littlestarprincess

[jayyydez]

600 words added to my Wicked Game planning doc and you should all be worried lol

It's gonna take me at least two years and probably more to get there, given my current posting speed, but BE WORRIED

[pianocat939]

Celina! I just had the weirdest idea!

Coralline au!

M/c lives in a world identical-if not exact- to ours…

But!

There is a small door in m/c’s room that takes them to the rottmnt dimension.

The turtles are the ‘beldams’ of the story, the only difference being their world isn’t a fake trap used to kidnap children and devour their souls. Their world is literally rottmnt only they are yanderes with button eyes. Also every other character that isn’t one of the turtles is strangely not there-

M/c’s home dimension- to help follow some of the plot from Coraline- kinda sucks. Neglectful parents who are so strung up in their work, they don’t notice m/c. M/c would live in a two-story small house (mainly because I don’t know how I would fit the other characters into this, so they don’t exist here).

M/c loves rottmnt, and so finding a doorway that leads them to a parallel universe with the rise characters only they have sewn on button eyes would surely make m/c really happy at first, given her current circumstances. Yeah sure, they act a little different and kinder compared to the show, but they seem really nice! What’s the worst that could come from staying a little longer?

I can imagine the turtles seeing m/c as their own kin- but not in the delusional “ I am related to you by blood way. More in a “you are our adopted sibling/child” kind of way. They believe they should be the ones to take care of m/c because, clearly, their parents aren’t doing that good of a job at it.

I also wanted a huge motivator for the turtles going platonic yandere on m/c, so I decided to add a bit of angst to this au. Everyone but the turtles is dead, minus background characters.Either by the Shredder or Krang, they are all dead. Or they never existed in this world! Either way, m/c still has no answer as the turtles never talk about them.

Also, Donnie has most likely already stalked m/c before their arrival in their world, which allows the other turtles to already have crucial knowledge on m/c that will aid them in their goals. Poor m/c still hasn’t noticed the cameras-

Once m/c realizes what is going on, it would be far too late to stop it. M/c’s only contacts in their world is their parents, and they won’t believe m/c! Though, it may not be too hard to convince them, seeing as they are already kidnapped and locked away-

The only thing m/c can even do to escape is run and hope to find a new caretaker, because they ain’t getting their parents back from the turtles. I guess the other option is to re-enter the other-world, which would most likely result in m/c being tied down whilst Mikey stitches buttons on their eyes don’t worry, Donnie has already gave them something to make them go numb. They don’t feel a thing physically!

Now, let’s say m/c somehow freed her parents and escaped. Now, m/c would have to burn down the entire house and find a new place to live, because they WILL find a way to get through the door if it is intact. Though, this may not even save m/c, because Donnie could easily make another one in their new home…

(Is this good? I hope it is. I love how we both just torture m/c with fictional mutant turtles with superpowers-)

Yes, it's very detailed! It's great.

Tw: restraints, implied forced surgery(?),

"Look at you! So pretty with your button eyes!" Mikey holds your face in his hands. "Now you're officially a member of the family!" His grin is wide, and a sense of glee is evident on his face.

"Yeah, you have a nice pair of buttons, bud." Raph also smiles at you, kneeling down to be closer to your eye level. His onyx, dead button "eyes" stare back at you. "I'm so happy to have you as our new member."

Leo strokes your head, "No more having to go back to the place...That wretched place where your so-called parents harboured you. But it's alright, no more having to be neglected by them! You'll just be coddled with all the brotherly and parental love you deserve!" His expression darkens when he mentions your parents, malice seeping through his words.

"And as a celebration and in memory of this wonderful event-" Donnie turns his back to you, his metal spider arm holding his phone, "Say 'Buttoning!'" Everybody poses as the camera clicks, cheering the word 'Buttoning!' alongside Donatello.

But you...You weren't smiling in the picture, you had a look of horror. Restrained in Mikey's chains, unable to speak in fear of what they would do.

[aspiringtrashpanda]

(CONTINUED) So I worry about someone thinking I’m writing a disguised ship fic especially as I write really close relationships/dramatic Shounen Anime moments, but I feel like it should be PRETTY DARN OBVIOUS that shipping is not my intent because some Very Specific Language goes into that. I may have accidentally tripped and made their relationship Lowkey Deep Because Of Connections and Parallels And Encouraging Self-Growth And Making Your Own Future And Seeing A Bit Of Myself In You, with a Sprinkle of Oops I Accidentally Cursed Myself Because I Tried To Bring You Back To Life In The Last Timeline Breaking The Sacred Relationship With Legendaries That Gave You Their Trust And Now Arceus Is Making Me Watch Over His Chosen One Because None of The Protagonists Were Born In This World So We Need To Do Their Jobs, after Red and Kris, Steven was kind of the last straw. It's a bit fantasy and magical and weird, and I acknowledge that's often attributed to certain romance tropes, but it can be totally normal too. I'm mostly seeing how much emotional complexity I can disguise using fantasy tropes and if that's readable as relatable if you squint or not. Hence, it could get a tad bit personal at times. That's the real thing I'm disguising and telling myself "look, don't go trying to project this thing too, you instinctively try to downplay and disguise it too much to fit the world/hide it's connection to you / so people might think you're making light of it / it'll just ruin the story, it doesn't fit your established lore and it's too awkward to shift things around / it'll get too bloated / you don't have the time to address it properly / stick with classic Pokemon-elements / keep it simple") So now it really is a squinting game and I won't be writing this in the author's notes in case people try to read too much into how it relates to me...you won't be able to tell with all my disguising and changes and Specifically trying to fit it into a canonically existing story element from the games + it writes itself sometimes, as there's the genuine element of just doing what writers do to puzzle out a story to "read like a story" without projections, more entertainment value and classic writing advice.

If anyone thinks you're writing a disguised ship fic (ESPECIALLY if it is NOT tagged as a ship fic (read: tagged appropriately and marked as Gen), and you have said yourself that it is an emotionally intimate PLATONIC relationship), then that's on them. And that ties into the next bit - You can't control what other people perceive and think of your work. You can write what you think can be the most easily understood allegory, or something, and there will still be people who will interpret it an entirely different way than you intended. The COOLEST thing about art (in all forms), is just how subjective it is to the viewer/reader/listener. Where one person may read your work and say "wow talk about self projection. This is out of character (You said it yourself - there is very little canon personality to the player characters in Pokemon games. What is accepted as "fanon" is STILL a headcanon.) There is way too much going on in this plot. I came here for Pokemon battles, not emotional growth." I guarantee there will be another person saying, "Wow I have also felt this way before. The themes in this fic run so deep. It is so much more than a fantasy fic and the character development is so important to me. This fic stirs up emotions within me and makes me question how I see these characters now." Yes, there is something to be said about ensuring the coherency of a fic, making sure that the plot makes sense and there's a beginning and end and climax (or two or three lol), etc. But, at the end of the day - you put out what you think is your best work, something that comes from the heart and that you are proud of, and someone will love it and appreciate it. A fic does not have to be perfect (by critic's guidelines) for it to be incredible to a number of people. (To be continued...)

[mrzovq3]

Book!Aleksander Morozova x FemReader

Part 1

word count: 1086

|| this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written so if you have any tips on how I can improve my writing please feel free to tell me also request for future fics are open ||

btw: reader’s an Inferni and this doesn’t actually follow any plot points from the books/ part 1 is just fluff with a bit of kissing 🙃

ENJOY!

You were mere seconds from falling asleep right there, in the middle of a war room meeting. You usually love these types of meetings. Discussing strategy, war plans and studying maps are your area of expertise. But today the saints decided it was an amazing idea to make Vasily come up with another one of his so called “brilliant plans” to help win the war and present it in front of the whole council for approval. You didn’t understand why Nikolai would still let him be a part of anything at court since he was king and could easily exile that idiot with his parents but you guessed Nikolai did it for a reason he always does and you trust his judgment.

Recently there have been stronger fjerdan attacks on northern ravkan borders. More attacks meant more deaths, you couldn’t bear the idea of some of your friends laying in a pool of their own blood. Feeling slightly nauseous, you drove your thoughts to Aleksander. You couldn’t wait to get out of this place, fall sound asleep in his firmly protective and welcoming arms and forget about all your problems, even just for a couple of hours.. You were suddenly pulled out of your daydream by one of the councilmen mentioning your name.

“We can send y/n, from what I heard she’s a skilled spy and powerful Inferni I’m sure she’ll get us enough information to make the next move”

“Good then, we’ll send her tomorrow first thing in the morning,” said Nikolai

“Great so much for relaxing” you muttered

“What was that, Miss Ivanov?” asked Nikolai

“I was simply wondering what exactly my mission consisted of?” you lied, trying not to make it sound as if youhaven’t been listening for the past 30 minutes.

“You will be infiltrating one of the main Fjerdan bases, posing as one of them and getting as much information as you can get on their future plans. There have also been rumours of new fjerdan weaponry emerging in Chernast able to take out more than thirty grisha, that’s where we’ll be sending you. If you find any of those, burn them to the ground, understood?”

“Yes Moi Tsar” you nodded.

“Good, this meeting is over” declared the king.

You waited for everyone to leave until it was only you and your best friend.

“Nik why me, you know he won’t like it?” you whined slumping lazily on his expensive and very comfortable velvet chair.

“I’m sure The Darkling can handle his significant other being gone for two weeks”

“You know what I mean, if he finds out where I’m going he won’t let me leave”

“Ah, if he finds out,” Nikolai said with a pointed look.

“Fine but if something happens to me, he’ll have your head for it” you stated half jokingly, standing up to go back to your chambers where a certain shadow prince’s probably waiting for you.

“Then try to stay alive, I’d like to keep my beautiful head thank you very much”

“As much as I’d love to see that happen, I’ll try my best, goodbye Nik” you exclaimed, leaving the war room and heading to your room.

Opening the door, you noticed your room’s shadows slightly thicker. Used to your boyfriend’s antics, you rolled your eyes taking off your red and blue Kefta and flumped face down on your queen sized bed, letting out a long exhausted sigh.

“You know if you want to surprise me you ought to try harder, you’re losing your touch” you said smiling, slowly turning your head towards the corner of your room as a dark figure emerged from the shadows.

“Oh really? I for one thought it was a great attempt” he responded sarcastically, sitting down next to you. You chuckled and moved closer to lay your head on his lap, gazing into his striking grey eyes suddenly feeling more relaxed. He seemed to notice your tensed demeanour earlier, hopefully he didn’t think much of it.

“Long day?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You could say that” you said drifting your eyes away from his so he wouldn’t notice anything strange.

“Was the meeting that boring?” he asked humourly, shifting his legs slightly.

“They came up with a plan to help the war and they needed a skilled Inferni and spy. Thanks to my amazing reputation I got picked, I’ll be leaving for about two weeks. That reminds me I have to pack my bags,” you said getting up, walking towards your wardrobe, trying to look as if you’re rushing so he wouldn’t ask more questions about it, you hate lying to his face.

“You’re hiding something,” he said, grabbing your wrist firmly and spinning you around to look at him.

“Look, Aleksander, I’m not really allowed to talk about it, you already know too much but I promise I’ll be fine It's nothing I can’t handle. You’ve sent me on worst missions anyways, don’t worry.” you lied, locking eyes with him, trying to get him to believe you. He still looked sceptical but brushed it off.

“Ok, be careful.” he said, lifting your chin up with his hand and brushing his beautiful warm lips to yours. You took a step closer, closing the distance looking at them eagerly finally pressing your lips to his. Running your hands through is soft black hair and deepening the kiss, he lifted your hips locking your legs around his torso. For a moment you forgot all about your problems and melted into Aleksander’s warmth and smiled into the kiss. You missed this, spending time with him just the two of you enjoying each other’s presence. Suddenly, he pulled away despite your pouting and leaned his forehead on yours.

“You should probably rest, when are you leaving?” he whispered, still a bit out of breath.

“Tomorrow morning, can we continue now?” you groaned not wanting to stop, leaning back into the kiss. He drew back almost immediately. He carried you to your bed, laying you down and tucking you in like a child. You were too tired to protest.

“Sleep y/n unless you’d rather pass out in the middle of your job” he said, planting a kiss on your brow.

“Fine, but only because I'm actually tired” you yawned, pulling your covers tighter around you. He gave you a ghost of a smile and left closing the door behind him. You let your thoughts run wild until you slowly drifted off to sleep, you have extremely tiring days ahead of you.

[miraculouscontent]

Who wants more sad statistics~?

Because say hello to the color-coded guide to Marinette blame/mistakes! Obviously there’s some room for debate (even I struggled with how to color an episode from time to time), but it should be mostly accurate.

Blue = "Marinette wasn't really blamed for anything notable and didn't really suffer from Adrien" Cyan = "Marinette was blamed for something unrelated to Adrien that she didn't do/she shouldn't be made to feel bad for" (this one is probably the most subjective) Green = "Marinette was blamed/made a mistake but it had nothing to do with Adrien" Yellow = "Marinette doesn't technically make a mistake or get blamed, but is negatively impacted by her crush on/relationship to Adrien" Red = "Marinette either was blamed for/made a mistake that related to Adrien."

"Negatively impacted by her crush on Adrien" could mean generally anything, but it leans towards Marinette embarrassing herself in front of Adrien, characters making snippy/unnecessary comments about her crush, and things that wouldn't have happened if her Adrien crush didn't exist. In the case that Marinette makes a mistake/is improperly blamed for something not about Adrien (cyan/green) but also is negatively impacted by her relationship to him (yellow), whatever is given more attention will take priority. There could've easily been a lot of cyan+red episodes had I allowed myself to use two colors.

Now look at all that red, which is easily the most frequent color, and then try and tell me that Marinette's crush isn't just a tool to humiliate her and force her to make mistakes in order to fit the "Marinette makes a mistake" quota.

I've put the explanations below on my decisions for each episode, as well as the tally for everything together:

Season 1

"Stormy Weather" (red) - Marinette blames herself for leaving Manon, and they're only at the park in the first place because of her Adrien crush.

"The Bubbler" (red) - Marinette uses Lucky Charm explicitly to stop Chloe and Adrien from dancing together.

"The Pharoah" (green) - Ladybug drops her schoolbook; relatively minor in the grand scheme of things, but seems to be why the show forces Marinette to awkwardly try to keep Alya in the museum instead of just having Tikki directly point out where to go.

"Lady Wifi" (green) - Marinette overslept while doing homework and was late for class

"Timebreaker" (cyan) - Marinette is blamed for not being home to give the cake to Nadja... who came early and thus Marinette shouldn't have been expected to expect her

"Mr. Pigeon" (yellow) - Marinette embarrasses herself in front of Adrien, with Alya making faces at her all the while

"The Evillustrator" (cyan) - Marinette is blamed for ditching Sabrina when she has an akuma to worry about, accused of "being like Chloe" (i.e: the person who Sabrina immediately goes back to anyway)

"Rogercop" (red) - Marinette, after being accused, states that everyone has the potential to be guilty, but sidesteps Adrien when someone suggests it

"Copycat" (red) - Marinette, panicked by an embarrassing confession she left on Adrien's phone (thanks to Alya), steals it to delete the message (also thanks to Alya)

"Dark Cupid" (red) - Marinette forgets to sign the love letter addressed to Adrien, which Alya laughs at her for

"Horrificator" (red) - Marinette is pressured/convinced to play Mylene's role instead when Alya throws out that she'd be kissing Adrien

"Darkblade" (cyan) - Marinette doesn't want to run for class representative because she already has enough on her plate (...what a monster?); both Alya and Alix make snarky comments at her for this

"The Mime" (green) - Marinette deletes a video on Alya phone and spends the rest of the episode trying to recreate it

"Kung Food" (cyan) - Marinette blames herself for defending her great uncle and insulting Chloe (again... what a monster?), which leads to Chloe sabotaging Wang's cooking

"Gamer" (red) - Marinette enters the gaming competition solely for Adrien

"Animan" (yellow) - Marinette offers to get Nino a date with Alya, an event that wouldn't have taken place if not for Marinette's crush (either there wouldn't have been a zoo trip at all or Alya wouldn't have been there); in addition, Alya tells Nino about Marinette's Adrien crush, which Marinette is distraught by

"Antibug" (cyan) - Ladybug is blamed for "not accepting help from others" (except she did at the beginning of the episode) and not listening to Chloe (who is a habitual liar)

"The Puppeteer" (green) - Marinette folds to Manon's "baby doll eyes" and gives her something that Nadja insisted she not have

"Reflekta" (green) - Marinette tries to steal Guiseppe's SD camera card so Juleka's picture will need retaken

"Pixelator" (red) - Marinette shirks her job as Jagged's gopher in order to get back to Adrien as soon as possible

"Guitar Villain" (blue) - Not much happens, just cool Marinette stuff; there are technically scenes of Marinette embarrassing herself around Adrien, but either no one else was there to witness it or there wasn't any significant reaction to it

"Princess Fragrance" (red) - Alya forces Marinette to go talk to Adrien, which results in Marinette tripping and losing Tikki

"Simon Says" (cyan) - Marinette... I guess is at fault for struggling to keep up with schoolwork and hero duties? That's what you get for wanting to help people, Ladybug

"Volpina" (red) - Marinette is mocked for being jealous, her following Adrien is presented as her doing it jealously (she literally says that she's going to warn Adrien about Lila stealing the book from him before Tikki stops her, but okay), and she yells at Lila as Ladybug, which is also presented as being "only about Adrien."

"Origins - Part 1 (Ladybug & Cat Noir)" (green) - Ladybug neglects to capture the akuma, having forgotten that detail

"Origins - Part 2 (Stoneheart)" (green) - The mistake from Part 1 carries over... the episode also may or may not blame Marinette for encouraging Ivan.

blue - 1 cyan - 6 green - 7 yellow - 2 red - 10

Season 2

"A Christmas Special" (red) - Marinette's "Adrien blindness" causes her to jump to conclusions and believe that a Santa Claus lookalike is an akuma

"The Collector" (red) - Marinette lies to Master Fu in order to protect Adrien, not able to believe that Adrien could be Hawk Moth

"Despair Bear" (red) - Marinette goes to Chloe's party for Adrien and is repeatedly mocked/teased for this

"Prime Queen" (cyan) - Ladybug "makes a mistake" in getting upset at Nadja for trying to pry into her romantic relationships and her potential romance with Chat Noir

"Befana" (cyan) - Marinette is blamed for "lying" to her grandmother about going to a birthday party with her friends (she didn't) and "not wanting to spend time with her" (she did, Gina is the one who neglected Marinette for literal years)

"Riposte" (cyan) - One of the more subjective ones, but going frame-by-frame, Adrien's saber bends first yet the episode calls Marinette "flustered" and "new to fencing" to say that she's wrong in her choice

"Robostus" (blue) - Mostly free of crush and mistakes, episode focuses primarily on the main plot of the akuma being caused (if I had a color for Marinette just normally being mocked/embarrassed though, it'd be here)

"Gigantitan" (red) - Needs no explanation: Marinette is embarrassed in front of the girls multiple times and the entire subplot causes the akuma that almost hits Gorilla

"The Dark Owl" (green) - Ladybug orchestrates a situation in which the Dark Owl could save her so as to not hurt his feelings, which ends in him being found out, humiliated, and akumatized

"Glaciator" (red) - Marinette is upset because Adrien didn't show up to get ice cream with her, which leads to her blowing up on Andre

"Sapotis" (blue) - Marinette goes largely blameless for everything; not much here

"Gorizilla" (yellow) - Multiple "jokes"/"mocking" about Marinette revealing skin/being in her pajamas in front of Adrien

"Captain Hardrock" (blue) - Surprisingly void of blame on Marinette despite her being depressed over Adrien; if anything, Luka apologizes for making a teasing comment when she was upset

"Zombizou" (cyan) - Marinette is blamed for being upset with Chloe for ruining her gift for Miss Bustier

"Syren" (cyan) - Ladybug is blamed for keeping secrets from Chat Noir (look at the Adrien stans for reference)

"Frightningale" (red) - Marinette is bothered by Chloe being Ladybug, but Adrien is involved so the fandom can easily put blame on her concerning her Adrien crush (see Marinette salters for reference)

"Troublemaker" (red) - Marinette's Adrien pictures are intentionally inflated/exaggerated to humiliate her more

"Anansi" (green) - I wouldn't argue if someone suggested that this is a cyan: Marinette "makes a mistake" in cheating Nora's arm-wrestle with Nino since Nora was being unreasonable

"Sandboy" (green) - Marinette agrees with Tikki that they should do something to help Nooroo without asking Fu

"Reverser" (cyan) - Marinette peeks at Marc's work and tries to help him work with Nathaniel (I see, so when Alya meddles to push Marinette past her comfort zone, it's fine, but--); she also embarrasses herself in front of Adrien over this

"Frozer" (red) - Marinette suffers because Adrien's an idiot and has tons of people in relationships to ask advice from, and he chooses to ask Marinette; Marinette appears to be "blamed" for either wanting to move on (due to the girls fighting) or agreeing to go with Adrien, along with a "bonus" (almost earning a cyan) due to Chat throwing a hissy fit over her rejecting him

"Style Queen" (cyan) - Marinette is blamed for thinking that the magic ladybugs would bring the miraculous back to Fu (see "Sentibubbler" covering for Chat for reference on how the narrative sees this)

"Queen Wasp" (cyan) - Carried over from "Style Queen"; Ladybug is blamed for losing the miraculous

"Malediktator" (red) - Marinette is made to feel bad for being glad that her bully of many years is gone (almost earning a cyan here, or even a yellow), and this is all due to Adrien; he also unintentionally convinces her to give Chloe a miraculous (her "mistake" according to future episodes), which sets off a slew of events that makes her suffer

"Catalyst" (cyan) - Alya not believing Marinette due to her Adrien crush carries over from "Volpina," almost earning this a red, but Marinette also lies about her gift for Heroes' Day. However, the fact that she is completely sleep-deprived from the night before and was being made fun of for only bringing macarons is largely ignored by the narrative and treated too much as her fault

"Mayura" (red) - When going to correct her mistake from last episode, Adrien throwing a pity party for himself makes Marinette go back on it

blue - 3 cyan - 9 green - 3 yellow - 1 red - 10

Season 3

"Backwarder" (red) - Marinette gives Adrien the wrong letter (due to each slip of paper she has conveniently looking the exact same but the episode clearly indicates it to be her fault); she's also humiliated over this

"Weredad" (cyan) - Marinette lies to Chat Noir in a panic to protect her identity. The fact that Chat Noir is an idiot who wonders why Marinette might be on her own darn balcony and that Tikki doesn't offer a better solution for the situation is given no attention

"Chameleon" (red) - Alya believing that Marinette is only upset with Lila over Adrien presumably carries over from "Volpina" and "Catalyst;" Marinette's relationship with Adrien also seems to make her more inclined to believe in what he says about doing nothing about Lila

"Animaestro" (red) - No explanation needed; Marinette's Adrien crush makes her more inclined to believe Chloe (remember "Malediktator" and "Zombizou"?) when Chloe claims that Kagami stole her seat next to Adrien, which convinces Marinette to team up with Chloe against Kagami, and this leads to Marinette being embarrassed over her crush

"Bakerix" (green) - Marinette makes a mistake in... I guess riling up her grandfather? (this one's pretty subjective and I wouldn't argue with anyone who says this should be cyan)

"Silencer" (blue) - Regardless of what "Crocoduel" says, Marinette isn't blamed in this episode for challenging Bob Roth

"Oblivio" (cyan) - Marinette seems to weirdly be blamed/punished for getting upset with Chat Noir if the smugness of Chat+Alya about the taken picture is to be believed (perhaps """explained""" in "Reflekdoll" about Chat having his role to play as the "sense of humor")

"Stormy Weather 2" (yellow) - Marinette spends a portion of the episode sulking about the little progress she's made with Adrien

"Reflekdoll" (red) - Needs no explanation: Marinette's anxiety is caused by Adrien and she's blamed for it despite Alya orchestrating everything

"Oni-Chan" (red) - Marinette chases after Adrien and Lila, which is made to be completely about Marinette's crush on Adrien despite Marinette telling Tikki about her actual concerns (which end up coming true as Kagami gets akumatized)

"Miraculer" (cyan) - Chat gets snippy with Ladybug for not telling Chloe right away (apparently assuming that Ladybug doesn't have other obligations to attend to like school; she even tells Chat that she "wouldn't have time that day"), and Ladybug was literally about to before the sentimonster and Miraculer show up

"The Puppeteer 2" (red) - Marinette repeatedly pushed and punished for liking Adrien, then punished again in front of Adrien (who she thinks is a statue) when she was actually just taking the advice that Tikki gave her

"Desperada" (red) - The guitar scene (i.e: "huh, who would've known that my wingwoman for Adrien was actually trying to wingwoman me with Luka one time!"), Aspik (i.e: "wow, the guy who I thought was perfect because that's what the narrative is always telling me actually doesn't fit what the narrative was telling me!"), and that's all I need to say

"Startrain" (blue) - Mostly mistakeless on Marinette's end; the focus is on other characters/plots (again, if I had a color for Marinette being mocked/embarrassed though, it'd also go here)

"Kwamibuster" (blue) - Marinette isn't blamed for anything; even though Master Fu isn't aware of the events at first, Tikki apologizes to Marinette in front of him later

"Feast" (yellow) - Marinette is briefly distracted by Adrien until Alya chides her so that she can show Marinette the information she might as well have hand-delivered to Hawk Moth

"Ikari Gozen" (red) - Marinette tries to sabotage her and Kagami to prevent Kagami from meeting up with Adrien

"Timetagger" (cyan) - Tikki notes Marinette's bad excuses (which are due to the sheer amount of akuma) to the point where Alya had replaced her as babysitter before Marinette explained that she couldn't show up (I wouldn't argue with anyone who said this should be blue instead)

"Party Crasher" (red) - Marinette tries to crash the secret boys-only party in order to spend time with Adrien

"Gamer 2.0" (cyan) - Marinette+Ladybug is blamed for being upset that they have no time for anything, with Ladybug in particular "making the mistake" of taking over and failing due to Chat constantly goofing off despite her urging

"Chat Blanc" (red) - Marinette is pressured/threatened by the girl squad (specifically Rose) enough that she decides to sneak into Adrien's house

"Felix" (yellow) - Marinette, after "finally" confessing to Adrien (for like--the fourth time), ends up running off and rambling in front of Luka (not knowing that he's there), which embarrasses her

"Ladybug" (red) - Alya's doubts of Marinette's hatred of Lila (implied in "Volpina" and stated in "Catalyst" to be about her crush on Adrien) carries over as Alya chides Marinette for blaming Lila, and had Marinette not listened to Adrien in "Chameleon," Lila may have been stopped early on and she wouldn't have gotten expelled (otherwise, the episode would've gotten a "cyan" because how dare Marinette be emotional at being accused of cheating and get angry at Lila)

"Christmaster" (red) - Marinette lies to Chris (in the exact way that Alya does to Manon in "Stormy Weather" but sure) in order to protect her darn privacy so Chris doesn't find out about her chest full of Adrien gifts, which leads to Chris getting akumatized

"Heart Hunter" (red) - Ladybug neglects to detransform due to being distracted by Adrimi happening, which leads to long-lasting and overly harsh consequences

"Miracle Queen" (red) - Ladybug's mistake carries over from the previous episode

blue - 3 cyan - 5 green - 1 yellow - 3 red - 14

Total: blue - 7 cyan - 20 green - 11 yellow - 6 red - 34

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Nobody Left Behind

Prompt: So I don't know if you're taking requests? But I just watched Lilo and Stitch for the first time since I got into TSS and I've adopted the headcanon that it is Remus's *favorite* movie (and he's memorized the script) and I love your writing and I'd love to see something angsty involving Remus feeling lonely/unloved by his brother, and maybe Lilo and Stitch is involved somehow. IDK, go wild. (and feel free to ignore this if you aren't taking requests) <3 - anon

it is Le Fluff™ hours my good bitches

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Remus has some abandonment issues, but it’s not too much

Pairings: it is platonic all the way down, babes

Word Count:  2935

Ohana means family.

 Family.

 FamILY.

 What a weird word.

Sometimes it’s the people you’re born with. Well, not ‘with,’ not necessarily, but the people you are born to. A mother, a father, a sister, a brother. Sometimes two mothers, sometimes two fathers, sometimes a different parent. Sometimes two sisters, sometimes two brothers, sometimes a different sibling. Sometimes a mess of assorted people that all share the same blood. A family.

 Remus wasn’t born.

 He was made though, crafted and shaped and born out of the swirling chaos of a child’s mind that didn’t understand the world well enough without other people to help. He remembers getting cobbled together from scraps of thoughts and feelings and morphing them into limbs, into features, into something that vaguely resembled the body of the child he was made to fit. Not the ‘fitting’ was ever his job.

 Just his brother’s.

 Is his brother his family?

 By all accounts he should be, right? A brother is one of those people that are traditionally part of the ‘family’ group, right, someone to laugh with, cry with, fight with, live with. But is Roman really his…brother?

 That’s what they decided to call themselves because nothing else worked. They weren’t really brothers, they were halves. But they weren’t really halves because there was never a whole to begin with.

 The King wasn’t a ‘whole,’ he was…well, he was the King. Half of a king is not a prince. Half of a king is not a duke.

 Half of a king is a mess of blood and bones and viscera dripping off of the end of a Morningstar in the middle of the night when only a destroyed facsimile makes the insanity bleed away just enough to breathe again.

 The closest thing to twins, is what they decided on eventually. They’re twins. One light, one dark. One that marches boldly into danger to confront the wickedness of the world, one that dwells in the shadows and cackles with the demons nipping at his heels. One that loves, one that isn’t loved.

 Sure, they had some things in common. They both loved to fight, hence the scars and the bruises and the wounds that would never, ever heal, the distrust that would never be fixed ever, because the urge to sink their teeth into each other’s necks and rip never went away. They both loved to make, Roman the peaceful lies he tells himself to make up for the gaping wounds Remus leaves as he carves his perfectly tailored destruction. They both love Disney.

 Roman’s made it part of his whole deal as the Prince, he loves Disney. He bursts into song every chance he gets, drags the others in until the Mindscape rings with joyful song and there’s nowhere left for any sadness or darkness. He takes his lessons from it, models himself using the traits of the characters he admires most. Cultivates his art of storytelling, perfect to a tee.

 Remus loves Disney too. Loves how easy it is to twist the lens to distort the image just enough to let the darker parts of the Imagination run wild. What is the real implication of never growing old, never understanding what it means to die? What kind of person curses a ten-year-old boy for being cautious about who he answers the door to? What could the story have been if the prince never comes to save the day?

 When they were smaller it was fine. When they were still getting used to the fact that they weren’t King anymore, they used to sit and watch so many Disney movies. Roman’s favorite was always changing, one week it was Beauty and the Beast, then it was Mulan, then it was Cinderella, it never stayed the same.

 Remus’s was always Lilo and Stitch.

 Roman never understood it, said it was boring, there wasn’t a prince, there wasn’t anything exciting. Remus said that aliens were plenty exciting, thank you very much.

 But they would always watch it. The King wasn’t there anymore, but the prince and the Duke were.

 …when they were smaller, there was one time where the prince wasn’t there at all.

 Remus remembers waking up one day and feeling like he was being Split all over again. The maggots in his bones reached their awful little mouths into his heart and pulled, yanking him all the way across the bed and to the door, howling and screaming for his twin.

 Only to be met with a blank wall.

 He remembers howling at the top of his lungs until Janus had rushed to his side, kneeling down next to him and telling him shh, be quiet, hush now, you’re alright, you’re not hurt. And when he couldn’t explain that he was hurt, half of him was missing, Remus needed to go find him, Janus’s mouth had hardened into a thin line and told him that there wasn’t anything to worry about.

 He remembers thinking that was a lie.

 But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a lie.

 Roman was fine.

 Roman was more than fine, because Roman had a family.

 Roman had Patton, who is the actual manifestation of sunshine and rainbows and loved so much it almost burns. The darkness that wrapped around Remus’s corner of the Imagination screeched and hissed at the very idea of being loved that much, even as part of him strained with all its might to get to it. But Patton would never set foot near this side of the Mindscape.

 Roman had Logan, who represents everything true about the Mindscape, about Thomas, about the world. The reality of things that would never let anything Remus created make it anywhere close to anything important because it was dangerous, it was hurtful, and it was wrong. Logan wouldn’t want anything to do with something so useless.

 And that was okay. Because Roman may have been gone but Remus wasn’t alone. Remus had Virgil, who lived with fear soaking every fiber of his being. Remus had Janus, who wrapped himself in darkness and obscurity and laughed.

 But then Virgil left. And now Roman had Virgil, who used Thomas’s anxieties to keep him safe, to help Roman and the others figure out what to do, how to take care of everybody, and how to make the darkness go away. And Virgil would never willingly sink himself back into the darkness when he’d spent so long clawing himself out of it.

 But that was okay, because Remus had Janus. Janus, who plotted and schemed and smirked at how easily the others were pulled along by his strings, luring them deeper and deeper as Remus readied his Morningstar for the trap to be sprung.

 But then they sprung the trap and everything went wrong.

 Roman didn’t want to fight. He just…he let Remus knock him out and didn’t show up again except to scoff and say he didn’t like him.

