#he unhinges his jaw to yawn

[shibaraki]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”. 

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

And his mouth goes dry. 

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?” 

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 

“Shouto,” he says. 

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 

“Hey, Shouto?” 

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 

“It’s just a tremor”. 

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

[heartfullofleeches]

Yandere Demon x GN! Reader x Yandere Angel

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: swearing, body horror

(An: hope you don’t mind me adding another member. Part one here)

The passage of time continues after the disappearance of your friend – Baron as your personal demon, and you suffering each day in the hell that was his affection. You could hardly breathe anymore with him invading your space at nearly every hour. You tried finding ways to get rid of him on your own, but ‘mysterious’ forces stopped you each time. Your phone or computer disappearing. The pages of library books you read flying off the spines. After a while, you gave up; believing only the act of a higher power could rid you of this demonic pest.

-

It was the weekend and you were enjoying the few days off. Well – as best as you could with a demon nearly twice your side holding hostage to the space beside you. How he managed to go without breaking the bedframe was honestly the most alarming thing about him. He curled at your side, feet edging over the end of the bed. His large forearm was draped over yours; your head cradled in the palm of his hand. His other limb was squeezes under your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible. The lips of his second mouth were curled with a snore – a sound which was closer to a purr as it rumbled in his chest. It was almost a cute sight – almost being the keyword in this scenario. 

The sunlight coming from your window was too bright for you to go back to sleep anyway. Using all your strength; you push his arm from over you, Baron whining in protest but remaining asleep. His other hand holds you tighter, claws raking against your skin through your shirt. You lay flat, his hand smooth out against your back. You manage to pull his arm from beneath you, but yours was still trapped beneath his, and felt heavier than the other times he had trapped you in bed. A tingling sensation ran up to your shoulder, but other than that it was complete dead weight. Thinking it felt asleep, you attempt to push him off it. An obvious mistake on your part; considering he was a hundred ton demon and not the lovable pet he acted so much like.

“Hey.” You shake Baron lightly. “Wake up.”

He stirs, humming in response to your demands. “Hmm?..” 

“I can’t feel my arm, get off it.”

“ ‘Kay.” He rolls over, giving your arm some much needed air, but it still felt heavy. You could move it, sure, but it felt like there was a five pound weight taped to it. You slung your arm into your lap; finally realizing what weighted you down. 

The flesh had been peeled away; the entire limb engulfed in a dark flame. It roared with a silent whisper, embers lingering longer than normal in the air. As they fell and touched the skin of your legs they too began to began to burn away in spots. Though not a lick of pain reached you, the fire slowly ate at your arm; the white of your bones peaking through. 

“What the hell?”

Baron stretches, yawning with his jaws unhinged as he looked over at you. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, unfazed by the sight.

“What’s wrong, Y/n?”

“Do you not see my arm being disintegrated?”

“Oh, I forgot to warn you about that. That’s what happens when you make a contract, but don’t use me for anything. It’s sort of a failsafe if someone thinks they can save their soul by not giving any orders.” He yawns again. “Sorry about that.”

“What can I do to stop it?”

“There’s only one thing you can do, Y/n~” If he wasn’t aware before, he was now; cross-legged and awaiting your word. If he had a tail it would be wagging. He was so close to getting what he yearned for-

“Yeah no.”

He cries out. “Come on!” Don’t think of it as a bad thing. It just means our union will finally be complete and we’ll be bound for eternity.”

“Hell no.”

You throw the blanket off you, stumbling from the bed and to your feet with a struggle for balance. You grab your phone from the table and leave the room; Baron at your heels not too long after. He ducks under the doorway, closing the small distance between you in a flash as you dip into the bathroom. You run your arm under the sink; the cool water darkening with the ash that fell, but your arm remained aflame. You attempt to scrub it off to no avail. In the mirror, Baron stands behind you; concern and fear present in his expression. 

“Y/n, this is serious. Just give me an order.”

“Was me getting you off my arm not enough?”

“You know it wasn’t. Please, this isn’t even just about death, your entire existence will be erased. ”Your eyes met through the glass; desperation lusted in his voice. “Is it so hard to accept us becoming one?”

You grimace, shutting off the water and squeezing past Baron out the room. You continue down the hall, dialing a number in your phone as you walked.

“Who are you calling, Y/n?”

“No one.”

His tone darkened, patience running thin. “I can see you doing it right now. Is it the hospital? A priest? Outside help can’t save you from this.”

“I’m just ordering something. I can’t think on any empty stomach.”

He allows you your call; irritation setting in further. Even with your arm literally fading from existence, you hardly gave him the time of day. It irked him like nothing else 

“It’ll be a minute, so we can finally discuss the elephant in the room….” As if addressing it set off a chain of events; your arm grows even heavier, flames up to your shoulder and now burning against your torso. Fatigue sets in, Baron grabbing onto you before you can fall to the floor. He props you against the wall, his own body keeping you from toppling forward. Looking up at the ceiling, a glow rained down that trapped you in a haze.  It thrummed with indecipherable chatter similar to fly’s wings buzzing in your ears – a single string of text registering in your mind.

This has gone on long enough. 

“Y/n? Y/n are you okay?” Baron cups the side of your head, trying to get you to look at him.

“I’m fine just.. a little off.”

“We need to fix this before it too late. I’m begging you, it can be anything.”

“I’ll think of something else.”

Baron is close to hysterics. “There is nothing else! Why can’t you see that I’ll do anything for you?! I’ll never betray you for as long as I live. I need you.”

He doesn’t know what to do. Gripping your charred limb, he fantasies of devouring it. As it was, it was a physical representation of your soul. If he ate it that would mean you’d definitely belong to him. A part of your soul would be fused with him, and life could be difficult without an arm. He’d never hurt you in a million years, but his teeth ache at the thought. He just wanted you to need him as much as he needed you. To wait on you on hand and foot until the end of time.

A knock on the door distracts you both; followed by another until three rhythmic beats hit the wood. You look at each other, Baron's hold slipping as you stand up straight to your best extent. 

“Do you think that’s the food?”

“It’s only been like five minutes.”

“Do you think they can see…”You glance down at your body.. “..this?” 

Baron shrugs. 

“I guess we’ll just have to find out.” You hobble towards the door. Baron wants to stop you, but knows he has no power to do so. The closer you get, the more an odd pressure presses down on your brain – like someone used a massage gun on a low setting. The presence on the other side was luminescence through the door, its aura seeping through the cracks – calling to you. You feel compelled to open the door as you draw near; flinging it open to greet whatever lied in wait.

The first thing you see is its torso, ending right at your head level and covered with a robe that draped to its feet – feathers fallen to the ground below. It was easily taller than Baron, somewhere around ten feet if you had to guess. Traveling your gaze upwards, you see a pair of wings shielded to its body; looking mended with the cloth due to both being the same pearl white color. Eyes burrowed into its exposed forearms; stuck stationary on different areas of the space. Finally at its head, four smaller wings covered its face; lips visible and posed in a gentle smile down at you. A streak of gold ran from chin upwards from what you could see; a golden halo wrapped in wispy strains of yellow behind its head.

“Good afternoon, Y/n. It’s an honor to be in your presence.” It begins. It’s voice was soft and masculine; echoing in your skull. “I am your guardian angel, Alasdair and I am here to save you.”

“…huh?”

“I am sure you are surprised. I am as well, considering all the paperwork it took for the high ups to allow me to, but I am to rid you of the evils in your life and remain with you for your remaining seventy four years on this earth to assure your spot in heaven.”

“Are you sure you have the right person?”

The eyes on it arms snap to yours, head tilting to the side. “I see that you’ve resisted the demon's temptations so far. Worry not for I have already smite the one that brought it into existence.”

“That… doesn’t sound very angel like.”

“My apologies, it is what I must do to protect your image as your eternal knight.”

“I think I’m good.” You shut and lock the door, turning around to see Baron who had watched the ordeal from the sidelines. His chipper mood was practically radiating; his arms open to you for a hug.

“You choose me over saving your damned soul. Oh I knew you loved me, Y/n!”

“I never said that. Somehow you just seemed like the lesser evil.”

“Harsh.. but a start.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the best approach. 

Out of thin air, a man appears before you; dressed to the nines in a fancy white suit and golden tie. His skin was a porcelain white along with nearly every other feature aside from golden rings around his eye. A halo hung behind his head, albeit dimmer than before. He bows before you, paying no mind to the demon staring him down right behind him.

“Alasdair at your service. I realize that form may have been frightening to you. I thought I had toned it down enough for you, but I see that I was mistaken. Allow me to help.”

He takes your cursed arm; fingers down to the knuckles at this point. He clasps it with both hands, warmth shooting upwards as brilliance overthrows the flames; snuffing them out until only your exposed bone remained. It shined with a honey colored blaze, the flesh repairing itself and making your arm whole once more. You test its mobility; the traces of a smile pulling at your lips.

“Impressive. Can you get rid of the contract like this too?”

Baron's rage boils over.

“Unfortunately, the only way I can do that is to smite the devil that’s destined itself to you. That wouldn’t be much of a problem, regardless.”

Baron makes him turn around, closing his fist around the smaller beings throat with teeth and glums flashing. Alasdair remains unfazed – smirking even as the demon seethes with anger.

“Is there a problem?”

“Of course there’s a fucking problem. First a bunch of pathetic humans, and now a limpdick, waste of space angel is coming after what belongs to me.”

“There’s no use for such vulgar language. Besides, if they belonged to anyone it would be me. I know them better than they know themselves. No one is a better fit for their servant than me."

Alasdair’s grin grows. “On top of that I’ve made a good impression from the start and they accepted my grace. If they wanted you, wouldn’t they have used your power by now?”

“I’ll break your limbs and make you devour your kin for those bastards thinking they can send someone to take Y/n from me!”

“I came on my own accord and the only person’s who’s safety matters to me is there’s.”

Baron snarls. He raises his hand, claws extended; but before he can bring them down you step between them both.

“Don’t you dare.”

He drops his hand and grip on Alasdair. “Y/n..? Why are you defending him?”

“Because they know who’s best. Isn’t that right, dearest?” Alasdair muses, twirling a finger through a lock of your hair. You smack his hand away.

“I’m not defending either of you. I’m tired and I don’t want to hear your bickering. I’m going to lay down and if you both can keep your heads on till I’m awake we can figure this out, got it?”

The two stare at you, then each other 

“Fiine.”

“If that is what you wish, Y/n.”

You leave them to their own devices, heading back to bed to try and process what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into.

-

When you wake later you find yourself completely immobile. Alasdair laid to your right, propped slightly against the bed frame while holding onto your upper body. Baron was to your left, palm against your back once more and legs wrapped around yours. A natural hatred between the two; an obsessive love over you. Though who came first was a mystery, the other compiled in a cease-fire for that afternoon alone. 

#yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere story #yandere oc #yandere insert #tw yandere #yandere demon #yandere angel #monster x reader #yandere monster #monster x human #monster boyfriend #x reader #reader insert #yandere requests #request #yandere writing #yandere works #yandere oneshot #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #tw: body horror #tw: swearing

[sillyrabbit81]

Later

Summary: You meet a strange man in your hallway

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx. 1.6k

Warnings: Mild smut (kissing), implied smut, threats of violence

Authors note: Okay, I have been blocked for a long time. I forced myself to write this to try to get over it. It's got problems, but at least I bloody wrote something 🤣

Thanks to @augustsprincess for the idea for this story. Thanks to @nashibirne for her encouragement and support. Thanks to @amberangel112 for Beta reading.

I only gave this a quick edit, there will be errors.

Masterlist

As you press the button for your floor on the elevator, you yawn. It was well after 2am and although it had been a great night out with friends, you were looking forward to a shower and some sleep.

You’re still yawning when the elevator doors open and you come face to face with a man you had never seen before. He was shoving a suit jacket behind one of the decorative plants with one hand, while loosening his tie with the other.

He draws a gun, points it at you, his eyes narrow as they quickly look you up and down. You gasp and raise your hands instinctively, your keys slipping from your fingers, and falling to the floor with a jarring clink and jingle.

The gun stays firmly trained on you as his tie follows the jacket and he ruffles his smoothed down hair into messy curls before finally pulling his shirt out of his pants. It only took a second or two, but that was long enough for you to really look at him, noting his height, his obviously well maintained physique, the rough growth on his cheeks and the well maintained moustache on his lip. 

Slack-jawed, you stare at him, trying to make sense of the scene before you. It seemed as if he was trying to do the same, or at least was working out what he was going to do with you. Your eyes keep returning to the gun. His hand is bloody at the knuckles, split and bruised, and doesn’t waver or shake despite his hurried actions; instinctively you know it’s not the first time he’s handled a weapon, and he’s more than capable of using it.

There’s a noise in the fire escape, several pairs of heavy boots thudding on the stairs and muffled, hurried shouts. They’re here for him, there’s no doubt in your mind.

The elevator doors start to close and the man stops them with his surprisingly unscuffed black leather derby shoe. 

“Do you live on this floor?” he asks. His words were clipped for speed, but his tone was calm.

You nod. You don’t want to try to speak because you’re unsure if words or the violent scream that was poised at your throat would come out first.

Using the gun, he points to the floor. “Grab your keys, take me to your apartment.”

