I'll get Evan to call you from the hospital."

"Okay. I'll be there late evening."

"I'll let them know."

Tommy sees - jesus christ - the body bag, Athena swept away in a huddle of uniformed figures and then catches sight of Evan. He's ramrod straight, phone in his hand, pointing at the screen as he goes toe to toe with someone Tommy's willing to bet has the authority to ruin all their lives. Well. Relatively speaking.

"One button, Major," he hears Evan say as he gets close enough. "You can throw me in whatever black hole you want after, but unless my people are released into medical care right now, one button is all it takes to send all this to the best, meanest investigative journalist on this coast."

"Firefighter - "

"Look at me," Evan says, quiet. "Look at my face and tell me I'm bluffing."

Under any other circumstances, it would be wildly attractive.

The Major turns, already radioing orders, and Evan's left alone for a second. The rigidity in every bone of Evan's body doesn't ease even a little, and Tommy walks up to him with the strange sense that Evan's not there, not in the ways that matter. Not that he's insubstantial, but in that he's too solid to be really real.

"What do you need me to do?" Tommy asks.

Evan, hands on his hips, looking over Tommy's shoulder, eyes moving like he's doing a headcount, so solid he might as well be carved of marble, says, "Come to the hospital."

Tommy goes to the hospital. 

Time passes in the strange expanding and contracting way it does after a loss. Tommy fetches coffees, hands out a vending machine's worth of snacks, keeps himself on the periphery. Once it's confirmed that Hen and Chimney are pulling through okay, once Evan is occupied with Athena's kids, he slips away to the bathroom, locks himself in a cubicle and sobs for five minutes. He can't believe - he can't believe - 

When he gets back to the waiting room, Evan's gaze zeroes in on him immediately, but it's a minute before he crosses the room to Tommy and looks at him intently.

"Where'd you go?" he asks, and for a second, the hardness in his voice makes Tommy think he's mad. But it's not that. It's concern. Concern for Tommy, right now, of all times.

"Bathroom," Tommy manages. "What do you - "

What do you need, what can I do, please please please just tell me how to help you.

Evan reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

"It's okay," he says. "I know he meant a lot to you too. You should sit down."

"Evan."

"Sit down," Evan says again. "Drink some water. Eat some terrible vending machine snacks. I need to go check on Athena."

Tommy does as he's told.

It takes a long time, but finally, Evan's ready to leave the hospital. Not before he's sent Ravi off with Maddie's house keys to get stuff for Jee Yun and take it to the Lees' place, not before he's had a long phone conversation with Hen's mom, not before he's organized rides for everyone else in their rag-tag group who wound up at the hospital, not before he's worn himself to the bone. But eventually.

"I'll drive you home," Tommy says.

Evan nods, eyes on his phone screen. "Eddie's going to take an Uber from the airport. I can't get hold of Bobby's brother, but I'll keep trying while you drive."

"Okay," Tommy agrees. He doesn't know this guy. He doesn't know this version of Evan - he knew there was steel at the core of him, but he doesn't know this version where everything else has been stripped away.

When they get to Evan's house, he still hasn't managed to get Bobby's brother on the phone, but he's left a calm, even-toned message asking him to call. 

The house is almost unrecognizable from the last time Tommy was here - fully unpacked, fully Evan's in a way that feels startlingly strange. Evan unlocks the door and heads straight for the linen closet, starts putting covers on spare duvets and pillows. Tommy trails after him, helps him make up the bed in the spare room, feeling like he's on the other end of a string tied to the pin in a hand grenade.

"Evan," he says, when the room is done.

"I need to - " Evan starts.

"I think you need to sit down," Tommy interjects.

"No," Evan says, not mad or even loud, but unquestionable. "No, I don't need that."

Tommy feels like he's being turned inside out, like all the things Evan must be feeling are being transferred over to him for want of anywhere else to go.

"Evan," he says again, like it's the only word he knows.

"No. B-Bobby said they would need me. And they do. So I don't need to sit down. I need to - I need - "

"Did he say anything else?" Tommy asks.

It's a risk, but not a huge one, he thinks. In the unlikely event it's a no, Tommy gets an unexpected addition to the list of authority figures he wants to fistfight in an afterlife he doesn't think exists. 

Evan blinks at him for a moment, then looks away. 

"I'm going to do some batch cooking for Athena and the kids. You can help, or you can go to the store, or you can just go."

"Evan - "

"What, Tommy?" The snap in Evan's voice sounds like it hurts. "What do you want me to say? This isn't about me."

And that's just - that's just the wrongest thing Tommy's ever heard.

"Of course it's about you."

"No - " Evan says, pulling out his phone again and scrolling like a message from Bobby's brother will have appeared, despite the fact that he's cranked the ringtone up, and the house is a silent as - well.

"It's about you too. Evan, just stop. What else did Bobby say?"

He's prepared for that's none of your business, he's prepared to be shoved aside, he's prepared even for Evan to throw a punch, although that seems vanishingly unlikely. Whatever else Evan is right now, whatever emotions are running the show, he's Evan.

He's not prepared for the way Evan's face crumples, for the way the phone drops from fingers that seem to have gone nerveless. They were already close enough that when Evan pitches forward, it's directly into Tommy's waiting arms.

"He said - he said - he said he loved me," Evan says, and, well. Tommy feels like that probably went without saying for a lot of years, and he can't imagine how it must have felt to have it said right there, like that. Evan's not crying, but he is shaking, like everything is catching up to him all at once.

"He did," Tommy says. "Of course he did."

"No - Tommy - he said I'd be okay. But I'm not - I'm not - I'm not okay."

"Of course you're not."

"But they need me."

Tommy takes a breath, feels like he's inhaling broken glass. "They're not here. You can be not okay with me."

Evan shakes his head against Tommy's shoulder, tries to pull away. Tommy doesn't let him.

"E-Eddie'll be here soon."

"Yeah," Tommy says. "So let's be not okay until then."

Evan takes a shuddering breath in. Lets out a single sob that shakes his whole body. Weeps.

[mssishipi]

taste of indulgence - sjy, pjs

CHAPTER 4 — SHOW ME SPICY

Avoidance was your only way to move forward, but Jay and Jake weren’t about to let you slip away so easily. How could you pretend you didn’t want them when your body told a different story? If you wanted to play stubborn, fine. But brats don’t get to run—they get put in their place. And they were more than ready to show you exactly what spicy really meant.

content tags: everyone is gay or fruity!!! angst! reader is self sabotaging, she made jake cry, jay is angry (and stressed), let's play back to friends by sombr, psych majors who don't know how to communicate, reader assume sunghoon's sexuality, reader cuts her hair short, jay's pov, sunoo is just sunoo.

explicit content (smut): uhm threesome (switch jake, rough mean dom jay, sub reader), dubcon!!! public sex, unprotected sex, humiliation (?), dacryphilia, rough throat fucking, cunillingus, jake tried to be angry but went soft, overstimulation, double vaginal penetration, creampie, anal sex (mxm). MDNI! WC: 21.5K

want a taste?

"I think red nails would look good on me, don't you think?" You flipped your hand over, inspecting your nails with a thoughtful look.

Sunoo barely glanced up from his phone before reaching out to grab your hand, tilting it side to side. "Hmm... Maroon, definitely. With silver designs," he decided with a nod.

"Almond shape?" you asked, watching his expression closely.

Sunoo furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as he considered. "Square could work too... gives that classic, clean look. But yeah, almond is a solid choice. It'll look good when you're, like, casually reaching for things."

"Okay, I should set an appointment with the nail tech Wonyoung keeps talking about," you mused, already pulling out your phone. As you both walked past a full-length mirror in the store, you stopped in your tracks, turning your head slightly to get a better look at yourself.

"Maybe I should cut my hair, no?" You ran your fingers through the strands, tilting your head as if trying to picture it. "Or maybe I should dye it? What color do you suggest?"

Sunoo looked up from his phone, finally giving you his full attention. His mouth was slightly open, eyes squinting as he observed you.

"I tried a new makeup style today," you continued, adjusting your reflection with your fingers. "I don't know if it suits me yet, but if I cut my hair, maybe it would. This length would be good, right?" You pointed just below your ears, mentally mapping out the bob cut you were suddenly considering.

Sunoo blinked, then gasped dramatically. "You're planning to get a bob cut, bitch? Are you fucking serious?!"

You raised an eyebrow at his tone. "What? You don't think it would look good?"

He placed both hands on your shoulders like he was about to shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea what a bob cut means?"

You laughed, shaking him off. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Short hair on a hot girl?" Sunoo huffed, crossing his arms. "That's a crisis cut. A post-breakup cut. A someone just emotionally wrecked me and I need a fresh start cut!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered slightly. "Maybe I just want a change."

Sunoo wasn't buying it. He crossed his arms, his expression shifting into something more serious. "Yeah, right." He paused before adding, "By the way, Jake keeps texting me, asking when our vacant period is. He says you're not replying to them."

Your steps faltered, but you quickly regained composure. "I already told them I'm busy," you said, forcing a casual shrug. "Our internship is coming up next year, so I have to start networking now. I need professors to recommend me to the best hospitals—ones that actually offer jobs after the internship."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "That's a solid excuse, I'll give you that. But babe, you're literally ghosting them."

"I'm not ghosting."

"Bitch." Sunoo deadpanned. "You left them on read for two weeks."

"Because I'm not in the mood to fuck them anymore," you said flatly, resuming your pace.

Sunoo gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Oh my god. The coldness. The absolute heartlessness." Then, his voice softened. "Babe, you sound like a total bitch right now, but I know you. And I know there's a reason you cried that night."

You exhaled sharply, staring straight ahead.

"I'm your friend," Sunoo continued, his tone gentler now. "You can tell me if they hurt you. Did they do something? Say something? I mean, yeah, they're my friends too now, but you know I'll always have your back first. So tell me."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It's not like that. They didn't do anything."

"I just... I don't know, Sunoo." You stopped walking, running a frustrated hand through your hair. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be easy to keep things casual. But the longer I stayed, the harder it got. Now, it just fucking hurts."

Sunoo crossed his arms, watching you carefully. "You like them."

"Sunoo—"

"You like them," he repeated, this time with certainty. "Not just one of them. Both of them."

Your throat felt tight. "It doesn't matter."

Sunoo scoffed. "It matters if it's eating you up like this."

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze. "I was never supposed to catch feelings."

Sunoo let out a long breath, his expression softening. "You're human, dumbass. Not a fucking robot. It was bound to happen."

"It doesn't change anything." Your fingers clenched at the hem of your uniform. "It's just—fuck. I don't even know where I stand with them. I mean, they're sweet, they treat me so well. Who wouldn't fall for them?" You let out a bitter chuckle. "But that's the thing, isn't it? I don't know if it means anything."

Sunoo tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Have you told them how you feel?"

"What for?" You scoffed. "So I can humiliate myself? So I can hear them say, 'Oh, that's cute, but we never actually saw you that way'?" You let out a hollow laugh. "No, thanks."

Sunoo pursed his lips. "You don't know that's what they'd say."

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head back. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo. Because even if—if—they felt something, it wouldn't change the fact that I'm still just an extra in their relationship. They've had each other for years. I'm just..." Your voice faltered, and you forced a small smile. "Temporary."

"Babe," Sunoo frowned. "That's a really shitty way to look at it."

"Is it?" You met his eyes, voice quieter now. "Or is it just reality?"

Sunoo sighed, rubbing his temple. "I'm saying, maybe just tell them what you feel. Communicate—"

"No." You cut him off, shaking your head. "It's better to just move forward. Cut them off and be done with it." Your voice wavered, but you quickly steadied yourself. "As I said, even if they did feel something, it wouldn't change anything." You swallowed the lump in your throat, "I'll just consider them a hookup. That's all they were supposed to be anyway."

Sunoo huffed. "Look, babe. You wouldn't be spiraling over them, trying to change your hair, your nails, your entire damn life just to get away from the way they made you feel." He sighed again. "I get it. Feelings suck. But lying to yourself? That's worse."

You exhaled sharply, looking away. "It doesn't matter, Sunoo."

"It does matter." He poked your forehead. "And sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it."

Well, too bad because Sunoo didn't have a choice but to deal with your stubbornness. He had seen you shut down before, had watched you bury your emotions so deep that even you forgot they existed.

Avoidance was the only way. Cutting them off was the only way. If you ever told them the truth, it wouldn't change anything. If they did feel something for you, it still wouldn't matter. Because being together with two guys? It wasn't realistic.

Jake and Jay were perfect together—enough for each other. Their love was already deep, already established, already real.

You were just an afterthought, a temporary distraction, a spice added to their relationship to make things more exciting for a while.

That was why you had to let it go. Because holding on would only break you more.

Avoidance was the only option. But that didn't mean it was easy.

You shared three majors with them, which meant there was no real escape. Every time Jay or Jake tried to talk to you, you scrambled for a half-baked excuse, something—anything—to put distance between you.

And you felt guilty. Because at this point, you weren't just avoiding them, you were leaving Sunoo to deal with the fallout.

Every. Single. Time.

"Sorry, I already made plans to get my nails done," you said, forcing a smile as Jake grabbed your arm after your laboratory class, trying to pull you toward the arcade.

"We can just go with you!" Jake perked up immediately, his eyes practically sparkling at the idea. He turned to Jay, beaming. "Right?!"

Jay, as always, was quieter, but his gaze was on you.

You resisted the urge to sigh. "Uh—actually, I'm going with my other friends."

Beside you, Sunoo tensed, trying not to roll his eyes so hard they got stuck.

"Then Sunoo can go with you guys," you added quickly, shoving the attention onto him.

Sunoo's head snapped toward you so fast,  "Excuse me?" His expression was pure betrayal.

Jake blinked, tilting his head. "Wait. Sunoo's not going with you to get your nails done?"

"Nope!" Sunoo answered before you could. "Because I'll be with you guys. Losing all my money on rigged machines. Can't wait!"

He hooked his arms through Jake and Jay's, dragging them away before you could say another word. But not before shooting you a sharp, knowing look.

Avoidance was the only option, but it was hard.

It was almost funny, how desperately you were trying to erase them from your life, only for your own mind to betray you at every turn.

Jay's lips were always dry. Did he ever listen and start using the lip balm you recommended? Or was he still stubborn about it?

Jake had a terrible habit of not drinking enough water, always running on boundless energy until he inevitably crashed. You wondered if Jay kept that in mind—if he reminded him to drink more, if he handed him a bottle without a word, the way you used to.

Not your problem anymore.

"Your nails are so pretty!!!" Wonyoung screeched, grabbing your hand and turning it under the flashing club lights. The silver designs shimmered, catching every flicker of neon.

"Thank you," you muttered, tipping back your drink without hesitation. The alcohol burned down your throat, but you welcomed it. Anything to dull the edges. Sunoo sat beside you, talking how he wants to have sex tonight.

Another drink. Then another. By the time the rest of your friends arrived, your head was already buzzing, you can't even keep up with the conversation anymore. You laughed at the right moments, nodded when necessary, but your mind was elsewhere.

"Can you recommend a good waterproof mascara?" you mumbled, resting your head against Sunghoon's shoulder.

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed with your state. "I don't know? Maybelline, I guess? Or some Japanese brand—those are good too."

"You're gay," you giggled, voice slightly slurred.

Sunghoon scoffed, shifting slightly so you didn't slide off him. "How the fuck is that gay?"

"You just know things." You poked his chest, eyes drooping.

"It's called having sisters, dumbass," he deadpanned.

You giggled, the alcohol making everything funnier than it should be. "Hehehe, ever since you joined our group, you've had this, like... boy love energy."

"I'm not into boy love," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Oh my god. You're homophobic."

Sunghoon choked on his drink so hard he nearly spit it out. "What?! Where the fuck did you get that from?"

"How are you not into boy love?" You slurred, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Boy love is great. It's wholesome, it's cute, it's—"

Your voice cracked and your lips wobbled, remembering Jay and Jake. Suddenly, your eyes burned.

You sniffled. Sunghoon, who had been mid-rant about how you made no sense, suddenly froze. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"Hey... are you—are you crying?"

You sniffled, waving a hand dramatically. "I miss them."

Sunghoon blinked. "Miss who?"

"Boy love!" you wailed, smacking the table. "Boy love is so cute! It makes me so jealous! Agh—fuck! How can you not like boy love?! I miss seeing some boy love, but it hurts seeing some boy love!"

"Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?"

You sniffled harder, rubbing your eyes aggressively. "It's so unfair. Why are they so perfect together? Why can't I just be happy watching them be happy?!"

Sunghoon, still utterly baffled, slowly turned his head, scanning the club for someone or anyone to deal with your mess. His gaze landed on Sunoo, who was currently twerking in the middle of the dance floor, hyping himself up with your other friends.

"It's really hard to avoid them," you hiccupped, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. "I miss them."

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "Uh-huh."

"I'm making the right decision, right?" you asked, eyes wide and desperate, like you were begging him to validate your self-sabotage.

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh... yeah?"

"Yes," you repeated, sniffling. "I'm right. They'll stop. They'll forget me. They'll live happily ever after."

Sunghoon nodded again, then you let out a wobbly sigh. "I will also forget about them," you declared, before promptly bursting into tears again.

You wiped your nose aggressively. "I'll just go back to my old self. No more stupid feelings, no more heartbreak, no more—no more them."

He gave you a cautious thumbs-up. "Sounds... healthy."

"I'll just masturbate with my vibrator," you continued, completely ignoring him. "At least my vibrator doesn't make my heart hurt."

Sunghoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ."

"Women can over-complicate things, and that's because they go deeper—sometimes too deep, admittedly."

Yes. Exactly. To avoid over-complicating things, avoidance was the only solution.

You were just walking down the hallway, minding your own business, when a hand suddenly grabbed yours.

You yelped, eyes widening. "What the—?!"

Before you could even react, you were being pulled, not roughly, but firmly, until you stumbled into an empty mini-theater room. The door clicked shut behind you, and your heart pounded as you whipped around.

"Jake?"

He was standing there, hand still wrapped around your wrist, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be found.

The room was too quiet and intimate. The only sound was the distant hum of the campus outside, muffled by thick walls, the kind that trapped secrets and held them hostage. Your pulse was a dull roar in your ears as you stared at him.

God, you missed him. The playful lilt of his voice, the way he always smelled like clean laundry and something unmistakably Jake. You missed the way he touched you—soft, then rough, then soft again. You missed them. Him and Jay.

Your chest tightened, instead you swallowed, immediately trying to pull away. "Jake. Let go."

His fingers twitched against your skin, like he was debating something—like he wanted to hold on a second longer, just in case you changed your mind. But then, finally, he released you, but he didn't step back.

He was still too close.

"You are avoiding us." He said, wounded by frustration. "Why?"

Panic coiled inside you, what the fuck. You weren't ready for this. Your thoughts scrambled, reaching for an excuse, anything—anything—that would make him back off. Think. Think. Think.

But then Jake's face softened, and he exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry if we did something wrong," he said. "Just—please, talk to us. If you don't want to have sex anymore, that's okay. I understand. We understand." He took a step closer, voice cracking slightly. "Just don't shut us out, please."

Fuck. You almost caved. Jake have this eyes that knew exactly how to weaken you, but you spent enough time to hardened yourself. Pulled your walls up so high that even you couldn't see over them.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

You crossed your arms, forcing a blank expression. "I'm busy, Jake. I don't have time to play around with you two anymore."

Jake blinked, hurt was flashed across his face. "P-Play around?, I-Is that what this was to you?"

You scoffed, "What else would it be?"

Jake's expression twisted, like your words had physically knocked the breath out of him. Good. Maybe he'd finally get the hint.

"Look, Jake." You forced yourself to keep your voice steady, swallowing down the lump clawing its way up your throat. "I don't want to be mean, but get a fucking clue. Okay? Yes, I'm avoiding you. You and Jay were fun. The sex was good. But that's all it ever was."

Jake inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His eyes, still locked onto yours. "Just explain to us, why?"

"I don't owe you an explanation in the first place!" you snapped, voice rising despite yourself. You could feel your resolve cracking, your emotions clawing their way to the surface. But you couldn't let them win. You couldn't let him see you break.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"I got tired of it, okay?!"

Jake's breath came out unsteady. "You could've just told us," he said, "I-Instead of... this—instead of just shutting us out like we never meant anything. We're friends, r-right?"

That last word came out, and his voice cracking, and that was what almost broke you.

Because Jake was looking at you like he was desperate to understand, like he needed you to say something—anything that could make this all make sense.

"Friends?" You let out a cold, hollow laugh, tilting your head like he'd just said something stupid. "Jake, we were never friends."

The second the words left your mouth, Jake flinched, his breath stuttering. His entire body stiffened, his shoulders curling inward.

"Don't say that," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You don't mean that."

You clenched your jaw so hard it ached. "I do."

Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stared at you like he was trying to see through the wall you'd just slammed between you. Like if he looked hard enough, he'd find something—some sign that you were lying.

But he wouldn't. Because you were good at this. You were good at pretending.

"Just tell me why," he tried again, softer this time, more pleading than before. "If you ever cared about us at all, just... tell me why you're doing this."

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your entire body screamed at you to stop, to take it all back, to fix this.

But you couldn't. You forced out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "God, Jake, you're so clingy." Jake flinched, and you saw the exact moment something in him cracked.

"You took everything way too seriously," you continued. "It was just sex. I don't know what the fuck you thought this was, but it wasn't deep."

"You were convenient," you added, twisting the knife deeper. "That's all. And now? I'm over it."

Jake sucked in a breath, his shoulders stiffening. You noticed the way his lips trembled. And then slowly—he nodded.

Tears streaked his cheeks, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't lash out. He didn't beg. He just looked at you—looked through you—his expression heartbreakingly soft despite everything.

Jake didn't yell. He didn't curse you out, didn't demand answers or call you a liar. Instead, he just stood there, letting the weight of your words settle between you. His eyes were soft—too soft, filled with a quiet kind of devastation that made your stomach churn.

Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and that was it.

Your body sagged the moment he was gone, like the strings holding you together had been severed. You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but the air felt suffocating. Your hands trembled at your sides, your fingers twitching like they wanted to reach out, to pull him back.

Don't break down. Don't be weak. You did what needed to be done.

One minute. Just one minute to get yourself together.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your throat burned from holding back something that wanted to crawl out, guilt, regret, longing, you didn't know. Didn't want to know.

Then, finally, you exhaled. Straightened your back. Set your shoulders and walked out.

The hallway was quiet, but not empty.

Your steps faltered as you saw them—Jake, standing there with his back slightly hunched, his hands gripping the hem of Jay's uniform. His shoulders shook and his breathing uneven.

And Jay stood right in front of him, tense and rigid, watching him with a concern expression. His fists were clenched, but his hands hovered just slightly—like he wanted to touch Jake, to comfort him, but didn't know how.

And when he looked up, his eyes found yours. The softness that was there for Jake was gone.

Jay's gaze was dark, sharp, and cold in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no visible anger, just an overwhelming quiet rage simmering.

Your pulse kicked up, you immediately turned away to avoid his gaze.

Spun on your heel and walked in the opposite direction, forcing your steps to be even, controlled. Ignoring the way your chest ached, the way your throat felt tight, the way your lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air.

You did the right thing.

BACK in high school, Jay never really liked being around too many people. He wasn't exactly antisocial, he could hold a conversation when needed, and he got along fine with classmates.

But having a solid group of friends wasn't his thing. Socializing felt like a chore, something that drained him. It was exhausting trying to keep up with people's expectations, their small talk, their unnecessary drama. So, he kept his distance, floating between different groups without ever fully settling in.

Girls, especially, were a whole different kind of exhausting. He wasn't clueless—he knew most of the guys in his class were obsessed with them, always whispering about who had the best tits, passing around porn links like they were trading cards.

Sure, Jay could admit that women were attractive. Sexy, even. Tits were nice, pussy was great. But in his experience, being around women felt more like a headache than a pleasure.

They were too complex, too hard to figure out. One moment they were sweet, the next they were upset over something he didn't even understand. And somehow, he was always expected to know why. It was frustrating. The high-pitched screeching in the hallways, the emotional rollercoasters, the way they'd take out their bad moods on him for no reason—it was all too much.

So, he stayed detached. Women were beautiful, but from a distance. Up close, they were just another thing he didn't have the patience to deal with.

"Did I just... get rejected?"

Jay barely had a second to process before the words came tumbling out from the stranger standing in front of him. The guy was wearing a soccer jersey, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying for a while.

Jay raised an eyebrow, not sure why he was being dragged into this. He didn't even know the guy.

"Do you think I'm ugly?" the stranger asked, pouting up at him like some kicked puppy.

Jay gave him a once-over. The guy was about his height, maybe a little smaller, with messy hair and wide, golden-retriever eyes that only made his pathetic expression worse.

"She said I give the best head," the guy continued, sniffling. "But, continue to say some monologue that it's not me, it's her. What does it even mean?"

Jay sighed, running a hand down his face as he stared at the sky. Out of all the people this guy could've dumped his sob story on, why him? He just wanted to go home, lay in bed, and maybe practice a few guitar solos, not babysit some heartbroken stranger.

And that's how he met Jake.

If Jay was being honest, Jake could be a lot to handle. He was loud, clingy, and had the attention span of a golden retriever, but somehow, they just worked.

They balanced each other out in a way Jay never expected. They didn't argue much, jealousy was never an issue, and even when they weren't in the mood to deal with each other, they just shrugged it off—no drama, no unnecessary fights.

And Jay loved him. So much that he followed him to university, enrolling in the same classes just to be with him.

That was why, when Jake first brought up the idea of a threesome, Jay had been flabbergasted. He wasn't the sharing type. He was possessive by nature, and the thought of someone else touching his Jake made his blood boil. But Jake was patient, communicating his feelings in the only way he knew how: between tangled sheets.

It took months for Jay to even consider it. He didn't know what to think, didn't know if he'd be okay with it. Whether it was another guy or a girl, the thought of it made him wary.

Then, one day, he and Jake went out to his favorite café, and that's when he noticed you.

You weren't looking at him. You were looking at Jake. Staring—too long, too obvious.

Jay's eyebrow twitched. He knew exactly where he had seen you before.

You were the girl at the freshmen welcoming party, kissing random girls like it was nothing, completely lost in the haze of alcohol. He remembered the way you moaned when two girls did body shots off your stomach. You were that drunk—so far gone that, by the end of the night, it was him and Jake who had been instructed to carry you back to your dorm.

And now here you were, staring at his boyfriend.

You like guys too?

He huffed, raising an eyebrow when he caught you looking.

Then there was the train ride during the retreat. Another moment. Another time you stared at Jake when you thought no one was looking.

Jay had noticed.

"Do you think she's into threesomes?" Jake had whispered to him that night, curiosity practically dripping from his voice. He was always like this—open, playful, intrigued by new experiences.

Jay had just sighed, brushing the thought aside. "How would I know?"

He didn't think about it much after that. At least, not until he saw you sneak out of the drinking room at the retreat.

And for some reason, he followed.

He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was suspicion, or maybe it was something else. And that's when he saw you grinding against some guy named Heeseung, lips locked in a messy kiss, your whimpers barely muffled by the night air.

Jay's fists clenched at his sides. He should've turned back. Should've left. But instead, he stood there, watching.

And fuck, he didn't expect his pants to feel this tight.

Jay thought you were beautiful. Not just in the obvious way—yeah, you had the kind of face that turned heads, but it was more than that. You had this energy, this pull, something that made people gravitate toward you like you were a magnet. And Jay had always been the type to keep his distance, to stay in control, but even he wasn't immune to it.

And he knew Jake wasn't either.

Jake was naturally affectionate, clingy even, but with you, it was different. He paid attention in a way Jay had never seen before, like he was cataloging every little thing about you.

"She likes soft textures," Jake mused, scanning the shelves of the convenience store. He grabbed a puff pastry filled with chocolate and strawberry, tossing it into their basket. "She'd like this."

Jay raised a brow, watching as Jake continued down the aisle, muttering to himself.

"I think we should get makeup wipes," Jake said, grabbing a pack without hesitation. "She uses this brand, right?"

Jay exhaled through his nose, amused. "Since when did you memorize her entire skincare routine?"

Jake shrugged, grinning. "Since she started leaving her stuff at our place."

That part was true. At first, it had been little things, a stray hair tie, a forgotten hoodie—but now there was a whole section of their bathroom cabinet stocked with your products. Your shampoo was in their shower. Your chapstick was on the nightstand. Your presence was everywhere, lingering like the scent of your perfume.

It annoyed him, how easily you captured Jake's attention, how effortlessly you slipped into their dynamic like you'd always belonged there. Jay had never been the jealous type, not really, but something about the way Jake gravitated toward you, the way he paid attention to you in ways that felt too careful made something uneasy settle in his chest.

But over time, Jay realized it wasn't just Jake.

He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit, listening when you talked, remembering the small details about you without even trying.

He started noticing things—how you always smelled like vanilla and something sweet, how your nose scrunched up when you were focused, how your lips parted slightly when you were about to tease someone. It wasn't just Jake who was drawn to you. Jay was, too.

"Men have different parts in their brain," their professor droned on at the front of the lecture hall, pacing slowly as he gestured to the board. "It's an anatomical difference that affects communication—"

Jay barely heard the rest. Instead, his attention drifted to you, slumped against Sunoo's shoulder, your mouth slightly open as you slept. Sunoo was just as bad, his head tilted against yours, completely knocked out.

Jay huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

The two of you looked ridiculous, but for some reason, he felt that same annoying warmth in his chest that he'd been trying to ignore. The same feeling that made him buy your favorite snacks at the convenience store without thinking. The same feeling that had him listening a little too intently whenever Jake talked about you.

"Anatomical difference, my ass. Men just use their dicks instead of their mouths, that's why they're assholes," Yunjin muttered, typing away on her laptop while half-listening to the lecture.

Jay didn't agree with that. He knew men communicated—just differently. Maybe not with words the way women did, but through actions and through presence.

Like how Jake never outright said he wanted you, but always found an excuse to bring you up in conversations, to keep you close.

Like how Jay himself never said much at all, but still, for some reason, his attention always gravitated toward you.

They just had different ways of showing affection, and for a while, Jay thought that was enough.

Until it wasn't.

"It's freezing. What are you doing out here?" Jay asked, stepping onto the snow-covered porch where Jake sat curled in on himself. The night air was sharp, biting against his skin, but Jake didn't seem to notice.

Jay's eyes trailed over him—his red nose, the slight tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes were swollen and glassy.

"Were you crying?" Jay frowned, reaching out to tilt Jake's face toward him.

Jake flinched, but he didn't pull away. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"Baby, talk to me," Jay said, firmer this time.

"I—I..." Jake's voice wavered. His breath came out in a shaky cloud, visible against the cold air. "I'm sorry."

Jay's brows furrowed. "For what?"

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, as if saying it out loud would break him.

"I like her, Jay."

Jay's breath hitched at the confession, Jake had always been expressive—his love was loud, easy, all-consuming. But maybe, just maybe, Jay had never truly listened. Never truly looked. Because if he had, he would've seen this coming.

Jay let out a slow breath, steadying himself. Then, without hesitation, he cupped Jake's face, thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

"I'm sorry, I know it's wrong —"

"You don't have to be sorry," Jay murmured.

Jake sniffled, confused. "But—"

Jay shook his head, cutting him off. "I like her too."

Jake stilled. His grip on Jay's jacket loosened slightly, as if he didn't believe what he just heard.

Jay exhaled, looking past Jake for a moment, toward the snow-covered street, the dim porch light casting a soft glow around them. It had taken him too long to realize it, but now that the words were out, they felt right.

"I didn't want to admit it, but I get it. I get why you feel this way."

Jake's lips parted slightly, his breath hitching. "Then why did we—" He hesitated. "Why didn't we talk about this sooner?"

Jay fell silent, because that was the problem, wasn't it?

Their entire relationship had been built on silent understandings, unspoken words, actions instead of conversations. It had always been enough—until it really wasn't.

Jay wasn't the type to talk about feelings, and Jake... well, Jake always just went with whatever Jay was willing to give.

Jay sighed, finally meeting Jake's gaze again. "Because we never really talk about things, do we?"

Jake let out a breathy, broken laugh, shaking his head. "No. We really don't."

Jay reached up, threading his fingers through Jake's hair, pulling him into a slow, grounding hug. Jake melted into him instantly. For a while, neither of them spoke. The cold wind bit at their skin, the snow crunching softly beneath their feet as they shifted slightly in place. But neither moved to go inside.

"I miss her," Jake finally whispered. His voice was small, fragile in a way that Jay rarely ever heard. "Is it right to tell her how we feel?"

Jay stiffened slightly at the question, that was the real problem. It wasn't just about their feelings anymore—it was about yours too.

He wasn't an idiot. He had noticed the shift in your energy, the way you had started pulling away, the way your texts had become shorter, emptier.

Maybe you felt it too. Maybe you had been trying to fight it just as much as he had.

But unlike him, you had chosen to run.

And Jay hated that.

Because the truth was, he had spent so much of his life avoiding unnecessary complications, keeping people at arm's length to protect himself from feelings he didn't know how to deal with. Relationships were easy when they were just sex, when there were clear boundaries that everyone followed.

But you had blurred every single one of those lines.

He had spent months trying to ignore the way he felt, convincing himself that this was nothing more than what it started as — just a bit of fun. But then you wormed your way into their lives in ways he never anticipated.

It was in the way you laughed at Jake's stupid jokes, in the way you pout your lips at certain foods, in the way you always took extra time to make sure Jake was drinking enough water or that Jay wasn't skipping meals.

It was in the way you would fall asleep on their couch, curled up like you belonged there, as if you had carved a space for yourself in their world without even realizing it.

And yet, they had never said anything. They had never talked about what any of this meant, never acknowledged the growing weight of their emotions.

"I don't know," Jay admitted, "but I know I don't want to lose her."

Jake swallowed hard, his grip on Jay tightening. "Me neither."

He wasn't sure how to approach this, wasn't sure how to untangle the mess they had all made. But one thing was certain—he and Jake wanted you.

And if there was even the slightest chance that you wanted them too, Jay would figure out a way to make this work.

Poly relationships existed, didn't they?

And if that was the way to keep you, then Jay would do everything in his power to make you stay.

...

Except you were acting like a fucking bitch.

Despite all the planning, about how to approach this properly, Jake had gone ahead and done the one thing Jay told him not to do—talk to you without a plan. Without giving you time. Without preparing himself for the worst.

And now Jake was curled up in Jay's arms, shaking, trying to choke back his sobs while Jay clenched his jaw so tightly.

Jake was impatient, and you were pushing them away.

Jay's head was going to fucking explode. He didn't know how to handle this. He hated seeing Jake cry, hated the way his hands trembled as he held onto him. Hated the way you had shut them out like they didn't mean a goddamn thing to you.

Well, he knew that they meant something to you.

Jay's patience had been stretched thin for weeks now. Every time he thought he might have a chance to talk to you, you slipped away like smoke between his fingers. It was pissing him off. He could feel you pulling back, putting up walls he hadn't even realized were there. And the worst part is he had no fucking idea how to break them down.

He wasn't the kind of guy who begged. He wasn't the kind of guy who chased. But for you? For you, he was losing his goddamn mind.

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, I'll talk to her," Jay murmured, his voice steady despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface. Jake sniffled, his face buried in Jay's shoulder, but his grip didn't loosen. His whole body shook, fingers digging into Jay's back.

Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe Jake's wet cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Jake's lips trembled.

"She's not even giving us a chance."

Yeah, he fucking noticed.

And it pissed him off. Not just because you were avoiding them, not just because you were pushing Jake away—but because Jake wasn't even mad about it. He wasn't angry; he was hurt. Both of them knew you didn't mean what you had said that day. But what could they do when you refused to talk? When you were so hell-bent on running?

"...Many individuals engage in self-sabotage not because they don't want happiness, but because they fear it."

Jay blinked at the professor's voice, his jaw tightening as he focused on the lecture.

"Fear of commitment, avoidance of intimacy, and reluctance to accept positive emotions often stem from deep-seated insecurities. This can manifest as pushing people away when they get too close, fixating on imperfections to justify emotional distance, or convincing oneself that they are 'better off alone.'"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face.

"To put it simply," the professor continued, leaning against his desk, "people self-sabotage when they don't believe they deserve good things. They anticipate failure or abandonment, so they preemptively destroy what could be good before it has the chance to hurt them."

Jay's head instinctively turned to where you usually sat. Your seat was empty. Of course, it was.

His fingers drummed against the desk, irritation flaring in his chest. He already knew you were avoiding them, but it was becoming worse. First, it was the silent treatment, then skipping plans, ignoring texts. Now, you were barely showing up to class. What the fuck were you thinking? Were you really about to fail a major subject just to get away from them?

Jake nudged him lightly, his eyes worried. "She's really doing this, huh?"

Jay clenched his jaw. "Fucking ridiculous," he muttered.

He didn't understand. Why were you acting like this? They had never once made you feel unwanted. Never treated you like an afterthought.

The professor moved on, but Jay wasn't listening anymore. His mind was spinning, the weight of your absence pressing heavily against him.

Prelims came and went. And still—no shadow of you.

Jay barely glanced at his exam paper as he turned it in. He had spent the past hour only half-focused, tapping his pen against the desk in frustration, mind elsewhere. He already knew his score wouldn't be his best. Not with the way you were consuming his every thought.

Outside the exam hall, Sunoo approached him hesitantly. Jay didn't miss the way he shifted awkwardly on his feet, fingers twisting together like he was debating whether to speak.

"I'm sorry," Sunoo finally said, sighing. "I hope... whatever's happening with you guys, you'll be patient with her."

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose. Yeah. He was trying to be patient, but patience was running thin when you wouldn't even look at them anymore.

Sunoo hesitated again before glancing around, making sure no one was listening. "It's not my story to tell," he admitted carefully, voice softer, "but she likes the both of you." He shook his head, lips pressing together. "She just... she's being negative."

Jay's grip tightened on his exam booklet. Of course, he fucking knew that. It wasn't just obvious—it was the only explanation that made sense. But hearing it from Sunoo, having someone else confirm it, should have made him feel better. It didn't.

Because knowing that you wanted them didn't change the fact that you were pushing them away. It didn't change the fact that you were choosing to ruin this before they even had a chance to prove to you that it could work.

Sunoo studied Jay's face, reading his silence before sighing. "She's just scared," he muttered. "That's how she is."

Jay huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah? Well, I'm getting really fucking tired of watching her run."

Sunoo gave him a look, almost as if to say, then catch her.

Fine. He would. One thing was clear—this avoidance shit? It needed to end.

They had to talk. They had to communicate. Well, they had been trying. But talking to you was like grasping at smoke. Jay had tried to contact you, but it was clear you had soft-blocked them both. His messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to voicemail.

Jay had tried to find you. But every time he did, you ran. Midterms came. Jay was exhausted, irritated, and so fucking done with the distance.

And then, he saw you. Laughing like nothing had happened, like you hadn't disappeared off the face of the fucking earth. You were standing outside the library with a group of friends, flexing your nails dramatically as the others fussed over them. Jay's steps slowed. Your hair was different, it was short.

A bob cut. The sight of it made his chest tighten. It wasn't a bad thing—hell, it looked good. But it was different. You were different.

He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, but before he could close the distance, your gaze flickered up. And you saw him for a second your expression froze.

Then, before Jay could even process it, someone else entered the scene.

Some guy. That fucking guy and his girlfriend.

Jay watched as they approached you, watched as the girl kissed your cheek, Heeseung slinging an arm around your shoulder.

And you let them. You let them pull you away before Jay could even reach you. No fucking way.

"Do you think we should give up?" Jake had asked once. Jay only shook his head. No.

Communication is key—but with the way you're acting, they need a different strategy to reach you.

You don't get to run. Not anymore. Men speak in different ways they said, and if the softest way doesn't get through to you then he'll have to go rough.

"Oh my God, this is the most chaotic event ever," Sunoo complained loudly, fanning himself dramatically with his schedule sheet. "Who in their right mind thinks it's a good idea to hold university games when summer is practically melting us alive? That's actual insanity."

Sweat clung to your forehead, your clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. All around you, students were sprawled across the open field, desperately searching for shade or breeze.

Sunghoon turned on his small turbo fan and aimed it toward you and Sunoo. A soft hum filled the air, and you immediately leaned into the stream of cool air.

"Bless your soul," you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as the breeze hit your face.

Meanwhile, Wonyoung sat cross-legged on the grass nearby, sipping water with a serene expression, completely unbothered by the scorching sun.

"This is actually so unfair," you muttered, glancing at her in disbelief. "I look like a soggy dog, and she's out here looking like a skincare commercial."

"She's probably not human," Sunoo said flatly.

You slumped dramatically closer to the turbo fan, shoulders sagging with defeat. "Why did you even register us for dodgeball?!" you whined, voice muffled as you practically shoved your face into the breeze. "I look like I've been through five stages of grief, I don't even barely survive now that we don't do anything, then what about tomorrow."

Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. "It's tradition. And it's the only time I get to legally throw a ball at people I don't like."

You gave him a flat look, lifting your face just enough to mutter, "That includes me, doesn't it?"

"Depends on how much more you complain," he deadpanned, eyes hidden behind his oversized sunglasses.

Sunghoon leaned slightly forward with a furrowed brow. "Hey, your mascara is kind of melting. Like... a lot."

You gasped, sitting up straight. "No! No, no, no—" You fumbled through your bag in a mild panic, fishing out your phone. The moment your reflection came into view, you groaned. "I look like a raccoon who just got dumped."

"You always say that," Wonyoung chimed in with a lazy smile, finally acknowledging the conversation as she shifted beneath her sun umbrella. "And yet somehow you still pull."

"Not in this heat I don't," you grumbled, pressing a tissue to the corner of your eye. The moment you pulled it back, it was smudged black. "Great. I look like I'm melting from the inside out."

You leaned into the mirror on your phone, trying to fix the damage but the more you dabbed and adjusted, the worse it got. The eyeliner smeared into your under-eye, and your lashes clumped at odd angles. You cursed softly under your breath, cheeks hot with both embarrassment and the unforgiving sun.

"I need to go to the bathroom," you muttered, standing quickly and brushing off the back of your shorts. "This is a mess—I need to fix this before I look like I got dumped and then thrown into a fire."

"I told you to change your mascara," Sunoo mumbled. "Waterproof isn't just a suggestion in this weather."

"I didn't think it'd get this bad!" you hissed, reaching for your bag—which, naturally, was hanging from Sunghoon's overburdened shoulder. He handed it off without complaint, arms already full of Wonyoung and Sunoo's things too.

"Where are you going?" Wonyoung asked without moving.

"To salvage my face," you said over your shoulder. "If I don't come back, assume I drowned in the sink."

You didn't wait for a reply, slipping away from the group as your shoes scuffed against the hot pavement. The chatter of students faded behind you, replaced by the distant hum of activity inside the university. The moment you entered the shaded hallway, the temperature dropped just enough for you to breathe.

Your footsteps echoed lightly as you made your way toward the restroom, the cold tile of the building cooling the soles of your feet through your sneakers. You exhaled a long, slow breath—finally out of the noise and the sun.

You pushed open the bathroom door and slipped inside, letting it close behind you with a soft click.

You dropped your bag on the counter, you pulled out your makeup, eyeing the smudged disaster on your face. Carefully, you began dabbing away the ruined mascara and eyeliner, patting concealer beneath your eyes and slowly rebuilding the illusion of composure. Your lashes clumped slightly as you reapplied your mascara, and you leaned in closer to the mirror to separate them.

You were just about finished when a voice cut through.

"Figured I'd find you here."

You jumped, nearly knocking your makeup pouch off the counter. Your head whipped toward the door—where Jay stood, leaning against the frame.

"This is the girls' restroom," you snapped, the panic slipping into your voice. The last thing you wanted was to be cornered by him. And God, of all the times, why did he have to look so fucking good in that damn denim jacket?

Jay didn't flinch. He just stared. "It's not like I haven't seen everything already," he said, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind him with a low thud.

You scoffed, hard, grabbing your bag off the counter. "Right. And that gives you a free pass to stalk me now? Is that how it works?"

Jay's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed low. "I didn't stalk you. I came to talk. Since you're ghosting every call, and message, avoiding us, and you made Jake cry," he added, emphasizing the last part.

"Maybe because I don't want to talk," you bit out, slamming a lipstick back into your bag. "I already told your boyfriend—I'm done with the both of you. So stop. Stop being so fucking annoying."

You tried to storm past him, but his hand shot out fast, gripping your shoulder, forcing you back.

"What the hell is your problem?!" you snapped, "You think cornering me like this is gonna change anything?"

Jay's eyes darkened, his voice dropping a notch. "Yeah. Maybe it will. Since the version where I let you push us away didn't work."

"You don't get to decide how I feel," you hissed, shoving at his chest. "You don't get to show up like this just because you're pissed I won't answer you."

"And you don't get to shut down every time something doesn't go your way," he shot back. "You act like you don't care, but if that were true, you wouldn't be shaking right now."

Jay's eyes dropped to your arm, the subtle tremble giving you away. You quickly swallowed the lump rising in your throat and tucked your arm behind your back.

He raised a brow. "Can you stop being a brat for five seconds and just hear me out?"

You scoffed, biting down the sting in your chest. "I told you—I'm not interested anymore. Why are you so damn pushy?!"

"Because we fucking like you!" Jay snapped, you stiffened, the silence that followed hitting louder than his voice had. Your breath caught. His jaw clenched, and the space between you suddenly felt way too small.

Being with them isn't realistic.

Push them away.

Lied through your fucking teeth.

"Wow. Great. That's your excuse?" you spat, though your voice shook just enough to betray you. "You like me, so now I'm supposed to just roll over and forget everything? Grow up, Jay. That's not how this works."

Jay stepped forward slowly. You instinctively backed up, your spine hitting the cold edge of the counter.

"You felt something too," he said, eyes fixed on you. "Don't bullshit me."

"Shut up," you shot back too fast, and too obviously defensive.

He didn't stop. His gaze locked on yours, footsteps steady. "You can act cold, pretend you're done, like we didn't get under your skin. But I know better."

You pressed harder into the counter. "You don't know shit," you hissed. "It was a mistake. A phase. Whatever the hell you thought you saw—it wasn't real."

Jay's mouth curled, smirking. "Funny. That 'phase' made you tremble like that? That mistake had you gasping my name?"

Your chest rose and fell fast, your heart thundering behind your ribs like it wanted out.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. "You're not scared of us. You're scared of how real it felt. You're scared because it meant something—and you don't know what the hell to do with that."

"Shut up," you repeated, but your voice cracked on the edge of it this time.