 And that was…wrong.

 Because Roman wasn’t supposed to like him but he was never only supposed to not like him. Roman was supposed to declare that he wasn’t welcome and try and slash him with his sword. Roman was supposed to try and banish him from the Mindscape and spit insults at him until he left, cackling all the while. Roman was supposed to hate him.

 But Roman didn’t hate him, he just…he just said he didn’t like him.

 But that was okay, because Janus could just come up with a better plan with him this time. They could do it properly, and Roman would hate him again and it would be back to normal.

 But then Janus left. And now Roman has Janus, who keeps his eyes where the prince’s aren’t, when he can’t see what’s happening or he can’t bear to look, to help Roman figure out what to do when what seems to be happening isn’t anything that the prince is used to dealing with. And Janus would never willingly step away from a place that finally accepted him.

 Roman has them now. Roman has people that chose him. Roman’s family chose him. He chose them. They chose each other.

 Remus’s grip on his Morningstar slackens and the thing falls to the ground with a heavy clunk. He moves numbly through his room until he can fall to his knees on his bed.

 He just came from the living room. They were all there. Roman was talking with Logan, ranting about some new show they were both watching. Janus was in the kitchen with Patton, making something for dinner that everyone—well, almost everyone—could eat. Virgil was on the back of the couch, reaching out for Roman’s shoulder every once in a while.

Remus had waited behind the couch. For someone to sit down, for someone to see him and shriek, or even maybe—just maybe—for someone to ask where he was.

 But no.

 Patton had come over and gently ruffled Virgil’s hair, saying that dinner was ready. Logan and Roman had moved into the kitchen, demanding Janus’s attention and pulling him into their conversation. Virgil had murmured a quiet thank you and Roman had asked him for what?

 “Y’know,” Virgil had said, “for…this.”

 “Of course,” Roman had laughed, the soft rustle of fabric as he probably pulled the emo in for a hug—what did those feel like?— “I should be thanking you?”

 “What for, kiddo?”

 “I dunno, it just…feels like it’s been forever since we’ve all sat down for dinner together.”

 Remus’s chest had started to hurt.

 “The whole family.”

 The whole family.

 Remus’s eyes well up with stubborn tears and he angrily swipes them away, baring his teeth at the memory and focusing intently on the things on the bed. Each hand-stitched, each carefully kept clean.

 His family.

 He reaches out with a shaking hand and tucks the blue frog plushie into the crook of his arm, crawling into the middle of the bed and balancing the purple spider on his shoulder. His hands keep shaking as he wraps the long yellow snake securely around his neck, clutching the head under his chin and nuzzling it protectively. The dark blue cat he holds in his other hand, careful not to tear its tie as he scrunches in on himself.

 Wait.

 Wait.

 Where is it?

 No, no, no, no—

 Remus growls, placing all of his family gently on the floor before all but tearing at his sheets. Where is it, where is it, where is it—his heartbeat starts to rise as his search grows more frantic, where is it, where is it—

 The slightest little puff of red hair and he howls, lunging for it and sweeping it into his lap. He pauses to make sure the lion’s crown didn’t fall off and sighs when he sees it still in place. He sets the lion between his legs and leans over, adjusting everyone back into place and scrunching himself into a ball again. He rubs his nose against the lion’s fur and nuzzles into the soft fabric.

 He’d never be able to forgive himself if he lost them.

 Because Ohana means family.

 Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.

——————————————————

There’s a knock on his door.

 Why is someone knocking on his door?

 They knock again.

 Remus looks up, carefully butting the spider out of the way with his head and sitting up. The snake hangs off his shoulder and he lets it, only missing its warmth once the knock sounds again.

 The frog and the cat watch him warily as he climbs out of bed, the lion clutched in his hand.

 The door squeaks slightly as he opens it.

 “So, I’ve got popcorn, I found the weird gummy snakes, and they had this chocolate-covered bacon which we have to try—Remus?”

 Roman?

 Roman stands there, his arms full of snacks and blankets, his head tilted. He glances behind Remus—probably to check something or other—and then back at him.

 “Remus? Are you okay?”

 “Why are you here?” Roman doesn’t like him.

 “It’s movie night, Re, of course, I’m here.” Roman chuckles nervously before taking in his tear-stained face. “Hey, Re, what’s going on? Are you okay? Can I come in?”

 Why is Roman here? Roman has his family, what is he doing here? With Remus?

 “Remus—“ oh, right, Roman’s talking to him—why is Roman talking to him?—in a soft voice now— “Remus, hey, look at me.”

 Remus blinks. Oh. Roman looks concerned now, he’s reaching for him.

 “Hey,” he murmurs as he ruffles Remus’s hair, “what’s going on? Have you been crying?”

 Remus nods dumbly.

 “I’m sorry, Re, can I help?”

 Help? Why does Roman want to help?

 Oh, he’s waiting for an answer.

 “…sure.”

 “Thank you,” Roman says softly, “can I come in?”

 Remus steps aside wordlessly and Roman walks in, pausing when he sees the rest of Remus’s family on the bed.

 “Did you make them?”

 Something dark twists in Remus’s chest as he sees Roman reach for the spider.

 “Don’t.”

Roman backs off, stepping back as Remus snatches up his family and cradles them in his lap, glaring at Roman and curling up on the bed.

 “I won’t, Re, I’m sorry,” Roman says, still speaking softly, “can I sit?”

 “…floor.”

 Roman sits on the floor, setting aside the blankets and snacks, looking up at him. He still looks concerned. Why? Roman doesn’t like him.

 “Why weren’t you at dinner,” he asks gently, “I was worried.”

 Worried? About him? Remus snorts.

 “You had your whole family there,” he spits, “why would you worry?”

 “But you weren’t there,” Roman says like that makes any difference, “so I was worried.”

 Remus shakes his head. Roman doesn’t get it. Roman doesn’t worry about him, he worries about other things. But if Roman wants to know why he wasn’t at dinner, he’ll tell him.

 “I was with my family.”

 Roman’s brow furrows as he glances around again. “…your family?”

 Remus huddles protectively around his family. “Yes. My family.”

 Roman’s eyes widen as he takes in Remus’s posture and how he reacted when Roman asked about them earlier.

 “…are they your family, Remus?”

 “Yes.” He holds them tighter. “I chose them. They won’t leave me. They won’t forget me. That’s what family means.”

 Something crosses Roman’s face and he lets out a wounded noise. Wait. Are they fighting?

 “Wait, Remus,” he murmurs, rising up to his knees, “did you—did you think we forgot you?”

 “You did forget me.”

 “I’m sorry, Remus, I would’ve come to look for you, but I thought—“ Roman shakes his head— “no, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I should’ve come got you, Re, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”

 Oh.

 “…you didn’t?”

 Roman shakes his head furiously. “No, Remus, I promise. I never meant to leave you.”

 “But everybody leaves me.”

 If possible, Roman’s eyes are now wider and he scrambles for the edge of the bed. “What do you mean, Remus, what do you mean everybody leaves you?”

 “You left. Virgil left. Janus left. Everybody left.” The lion’s mane brushes against his lips as he bows his head. “But not them. They won’t leave me.”

 “Oh, Remus—“

 Something big lunges at him and Remus whimpers, he doesn’t have his Morningstar, he doesn’t want to fight, he doesn’t—he doesn’t—

 What’s happening? He feels warm and he’s being squished and Roman is pressing himself against him and what—what—

 “What’re you doing?”

 “It’s a hug, Remus,” comes Roman’s voice, slightly muffled, from over his shoulder, “I’m hugging you.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “R-Ro?”

 “Yeah, Re, I’m here, I’m right here, I won’t forget you, I won’t leave you behind, you’re my brother, you’re my family, I choose you.” Roman’s grip tightens on him and Remus just about gasps. “I choose you and I want you and I like you.”

 Roman…Roman likes him?

 Roman chooses him?

 Roman won’t…leave?

 “No, Remus,” Roman promises as he cautiously asks, “I won’t leave. Not unless you want me to.”

 “No.”

 “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

 That’s it.

 Remus throws his arms around his twin and sobs, cries an entire ocean of tears into his brother’s shoulder because he’s here and he cares and he chose Remus. The darkness shudders as that small part of him surges forward, into Roman’s chest, finding a home in the prince’s heart and languishing in the warmth there.

 “I’m right here, Re,” Roman murmurs, stroking up and down his back, “right here, I’ve got you.”

 The snake drapes itself cautiously over Roman’s shoulder, the spider taking up watch on his knee. The cat and the frog stare at him, making sure he isn’t lying, that he won’t change his mind. The lion, sandwiched between them, feels the reassuring rumble from Roman’s chest and purrs.

 After a long, long time, Remus pulls back a little and scuffs a hand over his nose.

 “…did you say something about chocolate-covered bacon?”

 Roman’s smile lights up.

 “Let’s put on Lilo and Stitch and we’ll try it.”

 Ohana means family.

 Family means no one gets left behind.

 Or forgotten.

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[shushiyuii]

Atlantic Runaways (Part 3)

Lol we got part 3, which is mainly just a lot of fluff and plot developement uwu

Warnings: Mentions of smoking, vore, trauma? Swearing.

Words: 1.8K+

He rolled in bed as his alarm went off, the familiar tune of the able sisters calling him into awakening. Much to his displeasure. How dare this alarm tell him to get up when wait- shit! He had a job!

He came to his thoughts as he shot out of bed, checking his phone to see that the alarm was late. “SHIT!”. But then stopped for a minute, he remembered it was a Saturday. Why would his alarm be going off on his day off?

Then he realised he was going too late for his meeting with Tubbo.

He grabbed his hoodie, rushed downstairs and ran across the street to the nearby park that he and Tubbo would meet up in.

As he ran his best friend came into view, with an unamused face of course. “Tubbo! My man!”. He managed to get out as he came to a halt, panting his lungs out. “About time, you dickhead!”.

“Sorry! Sorry! A lot of things happened yesterday…”. It came out almost abrupt but confusing as the reality of yesterday’s events were finally hitting him. No wonder he overslept, he was exhausted.

“You okay Toms?”. He snapped out of his mind and looked to Tubbo, “Fine! How about we grab some coffee from the café?”, “Sure, but I’m not grabbing coffee. I’m getting hot chocolate!”.

…

“Tubbo, it’s the middle of fucking summer…”, “THAT WILL NOT STOP ME FROM CONSUMING AND ENJOYING MY CHOCOLATEY BEVERAGE!”.

The two made their way to the café in the middle of the park, it was quite a famous public area so many people frequented the place. They took their orders, the hot chocolate and coffee with a side of biscuits. Because Tommy didn’t have breakfast.

The two just sat on their phones for a moment, the atmosphere of awkwardness raising, it was apparent to Tubbo that something was off about Tommy, he was normally more hyperactive, talkative, and well, energetic. Something was clearly on his mind, and he didn’t want to talk.

But Tubbo was determined to get answers. The drinks soon arrived and Tubbo put away his phone, sipping at his hot chocolate. Ignoring the boiling temperature in favour of looking dramatic. He looked at Tommy with narrowed eyes, but his attention was focused on his phone.

“So…”. Tubbo spoke up, Tommy’s attention went from his phone to Tubbo. “What’s up?”, Tommy asked while furrowing an eyebrow, Tubbo was acting differently.

“What’s going on? You’re acting differently.”. Tubbo usual tone is gone, replaced with a serious one. Oh god, it was a serious one. Did he do something? Was he suspicious? He didn’t really want to tell Tubbo what had happened.

“Uhh, nothing?”. Tubbo slammed his fist on the table. “Okay! Okay! Maybe almost got murdered yesterday at work?...”. Tubbo always held a level of intimidation so Tommy couldn’t help and spit it out, much to his displeasure.

“What?”, Tubbo spoke quietly, not wanting to get more attention from the customers that were already staring at them.  “Okay, let’s finish this outside.”.

The two then quickly ate their biscuits and finished their drinks, Tommy grabbing a can of Coca Cola on the way out. The two then made their way to their usual bench, secluded from the rest of the park.

“So, what do you mean you almost got killed?!”, Tubbo asked the moment they sat down. Tommy almost choked on his cola. “Right uhm…”. He tried to find a way to put it.

“Basically, you know that trainer guy who was really sketchy?”, “Yeah…”. “Basically, he threw me into the water with a dangerous Mer? Well, not really dangerous now... But-“. Tubbo slapped a hand over Tommy’s mouth and pinched his own nose and sighed. “Slowly.”.

Tommy in turned sighed when his mouth was released, he was going to have to go into more detail. “Trainer guy I was working under was treating Wilbur like shit, course me and Wilbur weren’t on the best of terms but that isn’t a right to treat a creature like us like total shit! So, I stood up for em’ “.

He continued, “In turn, he got mad and pushed me into the water. As you know I’m not the brightest out there and I didn’t manage to suck in any air. So, I was drowning…”. “That’s how you almost died?...”.

Tommy looked down and nodded, his arms hugging himself. Tubbo comforted him with a hug, rubbing his back as Tommy leaned into the touch. “Mhm…”. He mumbled. The two stayed there for a moment, in comforting silence.

“How did you get out?” he asked once Tommy had calmed down. “I- Wilbur saved me. I don’t know why but he did, he fucking ate me while doing it too!”, “What?!”.

“Turns out some Mers have what’s called a brooding pouch, a place where they store young. Wilbur put me there for a while”. “Wait- Brooding pouch?! He ate you but didn’t eat you?”. Tubbo said in confusion to which made Tommy laugh.

“Yeah, turns out he can speak too! So, now I can actually talk to the bitch! And now we’re friends, I guess? Well, that and he actually comforted me after what happened, so after all that I walked home at whatever time it was and fell asleep.”.

Tubbo went straight into protective mode, hugging Tommy with a lot of strength, “I’m glad you’re alive! But Wilbur, you think you guys are friends?”. “I guess so, he seemed rather friendlier than usual”.

“Whatever it is, be careful. He could still be dangerous!”, “I will don’t worry! I just, I feel bad for Wilbur. I’m gonna try and do whatever I can to help… Wait- how come you’re okay with all this?”.

“Because I know you Toms, and I know I won’t be able to stop you even if I tried so you have my support, okay? If you need a hand lemme know”.

The two did their usual antics after that, playing around and such like they have since childhood and after all that he went to bed.

…

The next day went by quickly as he was mainly playing games and stuff. He tried to think of plans, something of what he could do to help Wilbur.

…

He woke up with a lot of energy that morning, he had plans and he knew that work is going to be absolute chaos.

The moment he arrived at work that day there was a sort of rush of anxiety and excitement, he was excited to see Wilbur again but also scared of the fact of how Wilbur would react.

He walked past the halls and into Wilbur’s containment. There stood the trainer, sitting on a stand, smoking his darn cigarette.  

He heard the door open and looked over to see Tommy. His eyes widened in shock, coughing as he clumsily inhaled his cigarette. “Y-you’re!”. “Yeah, I’m alive. Shut it”.

The man opened his mouth and stood up, approaching Tommy menacingly. Tommy’s confidence faded as he brought up his arms to shield himself from the man. But the man didn’t even stand a chance as water splashed around the two.

And there was Wilbur, barring his sharp teeth, his eyes dilated as he saw the man staring down at his trainer. The trainer immediately backed off when he saw the Mer, running away cowardly out of the room. Leaving him and Wilbur alone.

Tommy looked nervously to Wilbur whose harsh expression turned softer as he looked down at Tommy, he leaned down to Tommy’s height. “You, okay?”. “Yeah, fine. Thanks Wil.”.

Wilbur smiled as he brought out his hand, offering it to Tommy to which he looked down at it in confusion, to which Wilbur responded by just picking him up completely. “Glad to see you’re okay, I’ve been worried”. He nuzzled Tommy.

“Oi, stop it bitch!”. It made Wilbur laugh. “Why are you so cuddly?!”, “You should know this, it’s common knowledge for mers”. Tommy took a minute to understand what he meant then the realisation hit him.

“Right, you bitches get attached to things easily”. And in response, Wilbur brought a claw to gently rub Tommy’s hair. “Right there, gremlin boy!”. “I am no gremlin!”.

The two then settled down with Wilbur swimming around in his small pool, which honestly made Tommy cringe with how small it was. “You hungry?”, he yelled out as he pulled out a heavy bucket towards the pool, it was filled to the brim with fish.

Wilbur popped his head out of the water, “Always hungry, honestly”. He swam towards the end of the pool where Tommy was, “Right”. He brought the bucket to Wilbur, to which Wilbur opened his mouth wide.

Tommy could make out the many sharp fangs, he could easily be swallowed whole. It freaked him out, he shrieked and stepped back. Wilbur closed his mouth and tilted his head in confusion at Tommy’s sudden yells. “What’s wrong?”.

“N-nothing, just you kinda scared me for a second “, “Oh! Sorry! Just thought you’d feed me like that”. “O-oh…”. Tommy then took a breath and came back close to Wilbur, Wilbur picked up on what Wilbur was doing and opened his mouth back up.

He then threw the bucket of fish into Wilbur’s mouth, who immediately swallowed the fish. Although not normally a part of a whale mer’s diet, it was the only thing that he could really give Wilbur to eat out here.

Wilbur then went back to swimming whilst Tommy laid his feet in the water and surprisingly, Wilbur didn’t mind it.

“So. Uhm- you okay Wil?”, “Just fine, Tommy” he answered as he swam. Fortunately, Mers could hear just as well from above the water, even if they were underwater. So, the conversation would be rather normal.

“How are you feeling after that day?”, “Fine, I talked to a friend about it. Got it off my mind and shit.”, “You told somebody about me?”, his tone changed. Tommy looked to Wilbur, “Y-yeah, I hope that’s okay!”, “Are they trustworthy?”, “Yeah!”, “Okay.”.

There was another moment of silence until Tommy spoke up, “Wilbur, don’t you hate being here?”. “Yes, I do, I absolutely despise it here. I hated it the moment I got here”, “Do you wanna go back to the ocean?”.

…

“Yes I do, but that isn’t possible.”.

“What if it is though?”.

“Tommy, you’d have to be a maniac in order to pull off an operation on your own”.

“Well I am a maniac, I’ll do it!”.

“Toms-“.

“Let’s run away Wilbur!”.

…

 “Tommy!” Wilbur pinched his nose and sighed, “I get it, you wanna help and I’m all up for it. But it’s dangerous. I don’t want you getting hurt”.

“It’ll be fine Wilbur! Come on! Don’t you wanna get out of here?!”. Wilbur looked to Tommy who had determined eyes, he couldn’t help it, he found them adorable. He sighed again, “Finee, but we’re going to be really careful about this okay?”.

Tommy smiled and stood up, reached out for Wilbur, Wilbur happily hugged him back with his hand. It made Tommy laugh, which brought a smile to Tommy’s face.

“We’ll run away!”.

[datawyrms]

Half a Decade Late

Valerie was finally promoted to the main headquarters of the Guys in White. There she finally comes face to face with Phantom, who disappeared five years ago, locked in a cell. For Phic Phight 2021, @lexosaurus' prompt!

Nothing proved ’harder workers get ahead’ was only a capitalist lie than the absolute hassle getting promotions within the GIW. Of course she’d gone right to them for employment, it was the only organization large enough to actually pay people that took her resume of ghost hunting seriously. She had experience, actual knowledge and even her own gear but had still spent years getting jerked around to various small operations, basically just using her to train all their useless recruits while still just considering her a ‘fellow’ field agent. It wasn’t like she had the option to quit in protest, no one else was in the market for ghost hunters. As far as most people knew ‘ghost intelligence’ was just a joke cover story that the agents were very attached to. They didn’t want any more Amity Parks, so if she wanted to live somewhere new and still do her job...these guys were it. She’d been very clear, she wanted to be in the main office, where everything happened. That didn’t stop them from constantly assigning her literally anywhere but the actual headquarters. Maybe they finally ran out of other places, she still half expected to get stopped at the door and be told about a new field mission they absolutely needed her on immediately. It didn’t happen. Valerie Grey finally got to clock in as an Ecto Containment Officer at the main branch. Where they kept the strongest creatures, developed the new anti-ghost equipment and did more than just splattering a ghost down to nothing. Sure, she liked a good ghost obliterating, but it got boring after a while. There were only so many ways a ghost could beg for it’s useless afterlife before it became white noise. It didn’t stop any new ones from showing up, or tell her anything new. Just got rid of one pest, permanently. That wouldn’t help explain some ghosts, the powerful ones that showed up again and again. It wouldn’t explain the one that stopped showing up either. There was no way that life ruining ghost just got ‘bored’ and vanished without notice. It was still out there, plotting something. She just knew it in her bones. She had to be ready for it. There were traces of that ghost, hints of his ectosignature that she came across in the field, he was still out there. The GIW was just a means to an end, she didn’t trust them to be ready alone.

Sterile corridors and simplistic signs were expected, but even the break area was doing its best impression of a frozen tundra. Fantastic for morale? Probably not. Made the coffee pot easy to spot, at least. Even if she preferred to avoid the stuff in uniform. It stained too easily, and just made her wish for her red battle suit. She took a cup to at least have an excuse for her scoping out the place, she could pass it off to someone once she got to the containment area. A quick double check that everything was in place at the mirror before heading right back out to the winding halls. She wasn’t going to be late, she didn’t have time for that. Maybe a red tie was against protocol, but no one had been stupid enough to bother her about it yet. Judging from the deferential nods from her latest coworkers, that wouldn’t be changing. No one who worked here couldn’t know who she was. The only Ghost Hunter who got out of Amity Park without getting corrupted by the ectoplasmic monsters. It was a shame, Jack and Maddie Fenton used to be a serious force for humanity. Five years ago they suddenly flipped the script, denouncing their work and calling for peace with unreasonable fiends. Their daughter Jazz likely had something to do with it, but Valerie had her own theories. Danny, her friend and once boyfriend had gone missing around that time. Leverage to ensure the Fenton’s ‘good behaviour?’ The whole thing reeked of ghosts. To think she might have gone the same way. Back then she was actually listening to the pest, starting to really consider them a ‘good’ ghost. Like that was actually possible, when he’d just been playing to emotion and her own desire to give up in fighting a dangerous foe over and over. So much for that. That monster showed it’s true colours, sure enough. Something the GIW never bothered to look into, even as she wrote report after report about the incident, how unlikely it was for the Fentons of all people to change that drastically without constant possession. Not worth the resources, even when it was easy to see what tech was built on the foundations the couple had laid. They were throwing away so much to focus on little outbreaks of ghosts instead of making more of a lasting change. Stupid. That was what the funding was ‘meant’ to go towards, as if helping the Fentons would be less productive than making a slightly different ectogun.

She almost hoped there would be a problem, just to prove this is where she should have always been.Even if it seemed distinctly unlikely. She had to swipe to get into the lab, then yet again to actually get to the cells. Or the ‘vault’, as if the higher ups wanted to pretend the creatures in there were inert materials instead of cunning and dangerous beings. Even though they had someone posted at each door, and someone on guard inside as well, herself today. To get acquainted with the place mostly, she had more than enough training on ‘proper handling’ procedures.

“Hey, you can swap with me today, if you want.”

Valerie blinked, eyebrow already raised at the posted guard’s suggestion. “I can handle watching caged ghosts.”

They had the sense to look embarrassed, taking their hand away from the oversized ectogun to loosen their tie- which was tied rather poorly now that she got a better look at it. “I’m sure you can, it’s just, well.” They wouldn’t stop fidgeting with their tie now, eyes checking that no one was really paying attention to the guards. “H0G02 is awake today. No one likes those days.”

“Then all the more reason to get used to it early.” She didn’t give them time to sputter another excuse, swiping her card and striding past without another look. As if people should be worried about a captive ghost being awake. Maybe some of the people here never got a spine before joining up.

It wasn’t as cold as she expected it to be. Or as dark. It was actually brighter, thanks to the extra row of fluorescent lights. On some level she expected the room to reflect the monsters kept here, a shadowy icebox of a space. Of course it wasn’t. These were defeated creatures under human control, of course their cages would be bright and clean, the air warmed for human comfort. The ghosts might not like it, but why care what they wanted? It wasn’t like there were many to begin with, mostly green oversized vermin with blank red eyes. Most had the sense to cower back as she walked past, but a fair few didn’t even twitch. Calling a ghost of all things lifeless was foolish, but it was the only word coming to mind...she had to focus. She didn’t pity these things. Why so many creatures though? The real dangerous ones, the most monstrous ones were the ones that could play human, the ones that had conniving minds that only worked to cause destruction and terror. These were just feral things, annoying but hardly more impressive than a coyote when you knew what to do. Half of them she’d barely rate above ‘feral cat’. A light near the back flickered. Strange. When it flickered a second time she was already releasing her helmet to pull it on. Not nearly as easy as just willing it on, but at least she could carry it in a pocket without needing to rely on some ghost’s power. Three steps and her gun was ready, not that she expected to need it. Really, she worked on autopilot, legs still moving as she stared at the largest glass cage at the back of the room. Or more accurately, at what was in it.

“Oh, newbie. ‘Sup.” The ghost rasped out, blank green eyes watching the ghost hunter. A teenaged boy with a shock of white hair, a black jumpsuit, but the voice of a seventy year old chain smoker. Just sitting in a painfully bright cell, watching. Not exactly as she remembered him, but close enough.

“You.” The disgust was easy to voice, even as her brain struggled to catch up. He was here? Looking practically exactly as he had when she was still a soft hearted freelancer?

He only gave a sputtering laugh at the aggression. “Me? You’re not that mad about the light, are you? I’m bored, Tie.”

“What are you doing here?” That wasn’t the important question really, she should be more concerned that he apparently was able to manipulate light fixtures from his cell...but she’d been hunting after this ghost for five years. Protocol could go shove itself up the director’s ass.

“Same thing I do every day Tie, being some government property!” His laugh was wrong, not from amusement like she remembered. A desperate cackle that didn’t fool anyone. “You new enough to still have your soul in there?”

“Answer the question, Phantom.”

The smirk slid off the ghost’s face. “Wh’ad you call me? Like I’m only calling you Tie cus the red sticks out, I can call you Shooty if you don’t like it, newbie.”

The response made her insides run cold. It had to be Phantom, and the terrible sense of humour was just like him- but the ghost wasn’t quite right. What was this? It couldn’t be some copy of the ghost kid, could it? “I called you by your name, ghost.”

“Never heard of em.” The ghost crossed his legs and looked away, apparently bored of the person holding a weapon. “What day is it?”

Surely he was playing around. “What do you think your name is, then?”

He didn’t take his attention off the ceiling, looking more bored than anything.“Day first, Tie. Gotta know how much of a head start I’ve got.”

“Like you’re in any position to bargain.”

“Hm? Whatcha gonna do Tie? Let me be unconscious for a few hours? Scary. Day first.”

There was the Phantom she knew, snide and sarcastic when he really had no business being so. “I could do worse than that.”

“Doubt it. You gun grunts gotta listen to the freaks out there, remember?” His shoulders shook with a silent laughter, but it looked more like spasms. “No more mishandling the goods, yeah? Day Tie, comeonnnnnn”

Since when was he so interested in the calendar? Not to mention how weird it was how he kept referring to himself...and pretending he didn’t know his name. “It’s Monday.”

That got his attention, the casual rocking halting as he looked at her again, disturbingly still. “Monday, really?”

“Lying is your thing, not mine.”

He grinned. “I like you Tie, so you’ll probably be fired in like a week. Maybe it’s the red.” The tension left the ghost completely, she hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he’d been sitting until his spine relaxed as his elbows rested on his legs. “Pretty sure I’m H0G02. Least that’s what all your creeps call me.”

There was no way Phantom of all ghosts would call himself ‘H0G02’. He had to be a mimic of some sort, a ghost that modelled himself on the once well known Amity Park menace. “You like me because I told you it was Monday? Seriously?”

“I like the Mondays more than you, if that helps.”

“Not particularly.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” He was watching her again, more curious than anything. She shouldn’t be glad to see a spark of something in those eyes, but he was far less creepy this way.

“What’s so great about Monday? You’re a ghost.” She didn’t really care. She should be asking important questions. She was just...playing along to see if it really was Phantom. That didn’t stop her for being grateful for the helmet.

“Monday is the farthest day away from Friday.”

“Wouldn’t that be Saturday?”

“It hasn’t been Saturday or Sunday for...like four years? Those days don’t exist, I think you humans made ‘em up to prank me.” Phantom shrugged, sounding completely serious. Not even a hint of amusement or a grin. “Pretty good one, all you new guys keep it up.”

He was going to be completely useless if he kept saying nonsense. How could he be useful in finding out what happened to the Fenton’s son if he couldn’t even talk about the days of the week sensibly? “Fine, what’s so bad about Friday then.”

“Ohhhhh, you’re really new, Tie.” the ghost flopped onto his side, bored of sitting up apparently. “You know, the day they keep me around for? That day.” He wasn’t quite still, his right shoulder moving very, very carefully. Hiding something.

She didn’t have the patience for this.“What are you hiding there.”

“Tie has good eyes. Gotta remember that.” Phantom muttered, getting onto his back, a blue shard of ice melting off his arm.

“You don’t really think that some ice would help you out of there?”

“Out?” He looked mystified by the suggestion, but that could more be seeing his face upside down. “That glass doesn’t break for anything, I should know.”

Which didn’t explain why he’d been trying to hide the fact he’d made ice at all. He knew it too, but apparently playing stupid was still one of his favourite tactics. “Knock it off and just answer me.”

Phantom’s frown didn’t change, green eyes staring intently at her helmet as if hoping to see through it. “I could show you why?”

It didn’t sound like a threat. “Sure, why not. It’s gonna be a long day.” If it was? Then she’d show him that she wasn’t someone he could mess with.

Ice wrapped itself around the ghost’s lower arm alarmingly quick, a wickedly sharp blade of ice with serrated teeth jutting from the scrawny arm at an awkward angle. It was practised, something this ghost must have done often in all the time he’d been gone from her life. Yet it was so different from how Phantom usually chose to fight. That was a weapon to tear and maim, not to shock, stun or bruise. It looked wrong on him. The idea that this ghost wasn’t Phantom at all only grew more credible with that thing on his arm, even if ice powers were to be expected. His eyes flicked back to green, still fixated on her as he lifted the arm and stabbed down hard. Right into his other arm. Didn’t even blink.

“What are you doing!” She couldn’t remember the last time Phantom had ever been frightening on some primal level. This- with the disturbing snap of bone as the edges of the blade caught and tore made her hair stand on end. “Stop that, Phantom. What’s wrong with you!?”

“Cancelling Friday.” Phantom was laughing as the blade melted away into the pool of green rapidly spreading from his self inflicted wound. “I said you’d probably get fired Tie.”

“Forget Friday you idiot, cover the wound so you stop splattering everywhere!” He was just a ghost-a ghost messing with her. A ghost she’d fought with and had heard scream in pain. This...thing wasn’t him. Her heart didn’t care what her mind thought, insisting he needed help.

The ghost sat up, his left arm holding on by a shred of his suit before splattering into the puddle, but the left behind stump stopped dripping almost as quickly as he’d lost the limb. “Aw. Maybe Tie does have some soul left. You actually sound worried.”

“Of course I am! You slashed your arm off!”

“So?”

He didn’t seem to be in pain. If it wasn’t for the mess of green and the lack of a limb, she’d almost say she imagined it. Why did she care? “You wouldn’t do this sort of thing.”

“Uh. Yes I would? You just saw me do it. I’m down for an encore.”

The idea just made her feel ill. “Don’t.” Did she want this to be Phantom or not? “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well I’m down an arm. So the coats are going to be very whiny about how much ectoplasm they can get out of me.”

“You must have felt that.”

“Sure. Isn’t nearly as bad as when they start ripping as much ectoplasm as they can out of you. Every single Friday.” He actually rolled his eyes, like she should just know this.

Why did they bother keeping Phantom around if they just wanted ectoplasm? He might be strong, but no ghost had limitless amounts. They’d just fall apart and stop existing. That’s why the weakest ones never even left the Ghost Zone, they couldn’t survive without constantly being around the stuff! “What makes you so special then? Not your attitude.”

“I’m just lucky enough to make my own ectoplasm. Who knew food was easier to get then high grade ectoplasm? Not me.” His remaining arm pointed to her weapon, his smile stretching. “Bet ya your weapon’s fully powered from Fridays. Yours and every other thing they use in this hellhole.”

“Ghosts can’t do that.” The lie was absurd. It went against everything they knew about ghosts, even before food entered the equation.

“Y’know, Tie. I think I knew a ghost hunter that wore red once.” the ghost’s eyes went unfocused, unmoving as he looked listlessly into space. “It’s a good colour.”

“You knew me. Quit fooling around with this not remembering crap.” Valerie threw her helmet aside, no longer caring. She had to know who this ghost really was. She had to know if everything he was blathering about was a lie. So what if it wasn’t ‘safe’.

His eyes didn’t change. “Y’know how hard it is to remake a brain? Cut me some slack Tie…”

“I mean it. Look at me Phantom. If you’re the ghost I know, you can stop pretending to be something else.”