The thudding march in the fire escape gets louder, it won’t be long until they make it to your floor. Your eyes dart to the door to the stairwell, wondering if you should just wait until they get here and arrest him. But what if they weren’t cops, what if…

The frigid, smooth metal of the gun barrel rests against your cheek as the man brings your attention back to him. Your eyes meet his. They’re glacial blue and not as cold as the colour would suggest; calculating, intelligent, slightly unhinged, but not cold.

“They aren’t coming to save you, princess,” he says with a smirk tugging that the corner of his cruel mouth, “get the keys. Now.”

Closing your eyes you bend your knees and sink low, reaching blindly for the keys. As your hand closes around them, you vaguely wonder if your hand will stop shaking enough to be able to slide your key into your lock.

It proves to be an irrelevant thought, because as soon as you stand he takes the keys from you and asks you to show him which key it is and for your apartment number.

Pointing to the key with a quivering finger, you tell him the number with a wild voice, high pitched and trembling. You clamp your jaw together after you speak the words to keep the still threatening scream from escaping your lips.

With a jerk of the head, he indicates you should move and you head to your apartment on knees that scarcely hold you upright. Rounding the corner, you’re only a couple of feet away from your door when the sound of the fire escape door opens and slams shut and while you can still hear some people in the stairwell, the unmistakable sound of heavy boots are thudding against the low pile carpet of your hall.

You yelp and turn towards the man. His brows are low and his lips are pursed, then suddenly his features relax and his pink tongue sweeps swiftly over his now grinning lips.

“We don’t have enough time, you’ll have to just go with it. You can slap me later,” he says.

You barely have the time to register his words before his lips are on yours and he’s guiding you the final steps to your door and using the heavy weight of his body he holds you there. You panic, he’s probably about to get killed and you’re probably going to get caught in the crossfire and instead of making use of his gun, he’s kissing you.

Pressing the heels of your palms into his shoulders, you’re about to try to fight him off when you realise what he said. A large man in a suit rounds the corner, gun drawn and held ready in his outstretched hand. He stops short when he sees the two of you and lowering his gun a little he smirks.

It sinks into your brain why he kissed you. You feel like such an idiot. With a whimper of fear and a sigh of resignation, you close your eyes and force yourself to submit to his kiss.

The man groans in gentle approval when he notices you’ve relaxed. His lips, while firm and assertive, are smooth and plush as they glide over yours. Confidently, he deepens the kiss, teasing your lips to open with an insistent flick of the tongue that whips through your nerves and settles with a searing heat between your legs.

Your stiff and outstretched hands slacken, curl around his muscular shoulders. You moan softly as they move beneath his shirt, you could see he was a large man, but the hardness and definition of his muscles was not expected. Your hands wander, one to his neck where the rough prickles of his stubble sting deliciously against your fingers. The other trembles as it works its way down his arm and over the thick ball of his bicep as he tries to work the key into the lock.

There is a subtle click and the door at your back is no longer holding you up, replaced swiftly by a strong arm and large hand splayed across your back. Like he was leading you in a waltz, he spins you through the open door and, like a good dance partner, you follow without protest. 

Once inside your apartment, you expect him to let you go. Instead, he holds you against the wall of your hallway, his body leaning hard into you, and with a final potent stroke of his silky lips, he lifts his head.

You don’t know what you expected to happen next, kissing strangers to escape certain death was hardly your usual weekend scene, but having the man hum softly and lean his forehead against yours as he catches his breath was not what you expected.

“I have to fake a lot of things in my line of work,” he says, “but pretending to enjoy that was not one of them.”

“Oh,” you reply stupidly. “Thank you?”

Then he smirks and turns his head to peer through the peephole. He keeps you flush against the wall and you lean your head against it, closing your eyes as you try and make sense of it all. 

What was his line of work? What kind of job required you to fake things and be chased by gunmen? Was he a criminal? A hitman? A spy? An undercover detective? Do you even want to know?

A whispered curse and a tickle of whiskers against your skin was the only warning you had before his lips grazed your jaw and worked their way down your throat to the hollow at the base of your neck. You couldn’t help but imagine what that mouth would feel like as it moved up your thigh and between your legs. Your cheeks burn, and a low throbbing ache begins deep in your gut.

Then he steps back so swiftly you almost slide down the wall now that he wasn’t holding you up. Tilting his head slightly, he studies you with those shrewd and cool, but not cold, blue eyes.

“I owe you,” he says with sincerity. He straightens, rolling his shoulders slightly as he stretches his neck from side to side. He lets out a hard breath, planting his feet firmly. “I’m ready.”

“For what?”

His brows come together. “For you to hit me,” he explains, “I owe you.”

“I’m not going to hit you!”

Abruptly he turns and crosses the living room of your small apartment and looks out of the window. He opens it and carefully sticks his head out and looks swiftly up and down before pulling his head back inside and looks at you. He nods and in a few short strides he’s back in front of you, grinning broadly as he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I don’t like having an unpaid debt, but there is no time for negotiation right now. If you won’t hit me, then I suspect I could pay the debt in another way…” He trails off as he brushes his thumb over your lower lip.

You try to hold it back, but the memory of his kiss is too strong and you let out a soft whimper.

“Thought so,” he says and your face heats with embarrassment. He dips his head and traps your lower lip between his, drawing it briefly into his mouth before pulling away. “I’ll come back in a few days. I look forward to compensating you.”

Pivoting on his heel he’s back at the window, lifting a leg through and onto the fire escape. 

He pauses just long enough to say, “The name’s Walker by the way.”

Then he’s gone.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fiction #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker fic #mission impossible #mission impossible fallout #august walker x you #august walker fanfic #august walker x reader #august walker x female reader

[libby-for-life]

I want Lucifer to get humbled🤭 and that angelicradio requested you did open something up, lol. So I was wondering if you could a part two of it of everyone finding out about Alastor and Adam. And Lucifer, I especially need Lucifer reaction!!

I got you, Anon. Part 2 of AngelicRadio

Adam was more than satisfied by last night's activities. Who knew that lambs could scream that high? Alastor was satisfied as well. He was going to be spending the rest of Hell's life making sure that his lamb was taken care of.

They were currently in bed together. Adam was lying on Alastor, his face snuggled into his chest. Hid little lamb was so tired and yet, ever the stubborn one, was still awake.

"I think...we should tell the others. They'll figure it out eventually." Adam said, eyes drooping. Alastor hummed as he rubbed soothing fingers over Adam's bruises.

"If that's what you want, lamb." He yawned and he was well aware his partner watched him as his jaw unhinged, Alastor's rows of sharp teeth and long tongue on full display. He let out a soft laugh as Adam mumbled. "Damn. That was hot."

"I'm glad you like me yawning."

They fell asleep in each other's arms until late morning.

"Wait. So you guys...are together?" Vaggie said, her voice shaky due to how surprised she was. Her mouth was opened in shock.

"Yes, do try to keep up," Alastor replied making her glare. Everyone was in different levels of shock. Well, except Angel Dust. He was grinning from one metaphorical ear to the other.

"I knew it!" He screamed getting everyone to look at him. "I fucking knew it! Pay up, Husk! You owe me fifty Souls!" Alastor watched with his head tilted as Husk actually paid the spider.

"This game was rigged," Husk mumbled while Angel snickered at his misfortune.

"I'm so happy for you guys!" Charlie said with a grin. Adam nodded at her with a small smile, but his true smiles were reserved for Alastor alone. Something the deer demon was grateful for.

Nifty hugged Alastor and was talking a mile a minute about her...yaoi? Sometimes, Alastor thought, ignorance was bliss when it came to that one.

The only one who hadn't commented about Alastor and Adam was Lucifer. He was glaring daggers at them, his hate and jealousy seeping through. Adam was too busy trying to keep Angel's questions at bay to notice it.

Alastor smirked and decided to rub salt in the wound. He grabbed Adam and kissed him. It was long and passionate, something that left Adam moaning in front of everyone. Adam's eyes were closed but the deer demon snuck a peak at the devil.

He was pissed, his teeth grinding together in an effort to control himself. Good.

"Well, I believe that's all the questions we have for today," Alastor said cheerfully, holding up a boneless lamb. "Me and Adam have a lunch date. Goodbye for now!"

He walked out of the Hotel with everyone whispering. Those whispers were carried on by the demons they walked passed. Adam soon came up from his little head and he grew embarrassed with all the stares. "Alastor! Everyone is starring!"

Alastor chuckled. "Good. Let them see what they can never have."

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin alastor #alastor x adam #angelicradio

[thesetwoidiots]

What If!Stephen: *Yawns so Hard His Jaw Unhinges*

Tony, knowing he's playing with fire: *To Peter* Me when your mom- When your mom- When I- When your mom and I- And I and your mom-

#Ironstrange #What If Stephen Strange #Tony Stark #Me When Your Mom #At This Point Tony Just Doesn't Care About Peter's Fury #The Kid's Just a Small Angery Pickle

[sydsaint]

My fav AEW dilf <3

Summary: Adam has trouble coming to terms with his attraction to the reader due to age gap of the pair.

It's still relatively early in the morning when the sound of rustling wakes you up from a wonderful dream. You let out a yawn and rub the sleep from your eyes as you prop yourself up into a sitting position.

"Adam?" You yawn and peer out into the dim-lit hotel room you're staying in.

"Crap, sorry, YN," Adam grumbles from his bed across the room. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

You squint your eyes toward the other side of the room where Adam is busy digging through his bag for something. "What are you doing up so early?" You ask him in a sleepy tone as you hold back another yawn.

"I woke up and couldn't seem to fall back asleep," Adam explains, still digging through his bags. "So I was going to head down to the gym for an early workout. But it seems that I can't find my gym clothes in the dark." He chuckles to himself. "I must sound like such an old man, huh kid?"

You drag yourself out of bed and switch on the lamp on the nightstand. "Well, I'm awake now. So you can switch on the light." You offer with a small laugh. "And you aren't that old yet, Adam." You assure him. "Shit, my eyesight is as bad as yours when I don't have my contacts or glasses on." You squint and feel for your glasses sitting on the nightstand.

You slip the wide-frame glasses on your nose and your vision clears up. Adam now has his lamp on as well and is digging through his bag with ease now. "Still can't find them?" You walk over to him when it seems that Adam hasn't made any progress. "Here, let me look."

Adam steps out of the way when you trot over to him with still-sleepy eyes. He'd forgotten that you'd slept in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt that he loaned you last night since you forgot to pack something to sleep in. Adam's gaze transfixes on the way his shirt hangs off your body, your bare legs practically screaming in his face as you bed over to look through his bad.

'No, Adam. She's too young for you, perv.' He tells himself as he stares at you. He's more than twice your age and old enough to be your father. But fuck do you look so damn good right now.

"Here they are!" You finally manage to retrieve Adam's usual workout attire from the bottom of his bag. "Here you go, Adam. I'm going to shower and grab some breakfast. But we can catch up later when you're back from the gym." You hand him his clothes before you walk over to the bathroom door.

Adam nods and watches your hips sway under his t-shirt all the way to the bathroom door. "Fuck." He mumbles to himself under his breath.

"Oh! Here's your shirt back, Adam. Thanks for letting me borrow it." The door cracks back open and Adam catches a small glimpse of your bare skin as his shirt comes flying at him and the door closes again.

"No problem," Adam shouts back as he catches his shirt.

Adam stares at the shirt in his hands for a moment. It's not even near his nose, and yet he can smell your perfume wafting off of it. He grumbles to himself and tosses the shirt in his bag. Now he's the one that needs a cold shower. It's a good thing that the gym has ones for the patrons to use.

Later in the morning Adam comes back from the gym and heads up to the hotel room. When he gets inside he finds the bathroom door wide open and you standing in front of the mirror doing your makeup. His jaw damn near unhinges when he gets a glimpse of your outfit.

A pair of jean booty shorts hug your ass for dear life as you lean over the sink to see the mirror closer. You've got on a black halter top, boobs threatening to spill out the front of the shirt because you're leaning so far over the sink. And then there's the fishnet tights covering your legs and hugging your thighs in a way that should be illegal.

"I'm back from the gym," Adam announces himself to the room after swallowing a bucket of saliva.

"Hmm? Oh, hey, Adam." You set down your mascara wand and return to a straight upright position. "How was the gym?" You ask him nonchalantly.

Adam walks over to his bags and distracts himself by looking for a change of clothes. "It was fine." He shrugs. "Did you get breakfast yet?" He asks you.

"Yeah, I ordered some room service." You answer him and finish up your makeup. "What about you? We've still got some time before that meet and greet with Darby, Sting, Christian, and Nick, later."

Adam finds himself a clean shirt and pants and prays that you aren't leaning over the bathroom counter again when he looks back at you. And thankfully for him, you aren't.

"I grabbed something on the way back from the gym," Adam answers your question with a relieved sigh. "You look nice." He can't help but comment.

"Thanks!" You grin innocently. "You can change in here now. I'm just going to clean up my suitcase and grab my shoes and bag. Then we can head out to the venue." You step out of the bathroom.

Adam nods and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

The ride to the venue is mostly silent. You and Adam arrive a bit early and head inside to get situated at your booth for the day. Adam runs into Christian and chats with him for a while. Meanwhile, you chat with Darby and Nick on the other side of the booth.

"Holy shit, is that YN?" Christian comments when he spots you over Adam's shoulder.