Jay went still and finally, he heard it. That tiny crack in your armor, the one you didn't mean to let slip. The one he'd been waiting for.

His expression shifted, the usual smirk gone. What was left was quiet, focus and dangerous stare.

"You can keep pushing us away. Say it was fake. Say it was a lie. But you and I both know—" his voice dipped, "—it was the most real thing you've ever felt."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to look at him. If you met his eyes now, it was over, you knew it. So you stared at the floor, at the sink, at anywhere but him.

"Look at me," he said.

You didn't. So he grabbed your jaw, rough, and tilted your face toward his. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you locked eyes with him. And that was it. The moment cracked open, revealing everything you hadn't said.

His gaze bore into you, not blinking, not softening. "You gonna keep pretending this meant nothing?" he murmured, breath ghosting over your cheek. "You gonna keep walking around like you're not haunted by us every fucking night?"

You said nothing because you couldn't. Jay stepped in closer, so close the space between you vanished, the scent of his cologne hitting you hard, that familiar deep and musky. Your legs wobbled, barely holding you up, and you cursed your body for betraying you.

He leaned in, his hand still holding your face, thumb brushing the edge of your lip. "You really think you can just move on? That someone else is gonna touch you the way we did? Know you the way we do?"

His voice dropped even lower, a growl at the edge of it. "You think you're just gonna give that cunt to someone else?" His hand slid down, slow, dragging along your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath catch. "You think it's gonna listen to them?"

Your thighs clenched on instinct. Fuck.

Jay caught the reaction—he always noticed. His lips curved just barely. "Your body doesn't lie," he said, "It remembers us. The way you moaned. The way you begged. That pussy listens when we speak. You know it. I know it."

His hand rested just above your chest now, feeling your heartbeat racing beneath it.

"You can lie all you want," he said, eyes dark and locked on you. "But your body's telling the truth."

You were frozen, pulse slamming in your throat, heat spreading beneath your skin. Jay's lips brushed the shell of your ear. "Say it didn't mean anything. Look me in the eye and say it."

A soft, broken gasp—no, worse. A moan left your mouth. You felt the slow smile curl against your skin, felt the change in the air as his grip shifted.

"There she is," he murmured. "Couldn't hold it in, could you?"

"Fuck you," you choked, breathless, humiliated, every inch of your skin lit up with heat and shame.

His hand slid from your chest to your neck again, thumb brushing your jaw as he tilted your head up. "You already did," he said. "And you fucking loved it."

His other hand slid to your hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make you gasp. Then he stepped in fully, pressing his body flush against yours, pinning you between the counter and him.

"Push me away," he said, his forehead resting against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on you like a hunter cornering prey.

But you couldn't look away. His scent coiled around you, and your legs barely held you up. You felt it, the warmth blooming between your thighs, the traitorous ache soaking into your panties, and you hated how much he could still do this to you with so little.

"Push me away," Jay repeated. "Make me cry the way you fucking did to Jake."

His hand tightened around your throat suddenly. Your hands flew to his wrist on reflex, clutching him but you didn't push. You didn't even try. A squeak escaped your lips, your fingers just held him there, trembling, as the air caught in your throat and heat flared down your spine.

"Stop talking," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut, as if you could block out the sound of his voice.

But his grip on your throat only tightened. "Why?" Jay murmured, his tone taunting. "Can't take it?"

Your lips parted, breath ragged. "I—I'm s-sorry, okay? I'm sorry," you gasped.

Jay's eyes narrowed, and a sharp, mocking smile curled at his lips. "Sorry?" he echoed. "Now you're sorry?"

"No. You don't get to say sorry and pretend that fixes this," he snarled. "You lied. You ran. You made Jake cry. You threw us away —and now look at you."

"Look at yourself," he hissed. "Pathetic little whimper in your throat every time I speak."

You tried to shake your head, but he didn't let you. "No. Don't look away now," Jay growled, fingers still wrapped tight around your throat, forcing your eyes up to meet his. "You wanna play cold? Strong? Then own it. Stand tall. Push me off. Say it was all a fucking lie."

Your lips trembled. You tried. You tried to hold it in—but everything broke at once. "It's not!" you cried, voice cracking, hands shaking against his wrist. "It's not! I'm sorry!"

Your chest heaved. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to—I just—" your voice splintered into breathless pieces, eyes glassy, vision blurring, "please just—just—fuck!"

You grabbed his shirt, knuckles white.

"Touch me, please!"

The words left your mouth like a scream torn from your core, soaked in shame, in need.

"There's the truth." His grip released your throat to slide lower, hands now on your waist. Your hips met his, and the hardness pressing against your core made your breath stutter, arousal flooding you so hard your legs gave a twitch.

"You begged," he whispered, eyes never leaving yours. "Say it again."

You swallowed hard, breath catching, lips parted and trembling.

"Say it," he repeated like a command. "Say it so you remember how low you got."

You hesitated, just for a second, but the ache between your legs, the fire in your belly, the heat in your cheeks—it was too much.

"Please..." you whispered, eyes wide, voice shaking. "Touch me."

Jay tilted his head slightly, then leaned in to your ear again, mouth brushing your skin. "Louder."

You shut your eyes, biting your lip, humiliated but so fucking far gone. "Please," you gasped, louder now, every word dripping with shame, "touch me. I need it. I need you."

Jay didn't answer immediately. He let the silence hang heavy, waiting—making you sweat in it. Then he leaned closer again. "Think you deserve it?"

Your breath caught. "No..." you whispered. "N-No. I don't."

Jay smiled. "Exactly." And then, without another word, he pulled away. Just let go of you and stepped back, turning his back.

"H-Huh?" you breathed, the air suddenly cold without his touch. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the field," he said flatly. "You don't deserve shit—not after all the stupid games you played."

Panic flared so violently inside you it made your knees weak. The throbbing heat between your legs was unbearable now, your panties soaked, your stomach aching from how badly you needed release. But worse than the arousal was the cold pit of humiliation, of abandonment.

You lunged forward, clutching his wrist with both hands. "No, no—please! I'm sorry!" your voice cracked. "Please, I'm sorry, I just— I got jealous. With you and Jake, I— I like you. I like both of you, I just thought..."

You were sobbing now, tears spilling hot and fast down your cheeks. "I thought it would be better if I was out of the picture. I didn't know what to do. I miss you! I— I need you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Jay turned slowly. "And you acted like a bitch because you thought it'd be better?" he hissed. "We chased you for three fucking months."

You froze, mouth parted, lips trembling. "And what did you do?" Jay continued, voice rising. "Blocked us. Ignored us. Walked away like we were nothing. Like you didn't feel anything."

"I did," you whispered. "I did."

He stared down at you, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on your tear-soaked face and the hands still clutching his wrist

"You're going to earn your place back," he said coldly. "We're not just taking you back. You'll crawl for it. You'll beg for it."

You stood there, frozen, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Shame burned through you, and the arousal between your legs was only getting worse.

"You want me to touch you?" he asked, his voice low, mocking. "You think I'll give that to you just like that? Just because you cried a little? Because you finally admitted you fucked up?"

You shook your head slowly, lip trembling. "N-No..." you whispered.

"No?" he echoed, lips curling. "Then why are you still standing like you're in control?"

You blinked at him, confused for half a heartbeat. And then the word dropped. "Kneel."

You flinched. Your legs almost didn't respond but your body knew. Knew the command, knew his tone, knew exactly what was expected. Your knees buckled beneath you, and you sank slowly to the floor, the cold tile biting into your skin.

Jay towered over you now, looking down with nothing but cold amusement in his eyes. "Pathetic," he muttered. "You were so full of fire. So quick to run your mouth. What happened to all that attitude, huh?"

You kept your head down, cheeks flushed hot, hands trembling in your lap.

He stepped in close behind you, hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back just enough for you to gasp. "I should make you wait longer," he said, staring down into your eyes. "Should make you watch me walk away again. But then I'd miss watching you break. And I like this view too much."

Your lips parted, breath caught between a sob and a moan.

"You know what I should do?" Jay whispered. "I should call Jake. Let him see what's left of the girl who told him she was 'done.' Let him see you begging on your knees, soaked and broken. You think he'd feel sorry for you?"

You shook your head again, tears welling up all over, and yet—your thighs pressed together.

Jay smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

He released your hair, let you slump forward just slightly. "You're going to stay right here," he said. "On your knees. Hands behind your back. You don't get to touch. You don't get to beg again unless I say."

"Yes..." you whispered, eyes shut, heart racing. "Yes, okay..."

You heard the soft rustle of denim—Jay pulling off his jacket and tossing it carelessly onto the counter. The metallic click of a belt followed, then the slow grind of a zipper sliding down. The sounds alone made your pulse spike.

Jay stood above you, fingers resting at his waistband. His gaze dropped down to meet yours and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist in the most helpless, humiliating way.

He shifted his stance slightly, drawing closer, one hand sliding into the front of his jeans, adjusting himself as his breath hitched low in his chest. A dark patch spread along the front of his briefs, Jay let out a low hiss through his teeth, his jaw tightening as he watched you watching him.

Jay's thumb brushed your bottom lip, dragging the soft flesh down just enough to part your mouth. With one hand, he pushed his briefs down just enough to free himself, fingers wrapping around the thick base of his cock. The head was flushed, already wet at the tip, and he slowly angled it toward your waiting mouth.

You opened for him without hesitation, lips parting wide, tongue slightly curled. You saw the flicker in his expression, by the way his breath hitched sharply, his brows twitching together.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath, just before his hips surged forward. The sudden thrust made your throat constrict, a choked gasp escaping you as you adjusted, eyes watering.

Both of his hands moved to your head now, fingers splaying through your hair, rough and needy. He let his fingertips glide against your scalp at first, almost soothing, before his grip tightened. A sharp tug followed.

"Why'd you cut your hair, anyway?" he asked, breathless, but the question was half a growl, half a genuine bite of irritation. His fingers tangled in your shorter strands, clearly missing the length he used to wrap his fists in.

Tears blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Your throat worked hard around him, swallowing, adjusting, the wet sounds of gulp, gulp, gulp are echoing against the tile walls of the bathroom.

Your lips stayed stretched around him, tongue coiling beneath the shaft, dragging slow and deliberate from the base upward as you swallowed him again and again.

The world outside the bathroom didn't exist. You'd forgotten where you were, forgotten the echo of distant footsteps, the fact that the tiled walls weren't just enclosing heat and pleasure but public space. You were too far gone in the taste of him, in the stretch of your lips, in the burn of each breathless gasp you took through your nose.

Then—knock knock. A sharp, sudden rap on the door snapped. You flinched, instantly trying to pull back, eyes wide in panic, throat clenching around him. But Jay didn't let you go.

"Shh," he murmured. His fingers tightened in your hair, the other hand sliding to the back of your neck. Before you could react, he forced you down—all the way. His cock sank into your throat in one sharp, complete thrust, your nose pressed flat against the skin of his pelvis. The breath caught in your lungs. Your eyes watered harder. You were choking, but you stayed, frozen, as his grip held you exactly where he wanted.

The door creaked open.

"It's just me," came a soft, casual familiar voice.

You heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place behind him. A moment later, you could feel the weight of Jake's stare, as he stood there, just inside the bathroom door, watching.

Jake's tone was edged with uncertainty, but not surprise. "You said you were just gonna talk," he said as he took in the scene—your knees on the cold tile, face flushed, cheeks hollowed, and Jay buried deep in your throat.

Jay exhaled through his teeth, head tilting back slightly, his grip finally loosening just enough for you to breathe again. But he didn't pull out.

"That's her way of apologizing," Jay hissed, his hips rolled forward again with purpose, forcing another wet choke from you. "Isn't that right?"

His hand remained in your hair, holding you steady, guiding your mouth with every thrust. His other hand slipped down to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, smearing the spit that clung there like gloss.

You looked up and there was Jake.

You'd always remembered Jake as soft-spoken, the kind of boy smiled too gently. Sweet to a fault. The kind of person who would've cupped your cheek and whispered it was okay, would've helped you up and kissed the tears from your face.

But not now. Now his eyes weren't soft. They were cold, sharp and predatory.

Even through the blur of your lashes and the sting of fresh tears, you saw it: the shift. The hunger.

"You're crying," Jake said. He tilted his head, studying your face. "She's crying, Jay."

And how you remembered, too well, the way he had this thing with you crying every time he fucked you. A fascination of your tears.

"She should be," he said flatly. "After the shit she pulled? She should be sobbing." He thrust forward again, slow and deep, watching your throat stretch to take it.

Jake didn't blink. His expression didn't soften. He just knelt lower beside you, one hand resting casually on his knee as he leaned in a little closer. His eyes were fixed on your tear-streaked face, watching every twitch of your mouth, every breath you struggled to take around Jay's cock.

His cock twitched in his pants. There was a fire building in his chest stoked by the sight of you like this—on your knees, choking, tears running, all for his boyfriend. And yet... all he could think about was that moment. That time he tried talking to you, voice soft, reaching out with patience, and you'd barely looked at him. Just shrugged him off.

Maybe he'd been too kind. No—he had been too kind.

Jake didn't know exactly what he was feeling as he watched Jay drive himself deeper into your mouth, but it wasn't softness. Not anymore. A new edge in his blood he hadn't recognized before. Every time your throat clenched, every time another tear slipped down your cheek, something inside him twisted tighter.

"You're so unfair," Jake said. He stood slowly, eyes never leaving your face.

Jay reached up, hand curling around the back of Jake's neck, fingers threading into his hair. He pulled him down, and their mouths met in a slow kiss.

You whimpered around Jay's cock, your voice small and choked as your eyes followed the scene unfolding above you.

They didn't look at you. Their kiss deepened quickly, mouths open, tongues sliding together in a messy, hungry rhythm. Jay tilted his head, humming low against Jake's mouth, and Jake responded with a moan that vibrated through him—a sound that made Jay's grip on your hair tighten just slightly.

Their bodies leaned into each other, mouths devouring, heat bleeding off them like they'd forgotten you were even there. You whimpered again, louder this time, throat sore, nose running, your jaw aching, but they still didn't acknowledge you.

Then you sobbed, your body trembling as another wave of tears spilled down your cheeks. Jake pulled back from the kiss, breathless, lips slick.

"Stop being dramatic," he muttered as he looked down at you. His hand came down with no hesitation, fingers sliding into your hair alongside Jay's to push you further.

You whimpered one last time, cut off by the sudden pressure as your head was forced forward. Your nose pressed flush to Jay's skin again, throat stretched to its limit.

"Shut up," Jake said quietly. Jay hissed through his teeth, his body jerking slightly as your throat took him again, deeper now under Jake's added weight.

You gagged again, but Jake didn't flinch. He just turned his head and watched his boyfriend with a crooked smile. before leaning in to kiss him again. Their mouths met above you, hot and open, tongues sliding as if you weren't there.

You couldn't breathe.

Your throat burned, raw and stretched too wide, and your jaw felt like it was splitting apart under the unrelenting ache. Jay's pace had become erratic now, his stomach bouncing against your nose with each desperate thrust. You could feel the tightness in your chest spreading, oxygen slipping further and further out of reach.

Your lungs screamed. Your eyes streamed. But neither of them looked down.

And just when you felt his cock throb in warning, when your body tensed in anticipation of the inevitable—

Jake pulled you off.

You gasped as you were suddenly released, choking, coughing, collapsing sideways onto the cold tile floor. Your body folded, weak and trembling, chest heaving as you dragged in greedy, ragged breaths. Your lips were swollen, spit-slick and trembling, and the back of your throat felt like it had been clawed raw.

You barely had time to lift yourself onto your elbows when you saw Jake move again.

He dropped to his knees smoothly in front of Jay, his mouth opened without a word, and he took Jay in deep, his jaw relaxed. You watched through bleary, tear-streaked eyes as Jake's head began to bob, slow and sinuous, his lips wrapped around the same cock that had just brutalized your throat.

Jay groaned, one hand bracing against the counter, the other curling in Jake's hair. His hips jerked once, twice—and then he came.

Jake didn't flinch. He swallowed it all, his throat working silently, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring it. His fingers dug into Jay's hips, keeping him in place as the last tremors rolled through him.

You stayed on the floor, trembling, watching through a curtain of tears you couldn't stop.

Jake pulled back with a wet drag of his mouth, lips glossy, tongue flicking out to catch the last trace of Jay's release. He looked up at him with hooded eyes, mouth still parted slightly, breath heavy. Jay let out a soft, breathless laugh, brushing Jake's hair back from his face.

Something in you twisted again. Bitter. Ugly. It crawled up your chest and sat there. You wiped your face with the back of your trembling hand, smearing the tears more than cleaning them. The other reached up shakily, trying to push your hair out of your eyes, trying to regain some kind of dignity.

But Jake didn't give you the chance. He turned to you slowly, head cocked, still licking the corner of his mouth. His gaze locked onto you, that same hunger was still in his eyes.

"You think you're done?" he asked. Jay's hand dropped from Jake's hair, and looked down on you again. 

Jake stood and approached you with the lazy certainty of someone who already knew you wouldn't resist.  He crouched in front of you, his face level with yours. He reached out and brushed your hair back

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak. "I-I'm sorry, Jake..." you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes. "Both of you mean something to me. I just... I didn't know how to handle it. I miss you. I didn't mean to make you cry. You're precious to me, baby."

Jake stilled. For a moment, he didn't blink. His gaze searching yours. His breath hitched, just enough to give him away, his jaw tightening as his face flickered with softness. Behind you, Jay leaned back against the wall with a soft exhale, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flicked between the two of you.

Jake's hand hover near your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You leaned into it simply to feel him again. Just that brief, tender contact that used to come so easily. Your skin brushed his fingertips, and he didn't pull away.

"I'm so sorry," you sobbed. Your body trembled, shoulders shaking, the emotion too big to contain any longer.

Jake exhaled sharply, his entire demeanor going soft suddenly. "Shhh..." he finally whispered, pulling you into him.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, and he tucked his face into the side of your head. His nose pressed gently to your temple. One hand moved to your back, slowly rubbing up and down.

"You meant it?" he murmured. "All of it?"

You nodded into his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist as you clung to him. "I meant it," you whispered, breath hitching. "Every word."

Jake didn't move right away. He just held you there, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other drawing slow, rhythmic circles against your spine. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, faster than it should've been.

For a moment, everything else faded— the ache in your throat, the sting of your tears, even Jay's quiet presence nearby. It was just Jake. Just the closeness you hadn't had in too long.

"I should be angry," Jake murmured after a pause. "But I missed you too much." He pulled back just slightly, enough to look at you. "Don't lie to me again. Don't run." he said softly.

"I won't," you whispered. "Let me fix things." The moment the answer left your lips, Jake moved, he hooked his arms beneath you, lifting you up.

You let out a small gasp as he turned, setting you down on the cold counter behind you. Your back hit the mirror with a soft thud, the glass cool against your scalp as your legs instinctively parted to accommodate him stepping in between them.

He kept his eyes on yours, even as his hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers working them down. "Let's fix things, huh?" he murmured, dragging your shorts down in one motion. "You want to make things right?"

You nodded again, barely able to breathe as the air hit your wet skin.

"Then spread those pretty thighs," Jake growled under his breath. He dropped the fabric carelessly to the floor, hands sliding up your inner thighs, his eyes landed on the soaked fabric of your panties before he pushed them aside.

"Already dripping," he muttered. His fingers pressed against your folds through the soaked cotton, dragging slowly up your slit, teasing you. The friction of the fabric sent jolts through your core. He pressed a little harder, making your hips twitch in response.

Another presence pressed close—Jay. He moved in behind Jake. "You're spoiling her again," Jay said as he leaned in, his breath warm against your neck.

His hands slid up your body from behind, palms rough, until they found your breasts. He cupped them through your top, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they stiffened beneath the fabric. He gave a sharp little pinch that made you whine, your body jolting forward as your thighs tensed around Jake.

"I don't think she's learned her lesson though," Jay muttered, rolling your nipples between his fingers lazily.

"She looks sorry," Jake said, but his eyes were locked on your glistening cunt. "But I don't think that mouth means anything until it's begging."

Jake dropped to his knees between your legs, mouth already parting as he pressed it against your heat. He pushed the fabric aside with one hand and gave your folds a slow, deliberate lick that made your head fall back against the mirror.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, voice shaking. "I mean it—please. I'm really sorry!"

Jake didn't answer. He just groaned against your pussy, his tongue flicking against your clit. The vibrations made your thighs clench around his head, but he held you in place, grip firm, unmoved by your squirming.

Jay chuckled above you. "That's one. Keep counting." He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "You don't get to say you're sorry once and expect it's over, sweetheart."

"I am, I swear—" you gasped as Jake sucked your clit into his mouth, making your hips jerk. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Jake. Jay, please—please forgive me..."

Jay's hand slid lower, fingers trailing a heated path down your trembling stomach. His hand slipped between your thighs, right above Jake's head, and his fingers found your clit in seconds, rubbing slow, tight circles in contrast to the deeper movements of Jake's tongue.

The combination made your head tilt back, a cry caught in your throat.

Jake groaned against you, the sound buzzing through your core as he pushed his tongue into your hole, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. His nose nudged against Jay's fingers as he worked in tandem.

Jay's free hand found your breast again, making your shirt up to your collarbone and exposing your skin. His fingers found your nipple in your bra, pinching it between his knuckles until your back arched involuntarily.

Jake pulled back just enough to speak. "She tastes like guilt," he muttered before dipping back in. This time, his tongue flattened against your slit, licking long and firm, each pass rougher than the last.

"I am guilty!" you cried out, voice cracking as your fingers clutched the edge of the counter. "I fucked up—I know I did, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I missed you, both of you—"

Jay didn't respond right away. His thumb rose to your throat, brushing the hollow there gently, deceptively.  "You're not forgiven yet," he said calmly. "But keep begging. Maybe we'll believe you."

Jake moaned into your cunt, tongue working harder, faster, burying himself in your heat while his grip on your thighs tightened, nails biting into your flesh to keep you still.

Your body arched reflexively, head pressed hard against the mirror behind you. The cold glass was a cruel contrast to the fever building inside you, the friction between their mouths and fingers making your thoughts blur and your words tumble out in desperate, breathless gasps.

"I'm sorry—please, I'm so sorry—Jake, Jay—don't stop, please—don't leave me—I'll do anything—"

"You will do anything," Jay murmured, lips brushing your jaw as he kept one hand working your clit and the other still wrapped around your throat. "But that doesn't mean we're done punishing you."

Jake pulled back just long enough to spit on your cunt, watching it drip down before diving back in.

"Y-Yes, yes, yes..." you breathed. A few strands of your hair had fallen across your face, clinging to your flushed cheeks. Jay tsked under his breath, brushing the messy hair away with care. His fingers swept your temple, tucking the strands behind your ear to clear the view. He wanted to watch your face, every twitch, every tremble, every silent plea written across your features.

Jake's tongue flicked over your clit again, followed by a slow, deep press inside. Your thighs shook against his shoulders, toes curling over the edge of the counter.

"You don't even know which one of us you're moaning for, do you?" Jay whispered.

"I c-can't—" you whimpered, breath stuttering. "I'm sorry—Jake, Jay—I'm sorry, I swear—please..."

Jake growled softly between your legs, like your apology alone made him want more. He shifted his angle, tongue plunging deep as his nose rubbed against your clit, creating friction that made your spine arch and your head knock back into the mirror again with a dull thud.

Jay caught your head this time, hand sliding behind your skull, fingers threading through your hair.

"You'll come like this," Jay murmured, his lips brushing yours without closing the distance. "On his tongue, with my hand around your throat, and every breath you take will be ours."

"Jake—fuck!—Jay—I'm—" You choked on your own voice, the climax coiling inside you about to snap.

Jake didn't slow. His tongue moved in steady, ruthless strokes. His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you anchored, legs trembling under the weight of everything he was drawing from you.

Jay's hand remained firm around your throat, not choking but holding. His thumb pressed lightly just beneath your jaw, grounding you as the rest of your body lost control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every flicker of surrender build in your face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't look away."

You tried—God, you tried—but your vision blurred with tears and white-hot pleasure, your eyes fluttering, lashes damp as you clung to consciousness. "I—can't—" you gasped, every breath shallow, high-pitched.

Jay leaned in, brushing his mouth against yours without kissing you. "You can," he whispered. "You will."

Jake's mouth locked around your clit, sucking hard, his tongue flicking fast, perfectly cruel. One hand slid beneath your ass, lifting you just enough to change the angle, and the pressure hit exactly where you needed it. The world around you fractured.

Your entire body arched.

A scream tore from your throat as Jay's hand held your windpipe and Jake's tongue forced you over the edge. Your vision went white behind your eyelids, every nerve in your body seizing with the violence of your orgasm. Your thighs clamped around Jake's head involuntarily, hips grinding into his mouth.

"There it is," Jay growled, watching the climax crash through you. "Fuck, that's it. That's what sorry looks like."

You sobbed, mouth open and shaking as aftershocks rolled through you, making your legs twitch, your fingers slip on the counter's edge.

Jake didn't stop right away. He licked you through it, each drag of his tongue coaxing every last tremor from your core. Only when your body jerked from overstimulation did he finally pull away, mouth slick, chin wet, his breath ragged.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough as he looked up at you from between your legs. "Still the sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted."

Jay eased his grip on your throat and let your head fall forward against his shoulder. You collapsed into the space between them, boneless, panting, your body trembling and used, your voice lost somewhere.

Jake rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he reached for his waistband. He was flushed, breath ragged, hands already moving to undo his pants. You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide, still dazed as you looked up at Jay. "A-Are we really doing this? In here?"

Jay arched a brow. "Jake just had his mouth buried in your pussy," he said smoothly. "Don't start playing modest now. Don't be selfish."

Jake let out a sharp breath as he freed himself, hissing softly as his hand wrapped around his cock.

Your breathing hitched when he stepped in closer. He lined himself up with you, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, sliding up through your folds, collecting the wetness there before grinding it against your clit.

You whimpered at the friction. "My back hurts..." you managed to stammer out. "It's... it's uncomfortable."

Jake didn't even flinch, he pushed in his whole length into you in one motion. You both moaned at the feeling.

"We'll make it comfortable." Jake growled, breath hot against your cheek as he gripped your waist. 

Without warning, he lifted you off the counter, his hands strong under your thighs. You let out a startled gasp, your legs instinctively locking around his hips as he held you up with ease. His cock stayed buried inside you as he adjusted his grip, settling you in against him.

"Ahh—Jake!" you cried out as he began to move, bouncing you on his cock. Every thrust drove him deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing sharp against the cold tile walls. Jay moved without a word. He slipped in behind you, one hand found your hip, steadying you as your body jolted from Jake's pounding pace, while the other reached up, sliding to seize your breast.

"God, fuck—" Jake groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your damp skin before he started kissing and biting, not caring about the sweat.

Jay's mouth found your shoulder first, then your throat, trailing wet kisses up your jaw until he reached your lips. Your head lolled back against him, mouth already open, and he took full advantage—tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing the moans Jake was forcing from your chest.

You whimpered into Jay's mouth, his cock grinding against your lower back, the friction syncing with every bounce of your hips. Your body moved helplessly between them, each movement rubbing him against you, closer... lower...

"You're so fucking wet," Jake growled against your throat. "I can feel it all over me." He thrust harder, teeth grazing your shoulder as he panted.

Jay broke the kiss with a sharp nip to your bottom lip, tugging until you gasped. "I think we'll fit," he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to where your bodies met. "Don't you think?"

Your heart lurched.

Your eyes widened as you felt Jake adjust his stance, your weight shifting in his arms. Your body tensed immediately, the pressure at your core tightening to near-panic. "Wait! W-Wait—!" you stammered, breath catching in your throat.

Jay was already positioning himself, one hand on your lower back, the other on Jake's hip for balance as he leaned in. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before you felt it—his cockhead, thick and hard, pressing lower just beneath where Jake was already buried inside you.

The angle was careful. Slick with your arousal and the lingering wetness of Jake's earlier mouthwork, Jay began to push slow his shaft grinding against Jake's through the tight squeeze of your entrance, the pressure unbearable even before he was fully inside.

Jake slowed immediately, holding you tighter in his arms, breath ragged against your cheek. His voice was low, firm, grounding.

"Relax for him. Breathe. You can take it."

But your body was shaking, the stretch is too intense, and too foreign.

"Fuck! I can't—" The words tore from your throat, panic bleeding into your tone—cut off almost instantly when Jake surged forward and kissed you. His mouth swallowed your cry as Jay began to sink in, splitting you further, claiming space that wasn't there.

Your entire body tensed, clutching, pulsing, your walls clamping down instinctively on both cocks as they shifted inside you, working together to make room.

Both men moaned low in your ears. "Shit," Jake gasped into your mouth, breaking the kiss just to breathe. "Fuck, she's tight—Jay—go slow."

Jay's groan was more guttural, his lips brushing your shoulder. "I am—she's gripping us like she's trying to push us out."

You whimpered as your body was forced to take it—all of it. The thick drag of Jay's cock sliding in alongside Jake's, every inch of your walls stretched to their absolute limit, friction pressing between them, heat building inside you so violently it made your toes curl.

Their hips pressed in unison, the base of their cocks grinding together deep inside you, buried to the hilt. You could feel them inside each other through you, the shared space, the impossible pressure, the slow pulse of them twitching inside your cunt, both thick and deep and so full it.

Jay hissed, forehead pressed to your back. Your mouth hung open, panting. All you could do was hold on—legs locked around Jake's waist, arms limp around his shoulders, your body trembling violently between them.

You couldn't tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

Jake's head dropped to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel him," he whispered. "Fuck, I can feel him moving through you."

Jay's hand shifted from your hip to Jake's jaw, guiding his face upward. Their bodies pressed so close, only you between them, joined not just through you, but with you.

Jay leaned in, lips met Jake's, tongues brushing, mouths sliding together as their hips shifted slightly, still buried inside you. Their kiss deepened quickly, tongues pressing hard, teeth grazing. Jake groaned into it, when he pulled back from Jay only to kiss you next.

His lips claimed yours fast, almost needy—salt and sweat and desperation—and Jay didn't wait. He was already kissing along your neck, up behind your ear, while his hand slid between you to stroke your clit with slow circles.

The shift in pace was dizzying. They weren't pounding into you. Not yet. They were just holding you. Deep, warm, kissing, mouths trading between you and each other.

Jake finally broke the kiss, forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, "You feel like heaven right now."

Jay's mouth brushed your shoulder again. "She's shaking. Poor thing's too full to even speak."

Your fingers digging into Jake's shoulders, back arching slowly. The pressure of them both still lodged inside you kept your body humming with tension.

Jay kissed the side of Jake's mouth again before murmuring, "Move with me, baby."

Jake nodded once. They shifted. And then, slowly, carefully, they began to move.

One would pull back while the other pressed in, your body stretching and clenching around the rhythm. It was slower than before, more controlled, but no less overwhelming. The glide of two thick cocks inside you, perfectly in sync, had your body twitching, tears pricking your lashes again.

Their mouths kept moving, on your throat, on each other, across flushed skin and slick shoulders. They didn't speak much, just low moans, shuddered breaths, the soft slap of bodies finding rhythm again. Jay's hand never left your clit. Jake's arms held you close.

"Stay with us," Jake whispered into your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

"Don't run next time," Jay added, his voice deep in your ear. "We just want to keep you." And their cocks kept moving, slow and deep and together, keeping you open, full, and exactly where you belonged.

Jake shifted slightly beneath you, adjusting his stance, the grip on your thighs tightening as he found more control in his movement. The slow rhythm gave way to more deeper, and faster, his hips slapping up with wet, rhythmic sounds that bounced off the walls.

The moans pouring from you grew louder. You were unraveling again, overstimulated, but your legs refused to stop twitching, clinging around Jake's waist as your hands clawed at anything for purchase—his shoulders, Jay's neck, the edge of the mirror behind you.

A sudden sound echoing outside, footstep and people murmuring as they pass by. Panic stabbed into your chest. You froze for a moment, instinct flaring, shame bubbling up behind your ribs. The reality of where you were hit hard—legs wrapped around one man, another flush to your back, both of them inside you, fucking you, right there in the university bathroom.

But the pleasure didn't stop. You twitched, thighs squeezing reflexively, a cry caught in your throat. "Someone's—"

Jay's hand came up instantly, cupping the side of your face as he leaned in, swallowing your next sound with a kiss. His mouth sealed over yours just as Jake drove up harder, his thrust knocking the breath from your lungs, forcing the moan straight into Jay's waiting tongue.

"Let them hear," Jake hissed, voice rough against your skin, his pace unrelenting now. "Let them wonder who's making you sound like that."

The footsteps outside faded, but your heartbeat didn't slow. It thundered in your chest, driven by both fear and the savage pleasure coursing through your nerves.

Jay broke the kiss with a strand of spit between your lips, eyes half-lidded, and flushed. "You're squeezing us like you want to get caught," he murmured, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub your clit again, drawing a fresh, keening whimper from your throat.

Every drag of their shafts against each other inside your overstretched cunt sent aftershocks through your core, your body trembling violently with each grind and press. The feeling of them rubbing together inside you, separated only by the thin, spasming walls of your body, wasn't just overwhelming—it was ruinous.

"F-Fuck," Jake choked, hips jolting up hard. The impact of his thrust slammed you forward into Jay's chest, your breath ripped from you as your body tried—and failed—to brace for the intensity.

Jay grunted, catching your body easily, his hand fisting your hair as he held you in place. His cock surged deeper alongside Jake's, the slick sound of their movements inside you impossibly loud in the quiet space.

"Can't hold it," Jake panted, sweat dripping from his temple, breath stuttering. "She's—she's so tight I can feel you through her—fuck, Jay—"

Jay growled, his own control shattering with every convulsion of your clenching walls. You could barely think anymore—your mouth hung open, no words left, only broken gasps and sobs as your body tightened around them again. The pressure had built too fast. It rolled up from your core, cresting so high you couldn't breathe.

Your orgasm hit hard. It exploded through your abdomen, a pulsing, electric burst of heat that seized every muscle. You screamed, not even a word, just sound—your voice breaking as your cunt clenched violently around them, walls spasming uncontrollably.

"Fuck—" Jake snarled, the rhythm of his hips shattering.

He slammed in once more, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came with a rough moan, hot pulses of cum flooding your cunt. You felt every spurt, thick and hot and deep, and the sensation of being filled only sent another shiver of pleasure rolling through your already-fractured nerves.

Jay wasn't far behind. Your body's violent squeezing around both cocks at once pushed him over the edge—his thrusts turned erratic, hard, his breath tearing through his chest.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned against your throat, voice ragged, hips pressing as deep as they could go. "You're gonna take all of it."

Then he came. You felt the way his cock throbbed next to Jake's inside you, the rush of hot fluid spilling in, mixing with Jake's release, both of them pouring into the same aching space. Their hips jerked in sync, involuntary tremors shaking them as your body held them tight, refusing to let go.

Your own climax still burned through you, wave after wave wracking your limbs, your nails digging into Jake's shoulders as your vision blurred.

You were just there, caught between their shaking bodies. They didn't pull out. They stayed inside you, panting, foreheads pressed to your skin, arms wrapped tight around your waist. The room was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, the soft whisper of sweat-slicked skin, the occasional stuttered groan as aftershocks rolled through all three of you.

Jake leaned his forehead against yours. "Fuck," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."

Jay's hand came up to stroke your side. "No more running, okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as he spoke. "We're going to talk this time. Really talk."

You tried to nod, but your head only shifted slightly. A soft, low hum escaped your throat as your vision swam and your body slumped against Jake's chest. Everything ached. You weren't sure if your legs were still attached, or if you'd ever feel your core without that deep, burning throb again.

It had been so long since you'd let yourself be used like that... and even longer since it had ever felt like this. Safe. Claimed. Held.

Jake was the first to move, easing himself out of you. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but even that sound felt distant in your own ears.

"Hey," he whispered, fingertips brushing your cheek. He tapped gently, calling your name. "Hey, come back to me, baby."

But you couldn't answer. Your eyes were half-open, glazed with exhaustion. Your body limp between them. There was no strength left in your limbs just the slow throb of overstimulation and the deep, quiet ache that said you'd been pushed right to the edge of yourself.

Jake's expression changed instantly. "Shit—she's out of it," he muttered, voice sharp with guilt.

Jay's brows furrowed. "She's overwhelmed. Fuck."

Together, they moved quickly, shifting their grips. Jake bent to retrieve his pants, tugging them up with one arm while the other held you carefully to his chest. Your body sagged against him, boneless but trusting, your cheek pressed to the slick skin of his shoulder. "I've got her," Jake said quietly.

Jay adjusted himself quickly, stepping in to help. His hands cupped your thighs, his gaze scanning your face. "We need to get her cleaned up. Somewhere soft."

"Yeah," Jake agreed, his hand smoothing the back of your hair.

You couldn't speak—not really. You were too far gone, too worn down in the sweetest, most bone-deep way.

But you felt them. You felt the tissue as they wiped between your legs, cleaning their combined mess from your trembling thighs. Another passed over your face, cool and damp, brushing away the sticky sheen of sweat and the tears you didn't remember shedding. Fingers were tender as they tucked your hair back, smoothing it down, and you sighed softly into the sensation.

Jake carried you effortlessly, holding you to his chest. You felt Jay beside you, one hand steadying your legs as they moved together. Their voices were hushed now, murmurs exchanged just beyond your hearing, their steps soft against the tile.

When the door opened, the shift in air hit instantly—cool and dry from the hallway's air conditioning, raising goosebumps across your flushed skin.

You managed one last, drowsy breath as the cool air washed over you. Then your eyelids dropped.

You stirred slowly, the first thing you felt was warmth. A soft bed cradled your body, the sheets cool against your bare skin, but it was the sensation wrapped around your waist that anchored you. The scent pressing against your back was just as recognizable—clean sweat, faint cologne, and something uniquely him.

You blinked slowly, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks before you opened your eyes fully.

Your head was nestled into the crook of someone’s neck. His skin was warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a steady thrum beneath your ear. You shifted slightly, body still sore and heavy, and looked up.

Jake was watching you, eyes soft. He rubbed slow circles against your side with the pad of his thumb, his other hand still resting gently across your waist, holding you close.

“Hi,” he whispered. 

You managed a small, sleepy smile. “Hi. How long was I out?” you asked, blinking again to clear the haze still lingering behind your eyes.

Jake exhaled through his nose, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “About an hour,” he murmured. 

Your brows knit faintly, and he brushed a thumb along your temple. “Don’t worry,” he added with a soft smile. “We covered for you. Told them you fainted because of the heat—overexerted, nothing serious.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound dry in your throat. “Technically not a lie…”

Jake’s grin widened just slightly, a playful glint flickering behind the softness in his eyes. “Mm. They don’t need the exact details.”

You gave a breath of a laugh, but it faded quickly as your gaze lingered on his face—the gentle curve of his smile, the creases near his eyes, the way he was watching you so closely.

 “Jake…” your voice came out small.

He stilled, but his thumb never stopped moving on your side. “Yeah?”

You hesitated, the flood of everything you’d been trying to suppress surged up your throat. You swallowed it down once, then let it rise.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For avoiding you. For running off. For shutting down instead of just…” You trailed off, sighing as your brows pulled together. “I was scared.”

Jake’s lips parted slightly, his grip on you tightening for a moment before he pulled you in closer, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the beat of his heart against your skin.

“I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling,” you continued. "I started… caring. And that made everything messy. Because you and Jay—you’re already whole. You don’t need someone like me getting in the middle of that.”

Jake was silent, listening, his hand still tracing soft patterns into your skin.

“And I kept thinking…” You swallowed hard. “If I let myself fall deeper, I’ll only be the one who ends up hurt. Like I’d ruin what you both already have. That I didn’t deserve it, any of it.”

He finally spoke, his voice low. “Why didn’t you just tell us that?”

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted. “And then when I saw the two of you together, being so perfect—it made me realize how small my place in this is. Or… was.”

Jake shook his head, exhaling as he tilted your face up gently with his fingers. “You think we’re perfect?” he said, a sad sort of smile curling at the corners of his lips. “We’re not. We’ve made mistakes. We didn’t talk about a lot of things. But one thing we were sure of?” His thumb brushed across your cheekbone. “We both want you.”

Jake's thumbs caressed the apples of your cheeks, his gaze never leaving yours. His breath was warm as he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry we didn’t make it clearer,” he whispered. “We thought we were showing you—through touch, through time, through every little thing we did. But we never said it. And maybe that’s where we messed up.”

You blinked back the heat behind your eyes, your throat tightening. Jake’s fingers brushed under your jaw, coaxing you to look at him again.

“We want you,” he said, “In every way. Not just in our bed. Not just when it’s convenient. We want you in our life. You’ve already made space in it—you didn’t ruin anything.”

You let out a shaky breath, and before you could stop yourself, you pressed your face into the crook of his neck again, seeking warmth, shelter, reassurance. His arms wrapped tighter around you.

“And Jay?” you asked quietly, voice muffled against his skin.

Jake chuckled softly, the sound a little choked. “Jay’s downstairs trying to pretend he’s not pacing. He’s been wanting to talk to you too. But I asked him to give me this moment first.” He pulled back just enough to brush your hair from your face. “You mean more to him than you think.” 

The soft knock came, Jake didn’t move right away, just held your gaze, giving you a choice without saying a word. When you gave the smallest nod, he leaned over and called out gently, “It’s okay. Come in.”

The door cracked open, and Jay stepped inside. His eyes immediately found yours, and the moment they did, the edge in his posture melted. He wasn’t guarded like he usually was.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, stepping closer.

Jake shifted slightly to make space on the bed, and Jay took it without question. He sat on the edge first, then leaned in beside you, bracing one hand on the mattress near your hip.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Sore,” you said, voice raspy with sleep. “Like I got hit by a very… affectionate truck.”

That pulled a laugh from both of them. Jake’s body vibrated behind you with the sound, and Jay let out a quiet chuckle as he rubbed a hand gently over your knee, his thumb brushing just above where the blanket had slipped.

“Sorry,” Jay murmured, though the smirk was playing at his mouth now. “Not sorry.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him when he bent down and pressed a kiss to your temple. His lips lingered there for a beat longer than expected. When he pulled back, he looked more serious. 

“No more running,” he said quietly, “I’m not great with… talking. Feelings. All that shit.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours. “But I want this. I want you."

Jake let out a quiet huff behind you, shifting closer as he nuzzled the back of your shoulder. “He’s always like that,” he whispered, “I was the one who confessed first. Initiated the first kiss. First sex.”

Jay’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You asshole,” he muttered.

“You blushed when I touched your wrist,” Jake added, grinning now.

“I was cold,” Jay shot back. You laughed then soft, but real—and both of them stilled like they’d been waiting for the sound. Jake’s smile softened, and Jay, still glaring at his boyfriend.

Jake grinned wider. “He literally couldn’t make eye contact for twenty-four hours after we slept together the first time.”

“I hate you,” Jay muttered, but he was already reaching for you again, hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest on your stomach, drawing you back toward him as he curled in behind.

“You don’t,” Jake replied, smirking as he met your gaze. “He just never knows how to say the nice shit.”

“I will push you off this bed,” Jay warned to keep Jake from opening his mouth again. “Then we’ll fall together,” Jake countered smoothly, wrapping an arm tighter around your waist.

You sank into their warmth, nestled between their bodies. You turned your face slightly, resting your cheek against Jay’s collarbone while one of your hands found Jake’s under the blanket.

For a long, comforting moment, no one spoke. Then, quietly, Jay’s voice rumbled near your ear. “Were we too rough earlier?”

You shook your head without hesitation, cheek still pressed to his collarbone. “No. I needed it,” you murmured, honest and calm. “It pushed me out of my head. That’s what I needed.”

Jake’s hand tightened slightly around yours, and he smiled softly. “So… are we okay now?”

You turned your head toward him, lips curving with amusement. “That depends,” you said. “Was that makeup sex?”

Jake raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Wait—that wasn’t?”

Jay snorted behind you. “If that was just a warm-up, I’m scared to know what the actual makeup sex is supposed to look like.”

You laughed, low and a little breathless, the sound making both of them smile wider.

“I guess we’ll have to do it again,” Jake said, voice dropping just enough to make the tease linger. “Y’know. For clarity.”

It didn’t take long. Clothes were shed, tossed carelessly across the floor—shirts half-inside out, underwear tangled near the foot of the bed. You were on your back with Jake above you, his mouth on yours, his tongue moving with a tenderness that made your body ache all over again.

Then Jay moved. You barely had time to gasp before his hand curled into Jake’s hair, tugging sharply. Jake groaned into your mouth, the kiss breaking as Jay pulled him back.

“Not so fast,” Jay said, “You had your turn.”

He dragged Jake down the length of the bed, making him twist and arch, until Jake’s head was between your thighs, his back curved beautifully under Jay’s grip. Jake didn’t resist—he melted into the position, groaning as he inhaled the scent of you, mouth finding your cunt.

You gasped, your legs parting without thought. The sting from earlier still lingered, but it was chased by the familiar, glorious heat of Jake’s mouth. He licked into you slowly at first, tongue stroking over your clit.

Your back arched as he moaned against your folds, his face buried deeper. “F-fuck, Jake—” you whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair, hips twitching against his face.

Jay watched from behind him, one hand stroking down Jake’s spine, the other trailing lower. You didn’t see the moment he slipped his fingers between Jake’s cheeks, but you felt the way Jake moaned louder against your cunt, hips jerking slightly as Jay began working him open.

“Want to see you fuck him,” you breathed, voice cracked with need. “Please. I want to watch.”

Jake whimpered into your pussy, tongue fucking you deeper in response. Jay’s eyes lifted to yours. His fingers were slowly pushing into Jake. “She wants a show,” he said, leaning in to kiss Jake’s neck. “You gonna be good for her?”

Jake moaned again, his voice muffled by your cunt, and you tightened your grip in his hair, nails dragging across his scalp.

Jay’s hand slid away briefly, and you heard the soft click of the drawer beside the bed opening. A moment later, the quiet sound of a bottle opening filled the space. Cool lube met skin, and Jay didn’t hesitate—he returned to Jake’s body with a steady hand, working the slick between his cheeks.

Jake whimpered again, body shuddering beneath both of you. Jay kept stretching him, fingers moving in slow, deep circles, curling and scissoring in a rhythm that made Jake pant harder against your pussy. His mouth never stopped licking, sucking, groaning into your folds with more desperation the more he was opened up.

You looked down and nearly lost your breath at the sight: Jake’s flushed face buried between your legs, his lips wet and glistening, while Jay knelt behind him, eyes dark, and focused as his fingers slick, sliding in and out of Jake’s ass with increasing ease.