“You lose the details. Arms and legs are easy. The brain though? Way too hard.” He kept rambling to himself, not reacting even as she put a hand to the glass to get his attention. “Y’know how many times they’ve cut it open? I don’t. I lose track after like. Eleven. Maybe. Pointy Shoe said my best was fifteen but I sure don’t remember that.”

She wanted him to just stop talking. She wanted this ghost to be some strange creature she didn’t know. To not have the only possible link to someone long lost a shattered husk. “Phantom. Do you remember the hunter in red’s name?”

He finally blinked. “I’m not this Phantom guy, Tie.”

“Okay, whatever, forget that part. The ghost hunter in red, what do you remember?” She insisted, knocking again in hopes it would keep the ghost’s focus.

“Wish I’d told em something.” he held up his gloved hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Don’t remember what that something was, don’t ask.”

So he was Phantom? He couldn’t be. That was so non-specific it could be anything. “You never explained how you’re the only ghost that can make their own ectoplasm.”

“It’s in my name Tie! Come on. Thought you guys were smart or whatever.” He did a very awkward one armed attempt at crossing it, eyebrow raised. “The H? The feeding a ghost food thing?”

She didn’t really get the whole naming scheme they used here. The fact it mattered wasn’t making her gut unclench either. “What about the H?

“Hybrid? Might have been Human. That might have been a joke.”

Valarie’s mouth was drier than any desert when he said it that easily, that casualty while kicking his own arm aside. “You’re saying you aren’t all ghost.”

“Yup. Not yet! Trust me, I’ve tried,” the bubbly high pitched laugher clawed out of the ghost at that. “I tried so much. Guess it’s another thing I’m a failure at, eh Tie?”

Something told her not to ask. She had to know. Five years she waited, five years apparently knocked Phantom clear from reality.“Does Danny Fenton mean anything to you?”

He just laughed harder at the question. “Really Tie?”

“Yes, really.”

“That’s the name I scream at em. Don’t know why. Feels good though.”

“Is it your name?” Had he had contact with Danny? Been part of whatever made him go missing from everyone’s lives? He couldn’t be, there was no way.

“They get reallllll angry when I say it is.”

There was no way the GIW had a human captive for five years. There was no way Phantom could be the Danny she knew. The ghost was just lying. He had to be, she desperately needed him to be. “Were you fused with a human or something? Got stuck when possessing someone?”

“Nah. Been like this before I got here, pretty sure. You can check your fancy gear though. There’s some non-ghost DNA in it. Lucky lucky me,” he lay back down in the mess of ectoplasm, ignoring how it clung to his hair. “Thanks for the Friday off! I hate those.”

There was no reason to need air. Talking to a ghost she didn’t even like shouldn’t make her feel like she was being crushed under a boulder. Panting for air, outside the room would make her look pathetic and weak, but she needed the space, needed to be away from that...mockery of a ghost.

“He does that to everyone. He’ll repeat the whole thing in a week or so, but he’s a really good copy the first time you see it.” The guard gave a comforting word, apparently unsurprised by her sudden unscheduled departure.

Oh, there would be no ‘next time.’ Not if he was right about her weapon. But she nodded instead, letting her ‘coworker’ think she was just overwhelmed. Even if all she could think of was how many ways this place would burn if that ghost- that thing had been a human once. She was good at telling when ghosts lied. Phantom didn’t sound like he had. No matter how much she tried to convince herself he did.

[honestlywtfisgoingon]

A Match Set

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Pairing: Benny Watts x Reader

Summary: After meeting one night in New York, you and Benny Watts are drawn to each other. As you go through different experiences with one another, you grow closer until it finally gets to be too much for Benny.

Word Count: 2685 Damn

Warnings: Alcohol and also a little sad?

Notes: hehe the plot continues... also please give feedback I’m still new to writing and can use the help 🥺

Your first date with Benny was like all your experiences with Benny. It started out ordinary, and ended up somewhere completely different.

He took you to a small cafe, one of those hidden spots known only to New York natives.

You and Benny sat down in a little corner of your own, and you felt an imbalance when he didn’t look nervous at all. After you ordered you relaxed a bit, finding out that he was just as anxious as you were. Sure, Benny had an incredible poker face, but the way he kept tapping his cheek while he leaned his chin on his hand had been the tell.

On the outside it looked as though the two of you were on a regular date, exchanging all the usual smiles and small flirtations, but that’s where it got a little more interesting.

Benny wasn’t conventional and didn’t care to be, and you were always trying to get past the surface of things. Neither of you cared for menial small talk, and instead went straight into a passionate exchange of thoughts and views. You ended up talking like you had known each other for years. There was a connection there, an obvious chemistry that you hadn’t found before.

There was a second date after that, and it was even better than the last. He had taken you to dinner that time, and once again you found yourselves falling back into discussion about various thoughts and ideas, nothing boring or ordinary.

As you cracked jokes back and forth and learned more about each other, you had a warm feeling. You recognized that for all these last few months, being with Benny was the first time you really felt at home in New York.

That was before, but this is now. Now is when a part of you shattered. Now is just after you got a devastating call that your father was sick.

“Thank you,” you said before hearing the click of placing the phone back on the receiver.

Thank you for what? You were just told your father was dying and you were supposed to say thank you? You had finally gotten the chance to go beyond your small town, thinking everything at home was safe, that it was taken care of. It was your father that convinced you of that.

Living where you did had it’s limits, and there wasn’t much for you there. He pushed you to get out and explore, telling you that you didn’t need to worry about him.

You were taken from your thoughts when you looked at the time, realizing Benny would be picking you up soon. You could’ve canceled, considering the recent circumstances, but you were grasping for normalcy at the moment, trying to shove away the awful reality you were just hit with. You told yourself it wasn’t because you were running away, you were just being considerate of benny. Yes, you were just being considerate. That meant you could push off thinking about all this until you got home.

This time, you and Benny were walking together in Central Park, and you were trying to pay attention to what he was saying as best you could.

“Hey, y/n?” You heard benny’s voice break through the numbness.

“Sorry, what?” You were embarrassed that he caught you blatantly ignoring what he was saying.

“I was asking if you were able to come to to the championship, but I think you’ve got other things on your mind.” He didn’t seem offended, more concerned.

“I’d love to, I know how important chess is for you, and I haven’t gotten the chance to see you get really competitive.” He would’ve been happier to hear your answer had he not seen straight though you.

“Right now, you’re what’s really important to me. Just tell me what’s really going on.” His admittance for caring about you would’ve made filled your heart yesterday, but today it made you want to run away.

“Nothing is going on.”

“You’ve been off the whole day, I just want to know why.”

“Nothing is going on. Why are you so convinced that there is?” Your tone became slightly more aggressive.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me right-“

“Just leave it Benny!” You snapped, letting go of his hand and and walking away from him. You didn’t know why you took off from someone you liked so much, but you didn’t really know why anything was happening at all.

You were stopped as Benny ran after you and grabbed you hand firmly. You tried to pull away, but he was stronger than you. He spun you around to face him. You became acutely aware of the tears that had started to fall from your eyes. Looking up into his eyes was your breaking point.

You let out a sob before caving into him. You felt his arms wrap around you before letting him usher you to a bench. He held you for what seemed like forever, until you were too tired to cry anymore. He was rubbing you back and gave you a little smile when you faced him. You apologized and hastily wiped away your tears, but he insisted that it was ridiculous of you to be sorry. You still felt guilty after your breakdown, so you explained what was going on to make it up to Benny. You couldn’t exactly run away anymore, physically or emotionally.

“It’s my dad. I got a call this morning. He’s sick, but he wants me to stay here. How am I supposed to stay here, dealing with a new job, a new life really, while my dad’s back home dying?” You let Benny see all the stress you were under, ready for him to leave now that he’s seen you as a mess.

“All those things, you have to take one at a time. If your dad’s what’s important right now, just focus on that.” It was easier said than done, but Benny wasn’t the emotional type and he didn’t know exactly what to say, but he cared, that much was clear. You just nodded, trying to pull yourself back together. “Are you going to listen to him? Are you going to stay here?” You could tell that behind his question, he was scared that you would say no.

“I- I don’t know yet.”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.” He said as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. It was smooth and warm and you wanted to lean into it, but you snapped out of it.

“Maybe what we both need is for you not to here.” You didn’t want to hurt him, but your walls had rushed back up. You had so many things going on, and the last thing you needed was a boyfriend. It pained you to say it, but you wanted to be honest.

“I don’t have to be here as... whatever we have going on now... but I can be here as a friend.” As of today, romance was off the table for you, but a friend was different, and Benny wasn’t the type to let go of you so easily, even if a friendship was all he could get.

You just nodded and looked down into your lap, not knowing what to do now. Benny knew it was time for silence, so he held your face in his hands so you looked up at him. He didn’t say anything as he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears sitting on your cheeks. It wasn’t a romantic act, it was more endearing, a quiet action as if to say that he was willing to catch you if you fell.

You let out a small laugh at his little gesture. His eyes radiated a sort of comfort now that you he was edging into a part of your life that even you avoided.

With the intention of continuing your date that wasn’t really a date anymore, he grabbed your hand to pull you up from the bench. When he tried to let go, you didn’t let him. He looked at you curiously but he didn’t question it. You didn’t even know why you did it, still mentally screaming to push him away. You both just ended up going along with it, holding hands for the rest of the day until he walked you back home.

Nearly 3 weeks had passed since then and you hadn’t gone out or had contact with anyone. Despite your moment with Benny, you had still distanced yourself from him. Holed up in your apartment, existing off of gin, cigarettes, and frozen foods; ignoring calls, presumably from your friends.

You sat in the middle of the living room floor, forcing yourself to sketch. It had been therapeutic for you before, but now you found yourself more agitated as your drawings felt forced.

“Argh!” You yelled out into the room as you threw the papers across the floor. The one thing that you could always turn to was your ability to do art, and now you felt a block.

After taking a swig of gin, you laid back on the floor. You had turned to alcohol after another call with your father. He demanded that you stay in New York and that you go on with your life. Instead you felt like you were at a standstill, unable to keep going knowing that the one person left in your life wouldn’t make it another couple of months, and yet you were unable to see him. It made you hurt and angry that he didn’t want you home, but you wouldn’t go against his dying wishes.

You groaned when you heard the sound of the phone. You dragged your hands across your face when it wouldn’t stop ringing, forcing yourself up to confront whoever was pestering you.

“What the fuck!”

“Glad to know you’re alive.” Bennys voice greeted you.

“Can’t you tell when someone wants to be alone?” You missed Benny, but you were slightly drunk and your defenses were up.

“What someone wants and what someone needs are two very different things.”

“Well then tell me what I need.” You said sarcastically.

“You should come out with us. We’ve been calling, Cleo and Annette and the rest of us. We haven’t heard from you.”

“Well the reason you haven’t heard from me is because I haven’t been answering.”

“Funny,” he said humorlessly, “we all miss you.” He paused, “I miss you. And I said I’d always be here so I have to make good on my promise.”

You paused. You had to admit, you missed them and Benny too, but everything just seemed so scary right now. For all your philosophies and ideas, you were hiding from your own thoughts. Going out with people would only expose them.

“I can’t.”

��You don’t have to have a night out, but have coffee with me at least.”

“Benny I-“

“Great. I’ll be there in five.”

“What? Benny no-“ He hung up. The bastard hung up on you. His audacity was what actually made you laugh for the first time in days. After a minute of laying on the floor, you gathered energy to trudge over to the bathroom and make an attempt to clean yourself up. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you made a grimace at your reflection. You brushed your hair and washed your face, brushing your teeth twice to get rid of the alcohol on your breath. You swiped some face makeup to conceal your dark circles and changed out of the pajamas you had been living in.

You buzzed Benny in, expecting him to wait downstairs in the lobby like usual. Instead you heard a knock at the door in the middle of clearing things up. You got flustered as you rushed around to pick up glasses, pillows and other articles littering the floor.

“I thought we were going for coffee,”You said as you opened the door, panting slightly.

“I thought I would make things easy, come to you.” He said as he made his way in, slinging his arm around your shoulder, “plus ive never been in here.” He took a look around, making no comments about the state of your apartment. He made himself comfortable, going through your kitchen, presumably looking for coffee or something to eat. “Do you want anything? More gin maybe?” He said as he picked up an empty bottle sitting on the counter.

“Benny-“ you warned, silencing him. He joined you on the couch with some chips he found in the cabinets and a can of coke.

“We don’t have to talk about anything serious, I just don’t want you to be alone. For my own sake really.” He turned his head away from you while saying the last part.

“You know I should be a dick more often, I’m making you all soft.” You nudged him in the shoulder as a small smile crept up on his lips, lightening the mood. Something about him being there made you unconsciously drop your facade. You had to admit it was nice to relax for a moment.

“Hey don’t go telling everyone.”

You didn’t talk about anything serious like Benny said you wouldn’t. After a while you eased into laughing and chatting casually. Eventually the conversation reached a comfortable lull.

“I missed you too you know. I didn’t say it over the phone.” You told him. Having him here with you made you feel bad for your outburst. You admired his patience for you.

“I knew.” He shrugged as he gave you a sideways little smirk.

“cocky bastard.” You said jokingly.

“Your favorite cocky bastard” he tilted his head towards you as he lifted his brow, smiling.

“Top 3 maybe.” You leaned back like you were pretending to think about it.

Suddenly you remembered what you talked about before the little breakdown you had on your walk.

“The championship! Do you still want me to go?” You sat up with your sudden remembrance.

“Course I do. I didn’t know you would still be up for it.” Benny looked happy, but you could tell he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“I didn’t think I was, but I didn’t want to miss you winning.” You ruffled his fluffy blonde hair. He gave you that cocky smirk again. You really won points by stroking bennys ego.

“Well we can drive together then. It’s next week.” He said it nonchalantly, but he smiled as he took a sip of his drink.

You paused, not realizing the championship was so soon. You thought you had at least a month. You didn’t feel as though you were ready to enter back into the world yet. Just Benny was alright but having to hold your own with all those people while Benny played scared you. Benny caught your hesitation and went to hold your hand. They were chess players hands, soft with long fingers that intertwined with yours. They were cold and his rings were a bit uncomfortable, but your breath still hitched a bit.

No. You said you wouldn’t get involved with him. Still, you kept your hand in his. It was probably the one mildly romantic thing either of you could get without risking the friendship falling apart at this time.

“How exciting,” you finally continued. You lifted your coke and you and Benny cheers-ed together. Once again that warm feeling of home crept in, that feeling you got when being with Benny. No matter how many walls you built up, Benny, someone you hadn’t even known for more than a couple months, had an amazing way of bursting through.

Just this morning you were firmly committed to becoming a hermit, and now you were planning a road trip. You chalked it up to Benny being special to you. No, you pushed that thought away again. Special in a friend way. That’s what you needed, and that’s what he was willing to be. You were in a state of conflict around him, shoving him away and holding his hand to pull him close. You shook off your thoughts and looked at Benny, and there was a moment where his eyes shone with admiration, and then it was gone as he turned his head away and continued to talk about one of his chess feats while you listened attentively, just happy to be around him again, even if it was unwillingly at first.

[palbabor-writes]

OK so please consider typical Shig/reader where theres unspoken mutual attraction and they're not quite together but it's Post-kamino Shig, like IMMEDIATE post-kamino where he's still processing and incredibly vulnerable from just losing his sensei. I've had this in my head for a while but IDK how it would go and I think you'd do it justice (just ignore this if u don't wanna i just needed to put it out there 😌)

ugh, i loved this idea. where do you find them lydia? they just live in your mind rent free and i want to go to there. gosh, thank you for the ask.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Adult language, SMUT, NSFW/18+ only, mild angst, pivotal life moments, TW: drinking/drug use, masturbation, blow jobs, face fucking, spanking/mild pain play, vaginal fingering, cunniliginus, overstimulation, switching, dirty talk, loss of virginity (if you squint), dominance, vaginal sex     

Word Count: 11,800

Notes: oh man. so, if the word count didn’t give it away, this is plot, with a hefty dose of porn. in my mind, this is all part of the grieving process for shigaraki and he’s having a rough time coming to terms with what he’s needing to do. yeah, AFO supported him and enabled him to build a following, but he also hid all of the major pieces from him (i.e. the doctor & gigantomachia) so i can see him mourning for AFO as a teacher & as a psudo loved one, after all, at the end of that chapter he’s clutching those hands to him like he’ll fall apart without them. 

Edited by the lovely Lydia: @kugutsuu. she is the best and if you’re not reading her works, all I have to say is: YOU SHOULD BE. 

Mise en Place

/mē-ˌzäⁿ-ˈpläs/ noun or verb  a French culinary phrase which means "putting in place" or "everything in its place.”

This has got to be the strangest, hole in the wall, bar you’ve ever worked at. 

The patrons are touchy and most seem downright dangerous. The whole lot of them are more like mid level criminals than the usual haggard, overworked, regular, citizens you find in local watering holes.  Meanwhile, the gentleman who runs the day to day operations shares more similarities with a will o’ the wisp than a man, and the bar itself is smack dab in one of the seediest parts of town. 

The liquor selection, however, is top of the line. Some of the labels you haven’t seen outside of posh hotels or high class country clubs, and many of the older bottles are rarities. Honestly, there are so many of the high brow bottles that you’re not sure who to ask about the rail selection. There’s no real order to the place and it’s the most free reign you’ve ever been given with your mixology experiments. There’s not even a listing of drinks to go off of. But, if the disgruntled evening crowd is happy, then so is the upper management. All they ask is that you lock up before you leave.

No, nothing about this place makes sense. But, it does pay well and, right now, that’s the only thing you need to worry about.

There’s one other barkeep, a stogy man named Akio. He usually works the day shift, but late yesterday afternoon, he’d given you a call and asked if the two of you could swap for the duration of next week. At first, you’d balked, worried you’d need to schmooze with an unfamiliar bunch of regulars, who’d then decline to tip simply because you were new. But, Akio had sweetened the pot with the promise of $20,000 yen, so, you’d agreed. 

“It’s fairly quiet in the afternoon,” Akio reassured you. “It’s really just putting away shipment and serving the odd customer who happens to pass by. The only thing...well, I’m sure you’ve met him. You’ve been working there for over a month, no way you could miss him.” 

“Who?” you ask, twirling your spoon in your mid-morning coffee, curious, but not wanting to seem overly eager in your questioning. You like your night shift and you’re not wanting this to become a regular swap. You detest having to lug heavy boxes to and fro, pulling liquor and checking lot numbers, ick. Plus, if it really is that slow in the afternoons, it would only be a matter of time before Kurogiri would come after you with a duster and ask you to clean the upper shelves. Yeah, no, thanks. This would be a one week deal, ONLY.

“His name is Shigaraki. He’s, er, different. I suppose you’ll meet him soon, if you haven’t already.”

“Shigaraki? No, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Is he--”

“I have to go, my son is here. Thanks again for the swap and talk soon, (Y/N).”

The line clicks and you let your phone fall from your ear, clattering the metal and plastic along your kitchen table. Shigaraki, you think, taking a scalding sip of your coffee, no, that’s not a name you’ve heard before. Wonder what it is about him that has Akio so on edge. It’s not like him to give you, er, whatever that strange heads-up had been. Either way, it would take more than a vague descriptor like different, to spook you off. 

******

Akio was right, on all counts, about the haze of monotony that permeated the afternoon shift at the bar. 

Well, right on everything except a sighting of that elusive Shigaraki guy. No, the whole afternoon it’s just been you, Kurogiri, and one, rather sloshed old man, who you’ve long since cut off, and propped at the far end of the bartop. It’s been a dull, slow, day. Thank God you’d taken that extra cash from Akio, or this might not even turn out to be worth your while. 

You’re slipping another bottle of whiskey on the lower shelf when you hear a barstool scrape back. You turn at the sound, your head already lifted and a small, friendly, smile lingering on your lips. There’s a lanky guy, dressed all in black with a mop of wavy white hair, working himself onto the small seat. His head is lowered and he hasn’t bothered to look up at you, not yet, anyway. He looks, not really young, but you can’t tell and you’re not about to let some underaged kid worm his way in here. You’ve had enough of those punks sneaking in in the evening, thank you. 

“Gimme a shot of scotch,” the man says, his voice low, with a quiet rasp racing along the tone. It’s a strange timbre and it makes you pause, your eyes scanning those pearlescent strands of hair that are hiding his face from view.

“Hmph,” you snort, arching a brow at his attempts at concealment. He must be underage, who comes up to a barkeep with a ducked head and demands a scotch? 

“Let me give you a piece of advice, don’t come into a bar and immediately refuse to make eye contact with the bartender. We’re like animals at the zoo, we startle easily and don’t like surprises. And, with your face tucked like that, I can’t gauge your age. So, before I get you that unnamed and unbranded scotch, I’m gonna to need to see some ID.”

The man lifts his head at your preamble and you feel your breath catch at the raw annoyance that’s etched across his scarred and cracked face. His eyes are a rich red, closer to ruby and they latch onto yours, insistent and sharp. It’s a deeply intense stare and you can’t seem to pull yourself away, your brow furrowing at his sudden shift in demeanor. 

“I don’t have an ID,” he snaps, his lips lifting into a snarl, showing you the vivid whiteness of his teeth. 

You lick your lips and his gaze follows the motion, eyes lowering, freeing you from that uneasy imprisonment he’d abruptly ensnared you in.

Your heart is beating rapidly against your throat and you shake your head, refocusing your bewildering reaction to this guy's presence. “I-I haven’t heard that one before,” you say, taking a few steadying breaths and tossing a dirty glass in the dishwasher, looking for any task that will let you step away from this strange interaction. 

“You must be new,” he says, leaning back and hunching those dark shoulders. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and shut the dishwasher door, hitting the button to run a cycle. 

“Nope,” you correct him, pulling out two fresh glasses and lining them up on the bartop, reaching for the rail scotch. “I’ve worked here for over a month.”

“Never seen you before.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, flipping the bottle up and filling both glasses with four counts of the dark liquor. You press one to him and lift the other for yourself. The man narrows his eyes at you and looks pointedly at the glass in your hands. 

“You supposed to drink on the clock?”

You laugh and he shifts back at the sound, his head bowing forward, another scowl lifting his lips. Realizing you must have made him uncomfortable, you step toward him and clumsily clink your glass against his, tilting your head at the surrealness of this whole conversation. “They don’t really care what I do. Come on, stranger who has no ID, bottoms up.”

He looks from you to the shot a few times before finally relenting and taking the vessel in a strange four fingered grip, his middle finger arched carefully away. Once you’re sure he’s actually going to toast with you, you sling your shot back, enjoying the sharp burn of the rich liquor. 

You’re about to ask your new drinking companion another question when you hear his chair scrape back. By the time you’re stepping toward him, he’s already pacing down a back hallway, blending into the darkness and disappearing from your sight.

“Um! You can’t...I don’t think you can go back there. And you gotta pay, dude! Hey--”

“He doesn’t need to pay.” 

You always hear Kurogiri before you see him and today is no exception. He’s standing at the entrance to the back of the bartop and he’s watching the path the strange young man took, his shifting face turned from you. You cock your head at his assertion and swiftly place your empty glass into the soapy water of the filled sink. He likely saw you take the shot, but you’re not about to leave evidence behind. 

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching as the wisp like man turns and steps toward you, his amber slits watchful. It’s like he’s sizing you up and you shift on your feet, uncomfortable at the frank, open, assessment.  

“He’s Tomura Shigaraki, and he owns this bar.”

******     

You’re off for the next two days and the wait, the silence, is abjectly harrowing. You can’t sit down, can’t relax, can’t focus. The one time you decide to get overly familiar, of fucking course, it would be with the owner. But no one has called, and no one has sent you any messages. The empty static of your job's reticence doesn’t alleviate your nerves. 

Who knows, they might want to act out the sick power play of having you show up for your shift, only be fired as soon as you darken the doorway.

The next afternoon, you take a familiar route to the bar, your feet tapping hollowly along the steps and alleyways that wind to the rusty entrance. You come in the front, blinking against the darkness, and lock the door behind you. Everything is quiet. But, in forty minutes, the open sign will switch on and you need to get your bar set up, plus slap on a little bit of makeup. You’re so lost in thought that you’re almost to the long bartop when you spot him.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki. He’s sitting at the same bar stool and his head turns as you approach, those unearthly red eyes lingering over you. It’s a different look, very, very removed from that harsh glare he’d given you the other day. He looks less hostile and more, well, curious. 

You give him a cursory nod and pad behind the high counter, taking the final glasses out of the dishwasher and removing the stoppers from all the open liquor bottles. He’s still watching you and you can feel his gaze as it bores into your back, your side, your front. You attempt to ignore him, but the constant threat of those insistent red eyes is beginning to frustrate you. Finally, once you’ve replaced the cash drawer, you lift your gaze to his. 

“What is it?” Your voice sounds waspish, but you don’t care.

“Nothing,” he replies, leaning forward and propping his chin on his palm, not breaking that unsettling leer. 

“So stop staring at me,” you bristle, unsure why your heart is starting to beat a rapid tattoo against your ribs. You don’t know this guy. Sure, he’s mysterious and almost handsome, in a dark horse kinda way, but there’s no reason for him to give you this odd staredown. You’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant this attention, well, besides drinking on the job, but he could just fire you for that, if it was so troublesome. Either way, he should either speak up, or knock it off. 

He smirks at your impudence and murmurs a raspy, “No,” back, his head tilting, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” You scoff, crossing your arms and jutting your chin defiantly. 

“Whatever you say,” he breathes, that smile of his deepening, making his vermillion eyes shine. And, just like that, the two of you wander into a stilted game of give and take. 

For the first few days, he makes sure he’s there before you arrive for the last of your afternoon shifts, his dark back already perched over the bartop as you shut the door behind you. Then, when you transition back to the evening shifts, he’s there too, sitting at that familiar perch, his eyes always, always watching, observing. You continue to ignore him and he seems to relish your agitated silence, flashing you dark smirks and quiet laughs.

Finally, two weeks into this stagnated stalemate, you make a point to strike up a real conversation with him. He’s obviously taken aback by your first few questions, his eyes wide and jaw tense, but he plays along. 

Over time, the two of you carefully erect a haphazard friendship. And that chair of his? That center barstool? He used to not mind if another person was sitting in it when he arrived late, but recently that’s all changed. Now he guards it ferociously. Snapping and glaring at anyone who is stupid enough to drift into it. 

Along with the lingering looks and burgeoning, almost flirty, dialogue you’ve pushed him into, he’s also gotten very demanding of your attention. If you spend too much time talking with another customer, or with Kurogiri, he pouts and darkens until you return, his tense form losing that sharpness.  It's almost like he’s got a crush on you, but he’s not sure what to do with the newfound sensation, lost and confounded by your teases and grins. 

Most people, you notice, give him a wide berth, but not you. No, you like his keen wit and heated musings. He’s fascinating and you want to see more. And in his flustered confusion, he lets you lean in, blinking and wide eyed at your open, flagrant interest in him.

******   

As the weeks drift into summer, things start to change at the bar. 

There’s some atypical deposit of power that’s been bestowed upon the place. People you’ve never seen before, begin to frequent the premises, sharing videos and whispered conversations about that man, Chizome Akaguro, better known to the general public as the Hero Killer. 

Tomura flits between several, dark moods, clutching his newly injured shoulder and murmuring complaints about hero society, All Might and the Hero Killer. Apparently, there had been an altercation between the two of them and Tomura didn’t hide his ire, his agitation from you. No, he would vent to you, his voice gravel and ash as he snarled his rage.  

Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, one evening a young girl begins to hang around, pestering you for a soda and prattling on and on about blood. Another new guy slips in a few hours later, his skin marred by thick, ragged burns and staples. He’s quiet, rudely demanding a shot and nursing it in a corner, his bright blue eyes flashing as he stares vacantly out at the crowd by the well. 

A quiet man, called Spinner, asks you for a water, and you acquiesce, watching as his green hands wrap around the glass, downing the liquid in a quick gulp. Later, there’s a robust, loud, clearly confused guy, wearing a skin tight black bodysuit loitering by your bartop. He keeps entreating you for a drink, then tells you to buzz off seconds later. Exasperated, you plunk a whole bottle down beside his glass and continue on with your work, ignoring his chatter. 

Finally, a man in a white mask and a top hat rounds out the strange posse and the group gathers together, hovering around Tomura, asking questions and listening to his rasping answers. 

Thankfully, the rag-tag group leaves soon after closing, all of them shouldering their way back out into the night. You shake your head as the door closes behind them, gathering the collection of dirty glasses they left in their wake. Only Tomura remains, sipping meditatively on his drink, his red eyes foggy and unfocused. You know from experience that it’s not a good time to ask him questions, so you continue with your closing duties, keeping your eyes down.

Something is going on, that much is clear. But, unless you could worm the information out of Tomura, you’d likely never fully know all of the details. Part of you warns that it’s likely dangerous. Many of the people who haunt the bar are low level villains or brokers, not a winning combination if you’re wanting to stay out of the fray, and on the right side of the law. 

You finish wiping everything down and return to Tomura, asking him softly if you can wash his empty glass. His eyes lift to yours and the expression that greets you almost makes you want to reach out and cup his cheek. He looks tired, worn thin and so, so needy. You’ve never seen him like this. It almost feels like he’s showing you something he’s never revealed to anyone else, a vulnerability that only you can see. He’s giving you access to a quiet secret that can hang between the two of you, safe in the knowledge that he can trust you with it. That urge to stroke a finger down his roughed brow rises again, but you shove the impulse away, rattled by your sudden, visceral, reaction to him. 

To distract yourself, you snatch up his glass, and turn from the intensity of his stare, a slow prickle of gooseflesh trembling along your skin. As you run hot water and soap over the vessel, you feel your heart begin to pound and you chance another peek at Tomura’s quiet form. As usual, he’s watching you, but he looks unfocused again, that broken vulnerability tucked away. You want to ask him if he’s ok, but before you can croak the words out, he pushes his stool back and paces down the dark hallway, leaving you alone and bewildered. 

******

A few days later, you ask Kurogiri if you can sneak away for a minute, you need a break. The bar has been packed since nine and you could use a quick breather. It’s the first night Tomura hasn’t stopped by and his absence has bothered you. You missed his grumpy quips and his persistent glances. All this time, you’d thought it was just him that was catching any kind of feelings, but it looks like he’s somehow managed to nag his way into your psyche, too. 

You take the back stairs quietly and let yourself out onto the alleyway balcony, climbing the rickety fire escape to the rooftop. You’d found the access to the roof your second week and it’s still your favorite place in the whole bar. On a clear night, you can see all the way to downtown Tokyo. It’s always quiet this high up, tranquil and serene. You brace yourself against the concrete wall and watch the lights of the city glimmer, like distant jewels, in the darkness.

You pull a small joint from your pant pocket and flick your lighter on, setting the edge of the rolling paper alight and taking a slow drag. The inhale fills your lungs with a light pressure and you savor the feeling before blowing a thin line of smoke into the night. You get a few more hits in before you hear the fire escape stairs rattle, signaling that someone is coming your way. You debate dampening your roach, but you don’t want to waste it, so you tuck the smoldering paper in your other hand, maneuvering it out of sight. 

The white shine of his hair always gives him away. 

Tomura hops over the ledge and his eyes are already lifting, searching for yours as he stands. You arch an eyebrow at his tense stance and you can’t help your giddy smile. “Everything ok?” 

“Kurogiri said you were taking a break,” he replies, dipping his long fingers into his pockets and sauntering over to the patch of concrete you’re braced against. 

“Yeah,” you confirm, waiting until he’s closer to lift the joint back to your lips, taking a steadying pull and scooting over, so he can fit beside you on the wall. “It’s busy, and I’ve been slinging drinks all night. Just wanted to decompress for a bit.”

Tomura doesn’t reply, but he does slot himself close, the warmth of his broad shoulder radiating against yours. The two of you drift into a companionable silence, and the only sounds that greet you is the quiet hush of traffic below and your inhales and exhales of smoke. 

“You got another meeting?” you ask, crossing your arms and pressing minutely closer, enjoying the distant shiver Tomura gifts you. 

“No,” he murmurs, his voice low. You think that might be the end of the conversation but he continues a few seconds later, his head tilting toward yours, those red eyes scanning your upturned face. “They’re on a mission. I’m not able to participate. It will need to be like a SIM game. They are the pieces that I’ll move over the board, they’ll act to my battle plan.”

You turn to him, your eyes wide. “So, they’re just...pawns? Little NPC’s that don’t matter?”

Tomura laughs and his teeth gleam in the moonlight and distant shine of the neon lights. “Of course not. Do I look that heartless? No, they’re valuable players and if this goes right, we’ll be able to take on the next level with a decided edge.” 

You let that last comment hover, pausing to take another huff, your eyes lowered, brooding over his words. “So, you’re their vanguard leader?”

“Sure,” Tomura nods, “We can’t keep grinding each mission, hoping to pick up any XP these heroes happen to drop. We need to make waves of our own.”

“Oh? Like the Hero Killer?”

“No,” Tomura snarls, his arm tensing beside yours, a hand rising to scritch at his scarred neck agitatedly. “Nothing like him. We’re looking past him. He was too short sighted, so busy following his own code of justice that he didn’t notice he was breeding more heroes, not putting them down.”