"Yeah," Adam mumbles to himself.

Christian blinks a few times at you before he turns back to his best friend. "Adam, buddy. You want to switch travel partners with me?" He jokes with Adam.

"Shut up." Adam scoffs, but Christian easily notices the flustered look on his friend's face.

"Oh, you are so looking to bang her aren't you?" Christian laughs. "I mean. I don't blame you one bit. But still." He chuckles and claps Adam on the shoulder.

Adam swats Christian's hand away and shakes his head. "She's young enough to be my daughter." He protests.

"Young girls are the most fun." Christian fires back. "Trust me on that one, buddy." He grins. "Come on, Adam. How long have you and Beth been split? Almost a year, right? When was the last time you got laid?" He asks Adam.

"Christian!" Adam glares at his friend.

Christian rolls his eyes playfully and shrugs. "Hey, all I'm saying is if you don't make a move soon, Adam. Then someone else is bound to." He points across the booth.

Adam turns around and spots Ricky Starks now talking with you and Darby. Starks is also getting ready for a meet and greet. And the current tag champ is standing closer to you than Adam would like.

"Don't take the guy's head off, man." Christian laughs when Adam's face warps into one of hate and jealousy. "YN ain't your, remember, Adam?" He teases Copeland. "Not yet anyway." He mumbles that last part to himself as Adam stomps off.

Adam marches over to you and Ricky chatting. As he grows closer he picks up on Ricky blatantly flirting with you like there is no tomorrow. And it pisses him off.

"Ricky! I didn't know you'd be here." Adam stops when he's looming right behind you.

"Hmm, oh! Hey, Adam." You jump a bit when you hear Copeland's voice, but turn around and greet him with a smile. "Ricky's working a booth on the other side of the venue. He just swung by to say hello to me and Darby." You explain.

Adam looks over your shoulder at Ricky and Starks takes an instinctive step back when he sees the look on Adam's face.

"Yeah...I'll catch you later, sugar." Ricky quickly tucks tail and retreats back to his booth.

"Bye, Ricky." You wave at Starks with a smile, unaware of Adam giving Starks the death glare from behind you.

The venue is set to open soon so you take a seat with Adam and get ready for a day of taking photos and signing things.

As the day drags on you can't help but notice Adam mean-mugging every dude that lingers a bit too long when they ask for photos or autographs. Normally you'd just choc it up to his overprotective dad instincts kicking in since he's got two daughters. But there's something about the way he always looks at you after whatever man he scared off is gone. Like the way, an alpha protects his girl from other potential suitors stalking around her.

At the end of the day, the venue is closing up and you wait around to see if Ricky is going to ask you to dinner. You spot Starks heading your way and smile at him. But Ricky only makes it about halfway across the room before you watch him stop cold in his tracks and turn right back around. Confused, you turn behind you and find Adam standing a few feet away.

"Hey, Adam?" You walk over to Copeland, unable to keep this behavior to yourself anymore. "Can I ask you something?" You ask him.

"Sure, YN." Adam nods.

You bite your lip, unsure how to phrase your question. "I sort of notice that you spent all day shooing away some of my more handy and stalky fans." You explain. "Which, thanks. But, I guess I just have to ask. Was that like your fatherly instincts kicking in?" You ask Adam. "Or was it something else? Because I don't know if it's because I've always had a huge crush on you. But It kind of seemed like to me like you were keeping guys away, like Ricky, because you want me all to yourself." You explain in a nervous ramble. "And if it wasn't that? Well, I'm sorry that I even brou-"

Your nervous ramble is cut off when suddenly Adam cups your face in his hands and crashes his lips to yours.

"You've been driving me fucking crazy from the moment we met," Adam whispers against your lips.

"S-mm-sorry." You whisper back between desperate kisses.

Your hands cling to Adam's jacket as he kisses you. Your head spins uncontrollably as Adam presses his body into yours. You had a dream just like this once. And if it is another dream, then you don't ever want to wake up.

You and Adam both finally come up for air but remain smushed against one another as you both pant. "Thank Christian for me please." You giggle.

"Christian? For what?" Adam replies breathlessly.

"For encouraging you to take a chance with me." You reply. "I know Cage has been eyeing me up like a dog. But he never made a move, which confused me. But now I know why." You explain.

Across the room, Christian spots you and Adam and smiles to himself. "YOU'RE WELCOME!" He shouts from across the room.

#wrestling #aew #all elite wrestling #adam copeland x reader #adam 'edge' copeland #adam copeland #aew fanfiction #aew fandom #aew fanfic #wrestling fandom #wrestling fanfiction #syd's wrestling fics #wrestling fanfic #aew x reader #aew wrestling

[jjungkookislife]

Kiss Me More

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: brother's best friend au, one-bed trope, tiny fluff, 18+

summary: Your older brother, Seokjin, is nothing but a schemer when he goes out of town and forgets to mention he's also asked Namjoon to house-sit. Oops!

wc: 1.4k

warnings: none?

date: April 8, 2023

This was wrong! So wrong! But it felt so right. Years of pent-up sexual tension, years of crushing on your brother's best friend, all for this moment.

You’re not entirely sure if Seokjin meant to get you and Namjoon to house-sit while he went off on vacation with his boyfriend, but when you showed up with your bags to find Namjoon lounging in gray sweatpants on the couch, you were very surprised.

You had driven over three hours to be here, and you’d be damned if you drove all the way back. Namjoon had also driven here from the same city you lived in, and he’d be damned if he didn’t collect on his payment. 

The first night had been slightly awkward, avoiding each other as much as possible, both calling Seokjin to chew him out, but all your brother had to say was ‘oops.’

“Take the bed,” Namjoon insisted as he grabbed a blanket out of the linen closet.

“No, you were here first. You take it,” you stated, stomping your foot. Namjoon rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it.”

“I don’t want it,” you said, making him sigh heavily.

“And why not?”

“Because you were here first!” you shouted, huffing as you crossed your arms.

“Oh my lord, you’re just as stubborn as Jin!” 

“I resent that!” you scoff.

“Just take the bed, Y/N.”

“No. Let’s share it,” you suggest, and Namjoon raises a brow.

“Share the bed? Are you mad?” Namjoon scoffs.

“Okay,” you shrug. “I was just trying to be nice ‘cause your big body won’t fit on the couch. Enjoy being folded up like a lawn chair.”

Namjoon looks over at the couch, cursing when he realizes that you’re right. 

Clearing his throat, he says, “Well, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to share the bed.”

“That’s what I thought,” you grin as you head to the bedroom to get ready for bed. Namjoon waits until you’re back in the living room, his gaze trying to focus on anything except the supple skin of your thighs in your tiny sleep shorts.

Were you trying to torture him? Wasn’t it bad enough that he’d always had a crush on you, but now you were essentially forced to share a bed?

“Are you just gonna stare or get in bed?” you ask as you grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Namjoon hesitates for a moment, but the couch is digging into his back and he’d rather not end up at the chiropractor snapped like a glow stick.

Upon entering the bedroom, Namjoon pauses at the end of the bed. You pretend the heat of his stare doesn’t bother you.

“What?” you finally ask, raising a brow in question.

“That’s usually my side of the bed.” he clears his throat, feeling heat rise to his cheeks and on the tip of his ears.

You sigh, scooting to the other side. “Anything else, your highness?”

Namjoon ignores the sarcasm in your tone.

“Well, now that you’ve asked…” Namjoon rubs the nape of his neck. “Would you care if I slept without a shirt? I get stuffy at night.”

You freeze, biting your lower lip. Your body thrums with nerves and excitement, clearing your throat. “Do as you please, Joon. It’s not my house.”

Namjoon shrugs, knowing that’s the best he’s gonna get from you. He grabs his shirt from the back of his neck, obstructing his view and missing the way your jaw drops, nearly unhinged when you take in his smooth honeyed skin.

When Namjoon’s face comes back into view, you’re looking down at your phone, scrolling as if having him shirtless was a normal occurrence.

Without another word, Namjoon gets into bed, pulling the covers over him while he scrolls through his social media on his phone. You’re not sure who moves closer first, or who shares their screen, but soon you’re both laughing at videos and yawning until you’re fast asleep at his side.

Waking up in the middle of the night is unusual for you. For a moment, you panic, not recognizing the room as your own before remembering its Jin’s. Just as the realization hits, your eyes widen when you feel the weight of an arm around your waist. You’re shocked to the core, debating whether to roll over or just try to go back to sleep. However, the arm comes with heat, so much heat that you grow clammy almost immediately. 

Carefully, you tug the covers off you until they bunch at your waist and you finally feel like you can breathe.

Behind you, Namjoon grunts, his arm sliding off your body as he rolls onto his back. You inhale and exhale, slowly rolling to face him. 

You smile when you note he’s still sound asleep. He looks so cute with his hair ruffled on the pillow, his broad chest rising and falling with each of his breaths.

“How long are you gonna stare at me?” Namjoon asks.

You blink, jumping in your spot.

His chuckle makes your face heat. How long had he been awake?

“Long enough,” Namjoon answers with a shrug. He smirks when he sees the startled look that crosses your face. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I was just…” you have nothing to say. No lies come out of your mouth and all you can do is suffer in your embarrassment as you clear your throat.

“Well, goodnight!”

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head as he scoots closer to you. He gently places his hand on your face, making you look at him. “Don’t shy away from me now, love.”

You nod, unable to form a response. Namjoon remains silent as his thumb circles your skin, going to trace your bottom lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You’ve always been so beautiful. Inside and out,” he goes on as he traces your lip again. “It’s been so hard to hide my feelings for you for so long.”

“Namjoon,” you start, unsure of where this is going.

However, Namjoon continues. “I’m sure Seokjin set this up, and I can’t say I’m mad.”

“Seokjin knows?” you ask incredulously.

“I mean, I don’t keep secrets from him. I’m sure he noticed years ago.” 

“That nosy, meddling, little snot! I bet he set us up! He was asking me about you the other day and like a dumbass, I told him you were hot!” you exclaim, annoyance bubbling in your chest.

“You think I’m hot?” Namjoon smiles smugly and you scream into his palm. He laughs harder, his shoulders shaking as he hushes you.

“Don’t let it go to your big ole head, Joonie! You know you’re hot! You own a mirror!” you scoff and he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Just admit you like me,” he grins.

You huff, rolling onto your back to stare at the ceiling. Namjoon sits up on his elbow, “Come on, love. Just say it. Admit it, you like me.”

“I liked you more when you were snoring away,” you grumble.

“And now I’m wide awake. Come on, I told you I like you,” Namjoon pouts. You sigh heavily before muttering something under your breath.

Namjoon cups his ear with his large hand. “I’m sorry. What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“You’re so annoying!” you groan. “I said I like you! There! I said it! Now, go to sleep!” you demand.

“You expect me to sleep after that?” Namjoon rolls his eyes as his hand rests on your hip, making you roll over to face him. “I’ve been waiting for ages to hear you say it. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Well, I am,” you lie as you close your eyes. Namjoon giggles as he cups your face, lowering his lips until they brush against yours. You’re surprised but immediately kiss him back, your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him close.

Namjoon kisses you gently, allowing you to lead, and parting his lips when your tongue presses against them in your urge to taste him. Your name escapes him in a breathy moan, sending tingles down your spine before you break apart.

A bashful smile illuminates your face as Namjoon presses his forehead to yours. “That was better than I ever imagined.”

“Oh yeah? How about we do it again?” you grin as you press your lips to his, moaning when he bites on your bottom lip. Namjoon groans, kissing you deeply like he’s always wanted to. He hopes this isn’t a dream as you pull him closer, melting beneath his broad body, hands roaming over his back.

“Kiss me more,” you plead when he trails kisses to your neck. He nips at the column of your throat before making his way back to your mouth, kissing you again and again until you’ve had your fill.

#bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #btsgoldnet #namjoon x reader insert #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #brother's best friend!namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon drabble

[hemipenal-system]

1 - Ridges

Oh, shit.

Lin squirmed again, trying to get any semblance of movement – and failing. They were entirely stuck, weren't they? The length buried inside them wasn't getting any smaller, either, and all their moving seemed to be exciting the lizard she was straddled across.

They were supposed to be studying. They had a bio exam tomorrow. When they proposed to Okais to take a quick break, they hadn't expected it to be three hours of break. It wasn't even their fault really, but they hadn't expected Okais' instrument to flare outwards when he finished, the ridges pushing into them and holding them open as they drenched the golden scales beneath them, and now it seemed like they were physically incapable of pulling excalibur out of themself.

Okais wasn't going to be any help. The lizard was sprawled out on the carpet, head lolling blissfully, eyes closed, tongue occasionally flicking at the air. They'd tried to get him to help and they weren't even sure he was really conscious from his lack of response.

"Oka," Lin protested. "Oka, you have to get out." The yellow lizard carefully opened one dark eye, fixing his lover with it.

"Hmm?"

"Oka, I'm stuck." This had happened before, but it usually didn't last this long. Okais sat up, claws dipping under Lin's shoulders as he yawned, jaw unhinging and showing off his teeth. He always got tired after, but now wasn't the time. They had a dozen chapters of material to memorize for this midterm, damn it!