Jake was trembling now, his thighs twitched against the sheets, and you could hear the breathless hitch in his throat each time Jay’s fingers pressed just right inside him.

“She’s gonna see how good you take it." Jake moaned hard against your clit, and you cried out—your hips bucking into his face. He didn’t stop. If anything, he devoured you harder, tongue working you open.

Jay leaned forward, pressing a kiss between Jake’s shoulder blades. “You ready for me, sweetheart?”

Jake’s reply was only a ragged whine, and it made your pulse spike.

“Please,” you said softly, the only voice in the room not breaking. Jay’s eyes flicked to yours, gaze locking for one searing moment. Then he leaned forward, hand steady on Jake’s lower back, and began to push in.

Jake let out a strangled groan against your cunt, his tongue faltering for a heartbeat before diving back in with renewed force. Your legs tightened around his head, your hips rising helplessly into his mouth.

“Good boy,” Jay breathed, voice thick as he slid deeper. “Keep eating her.”

Jake moaned again, the vibration pulsing through your clit as Jay’s cock pressed deeper inside him. You could feel Jake struggling to hold rhythm, overwhelmed by the dual sensations—his mouth locked to your cunt while Jay slowly filled him from behind.

Jake’s fingers were clutching your hips, knuckles pale, his lips slick with your arousal as he flicked his tongue over your clit again and again—desperate, hungry, obedient. Behind him, Jay moved with a slow, grinding pace, hips rolling forward, burying himself inch by inch into Jake’s tight, slicked hole.

“Shit,” Jay groaned, head dropping for a second as his hands gripped Jake’s waist.

Jake whined against you, hips pushing back to meet Jay’s thrusts even as his mouth stayed locked on you, his tongue circling your clit in dizzying spirals. You could feel him moaning again and again.

Your hand threaded deeper into Jake’s hair, pulling tight, guiding his mouth where you needed him as your hips rolled shamelessly against his face. His moans were frantic now, high-pitched, especially when Jay snapped his hips forward harder—burying himself to the hilt. 

His tongue was relentless, and the pressure was building again in your core, fast and burning, pulled taut by every flick of his mouth, every grind of Jay’s cock rocking through him from behind.

You were right on the edge—suspended between pleasure and the raw thrill of watching them together.

Jay’s rhythm grew rougher, his groans more ragged. One hand slipped from Jake’s hip to curl around his waist, holding him in place, deepening every thrust. The wet slap of skin filled the room, matched by the obscene, eager sounds of Jake’s mouth on your cunt.

Your back arched. Your breath hitched. “I’m—fuck—Jake!” you cried, your orgasm tearing through you. 

Jake moaned loud and deep into you as you came, your body spasming under his tongue, your legs clamping around his head as your hands tangled tight in his hair. You rode it out on his mouth, grinding into him, the pressure of Jay’s thrusts making Jake groan right through your high, pushing you even further.

Your body melted into the sheets, chest heaving, but your eyes stayed locked on the scene unraveling in front of you.

Jay didn’t relent. He adjusted his grip, arms slipping under Jake’s chest to haul him higher, fucking into him harder from behind with a pace that was nothing short of brutal. His skin slapped against Jake’s ass with wet, relentless rhythm, and Jake took it beautifully—his moans muffled, body twitching with every deep thrust.

You watched them, your lips parted, breath shallow. Both their faces were flushed and wild, lost in each other. And instead of jealousy, the sight only fed the fire already burning in your gut. The ache that never really went away around them now pulsed hotter, deeper.

Jake’s voice broke as he moaned loud enough to echo through the room. “Jay, baby—oh fuck!”

Jay reached up, tangled a fist in Jake’s hair, and yanked him back just enough to crush their mouths together. The kiss was messy, desperate, teeth clashing, tongues sliding, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths.

The noise of it made you whine. You couldn’t stay still. You crawled forward on shaky limbs, eyes locked on Jake’s cock, thick and flushed and bouncing wildly with every one of Jay’s thrusts.

Your hand wrapped around it in one slow, sure stroke, and Jake shouted into Jay’s mouth. Jay pulled back just slightly, his eyes flicking down to see your hand wrapped tightly around Jake’s length, pumping him in time with the rhythm of their bodies.

Jake’s head fell back, hips jerking forward into your touch, his stomach tight and trembling. His mouth opened in a silent gasp, then a broken moan when you dragged your thumb over his leaking tip, smearing the precum down his shaft.

“Fuck,” he choked, voice shaking. “That—God, that feels so good.”

Jay groaned behind him, his rhythm stuttering just for a second at the sight in front of him. His gaze dropped to where your fingers wrapped around Jake’s cock—your nails catching the light, long and perfectly shaped, moving over him in steady, merciless pumps.

He hissed through his teeth, fucking into Jake harder. Jake moaned again, louder this time, his whole body pushing back into Jay while thrusting forward into your hand. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and wild as they met yours, lips parted.

Jay’s voice cut. “Lay down, baby.”

You blinked, heart pounding. You released Jake’s cock with one last stroke, watching his hips twitch at the loss, and moved backward on the bed without a word. You lay back across the pillows, your legs parting instinctively as you settled into the space, your body already pulsing in anticipation.

Jay pulled out of Jake with a slick, wet sound, his hand curling around Jake’s hip to steady him. “Come on,” he said, gaze flicking to Jake, then to you. “Enter that pussy and ride my dick.”

Jake didn’t wait. He crawled over you immediately, his hands braced on either side of your shoulders, and with one fluid motion, he lined himself up and sank into you.

You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as the stretch hit you hard all over again. Your walls were still sensitive, still twitching from your last orgasm, and now he was filling you again.

Behind him, Jay didn’t waste time. He adjusted, positioned himself, and with one slow, deliberate push, slid back into Jake’s ass.

"Ahhh!" Jake’s whole body jolted. A strangled sound caught in his throat, mouth crashing into yours in a kiss that was sloppy, all tongue and open breath. His hips began to move almost immediately, short shallow thrusts between your legs while Jay drove into him from behind.

“F-fuck,” Jake moaned into your mouth, pulling back only to drop his lips to your throat. He bit down hard—just enough to make you cry out—then dragged his mouth lower, tongue hot on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way down to your collarbone.

Your fingers clutched at his back, and every time he thrust forward into you, it was followed by the shock of Jay’s cock driving him forward again—his motion caught between both your bodies.

Jake was trembling, moaning louder than ever, his rhythm completely overtaken by Jay’s pace. Every thrust from behind forced him deeper into you, the sensation nearly too much. His moans spilled against your throat, turning into helpless gasps as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt.

His voice broke in short, frantic cries. “Jay! Jay—please, baby, oh God—”

His mouth returned to your neck, teeth scraping the skin before he latched on, biting down with desperate force. The sharp sting drew a gasp from you, the pain blooming into pleasure just as Jake’s hips jolted forward again, burying himself to the base.

He held there for a moment—frozen, panting, his breath hot against your skin. His back was slick with sweat beneath your palms, muscles twitching under your touch.

Then he pulled back, just enough for you to see his face. His lips parted, breath shaky and shallow. His eyes were unfocused, lashes wet, the flush across his cheeks deep and burning. He looked wrecked, and completely beautiful—mouth closed now.

You clenched around him involuntarily. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. “So fucked-out.”

Your hips rose instinctively, pushing up into him, your body begging for more, for all of it.

Jake let out a shuddering groan. He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and the way you took him made him press his forehead to yours.

Behind him, Jay didn’t slow. He was pounding into him with brutal control, groaning with every thrust, his grip locked tight around Jake’s hips to keep him in place. You could feel each stroke reverberate through Jake's body, transferring into yours.

“F-Feels so good—ahh, fuck—feel so good!” Jake cried out, voice cracking, mouth open in a moan that bordered on a sob.

You reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the damp strands of hair from his face, your thumb stroking gently along his cheekbone. He leaned into the touch, lips trembling, eyes half-lidded and glassy.

Your body clenched again, the pressure cresting high, unbearable and exquisite.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, hips lifting to meet his every desperate thrust. “Jake—cum with me, please—ahh—now!”

Jake’s breath hitched, his hips faltered before he slammed into you one final time, burying himself deep. His entire body seized, a loud, gasping moan torn from his chest as he came hard, cock pulsing inside you with wave after wave of heat.

You fell with him, your orgasm ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your cunt clenched around him, milking every drop of his release. Your cry echoed into his mouth as he kissed you again.

“Fuck—both of you are so hot—God—”

Jay’s pace grew rougher, deeper, his restraint unraveling with every breathless sound spilling from Jake’s lips, every clench of your cunt around Jake’s cock. He watched you both, panting, his hands gripping Jake’s hips so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.

“Fucking hell,” Jay growled. Jake moaned again, overstimulated and soft, his forehead still resting against yours as Jay buried himself one last time with a low groan, 

You felt it in Jake’s shudder, the way his breath stilled as Jay’s cock throbbed deep inside him. The sound Jay made as he emptied himself, his body pressing tight to Jake’s back.

Jay was the first to exhale, his lips ghosting over the back of Jake’s neck as he slowly eased out. Jake let out a soft whimper, his body twitching from the sensitivity, and you wrapped your arms tighter around him, one hand sliding over his spine.

Jake collapsed onto you gently, his full weight cushioned by your body, his cheek pressed to your shoulder as he panted, still flushed and wet with heat. You stroked his hair, letting your fingers card slowly through the damp strands.

Jay shifted beside you, climbing up the bed on unsteady arms before dropping down on your other side. His chest was heaving, he wrapped one arm around your waist, hand splayed across your stomach, fingers brushing softly against your skin.

Jake tilted his face up to look at you. “You okay?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded, stroking his cheek. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Better than okay.”

Jake gave a breathless laugh, burying his face briefly into the crook of your neck. “Fuck,” he groaned, still catching his breath. “That was the most delicious orgasm I’ve ever had."

You chuckled, breath hitching a little as you threaded your fingers into his hair again.

Jay leaned in from your other side, his body pressing close, his mouth trailing a soft kiss along your shoulder before brushing Jake’s temple. His arm wrapped around the both of you, pulling you tighter into the warmth of him. Your legs tangled instinctively, bodies nestled under the sheets that now clung to the lingering heat of sex and skin.

None of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching comfortably between heartbeats and shallow breaths.

Then you glanced between them, your voice still breathless. “So…” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Does this mean I have two boyfriends now?”

Jake’s head popped up slightly, a crooked grin forming. “Only if you’re okay being heavily spoiled and never allowed to escape.”

Jay made a quiet sound of amusement beside you, his thumb brushing a lazy line along your hip. “We’re clingy,” he said, voice low, eyes half-lidded but sincere. “Terrible at sharing. Lucky for us, we just want the same person.”

You laughed, letting yourself melt back into the weight of them, your body still pulsing with quiet aftershocks and warmth. “I think I can live with that,” you said softly, eyes fluttering closed as their hands continued to drift gently over your skin.

And then you suddenly remember something. Your eyes snapped open as panic surged through your chest.

“Shit—Sunoo!”

You shot up so fast that the blanket fell off your chest and Jake practically flinched, startled, his sleepy post-orgasm daze completely shattered. Jay blinked at you from behind, frowning in confusion. Then he realizes what you meant.

“Sunoo!!!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the grassy field the next day, dramatically over-the-top as he broke into a slow-motion sprint—arms wide, expression exaggerated with mock desperation.

You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath, trailing behind him with your fingers laced through Jay’s. Sunoo, on the other hand, stood perfectly still ahead, arms crossed, expression locked in a glare.

Just as Jake went in for a hug, Sunoo’s palm came up and smacked him square across the face—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt the dramatics right out of him. Jake stumbled back, blinking.

“You didn’t text, you didn’t call, and my best friend just disappeared with you two?” Sunoo snapped, pointing an accusing finger toward you and Jay. 

You smiled awkwardly, offering a sheepish little wave behind Jake’s shoulder.

“She fainted!” Jake explained, hands flying up. “We were busy assisting her. Medical-grade care. You should be grateful your best friend fell into the right hands.”

Sunoo’s eyebrow arched so high. His gaze slowly dropped to your neck… and then narrowed. “Yeah, right,” he said dryly, arms crossing again. “That why she’s covered in poorly hidden hickeys?”

Jake blinked, he slowly reached out and bit his own finger, eyes wide as he turned to stare at you. “Babe,” he whispered. “You said you’d cover those.”

You flushed, dragging the collar of your shirt higher with a quick tug. “I did! Jay distracted me!”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Dodgeball’s starting now—don’t actually faint this time.”

Your fingers gently slipped away from Jay’s, reaching out to Sunoo instead. You slid your arm through his as you began walking beside him, your shoulder brushing his. He let you lean into him without hesitation.

“I assume the three of you are okay now,” Sunoo said after a pause, voice lighter, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

You leaned your head against his shoulder. “I’m still scared,” you admitted. “But… as long as I’m with them, I think I’ll be fine.”

Sunoo gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well. You’ve got me at your back too.”

Jake popped up beside Sunoo, slinging an arm over his shoulder with a wide grin, pressing in close to you on the other side. Jay followed right behind, falling into step beside you with that calm, quiet presence that always made you feel anchored.

“So,” Jake said casually, stretching his arms above his head before locking them behind his neck. “What do you guys want to eat later? Because I’m seriously craving some Samyang Buldak noodles.”

Sunoo stared at him, blinking once. Then, flatly: “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jake blinked back, innocent. “What?”

“It’s thirty-four degrees,” Sunoo said, gesturing wildly to the sky like the sun itself was his witness. “And your dumbass is out here craving spicy death noodles? Are you okay? Do we need to check for brain damage?”

"Well, I love spicy!" Jake scoffed, throwing his hands up. 

Their voices quickly dissolved into muffled bickering again—Jake insisting it was about heat and thrill, Sunoo arguing that eating molten fire under the sun was a cry for help.

Jay exhaled a quiet laugh beside you, his fingers brushing against yours. You felt the heat of it—not from the sun, not from the air, but from them.

From all of this. And as you watched your best friend and your boyfriend argue, with Jay steady at your side and your pulse still echoing from the day before, you couldn’t help the smile curling at your lips.

Maybe Jake was right. 

Maybe a little spicy-ness was exactly what made life interesting.

[chdarling]

Friends, we are there. We are at that point. ICE is abducting people off the streets and sending them to concentration camps in El Salvador. That is happening. Trump has said that he’d “love” to send the “homegrowns” to these prisons and told the president of El Salvador to build 5 more. Kilmar Abrego Garcia was kidnapped due to an "administrative error" and the Republican regime is refusing to bring him home, even though the Supreme Court ruled 9-0 that they must. A US citizen from Georgia was arrested in Florida for being an "unauthorized alien" and they refused to release him, even as his mother waved his birth certificate in their faces. (I just learned while making this post that he has now been released and reunited with his family, thank fucking god.) A hundred other horrors have happened that we don't even know about.

No one is coming to save us. We have to save us.

Please, please, please find a (peaceful!) protest this Saturday and attend if you are able. There are also protests planned for May 1. And, frankly, there should be protests every single day, but we have to build momentum and community for that. So let's start.

If you can’t attend a protest, please consider taking another form of action. I was depressed on the train this morning and brainstormed a very incomplete and unofficial list of Things You Can Do:

Print posters advertising the protests and put them up around your neighborhood, your school, your apartment mail room, public restrooms, anywhere.

Spread the word on social media, yes, but also text your family and friends and ask if they know about the 4/19 and 5/1 protests. This date is not getting the same publicity as 4/5 and people are reporting social media posts being suppressed. Direct communication is the most effective.

Call your representatives. The 5 Calls app makes it extremely easy, even if you have phone anxiety. If your reps, like mine, mostly have their voicemails shut down, email them instead. Resistbot makes it super simple. I know it feels like screaming into the void, but it does have an impact. And even if it turns out it doesn’t, it takes 2 minutes. Do it out of spite. Just do it.

Stop buying anything that’s not absolutely essential and start preparing yourself for a general strike. I don’t know that we will get enough of the population on board to do this, but it is our best hope, and each person that is prepared for it makes the reality of it happening a little more likely. If you can, aim to have food and supplies stocked for a few weeks. If you have the means, be extra prepared to help your neighbors. Talk to your friends about this. Start strategizing.

(Also, a note on that general strike website: I'm sharing it for info, but I know a lot of people don't want to sign their name to a strike card. I get it. You don't have to sign up for anything to get prepared for a strike. You don't have to sign up for anything to stop giving your money to this economy. You don't have to sign up for anything to strike, when the day comes. You don't even have to tell anyone. You can just do it.)

If you are financially able, donate to your local food pantry or mutual aid network. The Republican Regime is cutting funding to the food banks in advance of an economic crisis. We are only as strong as the most vulnerable among us. Help your neighbors! A general strike cannot happen without community solidarity. Start building that solidarity now.

Cancel any subscription you can. Especially Amazon. Fuck Amazon. And Target, and Walmart.

If you have to buy something, buy local. Support your community as much as possible. And hey, it's almost farmers market season, hell yeah!

Mask up!!! Do not throw disabled people under the bus in this movement. Wear a mask. It protects the most vulnerable among us, and it protects you. Not just from disease, but also facial recognition technology. And, you know, RFK Jr.

Stay alive. I am sure I’m not the only one who has plunged to new depths of despair over the past few months. Find something to cling to, even if it’s only spite (some days, that’s all I have). Please stay alive. We need you.

DO NOT GIVE INTO THE FEAR OF BEING CRINGE. Taking action in the face of fascism is cool as fuck and anyone who tells you otherwise is trapped in a prison of their own making and they will bring us all down. Do not get distracted by moral purity tests. Do not be afraid, do not be embarrassed. BE CRINGE, BE FREE.

And finally, most importantly, do not let perfect be the enemy of good. We can all only do the best we can under this oppressive capitalist hellscape we’re forced to endure. We're all struggling, we're all tired, we're all scared. Do not guilt yourself into despair and apathy if you have to buy groceries at a big box store or if you can't take off work for a protest because you'll lose your job/house/healthcare. This is the system. This is how it's designed. The important thing is to try. If you can't do one thing, find something else you can do. Little acts add up, and we are all in this together.* As my dad likes to remind me, no one can do everything, but everyone can do something.

Let's do something. <3

*yes I did start humming high school musical here

[cacoetheswriting]

some protector | chapter three from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 6.5k

summary: tensions are rising. eddie’s no longer expressing confusion, but rather annoyance. anger. yeah, he’s angry because how dare you put words in his mouth. has he been acting distant since yesterday? yes. does that have anything to do with your arrival? everything. does he wish you weren’t here? not even one bit.

content warnings: forced proximity, angsty, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, emotional hurt / little-comfort, eddie is a bit of an asshole, some mutual pining, also touches on topics of: death, grief, reckless driving, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls read the cw's for each chapter and let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

Eddie skips breakfast. 

Nobody points it out, although it is clear they are all thinking about it.

Steve in particular is acting extra weird, shooting you pointed looks all throughout the meal as if to wordlessly ask what the hell happened last night? He is the one to have left you alone with the metal-head. Perhaps he’s feeling guilty for doing so?

You try to reply with your own glances in his direction — there’s nothing to worry about. Logically, Eddie skipping breakfast is just him wanting to sleep in.

Right?

While grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, you quietly tell Steve to let it go. He’s hovering like a shadow, eager for answers and truthfully, there’s nothing you can say. You have no idea why Eddie wouldn’t come down. He didn’t get burned. He wasn’t an ass. There’s no juicy gossip to share. It’s all very demure.

Steve pretends to buy what he perceives as excuses to some wider scheme and momentarily leaves you alone, but only to get ready.

Robin is the next person on your case. She sticks her head in through the door, babbling rather excitedly how Harrington told her all about last night, leaving you alone with the metal-head. She thinks she’s putting two-and-two together — something happened — but you only burst her bubble with the exact same thing you told Steve.

“He just apologised for the way he acted when he saw me,” you say. “There’s no bigger story.”

“So, you’re all good now? Friends?” She asks, sitting on the edge of your bed.

You scoff. “No. We’re still not talking.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Well, your canoe ride is going to be hell.”

Then she proceeds to explain how after you went upstairs, Argyle suddenly felt really sick and he’s no longer going to partake in today’s planned activities. The dark-haired pothead was supposed to be your partner on the boat. Jonathan and Nancy, Robin and Steve, you with Argyle, and Eddie on his own. That was the planned pairings.

Not anymore.

“At least you’ll get to ask him if you’re the reason he skipped breakfast,” Robin teases with a sly smile and you suppress a groan. One of you is for sure going to push the other off that boat; unintentionally or otherwise.

The rental place is located one lake over from the house you are staying at. It’s about a twenty minute drive and the metal-head doesn’t speak the entire ride there. From where you’re sitting in the backseat, you see how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel. Knuckles on the verge of turning white. He found out about the last-minute switch just as he made an appearance, moments before Nancy ushered the group out the door. If he wanted to complain or protest, she didn’t give him a chance. 

You half-wish you had taken your own car for this outing. In case anything occurs and you need a quick getaway, which is probably precisely why Nancy insisted Jonathan and Eddie drive. No more running. That’s the whole point of this weekend, as you have to keep reminding yourself. Unfortunately, nothing changes the fact that the thought of being alone with Eddie in a rather confined space is making you uneasy and judging by his blank stare, he’s feeling something similar.

Or pure rage.

Down at the dock, once the cars are parked and Nancy dramatises a roll call, you can feel Eddie’s indifference to the whole thing. He’s not paying attention to the owner, who explains how the life jackets work along with instructions on Canoeing 101. How to get into the boat, where to position yourself, is it better to kneel or sit, how to launch, how to paddle and steer, how to not tip. The list goes on. You nod along but truthfully, your mind is also elsewhere. Subtle foreshadowing: you both should have been listening more actively.

“Any questions?” The owner asks, glancing between the group.

And while under the impression that everyone now knows what they’re doing — considering there are no questions — he divides the paddles, helps with adjusting the lifejackets, then leads you all to the edge of the water.

Surprisingly, you both manage to get inside the canoe unscathed.

Considering Eddie still hasn’t so much as bothered to look in your general direction, you acknowledge this as a success. The good luck doesn’t last long. Since neither of you is willing to break the silence, you don’t agree on an order of motion and when Eddie tries to paddle backwards, you go forwards. For a solid three minutes, the canoe circles in place. Frustrated, you look out to the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of Robin and signal her a desperate plea. It seems however, you two are the only people left in this section of the lake. Everyone else has already disappeared behind the bend, hidden from view by the droopy trees.

You’re just about to shit on this whole day and jump out in your lifejacket, simultaneously saving yourself from any further embarrassment while also deepening the humiliation, when the boat starts to surge ahead. Eddie, taking advantage of the fact you’ve lost yourself in your thoughts and momentarily given up on paddling, uses his full force to row the aluminium oars, finally making headway in a direction that’s not circular.

For a moment, you think he’s going to gloat. Or worse. Tell you he doesn’t need you here: in this boat, this weekend, in his life — a fact you’ve seemingly grown accustomed too. However, the metal-head remains quiet. His expression is devoid of any emotion. It makes you want to scream, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. After all, you’re nearly one-hundred percent sure he’s doing this to get a reaction out of you. Rub your buttons the wrong way. Twisted payback for ruining, well, everything.

Another ten minutes later and the boat halts to a stop. You haven’t caught up with the rest of your friends yet, but you’re making headway (no thanks to your efforts). Eddie lets go of the oars and reaches down, at his feet is a bottle of water from which he takes a sip and then for the first time this entire morning, he looks at you. Seemingly unbothered. Nevertheless, the mahogany of his eyes glistening in the sun, the constant intensity of his stare, it makes you tremble ever so slightly.

“Would you like some?” Eddie offers his water.

You shake your head. “No, thank you.”

He scoffs. “First the cigarette and now the water,” he points out after taking another sip. “I’m not trying to poison you, you know?”

“I-I know.”

The two of you stare at each other for a minute.

There’s things you want to get off your chest, but you’re the one who said talking isn’t necessary. Plus, his behaviour makes it clear how, despite his apology for crappy behaviour, he’s not willing to listen and the twinge of hurt you feel, knowing Eddie has no interest in forgiving you for what happened at Chrissy’s party and everything after, it makes you nauseous.

Beginning to feel rather overwhelmed under his pointed glare, you glance back onto the water.

The beauty of the moment isn’t lost on you. This scenery is unlike anything you’ve ever had the privilege of witnessing and a breath gets caught in your throat now that you’ve allowed yourself to fully take it all in. Eddie’s still watching you, that much you’re aware of. Unfortunately, you can’t read his mind. If you could, perhaps you wouldn’t be feeling this way because all Eddie can think is how utterly alluring you look right now.

He can’t help himself. You’re… you. And it’s all against his better judgement. He hates you. He wants to hate you because that’s easier than admitting his true feelings towards you. That deep down, they haven’t changed. Seeing you after all these years only solidified that notion. He won’t admit it outloud, but he can allow himself to stare. To wish. To dream. What if things had been different? That’s the biggest dream of all.

“Should we get moving?” You ask eventually, unable to take the weight of his eyes on your body any longer.

Eddie shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

And the metal-head probably doesn’t mean anything by it. The phrase. You’re in your own head a little too much. Being at the receiving end of his resentment has done that to you.

“Stop that.”

Eddie’s expression is puzzled. Deepens when words continue to flow through your mouth, unfiltered.

“Stop with the ‘whatever you want’, and the ‘everyone is back to kissing your ass’, and she’s a princess, everyone is quick to forgive her, she’s always put on a pedestal.”

“I never even said half of what you’re implying,” Eddie defends. “And I said I was sorry for being a dick. You’re the one who suggested we don’t talk.”

“It doesn’t matter when I know you’re thinking it. When I can see on your face how much you wish I wasn’t here and how you resent the fact that my friends took me back.”

Tensions are rising. Eddie’s no longer expressing confusion, but rather annoyance. Anger. Yeah, he’s angry because how dare you put words in his mouth. Has he been acting distant since yesterday? Yes. Does that have anything to do with your arrival? Everything. Does he wish you weren’t here? Not even one bit. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He wishes he could get over it, put it to bed, like the rest of the friend group. He’s just not sure where to begin since everything to do with you still feels very fragile. Eddie’s hurting. He’s hating. He’s conflicted. The one thing he won’t stand for however, is someone making shit up about him. Even — and especially — if that person is you.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking. You don’t know anything about me anymore!”

“Because you won’t let me in!” You shout, hastily sitting slightly forward and in turn, rocking the canoe. “You won’t let me apologise. You won’t let me make peace. Eddie, you won’t let me move forward and that’s all I want. I just want to move forward!”

“And you think I don’t?!” He also shuffles forward. Arm at his chest, to emphasise how deep this whole thing runs. “You think I relish in feeling this… all of this… nastiness towards you? You think I enjoy not being able to so much as look in your direction? You think I don’t want to forgive you and let you move forward? I also want to move forward! Desperately! Angel, it’s just not that simple.”

Angel. The moniker lingers in the air. It startles you. Him too. If only for a split-second.

“Why won’t you let me apologise then? You’re allowed to say sorry, but I’m not?” You question, “Why can’t we start there?”

Eddie doesn’t immediately answer. His lack of response speaks more than words, however. You decide to drop it then. You decide it’s not worth it. There’s nothing else you can do to fix this at this moment in time. 

And so you reach for an oar and tell Eddie that the two you should get moving before you fall even further behind. He tries to get a hold of the aluminium pad, in an attempt to keep this conversation going because in his eyes, you two are finally getting somewhere.

You try with all of your might to hold onto it while also reaching for the other one, which Eddie accidentally knocks with his knee and the paddle plunges into the water. He lunges for it. This sudden motion shakes the boat and you lose your balance, falling.

What happens next is a blur.

Splash. You’re submerged under water. Considering today is quite warm, the lake is anything but. Freezing; would be a better word to describe it. Although, it’s like you have a moment to think about it. You need to swim up. Get back on the boat.

Splash. Water ripples around you. Suddenly, there’s an arm holding your waist, pulling you close then pulling you up.

Within seconds, you surface together, under the cover of the canoe. Eddie’s now holding it with one hand, the other still firmly clinging onto you.

“Are you alright?”

“Did you just jump in after me?”

You ask simultaneously. A heartbeat pause.

Then you smile.

You can’t help it. The corners of your mouth twitch upwards on their own accord. Eddie’s grip on your tightens as you do and ensuingly, he smiles too. An expression so earnest, your heart skips a beat. With how the metal-head is holding you, you’re sure he can feel it.

Unfortunately, the good mood doesn’t last long. Kicking your feet underwater, a horrible thought crosses your mind.

“My chip.”

“What?” Eddie asks, confused.

“My sobriety chip. I-I don’t feel it in my sock.” Panic stricken, you push away from him and without further explanation, you swim under.

Instantly, your eyes hurt. In the darkness of the water, you can’t see anything other than Eddie’s frame and once again, you feel pathetic. Why can’t you catch a fucking break? So coming back up for air, the only thing you’re grateful for is being absolutely soaked because at least Eddie can’t tell where the droplets end and the tears begin.

“I-I always carry it with me,” you explain, “Everywhere I go. It’s usually in my wallet, but with my bag in the car… I-I needed the chip closer, so I thought what’s the worst that can happen if I put it in my sock.”

“I hate to say it, but it’s most likely already at the bottom of the lake.”

He’s right. You know he’s right.

Wordlessly, the two of you get out from under the boat and try to flip it. Unfortunately, considering neither of you really listened to the owner when he explained what to do in this situation, the whole thing takes a couple of tries and by the time you succeed, you’re even more stressed than before.

While you desperately try to gather your thoughts, Eddie swims around, gathering the oars.

Next, getting back into the canoe is even trickier than turning the thing.

“I-I think I’ll just swim to shore,” you say, deflated.

“Don’t be ridiculous, angel, that’s miles.” Eddie counters. “Just grab the opposite side, in the middle, and push yourself up.”

“Eddie—”

“Come on,” he interrupts, “I’ll do the same and our movements will counteract each other.”

Listening to his instructions, the two of you manage to get back into the boat. The first thing you do is take off your water-filled shoe and carefully remove your sock to confirm your suspicions. The chip is gone. Your heart sinks.

“It’s gone,” you mutter. After, you stifle a sniffle and wipe the lake-mixed tears with the bottom of your palm.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie offers.

You try to say it’s fine, but no words come out. Eddie understands. Despite the distance of the last three years, he still knows you better than anyone. And he knows that what you need now more than ever, is to be alone.

He lets you sit there, holding onto your soaked sock, and paddles back to shore. You don’t wait for him when the canoe hits the wooden dock, instead, you jump out and slide the other shoe off. Barefoot, you scurry towards the parking lot while the metal-head sorts things out with the owner. He proceeds after you, but only to unlock the car, from which you retrieve your backpack. With a shaky hand, you call your sponsor.

-

Back at the house, you’re first to run upstairs. The door closes with a thud and when you’re out of earshot, Nancy smacks Eddie’s chest to chastise him.

“What the fuck happened on that canoe?”

“Nothing,” he answers plainly.

“Then why does she look like she’s been crying?” Robin chimes.

Eddie ignores the questions and pushes past the girls, following you. He’s not listening to their protests. He’s not really thinking. Truthfully, the only thing on his mind is making sure you’re alright — even if it means swallowing his pride (and that’s a tough pill).

You let him in on the second knock. Rather you open the door and hover, waiting for him to speak. He doesn’t. Not with words. Instead, he slides in through the gap and kicks it close because he knows the remainder of the group will be eavesdropping. They can’t help themselves.

Eddie then reaches for your wrist. His own hand is steady as his fingers envelop around your bone and tug you closer. You don’t protest.

His other arm slides across your back, palm stretching. He begins to rub gentle circles into the material of your now fully dried t-shirt and you feel yourself relaxing with every passing second. The hand holding yours is now placed firmly against his chest. If he didn’t feel your heart beating under the canoe, you think he can definitely feel it now. Just like you can feel his. Focusing on the steady rhythm, you muster up the courage to look up and meet his brown eyes.

They speak volumes. Memories flash and disappear. The good, the bad, the ugly. Then a thousand apologies and notes of forgiveness. Everything falls into place. It’s just you and Eddie. Just like before that nightmare party.

“I’m listening,” he whispers. “Let’s move forward. I’m listening.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, you nod.

“Eddie, I-I am extremely sorry for everything I put you through,” you begin. “I’m sorry for being oblivious. I’m sorry for acting self-centred. I’m sorry for the night of Chrissy’s party. For hurting you like I did and for jumping into Steve’s arms instead of focusing on what was really important. You. Eddie, you—” Pause. “— you don’t know how incredible you are and I think I will forever hate myself for not being the girl you thought I was.”

The metal-head accepts your apology in the form of a hug. Right hand on your back slides lower and pushes you closer while the other finds itself at the back of your head. His mouth is at your earlobe, which he kisses gently. In turn, you allow yourself to let go and hold him tight, inhaling his natural scent of cigarettes and cheap breath mints. Today, right now, he also smells like the lake. It fuels your senses and ignites that fire in your core, the one you’ve been quietly trying to put out for three years — seemingly to no avail.

There’s still a lot of fixing that needs to happen. Rebuilding this friendship will not be easy by any means, you know that. This feels like a good start though and for the first time since you arrived, you’re feeling a little bit lighter on your feet. Like part of the burden has been lifted off your shoulders. Like you’re no longer alone.

Eddie places another kiss to the side of your head before eventually pulling away. When he does, you’re instantly missing his touch and all you can do is hope that he can’t read your mind because only baby steps can get you to where you really want to be with him. So you try to minimise your reaction when the metal-head fishes something out from the pocket of his shorts and takes your hand once again. His fingers work to open up your palm and without breaking eye contact, he places a single guitar pick in your grasp.

“I know it’s not the same,” the boy says, “But I thought this could replace that chip you lost. At least for this weekend.”

You’re rendered speechless. Lips parting, your gaze travels to where his hand is holding yours and where the red guitar pick rests — same colour as your Jeep — tangled in a silver chain. 

Recognition feigns. Of course it does. You’re the one who gifted said guitar pick to the metal-head, for Christmas of senior year. Back then however, there was no chain attached to it. Either way, as you trace along the plastic, you can’t believe he kept such a small piece of you for all these years. 

Hold on. Didn’t you throw it out the window of Chrissy’s childhood bedroom? The memories are a little hazy, but no, you definitely remember holding it one second and then, poof.

Eddie sees your bewilderment.

“After I dropped you home, I-I went back for it,” he admits, “Took me fucking forever to find. Almost had the cops called on me too ‘cause the flashlight on my phone, someone thought I was breaking in.”

He went back for it. He searched for it. He found it. He kept it.

Yet, you focus on: “You dropped me home?”

You string your brows together as you speak, hesitant to meet his gaze again when the question settles in the air because that part of the night, you definitely don’t remember.

“Shit, of course.” Eddie answers because to him it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were in no condition to get yourself home and I wasn’t about to let someone else take you.”

This new development, another piece of the puzzle, causes a bubble to form in the back of your throat. Heavy. Waiting to burst. Somehow, knowing Eddie drove you to Nancy’s in the middle of the night and most likely helped you into bed, after you broke his trust and more importantly, his heart, well, it only makes you feel worse about yourself.

“Do you realise you just shit on everything we’ve ever shared?!” Eddie’s pointing a finger, it’s close to your face and your anger spikes.

You wince at the evocation and push his hand away.

“I can’t accept this.”

“Please. Take it.” He practically forces the item into your grasp. “I’ve been wearing it around my neck. Carrying it to remind me of you - as if I could ever forget - but now that you’re here, I think you should have it instead.”

Tears swell in the corner of your eyes.

“Eddie, I’m not worth this.” You try to reason, but the metal-head just shakes his head.

“Angel, you’re worth everything and more. I’m sorry if I made you doubt that.”

That’s where the conversation ends. Not because either one of you wants it to. Instead, you get interrupted by an eager knock on the door. Then Robin is telling you both through the wood how lunch is almost ready and how she hopes no one’s been murdered because she’s got no interest in cleaning up a scene. You reply that it’s all fine, not looking away from the curly set of hair in front of you.

Eddie smiles timidly. He orders you to shower and change, says he’ll do the same.

“I’ll see you downstairs, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Under the shower, you replay the entire thing in your mind. Analyse from every angle. Pulling apart the words, the looks, the touch. His touch. You get lost in that hug again. Reliving how it felt to be in his arms once more, after all this time. Home, you think. That’s what it felt like. Instinctively, your hand travels to your earlobe, where he placed his soft kiss. The other lands between your collarbone, to the red guitar pick now hanging around your neck.

The longer you stand under the hot water, the harder it is to remind yourself to keep grounded. One conversation will not fix years of pent up frustration and resentment, no matter how well it went. There’s a lot more to say. The weekend is just beginning.

Although, after you make your way downstairs, it’s hard not to feel as if you’d already won.

Your high school friends together, laughing.

Yesterday, there was a vibe of awkwardness around the table. Even this morning was rough with the metal-head skipping the meal and no one really knowing why. Right now however, there’s jokes being shared and playful anecdotes exchanged. When you enter the kitchen, no one stops mid-conversation. They don’t exchange weird glances. Mood is high and realise how much of a ripple effect your relationship with Eddie has on the rest of the group.

That thought equally excites and terrifies you. After all, it’s only Saturday afternoon. A lot can happen between now and when it’s time to say goodbye.

(And a lot appears later, in the form of an uninvited guest.)

Now, you focus on lunch. On Eddie choosing to sit next to you, arm brushing yours as he slides into the chair, wild locks of hair still wet from his shower. He smiles and your heart flutters — this seemingly insignificant exchange earns you a kick from Robin under the table. She winks when you shoot her a quick glance, then, for the remainder of the meal, you do your best to keep attention on the food on your plate.

Conversation flows swiftly. Memories are recounted with flair. The high school years, albeit quite hellish for you at a certain point, don’t look so bad through the eyes of your friends. You almost forgot how much fun you had before the Billy-of-it-all.

Steve retells the story of his Junior Prom. You went as his date, which was unheard of for a freshman. He’s talking about winning Prom King and tossing you the crown, a seemingly innocent act that made most of the girls from his year jealous and therefore solidified your place in social hierarchy: ‘cause no one was to fuck with Harrington’s clique, that was the law.

“You’re misremembering a few important details, Steve.” You point out, taking a sip of your water. He looks at you from across the table, patiently waiting for an elaboration. You oblige. “You spent half of the night quizzing me about Nancy.”

Robin snorts. 

Argyle drawls, “Play on playa.”

Jonathan and Nancy snicker.

Steve rolls his eyes at the lot of them, before replying to you. “Well, I made it up to you, didn’t I, sweetheart? I gave you Widlak’s number.”

“Lee Widlak?” Eddie asks, but his question is ignored. Sort of.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “We went on one wildly unsuccessful date,” you say, “I hardly count that as you making it up to me. You and Nancy dated for quite a bit which, dare I say, is hugely thanks to my cooperation at your prom.”

“But then Widlak introduced you to Billy while me and Nancy infamously broke up, also hugely thanks to you, so shouldn’t all be forgiven?” Steve muses, a sly smirk circling his lips.

“Dustin introduced me to Billy,” you correct without giving it a second thought.

When the table falls silent, you realise that wasn’t common knowledge.

You were always quite secretive when it came to your relationship with the Hargrove boy. Aside from his lavish looks and intense charm, he wasn’t entirely good news. Your parents didn’t like him. Your friends didn’t like him.

While you and Billy were together, it really felt as though it was you against the world. Later on, thanks to a lot of therapy, you realised he purposefully made it that way. He wanted to isolate you. You were easier to control when feeling lonely and Billy was all about control.

People were confused about the whole thing. You, a cheerleader at that point and easily the most popular girl in school. Him, a womanising bully. There were a lot of assumptions and rumours floating around back then about the two of you. Innocent enough about how you met, and some rather nasty, about Billy’s tendency to flirt with everything that had a pulse. Effectively, you didn’t clarify or respond to anyone’s assumptions. Why feed the mill?, as Billy would say.

Lee Widlak spread crazy stories during his high school run. One of said stories happened at a house party you attended and of course, Billy was there. From the outside, Lee had every right to think he introduced you to the dirty-blonde. On paper, that was days prior when an outspoken Dustin accosted you outside the Wheeler house and told you all about his new friend Max, her older brother Billy — who, right on queue, pulled up in his rundown BMW and charmed the shit out of you.

“Not intentionally, so I didn’t think anything of it.” You clarify. “But then at the funeral, Dustin came up to me, his eyes were puffy red, and he said how sorry he was. That it was all his fault. That I wouldn’t be this heartbroken if he hadn’t introduced us.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Steve’s sympathetic. 

They all seem to be.

What you focus on however, is Eddie’s fingers gently brushing the side of your leg. Letting you know he’s here and he’s got you, always.

You swallow. “I obviously told him it wasn’t his fault. Probably didn’t believe me, but there’s no way I’d let this kid think he’s the reason for my misery,” you continue, then pause. “And anyway, Billy died because of me.”

“Dark,” Argyle whispers under his breath.

Jonathan and Steve simultaneously say your name. Nancy reaches for your hand on the table and squeezes it, saying how that’s definitely not true. Robin also says that you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. Eddie is the only one who doesn’t react. His movements also come to a halt and from the corner of your eyes, you can see how his fingers intertwine in his lap, as if he’s no longer sure what to do with them.

“Guys, it’s fine,” you reassure, “I made peace with it a long time ago.”

“Babe, Billy died ‘cause he was driving over the speed limit. He was being reckless, like always. That’s got nothing to do with you,” Robin tries to reason.

“He was coming to see me.”

“You don’t know that.” Nancy is next to step in. “He could have been going home. He could have been going—”

“He called me,” you state, hoping to put this whole thing to bed because the longer you talk about it, the more uneasy you feel. “He called me when he got in that stupid car and he asked if I was home, if anyone else was there. He said he needed to talk about something. He sounded really agitated, so I asked what was wrong. Billy threw some insults around, babbled about some freak - as he put it - who practically jumped him outside Benny’s. I think that was all bullshit. He just got in these moods and he was coming over to yell at someone who listened, aka me, and then I also got this feeling that he was going to break up with me. Earlier that day, I bumped into Max who wouldn’t meet my eyes. Despite their troubled relationship, she was always her brother’s keeper. Billy was done with me and that’s one of the reasons he was in the car that night.”

“Shit, dude.” Argyle breathes. He’s the only one at this table who never met Billy and perhaps that’s why he’s got the only genuine reaction. The remainder of your friends are silent. Glancing between one another, all nervous again, as if they’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It does. Mere seconds later, when Eddie says, “I’m the freak.”

Your head snaps to the side. The metal-head is staring at his lap while you examine the side of his face, trying to figure out if you heard him correctly. 

“Eddie…” Nancy the peacekeeper.

He looks up then. Not at you, but at her. His eyes wander down the table until they land on Wheeler and his shoulders rise ever so slightly. They have a stare down. It’s only a couple of seconds long. You desperately want to know what they’re thinking. What he’s thinking. How many secrets can one friend group share before they’re no longer considered friends? And then you find yourself praying that it’s not as bad as it seems.

“Well, you might as well tell her now.” It’s Robin who breaks the weird stillness. “She was bound to find out sooner or later.”

“Tell me what?” You ask, glancing between the group, until your gaze travels back to Eddie who’s now waiting to catch it. 

The seriousness in the mahogany has an uneasy undertone. You fear you already know what your ex-best friend is about to share. His eyes say it all. They always have. Your body sags into the chair, expression fading into one of sadness — things were barely good again, things were barely good again, things were barely good again.

“Now, I didn’t jump him. I wasn’t waiting for him. I didn’t plan any of what happened,” Eddie starts, “I caught him in Benny’s with some girl. They were awfully close to being just friends.”

For a split-second, you close your eyes. The metal-head places a hand on your thigh. You want to move away, but there’s nowhere else to go.

“Afterwards, he walked the girl to her car and I was going to let it go, I really was, but then they kissed and I instantly saw red ‘cause how dare he fuck around on you.” Eddie’s words are full of venom. Years of pent up aggression towards the boy that completely demoralised you. 

“I swear, I just wanted to talk. I told him how he better come clean to you, but Billy just laughed in my face. He said he’s got you wrapped around his finger and no matter what he does, you’d never leave. Then he got in my face. You’re nothing but a jealous freak, he spat. You can’t have her so you ruin the fun for everyone else. Well, I’ll tell you what, freak, it’s my name she screams at the end of the night—”

The rest of that sentence gets caught in Eddie’s throat as your eyes swell with tears.

For the hundredth time since you arrived, you feel pathetic. You’re questioning everything. Yourself, your friends. Their motives. Eddie.

In your story, Eddie was always the good guy. Even at that stupid party, he didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, his timing may not have been perfect, but in your eyes, he was faultless.

Seems though, you were missing a vital piece of information. They all knew, you think, they knew and chose not to tell you.

“I punched him. Square in the jaw.”

“I don’t want to know,” you whisper, but your wishes aren’t heard.

“Billy was all talk, so he didn’t fight back. He threatened that he’ll call the cops and that’s when I got out of there.” Eddie concludes, “He must’ve called you instead.”

There is a lot to be said about grief. Even more about heartbreak. You experienced both of those things simultaneously and the person you leaned on the most, is the person who kept this huge secret from you. 

“Excuse me.”

Shuffling free from the grasp of the curly-haired man, you’re on your feet in a flash and saunter away, towards the door and out of the kitchen area. Your friends call your name. Jonathan is the only one to say, “Let her go.”.

In true Eddie Munson fashion, the metal-head doesn’t listen. He’s rushing after you. Repeating that stupid moniker. Chanting it like a prayer because maybe then you’d stop and finish this conversation. Only, you don’t want to hear anything else that he’s got to say.

No, you didn’t suddenly think Eddie was now to blame for Billy dying. That’s ludicrous. 

But, for three miserable years, you were haunted by what you did to Eddie Munson — rightfully so. Riddled with anxiety, regret. Endlessly apologetic. Thinking he’d never forgive you. When you arrived yesterday, he made you feel like crap — also, rightfully so. To learn he’s been sitting on this high horse while harbouring a truth about a night that changed the entire trajectory of your life… That feels like a betrayal.

“Angel, please.”

At the bottom of the stairs, he finally catches up. You’re a couple of steps ahead but he’s got a hold on your forearm.

“I just want to be left alone.”

You don’t dare look at him when you speak because that’s when the real emotions would show. Instead, you tilt your head backwards and count the paint speckles on the ceiling. Three, four, five…

A sigh escapes Eddie’s lips. Carefully, so you don’t trip, he pulls you back down, towards him. He leads you into a corner of the hallway, away from prying eyes and ears. His grip on you tightens slightly while the fingers of his free hand touch the tip of your chin.

