#like any time you even look at him he starts skittering about it’s horrible

[greatestwizardofthisage]

google how to get rid of arachnophobia in 1 hour because there’s a spider in your room and you’re now too scared to sleep in there until it’s gone but it keeps hiding so now you think it’ll be easier to just move out

#please help i don’t know how to survive this #i took 2 huge spiders out my room in the last few months and i thought i was getting better but this one has fucked me up #it’s a proper thick spider as well not one of those spindly ones #and he’s so speedy #like any time you even look at him he starts skittering about it’s horrible #i hate this so so much #does anyone have a spare room i can move in to i can’t offer any rent money but i do have a huge box set collection

[co-sharkie]

The Doctor is In!

Grayson Waller x F! Reader; Austin Theory x F! Reader; Logan Paul x F! Reader

Summary: The boys can’t help but act like they’re hurt so they can see the team medic.

Notes: this ended up longer than I expected lol my bad

Michin was hanging out backstage with you, chatting about the club you were hoping to go to in the next city. You were the main medical professional of Smackdown. Whenever a superstar felt a little out of it, they would go to you.

One of the women you were closest with was Michin. You two always tried to hang out after shows or even just during travel. She also noticed a few boys that couldn’t keep their eyes off of you.

“Medic! Hey!” Logan Paul limped towards you, calling out. He hovered a hand over his knee.

You guided him to a nearby chair so he could rest his knee. “What happened?”

“After my win, my knee just started hurting. Makes it kinda hard to walk.” He dryly laughed. You ignored his boasting. He always tries to tell you about his victories when he sees you.

And yet somehow, he always ends up ‘injured’. “Did you land on it weird at all?”

“Uh… no.”

“Hm. That’s odd. Normally knees don’t just start hurting to the point where you can’t walk on it. Unless it’s something really bad…”

Logan gulped. “Like… what do you mean really bad?”

“It could be a multitude of things. But since you often come to me with knee problems, I’m think it might be bursitis.”

Logan looked at his knee that he held in both hands. Then to you, who looked awfully concerned. Then back to his knee. “What’s the cure for bur–bursitis?”

“I hate to tell you this, Logan.” You sighed. “Sometimes the only known cure to this is amputation. And with how common it is for you, I think it’s past the point of a standard household cures.”

Logan quickly stood up. “Wow, look at that! I’m no longer feeling a ton of pain!” He laughed and kicked his ‘hurt’ leg out. “You’re so great at your job, you know that?”

You smiled and waved him off. Michin watched with her arms crossed. She found the boys hilarious.

“I should really get going, I think I had a backstage interview scheduled soon. Thanks so much for fixing me up, though!” Logan quickly skittered off.

Michin chucked at the sight of the man running off with his tail between his legs. “What a joke.”

“Awe, play nice, Michin. Some people just want to see their favorite medic.”

—

The following week, it was Austin Theory who came to you, complaining about his back. With his ring gear, it was much easier to see his back than it was to see Logan’s knee.

“Hold still, let me check it out.” You said. Austin stood in the makeshift medical room, allowing you to inspect his back.

“Tell me if anything hurts.” You pressed on the muscles of his back, feeling for any abnormalities.

Austin was relaxed under your touch. He always felt calm in your presence. “I heard Logan stopped by.”

“Last week, yeah. Said his knee was hurting again.”

“You are aware he’s faking it, right?” Austin asked.

“Well aware. Told him last time that we might need to amputate his leg.” Austin laughed with you. He wished he could’ve seen the social media star’s face at that moment.

You finished inspecting Austin, and decided nothing horrible was wrong with him. “I think you just took a rough bump. You might have a bit of a bruise, but nothing extreme. You want some painkillers?”

He nodded and you grabbed a bottle from your bag. You shook the bottle over his hand to let a few pills fall. “If you’re still in pain by next Tuesday, let me know.”

“You got it, doc.” He smiled and left the medical room.

—

Michin met you later that night, asking you about how your work was going and asking if you’d watch her match tonight. “So long as no one comes to me with a traumatic injury, of course I’ll be watching!”

Michin smiled. “Glad you can see me kick ass!” You two laughed together.

Grayson Waller came walking into the medical room. He held his bicep as if it hurt. “Hey, (Y/N). Mind checking me out?”

You sighed and shared a look with Michin. Grayson, just like Logan, always came to you with a fake injury. “I’m gonna go get ready for my match. I’ll see you later, boo.” Michin said.

“See ya, Mi!” You waved to her as she left. Turning to Grayson, you notice he didn’t have his hand on his arm anymore. “What seems to be the issue, Waller?”

Grayson hopped up on the examination table. “What happened to calling me ‘Gray’?” He frowned. “I liked that.”

“Oh, y’know. Just trying to be professional with my patient.” You walked up to stand next to the arm you assumed was hurting. “Now what hurts?”

Grayson pointed at his left bicep. “This.”

“Where at on ‘this’?”

“No need to know the specifics, doc. I already know the remedy.” He grinned.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that.”

“You could kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not kissing your bicep, Gray.”

He threw his head back and groaned. “Why not! What if I said it was my lips that hurt, then would you?”

“No.”

“Cheek?”

“No.”

“Forehead?”

“No. I’d think you’d have a concussion, though.”

Grayson pouted. “Does your arm actually hurt or did you just come to flirt with me?”

“It doesn’t actually hurt…”

You pat his should in reassurance. “Gray, it’s ok to talk to me without faking an injury. You can just find me backstage or text me.”

“But you’re always busy!”

There was a knock on the door to medical. You called for the guest to come in. Kevin Owens opened the door. As he walked in, he noticed Grayson sitting on the examination table.

Kevin groaned and turned around, about to walk away. “Kevin, you’re fine to come in. Grayson was just on his way out, weren’t you, Gray?”

“What, no I–” you gently pushed on his back to urge him off the table. Grayson forced himself off the table and sluggishly walked towards the door. He gave you one last pouty look before leaving.

Kevin glared at Grayson as he left. “I just needed something for a headache, but it looks like you already got rid of the cause.”

—

“You got to be careful with those sells, Austin.” You were massaging the back of Austin’s neck. He came to you saying it was sore. “If you hold a position on your neck like that for too long, it could do some serious damage.”

He leaned into your touch. “Yeah, but at least I can come see you.” He smirked.

“You want to be able to turn your neck, don’t you?” His smirk fell.

The door to medical opened abruptly. “Medic! I think I broke my–what are you doing?” Logan Paul stood in the doorway, stunned by what he walked in on.

“What’s wrong?” You asked Logan. You stopped your work on Austin’s neck.

“Why were you touching him like that?” Logan pointed at Austin as he stared at you.

You walked over to Logan. “Don’t worry about that, what do you think you broke?”

“I didn’t break anything, but I’m about to break his face!” Logan held his finger up, indicating he wanted a fight with Austin.

Austin stood up for defense. “Woah, boys! Hold on!” You quickly got between them and held your arms out, trying to make distance between them.

“Logan, relax. Austin, sit down please.” You tried to mediate the situation as the boys argued with each other. Both towering over you, so you could do little to stop them if they did decide to fight.

Once again, the door to medical flung open. Grayson came stumbling in to the situation, not an idea what’s going on. He looked at each of the boys, who ignored his appearance and continued to argue, before looking at you in the middle.

“What’s going on?” He asked. His concern evident.

You ran out from between the boys and stood next to Grayson. Luckily, neither of them advanced towards one another.

“I was massaging Austin’s neck because it was sore and he wanted help, then Logan came in saying he thinks he broke something but he took this out of proportion and now they look like they’re going to take each other’s heads off and I’m not experienced in sewing bodies back together, please do something!”

Grayson tried to keep up with what you were saying due to the speed that you got everything out in.

Grayson stepped up near the boys, putting a hand of each of their shoulder’s. “Listen, boys. We can all get a massage from (Y/N) as long as we don’t argue.”

“Grayson, that’s not what I meant by fixing it!”

Logan looked between everyone. “Are you kidding me? This is the woman I’ve been trying to court for so long and you just think you can walk in here and act like she’s yours?”

“And she’s yours?” Austin reacted offended. “I was here first, if anyone is taking her out it’s me!”

“Mates, I respect you and all, but clearly I’m her favorite.” Grayson said to the boys. “Isn’t that right, (Y/N).”

All three boys turned to look at you but recoiled when you looked furious. “All of you disappoint me. I am not an object, so don’t talk about me like I am one!”

You stormed towards the door. “None of you will be getting any date from me, and if you have any medical issues, find someone else!”

The door slammed behind you.

—

The strong arms of Michin wrapped around you as you cried into her shoulder. She rubbed your back soothingly, not minding the tears that wet her shirt.

“And to think I felt somewhat attracted to any of them!” Your voice was raspy and you ranted. “Then they just go around, thinking I’m some sort of object! I had no problem with the flirting and the faking injuries and all, but…”

“Shh.” Michin shushed you. “Just breathe, boo. Don’t even think about them.”

You took in deep breaths. “It’s so hard not to when I stared to fall for them.”

Tiffany Stratton came in with a hand full of snacks. “I got your favorites, babe! Come eat instead of crying over boys!”

You smiled and let Michin guide you to the futon of the hotel room. Tiffany set up a drink for you and dumped a bunch of chips on a paper plate.

Both girls sat on either side of you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You three snacked on chips and talked about everything but boys. These two girls were your life line, and you couldn’t help but love them for all they do for you.

—

Sitting in medical, you decided to organize your bag of supplies as the current match played in the background. It was the week after you snapped at the boys. Tiffany and Michin ensured you were well taken care of on the travel to the next stadium. Keeping you company with food, movies, date nights and parties.

Your counting of supplies was interrupted by a knock on the door. You zipped up your bag and called for the guest outside the door to come in.

Turning around on your stool, you frowned at the face that came through the door. Logan shifted into the room. He held a bouquet of flowers and a small teddy bear.

“Hey…” Logan started. “I wanted to come see you and apologize. For last week.”

“Apology not accepted, please leave.” You turned back around to the desk located in the medical room.

“Wait, I didn’t even get to say my speech–”

“Are you hurt?”

“No…”

“Then leave. I’m not happy with you right now.”

Logan sighed and ran a hand through his messy blond hair. “Yeah, I know that. That’s why I got you these and rehearsed an entire speech to say sorry.”

Logan walked up next to the table. He set the flowers down and put the teddy bear in front of you. “Can you please hear me out? Just for a minute?”

“You have exactly 60 seconds. Don’t waste your time.” You looked at your watch.

“Ok! I know what I, and the other guys, said was unacceptable. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, or at Austin. And I’m sorry for doing that.” Logan took a seat during his talk. “I’m really sorry for making you feel like you weren’t even a person, (Y/N). I really am.”

You continued to stare at your watch. Logan took that as an indicator he still had time. “Ever since I joined WWE, I’ve been basically just entranced by you. You’re incredible and if you’d let me, I’d love to take you out on a date sometime.”

You put your hand down on the table. The teddy bear a mere few inches from your fingers. You still did not look at Logan.

“I’ll accept your apology for now. But that doesn’t mean you can take me out. Just because you apologized, doesn’t mean I fully forgive you.”

Logan held a big smile when you looked at him next. “That’s totally understandable. Thank you for hearing me out, (Y/N).”

Logan stood up and made his way to the door. Before leaving, he stopped and had one last question for you. “This means I can come see you about injuries, right?”

You dramatically sighed. “I suppose.”

Logan fist bumped the air, then left the room and gently shut the door behind him. You laughed. While he did upset you quite a bit, he at least tried to make it up to you.

—

The night trailed on. No one came to you for an injuries and it gave you plenty of time to think. The teddy bear and bouquet still sat at the table, a constant reminder of Logan’s advances.

It wasn’t until the end of the night, after the show was wrapping up, did someone come see you. Grayson gently opened the door with a to go container from catering.

You tried to ignore his presence but he came up to the table you still sat at. “I brought you some stuff from catering.” He said as he placed the box in front of you. He pulled some packaged plastic silverware from his sweatshirt pocket and put it on top of the box. “Figured you haven’t eaten yet.”

You sighed. “Is this your way of apologizing?”

“…maybe.” He clasped his hands in front of himself awkwardly. “I’m not the best at saying sorry, but I am.”

Your silence gave him permission to continue. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. You’re one of the most amazing people I know and I don’t like you being mad at me.”

“If you don’t like me being mad, then why did you make me mad?” Grayson couldn’t come up with an answer. “You put all the spotlight on me during your stupid argument with those two. Do you not understand how uncomfortable that was?”

“It was stupid of me, I know. And I’m really sorry.” Grayson’s tone made it sound like even he was upset with himself. “I completely get it if you don’t forgive me, but I want you to know that I am really sorry.”

You finally looked at him. His eyes showing remorse for what he did, a frown upon his lips. “I’m not going to say I forgive you just yet. But I do appreciate the apology.”

Grayson smiled. “That’s ok, I get if you want more time to think about it and stuff. I’ll still be around.”

“I’ll come find you when I’m ready to forgive you.” Grayson’s mood was now uplifted.

“I never got you a drink!” He finally realized. “I’ll go grab you one.”

Grayson made his way towards the door and as he backed out to the backstage area, he said one last thing to you. “By the way, (Y/N), I’ll always wait for you.”

—

It wasn’t until the following week that Austin apologized to you. He waited until after the show, late into the night. He knocked on your hotel room door right as you were about to crawl into bed.

You were upset that someone had come to interrupt your night, and it didn’t make it any better when you opened the door and saw Austin. “What do you want?” You rather grumpily asked.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you trying to apologize?” He nodded.

Sighing, you opened the door wider, motioning him to come in. “Fine, but make it quick, please. I was about to go to bed.”

“I will, don’t worry.” He smiled. He made his way into the hotel room, taking a seat on the chair located across the bed. You sat on the edge of the bed in your pajamas.

“I’m really sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have said it, and I really didn’t mean it.” His words came out fast. It was almost hard for you to follow. “I know you are not an object and I’m so sorry for making you think you were.”

You stared at Austin, still a little disgruntled. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I wanted to give you time and space. I figured you probably wouldn’t want to see me for a while.” He played with his thumbs as he sat there, under your harsh gaze. “I also knew that Logan and Grayson went to see you last Friday night. Didn’t want to make you listen to all of us the same night.”

You fell back on the bed. “Austin. You were the only one of you three to come see me about a legitimate concern. I expected you of all people to handle that situation maturely.”

Austin shifted in his seat. Staring at the ground never felt so comforting.

“And yet you try to start a fight with Logan.”

“He started it–”

“You’re not helping your case.” You sat back up to face Austin. He looked up to meet your gaze.

“Sorry. I’m just really sorry about this whole thing.” Austin apologized. “You mean the world to me and I really hope you can come to accept me again.”

“Just like I told the other two…” you started. “I accept your apology, but I will not forgive you yet.”

He nodded in understanding.

“You three really upset me with your words and actions. But I am happy you all came to properly apologize to me.”

Austin gave you a faint, soft smile. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes for you to forgive me, I just hope you do.”

“Trust me, Austin. You’ll know if I don’t.” You stood up, making your way to the head of the bed. “Now get out of here so I can go to bed.”

Austin quickly got up from the chair and trotted to the door. “Yes, ma’am!”

—

It was the night before Smackdown. You were getting ready to go out with the girls for some fun in the city. Your phone dinged from a text.

Logan 6:50pm

Hey (Y/N)! What are you up to tonight?

You smiled. Ever since Logan has apologized to you, he’s done a lot better. He only comes to you to talk (flirt) or when he is seriously feeling rough after a match.