Oka shrugged and let his tongue flick across Lin's face. He was always so nonchalant about this sort of thing. Like, sure, he may have been shoved into someone so deep that their hips were touching, and both of them had a test they had barely studied for. No biggie. Okais was about the here and now. The idea of failing the bio midterm didn't even phase him because at the moment his lover was sitting in his lap. Lin wished they could be that calm about anything related to academics.

Lin reached up to the table they had been sitting at, grabbing the study guide off of it and reading the first line, trying not to squirm enough to make Okais want to fuck them again more than they already did.

"What the fuck is a codon?"

#we can pretend it's technically still november 1st #terato #monster fucker #nsft #fantasy nsft #terato blog #monsterfucker #teratophillia #microfiction #lizardfolk #teratovember

[journey-to-the-attic]

Well that’s terrifying, glad you came out of it alright!

For au distraction, with pet zoo, do you think when entering the Devildom the brothers carried over any behaviors? Like you mentioned Lucifer once almost attempted to intimidate his reflection—would that still be an impulse for a time?

Also for creatures class, would Professor Elderflower still classify IK as a rabbit? …would she even be expected to turn in a school work as a sheep?

oh i LOVE imagining the troubles the brothers have getting used to being bipedal again and defaulting to their animal behaviours, so yes i'm absolutely making that a thing! lucifer catches himself glaring at his own reflection several times - one time it's while he's in demon form, and he instinctively flares his wings the same way he did while he was a peacock. he is very glad no one was around to see that

satan still impulsively shoves things off tables, so they will be sitting around the dinner table, then hear a loud CRASH, and everyone slowly turns to look at him sitting innocently next to a shattered plate. it keeps happening for so long that they've convinced he's just using the cat thing as an excuse now

levi is so used to only needing to eat once a week as a snake that he nearly passes out from hunger the first month back, and even after that he has this weird impulse to just. swallow his food whole. sometimes he misses being able to do that unhinging thing with his jaw, because dang did it feel good to yawn and reset it

also there is something so funny about professor elderflower looking at this little sheep and STILL going "ah yes……. you are a rabbit" (though for lore reasons, since they go based off of souls and weird spirit stuff, ik would still get assigned the same thing!)

in terms of schoolwork... diavolo and lucifer would attempt to set something up, but it's all so fiddly that they just sort of give up and assign ik the role of teaching assistant instead. they give her these little enchanted saddlebags plus a ribbon for identification, and within a week she is beloved by the whole r.a.d. faculty for her fluffy charm and helpful document-fetching

#answering asks #anon asks #pet zoo au #jtta aus #ik's ribbon also has a bell so everyone in class knows then TA sheep is approaching because you can hear her jingling #asmo regularly changes the ribbon too so that she's rocking fresh fashion

[halfghostwriter]

(Saw a few posts about Giant!Danny, as well as this post by @blackfoxsposts , thought it’d be fun to create a disaster)

Danny, for the most part, thought he was handling being kidnapped by assassins (ninjas? Ninja assassins?) pretty well. Not sure why they took him, but hey, it’s not like it’s much worse than being kidnapped by Vlad. Maybe Vlad or one of his rogues decided to outsource for a change. The only thing he was really worried about was upsetting his new friend Damian, since they had agreed to meet today, but Danny missed the meeting time one account of being. Y’know. Kidnapped.

In his thoughts, he didn’t notice the fact he was being dragged towards a mysteriously ectoplasm-like pool until he was already eyebrow deep in it. In his panic, he wound up swallowing a massive amount of the liquid. As he was pulled back out, he started to feel… weird… a kinda nice weird, though… he licked his lips, savoring the delicious flavor of the pools… and flung himself backwards, out of the hands of the people pulling him out, and straight back into the flavor pit.

He got about three massive gulps in before he was pulled out again.

There were people talking around him, or maybe they were yelling— it was hard to hear over the sound of his own bubbly laughter. When he caught his breath, he did hear something that sounded like “why would you do that,” to which he responded

“Cuz it’s tashtyyy! And makesh me feel… makesh me feel weird… like good weird… kinda hot though… oh, wait, I can fiksh that!”

And Danny did just that, by turning into Phantom. Sure, his ghost half’s a little bit bigger, but this place is so open and airy, they must have people of this size all the time.

“Ta- *hic* -daaaaaaa!”

Oh wow, he never noticed how cute and small people look when he’s like this! Though, he probably wouldn’t have had the chance to notice. Lately he had only been transforming in the ghost zone, since he could use his powers just fine in his huma— oh. Right. Haha whoops, forgot about that. Ah well, he already transformed, and he liked how humans looked like this, he’s having too much fun to stop now. Wait, why are they running away?

“Hm? Wheresh you goin?”

He reached towards the one who had been taking the most earlier, only to have him slice Danny’s finger with something pointy, while screeching “STAY BACK, PIT DEMON!”

“Owwww…. why’d’ya do that for…? Thatsh was sho rude…” He poked the man in the chest with his claw, accidentally pushing him to the ground. Before he could retract his hand, he felt something small and sharp hit his cheek.

“Stand down. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Danny turned to his right, and saw… some sort of black blob… man, his vision was loopy…

“Well yeah, but he’sh, he’sh the one, who who shtabbed me, I wash jusht ashkin… a queshtion.” Danny leaned towards the black blob, squinting his eyes while trying to get a better look… he could sort of make out two pointy ears on top of it… maybe some sort of cape…? Just a bit closer….

“OW!”

Something stabbed his hand!

“Keep those fangs away from my father, demon!”

How rude! Sure, his teeth were big and razor sharp, and his skin was a blueish-green, and his claws were the length of an average person’s forearm, but that didn’t mean he was a demon!

“Thash sho meannnn—”

“Quiet! Where has Daniel been taken? What did you do with him?!”

“Huh..? Whad’ya mean, ‘m right…”

Wait a minute… that voice is… incredibly familiar….

“… oh! I geddit now!”

Danny reached for his blurry looking friend with his non-stabbed hand, gripping a little tighter than he meant to.

“Shorry f’r not comin, got ki’napped, we c’n hang now though! Not tied up an’more.”

He used his free hand to open up a portal to his room in the castle, and floated through, his friend safely in his hand. He thinks his friend said something to him, but…

“Shorry, wha wazzat? Ish kinda hard to… to…”

Danny’s jaw unhinged as he yawned, and his body began to feel heavy.

“Shorry, I’m… kinda shleepy…”

He managed to get his upper half fully onto the bed before passing out.

A few hours later, he woke up with a migraine, a strong sense of debilitating shape, and a shockingly composed Robin standing a few feet from his face.

Well.

Shit.

“So. Daniel. Care to explain?”

… yeah Danny fucked up.

#danny phantom #damian wayne #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #ghost king danny

[crowbird]

| LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ; l. kennedy x gn!reader

| WORD COUNT ; 4.1k | RELATIONSHIP ; leon scott kennedy x gn!reader | PLEASE NOTE ; post-re2 pre-re4, freshly coerced recruited leon kennedy, mention of mold, implied referenced familial alcoholism, reader has a service dog, that's not a warning i just need you to know | CROW’S NOTE ; as promised the credit for the title of this fic lies solely with the love of my life @realdarknesshasloveforaface thank you for beta-reading for a man you don't know jack shit about, there's another note at the end because fic spoilers, wrote this kicking my feet and giggling an shit.

Claustrophobia clung to the archives. A coffin wherein the corpses of documents best left forgotten lay without wake. A shallow grave dug several stories beneath the ground but not deep enough to be a proper burial. The ghosts of misfiled-paperwork-past hung over his shoulder as he stood in the doorway, breathing down his neck in the form of the artificial chill of air conditioning. The box in his arm, a makeshift urn laden with papers classified to even the highest of persons, ready to join its brethren amongst the shelves. Dust in the place of ashes as it would sit untouched until the day it met a delayed cremation. No words of the archives must be remembered; dust will accumulate but when words are discarded they will leave only ashes.

Leon Kennedy was not sure why he, of every possible errand boy, was asked to run this down to The Archivist. Perhaps it was because he was the rookie. Not a rookie, the rookie, once again, although he liked to think the first time didn’t really count. You can’t exactly be a rookie at one’s job when your place of work has been rendered so… sick, it no longer lives. But he was the newest personnel within the STRATCOM’s office, fresh out of training and newly coerced into a government position he did not want. 

But that was not why he was here, well, it was. But that’s not why he was in the archives. In the archives, making mildly uncomfortable eye contact with a cat barely larger than his foot. The creature, normal and alive by all accounts he could know, let out a yawn. It’s jaw unhinged in the same way only a cat’s can do, displaying a mouth the same size as it’s torso before returning to form. The cat let out a small mewl before blinking up at him, as if indicating it was Leon’s turn. 

Leon’s turn for what? He had absolutely no idea.

Shuffling from further inside the archives drew his attention, “I see you’ve met that one already…” The voice was tired but not unkind, soft but far from gentle. The Archivist came into view, they seemed like the sort of person that no matter their stature looked smaller than they were. Most people fill out space in a room, The Archivist seemed to take up negative space, wherein the air was not there. Unnerving was a good word for it, but there was kindness behind their eyes as they approached him. They held themselves with the sort of careful, tentative control only someone who knows exactly how much space they take up and how much strength is behind them can wield. As if they were worried they would scare him off, crush him like he was the kitten at his feet rather than the man he was.

They made a clicking noise with their tongue against their teeth, gesturing towards the creature as it scampered over to them. 

Leon could only stare for a moment, stare at the place they stood as they scooped the kitten up into their arms and placed them within the pocket of the cardigan that dwarfed them. Everyone he had seen either wore a military uniform or a suit, sometimes both. The exceptions were the occasional secretary in office casual but The Archivist’s attire just seemed homey. Soft, warmer than what they would probably wear if they weren’t spending their working hours in the coldest part of the building.

“Hi,” they said, giving their name, “I’m not overly familiar with everyone upstairs but I assume you’re relatively new if you’ve been condemned to an archival run.” There was no humour in their words but they were neither cruel nor dry. Simply a fact, stated to his face as if it was normal. It must have been, he would later learn it was.

“Yeah,” he coughed, his voice had left his throat embarrassingly choked up. “Yes.” He said again, as if to negate his previous attempt, but The Archivist said nothing after and kept their gaze trained on his, unnerving and full and empty eyes meeting blue stained with the melancholy of a certain sunrise in 1998. “You aren’t going to deny it?”

“Hm?”

Leon swallowed, doing everything in his power to ignore the gaze that shifted from his eyes to his adam’s apple at the action, slowly trailing back to his lips as he spoke again. “I mean the rumors? You said it yourself that I was condemned to come down here,” he tried to laugh, add some brevity to his words, lighten the mood if you will. The Archivist made no change in expression, but moved their focus from his lips as they twisted down into an awkward sort of grimace.

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“The rumours, do you think that they’re true?” The Archivist sounded almost amused now. “I don’t actually know what most of them are but I heard the Marines think I’m some old man who lost his mind in the war and that’s why they keep me down here. Can’t spill any government secrets that way.”

Leon bit back a grin, only mildly successful as he handed them the box of documents, surprised but not displeased when they motioned for him to follow rather than leave. “Why are you down here then? Other than the obvious, the obvious being you took a job as an archivist I mean.” He tacked on the last sentence hurriedly.

The Archivist snorted, “I am down here because people like us do not have the liberty to choose our careers, they get chosen for us.”

The chill that had settled on Leon’s skin must have sunk down into his blood at their words. He licked his lips, he could not see their expression. Their pace did not falter a step or three ahead of him as they led him past a particularly packed shelf of floppy disks. They took a left here and led him to a door, stepping aside and turning to meet his gaze seemingly at last.

“Would you mind?”

“What?” He breathed, barely above a whisper.

“The door, my hands are filled,” they lifted the box they were holding as if to make a point and Leon found himself choking on his own embarrassment for what must have been the third time in the last half-hour.

“Right, of course.” He opened the door, and they nodded inside, telling him with oh so little subtlety to go in before they did. Leon licked his lips, absentmindedly tracing over where they had cracked. “Hey, do you know why they asked me to bring these down here?” The question was a little hurried, a little rushed, not even fully finished before he was cut off.

“Confidentiality risk, you know about BOWs already, if they made an intern do it like they do for marines or air force that might raise some questions. I’m not even the only archivist, the others just don’t work down here, I just handle this specific flavour of work.” They remarked, leading him into the room proper.

“I thought you were The Archivist?” The question sounded stupid, but they seemed to agree with him.

“I don’t know the others, I’m just told they exist by upper management, between you and me I think that’s a load of bullshit. No competent archivist would use whatever filing systems’ the air force has going on out there.” They set the box down on the desk with a huff, offering Leon an unspoken chance to observe the room.

It was an office. A desk older than the building itself, (although not in the antique sort of way) in the almost center of the room pushed back closer to the wall, the chair behind it looked out of place with how obviously it was from IKEA. A large dog blinked lazily up at the man from his corner, a service vest hanging next to him on a hook drilled into the wall. The shelves were filled with trinkets, and while there were no windows, there were enough lamps to make up for it. The overhead fluorescent lights were left untouched and the room felt all the safer for it. 

The Archivist was pulling out one of the standard lanyards all employees were given. A parking pass, an id card for the office as well as any additional access keys if called for. Finding the right one, they placed it between their fingers before pausing, as if contemplating something. Wincing as they remembered whatever it must have been they reached down into their jacket pocket and procured a disgruntled looking kitten who honestly speaking, Leon had forgotten about.