“Hmm,” you sigh, thumping your head lightly against the concrete behind you. “That is true. But, you can’t deny he’s brought up some serious divisions. It’s funny, really. It makes me think of this little hero toy I had when I was younger. 

It was of an older hero, he prolly died long ago, but I loved that toy when I was a kid. Then, as I got older, it stopped mattering and one day, without me even realizing it, it lost its importance entirely. I wonder if hero society will ever shift to that. With the fractures that have been seen at UA and all over Japan, it could be a matter of time before real change starts to happen. Anyway, I wasn’t meaning to grill you on your, uh, projects. I was--”

“What toy?” 

His question nonpluses you and you cock your head, blinking up at his peripheral stare. “Um, I think it was of that fast hero, O’clock. It was my older brothers originally, but he passed it down to me. No idea where it is now. It likely got lost in a move or accidentally left behind.”

Tomura lifts his eyes from yours, his jaw clenching and a slow gulp echoing down his lean throat. You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple, fascinated by the movement. That urge to touch him is back and you have to clench your fingers into your palms to quiet it. 

You’re so distracted by your primal reaction to him, that you miss his question and he has to repeat it, his eyes slipping back to yours, the red dark. 

“What?” you ask, blinking against the acuteness of his gaze. 

“Can I take a hit of that?”

“Of what...oh.” You lift the half smoked joint and chuckle at yourself, pressing the smoldering paper toward him. “Sure. You had one before?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, carefully taking the white roach from you and raising it to his chapped lips.

“Go slow,” you warn as he begins to inhale, his eyes drifting to a half mast, concentrating.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he grumbles, pulling a tentative, but heavy, drag into his lungs.

“Fine,” you scoff playfully, “do what you want. But don’t blame me when you’re coughing up a lung.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t heed your advice and, seconds later, he’s clutching at his throat, dropping the joint onto the broken gravel and concrete as he heaves. Instinctively, you thump him on his back and run your palm soothingly over his lean shoulder blades, surprised by the corded muscle that greets you. For a relatively thin guy, he’s certainly packing some strength under that unassuming form of his. 

Tomura startles at your touch and he yanks himself away from you, his head ducked, eyes fastening onto yours, the irises accusatory and bright, burning with some underlying emotion that you’re too nervous to name right now. 

“Uh,” you begin, aghast that you’ve upset him, “m-my bad…”

But, he’s already leaving, his head firmly turned from you, clambering over the edge and back onto the fire escape, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

******                

After that night, you can’t slip him out of your mind. Even when you sleep, you can see those red eyes of his, gleaming and hungry. One evening, you’d even woken with your fingers firmly pressed to your throbbing clit, stumbling and gasping, shaking free of a dream of him. He’d felt so real, so in focus and you can’t catch your breath, fingers still rubbing a tight circle over your quivering bundle of nerves. You pant as you break yourself, sukling in the whites and reds that haze over your vision. Yeah, that crush of his definitely isn’t a one sided thing.

The next shift you work, he’s waiting for you, perched in his familiar seat, his shoulders curved and tight. You give him a glance, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. His hands are lowered, fiddling with something under the bartop. You begin to open your bar, trying to quiet your wandering thoughts, not wanting to perturb him again. You’re uncorking a red wine when he presses something across the mahogany wood of the bar, toward you.

It’s small, with dark colors and a tiny, familiar, upper half mask. You let the bottle of wine thud against the counter, abandoning the half opened bottle to move closer. It’s...it’s your-- No. It can’t be yours, but it is the same toy, the one you’d mentioned on the roof the other night. How did he?

You gulp and look up at him, your heart pulsing wildly against your ribs. For the first time, he looks away from you first, his white hair pillowing across his brow. His lips start to rise in an all too habitual scowl and his raspy voice lifts to your ears. “If you don’t want it,” he grouses, one hand pulling away from the offered toy, clearly flustered by your wondering gaze. Without thinking, you slip your fingertips over the top of his hand, prolonging the touch, sulking in the warmth of him. 

His fingers curl, some unconscious tremor racing along his digits. He almost yanks himself away, but then he stops, sighing as his eyes lift to yours. For a long moment, the two of you watch the other. You can hear his breathing speed up and you can almost smell the shift in the air. All it would take is one, tiny push to break that delicious tension. 

Tomura’s nostrils flare as you start to lean closer, your body curving toward his, fingers still pressing into his skin. Your tongue dips out, wetting your lower lip and pulling it into your mouth, sucking on the plush flesh. His eyelids have lowered and he’s mirroring your motions, his elbows assisting his lift, his face upturning, seeking, reaching.

With a bang, the front door is flung open and it breaks the spell that’s fallen over the two of you. Tomura leans away first, his eyes narrowed in agitation, sliding from your open face to the darkness of the entryway. You exhale a shaking breath and follow Tomura’s gaze. It’s that masked man, the one with the top hat and he’s already striding confidently forward, peppering Tomura with a series of questions. 

Snagging up his gift to you, you walk back to your bottle of wine. 

******    

You don’t have a chance to see Tomura again until he tells you, one evening, that the bar is going to be closed for the next few days. Then, over his shoulder, you spot the blonde boy, strapped and bound into a stiff chair and you blanch, stunned, too overwrought to give him more than a one word acknowledgement before stumbling back outside. In all of your talks, he’d never mentioned anything like this. That boy looked like a kid, barely past middle school, his eyes wild and defiant, but also so, so frightened. 

No, you think, pacing your apartment, it’s impossible to come to terms with this. You can’t stay there, can’t work there. It’s too dangerous, too close to a real criminal den for comfort. You have to look out for yourself, no matter your feelings for the man who’s wandering down some long, lost pathway, toward a future you can’t even comprehend, let alone see.

So, you hand in your written resignation. 

Kurogiri is behind the bar when you bring it in, and you’re hoping that the early morning conversation will spare you from having to see him. The wispy, purple hand of Kurogiri is just about to take your letter when Tomura barges down the hallway. His eyes immediately land on you and he steps forward, a dark look passing over his palled features. 

“Why?” he growls, fingers snatching the paper from Kurogiri and crumbling the parchment to bits, his quirk rendering your typed words to nothingness. 

“I don’t want to be a part of any kidnapping. It…” you pause, looking toward Kurogiri and, to your surprise, he nods to Tomura and moves away, leaving the two of you alone in the vacant bar. Tomura is still glaring at you, but he’s waiting for you to finish your thought, his jaw grinding quietly. 

“This doesn’t feel like you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tomura scoffs, his chin jutting at the assertion. 

“This doesn’t change society. This is just some petty attempt to get back at the UA staff. It’s like...It’s like you’re asking for trouble to seek you out. You’re smarter than this. Besides, what are you going to do with him?” you smart, crossing your arms and balling your fingers into your fists. 

“What do you know about anything? That kid’s been oppressed by hero society, literally muzzled and bound--”

“As if you’re doing any better! He’s still muzzled and bound, Tomura! He’s just in a different location. This is insanity. Who put you up to doing--”

“That doesn’t matter. This conversation has nothing to do with that. You can’t leave,” Tomura snaps, his head lowering, soft white hair falling over his face. “Give it a few more days.”

“What? I can��t stay if the bar is raided and it’s prolly gonna be if you keep that kid. Besides, that’s not--”

“Just...just give me a few more days. I don’t want to beg you, I shouldn’t fucking need to beg you. It’s not an impossible request (Y/N). Just--”

“Fine,” you sigh, uncrossing your arms and watching him. He looks on edge, haggard and angry. Those emotions aren’t projected at you, you know that. Nevertheless, it doesn’t lessen the danger he’s asking you to stand with him in. But, you can give him a few days and you tell him so, trying to ignore the pattering of your heart when he looks at you and smiles.

******

Then, Kamino happens. 

You weren’t there, thank God. But he was, and now, no matter what he’d asked of you, no matter what he’d hoped for, everything shifts apart. Days linger into weeks and you’re trying your best to reason that he’d made it out in one piece. Surely, you would have heard something. The capture of the leader of the League of Villains would have been a morsel that the media would have wanted to crow about, especially after the loss of All Might. 

Late one evening, your phone rings. 

It’s an unknown, blacked out number, but something tells you to answer, so you pick it up. You almost gasp when you hear that familiar rasp and you listen to what he tells you. You can’t get over how brittle and cracked his voice sounds but you write down the address he gives you. He cloaks his true motivations with a lie. Apparently, he has your last paycheck. Like that even matters to you. Honestly, you’re just glad he’s safe and whole. But, he’s gone to all this effort to build a bridge back to him, so of course you’re going to go.

You check and double check the directions, carefully maneuvering and weaving through bus stops and back streets. Somehow, you make it and find yourself pressing open a dilapidated door and stepping into a small room. Only darkness greets you, even though the bright midday sun is shining outside. The place he’s brought you to is on a dock, on the outskirts of town, close to the salty edge of a bay. You can hear the mournful cries of a seagull as you close the door behind you, sealing yourself inside and blinking into the gloom.

It takes you a minute to catch sight of him.

He’s lingering along the edges but you can make out the glow of his eyes, red and fierce. He looks different. It’s only been a few weeks, but it looks like the weight of years has crushed him under its unfeeling grind in that short amount of time. No, Kamino has changed him, rendering him unhinged and dangerous, drifting along the peripheral of your vision. Still, you haven’t come here to witness him falling to bits at your feet. No, you’d come here with another, darker motive. 

Now, to work.

“What happened?” you ask, keeping your back firmly against the door. Watching him move closer, those red shoes of his glinting over the dark wooden floors.

“Sensei is...gone,” he replies, his voice hollow and faint. He’s mentioned his Sensei before and you’d heard the man’s strange voice echoing from that back television, like some distant, terrifying specter. But, you knew he was important to Tomura, more like a father than a teacher. However, you’d seen the news. You knew he was beaten to a pulp and captured, locked away and out of Tomura’s reach. Now, he can’t ask his Sensei for advice or support, not anymore. Even knowing what little you’ve gleaned about the strange man, Tomura must be devastated by his loss.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, genuine in your sympathy.

Tomura nods and fishes for something in the pocket of his trench coat, lifting a thin slip of paper out and showing it to you. “Here,” he sighs, still not meeting your eyes directly. 

“Oh,” you say, moving away from the door and taking a few steps toward him. “You really did ask me here for the check, huh?”

“What else did you want?” he grumbles, his voice regaining a small slice of that familiar rasping. The question lingers and you feel your pulse speed up, your palms itching at your sides. “Or, did you want to scold me again?” Tomura continues disgruntled, and you can see a grimace pass over his face.

“You deserved it,” you confirm, taking another step, only wavering when you’re a few feet from him. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn't kidnapped that UA student. Now, the kid, and your Sensei are gone and you’re stuck here. Wherever here is”

“Look at you, quite the oracle aren’t you? So, you did come here to berate me.” Tomura snaps, dropping your pay stub to the dusty floor. 

“No,” you shake your head, not wanting this to spiral out of your control, not wanting him to simply shut you out, alone on that pier, left with all of your what ifs. “No, I didn’t come here to do that. I-I...it’s just that...well...that wasn’t you. That whole plan...it still doesn’t make sense”

“How the fuck would you know what is, or isn’t, me? You said that that morning, too. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now,” Tomura bristles, closing the distance and bowing up to you. You can feel the sheer heat of him radiating against your shirt and you shiver at the sensation. If you lift your hand you could touch him, you think distantly. He’s so close...He’s so... 

You gulp, trying to quell your rising emotions. “I guess, I don’t know then.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you say, biting your lip.

“Fine,” he repeats, no doubt thinking that will be the end of it, but you’re not finished.

“You’re better than this you know,” you tell him, eyes searching for his, not relenting your glare until he finally meets you halfway, his red eyes flashing.

“Better than what? Better than you? A half baked woman, slumming her way from mid range bar, to mid range bar. Hoping you’ll catch the eye of the right person, someone who can pluck you from all the muck and grime that you lift that pretty little nose of yours at.”

“What?” you breathe, a snarl of your own etching across your face.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing. Fucking leading me on like that--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You thought I’d be your ticket out, or you could wager me later for a better piece, something stronger, someone that could do something for you.” Tomura is seething, his chest bumping against yours, the red of his eyes burning as he glowers at you. 

“Tomura- I don’t know what you’re talk--”

“Stop saying that. You stupid, or something? And stop saying my name like that. Like it fucking matters. You could have had anything, you know? But...but you took it all for granted. You had the world...and then it...it’s...it’s just gone.”

He’s not talking about you anymore. Even though he’s growling and spitting rage at you, he’s not talking about you. “Shigaraki,” you begin, trying to see some way to reason with him. To bring him back to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” he groans, his head dipping, almost resting against your shoulder. “I haven’t earned...that’s not me.” 

“Alright. What am I supposed to call you?” you whisper, overwhelmed and trying to resist that urge to pull him into your arms. You’ve never seen him like this, and you don’t know, you don’t…

“There you go again, acting like you care.” Tomura scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“I do care, you ass,” you bite, turning your head toward him and letting your voice fall beside his ear. He snarls at the assertion and presses impossibly closer, trying his best to put on a show of wavering strength, knowing you might still be bullied into backing down, into denying him. But it’s not working, no you’ve come this far and you don’t want to leave him, not like this. 

“I care,” you repeat, still murmuring next to his cheek, so near you can hear, and feel, his ragged breaths, hot against your skin.

“About what?” he grunts, moving his head from you, determined to not let you win.

“About, well, you.”

“Liar,” he spits, but his voice wavers, showing you a tiny, tiny sliver of hope.

“Am not,” you counter and watch as he leans back, those vermillion eyes searching for yours. One of his hands lifts and he ghosts the digits over the top of your shoulder, watching as you shift toward the distant touch, pulled to him, like a magnet.

“Such a liar,” he posits, fingers hovering beside your neck, twitching with want. 

“No, I’m not,” you gasp, your voice so faint, you’re worried he might not hear it. But he does and he dips his head toward you, inches from your face, lips already parted and waiting. 

“Prove it,” he challenges, his voice deepening, losing that sharpened edge at long last.

So, you shove him. 

You’re not sure why that’s your first, instinctive reaction, but it’s too late to question your motives and it sparks a crazed response from the man in front of you, snapping him out of his head and refocusing him. 

He fumbles backwards, caught off guard, his red shoes catching as he lumbers, trying to not fall. His eyes flash at you and he instantly rights himself, moving back to you. Through it all, you can hear yourself saying something. It sounds like it might have been another taunt, but you can’t focus, not when he’s pressing himself against you, his fingers finally, finally touching you. 

Tomura can’t seem to settle now that he’s gotten ahold of you, his fingers tracing over your neck, your shoulders, your face, your sides. He’s panting and gasping, his fevered exhales fanning over your prickling skin.

“Get off me,” you moan, batting at his wandering hands.

“No,” he sighs, cupping your jaw and dragging you to his shaking lips. His kiss is clumsy, almost childlike. He lifts and leans, pressing halting smacks against you, grunting when you twist from him, fighting his hold.

“You don’t deserve it,” you tell him, wanting to lance that boil that’s festering in his mind, knowing he needs the pain before he can handle the sweetness of the pleasure. The last thing he needs is love. No, not right now. Hopefully, there will be time for that later. But for now, he needs something raw and shattered, something that will let him see that it’s not impossible to pick up the pieces, that he can be whole again, he just needs to try.

He drags his rough lips over yours and you lower your fingers into his snowy hair, pulling him closer, demanding that he give you more. He gasps at the sudden shift and you slip your tongue into his mouth, tangling it with his and yanking stammering moans from him. Your lips are slick now and you use the extra lubrication to slip down his neck, leaving him trembling above you. 

You dip into each and every scar, laving over all those old hurts until he’s snarling. You leave a bruising bite against his pulse and he snatches your face between his palms, dragging you back to his lips. 

“Stop squirming,” he complains, his forehead bumping against yours, trying to keep up with your rapid fire laps and sucks. 

“No,” you laugh, fingers lacing into the lapels of his trench coat and using the leverage to drag your breasts over his hardened pectorals. He grunts at the sensation, one arm wrapping around your lower back, pinning you to him. When he finally manages to work his way free of your frantic presses, he lowers his lips to your neck, mimicking the same path you’d taken with him, his teeth nipping and pulling until your humming, giving him a thin cry of encouragement that spurs him on. 

Tomura drags a canine over your pulse and you shiver, folding into his crumpled embrace. He’s almost having to hold you upright and he growls when you slip from his arms, annoyed you’re making this so fucking difficult. 

“I said, keep still,” he reminds you, heaving you back up, lean forearms bracing you to him. You smile and lace your arms around his neck, wanting his lips again. He allows the pull, loving the contrast of your plush skin against his. He’s a fast learner and this time, it’s his tongue taps and maneuvers for entrance, swallowing down your needy pants. His nose presses into your cheek and you cup at his jaw, stroking the warm skin until he slows his frantic pace, meeting you halfway, and lingering in your wet softness.

Then, just as he’s getting comfortable, you dig your teeth into his lower lip, pulling until you bleed out a little taste of copper. He snarls and shoves you away, lifting the side of his hand to his injured mouth. 

“What was that for?” He snaps, tapping his fingers against the wound, watching as they come back red. “The fuck is wrong with…” His ire stutters to a halt when he catches sight of you. 

You’ve already slipped your shirt over your head and now your fingers are twisting until you unclasp your bra, sliding the lace down your arms. The cool air makes your nipples tighten but you don’t attempt to cover yourself from him. Instead, you arch an eyebrow at his abashed expression and begin to unbutton your pants, your fingers teasingly lingering over the button and zipper, before lowering the denim down the curve of your hips. 

You don’t even hear him approach. No, you’re too distracted by your little show to notice him until you feel those warm fingers tracing over the newly bared swells of your skin. You lift your head and your eyes catch his, smiling at the hazy hunger that’s blazing out at you. His touch is tentative and you roll your eyes openly at him, lifting your own hands over his, pressing him until he’s digging those four digits into your sumptuous flesh. 

His thumb rubs over your pebbled nipple and you reward him with a low moan, your eyes slipping behind your heavy eyelids. He cups at your other breast and lifts the weight of you into his palm, openly marveling at the feel of you. Still, it’s not enough and if you’re going to get your point across, you need him to give you more than these lazy strokes. 

“Take off your jacket,” you tell him, stepping away from him, quaking minutely in the loss of his warmth. 

“What?” he asks, clearly too overwrought to hear you. So, you help him along. Your fingers snatch the shoulders of his trench and you yank it off him, tossing the fabric down to the gritty floors. Then, you shove at him again. He isn’t as taken aback this time and he rallies immediately, snatching at you and dragging you against him, making you gasp at the harsh sensation of his dark clothes against your bare front. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, licking your tongue along the underside of his jaw, listening to his shuddering breaths. “What do you want to do to me, Tomura? Come on, I know you’ve got some idea. Fucking show me. Don’t let me boss you around, unless that’s what you’re wanting today to be about. I can take those reigns from you. I’m better at this after all. Less...flustered,” you pause, sucking and nipping at his neck, enjoying the indecisive flex of his fingers on your upper arms.

He allows you one more bite and then he’s tossing you down, not caring where you land. Thankfully, you sprawl over his discarded jacket, the fabric sparing you from the neglected wooden floor. You’re trying to regain your bearings when you hear his belt clatter to the floor. You look up at him, watching as he flings that dark shirt away, showing you the lean muscles that you’ve wondered about for so long. God, for someone so lanky, he looks fucking good. 

Tomura smirks at your expression and swiftly yanks his pants and boxers away too, revealing something even more mouthwatering. Fuck, fuck, you think, an involuntary gasp leaving your lips. His cock is thick, pulsing and absolutely dripping with his precum. The tip is a lovely pink, curving toward that chiseled stomach of his and damn, you want to suck on it until he’s putty in your hands. 

As if he can read your mind, Tomura steps closer, giving himself a few tugs as he peers down on you, imperious and almost perfectly in control. “You want it?” He asks, trying to hide that sudden shift in his voice, wanting to show you that he understands what you’re expecting from him. You nod and bite your lip, looking up at him from feathery eyelashes. 

“Come here,” he requests, slowing those pulls and letting his precum slip from his fist to the floor, tempting you with those tiny droplets of arousal. Obediently, you rise to your knees, fingers tracing up his thighs, smiling at the light buckling he gives you, his calves twitching and shaking. 

You tease your way to the apex of his hips and pause, lingering along that dip of his stomach. “Can I taste you?” you question coquettishly and you adore the moan that falls from his lips. 

Taking that as a yes, you slowly lower your mouth to him, ghosting the tip of him over you. Rubbing him back and forth, painting that thick precum over your lips until they’re glistening. Tiring of this little game, his fingers dip into your hair and he grips you, hard. With one pull, he’s burying that velvet heat of his length past the ring of your lips and into the sweet cavern of your mouth. His cock swells and throbs as you lap ravenous at the hefty weight of him.

He’s salty and earthy and you let your tongue swirl over his slit, lapping into that leaking gap until he’s murmuring nonsense over you. He’s almost too big for you to take, so one of your hands lifts and wraps around his base, easing your sucks and ensuring that none of him is left out of this gift of mind numbing ecstasy you’re bestowing upon him. 

There are several veins, racing along the side of his cock and you tickle along each of them, pressing until you can feel the beat of his heart, frantic and fluttering. Soon, he begins to silently ask you for more, rutting his hips against your face, scraping himself along the back of your throat. When you heave around him he lets out a loud, elongated moan and digs in again, lingering until you’re nearly choking. 

You chance a peek up at him and are surprised to see him gazing right back, those red eyes of his clouded and muddled. His hand keeps an insistent pressure against the back of your head, demanding that you keep going. So, you pick up the pace, lapping and sucking, hollowing your cheeks until a thin line of your drool begins to trickle along your chin, dripping onto your knees.

“Can...can I…” he begins, fingers starting to tremble, his knees buckling. No, that’s not what you want from him. You shake free of his hand, letting him slip from your mouth, and he stammers and sputters at the loss, his eyes narrowed and dark, glaring at you with a raw frustration. 

“No,” you tell him, keeping one hand on him, stroking him, maintaining that steady pressure until he’s grunting, his hips instinctively canting into the tantalizing motion. “No, you don’t ask me for anything. Yeah, I can finish you off, if you need me to take control, but it’s not going to be on your terms. If you’re wanting something Tomura, you better fucking take it. Stop asking me for permission. I’m not-- mmph--”

He rips your hand off of his dick and his fingers curl beside your ears, forcing your mouth back, and impaling you on his length, immediately gagging you on his heady thrusts. You inhale sharply, your breath catching, failing as he keeps railing into you. More saliva slides out of your lips and you falter, a weak whimper echoing around him. 

“Mmm,” he growls, holding your face as he presses against the back of your throat loving the clenching and mewls you give him. “That feels fucking good, (Y/N). Taking all of my cock, ah- fucking choking on it. You’re so fucking greedy. Don’t worry, I’ll give you more. Let’s see, what would make this even better, oh, I know. Saw it in a porn once. Put your hands behind your back and don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Immediately, you clasp your fingers together, letting them rest against your lower back. The suspension knocks you off kilter, but Tomura braces your head with his other hand, pinning you between his palms. His dick is still lancing in and out of your mouth, scraping against your tonsils, making you swallow and open, trying to push yourself past that oppressive gagging sensation.

“Ahhh, such a good girl, now spread your legs and lift up, just a little bit, yes- right there. Better keep those hands still,” he taunts, pulling his cock out until it hangs against your lower lip, glimmering with the sheen of your ministrations. Then, he dives back in, thrusting and grinding until his balls are papping against your soaking chin. Your legs tremble as you hold yourself up and you can feel your own arousal, slipping down your inner thighs, splattering onto that dark trench coat of his. 

You’re heaving under him, grunting and slobbering trying to not fucking choke on the girth that’s being pistoned into you. He’s gasping praise at you, his white head thrown back, and his lower abdomen is rippling, letting you know he’s so, so close to spilling down your abused throat. He bows over you as he cums, spewing thick ropes of his release into you. You gulp at him, determined to let every last drop slither down your waiting throat, longing to savor everything that he’s giving you. 

True to your promise, you keep your hands clasped and you nearly topple over when he tugs free of your lips. Tomura takes pity on your wilted form and lowers himself to his knees, wrapping one hand around you and tapping twice on your shaking digits, letting you know you can relax your grip. You fall forward, and he waits above you, watching you with a mounting fascination. Once you catch your breath, you look up at him, not caring that you’re still covered in a mix of tears, spit and his cum. He smirks at your dishevelment, pleased by your open display of your wanton lust for him. 

“See? It’s not hard to take what you want, to do what you want,” you pant, still trying to gulp down a few more rough intakes of air.

Tomura sucks his teeth at your bravado, but you notice he’s having a little bit of trouble steading his own breathing and his hands are twitching as they reach for you. You hum when he cups at your dips and curves, lingering over spots that make you moan for him. As he plucks at one of your puckered nipples his eyes lift to yours and he leans close, pressing a wet line of kisses against your collarbone.

“Lay back,” he rumbles, still sucking at the hollow of your throat. You do as he says, propping yourself on your elbows, curious and waiting. He’s slowed down now that he’s slaked that first brush of pent up aggression, but he’s still got a little more to burn. You can see it, lingering behind his vermillion eyes, gleaming under the carnal intrigue. 

His fingers, so dangerous and deadly, race down your sides, falling to the juncture of your legs and dipping into the slick that he finds. He parts your folds, bracing himself over you, his lips sucking bruises into your skin. The gossamer threads of your leaking cunt run down his fingers and onto his open palm and he groans into your neck, nuzzling his nose to your skin and inhaling, deeply. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice scraping, like sandpaper, hoarse and undone along your heated cheek. Ok, you think, arching as he dips one digit into you, you can let him have that one question, especially when your mind is fogging over like this, unable to think of anything but that ache that’s pounding through your core. You roll your hips again, urging that finger to slip further and he hisses as you pull him in, your walls trembling at the intrusion. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, lifting himself to look down at you, his eyes wide with an awed marvel. “You’re so…”

“Mmm, so what?” you ask, wanting him to keep talking to you, loving rasp of his tone as it tells you such sinful things.

“So soft and warm and...God...so wet,” he replies, adding another finger, watching as you whine for him, your lower lips parting and welcoming him. He pumps the digits, in and out, at a steady rate, waiting for each quiver and ripple, trying to feel his way along, wanting to please you. 

“Can--” he stops himself, flushing as your eyes open and snap to his, a rough displeasure written over your face. He tears his gaze from yours and scowls, letting his fingers press a rougher rhythm into you, sucking his teeth at his unspoken inexperience. 

“This feels good,” you reassure him, not wanting to completely leave him adrift, knowing that he does need a little piece of guidance, for this part, at least. “Why don’t you get a closer look?” 

Tomura looks back to you and nods before sliding down your body, lowering himself until he’s face to face with his prize. His mouth drops and he licks at his chapped lips, painting a few, warm, exhales against your sensitive folds. You squirm at the sensation and he grins, leaning closer, his free hand spreading you for his inspection. 

“Is this…” his voice trails off and you can feel him wandering his way to just the right spot. When he lifts the fleshy hood of your clit and thumbs the distended pearl you gasp and shiver, your head falling back against his jacket, thumping against the floor. 

He laughs and you can feel him getting ready to swipe at you again, his thumb already slippery and near, the heat of it radiating against that sensitive bundle. “You like that,” he crows, repeating the motion until you’re writhing. “But—” he ponders, moving so his lips are pressed against you, resting on those sopping folds, waiting for you to look up at him. Once your head lifts and your eyes meet his, he lowers his mouth, sliding his tongue over you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your hands automatically lifting and curling into his hair, threading the white tendrils along your palms. His tongue is rough and bumpy as it glides along, pausing to lap at some of your arousal. He smacks his lips at the taste, savoring the flavor before voraciously pressing back into you for more. When he pauses his explorations to give your clit a soft suck, you can’t help but flail, your back bowing and thighs tightening around his head. 

Tomura grunts at the rough treatment, prying your legs apart but not letting up on that suction, pleased he’s found something that makes you tremble to pieces in his hands. He’s always liked working you up, so it makes sense that, in this instance, he’s no different. 

His long digits are scraping into you, dragging along your quivering walls and spreading your cunt apart, leaking your arousal all over his jacket and onto his chin. He’s not satisfied yet, you’re not satisfied yet, so he keeps going, listening and watching, catching on to what makes you cry out his name, learning and adapting at an alarming speed. 

“T-Tomura,” you keen, your hips lifting, grinding yourself against his face, begging him to not stop. You feel a smirk lift his lips and his tongue begins to circle and lick over your clit, maintaining a steady pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers have latched onto something delicate and spongy within your pussy, repeating an arched gesture, curling and uncurling as they stroke your budding flames higher. 

“So good…” you murmur, hardly able to form the words as you feel that all encompassing tingle race along your bloodstream. “You’re doing so f-fucking good.” 

In response, he begins to suckle on your clit, lightly tracing a canine over the pulsing bundle and that’s all that it takes. Your head dips back, pressing into the floor so hard that your neck arches with your back and your legs wrap around him, holding him to you as you quiver and shake under him. You can feel your heartbeat as you return to yourself, thumping a rapid beat over your breastbone and radiating out to your fingers and toes. 

Tomura, for his part, hadn’t stopped lapping at you, his tongue replacing his fingers as he pushes the wet appendage into you, soaking up each wave of your release. Even when you’d dropped your death grip, your legs and arms flopping away from him, boneless and shaking, he’d kept on. After a few minutes of this, his lips suddenly feel a little too ragged, the chapped skin scratching against your sensitive, overstimulated, flushed lower lips. You do your best to wriggle away, but he stills your movements, not quite finished. 

“Ah- that...it’s starting to hurt,” you grouse, pushing a hand against his bowed head. That declaration seems to get through and, finally placated, he gives you one last lick and lifts his head, his eyes glinting down on you, dark and mischievous. 

“I want to fuck you,” he tells you, wiping a hand across his mouth, dragging the last of your essence away. You tilt your head and grin up at him. “So fuck me,” you reply, spreading your legs again, making room for his trim hips.

“Not like this,” he qualifies, his eyes hooded as he runs a hand along your leg, enjoying your skin, warm and pliant under his palm.

“Then how?” you ask, a little bewildered by this shift in attitude. Tomura leans up, resting on his haunches, leering at your nakedness, another smirk lifting his lips, arching that scar.

“Stand up,” he instructs. 

You pull your legs away and slowly rise to your feet, waiting for him to do the same. Once the two of you are eye level again, he tugs you to him, his lips pulling and nipping at yours. You can’t help but melt into his persistent touch and when he feels you slacken against him, he starts to push you backwards. He walks you slowly, carefully, but once your back touches the cold wall, his caresses become rougher, more insistent. 

He’s lifting your chin and his teeth are doing more biting than nipping, pulling at your lips until you’re gasping and swollen. He begins to lift away and you protest the movement, but his hand presses into your chest, shoving you back to the wall. You freeze at the forceful treatment, your eyes opening and fastening onto his. Waiting for his next move.

Tomura’s regained that wild look, his eyes hardening, sharpening like ruby slips of flint as they linger over you. “Turn around and brace your hands against the wall,” he commands and, for an instant, you debate pushing back, challenging his order, but that’s not what you’re here for. No, you’d come here with one thought in mind. 

To see if you could show him what choices, what strong inner drive, wholly independent of his Sensei, he did have. 

You’d watched that kidnapping debacle and all you could think about was how much better, how much stronger he’d be if he could just get out from under the thumb of that man, that voice on the tv. Even with this informal exercise of your own, Tomura had taken to your carnal lessons like a fish to water. He had always been a natural born leader, someone who cultivated and demanded change, he just needs a chance to try. A chance to prove that he didn’t need to ask permission, to ask questions. No, he only needed to act and he could make his aspirations a reality. 

So, you turn, splaying your fingers against the wall and waiting for his next move, tilting your head, wanting to see him. He runs a calloused hand over the plush swell of your ass, kneading the skin and stepping closer. Once his hips are flush with your posterior, he ruts his newly re-hardened cock against you, his ever copious precum aiding his motion, letting him glide between your cheeks, easing into that cleft. You groan and press back, wordlessly asking for him to keep going. 

Suddenly, his palm smacks against your ass, stinging the flesh and sending a sharp crack around the barren room. “I said, push out more. How am I supposed to fuck you when you’re plastered to the wall like that?” Tomura questions, his voice deep and guttural. You brace your hands against the peeling wallpaper and jut your ass out, presenting yourself to him, quietly hoping he’ll reward you with another spank. Pleased, Tomura does just that, his other hand lifting and smarting against your other, neglected cheek, imprinting his mark on you, even if it’s only for a brief moment, and his fingers linger on the warmth he’s raised from your skin. 

“Good girl,” he groans, taking his cock in his hand and searching for that weeping entrance to your waiting pussy. You aid him as best as you can, arching your hips until he finally, finally slips into you. Tomura lets out a deep sigh as your cunt devours his cock, slicking him into the heat of your rippling channel. “Oh, fuck,” he moans, pressing until his hips are flush with your ass, grinding his bony hipbone into your supple softness.

He gives you a brief second to adjust before he bows his head over your shoulder, panting and grunting. “Hold on,” he gasps, slowly pulling his hips back and then ramming his straining cock back into you. You mewl at the sudden ferocity of his thrusts, your head dipping against the steady weight of the wall. 