“Look at me.” It’s more of a plea than a command. “Angel, look at me.”

He guides your face. The pace is slow, almost as if the metal-head’s afraid you’ll breakaway if he moves any faster. Eventually, his brown eyes catch yours and he offers a smile. Earnest, true. Kind.

“I did try to tell you. I called and texted, but you didn’t answer. Then, news broke of Billy’s accident and the group collectively decided not to mention it for a while.” Eddie says, hoping to explain. “You never asked me about the missed calls, so I went with what the guys wanted.”

Placing one hand flat on his chest, you reply, “Only you’re not the group, Eddie. To me, back then, you were—” 

You pause, unsure how much to reveal. Then you remove your hand, letting it fall down to your side because suddenly this feels too intimate.

“Truthfully, I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t know if you called, but I believe you if you say you did,” you say. “I-I guess I just wish you told me anyway because maybe then things would have gone differently between us.”

Eddie blinks. Words settle in the air.

“Different how?” 

You shrug. What you really want to tell him is that maybe you wouldn’t have gotten so horribly out of control over Billy’s death. Maybe you’d heal in a more healthy way. You want to list the endless questions you now have, starting with: ‘what if, knowing what I know now, I was okay enough to open myself up to feeling loved and cared for, by whoever, starting with you?’

The argument at Chrissy’s party doesn’t ensue. The friendship doesn’t shatter. You don’t run away, you don’t leave. Vegas doesn’t become your new home. Eddie remains in your life. The last three years simply don’t exist.

You want to tell him all of that and more, but just as you’re about to open your mouth to start spilling your thoughts, there’s a knock on the front door.

The two of you glance towards it, although neither makes a move to address whoever is on the other side. Until there’s another knock, then another. Reluctantly, and with a sigh, Eddie lets you go. He strides towards it, shooting you a rather longing look over his shoulder, before he reaches the handle. 

When the metal-head opens the large wooden frame, your stomach sinks and you wish you hadn’t hesitated. You wish you told him everything. Spilled your guts into his lap. You wish you hugged him and told him that in the grand scheme of things, you two were alright. 

There, standing on the patio with a small smile on her perfectly oval face, is Chrissy Cunningham.

And your day goes from bad to worse.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

& tagging some cool people that expressed interest in this story: @ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc

[p-seduonym]

The Little Light That Got Lost (Part Eleven)

A/N: Almost done! Will get to the climax soon I promise! Also, I have no idea how to right for John. That may be obvious or it may not, idk.

Taglist: @cheust, @i-simp-for-women, @goodsoup19, @143637-hrrm, @delias-stuff, @12nitled, @cutenessbun, @rinkydinkythinky, @trashlanternfish360, @bunbunbread, @daddysfangirls-dc, @justannie18, @moon0goddess

Part One

Part Two

Part 2.5

Interlude

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Field Notes – Wayne Manor, Child’s Quarters Subject: Casey Wayne Observer: J. Constantine Date: [REDACTED]

Room’s too big for a kid that small. Bed, wardrobe, nightstand—all oversized. Like someone shrank the occupant or built the room for a different child entirely.

Only thing that fits: a cheap little table dead center. Plastic. Primary colors. Two chairs to match—one pink, one blue. Tea set on top. Not plastic. Ceramic. Hand-painted flowers. Someone gave a lot of care to something bound to get broken.

But the kid’s not there. No movement. No sound.

Nearly wrote them off as missing until I caught the tip of something—tiny feet sticking out from under the bed. Just enough of a gap between the frame and the floor to fit a body their size. Didn’t call out. Just made a note and kept my distance. They were watching me before I ever walked in.

Lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it—just let the smoke linger. Pennyworth’ll give me hell for it.

Transcript Begins:

CONSTANTINE: “Rough week, eh kid?” No response.

Kneeled down, not too close. Didn’t crowd them. Just enough to be noticed.

Looked like a cat, that kid—wary but watching. Under their arm: a toy duck. Looked like hell. Missing an eye. All stitched up.

CONSTANTINE: “Funny thing, that toy. Looks like someone tried to kill it.” No answer. Just a thumb over one of its wings.

CONSTANTINE: “Right then. Mister Duck, is it? You seen some odd things, haven’t you? Woke up with your stuffing outside your body, stitched back up by the butler. Rough go, that.” Their lips twitched. They shrunk back.

CASEY (murmured): “Ducat.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah?”

CASEY: “His name is Ducat.”

CONSTANTINE: “Of course.” Not much, but getting somewhere.

CONSTANTINE: “Alright, Mister Ducat—can you tell me what you’ve seen?”

CASEY: “He can’t talk.”

CONSTANTINE: “Oh, I reckon he can. He’s just got a mouth full of secrets.” Silence. They start to rock slightly.

CONSTANTINE: “Got told you didn’t want to talk. That’s fine, eh? Mister Ducat can do all the talking.”

Took a drag of the cigarette. Just one.

CONSTANTINE: “What kind of secrets does he keep, then? The kind that whisper when the lights are off?” No answer. Just more rocking.

CONSTANTINE: “You know, I’ve met a few toys in my time. One was stuffed with straw and Latin verses. Another had teeth in its belly. Your mate here—he’s got the look of something that’s been places.”

They sighed—not tired, almost annoyed.

CASEY: “Ducat doesn’t keep secrets. Titus hurt him, so Alfred had to fix him.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? The dog hurt him?”

CASEY: “Yeah, so he went away to the hospital.”

CONSTANTINE: “He went to the hospital, huh?”

They pointed a tiny arm out from under the bed. At a toy trunk in the corner.

CONSTANTINE: “Ah, you put him there to get better?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you think he doesn’t know anything?”

CASEY: “He doesn’t.”

CONSTANTINE: “How do you know?” Pause.

CASEY: “Maybe I’ll ask him.”

Sat down on the floor. Cold to the touch.

CONSTANTINE: “Alright Mister Ducat. Can you tell me about your mate Casey? I heard they’ve been having troubles.” They clutched Ducat tighter.

CONSTANTINE: “Walking while they're asleep. Speaking things no one understands. Seeing things that no one else can.”

Silence. Heavy. They stared at Ducat like he might betray them.

CONSTANTINE: “Do you know what they’re seeing?”

Slow headshake. Then:

CASEY: “It’s not things. It’s them.”

CONSTANTINE: “Who’s ‘them’?”

CASEY: Shrug. “I dunno. They were here a long time ago.”

CONSTANTINE: “A long time ago?”

CASEY: “Yeah. Before Daddy. And Alfred. And everyone.”

CONSTANTINE: “And what do they want?”

CASEY: Shrugs again. “I dunno. They keep me up though.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah, I heard you were having trouble sleeping.”

They hum. A soft, tuneless little sound.

CONSTANTINE: “Want me to make them go away?”

CASEY: “...You can’t.”

CONSTANTINE: “Why you say that?”

CASEY: “Yaya says there always there—” They stop. Sudden.

CONSTANTINE: “Yaya, huh? That your friend?”

CASEY: “...Yaya is Yaya.”

CONSTANTINE: “You know her long?” Silence.

CONSTANTINE: “I’ll take that as a yes. So Yaya says they can’t go away?”

CASEY: “...When people are hurting and scared, they can’t leave.”

CONSTANTINE: “She say that too?”

CASEY: “...Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So Yaya can’t leave?”

CASEY: “No.”

CONSTANTINE: “You think Yaya’s hurting?”

CASEY: “I dunno… maybe.”

CONSTANTINE: “Hey, kid, listen. I can make them stop hurting, y’know? They’ll go away—”

CASEY: “Don’t!—Ah!”

CONSTANTINE: “Kid?”

They shot up. Too fast. Knocked their head on the bedframe.

CASEY (panicked): “Don’t make Yaya go away! Don’t make her leave!”

Now sitting on the bed. One sock off. Heel bruised—small, round mark. Old. Like they kicked something harder than they meant to. Or someone didn’t notice they’d been hurt. Still holding Ducat. Tighter than before.

CONSTANTINE: “You don’t want Yaya to leave?”

Shakes head.

CONSTANTINE: “Why’s that?”

CASEY: “She stays with me. Even when the lights go off.”

CONSTANTINE: “That when they come?”

CASEY: “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just quiet. But it’s scary quiet. Like before something bad happens.”

CASEY: “Yaya sings when it’s quiet. She hums like this—” They hum a strange lullaby. Off-key. Old. Didn’t recognize it.

CONSTANTINE: “She hold your hand when you’re scared?”

CASEY: “No.”

CONSTANTINE: “No?”

CASEY: “She hugs me real close. So I don’t go anywhere.”

CONSTANTINE: “You go places?”

CASEY: “Sometimes. Alfred says I do it when I sleep.”

CONSTANTINE: “So Alfred knows? What about your dad?”

Flinch. Word hit like a slap.

CASEY: “...I dunno.”

CONSTANTINE: “You don’t like your dad?”

CASEY: “I dunno. He’s busy.”

CONSTANTINE: “He busy a lot?”

CASEY: “Yes.” Fidgeting now.

CONSTANTINE: “What about your siblings?”

CASEY: “They don’t like me.”

CONSTANTINE: “What makes you think that?”

CASEY: “They don’t talk to me ‘cause I’m little.”

CONSTANTINE: “That can’t be the only reason.”

CASEY: “It is. Stephanie calls me ‘Baby Casey’ and that’s why I can’t play with them.”

CONSTANTINE: “They play without you?”

CASEY: “Yeah. Stuff like Mario Kart. I wanna play too but they won’t let me.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you play all alone?”

CASEY: “...Not always. Sometimes Duke plays. But he’s busy now.”

CONSTANTINE: “All the time?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “Must be lonely. Playing by yourself.”

Shakes head.

CASEY: “I’m not alone. Yaya plays with me.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? What do you two play?”

CASEY: “We have tea parties. Sometimes she teaches me e-ti-quette.”

CONSTANTINE: “Etiquette, huh? That’s a big word for you, kid.”

CASEY: “Yaya says it’s when you have good manners and people like you more.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m not really big on the whole politeness thing. But whatever floats your boat.”

Quiet again.

CASEY: “I want people to like me.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m sure they do.”

CASEY: “Only Yaya does.”

CONSTANTINE: “Yeah? She say that?”

They just looked at me. Direct. Empty.

CASEY: “She doesn’t like you.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m used to that.”

CASEY: “She says you’re trying to take her away from me.”

CONSTANTINE: “I’m trying to help her. You said you think she’s hurting, right?”

CASEY: “Yes.”

CONSTANTINE: “So you don’t want her to be hurting anymore, right?”

CASEY: “...But if she goes away, I’ll be all alone.”

CONSTANTINE: “Casey, listen—you're not alone—”

They weren’t listening. Just staring past me. I looked back.

Big thing. Took up nearly the whole damn room. Big-ass teeth and darker than tar.

CASEY: “She told me I’d never be alone. Even if I got buried.”

[End Transcript]

Conclusion: Subject exhibits signs of prolonged emotional isolation, limited physical affection or comfort from primary caregivers, and an intense attachment to a protective entity referred to as “Yaya.” Entity appears maternal in function. Further exploration needed into historical records of the estate and potential residual hauntings linked to the nursery and cellar spaces.

Will need to proceed carefully. Subject is not just haunted—they’re being raised by the ghost.

A/N: I feel like this one was a bit redundant. Did it feel like that? Idk. Hope you enjoy and all that jazz. I might get more into Bruce's thoughts in the next one or I may jump straight to the climax. We'll see.

[bucktommyyendgame]

another little post-ep fic. A companion piece to this.

How are we doing, everyone? lol.

bucktommy - words: 1k - rating: general - complete

cw: implied mcd

Tommy comes awake with a start, visions of helicopters, the crying and sick 118 and Evan collapsing in that hallway floating away from his mind like smoke. He’s not entirely surprised to reach for Evan and find he’s not there and he has the brief thought that he wishes Evan had woken him. Sighing, he looks at his phone and sees that they got maybe an hour of sleep after the crying jag and he’s so tired, but he knows he can’t go back to sleep until he knows where Evan is.

He tosses the blankets back and levers himself out of bed. The adrenaline of the day has long since faded and he feels a little like he’s hungover, body achy and lethargic. Maybe he’ll see if Evan wants to do some yoga with him later.

Wandering out in the living room he stops short when he sees Evan sitting on the couch in the dark, silent tears flowing down his cheeks. He hurries over and kneels in front of him.

“Evan,” he says softly and he gives a small hiccup something, under any other circumstances, Tommy would find adorable. “Hey, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was thirsty,” Evan answers miserably. “I just needed some water. Then it hit me all over again and I couldn’t stand. I’m not totally sure how I got out here, I just...Tommy, he’s gone.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Tommy says, rubbing his thighs. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it, hearing him. I can’t…”

Tommy surges forward to wrap his around around him, holding him as he cries. His own tears fall again in the face of Evan’s anguish and he tucks his face into Evan’s shoulder, kisses the join of his shoulder and neck.

“I’m sorry,” Evan says, but he stays tucked against Tommy. “Bobby said they’d need me but I’m the one falling apart.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tommy says a little more sharply than he’d meant to because he gets the feeling he knows, partly, where this sentiment is coming from, based on things he’s heard over the six months they’d been together about how hard Evan feels things, the idea that Evan feels things too hard sometimes. Tommy doesn’t agree in the slightest, people are allowed to feel things and maybe Evan’s emotions are on his sleeve a lot of the time, but Tommy’s only sees that as a strength, not a weakness. “You lost someone that was like a father to you. If you want to be strong for everyone else, I understand that. But...but maybe I’m not everyone?”

“No,” Evan backs away to look at Tommy’s face, his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. “No, you’re not everyone. You’re so much more. You came when I called. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“I wish I could have done more,” Tommy admits.

Evan swipes a thumb under Tommy’s eyes and Tommy can’t help a little smile, returns the gesture before planting a kiss on that beloved birthmark before setting his forehead against Evan’s breathing him in, here, whole and alive.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Tommy freezes.

“I’m not saying this because Bobby….because Bobby’s gone...well, maybe I am but it’s just that we didn’t know that we’d lose him, you know? And what if I lose you too? I don’t think I could take something happening and you not knowing,” Evan says softly. “And you don’t have to take say it back, but I do. Okay? I love you. I have this whole time, I think.”

Tommy doesn’t have to think about it, not really. The thought scared the hell out of him that night in Evan’s apartment, that morning in his kitchen, but now, it’s just something he knows. A helicopter feels like an extension of his body, just like his love for Evan Buckley.

“You think I’d commit a little domestic terrorism for someone I’m not in love with?” Tommy teases lightly, immensely gratified when Evan laughs a little.

“God, I can’t believe we’re not in prison,” Evan says with a shake of his head.

“Hmm, that was mostly posturing,” Tommy answers. “Athena was right, that whole thing was a PR nightmare. And trust me, the military does love throwing their weight around. I’ve never missed it.”

Evan sighs a long breath, leans against Tommy, who takes his weight without hesitation. His knees are beginning to ache from where he’s kneeling on the floor, but he doesn’t care. If he can offer the amount of care that Evan is going to be giving to the rest of the 118 in the coming days, he’ll do it, no questions asked.

“Bed?” Evan says, like he can sense what Tommy’s thinking. “I think I can go back to sleep now.”

Tommy nods and stands, pulling Evan up with him. They guide each other to the bedroom, a little awkwardly, but it works somehow. When they’re in bed, face to face, arms wrapped around each other, Tommy looks at him, wants to kiss him so badly, he can taste it, the memory of happier moments when smiles met over and over not far into his memories.

Evan seems to want the same thing because he carefully watches Tommy’s face as he moves ever closer, so they can feel their other’s breath. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tommy whispers, then bridges the gap with a sweet, gentle kiss.

Evan cups his face in his had as they move against each other, rubbing a thumb across a tear-stained cheekbone. When they back away, they stay close, unable to leave each other’s orbits if they can help it.

“You got me,” Tommy says. “If you want me, you got me.”

“I’ve always wanted you,” Evan mutters, sounding sleepy. “I was just waiting for you to catch up.”

Tommy wants to cry again. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“You got here eventually,” Evan kisses him again then settles in, relaxing enough that Tommy knows he’s going to drop off any moment. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Stay,” he demands with all that Evan Buckley gumption he can muster before he’s finally asleep.

Tommy can’t help it, laughs a little, kisses him on the forehead before settling in to sleep himself. His feelings are a jumble of grief and love but he’s got Evan Buckley in his arms, neither of them are going to be alone now and in the coming days.

He feels like he’s set for life.

[baocean]

piss off your parents

chapter twenty seven - it was fake

you’d been acting weird ever since sarah all but exploded on you about why jj went awol. you’d barely been over to the house, barely looked at him, barely texted.

he'd freaked you out. he’d hurt you. you werent sure how to react to it.

today was supposed to be good, a group dinner that would smooth everything over, that would make things feel normal again.

he didn’t even let the back door shut behind you before the words were out.

“so that’s it?” jj said, his voice too calm to be anything but dangerous. “hooray, unc. now i’m just… done?”

you froze, fingers still on the doorknob. “what are you talking about?”

he stared at you, eyes sharp, like he was trying to piece you together and nothing was fitting anymore. “your parents gave in. we played our parts perfectly, and now you don’t even look at me.”

you turned slowly, face unreadable. “jj…”

“no, don’t do that,” he snapped. “don’t give me that look like i’m overreacting. like i’m fucking crazy.”

“i’m not—”

“you are,” he cut in. “you’ve been pulling away since the second it worked. you don’t text back, you barely talk to me. you’re acting like i’m something you’re trying to shake off.”

“jj, just...can we not do this right now?” your voice cracked like glass, thin and tight and exhausted.

he laughed, bitter and sharp. “too late. you told me to sell it. said it had to feel real. and i did, yn. i fucking did. i gave you everything i had.”

you flinched. just barely. “that’s not fair,” you said, voice rising, finally matching the heat in his.

“isn’t it?” he shot back. “because it sure as hell feels like i was just part of the plan. and now, i’m nothing but the reminder.”

you crossed your arms, jaw tight. “i never promised you anything.”

jj’s breathing stuttered. you stared at each other, chests rising and falling too fast, like you couldn’t get enough air. anger and fear and want all bleeding into each other, all tangled up beneath your skin.

neither of you spoke. and you so badly wanted him to just say what he was really feeling. but he didnt, he just stared at you.

so you said the worst thing you could think of.

“it was fake, jj.”

his face shifted, like a crack forming right down the middle. like something caved in behind his eyes. but it was only there for a second, before his expression hardened, darkened.

“then what the fuck am i doing here, yn?” his voice was sharp, cutting.

you didn’t answer for a second. you couldn’t. your throat felt like it was closing.

you shrugged, blinking back the tears that would have given you away in a heartbeat.

jj wanted to walk out right now. but he couldnt, wouldnt, he wasn’t ready to let it go, not yet. he was still angry. still hurt. and his best idea was to hurt you right back.

“right. because none of it meant anything to you, huh?” he said, stepping closer. “not the nights you stayed. not the way you looked at me like you meant it. not the kiss.”

“don’t you dare put this all on me,” you shot back, taking a step forward yourself, fire in your eyes. “you’re not the only one who’s been caught up in this, jj. i’m not some heartless person who used you. this isn’t my fault.”

jj’s expression faltered for a moment, but then he snapped, “yeah? feels like it is.”

you ground your teeth, chest tight with anger. “you want to talk about fault? you haven’t even congratulated me on unc, the thing i’ve worked so hard for! you disappeared for twenty hours, and then you came back acting like i’m the one who shut myself off!”

“congrats, bunny." his voice cracked. "you wanted your freedom? to revolt against your parents? your little rebellion before your perfect life at college? well, you’re free. you’re so fucking free.”

“jj—”

“a deal’s a deal, you got your end. we can finally be done now,” he said, his voice cold and rough, like he didn’t recognize it. “go ahead and leave. forget about all this like it never happened. just like you always planned.”

you stared at him, throat burning, chest tight. you wanted to scream. to cry. to tell him he was wrong, to tell him he was right.

instead you said, “fuck you, jj.”

it came out low. furious. shaky. and it made jj's face fall, his body go limp.

you didn’t wait for him to answer, and he didn’t stop you from leaving.

her phone

his phone

her phone

masterlist | next chapter

note from the author - i’m sorry please forgive me

taglist - @dr3amgrlll / @murdockcastleslut / @jjmaybankmylovee / @smokahontas-113 / @abigailovesz / @enchantedstarfish / @reeseswirl / @lmaowhatt / @moonywhisp3rs / @dylsdaily / @idli-dosa / @bloodofadoll / @cokewithcameron / @mariamadison6-blog / @rrosiitas / @always-reading / @sunflouer04 / @bambigirl10 / @mirellef2001 / @wasiasproject t / @bee-43 / @kissesandmartinis / @gublerstylesobrien1238 / @isinpfortvdmen / @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account / @mjwashere / @sideboobrry11 / @ameliacione13 / @wrtzia / @sanriobuny / @dramagodesss / @luvrclub / @yesshewrites1 / @ayy1234567 / @doesnt-care / @rainingcecilias

[queen-of-deans-booty]

girl in new york

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k (including lyrics)

Warnings: cheating (not by dean), angst, minor fluff at the end

Summary: After showing up in New York to surprise your boyfriend, you see something that shatters your world to pieces. You call the one person who has always been there for you no matter what monster he’s hunting, your best friend.

Square Filled: “I guess always isn’t forever after all.” (2022) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: this is based on the song girl in new york by Nessa Barrett

x

Bags in your hand as you kiss me Tellin' me you're gonna miss me Promise you'll be on your best behavior Give me your flight information Call when you land, say you made it Sweet little me told you, "Go have a good time"

You follow your boyfriend to the car he called for to drive him to the airport. He hauls his bags into the trunk while you wait next to the car with a sweet smile on your face.

“Have everything you need?”

“Always, baby,” he smiles.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come? Your friends love me, and I won’t even get in the way. We’ve never been apart for more than a few days.”

“Y/N, you’ll survive without me for two weeks. Trust me, everything will be fine.” He closes the trunk and walks over to you. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about. You trust him, it’s his friends you don’t trust. They’re a bad influence on him. At least two of his friends are notorious cheaters, and two others are known for partying. Maybe you should make him promise to be on his behavior, but that would only start yet another fight. He hates it when you imply that he’d cheat on you despite him being such a sweetheart to you.

“Okay. I’ll miss you.”

He leans in and kisses you but keeps it short. “I’ll miss you. I already texted you my flight information.”

He gets into the car but keeps the back window rolled down so you can still talk to him.

“Have a safe flight. Call me when you land. Go have a good time.”

“I will, baby.”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say it back. His smile is the last thing you see as the car pulls away from the curb. New York. All the way on the other side of the country. Still, if he says there’s nothing to worry about, then there isn’t anything to worry about. You turn and head back into the house, wondering what you’re going to do for two weeks by yourself.

I didn't mean forget about me Ridin' in a yellow taxi Who the hell are you on your way to?

The first week without him was hard, so hard that you wanted to fly up to New York yourself to surprise him. You’re not one of those clingy girlfriends who wants to be with their boyfriends twenty-four-seven, but there’s a nagging feeling in your stomach. A feeling you can’t put a name to. Something is gnawing at your insides and the last time you ignored this feeling, your ex-boyfriend was planning your murder.

Not that you think he’d murder you, but you just need to see for yourself that everything is okay. You’ll only stay a day and give him the rest of the time to his friends.

New York is so much different than California. You’re used to busy cities but there’s something about JFK that’s crowding. Your boyfriend sent you his hotel information just in case you needed to reach him, so you know exactly where you’re going.

You drag your small suitcase outside and look around the pickup area. People bustle by you to reach their cars or their family members while you’re standing there with a confused look on your face. You’re no stranger to public transportation, but you hate crowds. Your social anxiety is worse being in a state you don’t know, so all thought and reasoning goes out the window.

“Excuse me, Miss? Can I help you with something?”

You look to the right and see airport security approaching you.

“Yeah, I just need a taxi or something. Can you help me with that, please?” The officer smiles and steps closer to the curb. He whistles with his fingers at one of the taxis passing by, and the driver pulls off to the side. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, I got it from here. Thank you.”

The driver steps out to help you with your bag, and you hand it over so he can put it in the trunk. You’re about to get in the back when you hear someone shout behind you.

“Wait! Miss, please!” You turn back to see a beautiful young woman fast walking over to you like she knows you. “I’m sorry. I know we don’t know each other, but I was wondering if we could share a cab? I’ve tried pinning one down, but no one has stopped. I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“No, it’s okay. We girls gotta help each other out, right?”

“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” She puts her bag next to yours before you both slide into the backseat. “I’m Ainsley.”

“Y/N.”

“Where to, ladies?” the driver asks.

You look down at your phone and read off the address to him. “It’s the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. What about you?”

“You’re not gonna believe it, but same!” The driver pulls out into traffic and starts the drive to the hotel. “Small world.”

“I love your dress.” She’s wearing a simple gold backless dress with spaghetti straps. “Where did you get it?”

“My sister is a seamstress. She made it for me. I can give you her card if you’d like.” Without waiting for an answer, she digs into her purse for the card. “I wanted something that shows off my back. I’m visiting my boyfriend. He doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“That’s exciting. I just flew down from California to see mine. He’s in town visiting his friends. I’ve never been to New York before.”

“I love it here. He’s busy and loud but I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. I have an apartment in the city but I stay with my boyfriend when he’s in town.” She smiles at you. “He’s a software developer. He designs websites and works with computers.”

“Really?” The world is getting smaller because that’s what your boyfriend does. “What company does he work for?”

“Eleks.”

Alarm bells are going off inside your head despite your best efforts to ignore him. Ainsley rambles for twenty minutes about how she has so many plans for her and her boyfriend, what an amazing guy he is, and how she thinks he’s gonna propose soon.

“Wait, what? Propose?”

“Yeah. He didn’t say he would, but I think this could be the weekend.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been together?”

“Five years.” Your blood runs cold at the number. Something in your brain is telling you to run and never look back. Why? Who the hell is this woman? The driver reaches the Ritz-Carlton, and you two split the bill evenly. “Thanks so much for letting me hijack your taxi.”

“No problem.” The driver opens the trunk and hands over the suitcases. Ainsley turns to head inside when you stop him. “Wait, what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Oliver.”

Ainsley turns and heads inside the hotel while you’re frozen stuck on the sidewalk. Oliver is your boyfriend’s name.

I know there's always temptation Guess I'm a little more patient Baby, I've been on my best behavior Fuck you for makin' me crazy While you buy her drinks out on 8th Street Sweet little you showin' her such a good time

Instead of going inside the hotel, you sat on a bench across the street and watched the door. If you’re going to confirm your suspicions, you have to see it for yourself. Two hours pass by before he walks out with her, and your entire world shatters before you. It’s like seeing a train heading your way and not being able to get out of the way.

Oliver has his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his face buried in her neck. She giggles and tries to get away but he holds her close. She pulls away slightly only to kiss him, and that’s when the tears roll down your cheeks. With shaky hands, you take out your phone and call Oliver.

Maybe you’re seeing things. Maybe this man looks like Oliver, has the same job as Oliver, and is named the same, but it’s not him. Maybe everything is still okay. He pulls away from her and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone. The call goes to voicemail right before he starts typing. Seconds later, a message from him pops up.

Hey, sorry, I have meetings all day. I’ll call you later tonight. Love you.

You have to hold back your sobs because you know damn well he’s in no meeting. There is a strip of restaurants and bars alongside the Ritz, and they walk a few blocks away to one of the best steakhouses in the city. Twenty minutes pass of being stiff and numb before you have enough energy to dial someone.

Whenever he’s in the same city as you, he makes it a point to see you. He has such a busy life with fighting monsters and all, but he always makes time for you even if it’s only for an hour. He said he and his brother were going to be in New York for the week, so you’re hoping he’s not knee-deep in monster guts.

The buttons are hard to see through blurry vision, but you manage to click on his name and call. It takes three rings for him to answer.

“Hey, sweetheart. Isn’t it late in California?”

“You’re three hours ahead of me, so that would make it really late for you,” you sniffle.

Dean knows you so well. He knows something is wrong even though you tried to even your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

The resolve quickly crumbles, and you break down in tears. “He’s cheating on me. I’m in New York now. I wanted to surprise him, but he’s seeing someone else here.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside the Ritz-Carlton.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way. Stay right there.”

You can’t move even if you wanted to. It starts lightly raining but it’s enough to send shivers down your spine. You’re looking down at your shoes, the ones you just bought for this trip. The city is buzzing with life so you don’t hear the Impala coast down the street. He stops right in front of you and gets out, rain be damned.

“Sweethart,” he whispers.

You look up at him with mascara running down your cheeks. “Am I not good enough?”

“Come on, let’s get you out of the rain.”

Dean helps you into the passenger seat and gets behind the wheel.

“Sorry for getting your seat wet.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dean stays parked by the curb and pulls you into his arms. The second you feel his warmth, you start crying. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“I just… I never knew he was living this whole other life. He… He made me feel so special. I wanted to surprise him when I met her,” you cry. “She said they’ve been dating for five years. Is that how long he’s been cheating on me?”

“Sweetheart, you deserve so much better than him.”

You continue on like he didn’t just compliment you. “You should have seen her. She was so pretty.”

Dean reaches over and slides your wet hair away from your eyes. “You’re prettier.”

“I guess always isn’t forever after all,” you whisper.

“Where is he?”

“He and Ainsley went into the steakhouse across the street. They haven’t left.”

“Okay, come on.”

Dean gets out of the car and walks over to your side. You get out and look at him in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

“To show him what he lost.”

You don’t want to be alone so you have no choice but to follow him across the street.

You said I was yours Maybe just on the West Coast 'Cause as soon as you left home You got wanderin' eyes So I guess you lied When you said I was special You're not as smart as you think you are Baby, I know about the girl in New York

Dean storms into the restaurant and immediately spots Oliver and Ainsley in the corner. Luckily for him, it’s not a crowded corner. Not that he’d care if the place was crawling with people. He does not get to get away with hurting you like this.

“Dean, we should just go. He’s not worth it,” you whimper.

“Hi, do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks. Dean ignores her and walks further into the restaurant. “Sir?”

Oliver raises his glass to toast something, but the moment is short-lived. Dean reaches over and snatches the drink out of Oliver’s hand.

“Hey, man, what the--” Oliver’s eyes lock with yours and the breath is knocked out of his lungs. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t look at her. Look at me. You don’t get to talk to her. You’re done.”

“What’s going on?” Ainsley asks.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. This piece of shit is dating her,” Dean points to you without taking his eyes off Oliver. “Has been for seven years. Based on the look on your face, I’m assuming you didn't know about her the same way she didn’t know about you.”

“Dean, we should go, please,” you urge.

Dean leans down and grips the back of Oliver’s chair. The latter leans back and can’t help but show the fear in his eyes.

“The only reason I’m not beating your ass is because she doesn’t want me to. You honestly think you can find someone better than her? She’s smart and beautiful and amazing. I bet you don’t know a single thing about making her happy. Did you know she hates pickles? I always have to take hers off her sandwich before I give it to her so she doesn’t know they were ever there. Did you know she’s allergic to strawberries? I never order anything with strawberries in case she wants a bite.

“She likes bedazzling her things. She likes rainbows and sunshine. Did you know she wants a huge farm with lots of animals because she loves them? You might have been with her for seven years but you don’t know her, not when you’re spending all your time with her. If you don’t want to be in a relationship, at least man up and end it instead of cheating. You two are done. Have fun with her all you want.”

With that, Dean turns and leads you out of the restaurant. You look back to see Ainsley almost in tears. You hate that she also had to suffer because she did nothing wrong. The rain is falling harder so you and Dean sprint back to his car, and you look at him as he wipes the water from his eyes.

“Did you mean everything you said?” you ask in a small voice.

Dean starts the car, but he doesn’t pull into traffic. “I never knew why you were with him, but I kept my mouth shut because you seemed happy. Now that I know you’re not… Baby, I can make you so much happier.”

“What?” you whisper.

“Don’t freak out. That’s a conversation for a different day. I need your head clear and right now, it’s messy so I’ll just settle for being your friend.”

“Dean…”

Dean perks up and moves the conversation along as if he didn’t just bare his feelings on his sleeve. “When I was leaving, Sam got the Switch hooked up to the TV at our hotel. How about you come over and we can play some Mario Kart.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you lean your elbow on the back of the seat.

“That’s my favorite game.”

“I know,” he winks before pulling out into traffic.

x

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[kamisobsessed]

15 + Dean Winchester

Maybe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: After a hunt with your friend and hunting partner, Dean, you meet a guy at a bar. Dean gets jealous and wants to show you who you actually belong to.

Warnings: MDNI 18+. Smut. Unprotected Sex. P in V. Fingering. Semi-Public Sex. Creampie. Dom!Dean. Jealous!Dean. Dean's gets kinda mean but in a hot way. No use of y/n. Idk I might have missed some. Not edited well.

A/N: Smut prompt #15 from this prompt list! Thanks for the request Mari, I hope you love it!

masterlist — taglist

──────────────────────

When Sam went to college, Dean needed a new hunting partner when his dad wasn't around. So when he met you, you both began hunting together. Everything between you was strictly platonic, but deep down there was always that subtle tension between the two of you.

After a quick salt and burn, you and Dean went to a local bar, something you often did after a hunt together. The nights usually ended up with you going back to the motel alone and Dean going who knows where with some girl.

While sitting at the bar, the bartender brings you over a shot, "From the gentleman at the end of the bar," the bartender says, gesturing toward the end of the bar where you see a tall, attractive man sitting. He raises his glass and shoots you a wink.

Dean's jaw clenches when he sees this, but he hides his, what one can assume is only jealousy, and he takes a sip of his whiskey.

After giving a small smile to the attractive man, you take the shot and down it, setting the glass back down onto the bar counter.

"Seriously?" Dean says.

"What? Not gonna say no to a free shot," you shrug with a grin.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbles sipping his whiskey.

"Order me another whiskey, I'm going to go hit the restroom," you say as you get up from your seat at the bar.

Dean grunts in acknowledgment, "Don't be long."

After you use the restroom, as you make your way back toward the bar, you're stopped by the same attractive man who bought you the shot.

"Hey gorgeous," the man smiles, "I'm Tyler."

You smile a little and give him your name, "Thanks for the shot."

"Not a problem, pretty thing like you, I'd buy you anything," he smirks with a wink.

You can't help the grin that forms on your face, "How about another drink?"

He leans in, placing a hand on your waist, "I was thinking, maybe we could get out of here...have some fun elsewhere...?" he asks lowly, his breath warm against your ear.

You glance over at Dean who is already flirting it up with some girl at the bar before turning your gaze back to the man in front of you with a smile, "Sure, lead the way."

His smirk turns into a grin as he takes your hand and leads you to the exit of the bar.

Dean's gaze swept over the crowd of people in the bar when he noticed you leaving with the man who bought you the shot.

"Sorry sweetheart, gotta run," Dean excuses himself from the girl he was talking to. He throws down some money onto the bar and he makes his way to the exit.

You hear Dean call your name as you and Tyler walk down the sidewalk. You stop and turn around and see him coming toward you.

"Who's this?" Tyler asks you.

"A friend," You say through gritted teeth as Dean walks up to you.

"Where are you going?" Dean asks you, acting as if he can't guess.

"I'll be back in the morning, don't wait up for me," You tell him, your expression clearly annoyed.

"No, you're coming back with me. Now." He says, leaving no room for argument. He takes your arm and pulls you away from Tyler.

"Dean!" You grunt, trying to get out of his grasp.

"Hey man, get your hand off her!" Tyler says and he gives Dean a shove.

Dean reacts by punching Tyler square in the jaw, "no, how about you get your hands off my girl," he says before turning to you, "let's go. now," he says lowly before tugging your arm, pulling you away from Tyler.

"Dean, what the hell do you think you're doing!" You try to pull away from him as you walk down the alley.

"Taking you back to the motel."

"What the hell is your problem!" You finally pull your arm from his grip.

"My problem!? You were just gonna leave me at the bar and go sleep with that guy?!" He snaps back at you, standing right in front of you.

"Yeah, maybe I was, so what?! I'm a grown ass woman, Dean!"

He lets out a huff, "Well, maybe I don't want you to!"

He walks towards you more, cupping your chin with his hand as he leads you backwards until you're against the wall, "Maybe, just maybe, I want you all to myself." He says lowly, his eyes filled with desire and a hint of possessiveness.

"Dean, are you jealo—" You're words are cut off with his lips on yours as he slips his tongue into your mouth, claiming your mouth completely with his.

You let out a whimpered moan into his mouth to which he responds with a low growl as he moves his lips down your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of marks behind.

"Maybe I am. Maybe I don't want you going with other guys..." he says kissing back up to your jaw. He lifts his head to look into your eyes, "Maybe I want you to be mine."

Dean claims your mouth in another kiss, his hands moving to your waist a he holds you against the brick wall of the building behind you.

He breaks the kiss and spins your around so you're facing the wall.

He leans forward so his lips are right by your ear, "I'm gonna show you just how much you belong to me," he says in an almost growl in your ear, earning yet another whimpered sound from your mouth.

"Yeah, you like that huh? You want me to make you mine, baby? Right here in this alley, where anyone could walk back here and see us?"

You bite your lip nodding your head, fully submitting to him. When Dean gets possessive, it's hard to not resist the temptations.

"Good girl, baby. Such a good girl," He says lowly as he reaches his hand around your waist. He unbuttons the button on your jeans before slipping his hand in to the waistband.

He runs his finger over the fabric of your already soaked underwear, "Holy fuck baby...this wet already and I barely touched you—" he says as he slides your underwear to the side, running a finger up through your folds.

"D-Dean—" You moan his name, trembling in his arms already.

"Gonna make you feel so good baby...you'll forget you ever even thought about leaving with that guy," He growls into your ear as he rubs circles over your clit making yor breath hitch.

He grips your hip with his free hand as he slides a finger into your slick hole, curling it just right to hit that sweet spot to make you moan.

"That's it baby, gonna make you cum all over my fingers," he continues to move his fingers at a quickening pace inside you as you moan his name.

"Fuck- Dean...oh—" You moan as you feel a tightness in your core ready to release at any moment.

"Cum for me baby, that's it sweetheart," he whispers as he attaches his lips and teeth to your neck, surely leaving bruises.

You feel your release wash over you as you fall apart in his arms, his fingers continuing to move, eventually slowing.

"Atta girl baby...so good for me," He whispers as he removes his hand from your pants, sticking his fingers to his mouth licking every last drop of you off of them.

"Fuck—" you whisper, as you catch your breath, still pressed against the wall in Dean's grip.

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet, sweetheart," He says lowly, gripping your hips tight with both hands.

He unbuckles his belt, tugging his pants down enough to pull out his throbbing cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip that is already leaking with precum.

He tugs your jeans and underwear down to your thighs, "Stay quiet for me, sweetheart, we don't want someone finding us back here, do we?" he smirks as he runs his cock through your folds. You bite your lip to hold back a noise as you nod.

Dean slowly sinks his cock into you, inch by inch until he is fully buried deep inside you. "Fuck baby, still so goddamn tight," He groans. You let out a strained whimpered moan, trying to stay quiet like he said.

Dean slowly slid out, before thrusting back in fully, earning a moan from your lips. "Ah ah baby, stay quiet sweetheart."

He begins thrusting into you at a steady pace, slowly picking up speed, "Fuck baby, feels so damn good, this pussy was made for me baby, no one else."

You let out a quiet moan, covering your mouth with your hand as he pounds into you. You use your other hand to steady yourself against the brick wall in front of you.

He reaches for your face, grabbing your chin to make you look back at him before sticking two fingers in your mouth, the fingers he had just had deep inside you, the taste of yourself still lingering on his skin as he shoves his fingers down your throat while slamming into you.

"Such a good girl for me. All mine sweetheart, got it?" He says, "All. Fucking. Mine." He growls with each thrust.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, wrapping his hand around your throat as he continues to thrust up into you. You feel that familiar feeling build again in your core.

Dean can tell you're getting close, "Cum on my cock sweetheart, let me feel you squeeze around me baby," He says, moving his hand around your waist to your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure as he rubs circles over it.

This pushes you over the edge as you moan his name, trying your best to stay quiet. You clench around his cock as you cum, your legs almost giving out beneath you, but his grip on your hip prevents you from falling.

"Good girl, so fucking perfect baby, fuck you're so good f'me" he moans as he buries his head in the crook of your neck.

His thrusts get sloppier as he nears his own release, "Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna make you mine baby, all mine."

He lets out a guttural moan as his cock twitches inside you spilling warm ropes of his seed deep inside as he moans your name, his fingers digging into your hips.

He pulls out of you, tugging his jeans back up before turning you around to face him. He crouches down in front of you, admiring his handy work as he watches some of his cum leak out of your pussy. He takes two fingers, scooping it up and shoving it back in, "That stays where it belongs," he smirks before standing back up, face to face with you.

He takes your chin with his finger and thumb, tilting your head up to look at him, "I don't want you to ever leave with another man again, got it?"

You nod and the corners of his lips curl into a smile, "Good." He says. He helps you with your pants as you tug them back up your legs.

"You're mine now. We don't need anyone else but each other," he say softly, "Now let's get the hell outta here," he takes your hand lacing his fingers with yours, leading you out of the alley and to the Impala.

──────────────────────

taglist: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @chevroletdean @waynes-multiverse

[rosy-hollow]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: Ambush

ᴀ/ɴ: yippee chapter one!! this is basically where most of my snippets I've released are from but enjoy!! full series masterlist here!

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: cursing, mentions of death

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader

It’s dark. You’re alone.

That was your first mistake.

The second?

Not making camp while there was still light.

Oh, you're so fucked.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, hammering in your ears, drowning out the eerie silence that surrounds you. Before the Games, you would have enjoyed the quiet—taken it as a moment of repose.

But now? Silence is dangerous.

As is everything else in the arena.

Silence means waiting. Either you’re waiting for something, or something is waiting for you. Neither bodes well.

Whoosh.

Your heart stops.

Your breath turns shallow, erratic. Fingers tighten around your sorry excuse for a weapon—a wooden dagger you carved from a stick.

A blur whips across your vision.

You pounce.

Your breathing quickens, shallow and erratic as you grip your dagger. A blur whips across your vision, and you pounce on instinct, fear coursing through your veins alongside copious (and probably unhealthy) amounts of adrenaline, every nerve on fire.

In the scuffle, your vision goes blurry for a moment, but you waste no time restraining whatever had ambushed you underneath your body weight, acting despite being disoriented.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your grip your dagger, ready to fight for your life, only to see- Two piercing red eyes staring back at you, widened a fraction and pupils dilated.

Two piercing red eyes stare back at you.

Your own eyes widen in a flurry of emotions and thoughts as a name is conjured by recognition.

Bakugou Katsuki. District 2.

A Career.

You freeze.

Your breathing—once ragged—goes still.

You grip the dagger so hard your knuckles turn white, feeling the sting of blood dripping from your palm. But you don’t care. You can’t care.

One wrong move, and you're dead.

“The fuck—get the hell off of—mmph!”

You cut off the disgruntled blond with a panicked hand over his mouth.

“Are you crazy?! Do you want to get killed?” you hiss, gripping your dagger tight enough for your fingers to ache. Your eyes lock onto his, filled with as much murderous intent as you can muster.

But could you really kill him?

Even now, with your heart hammering so wildly it drowns out your thoughts, the reality of kill or be killed refuses to settle in. The one thing you do know?

This tribute is dangerous.

The boy from District 2 —Bakugou Katsuki— goes still, sensing your hesitation.

Then, in a blink, you’re flung backwards.

Your back slams into a tree, bark scraping against your skin, the impact rattling your bones. You bite your tongue to stifle the cry threatening to spill.

You can’t afford to make a sound - fighting off one Career was already a death wish. If you alerted any others? 

You’d be dead before you could think.

Bakugou rises with ease, dusting himself off like your ambush was nothing more than an inconvenience. You, on the other hand, are frozen—paralyzed by both pain and the suffocating weight of fear.

He steps closer, eyes flickering over your body with amusement.

This was too easy.

But then—he stops.

He squats down, leveling himself with you, red eyes sharp with something unreadable. His grin spreads wide—feral, canines flashing.

You let out a shuddering breath, clenching your dagger like a lifeline.

Because right now?

It is one.

Bakugou snorts, utterly amused that you think you stand a chance.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His voice is low, almost mocking. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Your stomach twists at the nickname, filled with condescending. You just glare at him, venom in your stare. 

“I could kill you if I wanted to.” you say coldly, your voice thankfully steady and level.

The boy just blinks momentarily, amusement flickering in his eyes.

He leans back, resting his hands on his bent knees as he sits, snorting.

“Yeah? Bet you could, except…” he smirks dangerously “you’re scared.”

You flinch, unsettled by how easily he reads you. He didn’t seem as deadly as before, but your grip still tightens on your dagger.

“What do you want?” you ask, your tone low and flat.

This only makes the Career pause, standing up briskly and turning away from you. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I want to win.” he says finally, and you body stills for a moment, wondering what the implications meant fo you.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, sensing your lapse of terror and scoffs. 

“Don’t lose your shit, I’m not gonna kill you.” he grabs his machete from the bushes - shit how long has that been there for?

“I’ll leave that to someone else. For now, I want to strike a deal.” he says, unbothered red eyes raking over your form.

“In exchange for me protecting you - you get us food.”

You frown. “Like a housewife?!”

Katsuki lets out a small tch, walking back over to you and sticking out his hand for you to take. “Like a ‘I do all the killing’, and ‘you make sure we don’t get poisoned or starve along the way’.” 

You stare at his outstretched hand, and after a moment of debating with yourself, you take it. Because, fuck it - you’re going to die anyways.

The blonde helps you up, and is ready to leave your sorry excuse for a ‘campsite’ - but he stops when he hears your hushed whisper.

“Wait! Let me just grab my backpack. I won’t take too long.” you say, and Bakugou raises an eyebrow, clearly not wanting to stay here any longer, but stays silent.

What he doesn’t expect you to do is scale up a nearby tree like a damn squirrel - your limbs moving with some practiced ease it was almost unnatural.

Quietly, you make your way back down, jumping down onto the soft grass silently with such stealthy precision that Bakugou has to look away at the last second so you didn’t realize he was staring.

You look up at him, his expression unreadable as you stand up, trailing behind him quietly as he starts to weave his way through the underbrush.

You flex your fingers, feeling the sore muscles strain as you do, the only sound you hear behind the soft crunch of your boots against the grass and your own breaths.