(Y/N) 6:51pm

About to head out with the girls. What’s up?

Logan 6:51pm

Just wondering if you would be down to go out Saturday night. Just you and me.

You have been seriously contemplating your relationship with the three boys lately. Their apologies still rang fresh in your ears. The sincerity from all of them was enough to make you forgive them on the spot. But you didn’t.

(Y/N) 6:53pm

Let me think about that. I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow after the show. That work?

Logan 6:53pm

That’s perfect! See you tomorrow ;)

—

You slipped off your shoes when you got back to the hotel room. It was just after midnight when you got back. You were exhausted and about to go to sleep in your clothes.

You finally turned on your phone after ignoring it for a few hours. There were a few notifications.

Austin 8:30pm

Hey, I’ve been thinking about things for a while and I wanted to talk with you. Do you have time to call?

Austin 9:13pm

Gray said you went out with the girls. Give me a call when you can?

Grayson 9:45pm

having fun? i saw michin’s instagram post

Grayson 9:49pm

btw you looked really beautiful

Grayson 9:51pm

you always look beautiful but purple just looks really good on you

Grayson 10:03pm

we should hang out some time? i know a really good restaurant around here

Too exhausted, you turned off your phone and crawled into the new bedding recently placed on the hotel bed. The fresh, clean sheets sending you right to sleep.

—

When you woke up, the sun shone through the sliding balcony door. You forgot to close the blinds before leaving last night. You rolled over to check the time on your phone. The notifications from the night prior still on the Lock Screen.

You rubbed your eyes at the intense brightness of your phone. Unlocking it, you ordenes your text messages.

(Y/N) 10:42am

Sorry, got carried away last night. Did you still want to call?

Austin 10:44am

Yeah. That’d be great. I take it you just woke up?

(Y/N) 10:45am

Yeah lol

Austin 10:45am

Don’t worry about calling me yet then. I’ll let you wake up first :) call me later!

(Y/N) 10:46am

You’ll be hearing from me soon then :)

You took your phone and rolled over to face the window. The sun shone brightly into the room, reminding you that it was morning. You closed out of Austin’s chat and opened up Grayson’s.

You smiled at his text messages. He tended to have a hard time complimenting other people.

(Y/N) 10:51am

Thanks Gray <3

(Y/N) 10:51am

What restaurant are you talking about? I might be interested…

Not waiting for a reply, you set your phone down and went to start the shower.

—

You finished up in the bathroom then made you way back to your phone. You wanted to call Austin, but Grayson’s messages popped up.

Grayson 10:54am

welcome back to the land of the living lol

Grayson 10:55am

the place i know is korean bbq

Grayson 10:55am

but i also know a place that has some really good pizza if youre interested in that

(Y/N) 12:01am

Both sound pretty great! Did you want to go this weekend? We can invite Austin.

Grayson 12:03am

i was hoping it could just be us?

(Y/N) 12:04am

You make it sound like it would be a date……..

Grayson 12:04am

kinda the plan lol

Grayson 12:05am

i been hoping to ask you out for a while now

You took a deep breath. Two boys asked you out for this weekend. And you were sure when you call Austin it would be three.

While you knew these boys flirted with you a lot, you never thought it would get to the point when they would actually ask you out on dates.

You clicked on Austin’s contact and pressed the call icon. The phone rang twice before Austin picked up.

“Hey!” He seemed elated that you called him.

“Hey Austin. Sorry for not calling you sooner. Just had one hell of a night.”

Austin’s laugh met your ears. “No, don’t be sorry. I saw Michin’s posts. You looked like you were having a ton of fun.”

“It was a lot of fun…” you trailed off. “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh.. uh..” Austin seemed to immediately get nervous. “I wanted to just let you know something.”

“I’ve been holding it in for a while, but after feeling like I almost lost you, I’m ready to officially tell you.”

You stayed silent at his pause. Your silence made Austin feel more nervous, but he swallowed back the fear.

“(Y/N), I’ve been basically in love with you since you first helped me. Since you helped me with my busted knee, I’ve been attached to you.” Austin sputtered out. “And I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I want to just shoot my shot.”

Austin took a deep breath. “Will you go on a date with me, (Y/N)?”

You stared at yourself in the mirror that hung above the dresser in the hotel room. You met your own eyes as you thought about how to answer this question.

“Austin, I-”

“You don’t have to answer now if you don’t want to.” Austin said in an attempt to comfort you. “I can wait however long you need.”

“Yeah, just give me a little bit to think this over.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you tonight, though. Bye, Austin.” You exchanged goodbyes before you hung up. You fell back on the bed.

The phone that was once resting beside you was now at your ear as you made another phone call. This time, to Michin for advice.

#wwe x reader #grayson waller x reader #wwe fanfiction #Logan Paul x reader #austin theory x reader

[aurumacadicus]

What about "I'm sorry about waking you. You looked like you were having a nightmare." with Tony/Thor?

I always have Thor being the soft one 🤔 Maybe it's Tony's turn.

Just kidding even when I try to make Tony the softie it still somehow turns into Thor comforting him. In my defense, Thor's hundreds of years old and has had time to learn patience.

--

Thor was twitching.

Tony sat up a little, frowning, as he watched Thor's mouth twist into a grimace, his brows furrowing, muscles spasming in whatever dream he was having. He lifted a hand, reaching out toward him, then pulled it back to his chest nervously. Should he wake him up?

Thor had never had a problem waking him up from a nightmare, even if JARVIS found it an ill-advised decision. But then again, Thor was also physically on par with the Norse God most people thought he was. He could handle Tony's punches and scratches and screams of terror until he figured out when where he was, at least physically. Tony couldn't say the same. Thor might actually really hurt him if he woke up abruptly, groggy and in the residual throes of his dream.

He looked like he was in pain.

Tony swallowed thickly, hand hovering out again. Thor let out a grunt, which made him pull his hand back again. He hovered, feeling useless. This was why he hated being the squishiest member of the team; Steve and Bruce would have brushed off a hit, and Natasha and Clint would have simply avoided it. Tony was slow, at least compared to everyone else. He might not be able to get out of Thor's attack radius if he woke up aggressive.

Then Thor made a sound, soft, agonized. Broken.

Tony grabbed his pillow and crawled off the bed, then took a few steps just for good measure. Turned. Took aim.

Threw his pillow as hard as he could. It hit Thor smack in the face.

Thor jerked upright so abruptly that Tony skittered back a few more steps, just in case. He breathed in deeply a few times, then finally let his breath out slowly through his teeth. Looked around. Frowned in confusion when he finally caught sight of Tony standing across the room.

"...What's going on?" Thor asked when Tony said nothing, instead just watching him, eyes wide and wary.

"I'm sorry," Tony said quickly, and then, when Thor's eyebrows furrowed together, added, "For waking you. You looked like you were having a nightmare."

Thor blinked at him slowly, as if he was still trying to figure out what happened. Finally, though, he held his hand out to him. "Come here."

Tony drifted closer, shoulders hunching in with every step. Thor didn't look upset, but he also didn't look very happy. He didn't know if it was because he'd remembered the nightmare, didn't and was taking Tony's word for it, or if he was just upset he'd been woken up. Maybe he should have asked what to do when they'd talked about starting to sleep together. He just... hadn't thought about it. He'd gone out of his way to tell Thor what to do if he was having a nightmare. He'd just... foolishly assumed that Thor never had any of his own when he hadn't returned the sentiment.

Thor took his hand, carefully drawing him back onto the bed. "I was. Having a nightmare," he offered gently. "It was horrible. Thank you for waking me up, beloved. Don't ever do that again."

"That's what I thought," Tony sighed miserably. He looked up at Thor through his lashes, frowning. "You looked like you were in pain."

"Emotional only," Thor promised, hand coming up to cradle Tony's cheek in it. "Bad memories. I've lost a lot." He leaned in, brushed a kiss over Tony's lips, then leaned back, smiling a little. "I appreciate you trying to rescue me from them, Tony. More than I can properly convey, I think."

"But don't do it again," Tony surmised, and Thor leaned in to press another kiss to his lips. He didn't say anything, but the kiss felt like a 'yes.' He sighed quietly as Thor leaned back, dropping his gaze to his lap. "What should I do?"

"Ideally, you'd let me work through it myself. I always pass through a nightmare eventually," Thor said. Then he sort of smiled and shook his head. "However, if you're really in distress, I suppose chucking another pillow full force from the other side of the room would be a viable substitute."

Tony huffed, unable to stop the way the corner of his mouth curled upward too. "My aim will only get better, you know."

"Tony, if there's anything I would never doubt, it's the fact that you'd get better at something just to spite me," Thor said, voice fond, and leaned in to kiss him again to smother his startled bark of laughter.

#ask meme #one bed meme #thunderiron

[thranduilsperkybutt]

⫷SECOND-HAND EMOTION⫸

Gif Source

Pairings:  Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings:  Angst/comfort, happy ending though it hurts to get there; break-ups and make-ups; some cursing; love confessions; minor proofreading tbh i only proof-read like half of this

Word Count:  6,492 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author:  Meg

Summary:  ”I didn’t know what to do so I... I ran away.” It’s been months since you last saw him, the only man to break your heart. Hell, he’s the only one who ever could. Filled with regrets, it’s too hard for Eddie to lie to you this time, as circumstances beyond your control bring the two of you together.

A/N:  Eddie Munson break my heart challenge 😭❤ I’m cursed with a brain that gives me intrusive thoughts like, “What if Eddie Munson broke up with you.” On the bright side(?) for once I’m not writing smut---

“Just great,” slamming the hood of your car closed, you’re nearly on the verge of tears. You can’t help the angry curses that spew from your lips into the dead of night, standing dejectedly on the side of the road, “Piece-of-crap car—! Damn this town!”

Hawkins really was just as cursed as people say, because every way you turn, your life seems to fall apart at the seams the moment you step foot back here.

Blinking back the overwhelming frustration, you move around to the driver’s side of your completely dead vehicle, fishing out your bag and keys. There’s nothing for it, now, and if you were feeling especially self-loathing, you would admit that this was your own fault for ignoring that weird rumbling noise your beat-up Chevy had been making these past two months.

As if you had much of a choice in neglecting the car, with your mom’s hospital bills taking up any bit of extra money that you could’ve used to get it looked at. You barely have enough to make ends meet as it is with your job at the Family Video store. It was just about the only place in Hawkins that had been hiring over the winter break, and when your stay in your hometown had become more permanent as your mom got sicker, you’d barely found the time to get your head on straight, let alone find a better-paying job.

Work was where you were heading home from until you broke down on the side of the road, with one last rattling wheeze from your car before death claimed it. Having closed down at the store, it’s well past eleven in the evening, and this side of Hawkins is all but vacant at this hour. Shoving your work uniform’s vest into your bag, you begin the trek down the road. The 24-hour diner two miles away is where you’re betting you’ll find a payphone, but even the brisk walk you take up doesn’t keep the anxiety from creeping up your spine at having to walk alone at night.

After all, Hawkins was far from a safe little town.

Every skitter in the pitch-black woods to your right has you picking up your pace, and when it starts sprinkling rain overhead, you’re begging to whoever’s listening that maybe Steve will be back from that date he’d been bragging about all shift by the time you get to a phone. You never thought that you would be praying for Steve Harrington to not get lucky, but here you were, practically in a full jog by the time you have the diner in sight, and hoping beyond all hope that Steve’s date has gone horribly in the last half hour.

The diner’s nearly vacant as you push in through the door, the ring of the bell alerting the lone waitress to your entrance. The rain has developed into a full-on downpour, and you’re sopping wet, tennis shoes squeaking on the tile as you step inside. The warm orange glow that the lights seem to cast on everything and the scent of fresh brewed coffee only serves to slightly calm your nerves, while you dig around your soaked bag for enough change to use the phone.

“Please pick up, please pick up,” you were muttering to yourself, listening to the lingering ring of Steve’s land-line. With every repetitive ring, your heart sinks, until finally you’ve hit rock-bottom with the sound of his answering machine picking up.

“How’s it goin’? You’ve reached Steve. I’m probably real busy at the moment, but I’ll be sure to call you back—”

Rolling your eyes at his recorded message, it drones in your ears until you hear the beep, “Harrington! If you’re home right now, pick up! This is an emergency situation. Steve? C’mon, pick up.” You groan, all but whining his name into the phone with one last hope that he’s maybe moping after a bad date, “Steve, please!”

You’re not that lucky.

Clanging the phone back on the hook, you groan. What are you going to do now? Your mom’s still recovering from her latest stint in the hospital, and if only Robin would ever bother to get her license, you would be able to call her up. It’s not like you remember any numbers from the group of people you used to hang around with in highschool off the top of your head—

Your breath catches in your throat at the thought. There was one person’s phone number you could never forget, regardless of how many months have passed. It was muscle memory at this point, with how often you’d dialed it over those three years between Sophomore year and the summer after Senior year.

The breath you take is shaky, and you don’t even want to consider calling him right now, not after how you left off. There’s still a space in your heart that he once occupied, and the mere thought of hearing his voice again after all this time sets a deep, empty ache in your chest.

Truth is, you’ve never quite gotten over what had happened between you and Eddie Munson.

He had been your first everything, and when he broke your heart, you’d lost pieces of it in the process that you don’t think you’ll ever grow back. Hell, you hadn’t even had a relationship since him. Maybe a date here and there, most recently set up by Steve or Robin, but an actual, committed, bona-fide relationship? No chance. No way.

That version of yourself who could learn to love again was still lost in the past, with him.

You still remember the words he’d said when he had torn you to pieces on his uncle’s living room floor. The distant, cruel tone he’d spoken with rings in the back of your mind like you were standing there this very second, and the heartbreak that tears through your soul is just as fresh.

“You need to wake up. We both knew from the start, this was never going to be a long-term thing—” he must have been the only one, because in your silly lovestruck mind, you still thought you would be Eddie’s girl for the rest of your life, even as he pushed you away. “You’re going off to college this fall, right? So now’s the perfect time for us to break up. We had our fun, but it’s time to go our separate ways, y’know?”

He had been so cold, barely able to look at you. There was nothing perfect about that day, or the way you had started to cry, ugly, with the more he said. For the first time since you met him, he’d managed to make you cry from something other than laughter, and the contrast of your reality versus what you’d come to expect from him was so jarring that some part of you had been left hoping this was all just another joke. Only when you were wiping tears from your face did he look at you, but while he only stood a few steps away from you, you felt more distant from him than ever.

“But, Eddie—” you were so broken that even your voice was shattered, barely able to get past his name before another sob bubbled up your throat.

“What? Did you seriously think this was serious?” he cleared his throat, and looked down at his arms crossed over his chest like it was difficult to look at you, as if the notion of it disgusted him.

It was pitiful, the way you bared your neck for him to hurt you, but you couldn’t stop the words falling from your lips, “I told you, we could make long-distance work! Why are you acting like this?”

Biting, he had only cut deeper, “Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want you hanging around here. You’re just embarrassing yourself—”

“I love you, Eddie,” came so quickly, you hadn’t realized you’d sobbed it, until his brown eyes widened, finally staring you dead in the face. In that moment, you could have sworn you saw a hurt of his own reflected back at you. A crack in the unfeeling shield he’d crafted with his words until the small sliver of heartbreak broke through, but he had just forced his eyes away from you once again, and said the one thing that he knew would send you away.

“I don’t love you, don’t you get that? I. Don’t. Love. Y—” you hadn’t let him finish, before you ran. Escaping the trailer that had once been a second-home to you, but right then felt like nothing more than a mausoleum. A tomb for the piece of you that he had killed on the spot, with a cruelty and indifference you had never witnessed from him until that very moment.