He offers you no reprieve as he pounds into you, his teeth latching onto your skin, sucking and drooling, losing himself in you. His balls tap against your swelled ass and you moan when he traces one hand around you, his fingers seeking your clit and pinching at the nub. 

Your teeth begin to chatter, but he doesn’t let up, maintaining that mind numbing pace, pressing and grinding until you can’t fucking think straight. He’s completely untethered and he slakes out all of those pent up questions, feelings, hurts and wants against you. After a time, he begins to murmur things to you, finally sucking up his loose tongue and resting his chin on the mess he’s left on your skin.

He’s worried he can’t do it. 

He’s never been alone, not like this. 

Sure, he has the others, he has Kurogiri, but it’s not the fucking same. 

He needs to see this through. 

He wants to, he has to.

Where do you go, when there’s no one else to turn to?

It’s like a confessional, this rutting he’s doing and it’s bleeding all of those thoughts away, letting them pool against the front of his mind and then, pop, they shift away. 

Oh this helps, he thinks, loving how you’re fucking taking him, how much you fucking need him. He can’t let you go. He can’t, he won’t. You’re all he has left. After all this, he can’t lose anything else. No, you were right, he’s gotta start taking things, snatching up pieces until he becomes this unstoppable force, greater than his Sensei, greater than All Might, greater than all of them. Yes, yes, yes, when he has you like this, everything else feels so fucking simple. 

He’s slowing, his hips beginning to stutter and press erratically against you. There’s no need to worry about you cumming for him, not when you’ve already broken around him so many times in the last few minutes. No, the second he started panting all of those thoughts against you, you were lost, your cunt gripping him so tightly you were worried it might never let go. 

Finally, with one last thrust, Tomura grinds his hips against you, his cock swelling and pulsing as he spills himself into you. The sensation of his cum splashing against your walls hurtles you over that edge one last time and you almost collapse, your legs shaking so badly you can't support your own weight. The only thing that prevents you from falling is Tomura. His arms snake around your waist and he holds you to him, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder, sticking to your skin. 

After a long beat, Tomura pulls himself out of you, grunting at the loss of your warmth and sinks to the floor, dragging you with him. Naked and gasping, the two of you cling to the other, waiting for the world to stop spinning as you come back to yourselves. Tomura recovers first, tugging you to his chest and wrapping himself around you, his chin perched on the familiar slope of your shoulder.

“You didn’t...you didn’t need to do this, but...” Tomura halts, his voice soft as his lips press rough kisses to your skin, silently saying what he really means, what you mean to him.

“That’s not true,” you counter, turning your head toward him. “You deserve to make a choice for yourself. You’re your own boss now. Now all you have to do is act like it. Don’t make those mistakes again. You call the shots, not your Sensei, not anyone else in the League, just you. You’ll have other choices soon, so don’t doubt yourself, it’s not like you.”

He huffs out a laugh and buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent as he licks at a rising bruise. “I don’t think you’ll like my next choice,” he rumbles, one hand drifting over your side and cupping the soft mound of your breast.

“That depends on what it is,” you smile, your eyes closing at the tempting touch.

“Mmm, do me a favor,” he begins, nipping at your earlobe. “Get on your knees and open your mouth. You looked so fucking pretty when you were sucking on my cock, I wanna see it, one more time.”

“What?” you question, absolutely incredulous, “again?”

“Do as I say (Y/N),” he replies, rubbing his rising length along your ass.

“God,” you gasp, bucking at the sensation, “what have I done? At this rate, I won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“You’ll like it,” Tomura promises, his voice dark, “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Notes: never have i ever liked that kidnapping bullshit. i guess it lets AFO face off with All Might, but for Tomura’s development? it makes no sense and he’s never done anything like that again, in canon. so, uh, yeah. booo kidnapping scheme. 

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Charlie’s 5✩ Inspiration: Daytime Spiritualities [昼日疑魂] Date Translation (END 5: Heart-throb)

“Entrust me all your fears and astonishment alike; there’s no need to hold back.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *5✩ Inspirations have 5 Endings!! *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Charlie’s tag will be #For Night, For Paradox

✥ Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

How should I reply to him…?

★ E5 NIGHT: Nope★

As an adult well-versed in the horror genre, I was immune to horror movies for the most part.

MC: Of course not. We can bet on it if you don’t believe me.

Charlie: Stakes?

It appears that I had aroused his competitive spirit, for he smiled at me with interest.

MC: How about we bet on… who gets scared out of their wits first?

Charlie: Are you certain? I’ve never once lost a bet.

It was a gamble where the outcome was uncertain. The loser would be the first to lose their composure from fear.

There’s no way I’d admit defeat all so easily in the face of a show-off like Charlie!

MC: Absolutely!

Charlie: Interesting. I accept your challenge.

Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

Charlie: But, before we commence this bet… Aren’t you forgetting a little something?

MC: What do you mean?

Charlie: Where did you go this morning?

MC: The hospital.

Charlie: Think again. Before the hospital?

MC: Before…? Oh, right! I went out to buy snacks.

I jumped up, running to the door and rummaging through the bag of groceries I’d left there.

MC: What do you want to drink?

Charlie: Beer, like you.

I secured two cans of beer from the contents of the bag… Wait, no! What did he just say? He wants to drink BEER!?

I thought he didn’t drink? I mean, last time…

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During my last day off, Charlie had called me in the middle of one of my drinking moods.

Charlie: You’re drinking your sorrows away at home?

MC: I’m not drowning my sorrows in alcohol. I just felt like I was in the mood to drink; there’s an emotional appeal to it.

MC: Don’t you do the same when you go to bars?

Charlie: ...I do go to the bar, but I don't drink.

MC: ...Oh?

The rumoured star of the night who bombed a ton of money in private clubs is actually a “good boy”?

MC: How's that possible? You're lying, aren't you?

Charlie: Is it that odd to not drink?

MC: ...Not really.

Charlie: It's even odder to think that going to a bar equals drinking.

Charlie: Let’s just put it this way. The only reason why I go to bars is to play.

Charlie: And administering alcohol to the body is the greatest thing one can do to sully the living and perfect human brain.

Charlie: Especially this sort of low-quality alcohol made with fermented malt. 100g of the sweetened water called beer and its low molecular weight generates 180 joules of heat with your body.

Charlie: Drinking beer? Might as well swallow active bombs instead. At least, it’ll be much faster that way.

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So… Just what was going on here? It was one of the principles he lived by. Yet, he was doing a whole 180?

MC: Aren’t you afraid that ingesting alcohol will be an insult to that sober brain of yours?

Charlie: Didn’t someone say that drinking appeals to the mood?

Charlie: I'm with my Fiancée right now. Do you think I should retain a high level of reason, or show a rare moment of dullness?

MC: Do I have a choice?

Charlie: Of course not.

Charlie: Don’t worry. I won’t use the excuse of being inebriated to pull anything funny.

MC: ...Look who’s talking here?

Charlie: I can’t stand those sort of people.

Charlie took the can of beer from me before sitting back down.

Never mind; I'll gladly drop the topic. How can an adult not drink at all? Although, I bet his abstinence is probably so that it doesn't affect his job.

Click! Click!

The crisp sound of cans being opened sounded.

Never thought that he'd open it for me.

MC: Thank you, Dr. Zha!

I naturally held an outstretched hand out, waiting for him to pass me the open can of beer.

However, Charlie didn't react.

Click, click, clack…

The continuous sounds of cans clacking came from him.

I curiously peered over, only to find Charlie staring awkwardly at the cans with his brows furrowed. They were still as intact as they came.

MC: Charlie, don't tell me that not only have you never drunk alcohol, but you also don't know how to open cans…?

Charlie: You're questioning a doctor's practical ability?

MC: Then, you...

Pop!

Charlie had cracked the can open.

He freezes, frantically shoving the beer into my open hand. Then, he shoved his hands into his pockets, putting up a professional act.

Charlie: I have the habit of trimming my nails for surgeries, so it's not convenient for me to be opening cans.

For a moment, I didn't quite know what to say as I looked at our nails. They were nearly equally long.

He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t even know how to open a can. So why does he suddenly feel whimsical enough to start drinking today?

I cracked open his can of beer for him. He carefully wiped the foam that bubbled forth the mouth of the can with a tissue.

Charlie: Just now...

He took a sip of beer and slightly furrowed his brow.

Charlie: It was a mere mistake of a perfect person.

Charlie: It will not happen again.

Saying so, the glint of pride returned to his eyes once more. And the can of beer was quietly pushed far, far away.

MC: Okay, let's get back to watching the movie.

The paused screen lit back into action, encasing the room in a chilling and terrifying atmosphere once more.

The plot gradually thickened and I got increasingly absorbed with the movie.

Everything around me started to fade as I zoned into the movie, Charlie included.

Charlie: *Coughs*

MC: ……

Charlie: (Y/n).

MC: ……

Charlie: Are you really not scared?

MC: Stop moving.

All I could do was to use a free hand to keep Charlie in place as he fidgeted in his seat.

Charlie: ……

In the movie, the prisoner that was on death row managed to successfully escape into a cramped and narrow underground passageway. As muddy water splashed everywhere, the horrible cries of the jailer sounded from the other end of the door to the secret passage.

I'd given my entire self over to the movie at this point, watching the prisoner's every step with peeled eyes. I'd totally missed the faintest of all finger snaps in the world that'd sounded by the sofa.

Squeak…

The door to the entrance opened.

MC: Is the prisoner about to get caught?

However, the movie never cut scenes to show the jailer coming through the door. Still, I was fairly certain that I'd heard the sound of the door opening. And if had also been very clear.

Just as I was about to turn around to ask Charlie about it, I witnessed a bone-chillingly horrible scene…

The door the prisoner had closed suddenly opens. Sinister winds were brewing outside.

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MC: ……

MC: It should be a sealed-off corridor outside. There shouldn’t be any wind…

The more I thought about it, the more terrified I got. All I could see was the epitome of horror in this movie unfolding before my very eyes!

I felt a chill run down my spine; one different from anything I'd ever felt before, its icy tendrils spreading across my body. An alarm sounds in my heart. I was hyper-aware, with all my nerves strung tautly. It was as if any minuscule change in the surroundings would be able to set my senses off.

BANG!

A loud sound rang out in the air as the secret passageway’s metal door was knocked down. The jailer’s savage smile was reflected upside down in the pool of water by the prisoner’s feet.

MC: AH!

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I frantically covered my eyes, subconsciously backing away into the thing I was leaning against.

Crap! I had such a big reaction! He definitely noticed...

Alas, his low voice entered my ears.

Charlie: Scared now?

His warm and powerful arm snaked around me from behind, wrapping itself around me above the blanket.

My searching back hit his chest; and the moment it did, a small yearning for comfort started making itself known within my heart, growing ever more so… Just like a lost traveller who'd finally found the lone source of light deep inside the forest.

Charlie: Admitting defeat this quickly?

Charlie's warm breath brushes against the top of my head, making the shell of my ear burn. Just a little closer and my face would be able to access the crook of his neck.

MC: Am not.

I stubbornly refused to admit defeat, but my feeble voice, muffled by my hand, proved otherwise.

Charlie: If so, then why are you covering your eyes?

Charlie: You're the one who said we're going to be watching this together? Can't live up to your words now?

His chest rumbled slightly. There was undeniable mischievousness in his voice.

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Charlie: Last chance. I’ll count to three. Put your hand down, hm?

Charlie: Three.

MC: I’m not even closing my eyes! See!?

I vehemently glared at Charlie through the gaps of my fingers.

Charlie: Not counted. I don’t advocate such viewing methods.

Charlie: Two.

MC: ...What can you even do to me?

Charlie: You don’t want to admit defeat, but neither do you want to put your hand down. Is there ever a bet so kind in this world?

His bony left hand reached up to cover the back of my hand as he attempted to push my hand back down.

I struggled against him with all my might, but he was way too strong. Hence, I had no choice but to admit defeat in this losing battle.

MC: One. I lose!

Charlie lets up, dropping the strength he’d been putting behind his fingers and ruffling my hair.

Charlie: Why are your lips poised so high up? Mad?

Charlie: Losing to me is nothing to be ashamed about.

Charlie gathered up the blanket that pooled around my waist, inadvertently pulling me closer to him as he did.

I sulked and refused to reply to him. I can’t believe I still managed to get scared by a horror movie when I’m already a full-grown adult! Not only did I lose, but I also feel ridiculed by this!

Still, I didn't want to admit that Charlie's embrace certainly did provide me with a sense of comfort.

Charlie: There, there. Don't be scared. I'm here.

He gently pats the back of my hand, speaking softly in a manner one would comfort a child.

His warm chest pressed against my back as his steady heartbeat resonated alongside mine, beating in tandem.

MC: ……

In hindsight, I realized that I’d always felt at ease and that I could forget about all my troubles whenever I was with Charlie. Even though he never fails to render me speechless and makes me want to roll my eyes at him for the most part.

Maybe it’s because he’s always so frank about things with absolutely no intent to hide anything? I don’t know...

Leaning into Charlie’s embrace, my fear and panic slowly ebbed away.

However, the door still made me feel a little uneasy, and I often found myself looking at it with frazzled nerves.

Suddenly, I noticed something strange about the little tailor alarm clock by the door.

Its hour hand was pointed at 12. The small mechanical tailor that told the time had jumped out of the clock, bobbing as it frantically rolled its measuring tape back up. Yet… I did not hear any chimes from the clock itself.

MC: What's up with today?

MC: Please tell me it’s not an actual supernatural occurrence…

I was just about to ask Charlie about it when a far-fetched reasoning for this suddenly flashed through my mind.

And it ingrained itself in my brain upon appearance, growing ever stronger…

No sound, with only the motions… Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

MC: Charlie?

Charlie: Hm?

MC: Is there anything that can cancel out sound?

Charlie: Why do you ask?

He withdrew his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket. There was a sliver of wariness in his eyes.

MC: It just came to mind. Just answer me.

Charlie: Vacuum. Sound cannot travel without mediums, and there are no atoms or molecules in a vacuum.

MC: And isn’t that your talent?

Charlie: Y-Yes?

I was getting closer and closer to confirming my suspicions.

The door that had suddenly opened without a sound, and the soundless alarm clock. If there was a scientific reason to explain all of those, then it’d be…

Charlie had just created a vacuum inside the door. That way, the air difference in air pressure on the inside and the outside would be able to push the door open.

Pity; but the soundless alarm clock had given me enough hints to piece everything together.

MC: You purposely scared me so I'd admit defeat myself? Well done, Charlie.

The movie was currently showing the part where the jailer collided with the metal door.

Thud, thud, thud…

This sound was vaguely familiar. A sudden idea hits me.

I tugged on the corner of his clothes, purposely lowering my voice.

MC: Charlie, do you hear something?

MC: Thud, thud, thud. Like someone knocking on the door.

Charlie: Are you having auditory hallucinations now? That's coming from the movie.

He held my head with both hands, turning it left and right.

Charlie: You haven't gotten any water stuck in your ears either.

I directly put my finger to his lips and looked around warily.

MC: Not that. Listen carefully.

A distant but very real thud sounded above us.

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Charlie was so terrified that he'd started shaking as he looked up at the ceiling incredulously.

I took the chance to grab onto his arm, leaning sideways to get closer to him and whispered into his ear.

MC: Believe me now?

MC: Actually, I saw something by the door just now and…

Charlie: What! What’s by the door!?

He quickly shot up from the sofa, encasing me in the shadow cast by his tall and wide back.

The movie had been paused, stopping on the dark scene of the secret passageway. The door of my entryway was partially shrouded by the eerie lighting coming from the projector. The creepy atmosphere intensified.

Charlie silently stared into the darkness for a good ten seconds before letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Charlie: What can there be?

Charlie: If ghosts truly do exist in this world, then why would the world ever allow someone as perfect as me, someone, who goes against even the laws of nature, to exist?

The corners of his mouth were raised in their usual arc. Looks like he has already regained his spirits.

The only thing that betrayed the nervousness he felt deep down were his hands that had yet to crease trembling.

He placed both his hands into his pockets, putting on a calm facade as he surveyed the room…

He’s putting his hands into his pockets again? Does he like to do that whenever he feels nervous?

Charlie: Perhaps something fell upstairs. It’s just a coincidence…

He'd only just finished speaking when another thud sounded. This time, it was much more solid, the sound seemingly reverberating through the very air of my apartment.

All colour drained from Charlie's face. I hurriedly stood up.

MC: Do you hear that!?

Charlie: Yeah.

I hid behind Charlie, slowly putting my hand into his shirt pocket. I could feel the slight tremor of his shoulders through the thin fabric of his dress shirt.

Charlie: ...I certainly do hear something.

His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down more of his fear. He unwittingly attempted to put his hand back into his pocket… only for it to brush against my hand that had touched the cold beer earlier.

Charlie: AHHH! HELP ME!!

Charlie: SOMETHING’S HERE!

Charlie could no longer maintain his noble attitude. He jolted, frantically throwing his composed facade out of the window as he flung my hand away.

MC: It's me!

Charlie: You…

Charlie gripped onto my shoulder with one hand while the other went to his chest. His frantic breathing slowly eased back to a normal rhythm.

Maybe it’s about time I tell him about “that”?

MC: Actually…

MC: There was once a girl who'd been imprisoned here in this room. She died from starvation here. That's why you'll often hear the sound of the door being knocked in the middle of the night.

MC: I never thought that she'd make an appearance in the morning this time…

Charlie: You're joking, right!?

I shook my head with a pained smile.

I placed both hands on his shoulders as I reached higher. I cupped my hand and got close to his ear and purposefully lowered my voice.

MC: If everything was fine and well at my place, then why would I have to call you here to watch a movie with me?

MC: Don't tell me you're thinking of running…?

Thud!

A resounding thud suddenly rang out, shaking even the walls as it reverberated.

Charlie: AHHHH!!

Charlie lost all his composure, screaming shrilly as he dove for the loveseat. I lost my balance as my knees hit the loveseat.

Amidst the chaos, Charlie had wrapped his arms around my shoulders as we both tumbled into one of the corners of the loveseat.

Charlie's skin was flushed from all the adrenaline, his breaths coming out in short and ragged pants. He was akin to a laboratory mouse who had its amygdala stimulated, lying against my shoulder paralyzed in fright.

His shrill scream earlier still faintly resonated in the air, making my eardrums ring in protest. I could help but recall how confident of himself he looked back when he made the bet...

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Charlie: You’re going to be the one losing your pride if you get so terrified afterwards that you can’t move.

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MC: Pft- Hahaha! This is way too good!

I couldn't keep up the act anymore. I leaned my forehead against his as I snickered like mad.

MC: Okay, okay. I'm just pulling your leg!

Charlie: ...What?

Charlie: You're joking? But, you— I— Just now…?

Charlie raised his head, looking absolutely appalled. Having just had a tumble, a tuft of hair stuck out from the top of his head.

I grabbed the tuft of hair that stood arrogantly upwards and pushed it back down with a vengeance, smoothing it out in my revenge.

MC: Yeah! Who told you to scare me with your vacuum earlier!

I could acutely feel how his face immediately heated up against my shoulder. Is it because he just found out that I was tricking him? Or is it because of something else?

MC: So, can you get off me now?

Charlie: I refuse.

He simply buried his head into the crook of my neck shamelessly, avoiding my gaze.

Charlie: You'll have to first explain to me just what is going on here.

Charlie’s arms were snugly wound around my body, seemingly threatening not to let go until he’d attained what he wanted.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Is this man truly the same Dr. Zha that was listed on the leaflet detailing the famed doctors of the Hospital...?

MC: The hungry ghost was just a story I made up to scare you

Charlie: Uh-huh.

Charlie: But, just now…

MC: That was just the heating pipes.

MC: The grandpa upstairs turns the heating on at noon every day.

MC: It's going to be summer soon, yet he still keeps it up. Always at 12 sharp. The man's way more on point than the afternoon news broadcast.

Charlie raised his head, his sweat-soaked hair brushing across my cheek. It was a little ticklish.

Charlie: That's it?

MC: Yup!

Charlie: Ahem.

He sat back up, lightly clearing his throat before composing himself. Gone was the embarrassment from having lost his composure.

MC: Phew… You finally let up, huh.

He reflexively smooths out his collar. Soon, he returned to his usual self that you were all so familiar with.

Charlie snaps to attention with his hands behind his back, purposely looking around the room in an off-handed manner.

Charlie: Actually, I could already tell that something was wrong with the structure of this housing apartment the moment I stepped into it.

Charlie: Alas, it was just as I expected. The pipings are so terribly loud.

Charlie turned to look at me, slightly lowering his head and peering down at me in approval.

Charlie: Also, your acting is really good.

MC: ?

Charlie: Actually… I wasn't scared at all.

MC: ??

MC: If so, then may I ask what’s the whole purpose behind the fear that you so kindly expressed earlier?

Charlie: I was merely playing along with you. It’s the greatest form of acknowledgement towards your acting skills.

Just who is playing along with whom, in this case? Is this even up for discussion?

Still, I think his red ears speak louder than words.

Charlie returns to his seat on the loveseat. His familiar warmth envelops me once more.

Charlie: You still lost today.

MC: How did this come back to that?

Charlie: You're the one who got scared out of your wits first. You still have a penalty to serve, so...

Charlie: Comfort me.

He turned his head to the side as he hugged me. His cheeks were a rarely seen shade of red. He was flushed from the neck to the tip of his ears.

Looking at how embarrassed he was, I couldn’t help but find it a little adorable.

The heat in his embrace didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, it made a reassuring sense of familiarity slowly spread through my heart, like a warm summertime breeze blowing from the side.

I boldly nestled deeper into his arms, basking in the soft dream-like moment.

MC: How rare for you to be so quiet.

MC: Man, if only your first instinct wasn't to pick fights...

Charlie: Please, Miss. It's not like you don't enjoy it either. It'll be over soon enough.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

The movie ends before we know it after the dazed silence that lapsed.

The projector stopped screening once the movie came to a close. The screen blanked out along with my guilt, panic, and fear.

And I’d completely missed the ending of the movie.

MC: Charlie? Do you remember how the prisoner who was sentenced to death got away?

I thought that Charlie would respond immediately in that prideful tone of his, giving me a clear and concise answer. Hell, I was even prepared to withstand another round of his narcissism if that ever came to pass.

Yet, he sounded a little unsteady and unsure, almost as if he too, was thinking of an appropriate answer.

Charlie: ...How did the prisoner getaway? Simple. He defeated the jailer who imprisoned him. All horror movies end the same way.

MC: He defeated… the jailer?

MC: The jailer here is a figment of his imagination; it doesn’t exist.

MC: The prisoner’s trapped in his own dream.

To prove what I’d said, I quickly pulled up the homepage of the movie where the summary and all the reviews were written. I pointed it out to him.

MC: Look, it’s even written in the movie’s summary…

I raised my head to clarify with him, but Charlie chose to completely ignore me, turning his attention to the plush pillow on the sofa. His eyes were very shifty.

Suspicious. VERY suspicious…

MC: Charlie, you… you didn’t take this movie seriously at all, did you?

Charlie closed his eyes in a slight grimace, his eyebrows knitting…

That reaction…. I KNEW IT.

However, he quickly bounces back from that moment of frustration. His expression suddenly turned serious and exaggeratedly grim.

Charlie: (Y/n), life is but a fleeting one.

The hell is this man talking about!?

I didn’t quite know why, but the serious tone he was taking with me sounded vaguely threatening. I could only nod in accordance.

Charlie: I see that you agree as well.

Charlie: If one wishes to have a glorious life as glamorous as the sun in this fleeting period, then some trivialities will have to be forgone.

Charlie: Alas, that movie earlier was an unfortunate one to have been forgone by this perfect life of mine.

MC: ……

MC: I see. I never knew that there was such a poetic way of saying “I don’t remember”.

Charlie: Who says I don't remember?

Charlie: I remember as clear as the day how my Fiancée got so terrified that she burrowed right into my arms.

I helplessly sighed. Looks like it'll be a long time and a good long way before I'll ever manage to understand how that brain of his works.

MC: Then, does the matter of rating and evaluating this projector still exist in your precious time of existence, Dr. Zha?

Charlie: The projector? Average.

Charlie: It's hard for me to be evaluating a projector below $200,000.

Charlie: But, I can consider using it as a console for couples.

He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

MC: And just where are your thoughts running off to?

Charlie: I'm just giving my honest, unbiased opinion.

Charlie: I hope you can convey this precious review of mine to the brand makers. Consider it my good deed for the day.

MC: Alright, Mr. Charitable.

MC: Now, are you quite done with your charitable acts? I'm going to pack the projector up and send it back.

Charlie: Why?

MC: Because… I feel like I don't really need a home theatre.

Charlie stilled my hand with his own, moving to block the projector off from me.

Charlie: Wait. I’ll take it if you can’t find a use for it.

Charlie: Send it to my house next weekend.

MC: You sure about that?

Charlie: Of course, I naturally have the right to accept any common personal property that my Fiancée chooses to give up.

Charlie: Come to my house next week, and don't stand me up.

With that being said, he confidently walked out of the apartment.

The golden sports car parked by the road gave a tremendous roar as it sped up. It soon faded away, replaced by the ever-present bustle of the people on the streets  

Watching the silhouette of the car gradually disappear, the events of what had gone on within my apartment resurfaced to the forefront of my mind… Charlie was far more bizarre than any horror film I'd ever watched.

However, it’s as if his appearance was slowly lowering my impenetrable guard over my small piece of land.

Now, as for what will appear in the future… Will it be volcanos? Or channels? Who knows; we’ll just have to wait and see.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Paradox⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: Prologue

[mayatawi]

(whoops this got loooong I have OPINIONS. If you wanna skip the leadup, my main point is in the paragraph after the tiny text.)

So I honestly thought the biggest make-or-break issue for whether or not I’d watch rnm s3 would be whether Michael and Alex get together or at least seem to be working toward that, and also the character dynamics in general. I am a character-focused consumer of media. Plot is generally secondary for me; mostly I care about the people.

But as it turns out, the plotting and overall narrative structure of s3 are offending me on, like, a deep spiritual level.

Other people have done a better job than I could pointing out the pacing issues, but in general it comes off like someone writing a WIP without any kind of plan and getting brand new plot ideas every chapter and running with them without bothering to revise anything that came before. I don’t know enough BTS stuff to say whether that’s likely due to time pressures or to Hollier being new to show running (has he done it before?) or to something else entirely, but SO MUCH about this season makes NO SENSE.

What the hell was the sequence of events during Kyle’s kidnapping, and why do none of the accounts given line up? Was anything actually changing in the vision? Was it even about Kyle, and if so, was that the case all along? Why is the audience just left to wonder whether that’s been resolved, or even whether the characters think it’s been resolved?

How the fuck did Liz drive from California to Roswell and then back and then back again in what, three days? And still have time to do literally anything else?

And on a thematic level! Why set up a “Kyle is underappreciated” thread at the beginning and then show nobody worrying about him being missing? What was even the point of the Wyatt storyline, and is that just done now, or is it coming back at some point in the 4 episodes remaining? Why bother bringing Greg back if they were going to retcon his previous characterization and only let him talk to Alex once so far? Why set up a throughline of “characters being called out for their flaws/mistakes” and then exclude Maria from that while inexplicably centering her in the whole season so far?

(And side note, speaking of Maria and flaws, I was trying to think last night—does she even have flaws that the show is willing to acknowledge? Like Liz has her science ethics issues, Max can be heavy-handed and self-righteous, Isobel has her alpha bitch tendencies, Michael is an emotional fucking disaster, Alex is closed off and controlling, Rosa has her addiction issues (and, you know, that whole impulsive teenager thing), Kyle… is a goddamn delight but i think still struggles with his high school self, and also is too easily led by Liz at times. What’s Maria’s flaw? The closest I can think of is being too singleminded about the vision thing early in the season, to the point of risking her own health and Max’s life, but was she ever even shown to be wrong about that? I can’t tell how the show expects us to feel about it! And then that was dropped along with the rest of that storyline, and now she’s the one telling Isobel that she’s too singleminded, which could have been some nice character development if that particular flaw of hers was addressed instead of just completely ignored. Like, I am checking myself, I don’t particularly like her character and I am examining whether it’s a race thing or a “but muh ship!” thing or what, and the thing I keep coming back to is that she is never allowed to be wrong according to the narrative, even when her actions as shown might raise some eyebrows. And flawless characters are boring, but flawed characters who are uncritically presented as flawless are infuriating. And making such a character so prominent in the season’s overall storyline is… A Choice. (Am I forgetting something? Can someone tell me what her narratively acknowledged flaw is supposed to be? And I mean an actual flaw, not a job interview “cares too much”/“works too hard” kind of flaw.))

And that’s not even my main point, just a tangent. My biggest issue with s3 is a corollary to the “characters are written characters, not real people” post I’ve seen going around—the narrative is a written narrative, not real events that happen and a camera just happens to be around to capture some of them. But they’re doing this thing where important events and character moments keep happening offscreen and the audience is just supposed to assume they happened. Why wasn’t Kyle or Max waking up shown onscreen? Why didn’t Rosa even mention her brother when he was missing? Why haven’t Michael and Alex even mentioned Forrest, if only to clear up that Alex isn’t still dating him? What did Michael even do between finding the Deep Sky building at the end of 3x06 and whatever he did the next episode? Did Alex ever tell the others where Kyle was, and that’s why nobody seemed worried? And I’m sure there are other things I’m not thinking of because, again, I’m not actually watching s3, just spoiling the shit out of myself. But from everything I’ve read, this season just has zero sense of narrative and thematic structure. Even malex FINALLY getting together falls somewhat flat in the overall context of the season, because it just… happens. I mean I’m glad it happens, and maybe it’s realistic for these two characters to just say “fuck it, we’ve wasted too much time, let’s do it,” but then we’re back with the issue that these aren’t real people or real events, they’re written characters in a written narrative. And from a storytelling perspective, you don’t spend two and a half seasons setting up an emotional arc just to resolve it with “fuck it.”

And… okay, let’s be real, all of the above is probably still not going to keep me from watching (though I will wait for the season finale at least). But it offends me. They have this amazingly diverse and (mostly) well-developed cast of characters, they have a surprisingly compelling overall storyline, they do such a good job establishing a distinct sense of place, but the one thread that’s supposed to tie everything together—the narrative structure—is a goddamn mess.

I love this crack show. But it could be SO MUCH BETTER.

(edit: in retrospect the tiny text should probably be its own post [hence the tiny text] but fuck it, I’m running with it. Not entirely unlike the s3 writers hey-o!)

[wasabito]

thank you to @sparkexplosive and @vs-redemption for beta reading it for me! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone ♥️

➽ synopsis: being a member of the royal guard is a grueling and thankless job, so you decide to remind katsuki a little of what it’s like to be young again—what better way to do that than with some healthy competition.

➽ word count: 1.7k

➽ tags: fluff, budding romance, royalty au, childhood friends

➽ author’s note: i had a ton of fun participating in my first ever secret santa!! this is my gift-fic to the lovely @katsushimaa​ hope you enjoy, yssa!

"So, this is where the hell you've been hiding?"

His voice tore through the midday stillness like a blade, equal parts raspy and gruff. He sounded irritated and mildly fatigued. Not that Katsuki Bakugou would ever admit to being anything less than a hundred and ten percent. He climbed off his steed, heavy boots crunching under the weight of his feet, and secured his horse against the stump you were leaning on.

You flipped the page of your book, not sparing the man even a cursory glance. You would prefer to keep your attention occupied by fictitious worlds, warriors, and battles fought in the name of love and justice.

It was much easier to allow yourself to become the bearer of fictional hardships, because at least they could be solved through a well-constructed plot with each turn of a page, as opposed to the realities of your actual life, a slow spiraling disaster in comparison.

Bakugou stood in front of you, vein ticking on his throat with every clench of his jaw. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, red gaze pinned on your hunched form. He wasn't at all the kind of person anyone could easily ignore. His very presence demanded attention and drew eyes like a magnet.

Case in point, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you simply couldn’t.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand there the entire time. Take a hint will you." You went to turn another page, but Bakugou reached over and snatched the book from your hands with deft fingers and speed you couldn't hope to match.

"Give. It. Back."

"Nah, I don't think I will just yet." He sneered, thumbing through the pages. "I was told to bring your dumbass back to the estate, so that's exactly what the hell I'm 'bout to do."

You blew a puff of air from your lips, eyes blazing with a kind of defiance that only burned harder the more you glared at him. "Then I guess you'll just have to drag me back kicking and screaming."

Bakugou only smirked, teeth spread in a feral grin that sent a chill down your spine.

That had always been his intention.

Almost an hour later, you stood before your parents, clothes dusty, creased, and smudged from having been manhandled like a sack of flour before promptly dumped in front of your waiting audience.

A frown marred your delicate features as they began their lecture.

Your mind drifted elsewhere the more they reminded you of your lineage and that you were royalty and how it was imperative you behave as such. You’d heard it all before, known this for as long as you could remember. As the King and Queen of your home country, your parents never failed to emphasize the importance of keeping your every move in check because of the reputation you had to uphold.