When you entered these games, the odds were never in your favor.

You’ve known that since you were twelve.

Now, you’re not sure.

Were you going to win? Fuck no.

But now, at least you knew you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

taglist: @attackonnat @ldk3347 @onlyisaa @luciapiacat @wonubby @snoo@attackonnat @ldk3347 @onlyisaa @luciapiacat @wonubby @snoopyluvrpao @kiromiix @delshmel @nijoll @babypeapoddd @mirajanestrauss1999 @kianatrg @blankk3 @witch-craft-works @midnight-drives-with-sunarin  @samxbaker @xanneeeyyyy @tom-hollands-blog @jazoewazoe @sixxe @poot2234 @beabamboo @yiz5uo @ilikeyyouverymuch @hauntedodette @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @rosekeu @grimm3r @m4y4wasnthere

[supernova41st]

howdy there buckeroo I'd like to request a drunk reader x Shadow (Im feeling romantical) and readers like an emotional drunk and poor Shadow has to take care of her ass LMAO OK TY

One too many ☕︎

Shadow x Drunk!Reader

Now playing • Nobody New—The Maria’s

A/n: I know little to nothing about being drunk so just bare with me on this one guys pls 🤝 Sorry this took so long to make, I was gonna make it a oneshot but idrk how to make Oneshots so I scrapped the whole thing and just made it into whatever this is.

Warnings: Reader gets Intoxicated, Emotional fluff, Light Mentions of Vomit/Urine(ALL SFW)

Divider creds ~ @saradika-graphics

It all began when Rouge decided to have a house party to celebrate her birthday. (as if she didn’t already host parties every other day) Since it was her party, of course she encourage everyone to bring a bottle of whatever alcohol they could find. Until this point, Shadow had never seen you drink before. He wasn’t sure if you could hold alcohol like a tank or if you were going to end up on a rooftop topless after one drink, so he kept his drinking at the party to a strong minimum in case you had one too many.

𖦹 ‘hm, so this is what hell feels like.’ Shadow thought. Well, can you blame him? Being in a room full of drunk 20 something year olds, along with loud raunchy music echoing throughout the house clearly wasn’t his thing. It was made pretty obvious by the fact that he was resting his back against a corner where no one noticed him. All he really did was stare off into space with his red solo cup filled with beer (that he didn’t drink). As his thoughts pondered on and on, he later realized..

𖦹 ‘I wonder where (Y/N) we-‘ before he can even finish thinking about where you’ve gone, he heard your voice. “SHADOW!” You screamed over the loud music, he slightly jolted in surprise. As soon as he laid his red eyes on you, he quickly noticed that you were intoxicated as all hell. Without responding to you calling his name, he rested the back of his hand onto your forehead, revealing that you definitely had a fever of some sort. “Shadow! Where were you?? I looked hic everywhere! Were you using your teleport thingy to mess with me?” You said, your words slurring over each other. Yeah, you were gone at this point.

𖦹 Shadow squinted his eyes in confusion, “Why would I—Wha—?..Forget it. I have to take you home, you’re drunk.” He softly grabbed your hand, pulling you through the crowd of drunks searching for the front door. You pulled away weakly due to how tired you were, “Hang on, I gotta pee”. You pointed to the line of people waiting to use the restroom, he rolled your eyes, then giving some ‘are you serious’ eyes. Oof, that was a look that was gonna stick with you tonight. “Alright, fine. But as soon as you’re done, we’re out.”

𖦹 After 14 exhausting minutes, you were finally able to go use the restroom. Shadow hoped that his eyes could bear staying open for the drive home after having lights being flashed in his face for minutes. Once you were done, you rested your head against his shoulder, making him jump a bit. He chucked, “Tired?” You hummed in agreement. ‘Good, shouldn’t be a challenge putting them to bed.’ He thought (wrong).

𖦹 The car ride home wasn’t long, at least it didn’t feel as long to you since you were asleep for the most part. It only made you feel more guilty that every time you looked over, Shadow looked tired, it made you wonder if dragging him was a mistake. He didn’t want to go, yet you had him come, now he was stuck taking you home. It wasn’t a good feeling.

𖦹 Your breath hitched at the car pulling over on the driveway, lights blinding you awake. Shadow opened the door, then reaching his hand out.“Can you stand up?” You nodded, then immediately falling once standing out the car, Shadow luckily catching you. He ended up carrying you to bed because your legs clearly gave up on you on the way home.

𖦹 Shadow gently placed you onto his bed, laying a thin blanket of his over your limp body. You rub the blanket a bit with your fingers, “Why do you have a blanket here? I thought you had like, so much energy chaos—shit in the world..” You questioned. “Well.. I’ve grown quite fond of napping really. It’s pleasant to not have anything to attend to for a couple hours.” His eyes wandered off as he responded, then later meeting yours, clearly not listening. “..N—Nevermind. Just stay here and I’ll go make you some tea.”

𖦹 Once he returned with your cup of tea, you were faced away from the door, seemingly asleep. He quietly sat on the edge of the bed, moving some hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear.‘Finally, they’re asleep’ he thought, placing the cup of tea on his nightstand. Just as he was about to leave the room, you suddenly grabbed his hand, calling out to him..

𖦹 “Shadow?” He paused, looking back at you. “Yes? Do you need anything, my love?” He asked concerned, last thing he wanted to do is have you puke all over his bed. You looked over at him, your eyes now swelling along with a runny nose. His face only grew more worried, “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Do you need me to help you to the restroom? We can call you an ambulance if you’d li-“

𖦹 “Am I.. being a burden?” You croaked. He sighed in relief, he was still saddened that you felt such a way because you needed his help, but you had him thinking you broke something on the way! Wiping your tears away with his hands, “What makes you say that?” He asked. “I wouldn’t be helping you if you were.. I apologize if I made you feel such ways.” Shadow rests his cheek against the pillow, facing you. “If it makes you feel better, I can sleep here tonight with you. Only if you’d like, my love” He cupped your cheek softly, having you paying attention to him. You smiled sheepishly, the pillow squishing your cheek against your face. “Yes, please”

[acotarxreader]

Tell me to Stop

Reader x Azriel

Synopsis: You and Azriel ended in a messy breakup and now he's desperate to distract himself with anyone else, that anyone being Elaine. Elaine quickly takes control of Azriel's whole life, forbidding him from seeing you, but can you two really stay apart forever?

Warnings: Elaine being crazy and mean (to my Irish followers, shes a class One wagon in this fic), high angst, smut, silly Cassian and Rhysand.

Note: Hello! Extremely long time no chat! I am currently writing on the most depressing thesis topic you can think of and so I decided to write this fic and take a break from "serious" writing. Let me know what you guys think! I'm very rusty at writing (especially writing smut lol) so please forgive me!

ALSO HOLY HELL THERES OVER 700 OF YOU!!!

--------------------------------------------------

“Az, do we have to do this every day?”

“Only until you say yes, YNN” Azriel grinned into his whisky tumbler as Cassian rolled his eyes at the same old dance he witnessed every night. 

“Az, give it a break, you're sounding desperate” Cassian smirked at his best friend's near-daily ritual, sliding onto a barstool next to him. You stood on the other side of the bar, polishing glasses with a small rag, Rita's electric around you.

“I'm just looking for another chance, is all.” Azriel did his best sad puppy dog face, and you swatted it away playfully with the cloth.

“Azriel, one of these days I'm gonna roll my eyes so hard at you I'm gonna go blind” You gently patted his shoulder, smilingly, before moving down the bar to take another customer's drink order. Azriel kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching your interaction with male patrons closely, only Cassian's voice snapping him from his study.

“You’re gonna hate me for saying this to you, again, but you've worked so hard to get back to this place, Az, are you sure you want to risk losing it all again?”

“Cass, I just know we're supposed to be more, but maybe you’re right, maybe it's time to just call it” Azriel watched your outline drift into the sea of patrons as you moved from behind the bar with a tray of drinks. You had known one another for over three centuries, as complicated as those years were. Partners in crime with a healthy dose of one-sided outward pining but mutual feelings. The two of you had dated before, but it crashed and burned almost fifty years ago, around the time when Rhysand was stolen. 

Azriel scanned the room, his gaze landing on Elaine as she laughed with the other members of his beloved family. Cassian followed the look, and it didn’t take a mind reader to know exactly what Azriel was thinking. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that, Cass?”

“I know that look, that's the, let me jump on the next thing that moves and pretend it's YN because that's who I really want but can't have, look”

“Sounds like it needs a rebrand” Azriel chuckled in return before pushing off the bar and strolling over to reacquaint himself with the Archeron sister, who did very little to hide her affection for him. Cassain just shook his head at the scene before turning back to the bar top to watch you return, apron and wine glass in hand.

“Finished for the night YNN?”

“Yeah, right on time to watch that trainwreck” You plastered a smile across your face that didn't quite reach your eyes as you took a deep drink from your glass and threw the apron around the other side of the bar. Elaine cuddled in closer to Azriel, a stray hand finding a home on his thigh as his arm rested on the back of the booth behind her. You quietly simmered with rage as she batted her eyelashes at him, and he did nothing to stop her advances.

“I know you want him back and you're scared what happened…will happen again” he said somewhat sheepishly.

“Wow, Cassian, I didn’t realise you were studying to become a mind reader” you laughed with Cassian before an idea entered your head. You tore your eyes from the booth and landed them on Lucien Vanserra, back fresh from another disastrous trip to Spring, nursing a drink at the tail end of the bar. 

“Oh god, not that look” Cassian once again was disappointingly shaking his head. 

“What?”

“That's the, let me jump on the next thing that moves and distract myself from the deep unresolved feelings I have towards Azriel, look” he took the fresh drink you offered him as you finished your own before replacing it.

“A rebrand should be considered” he laughed at you and your similarities to Azriel before dragging a hand down his face in mild annoyance at your mirrored ignorance with his brother. When he looked back, you were already gone, he released a breath that sounded a lot like here we go before heading back to his friends at the booth. 

It didn’t take long for Azriel to spot you and Lucien looking extremely close, your knee between his two as you both sat together laughing in your own little world. While you would admit that initial you sat with the Prince of Foxes to piss off the Prince of Shadows, you were enjoying Luciens company for what it was. The night was starting to become a very drunk mess, and you were only delighted not to be on the closing shift and instead very much part of the chaos. 

You dragged Lucien to the dance floor, twirling under the technicolour light as the whiskey hit you like the flicks of light from the disco ball. You felt Lucien’s strong hands stroke up the length of your sides, his tipsy demeanour fighting to steady you both. This was short-lived as suddenly Lucien’s whole world went horizontal. 

“Azriel!” Cassian and Rhysand leapt out of the booth, bolting to their brother as he drunkenly pinned the son of Autumn to the sticky dancefloor. Your head started to uncomfortably swirl from the alcohol as you looked down at the two brawling males. You rolled your heavy eyes, stepping over their legs and heading for the door. 

You made it about halfway down the street on tired legs before Azriel jogged to meet your stride.

“YNN, where are you going!?” 

“Away from you!” You half shouted back to his raised tone, dragging your fallen hair from your face before attempting to push past him, failing miserably as he took a drunken but gentle hold of your wrist.

“Leave me go Az!” “When are you just going to stop pretending that you don’t still have feelings for me!?” his almost untamable eyes searched yours for answers, wishing the next words that left you fell on deaf ears.

“When are you going to stop pretending you didn’t hurt me!?” You snatched back your wrist harshly from him, despite him giving it to you willingly, the second you gave the indication to be let go. You left out a deep, exasperated breath before storming past him again. 

“YNN, that was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake, she didn't mean anything to me-” his small voice was swallowed again by your sharp tone as you whipped around again to face him.

“-Then why'd you do it!?” The street lights cut through the night as you bit back alcohol induced tears.

“I-I we just lost Rhysand and we-we had that big fight and I thought I lost you too and I-” “-Azriel! Are you okay!?” Elaine’s worried voice cut across the explanation you had heard a million times, your shoulders sinking at the sound. He half turned to her as she approached the scene slowly. 

“Elaine, can you give us a minute? YN and I were just-” he turned back to gesture to you, but you had already gone. 

-

It became an almost silent pact between you and Azriel to not talk about that night again; any time he entered the bar during one of your shifts, he’d leave again. Things were hauntingly familiar to when you broke up originally. Work began to consume half of his life, the other half was engulfed by Elaine. With his two best friends mated to her sisters, it felt like a natural progression to seek the same in Elaine, to no fruition. Yet, Azriel told himself, the bond hadn’t snapped yet, but it had to, right? 

When not at work, you found odd comfort in Feyre, her hopeful determination for a better future, nurturing something in you you thought you lost. As for Lucien, he seemed much to entangled in his messy work life for anything to blossom there, and so you two went back to a pleasant acquaintance; the same could not be said for him and Azriel. This very thought entered your head as you watched the two males avoid one another at Feyre’s birthday dinner in the House of Wind. You sat across from Rhysand at the long dinner table, Feyre lightly touching your hand before she sat down at the top of the table, the other guests only beginning to take their seats. 

You examined the splendour of the table setting in front of you, a reminder you were still a different pay grade to the fae you frequently brushed elbows with. Heat radiated to the crown of your head, as you lifted to watch Elaine, almost bore holes into with her scrutinising gaze. Clearly, Feyre had forgotten to mention to her dear sister all aspects of the guest list.

You looked briefly at Azriel, dressed in a suit he definitely did not pick out himself, its pastel colour complementing Elaine's dress but washing him out entirely. His hair was slicked in a way you knew that bothered him, but that's not what set your blood boiling. Azriel finally sat, almost directly across from you, your eyes snagging on his hands as they reached for the filled wine glass. Gloves. He was wearing gloves. You looked from them to right into his eyes, accidentally catching him watching you. He seemed to plead with his eyes for you not to make a scene before giving you his attempt at a reassuring smile, it not reaching his eyes. Your shared look was torn apart as Elaine caught his chin, dragging his attention back to her words. You decided then to get pissed drunk, the only way you were making it through this night without ripping Elaines clips from her skull.

The dinner was a beautiful feast, the after-dinner drinks even nicer as you all sat around the table regaling stories of your youth, the Archeron sisters eager to hear. 

“And what about you YN? Where do you come from?” The table suddenly quieted as Elaine addressed you for the first time directly, her arm possessively linked through Azriel’s across the table from you. 

“Velaris, lived here my whole little life” You gave her a soft smile, she didn’t return.

“And you work in Rita's? That’s all you do, a bit pitiful, no?”

“Actually, YNN grandmother owns Rita’s, she keeps us well-sated” Mor came to your rescue, reading between the lines of Elaine's somewhat pointed question. 

“If by that you mean she keeps us rip roaring drunk” Cassian laughed loudly, raising a glass to you as you beamed at him. 

“Oh do you remember that t-time Cass, that we drank their taps dry!” Rhysand bellowed from the top of the table, Cassian laughing loudly in return.

“Yeah! YNN left the bar top unattended for what, like, 30 minutes? And-and we gods, practically just drank straight from the tap!” the group laughed at the story.

“YN, that's so irresponsible of you!” Feyre fake scolded you, smiling towards you with laughter borne tears in her eyes. 

“Well her and Azriel were busy fucking in the stock room, I didn’t even think you could last 30 minutes Az! We were getting dehydrated waiting!” Cassian's booming laugh covered the table as you covered your smirking face with your palm, sinking slightly into the chair. When you removed it, you looked at Azriel scold a hysterically drunk Cassain across the table, Elaine's heated stare once again prickling your skin. 

“That was a long time ago” You laughed lightly, desperate to change the subject. 

“Oh! What about his birthday weekend when Azriel thought he’d dislocated his hip from your escape to the cabin! Oh Gods, the shameful look Madja gave him!” An equally drunk Rhysand joined the pile on, the maroon in your cheeks heating as the group laughed. A sudden sharp scrape of wood on slate silenced the table as Elaine stood, glaring between Azriel and you before storming away, Azriel hot on her heels. 

“Gods, good thing I didn’t mention the time in the war camp-” “Okay! That’s enough stories!” Mor came to your rescue again, but your eyes stayed focused on the door Azriel had just run through. You looked around the table of faces, then as they all examined you as if you were a wounded deer, before you stood to follow the storming couple. 

“THAT WAS UNACCEPTABLE, AZRIEL! DISGUSTING!” You heard Elaine shouting before you saw them. You stayed back in the shadow of a tall supporting pillar, watching the two at the end of the hallway, unable to tear yourself away from the sight of them.

“Elaine, c’mon like YNN said, it was years ago!”

“Stop calling her that name! You should have no warmth towards that serving wench!” “Elaine, stop, you’re not being fair! She’s been our friend for years!” Azriel raised his arms to stop Elaine from storming away, corralling her at the end of the hall. 

“No! She was your fuck buddy and its unacceptable that she’s still in your life!” You pressed your back into the cold stone wall, doing absolutely everything in your power to not spring off the stone and clober her, how dare she boil your relationship with Azriel down to just that. Unless that’s all Azriel had led her to believe that it was? 

“Stop, stop speaking about her like that, please!” Azriel took a slightly sharper tone, but it was still nothing to the level you felt she deserved. You suddenly felt the cool, familiar caress of Azriel’s shadows swirling around your ankles, they almost began to leap in recognition. You shushed them, softly scolding them, but they remained. 

“You need to stop seeing her” Elaine finally said after a moment or two of silence.

“Wh-what?”

“Azriel, we have the chance to be everything, I’m asking you to stay away from that bar slut if you ever want everything to come through!” She practically bit out, her hands in fists at her sides. You exhaled sharply, finally having had enough as you attempted to spring from the wall, Azriel’s shadows keeping you in place. You heard Azriel release a defeated breath. 

“F-fine” he said so softly you thought you misheard it entirely. Elaine beamed brightly again, delighted to have owned the protest. She squeezed Azriel’s arm before bouncing back down the hallway to the dinner, so lost in her success, she didn’t spot you quietly boiling in the shadow. 

You emerged from the shade as soon as the door to the dining room latched closed. You watch Azriel at the end of the hallway, head hung in shame. 

“Fuck buddy huh?” You almost whispered, leaning one shoulder on the pillar you once hid behind, your voice giving Azriel a small fright. 

“You-you heard that?” He sank his hands into his pockets, doing his best not to remind you of the itchy gloves that dawned on them. 

“It’s okay Az, you don’t need to say anything…after all that’s happened I still just want you to be happy and-and that girl in that dress shaped like a pastry could be it” You said with a weak smile, Azriel closing in to you as you pushed back from the pillar.

“I don’t want to lose you YNN” “Your girlfriend said stop calling me that” You whispered, stepping back to put air between the shrinking space. Azriel’s head dipped for a second before looking back at you. 

“Azriel! C’mon!” the two of you heard Elaine’s voice through the heavy door, your cue to exit. 

“I don’t want any more hurt or fighting between us Az, I want this to be easy for you, I want you to be so stupidly fucking happy and this could be it…tell Feyre I’ll speak to her during the week, bye Az” You every so lightly brushed a soft kiss on his cheek before stepping away from him and into the depths of the castle. 

—---

“Maybe we could ship her off to sea?” “I don’t think Feyre would appreciate that, Cass” Rhysand laughed as he looked through the forgotten files of the House of Wind library.  The brothers frequently found Azriel and Elaine's relationship to be the topic of conversation lately. It had been 2 months since Feyre’s birthday, and their hope for Azriel returning to his normal self was dying out. In the months since, the Spymaster was losing his spark, instead replacing it with seesawing between unbridled rage and deepest depression, everyone but Elaine worried sick. 

“What are you two doing down here?” Azriel’s voice gave his two brothers a small shock, Cassian dropped the file he clutched. 

“We’re trying to clear through some space, Nesta wants a sex room” A file flew past Rhysand's head at his comments.

“No..we already have one of those, this is for her books” Cassian defended proudly. 

“Books filled with sex, same difference” Rhysand laughed, a smile grew slightly on Azriel’s mouth before it sank away again. He then quietly began helping his brothers go through the files. 

“Wh-what’s this, is this what I think it is?” Cassian held up a tattered shred of paper, long family lines scrawled across, black blotches inking out the portraits of the names beneath them. 

“Is that..Holy Shit! Az, this is your family tree! Your family's birth records!” Rhysand snatched the file from Cassian to inspect and find the best news he could for his brother. Azriel had all but given up on finding any family from his mother's side, settling that in his mind but this, this could lead to a whole new world for him. Azriel took the folder carefully and then almost frantically devoured the information within. 

“Fucking hell! This-this is insane, I have to go tell YNN-oh wait” The action died in his movements, Cassian and Rhysand looking sympathetically at their brother. 

“Az… you should be allowed to talk to who you want… especially YNN, she was your best friend”

“Ahem!” “Leave it Cass” Rhysand shoved the General playfully, Azriel’s eyes still fixed on the folder. 

“I-I can’t deal with this right now” “Az wait-” it was too late, the Spymaster sank into shadow. 

-

Azriel materialised onto the Velarian streets. He found himself walking down the cobbled road to clear his head, anything to absorb the information he had just gotten. It was great news, he was so excited and yet had no one to share it with, not really anyway. His friends would be so supportive and thrilled for him, but he knew no one would come close to how ecstatic you would be. The sound of a familiar laugh snapped him out of his thoughts, where he then saw Elaine laughing as she and Nesta strolled up the street towards him. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but maybe he just wasn’t ready for her to shoot holes in his hopes just yet. He quickly ducked into the next building he could to avoid her.

 

“We’re closed!” You called from a crouched position behind the bar as you restocked the lower shelves, the scrape of a stool sending you upright. 

“I said we’re clos- oh, Az…you probably shouldn’t be here, Elain wouldn’t like it-” You slowly put down the stock you held, happy the bar kept space between you as you examined the Shadowsinger's wild eyes. “-Hey are you-are you okay Az?” You found yourself rushing to step out from behind the bar as Azriel looked like the weight of the world might crush him to death. Your soft hands braced his shoulders. 

“Az, tell me, what’s wrong?” he finally looked into your eyes, a true smile painting his face for the first time in months, settling the anxiety in your throat. 

“We found my family tree, my lineage, written down at the bottom of some rotten box in the depths of the library… YNN I have a family” His eyes began to glisten with the hopeful words he shared with you. 

“Oh my Gods, Azriel! That’s amazing!” You couldn’t help yourself then; you pulled him into you, his heavy arms swaddling you deeply in a hug. You felt his smile against your hair as he breathed in your scent, your face buried in his chest. You both stood there for comfortable moments, swaddled in familiarity. 

“You should go get them! Show me, I want to see, we gotta plan your trip to meet them! Just like we always hoped to do together someday” You pulled back, begging your eyes to not leave the threatening tear fall down your face. 

“Y-yeah, we should, we should do that” Azriel gave you a sad smile, and for once, he decided to ignore the Elaine of it all and just do what he wanted, and this was it. 

“I’m not opening here for another hour so, go go get them!” You laughed lightly, wiping the stray happy tear from your cheek as he stepped back. He then nodded happily before running out the door back to the street. You watched, hands on your hips with the biggest smile in the world, as he dashed up the street, forgetting he could just winnow there in all his excitement. 

Azriel, in his exhilaration, wasn’t entirely watching where he was going, crashing into the back of Elaine as she said goodbye to Nesta, who stayed in the cafe. 

“Oh sweetie! What's the rush!” She laughed, gripping his shoulders to hold them both upright. 

“I-I found my family tree! I’m going to meet my family!” He beamed, and she returned the smile, pulling him into a hug. 

“Az, that’s great that's-” she took a deep inhale, your scent clinging to the fabric of his jacket “-why-why do you smell like…like her”

“Oh, I-I it-it must have happened when she hugged me, I told her the news, isn’t it great I’m going to have real relatives!” His smile was stolen from him as a recognisable glare grew across her face. 

“You told her before you told me!” Elaine put icy distance between them, disgust now spewn across her face. Azriel had had enough. 

“That’s not the point, Elaine, I didn’t mean to tell her before you… It just happened that way! C’mon, it doesn’t matter, what matters is that I have a living fam-” “No. What matters is that you went and saw that beer-slinging bitch after I explicable forbade it!” She barked, drawing some sideways glances from passersby, heat rising to the back of Azriel’s neck. 

“Stop. Stop talking about her like that! It’s time to get over that, Elaine. I need YNN in my life, I miss her, and that doesn’t need to mean anything more than that, okay! We’ve talked about finding my family for decades, this is important to both of us! Can’t you just put aside these feelings and support me, be happy for me” He searched her eyes for any glimpse of the female he once thought she was before becoming entangled with her. It now clear she never existed. 

“No.” 

—---------------

You swiped a rag across a mahogany table across from the bar, humming with elation at Azriel’s news, alone in the bar until opening, the creak of the door hinges dragging you from your cleaning. Azriel stood in the doorway in all the shadowy glory he was known for. The Spymaster practically took two steps at a time as he closed the distance between you, snatching the rag from you and throwing it any which way. 

“Az, what the fuck?” You laughed in confusion, Azriel’s eyes examining the movement ever so carefully. 

“Tell me stop” You stopped laughing at his almost stony words, raising an eyebrow to him as his gloved hand touched your side beneath your t-shirt, pulling you gently into his heat. 

“Tell me to stop” he repeated cautiously, and you found yourself shaking your head no as you looked into his hazel eyes, which seemed almost lit with fear, before he leaned down and connected his lips to yours. It had been almost 52 years since you two had kissed, all of that time shrinking into nothing; it was as if no time had passed at all. 

“Tell me to stop, tell me you still hate me” he rasped out between frantic kisses. 

“I never hated you Az, and I am never going to tell you to stop this” You admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck, his hands burying into your waist as if afraid you’d dissolve without his touch. You looked down then, still seeing the cloth on his digits. You stepped back briefly, cold rattling through his bones. 

“I can’t believe she’d want this” You pulled off his gloves, his skin irritated from the scratchy wool he rarely took off. 

“It doesn’t matter what she wants, we’re over, we never should have started. I’ve only ever wanted you and 50 years ago, when I stupidly, drunkenly gave into the anger I felt towards the world for losing Rhysand and icing you out and shouting at you when you were only trying to help and letting that stupid fucking nobody kiss me all I still wanted was you. I’ll never not be sorry and I want you to tell me to stop so that we can find our way back to friends” His words sank into your skin as you realised you never really were as angry at him as you let on, you were angry at yourself for not trusting that he was sorry from the beginning, sorry for sacrificing all those years together to stay on the lonely high horse you’d isolated yourself with. 

“Is that all you want from me, to be friends?” You tried your best not to let the heartbreak rattle out through your voice.

“YNN, I want all of you, in any and all sense, in whatever way you’ll allow me” A gasping breath left you the moment his now bare hands grabbed your hips again, with your arms returning to around his neck. Azriel carefully backed the two of you up until you were pressed into the wall adjacent to the long forgotten booth you were cleaning. His hands slid down from your hips to cup your ass as he bent down slightly to get a better grip, lifting you from the ground until your back was flush with the wall. Your hands clutch the material of his shirt, afraid to let go of him and the movement. 

Briefly, his hand left your side, your legs gripping him tighter as he sent the searching hand outward for the door handle he knew had to be somewhere. Success. The door of the stock room opened with a creak, Azriel separating from your mouth to bury himself in your neck while he carried you into the room. You let out a whimper at the feeling of his teeth marbling your neck, marking you as his.

“I missed that fucking sound so much” he said against your heated skin.

“You’ll be hearing it for the rest of your life” You laughed breathlessly, running your hands from his shoulders to his hair, scruffing away that awful gelled hairstyle you knew he hated.

“I should be so lucky” He claimed the spot until dapples decorated your skin, the feeling of him hard against you was driving you crazy quickly and he damn well knew it. He dropped you gently down on top of a hip-high crate of wine. Cool air flushed against your chest as you separated his eyes had turned lustful, your hand reaching and grazing his bulge, gaining a slight groan from him.

“Azriel” you couldn’t help but moan out at the feeling of him beneath the fabric, it nearly sending him over the edge at the sound. He quickly yanked his shirt from over his head in one swift movement before pulling your trousers from you, leaving you bare on the table before him. His hand traced up your torso as you watched the painfully slow movements until he sank to his knees at the edge of the crate. You leaned up on your elbows, your legs dangling over the edge of the box, before he tucked his hands beneath your knees, gently forcing a bend in them before they fell open to the side, where you swear you saw the Illyrain drool before you. You were close to begging him to touch you, and as if he heard your thought, he immediately applied pressure to you with his hand, your pulse nearly hitting the roof, the feeling of his rough but delicate fingers entering you, massaging you as they slide to your core. You couldn’t help but dig your nails into his bare shoulders, riding his thrusting fingers as he groans at the sight. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful YN, show me what I’ve been missing” The moan was trapped in your throat as he shot up, connecting again with your lips in ferocious desperate need for you, sending you crashing over in insurmountable pleasure. He couldn’t tear his hazel eyes from the storms of gratification swirling in yours. 

Your legs shook as you edged closer again to the edge of the crate, your hand finding the buckle of Azriel’s belt, the beautiful thud from the sound of his trousers hitting the floor filling the cupboard, along with your shallow breathing. You nearly went over the edge again at the feeling of him free in your hands. Azriel practically snatched you from the make-shift counter, back into his strong arms, your legs tangling around him again, he backed you against the wall across from the door, stepping over fallen stock from the surrounding shelves.

Azriel slowly inched into you, allowing you to adjust to the massive length of him, your nails digging into his shoulders in the glorious pain you missed with every cell in your body. Azriel raised a hand above your head to support himself, his other hand wrapped around your waist with a serpent-like grip before he began to rock back and forth with unbridled power. Your nails raked up his back at the growing speed, your growing moans spurring him on. Azriels wings splayed out to balance himself, your hand found itself tracing gently the spines, sending gratifying shivers down Azriels back. 

“Mine, fucking all mine” was all he could manage through rasping breath but it was enough, enough to send the tightening band in your abdomen to its absolute limits. It’s overwhelming, all-encompassing, and it's Azriel, the full picture of what was happening, sending you bolting towards your second release. You forced your eyes open just in time to witness Azriel unravel and burst with what could only be described as a primal roar, filling you to your limits. 

Azriel pressed his forehead into yours, you both breathing in one another's shallow breaths, shaking with the power of the events that just happened. Azriel managed to straighten his strained and weary legs enough to gently drop you back to your own feet. 

“I-I didn’t even get my top off” You found yourself laughing breathlessly, Azriel joining.

“There’ll be time for that-” he looked at you, practically glowing at him “-and thank fuck for that” he chuckled, retriving your trousers for you to slip into as he did the same. You took your time getting dressed again together, neither able to stop laughing at the brilliant absurdity of the day. 

“Well, hello there” Cassain's voice caught you and Azriel off guard as you stumbled out of the supply cupboard. You looked at the jug in his hand he held over the width of the bar, Rhysand on the other side with his head practically under the tap. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” You said, hands on your hips, at the two Illyrians who looked like they were caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 

“We should say the same to you” Cassian quickly quipped, gesturing to your hand in Azriels, neither of you realising you had done that. 

“Will you be giving Lucien a turn in the store cupboard?” Cassian laughed at Rhysand, and you swear you heard a growl from the Spymaster. 

“The two of you better have your wallets with you!” “Is that what you said to Az before you brought him in there? What's the going rate at this bar turned brothel?” 

“Shut the fuck up” You rolled your eyes at Cassians joking turn, moving to shoo him away as you stepped behind the bar to Rhysand. The two of you laughed as you fought for control of the tap, Azriel sitting at the bar top alongside Cassian. 

“I know that look” Cassain smiled at his long-time best friend as Rhysand passed him a pint while you scowled him for the mess he had made of the floor behind the bar.“Yeah?” “And I am so happy to see it back” he gently clicked his pint against Azriel’s, who could only grin.

----------

What do you guys think?

[graciescott27]

call an uber on your way out! - o. aiku

cw: Oliver Aiku x uptight Head of PR! reader, pet names (sweetheart, doll, pretty, baby), alcohol use, language, smut, p in v, fingering, mocking, boob play, dub-con possibly? (she’s drunk and he’s barely tipsy)

this got way too long and I’m gonna cry if it does bad (new to writing smut)

mdni!

wc: 3.8k

The first thing you learned when you became the head of PR for the Ubers football club was that trying to make a bunch of weird guys look good in the media was hard. The second thing you learned was that Oliver Aiku was a slut.

He was by far your most problematic player, even with Barou on the team. Sure, Aiku was at least was charismatic and outgoing, but that didn’t do much to make your job easier. He just did some weird shit. After all of the leaked text chats and cheating scandals you had to cover up, you were getting tired of his nonsense. At least Barou kept to himself. Granted, that was why keeping up his image was difficult, but Aiku’s charm did the same.

The worst part of the whole affair? He thought that he could actually win you over. Niko had “warned” you about this whole bet he had with Sendo over whether or not he’d be able to sleep with you by the end of the season. Could he seriously make your job any harder?

When you were briefing the team on sponsorship updates, his eyes never left you. It was growing obnoxious, and maybe even just a bit unnerving.

“Okay, Sendou, I’m working on finalizing your Nike campaign, but it should be finalized by the end of the week and the shoot should be somewhere between next Tuesday and Friday. I’ll get dates to you as soon as possible,” you directed, reading back over the notes you had written down about their sponsorships. “Aryu, the hair care ad has been doing well so far, I’ll send over statistics. Aiku, I went ahead and turned down the Calvin Klein offer. Knew that wouldn’t be something you’d be into.”

He raised a brow, holding in a snort. “Seriously?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you scrambled to find a fake apology, an exaggerated frown on your lips. “Would you have wanted to do that?”

He shook his head, an amused grin on his face. At least he was amused. “If you think that’s what’s best.”

You scoffed and turned away from him. You still had ten minutes left to finish your briefing. That was enough time. You ran through the rest of your notes as quickly as you could, and dismissed everyone once you were done.

The universe apparently didn’t want to let you off that easy, though, because Aiku began to walk toward you just as you were packing up your papers.

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart. I have a question,” he began. He still had that annoying, cocky grin on his lips. The amused glint in his eyes didn’t help much, either.

“Sweetheart? In the 21st century?” you scoffed. No way in hell were you going to let him see you crack from a few small compliments. If Nikko was right — which he normally was when it came to something stupid his teammates were doing — then you weren’t going to make it easy for Aiku.

He gives you an unimpressed stare. He was still smiling, though. That was no good. You needed him to at least fake a pout and walk away to be satisfied.

So, you continued your mocking. “Which war did you fight in, again?”

“Okay,” he nodded, holding his hands up in surrender, “be nice.”

You scoffed. “Being nice is for lame people who like their jobs.”

“Oh, so you don’t like being around a hot guy all day?” he snorted.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve heard someone call Barou hot before, but yeah, I guess he-“

“Doll,” he gave a teasing pout. Now you were one step closer to getting him to leave you alone. “Come on. I know that you know I was talking about myself.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call you hot, either,” you shook your head, a small, faux innocent smile on your face. Trying to maintain appearances might have been the only reason you hadn’t snapped on him yet.

“Wow. You’re a lot meaner today than normal.”

“Well, I just started tolerating you this week and you’re treading on very thin ice right now,” you tsk-ed.

Nikko groaned from across the room. “You started to like him after the bet?”

“Shut up,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

Aiku raised a brow. “Oh? After the bet, huh?”

So it *was* real. It wasn’t like you doubted Nikko that much, or that you had enough faith in Aiku’s character to think that he wouldn’t do something like that, you just found it… odd. He was so adamant on something that you clearly weren’t going to allow. His determination was admirable, sure, but it was idiotic.

“Gross,” you crinkled your nose at the thought. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“You’ve thought it at least once, though.”

Oh, God. His smirk had returned. That wasn’t good for your case at all. If he was enjoying himself, there was no way he was going to let go of the topic.

“Absolutely not,” you argued.

“So you wouldn’t be interested in getting drinks with me and Sendou tonight?”

Your arms were crossed by that point. “I don’t drink.”

“I saw you drinking straight from a wine bottle in your office three weeks ago.”

Maybe the fact that you had actually done that made matters just a bit worse for you.

“I ran out of clean water bottles,” you scoffed internally at yourself for the lame excuse.

He looked so cocky at that and you knew he was trying not to laugh. “So you used an empty wine bottle as a replacement?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you even have an empty wine bottle on hand if you don’t drink?” he raised a brow.

And that was how you got coerced into going to a bar with Aiku and Sendou.

It took you about five minutes to regret your decision. The first mishap of the night happened before you even got to the bar. Work ended much later for you than normal, and Aiku was in such a rush that he wouldn’t let you go home to change before heading out. So you were left to sit on a sticky bartop stool in your nice pencil skirt, rolling up the sleeve to your button up so you weren’t completely suffocated.

The second mishap led to you attempting to run off and find wherever Sendou had wandered off to. You spotted one of your more recent ex hookups stumbling through the bar. You had met him through a mutual friend, and that friend had informed you not too long ago that he was still broken up over you “forgetting” to call him back. It wasn’t like you had been planning on starting anything with him. He worked a minimum wage job, and you could access a professional athlete with ease (not like you would want to, though). Why would you go for someone so uninteresting when you could have someone else who was miles better by comparison?

The third mishap of the night happened when you were walking away from the bartop and he noticed you. He recognized you, despite how clearly drunk he was (which you found more disturbing than flattering) and he made a beeline in your direction. Deviating from your original plan to just find Sendou, you rushed to the bathroom and settled for hiding in the line. Aiku had been sitting next to you earlier, but after just a few minutes he was gone. At the time, you had been thrilled that he decided to leave you alone. Now, though, you were starting to think that it would have saved you some worry to have him beside you still: at least he would scare off all of the other guys trying to make passes at you — or in the current circumstance, hunting you down and following you.

You waited in line for the bathroom for seven minutes, despite not actually needing to go. Aiku truly knew how to pick a popular place. The moment you saw him again, you were going to tell him that you were getting a cab back to your apartment. You could still find it in yourself to be courteous enough to warn him before you abandoned ship. Unfortunately, that time never came because of mishap number four.

You had figured that wasting that much time in line was enough to get your ex off of your back. It was a bit horrifying to be tracked by a man whose name you had already forgotten. You tried to find your previous seat again, only to learn that it had been taken by some blonde girl wearing a dress that barely covered anything. Gross. Now you had to turn around and find somewhere in the overcrowded bar to sit down for five minutes. You probably would have been better off in the bathroom.

You tripped over someone’s foot and stumbled back into another person. Quickly regaining your balance, you turned around, giving a small, apologetic smile. You didn’t look up at the person’s face. “Sorry, sorry. Excuse me.”

Whoever you ran into nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

Fuuuuuck.

You recognized that voice. You had been avoiding that voice all night, actually. Before you could back away or say anything else, though, your casual-hookup-turned-stalker spoke again.

“Never thought I’d catch you at a bar after-”

And all of a sudden, you were yanked back into someone else’s chest. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was that time.

“Don’t think she’s that into drunk guys,” Aiku gave a dry laugh to the other man.

He laughed back. “Didn’t think that I was flirting.”

“Does it really matter?” You knew Oliver. You knew that he still had a carefree smirk on his face despite the situation. You knew that he had absolutely no idea who he was talking to. That should have worried you.

Finally, you looked up and saw the cold, not quite lucid look in your ex’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing her.”

“I would’ve heard about you if she was actually seeing you,” Aiku responded, his voice as smooth and casual as ever. What a cocky bastard.

“Who are you?” the other man asked. You were still blanking on his name.

“A friend.” You could practically feel him shrug. He still kept you held close to his chest, and it wasn’t as horrific of a feeling as you would have expected.

After a few more seconds of drunken processing, your hookup-turned-stalker rolled his eyes and walked off.

You turned to Aiku at last, eyes settling on his smirk. “Is there a story behind that?”

“Absolutely not,” you scoffed.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled, nodding slowly. “Sendou’s in a booth somewhere if you wanna join us.”

The only reason you followed him was because of the mention of Sendou. If there was a third party involved, maybe you would be safe from having to file a harassment claim with HR. Unfortunately for you, though, you forgot that the third-party being Sendou meant that he was probably already drunk on some cocktail with a stupid name.

After three minutes, both of them were making you beg for a cab ride home.

Aiku was on the outside of the semicircle booth, and Sendou was on the inside. That left you in the middle, being completely crushed by both of them. To deal with their obnoxious jokes and stupid drunk laughing, you started chugging straight from the bottle of Brandy sitting on the table in front of you. It seemed to drain your senses just a bit too well, though, and mishap number four happened.

You were in Oliver Aiku’s apartment.

Even in the moment, you didn’t remember much about how you agreed to it. He had offered you a ride — despite the fact that he had also been drinking — but you assumed that he would be talking you back to your actual house, not his. On top of that, you figured that the offer wouldn’t include being slammed against a door and kissed.

Not that you’d complain, though. You’d just have to live with the regret when you were back to being sober.

Within seconds, his lips had moved from yours to your neck. One of his hands was on the back of your head, tangling in your hair while the other roamed over your body. He alternated between palming at your tit and rubbing over your waist and your hip. You were unsure where to put your hands still. It had been so long since you had hooked up with anyone that you barely remembered how it was supposed to go. You were focused on your job, you didn’t have time for a relationship, and that should’ve been it. But Oliver Aiku had wildly different plans.

He gave a quick bite to the column of your throat before moving back to your lips. Aiku was practically trying to swallow you whole, messily pushing his tongue past your lips. The way he began to unbutton your shirt was too rushed and eager for you to know how to react. By then your hand had found his messy hair, tangling it even further. When he started to push your button-up off of your shoulders, your hands slipped under his shirt. He grinned into your mouth at the feeling of cold fingers lingering barely over the waistband of his pants. You had been almost too dizzy to stand just minutes earlier, but that feeling seemed to vanish when Aiku started tugging on your arm and leading you to his bedroom.

Normally when you stepped foot in someone’s room for the first time, you wanted to take in as many details as possible. You could learn a lot about a person strictly based on how they decorated. Aiku clearly didn’t know about this habit, though, because you had just one minute of air before he pushed you into his bed. You landed on your back, letting out a small noise of surprise, and he crawled on top of you. He started at your neck again, alternating between kissing, bitting, and sucking on a pattern that only he understood. 

He trailed further and further down, going from your shoulder to your collarbone, to the tiny amount of tit popping out of the top of your bra, to your naval, and then finally…

Bullseye.

“You gonna let me take this cute lil’ skirt off of ya, pretty?” he smirked up at you, heterochrome eyed sparkling in delight.

Your mouth hung open in either awe or surprise, and all you could do was nod weakly. Your lungs weren’t working well enough for anything other than tiny gasps.

He huffed out a laugh, a single large land finding the zipper at the side of your hip. “Can’t think of a comeback anymore?”

Your hand came up to cover your eyes out of embarrassment. All you could manage was a weak, “Shut up.”

You could feel him grin without even seeing it. “There we go. Keep the attitude, doll. Best you can, okay?”

Here wasn’t even time for you to ask why before your pencil skirl was discarded somewhere in the floor of Aiku’s room. And he nearly laughed when he finally saw your panty-clad pussy.

“What?” you shot up, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden because of Oliver Aiku. God, you were pathetic.

He just placed a hand on your stomach and pushed you into your back again, holding you down. “Nothin’. I can just see how wet you are. ‘S cute.”

“It is not ‘cute’,” you scoffed.

“It is,” he argued, no real malice behind his words. “Look at ‘er. She’s pretty.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I am.”

He ran the knuckle of his index finger over the wet patch growing right in the center of your baby blue panties. You despised the small jump in your thigh at the feeling. You knew that he noticed.

“Yeah?” he mocked, looking up at you through his lashes. “That too much already?”

His smirk only widened at your lack of a response, and he began to carefully peel your underwear off your body. He tossed them somewhere near your skirt and moved back up between your thighs. And he watched. Oliver sat there, staring at your glistening, weeping cunt, at total peace with the world. You let out the smallest, most pathetic whine, your pussy clenching at just his gaze.

“It’s been a while, huh?” he teased, continuing to watch every reaction you made. When you tried to close your legs, he just pried them back open.

“It hasn’t,” you scoffed, a feeble attempt at a lie.

“Mhm, sure.”

With zero warning, his middle finger was just barely pressing into your entrance. You fought your urge to push yourself into him to get more than that. He waiting for a minute, eyes focused on your face, and finally pushed all the way in.

Oliver prodded a bit, trying to gauge how much room he had. It wasn’t much. You were tight, and twitching, and all too clenched to have fucked someone within the past few months. It was cute, in a way. Getting someone so uptight — so untouchable — so worked up over him with just a few simple touches? It was the highest honor he could’ve been given. He would have to thank Sendou for getting that bottle of Brandy.

“Aww, baby,” he cooed, slowly pumping his finger in and out of you, curling slightly. “Do you not touch yourself ever? So tense…”

You whined, only realizing then just how pent up you were. You never had the time. The rest of your PR team was incompetent and you had to do their work for them half of the time. With so much going on at once, you never even thought about masturbation.

So you shook your head.

And Aiku clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Do I really make your job that hard, baby?”

You gave a second weak nod as he curled his finger again.

“Guess I have to make it easier for you now, huh? Can’t have such a pretty thing suffering in silence.”

He slipped his ring finger inside of you, stretching you out just a bit more. Still pumping and curling, he slid a hand underneath you to snap the hook of your bra (which was the same baby blue as your panties). Of course someone like him was able to do it with a single hand. He tugged on the straps as casually as ever — his fingers still ruining your gummy insides — and pulled your bra offs his other hand occupied itself with massaging one of your boobs, his thumb running over your nipple in lazy circles.

It was getting difficult for you to ignore the squelching coming from between your thighs. It was obscene and disgusting, and Aiku was all too calm doing it. You were going to lose your mind. That was if you could gain your rationality back.

His fingers moved faster, now scissoring into you to prep you for his cock. He continued to watch you, soaking up every pant and moan that left your parted lips. And just when you gasped out his name—

He pulled his fingers out of you completely.

“What was that?” he hummed, pushing his slick-covered fingers past your lips so you couldn’t reply. You groaned around his fingers, earning a grin from him. “I’ll help you out, baby, don’t worry.”

He pulled away just enough to be able to sit up and strip himself of his pants and boxers. With how many girls he brought over in a month, you had assumed that he’d be big. You never spent much time thinking about it, though. Now, sitting face to face with his cock, it was almost a bit intimidating. It was thick, heavy, and already dripping with pre-cum. Your thighs began to close subconsciously as you just stared into Aiku’s  eyes, and he smirked, moving back towards you.

“You already gettin’ scared, pretty? Haven’t even put it in yet,” he chuckled. He gripped the base of his dick, running his tip up and down your folds, delighting in the way your legs twitched. “I’ll be nice. Gonna take this nice and slow, okay?”