“Would you mind carrying that again? I know this is getting rather convoluted in terms of storage.” They asked, gesturing to the box as they crossed the room to a door he hadn’t noticed. In his defense, a coat rack was placed in front of it and he watched them move it out of the way, careful as to not dislodge any of its inhabitants. The door was then unlocked and he promptly followed them in.

“Any reason why it would be so convoluted?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“I assume it’s because the United States government didn’t ever consider zombies as a viable threat, psychic soviets? Of course. Corporations funding the creation of the undead? Not so much. So all of the bio-terrorism of this nature ends up back here because there isn’t space in the main archives to be afforded for it, that and another seven layers of confidentiality.”

Leon nodded, it made sense, and then their earlier words caught up to him, “Wait psychic soviets?”

“It was a cold war thing.”

“You’re serious.”

“You are carrying a box of files about how a company named after a house hold object decided to fuck around and find out and the fact that the united states government fell for a ruse from a single USSR broadcast is the part you find hard to believe?”

It was then that the dam broke so to speak, and rather than a floodgate of tears, for the first time since Racoon City, Leon found himself laughing. Genuine honest laughter, not from shock or horror, not a chuckle at a joke but a deep and joyful sound which fell from his lips in waves.

“I fail to see what is so funny.” The Archivist muttered, taking the box from him lest he drop it in his fit. He could see a glint of amusement in their eyes. He made no comment on it.

“Sorry, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, it’s good to hear someone laugh.”

“I— ahem. Right, well, I actually. Okay.” He took a breath, collecting his thoughts before he finally managed to spit out the words that had been plaguing his curiosity for so long. “What did you mean when you said people like us earlier?”

The Archivist looked at him from where they were, further into the room as they pushed the box onto a shelf, “Umbrella isn’t a company exclusive to the states.”

“You’re not American?”

“I don’t even have American citizenship. It’s complicated.”

“As complicated as Racoon City?” Leon said, taking a shot in the dark, blind and no semblance of a target and yet he still managed to hit it.

“Yes, something like that.” They nodded, “I won’t pry if you don’t. But don’t expect any pity or sympathy from me, I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“I can get behind that.” He folded his arms as he looked at them. When most people found out he had been there, they tiptoed around the issue, making care not to mention it. If they did it was with honey words and strained condolences. But The Archivist glanced back at him and  seemed to flush if only for a moment, an action odd considering he could not see any blood rush to their face. But it was the way they stiffed and straightened before avoiding his gaze, it was endearing he decided. Having someone not tip toe around him was refreshing for sure… but unlike the others who might not talk around the subject, The Archivist did not dismiss it. 

“Okay one last question, what’s with the cat? Also the dog?” Leon was grinning now.

“That was two questions, Agent Kennedy.”

“Humour me?”

“Fine, but let’s get back to my office, I hate being back here, it always smells vaguely of mold.”

“I don’t smell anything?”

“Probably because there isn’t any mold.”

“Why do you smell it then?”

The Archivist hesitated, he could see it as they passed him swiftly that they hadn’t meant to make note of the smell out loud. Leon guessed they must have driven themselves into a corner, gotten too comfortable and let something slip. He’d done it once before, when sparing he’d made a joke if Krauser’s favourite colour was also red after he had his ass handed to him by the man. Krauser had proceeded to grill him on what he meant by that, and Leon shut down, not wanting to think about his infatuation withfor the stranger from Racoon City that fell with her down into the pit.

So he didn’t let them speak about it and instead offered a door, figuratively and literally as he held the door for them to their office, “Seriously, are you even allowed to have pets down here?”

The Archivist relaxed, striding past him into their office with a shrug, “would you like something to drink? Also Link isn’t a pet he’s a working boy thank you very much, he’s just on his break.” They said, gesturing to their dog.

“He’s a service dog then?”

“Yeah, there’s a reason I’m down here and not being forced to play pet for the higher ups.” They froze, winced and coughed, “no offense.”

“None-taken,” amused more than offended, Leon took another glance around the room. On the top left corner of the book shelf a cactus was bathing under a led lamp and a poorly carved wooden statuette next to it. The statue might have been a bird, if he squinted, when he didn’t it looked rather like a fish.

“Hot chocolate or tea.” The question tore him away from the not-fish-but-in-fact-bird-maybe statue. “To drink I mean.”

“No coffee?”

“I despise coffee.”

Leon took note of  that for later. Why? He hadn’t quite decided yet.

“So if Link is a service dog, what’s with the cat?”

“She has separation anxiety.”

He blinked, looked at them again from where they stood next to an electric burner, avoiding his gaze. A cartoon of milk was taken from the mini-fridge and he grinned, “the good stuff then? Not just water?”

“Hot chocolate made with water is an abomination.”

“Do you keep a burner and pot in your office exclusively for that?”

“All the staff rooms are above the main floor. I don't want to have to trek all the way up there every time, I can just rinse it in the bathroom sink when I’m done. I am the only one down here.”

“Wait, it's just you down here? You said there are other archivists supposedly but aren’t there also like assistants or something?”

“I can’t spill any government secrets if I’m too busy to even spill a drink. Do you have a mug preference?”

“Er, no. Also sorry for asking.”

“You don’t set my shifts, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Leon.”

He looked up, they were holding two mugs, one of which had “hey listen” painted on in fancy text next to a blue pall of light wearing insect wings, the other mug was covered in text too small for him to read where he stood. “Yes?” His voice almost cracked, thank god it didn’t, he might have died, curled up in the only room of the archives that wasn’t a coffin and melted into the space in between the floorboards to rot if it had.

“You don’t have to apologize for everything, if you can’t think of anything to say that’s fine. I’m not normally this chatty anyways, you aren’t the only one in unfamiliar territory.”

Leon took the mug, the one with the strange little insect, (maybe it was supposed to be an artistic rendition of a fairy?) from them, sipping the rich sweet drink inside. “I haven’t been around people properly much.” He admitted, “I used to be good at talking to them but…”

“It’s been hard?”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever want practice you’re welcome down here.” The words surprised The Archivist as much as they did him. He watched as they looked away from him, hiding behind their mug as they took a long drink, before immediately making their way to the desk. “But it might also be in your best interest to get a companion, someone to keep you company, for example,” they rambled on, “this little guy.”

They pointed at the cat and he stared at them, swallowing quickly to prevent his hot chocolate from dribbling back into his cup from the shock. Only to end up choking on it. Recovering he frowned, looking at The Archivist, then at the cat and then The Archivist again. “I’m not much of a cat person?”

They looked at him over the rim of their mug, eyes digging past his excuses to scrutinize his very soul. It was a lie, obviously. Leon wasn’t a bad liar persay, but in the presence of The Archivist he might as well have been Pinocchio for his cues were quite obvious. All in all, he was neither a cat or a dog person, but he liked them both fine. He had enjoyed the brief amount of training he did with police dogs and had grown up cat-sitting for an elderly lady down the street. He was never quite sure where she went when he was watching her old ginger tom but the pay was decent enough to prevent any complaints. Besides, it made sense, the poor creature not only had its head filled with rocks and screwed on backwards but it might as well have been a comedy act with how stupid it could be. Leon could not remember that cat’s name for the life of him, but he liked to tell himself that it made those years of his childhood worth it. 

“You’re going to have to get better at lying if you want to stay in this line of work, Agent.” they said, something like a smile twitching at their expression.

“I’m normally a fine liar,” he defended.

“Normally?”

“Uh…”

“Do I make you nervous, agent Kennedy? I’m flattered.”

Leon took a page out of their book then, choosing to hide any proof of how flustered he was with a long swig from his mug. The chocolate was sweet and warm and flooded him with a comfort he hadn’t felt in quite some time. The feeling could have been mistaken for nostalgia if he had anything to miss.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Leon.”

“Alright Leon.”

Okay maybe that was a mistake, he thought to himself. There was nothing special about The Archivist like there had been about the stranger in red (who’s name was probably a lie but he did not want to remember regardless). That person had been perfect, so inhumanly perfect that he found infatuation born of the trauma the situation had given birth to, was projected onto her from their first meeting. It was a high, he’d never done drugs but he was sure that’s what it must feel like. That rush of endorphins that flooded him.

Yet when he came down from that high and things were so much worse and he was left to contemplate the consequences of actions taken with a mind not fully there from stress. If drugs were anything like that high he decided he would never do them as long as he lived.

(Although he would lie to himself that alcohol didn’t count, some habits are in people’s blood after all).

 But The Archivist offered the company of someone who knew that high, although he did not know how, they all but confirmed it if only in a different place or a different time. It was reassuring. For starters, there was something about the sheer normalcy they offered, they did not treat him as special, or a hero, or anything but another person.

He had wanted to be a hero once, and in some ways he still did. Giving up one’s freedom to save a little girl they barely knew could be considered quite the heroic act. 

(Between him, the bottle and eventually his grave, he regretted that decision sometimes. Only to drink all the more if only to drown out the self hatred that stirred.) 

The kitten at his feet, when had the kitten gotten back to his feet? He didn’t know. Regardless, the kitten at his feet let out a mewl as she stretched, paws placed on his overly polished shoes. When she retraced her paws Leon could make out the slightest of intents from where her claws had flexed into the leather.

“I think you should try it, it seems like she likes you after all.” He didn't need to look at The Archivist to know they were grinning now, he could hear it in their voice as he heard them take their seats. 

“I can’t look after a cat, I’m expected to be out of the country on missions half the time and in here working my ass off the other quarter.” Leon said, squatting down to scratch behind the creature’s ears as she purred affectionately, practically rolling into his hand at the action.

“I can cat sit while you’re away.”

“Is no an option?”

“Of course it’s an option, you just look like you need the company. Not in a bad way.”

If anyone else had told him that he thinks he would be insulted, rightfully so as well, but there was no mocking tone. There was no scathing look. There was no judgment. There was simply, a sad comradery shared between two people in that moment. If he had gone to the weekly therapy sessions like he was supposed to he might have had a stronger foundation to refuse. But the walls of an argument made of wet paper had long since caved in.

“If, if I did adopt her, when would I be able to take her home.” He asked, words soft and far more vulnerable than he was comfortable with.

“Whenever it works for you, sooner rather than later, preferably. When you have away missions just let me know and I can let her stay at my place, she’ll be down here with me whenever you want to pick her up.” The Archivist said, they didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the papers strewn across their desk. He was grateful for the privacy that action offered.

He nodded, remembered they weren’t looking at him and made a sound of affirmation. Straightening his posture, Leon took a final drink from the mug, his question as to where he should place it cut off as The Archivist simply gestured for him to set it down off to the side of their desk. He did, a little guiltily, before clearing his throat, as he readied himself to leave. “Thank you for the drink.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure.”

“I’ll pick her up tomorrow after work, does that work for you?” 

“Yes, just come down here before you leave.”

“When do you get off?”

“I promise you I will still be here when you leave.” they looked up, amusement and a wry smile painted their face before they did a double take at Leon's own expression.

“That’s not the only reason why I was asking,” he shrugged, doing his best to play it off, as he backed out of their office, hand fumbling for their door knob behind him. Leon didn’t turn away to open the door, no, he wanted to meet their eyes one more time.

“We’re friends now, right?” The Archivist asked.

“I think so.”

Leon was in the elevator, three floors above ground level when his brain finally processed everything. He had a cat, and he had a friend. Maybe? He wasn’t sure that was how friendships worked, none of his past ones had come about like that. Maybe that was fine though. 

By the time he had arrived back on his floor he had forgotten the rumors he’d heard of the archives and it’s graves-keeper. The tomb and stench of mold were all but forgotten as Leon’s mind flicked back and forth to everything he remembered about various cat food brands and the typical first day anxieties of a new workplace, thankfully not involving the undead this time, mostly.

| SONG ; like real people do by hozier

| TAGLIST ; @lysol1201 @uhlunaro (join my murder of crows here)

| CROW'S NOTE CONT. ; useless information but the reason this part is in third person is because Leon went into the interaction not knowing the archivist, from now on they will be referred to by narration with you/your pronouns since i'm largely aiming to tell it from his pov, i will continue to refer to them with they/them pronouns. if anyone has thoughts or feelings about them send me requests because i will write them for these two. also yes, yes i am in fact implying shit about the reader's backstory. yes i am talking about that mold. yes they are not american, while it will never been specified where they are from yes they do at least have one relative from eastern europe, do with this information as you will :)

all works related to some form of published and copyrighted media showcased on this blog are fanworks and i do not own the source material that being said do not copy, modify, translate, claim, or repost my work to any other social media platform, same goes with using it for asmr audios, please do not use my work or i can and will reformat your anatomy

#crowbird's storytime #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #i am the evil resident #they're so silly #i'm so normal about them i swear #nothing bad will ever happen to them probably (lying)

[honeytrap26]

Only Love Can Hurt Like This

Suguru Geto x Reader (Part 3)

summary: A story about your blooming love and friendship with Suguru Geto.  cw: mentions death, blood, gore, betrayal, sprinkles of love and fluff. Tragic love story. aunote: Third part of this series. Enjoy and happy reading! 🐼🖤 Total wc: 6k+/Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 4(Finale)

wc:1k+

Set the mood: 

Little Mix- These Four Walls, Seafret- Atlantis

August,2006

-I feel so numb.