Eddie had always been so sweet, so kind, to you in particular. He had completely blindsided you with the break-up. One minute, you were planning out how to spend the holidays that you got off of college together, and the next there was no together at all.

You spent the better part of high-school so entirely infatuated with the boy, that by the time he finally mustered up the courage your Senior year to ask you out, he could do no wrong in your eyes. Maybe it had blinded you. Maybe if you’d spent less time trying to be his friend, and later his girlfriend, you would have seen the red flags.

Or, maybe not, considering that you still hadn’t quite figured out where your relationship turned south, even after spending months replaying every second over and over again in your mind. You had missed it entirely, simply figuring that any annoyance or anger on his part had been directed at the fact that he’d failed senior year for a second time.

Maybe he blamed that on you. Maybe you had distracted him too much. Maybe—

“Order up!”

The kitchen bell dinging breaks you from your downward spiral, bringing your thoughts back to the diner, and the payphone you still held onto for dear life. Your throat is dry, as you stare at the phone for a moment more, dread swirling in your stomach like the milk a patron beside you was stirring into his coffee.

You try to take a deep breath, but fail at even that, because it comes out shallow, shaky, and entirely uncertain of the decision you’re about to make. Even your hands shake, as you pluck the phone off the receiver and slowly bring it to your ear, pushing the last of your change into the machine, and tapping out the numbers that are imprinted in your mind even after all this time.

You don’t know if it would be better, or worse for him to not pick up the phone at all. Part of you wishes his uncle would pick up instead. Wayne had always liked you, if only because you made sure to leave him the leftovers whenever you’d cooked dinner at the trailer in those days. You know it’s just wishful thinking, though, because you doubt Wayne’s quit his steady night job at the plant.

Maybe Eddie wouldn’t come get you, even if he did pick up the phone. You had once thought you could rely on him for anything and everything, but after the break-up, you were less certain in him. Questioning everything about your relationship and the man you once thought you knew had become second nature by now.

You’re so lost in the stress of the moment that you almost miss the sound of the ringing halting abruptly, and the lazy-sounding, “Yeah-lo?” that cuts through the line. A beat passes that you’re too stunned at having reached him to even so much as speak, before Eddie drawls with a little bit of impatience, “Munson residence? Hello?”

“Eddie?”

You said it so soft that you’re left for a second wondering if it had even been loud enough for him to hear you. With how quiet it gets on the other line, if it weren’t for the absence of a disconnection tone you would have thought he hung up.

Then, “Yeah,” comes through, just as soft, with a tinge of awkwardness at hearing your voice again, “It’s me.”

He doesn’t ask why you’ve called, and you take that as a good sign, or at least a sign that he was too stunned to refuse listening to your request, “I wouldn’t have called you so late— or… at all. I know you don’t want to hear from me anymore. I don’t want to bother you— but I really need some help right now and there’s no-one else—”

“Woah, hold on— What’s wrong?” comes clearer this time, but you know there’s no way he could be worried about you. Not after everything he’d said.

But you’re on the verge of tears anyway at the sound of his voice, trying to hold it together despite the crushing frustration that everything in your life building up to this moment has caused, and you’re certain he can hear it in your voice when you start anxiously rambling into the phone, “I was on my way home from work, but then my car broke down out on Dawson Road. I had to walk two miles to the diner, and it started pouring, so now I’m all wet, and Steve won’t pick up the phone—”

“Steve?”

“Harrington,” you sniff, “From work—”

“You’re workin’ in Hawkins?”

“Yeah,” you pause, debating on if it’s worth even telling him, before you cave, “I’m working at the Family Video, now.” It’s almost a relief, telling him about your life. There was once a time when he would’ve wanted to hear all the details, but you keep yourself from spilling more than that. You’re certain he doesn’t care to know anymore.

You can practically hear his confusion in the way he hums into the phone, and it reminds you of the late-nights you’d spent blowing up the phone bill to talk to him in high school. This isn’t high school, though, and you lost more than a boyfriend last summer. That’s what hurt the most, and the deep ache that’s throbbing in your chest tells you as much, because you really wish you could talk to the part of him that had once been your best friend right now, but there’s a cage around the words. Stopping them in your throat, as fear laces your tongue with each passing moment that he’s quiet on the other end of the line.

“What happened to college?” he questions you, and there’s a rustling noise in the background, “Wasn’t it your dream… to get into that program?”

You sigh, clenching your eyes shut. You don’t want to get into it all, especially not on the phone.

Swallowing, you murmur, “Eddie, I used my last twenty-five cents to call you, and I’m sure it’ll take at least another quarter to buy the time to explain.” The sound of his huffed chuckle is bittersweet, and shouldn’t make your stomach flip like it still does. It’s your destiny to be tortured by his every action, you suppose, because you’re torn between regretting ever calling him in the first place, and relishing in hearing the sound of his voice again when you ask, pitifully, “Would you mind… coming to get me, just this once?”

If he refused, at least your torture will be short-lived.

But he grunts into the phone, and you hear the sound of keys jingling, “Yeah, just give me, uh, a couple minutes.”

The relief that washes through you is tinged with nervousness, and your voice shakes when you breathe in, “Alright… I’ll be waiting here.” And you did wait, shifting foot to foot near the window, looking out into the pouring rain with the anxious anticipation of seeing him again.

You’ve had enough time to talk yourself in and out of whether it was a terrible idea to have called him, by the time you see the familiar van’s headlights through the pouring rain. The diner is a ten minute drive from his trailer, but he’s made it here in seven minutes, undoubtedly because he still drives like a bat out of hell, even in the heavy rain.

You don’t give him a chance to put the van into park before you’re pushing out the front door, bell chimes fading with the roar of the rain. Running through the downpour to reach his passenger side, and panting slightly when you wrench the door open to haul yourself inside.

It smells just like you remember, and the sense of peaceful relief that washes over you at the familiar scent of air freshener and faded cigarettes is gone as soon as your eyes cast upon him when you shut the door behind you. The Black Sabbath cassette playing drowns out in your ears at the sight of him, hair just slightly damp, raindrops on the leather of his jacket. Dark hair framing the dark eyes that look at you in a way that was almost too intense to fully distinguish what emotion swirled there, and for the first few moments, you’re both struck by silence.

There’s so much to say, and yet you can’t think of a single word. You had never thought you’d get to be this way with him, so closed off and yet yearning to tell him everything. Knowing far too much about each other, perhaps more than anyone else, and yet just as lost in this uncertain place, strangers to what you had become.

You weren’t even friends anymore, were you? But, he had shown up for you.

And he looked just as terrified as you felt.

You should say something. Anything—

“I guess I shoulda’ got out with an umbrella to get you,” he starts, clearing his throat awkwardly. “You’re, uh, soaked.”

Looking down at your wet clothes, you shake your head, “I got caught in the rain when I was walking to the diner from my car, so… it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Oh…” and the silence settles in again. Tense and just as terrible as the swirling grief in your soul at sitting here again, with him. Pain seeping into your heart with the sight of him, with how he was just the same as he ever was, and yet you both felt so different, now.

Once upon a time, talking to Eddie had been as easy as breathing. He used to run his mouth all the time, but right now he’s silent as he pulls out of the diner’s parking lot. With each passing second, you feel the cracks in your heart spread, canyons in their wake with the unexplainable heartbreak that was your complete inability to find the words to say, because what was there to possibly say?

I’m still just as angry as the day you left me? I’d really like it if you gave back the pieces of my soul that remained with you? I wish I could force myself to stop loving you?

You would die first, before a single admission of the truth consuming you passed your lips.

And, so, you sat in silence.

A shiver creeps up your spine, wet clothes allowing the cool air from the A/C to seep into your bones far easier than it would have otherwise, and you draw your arms around yourself. Eddie notices, reaching to turn the air down with a sharp jerk of the dial from cool blue to the warm red, sparing a glance in your direction before his eyes are glued back to the road. Hands planted to the steering wheel, he’s just as stiff as if this were his driver’s test all over again.

He should say something. Say something, damn it!

“You, um,” you blurt out, before trying to collect your jumbled thoughts. They come out just as uncomfortable as you feel, “I’m sorry about this, Eddie… I know you probably have a million other things you’d rather be doing tonight than driving out this late to save my ass…” Your chuckle is forced, and it sounds like it, even to you, “But, uh, it’s real decent of you, you know? So… Thank you… You really didn’t have to come get me. I appreciate it.”

He scoffs, almost like he’s annoyed, “Of course I did.”

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t gonna’ just leave you stranded like that, so of course I had to,” he stops at a red light, casting his dark eyes back to you like it should be obvious. Like he’s offended you would think any less of him. Like it hurt for you to act like he would treat you that way.

“Oh…” you murmur softly, trying not to read into his words. You’re desperately trying to hold yourself together as it is, and the agonizing joy at seeing him again churned with the grief until your whole mind was so muddled that you don’t know quite what to make of him right now.

The light turns green, and his eyes are back on the road before you can dive too deeply into them. Fighting the dwelling silence is an uphill battle, because it’s too easy to just ride this out in silence. You don’t want to do that, though. You don’t want to take the easy way out.

You’ve missed him so much. You’ve missed your best friend, and even if it tears you apart, you wish that some part of yourselves could be like that again. Even if you were left spending the rest of your life wishing for something more, if this is to be it between you, you can’t have your last memory of him be on bad terms.

Friends tastes bittersweet on your tongue, but you would like to be his friend again, at the very least. Perhaps you could get to that place, after the time that’s passed. It’s a hopeful lie to tell yourself, but your wretched heart clings to it regardless.

Giving up is easier than trying, but you always were a fighter, “How’s your uncle?”

“He’s alright, I guess,” is all you get from him, and you can’t help the way it deflates you into the seat beside him.

Coaxing him into conversation is easier said than done, but at the risk of annoying him, you try again, “That’s good. I haven’t seen him since… well, a while… so it’s good to hear he’s alright.” God, you sound absolutely dumb right now, but you can’t stop. Desperate to fill the silence in some way, to urge him into talking with you again. “My, um, mom isn’t doing so great… You know how she was sick… Well, it’s only getting worse, I guess. She’s had to go to the hospital a couple times…”

The car is blowing hot air by the time he looks back to you, defrosting the chill in your bones more than his awkward, “I’m sorry to hear that,” ever could.

Still, you blunder on, “It’s why I’m back here… in Hawkins, I mean. Yeah, I did my first semester and then crap hit the fan, like it always does. I had to transfer to the community college, because I have to be close enough to home to help out my mom right now… so… I’m staying here again.”

“Oh…” Eddie breathes, and you think that’s all you’re going to get, until he shifts in his seat, fingers flexing on the steering wheel, “I didn’t know you were back in town, until you called.”

“Yeah… I guess there’s no reason you would’ve… I’m usually going between work, home, and school, so…” glancing out the window, you sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your wet shirt as you try to think of something else to say, growing frustrated at how hard it was to get him to engage in the conversation. “Oh! I saw Jeff, though. At work. He came in to get some horror flick, like a month ago.”

Eddie bites around a forced smile, sounding more than a little annoyed, “Jeff saw you? It must’ve just slipped his mind to tell me.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel, like he was trying to redirect the anxious energy anywhere other than his voice, but he sounds strained anyway.

You murmur under your breath, “He probably didn’t want to upset you…”

But he catches it anyway, eyes snapping towards you as his breaks hit hard at a stop sign, “Why would it upset me?”

You can’t help your own annoyance from seeping into your tone when you huff, “Well, we didn’t exactly leave off with hugs and kisses, Eddie…” He’s struck back into silence at that, and you mentally kick yourself for letting your bitterness seep through. Sighing, you apologize, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re right.”

You want to say more, but before you can, you realize he’s pulling into your mom’s driveway. Pushing the gear into park, you sit there for a second, before glancing from the rainy view of your house to the man beside you. He stares straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel still.

“Thank you, really, Eddie,” you begin, licking your lips as you try to muster the courage to ask him what you want to. It takes a moment, but you get there, “If you want, sometime we should meet up, you know?” Eddie chews the inside of his cheek as he keeps his eyes on your house, but you’re determined to get through it. You’d hate yourself if you didn’t take the chance, “Like old times… back when we were friends, you know? We should catch up, or something… Honestly, I… I wouldn’t mind being your friend again.”

Your heart beats so fast that you’re certain not even the best drummer in the world could compete with it. Thrumming in your ears, you grip your bag, waiting for a response. Anything, from him, but he just sits in silence, looking out the front windshield towards your house.

“Eddie?” you call his name, almost begging for him to speak. Look at you. Something.

But as another beat passes, it’s clear you’re not going to get it from him. Hurt, red-hot anger washes over you then, because who does he think he is to treat you like this?

What had you ever done to him to deserve it?

“Actually, just, forget it,” you hear the way your voice chokes off in your throat, feeling the burning behind your nose, but you’re determined not to cry. Not this time. “I don’t know why I even bothered to try to fix things between us. You clearly don’t care anything about me, but what else is new? You don’t even want to be my friend. I get it. Fine. Whatever.” Pushing open the door, you hop out into the rain, feet hitting the gravel driveway. Fueled with all the anguish you can muster when you call back at him, “Don’t worry, Munson, I won’t bother you ever again! Have a nice life.”

Slamming the door, you could scream, but you push yourself towards the house. You can’t fall apart, not yet. Not until you were inside. Not until he couldn’t see you—

You’re halfway up the driveway when you hear the sound of his door opening through the rain, feet hitting against gravel as he shouts your name. You ignore him. You can’t do this anymore. It hurt too much. Whatever had happened between you was too hard for you to try to unravel anymore, and you were done begging him to care about you.

But he keeps calling your name, and you’re practically running from him by the time your feet hit your front porch, only for a hand to catch you by your arm, turning you so quickly that you nearly slip down on the wet concrete. He’s steady, though, pushing you against the wooden column of the awning and breathing heavily down at you.

Eddie’s just as soaked as you are now, rain dripping down his hair and off his nose, parted lips and angry eyes glaring right back at your own when he says, “Won’t you wait, for just a damn second?”

“What?” you bite back, unable to help it.

His voice sounds just as desperate as you feel, but his words cut through you just like they did last summer, “I don’t want to be your friend. I can’t ever just be your friend—”

“Why do you hate me, Eddie?” you can’t stop yourself, sniffing back the burning urge to cry with the distress of it, “I don’t know what I did to make you to hate me so much—”

“I don’t hate you— I could never hate you!” there’s a rising panic in his voice, as you shake your head at him. Fingertips digging into your arm, his touch burns, but you don’t try to pull away. You couldn’t if you tried. You don’t have the willpower to move from this spot, with how your heart has melted into the ground.

Your voice rises with his, until you’re both shouting over the rain and the roar of your heart in your ears, “You do! Eddie, you do! I see it— You can barely look at me, let alone talk to me—”

“I love you!” he shouts, like it hurts him to say it, or maybe it hurts him to hear you think otherwise, because when he says it again, it’s a whimper of all the regrets he’s carried since the break-up, “I love you, damn it! I don’t hate you— You could run me over with my van right now and I still wouldn’t be able to hate you! I can’t be your friend because I’m in love with you!”

You’re left slack-jawed for all the time it takes for the rage to boil up, and now tears are brimming at your eyes, when you shove him away, “Don’t you dare mess with me right now, Munson! That’s a sick joke after everything—”

“I���m not joking—!” he regains the ground just as quickly, hands coming to your arms as if he can soothe you somehow. Like a simple touch can solve how broken he’s made you.