You gave him a meek nod.

“If you’re really that worried, though, I can double check,” he shrugs, moving back just enough so he could slide his dick up through your folds — tip catching on the hood of your clit intentionally — and onto your stomach. He was fucking measuring. His tip ended up just a centimeter or two below your belly button. “Might be a little tight, huh?”

You wanted to scoff, maybe even hit him, but he was already pushing in. He was slow at first, waiting until he bottomed out to pick up the pace. Once he was there, though, he pressed his hand onto your stomach and felt the barely visible bulge. “See? Exactly where I thought I’d be.”

And immediately, he pulled out almost all the way, and thrusted back in. You let out a cry, the feeling foreign by now. That just encouraged him to keep going. He rolled his hips against you a few times as you tried to cover your mouth with your hand, and you immediately traded that for clawing at his shoulders.

Quickly, he found a rough, deep pace, never moving his hand away from your stomach. After the work he had already done with his hands, you were starting to feel that knot in your stomach after barely any time.

“‘S too much, too much,” you moshed, arching up into him. He would have been lucky if his back wasn’t littered in scratch marks by the morning.

He leaned down into your neck, planting a small kiss. “You’re takin’ it just fine, baby.”

His thrusts sped up a bit more, and you knew what was coming. Clearly he did, too, considered he moved his free hand from your stomach down to your clit, working it with his thumb.

“You gonna cum?” he grinned, eyes never leaving your face. He would die a happy man if the last thing he ever saw was your fucked-out expression.

You just nodded, moaning and whining like a total idiot.

“Don’t fight it off. Come on. Right around my cock. You got it.”

And you did. Your back arched off of the bed straight into his chest, and your thighs trembled around him. He continued to fuck you through it, trying to hold his own orgasm off as your cunt spasmed around him. Once you were drained of everything, he pulling out, spilling all over your stomach.

You didn’t remember much else after that the next morning. What you did know, though, was that you woke up in Oliver Aiku’s bed with him no longer beside you, and your phone was on the nightstand beside you with a few fresh texts from Sendou.

I hate you.

You just cost me 5 grand.

Please get STD testing.

@graciescott27

[jyoongim]

I had this thought for an Alastor x Female Morningstar reader story. She is Charlie's older sister, and she resembles Lillith. She's also engaged to Alastor.

Charlie and Angel Dust are her maids of honor. (Angel literally kept asking about Morningstar Reader's sex life with Alastor, and she made a deal to make him his co-maid of honor, plan her bachelorette party, and pick out her honeymoon lingerie. If he stopped asking, he agreed in an instant.)

Reader, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie are all going wedding dress shopping. But things get a bit messy because the group is trying to make sure that Alastor and Lucifer don't come and see Reader looking and trying on dresses.

One, Lucifer will be a bucket of tears. Second, we've all seen Hell's Greatest Dad. We don't need a better explanation than that.

Title: A Wedding Fit for the Underworld

The sun shone dimly through the Hellish sky, casting a faint glow over the Happy Hotel as the group of women gathered in Charlie's room, buzzing with excitement. Today was the day that everything was about to get complicated in ways that only Hell itself could pull off.

Y/N, Charlie’s older sister and heir to the Morningstar name, sat in front of a mirror, checking her reflection one last time. She was the spitting image of Lillith—graceful, powerful, with a magnetic presence that seemed to demand attention without her even trying. Her long, dark hair cascaded in waves down her back, and her sharp eyes gleamed with a cool, collected intelligence. As the fiancée of Alastor, the Radio Demon, Y/N's aura was equally as intimidating as it was alluring.

And yet, today, she found herself nervous. For a wedding dress shopping trip.

Charlie and Angel Dust—her co-maids of honor—had been relentlessly buzzing around her for days. Charlie was practically glowing with excitement. She had a million ideas for the wedding, most of them absurd, but endearing all the same. Meanwhile, Angel Dust had one mission: to keep asking her about her and Alastor's romantic life, despite her repeated attempts to steer the conversation elsewhere. He didn’t seem to understand that the topic of wedding night intimacy wasn’t something she wanted to discuss openly—especially in front of everyone.

In fact, Angel had asked so many uncomfortable questions that Y/N had finally made a deal with him: if he stopped asking about her and Alastor's private life, she would let him help plan her bachelorette party, pick out her honeymoon lingerie, and even serve as co-maid of honor. Naturally, Angel had agreed without hesitation. He was shameless like that.

Today, though, was all about one thing: finding the perfect dress.

“Okay, okay, Y/N,” Charlie grinned, twirling around with excitement. “You have to try on like, all the dresses! And then we’ll pick the one that screams you! You know, something that says, 'I’m marrying the Radio Demon and I’m here to take over Hell,' but also, *'I’m a princess and I deserve to be adored'! You know?”

Y/N smiled, albeit a little nervously. “I’m not sure a dress could really scream all of that, Charlie.”

“Trust me, we’ll make it work!” Charlie said with confidence. “It’s gonna be perfect.”

Angel, lounging on one of the velvet couches with a glass of something sparkling in his hand, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, but let’s talk about the real issues, honey. Are you and Alastor gonna look this good on your wedding night? I mean, we all know he’s gonna get real fancy with the suit, but I’m just wondering if you two have chemistry down, if ya know what I mean…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “Angel, we’re not doing this today. Please. We’re here to try on dresses, not talk about that.”

Vaggie, who had been quietly observing the group, finally sighed and gave Angel a pointed look. “Angel, if you don’t stop, I will personally take that bottle of sparkling whatever away from you.”

Angel grinned, looking utterly unphased. “Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

“Alright,” Charlie clapped her hands, clearly trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Let’s get started before we all lose our minds!”

The group walked over to the massive fitting area, where rows of dresses in every imaginable color and design were hanging. The room was expansive, but the entire place was intentionally kept quiet, because there was one huge rule that the entire group had to follow: neither Alastor nor Lucifer could find out that Y/N was here trying on dresses.

Lucifer, of course, would be an emotional mess. The thought of his beloved daughter getting married and leaving him for another man—especially Alastor—would likely reduce him to a sobbing, dramatic heap of pure tears. And Alastor… well, he was the Radio Demon. His control over his emotions was legendary—except when it came to Y/N. The idea of her wearing a dress for anyone else—even if it was just for a fitting—would send him into an anxious spiral of possessiveness.

Vaggie crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “We need to make sure they don’t catch a glimpse of her in any of these dresses. Alastor is a disaster when he gets emotional, and Lucifer will break down crying before he even sees her.”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “Exactly! If either of them finds out we’re dress shopping, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Just then, Angel snickered, holding up a dress he’d pulled off the rack. It was outrageously sparkly and not at all Y/N’s style. “Okay, but imagine this on you, Y/N. Like, hello, it screams 'I’m ready to get fancy for my wedding night.'”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “That looks like something from hell’s version of prom, Angel.”

“Exactly!” Angel said with a grin, as if he’d just solved the biggest mystery of the universe. “It’s perfect.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not in a million years, Angel.”

Charlie, ever the optimist, suddenly beamed and pulled out a dress from a hidden rack at the far end of the room. It was simple, elegant, and screamed ‘timeless beauty’. The fabric was a soft blend of crimson and gold, with lace detailing along the sleeves and hem. It was stunning. “Okay, Y/N, I think I found the one.”

Y/N took the dress from Charlie’s hands and held it up against herself in the mirror. It was beautiful, but her smile faltered for just a second. “This is gorgeous, Charlie, but… what if Alastor doesn’t like it?”

“Alastor is going to love it,” Charlie said confidently. “Trust me, you’re going to look like a goddess in this.”

Vaggie gave Y/N a knowing look. “You know he’s probably going to have a mini heart attack when he sees you in whatever you choose, right?”

Y/N laughed, her nerves slowly easing. “That sounds about right.”

“Alright, no more stalling,” Angel called out. “Get that dress on, darling, so we can see if it fits the 'Alastor’s heart will skip a beat' test.”

Y/N sighed, stepping into the dressing room and closing the door behind her. The process of trying on the dress felt oddly surreal. She was marrying Alastor. She was going to be his for all eternity. The thought made her heart flutter in a way she hadn’t expected.

A few moments later, she stepped out, the dress fitting perfectly, and the room went silent.

Charlie gasped. “Oh my god… Y/N, you look like you belong in a fairy tale.”

Vaggie gave a rare smile. “It’s perfect. You’re going to make Alastor lose it.”

Y/N took a step back, admiring herself in the mirror. The dress clung to her body in all the right ways, the lacework and golden accents shimmering in the light. It was everything. Her heart swelled with love and excitement at the thought of Alastor seeing her in it. She couldn’t wait for that moment—when he saw her and, just maybe, he’d forget to hide the emotions that were always so carefully concealed.

Meanwhile, in the corner, Angel, holding a glass of champagne, looked way too pleased with himself. “Alright, now that we’ve handled the wedding dress portion, we can finally talk about the honeymoon lingerie. I mean, we need to be prepared for that, right?”

Y/N groaned. “Not now, Angel.”

Charlie clapped her hands together. “Yes! Now we can talk about all the fun details! But first, we’ve got to finish our shopping trip before anyone else catches wind of what we’re doing!”

With a final, dramatic sigh from Angel, the group of them made their way to the next store. But no matter how chaotic or messy the day had been, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like her future was already falling into place. Alastor would see her in the dress, Lucifer would cry, and then—maybe just then—they would be able to enjoy the life they had ahead of them. All without a single demon interrupting the moment.

The End

[machveil]

You've got a big beautiful brain I hope you know that. And I'm gonna steal it.

If I may ask ur big brain:

Who of any of the cod characters idk idc do you think is the best cook? But I'm talking, can make gourmet meals outta nothing. Like, all you've got is an MRE and some extra little goodies that someone gifted? Hell yeah brother lemme introduce you to your second favorite thing every to bless your tasters.

Oh you've got essentially nothing in your fridge because you forgot to shop? Np. 👩‍🍳

anon, my brain is all yours, beloved 🧠✨

I’d say König, but he’d just eat anything as is, that’s my truth for him. he could make something nice, but if he’s just hungry he’ll eat what’s there. if you want something, sure, he could probably fix something up, but we’re not talking about the best

I’d also say Simon, but I think he’s just good with meat specifically. sure, he can make sides, a good hearty steak and potatoes guy. and he could definitely make something edible out of nothing, but it might not be great. it would definitely sustain you, but that’s about it (Butcher!Simon, Butcher!Simon, Butcher!Simo—)

honorable mention, I think Keegan would do alright. I think he could actually make MREs not mid/bad. I’ve only tried one (1) MRE that wasn’t kind of shit, but this man? I think Keegan could pull through with some sort of bullshitery to make it somewhat enjoyable. maybe the man smuggles fast food sauce packets, who knows

dream team, because they do it together, I think Johnny and Kyle could put their heads together to make anything. specifically together though, they need two brains firing to cook the good shit up. they’re good by themselves, but destroying it as a team - so much so I want to say they FaceTime each other on leave to cook over the phone. on missions? they’re concocting ways to mix and match different MREs, making Price and Simon sweat with their antics (it always turns out better than they expect). I think they get their cooking skills from their families, they were definitely helpers in the kitchen growing up

Nikolai. no further words

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Finding Home

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by @Lizybeth104-mommabatte. During a raid, Dabi get hit with a quirk that tears him out of the world he knows and into a new one. In this place, he is once again the odd man out as he discovered the world is made of half-animal hybrids and only a select few have ‘magic’ like his quirk that make them witches in this world. Thankfully there is a far stranger, but more helpful version of his boss here who is willing to give him guidance as Dabi is forced to confront the reality of what his life really means across worlds. 

Contents: Isekai AU, Fantasy AU, Naga!Shigaraki, Cannibalism, Dabi Angst, Violence, Size Kink, Breeding Kink, Feminization, Loss of Virginity, Grinding, Non-Human Genitalia, Monster Fucking, Double Penetration, Tail Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Biting, Blood Drinking, Bathing/Washing, Mating Bonds, Scent Kink, Belly Bulge.

Word Count: 31,314

Dabi really didn't think he was gonna be anywhere near the CRC raid, but when he shows up to the outpost that the rest of the League has been using after his initial talk with Hawks, he finds that the others are only just preparing to head out.

"I thought you guys were supposed to do this two days ago?" He had deliberately stayed away so that he wouldn't end up getting involved, not wanting to put the stress on his seams when he was already struggling to adapt without medicine readily available. Now that they're cut off from AFO's resources, he has to be wiser about how he handles League business or he won't make it to his fight against his father. 

"Ah, we were going to," Compress says, "But as we were keeping an eye out, it appears that one of the main leaders was still recovering from a stomach bug and they postponed the meeting, so we were forced to follow suit." Well, he supposes that's a better excuse than the other members just being lazy and directionless. 

"But now that you're here," Shigaraki says, putting his mask over his face, "You can join us." 

Dabi doesn't want the others to start thinking of him as 'fragile' so he just shrugs, cracking his neck to one side. "Yeah, whatever, boss." He hopes that they won't need him much. They're going to steal whatever valuables that they can get. He's certain that they won't want him to destroy everything the way that he knows he can if he actually uses his quirk to the full extent that he knows he's capable of.

Regardless, he trails along behind the others, letting their excited chatter of conversation flow around him. He doesn't want to get too involved with their shit. Hell, even this job, to his knowledge, is Spinner's personal grudge getting satisfied. Not that he's using the League for anything else. He just doesn't want them to catch onto that fact before he's ready to use it as a weapon on his own. They walk on towards their target and he doesn't draw any attention to himself as they go. 

///

He knew that the CRC was not just going to let them walk in and steal from them, but he has to say that he wasn't expecting them to put up so much of a fight either. It's a good thing that they do. He has been in a lot of fights throughout his life, but he knows that a number of them haven't been. They don't know how to keep their wits about them on the field when there are dozens of enemies and quirks flying every which way, their only experience the summer camp job and their training in AFO-controlled environments. He knew that Toga got a better taste of it when she snuck into the Hero Licensing exam, but she's still young. And he knows that the most field experience that Spinner has had period was the Summer Camp job. Driving the getaway car, poorly, during the Overhaul thing does not count. So he is trying to keep an eye out for them as much as he is for himself. The League is already so small now that he's worried that it won't have been worth the anonymity that he'd lost by throwing in his lot with them for the resources they no longer have. He needs allies to clear the path to his father and make it so that the hero world is so fragile that his very existence will shatter it into pieces. 

He's not actively protecting any of the others, he's just trying to control the battlefield so that they have a chance to learn from this experience as he does so. He is focused on his job and making sure that nothing comes near him. And then he catches a stray. He doesn't know who dodged out of the way, not aware of their surroundings and sending it towards the rest of the group because they just don't know how to watch their backs well. 

The stone spike that tears through his side puts a hard enough pressure along that seam that he feels the staples tear out of it higher along his side than he thinks that it should. Dabi is used to pain, and even as he stumbles slightly as his mind starts to shift, moving to try and work out how the fuck he is going to get medical attention after the monster maker cut them off post Compress getting his arm torn off, he keeps his wits about him. He knows to make sure the others are clear before he sends off a gout of flame so hot and so intense that it turns everyone on that side of the room to ash before they can even scream. The explosion of heat in the air has nearly everyone else in the building screaming, even his own people are reeling back in horror as they see for themselves just how much he's been trying to hold back so they never fully knew the amount of power he's been sitting on and waiting to let erupt. But he is going to need medical attention as soon as he can get it if he doesn't want to have to cauterize this wound himself and hope that's enough, so he is done playing around and letting the others use this as a training exercise. 

"Dabi--" It's Shigaraki's voice, him who notices first how badly hurt he is because he's the only one so far that he's actually seen growing into his role of a villain. He knows the value of keeping his pieces together and making sure he doesn't lose any of his party members when they are already strapped for resources. He can't do anything to help him though, and he hears Duster bark out, "Twice! Mustard!" 

He knows that Twos has all of their measurements and Dabi takes a deep breath and holds it in his lungs as the other man makes their arrested ally. It's no surprise that the double sees the combat and covers his own nose and mouth before pumping out the toxic gas that will help clear this room even faster. 

Dabi starts to feel light-headed far before his lungs start to burn from the lack of air, and his side is soaked with his blood. Compress is the one who swoops in immediately, getting an arm under his own and trying to lead him towards the doors. The others let the gas do its work as they try to clear the area too, everyone making their way outside so that they can breathe and block the doors. Twice doubles Shigaraki and they head around to the back entrance so that none of the CRC members can escape and tell anyone what they've been up to as the warm afternoon sun hits Dabi's skin as they get out into the fresh air. 

"Dabi--" Shigaraki's voice as he circles around him, reaching for his coat and shirt. He thinks the other is going to pull the fabric aside, but he doesn't get the chance. Those deadly hands that he's never seen slip before reach, but before they can grasp, Dabi's back is arching as he feels something else impact him at the center of his spine. He has been hit by other quirks before, and this one doesn't cause an immediate, searing pain, so he knows that it's bad. If a quirk doesn't hurt on impact, then that means it does something worse and he pushes himself away from Mister, away from Shigaraki, as he fears that it will do something to anyone near him as he feels his whole body start to go numb and tingly at the same time, like he's cut off the circulation to every inch of his body. He can feel the sensation in his teeth, in his eyeballs, and there is no escaping it. There's a furious resentment that goes through him as he feels like his consciousness is slipping away, his limbs too heavy to support himself anymore and sending him crashing to the ground. He was supposed to use the League to reach his goals, not be just another pawn that got sacrificed so that Shigaraki could hold onto his delusions of being king. He was supposed to burn it all down. He was supposed to make sure that Endeavor knew what he created that night on the mountain. 

He lets out a furious roar, his flames erupting along his skin, unable to be contained by his good sense as he feels the same helplessness that he was surrounded by as a child come crashing in on him again as the whole world goes weightless. 

He hits the ground for a second time, the air cooler, the sun set, and the smell of a forest in his nose for a split second before he's incinerating everything around him before darkness can rush up over his eyes. 

///

He's in pain, dizzy, and confused when he feels hands on his body, pushing up his shirt that has gone tacky with his blood, the motion hurting badly enough to stir him from unconsciousness as the fabric tears away the barely formed scabs. He manages to squint his eyes open, but there is no bright sunlight to burn them as he manages it. Just moonlight and embers. His mind feels foggy, but he knows it was day before. He is even more confused when his vision clears enough for him to make out the appearance of the person leaning over him who is certainly not a doctor. 

Shigaraki's hair has been growing out lately, but it is definitely not down to his waist and absolutely not such a pure white that it would be glowing in the moonlight like it is right now. He knows that his eyes are red, but he doesn't remember his pupils being black slits through them, doesn't remember that his teeth were fangs behind his lips, doesn't remember him having a forked tongue that flicks out from between them like a demon. 

"Shigaraki?" Is he seeing the world wrong? Some sort of hallucinogenic quirk? He doesn't know. He just knows that when he says the other man's name, his eyes go from his wounded side to his own and that the word feels like it takes out the last of the energy that he had in his body.

"How do you know me?" His voice sounds the same, but Dabi doesn't understand the words. 

He feels his whole body is heavy and floaty at the same time. The way he remembers it being the last time he got so sick that he had to seek out medical attention, and he knows that if he doesn't get it soon, he's not going to make it long. "Fuck, if you let me die, I'm going to come back and burn down everything you've ever touched." He manages to croak. He could demand that he take him to the doctor, but he just doesn't have the energy for it, his body starting to slump into the soil even more. He can't keep his eyes open even when he hears a loud, unfamiliar sound of something heavy being dragged across the earth. He just knows that there is movement near him and can only hope Shigaraki didn't leave them open to some other attack. 

"What a curious creature." He hears Shigaraki murmur before there are hands on his body. They're so cold that he shivers and doesn't have the wherewithal to think about how that might be strange as he is lifted from the ground and pulled into a solid, muscular chest before his consciousness is slipping away again. 

///

When he wakes next, it is with a throb in his side and a musty smell of cold clogging his nose. Dabi groans slightly, opening his eyes and finding himself still in the dark somewhere. He doesn't know where he is, has no idea if the League was able to get him to a hospital or not, but he knows that this isn't the worst pain that he's ever been in, so he thinks that he stands a fair chance of surviving this the same way he has survived everything else. Dabi forces himself to sit up a bit, letting what feels like a tattered blanket slip away from his body. He has to light up one of his hands to have anything at all to see by and as he does, his dread sets in as he sees that the others... did not bring him to the doctor. He knows that things have been strained with him, but he thought that they would still make an effort for him. He didn't expect them to instead bring him to a... cave. A cave, he realizes as he takes in the curved stone that makes up the walls and ceiling, a hard-packed dirt floor beneath him, a threadbare blanket put across his skin, and a poultice of what he really hopes are medicinal herbs packed over the wound and the places where his staples separated from his skin. Those fucking bastards. Hurt because of them in the first place and then they don't even really bother to take care of him. If he survives this, he's burning them alive.

Dabi means to try and scrape away some of this mess, even more annoyed to realize that he doesn't see his coat or shirt anywhere around him. He's sure the shirt is soaked with blood and completely unsalvageable, but if he's going to leave here, he would have liked to have his coat. That, at least, would have let him cover up the worst of the damage to his side, and hopefully not make him look like an easy target for anyone that he might come across. But as he tries to get his legs under himself to push up from the ground and try to find his way to medical help on his own, he hears the sound of something large moving across the dirt. Dabi keeps his hands lit up, ready to send a gout of flame in the direction of whatever is approaching him and turn it to ash completely. 

He's not expecting Shigaraki to emerge from the dark, looking... differently, but the way he remembers him from before he slipped under. He sees the long, wild white hair, the bright red eyes with the strange pupils, the thick muscle and knotted scars corded along his entire torso and making him look like he might have taken more hits than Dabi has seen evidence for in their time of rolling together. He absolutely was not this ripped, his hair not that long when he passed out before, and a cold dread spreads through his gut as he wonders just how long he's been asleep. 

And then he has an entirely different, entirely primal fear when Shigaraki keeps moving closer to him. The movement is accompanied by that same heavy sound of something, his body just seeming to stretch towards him out of the darkness and making him bring a wider arch of flame through the air as he doesn't hear any footsteps, as his mind reels as he sees Shigaraki's body far higher than it should be as it moves. He casts more of the flickering blue light of his flames all around the cavern and a scream gets caught in his throat as an icy fear saturates his veins as he sees the other man approaching.

"You're finally awake." Shigaraki's voice sounds the same as he pauses his approach, looking at his hands like he's the one who needs to be weary as Dabi sees that his torso is not attached to legs the way it has always been before, but instead transitions from pale, scarred skin to serpentine scales of black that glitter in his firelight. The tail that makes up the lower half of his body and stretches out behind him to a place that he cannot find the end of in the dark, is thicker than Dabi's entire body, and moves so fluidly that, although he has never been afraid of snakes before, the unnaturalness of the sight has his entire body going all the hotter with his distress. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" He knew that Shigaraki was getting experimented on by AFO and Ujiko, of course he was when Dabi knows that Ujiko is the one responsible for that entire hospital full of spares that took him in while he was in his coma. But he didn't know that the mad doctor would have any real interest in turning Shigaraki into a heteromorph. 

Shigaraki's head tilts to the side slightly, his tongue flicking out, long and forked, like any other serpent's and making Dabi shudder from the wrongness of the action. "You speak to me like we've met before, witch. You knew my name before we'd ever spoken." Shigaraki has always had a sort of awkwardness to the way he talks, too much playing a megalomaniacal villain and too much other nerd shit throughout his life, Dabi guesses. But he doesn't normally sound so stilted and formal. He calls them his party members, but Dabi is what Duster likes to call their 'glass cannon', not a 'witch'. 

"Did turning into a heteromorphic nomu turn your brain into mush? Of course I know you, you've been my worthless boss for months. Even more worthless if I get an infection and die because you put me on the ground and packed leaves into my wound. Where the fuck are we? Where are the others?" He asks, his hands starting to sting from having to hold his flames to see by. But he can't think of anything more frightening than to let the dark swallow him up and lose sight of the other man who is not what he is used to. 

Shigaraki's head tilts again, his tongue flicking out. "You're frightened... and hurting." His body lowers from the height that he was stretched to before, moving closer and making Dabi all the more skittish over what he might do to him. But he stoops down and pauses about half a meter from his burning hands. "Let me check your poultice. I promise that no harm will come to you from my hands, witch." 

"Stop calling me that, Duster!" He snaps, not letting his quirk waver. "You know my name, fucking use it, dick." 

There's a pause, a strange look that crosses the other man's face as he raises his hands placatingly towards them. "I think that you may be confused-- whether it be from your magic or your injuries, I'm not certain, but all I can say is that I am unfamiliar with you." His voice is softer than Dabi has ever heard it before. Gentle in a way that has his skin bristling further, like he's the wild animal that needs to be soothed lest he lash out. "I will provide the care I can, but I do not know you." He says again. "You know it already, but my name is Tomura Shigaraki. Perhaps you could do me the kindness of introducing yourself to me?"

Dabi stares, willing this all to be wrong, for this not to be real, but when Shigaraki lowers himself further reaching into a shadowy corner that he couldn't see into before and he picks up Dabi's coat with all five fingers, he is filled with a cold dread that tells him so clearly that this is not the world that he existed in before. 

///

Shigaraki, when he smells his flesh burning, insists on taking him closer to the mouth of the cave. He tells him that he brought him so deep inside so that no one would be able to smell his injuries while he was hunting, and that he can bring him closer to the fresh air so that he can light a proper fire to see by when he picks up on how scared Dabi is of being left in the dark with this unfamiliar man who is wearing his boss's face. Dabi tries to walk there himself, but he's so weak that he collapses almost immediately, Shigaraki catching him from falling with one of the thick coils of his tail, the scales chilly and smooth under his hands as he does so. Dabi can't help bristling when Duster-- not 'Duster', not anymore-- shifts his body so that he is sitting side-saddle on his back, his hands bringing Dabi's coat around his shoulders when he shivers, before he starts to move beneath him, taking him to the mouth of the cave. 

It is still night outside and Dabi's stomach sinks further just from seeing how many stars light up the sky. He never paid any attention to astrological signs or astrology, but just looking up, he can see that they aren't near any city. That the sky is so free of light pollution that, as far as the eye can see, there are stars. He can't think it's beautiful as he takes in the thick conifer forest around him and the entrance to the cave that he was brought into. Shigaraki moves easily over the dirt and twigs, pushing them aside so that he can find an old log and roll that onto its side so that Dabi can sit there instead of on his back. He an only just make out that his tail has to be long at least three of him from head to toe if he were going to lay down beside him as Shigaraki moves around the area, gathering fallen branches and stones, bringing them together into a small fire pit that Dabi is able to light and give himself more light to see by. He still feels his skin bristling with anticipation, but once Shigaraki has done that, he settles on the other side of the fire, his tail coiling up beneath him and his torso resting on top of it, those bright, foreign eyes watching him as it happens. He doesn't know what he wants him to say, but after a long moment, Dabi knows that he has to speak. He needs to make sense of wherever it is he is now. 

"Do you have quirks?" 

Shigaraki's head tilts, his tongue flicking out again. "Oddities of my personality? I suppose some would find the fact I was willing to associate with a witch strange." 

"No-- your hands, when you touch things with all five of your fingers, do you turn whatever you're touching into dust?" He suspects he already knows the answer to that question, but he can't help asking it again anyway. He doesn't want to be right. He wants to be wrong, wants this to be some elaborate prank that the others are pulling on him or some psychological experiment that Ujiko is running because he just can. But he knows it's not when Shigaraki answers so earnestly, 

"I can't perform any feats of magic." He asks a question of his own while Dabi is still reeling from that flat admittance. "You don't have a secondary species?" 

"A what?" 

"You aren't an animal as well as a man?" He asks with a little bit more of a gently prompting tone. 

"No. Only heteromorphs have-- is... magic rare? Are people without being animals not normal here?" He hates that these are the questions that he's being forced to ask, but he needs to understand this place, needs to know what is happening to him, around him. 

"Magic is very rare, I've only ever met one other witch in all of my life." Shigaraki tells him, sounding like that is as fascinating to him as Dabi wonders if the rest of this should be to him. "He could do many things with his abilities, shaping the world around him to his whims, until a warrior came to slay him." There's a melancholy laid plain on Shigaraki's face that Dabi isn't expecting, that he doesn't want to see because his Shigaraki has never been so blatant with his emotions like this in front of him. Not any that weren't anger or manic joy at least." He took me in when my family disowned me when my species became known." 

"All For One?" He asks hesitantly, Shigaraki's eyes snapping back to his immediately. 

"So you have the gift of sight as well as the elements?" 

"No." Dabi says, his voice a hoarse croak. "I'm not from here. I don't know what this is, but this isn't where I belong." 

Shigaraki seems to settle in further as he prompts, "Where are you from, little one?" 

Dabi has never been a chatty guy when it comes to the League, but there's no stopping the words now as they come spilling out from behind his lips. 

///

He talks for a while. Until his throat is dry and he feels exhausted, and the serpent version of his boss that does not know him, goes to a basin of stone that he has carved, and brings him a whittled ladle of the rain water collected there. Dabi is hesitant to drink it, worried about inviting sickness into his already vulnerable body, but he has no choice if he doesn't want to perish from thirst. Everything feels wrong around him, but Shigaraki takes in what he tells him about his world in easy stride. He assures him that he will be allowed to stay here until he's healed-- for as long as he wants really, and the earnest way that the other man looks at him tells Dabi... that he wants that companionship. That he's been alone for a long time and that he wants to not be alone any longer. He tells Dabi that he had been hunting a lovely rabbit, but as he lost sight of it in the thicket of the forest, he had started to smell smoke. And then an intense wave of blue fire lashed out and turned so much of the surrounding area to ash. He had moved closer when the fires had died down and found him collapsed and bleeding at the center of the crater. His curiosity about Dabi is what caused him to treat his wounds and make sure that he was safe in his den for the time being. But Shigaraki also tells him that witches are rare, that he has only met one in all of his life before Dabi, and that if they do exist anywhere, it would be in the larger cities, not out in the wildlands where they are now. 

Dabi is still hurt, that much is clear when Shigaraki pulls the medicinal herbs from his skin, but he is not nearly as hurt as he should be given what he remembers before he passed out. But his skin is not gouged as deeply as it looked before, and there is a comfort in the very fact that he isn't seeing any swelling or signs of infection along the wound. Maybe in this world, the plants are more magical than the pharmaceuticals that he's used to. He doesn't care as long as it means that he's not about to keel over at any second from how much damage his skin has taken. Shigaraki assesses the wound and tells him he'll likely need to keep it on his body for another week before he decides to travel, and he goes to procure more of the herbs from his stash, returning within half an hour and soaking them in the rainwater for a few minutes before he starts to apply them in careful layers along his side. 

"I wasn't certain if... the rest of it was something fresh or not." He says gently, carefully, as if this version of Shigaraki does not want to offend him when they had tried to kill each other practically on first sight in Dabi's world. But the comment doesn't offend him, it just puts a further pit in his gut as he's given a firm reminder that even in a completely new world, he won't ever be something that isn't strange and unpleasant to look at. "So I just treated any places that were bleeding. If you need more--" 

"Happened eight years ago." He tells Shigaraki, glad his voice sounds gruff instead of choked. "There's nothing I can do about them now." He tells him and this version of Shigaraki seems to be much better at picking up on social cues than his was because he drops the subject and just makes sure that Dabi's wounds are treated the best he can. 

"Are you hungry?" Shigaraki asks more gently. 

Dabi thinks he probably should be. The snake creature told him that he was unconscious for a few days, but everything in his head and the exhaustion that is still clinging to his body is stopping him from finding his appetite. He shakes his head weakly.

"I will hunt for you tonight," Shigaraki tells him anyway. "So you won't have to wait throughout the entire day before I can bring you something if you wake and need food then." Dabi doesn't protest, letting the other carry him back into the cave when his legs feel too weak to actually support his weight, and accepting the thin blanket that he was given. His coat and quirk also help with the spring chill in the air, and he makes due with curling up on the hard dirt floor. Truth be told, this is not the worst sleeping arrangement that he's ever experienced in his life, so he figures that he'll survive it for the night and figure out what he can do in the morning.

///

When Dabi wakes, he's not certain if it's still night or if it has ticked over into day. Shigaraki's den curves after a few meters from the entrance of the cavern mouth, creating a wall of stone between it and the entrance when one travels as far back as the naga insisted on keeping him when he brought him back inside the night before. With any possible light blocked off, Dabi realizes just how pitch black the world can really get. He lights a spark on his finger and finds that he's surrounded in iridescent darkness too, the thick coils of Shigaraki's body wrapped around him loosely, the other man's torso and head pillowed on the length of his tail as he sleeps, his breaths even and slow with the small candle flame flickering on Dabi's fingertip. He is careful as he extracts himself from the loose... embrace. For as weirdly kind and understanding as this Shigaraki has been, he doesn't know if that is going to last forever, especially when he doesn't know who exactly this is now, and he would much rather err on the side of caution with him.

He slips out and goes towards the end of the cavern, finding that curve and able to see the sunlight from the entrance beyond. His body doesn't feel as sluggish as it did yesterday, his legs carrying him even if he does have to lean against the wall to make it easier for him. He gets all the way to the entrance and has to squint against the bright sunlight. He can hear bird song and the buzzing of insects in the forest around him, the warmth of the sun immediately taking away the chill that was coming from deep inside of the cave. It's been a long time since he was somewhere so far away from the city that the smells of it couldn't reach him anymore, but this air is fresh and crisp as he takes it in. His eyes adjust and he tries to get a better look at his surroundings, stopping with a scream lodged in his throat as he sees, barely a meter from the place where his fire burned out the night before, a body laying slumped in the dirt.

Dabi has killed a lot of people in his life, he's seen a lot of corpses too, just in passing. He knows the difference from someone who is unconscious, and someone who is dead, and there is no doubt in his mind, even just from a glance, that this person is the latter. The person on the ground is a naked man with dark hair and small, dark ears that curve out from the top of his head, a long tail with long fur that lends it a sleek rather than bushy look limp against his legs. He sees that Shigaraki has scratched a message for him into the dirt, a brief note that Dabi still spends an eternity trying to make sense of. 

'Eat as much as you need.'

The other said that he had been hunting a rabbit. He told him that he had already hunted once the night before and that his appetite was sated. Dabi had wondered, absent-mindedly, when his mind was far more occupied with everything else that he needed to worry about right now, if that meant that he had unhinged his jaw like a serpent and had swallowed his meal whole. But when he had thought that, he had been picturing real animals. When Shigaraki said that everyone in this world was an animal, he thought that simply meant that they were animals as well as there being real animals in the world. But as he looks at this dead man and the innocuous note beside the body, he has a horrible feeling that he understands even less about this world than he thought he did.

///

Dabi is still hurt and he can't go far, but he does go into the forest. He knows that pine cones have pine nuts and that he can eat those. He hates himself when he reaches for his phone, intent on looking up other forms of foraging that he might be able to do, but finds that his phone, even though there is still a small charge left, is a useless hunk of plastic, glass, and metal. There is no signal of any kind to be found, no satellites for it to hook up to, no way of using it to help better his chances for survival in its current state and he makes the decision to power it off completely in the hope of conserving what is left of the battery if this strange quirk ever wears off, so that if he magically pops back to the correct universe, he'll at least be able to call his actual companions and find out what the hell happened. 

He gathers pinecones, looks for other food, water, anything, and after about half an hour of walking, making sure to burn little scorch marks into the trees as he passes so that he doesn't get lost in the woods, he comes across a burbling stream. It feels like just another cruelty of fate that he is going to be forced to eat fish to survive, but he will take anything that he can get that is not the dead man who is laying naked at the mouth of Shigaraki's cave. No. He's not nearly in dire enough straits to think that cannibalism is the way he should go to get through this situation for now. 

Dabi has never had to fish before, but without a line, hooks, or rod, he figures that he's probably going to be better off trying to use his quirk for the task. He hates to do it, but he has to take off his coat, taking two thick fallen tree branches and stabbing them as deeply as he can into the muddy bank of the stream. It only reaches his mid-thigh, so he is able to wade across it, tying the sleeves to each end of the post and then using the long tails of it, weighing it down with heavy stones he pulls up from the bottom of the bed. It doesn't stop the water from flowing through it, or the fish from swimming into, and then around it, but it does stall them for a moment and Dabi climbs back out, moving about a meter down from the coat and building a fireball as hot as he can make it into his hands. He throws it into the stream, twisting away quickly as it erupts into a burst of steam that would burn him as badly as the fire. The sound of the explosion echoes around the area and he moves as quickly as he can to try and get the fish that are now floating to the surface of the stream as the water rushes back in. He gets down into the bank and uses the barrier of his coat to gather as many of the dead fish as he can before they're swept away, managing to get seven, one nearly as long as his forearm, and toss them up on the bank before he retrieves his soaked coat. He runs it through the water, cleaning the bottom of mud, and then slings the heavy fabric over one arm as he heads back up to the bank. With his spoils in hand, he starts to make his way back along the trail of soot marks. 

He still has to go and gather more firewood and sticks to cook the fish on, and he realizes that if he's going to be here for days at least, he also needs to make sure he has a way of getting clean drinking water too. His side is aching badly, but he goes out anyway to do whatever he needs to, not wanting to rely on the snake to help him when the offering he was given was cannibalism. It's probably some time after noon that Dabi is back in the camp with a decent sized pile of branches to use as firewood. He knows some of them are probably too wet to use, but he can dry anything that isn't suitable.

The next issue is drinking water and a knife. He hasn't actually ever gutted a fish or scraped away its scales, but he knows that he needs to do those kinds of things if he wants to actually be able to eat today. It takes him a good hour of trying to find any stone that seems like it might be thin enough and sharp enough for the task, and even then, he's certain that he's going to make a mess of this whole process. Whatever. He just needs to make sure that it's cleaned enough that he'll be able to gag it down. Figuring out how to make a vessel to boil in is harder. The basin of rain water is a massive stone formation that cannot be moved, and he doesn't exactly have a lot of metal to use, even if he can get hot enough to melt most of them. It pains him to do it, but he takes his support cuffs off of his sleeves, splitting the seam along the welding line and taking out all of the internal bits that actually make them work, including the tiny canisters of liquid nitrogen. The metal then, is fairly thin and he takes it and the fish back to the stream because he's fucking stupid and should have stayed there in the first place. 

But he goes to the bottom of the stream and pulls out one of the smooth rocks that has been curved from the water constantly running over it. He sinks that halfway into the ground along the bank and then heats the thin sheets of metal around it, circling it with his hands and irritating his seams badly from having to keep contact with the material. But over the course of a few minutes, he's turned one of his cuffs into a small cup that he should be able to put into the fire. He does his best to make a handle so that it can hang over the fire but he doesn't know how long that will last. He also takes the second cuff and tries to melt it as hot as it will go and pound it out between two stones, one fairly wide and flat, to try to make a lid with an edge sharp enough to be used on the fish. He doesn't think he's as successful with making a knife from that, but at least he can cover the cup to keep too much water from evaporating. 

He's only just started to try and gut the fish, tearing through the skin and muscle beneath in a messy, jagged way, that he still has to hook his fingers into so he can actually, fully, tear it open, when he nearly jumps out of his skin as Shigaraki says, 

"You shouldn't have gone this far from the den," His voice is gentle and lightly chastising, but Dabi is too busy trying not to send the mess of things that he has with him into the stream as he jumps out of his skin. He had heard the snake creature the night before when he moved, but looking up now to find that he has been able to make his way through the trees without calling attention to himself at all, is a terrifying reality to be made aware of. "You're still healing." 

"Yeah, and where I'm from, we don't eat people." He snaps, turning his attention back to the fish. He has its sticky blood all over his fingers, his nails trying to scrape through the guts to take out the things that he knows he can't eat. But he's never liked fish, and this process is making eating the things even less appealing. 

"Your people only eat fish?" And just from the tone, he can tell that the other man is not at all impressed with the mess he's making of trying to do just that. 

"No. Where I'm from," he says, flinging the fish guts off of his fingers and back into the stream. He thinks he has to wash them out too before he skewers them and puts them over the campfire. "Only a small amount of the population are heteromorphs-- animal people. The rest of us are normal humans and unless you're really fucked in the head, none of us eat people, we just eat real animals." The fact that he's having to deal with an ally twice in his life that considers cannibalism perfectly normal and acceptable is truly a horror he could have never been prepared for, but he gives up on trying to make it make sense. He can only ask for his sanity to withstand so much. 

"True animals are rare," Shigaraki tells him, coming up to the pile of fish and taking one. Dabi opens his mouth to snap at him, but he simply extends a claw which normal, limbless snakes definitely do not have, and slits the fish along its stomach easily. He lets the blood and guts spill out, more careful in taking out the innards before he offers it to Dabi. 

He still has to scrape the scales from it, but he will take that over trying to dig around the insides as Shigaraki settles by him. "...Thanks." 

"I'm sorry I didn't ask for more clarity when it came to your diet. Will this be enough to sustain you?" 

"Until I'm well enough to go to one of the cities you mentioned, yeah." He mutters, trying his best to make these fish properly edible. "I need to see if I can find someone who can send me back home." 

"Witches are rare," Shigaraki warns him again. 

"Because people burn them at the stake or what?"

"At the stake?" The other creature sounds genuinely confused, but he shakes it off quickly enough. "No, the blessing of magic is just rare and it often takes a toll, stopping a person from gaining a secondary species. I think that Ustron is the nearest city that I've heard tale has a witch living within the walls."

"How far away is that?" 

"Nearly eighty kilometers on foot." Shigaraki tells him, "And the travel will be dangerous. Trade between cities is difficult to facilitate and oftentimes merchants who travel are ambushed by bandits from the wilds trying to take whatever they can get." 

"I can protect myself." He's certain of that, at least. 

"If I had wanted to kill you when I approached, I would have been able to do so before you even noticed my presence. You do not have nearly strong enough senses to keep yourself protected from those who would make a meal out of you."

Dabi wants to protest further, if anything even touches him, he'll turn it to ash, but if something is able to sneak up on him, if his neck could be snapped before he even notices that he's no longer alone, then his quirk won't matter at all. He doesn't like that thought, but there isn't anything to do for it. He needs to find a way home. He isn't going to make it long if he doesn't. 

"I can accompany you, once you are well enough to travel, and I can collect the fee." 

"'Fee'?" He doesn't necessarily want a babysitter, but at least this Shigaraki is actually trying to look after him instead of just leaving him to fend for himself the way he did after Kamino. 

"The 'civilized folk'," There is a clear derision in Shigaraki's tone as he says it, finishing with gutting the pile of fish and dipping down to the stream to wash them out for Dabi. "Believe that the 'ferals' will enter their cities and wreak havoc, devouring their citizens, mounting attacks, things of that nature. If a feral wishes to enter the city, then they must do so by bribing the right people. They only get very specific portions of meat from their dead and most of the predators subsist on fish, as you insist on. But the right guards want something else. For two of us to enter, we will need to procure thirty pounds of flesh." 

"What about the guy back at camp?" 

"Unless we leave tonight, which I would not recommend, the stoat will be long rotted." 

Dabi is not a stranger to killing people to get to his goals, so he shrugs. "Okay. I can last on fish for a while, though vegetables or something else would be good." He doesn't know much about edible plants and he really isn't surprised when, for as helpful as the other man has been so far, he doesn't offer him any other comments about that. He supposes if Shigaraki's diet really is that of a snake, then he probably doesn't eat any plants. "How long do you think it will take for me to be good to travel?" Especially after all of the activity today, his side is hurting, a dull throb on the edge of his awareness that he is going to have to deal with sooner or later. Once he gets something to eat and drink, he'll sleep for the rest of the night. It's not like Shigaraki seems to need him for anything in particular. 

"I'll check your dressings at my den." He tells him, helping Dabi finish up the process of cleaning the fish. 

When they're done, Shigaraki selects a large flat stone and he brings it easily back to the camp. The body is gone, a smattering of blood left on the dirt in its wake, and Dabi does his very best to not think about that too much. He arranges the fire, the flat stone put nearby for him to use as a cooking surface if he wants it, and he skewers the fish, hangs his cup filled with rainwater, and covers it so that it boils and the meat cooks.

Shigaraki doesn't make small talk with him as he prepares and forces himself to choke down the meal, every bite only just adequate enough to sustain him, but still absolutely foul. He can't believe that he was so unlucky that he would end up not only being hit by a quirk that sent him to another world entirely, but one where his only options for food are cannibalism or fish. It really is amazing just how cruel his life keeps turning out to be as he does his best to just make it through. 

///

Shigaraki shows him the plants that he's been using to make the poultice, how it is mashed between stones and a larger leaf is laid over top so that it keeps the moisture inside and helps to improve the healing process and keep out parasites or infection. Dabi learns well enough that he knows how to deal with it on his own, which is good, because after eating two meals in such a short span of time, Shigaraki is tired. He barely makes it through teaching Dabi before he's excusing himself to go deep into his burrow again and curl up. Dabi knows snakes eat big meals and then don't do much else for a while, but when the snake doesn't wake when he slips back into the den to go to bed for the night too, and he's still sleeping soundly in the morning, and all the way until sundown the next night, he realizes that must apply to nagas too. Shigaraki doesn't react to his footsteps or to him bringing in a torch, made from putting some twigs and embers in his water cup and holding it on the end of a stick so that he doesn't have to burn his hands again to keep the light going. He just slumbers on as the dim light flickers across his features. It's a far cry from his boss, the Shigaraki who is scrawny with his pale blue hair and nerdy references who never fucking sleeps. This Shigaraki didn't know him, but his curiosity had been enough to go out of the way to save his life, who is willing to go so far to help a stranger that he has decided to help him travel all the way to a city just on the off chance that he might be able to find someone with just the right kind of magic to take him back home. He doesn't know if his Shigaraki would have done that. Sure, the boss usually tries to do right by them now that they're the only thing that he has left, but if the League thinks that Dabi was straight up vaporized the way Magne was, then he knows in his heart that Duster will just use him as another martyr to rally behind. Dabi wasn't even supposed to be on that job. Pure chance that he was, pure chance that one of their fuck-ups got him killed like it did Magne. He hopes that when he gets back that they're all ready to sob at his feet and he can use that to get whatever else he needs to get to his revenge the way he so wants to. He holds onto those hopes as his new companion sleeps on. 

///

On the day that Dabi and Shigaraki are ready to set out, his side is still not healed perfectly. It is still tender to the touch, but the fresh pink layer of skin has sealed it up where it can, and has tightened around his seam enough that he's not worried about springing a leak and letting his guts fall out. Shigaraki considers him, considers their path of travel, and makes Dabi rest for the day. He has better camouflage at night and that is when he wants them to travel. 