Suguru is standing in the shower, he scrubs his body and rinses his mouth.

The hot water runs down his back.

Bitter, so bitter. It’s all so bitter and bland. I can’t get the taste of cursed spirits out of my mouth.

If only there was a world without….

The warm water runs down his back.

What if…

What if….I just killed them all. 

What if I just killed all of the ....“Monkeys” Toji’s voice echoes in his mind.

Yes, if I killed all of the monkeys then my….. 

He thinks about the time you came back home gravely injured, your shikigami warped you back into the infirmary. You were both heavily injured, Seraphina had lost an arm, protecting you at the last second.

Yes, to protect the people I care about I must find a different way to keep them all alive.

The cold water runs down his back.

His eyes that were once hazel and flickered with hope and life are now faded to a dark brown as he’s,

-Staring at the shower wall.  

September,2007 -It's begun, the feeling that the end has come.

Seraphina whispered as she brushes your hair. 

“What are you talking about?” you turn to look at her but she vanishes, 

“Wake up!” she yells, her voice echoes through her nest. You look around to find her but you're sitting there alone.“Seraphina?” you see a shadow standing there, it beckons you to follow it. “Seraphina is that you? Where are you going?” you run after the shadow, it stops before a black hole. It reaches a hand out to you. 

“Come with me.” It turns into a child version of yourself. “You’re tired, let’s go rest.” it holds your hand tugging you towards the black hole as you get closer your body begins to feel heavy, your eyes get heavy, you yawn feeling so “sleepy” the shadow whispers in your ear a malicious grin on its face.

“How long are we going to sleep for?” you ask the child, she giggles pulling you harder making you jog towards the black hole, it grows bigger as you get closer.

“Forever.” it’s jaw unhinges and it tries to swallow you but a hand reaches out yanking you back.

“Wake up!” Seraphinas voice is loud and clear in your ear, the screams of the villagers make you jolt up grabbing your chest, the thick screen of smoke suffocates you, burning your lungs, your heaving trying to catch your breath.

“You’re finally awake, I can’t hold out much longer.” Serpahina is standing in front of your body in a defensive stance, her robe is tattered and torn apart, she’s breathing heavily, holding her sword.

“Seraphina! What happened?!” you catch her as she falls, she hands you the sword. “ I thought we exorcized the cursed spirit, is there a stronger one? That’s not possible, it was a low level, I saw it, I took care of it.” you ramble on.

“Suguru” is all she says before vanishing,

“Suguru…” you look around you, the village is on fire, the houses are burning down.

“Help me!” a woman screams running towards you.

You get up to help her but you feel a sharp pain in your ankle making you fall to the ground.

“Please” the woman shrieks, a cursed spirit runs after her, its tongue swaying back and forth. You try to form a dagger to throw, “Shit, I’m too exhausted and Seraphina was badly injured.” You muster all your strength to jump in front of her, slashing the spirit. You stab your sword into the ground to break your fall. 

“Are you oka-” you ask, but you get a hard slap that stings your cheek.

“It’s all your fault! You���re all cursed, damn you all! Go to hell!” she screams at you, grabbing your hair she yanks you onto the ground. You’re in a state of shock not being able to move, she picks up a rock to throw at you, your eyes widen, you try to warn her and push her away but it was too late. A cursed spirit stabs her in the back ripping her body apart, her blood splatters all over your face. You look down, your hands that are covered in blood, you try to wipe the hot liquid off of your face, wiping it on your tattered uniform. Your heart is pounding, your hands go numb and your gasping for air, taking shallow breaths. The spirit slashes you with its sharp claws, ripping your outer jacket. Your mind is blurry all of your memories are rushing back again, 

“You’re a cursed child! You did this to us!”

The spirit jumps on top of you, your body rag-dolls to the ground, you’re laying on your back, you see the thunder rumbling through the sky, a drop of cold water hits your cheek. A claw pierces and digs into your thigh, but you don’t feel a thing. It hits you in the stomach making you spew blood, your breathing is labored as you gasp for air.

“It’s so warm here. I…want to sleep.” your eyelids are droopy and heavy, your warm blood soaks through your white t-shirt, seeping into your jacket.

 You stare off into the sky, seeing the electromagnetic waves connecting through the cloud,

“goodbye.” you choke out. Lighting cracks through the sky, roaring.

Mission Summary: A cursed spirit has been ravaging a village, two sorcerers were dispatched to eliminate the target. They found two little girls that were caged and abused. The village was burned down and 112 villagers were killed. His partner was found in critical condition. Later that night his parents were found dead. Upon further inspection, there was evidence and traces of Suguru Geto's cursed technique from all the crime scenes. Suguru Geto is to be captured and sentenced to death for the death of 112 villagers, his parents and for gravely injuring his partner.

You’re standing in the shower. The weight of your soiled clothes pulls your body down. You fall to your knees and cover your face.

You feel cold metal on your finger against your bruised cheek, tears running down your face. 

And now the water's cold,

Shoko runs in and pulls you out of the shower, your lips begin to turn purple, and your body is shivering, she holds you in her arms rocking you back and forth whispering. Yelling for Gojo to grab a towel. Your muffled cries become painful wails.

“You’ll be okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You lay in your bed, holding the ring he gave you.

Where did you go Suguru? 

-I tried to eat today but the lump in my throat got in the way.

#jjk x reader #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #honeytrap🐼 #jujutsu x reader #jujutsu geto #geto suguru #geto x reader

[miss-celestia13]

Kiss With a Fist

Dark Richy x Dark OFMC Smut

Words: 4.2k

I didn't expect to write more for this pair. But Aylin wouldn't leave my head, and I wanted to test the boundaries of a really dark character and romance. You don’t even have to know the fandom to read this one 😂

On the run. Fighting and fucking. A lot. A hotel bed. Scamming the rich folks. Torturing Richy until he loses control. All of it is child’s play to Aylin.

TW: Vague Mention of Drugs. Robbing people. Consensual Violent Sex. Hair Pulling. Pain and Pleasure. Bondage. Utterly Shameless, Unhinged, Unprotected Smut and strange, sadistic ways of flirting😅 Dark/Black Comedy. Link to the first one shot is below. You don’t have to read it to read this one. There is no real plot. Just pure, filthy p*rn.

Run Towards the Monster

People Aylin wants to kill or seriously harm

1 - Sandra - Hotel receptionist. Gossiping old hag. Always has mascara goop in the corner of her eye. Asks too many questions. Apparently, asking for two room keys is an outrage she couldn’t accept.

2 - David - Gas station attendant. Greasy long hair and dirt caked under his nails as he handed her a hotdog. He tried to flirt and reeked of cat piss, and she couldn’t eat the hotdog after that.

3 - The new money dickhead flashing his Rolex and black Amex yet seemed impervious to buying her a simple martini. Ordered her a salad for dinner… that she had to pay for.

4 - Richy - Changes every day. That day, he was complaining about having to stay hidden. Not her fault the idiot's face is still being shown on the news. Told him to grow a beard, and now that was the source of his complaints, as it was going too slow. May slit his throat if he doesn’t shut the fuck up soon.

Aylin

The black silk dress that had hung despondently on the svelte mannequin in the overpriced store she bought it from was now the only thing keeping her skin from feeling flayed by the suffocating heat of the evening. She was perched at the hotel bar. A swanky, snobbish place she had chosen when Richy attempted to convince her a Motel 6 would suffice. Fuck that. She was a creature of luxury and comfort. Nothing else mattered but her beauty sleep, and well-being. Richy had shut up when she’d shoved him against the elevator wall, hit the emergency stop, and made him cum down her throat in under 90 seconds. She could still feel an ache in her jaw whenever she yawned. He hadn’t complained since though she knew he would be furious with her tonight.

Demurely, she sipped her martini, dry with three olives, and surveyed her target of the night as he ordered yet another whiskey. In order to maintain this lifestyle and ensure she and Richy remained free, she had gone back to her old pastime of scamming those with too much money and not enough sense. It didn’t take much. A revealing outfit, a flash of the expensive burgundy lace covering her freshly waxed cunt, and a salacious smile were typically enough to hook someone in. Usually, she would bed them and wait until they’d slipped into a very male doze before she rifled through their things and made off with a small fortune. Now though, Richy’s possessive side had forbidden her to try it. She chafed at the order, the ownership. But she enjoyed it deeply and grew increasingly heated as she pondered how he was faring in their room.

She had left him in bed. Not typically a cause for alarm or anger. But she doubted he'd ever been left strapped down so tightly he couldn't do more than curl his hands into tight fists. Oh, she was going to hurt later, but it was his turn first. She had left him with a bloody lip, and the coppery tang still lingered in her mouth despite the liquor she was sinking while waiting for this fool to give her the chance to slip something inside his vile drink. After listening to his bragging and pandering to his crippling need for validation, she wanted to skin him alive. People with money never deserved it, and neither did she, but she at least would have more fun with it.

When he finally deigned to return to the stool beside hers, she tossed a sultry smile his way, running the tip of her finger around the wide rim of her glass, and licked her scarlet-painted bottom lip, internally preening when he fell for it. Her long raven hair was loose and lightly waved, scented with rich coconut and sea salt. Her mark breathed deeply whenever she flipped it over her shoulder. That was the problem with people like her. Everything about them was designed to draw fools like this one in, beauty so sharp it could open a vein, no remorse to stop her from using it to gain what she wanted. How unlucky for him. As he leaned in, damp whiskey-stained lips pressing against the shell of her ear, she managed to lean into it and not shudder, using the opportunity to slip the drug into his glass.

Holding his attention captive until it fully dissolved, she mimicked his attempt at seduction and whispered, “Why don't we finish these, and you can show me your suite?”

Like a moth to a flame, he smirked like a cat and nodded, “I thought you'd never ask.”

Giving a girlish giggle that made her want to kill herself, she picked up her glass and threw back its contents, shivering as it burned her throat and warmed her from the inside out. The slickness between her thighs quickly became irritating, and she needed this farce finished to sate it. As her victim downed his drink, she hopped down from her stool and pretended to totter drunkenly on her too-high heels. Her “lover” was quick to take advantage, and this couldn't have been any easier than if he'd simply handed her his wallet. He wrapped an arm around her. His pungent cologne irritated her nose, and she grinned wickedly at the thought of Richy smelling it on her as she was led away from the bar and into the elevator.

He tried to crowd her against the mirrored wall, hands crawling over her like he had the right, and it took everything she had not to knee him in the crotch. Instead, she faked a saucy laugh, laying a hand against his expensive suit and tipped her head toward the cameras. A heavy sigh was his only reply as he relented his mauling and impatiently tapped his foot as they ascended to the penthouse suite. New money. She could smell it on him. Insecurity and shame that he didn't deserve his success hung in the air around him. How pathetically weak. What was the point in having money if he was too ashamed to use it? She would remedy that as soon as she had him safely inside that suite.

The elevator opened into a generous sitting room. Everything gleamed and glittered. There was even a goddamn chandelier. Fine furnishings and fabrics that dripped with wealth draped the walls and floor. He gave her a sheepish grin as he stumbled in before her, and his eyes widened at his sudden lack of grace. She fluttered her eyes at him and urged him to show her the bedroom before he could think too hard and give himself an aneurysm. He needed no further convincing. Following his staggering steps, she eyed the room with an analytical mind. A huge plush bed took up the majority of the ample space, and her dirty mind wandered back to Richy and how he was doing. This had taken longer than she’d anticipated, and he would be foaming at the mouth by now. The safe door was wide open, stacks of cash were visible, and she quickly looked away as he turned to her and flung out a heavy hand, swaying on his feet a little as she took it. Letting him drag her close, she feigned shyness as his roaming hands quickly found her ass and palmed her over the silk.

A slow, weighted blink and a surprised noise was the only warning she got as he slumped to his knees. The dose she had given him was enough for three men, and he barely made one.  She crouched in front of him, gripping his chin tightly and forcing his dazed eyes to look at her. A brief moment of lucidity as he spat her name in an accusation she didn't deny. Nodding, a saccharine smile lit her face as she watched the horror bloom on his face before the lights went out, and he crashed to the floor in a heap of useless overgrown man-child. She moved decisively then. Grabbing one of the shopping bags he'd left lying on the floor, stuffed it with the cash and soon relieved him of his new Rolex.

There were some diamond cufflinks and a platinum tie clip on the nightstand that she had also stolen before she went into his wallet and purloined the cash there too. She thought about taking the credit card but didn't want a trail of purchases to lead the cops to her if they figured out she was helping Richy. Checking on her snoring victim, his phone had fallen from his pocket, and she took great joy in smashing it before she flung it down the toilet. He had nothing else worth taking. His carelessness and newness to the rich life had made it too easy. She locked him in the bedroom, taking his key card before she let herself out the main door and locked that too. He would have to wait for the hotel staff to let him out before they could begin hunting for her. And she would be long gone before then.  

Cursing him and Richy as she trudged down what felt like a million stairs in six-inch stilettos, she knew she would have to cut and dye her hair. It had taken years to grow this long, and yet again, a fucking man had to ruin it. If she hadn't tempted her luck too far already, she would have killed the prick in the penthouse for the distress. The humiliation would have to do until the grim reaper came calling for him. Her mind was a labyrinth of half-formed plans and promises of retribution on her unending journey back to her room.