Katsuki stood somewhere behind you, and although he stayed mostly silent, you could almost hear him grinding away at his molars. The King and Queen were taking turns subtly digging into him as well, implying that his incompetence was a stain upon the royal guard perfect record of achievements. If he couldn't keep you in line, what was the point of holding rank?

They annoyed him way more than they did you, but he dare not voice it, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. Far be it from him to send himself to the guillotine

You both were in for a long night.

“Honestly, this kind of behavior is unbecoming of someone of your status. What will our countrymen think if they see you roaming about unattended like a vagabond?” Your father stroked his beard as if waiting for a response. But everyone in the room knew he really just liked to hear himself talk.

He was no better than a machiavellian swindler in expensive robes. A puppet if you would.

The real leader of the land was your mother. After all, she had only married into the family, having been the daughter of a mere advisor with no royal blood. She spoke little, but her glare was more than enough to convey just what she was thinking.

By the end of the lecture, you felt like all of your energy had been sapped from you, but thankfully your parents left you to retreat into your bedroom for the remainder of the day. Bakugou escorted you, following close behind.

“You’re gonna do it again, aren’t ya?”

You paused, foot nearly catching against the carpeted floors of your bedroom. Fiddling with a piece of your hair, you shrugged. “...maybe.”

“You’re a huge idiot.” Bakugou shook his head with a low laugh.

A tiny smidgen of a grin danced on your lips as you considered him. He was your childhood friend. No one knew you better than he did. And he was also the guard most assigned to watch over you and keep you safe from harm.

Despite that, you’d come to notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the same Katsuki you grew up knowing and you missed him dearly. Occasions like this, where a part of his guard was let down, were becoming few and far between. There had to be something you could do.

“Let’s make a wager. If you can manage to find me, I’ll do one thing at your command.”

“Challenge accepted.” He reached into the folds of his uniform, pulled out your little novel, and slapped it right into your open palm. "No matter where you run off to, I'll find ya. Trust me on that, princess."

His eyes were like candles in the night, ignited by a spark of passion. Not a single lie could be detected.

"I won't make it easy on you, Katsuki, just so you know."

"Heh, you better not." He sniffed, tucking his hands into his uniform pockets. And with a final half-wave, he was gone.

In and around the capital city, winter had completely lost it's bite. The weather was tepid, swinging a mild breeze that coasted through the countryside. It was the sort of winter where one felt as if woolen clothing were worn more for comfort than necessity. In what should have been the chilliest part of the year, Bakugou found himself traversing one of the many beaches that hedged the southern peninsula.

After a full week following the challenge issued in your bedroom, Bakugou realized you were entirely too good at evading him or any of the other guards at the kingdom’s disposal, for that matter.

Day in and day out, he spent his shifts searching tirelessly for you, just to stumble upon you in the most random of places and only when you had wanted him to find you. The running score was six to five in your favor, but he was determined not to lose to you again.

And there you were, standing at the very edge of the shore, as if a mere thought had manifested you right before his very eyes. Your loose billowing dress of soft satin waved to him like a white flag of surrender in the air. He'd finally found you.

"Not gonna run off this time?"

"Nope! You won this round." Your cheeks creased in a smile.

Given the boots he'd worn, it was no surprise that his feet kept sinking into the sand. You said nothing as he toed off his shoes and socks, bare feet settling into the depths of warm, grainy sand.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. Over the past few months, he’d found himself losing sight of his goals, caught in the dredges of the mundane and routine.

The cool waters lapped at both his and your feet, fizzing and bubbling, leaving behind traces of salt. You went further into the water’s touch, your back to him as the tides licked at the your calves. Even he had to admit, the view was a beautiful one, possibly even more so with you against the backdrop.

“I’m glad you found me,” you called over the cry of seagulls. “For a second, I was worried you’d lose this round.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Tch, as if I’d ever lose to you, princess.”

“Naturally.” You laughed.

“What the hell are we doing out here anyway?”

He knelt to roll up his pants, a mere moment away from following after you like always.

“I... really just wanted to show you the view. Do you remember when we used to come down here as kids? Remember how we used to dare each other to see who could go the farthest into the ocean?”

Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories of his time spent with you before duty to the kingdom took precedent.

You reached a hand out to him, an open invitation. “I just thought you needed a little reminder of what that was like.”

For some reason, Katsuki was determined not to meet your gaze, scowling at some point on the horizon, until you came over and nudged him with your elbow. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that I’m right.”

With a sigh, he reached over and tugged you into a hug. You snuggled close to his chest, gripping the back on his uniform. It may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn you felt the soft press of lips against your temple.

“Thanks... you know... for everything.”

Beaming, you leaned back to get the full view of his heated cheeks.

“Of course, of course.”

There was something earnest in his eyes that told you no matter how far you went, or however far you traveled, he’d always be a step behind you. It sent your heart hammering in your ribcage. You were suddenly all too aware of the way he held you secure against him like he would never let go.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

You blinked owlishly, taken over by your feelings and mumbling a hushed. “Oh, nothing.” The two of you were just a royal and a guard, bound to one another by duty.

If there could be anything more than that...well, only time would tell.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Home (Four Times Crowley was Lovesick - and Aziraphale Took Care of Him)

Written for @do-it-with-style-events "Who Needs A Great Plan" event, Day 1, prompt "Four"

--

Crawly stood beneath the white wing, watching the rain fall, watching the humans walk away, watching anything but the angel beside him, his smile, the way he furrowed his brow and pouted.

His heart kept doing a funny skipping thing every time he looked that way, which was odd, and made him think he’d gotten some sort of defective body, or possibly that he’d messed something up in the transition from the serpent form.

“You know, I do think this rain might not be as pleasant as I’d hoped,” the angel said, tipping his head back so sopping white curls dangled, dripping onto his robe. “I’m starting to feel a bit cold, are you?”

“Nah. M’adem’n,” Crawly muttered, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Well. I suppose we all have our aptitudes.” He reached down to squeeze the rainwater from his sleeve. “I suppose you carry the fires of Hell within you, or something?”

“S’nice.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the angel turn to smile at him and now his heart was doing some sort of backflip, and his stomach attempting to dance. “G-g-gotta keep’m somewhere.”

“I see. I do find myself missing my sword, but I think…” his lips pursed. “I think it’s in the right hands.”

How could he forget the angel had given away his sword.Fucking brilliant.

Crawly sniffed, and the cold seemed to creep into his nose. “M-must’a b’n-n-nice t’have a-a-achoo!”

His body must be worse than he’d thought. His entire face seemed to have exploded.

“Good lord, what was that?” The angel shuffled closer, peering at him, reaching up to poke at Crawly’s nose. “Is this supposed to make that sort of noise?”

The demon braced himself, expecting pain, expecting a reprimand, expecting anything but a soft finger gently massaging the bridge of his nose, pressing lightly as if he might break.

“S’only a-achoo!” Not again. “Achoo! A-CHOO!”

“This sounds serious!” The angel now stood so close that his arm pressed against Crawly’s. “Oh! And your hand!” He snatched it up, gently tracing his fingers across the demon’s palm. “It’s cold! Have your fires gone out?”

“Nnnnnnnnnh. S’th’cold,” he confessed. “S’getting in m’nose.”

“Well, that will not do.” Being careful to keep his wing in place, the angel looped his arms around Crawly’s waist, drawing him into an unexpected softness, a steady warmth. “There. Is this better?”

“Mrgl.” Crawly didn’t look over, even as the angel leaned against him. He shifted his am, putting it around the angel’s shoulders, rubbed his forearm as he rubbed Crawly’s side, but the demon did not look.

It was safer that way.

--

“Then you hold the oyster like this, and—” Aziraphale slurped it out of the shell.

“Ngk.” Crowley swirled his wine, glaring into the cup. “I…maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

“Nonsense! Trying new foods is one of the delights of the world.”

“Yeah, but…I prefer foods that don’t smell so bad.”

That made Aziraphale laugh, which made things harder. It seemed to echo in Crowley’s chest, send his heart into answering flutters. He shifted on the couch, but there was only so far he could roll before it was impossible to drink. Which meant he had to keep looking across the table, at Aziraphale’s couch, where he reclined in a rolling curve of soft white toga and ate his oysters and wouldn’t stop smiling.

“Crowley? Are you feeling quite well?”

“Nrgh. Yeah. Why?”

“Because I asked four times how your wine is and you never responded.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t remember, so he drank a mouthful, then immediately spat it out. Salt water and vinegar, same as any Roman wine. “Lousy.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” And all at once, the angel rolled off his couch and now he was crossing the room and oh Satan, he was on Crowley’s.

This was a disaster.

Aziraphale leaned down and rested a hand on Crowley’s forehead. “You do feel extremely warm. Are you ill? I’m not sure a demon can get ill but—”

“Yes! Yes. That.” He tried to sit up. “Very, very ill. I should go. I should go now—”

“But—”

Crowley managed to get his feet under him, and his robe under his feet, and he collapsed again, falling onto something softer than the couch Oh Satan it was Aziraphale’s lap.

“Crowley!” His head turned instinctively and shit, those eyes were so close.

His heart was going to explode, but it was worth it.

“I should…take you home…”

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Crowley managed. Yes. Please. Please, wherever you call home, that’s where I want to be.

“Yes. Right. Immediately. Tell me where you’re staying, and I will escort you back.”

“My…my…oh.” His stomach was doing something new, twisting around itself. Like when he saw the Hellhounds getting ready for a walk, but worse. “M’a’th’p’liss.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m! At! Th—thepalace.” Great. Now he was either shouting or mumbling. Why couldn’t he think?

“Good. Right. Palace.” He slid his arm behind Crowley, supporting him. “Do you think you can walk?”

The demon’s legs had never shaken like this before. “Definitely not.”

“That’s alright.” And Aziraphale scooped him up into his arms, as easily as if Crowley were a child. “I’ll help you.”

--

Crowley hadn’t slept in over a month.

He shouldn’t have needed to. Demons didn’t sleep. But he’d gotten used to it, most nights, and now his task consumed him day and night, driving him to ever more complex plans, ever more desperate measures.

But finally…finally…he’d gotten a bloody crowd to see that gloomy talk-y play.

And just in time. Aziraphale had sent word that he was returning tonight, and he was supposed to meet Crowley here, outside the inn. The demon had rooms above, which had been used for scheming and planning and plotting and not, for a long time, sleeping.

He was fine, though. Running on pure adrenaline, yeah, but that just made life good. He couldn’t wait to swagger into that theater, spread his arms and show the angel—

“Ah, Crowley! There you are, my good fellow.”

He turned his head and fuck, there went his knees. Aziraphale was smiling at him like he was actually glad to see Crowley, and his entire body just stopped obeying any commands or even regular rules of biology. He staggered, legs feeling watery, his head spun, lights brighter than stars flashing before his eyes, and his heart just ached to reach out.

“Crowley? Is something the matter?”

“Mnothang.” Brilliant. He slumped against the wall of the inn, trying to get some sense of reality back. “M’a little tired’s’all.”

“Tired? Are you sure?” Aziraphale rushed forward, cupping Crowley’s face in his hand. “You feel…clammy. I need—can you take your glasses off? I need to see your eyes.”

“Szfiiiine.” But he pulled them off, and found himself again pierced by eyes glowing just a bit too blue to be allowed.

“No, no your eyes are glassy. And—and look, your pulse is racing.”Now came the concerned look, oh Satan, no one else ever looked at Crowley like that. “This…this looks a great deal like the latest plague, I saw several villages struck by it coming back.”

“Angelllll. M’ademon. We don’ get th’plague.” Why could he not just speak normally?

“Nonsense, you know perfectly well you’ve always had a strange constitution, getting sick far too often. You still have rooms here, yes? Upstairs. To bed.”

Will you come with me? The angel’s hand hadn’t moved from Crowley’s cheek, and he never wanted to be away from that touch again. “But…”

“No buts.” The hand did fall away, but only to grip his shoulder, spin Crowley around and propel him forward, through the door, and up the stairs.

Aziraphale walked past the mess in his room, the papers, notes, maps, disguises, and everything else needed to convince a city it actually liked that blasted play. He steered Crowley directly to the bed, and pushed him down onto it. “There. Stay put, please.”

“Nnnnh.” It wasn’t the most comfortable place he’d ever lain, but the rough straw mattress seemed luxurious just now. Something tugged at his foot, and he looked up to find Aziraphale, carefully pulling his shoes off. “Still here?”

“What are you talking about? Where else would I be?” He sounded cross.

“The play.”

“Play? Play? Oh, yes, Hamlet.” He tossed the shoes aside and settled Crowley’s leg back onto the bed. “I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities. I hear they’re planning to run it twice as long as they’d expected.”

Of course they were, Crowley was good at his job. But there was no point if Aziraphale didn’t see the crowd. “Gotta go,” he insisted, though his body was already curling up on itself, preparing for a long sleep.

“Absolutely not.” A rustle, and when Crowley’s eye cracked open again, Aziraphale was seated on the edge of the bed, taking Crowley’s hand in his. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“Hnnngh.” But he was far too exhausted to argue. “Why’r’ya’lways…fussing…like y’r worried…”

He didn’t hear Aziraphale’s answer, but in his dream the angel said, “Of course I worry. Whatever would I do without you?”

--

“All them angels,” Crowley shouted, bottle in hand, “an’specially Gabriel, can go! To! Helllllllll!”

“Really? And what about the demons already there?”

“Thas’th brilliant part.” He staggered a little, grinning at Aziraphale. Their celebration at the Ritz had gotten a little out of hand, but in a good way. A way they bloody well deserved. “Th’demons. They go to Heaven. But. But. Buuuuuuut.” He took a long drink, then offered the bottle to the angel, who shook his head. “Wha’was I…ri’ri’righ’—go to Heaven. But. Don’ tell’em th’passwords. For anyfing.”

“Won’t they just figure them out?”

“Nnnnnnnnope! Cuz allll the brains in Hell are right here!” He shouted in the general direction of the office building. “Have fun puttin’…Hastur’n charg’a…stuff…” He tried for another drink, but the wine had all gone. “Awwww.”

“Don’t worry, my dear, we’re nearly home.”

“Ya. S’good.” Home was good. Plants. Television. More wine. The bed. Hadn’t slept all week.

Why was Aziraphale coming with him? Hadn’t the shop un-burned down? Had he left something at Crowley’s flat? A…spare bowtie?

Also: why did Mayfair look suspiciously like Soho?

The penny dropped at about the time Aziraphale got the shop door unlocked. “Thizzisn’ home,” he pointed out.

“Well-spotted. Come on, then.”

Shrugging, Crowley followed. There’d be more wine here, at least, and a sofa to sleep on. Not the most comfortable, but he was tired enough.

Something was different. Crowley squinted at a pile of books, but they remained stubbornly bookish. Ah, well. Sofa.

He slumped on it, waiting for Aziraphale to head to the back room for some wine, or settle into his armchair. Maybe pick up a book to read while Crowley rambled.

Instead, the angel sat beside him.

“Annngiraphel…”

“Crowley. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Course. I’m cebretory. Cerebrorrry. Celebatory. ‘M partying.”

“Yes, I know. But…I just…” Oh, Someone. The concerned, furrowed brow. The pouting lips. The eyes. So much worse than the smile. Good thing Crowley was already sitting, because the room was starting to spin, even before Aziraphale picked up his hand. “I wish you would take care of yourself.”

“Wha? I do. Allllays do. No one else’z gonna do’t. Not’n Hell. Wily demon, righ’?” He tried to smile, even as his heart and stomach started switching places.

“Then why are you always unwell? I’ve lost count of…of how many times I’ve seen you falling over, unable to speak, too hot or too cold.”

“Ssssss’not like that.”

“Yes it is! And…and it was bad enough before. Crowley, we…we’re all we have left. Each other. And…and whatever it is that…that gets you into this condition…alcohol, or illness, or…whatever else. I wish you would avoid it.”

“Can’t.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale pulled his hand closer, eyes pleading, and for a moment the demon thought he’d just discorporate on the spot. Probably would have if he’d been sober.

“Can’t. S’only one thing tha’makes me…fall orer mysel’. Makes me…can’t speak. S’only evrrr been one.”

Aziraphale’s face was so soft. Crowley couldn’t figure out how his hand had gotten there, pressed to his cheek, but it was good.

Or not. Angel’s eyes went wide. Probably did something wrong. Crowley pulled his hand back, wondering if he’d be kicked out.

“Can you…sober up, dear?”

“Nnnnnnnnnnnnidonwanna.” He wrinkled his nose. Shoulda stopped three bottles ago.

“Yes, I know. But you’ll likely have a hangover either way, and you might as well have it now. And…I want to finish this conversation sober.” Oh, the sad eyes, the serious face.

“Awwwwwtha’s no’fair. S’not like I c’n say no.”

“I…yes, you can. It is your choice.”

“Nnnh. Can’t say no’ta’you.” He looked around for something, maybe a garbage bin or…oh, yes, a planter. Lucky tree was about to get some very expensive alcohol.

He concentrated, pulling all the alcohol out of his body, filling one planter, then another, then another. As the light-headedness faded, the headache came in, pounding and pulsing.

“Glarghl.” Crowley pressed a hand to his eye. “See? Sober. Happy?”

“Not yet. Can you walk?” A light tug on his hand, and Crowley staggered to his feet, trailing after Aziraphale. Up the stairs? They never went up there. Private bookshelves and sculptures and junk.

At the top, Aziraphale opened a door that he’d thoughtwas a closet but actually led to Crowley’s bedroom.

Wait.

Crowley turned around, bleary eyes searching the shop. Plants. His plants. His sculptures. Junk. Also his.

Back to the bedroom. His bed, his furniture. Not his room. Wooden walls covered in bookshelves, good sized window looking out at the back alley. He could just see the Bentley parked out there.

“Th’fuuuuck…”

“I’m…I’m sorry. I should have asked.” Aziraphale gently pushed him towards the bed. “If you don’t like it, I’ll put everything back tomorrow. I just.” A gentle nudge, and Crowley sat on the bed. “I want you close. Where I can take care of you.”

“Don’need it.” He wriggled his toes, making his boots vanish. It was easier than meeting Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Yes, you do.” A hand on his shoulder pushed Crowley down into the bed, his head onto the pillow

It felt so much more comfortable here, in Aziraphale’s shop, with Aziraphale beside him.

“No. Don’t need you to take care of me.” He stared resolutely up at the ceiling, searching his aching head for the words he needed. Swallowing, trying to push aside the pain, the soreness in his throat. “I need…I just need…”

He couldn’t say it. But he reached out, hand groping along the edge of the bed until it found Aziraphale’s, resting lightly on the mattress. Cautiously, Crowley slid his hand on top of it.

“Crowley…please look at me.” His eyes wandered down, following the shelves until they landed on Aziraphale’s face. On his brilliant, angelic smile.

The demon tried to smile back, though his head was pounding. He managed something like a grimace. “Nnnnnnnnh. C’n we finish this in’th’morning.”

“Do you think you’ll be better able to talk?”

“Mrrrf. Will you be there?”

“Of course,” the angel said, nearly indignant.

“Nope. Not a chance.” His thumb traced the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I can never say what I want. S’not even that many words. But…” Crowley shrugged.

“Can you move over?” Aziraphale asked, sliding his hand out from under Crowley’s.

The demon blinked, confused, and wriggled further along the mattress.

The bed dipped under the new weight as Aziraphale climbed into the vacated space, laying beside him. “I…I could never say it, either. Always something stopping me, some…uncertainty. Even now. But I shall keep trying.” His fingers gently brushed Crowley’s cheekbone. “My dear…would you like to…to make this place…your home?”

“Nh. Shop’s not home.” The fingers jerked away, and Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, not in concern this time, in pain. Fuck. Why was it so hard?

He caught Aziraphale’s hand before it could get far, bringing it back, gently resting it against his heart. “This, Angel. This’s home. You.”

“Oh.” Blue eyes blinked, a look of wonder in them Crowley had felt many times, wonder at this being who cared for him, who stayed by him. Always. “I…I see.”

The mattress shifted again, and suddenly the angel was closer. Which of them had moved? Did it matter? Did anything matter, apart from Aziraphale’s arm across him, all the warmth and softness he could ever ask for, pulling him in, pulling him close, enveloping him as it had that first day.

“Yes. Welcome home, dear.”

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Partners {7}*

OA Zidan/Zeeko Zaki x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Drama, Action, Multiple POV changes, Talk and Mild depiction of Sex Trafficking, Racism Implied, Possibly Triggering Content, Character Drugging, Violence, Groping, Implied Blood, Plot, Mild NSFW, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 9k

Summary: You’re a damn good FBI agent in your own right. It is definitely partly to do with how well you’ve been trained and partly to do with you not letting anything or anyone distract you. You have a six-year plan that you’re fast-tracking for four. After being transferred from your office in Tampa, you’ve been sent to New York, which you’ve labeled the “big leagues.” Your first day there, after being introduced to your new partner OA Zidan you realized you’ve moved out of the frying pan right into the pot of distraction. A year later and your growing attraction for your partner still hasn’t been snuffed out.

Note: This is a first for me writing about a TV show and interjecting into it. Let’s see how this goes. I hope you guys enjoy this. As always, thank you for reading.

If you enjoyed this please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

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~~~~~~~~~~~

The slinkiness of the dress was not missed by you. Your fingers noticed it once you pulled it from the shopping bag. It was a pretty dress. You checked yourself in the mirror of the bathroom again, turning in every direction so you could see how you looked in a dress you probably would have chosen for yourself in Miami. The black sequins looked good against your skin, and the accent gold chains around your neck that draped down your body between your breasts made them look even more inviting than usual. You wondered who’d picked this dress. While you looked good, if you had to run, it would probably be a matter of time before you had a nip slip or a full-on boob pop out.

You took a deep breath, released it, and leaned closer to the mirror to peer deeper into your eyes. Your nerves were beginning to get the better of you.

 “You can do this, Y/N. You’ve done this before. It’s not a big deal. You know the drill.  You. Got. This!”

 Taking a final breath, you stepped back, rearranged the neck of the dress, checked your make up then nodded to yourself, pleased at the final product. As you walked out of the bathroom and down the hall of the JOC, you tried to mentally psych yourself up. It had been a year since you’d done any undercover work and the nerves never really went away. Once you stepped into the common area where all your coworkers centered, one by one, the eyes drifted to you.

 From the right, you heard a whistle. When you turned, it was Scola.

 “Agent Y/L/N.”

 You rolled your eyes then scoffed.

 “Watch it, Scola.”

 He lifted his hands in defeat as you walked up to Jubal, Kristen, OA, and Isobel. OA’s eyes slowly raked along your body, taking in every detail.

 “This is as good as it’s gonna get,” you joked.

 “You look incredible,” Isobel complimented.

 “Eh, it’s just a dress. By the way, who picked this out?”

 “That would be Kristen’s handiwork,” Jubal said with a smile as he bumped his shoulder into Kristen’s. You picked up on the way she smiled back at him before she focused on you.

 “I see I picked right. I knew you had what was needed to carry it.”

 “All right, all right,” you pushed out, trying to change the subject. “Are we ready to move?”

 “Yes. We’re meeting our informant at a pickup spot near the heights. Let’s move people,” Jubal drilled.

 Everyone went into motion, preparing to leave. The elevator ride was chatter filled as Jubal, Kristen, and Isobel listed things off from the file you had to remember. While your brain was functioning and focused on them, your body was also functioning and focused on OA, who was beside you with his hands clutched one over the other in front of him while he stared at the dial. Though he wasn’t looking at you, your body could feel the energy coming off of his body, and it was responding.

Once you piled into the van, you situated as Lim began explaining the intricacies of the few gadgets you wore, including mics in your diamond earrings, surveillance cameras embedded into the golden chains of the dress, and two chip trackers inside the ring, and an emergency explosive. You were impressed, and you let him know it. Lim was adorable. He always looked surprised to hear a compliment on how well he did his job or that someone noticed. You always made it a point to tell Lim how good of a job he was doing. You believed it was necessary to praise people when they deserved it, especially if you saw it.

 You tried to retain the information you read in the files, along with the faces you saw. You knew the key to undercover work was memorizing as much as you could. Your success in Miami was because you were good with retaining information, thinking quickly on your feet, and solving things with small details that others would not have thought of. Your nerves were beginning to pick up, and you knew it was because while you’d been in a similar undercover situation before, this was a different monster. Whereas the sex club was a dangerous environment, it was a closed environment. With this operation, many variables would be left up to chance, and that were ever-changing. That meant more risk.

 You tried not to look at OA. You didn’t want to give him any indication that you knew he was right and that this was too dangerous. Your father’s words echoed in your head.

 “In this world, because of the color of your skin and your sex, you have to be twice as good and work twice as hard to get to where others would easily get to. You have to never show weakness. They will look for it because you’re a woman.”

 Clenching your jaw, you straightened your posture and did your best to clear your mind. This assignment wouldn’t break you, thought to yourself over and over.

 Fifteen minutes later, the van pulled up at the meet location that Jubal’s informant would come to get you to add to the shipment of women. After Lim checked that you were good with how the gadgets worked and were comfortable operating them, he gave you a comforting pat on the shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and a soft smile that spoke of his confidence in you. As he made a move to get out of the van, he stopped and came back to you.

 “Can I say something I’ve always wanted to tell you?”

 You nodded.

 “Since you came to join us here, I’ve admired you. I think you’re smart, smarter than a lot of people I’ve worked with. You’ve impressed me more times than I can count, and I’m not in the least worried about you knocking this out of the park. Remember how badass you are.” He added a wink that made you smile.

 “Thank you, Ian.”

 “Anytime, Y/N. You’re—you’re great—you’ll be great.”

 With that, he walked out and closed the doors behind him, leaving you and OA. You couldn’t help but smile. He was sweet.

“I think Ian’s got a crush,” OA uttered slightly under his breath.

 “Oh, stop it.”

 He approached you with his arms held out to you. Once he was close enough, his hands latched onto your waist.

 “Should I be worried?”

 You snorted then rose to meet his eyes. “You tell me. Should you?”

 OA studied you for a few moments before he answered.

 “I don’t know. Maybe I should.”

 The warmth from his hands was working to calm some of your nerves. You sighed out, placed your hands on his forearms, and then traced patterns into his exposed skin.

 “Don’t be jealous.”

 “Ya know something; I didn’t think I was a jealous man—before now,” he replied.

 You stared at each other, neither of you speaking. After several long moments, you looked down. OA tipped your chin up, so you looked at him.

 “I feel I have to say something right now,” OA began.

 You quirked your eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

 “You look—incredibly gorgeous.”

 Slowly your lips spread into a wide smile that got wider and wider.

 “I can’t believe the first time I see you like this is for a sting operation rather than our first date.”

 The butterflies began fluttering in your gut, making your knees go weak. You slouched back on the cold table that lined the side of the van. OA’s hands slid down to your hips and squeezed. The action did nothing for the fluttering in your belly, but it helped to stabilize you.

 “Well—maybe you’ll actually get that first date if you get the balls to finally ask for it,” you teased.

 OA’s smile began small until you were staring at his perfect teeth. With no hesitation, he lowered his lips to yours for a sweet kiss that he took control of. His lips trailed down your jaw and back to your ear where be nibbled and licked along its shell. With every lick, the butterflies in your gut fluttered more rapidly, and with every nibble, your sex throbbed. You couldn’t believe you were getting turned on at a time like this.

 “Are you okay?”

 His whisper against your ear made you sigh. It was the question you were dreading. Mustering as much gusto as you could, you put on a tough exterior.

 “I’m fine. As I said, it’s no big deal and nothing I haven’t done before.”

 The more you spoke, the less you believed your own words. When you looked at OA, he didn’t even look to believe your words.

 “You don’t have to play tough with me. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re lying and when something isn’t as it seems.”

 OA moved his hands from their place on your hips to buckle behind you at the small of your back. His long fingers splayed across your bare skin, making any cold shell you were trying to wear melt away. You sighed again.

 “Okay, I am nervous, but it’s jitters. Everyone gets em’.”

 OA kissed your forehead and kept his lips there for a few seconds. “I know you can do this. It’s never been a question of if you could. It was always, should you? I know you’ve got this because you are the most incredible agent that I’ve known in a long time. You’re smart, quick on your feet, charismatic, and don’t even get me started on what an amazing profiler you are. Plus, your right hook and roundhouse is a thing of beauty.”

 You giggled, then lowered your head to his collar. Even in heels, he was still slightly taller than you. His chuckle vibrated against your forehead, and the tension in the van automatically decreased. When your laughs subsided, you bit your bottom lip and thought about your next words carefully.

 “If this goes south,” you began before OA pulled you back so he could look at you.

 “It won’t.”

 “If it does,” you tried again.

 OA cupped your jaw and slid his thumb along your lips until it was in the center, silencing you.

 “It won’t. You got this, and I have your back. We all do.”

 For some reason, that touched you more now than it ever had before. He always had your back, and so did the team. That was what a team was. You tried to keep your emotions in check, but the longer you saw the compassion in his eyes that felt more and more like something more intimate than compassion, the more your emotions went haywire. You crushed your body to his for a hug. Resting your cheek against his chest, you listened to the drum of his heart, hoping it would soothe you as it had less than twenty-four hours ago.

 “Let me get this out, Omar,” you whispered, feeling your heart race.

 “If things go south, I want you to know I have loved every single minute that I’ve been your partner. Thank you for making me a better agent, and thank you for helping me see sometimes following your heart can lead to great things,” you said, somehow able the keep your voice from shaking.

 Before you could slow your racing heart, OA pulled you back again and crashed his lips to yours, making it race even more. You happen to open your eyes at the same moment he did, and while your lips danced together, your eyes spoke words that had been left unspoken in your heart.

 It took just seconds for OA’s hands to drop to your hips again and yours to begin to quickly fight with the belt he wore. As OA squeezed your hips and moaned against your lips, you managed to free him of his belt and undo the buttons of his pants. When OA’s hands slipped to your backside, he gripped it with such a roughness you knew his need and how closely it mirrored yours. His hands quickly pulled at the fabric of the dress, inching it up over your hips to reveal your thonged ass to the cold surface of the table.

 Finally free of his pants, he turned you, so you now faced the wall of the van. You bent forward, bracing your hands on the table as OA freed his member. When you felt him rub himself against your slit, you shuddered and anxiously anticipated the feel of his intrusion. As he slowly slid into you, connecting your bodies inch by inch, one hand gripped your hip, and the other covered your mouth in time to muffle the deep moan you let out.

 OA sucked in a shuddered breath, then groaned. Once he was buried to the hilt, he circled his hips, making goosebumps erupt all over your skin. OA lowered his lips to your shoulder, bit down on your flesh then began thrusting in and out of you. While his movements were slow, the force with which he rocked into you was intense. Within seconds he’d sped his movements and the force that he flicked his hips. With every move forward, it was powerful enough to have your entire body jerk from it. In no time, you’d begun rocking along with him. When he retreaded, you did too, only to slam back onto him, taking all of him.

 You could tell your movements were driving OA crazy because of the tightness of his grip on your body. He hovered over your back and went to your ear.

 “Habibi,” he whispered. “Aikhtar,” he groaned. “Eshq,” he panted.

 It took those three words to bring you to the horizon of your orgasm, and he must have known it because he sped up, slamming into you, filling you completely. It only took a few thrust and the cup of his large hand against your sex for you to whimper. As his fingers strummed your pearl, heightening your arousal making you more desperate for your release. It wasn’t long before OA was marking you as his from the inside out. 

Slowly both of you came down from your euphoric cloud. Your breathing evened out, the tremble of your body slowed, but your heart still pounded, and you knew it was just for him. Within a few minutes, OA had you dressed and presentable again, and when he was the self-controlled and professional Agent Zidan again, he pulled you against him.

 “I’m going to do everything and anything needed to make sure we get to have that date,” he said while gazing into your eyes with such intensity you knew he meant the words he spoke. “Anything,” he repeated for emphasis.

 Before you could speak, there was a knock on the van, signaling that the informant had arrived and it was showtime. OA pressed his forehead to yours for a few seconds, then kissed your nose before he backed off. You turned to the table, looking into the purse you had, and reapplied your lipstick. When you were sure you were good, you and OA hopped out of the van to join the team with them none the wiser.

 “I really wish we could put a wire on you, but I think you know what we can’t,” Isobel said.

 “I get it. I’ll probably go through a strip-search,” you filled in. Once you said it, you heard OA grumble.

 “We have the jewelry surveillance, so you’re not alone in there. We can’t talk to you, but we can hear and see what you do,” Jubal assured.

 You nodded as you went over the file one last time. Over your quiet surroundings, you all heard the signal. You gave them a nod being careful not to look at OA before you walked away from them. You didn’t think you could handle that. After taking a few steps, though, you looked back at him. He stood there with his arms crossed across his broad chest with the deepest scowl on his face that accompanied his tightly clenched jaw. Deciding to test the tech, you said the one thing you knew you could that only he would get.

 “My back, your back, we got that.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

 -OA-

He hated this more than he hated the stares he got his first few weeks at Quantico. Those weeks were a different hell. It was a hell that tested everything he knew about himself and how who he was would connect to his work—if it could connect. Because of his culture and heritage, he got a lot of flack. He’d had to work twice as hard to prove himself even though he’d done two tours in Iraq and had earned his dues and proven himself as an asset. This hell, though, it gripped his heart tighter than anything else. He wondered if it was because what he had to lose was just way in life. If he failed, he would have to live with the shame. Now, if this failed, he’d have to live with much more. Regret. Heartbreak. They were two things he didn’t want any part of. It was your fault.