"I can't see in the dark and walking around carrying a torch is going to get us noticed too." He says flatly. 

"You won't have to walk." Shigaraki tells him easily. "You can ride on my back." 

The immediate response of sputtering and blushing like a schoolgirl is not exactly very good for his ego, but he can't help it. "I'm not gonna ride you like you're the world's weirdest horse!" He's never even ridden a horse in the first place for god's sake. 

"Why not? It won't be a burden." Shigaraki tells him, moving in close without hesitation. He also doesn't hesitate to bend down and reach for him, picking him up from the ground and holding him in his arms. Dabi sees the ripple of muscle through his chest and arms, his stomach swooping as he is made so weightless as the naga lifts him like he weighs nothing. "You're very light," he tells him, shifting so that he can put Dabi onto his tail. Dabi scrambles for something to hold onto so he doesn't slip off of the side as the other starts to move, making a lap around the outside of the camping grounds as if that's the reason Dabi protested. "See? You'll be safe this close and you won't have to worry about being able to travel by sight."  

"I--" he loses his protests as he makes himself let go of the other man's waist that he'd been clutching onto for dear life. "Fucking, fine, whatever." He makes himself slide off of the other's tail. He's so much longer than Dabi thinks he should be, and the appendage is probably half as thick as Dabi is tall. He can easily support his body too, but it still feels humiliating to be made so small in such a new way. 

He stomps back over to the camp fire and continues to dry his fish into jerky. The taste has gotten no better, but he won't be very happy if he has to go multiple days of travel without food, even if he doesn't have to walk. Maybe when they get to the city-- A thought comes to him and Dabi looks up at the other man. 

"What about once we get into the city? The meat is a bribe to open the doors, but when we're there, what about money? I only have yen." He doesn't think, given everything else that is different about this world, that his money will actually be good here. Which means that he's going to need something else instead. 

"Trade is more common than coin, even in the city." Shigaraki tells him. "And I'll be gathering a good amount of the herbs that I used to help you so that we will be able to afford what we need." Shigaraki gestures for him to follow and Dabi gets up and does so. It's mid-afternoon, but this is the first time Shigaraki has been awake in days, and he is just glad for the company after several days of just sitting alone in the silence with his own thoughts. 

The naga brings him to a small area near his den that is lush with plant life. These are the herbs that he showed him how to use before and he isn't sure what the other wants to show him. "We were meant to live like this." Shigaraki tells him. "In the wild, with our instincts, strength, and wit. But centuries ago, when there were more witches, they created cities. People gathered there and over time, nature started to abandon them." Shigaraki leans down and starts to pick the plants, careful to do so in a way that doesn't damage the roots or too far along the stems. "Medicine became less potent, food became less filling, sleep less satisfying. But they insist that because they are able to farm plenty, even making places where they breed fish for their abundance, that the way they live is right and true. They are weaker, even if they have some luxuries that would benefit those in the wild." 

"So I guess you're not thrilled about my cup?" He asks, trying to work out how much of what he said is actually true and how much of it is just legends and hearsay. 

"Simple tools to supplement your abilities are fine." Shigaraki tells him with a shrug. "Using medicine to heal wounds, sharing an overabundance with a neighbor, those are all things that can do us well. It's the gathering together, forcing nature to bend to one's own will, that nature itself is punishing those in cities for." 

"So making a garden of medicinal plants is fine, but making a garden for vegetables is not? Seems like a weird double-standard to me." He tells the other because he just can't stop himself from being contradictory even when every ounce of good sense tells him not to offend the giant snake monster that could kill him in a heartbeat. 

"Perhaps, but my plants brought you back from the edge of death, and the ones in the city barely heal. Why do you think they have so many dead to use for their meat rations?" He posits, and Dabi really doesn't have any way of countering that claim. He helps the other man gather a large amount of the herbs, but still not enough to even cause a quarter of the plants to look bare as they do so, and is just glad that this means that he won't have to try and make money in a world he doesn't understand at all. He's spent more than enough time doing that just after his coma. 

When they've finished with their gathering, he manages, past his pride, to mumble, "Thank you." 

"Of course." Shigaraki tells him and Dabi has to make himself actually move to look the other creature in the eye. 

"Thank you." He grounds out. "If you hadn't pulled me out of that crater I would have died. If you weren't helping me now, I wouldn't have any way to get back home. You didn't have to do any of it and I would have probably been more useful to you as a snack. But you helped me instead of eating me and you're going out of your way to get me to the city. Thank you." 

Shigaraki considers him for a long moment, long enough that Dabi worries that this all hasn't been some act of grace after all. That this was some sort of scheme to get him to let his guard down so that he would fall victim to his fangs or claws in some other way that he just wasn't expecting. But then his head tilts slightly to the side, "In your world, do you have... bonds?" 

Dabi frowns. "What kinds of bonds? Like family ties?" 

"I suppose that's one way of considering them." 

That does not give him the answer that he wants, but this Shigaraki can apparently be as esoteric and weird as his own. "Some people do-- I don't. I want to destroy my family." He sees the way that something... dims behind Shigaraki's eyes as he says that. 

"I see." 

And Dabi hates the way that those two simple words can make him feel so painfully inadequate. "But you do, sort of. You made a group that I was a part of. You've been doing your best to lead us to a new future. In my world, everyone has magic and some people use it to pretend to be heroes of the people, but it's all just to cover up their own selfishness and ambition. The League that you made is supposed to be fighting back and destroying it all so that no one ends up forgotten or tossed aside like we were." 

Shigaraki takes that all in and tilts his head slightly. "And were you happy in my care?" 

Dabi isn't sure about the phrasing, but he tries to be a little more generous, "You got the job done for the most part, and that's the main thing that I cared about. But we weren't exactly hanging out when we weren't working. We don't have much in common. To be honest, I think I get along with you more than I ever did with him, and it's not just because you saved my life." 

He knows that the other man is a giant snake, but there's no other way to describe his demeanor than that he perks up like a puppy when he says that. "That is good to know. Come, let's finish preparing for our trip." 

Dabi trails after him, more than ready to stop with the genuine shit and get ready to leave. 

///

Traveling through the dark, sitting on Shigaraki's back, is a strange experience. The serpent can move nearly silently through the brush, his long body curving gently, and keeping his torso low, Dabi ducking along his tail as well, so that any other creatures will have a hard time of spotting them as they go. They don't speak a word, and Dabi tries to strain his eyes to ensure that no other creatures come towards them, but the truth is that he can't see more than a meter or so away from himself with how thick the tree cover is. He just has to trust the other man to guide them. They don't speak as they travel and Dabi doesn't know how he should feel about that. He's tried not to converse too much with the League, with his own Shigaraki because he was always of the mind that he needed to be careful so that none of them catch onto what he's doing before he's ready to actually achieve his goals. But traveling in silence now feels far less like he's doing it because he's worried about sharing too much with this stranger, and far more like any word could lead to their downfall if one of the other creatures that must be living in this forest finds them. 

They travel through the night, but when he starts to see the sky being brought just a few shades bluer as dawn starts to set in above them, Shigaraki starts to look for somewhere for them to rest. There isn't a good space for them, but they eventually find a felled tree and Shigaraki uses his tail to push the dirt up alongside of it, creating a little trench for him to lay his body in that will be nearly completely concealed by the tall grass and bushes that are in the area. 

"If you need anything, wake me. Don't wander off on your own." Shigaraki warns him, and Dabi hates the wave of helplessness that goes through him as he's made to feel like a child. He hasn't been helpless in a long time, has worked so hard to make sure that he never would be again, and the reality that he just can't help being anything but that in this unfamiliar world makes him furious. But Shigaraki has done so much for him already, so much he had no need of, to make certain he got even just this far. He isn't just going to spit in the face of that kindness when he could have been devoured the moment that the other man found him. So as Shigaraki lays down to sleep, he just stays sitting up, trying to keep an eye and ear out for anyone who might come near them. 

It takes about four hours, if he had to guess purely from the location of the sun in the sky, before he spots any kind of movement around him. It's at least ten meters away, a man, probably shorter than Dabi himself, climbing down from a tree. Like the other that Tomura ate, he wears no clothes, and he has a set of ears and a tail that are inhuman, The ears are small, thin, and rounded, while the tail is extremely bushy and brown, the length of it and the slight curl at the tip telling Dabi that this must be a squirrel. He watches the man gather pine cones and acorns, careful not to move a centimeter so that he isn't noticed, until the man goes back up into the tree again and stays there for a good long while. Dabi eventually decides that he should probably sleep too and when he shifts, meaning to take off his filthy coat to use as a blanket, Tomura cracks an eye open at him. That alone surprised Dabi, given how hard the other man slept, but he wonders if not being in the safety of his own den is making him more aware is the cause. He doesn't protest as the other pulls on his wrist and brings him down into the ditch, though he feels his face heat when Shigaraki pulls him into his chest and Dabi feels his entire face go hot. Physical touch isn't something that he's gotten much of in his life, certainly not since he became an adult, and absolutely not of the 'buff naked man' variety. Shigaraki lets out a soft, contented sigh and closes his eyes again, his breaths evening out like he was barely awake to pull him close, and Dabi is really glad that he doesn't stay conscious for long enough to see how much he struggles with staying where he's been laid. He hasn't ever... cuddled up to someone like this before, and he's not entirely certain where his hands should be, if he should have taken off his boots first, if he should have his nose pressed so close to Shigaraki's skin that he can smell him. He doesn't smell bad, not sour with old sweat the way Dabi's skin keeps feeling like it is despite his best efforts to rinse off in the stream before he knew he would be close to the other man for two days. Dabi wonders if snakes even sweat at all, because the scent that clings to him just smells like the forest. It fills his nose, his skin cooler against his own, even as the sun shines above them, and Dabi... lets himself slump against his body too, lets himself rest his hands against the other's skin and shift so that his weight is settled more comfortably over Shigaraki's body, and he lets himself close his eyes. 

///

By the time he wakes again, it's to Shigaraki gently shifting him and the sky darkening as the light leaves for the day. "You can go back to sleep, firefly." He murmurs softly. "I need to go hunt for our fee. I'll be  back shortly." 

Dabi shakes the dregs of sleep off very quickly at that, pushing up and trying to find his words. He has killed plenty of people, he's worked with other cannibals before, though his mind still catches on the reality that in this one, all people who eat meat are cannibals. That he can just exist in a world where the circle of life will take its toll day in and day out and there is no reprieve for it because they all have to eat, that this is a place that would punish its people for going against that very nature by trying to create outposts of civilization with more plenty. It's all so much, so horrifying in a strange way that he doesn't quite have words for. 

But this is the fee required for him to even attempt to find a way home, so he keeps his voice low as he catches Shigaraki's forearm, "I saw a squirrel, earlier. A man." A dull sickness stirs in his gut as the naga's attention sharpens on him intensely, his head tilting in inquiry. Dabi sits up from the ditch all the way with a shaky breath and strains his eyes to find the right tree in the dying light. "There," he points. 

"Thank you. This shouldn't take long, stay here, keep low, and be quiet. I won't be the only one starting my hunt." Shigaraki waits for him to tuck himself in the space that he's left behind and then watches as the naga turns to start to stalk towards the tree. Dabi keeps his eyes out, watching with bated breath. He's seen his boss kill people before. A lot of times now that they've been on the run. He's seen him exact bloody revenge. He knows what his Duster is capable of. But the body he brought back the first time seemed pristine. He wants to see how this version of him kills. 

He tracks him as he moves, finding the other man goes to the adjacent tree rather than the one Dabi pointed out and watching as Shigaraki uses the strong muscles of his tail to creep his body up along the bark vertically until his dark body is disappearing into the tree. Dabi watches, his heart beat loud in his ears, as he waits to see the snake strike. 

The crack of a twig to his left is the only thing that keeps him from being gored on claws, his twisting towards the sound allowing him to narrowly avoid the figure that comes lunging over the log to tear out his throat with a snarl. 

"Fuck!" The outburst and the other man's body slamming into the ditch as Dabi pushes himself out of it absolutely ruins any semblance of stealth that Shigaraki had, so he doesn't hesitate to light up his hands as he faces off against the creature in much closer proximity than he likes to. He only gets a better look at the other man as he sends a gout of flame towards him, and even then, all he can make sense of is dog of some kind from the way the ears look as the creature darts out of the way and skitters across the ground, hands against the dirt as he comes to a stop, claws tearing up lines through it. 

His ears pin back and he bares his teeth in a loud snarl. "A witch,"

"A fucking idiot." Dabi snaps right back, not even waiting for the words to be off of his lips before he has a much bigger arch of flame leaving his hands. This one isn't so easy for the other to dodge, so hot that just breathing in the air near it will scorch the lungs and give any skin within half a meter of it a first degree burn. It's more than hot enough, apparently, that even though the wolf is able to dodge the worst of it, he can't move away fast enough to keep his tail from catching. 

The yip that comes out of him as he drops to the ground, trying to put it out, has Dabi filled with a malicious satisfaction, that he's finally getting to show this strange new world that he is capable and dangerous. And then, just before he can throw his hand out to burn the man to death, he lets out a much louder, more resonant howl that chills him to his bones. Dabi burns him anyway. He knows they need the meat, but he doesn't know if anyone will want the mess he usually leaves behind when he does his business of killing. But he knows that he doesn't have another way of getting this done without his flames. They only need thirty pounds. Maybe Shig will be able to tear away the chunks of flesh from the charred skin and they'll be able to put together enough--

The sound of footsteps echoing through the woods and getting closer do not care about subtlety in the slightest. They come accompanied with howls and snarls and Dabi runs. The body is still burning, the grass is starting to catch, and he needs to not get caged in with the pack of wolves at his back and the fire separating him from where he saw Tomura last. He manages to make it to the tree, seeing the squirrel overhead crashing through the trees as he tries to flee, but he can't see Shigaraki up in the tangle of the branches as he pauses with his back to the thick trunk of the tree so that he's at least not exposed from that angle. He sees one of the wolves stop near the body of the first, the acrid smell of cooking flesh starting to spread through the air. But two more start towards him and Dabi lights his hands up again. 

"Didn't work out so well for your friend," he warns, putting as much venom in his voice as he can. "Back off, or I'll burn it all down!" He doesn't wait for these ones to get in close. He sends out a gout of flame towards them that tears through the forest, Dabi not having seen or heard a drop of rain fall since he arrived here. He really will destroy this forest if he unleashes himself completely, and if they're stupid enough to fuck with that, then he will. If he rolls up to the city as a serious threat, then maybe word will spread and other witches will come rushing to him to try and make certain that he doesn't do any more damage beyond what he's already sowed. 

He hears the wolves snarling and barking at each other and he doesn't know if they are actually speaking another language or if they are just doing their best to confuse him as they try to circle around to flank him on either side. Dabi throws out both of his arms, lighting up his palms separately to prove to them that won't split his attention enough to let them actually hurt him, but before the one on the left can be stupid enough to try to rush at him anyway, a rustle in the tree overhead has the wolf's head snapping up. He doesn't look quickly enough though, as Shigaraki lunges down, his tail holding him to the tree as his arms reach out and he catches the wolf with his fingers around his neck, hauling him up into the tree again in a split second. Dabi is breathless just from the sheer speed of the strike before he hears a snap and then the body is dropped back down to the ground where several other bones crunch as the entirely dead weight of it hits the hard earth. The other wolf that had been approaching them yips, this one sounding far more frightened, and he quickly turns, rushing back to the third who is still by the first body. He grabs the other by the arm and yanks them from the ground, the two of them disappearing into the growing dark.

Shigaraki slips down from the tree, "Can you douse those flames?" He asks as he sees them starting to spread more through the forest. 

"Not even a bit." 

"Come on then," he says, his voice tight with his urgency. He grabs Dabi's arm, hoisting him onto his tail before he slithers, so quickly that Dabi is having to wrap his arms around his waist and hold on tight with both his hands and his thighs as he clenches them around the other's body. And the naga grabs his kill too, not bothering to throw it onto his tail or even be delicate with it as he catches the ankle and drags it alongside them as he flees from the flames as fast as he can go. 

///

They keep that breakneck speed for a good hour, Dabi's body aching just from having to hold the other so tightly, doing his best to not look at the body being dragged along with them as he knows that dragging it over the dirt and vegetation have torn into it because he can smell blood following them as they travel. He can't see the smoke from the forest bleeding into the sky, but it takes a while before he stops seeing the glow of his flames against the dark backdrop. When they're fairly far, Shigaraki slows his pace, looking for somewhere safe for them to pause their travel. He seems to find it under the shade of two large trees, dropping the body before he's coiling his tail around, making Dabi let go of his waist, as he brings him to his front so that he can see him. Dabi is expecting to be reprimanded, he's not expecting for Shigaraki's hands to cup around his face, tilting his head up so that they can meet one another's eyes, something desperate and... frightened in Shigaraki's. 

"Are you alright?" 

No one's asked him something like that in a long time. Even the League. He was always just expected to be alright because he is the one that is supposed to be the best at this. Sure Compress and Twice have more years of experience than him, but Twice isn't all together anymore and Compress wasn't doing the kind of on the street villainy that Dabi has been just to survive for the past decade. Duster always just put him in charge when he had something else to do, and he was expected to figure it out. When he had gotten knocked out in Kamino and woken up, puking, slurring his speech, dizzy with the worst concussion that he'd ever had in his life, no one asked him if he was okay. They just threw a bucket into his arms and started to debrief him extensively on everything that had been happening while he was unconscious before. He was always expected to just be fine, so no one ever bothered to check that he actually was. 

He didn't know that one simple question to make something sharp slip in behind his ribs, but he feels it sink a hook into something that he thinks is best left untouched as he answers, "Fine, sorry. Don't know how they spotted me." 

"It doesn't matter, as long as you're alright." Dabi isn't expecting Shigaraki to move his hands from his cheeks, down to his neck, along his shoulders, his palms going over the fabric of his shirt as he reaches his waist, and then he's tugging it up. Dabi isn't expecting the way that floods his entire body with heat again as it happens, glad that his scars and the dark will probably hide his blush from the other man. He opens his mouth to get an explanation, but the other is inspecting his side, making sure the vigorous movement didn't tear him open again and Dabi is able to breathe a little easier again. His side is throbbing dully, but he knows that he's fine. He knows how much more his body can handle before it starts to fall apart. 

"I'm okay," he's not expecting his voice to be so... soft. It's quiet and he feels like he needs to clear his throat, needs to make some comment about the body that they've been dragging with them. But he can't actually find a sound to make as Tomura looks back up at him. 

"Okay, wrap your arms back around my waist, firefly. I want to get us there before the city catches wind of the fire if it continues to spread." Dabi would have just waited to get moved into the right position, but Shigaraki's hands linger around his waist for another second as he leans down, Dabi's breath catching in the back of his throat, as his chapped, scarred lips press to his cheek, on that thin sliver of unmarred flesh between his staples and scars. A part of his skin that gets hotter still as Shigaraki pulls away and shifts to get a better grip on the body and start to move towards where they are going. 

Dabi wraps his arms around his waist, having to fight the urge to press his cheek against his back because that isn't about to hide how much embarrassment is coursing through his body as they travel now. 

///

It takes them the rest of the night, Shigaraki pushing past dawn as Dabi sees the... 'city' looming ahead of them. It is a city, he supposes, but he also supposes, based on everything else that he's been shown and told about this world, he should have expected it to be more of a large, rustic village, not the sprawling structure of metal, glass, and concrete that he's always expected when going to a city. He sees the wall that has been built out of probably the hundreds of trees that they cleared so that they could make this homestead, pinned into the ground with guard towers stationed periodically along it, and a large gate that he sees is open and has guards on the ground and in the two adjacent towers that are absolutely certain to see them approaching from the short grass that covers the half a kilometer stretch between the end of the the forest and the actual village itself. Shigaraki doesn't hesitate though, the body with them as he makes his way to the gates. 

"Hault," The guard yells when they're about five meters away and Dabi's skin bristles as he sees that the guards at the top of the towers reveal that they've got bows and their arrows are already notched towards them, the ones on the ground wielding spears and swords as they move up a bit closer. 

"We come to enjoy the hospitality of your city and converse with your witch." Shigaraki doesn't seem put off by the scrutiny and Dabi tries to sit up a little straighter. 

"Do you--" 

"Toya?" The voice comes, softly awed, and unfamiliar to him, but it still has him flinching. He peers around Tomura's shoulder and sees one of the guards rapidly descending from the tower, sees the rest of the guards tense a bit more as well. "What are you doing here-- If dad finds out--" 

The Shoto standing in front of them is not his brother. He knows that. He knows that he can't possibly be because he's too old, probably eighteen or nineteen, definitely not human with the white and red wolf ears poking up from the top of his head and the red tail that swishes behind him. He looks at him with an earnest ache in his expression, and his voice is hoarse as he fully takes in his appearance. 

"What happened to your ears?" 

Dabi hates how horrified he sounds. Hates that this Shoto looks concerned over what has happened to him. He always meant to reveal his identity to the world and use it as a weapon against his father and the supposedly perfect family that he crafted, but he wanted Shoto to be terrified of the destruction he was. He didn't want the pity or sorrow that he currently sees etching itself across his youngest brother's features. 

"Not your brother, kid." He says, slipping off Shigaraki's back as casually as possible, cracking his neck as he goes. "From a different world, I guess. No animal parts to begin with, plenty of, well I guess you guys call it 'magic'. Looking for someone who can send me back to where I belong." He says, deliberately running his hand through his dark hair, hoping they'll see there are no stumps of ears or evidence that they've been removed. He also hopes that just the way that he's dressed will keep them from questioning too much. Their clothes are far more simplistic, rustic, homespun, than Dabi's are and he has his phone in his pocket as well as further proof of his claims. 

Shoto considers him, "You have magic?" 

Dabi flicks out a hand, starting a flame that dances along his elbow and curls all around his fingers in homage to his serpentine companion before he lets it coil in the palm of his hand and he closes his fingers around it, snuffing it out. "Did your brother not?" 

He sees more than hears the rough breath that comes out of this Shoto's chest. "No, he didn't." He turns his attention to Shigaraki and the body that he's tossed to the guards. 

"More than thirty pounds. Enough to keep us here until he's finished his business, surely?" Shig sounds almost bored, but his eyes are sharp. Dabi would really like to not get into another fight before they've been able to sleep, and after a moment, Shoto nods. 

"Sir," one of the guards sounds like he's going to properly reprimand him. 

"The exile was for my brother. Not this one. If he's a foreigner in a strange land, then the best we can do is show him our hospitality. I will go to tell my father about our visitor." Shoto reaches into a pocket and gets out a wooden talisman that has their family name engraved in it. "For anything you need while you're here." He says, offering it to him. "It's connected to our family funds." And he doesn't say it, but Dabi sees the vindictive flash in his eyes as he hesitantly reaches to take it. Shoto is taller than him. He saw his brother at the summer camp, and they were the same height. The bear, fox, coyote, and raven all watching as this happens are also bigger, and Dabi wonders if that's a result of their mixed species. It probably doesn't matter, he just knows that it makes him feel so small even as he tries to keep his spine straight and tries to ensure that this Shoto doesn't see anything waver in him. 

He doesn't want his family's charity, especially not from someone who isn't his. But he wants to know who this Toya Todoroki was, if he had just as much reason to want to burn this village to the ground, if he might have had his own grudge against his father that he was just waiting for. He wants to know why he was exiled. He takes the talisman and drops it into his pocket without looking, drawling instead, "My companion is rather large," still at least two and a half lengths longer than any of the other creatures here, even the bear woman who stands nearly half a meter taller than Dabi himself, "Any place in town that can accommodate us comfortably?"

"Well, I think that the Third Cherry would have the room." Shoto's eyes spark with his delight. "It's the large building on the main square with the red shingles. They should be able to provide anything that you need. I'll come by after my shift and we can go see Natsuo and Mom." Dabi bristles slightly. He never wanted to see Natuso again in his pursuit of getting his revenge, definitely never wanted to be in the same room as his mother. Natsuo was the only one who he thought was okay, who he didn't think deserved to burn, but his mother? Fuyumi? Those two had rolled over for everything Enji did. Even when Rei shattered, she crumbled and let him sweep her dust under the rug by putting her in the hospital while Dabi was left as nothing but a pile of glass shards looking to lash out at everything that he could cut. And to his knowledge, Fuyumi had gone off to college and then gone right back home to play housemaid for their father instead of cutting ties. It curls his lip and makes his stomach sour. 

"I'm here for business, not to catch up with some people I don't know." He says with as much dry venom as he can.

Shoto really looks at him then, his brows pulled together slightly, something that isn't quite pity in his eyes so much as it is... disappointment. Acceptance maybe. "Of course, but you see, Natsuo, Rei, and I are the only witches in the city." 

Of fucking course they are.

///

Dabi is able to walk with Shigaraki through the city, people darting out of the way for the naga with looks of abject terror. He sees plenty of other animal-people hybrids that he would expect to be dangerous, plenty more dogs, cats, boars, bears, and the like-- though he does note that the majority of them are all in guard uniforms, with most shop venders being... prey. Animals like deer, squirrels, rabbits, sparrows, sheep, and the like. There are some bigger prey animals that he sees moving larger bundles of wheat or bags of fish, but he doesn't see any prey at all that are dressed as guards. Neither he nor Shigaraki speak as they make their way through the main square, easily spotting a couple of other inns, but the largest of them is absolutely the one with the red shingles. He's not expecting that to put a little twist of worry in his gut. He doesn't know this Shoto, not that he even knows his real brother, but he doesn't like the idea of going somewhere that could result in their being found easily. But at the same time, he can't very well hide away from him if he really is one of the witches that Dabi is here to speak with. 

So they go to the Third Cherry and the deer at the front desk looks absolutely terrified when she sees Shigaraki. "We need a room," he pulls the seal out of his pocket and sets it on the counter between them. "On the Todoroki's generosity." 

The woman still looks like she would rather bolt than take out the logbook and see what she has available, but she does it anyway. "W-we have the bonding room on the top floor available. I-it--" Her voice squeaks as she rushes through the next words, "It's the only one with a bed large enough for your companion. But I can get you a separate--"

"That won't be necessary." Shigaraki cuts in, the 's' in the word lilting in a way that he's never heard him speak before as his tongue flicks out. "We'll be sharing the bonding room." 

Dabi wants to ask why a hotel has a room explicitly made for families, but then he considers that the secondary species might have closer family relationships than he's used to, and is completely distracted by the musings when the deer is quick to go on, "Of course, sir!" Her hand shakes as she picks up a quill and starts to write into the ledger. "A name for the room, or should I put it under 'Todoroki'?" 

"Shigaraki." Dabi tells her. He doesn't know if Shoto knows his chosen name, and he knows that no one should know Shigaraki's. "If someone comes looking for 'Toya', you can send up word, but my companion and I would prefer not to be bothered unexpectedly and would like to keep our privacy intact." He doesn't have fangs to bear, but the slow smile that he knows stretches his staples in horrible ways at the edges of his lips seems to be enough to help him to get his point across very clearly. 

"Yes, sir." She swallows, her eyes flicking from him to Shigaraki, and then back to him again, "T-the bonding suite comes with an hour in the bathing pools as well as a full meal prepared and arranged in your room. Would you... like to schedule that?" 

"We've been traveling for quite a distance," Shigaraki interjects smoothly. "If it's available, we would like to do both as soon as possible before we retire." 

"Yes, sir," Her voice is still a little frantic as she answers them. "We can have that arranged. Is there anything else?" 

"Fish, meat substitutes for the meal," Shigaraki tells her. "No meat." 

The look that crosses her face then seems more... confused than frightened then and Dabi feels his face flush slightly. He hasn't ever seen Shigaraki eat. He knows that he's hunted, knows he ate the first body he offered him, but he didn't think that he might be deliberately choosing to not eat in front of him to keep him from being upset. He wants to tell the other that he isn't some fair maiden with such delicate sensibilities that he can't handle the reality of what Shigaraki eats. 

"Meat is fine," he tells her. "Just make sure there's also fish and whatever substitutes you have." 

Her eyes flick back to Shigaraki, looking for approval, but he just inclines his head towards Dabi, seeming to show that he is the one that she should take into account first. "Of course." She finishes making her notes in the ledger and then turns to get a big, ornate key off of the wall behind her, handing it to him instead of the naga. "Top floor," she gestures to the double staircase that leads up from the first floor, "There will be a knock on your door when the bathing chamber is ready for you. Your meal will be prepared while you are in the baths." That's more than enough for him and he collects the talisman before he and Shigaraki turn to go upstairs. He's feeling the ache in his side, the dirt on his skin, and he wants to be clean, fed, and able to lay down in a real bed to rest until Shoto shows up.

He and Shigaraki head upstairs and he sees that there must be four floors to this building, the grand staircase going only to the second before it turns into a large hallway, at the end of which is a more normal and modest one that they take up the additional floors. He isn't surprised, based on the size of the building from the outside, that there are a good number of rooms on those floors. But when they get to their own, things start to differ clearly. The top floor only has four doors, three on one side of the hall, and a singular one on the opposite. When Dabi looks down at the key, he doesn't think he's really all that surprised to see the number for the single door. Shigaraki says nothing as they unlock it, though Dabi almost immediately wants to turn around and head back downstairs to say that, actually, this is too much, because the room inside is massive. Immediately he is blasted by light from an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, the area so big that it a bed that make a California King look like it it might be modest, a massive dining table that is low to the ground that could probably seat a dozen, but that only has two cushions set out. He doesn't understand that, nor does he think that a large lounge area with a full bar is entirely necessary either. 

But before he can say anything about all of this, Shigaraki is coaxing him gently into the room and he's going because even though this is excessive, that bed really is probably the only one in the world that would allow Shigaraki to fit comfortably on it. They get inside and close the door behind them and Dabi is left at a loss of what to do, having never been in a hotel this grand even on his own planet. it's not like he has luggage or anything to put down. Shigaraki moves through the room, going to a decently sized wardrobe that Dabi hadn't even noticed was built into the wall, and opening it. Inside hangs two crisp, off-white robes with pants and a cropped wrap top, a pair of similarly pale slippers beneath them and a small wicker hamper in the corner of the closet.

"Here, you can put this on and we can leave the hamper by the door. They will do their best to wash your clothes, though I can't make any guarantees." He doesn't want to get the clothes dirty with his sweat, but he does go behind the screen to change into the robe, hoping that the bath will be ready soon as he makes sure his phone and the talisman are tucked away so that they can't be stolen. When he's finished that, Dabi ends up pacing the room, it's more than large enough to do so, and Shigaraki watches him from where he's coiled himself up on the couch. 

"Do you know anything about the witches here?" 

"...Only that they were related. I had no idea that the you who must have existed here was also related to them." Shigaraki considers his next words for a long moment in a way that has Dabi locking in on him. "I wasn't certain, but the rabbit I was chasing before you appeared, it smelled like you. I thought that my nose was confused, that I had only been able to lock onto your smell through the smoke and ash, but if that person was you before you came here, then the Toya Todoroki here was a rabbit." 

That's an indignity that Dabi doesn't like to think about, though he doesn't know if it's better or worse-- "Let's not tell them that I might’ve vaporized him by turning into a fireball on impact. I don't know if they'll give me any help getting home if they think I killed their brother." He means for the words to be mostly flippant as he flops into place beside Shigaraki on the couch. But they don't feel it when the other man's sharp red eyes never waver from him. 

"It's a surprise they're offering you any assistance at all if he was exiled from this place." He says with deliberate slowness. Dabi had caught that comment, but he had filed it away for later. Shigaraki seems to think it's important enough to bring up now though. "If he was exiled then he must have broken an extremely severe law or someone wanted him out of the picture. Exiling a prey is a death sentence." He stresses. "The fact that this version of your brother greeted you without malice and with a willingness to allow you to speak with other members of his family, makes me think that the latter scenario is the more likely." 

"Wouldn't surprise me," Dabi says, only hesitating a few seconds before he decides that there isn't much risk in telling this version of Tomura more. "My father is a bastard and he had a habit of throwing away anyone who couldn't help him get closer to his goals. If this Toya didn't have the magic that he wanted, then I guarantee he wanted him gone." He pauses, "You said he was a rabbit?" 

Shigaraki hums in agreement. "A rabbit in a family of witches and wolves would be a dangerous thing-- for the rabbit. Witches can defend themselves and have a more singular reasoning than others with secondary species. I can't imagine the amount of stress that Toya Todoroki must have been under if he was surrounded by wolves." 

Dabi... isn't expecting that comment to put something sour in his chest. An ache that goes right through him as he realizes that even in an entirely other world, he was still born unlucky. He still wasn't what he was expected to be. He was still thrown out. Fuck. Is he just wrong in every universe? He never thought much about the afterlife, about String Theory, or alternate universes or whatever. His eyes were always on the goal directly ahead of him. But two worlds that show him that he... just wasn't meant to have an easy life or to succeed leaves him with that sourness trying to root itself through his entire body. 

He attempts to shake it by asking, "What's so special about a 'bonding room'? The way she was squirming made it seem like she was worried about giving us the honeymoon suite." 

"What's a 'honeymoon'?" Shigaraki asks him before answering his question.

Dabi rolls his eyes, waving his hand flippantly, "It's a holiday that newlyweds take so they can fuck." 

"Oh, then yes, it is just like that." Shigaraki isn't making eye contact with him anymore, the very tip of his tail flicking slowly and... nervously against the floor. 

The heavier thoughts that had been rattling around in his head come to a sudden stop as he tries to put things together. "What?" 

Shigaraki still doesn't look up at him and Dabi doesn't think he's ever seen the giant snake acting like such a guilty dog before. "In our world, we form bonds. Usually we're drawn together by fate and a scent that calls to us when we're close. When we've found our mate-- or mates-- we participate in a bonding. We cleanse the bodies together, share in a meal, mark one another's skin, and entwine our blood, before we bring our bodies into one as well. Bondings don't have to be as elaborate as all of this," he gestures loosely to the massive room that they've found themselves in. "It can just be a rag, a cup of water, teeth or claws on the neck, and then sex in whatever home the pair have made for themselves. But it is... important. Sacred for wildfolk and walledfolk alike." 

Dabi feels heat rushing back to his face. "So she thinks that we're here celebrating our wedding on the Todoroki's yen?"

"'Yen'?" 

"Fuck you, I know you're smart enough to use context clues to figure that out." He snaps, hating that the sunlight pouring through the window isn't going to help him hide his embarrassment any like it had before sunrise.

Shigaraki sighs softly and turns his attention to him. "Yes. You can clarify to the version of your brother when they come to see us if it's an assumption that displeases you." Shigaraki's eyes slip away from his own again. "But in all truth... I was not chasing the rabbit version of you to hunt. I smelled him as he traveled by my den and I followed my nose to him. He smelled like... overcooked sugar and his terror. I thought it might just be how a rabbit would smell, I haven't hunted many in my life. There are usually stoats, foxes, and wolves in the forest that focus on using those creatures as their main food source, so I usually take to the trees to do my hunting instead. But when I pulled you from the center of that crater of ash you made for yourself, you smelled just the same-- though there was blood on you instead of fear." Shigaraki looks back up at him, that same glimmer of hope that he saw shining in the other man's eyes from when he first asked him about bonds there again. "I know that you aren't from this world, and I would never begrudge you to stay when you have a home that you want to return to, I just hope that you will let me be beside you when you go, so that if that magic can bring the version of you who was from this world back, then I'll be able to meet him." 

Dabi feels like his throat might collapse in on itself, but he still manages to force himself to croak, "What if he doesn't come back?" 

He hates that he can see that there was always a fracture behind that hope, behind any help that Shigaraki has offered him since he pulled him from the ground. "Then I will be very grateful for the time that I've been able to spend meeting you." He smiles and Dabi feels an unexpected pressure coming up from beneath his eyes, the tell-tale ache that he feels now when he is... about to cry. Why? Shigaraki has been kind, but this isn't his fault. He just... picked the wrong fight and ruined Shigaraki's maybe only chance at having a partner. Not his fault, but it still seems like another way he's been fucked over by the entire universe. In this world, this Toya Todoroki wasn't able to live a good life in the city, he was probably stressed out of his mind surrounded by wolves, got exiled, probably was being hunted by other creatures besides Shigaraki, and before he could even meet the person this world said would have been right for him, he got fucking yoinked out of his reality and thrown into a world where... he'll have all of Dabi's criminal reputation and none of the quirk that he needs to actually fight and protect himself. Dabi wants to throw up, wants to cry, because how could the universe be so unfair to him across so many worlds? How could it choose to not just punish him, but make him complicit in punishing Shigaraki too? Sure his boss Shigaraki isn't his favorite person, but snake Shigaraki is... good. He's good, kind, he would have taken such good care of a rabbit who had been exiled and scared. He bets that he would have planted a garden for him instead of helping him gut fish by the stream. 

Before the blood can actually slip over his cheeks or he can find a new way to put his foot in his mouth, there is a light knock on the door. "Sirs?" The voice that calls through it is not the same woman as the front desk, this one a bit lower and possibly masculine, though he's not sure. "The bathing chamber has been prepared for you." 

Shigaraki gets up, "I'm sure that you're more than ready to be properly clean." He says easily as he moves over to the door quickly and easily, opening it before the fox has left. 

He sees them duck their head slightly. "Would you like your meal brought up for you after your bath?" 

"Yes. We traveled through the night and will be retiring after we've bathed and eaten." He tells her easily. 

"Of course. Your meal will be put out in an hour, unless you would like us to delay it further?" 

"No, an hour should be more than sufficient." He looks up, whatever wistfulness, hopefulness that was in his eyes has been so neatly put away and he smiles without that fracture in it even though Dabi feels even more like a mess of shattered glass. "Ready, Dabi?" 

He feels numb, but he makes himself get up from the edge of the couch and shoves his feet back into the slippers, feeling smaller than even his stature makes him here as he walks over to them. The fox turns and leads them down the stairs, back to the first floor, and into a large, open onsen. There aren't other people inside, but it is mid-morning and based on the bustle from the streets outside, Dabi expects that most people are already out and doing their work for the day. But they don't stop at the public onsen. The worker brings them to a private chamber that contains a large, sunken tub-- not nearly as large as the bed upstairs, but clearly made so that two bearfolk or other large creatures would be able to enter it comfortably. The main tub is full of steaming water, but there is also a rudimentary shower set-up, and a table with a variety of soaps, scrubs, loofahs, and the like as well as one with towels, and hooks mounted on the wall for their robes. 

"If you need anything else, please ring the bell for an attendant." 

"Thank you." 

The fox bows their head again, "Congratulations," and then they turn to leave. 

Dabi's skin bristles, but Shigaraki doesn't seem concerned. This is an onsen, and he is from the wilds. No one wears clothes there. Dabi isn't normally concerned about nudity himself, not when he knows that he has a lot more to deal with if he ever is stripped naked in front of other people, but he knows that the nudity feels different now because now he knows... that Shigaraki thinks that they're mates. That if Dabi belonged in this world, that even if he doesn't, he would want to bond with him, that the idea had brought him some kind of joy that he didn't know he would even be capable of offering to any other person, let alone Shigaraki of all people. Even if this Shigaraki is nothing like the one that he knew from his reality. 

The other man just goes over, not paying him any mind, and turns on the shower head and moves so that it can cascade over his head, wetting his hair and taking the dirt from his skin. Dabi hadn't noticed it before, but he sees the water cutting through the grime, sees his tail coil up beneath him, scales moving against themselves and looking like oil, as he tries to get himself clean. Dabi takes a breath. Shigaraki hasn't pushed anything about the bonding and if he does, Dabi knows how to tell him 'no'. He thinks that... he would stop. He hasn't ever done anything else that would tell him otherwise. He hangs his robe and goes over to the second shower head, set just beside the first, and cranks the water to as hot as he can stand it, letting the water take the smell of sweat, blood, and dirt from his skin, and he tries to wall up any other thoughts that could distract him from the simple, animal pleasure of getting clean. 

///

The bath is wonderful, when he lets himself soak up that by itself. He makes sure to scrub his body with the offered soaps until he finally smells and feels clean. Then he and Shigaraki both get into the larger pool together. Shigaraki has to coil his tail twice to fit inside of it comfortably, and the water he displaces with his bulk is nearly a small tidal wave even though he clearly tries to do it gingerly. Dabi laughs at him, and he pouts on the other end of the tub from him, his torso at least. Dabi's legs still brush against his scales as they sat together. And when an hour has passed, there was a knock at the door again to alert them that their meal was waiting for them in their room. Dabi pulls himself out of the water first, going to retrieve one of the towels and drying off as Shigaraki attempts to do the same. His scales don't hold onto a lot of water, but he has a lot of scales to get through, and once Dabi has pulled his robe back over his body, he has to take pity on him. He picks up one of the extra towels and moves over to him, 

"Come on, I want to go eat and sleep." 

Shigaraki doesn't protest the help, and when they're both dry enough to make their way back to their room, they do so, leaving the bathing chamber without difficulty. When they get back up to their room, Dabi immediately pales as he sees the amount of food that has been put out on the table. The entire thing, from end to end, is covered in dishes. vegetables, fish, rice, soup, cuts of meat sliced so thin and delicately that Dabi would have no way of telling what person they came from. His nose is hit with the smell of spices that are familiar to him, and he has to force himself to go put on the pants and wrap from the closet instead of setting upon the feast ravenously. 

But seeing that plenty when he makes himself take a second to pause before he can sit and enjoy it, he thinks he finally understands the distinction that Shigaraki said there was between the plants that he's cultivated in his garden and what the people of this city are accustomed to. That amount of food could feed a dozen-- maybe two dozen, and it's been provided for just their enjoyment. Even for a wedding, that is a lot, especially if they don't have refrigeration here, which, given the oil lanterns, he's really doubting that there is any electricity here at all. This is too much. 

The fact he's been given so little all of his life nearly takes away his appetite, but he's forced himself to eat things that had no business being in his mouth just to survive. He isn't about to make that harder by being stubborn now when he's been given a feast after choking down fish for so long. He goes over to the table and finds that Shigaraki has poured them both a glass of water and one of saké as well. Dabi surveys the table and he finds that the food here, like the language, is all mostly traditional Japanese fare, and that puts him more at ease. That means that he just has to avoid anything that is made of meat from his world to avoid it here. Dabi deliberately decides to lock away whatever part of his brain that wants to worry about the fat used to cook things in, the butter, the stocks that must have been used, and the eggs that he can see as toppings and mixed into the fried rice. As long as he's not eating an actual dead body, he is not going to think about it. 

Dabi serves himself and Shigaraki does as well, the snake gravitating towards the many plates of raw meat that has been put out. There is a little table-top grill that has been brought up, filled with coal and accompanied by flint to use to start the fire, but Shigaraki doesn't bother to cook any of the meat. "Do you just prefer your meals raw or are you trying to limit your indulgence with city stuff?" He asks, before he's shoving a bite of rice into his mouth. 

"Both, I suppose. But I doubt that nature herself will punish me for a few days of this after choosing the wilds and staying there for seven years now." 

Dabi pauses, "You lived here before?" 

"Not here," Shigaraki tells him easily. "But yes, I did live in a city, I was born in one." He seems to consider his next words, but perhaps like Dabi weighed how much telling him his past would do, he seems to decide that Dabi's ears are worthy of hearing his own. "The city I was born in was very far away, nearly a year's travel, and my mother was a sheep and my father was an ox." Shigaraki meets his eyes across from him at the table, deliberately taking a bite of his food, telling him, without words, that he won't go on if he thinks that Dabi is going to stop eating as he listens. Dabi shoves something else into his mouth. He doesn't know how his Shigaraki ended up in the care of AFO, but if there is a world where he gets back where he belongs, it's probably going to come through whatever version of All For One is here. That creep has to be a witch, and he will probably have all of the power that he needs to send Dabi home.  

"It's rare, normally a child is one of their parent's species, but I didn't fit in. I didn't start to show signs of finding my secondary species until I was already close to five, when most do so at three, sometimes even younger. And I became a snake. That was... a horrifying process for them to watch from the outside, I'm sure. But I don't remember much beyond how itchy I was when my scales were growing in, and how hot my body was from the fever. I think my father would have caved in my skull if he'd actually had the stomach for that kind of violence." Shigaraki takes another cut of the meat and dips it into one of the small dishes of sauces littered around the table. "But he only hit me the first time I begged for meat instead of vegetables that they were starving me on. It was stupid of him to hit a starving predator, and I didn't remember that night for a long time. I do now. I had to take my sister's arms off her torso to get her down my throat, but she was the only one small enough that I could manage that with. I fled the city with my stomach full, and a powerful witch happened upon me not too long later, and took me in." 

"What happened to him?" He asks, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He only realizes belatedly that he shouldn't have asked that first, "Fuck, sorry-- Sorry about your family being shit. I... I get it." He doesn't want to tell him just how little his father cared for him, that he had been too weak to ever fight back as violently as it sounds like Shigaraki was able to. 

"I take it that there is a person like my teacher in your world?" 

Dabi ducks his head slightly, "...Yeah. He's powerful." 

"He was here too. He would have been fascinated to hear about your world. But when I was fifteen, he got into a fight with a rival he had been dealing with for decades. They both perished in the fight. After that, I had the choice of trying to find a home for myself alone in the city we had been settled in, or going away from it all and living wildly. I chose the latter and have been doing so ever since." 

Fuck. "Sorry." He says again. He always was creeped out by the guy, but it does seem like Shigaraki's got some cruel luck across the universes as well if he just can't keep his father figure in his life no matter what he tries. 

"I've mourned him," it's such a flat statement, so at ease and so practiced when Dabi doesn't know if Shigaraki has even spoken to anyone else after he left his city. He could have been alone in that cave for years just telling himself those words to make the ache of the loss better. "And I would prefer to look towards the future. We shouldn't linger if we want to get any sleep before your brother's shift ends. Perhaps when he visits, your family will hold the solution to your problems." 

Dabi still feels hollow as they both turn their attention completely back to the food. He wonders if there really is something to what Shigaraki told him about nature's curse on the inhabitants inside the city when he ends up eating so much more than he usually does just to make that hollowness abait a bit. 