***

Aylin quietly let herself inside her room. The electronic beep as the door unlocked made her cringe as she spied Richy passed out on the bed. The sheets under him were rumpled. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, and she smiled slowly at the mental image of him struggling to get free before exhausting himself and falling asleep. She toed off her heels, tip-toeing over to the bed as a low simmer began in her core. How to wake him? She could simply yell at him. Or, she could do what she had wanted to do for days since he’d started bitching about being cooped up while she got to socialize.

What he didn’t understand was that she hated to be social. Completely despised having to pretend she cared about the things everyone else seemed to take great pride in. But she also knew she had to be seen doing so. People labeled her a loner, a weirdo, when she was alone for what they deemed an inappropriate amount of time. And it wasn’t long before they started paying close attention to what she was doing or saying. Rumors would start. Vicious, nasty rumors with the power to end her reign of terror long before she was ready. No, she had to act the part. Richy had done so for years, not realizing he was doing it, and now he was alone except for her, and he preferred it that way. Two weirdos were worse than one, so they had to make sure they were seen mingling.

Choosing option two, Aylin marched around the side of the king bed and leaned over him, watching him breathe for a moment before she lifted her hand and slapped him. Hard. Right across his face. Richy jolted awake immediately. Dark eyes blurred by sleep and confusion as she smiled sweetly at him. He bared his teeth, eyes narrowing on her as she winked and plopped down on the bed.

“What the fuck was that for?” He demanded, and she did not like his tone. She had come back. He should be grateful, not mad.

“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t like it.” She shrugged carelessly.

“Where the hell have you been? Did you fuck him?”

She gave an unladylike snort, fingers toying with her hair as her nipples hardened and peaked against her thin dress, and Richy’s eyes stuck to them like glue.

“And if I did?”

“I’ll kill you.” He swore, and now she laughed loudly.

He was practically snarling at her now, and she decided to push him further.

“Hmm. And how will you do that when I hold the key to your freedom?” She looked pointedly at the leather and steel cuffs strapping him down, and she saw the defeat in him, but he didn’t back down.

“I can be patient.” He promised, and she rose to her feet, smirking down at him.

He was beautiful when riled, in a way that would turn most off and frighten them. It only made her skin pebble as she shivered.

“I have a better idea,” she said darkly, sliding the straps of her dress down her arms before reaching behind her to pull down the zipper. Richy watched her hungrily as she let it slither down her body and pool at her feet, baring herself to him and delighting as his cock stirred to life.

She had forgone a bra, but the skimpy underwear felt good against her smooth sensitive flesh. He was quiet as she removed that, too, a predator caged as his captor gave him a taste of how Hannah had felt. Though she doubted Hannah had been so turned on, he could barely speak as Aylin swung her leg over his waist and straddled him. This type of power was a potent drug to her, an addiction that addled her mind and drove her to new heights of insanity. Like junk food and indolence, it was bad for her health, yet she didn’t care. Would keep indulging until it killed her or him.

As she leaned forward, the sway of her breasts caught his eye, and she raked her manicured nails down his chest, adding to the myriad of marks already tattooed there. She was marked into his skin, bruised and red. If she left him tomorrow, it would be an age before he could forget her. His blackened soul was the strongest aphrodisiac she had encountered as she felt his cock jump against her ass. The darkness residing in him came out to play as she lowered her mouth and dragged her teeth across his chest, wishing she could taste the wild beating heart underneath. Between her legs, she was soaked, and she knew he felt it as she shifted back on her haunches to stare him down.

“Do you still want to kill me?” She taunted, fingers pinching and pulling on his nipple to see how he’d react. A hiss of pain and a deep chuckle told her he didn’t mind it.

“Undecided.” He bit out.

Humming, she trailed a hand up his torso, wrapping it around his neck and pushing down until his air cut off. He groaned when she let up and bent down, nipping at his lips and darting her tongue inside to play with his as she squeezed his throat again. They were like lit TNT whenever they gave into their primal instinct to tear, bite, and taste. No thought other than the pleasure they could steal from each other. Letting him breathe, a cramping ache in her core too hot to ignore any longer, she reached behind her and grabbed hold of his rigid cock. No foreplay to ease her into it as she lifted to settle him at her entrance, intentionally clenching her inner muscles as he breached her cunt, and she left gravity do the rest.

Head thrown back, and teeth clenched, she reveled in the rough drag of his cock against her taut inner walls. Every hard inch of him stretching her too quickly it hurt them both. Richy's hands were fisted so tightly his knuckles had bleached white, his jaw jutting as he panted, and she bottomed out with a rough gasp. She fell forward as if given a blow to the head, hands scrabbling on his chest as she breathed through the invasion. He was so hard, knocked so deeply she could feel him in her stomach, a torrent of wetness dripping from her as she made small movements to ease herself. Taunting him with the slightest hint of friction until the veins in his neck popped.

Arousal flooded her veins, replacing her blood with flame as she flattened her palms on his chest, locked eyes with him, and slowly, painfully slowly pushed off him. It was pleasure with a serrated edge. Her insatiable obsession to be split apart and used harshly fast took over, and she moved over him until the sting and burn of being rent so abruptly turned to black ecstasy. A warbling moan fell from her as she slammed down, sweat already trickling down her neck as her chest heaved. Her nails cut half-moons into his skin. He didn't complain and urged her to move when she remained still to catch her breath.

Finding a rhythm that soon sent her spiraling, she swirled her hips with each sinuous slide down and felt him twitch inside her. He was too close. Too wound up and pissed off, he’d explode before she could have her fun. That wouldn't do. Ignoring her own need, she lifted him off and laughed as he snarled her name in warning. Crawling up his body, she straddled his head, gripping the headboard before lowering herself onto his waiting mouth and giving him a command he would not ignore.

“Put that mouth to work and make me come, or you won't get to.”

A grunt was his only reply before his tongue dipped into her drenched folds, her thighs clamped around his ears as she whimpered and rolled her hips. She didn't care if he couldn't breathe, not as he flattened his tongue against her clit and lapped at her essence. A carnal growl rumbled through him that she felt between her thighs. He worked her hard. Every flick and dart inside and around her caused her legs to tremble and threaten to give out. It started slow, a ripple of heat from her center, gentle waves of pleasure that made her cry out and plead for more. Then she ignited like wildfire as he devoured her like a man starved. It burned out of control inside her as her cunt clenched around nothing. Release was a song in her molten blood as he chuckled and grazed his teeth over her clit to make her wail like a demon possessed.

Backing away, her body quivered as she glared at his smug smirk, glistening with her wetness, his chin was saturated, and she couldn't resist kissing him. Salt and sweet, heavy on his tongue, and she wanted him to always taste like her, a fierce sense of ownership washing over her as she leaned back and took him inside her again. It was effortless now, so wet and pliant she had no trouble seating him to the hilt and bouncing over him until his face twisted in anguish and desperation. Each time she felt him nearing the edge, she stopped and toyed with his body, clawing at his skin and biting his neck, sucking mouthfuls of his flesh to mark him more. He was a work of art by the time he used the only words she would heed.

“You win. I can't fucking take this. You win, Aylin.” His voice was pained, destroyed under the weight of the tension straining his body. Victory rang like a bell in her head as she rose up, and he slid free of her with a lewd sound that made her smile.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she took out the small metal key atop the hotel bible and hurriedly unfastened his hands. She had just unlocked his ankles, her back to him, when her hair was gathered in a fist, and he yanked hard, dragging her across the bed. Whining, utterly delighted at the pain licking over her scalp, she didn't fight back as he let go of her hair and shoved her face down on the mattress. Pressing her sticky thighs together to counter the hollowness eating at the frayed strands of her sense of reality, he was muttering under his breath that she was a nightmare come to life. It was the loveliest compliment he had given her. She knew what he wanted but waited for him to tell her, a show of submission that would piss him off and make him treat her with unmerciful brutality.

“On your knees, ass in the air, and don't fucking argue.” He ordered and gripped her thighs in a bruising hold as she lazily did as told.

Forcing her legs apart, his hand pushing on her lower back to make her arch deeper, she sensed him behind her a second before he entered her in a reckless movement that made her bury her face in the sheet. Keening, she grabbed at the pillows for something to hold onto as he fucked her savagely. The punch of his hips as he gave no thought to her pleasure made her toss her head wildly, a burning ache in her core that made her even more unhinged, and his groans were music to her ears as she fluttered around his thick cock. It was a torment. A delectable agony she would submit to every night so long as he didn't become a risk to her freedom. His lack of care toward her excited her even more. He didn't give a fuck if she liked it or not, he did, and that selfishness spoke in a complex tongue to the poison seeping from her iced-out heart.

Blunt nails scraped over her hips, sweat making his grip slide as he overwhelmed her body. She had turned feral under the onslaught. Lifting her head from the bed to howl like a beast when his hand smacked her ass so hard her teeth rattled, and her cunt clamped around him like a vice. Pleased with her reaction, he did it again, harder and harder, her skin prickling and inflamed as he fucked her to the edge of another orgasm. Madness, her dearest friend, had full control as he reached under her, and between thumb and forefinger, he took hold of her clit and pinched.

He drove into her once, twice, another pinch on that swollen bundle of nerves, and she erupted so forcefully he cried out in shock. Her name ripped from his throat as he slammed into her one last time, and the thrill of his come painting her inside prolonged the torturous waves she was riding. Electricity ran like a current under her skin, every nerve fired, and her skin felt too small for her bones as it stole her wits and breath. It was too much to withstand. Her body spasmed in time with the pulse inside her. Her mind winked out as he slumped over her and flattened her into the bed.

The last thing she remembered when she blinked her bleary eyes open a while later was his claim that he would repay the favor at some point. The bed was a mess of damp sheets tangled around them as he snored beside her. He hadn't bothered to move her from the center of the bed, and he was curled up near the edge, holding onto the sheet for dear life as she sat up and assessed her body. The lingering ache between her legs was heavy and thick, the sinful feeling making her grin as she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom to shower.

She noted a dozen new bruises and bite marks in the bathroom's foggy mirror. A red raised handprint was clear on her ass, and she wore them all like jewelry as she returned to the bedroom and got dressed in dark clothing before she woke him. He wasn't pleased and snapped at her, but they didn't have much time left. The man she had drugged would raise the alarm when the drug wore off, and they had to be far away when he did. Richy moved swiftly once she explained, and she packed her meager possessions along with the money, watch, and other items she had pilfered.

When they were both ready, she grasped hold of his shirt, dragging him down to her level to give him a biting kiss. Wondering where they would go next and what dark, dangerous things they would do to each other once they got there. They left the hotel under a cloak of darkness. The night shift receptionist was snoozing behind his desk as they crept past and snuck out the back entrance. The car they'd rented was nondescript, already fuelled up, and they were soon on the road. They would have to find another soon so as not to test their luck. But as the sky burned red and the sun began its daily salutation, neither cared what the future held. They were good with right now and were determined to make the most of it in their cruel, selfish, and maleficent way. She saw only one ending for their sinister dalliance, but until then, she didn't give a fuck. 

This is either the best or worst smut I've ever written, and I don't know how to feel about that, lol. There will be no in between. Like marmite. You’ll either love or hate it. Let me know if you like it!

Part 3: Flesh & Blood

#dark smut #smut #rough smut #shameless smut #duskwood richy #fanfic #duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #spicy content #duskwood mc #duskwood smut #duskwood fanfic #duskwood family #dark romance #the bad guys #wordy #pain and pleasure #hot as fuck #why do i do this to myself #female writers #unhinged #fanfiction #feeling spicy #spicyromance #romance fanfiction #original character #duskwood oneshot

[frazzledazzlin]

explanation for the rhm bean (warning for gore)

since his mouth is metal as i saw in the game i hc that his jaw gets unhinged n stuck sometimes when he yawns too hard lol

#thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin #charles calvin #stickvin #copperright #reginald copperbottom #right hand man #right hand man reborn #scriboozles

[soraviie]

Just a soft and smiley Joonie~~~

"Stop smiling," you grumble, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and proceeding to lifelessly plop onto the grey sofa quite a distance away from where he was sitting.

"But you said yes," he coos, leaning against one arm. You give him a withering glare, stifling a huge and unfairly unattractive yawn.

"Why youuuuuuu," it truly takes your all to not unhinge your jaw like a snake as your brain screams for more oxygen. "Dressed like that? It's 10pm. God this couch is so uncomfortable," you try to sit more comfortably but it's as though the inanimate monochrome object has decided to thoroughly reject your way of living and existence. Whenever you touch it, despite Namjoon's fervent claims of otherwise, you can swear it turns to rock.

"It's poking all the bones in my butt."

"Well, get used to it," smarmily, Namjoon replies, still gleaming like a kid in a candy store from his gleeful corner on this overpriced monstrosity. "Get used to it poking your butt and your stomach, and back."

"Are we still talking about the couch?" you lift an unamused eyebrow at him to which he scoffs with little to no malice. In the euphoric state that he's in you doubted he could summon any foul energy at this moment.

"Of course we are, you pervert."

You yawn, feeling the tears rush to the eyes, swaying from one side to another.