“If you love me, why did you break up with me?!” you’re screaming now, but you don’t care. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you can’t stop them, because you’re so overwhelmingly confused by him that you don’t know which way is up anymore.

“I messed up, okay!” he shouts back at you, his own tears brimming in his eyes, until he backs away to bring one ringed hand up to press his index and thumb against his eyes, wiping the water and tears away. “I fucked everything up last summer, because I was scared!”

Your fists clench at your sides as you lean against the column, watching him until he looks back to you, “You were… scared?”

“I was so sure I was gonna’ graduate with you last year. We were gonna’ finally get the hell out of this town,” he gasps out a bitter chuckle, gesturing widely with his arms, “and then Mrs. O’Donnell’s bullshit class just screwed me over again! I had to watch you walk that stage without me, right beside Steve The Hair Harrington, who is apparently your best buddy now—!”

“We work toge—”

“---and you were going all the way to Indiana State! You didn’t need me to be dragging you down here every couple of weeks, and what if you met someone there? I couldn’t handle it if we just grew apart because of the distance and some,” he grits his teeth, stepping towards you, “some random college guy… So maybe I self-destructed!” Eddie swallows hard, struggling to get out the rest, “I didn’t know what to do, so I… I ran away.”

“You…” you breathe, trying to remain calm, but the outrageous edge to your voice gives how upset you are away, “You broke up with me, because it was easier than us putting in the work?!”

“No,” he steps closer, staring at you with such a grief-stricken intensity that it takes your breath away, “I broke up with you, because if I was gonna’ lose you anyway, I wanted to lose you on my terms, but all I wound up doing was ruining my life, and hurting you, like the stupid son of a bitch I am.” His voice breaks, when he continues, “I thought you would be better off without me. That you’d move on and forget about me, or something… but when you told me you loved me that day at my house, I almost couldn’t do it. I thought,” he clears his throat, “I thought that I wasn’t being selfish by letting you go, but I know that’s a lie. I was only trying to save myself the pain of losing you, but that clearly didn’t work out, ‘cause I haven’t gone a single day since without missing you.”

You’re so mad at him, but the pieces of you that would always love him— that are still in love with him— keep you quiet. He was rambling his heart out to you after so long of you wishing he would just speak to you, tell you what’s wrong, and now he was. You still remembered what he’d said to you the day he broke your heart, though, and he had been far too convincing for his words now to mend your worried heart this easily.

“When you called me tonight, I… I didn’t know what to say, or do. I don’t know how to fix this after how badly I’ve messed everything up,” Eddie brushes his tears away again, huffing out the anguished sound of your name, “I don’t blame you if you hate me after all this. You were supposed to be my girl, and— I treated you wrong. I’m so sorry.” Pushing back his hair, he looks out past the pouring rain, towards the van’s headlights, voice catching in his throat before he takes a breath, “I wish I could go back to that night and take every stupid thing I said back. I wasted so much time that I could’ve spent loving you being terrified of the way you make me feel.” His lip quivers as he tries to breathe steady to no avail, “I should’ve been here for you. Shit! I didn’t even know about your mom, for God’s sake—!”

He’s crying too much to stop it when his dark eyes look back at you, unable to keep the redness from his cheeks any longer, or the tears from falling, despite how he tries to push them from his jaw, “I’ve missed you so bad. You are— you were my best friend, and now I really have lost you.”

Trying to breathe steady is as much a struggle for you as it seems to be for him, but you carefully construct the words on your tongue, “You told me you didn’t love me.”

“I lied,” it comes out broken, in as much anguish as you’ve been these past months. “I was so fucking stupid—”

“You’re not stupid, Eddie,” he watches you carefully as you move towards him, close enough that you can reach up, brushing your hand against his jaw to wipe the tears trailing there with your thumb. “You just overthink everything, and it’s something I’ve always loved about you, even when it backfires.“

“Well, boy, did it backfire, this time,” it’s a dry joke, and a weak smile that he forces at the corner of his lips as he leans into your touch. His fingers come to rest along your shoulder, sloping up your throat as you tilt your head into his warmth. A shuddering breath falls from him when you drag his lips down to yours by the grip you take up on his leather jacket.

He kisses you like not a day has passed, as if the burden of your heavy hearts weren’t weighing you down this very instant, but there’s an edge to it. Some desperation to the way you cling to one another after everything that’s been said and done. Fingers catching in his wet hair, you drag him as close as possible, but even that doesn’t seem enough. You don’t care if he can tell how terrified you are, so scared that the moment you release him he’ll leave again. That all this won’t be real again.

But his hands on your skin are warm, and just as real as he’s ever been. Tilting your jaw into his kiss as his lips move feverishly against your own. If your neighbors were to look out their windows, they’d be shocked to see you and Eddie Munson making out on your front porch at nearly twelve in the morning, but you don’t care who sees. You never have.

You don’t care if the whole world knows how in love with him you are. All that matters is if he knows it.

And you desperately want to believe that he loves you, too. Eddie could break your heart all over again, if it meant he truly loved you for even this moment.

His lips part from yours, breathing against them, so low that if you weren’t so close he would’ve been drowned out by the rain, “Can you ever forgive me?” Blinking up at him, you watch the way the night’s shadows cast along the worried lines of his face with the headlights that still shine on the both of you from the driveway.

“Only if you promise to tell me you love me again.”

“I’ll tell you I love you as many times as you like,” he smiles softly, leaning in to kiss you once more, shorter this time. “I love you. I’m so sorry I ever told you anything different.”

“I love you, too, Eddie,” you hum, “but if you’re coming inside, you better go turn off your van’s headlights before the battery dies.”

He grins this time, one of those wide ones that had always made your heart swell to see, “I’d better go do that, then.” Instead, he takes another moment to kiss you again, before letting you go to jog across the gravel driveway through the rain to his van. Your key’s hit the lock of the front door by the time the lights go out, and he’s jogging back your way when you open it.

Reaching out to him, he takes your hand, and you intertwine your fingers against the silver bands of his rings to drag him into your house, “I missed you, too, you know.”

Eddie follows you, and you have a hunch he’d follow you anywhere, “I got a lot of time I gotta’ make up for.”

You chuckle when he kicks the door closed behind him, locking it, “You can start by telling me you love me again.”

“Like I said, sweetheart, as many times as you like—”

#eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things female reader insert #female reader insert #fanfiction #author meg #fanfic by me #newstuff female reader insert

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: While Leviathan was Away(tm) Location: Axis Investigations Feat: @faustianbroker (as Gabagool), @mortemoppetere, & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Alcoholism tw (mention) Summary: Everyone's favorite gossip demon spends some time at Emilio's

Beady little mismatched eyes peeked up over the edge of the table, narrowing into slits when they saw the unattended phone sitting there. The badalisc hunkered down, wiggled his butt, and then leaped onto the table, claws skittering on the wooden top and adding to the scratches that already marred its surface. 

Paw pads slapped at the phone, the creature finding himself thankful that the horrible man his master had left him with didn’t value security, unlocking it to a familiar sort of screen. He knew what the phone button looked like and nosed that, staring at the recent calls screen. 

Shit, he didn’t know Teddy’s number. Or how to spell their name. Shit. 

Oh well.

Starting from the top down, Gabagool started calling every number that had been incoming or outgoing, immediately bitching about being picked up when someone answered, not bothering to wait and hear if it was Teddy. Eventually it was, though, and the lesser demon heaved a relieved sigh. 

“I’ve called like twenty people, Teddy! Come pick me up! This jackoff isn’t even giving me my daily serving of lamb! This is bullshit!” he hollered into the phone, sounding on the verge of hysterics. 

—

When he’d agreed to this gig, it had seemed like easy money. After all, Emilio had once been the father of a newborn who required next to no sleep and had enhanced senses informing her of every movement her parents made in the next room. How hard could any babysitting gig be in comparison to that? 

He wasn’t sure if it was the years separating him from fatherhood or the fact that Levi’s badalisc was just a fucking nightmare, but he was beginning to think Gabagool was worse than a slayer toddler had ever been. He wasn’t even cute, the way Flora had been. He was just annoying.

So when Emilio came into the kitchen to find the little monster on his phone, it ticked him off a little bit.

“Give me that,” he snapped, marching across the room as quickly as he was able and snatching the phone out of the little beast’s grubby hands. “Who the fuck are you calling? Stay away from my shit, man.” He glanced down at the caller ID, groaning at the name he saw there and hanging up as quickly as he could. With any luck, nothing of the call had gone through at all. He and Teddy might be on steadier ground now than they’d been before, but the last thing he wanted was for them to have something like this to hole over his damn head. “I told you, I’m not buying fucking lamb. There’s food here. Just eat that.”

—

The call had gone through, and had the slayer been listening to his surroundings more than just the whiny whims of the badalisc, he might have heard the quiet, raspy, and always just a little curiously eager voice on the other end far closer than he would have imagined. Definitely far closer than he would have liked. Teddy was practically right outside the slayer’s door when the call came. Teddy didn’t even know that Levi had left the precious baby with Emilio of all people. And you know what, Teddy was a bit offended by that. Clearly the detective wasn’t doing a stellar job.

Timing it just-so for maximum effect, Teddy waited until the clamor died down inside the apartment, then knocked a pleasantly annoying tune on the old painted wood. 

— 

Gabs hissed at Emilio as he snatched the phone away, scrabbling his paws on the table in a defiant little dance. “I’m calling for help! I need help! This is abuse!” he howled, leaping down from the table and tearing back into the living room.

“Your food is shit, poor man! I want lamb! Get me lamb! Leviathan makes me lamb! It makes lamb for me every night!” As he sucked in a deep breath to continue wailing, he heard the knock and clammed right up. His ears flicked toward the door, followed by his big head, and that massive mouth split into a toothy grin. “Teds? TEDS?! Oh! Oh!” He could smell them already, bounding over to the door and skittering in tight circles. 

“Get the door, sourpuss! I don’t have fucking thumbs.” 

—

A knock at the door, the subtle scent of sulfur and soap that was becoming more familiar than Emilio would care to admit. The detective groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. How the fuck had Teddy even gotten here so quickly? He glared at the little demon as it took off for the living room, clambering after it quickly enough to make his leg ache. “Maybe I find out what badalisc tastes like, hm? I’ll show you abuse, you little shit.” 

Another knock, and the demon was running to the door on its stupid, too fast legs. Emilio stomped after it, though he made no move towards the doorknob. “One second,” he called through the door. “I gotta put something in the microwave first!” He made a grab for Gabagool as he said it, making it pretty clear what he intended to put in the microwave. He wouldn’t turn it on or anything. He just thought the demon might be quieter in there, was all.

—

The micro– Oh NO. Without another word Teddy barged into the apartment, not waiting for any kind of invitation. What were they, a vampire? Was that even… Not the time Teds. There was a little furball being scooped up by an abrasive detective and clearly he needed saving. The taller demon didn’t even stop to close the door behind them as they swept into the apartment like a tidal wave. 

“Hey– hey! No cooking the baby!” Demons, despite popular belief, were not fireproof. Or radiation proof for that matter. Video games got it wrong. (Though, not too many had tested the microwave method.) With one fluid motion Teddy carefully dropped the basket of things they had brought with them, and scooped up the little furball the way he liked to be held. “Hell’s wrong with you?” Clearly not directed at Gabagool, the very best demon in the world. 

— 

Gabagool had just started up a rather shrill wail when Teddy came barging inside, scrambling to get away from Emilio as the hunter’s hands gripped his fur with malicious intent, only to be scooped up by the other demon and cradled protectively in their arms. 

“He was gonna cook me! He was gonna eat me, Teds!” the badalisc whined, covering his eyes with his front legs, in a dramatic show of fear. “When does Leviathan come home? I want Leviathan back! And I want my lamb!” 

—

Stupid broken lock. Teddy barged in before Emilio could make good on any of his threats, snatching the wretched little demon out of his hands and holding it like it was a baby instead of the worst thing Emilio had ever had to put up with in his life. He preferred the vampire who’d gotten the drop on him in Mexico six years ago to this thing, even if he’d been mostly dead by the time Rhett finally found him and dragged him back home. He’d like to be mostly dead right now, he thought. If he were mostly dead, he wouldn’t be babysitting a sea monster’s badalisc. It’d probably be peaceful. 

Glaring at the badalisc as Teddy spoke, Emilio nodded. “No, no, you’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t cook him in the microwave. I’m sorry about that. Really. The oven would work a lot better.” He made another grab for Gabagool, though it was a half-assed attempt at best. He wasn’t really going to put the little shit in the oven, but he’d like to spook it into acting a little less annoying. 

Still glaring, Emilio turned his attention to Teddy. “Wait, how the fuck did you get here so quick. And what — You brought a basket? I’m not cooking lamb for this thing.”

—

There was a lot of mental gymnastics going on behind those ruby red glasses. Teddy tried their best to soothe the frantic demon in their arms with scritches right behind his ears, the way Gabs liked. If Leviathan trusted Emilio to take care of Gabagool, he had to know. But how much? Levi knew he was a hunter, even went as far as to say that was a reason to not 'hang around' the slayer. The middlest Jones squinted, boring their eyes into Emilio as if all his secrets would spill if they just stared hard enough. But they weren't a badalisc. Just the pudgy ball of sass still wiggling about in Ted's arms. 

"I was summoned." They replied flatly, lying outright for once. Another sort of test, gauge his response, see where he lands. "The basket isn't for Gabs." Would they explain what it was for? No. Detective Danger over there could figure it out his damn self. "I did door dash us some ingredients though. This place does have a stove right?" Cooking for Gabagool was always a treat for Teddy. Where Leviathan gobbled up anything the lad made, happily, greedily, Gabs had a discerning palate. Made Ted feel like they were on a cooking competition show. Made them want to make fancy things. "Braised lamb and carbonara, okay Gabs?"

—

Positively melting at the suggestion, Gabagool relaxed in Teddy's arms. "Ohh, that sounds heavenly," he sighed, reaching for his back paws with the front pair, throwing Emilio a faux smile as he did his best to appear as cute as possible. "See, garbage man, this is how you treat a guest! You're getting paid a ridiculous amount of money to take care of me… you could try a little harder." 

Seemingly done with his tantrum now that Teddy had arrived, he wiggled to be put back down, standing stock still as Perro entered the living room to see what the commotion was. The two had a five second stare-off before Gabs huffed and scurried over to him, initiating play much like if he was a dog himself. 

—

Kiss ass, Emilio thought, continuing to glare silently at Gabagool as he twisted and relaxed in Teddy’s arms. Acting like he hadn’t been a little shit the entire time he’d been here. Now Teddy probably thought he was some kind of an asshole who’d been tormenting the stupid thing. Not that Emilio cared, of course. Who gave a shit what Teddy Jones thought of him? 

He shoved his hands into his pockets as Gabs ran off to play with Perro. The dog, at least, was thrilled with the temporary addition to the household. Emilio turned his attention to the basket Teddy had brought, rifling through it. Groceries, like they’d told Gabs, sure. But other things, too. “Why are you walking around with a basket full of candles and shit? And did — You’re kidding. Right? About the summoning.” Levi made it sound a hell of a lot harder to summon a demon. Emilio shook his head, straightening back up and nudging the basket towards the door with his foot. “Whatever. That thing doesn’t deserve… whatever you said you were gonna make him. He’s a prick.” He said it loudly enough for Gabagool to hear, shooting another vague glare in the smaller demon’s direction. “We don’t need any help here. Tell your dad that everything’s fine.”