///

He wants there to be a solution. He wants things to be easy, but when a knock on the door wakes them from their sleep, their bodies not needing to be pressed together to share heat in the massive bed, and Dabi is forced to see his mother and brothers again, he is hit with the unpleasant reality that there just isn't. Natsuo and Rei don't have ears or a tail like Shoto, and they seem to find it more than a bit off-putting that he doesn't, that they have to tell him what his life was like here. That the Himuras are primarily a family of snow hares with occasional witches in their bloodline and that the Todorokis were wolves with genes of a similar magical stock. That Enji had been trying to breed an heir that was both a witch and wolf here, getting it in Shoto, and Toya losing his magic at twelve when he burned himself badly as he tried to train and prove he could still be useful even as a prey. Fuyumi has no magic and is a wolf, Natuso has no secondary species and is a witch. A healer specifically, who is more than happy to put his cold hands on Dabi's side and take away any trace of the wound he came here with. The scars, the staples, those are too old for him to do anything about, but he is just glad that he gets this much help. Especially when none of them have ever even heard about magic that can reach across worlds like this. They promise to look into it, but given how trade between cities is, just from what Tomura has told him about these little outcroppings of civilization, he understands that this is something that will probably take... months of travel. Of research. And they can't stay here this long, even if this version of his family seems to more than delight in them using Enji's fortune to get whatever they need. Dabi is quick to wheedle out where the next closest witch is, and that is something they tell him reluctantly. Another city. Two weeks of travel. 

It feels strange when the three of them give him hugs on their way out, but when they go, it's with a desperate look in their eyes like they want to keep him close even though he is a stranger to them. It makes more of that horrible hollowness bloom inside of him as he wonders if that's... how his family would feel about him if he ever showed himself to them. He doesn't say anything when they've gone. The staff collected the leftovers from their meal earlier and he and Shigaraki only got a handful of hours of sleep before they arrived, and he feels so much more exhausted than he did when they first woke up. He's glad the naga doesn't push at that and lets him just crawl back into the bed for sleep. 

Shigaraki doesn't say anything, but he slips back into the bed with him, close enough this time to press their spines together as they settle in for sleep again. It's such a small thing, but Dabi still nearly lets his seams split beneath his eyes as they ache with unshed, bloody tears. 

///

Two weeks of travel is a lot of travel. Just two days were dangerous for him, but Dabi needs to find a way home and this is all he can think of. So the next day, urged to keep the amount of people who see him small, he asks Shigaraki to go out and use the seal to buy anything he thinks that he'll need for traveling that long. And without fail, Shigaraki does. He comes back with a travel pack, a backpack made out of durable, if rustic fabric, a small sewing kit for any tears, a blanket and liner that can be stuffed with dry leaves for sleeping, a knife, some rations, a canteen, trowel, small pot and spoon, and other supplies for things like foraging and fishing. 

"We can leave tomorrow at dusk." He tells him as Dabi inspects all of the supplies. He never really had to camp, his time homeless spent in cities, but he thinks that this will be more than enough to get him through this time without issue. Sure, he's going to have to be careful to keep himself safe from predators, but he-- 

"'We'?" Dabi looks up, a small frown tugging at the edge of his lips. "You don't have to come with me. I mean, thank you for getting me this far, but I'm not going to make you stay with me when you have a place of your own to go back to." 

And Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat when he says, "There isn't anywhere in the world I would rather be than by your side, Dabi." 

It puts that lump right back in his throat. "I'm not your mate." 

"You could be," Shigaraki's voice is gentle when he says it. "But I know that you just want to go home and I wouldn't ask you to tie yourself here to be with me." He doesn't look away from him as he goes on, "But I can be with you for as long as I'm able while you're here. That is what I want. But if you would prefer to make your way without my company, then I will let you go." 

No one has ever wanted to hold onto him as badly as Shigaraki is saying that he does and Dabi hates that he feels like he's been fighting back tears for two days, because he can't keep up that fight any more. His vision mists red as pain starts in his eyes, blood slipping down his cheeks as he gives into that horrible ache in his chest. And this Shigaraki can't stop trying to be helpful, to be sweet, because he comes right into his space, he pulls him close and tucks his head underneath his chin and strokes his skin so softly as he embraces him. He holds onto him and doesn't say a word as Dabi falls apart. 

Two worlds. Two versions of himself, and he wasn't wanted by anyone in either. He was born wrong, chewed up by his father's ambitions, put through the agony of burning, and then still thrown away. Even if it took longer for it to happen to the Dabi who lived here, he still lost all of it. He would have never been able to get the revenge that he deserved. Would have never gotten any of it. Would have lived a short, awful life in the wilds if Shigaraki hadn't found him and tried to go to him to be his mate. And Dabi took that away from him. Is in the arms of someone that doesn't belong to him and that he shouldn't have. 

Shigaraki keeps holding him as he cries though, and it takes a long time for him to stop. When he finally manages to quell the emotions in him and tries to straighten out of the embrace to insist that the serpent lets him make his way through this world on his own so he can actually go find a real mate instead of holding onto him, if he even has another option out in the world, Shigaraki doesn't let the words leave his lips. His hand comes to his chin and he tilts his head up, dipping his own so that he can lick away some of the blood on his cheeks. 

"Don't--" The word hitches on his breath, another agonizing pang going through his chest as he knows that this is part of the way that they could be bonded properly. 

"Shh, you never have to belong to me, Dabi." He promises. "But I am yours for as long as you are in this world." 

And that brings a fresh ache of tears along his cheeks. Shigaraki doesn't hesitate to lick them away, to hold him close, to press soft kisses against his brow, over his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose. But he doesn't take his lips. It's the reckless, selfish, desperate need in him for something to be good when the world has shown him again and again that wasn't ever in the stars for him. He's the one who tilts his head up and presses his lips to Shigaraki's, and the truth is that that doesn't feel good either. He hasn't ever kissed anyone before, and just skin-to-skin is really nothing but the texture of their lips together, him able to feel the solidness of his fangs behind them, and wondering how his burned lip feels against the other's mouth. 

But like with everything else that he's done for him since Dabi arrived, Shigaraki guides him so gently. He threads his hands through his hair at the nape of his neck, cradling his skull carefully and tilting him so that he is in the position that he wants. His mouth slants back over his again, much more carefully, much softer, and Dabi lets out a weak sob as he tries to hold onto him, his fingers biting into his chest like if he just holds onto one thing it won't turn to ash in his hands like everything else. 

Shigaraki kisses him slow and sweet, moving his lips against Dabi's and making it feel... better. Nicer than the mash of their lips before. He keeps his hands above his neck, doesn't prod his lips with his tongue, doesn't try to give him the passion or violence that Dabi has always associated with sex and has been the reason he's avoided even the suggestion of it since he was so young. He's the one who pulls away and Shigaraki lets him, his grip immediately loosening, red eyes searching his face. 

"You should be with someone who can stay." He hates the rough croak in his voice, but he hates it even more when he lets himself fall apart when Tomura brushes away another tear from his cheek as he murmurs, 

"I want to be with you." 

Dabi is the one who pushes in again and Tomura takes him back. Holds onto him, pulls him closer, and he kisses him hotter this time. He uses his strength to catch him around his waist, arms encircling him completely and able to lift him up so that he can pull him into his body. He knows that he shouldn't let himself have this, but the show of strength, being made to feel so small in his arms as he picks him up, makes his whole body warm in a way that feels like the first threads of embarrassment, but turns sweeter beneath his skin instead of souring him. He brings his arms up around Tomura's neck, his hands tangling into that long mane of white hair that he hasn't gotten to touch before. It's softer than he expected it would be against his palms, and Tomura's tongue feels even stranger than he considered it might when it flicks imploringly against his lips. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he opens his mouth for the kiss that he wants so badly. He lets that forked tongue push in past his lips, lets it taste him and tries to taste him in turn. All the can make out is the copper tang of his own blood, but it doesn't matter, not when the probing touches of it inside of his mouth is sending more of that good, bright heat burning through him, burning away the melancholy that has been clinging so closely to him since this all started, maybe since he went wrong as a child. 

Tomura starts to move and Dabi squeaks, his legs instinctively wrapping around his waist at the start of his tail, so that he isn't dropped. The naga hums softly, a delighted sound at the closeness, as he moves them quickly over to the large bed. Dabi is breathless when he breaks the kiss to lower his body onto the bed, not going far as he slithers between his legs, his long hair falling around them in a curtain as he leans over his body. 

"You're so lovely, little one." He murmurs. 

And that makes the broken thing left in his chest try to force him to find some small sliver of decency in this mess. "I can't stay," he tells him, tries to tell him that they need to stop because this isn't fair. 

"You never have to, Dabi." He murmurs back, hand coming up to cup his face. "You never have to do this, never have to be mine in even the most basic way. You will always have my assistance and devotion while you are in this world." He promises him something that no one in two worlds has ever bothered with and Dabi doesn't know how not to be selfish as his whole body grows even warmer.

"I-- I don't-- I've never," He hasn't ever had to own up to that. It never bothered him that he didn't have sex before, he didn't think it was all that important, didn't think that anyone would ever want to touch him in the first place, and that he didn't need it before he got his revenge. And nothing would matter after that. But now he feels terribly inadequate as he is pinned beneath the weight of the goliath that is over top of him, his body already so different from Dabi's own that he would have been fumbling for that alone, and yet he still has to find a way of making this work. 

He's not expecting for Tomura's pupils to blow, for him to hiss softly as he presses back in to give him a kiss that seems to lick the air out of Dabi's lungs from how deep and hungry that it is. Dabi hasn't ever felt his... arousal start to build like this, normally only finding it in his sleep, and he isn't ready for the way that it makes every inch of his skin start to feel like it's more sensitive and tingly than it was just a second before. He's gasping for breath when Tomura pulls away again, his mouth immediately dipping to his neck as he breathes in his scent so deeply. 

"I'll make you feel good," he promises, his own voice thicker with his lust. "I'll have you howling your pleasure so loudly that no one in this entire building doubts that I am doing right by my blushing bride." 

Dabi's whole body goes even hotter at that, blood rushing to his cheeks as he blushes so brightly, proving the snakefolk right. "I'm not a girl." 

"No, and you're not my mate either." He says, his hands starting to move up to the tie that keeps the shirt he's been given in place. "But we could pretend for a little while." His voice is low, his lips against his throat and trailing down to his collarbone as his fingers tease that knot and Dabi's whole body feels like it is on the verge of melting in a way that he never has before. "You can be my bride, my lovely girl that I get to make feel so good for the first time. I promise that I'll make certain that your cunt, your clit, your pretty tits, every inch of my baby girl's body feels so good." Every word only makes Dabi's head foggier with heat. He thinks that his quirk might be boiling his brain in his skull. That's the only explanation for the reason that such words, that the thought of being... a girl for Tomura, is making his cock start to harden as he goes on. 

Dabi hears a tiny sound, a little whimper in the space between their bodies and it takes so long for him to realize that was him. He never thought he could sound like that, could feel like this when the other man has barely touched him, when he's desperate to be touched at all for the first time in his life. He must be delirious with the heat in his head to make him nod it weakly. 

Tomura gives him another scorching kiss, even though every place their skin is touching is chilled from his scales and skin, before his fingers deftly pull loose the knot on Dabi's shirt. The serpent knows what he's doing, knows how to kiss Dabi so deeply that his whole body is singing for more as his hands, his strong, large hands that make Dabi feel fragile beneath them, are able to lift him enough to gently take the fabric from around his chest before those same hands are moving over his skin. Dabi doesn't know what to do with his own, and ends up tangling his fingers in the sheets as Tomura's move across his chest. He has been made very aware that most of the other duel-species creatures that they've met are larger than him. He's known from the moment he woke in Shigaraki's den that he was so much smaller than the other man, but having him put a hand on his chest and being able to cup the entirety of the muscle in one palm makes his body flood with his arousal. He's never been particularly tall, but he was always intimidating from how he looked with his scars and the attitude that he cultivated for himself. But he's seen Tomura snap bones with barely an effort, knows that he could cave in his chest around his palm faster than Dabi could light his body on fire, and he is suddenly overwhelmed with the reality of just how large and powerful the other man is. 

And he wants him. 

Tomura proves it as his fingers rub against his nipples, his mouth dipping down to lick along his scars and the seam that cuts over his chest without an ounce of disgust or hesitation. "You're so beautiful, princess." He murmurs. "Ever since I saw you-- I was certain that you must have been a star that was plucked from the sky, you were so radiant when I found you."  

Dabi hasn't ever heard himself let out such a sound, but the wounded keen that comes from his throat is nearly as humiliating with how hard his is cock at those words. Tomura doesn't seem to think that any of this is embarrassing though, his hands moving down his waist as he kisses along his chest, his mouth replacing his fingers over one nipple, his lips rough against his skin, but the softness of his tongue and the dexterity of the two-pronged tip of it as it tugs at his piercings there making Dabi moan again. He tries to bite his lip to keep the sound inside, especially when Tomura shifts between his legs, putting the weight of his tail more firmly between them, higher along them, so that he can definitely feel Dabi's hard cock against his body, and Dabi can feel the coolness and the texture of his scales through the thin fabric. 

"Oh, princess," his voice is nearly a purr, hissing out those ‘s’ sounds in a way that has a shiver going down Dabi's spine as he feels and hears just how foreign Tomura's body is against his own. "Let me make you feel good?" 

It's so hard for him to find his tongue, and he still barely manages as he gives a weak nod. "Please, Tomura--" 

But he doesn't have to beg. Shigaraki is more than willing to move his hands down as he kisses along his stomach, until he's at his waist band. He unties that as well on either side and Dabi shivers as he moves away from him, letting the cool air of the room rush across his overheated skin as he sits up a bit. Tomura makes him slip the fabric from his legs and Dabi trembles as his eyes roam over his body so voraciously. It wasn't like this when they bathed together. Not at all. This is a look that changes the nudity to nakedness, to a prelude to the raw desire that alights every feature across Tomura's face as he presses back between his legs, hands curving over his hips and teasing his claws along the inside of Dabi's thighs. Despite the heat of his body, that light prickling sensation that comes so bluntly with the knowledge that if he wanted to, Tomura could split his skin all the way down to the artery, gooseflesh starts to prickle against his skin there. It doesn't keep his prick from aching between his legs beneath the hungry stare at Tomura is giving him. 

"Such a pretty clit, baby girl," he purrs, bringing a hand so he can carefully trail a single finger along the underside of him. Dabi has never felt himself so sensitive, never thought that being spoken to like that would have him biting his lip hard to keep another moan smothered even as the way his clit twitches shows Shigaraki how much he likes it. "Are all of the people in your world so decorated?" 

He manages to weakly shake his head. He only got the piercings because he thought the empty spots of his skin looked even worse. Because he just wanted a few pieces of metal in him that he picked for himself. 

Tomura doesn't close his hand around to stroke him, but his tail swishes as the naga leans back in to give him another kiss that makes Dabi feel like he's offered his body up as a feast for this creature. He's not sure that he would even have a chance to feel betrayed if Tomura did kill him, not when his whole body is already strung out on the anticipation of the intangible more that every touch and kiss seem to promise him. He hears wood against wood, feels the shift in the bed, and he pulls away so that he can see what the other man is doing. He brings his tail back from the edge of the bed, a corked bottle in his grip as he does. He pulls the cork out and spills the liquid inside over Dabi's skin, making him shiver from how cool the oil is as it drips along his clit. 

"Never been such a sweet little girl for anyone else," Tomura murmurs. "But have you ever touched your clit, baby? Rubbed it until you're left trembling and messy?" 

Dabi isn't sure he's going to be able to blush any hotter without actually turning into a fireball on this massive bed. But Tomura won't touch him again without an answer and he barely manages to shake his head. 

Tomura smiles at him, a look that he might have mistaken as sweet and innocent if he had given it to Dabi at any other time. "Good, let me show you your first pleasure then too, princess." He presses his tail back against Dabi's body, the muscles shifting beneath his scales even as he stays stationary above him. Dabi can't help crying out, his whole body going taut as he feels the smooth, repeating texture of Shigaraki's scales against him. The oil makes him slick and Dabi can't help rolling his hips up, trying to get even more friction. "That's it, baby girl," he purrs, his hands going to Dabi's thighs and then he rolls him so that Dabi is slumped against his body, clinging to his torso as the change in angle has his crotch pressed even tighter against Tomura's tail. He moans loudly, trying to rub himself against him. He knows that sex is supposed to be more than this-- he doesn't even know if Tomura has a dick-- but the sensation against him now makes him so desperate to hump him like he's nothing but an eager dog. 

"T-Tomura," he should figure out how to do this right. This is the only thing that has felt good for him in so long, he doesn't want to ruin it all by being so completely inadequate. 

Shig doesn't hesitate to put one of his large hands against the small of his back, making Dabi roll his hips to get more of that perfect pressure against himself, another moan tumbling off of his lips. "Come on, princess, you can feel good. Let me see how pretty you look as you rub your cute clit against my scales." 

Whatever thread of Dabi's sanity was left, snaps completely after that. He moans again and lets go. He loses himself in the slick slide, the soft texture, and the wonderful friction of the other's body beneath his. He rubs his clit against his tail the way that he's seen girls in bars rub themselves against their boyfriend's thighs when they get too drunk and horny to remember that they're in public. He lets himself chase his pleasure with moans falling off of his lips as Tomura's hands move to his ass to cup either side of him and spread him open as he drags Dabi's body in harder. He devours his lips as his tail moves again, the thickest part stays between his thighs, letting Dabi grind against him and chase that delicious friction, but the tip slithers between his spread ass. It flicks, slick with more oil against his hole, and before Dabi can feel any trepidation over it, the tip starts to push inside, rubbing around the rim of him. That movement paired with the ones of his hips, sends the pleasure across his nerves sparking even higher and he can't stop himself from moaning loudly as he starts to fuck himself on the bare inch of tail he's been given. Tomura's mouth dips to his neck, his fangs so sharp, but never breaking his skin as he devours him. 

Dabi thinks that he should probably be embarrassed when it only takes a few minutes of the movements, his hole getting more and more stretched as Tomura gives him his tail, before his thighs are shaking and his balls are going so tight. He's woken with the mess of an orgasm in his pants before, but he's never sought one out while he was awake, and as his thrusts grow erratic and frantic, Tomura catches him by the chin so that he can watch his face as Dabi falls apart. The realization that this man wants to see him enjoying himself, wants to savor every flicker of pleasure that he's sure is contorting his features, is what sends him over the edge. Dabi lets out a loud moan, eyes shutting, thighs squeezing tightly around Tomura's waist, as he pushes his hips against his roughly one more time before his balls are going so tight and his clit is twitching as it spills all over Tomura's scales. The pulsating pleasure that rushes along his length makes him dizzy as his whole body slumps so bonelessly against the other's chest, that blinding rush of endorphins making him feel like he might melt away into nothing at all. 

And then Tomura is pulling him back into another kiss, a soft hiss leaving his throat as he pushes another length of his tail inside of Dabi's hole, the muscles slacking from his pleasure. The movement has him keening, unable to make sense of just how much it is stretching him as Tomura pushes it inside. He feels one of Tomura's hands leave his skin and he looks down as the naga reaches for his pelvis, for the patch of midnight scales that Dabi flushes to see are painted white with streaks of his spend. He's not expecting to also see that there is a... seam. In Tomura's body. In the place that would have been between his legs if he had those at all. There is a thin parting that is getting wider as oil and Dabi's cum dribble onto it that is flushed as bright as blood on the inside. He watches breathlessly as Tomura doesn't use his fingertips, keeping his sharp claws away from his skin, as he instead bends his knuckles to rub along that seam, a clear fluid dripping out of him as he does so. 

"You look so cute falling apart like that for me, baby girl." The roughness in his voice makes the echoes of Dabi's pleasure sting his nerves, that coming even more sharply when Tomura moves his tail inside of him again, curling it towards Dabi's stomach and pushing it against something that makes his whole body jolt. His spine goes taut as that stinging turns into a burning as his body tries to warm back up for more, greedy for it even though his mind tells him that he's not ready yet. "And your pussy is so warm and tight," Tomura hums, his knuckles dipping into his slit and spreading it open wider so that Dabi can start to see inside of him. "Will you let me fill you up, princess? Let me put my cocks inside and fill you up so much that your tight little cunt thinks that you're swollen with my clutch?" 

Dabi whimpers, worried that his brain is not just boiled at this point, but that it's actively leaking out of his ears as smoke starts to trickle out of his seams. It's all animal instinct to have more of whatever he can get that is making him nod his head weakly as he watches Tomura's... cocks start to press out from his body. They're both thicker and longer than his own as they spill from his body, erect with the same dark coloration at their tips, getting more flushed with his blood and flesh-colored like the inner lips of his slit. He's shaped the way that Dabi expects cocks to be otherwise, and as he gets a look at him, the other man rolls Dabi onto his back again, shifting his weight and pulling his tail out from his cunt. 

His nerves fight through the haze of his body's pleasure and Dabi doesn't manage to find words or move as the other lays him back on the bed. He doesn't know if his trepidation is written across his face, or if the naga can smell his fear, but Tomura pauses too, shifting to cup his face between his palms. Dabi has always felt small against his body, but that is made all the starker now as the sheer size of this creature on top of him blocks out any light not reflected off of his ruby eyes. 

"We can stop, princess." He reassures him so gently that Dabi can't doubt the truth behind the words. 

But he wants to prove to at least one person, to the only person who has bothered to try to stick around in his life and care for him, that he can be worthy of the effort. He wants to make Tomura feel as good as he's made him feel. "Don't stop," he manages to whisper in the space between their bodies. Tomura's features soften, and then he leans back in to give him another kiss. 

It's only when Dabi's distracted by how his long hair is tickling his skin, and how sweet his mouth is against his own, that he coaxes his thighs open wider. His breath catches in the back of his throat as he feels the other man between his legs. Big, all of him is so big, but the twin cocks feel enormous as they prod against his hole. He isn't a snake. He wasn't ever really made to put something so big inside of him, but before he can lose his nerve, the slick cocks are starting to press. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat as it happens. 

At first it doesn't feel much different from the other's tail, Tomura easing his body into it as he keeps touching every sensitive inch of his skin, as his mouth descends on his neck again. But he gets a stronger pulse of pressure the further inside of his body that the naga sinks his cocks and weight into him. It doesn't hurt, the slickness easing his way, but by the time he's even halfway inside, Dabi is gasping for breath, so full already that it feels like there isn't room in him for the air. His whole body is starting to go so hot again too, his sore clit starting to fill for a second time as Tomura brings their bodies closer and closer until he's completely intertwined with him. Falling apart. He's falling apart around everything inside of him as he's filled up so completely. 

Dabi is seeing stars by the time Tomura is fully seated inside of him and begins to move. It's nothing like the frantic twitches of his hips that Dabi had managed as he chased his pleasure. This is slow, methodical, a shift against him again and a again that builds up a rhythm along his walls and against his clit as more of those smooth, soft scales rub against him. Tomura shows him how good it can be. Shows him how finding the right pace can heighten everything that came before and Dabi is just clawing at his skin, his throat raw from the sounds that are coming out of him as moans and wordless cries of his ecstasy are torn out of his throat. It's good, too good for him. He wasn't ever supposed to have something so good, this world and his own were constantly telling him that. But he wants it so badly. 

He clings onto Tomura's skin as the other keeps moving inside of him. He pulls him into more desperate kisses as he tries to figure out how to make his weak limbs work enough to roll into the thrusts too as his insides are stretched so wide that there is always a pressure against that place inside of him that spills liquid heat all along his nerves. He feels all of it, savors all of it. And he knows that he's going to crave it every second if he gets back home. 

But those kinds of thoughts threaten to sour the need inside of him, and Dabi lets himself focus on the way he feels as the pleasure builds, on the way that Tomura's body doesn't sweat, but his scales finally start to take on some of Dabi's overabundance of heat as they move together. He sees that his pupils are wide, sees the red of his eyes glinting as he looks down at him like... like he really would take a mate as broken and ugly as he is, and he really would love and cherish him if Dabi gave him the chance. 

He is the one who tugs Tomura back in for another kiss, his body going taut with his need again. Tighter and tighter, his muscles clenching around Tomura's cocks and making him not thrust so much as roll into his body, making sure to rub against every inch of his cunt. And then that tension snaps again. Dabi cries out as his clit twitches again, trapped entirely by Tomura's body as he makes both of their skin sticky and wet as he spills. That tightens his walls more, and that added pressure is already dragging out his second orgasm when Tomura reaches his first. Dabi feels the twitch of his cocks, hears the way that his long tail whips across the sheets in rapid succession, before he is suddenly soaked as Tomura pumps his cunt so full of his cum that even the tight seal of his cocks inside of him isn't enough to keep it all inside. it has to spill out of him again and he is left delirious and moaning as it happens. 

There is so much cum in his body that when the other angles his body up again, keeping him plugged with his cocks inside, Dabi can see that his lower stomach has expanded slightly. Tomura can’t purr, but the soft sound of delight that he makes as he brings a hand there and lets Dabi really feel how swollen his guts are with his cum, makes his pleasure clear and Dabi dizzy. He can’t be pregnant, can’t actually give Tomura a clutch of eggs, isn’t a girl, but this seems to be enough of an illusion of it to keep both of their pleasure ringing through their bodies for an extended period. 

Tomura brings him down from that high with more soft words and kisses pressed against his skin, but he lets his skin stay sticky and sour until Dabi is able to get up and go wash for himself. He can't blame the other for that. They had dinner together, he tasted his blood, he mated him. Dabi already wonders if it feels like torture to be allowed all of those things, but it would be far worse if Tomura let himself do the last thing to make a bond when he knows that Dabi won't reciprocate it. Not now. Not when he has to find a way home. Dabi is letting that sit heavily around his heart, ready to insist that the other go back to his den and not waste any more time on him, only for Tomura to immediately pull him back into the bed and wrap his whole body around Dabi's, making him feel so small, and so cherished as he's held against his chest. 

///

Tomura comes with him the next morning when they leave. Dabi leaves the seal in the mailbox outside of the Todoroki house, making sure that he doesn't see any of the people who are not his family before they go. And Tomura lets him ride on his back again as they travel. He always does. He follows him to the next city, two weeks away. And when the witch there doesn't have any way of helping them, but gives word of another, another three weeks of travel away, Tomura comes with him then too. He never asks Dabi to stay, never hesitates to keep him safe, never pushes him for sex, and alway touches him so gently when Dabi is lost in the anguish of not finding a solution to this predicament. He knows it's not fair to seek comfort in the other man's arms when things keep going wrong, but he keeps doing it, and Tomura keeps telling him that it's alright. That he's happy to have whatever relationship that he can have with him while he's still here. 

He follows him to villages further and further away. He teaches Dabi how to forage, how to tell when there are predators around, and tells him more about the world that he is in now. The cities are bogged down, as he sees as they travel between ones months away from Tomura's burrow, with the same kinds of problems as in his world, even without heroes in play. But things are better here in some aspects because even though the wilds are brutal, people can leave and try to make their way there instead of being trapped the way so many are in his home. The people in the wild aren't villains, but they're the ones who have seen what the cities have to offer and have decided that it wasn't better than the potential of the violence of nature itself. 

The city they're at now is the second largest they've been to, but that still means there have only been five witches for them to speak to. Five, and he has met with every single one as Tomura went to barter for more supplies in case they're sent somewhere new. 

"I've never heard of magic that could cross the space between worlds." It's a refrain that he has come to know well in the past five months of travel. "But there is another witch--" Dabi takes down the name of the city, charting it on the map they bought at the biggest city that they've visited so far. Five months so far. He's been working towards his revenge for eight years, and he tries to tell himself that this is fine. That he can make this happen just like he always worked to make that. But when he goes back to the inn that they're staying at and finds Shigaraki scratching at his neck, a pensive expression on his face, it feels much harder and more hopeless than it did even just half an hour before. 

"Dabi," 

"What's wrong? Were prices bad?" They don't have unlimited funds, but different cities have different rules when it comes to what they accept for trade. This city, with a far larger percent of predators, is more willing to trade with meat. Tomura can usually eat an entire person when he hunts, unless he takes down a particularly large species like a deer, moose, or bear. But when that happens, they butcher whatever he can't eat and Dabi dries the meat into strips of jerky. He still won't eat them, but Tomura can if for some reason he can't go hunting again in a week or two once that meal has finished digesting. He hoped that the jerky would go over well enough here for trade, but things are so subjective from place to place. 

"No, I got everything for our next trip but... I need to go back to my den." 

Dabi has been waiting for those words. For Tomura to finally wise up and realise that he isn't worth all of the trouble that he's caused him. He immediately bites back any bitterness, any sorrow, or other wealth of emotion that he feels building inside of himself. He has been expecting to be abandoned. He isn't allowed to be sad now that it's actually, finally, happening. "Okay, no problem. Thanks for coming so--" Tomura cuts him off, moving into his space and cupping his cheeks in his palms, forcing him to meet his eyes, his own serious and somber. 

"Dabi," and he says his name sometimes the same way he calls him 'firefly', the same way he talks about mates and bonds, and that really only makes the ache in his chest worse. "During the winter, nagas enter a state called brumation. It's similar to hibernation, but we don't sleep completely, we just become much less active to conserve our strength for the coming spring when hunting will be better. I'm not leaving you because I want to be away-- but I won't have the strength to travel. I have to go home to rest." His hand shifts, knuckles brushing against his cheek. "You are more than welcome to come back to my den for the winter, and in the spring, I will take you wherever you need to go to get you home." He promises. "But I understand if that's too long for you to wait for any other possible leads. I know that you have a purpose that you want to go back to and I would never begrudge you that." 

There is too much in his chest, too much in his head. He always feels like there is too much happening to him when it comes to existing in this world. So he forces himself to latch onto one thing: Tomura is not abandoning him. He would stay with him, would keep helping him, if he could. But this is something that is in his nature and beyond his control. Dabi thinks he can travel on his own now, but he knows that he is nowhere near as fast as the naga, and that his senses are dull enough that he could be in far greater danger trying to travel for three months alone than he would be waiting. He already isn't making much progress. But he's spoken to more witches now. Maybe they will have more chatter as people travel for winter holidays, if there are any. 

"Okay, we can go back to your den. Do you need anything to prepare? Do you eat while you're in brumation?" 

The smile that splits Tomura's features before he leans down to press a kiss to Dabi's forehead helps to warm him a bit more than he thought could ever happen before. He tries to let that burn away the shadows lingering around his heart. 

///

They get more supplies, different supplies, so that they can go back to the den and Dabi will be able to live relatively comfortably throughout the winter months. Tomura will mostly be staying deep in the den, the space filled with dried leaves and hay so that it holds onto as much warmth as it can, though Dabi's body lingering in the space will also help keep his companion comfortable, especially when they're sleeping. Tomura won't really eat for three months, but Dabi will, and he gets a couple of big bags of rice that he'll be able to cook along with dried fish and tofu. When the dried things run out, he'll be able to melt the stream and ice fish. He does his best to focus on the practicality of this all, and to that end, he thinks that Shigaraki isn't too worried about him. But when they actually do get back to the den and they finish making the space right for him, Tomura slithers deep into the den and stays there, sleeping most days.

And then Dabi is alone. 

It's not real solitude, because Tomura shifts and pulls him close whenever he comes into the den. He presses his lips to his temples and makes sure that he doesn't need anything, and Dabi curls into his chest and warms his body enough that Tomura is able to focus for longer and not leave him alone with his thoughts. But Dabi can't stay in his arms all day every day, and the hours he spends in the snow makes him so... aware of the heavy cold and thick silence that has fallen over the entire forest. He walks around. There are other creatures out, he sees the evidence of them through the tracks in the snow, but the snow crunches loudly under every step, and he feels like being here has given him an extra sense that keeps him aware when he's being hunted. 

He knows that he's alone when he goes to the large crater, cleared of trees, with snow sloping in on the ground that he shattered when he landed, and stands at the edge of it for a few minutes. There are no tracks here at all, as if all of the other creatures who call this forest home could also sense the strangeness of this occurrence and decided that they would be better off not coming near. Dabi's footprints are the only ones that crack the snow here as he walks down to the cauldron. Maybe it's desperation, maybe it's just stupidity, but Dabi ignores the cold of the snow seeping into the clothes that they bought for him at one of the other villages that had to replace his villain gear when the travel through the untamed wilds wore it down far faster than sneaking through Japan would have. He lays in the snow and looks up at the gray haze of the sky above and a pain so sharp and keen goes aching through him that it takes the breath from his lungs in an automatic sob. 

Years. He spent so many years preparing for the revenge that the League of Villains was supposed to give him. He was so ready to finally reveal himself, to show the world that Enji Todoroki wasn't worthy of the title of hero. He was ready to kill him. He was... ready for this all to be over. But the horses he hitched himself to got him hurt, got him sent here. He's not even sure if there is a person in this entire world who has the magic to send him home. Dabi knows how to be patient, how to bide his time and work to get closer to his goals. But he already waited eight years and his own world isn't waiting for him now. The League is probably going on, maybe the Dabi from here is still with them, though if he doesn't have a quirk anymore, then he won't be of much use to them. He won't know to keep his mouth shut about his family and maybe the Shigaraki that was his boss will think he's too much of a liability. Maybe he'll be dead and if Dabi can ever get home, he'll sentence his Tomura to a life without a mate because all that comes back is dust. 

It's a horrible tangled mess inside of him as he lays on the ground, like he did that very first day, blood slipping over his skin. He can look and search for the rest of his life. Until Tomura really does grow tired of this, or they make a bad call while traveling and get killed, or Dabi dies because he's still more fragile than anyone else in this world because he doesn't have the animalistic traits that make the natives so much faster and stronger than him. He could search the entire globe and still never find what he's looking for. And he knows, even if the other version of him is searching for someone to reverse this too, the chances of either of them finding it are slim to none. They might never get to go home. They probably won't. 

Letting that thought ring through his body has him letting out a cry of anguish, of fury, his quirk racing up to the surface of his skin and pouring out across the crater again, sending a cascade of frigid water sloping back down into the crater and drenching him again as that rage gives way. He could fall to despair or he can find some new determination. He has only ever been able to live his life through cultivating the latter and he pushes himself up, his body soaked, but his blood so hot under his skin that he can't feel the chill as he goes straight back to the den. 

His cry must have been loud enough to rouse Tomura, because he is trying to get himself out of the den, an arm pressed against the wall to try and keep him upright through his exhaustion. 

"Dabi-- I heard you-- are you--" Dabi doesn't let him finish, going over to their supplies. It's easy to snatch up the cup he made for himself and crack it through their basin of water that he melts every morning. He plunges it inside and takes half of the liquid and a scrap of fabric before he moves right in front of the serpent. Tomura sputters and hisses as Dabi throws the contents of the cup against his chest, frigid, he's certain. But he starts to wipe it away quickly, moving in before Tomura can fully recoil. "Dabi!" It's a little scandalized, but he doesn't care. He isn't getting home. He's not ever going to get the revenge that he suffered for all of his life. He was brought into this world, into every world, apparently, to suffer. But he is going to hold onto the one thing that he can that has made him feel good. To the one person who has cherished him, cared for him, loved him even though he’s never used that word before. There is nothing else that could explain why someone would go to the ends of the world for him of all people. 

He presses the cloth into Tomura's hand as he pulls loose the fastenings of his own shirt, not caring that the cold is making his skin and quirk clash terribly. He takes his coat and shirt off, and then he catches Tomura's wrist and he brings the cloth up to his face so that he can get rid of the tears still on his cheeks. He's tired of the sorrow, tired of crying over how unfair the world has been. No. He's ready to move past this. 

"Dabi, what's going on? What's wrong?" Tomura drops the rag to put his hand on his cheek instead, trying to pull him to a stop and make him slow down. But Dabi knows if he does, then the reality of never getting what he's worked for for years will tear him apart. He can't do it. He needs something else to replace that if he doesn't want to ignite again. 

He twists away, going to their food stores and pulls out a chunk of deep red jerky. Not fish. He knows that, knows that it's something they hunted, and that, maybe, makes it more special than the big meal they had together when they were actually in the bonding room. He hears Tomura move over to him, and he turns back around, pressing himself into the other's chest, trying to get his head catching up to where Dabi is at by trying to saturate his body with heat without actually slipping over the edge and burning them both to a crisp. Tomura opens his mouth to speak and Dabi brings the jerky to his lips, watching as the tiredness starts to fade away from his lover's eyes as he takes in what Dabi is trying to offer him. 

He sees that recognition come in, the joy immediately chased away as he puts his hand over his own, his voice far too gentle when he asks, "What about going home?" 

Dabi's whole chest feels shattered when he all but begs, "Can't this be it?" 

Tomura tears off a chunk of the meat, swallowing it without chewing the way he does with so much of his food, before he guides the piece to Dabi's mouth. He's avoided this for months, but this is normal here. And if he's going to stay, to make a home with Tomura, he is not going to make their lives any harder. He takes a bite of the jerky, chewing quickly, not recognizing the flavor as anything other than meat that is gamier than the beef jerky he's had before. It doesn't matter anyway, because he made sure to take a small enough bite he wouldn't be chewing it forever, able to swallow it away in seconds so that Tomura can curl his hand around the back of Dabi's neck as he pulls him in to kiss him as deeply, as passionately, as he always had, holding onto him a little tighter though because he doesn't have to be scared that he'll try to bolt if he is pinned down this time. Dabi throws himself into the kiss just as recklessly, his teeth still too blunt and entirely human compared to the other man's but he doesn't care. They're still sharp enough for him to catch his lower lip between them and bite. 

Tomura's blood bursts across his tongue and the naga wraps both arms around him. Dabi's twine around his neck, pushing into him as the larger creature lifts him, and wrapping his legs around his waist so that he can be carried easily. His lover takes him deeper into the den, to the stones that Dabi made sure were warm for his mate when he left the den earlier, and among the soft grasses and leaves that they selected to make sure that Dabi could be more comfortable. He laps up the blood on Tomura's lip, showing him as many ways as he can how much he wants this. How, if he's trapped in another world that didn't even want him in the first place, he wants to belong to the only creature who has ever wanted to have him too. 

Tomura slithers into their bed and lays him onto his back, his weight over him and deliciously smothering. "My mate," His lover murmurs, his eyes bright with his adoration and love. 

"Make me your bride," he begs breathlessly. He wants it to be real. Wants to show Tomura that he's not going to keep running towards a future that doesn't have him in it anymore. 

The words have his lover letting out a growl. Dabi never gave what he would like in bed any consideration before Tomura, because he thought he would die without his body ever knowing that kind of pleasure. But he likes to be his, likes to have him call him delicate and lovely. Likes it when he murmurs, "Forever, princess. Going to spend all winter having a honeymoon with my beautiful bride." He leans in, leans down, his mouth against his neck, "let me taste that blush I have admired for so many months." 

Dabi doesn't have words left, but he manages to tangle his hands in Tomura's long hair, a weak nod as his whole body warms with his arousal. Tomura's breath is cool against his overheated skin, but his teeth are so sharp as they sink into his neck that he doesn't even feel the ache of them for a moment. But when the pain does come, it floods his veins with pleasure so singular and unlike anything that he's ever known that he isn't certain that he'll be able to hold onto any of this at all. He moans loudly, his arms dropping away from Tomura's neck because he needs to kick off his boots, needs to tug the laces of his pants open, needs to have his mate's cocks inside of his body as quickly as he's allowed to get them. 

Tomura pulls his teeth from his neck, lapping up the blood as he hears his tail swish through their den to find their oil as his hands help to strip Dabi bare. "Your blood is so sweet, princess." He murmurs as he laps up the drops that spill over his skin as Dabi's clothes are tossed aside. 

"Tomura," he is breathless from how much he wants this to be more and faster. He needs to know that this is forever. Needs this to replace every rotten thing inside of him that he had before because it was all he thought he would ever be allowed to hold onto. He wants to cling to Tomura as tightly as he has his revenge, wants to focus on making sure that whatever life they decide to have, that he has been worth all of the patience, kindness, and compassion that Tomura put in to have Dabi get to this point. He wants to be his mate and not have the naga ever think that he'll be running away to some distant possibility of abandoning him ever again. His hand goes down to the place where he knows that his mate's body will open up for him, and he can't help the delighted sound that he makes when he feels the warm wetness that is already starting to drip out of him, his arousal so high that his sheath is already starting to open. Just being able to feel how badly his mate wants him has Dabi moaning in turn, his clit swelling rapidly too as he spreads his legs wider to show his eagerness. 

Tomura kisses him again, their blood mixing between their lips the same way it is going to mix in their bodies, as his tail moves up between Dabi's legs, slick with oil. He moans, grinding down against him, desperate for that because it's a necessary prelude to what he really wants. "I'm going to give you the world, love." Tomura promises him as the tip circles him only enough to get him wet before he starts to push inside. "I'm going to give you everything," His tail pushes inside as he presses their pelvises tighter together, making Dabi cry out, his hips jerking up instinctively, as his slick, soft scales cup his clit and rub against him. It's not often that Tomura lets him grind against his sheath, the lips incredibly soft and sensitive, but the sensation making his cocks ache as they can't press out the way they want to if there is something blocking his entrance. "Going to make sure that you only regret that you weren't born in this world because that was years that we went without meeting." 

The words shake loose the last bits or agony that have been sitting around his heart. He can't have the future he thought he was racing towards back. It's just not possible for him anymore. But he can have this. He can have Tomura loving him. Can have their soft, warm den, and the comfort of knowing that someone will always have his back and take care of him when he needs it. That he trusts him to do the same. 

Dabi didn't think that love was something he would be allowed to have either. But he thinks this has to be the thing that is rushing heat through his whole body as he reaches for the other again, his nails scraping along his back, as he pulls his body tighter against his own and begs, "Please, please, please!" Because he doesn't have any other words to tell the other man how much he wants to be full of him and joined together in a way that this world will never be able to take away. He begs and Tomura kisses him again, only fucking him open enough on his tail to make sure that his insides are warm and wet for him, before he pulls back. His hands move over Dabi's body, touching him everywhere that makes his body sing with pleasure, as he shifts so that his cocks can push out into the open air. They've fucked so many times since the first. Tomura has always been so attentive to him, but there is a franticness to their movements now, a passion that Dabi is only just realizing was missing before. A barrier that he had put up between them to keep himself from sinking into what Tomura was offering him. Love. Everything. He was offering him a future.

Tomura doesn't stop when Dabi pulls him in to get another kiss, his mouth desperate against his mate's as he pushes between his legs. Dabi gasps, the pressure of both of his cocks always so deliciously large as they stretch him open. He just pushes in, and in, and in, until Dabi is seeing stars as his arousal is so high from feeling the way that they're joined together forever now, that it takes him over the edge. If Tomura were anyone else, he thinks that he might be embarrassed about how easily that did it for him, but his lover lets out a low rumble of approval before his lips are peppering kisses all over his face as he starts to grind into his body again and again, loosening his muscles further so that he'll accept the thrusts when they work up to that point. Even that, as Dabi's orgasm washes through him, is enough to have him gasping and seeing stars.

"Gorgeous, princess, fuck," his voice is deeper with his own arousal, making him slip and hiss on the syllabate sounds in his words more than he ever does normally. "Love to watch you fall apart on my cocks, baby girl." He rolls his hips again and Dabi nearly sobs because his whole body goes even tighter with pleasure, his legs twitching around where they have been spread wide by Tomura's tail. His lover reaches a hand between their bodies and cups his much larger palm over him, his hand able to completely cover his sticky clit. His nerves squeal with oversensitivity, but he can't escape the touch. Tomura is just licking at his neck again, rolling his hips into his again as he sets them to a harder pace that leaves him seeing more stars. "Show me it again, princess. Let me see how good I can make my pretty bride feel." 

The words, the feeling of his insides stretched as far as they can go, the friction of Tomura's palm against him, has him keening as his clit is forced to stay hard even though his body wants to soften. He can't, not with his mate trying to push every inch of pleasure into his body that he can possibly feel. Dabi whimpers, but he manages to rock his hips up into his lover again. He wants it. Wants to be his, wants to let this pleasure take away every bitter, hurt thing that he's clung to for years. He wants to let Tomura fill up those spaces inside of him with his love, and if the only physical way he can have it is by feeling his cocks spill his cum deep inside of him, then that will be more than enough. 

"I love you," the words are gasped, more a desperate promise than a declaration. He wasn't made for love, but for Tomura? He'll remake himself to give him that every day for the rest of their lives. It's the least he can do when the other man has given it to him for months now even knowing Dabi might leave him, that he might have stolen away his only chance to have a mate after losing everyone else in his life that was ever important to him. 

Tomura kisses him again, the movements slowing, but dragging against his insides all the more tantalizingly. "I love you, firefly. My bride, my bonded, my mate, I'll tear down this world to make it perfect for you." 

Dabi shakes his head weakly, pulling him in tighter. He doesn't need Tomura to change anything about this. About his lifestyle, about the nature of the world around them. Dabi's world never wanted him, he doesn't need to make this world more like that. Not when he has a chance to be with Tomura and make all of this better than what it was when he was there. He can be better, can be happier. They can do that together just as they are. "Just like this," he begs. 

And Tomura proves that even across worlds, they were made for each other, because he doesn't need any clarification before he kisses him again so sweetly Dabi's heart aches as he continues to make love to him.  

By the time he's full of his cum, his clit is sore and aching from the three orgasms he's dragged out of him, and for the first time in all of these months, Tomura uses the strength the heat generated between their bodies has given him, and he goes and gets water, soap, and the washcloths, and then he spends a careful hour, cleaning away any drop of filth that clings to Dabi's skin, pressing kisses to each scar and seam with a reverence that has Dabi crying again. Tomura cleans up those tears too, and when he curls around Dabi's body when it's time for them to get settled back in the nest, Dabi feels like he's finally been allowed to come home. 

///

It's with a healing poultice on his neck that he sits outside the next afternoon and he turns on his phone. He doesn't know when the battery will not only die, but rot, but he doesn't have to keep it inside of the device for what he wants it for. He uses what's left of the power to type up a message. He writes down who he was, what he suffered, everything that Enji did to him and the rest of his family before he burned to death. He writes about the League and how they were a mess of fuck-ups who got him sent to another world and probably killed his only way back home. He writes that if they want evidence of his claims, then a DNA test against his relatives will prove the truth of it all. And he writes... that he's only making this brief memoir because he doesn't know if he'll magically poof back into his own world when he dies. It doesn't seem likely, but it is possible and he wanted a record of this all. He wanted someone to know that he ended up in a new world, that he gave up on getting home because quirks are magic here and witches are few in number. He wanted some record of the fact that he chose to be happy with this world's version of Tomura Shigaraki who is a far cry from the one he met that tried to kill him. He wants it all written down so he can take the battery back out of his phone and tuck the device back into his belt pouch, and let it sink to the bottom, not to be touched again. 

He writes it all so he can disown it and go back to the reality that he wants to live in so badly now, before he goes back into the den, immediately letting his own heart warm as his sleeping mate reaches for his body instinctively the moment he strays close enough. 

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