 He’d fallen in love with his partner. It was the first rule in the book. The first rule that was drilled in his head in every line he went into. In the Rangers, it was don’t get involved with your peers or form any personal or intimate connections with informants or those in the field. In the DEA, it was, go by the book and don’t get involved with anyone on any level. He’d learned how challenging and intricate undercover work was there. Here he was after all these years and all his life experiences throwing the book away, setting ablaze first, though.

 He listened to the informant drill you on everything you needed to know as he walked you to the truck you’d be in. In the back of the van with Isobel, Kristen, Jubal, and the rest of the team, he felt like he was sitting on pins and needles, but he couldn’t show any of it. He knew if he showed too much concern, it would raise curiosity about your relationship's true nature. He had to remain calm and neutral enough for a partner and not venture into the realm of the concerned lover.

 You were so good that as the truck drove with you in the back, you sang a song in French. It wasn’t just any song, though. You fed them intel of everything that was around you, how many other girls were in the back, their descriptions, scents, and any other piece of information that would help with the case. Everyone around him looked pleased, and he knew Isobel was relieved. You were showing in less than an hour why you were the right person for the job.

 “She’s got this,” Jubal said aloud while nodding his head and snapping the rubber band against his wrist, a nervous tick he’d noticed when Kristen was injured in the hospital.

 At the thought of Kirsten, he looked across to her. she was sitting with Ian, and the two were talking closely, most likely about the case, but it made him look back to Jubal for his reaction. The look on Jubal’s face didn’t give much away, but being a good profiler, he picked up on a few things. Jubal didn’t look to like how close they were. He wondered then if you and he weren’t the only ones who were fraternizing.

 The puzzle gave him something to occupy his mind instead of him worrying and thinking of worst case scenarios, and he was glad for it. After almost forty minutes, your reporting notified that the truck had stopped and everyone was being led out.

 “Here we go, people,” Isobel notified.

 The tension in the van returned tenfold as everyone’s attention went to the screens. He tagged the route the truck had taken thanks to the tracking devices you wore and calculated the quickest route to you in case things went south. He watched the feed you expertly gave. You made sure to turn in every possible direction so you could give them a quick lay of the land. Every angle Ian and Kirsten tagged, they let out an audible “yes.” You were making everyone’s job easier.

 You were led into a large house. The interior was decorated richly. The techs worked to make connections with everything in the feed, artwork, photos, and even furniture. Any of it could lead to a break. You stopped for a second, then bent forward, bringing a clear photo of four men into the frame.

 “Get that picture scrubbed. I want to know everything about all of them, even their childhood pet’s name. Come on, people. Let’s get Y/N out of there in under twenty-four hours,” Jubal drilled.

 The van came alive with chatter and activity, and he focused more intently on the feed. With his fingers steepled underneath his bearded chin, he tried to stay present.

 “File in here, ladies. You know the drill. Inspection.”

 He clenched his jaw, hating what that sounded like. He continued watching the feed. He took in the details of the room and guessed they were holding the women in a basement. The women around the room were all dressed in their best. He’d clocked bruises on some and small injuries on others. Having worked an undercover case like this one, he knew the ones with small injuries were probably the older ones that had been acquired over a year ago while the ones with bruises were newer. In situations like these, the older ones, because of their wear and tear, were abused more. They were usually kept on reserve for those with particular tastes. They were deemed the expendable ones.

 When the men approached you, they brought you into another room where two men were waiting. Once they laid eyes on you, they whistled and made catcalls at you.

 “Wow. We have an exotic one.”

 “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

 “Dulce,” you replied.

 “Ah, you were brought in with Snake, part of the special shipment from Florida. He said very good things about the women in that shipment.”

 The man approached you and slowly walked around you before he stopped in front again.

 “Where you from, honey?”

 “I can be from anywhere you like.”

 “she’s good,” Isobel voiced. “She knows giving men like that control means appeasement.”

 “So you’re a people pleaser, huh.”

 “Absolutely sugar. I please people,” you replied.

 The men laughed together before exchanging glances.

 “Well, Dulce, we gotta search you, so be a good girl as I—sample the goods.”

 He watched the man approach you. He didn’t know if he could stomach watching, but he didn’t look away.

 “Ah, very nice.” He sounded like the sleaziest of perverts, and his anger flared.

 The air in the vibe went from tense to uncomfortable. They all knew what was happening. He was glad he couldn’t see your face. As soon as he thought it, you were moved, and you now stood in front of a mirror, and your reflection was now what he saw. The man in a burgundy button-down and black slacks was before you—on you. He walked behind you then brought his hands around to cup your breasts.

 “Son of a--.”

 Clenching his jaw, he continued watching. The sleazeball's hands slid down your abdomen.

 “Everyone look away,” Isobel ordered.

 He did not. When he saw the asshole’s hand creep to your crotch, he was ready to end this whole thing. The look on your face was a detached one. You didn’t look as if it phased you.

 “Hey! What’re you doing? She’s for the boss. No one is to touch her.”

 The informant came into the frame just in time before the perv groped you any further.

 “I’m sure Boss would want us to make sure she’s clean.”

 “You’re just trying to get your rocks off. You know how he feels about the first touch. Should I tell him that you dirtied his entertainment for the night?”

 The two men faced off, but the informant didn’t back down.

 “You’re lucky you’re so high up, Snake.”

 “Shut the fuck up. Know your place. You, out.”

 You walked to the door with Snake behind you. While everyone else in the room released a relieved sigh, he didn’t. This was but a tiny victory. There would be many more tests and close calls before the night was done.

 “I’ll get you to the bathroom upstairs. It is next door to the office. You have three minutes. Use them wisely. I’ll be back to bring you to them.”

 A little while later, you walked into the bathroom and released a breath. He could tell you forgot about the camera on you as you allowed your nerves to show—just a little. He wished he could be there to help in any way you’d let him, but he wasn’t. He even wished you could hear him. After a fifteen or twenty second reprieve, you were sneaking out the bathroom door to the office next door. Once inside, you began rummaging through cabinets, drawers, folders, and even the trash, giving them a glance at anything you came across. You moved so quickly that each analyst worked on each piece of data your lens came across.

 “I think I found something,” you said, opening a folder with the letters “NDB” tapped across its cover. You flipped through the pages giving them two or three seconds each page to capture it in a screenshot.

 “Yes, Y/N, that’s it,” Jubal cheered on.

 “That has to be a record with getting in,” Isobel said more to herself than anyone else.

 “It looks like these are future plans. I have names, dates, locations, pictures even.”

 “That’s all we need, right,” Kristen inquired.

 “I mean,” Jubal began.

 “No. while this is good, we need a clear shot of them all in the room and to hear talk about any attack as well as get them in some sort of incriminating situation. With that, we got 'em dead to rights,” Isobel clarified.

 “Fuck!”

 It was an outburst he hadn’t expected. He’d been trying to hold it together, but the thought of you being there any longer really was not sitting right with him. the eyes in the van trailed to him. No doubt they were shocked to see him lose his cool. No one said anything about it, though. He watched as you snuck out of the office after putting everything back to make it in the bathroom. Once the bathroom door clicked shut, Snake was there to retrieve you.

 “Change of plans. You girls are meant to be eye candy. Sort of like a look but don’t touch event. He likes to use this as his foreplay. Keep a cool head, and remember you’re not trying this on for the day. You live this. Act accordingly.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 -Y/N-

Snake led you into another part of the house that was filled with girls and about ten men that were being entertained by the chosen girls. You looked around, clocking your exits and the possible escape routes first, then took inventory of the girls and finally the men. Snake left your side but not before giving you a stern look as if to remind you that your life was not the only one at stake here. You didn’t need a reminder.

 Your encounter in the room was a quick reintroduction that woke your ass up to the real dangers that you’d now found yourself in. Back in Miami, you’d found yourself in a similar situation, and the only way you were able to get through it was to detach from it. You mentally put yourself in the frame of mind of a different person and became them. It made it easier. You knew it was what you would have to do now.

 “Dulce, Dulce, Dulce, Dulce,” you whispered to yourself before you took a deep breath and slowly released it. When you did, you decided to fake it until you had it. Your first move was to take a lap around the room. You still had to locate the SVU agent on no intel. The department was reluctant to share any information for fear of a leak because of the case's sensitive nature and how long their agent had been undercover. So you were running on nothing but the assurance that if possible, they would make contact.

 One lap turned to two, but before you could do a third, one of the men approached you, cornering you.

 “Why hello. I haven’t seen you before.”

 You pasted on a sugary sweet smile and leaned against the wall. “Oh, no? I’m new.”

 The man smiled, giving you a chill.

 “I like new. I like to break in the new thoroughbreds.”

 He grabbed your wrist and began dragging you through the room. His grip was tight, but you didn’t make a sound. You could see he was dragging you toward a couch. From the corner of your eye, you saw one of the girls watching you. Her long brunette hair framed her face, and her plum-colored lipstick gave her a youthful glow. Before you could take in any more details, the man dropped onto the couch and released your wrist.

 “Dance.”

 You hesitated, caught off guard by his actions and the command.

 “All right, darlin, no need to get rough.”

 You swayed from side to side in front of him in slow movements using the time to formulate a plan. Slowly you turned your back to him as you began winding your waist. It was then you noticed a dangerous looking man across the room also watching your every move. Snake approached him, whispered, and nodded in your direction. Bingo, you thought. Adding to the show you were putting on, you trailed your hands along your body and beginning at the outer parts of your thighs, up along your hips. When you reached your stomach, you brought them up to cup your breasts, all the while staring at the man across the room. Turning from him and back to the younger gentleman on the couch, you smiled, bit your bottom lip, and winked.

 “You’re a naughty girl, aren’t you?”

 You nodded.

 “Do you know what naughty girls get?”

 You shook your head.

 “This.”

 The man gripped his appendage and shook it for emphasis.

 “Come get this cock, slut.”

  As he lunged for you, you saw Snake approach. He whispered to the man before he made contact, and the look on his face went from lust riddled to fearful. He straightened his clothes, then walked away.

 “he says get a glass of champagne and sit.”

 You took the glass of champagne that Snake offered you and sat on the now empty couch. You knew that you had him on the hook. You’d expected it to be more work than that. For the next few hours, on the couch was where you remained. You watched every immoral thing the men did to the women and sat through it all. The first hour was difficult because every injustice you saw you wanted to remedy, but by hour two and three, you’d found a way to tune it out.

 A few hours later, you were brought over to the boss. You recognized him from the pictures in the files. His eyes roamed your body, taking in every detail. It was a full two minutes before he spoke.

 “You name.”

 “Dulce.”

 He chuckled. “Ha, the Spanish word for sweet. Are you sweet?”

 “That’s for you to find out, I guess.”

 No words followed. The way he looked at you made your skin crawl. It was the look of a true psychopath. He was the worst kind, though, a hypocritical one, one that sought to subjugate that which he hated. He preached up and down how whites were the superior race, and any others were inferior and seen as dirty, but here he was eying you like he planned to give you a thorough cavity search knowing damn well your skin was not white.

 You took in the details and learned his ticks. From the way his jaw flinched every few minutes to the way he held on to the arm of the chair, you knew he was trying to hold tightly to something inside of him. Men like this often had a secret side to them.

 “Sit.”

 Doing as you were told, you sat. He continued his conversation. Again the girl with brunette hair caught your eye. She was watching every move you made, and that fact alone told you she was the SVU agent. It was a hunch, an unproven one. The mention of an attack had your attention going back to the man seated beside you. His hand came out to clasp your upper thigh. His fingers between your crossed legs holding on as if he owned you. Men like him always thought people were property to own, use, then trade.

 “Just make sure everything goes off without a hitch. We’ve worked too long for his, and too many lives have been lost for it all to be for naught.”

 “Don’t worry. As we speak here, they are setting up the event location. By this time tomorrow, we’ll have our victory. That is why we’re here tonight—to celebrate.”

 You hoped those in the van got that.

 “Maybe it’s time to take your turn,” one of the men suggested.

 The Boss’s eyes landed on you before he brought them to his hand on your thigh. “Soon. You go sit there,” he ordered.

 You stood and walked over to the brunette who’d been watching you for the last few hours and sat beside her. You didn’t want to give yourself away, so you said nothing. In undercover work, you never knew who had flipped. Pretending to be someone else twenty-four-seven took its toll, and many blurred the lines forgetting who they really were. You didn’t know if she was one of them. If she were, she’d give you up in a heartbeat.

 Instead of giving yourself up, you decided to play it cool and observe. One way or another, she would show who she really was. The scene before you quickly got old. No one touched you or the Burnett you sat beside. It was like they all knew their place and didn’t even dare question it. They didn’t touch you, but they sure watched. You’d caught so many of them eye-fucking you it was seriously making you sick. For a second, your mind ran on OA and if he’d seen the scene in the backroom. As quickly as your mind dashed to him, you forced it away. Clear head, you reminded yourself. The easiest way to end up dead was to lose focus.

 A middle-aged man in grey suit pants and a matching grey button-down that was unbuttoned one too many buttons stopped in front of the two of you. He smiled and eyeballed the brunette first, then you.

 She kissed her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Keep walking, Pete. Even you’re not dumb enough to touch one of Lowball’s treats. You know he likes them clean, and you also know what he’ll do to ya if he sees one print.”

 This so-called Pete rolled his eyes, sighed, then walked away mumbling something underneath his breath.

 “Loser,” she finished.

 That was when your eyes met.

 “You’re new.”

 “What of it?”

 She smiled, then continued chewing her gum.

 “What’s your name, sweetie?”

 “Dulce.”

 “Ah, I like sweet things.”

 She trailed her pointer up over your exposed knee until it made it’s way to the hem of your short dress. Once there, it lingered, seductively tracing the hem.

 “Your print doesn’t count?”

 She smiled, then leaned to your ear. Her lips were close enough for you to feel them.

 “Nope. He likes to watch. Take a look.”

 You slyly glanced to the one she’d called Lowball, and sure enough, he was watching the two of you like a hawk on his perch.

 “See. He gets off on it, especially if the new treat has to be broken in. Do you?”

 You turned to look at her, your lips were centimeters apart, but you didn’t back down.

 “Do I what?”

 She smiled, bit her bottom lip then spoke. “Need to be broken in.”

 You slowly smirked then bit your own bottom lip. Two can play this game.

 “Depends on who’s doing the breaking,” you replied.

 The brunette smiled, then closed the gap between you, pressing her lips to yours. Before you knew it, she was taking charge of a sultry kiss. She rolled her tongue around yours then sucked. As she did, you felt her hand cup your breast. Your first instinct was to pull away, but you also knew that was the wrong instinct. This was a test. You allowed her to kiss you, then battled her for control. After a minute, the kiss was still going, but once you thought of it, she pulled away, sucking her bottom lip.

 “Was I your first?”

 You gave her a faux shy smile. “No”

 She smiled wider.

 “Hey, lowball. This stallion is a certified good time.”

 She looked away from you for a few seconds and looked to Lowball before she smiled wider.

 “Let’s go.”

 You allowed her to lead you by the hand through the room filled with sex and drugs until you were in a hall. Neither of you spoke, and when you looked behind you, there was Lowball with his eyes on you.

 “I’m Tommi, by the way,” the brunette said with a smile.

 Soon you walked inside of a bedroom that was made of luxury but built for a sleaze. The room was filled with glass and leather. It even smelled like leather. The more you walked into the room, the more detail you took in. The linen on the bed was black silk, and there was even a mirror above the bed.

 “Go get ready, Tommi. Let me have five minutes with this beauty.”

 Your gut tensed, and Tommi hesitated, looking at Lowball.

 “Aww, you’re going to have fun without me, daddy?”

 Her whine was loud. Lowball smiled.

 “Don’t worry, angel, I promise you’ll be here for the fun stuff.”

 Tommi glanced at you, then back to Lowball, then shrugged as she walked to another door inside the bedroom. Before she closed the door behind her, you noticed her hand making fists in a staggered pulse pattern. Instantly you recognized it as a common sign you’d learned at Quantico. It meant you’re not alone or among friends. Tommi was the undercover agent with SVU. You looked to Lowball who stared at you as if he were trying to figure you out and unnerve you. You wouldn’t let it work.

 “Dulce, cute name. how are you going to prove it?”

 “The easiest way to find out if something is sweet is to taste it,” you teased, uncrossing and crossing your legs again. 

His eyes dropped to them, and that was where they remained. After too long, he stood and walked over to the bar. You heard the clinking of glass and crystal and anxiously waited for either him or Tommi to come back in. when he turned to you again, he held two glasses filled with a brown liquid. When he sat again, you watched him dig into his pant pocket and come back out with a small clear packet with white powder inside of it.

 Fuck, you thought. Many perps who operated sex trafficking rings liked to string their girls out before spending time with a perp. The gossip was the drugs always made the girls more compliant and easier to take advantage of. You watched him pour the contents into one of the glasses. Your stomach fell.

 “Oooh, daddy, now we’re really starting this party,” Tommi interjected as she crossed the room dressed in a sexy burgundy lingerie set.

 “Mmm, you look, wonderful angel,” Lowball complimented.

 He held out the glass that was substance-free to Tommi and held the one that he’d just laced to you. You hesitated. You knew precisely what the plan was after you drank that, and depending on what it was, you had thirty minutes before your choices would no longer be your own.

 “There are two ways out of this room, Dulce. Covered in, or filled with my superior cum or dead. Your choice,” Lowball informed.

 Tommi caught your eye. She sat on Lowball’s knee, rubbing his arm, but her eyes were dark.

 “Take a ride with me, Dulce,” she chimed.

 Sighing, you took the glass and swirled the liquid around, examining how undetectable whatever it was he’d poured in was. You downed the drink in one rise and tried to keep from vomiting. Shit was about to get real, you thought.

 Lowball smiled then stood, making Tommi stand as well.

 “Good job Dulce. I knew you’d see it my way,” he said before he walked away to the door.

 “I’ll be back in as much time as it takes that to kick in. You girls have some fun.

 The door closed behind him, and you gasped. Tommi was beside you in seconds. She dipped a little lower to come face to face with your earrings.

 “She’s just ingested Rolong. It’s a nastier version of Rohypnol these assholes craft themselves. You have thirty maybe forty minutes to figure out a way to grab control of this sting, or else your girl will find herself in a situation she won’t be able to avoid.”

 She looked at you, and though she looked relatively calm, you could still see some sort of panic in her eyes.

 “I have this.”

 She dug in her cleavage and pulled out a syringe. You had no idea how she’d concealed it for its size.

 “What—what is this?”

 “It’s adrenaline. It’s not much, and it won’t have a big of an impact as I’d like, but it will help with the effects. It’ll buy us maybe fifteen minutes,” Tommi explained.

 “Fine.”

 You held out your arm, giving her permission to inject you.

 “It’ll work better to your thigh.”

 Tommi pulled up your dress to find the right spot, then lowered the needle. Before she inserted the tip into your skin, she looked back at you. You gave her a nod to proceed. The injection's sting was sharp, and it felt as if it continued to go for so long.

 “Here we go,” Tommie whispered before she administered the medical cocktail.

 The burn in your thigh began almost immediately. It was a burn that increased, a burn that intensified until it felt like a terrible muscle spasm without the pain. Once the burn subsided, you could have sworn you felt the drug course through your body. It could have been your imagination or the effects of the other drug you’d ingested. You didn’t know.

 “In a minute or two, you’ll feel like you’ve stuck your finger in a socket. Try to remain calm. Remember, when he returns, he will be expecting you to be disoriented and pliable. You have to play along, or he will know something is not right. Do you understand me?”

 You nodded though your head felt heavy, and you felt as if you were about to topple over any minute. The woman in front of you was no longer clear or alone. There looked to be three or four of her. You tried to snap yourself out of it, and that was when you felt your heart begin to race. It began beating ten times faster than it had before. The only other time you recalled it beating like this was with OA. You heard Tommie speak again, but you didn’t quite understand what she said. It sounded muffled and distorted as if her voice was from a static transmission.

 “Come, you have to be ready by the time he gets back,” Tommie said.

 She walked over to the bench in the bedroom and returned with a black two-piece lingerie set along with a pink robe. This was not new to you. Men like these liked to see their prize displayed in as little clothes as possible. You dressed with Tommi’s help. With each passing minute, you felt the effects of both the adrenaline and the drug. Also, with each passing minute, your movements became slower and slower.

 Once you were changed, you looked at yourself in the mirror, and you looked ready to seduce any man. You staggered to the bed and then dropped onto it, unable to even carry the weight of your own body anymore. Tommi sat beside you and opened her mouth to say something but the door suddenly opened. Tommi laid on top of you and whispered for you to play along. She nuzzled your neck while caressing your thigh.

 “Don’t let me interrupt. I think I’ll watch for a moment,” Lowball said.

 Tommi looked at him and smiled. “I have a better idea. Let me entertain you while the Rolong takes full effect.”

 She stood and walked to Lowball, who was seated a few feet from the bed. The sound of loud pop-rock filled the room, and Tommi’s hips moved along with it. You laid there feeling as if there was a war going on inside of you. Two impulses were fighting for control. One impulse wanted to lay there, do nothing and stare at the ceiling that had begun spiraling as if it were a kaleidoscope. The other impulse wanted to get up and dance as if this were the last night you would be alive. Your limbs didn’t know which to listen to. Every time your muscles twitched to stand, your upper body refused to obey.

 Your brain found it next to impossible to think of one thing. It continued to jump from topic to topic, making you dizzy in the process. You tried to fight against the effects of the roofie you’d been given. You tried to aid the adrenalin pumping through your body, trying to work as a diluting agent. Several times time felt as if it lagged. It felt as if even your blinking was slowed, taking forever to close your eyes and open them again.

 When you felt the bed dip, you didn’t know how much time had passed. It felt like an eternity. Looking to your right, you saw Tommi. She came to your ear and whispered.

 “We have ten minutes,” she whispered before she climbed on top of you then pulled Lowball into her embrace. You laid there watching, becoming more and more unsure of what was happening.

 “I think she’s ripe for the plucking.”

 Tommi giggled, then looked down at you.

 “I think we’d have a better time making her watch first. She needs to know what you like, daddy.”

 He looked to be contemplating things, and as he did, his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every detail. You felt a hand slide down your body, beginning at your neck and down the center of your body until it reached your navel.

 “I like that idea.”

 With that, he pulled Tommi to him, leaving you there to watch and listen. Your being must have felt how precarious your situation was because a strong will to fight overcame you, giving you renewed energy.

 “I’ve changed my mind.”

 Lowball pushed Tommi aside and climbed on top of you, burying his face in your neck.

 “The best way to learn is to do. She will catch on quick if she wants to live.”

 Almost as soon as his hands began roaming your body more vigorously, screams could be heard, but Lowball didn’t budge. When he heard the sound of a gunshot and glass shattering, he rolled off of you, dropping to the floor beside the bed. The room began to fill with smoke.

 “Stay here,” Tommi shouted.

 Everything seemed to move in slow motion, but real-time at the same time. You desperately tried to keep up.

 “Snap out of it, Y/N. Get up. Get up!”

 Though you were trying, your limbs were not obeying you. The sound of gunshots became louder and more persistent. Coughing, you tried to focus on making yourself get up. You tried to will your body to cooperate. Clenching your jaw, you screamed.

 “Get up!”

With much effort, you rose then bent forward until you were able to sit up straight. Instead of celebrating this small feat, you willed yourself to stand. You stood then tried to steady yourself. Before you could take a step, someone barreled into you, taking you to the ground. That was when your muscle instinct took over. You swung a punch that connected with someone’s jaw. Not waiting for them to retaliate, you began fighting back, not knowing who you punched. When you felt knuckles connect with your face, it had a strangely sobering effect like a second injection of adrenaline.

 You rolled onto them and proceeded to punch, not stopping. You felt a gun to your back. Before pausing, you punched the person underneath you once more. When you did that, the person behind you tried to grab you but got your robe instead, pulling it clear off you. As they did that, it gave you reprieve enough to do one of the tricky moves you’d learned at Quantico, which allowed you to flip the perp over your shoulder to land on the ground. You scurried around for the gun, praying you found it in time, especially with the fog in the room. When you grabbed it, you used the butt of the gun to slam down into the face of whoever was unlucky enough to find themselves your adversary.

 You stood and staggered to the door, then leaned on it trying to catch your breath. You checked the magazine in the Glock you held. Satisfied, you took a few more breaths trying to overcome your debilitation.

 “Let’s go, Y/N. You’ve got this.”

 You pushed yourself off the door then proceeded to go through the hall, fighting every step of the way. Every few moments, you leaned against a wall to catch your breath. A few gunshots sounded behind you, making you crouch and aim backward to clip the kneecap of one of the despicable men who worked for Lowball. When they reached for their weapon, you shot again, seeing the bullet puncture their chest. While they pushed out their last breath, you continued on.

 Getting to the stairs that led downstairs, you found bodies littered along the way.

 “Stop right there!”

 In front of you, the same man from the inspection stood there, pointing his pistol right at you.

 “Ha, of course, it was you. I knew there was something off about you.”

 “Guess you should have trusted your gut. Lower your weapon, and we’ll offer you a good deal,” you countered.

 “Not a chance.”

 “Listen dickhead. Do you hear that? That silence says your side has lost, and mine has won.”

 He lunged for you, and his shoulder knocked the wind out of you as he took you down, making both of you tumble down the stairs. You felt each step the entire way down. When you’d finished tumbling, you laid there, unable to move.

 “You bitch!”

 He climbed on you and wrapped his hands around your throat, and began squeezing. You gagged and coughed. It was then that the roofie took the strongest hold of you. Your entire body felt heavy, and even the thought of clawing his eyes out was too much. Every time you lifted your hands to do the job, they only plopped back down. You knew you were seconds from blacking out and seconds from death.

 He pulled one hand away, reached into his shirt pocket, and uncapped a needle with his mouth.

 “Let’s see you survive this!”

 He stabbed the needle into the side of your neck that he held with one impossibly strong hand. You screamed as he injected the substance into your bloodstream and, in the same breath, managed to reach the gun that was a few feet away from you and mustered enough energy to aim at his gut. A gunshot sounded, and the man’s movements above you paused for a moment before he tried to begin again. It was enough of a pause for you to take better aim with the gun, this time releasing another bullet in the center of his chest. He slumped forward enough for you to overpower him, but still, he fought. You rolled onto them and released one more bullet right in the center of his head.

 It was then you shouted out before you dropped onto him, then flopped to your back to stare at the ceiling. The sounds of gunshots around you slowed to only a few every so often. You didn’t know how long you laid there. It could have been five, ten, or more minutes. When you felt able, you sat up and stood, using the wall to hold your weight.

 With the gun in hand, you walked through the large home. You felt half-dead, and you knew it was whatever he’d injected you with. Your steps became slower and slower. Your movements more and more lagging. Still, you continued pushing through door after door, trying your best to fight. You slowly pushed through yet another door and found bright scope lights and red laser dots on your lingerie-clad body.

 “Freeze!”

 You tried to raise your hands but only made it halfway.

“Y/N!”

 Hearing OA’s voice, your body finally gave out. Before you touched the floor, OA was there, engulfing you in his arms.

 “I got you, baby. I  got you,” he whispered.

 You felt him tapping your cheeks, making you look at him blearily.

 “Are you hurt?”

 “Help me up.”

 OA used his strength to stand you up. Kristen was to your side in seconds, and in a few more seconds, OA had draped his FBI jacket around your shoulders before he scooped you in his arms. Unable to fight the drugs in your system any longer, you passed out sure of your safety in OA’s arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

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[sunlightdances]

Safe Place to Land (Modern!Bucky x Reader)

Author: Katie @sunlightdances​ Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Rating: PG-13 for swearing. No trigger warnings except some alcohol use and drunkenness, and if awkwardness makes you feel weird, which-- SAME. Slow burn. Two idiots. Words: 8K+ aka HOW DID THIS GET SO LONG Summary: Modern!AU. You and Bucky are both standing up for Steve and Peggy’s wedding. Checking in at the hotel for the weekend, you’re horrified to realize there’s been a problem. A big problem. Prompt Filled: “Only one bed” Author’s Note: This is for @fanfictionaries​’ Classic Trope Challenge! Congrats on 300 followers, and thanks for hosting! This was so fun to write. Special thanks to @writeyourmindaway​ for the divider at the beginning and the flower divider throughout the post! Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes or Marvel. I also don’t own the song “Dance with Me” by Kelsea Ballerini, which is where the title comes from. The plot is mine! Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my permission. If you like what you read, please reblog to help share my work!

You’re late.

It’s truly a scene from a movie - you dashing through the airport, your rolling suitcase clicking behind you as it hits every line in the tile. People are staring, and you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have time to be.

Peggy will kill you if you miss this flight.

You’ll kill you if you miss this flight. Not for the first time, you curse Steve Rogers and his romantic streak for having a destination wedding. Especially because it’s going to be small. An exclusive wedding that could have just as easily been done in New York… you stop yourself.

You’re happy to be going to London. You’ve never been before, and you’re even happier to be going to celebrate the wedding of two of your closest friends.

It’s been over a decade since the first time you met Steve Rogers, alone and out of place in New York City, and at first you didn’t bother him - he was clearly going through something, and through your nosy neighbor, you knew he was recently back from a tour in Afghanistan. You were unable to stay away for long though, especially when you could hear the nightmares through the apartment walls, and could hear the grief he was struggling to control.

A casserole outside his door and a late night coffee break later, the two of you were fast friends. He trusted you with his story, and the look on his face when you introduced him to your coworker Peggy sealed your friendship for good.

Finally arriving at the gate, you nearly knock over a very tired, very irritated looking Bucky Barnes, and roll your eyes to the heavens, because of course you’re on the same flight. Why wouldn’t you be? You suspect foul play by your conniving best friend, but you don’t have time to complain about it.

Bucky’s already glaring at you. “You’re late--”

“I know. How did you even know I was going to be on this flight?”

“Steve mentioned it. Said to make sure you didn’t get left behind.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing into a chair near the gate as the boarding process begins, out of breath from your sprint through the airport. “He worries too much.”

“You are late, though.”

You glare right back at him, but can’t help but give him what you hope is a subtle once over - right from the top of his baseball-cap covered head to his Nike-covered feet. It’s really not fair that he still manages to look like a runway model at four in the morning.

Finally you’re called for boarding, and you push past Bucky to get on the plane, where you have plans to promptly fall asleep and hopefully be out for the next several hours.

“Me again,” you hear his deep voice before you open your eyes, and you’re treated to the truly amazing sight of Bucky Barnes’ abs when his shirt rides up as he puts his bag in the overhead bin.

“Terrific,” you mutter, and he snorts.

“Go to sleep.” The heat practically radiates off him as he sits down next to you, him in the aisle seat and you in the dreaded middle seat.

You really are tired - there was a reason you were running late. You have a habit of working too late and not getting enough sleep, another reason you were looking forward to this wedding. Ten full days in England. No work, just rest. And a wedding. But besides that--! No obligations. You can practically feel the stress melting off you.

Almost as soon as the plane takes off and you start to doze, the man on the other side of you starts talking. At first you think he’s talking to Bucky across you, but it becomes clear he wants to get to know you better when he starts asking about your job, and finally, if you’re single.

You crack open an eye in disbelief, and open your mouth to respond before Bucky leans over and says quietly, but firmly, “No, she’s not. Sorry, dude.”

Bucky’s forearm is pressing into yours, and you scowl at him before the other guy replies.

“Oh, sorry. Should have guessed.”

“Don’t worry, it surprises a lot of people,” you tell him. Including me. You look back at Bucky with a what the hell look on your face, and he shrugs.

Shifting, he lifts the armrest between you and leans in, whispering. “Unless you wanted him to hit on you for the rest of this flight?”

You groan internally, because there’s nothing you hate more than when Bucky has a point.

It’s not like you hate Bucky. He just-- he knows how to push your buttons. Being Steve’s best friend in the entire world, it was a packaged deal. Bucky came home a year after Steve. He was injured, and angry, and wanted nothing to do with the same type of optimism you tried to supply Steve with.

You were okay with that. Not everyone is wired the same, and you had no business butting into Bucky’s life just because you were able to help Steve adjust to life after the Army.

He warmed up eventually, after he and Steve both started going to VA meetings and were slowly working through things, though you knew there was a chance that the Bucky Barnes you were going to get to know would be nothing like the Bucky that Steve told you stories about.

Still, it has always seemed like there’s something else there. Something under the surface that makes Bucky wary of you.

You’re civil and have come to accept the facts: you and Bucky will never be friends.

That’s why you’re so suspicious of his behavior on this flight. You figured he’d be rather amused by you getting hit on at 20,000 feet.

Right before you fall asleep, you put that thought safely into the box labeled Reasons You Will Never Understand Bucky and leave it at that. 

You wake up to turbulence, and Bucky’s elbow jamming into your ribs.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and when he steadies you, you realize you were leaning into him while asleep, and feel your face turn hot.