—

“The candles are for something else that I said I’d do. I’m just here to do it.” Teddy didn’t answer the second part. Simply smiled and raised their brows as they brushed past, searching for the kitchen they were not invited to use. They passed by the playing creatures with a pleasant hum. It was actually pretty nice to see the little demon getting along with another animal, even if that one couldn’t talk up a storm the way Gabs could. “If you think you don’t need help you’re in denial. Did pops not tell you that Gabagool could make rumors come true? You gotta treat him like the little prince that he is, and he’ll be a wonderful house guest. Plus, he likes the Golden Girls. That tip’s for free.” One big grin and the demon disappeared behind the wall. 

Teddy didn’t know what they were expecting to find in the kitchen, but it was somehow both better and worse than they thought it’d be. But– serviceable. Enough. Just a bit of light scrubbing before they got to work. Something they’d probably have to do before setting up any wards or rituals anyway, if they wanted the chalk to stick long enough for it to work. Ted’s phone chimed lightly, letting them know the dasher was coming up to drop off the ingredients that they’d need, but Ted had brought some stuff with them. Were they planning on making dinner here anyway? Maybe. Would they say it’s just cause the rituals would take some time, and doing magic on an empty stomach was never a good idea? Yes. 

“Do you at least have a sauteé pan?” 

—

Hearing Teddy talking up his abilities, the lesser demon allowed a smug smirk to settle over his animalistic features, replacing the scowl that’d been directed right back at Emilio only moments ago. 

Headbutting Perro gently to end their play, the badalisc trotted into the kitchen after Teddy, bumping hard into Emilio’s leg as he went, his stump of a tail held as high in the air as it could be. “And gosh, wouldn’t it be a shame if I’d heard that both your knees were bad? Or that you were terribly, terribly sick? That would be so sad for you!” The threat, while lighthearted, was… probably serious. 

“A man without a sauteé pan? You see what I’ve been dealing with, Teddums? This is an outrage.”

—

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emilio wracked his mind as Teddy brushed by him, trying to remember if the demon had promised (or perhaps threatened?) to do anything around his apartment. There’d been talks of rituals to ease the curse, sure, but the curse was over now, wasn’t it? Sure, he still woke up in a cold sweat with his own voice in his head, echoing the thought that had rattled through his mind when he put that blade in Lucio’s gut, but that was no different than the dreams of his old living room back in Etla that still plagued him, or the way he sometimes swore he spotted Flora in a crowd. Not a supernatural thing, not really; just the broken mind of a broken man. 

Deciding that whatever was happening in the kitchen was more important than the basket on the floor, Emilio turned to follow Teddy in that direction, shooting Gabagool a glare at the threat. “I’ll feed you to a goat,” he hissed in Spanish, figuring Teddy couldn’t judge him for a threat they wouldn’t understand. Turning back to the slightly more tolerable demon, he said, “I have a pan. It’s on the fridge.” It was not, of course, a sauteé pan, though Emilio was unaware that there was any kind of a difference. “If your little monster starts making things come true about me, I’m going to kick it,” he added.

—

If anyone was gonna spill the beans that Teddy knew Spanish it was going to be Gabagool, but there was definitely more dirt to unpack from that pile. So the demon just looked over at the badalisc, looked back at the food they were preparing and gave a rather knowing look to the little gossip monger. Gabs had been in the family long enough to know the scheming face of Teddy Jones. 

“Speaking in tongues is usually the thing that demons do, not the people watching them, Cortez.” Pan. Single. Ugh. This was going to be a challenge. In a way, that was kind of good though. Fun. Like being on Cutthroat Kitchen. At the very least Teds could spy a few wooden tools, and knives. “If my little angel does that, it’s only because you didn’t respect him enough. Also you may not have a foot long if you do that. Double also, If your kitchen knives aren’t at least as sharp as the ones you use on hunts, I will be disappointed.”

— 

Keep the trap shut. Got it. Gabagool sneered at Emilio, adding a “You wouldn’t dare. Leviathan would gut you,” for good measure before he jumped up on the counter, then to the top of the aforementioned fridge to watch the scene unfold from afar. The creature might have a big mouth, but to be an effective gatherer of gossip, he had to know when to listen, too. 

So he did just that, curling up on top of the smelly, mostly-unused fridge with his chin hanging over the edge, watching the two move about the kitchen with quiet curiosity. 

—

“Getting gutted would be worth it,” Emilio bit back, still glaring at the creature. Gabs retreated to the top of the fridge, which wasn’t quite a victory, but Emilio would accept it as such all the same. Confident — or at least momentarily hopeful — that Gabagool wasn’t going to make good on his threat to rumor his good knee into breaking, the detective turned his attention to Teddy.

They’d certainly made themself at home in his kitchen easily enough, pulling out tools and cooking items that Emilio hadn’t even known he’d possessed. Some of them may have been left by the previous occupant of the apartment, the way a lot of the items scattered around Axis were. Others may have been placed there by well-meaning friends and neighbors. The large wooden spoon certainly looked like a Javi addition. “Knives are sharp,” he confirmed with a nod. You never knew when you might need to use one, after all… though Emilio’s idea of ‘using’ the kitchen knives certainly differed from Teddy’s intentions here. “What are the candles for? If you told me while I was drunk, I don’t remember it now. Don’t remember much of anything there.” It was a lie; he remembered that night on Teddy’s boat a lot more than he’d care to admit, remembered the warmth in his chest that hadn’t been the curse or the alcohol. 

—

Teddy hummed satisfactorily. If there was one thing the demon loved it was knowing something that someone else didn’t. Well. Only if it was for a good reason. Or at least a funny one. Emilio’s confession that Ted wasn’t the problem in their relationship (or lack of one) was a juicy enough tidbit that the ghost would not be given up any time soon. 

Gabs scrambled upward, and the pan came down. All sorts of dirty and grimy in that way that only untouched kitchen clutter always got. Oily dust. A bitch to clean. Teddy’s expression said just as much as they pushed past Emilio to the sink, and slid the pan between a host of other dirty dishes (mostly coffee mugs?) that sat in various stages of growing their own eco systems. A frown wouldn’t do this justice, so Teddy just returned to their aloof base state. 

“Even without the curse hanging over your head I’m sure the wards will do you a bit better than Big Finn alone.” It was quieter, softer. As Teddy scrubbed what seemed like years of build up off the pan, and any stress off their own back. This was something they could do well, something they liked to do for other people. Clear up the clutter in a house, you help them clear up the clutter in their head. Plus, Teds got to cook after, and that was enough to put them in a good mood. If the whole affair came with a little verbal volleyball between them and Emilio? Eh, that was a bonus. 

— 

The fact that they’d been together when Emilio was drunk might’ve been something, but if the bottles catered around the terrible apartment were any indication, that was more the norm, anyway. So maybe nothing. Unless Teddums was also drunk. Humans always did stupid things when they were drunk, and Ted was enough of a human to fall under that umbrella. Affectionately. 

“Is he really worth the effort?” the lesser demon interjected with a scoff, his gaze darting to Emilio. “I mean for fuck’s sake, look at the state of this place. It’d take a miracle to keep anyone happy in a place like this.” Gabagool didn’t know exactly what the wards were for, but he knew Big Finn well enough to make a guess.

—

He could make the claim that his apartment was a mess because of the chaos involved with babysitting Gabagool, or pretend he would have tidied up if he knew that he’d had company on the way, but he didn’t think anyone would buy it. Most of the shit in that sink had been sitting there for far longer than his houseguest had been present, to the point that Emilio had been drinking his morning coffee straight from the pot for a week or so now, and he didn’t think the pan had come off the fridge since the day he moved in. That much was probably obvious by the state of it, if Teddy’s expression had anything to say. 

But, strangely, they didn’t give him hell for it. Emilio watched them carry it to the sink, watched them scrub with a strange expression on his face. What did Teddy care, he wondered, about the shit that went on in Emilio’s head? After all the crap he’d given them, why were they still trying to help? “You don’t have to,” he said lowly, uncharacteristically soft. “Don’t want you wasting any… energy on me, or whatever.” Some things couldn’t be fixed; Emilio Cortez was one of them.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed Gabagool’s commentary, of course. Turning back towards the fridge, his expression shifted from the strangely soft one he’d been delivering to the back of Teddy’s head to a sharp glare. “I still haven’t decided not to stick you in the microwave,” he warned. “You’re small and easy to catch. It could happen at any time.”

—

The badalisc was jabbering on again, and Teddy just continued to smile. Adding in a small shrug at his question. Because hey, when did Teds ever know why they did what they were doing, right? Maybe it was because of some strange desire to see the world better than how they found it. Maybe it was an experiment just to see if they could do it. Maybe it was because throughout each interaction some small sliver of something was uncovered in Emilio that excited Teddy. That reflected back on something that burned within them too. There was a mystery, or at least a hidden treasure. They just knew it. Some strange feeling they couldn’t ignore. 

It wasn’t something that the demon thought the other shared. Even as the man in question talked in softer tones towards Teddy’s back. Even as they turned and caught the briefest glimpse of Emilio’s face before he turned and continued to badger the badalisc. To which Teddy just mocked a stabbing motion behind the slayer's back, mouthing to the tiny demon a quick ‘Should I?’ along with a mischievous grin. To some eyes, (perhaps those seeing this situation for the first time as a third wheel) the motion may have looked to be something else, but that was neither here nor there. There was dinner to be made, and big mouths to feed. 

“Eh.” Teds shrugged again. “I’ll do it anyway. Your apartment’s pretty much in the center of this building. Might help out Sully and Co too. Call it philanthropy. Once I get my mind set on something it’s pretty hard to stop me.” It wasn’t personal. Right? Couldn’t be. Teddy was barely a person. And Emilio sure didn’t think he was much of one either. If the state of this apartment was anything like the man’s mental health, it wasn’t going good. 

— 

Gab’s hackles rose at the return of the threat to cook him up, eyes narrowing at Emilio. “I cannot believe that Leviathan thought you’d be a suitable caregiver, you dick. What’d you do to seduce it, huh? Why’s it like you so much?” Hm. A grin stretched wide across the badalisc’s face at Teddy’s pantomime, unsure of the exact meaning but finding it amusing either way. Snorting, the lesser demon scrabbled down the front of the fridge again to land somewhat ungracefully on his paws, darting underneath the table where it sat to lick the dust out of his fur. 

“You know, you live like this much longer and you’re gonna attract a whole fuckload of stakichar. Then you’ll really be sick all the time, and not just from the whiskey breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

—

“I’m likable,” Emilio replied, a little smug. “Either that, or you’re not likable. Maybe Leviathan left you with me ‘cause he’s hoping to get rid of your sorry ass.” He saw the badalisc’s mismatched eyes dart to something behind his head and he quickly turned around, but by the time he was facing Teddy again, they were the picture of innocence. Asshole. Why had Emilio thought it was a good idea to get involved with a family of demons in the first place? They were all dicks. Even Levi. He’d definitely saddled Emilio with Gabagool as some kind of terrible prank, the slayer was sure of it. 

He watched the lesser demon scramble down from the fridge with a roll of his eyes, glancing back to Teddy. “You really think whatever you’re doing is going to cover the whole building?” That certainly made him more open to it. Trying to help Emilio might have been a waste of the demon’s time and efforts, but if those efforts ended up helping Wynne, Arden, Zack, and Sully, it was something the slayer could get behind. 

As Gabagool went on, Emilio had half a mind to take off his shoe and toss it at the demon. “It’s not that bad,” he said, a little defensive. The apartment wasn’t in great shape right now, sure, but he’d get around to cleaning it eventually. Motivation was just… harder to come by lately. The last few weeks had found him struggling to pull himself off the couch or the mattress for anything other than his basic ‘work, drink, hunt’ routine. It happened, sometimes. Eventually, he’d get enough extra energy to manage the dishes. Until then, they weren’t hurting anyone, no matter what the nosy demon claimed. “You don’t get to talk about how I live, anyway. Are you licking yourself? Eso es repugnante.”

—

“Listen, I’m sure there was a reason Dad chose you.” They trailed off as they got busy. It was strange, but hey Levi had done stranger things. Picking Emilio. Instead of the very clear obvious choice, the one who knew about Gab’s temper, about his likes and dislikes, about the need for lamb. Lamb that Teddy was finally getting to prepare. The nice thing about this particular recipe is that it was quick. Or maybe that was just because of the ritual magic baked right in. Sped up the process. A day's worth of ‘slow cooking’ and flavorful braising in about… five to ten minutes. A demonic instapot. The young demon wasn’t nearly as practiced, or as powerful as Leviathan, but they sure were creative with their rituals and rites. 

Garlic and shallots were thinly sliced, a flavorful broth was boiling away ready for the pasta, and a bit of butter in the pan was making the whole apartment smell like a five star kitchen. The simple things, Teddy found (if they were done juuuust right) made all the difference. The meat was already in the oven, and the demon was quickly balancing a magical act between the ritual and the ‘analog’ cooking. 

When they got like this it was like the demon was in their own little world. Where everything else faded away and some rare equilibrium was reached. Usually this kind of act was reserved for the ones Teddy really cared about but… Well they did care about Emilio. Kind of. In a strange way. It was just… with an odd fascination or something. Right? The idea of something bad happening to the grumpy garbage man twisted up Ted’s stomach in a way they couldn’t really explain. It wasn't pity. That carried a connotation of looking down on the other’s situation. Which just wasn’t the case either. It wasn’t like they were friends, Emilio had made that clear. So maybe it was… empathy? 

Some outreach of the demon’s heart that saw a similar ache in him. Wanted to bandage a wound they had no right to even ask about. In the end it probably didn’t matter. Teddy could feed the badalisc (and the grump), set up the runes and wards, then go back to being told to fuck off. They could figure out feelings later. 

“Bon Appetit my darling prince.” Teddy made a grand show of setting up a plate (perfectly presented with an artistic flair) for the little demon at the table. On top. Not below. They sat next to him, with a much less fancy, but still quite full plate of their own. Then motioned to the counter for Emilio to find the dish set up for him, too. It was rude to just eat in front of someone. Doubly so in their house. 

—

“Yes, because I know how to bathe myself unlike someone in this room,” Gabagool snapped back with a huff. He stood, giving a thorough shake of his little body and then turned on the spot to headbut the table chair until it was pushed out enough for him to climb into. 

Seated on his haunches, the lesser demon stretched his front paws out on the table, resting his chin between them as his gaze danced between the two humanoids in the kitchen. Teds was in their own world as they cooked, which was pretty par for the course. The result, as always, was a delicious concoction of flavors, presented to the badalisc as it ought to have been: with grace and respect. Fuckin’ hell, was that so hard? 

Grinning from ear to ear, the demon bounced excitedly in his chair, wishing he had the booster seat that was back at home. “You, babysitter,” he barked, his gaze snapping up to meet Emilio’s before he got a plate or sat down or did anything that might give him an excuse to say no (aside from just being generally disagreeable), “Get me a phone book or something to sit on. I need leverage on this incredible, amazing meal thankyousomuch my dear sibling.” The back half of the sentence was delivered with a decidedly honeyed tone, a big grin flashed in Teddy’s direction at the same time. 

—

Teddy seemed to lose themself in the process of cooking, though it looked a little more like black magic to Emilio. Whether that was because of Teddy’s added flair to the process or because the slayer had simply never seen anyone cook anything more complex than a sandwich was hard to say. In any case, Teddy’s fascination with their craft essentially left Emilio once again alone with Gabagool. 

“I do bathe myself,” he snapped, irritation clear in his tone. “Just not by licking myself, like some people.” Was it ridiculous, bickering with what essentially amounted to a demon’s pet cat? Yeah. Absolutely. But Emilio was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to let Gabs get the last word even when it became clear that the argument wasn’t one he could feasibly win. 