"When will you be coming home?" you wonder sleepily. You'd promised to technically wait for him to come back so you could drift off together but as the night dragged on and the exhaustion from packing your home into tiny boxes only to unload those tiny boxes in Namjoon's space caught up with you.

"Home," he giggles, smiling softly at your trembling figure. "It's our home already?"

"No, it's your goddamn Virgo man cave," you glimpse disapprovingly at the muted interior. All your stupid, bright knick-knacks jump out so heavily it's as though you're trying to shove two different continents onto each other. "I myself am surprised I agreed."

"Well, you did, so good luck trying to escape now."

He gives a bright grin, dimples etching heavily into both sides of his cheeks.

"Sometimes you scare me," you mutter underneath the nose, subtly kicking the back of the sofa.

send in a picture of the boys and I'll write a scenario

#namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon fluff #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts imagines #file/picture series/namjoon

[imagine-darksiders]

Sunnydrop X Reader X Moondrop

Montgomery Gator x Reader.

So for those of you who like my Fnaf summer camp au, I've written this little drabble of Y/n's first possible meeting with abandoned Sunny and Moondrop.

Sorry it's not quite so good as the other stuff I write, I haven't been feeling like myself lately :)

-------

There's an immense and imperishable serenity surrounding Glamrock Lake, unparalleled in its grandeur and extraordinary in both depth and size. A body of water so vast should be daunting, but with gentle waves that lap at a sandy shoreline and water fowl nesting amongst the bullrushes, it instead exudes a harmless, bucolic air that could soothe the soul of even the most tempestuous beast.

You can certainly understand why Faz Co. decided to build a Summer camp all the way out here, far from the humdrum of modern life.

Sitting with your bare feet dangling over the edge of a rickety, wooden pier, you lean back onto your palms and gaze languidly up at the sky as the last of the sun's rays sink below a jagged treeline, stealing away the lingering warmth of yet another evening.

This will mark your third night at Camp Fazbear, and for as much fun as you've had so far, you aren't averse to moments like this – a little downtime, a few minutes of peace while the kids are busy in the mess hall finishing their supper with the animatronics.

The latter had certainly been a shock to the system when you were introduced on your first day. As the company mascot - Freddy Fazbear - engulfed your hand in his comparatively enormous paw and have it a hearty shake, you found yourself coming to the dawning realisation that you probably should have researched Faz Co. just a little more thoroughly.

Your soon-to-be Camp Director, Richard Meadows, had made brief mention that you'd be working alongside animatronics during the initial interview, but back then, you naively assumed he meant the kind you'd see in some backwater restaurant in the ass-end of nowhere. Robots modelled after animals, strumming banjos with clunky fingers and staring at you with their cold, lifeless eyes.

However, upon arriving just three short days ago, you quickly learned that you'd only been right about them being modelled after animals...

An exasperated sigh slips through your nose, aimed at nobody else except for yourself.

Allowing the very tips of your toes to skim the lake surface, you lazily swing your legs over the water and send pond-skaters zipping about frenetically to escape the ensuing ripples.

“Sorry, guys,” you offer down to them, “Best get used to this though. I think tomorrow is the kids' first lake swim.”

Predictably, the little insects don't deign to respond.

Fair enough.

Lifting a hand, you rub tiredly at the corner of an eye as your jaw unhinges to release an obnoxious yawn. Mr Meadows had invited you to play cards with him later tonight after the campers retire to their beds, but though you appreciate his offer, you know you'll end up declining. It's barely nine, and you're already dead on your feet.

'SNAP!'

The abrupt sound of a splintered branch pierces the peaceful silence like a gunshot, throwing your heart straight up into your throat whilst your stomach takes a nose-dive into your shoes.

That had definitely come from the forest's tree line which looms behind you just a few, measly metres away.

All at once alert, you whip your torso around and almost crick your neck by twisting it violently towards the trees, your eyes on stalks as you scan the shadows.

At your back, the forest lurks like some, great beast of old.

Ancient balsam firs and red spruces have grown into a vast, indomitable labyrinth that stretches in every direction for as far as the mortal eye can see. Fifty million hectares of trees, and so much of the area still uncharted.

These trees are old. So old that some of those growing deep at the forest's centre have turned to petrified wood.

It's down more to instinct than experience that you revere this forest.

Anything could be lurking within the thick, tangible shadows.

Case in point, whatever had just snapped that branch.

A squirrel, perhaps? Or a raccoon?

… No, you decide promptly. The snap was significantly loud, belonging to a tree branch, not a twig. A piece of wood that size would have to have been broken by something much heavier.

Swallowing thickly, you hope to christ you aren't about to come face to face with a bear, or, god forbid, a moose.

“Hello?” you blurt, making your presence known.

Little else but a breeze hushes across the camp in response, disturbing a forest full of leaves that whisper like millions of tiny voices under the dying sunlight.

You wait... and wait some more, hardly blinking for fear of missing something.

You're concentrating so hard on catching movement within the treeline that you don't even notice the crickets have stopped chirping, and the birds in their trees are utterly still and silent. Nature is holding her breath right alongside you.

Suddenly, motion.

Your eyes dart slightly to the left and freeze upon an object that emerges tentatively from behind a wide, dark trunk. It's unexpected appearance sends you scrambling up onto your feet and standing to attention at the end of the pier with your muscles snapped tight in anticipation of a swift escape.

For some time, it's all you can do to watch on apprehensively as the object moves further into view until the last remnants of daylight shine upon a smooth, pale surface, finally giving you something to recognise.

It's... a face... A yellow face, perfectly round and made of plastic casing and silicone, adorned by two, blank eyes that sit widely atop a beaming grin - a grin so vast it stretches from one cheek to the other, never once slipping, even as shock pulls your jaws apart.

The face hangs just a foot above the grass, still half-hidden behind the tree trunk, tilting this way and that until you're hit by the absurd and frankly shuddersome notion that it's assessing you.

It's only fair then, you suppose, that you should assess it in return.

“What on Earth...?” you breathe to yourself, brows drawn together to form a rigid line above your eyes, “Is that... an animatronic?”

You recoil in surprise when at the sound of your voice, the face spins in a circle, whirring all the way around on an axis until it's the right way up again.

Definitely mechanical then.

Something about the revelation eases your thundering heart to a more manageable grumble.

Not a bear. Not a moose. Just a short, grinning animatronic no taller than your knee, if the height of its head is anything to go by.

Just like that, you're at once embarrassed to have been so frightened of such a small bot that's likely only wondering why you're sitting out here alone while the other counsellors are busy having fun in the mess hall with the kids.

It hasn't uttered a sound, save for the near-imperceptible clicks of machinery it emits as its strange head tilts left and right like the wheel of a car, as if it can hardly bear to keep still.

Belatedly, you start to wonder if it's waiting for you to offer up an explanation.

“Oh! Sorry!” you announce abruptly with a little jolt, “Sorry, you, uh... startled me. Hi!”

The animatronic recoils a little, and you're further stunned when several vibrant, orange spikes spring up from somewhere behind its head, as if until now they'd been laying completely flat against the surface, hidden away for a purpose you can't hope to understand.

“You must be one of the camp bots,” you try, clasping your hands together in front of you awkwardly, “I don't think we were introduced yesterday during induction. I'm... sure I'd have remembered you.”

It's face turns and sticks at a sharp right angle and it peers up at you, grinning that unwavering grin. Yet still, it remains perfectly silent.

Shifting on the balls of your feet, you press your lips together until the silence once again becomes more oppressive than you can stand. “I'm Y/n, one of the new counsellors.”

Nothing...

“It's... nice to meet you?”

“... Nice...”

You blink, taken aback for a moment before you realise that the scratchy whisper of a sound hadn't been just another breeze rolling through the forest. The animatronic can speak.

“Um, yeah?” Perplexed, but now far more curious than alarmed, you find yourself venturing a few, hesitant steps closer, smiling down at it. “It's nice to meet you.”

Perhaps... it's some kind of prototype?

Something else emerges from behind the tree next to its head and you instantly freeze mid-stride, shooting the new object a glance. Once again, you feel ever so silly when you realise it's just a hand. A single, yellow digit extends from the bot's closed fist, pointing up at you indicatively.

“... Friend...?” that well-worn voice utters.

“Oh – I...” Uncertain, you glance around as if you might find an appropriate response hanging in the air somewhere nearby. “I... Are you... asking if I want to be your friend?”

Total motionlessness from the bot.

And then, at last, you catch just a hint of motion, a bob of its head. A small, but unmistakable nod.

Your smile returns from where it had fallen and you offer the animatronic a one-armed shrug, replying, “Well... Sure, I mean, I don't see why not?”

Later, you'll look back on this moment and wonder what might've happened if you just said a simple, concise, 'No.'

A change comes over the animatronic all at once, both literally and figuratively. With the reluctance of a stag leaving the safety of his thicket, the bot moves out from behind the tree trunk. And like a gangling scarecrow unfolding itself, it stands upright.

You're put on the back-foot immediately.

“Oh god,” you murmur, sliding one, bare foot backwards until it leaves the grass and finds solid wood beneath it once again. At your sides, your hands knot themselves into quivering fists, bound tightly enough to give a glimpse at white bone bleeding through the skin.

This animatronic is not little. Not by a long shot.

Limbs that resemble skinny tree branches unfurl until it stands taller than Chica, then taller than Freddy, until you'd put money on this new bot easily standing taller than any of the animatronics at the camp. In the last embers of daylight, it pauses to peer down at you, giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of the tattered, striped trousers that hang from its mechanical hips and the overall filth that cakes its plating, covering up what must have once been a dazzling coat of paint.

On creaking limbs left dark by rust and age, the animatronic takes a step.

It covers in that single step the same distance you would achieve with four, sizeable strides, surging into your space with its face tilted to stare down at you, whilst yours tips further and further back just to keep looking it in the optic.

Breath unsteady, you wet your lips, inhaling through your nose as if the scent of pine needles and crisp, evening air will fill your lungs with courage instead of useless oxygen.

“... Friend...” it rasps, pushing the rays around its head forwards until you feel as though you're staring up at the sun itself, locked within its pale, burning gaze.

The lake stands behind you like a waiting wolf, its jaws open to catch you should you take another step back into its icy waters. Suddenly, all of its serenity has fled and you're left just as afraid of the water as you are of the trees.

The animatronic's hand lifts into the air and it stretches its fingers out towards you, moving slow whilst it observes your darting eyes.

“What are...?” Your words die on your lips fingertips of cool silicone ghost delicately across your cheek. You'd flinch away if you weren't so afraid that any sudden moves might provoke it.

“H..Haah,” the animatronic seems to breathe, an impossible feat, given its lack of lungs. “... Soft... soooft, little friend~...” There's a faraway lilt in its voice and careful consideration in its touch, exerting the kind of gentleness one might use to brush their fingers across the petals of a flower.

You take a breath, peeling your cracked lips apart to tell the bot to back up, to stop touching you, but all of a sudden, a different voice twitches your ear.

“Rookie?”

All the air seems to rush out of your lungs as you flick your gaze towards the camp and find a hulking, familiar figure standing there, staring back at you from behind his over-sized aviators, a kayak tucked under one arm.

“Montgomery,” you choke, hating how your own voice catches in your throat.

Montgomery Gator... Life-guard of Glamrock Lake and an integral member of the animatronic team at Camp Fazbear... You don't rightly know whether to be relieved or even more terrified.

Montgomery has made no secret of his disdain for you. From day one, the surly bot slapped you with a demeaning nickname to highlight your inexperience and started going out of his way to insult, berate or torment you.

Now though, he's probably the only person who can help.

'If,' your brain unhelpfully interjects, 'he chooses to do so.'

Ever the pessimist...

The gator moves forward by a mere inch, lifting one leg to place it down in front of the other.

But it seems even that was enough.

In a blur of dizzying motion and screeching metal, something large explodes out of the treeline and hurtles straight for you on all fours.

“No!” Monty hollers.

You've barely had time to turn and face the newcomer when you suddenly feel long, lanky arms snake around your waist, and before you can utter a yelp of shock, you're being hoisted up into the air and slung over a narrow shoulder. A cry for help is swallowed as the world around you starts to move. Fast.

“Sunny, get back here!”

Kicking out to try and dislodge the enormous hand pressed down on top of your thighs, you plant your fists on a solid, metal frame and force your head up, blinking blearily at the swiftly diminishing light filtering in between the trees. You're in the forest, and something is hauling you away from camp at a terrifying speed. Most bafflingly, it isn't the yellow animatronic – Sunny, you imagine – that has you held captive - because Sunny is whizzing silently through the trees behind you, keeping almost perfect pace with who or whatever has you thrown across their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Behind him, you can make out the green and yellow flash of Montgomery Gator as he hurtles after you. But although Monty may have full mastery of Glamrock Lake, out here amongst the spruces and pines, he's a fish out of water.

Helpless, your eyes begin to stream as you watch him fall steadily behind, his pistons working overtime to try and keep up, but you know as well as he does that it's a lost cause. These animatronics, whoever they are, pull away from the gator with ease, one grinning down at you with its permanent smile and the other keeping a firm grip on your thighs as you're whisked away into the unassailable forest, shrouded in the darkness of night.

#fnaf #sunnydrop #sundrop #sunnydrop x reader #moondrop #moon x reader #summer camp au #montgomery gator #drabble