You don’t say anything - too worried you’re going to put your foot in your mouth. “What time is it?” You ask instead, and he blinks at you.

“No idea. I was asleep.”

“Oh.”

The silence that settles between you is a little awkward, but you try your best to get over it. It’s dark on the plane. Your left leg is asleep and your neck is so tense you wonder how you managed to sleep at all. Probably because you had the world’s most attractive body pillow, you think.

You pull your tablet out of the seat-back in front of you and turn the brightness way down. Opening a book you’ve been reading, you check the time. Seeing you still have a few hours before you land, you try to get comfortable before you start reading.

You can feel Bucky’s eyes on you off and on for the next few minutes and you try to ignore the feeling it gives you - the hair on the back of your neck standing on end, and when you catch him before he can look away, you feel the jolt through your entire body.

That’s new.

Finally, the announcement comes that you’re landing in fifteen minutes, and everyone around you starts to gather their things and get restless. You feel the excitement building in you like a live thing, and roll your eyes when you see Bucky smirking at you.

“Leave me alone; I’ve never been to England before.”

His smile falters, just the tiniest bit. “It’s nice. You’ll like it.”

It’s a weird comment, but you don’t say anything else. You have a vague memory of Steve telling you Bucky was airlifted to Germany and then to London before coming home after his accident, and you don’t want to say the wrong thing. Contrary to what he thinks, you actually don’t want to argue with him all the time, but especially not on this trip.

Heathrow is a madhouse. It’s even busier than when you left New York, and you’re a little overwhelmed, plus jet lagged. A great combo.

You and Bucky get your bags from baggage claim and then he turns to you, looking a little worse for wear. “I’m assuming we’re at the same hotel.”

“Hopefully not the same hotel Steve and Peg are in.”

Bucky looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but still remains stoic.

“Oh come on,” you say as the two of you head to try to find a cab. “You know if we’re in the same hotel they’ll be calling all hours of the day to get us to do last minute stuff for them. I agreed to be a bridesmaid, not the wedding planner.”

Like the sun finally breaking through, Bucky actually smiles at that, and not for the first time in your sort-of-friendship, you’re struck by it, by how it changes his entire face and makes him look like a completely different person.

“Steve’s been driving me a little crazy, I have to admit.”

After verifying you are both staying in the same hotel where the majority of the wedding guests are, you fall silent as you take in the scenery zooming past in the cab.

Soon you’re approaching the most beautiful hotel you’ve ever seen, and you stare, open-mouthed, because this cannot be the place you booked. You were given the name of a hotel that Peggy said was nice and reasonably priced that most of the other guests were using, and you expected it to be-- well, not like the place she and Steve were staying.

Still: this is-- too much. Opulent doesn’t even cover it.

“Wow,” Bucky says next to you, uncharacteristically awed by the sight.

In the lobby, you’re even more convinced this is all a scam. Which is why when the concierge tells you there’s a problem, you’re almost not surprised.

“I’m so sorry - we have names for both of you on the reservation list, but it seems like they’ve put you both in the same room.”

A pin could be heard dropping for how quiet you and Bucky get.

He’s the first to speak. “I’m sorry?”

“There must have been a mistake… we’re full the next two weeks with several wedding parties and whoever booked it must have made a mistake.” She’s perfectly apologetic, in that British way, but you’re having trouble getting past the idea that you’re going to have to live with Bucky Barnes for 10 days.

“Can I just get another room?” You blurt.

“I’m sorry - we’re booked. There aren’t any other rooms.”

Bucky turns to you. “Look, it’s fine. Where else are you going to go?”

You feel something like panic welling up inside you. You and Bucky, sharing a room for ten days. How are you going to survive what’s sure to be the most awkward thing you’ve ever had to do in your life?

Better yet: how are you going to live with the teasing from Steven Grant Rogers when he finds out you have to be roommates with his best friend?

You sigh.

“The same room it is.” 

This can’t be real, you think. It’s too cliche.

“Um,” you say out loud, elegantly, “There’s only one bed.”

“Appears that way.”

“Well? What are we going to do?”

Bucky looks at you, blank. “We’re grown. I feel like this isn’t that big of a deal.”

You feel semi-hysterical laughter bubbling inside you, because this is very much a big deal. Especially when you’re just sort of admitting to yourself that your tiny crush on Bucky hasn’t waned over the years. You’ve always found him attractive and had no problem acknowledging that, but this? This is just too rom-com, even for you.

“It’s ten days. You don’t have a problem sharing a room with me for ten days?”

He shrugs. “What else am I going to do? Can’t bunk up with Steve. We’ll be busy with wedding stuff for the next two days anyway, and then afterwards… I don’t know. I figured you’d be sightseeing?”

You stare at him. “Okay, but… what are you going to be doing?”

He looks down. “Hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. You assume I’m here as long as you are,” he points out.

He’s right - you have no idea how long Bucky booked this trip for. Without wanting to pry, you’re again reminded that he has a small history here, and probably one that he doesn’t want to re-live.

You’re interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing, and you busy yourself unpacking while he answers it.

“Hey, Steve.” He says, his voice entirely different when he talks to his best friend. “Yeah, just got to the hotel.” A few beats. “I was probably just going to crash for the night…”

You get a text from Peggy almost at the same time, asking if you want to meet her and Steve for dinner, and meet Bucky’s eyes. You must look as tired as he feels, because he makes another excuse.

“If Katie’s not going to be there, I don’t want to be third wheel with you two lovebirds.” Another beat. “Yeah, let’s do breakfast. I’ll call you in the morning.”

You tap out a response to Peggy about jet lag and already being in bed (and it’s not like you don’t want to see your best friend, you’re just-- there’s too many things happening right now for you to even think about going out for a late dinner), and toss your phone towards the bed.

Yet another reminder of the fact that you’re going to be sharing with Bucky Barnes as soon as you’re both exhausted enough to sleep.

When he hangs up, you look at him curiously. “You didn’t mention anything about our living arrangements.”

He sighs. “Look, Steve’s stressed out enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this mixup too. Besides, it’s fine. It’s just sleeping.”

You hate yourself for the heat you feel at the thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it’s a fleeting feeling that you force away. “Yeah. Just sleeping.”

Bucky says he wants a shower and you offer to order room service. It’s almost 10pm, but you both know you won’t be able to sleep on an empty stomach.

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom, you feel like a teenager. Even he looks a little flushed, but you think it’s from embarrassment. “I-- forgot a change of clothes. Sorry.” He looks so chagrined, you can’t help but snicker.

“Buck, you’re offending my delicate sensibilities.”

His eyes go a little wide and you realize you’ve never called him by that familial version of his nickname before, but it just -- you’ve known the guy almost as long as you’ve known Steve. It just slipped out.

He recovers quickly, winking at you. “Honey, we all know there’s nothing delicate about you.”

You both freeze, both taken aback by the sultry lilt to his voice as he teases you, and again, you’re saved by an interruption - this time a knock on the door saying room service has arrived.

Bucky heads back to the bathroom to change, and you gulp in a few deep breaths before answering the door to get the food.

A whole night of this. You have no idea how you’re going to survive. 

Your alarm goes off way too early. In reality, it’s eight in the morning, but you still feel like you’ve been hit over the head with something heavy after a day of traveling.

Moreover, you feel like something heavy is actually on you, and you peek open a bleary eye to see Bucky over your shoulder, his arm slung across your waist like it was always meant to be there.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping you don’t wake him, but also wanting to get out of this situation as soon as possible. You scramble for your phone, the groan leaving him as he wakes up a noise you try to convince yourself you don’t want to hear again.

“What time is it,” he asks, his voice rough with sleep. You shiver.

“Eight,” you reply, finally reaching your phone and sliding a thumb across the screen to turn the alarm off.

He realizes his position and rolls away from you casually, so you mentally decide to pretend you weren’t cuddled up to him for most of the night.

You already have a text from Peggy asking if you want to join her, Steve, and Bucky for breakfast, so you have no choice but to get up and shower, trying to forget the warm feeling of being held by Bucky Barnes.

In an hour, you’re both waiting on a busy street for the almost-newlyweds, and you see them before they see you, Steve’s broad form and Peggy’s impeccable posture unmistakable. You smile unconsciously - they look so happy. You feel a pang though, because you don’t think you’ve ever been with someone who made you feel so carefree.

“Short stuff!” Steve calls, and you roll your eyes, muttering under your breath about how you’re not that short while Bucky snickers next to you, but before you can berate Steve, he’s gathering you into a hug, nearly lifting you off the ground.

Over Steve’s shoulders you see Bucky give Peggy a kiss on the cheek and a shy smile as they hug, exchanging quiet words.

You and Peggy might have known each other first, but she and Bucky bonded right away, making you wonder (not for the first time) why it seemed to be only you that Bucky had trouble getting to know. You brush off the thought - this week was about your friends and their wedding, and you were going to stop worrying about anything that wasn’t making sure this wedding was perfect.

“Missed you,” Steve whispered, “Did you get in okay? Bucky said you were late.”

You roll your eyes again. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He smiles. “Go say hi to Peg. She’s excited you’re here.” He gives your shoulders a squeeze before passing you off to Peggy, who hugs you so tight you can barely breathe.

“You look so--” you sigh, unable to find the words, “Happy. You look so happy, it’s like you’re already married.”

She grins. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. I’m excited.”

The four of you sit down to eat and you have the best breakfast you’ve ever eaten. Around a mouthful, you tell the table, “I never want to eat anything but these potatoes for the rest of my life.”

The rest of the meal is spent talking about the wedding and any last minute items that need to be done before the rehearsal dinner later that night. It sounds like everything is going as planned, which doesn’t surprise you when it comes to Peggy Carter.

“And so far everyone has arrived, we think. Have you run into anyone at the hotel?” Steve asks, and you and Bucky both freeze, before he speaks.

“Not… no. Haven’t seen anyone else yet.”

Steve looks between the two of you, eyes narrowed. “What? What happened?” He puts down his fork. “You can’t be fighting already, it’s only been--”

“They gave us one room.” You blurt. “There was a mixup and we have to share a room.”

Bucky steps on your foot hard, because you’ve forgotten his warning about not telling Steve and keeping the groom from stressing out the day before his wedding.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, waving a hand. “It’s just sleeping.”

You want to scream. Was it just sleeping when we cuddled all night? There wasn’t even alcohol involved!

“Right.” You say brightly, “It’s fine. No big deal.”

Steve is frowning. “I can call--”

“No!” You and Bucky both exclaim.

“Please don’t worry about this. It’s a non-issue,” You say, looking to Peggy for reassurance.

“They’re adults, Steve.”

“Adults who always seem to want to rip each other’s heads off,” he mutters, reaching for his coffee. Over the rim, he meets your eyes, and you shake your head minutely. Don’t you dare.

Breakfast is a little subdued after that, but soon it’s time for Steve and Peggy to go to the venue to make any last minute changes, leaving you and Bucky to your own devices for a few hours before you have to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.

Before parting ways, your phone buzzes.

Steve Rogers: You sure you’re going to survive this?

You: I will murder you.

Across the sidewalk, Steve snorts.

Steve Rogers: I’m just saying. Your crush is kind of obvious, you know?

You: Lucky for you, Bucky literally pays no attention to me. It’ll be fine.

Steve Rogers: That’s what you think.

You meet Steve’s eyes, trying to figure out what he means, but he just shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket.

The four of you say your goodbyes, and then you and Bucky are left standing on the street awkwardly.

“I was going to go to a museum--”

“I might check to see if Sam is here yet--”

You both speak at the same time.

Bucky clears his throat. “Right. Well, I’ll go check on Sam and you go to your museum or whatever. You have a room key?”

You nod. “Yep. All set.”

“I guess… have fun. Don’t get lost.”

You scowl. “Great, thank you for your concern.”

You’re halfway down the street when you hear him call, “Don’t be late!”

You flip him off over your shoulder and pretend you don’t hear him laughing as you keep heading down the street in the complete opposite direction. 

You get back to the hotel in the early afternoon so you can shower and start getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. Outside your shared room, you hear voices, so you pause. You can tell one is Bucky, and soon you recognize the other voice is Sam.

“Really, dude. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky’s voice is gruff. “Do I want to be in London? Not particularly. Can I separate my issues from celebrating this wedding? Yes.”

A sigh, but you can’t tell who it comes from.

“It’s okay to have mixed feelings about London.” Sam says. “The last time--”

“I know what happened the last time I was here.” Bucky interrupts, voice firm and icy. “Sorry. I just-- I don’t want to talk about it.”

A pause. “Okay, then let’s talk about your other issue.” Sam says, and even through the door, you can tell he’s got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on! You’re sharing a room with--”

Not wanting to overhear something else you shouldn’t, you hurriedly put your key in the slot and push the door open.

The two men are silent, staring at you, and you can feel the guilty look all over your face, so you try your best to school your expression into nonchalance.

“Long time no see,” Sam says, standing up to give you a hug.

“Hi, Sam.”

You make some small talk and try not to notice how quiet Bucky is being. He can’t really hate this situation that much… right? Or is it just this place in general? You’re too afraid to ask.

After another hour or so, Sam leaves the two of you to get ready himself, and you race to the bathroom to shower and start doing your makeup.

You’re very conscious of the fact that Bucky is getting changed in the room just beside you, so you take your time getting ready, making sure you’ve done every last thing you can think of before you emerge.

You’re not prepared for the sight of him, more dressed up than you’ve ever seen him. A dark blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbow, showcasing part of a tattoo that snakes down from his left bicep. His newly-shorn hair is artfully styled, the watch on his right wrist glinting in the late day sun streaming into the room.

God, how are you going to get through tomorrow? Seeing him as one of the groomsmen? You’re going to die.

“You look nice,” you manage, not wanting to stare at him any longer.

He looks like he doesn’t know what to say. You’re not sure if it’s the compliment he’s having trouble with, or what. “Thanks,” he says eventually. “You do too.”

The rehearsal dinner is like a fairytale, just like you knew it would be. The food is great, the company is even better, and even Bucky looks like he’s having a good time. There’s lots of toasting the bride and groom to be, and that involves a lot of drinks. A lot.

By the time you’re walking back to the hotel with Bucky, you’re a little unsteady on your feet, but he’s not doing much better, your hips bumping every few feet as you walk.

“You’re a lightweight,” he laughs, and you attempt to glare at him, but you think it comes off more like you’re leering at him. He reaches for your elbow gently and tugs you into the elevator with him, and it’s a challenge to stop thinking all the inappropriate thoughts that start clouding your mind.

Safely in your room, you sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Bucky starts to get ready for bed. You need to get your makeup off and into your pajamas, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

“You’re staring.”

You grin, “Just enjoying the show.” Instantly horrified, you clap a hand over your mouth. “I didn’t say that. You didn’t hear it.”

Bucky’s a little pink around the ears, but he looks smug. “So you think I’m hot?”

You groan. “Shut up. You know you’re hot.”

He looks surprised for a half second, and you fall backwards onto the bed.

“Stop it, stop asking me stuff. I can’t be trusted.” Apparently you can’t take your own advice, because you start thinking out loud, “It’s too bad you hate me. We’d be like, the hottest couple of all time.”

It’s silent, and when you finally look up, he’s staring at you, a frown on his face. “Is that what you think?”

“I know we’d be the hottest couple of all time--”

“No,” he interrupts, exasperated. “You think I hate you?”

“I think--” you suddenly clamp your mouth shut. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” Bolting past him, you make it there in time, and barely register him coming in a few seconds later, holding your hair back.

God. How embarrassing. Love this journey for you, your brain helpfully supplies.

The last thing you remember before falling asleep is Bucky helping you out of your dress, and a cool hand on your forehead. Then it all goes black. 

Your alarm goes off early again the next day. Wedding day. You’re due at the venue with the rest of the bridal party at nine to start hair and makeup.

Your mouth feels like it’s made of cotton, and you curse everyone involved in the dinner for doing so many toasts.

“God,” you groan, and when you open your eyes, you see Bucky on the chair in the living area, a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “What--”

“Here,” he says, tossing you your phone, alarm still going off.

There’s a text from Steve asking if you’re alive, and another from Peggy’s bridesmaid group chat with a million love-themed emojis.

“Thanks,” you grumble, bits and pieces of the night before coming back to you. Startled, you look up, “Bucky, I am so sorry--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waves a dismissive hand at you.

“I didn’t mean to drink so much. I’m such an annoying drunk. I--”

“Really,” he interrupts your apology, “It’s okay. You weren’t that bad.”

He’s quiet, which isn’t that different, but he looks… more intense than usual. Contemplative. It makes you nervous. Especially because the night before is still coming to you in pieces.

“Have you been up long?” You ask.

His eyes shutter. “A bit. Had trouble sleeping.”

An awkward silence settles. “What time do you have to--”

“You probably need to get going--”

You both speak at the same time, and strangely, your throat feels tight as he won’t meet your eyes. How badly had you screwed things up the night before?

“Right. I do have to get going. Just going to--” you gesture to the bathroom, and he nods. You make your escape into the shower and spend a little longer than necessary in there, trying like hell to figure out what you could have said to him.

It’s hours later before you see Bucky again. You and the rest of the bridal party are helping Peggy with finishing touches, and the photographer is taking action shots, the entire room a mix of blush pink and gauzy white.

Peggy is a vision - her hair curled and pinned in an old-fashioned style befitting a princess, and her lips painted her signature cherry red.

“Steve’s going to die,” you say, grinning at her, and she winks.

“Almost ready, girls?” She asks everyone else, and there’s a cheer before everyone begins to head out into the hall, gathering with the groomsmen to begin the walk down the aisle.

You’re blindsided by the sight of Bucky in his tux. You take a moment to be thankful you’re walking with Sam, not with Bucky, because surely he’d be able to hear the way your heart is pounding just looking at him.

He looks similarly awed, and your ego takes a moment to soak it up before you can feel embarrassed at the attention.

“You’re… you look great.” He says quietly.

“Thank you. You too.”

The smile he gives you is so soft, you can barely stand it.

“Okay Barnes, hands off my date.” Sam interrupts, linking your arm through his.

Bucky rolls his eyes. Before he can say anything else, the procession is starting, and you’re swept up in the romance of this moment finally happening.

Steve cries.

You do a little, too.

You catch Bucky looking at you with those intense eyes during the ceremony twice, and you’re suddenly more nervous than you’ve ever been, because you still have eight days left of your trip. Possibly eight more days rooming with Bucky if he doesn’t leave before you.

If the tension doesn’t kill you, sleeping in the same bed with him again will, for sure.

The reception space is even more beautiful than the ceremony, and even as you sit there, chin in your palm watching Steve and Peggy dance, you think you’ve never felt more romantic in your entire life.

You dance with Sam, and then Steve finds you, his eyes already a little glazed over.

“Come on, you can’t sit there all night.”

You huff as he finds your hand and tugs you out of your seat. “I haven’t been sitting here all night.”

“You’re not going to deny your best friend a dance. That’s that.”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as the two of you sway slowly, and when you look up at Steve, he’s only got eyes for Peggy, who’s dancing with Sam on the other side of the room.

“I’m happy for you, Rogers.”

He grins down at you, “When are you going to start trying to make yourself happy?”

You groan. “Steve, don’t.”

“I’m serious! Look… I know Bucky is… he seems serious sometimes, and it can be hard for him to open up, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one notices.”

The thought of it sends butterflies straight to the pit of your stomach, but there’s just no way that could be true. No matter how much of a romantic Steve Rogers is and how much he would love for his best friends to get together, it’s just not going to happen.

“Incoming,” Steve whispers, and you turn over your shoulder to see Bucky there, looking a little sheepish.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Steve steps away from you, and your eyes widen at him, panicking. “No problem,” he says to Bucky, “I’ve got a bride to get back to.”

Bucky takes a step closer. “Dance?”

As if on cue, the DJ plays something soft and slow, and you’re left powerless to resist Bucky and the way he’s looking at you - a little guarded, but still open and vulnerable. You feel like you have no choice but to take his hand, a shock working its way up your arm at the contact.

May my hands be the hands you hold onto When you let go of everything else May my arms be the arms that you fall into When the night gets too heavy to hold by yourself

You feel so self conscious as you dance with Bucky, his touch gentler than you ever allowed yourself to imagine it might be. He holds you close, your clasped hands resting over his heart, and you force yourself to enjoy this quiet moment with him.

If you're looking for a safe place to land I will guide you home And if the levy of your life breaks all your plans You'll never be alone

You think about the first time you met him - he was so different then. The same stoic Bucky Barnes you know now, but less quick to crack a joke or a smile. He stuck close to Steve and Sam, but it was clear to you that there was so much more to him than his outward appearance.

There’s the loyalty he shows to his friends. He’s smart - probably the smartest person you know, and so driven. He’s fiercely protective and is observant to a fault, the result of Army training he’ll probably never get rid of.

And -- you hate to admit it, but there was a time when you thought Steve was right. You’d catch Bucky staring out of the corner of your eye and think maybe, maybe there’s something there. And then like a switch flipped, he was quicker to argue with you, every little thing turning into a reason for the two of you to fight.

Now though, the gentle way he’s holding you and the scent of his cologne flooding your senses… you can almost trick yourself into thinking your feelings are reciprocated. That Bucky was just as nervous around you as you are around him.

The song comes to an end, and so does the moment.

If you dance with me Feel my heartbeat through your body to your feet If you dance with me Hold me in the dark now, until both your eyes can see And if it's you and me against the world If I'm your man, you're my girl We'll win you'll see, if you dance with me

Steve and Peggy are leaving in the morning for Paris for a few days, and then to Spain. You feel a pang of jealousy watching them leave the reception, hands and eyes locked together as if nothing could tear them apart.

For a moment, you so desperately want that kind of affection with someone else. You take a deep breath and force yourself to get it together.

“Share a cab back?” A deep voice behind you asks, and you’re surprised to see Bucky. He made himself scarce after your dance and you didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

The cab ride to your hotel is nearly silent. Every small noise is amplified, like you shifting in your seat, and Bucky loosening his bow tie.

“Have you decided how long you’re going to stay?” You ask, finally, the one question that’s been plaguing you.

He looks at you, eyes impossibly blue in the streetlight glow. “A few days, I think. I have some… I have some stuff I want to see before I go home.” He shakes himself out of whatever memory he’s in. “You? The full ten days?”

You shrug. “If I can keep this room, yeah. I can’t remember the last time I took a vacation.”

Bucky nods, turning to look back out the window again. At the hotel, he helps you out of the car and pays for the cab despite your protests, and when you get inside the elevator, you’re struck again by how handsome he looks, flushed from alcohol and a little more tousled than usual; his bow tie hanging loose around his neck and his top two buttons undone.

He catches you looking once again, but you can’t look away. You know you’re not imagining this time how his eyes darken a shade, and you watch with rapt fascination as he licks his lips, leaning down ever so slightly -- the elevator dings and the doors open.

The spell is broken.

“Bucky?”

He shakes himself out of his thoughts almost physically, and then he’s walking away from you, heading towards the room without a backward glance. 

The next morning, you and Bucky are tangled together so much that there’s no way you can get up without him waking up first. Your first thought is embarrassment, but then you just… give in. You let yourself enjoy it, only feeling guilty for a few minutes.

You’re so warm and you feel so protected… you once again curse Steve Rogers for making you think about your persistent crush on Bucky, because now you can’t get it out of your head.

“Morning.” Bucky’s voice is rough, and you jump, because he’s still got his arms around you. And he’s awake.

“Morning,” you say cautiously.

“Sorry,” he slowly pulls away from you, the tips of his fingers lingering on your arms. “I’ve been told I’m like an octopus in my sleep.”

Something about Bucky seems different first thing in the morning. His walls aren’t up.

“It’s okay. I’m not complaining about free cuddles.”

He smiles, you can feel it where his stubble scratches your temple. There’s something like giddy excitement brewing in you.

“Can I-- I have a favor to ask.” He says. “I have to go somewhere today… I-- if you don’t have plans, would you come with me?”

You crane your neck to meet his eyes. He looks nervous.

“Okay,” you say simply, because you think if he keeps looking at you like that, you’d follow him anywhere.

He tells you to dress casually, so you opt for a simple jeans and t-shirt outfit with a cardigan thrown overtop. You pack whatever you think you’ll need for a day in your backpack and follow Bucky out when he’s ready. He seems to know where he’s going, and you walk with him in comfortable silence.

He starts fidgeting the closer you get to a massive hospital, and when you get close enough to read the sign, you realize this must have been where he was taken for part of his recovery.

“Bucky--” You breathe, because this is too much. He’s trusting you with too much, and you’re not sure you deserve it.

“I--” He swallows hard, “The doctor who saved my arm still works here. I try to write as often as I can, but I thought a face-to-face visit was probably overdue.” He looks down at you, “I just-- I haven’t been here in years. I don’t think I can do it alone.” His words are measured and careful, and you realize how hard it must be for him to be here in the first place, let alone trusting you with something like this.

You feel tears pricking your eyes and you fight to keep them back. “Okay, Bucky. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

He smiles shakily at you, and on a whim, you reach for his hand. When he freezes, you realize you’ve gripped his left hand, the one with the scars encompassing his wrist and three of his fingers, the hand connected to the same arm that was nearly blown off in Afghanistan, the one that nearly cost him his life.

He doesn’t let go. If anything, he squeezes your hand tighter, and you feel another tendril of affection curl around your heart.

Inside, he introduces himself to the woman at the reception desk, and after a few questions, you’re directed towards an elevator and given directions to the floor the doctor’s office is on. You think Bucky has memories of this place for the way he leads you there with almost no words.

A quick knock on the door, and then he’s shaking hands and exchanging broad grins with a young woman.

“Sergeant Barnes!” She exclaims after letting go of his hand. “It’s about time you showed your face around here.”

Bucky is blushing and you’re so enamored with him you can barely stand it. While he’s talking, you dig your phone out of your pocket and text Peggy.

I know you’re on your honeymoon, but SOS! I need help.

Bucky turns to you, and you realize he’s trying to introduce you.

“This is Shuri. She’s the one who operated on me and helped me with PT after my injury.”

“It’s really great to meet you,” you tell her, trying to ignore her curious look.

“You as well.”

She and Bucky start talking again, and even though you can tell Bucky’s still a little nervous to be here, you’re enthralled by the sibling-like relationship he has with his former doctor.

“I want to make a donation,” Bucky says quietly. “I didn’t know who to go to about it. I want to give it specifically to this ward, to the work you’re doing.”

You feel like you’re intruding, but he keeps looking to you like he needs reassurance, so you smile at him.

“I’ve-- I’ve been putting money away over the last few years and I’m at a place now where I want to help.”

You send another text to Peggy.

Seriously, SOS!!!!! If you don’t call me soon, I’m going to do something I regret.

A minute later, your phone rings, and you excuse yourself to the hallway.

“Thank God.”

“Darling. I love you, but what could possibly be so important that you had to call on the first day of--”

“I think I’m in love with Bucky and I have no idea what to do about it.”

A choked noise comes from behind you and you whirl around, mortified to see Bucky there, eyes wide, pale.

“Oh, shit. Peggy-- I have to go.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Bye, love you.” You hang up quickly, and take a step towards Bucky before you even register you’re doing it. “Bucky--”

“Are you-- I heard you were talking to Peg, I thought something was wrong.”

“I’m-- oh God, Bucky, I-- I have to go.”

“Wait--”

Your tears are overflowing now. You’re so embarrassed, you have no idea how you’re going to look him in the eye, let alone sleep in the same bed as him.

Vision blurry, you decide to take the stairs two at a time instead of waiting for the elevator, and you’re gone before he can catch up to you. 

Bucky’s ears are ringing as he stares after you. He feels like he has shell shock again - unable to comprehend anything that just happened.

“Need a chair, soldier?” Shuri asks him, clearly having overheard the entire thing, and he nods dumbly, basically collapsing into a chair near her desk.

I think I’m in love with Bucky.

Your words echo over and over in his mind, and he honestly can’t believe what he just heard.

Your friendship has always been complicated, but the way Bucky feels about you is simple. He’s crazy about you. Crazy for you, and terrified that he’s not good enough for you, so he’s pushed you away time and time again, despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you might like him too.

Sharing a room -- a bed -- with you has been every one of his daydreams come to life. (A lot less kissing, sure, but whatever)

Now this-- this revelation, it’s too much.

“All the most important events of your life seem to take place at this hospital, Bucky.” Shuri says, gentle teasing in her tone.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky groans, “What the hell do I do?”

“You’re going to go after her.” Shuri says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. She rolls her eyes. “It’s obvious you’re in love with her too.” Bucky thinks he must look horrified, because she continues, “You’ve never brought anyone here before. I couldn’t convince you to come back even for a tour of the new labs. And the one time you do come of your own free will, you bring her. What does that tell you?”

A half hour later, Bucky has called you three times and has checked at the hotel twice, and now he’s at a park near the hotel, on a bench, having no idea what to do.

Of course that’s when Steve calls.

“I hear you’re having a crisis.”

Bucky groans. “‘M not having a crisis. A moment, maybe.”

“She told you she loved you?”

“She told Peggy she loved me, and I was eavesdropping, and she ran away crying.”

Steve is silent.

“Right? It’s bad. It’s so bad. Maybe if I’d just been… I don’t know. More talkative during this trip? Or maybe I should have just gotten my own room and saved us both the trouble.”

“Look, no offense, but you’re both so dense.”

Bucky scoffs. “Thanks.”

“I love her like a sister and love you like a brother, but everyone knows you two have a thing for each other. Why else did everyone steer clear of the two of you at the wedding? It’s obvious, dude.”

Bucky has never felt so stupid in his entire life. All these years, he tried to distance himself from you, sure that he was only going to get hurt if he put himself out there. He liked you too much to risk ruining a friendship, even if it was barely a friendship to begin with. Quick to argue and stubborn, you were also generous and kind, beautiful, and passionate about your work and your friends and your family.

You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and you terrify him.

And you love him.

Apparently.

He’s on his feet again.

“I have to go,” He tells Steve. “I’ll text you later.”

“Good luck.” 

You’re back at your shared hotel room, trying to pack up and leave before Bucky finds you. It’s childish, sure, but you can’t take this anymore.

You’re going to get a new room at a different hotel, and try to salvage the rest of your vacation.

The door opens before you can finish zipping your bag, and you turn to see Bucky storming in, his face unreadable and a piece of paper in his hand.

“What the hell is this?”

You turn away. “It’s a note.”

You assume he’s noticed your bags. “Were you really going to take off and just leave a note that says you’re sorry?”

His hand on your elbow forces you to turn around, and you feel like you’re going to cry again.

His face softens. “Talk to me. Please.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. You were-- you were trying to do something for you, and my loud mouth just had to ruin it. I never meant for you to find out--”

“You were never going to tell me you’re in love with me?”

You blanche. “God, I mean-- I don’t know! It’s not… this isn’t easy…”

“You still think I hate you.”

You freeze, thinking back to your drunk conversation from a few nights ago. “I don’t think you hate me.”

“Good. Because I don’t. Far from it, actually.”

You try to squash the little seed of hope blooming in your chest.

“You know, when we first met, I was jealous of you. You were closer to Steve in a year than anyone else, and I didn’t know where I fit anymore. I didn’t understand what made you so special.”

Frowning, you try to turn away, but he won’t let you.

“But then I got to know you. I got to know how you care about people, and how you looked after Steve when he first got back. I learned how you do everything you can to make other people happy, but don’t try to do the same thing for yourself. I learned that you’re a lightweight and you’re a flirt when you’re drunk, and I learned that I--” He stops, catches his breath. “I learned that it only took me a few months to fall in love with you so deeply that I can’t see my way out.”

Your insides feel like mush. The touch of his hand slides up to your shoulder, and you feel more alive the closer he gets to you.

“I pushed you away, because you’re way too good for me, sweetheart. You always have been. You don’t need someone like me weighing you down. And when this room mix-up happened, it was both the best and worst thing to happen to me.”

“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, and his brows furrow, confused, as you continue. “Don’t you dare say you’re not good enough. You’re-- I’ve never met a better person than you, James Barnes. I think I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

You’re both silent, staring into each other’s eyes, the room crackling with the energy of confessions and tension.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re kissing, Bucky’s hand moving to the back of your head as his free arm slides around your waist to haul you against him. Fire licks through your veins as he deepens the kiss, barely letting you break for air before dragging you in again, consuming you entirely.

It could be minutes or hours that you’re kissing him in the middle of your hotel room surrounded by your luggage, but when you break apart, your legs are weak and he chuckles as he keeps you upright, a smug smile growing on his face.

“Shut up.” You say weakly.

“Don’t leave.”

You sigh, forehead leaning against his collarbones.

“I haven’t had a vacation in a long time either, now that I think about it.” He offers, head tilting to one side as he looks you over. “You think you could stand to room with me for another week?”

You can’t stop touching him; hands gliding over his shoulders as he noses at the spot behind your ears where you’re the most sensitive. “I might be able to be talked into it.”

He smiles, and it’s blinding. “I love you,” he whispers, right before he kisses you again.

Later that night when you call Peggy on speakerphone and tell her the entire story, Steve takes the phone and says “told you so,” before hanging up.

Bucky’s arms around your waist, you’re already thinking of writing the concierge who made the room mix-up a thank you card.

End