If he were a little less exhausted, he would have protested a little more about Teddy’s preparation. The stupid badalisc didn’t deserve lamb after the way it had acted. If you rewarded bad behavior, you were only ever going to see more bad behavior. Every parent knew that, even the bad ones. But he knew Teddy wouldn’t listen, and Gabagool was only his problem for a couple more days, anyway, so fuck it. Anything to make the demon shut up.

Except nothing would make the demon shut up, because the universe hated Emilio specifically. “Stand,” he replied flatly, looking down at the plate Teddy had prepared for him. It looked good, as far as food went. It would taste like ash, anyway. Everything always did. “Who the fuck even has a damn phone book? No.” 

—

Ted’s brows raised as the rest of their face scrunched, as if to ask Emilio if that was really the best course of action here. It couldn’t hide the hint of a smile though. Curling at the edges of their lips, making dimples where smooth cheeks should have been. Instead, the demon stood once more, got the basket they had brought along, and upended it. Carefully. They still needed to actually do the full rituals to fix up this place, and hopefully provide Emilio with a bit of solace. However much the man raged against the idea. Often personally making things worse for himself. 

Teddy lifted and sat the littlest demon on the basket like it was a perfect high chair, comfy and sturdy enough to hold the tiny but dense body. They gave Gab’s one little scritch then decided standing was a lot easier than trying to sit still. Teds munched upon their meal and began the preparations for the ritual. They moved aside the sad excuse for a carpet that blanketed the old hardwood floor and started drawing up the circles and adding in the required runes. 

“Soooooo.” Teds said lowly, trying their best to think of something to talk about that would entertain the badalisc and not piss off the detective too much. “What’ve you been up to that kept you from properly feeding your temporary house guest, huh Cortez?” 

— 

Beaming appreciatively up at Teddy as they situated him on the basket, the creature’s little nub of a tail gave a small wag, and he hummed happily. Paws on the table, Gabagool tucked into the meal with enthusiasm. He was only half listening when Teds posed the question, ears pinned flat as he gave a snort of acknowledgement. 

“Drinking too much, what else?” he snipped, beady gaze darting from where Teddy was settling up the ritual to Emilio, where it narrowed. “Didn’t even take me for any walks. Left that to his… whatever she is. Ward, or something. I dunno.” His expression softened, however. “She was nice, though, so it wasn’t all bad.”

—

God, Teddy babied this thing. Giving it everything it asked for, treating it as gently as one might treat a child or a beloved pet. Emilio rolled his eyes as they bent to its will again, using their basket as a booster seat to help the little monster see over the table. The glare he shot at the pair was mostly directed towards Gabagool, though there was some frustration towards Teddy as well. If they didn’t spoil the demon so much, it wouldn’t have been quite so insufferable. 

Gathering the plate Teddy had prepared for him, the detective practically collapsed into the chair across from Gabagool, still glaring petulantly. A fork pushed food around on the plate, though he had little interest in actually eating it. The rock that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach felt heavier as of late, and attempting to put any food in his stomach didn’t seem like a particularly appealing thought. Neither did conversation, but that wasn’t quite as easy to get out of.

“I don’t drink too much,” he snapped, though he knew it was untrue. “You’d probably drink, too, if you had to deal with someone as annoying as you for a week. Have you ever listened to yourself speak? Anyone would drink.” He stabbed at the lamb on his plate aggressively. “She’s not my ward. She’s my dog walker. And if I find out you were an ass to her, I really will toss you in the oven.” Propping his chin on his hand with an elbow on the table, he added, “And how the hell am I supposed to walk you, anyway? Can barely walk my fucking self.” Another aggressive stab. There was a lot of meat on his fork now. Rather than bringing it to his mouth, he glanced to Teddy. “You’re seriously doing those rituals? You don’t have to, man. It’s fine. We’re fine here.” 

—

A sly grin slid across the demon’s features as they worked, as they caught the look Emilio shot them. Teddy turned towards the little demon as it gobbled away at the meal.  “My sweet baby Gabs, you’ve gotten your lamb. I can make sure to send more food until pops comes home, would you please be sweet to the poor man? I know it’s very hard, he’s got a very bully-able face. Clearly he’s going through it, and needs some kindness in his life. That’s the least we can do.”  

Pleased with themself (obviously) Teddy returned to the ritual. Carefully outlining a few more runes and glyphs. Almost done. “You got a dog walker? Bougie.” Perro, the other perfect angel, was being a very helpful assistant to Teddy’s rite. Chilling on the couch and every so often giving a little huff of approval or otherwise. Brilliant. “Now I’m just gonna do them out of spite. Protest any more and I’ll add a ward that makes it smell like fresh baked cookies.” 

— 

As much as Gabagool hated the idea of being kind to the ornery private investigator, he cared more about being kind to Teddy, an extension of which was doing as the young demon asked. “Fiiiiiine,” he sighed dramatically, throwing one last glare in Emilio’s direction before settling in to finish off the rest of his meal. 

Plate cleaned, Gabagool hopped down from the basket and trotted beneath the table, stopping and parking his butt on the floor by Emilio’s feet. It was probably the closest he’d been to the man while not trying to bite at his shoelaces or some such antagonistic thing, so it was something of an olive branch, at least on his part. “Cookies? I think you should do that anyway.” He craned his thick neck around to glance up at Emilio, gaze meeting the slayer’s for a brief second before jumping to the food he wasn’t eating. “Not a sane person alive that doesn’t like the smell of cookies… especially chocolate chip. You really can’t go wrong there.” It was almost as if he was asking the man’s permission, which was yet another olive branch. 

—

Emilio returned Gabagool’s glare in kind, tossing a half-assed one in Teddy’s direction, too, just to cover all his bases. “I am not ‘going through’ anything,” he mumbled irritably. “And I do not have a bully-able face. I don’t think that’s a real word.” A bold accusation coming from someone who hardly spoke English, but he was pretty sure he was right. 

The demon came and placed himself on the floor beside his chair, and Emilio eyed him warily for a moment before determining that he wasn’t looking to cause problems. He did seem to be looking for seconds, and Emilio kept his eyes locked on the demon’s as he shoveled the sizable chunk of meat on his fork into his mouth, just to be contrary. He chewed intently and swallowed, the food settling like a stone in his stomach. Worth it, just to piss off the demon a little more. “I don’t want my apartment smelling like cookies. I have a business here, you know. Businesses do not smell like cookies.” Or maybe they did; it wasn’t as if Emilio was a successful businessman. 

With a sigh, he lifted the still mostly-full plate off the table and set it in the floor in front of Gabagool, expression warning the demon not to mention it lest the food be taken away. Unsurprisingly, the slayer wasn’t very hungry after all. With that out of the way, he turned in his chair to face Teddy. “The dog walker’s a kid,” he offered. “Won’t let me give her food or anything without doing something for me, so I let her walk the dog. She’s stubborn.” As if he had any room to talk. “Look, man, let me get you a beer, at least. Can I do that? To say thanks for keeping me from tossing that thing out the window.” He inclined his head towards Gabagool.

—

“I’m in my Shakespeare era. Making up words, inspiring people, not giving a shit about gender roles. The uszhe.” Teddy grinned before standing with a dramatic flourish. They put the very last of the lines on the floor, lit the candles and began the chant. It was an ancient language, bending it to the very modern will of a young demon just starting to fledge themselves on half-baked rites was tricky. But they’d perfected these small enchantments one by one. Lots and lots of trial and error. Teds wasn’t even sure Leviathan knew how much they’d done. Certainly not on the boat, certainly not why. A careful secret they kept, and yet another reason to keep the little gossip as pleased and happy as possible. 

The fabric of time and space seemed to waver, the apartment all at once felt like it was swirling in on itself and expanding out into the farthest reaches of the void. Just for a split second. Light poured around the demon and bled along the chalk until it became one with the wood below. Somehow Teddy didn’t think Emilio would be getting any security deposits back anyway, so it’s not like this would fuck up that situation. Besides, a place like this, what could it possibly be? Twenty bucks and a sticker? 

Everything settled back into place, and Teddy was fairly confident no one outside of the room would be any wiser to it. But the ritual had worked, they could feel the way the magic pulled and pushed around them. Powerful, like a newly plugged in air freshener. Teddy’s joint pain eased away, they sighed contentedly, then turned back towards the table to catch the very end of Gabs gobbling up everything on Emilio’s plate. “I’d take a beer, sure.” They pretended not to notice. They wouldn’t push it. Maybe Emilio still somehow thought Teddy was out to poison him. Like demons used arsenic instead of salt to season their lamb. “She sounds like a mini you. Where’d you find a kid like that, hiding in a dumpster?” 

—

Finishing the food on the plate he’d been offered, Gabagool resisted the urge to make an annoyed face at Emilio, true to its word to be nicer. Instead, he just got to his little feet, sneezed loudly, and trotted out of the kitchen, leaving the other two alone. 

He wondered if their conversation might take a more interesting turn if he wasn’t present—not that it hadn’t been interesting already. Plenty left unsaid. Plenty said that would require picking apart and digesting… maybe while the badalisc digested all that lamb. With a grunt, he hopped up onto the lumpy couch beside Perro and turned on the spot a few times before laying down, using the dog’s rear end as a pillow. He didn’t drift off to sleep, though, instead keeping one ear cocked toward the kitchen, curious about the nature of this relationship.

—

“I don’t know what this means,” Emilio sighed. The phrase felt like a familiar one, like he was in a constant state of not understanding. He felt like that a lot, with Teddy. They were so vibrant sometimes, rattling on and on about things Emilio never quite grasped. It wasn’t a bad feeling the way it had been in the beginning, though. Strangely, Teddy seemed to explain every time they noted Emilio’s confusion. Maybe it wasn’t as much fun rambling when the person you were rambling to couldn’t follow. That explanation, he thought, made far more sense than the idea that Teddy cared whether or not Emilio was confused.

He watched with some interest as the demon finished whatever it was he was doing, sending the apartment into a brief state of chaos before everything settled. Emilio had very little experience with magic. Some hunters worked with spellcasters, but the Cortezes had never been among them. Even if they had, Teddy’s magic certainly wasn’t that of a spellcaster. It was something all its own.

When they were finished, some of the old aches and pains that lived in the hunter’s bones seemed to retreat. His leg hurt a little less, his muscles loosened. The badalisc decided to fuck off, too, which seemed an unrelated but appreciated bonus. Moving around Teddy, Emilio made his way over to the fridge to retrieve two beers. “Actually, yeah. Found her in a dumpster.” He popped both bottles open and offered one to Teddy. 

It felt like an olive branch. A cold peace treaty in a bottle, signed in ink by the markings now etched into his floor. They weren’t friends; Emilio doubted they’d ever be that. But they could get along if they tried to. Maybe that could be worth something, bad first impressions aside.

—

#wickedswriting #faustianbroker #mortemoppetere #eldritchaccident

[kiridarling]

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #CLUB 777 #izuku smut #bnha smut #mha smut #midoriya smut

[sageinacage]

y'know how jumpy tommy was in the amusement park vlog,, what if after the vlog they're hanging out at wilbur's place and wilbur keeps trying to scare him, eventually finding out tommy's ticklish :0

Scaredy Cat summary: wilbur was messing with tommy all day and trying to scare him, until he figured out something interesting a/n: i'm really sorry for not writing in a while D: expect more fics coming soon! like half of my inbox got cleared so feel free to send in requests :D also im working on adding titles to all my fics LOL warnings: swearing, jokes about unsafe roller coasters w/c: 1.2k IRL, Platonic

~

All day, Wilbur has just been a nuisance. Starting on the way to the amusement park, Wilbur was explaining to Tommy the dangers of roller coasters. Well- trying to; over Phil’s scolding, it was hard to continue to inform Tommy without bursting into laughter.

Though, because of his fear of roller coasters and Wilbur’s “information,” Tommy was on edge all day- jumping and getting startled at the smallest things; and Wilbur was not helping at all. “Are you okay, Tom? You’re really jumpy, dude.” Phil gave him a sympathetic smile, trying not to laugh when the boy angrily groaned. “I’m not jumpy!” He grumbled out, looking forward.

Wilbur heard this and let out a chuckle, before lunging at Tommy and faking it out. The poor blonde jumped then immediately crossed his arms. “Stoppit!” He whined, furrowing his eyebrows at both Wilbur and Phil’s chortles.

“Mate, you are definitely jumpy. Calm down, it's going to be okay!”

“It would be okay if the failure rate for roller co-”

“Will!”

Tommy groaned again, shoving Wilbur. “Shut up, bitch!” He exclaimed, Wilbur playfully laughing at him and Phil letting out a few chuckles with a shake of his head. “You two, I swear.” Phil wheezed, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not my fault that I’m angry, Wilbur is being a dic- AH- Will!” Tommy shrieked and bent down trying to catch himself after the taller one decided it would be funny to lunge at Tommy again. Wilbur wheezed, patting his back. “It’s okay Toms, you’ll be a lot more scared on ‘The Smiler’ later, bud!” He sniggered, earning another eye roll from Phil.

“Stop saying that, you dickhead!” Tommy muttered, Wilbur giggling to himself. All day at the amusement park was the same, Wilbur trying to push Tommy’s buttons and Phil scolding him about it while also trying to hold back his own chuckles.

Eventually, the day was ending, and after they all rode the final coaster named ‘The Smiler,’ they decided to walk towards the exit of the park. “Will, I hope you know that I hate you. Very much, in fact.” Tommy straightened his back, glaring to the side at him. “No, you doooon’t!” Wilbur sang, squishing his little brother into a side hug which earned a dramatic grumble from him.

“I swear I cannot take you guys anywhere.” Phil joked, smiling at them. “Yeah Tommy, we can’t take you anywh-”

“Will.”

“Yeah Will- STOP!” Tommy didn’t have time to sass him before being jumpscared, pouting as he climbed into the car to be temporarily safe from Wilbur jumping at him.

The car ride home was surprisingly quiet. It was a comfortable silence, though; as they were all a bit tired from spending all day at Alton Towers. As they got closer to Wilbur’s place, that’s when the chaos started up again.

“Hey Tommy, did you know that cars are even more dangerous than roller coasters?” He smirked as he kept his eyes on the road, laughing as he heard Tommy’s loud whine, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. “You’re dead to me.” He muttered under his breath, Phil picking up on what he said with a chortle.

When they got back to Wilbur’s place, Tommy was the first to run in and lay on the couch, finally not in a vehicle of some sort. The other two came in after him, snickering at the sight of Tommy sprawled out on the couch.

Wilbur grinned, tip-toeing up to the couch and reaching over to squeeze his side. Instead of the surprised shriek he expected, he was met with unexpected cackles. “What? Is being scared all of a sudden funny?” He asked with an amused look, putting his hands on his hips. “It’s not fuhunny!” Tommy complained, rubbing his side to get rid of the sudden after-tingles.

“Then why are you laughing- ohhh…I see...” Wilbur smiled at his realization. His little brother was a little ticklish, supposedly. “I don’t like that tone, Will. I don’t like it at ahAHAHALL- Nohoho!” Tommy burst into loud laughter at the hands that were attached to his lower ribs, squeezing gently. “Ah, so you are ticklish! I was wondering for a while!” Wilbur exclaimed innocently, smiling fondly at the boy.

“Sh- shuhut up! Phihil hehelp meheheheeee!” Tommy whined through his giggle fit, throwing his head back as his ‘attacker’s hands moved to his waist right above his hips. “I’m good, mate. I’m gonna go order pizza, does that sound good?” Phil asked, looking at the menu on his phone.

“Yeah! Tommy and I will share a pepperoni pizza!” Wilbur talked to Phil like he wasn’t tickling Tommy at the time, making it even worse for the blond. “Wilbuhuhur!” He complained again, weakly pushing at his hands but they didn’t budge. “Oh, sorry! Don’t worry, my full attention is on you now!” Wilbur smirked, fluttering his nails over the sides of his stomach, Tommy’s t-shirt not providing much protection.

“SHIHIHIT! YOHohou bihiHITCH!” He squealed, jerking away from the fingers which found his hips. “Hey hey hey! I wouldn’t be so mean, Toms, I think I just found a good spot!” The taller devilishly sniggered, lightly drilling his thumbs into the bundle of nerves on his hip bones. Tommy screeched, accidentally arching up more into the tickles and hitting at his hands. “WHIHIHHIY?!” Loud belly laughter poured out of him, making both Wilbur and Phil smile at the genuine laughter.

“Because I like your laugh, Tommy! Also- you kinda deserve it after calling me a bitch all day…” He tried to sound upset from it, but couldn’t hold back his chuckles from Tommy’s embarrassed high-pitched giggles. “N- NOHOHOHO!” Tommy wheezed, shaking his head as his laughter turned hiccupy at Wilbur’s fingers skittering up his ribs, scribbling in between the grooves of his upper ribs; which earned screamy laughter from the boy.

“Uh ohhhh~, bad spot, Tommy?” Wilbur teased, his fast fingers turning into just gliding his nails around his ribs which surprisingly raised Tommy’s laughter. Wilbur teasingly chuckled, tracing random shapes into his ribs before unexpectedly shooting them up to scribble into Tommy’s underarms, the hands that were previously covering his face shooting down.

Wilbur managed to pull out his hands from Tommy’s iron grip, smiling at him before scribbling them over his stomach once again.

“N’awww, there’s that smile! Tickle tickle tickle, Tommy!” That absolute bitch. Tommy could not stand any baby talk, as his pink face began to turn into a bright red. Wilbur, clearly amused by this, continued to use the same technique. “What’s wrong? Does somebody have a little ticklish tummy? Hmmm?” He cooed in that horrible baby voice, grinning at him.

“Alright you two, quit it! I need to call to order the pizza!” Phil yelled from the kitchen, Wilbur sighing but slowing his fingers. “Thahank g- gohohod!” Tommy continued to giggle just from the adrenaline of being wrecked, curling up into a ball once Wilbur got off of him.

“Don’t worry Tommy, I’ll make sure to continue after dinner!” He laughed, patting Tommy’s head and going to walk to the kitchen. Tommy smiled to himself at that, immediately covering his face after. Wilbur was evil, but was he ever going to complain about that? Probably not.

#mcyt tickle #lee!tommy #ler!wilbur #my writing #also the mcyt tk discord is in my pinned post if you'd like to join :D

[avidoro]

So, last year I posted this long rant about this WebNovel that was advertised to me called Beauty and the Beasts. I read it out of curiosity since it just kept being advertised. I was immediately appalled by it due to the lack of structure or proper plot that should have been in place. In fact, a structured plot didn’t even appear until midway through the story. The author simply appeared to have a desire to create a reverse harem story featuring men who were half animals. And that wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the immense amount of body shaming.

Don’t ask me why I continued reading this story. It’s an absolute atrocity. Maybe it’s just to keep warning others about how awful it is. But the post from last year has recently started to get more attention and, as such, I’ve decided to make a second post featuring a particular arc that I find to be more horrible than everything I posted so far. Brace yourselves, because if you agreed with me on how awful it was before, this will probably piss you off. Beginning in Chapter 180, QingQing (the Mary-Sue, protagonist of the story) is taken to a village comprised of a tribe of Peacock people. What better animal to use for body-shaming someone that a peacock?

There was no hesitation when the characters entered the tribe:

To fill you in if you didn’t read my first post, pretty girl, here, literally only put berry juice on her face to make it look like she has freckles. That’s it. That’s literally the only thing she did. And, yep. It makes her ugly.

I feel like this story could be redeemed if it was more about biased, arrogant people calling her ugly for freckles while she and the other protagonists know that freckles are beautiful and teach the readers that lesson. But no, the protagonist herself continues to say freckles are ugly as does every other protagonist. This means the author is saying they are ugly. The characters and author truly believe that something as simple as a skin blemish destroys an appearance.

So then the most handsome peacock in the entire village takes a look at her:

Yep. Those freckles really ruin the skin. I mean, look at all the marks all over him! Do freckles have to be in a pattern? Or are just patterned lines okay? Honestly.

After he begins speaking to her for the first time he tells her she’s docile. Then he follows with this:

She never stands up for herself. It’s because she wants everyone to think she’s ugly because she’s afraid of being courted again. But she maintains this friendly demeanor which I certainly wouldn’t. She asks this peacock’s name. Alva. When she tells him she likes his name:

Take a lesson, men (and ladies). If a girl with freckles tries to be friendly, scream at her, accuse her of flirting, and call her ugly. Be sure to tell her you’d never be interested in someone like her!

Alva then takes QingQing to Bella, the female he is courting.

God, yes, freckles are terrifyingly ugly! Act like you just saw a vermin skitter across your foot.

By now you may be thinking this isn’t much different from the garbage I mentioned in my first post. But here’s where things get really good.

Welcome to the abuse arc, everyone. From this point onward QingQing suffers actual abuse from Alva and Bella because she has freckles. FAKE freckles. And nice little QingQing complies the entire time. Of course Alva’s only redemption is that he does take notice of her nice personality and appreciates her for it. But he immediately ruins it for himself again:

Meanwhile, Bella is actually forcing QingQing to slave labor. She’s actually forcing her to open pine nuts for her to eat.

Oh, and did I mention QingQing is pregnant? Yeah... that’s a thing. They’re abusing her while she’s pregnant. And they know this.

Alva then brings her a couple pinecones saying they’re her own food. He then proceeds to throw them at her:

Don’t worry! QingQing thanked him for the food!

A little later, QingQing is carrying meat that Muir, a hawk-man that is courting her, has cooked for her (don’t give Muir too much credit. He knows how she really looks). When Bella smells the meat she demands that QingQing give it up. QingQing offers to break some off for her but:

They literally just steal this pregnant girl’s food from her. All she had. Because she has freckles!!

Cut to later, Alva is still appreciating her personality which is good, at least. But he still can’t get over how ugly she is because of those freckles:

Bella overhears this and becomes more determined to bully QingQing. Of course Alva goes along with it because beauty > personality. And freckles just aren’t pretty, you know?

When she finds out that QingQing has pine nuts from Alva she becomes enraged, accusing Alva of cheating on her, and demanding that QingQing give her the food. In reality it was Muir who gave her the nuts. The ones Alva gave her were for peeling so perfect, pretty Bella could eat.

So of course, once again, she steals the food from QingQing.

Alva’s father witnesses this interaction and then supplies the most redeeming moment in this arc:

Alva gets reprimanded for bullying a pregnant female and is even told he should marry her. Daddy permits Alva to refuse due to QingQing being “ugly” but he has to be nice to her and not let her leave the tribe as they were attempting to chase her out.

Once a male peacock (who never gets another appearance again) shows true interest in QingQing and calls her cute despite the freckles (seriously, author, the one good character who looks past a minor flaw and you immediately wrote him out) Bella becomes jealous and angry that anyone would show QingQing attention:

So, at this point, Qingqing for whatever ungodly reason decided to cook some meat for her abuser. When passing it off, Bella knocks it from her hand, says that it’s too tough to chew and that she needs to prepare the meat that Alva caught instead. Then she tells QingQing to eat the food off the ground.

QingQing finally gets angry and she’s demanded to peel more pinenuts. She finally relents and goes off on Bella, throwing the unpeeled pinenuts at her and telling her to do it herself. What do we do with “ugly”, pregnant girls who stand up for themselves against abuse and bullying?

Well, we drown them, of course. 

That’s right. Alva actually holds QingQing’s head under water. He pulls her back and attempts to force her to apologize, but QingQing does end up with a moment of strength from a spousal mark (don’t ask) and flings Alva into the water. When he emerges, guess who’s fake freckles have run off from the water?

QingQing’s freckles are gone now. And guess what?

Oh god, no, she was actually pretty! Gotta be nice! GOTTA BE NICE!!

Those few specks on her face were all that was standing between her and others showing kindness toward her. Yeah, this asshat didn’t show her an inkling of respect until her fake freckles washed away. Now he’s gotta be nice and start courting her.

And if you think things just instantly get better from there, let’s remember this little comment that Alva makes:

Yeah, he’ll be loyal if she married him and she got ugly or he met someone prettier. But he’ll totally dump her if he finds someone prettier.

Granted that part is kind of meant to be an asshole comment. But overall, the fact that everyone finds QingQing unattractive and proceeds to abuse and bully her because of freckles is disgusting. Again, it would be fine if this was about teaching people that freckles are not ugly. But it’s made very clear by the author that she is ugly with them.

And I’m going to call to attention a comment that was made on my last post stating that this is just Chinese culture. I have Chinese friends. They are aware of this “culture”. They are not okay with this. This is abuse. No one should have to suffer through this kind of body-shaming (well any kind at all, but this is exceptionally bad). Culture is not and will never be an excuse for abuse. It still disgusts me that this comic has such a huge following.

FRECKLES ARE NOT UGLY!!!

#WebNovel #Beauty and the Beasts #body shaming #unobtainable beauty standards #freckles #plus size #comic #this comic should not be as popular as it is

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (5/5)

part of the The Better Love Series 

pairing: Javier Peña x fem reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do.

words: 5.7k

warnings: 18+ - drugs, violence, language, alcohol, smut.

a/n: many many notes at the end. unbeta’d as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Javi clicks off the radio as soon as the car starts, and you spend the first half of the ride in silence. For a while, he seems to be focused intently on driving, but you know him well enough to see the wheels turning in his head. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but still, there’s something about that little frown that suggests that his thoughts are far from lunchtime traffic. 

It doesn’t bother you - your mind really isn’t on the road, either. 

“I can’t figure it out.” You’re startled to find that it’s your voice breaking the silence. 

“Can’t figure out what?” Javi takes a deep drag from his cigarette. He’s still not looking at you.

“Who did this, and why.” You swallow past the emotion that wells in your throat, firmly redirecting your thoughts to facts and evidence. “It wasn’t an accident, Peña, I’m ruling that out now. Somebody planted a bomb in Emilio’s store.” 

Javi purses his lips tightly. 

“And call me crazy, but I can’t help but think that it has something to do with Escobar.” Your voice is rising now as you warm to the argument. “Like, this is his MO, right? Bombing civilian small business, terrorism, chaos…” you trail off, furrowing your brow as you rest your forehead against the cool window. “Just… why here? Why Bogotá?”

Why Emilio? 

Javi’s face freezes. He’s quiet for a long time. You watch him warily from the corner of your eye. To the casual observer, he’s all calm stoicism, snuffing his cigarette and reaching both hands to finger the steering wheel. But you know better - you read the subtle stiffness in his shoulders, the carefully shuttered expression, the white knuckle grip that suggests that he’s far more stressed than he’s letting on.

Something wild throbs in your chest and you have a sudden, irrational suspicion that he might know more than he’s saying. The moment stretches, and just as you’re ready to panic, Javi huffs a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know,” he admits in a low voice, and the bubble of uncertainty shatters. “But I’m going to find out.”

There’s something cold in his tone, a controlled, a calculated malice that threatens vengeance, and you rest your forehead against the window, wondering at the profound sense of reassurance you draw from his words.

Out of nowhere, a truck swerves in front of you, and Javi leans hard on the horn, cursing and flipping off the driver out the window as you weave past him.

You can’t help a small smile at that - Javier Peña, taking out his worries on the unassuming drivers of Bogotá.   

Again, silence stretches between you.

“I think it’s time you told me about your morning.” Javi’s voice is soft, but still, you know it’s not a request. 

“There’s not much to tell,” you confess. Again, not entirely true, but you haven’t even begun to process it all, and the details are overwhelming to contemplate. “I volunteered to stay over at headquarters. They wouldn’t put me in the air two nights in a row, but still, I wanted to know what was happening.”

His lips twitch at this. 

“It was quiet. I left around seven, I think. I’m not entirely sure. Figured somebody would call me with news. And then…” You pause, swallowing hard. “I was almost home. At the corner of 70.” 

You remember waving to Emilio, the way his eyes had lit up when he’d spotted you, his toothy grin. He’d been so proud, introducing you to that guaro.You blink, bracing yourself against the yawning pit of grief that threatens to open in your chest. Not now. Please.

“Then the store exploded.”

You and Javi draw a deep breath at the same time. The ensuing silence is stifling. 

“Then what?” he prompts you gently.

You glance up, noticing that he’s parked the car. Neither of you move.

“I stumbled back,” you continue haltingly. You just want this conversation to be over. “It’s all kind of a blur, from there. It was really weird, like… like being in a time warp, or something.”

He nods grimly, like he understands.

“I decided to go to your place…” you’re nervous, confessing this part to him. As tense as he is, as awkward as things have been, any reference of your previous liaisons feels like stirring hot shit with a stick. “I just, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t wait for the police to arrive?”

Desperation and indignation rise in you. “Javi, I’d just witnessed my fucking apartment go up in flames, okay? Excuse me if I didn’t perform to your exacting standards!”

He presses his lips together in a firm line, and oh, fuck. You realize that you’ve just called him by his name again - something you’ve made a point not to do since that horrible morning in the shower.

Ugh.

You drop bonelessly against the passenger seat, all of the fight leaking from you. This fucking day… god, just, fuck this day.

“I’m sorry.” Javi’s voice is so whisper-quiet that it almost doesn’t register. 

You take three deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

“It’s fine,” you say, once you’re grounded again. “But I’m - I’m just done talking, okay?”

“Yeah.” Javi opens his door with a deep sigh. “Okay.”

♠

Javi lets you in, and you go straight for the sofa, settling awkwardly with your hands in your lap.  

God, now what? You’re right back where you started - no home, no job to do, and no answers. Exhaustion and helpless resignation swallow you whole, and you sit like that for a long moment, staring into the middle distance and fighting the urge to rest your head in your hands. 

After a while - you’re not sure how long - you notice the absolute silence permeating the apartment. Javi hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. You’d totally forgotten he was there.

You glance up.

He’s draped against the front door with his arms folded defensively across his chest, frowning fiercely at nothing. 

“Hey.” You aren’t aware that you’ve moved until you’re standing in front of him.

His eyes flutter shut and he exhales, long and slow, tilting his head back against the door so that he’s facing the ceiling, and okay, now you’re seriously freaked out. 

“Javi?”

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers.

“Can’t do what?”

He grimaces like the sound of your voice is painful. “Please don’t make me.”

You take a half step closer, alarm bells screaming in your head. You have never, ever heard this man beg, not once in all the time you’ve spent together. “Don’t make you… Javi, what?”

His gaze flicks to yours, and you suck a sharp breath. 

Javi looks absolutely wrecked. His eyes are wide and dark, brow furrowed deep, and he’s staring at you with so much longing in his expression that little sparks of electricity go zipping across your skin. 

“God, Ears, baby, I was there,” he rasps. He takes one quick little step forward, as if to reach for you. “I went to your place as soon as I heard, as soon as the plane landed…”

You brain skitters to a stop. 

Oh, Christ. He hadn’t told you that. You don’t even have time to wonder about it, though, because Javi is still speaking, words pouring out of him as if revisiting the memory has cracked him wide open. 

“And it, it was a fucking crater, okay? And nobody had seen you, nobody had heard anything, and they had the fucking - the fucking body bags -” His voice cracks, and he presses his fists to his eyes, as if to hide his face while he gathers himself. 

Horror floods you. You’re starting to put it all together now. You’d been so distracted by your own terrible day that you’d not once thought to ask about Javi’s. You imagine him at the bomb site, picking his way through ash and rubble, flashing his badge at firemen and emergency responders, firing off questions, watching them load up body bags…

Oh, fuck.

Javi shakes his head sharply, as if dispersing the memories, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet. “Querida,” he breathes, pinning you with an expression of open desperation. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Oh. 

It takes a lot to scare Javier Peña. You know this. He’s a fearless man. He has to be.

But this morning, Javi had been terrified. You recall his voice over the phone, tense and clipped, the blustered sigh of profound relief, the clattering footsteps as he’d raced up the steps, his eyes, not quick and efficient, but frantic as he’d taken you in, alive and healthy and wearing his clothes.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, unable to articulate just how profoundly you mean that. You’re still reeling from the implications of it all.

“I know,” Javi chokes. He blinks hard, almost like he’s baffled by it. “You’ve been right here the whole time.” He hitches a breath. “And goddammit, baby, I can’t sit here and listen to you say my name without wondering what the hell else I’m losing.”

Reality shifts and realigns in an instant. Fear and disbelief give way to fierce longing, and your voice comes out as a choked whisper. “Come here.”

Javi does, haltingly at first, as if wondering if you really mean it. You fall into his arms, and he pulls you close, reverently, as if you are the most precious thing in the world. He presses his forehead carefully to yours, catching your jawline with his palms and threading his fingers through your hair. 

“God, baby,” he rasps. “When I saw you… When I heard your voice…”

“I’m okay,” you remind him, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I’m okay.” 

He sighs deeply, and a bubble of tension you weren’t even aware of bursts at the sound. You melt into him, and he holds you tightly for a long, long time, swaying your bodies gently back and forth, your head tucked against his chest. 

You tilt your face to him, pressing your lips to his skin, and he huffs brokenly, his body still wrapped around yours like he’s reluctant to create any space between you. He’s shaking as he takes your face in his hands, pausing just long enough to fix you with a wild-eyed, pleading glance.

“Okay?” he breathes. 

“God, yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

And just like that, Javi’s kissing you like a man without air, awkward and starving, catching the back of your neck with one hand, the other roaming beneath your shirt to stroke at your ribcage.

There’s nothing gentle about it. A month’s worth of desperation has been building in both of you, and now, Javi’s frantically mapping your body with his lips and tongue, peppering little licks and kisses and soft nips down your jaw and neck while you scramble awkwardly for the buttons of his shirt. You struggle to keep your fingers under control as one gigantic hand finds your ass and squeezes. You gasp, inadvertently popping his last button. 

Damn, you liked that shirt. 

Undeterred, you push it aside, finally free to explore his chest and back and belly for the first time in far too long. Javi’s skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his body smooth muscle and soft heat as he leans into you. His hands are snaking beneath your shirt now, one brushing the bare skin of your torso as it wanders up to grasp at your bra, the other gripping at the hollow of your hips. You arch into his touch, groaning low into his mouth, and he bucks in response, cock straining at his jeans, denim deliciously rough against your palm.

“What do you want, baby?” he gasps into the hollow of your throat. Those gorgeous hands have migrated back to your ass now, clutching with a greediness that leaves you panting. 

“Just…” God, you can’t even think, your brain flickering in and out, overloaded with pleasure and pent up emotion and Javier Peña. “Just you, Javi. Now. Please.”

He whimpers, his erection digging rock-hard into your belly, and the sound nearly brings you to your knees - cool, collected, suave Javier Peña, keening for you. 

Javi hikes you up so quickly that you yelp, hips pinning you as he drives you into the wall. You brace yourself for impact, but he’s already anticipated that - one hand cups the back of your head, cradling you protectively, the other reaching past your thighs to clench at your pussy.

You moan, rocking into him, bracing your elbows against the wall to grant him access. You shimmy your hips, and he hitches your skirt up with a fist, dragging your soaking panties to the side as he buries his fingers inside you.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Javi’s fingers pulse deep into your core, once, and then again, that come-hither curl of them driving you wild as he pumps through your juices. You scramble back, opening yourself as best you can with your limited mobility as he presses his knee beneath your leg to hold you in place. 

God fucking damn, there’s something about being pinned to the wall by this man that leaves you trembling and leaking.

Groaning, Javi sinks his mouth onto yours, and you arch up to meet him, sucking sloppily on his lips, his stubbled jaw, whatever you can get to. You tug his hair hard, mostly for leverage, and he gasps, throwing his head back in a way that allows you access to his neck. You love Javi’s neck - it’s delicious, all fascinating gentle dips between tight tendons, and you relish the opportunity to explore each of its arcs and hollows with your tongue.

He shudders as you nip and suck and bite at him, grinding your body against his as you clench your legs around his waist. 

You’re both panting at this point, skin slick with sweat. It’s hard to know where you end and Javi begins, but it’s so, so good, feral and desperate and heated, and somehow, he’s still managing to pulse his thumb at your clit.  The motion sets a fucking fire in you, slow, deep waves of hot pressure building in your core.

“More, Javi,” you beg against his clavicle, shimmying your hips against his hand. Any other day, you’d be content to stay here, caught between him and the wall as he wrings your orgasm from you with the pads of his fingers. But there’s something else building in you, a desperation that has both nothing and everything to do with physical release, and you just need him closer. “I- I need -”

Javi growls, gently dropping you to the floor as he shucks out of his jeans. You help him along with trembling fingers, giggling incoherently as your heads brush clumsily in your haste. You take the opportunity to shrug out of your shirt and bra, and then Javi’s pinning you with a gaze that’s almost predatory, dark enough to send shivers of anticipation curling down your spine. 

You back against the wall and raise a brow, daring him to come get you.

He does, hoisting you up easily - he really is stronger than he looks. One knee hikes beneath your thigh, his opposite hand clenched behind your ass, thumb digging deep into the hollow of your hip. You absently notice that he’s once again braced his opposite hand between your head and the wall, threading his fingers through your loosened braid, but you don’t have time to consider it, because he’s thrusting into you, quick, shallow pumps that leave you gasping for air.

It’s mind-blowingly amazing, and a wild, wanton part of you wonders why the hell you haven’t done this before - just kick off your clothes and go at it like animals in the hallway. You sink deeper onto him, angling your hips just-so, and oh fucking christ, he’s rubbing right against your clit, hard and fast and sloppy in the very best way.

You throw your head back, spasming around him, scrabbling at his shoulders for purchase. He’s still wearing his fucking shirt, and you cling to its open edges with enough force to rip. Javi hisses, rhythm faltering as he slips from you. For a moment, you pause like that, him holding you with shaking thighs, your lungs and skin burning, heaving breaths mingling hot on each other’s faces, but then he’s realigning himself, shifting his angle a little. You shimmy up the wall, desperate to accommodate. 

The second round is even more brutal than the first, choppy and shallow. Your abs are burning; it’s a difficult position to maintain, but that familiar fullness is building achingly delicious in your core, so you hold out, gasping. Javi’s breathing raggedly, sweat dripping from his forehead as he presses it against yours, eyes wide and unfocused as he thrusts into you. 

He’s trembling with exertion.

“Fuck!” He’s slipped again. You sink to the floor, reaching for his wrist.  He looks at you, face twisted in a resentful snarl. 

“Javi,” you gasp, kissing him before he can react. What you’re doing is hot as fuck, but it’s not working right now. You’re both too tired, too desperate and shaky, and you need release. “Take me to bed.”

“Hmm,” he moans into your mouth. It must be agreement, because pulls back - you shudder at the loss of contact - and then hoists you over his shoulder in a move that makes your head spin. You giggle a little, breathless and giddy and almost incoherent with need.

Javi carries you through the apartment like that, you clinging to him like a koala bear with your legs locked around his waist and your head draped over his shoulder. He drops you lopsided on his unmade bed. Automatically, you flop over onto your stomach and gather your knees to your chest, remembering how he loves to take you from behind. 

“No,” his voice is strained. A hand, surprisingly gentle, tugs at your shoulder, and you go with it, twisting so that you’re on your back again, sideways in the bed. “I need…” Javi’s panting, dark eyes burning a hole in you. “I need to see you, baby.” His voice breaks, his expression vulnerable, almost apologetic. 

A rush of affection overtakes you, and you reach for him, pulling him close for another deep kiss. Javi straddles you, palming himself in preparation, and you have the foresight to shove a pillow under your ass - if you’re going to be doing this face to face, then you want him as deep as possible.

When you glance up, he’s watching you open-mouthed, absently tugging at his leaking cock like he just can’t help it.

God, he’s beautiful. 

He sucks a startled breath, looking at you in wide-eyed wonder, and oh fuck. You’d said that out loud. 

“Javi,” you whine, yanking him closer. You don’t have time to feel awkward, goddammit. You just need him. For real. Inside you. Right now.

You both shudder as he sinks deep into you. He stays still for a moment, and you clench against him desperately, urging him to move, dammit, but he’s holding off. 

“Baby,” he rasps, glancing down at you, red-faced. “I’m not - I’m not going to last.”

That confession alone makes something swell tightly in you, and you buck your hips in response. “It’s okay,” you rasp, trying hard be good, to hold still, to not overwhelm him.  “I won’t, either.”

He rocks against you, a tiny pulse, just enough to fucking tease, but it must be an unconscious thing, because he’s still looking you in the eye like he’s afraid you’ll reject him, or condemn him.

“Javi, please,” you keen, patience thoroughly spent. You reach up, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades and tugging hard. “I don’t care. I just need you. All of you.”

That gets him moving.

Javi rocks against you, setting up an achingly slow, almost careful rhythm, his left hand still cradled around the back of your neck to brace your head as he draws himself to the hilt, then nearly all the way out again. It’s gentle and sweet, but dammit, you want more. You pull your knees to his elbows to encourage him deeper, digging your heels into his back. Javi gets the message, because he twitches and groans, curling around your body and bracing himself against your shoulders, abruptly driving into you with a force that punches the air from your lungs - hard, fast, and deliciously brutal.

It’s exactly what you need.

You curl up against his chest, abs burning as you glance past your breasts to the place where your bodies are connected. The edges of his open shirt skim the sensitive skin of your ribcage, framing the view and drowning you in more sensation. Heat is pooling in you, tension building and sparking and curling your toes. There’s something surreal and wonderful about watching yourselves work in tandem, his hips and yours, pulsing and perfect.

Javi shudders, and you drag your eyes back to his face, not daring to miss a moment. Fuck, he’s gorgeous, and that expression alone, that little purse-lipped grimace of pleasure, is enough to drive you to the edge. Controlled, careful, restrained Javier Peña coming undone for you, rattled for you, staring at you like it hurts to draw a fucking breath in your presence… goddamn, you twisted little shit, you’re really liking that.

His rhythm is faltering now, thighs clenching erratically, breath coming in ragged little pants. You know that he’s close. 

You reach up to stroke his cheek. “Javi,” you whisper. His eyes find yours, glossy and wild. His mouth is open, his brow furrowed. “It’s okay, baby,” you tell him. He trembles in response, a full body shudder, his eyes flickering shut.

“It’s okay. Let go.”

His breath hitches, and he bucks wildly, collapsing against your chest with a low, broken groan. The hot heaviness of him pulsing into you releases a shockwave of pleasure down you spine. You gasp as your core clenches, spreading his heat, but it’s not quite enough, you’re not quite ready, and you grit your teeth at the loss of friction as he softens inside you. 

You watch his face twitch, relief and ecstasy and something else, something fierce and sharp that you can’t possibly name.

You groan, reaching your fingers down to your core, battering against him. You tug at your clit, index finger tap-dancing in that perfect circular motion that sends you straight over the edge as Javi flops bonelessly beside you.

Desperate for contact, you sink into him, still working to salvage that orgasm, concentrating hard on the rapid rise and fall of his ribcage with each chugging breath, the heat of his body wrapped around you like a second skin. His eyes flutter open, and there’s a look of quiet desperation on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, reaching for you with wide eyes. “Babe, I -”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” you reassure him, batting his hand aside with your elbow before he can interfere. The waves are crescendoing now, almost painful in their intensity. You’re so fucking close, words and reason are beyond you. “S’okay, Jav, I’m close… I just need…  need you to…. “

“What do you need, baby? Anything.”

“Just - just be here.”

Javi inhales sharply, then gathers you closer to him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, resting his face in the crook of your neck, peppering you with the softest of kisses. One hand rests firmly on your head, its thumb working little circles on your uninjured temple, the other trailing down your body to splay at the sensitive underside of your belly. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers raggedly into your ear. “I’m here.”

Oh god, oh god. The pressure fucking hurts, burning in your toes, clenching in your core, and just when you think that you’re useless today, that sex is absolute bullshit and you can’t possibly take anymore, that -

“You’re so…  my god, baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

It’s not Javi’s tone, broken as is is. It’s the frankness of the confession, the rawness. Javier Peña is not a sweet talker, especially not in bed. He’s not pandering to you. It’s more like the words have been dragged from him at gunpoint, pulled from the very deepest recesses of his subconscious, and it’s that honesty, that awed, reverent authenticity, that drives you over the edge.

It all happens in an instant. The bubble of tension in your core bursts abruptly, and you come with a choked gasp, mind blinking in and out as you ride out wave after wave of sweet relief. Javi is with you the whole time, cradling you in his arms as you shatter. 

It’s not the longest orgasm you’ve had, or even the most intense, but there’s something about him holding you, about sharing the same skin and air and listening to him murmur sweetly in your ear, that transcends any release you've ever experienced. You ride the waves of your orgasm, swearing to the heavens that you’re breaking apart, and somehow, you’re taking Javi with you like you never have before, splintering and reconverging in a way that’s intimate and vulnerable and precious beyond words.

You come back to reality, breathless and trembling, and the first thing you notice is Javi staring at you with something like reverence in his expression. 

“Hey,” he breathes, running a gentle finger down your cheek. 

“Mmm,” you curl into his chest, just breathing him in, all warm, sticky skin and stale cigarette and perfect man. 

You stay that way for a long time.

“I missed you,” Javi whispers hoarsely, pressing soft lips against your ear. 

“I know,” you choke, because you do. That rush of clarity that had effused you in the front hallway is only more potent now. You and Javi had been dancing around each other for months, each of you too stubborn and too afraid to admit to the other that your feelings ran so much deeper than you let on. It’s so obvious now, how stupid you’d both been, and how much you’d missed by being stupid. 

You’re horrified to feel tears tracking down your cheeks. God, reality has caught up with you all at once, exhaustion and fear and horror and relief all snarled up with post-coital vulnerability, and you curl deeper into Javi, tucking your face down in an effort to hide.

He notices, though. He always notices. “Baby?” Javi tilts your face up, tracking over you with concerned, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Exposure turns your tears to choked sobs, and it’s all you can do to speak. “I’m fine,” you gasp, and it’s both the truth and a lie. You’ve never felt safer than you feel now, or more connected to another human than you are to Javier Peña in this moment. 

And that’s the thing. There’s still so much left to say. So many emotions, so many worries, so much grief. It all wars for dominance in you, everything at once, and you’re not even sure what the fuck you’re crying about until all of the sudden, you’re choking on words.

“Emilio,” you gasp. “He - he -”

Javi draws a sharp breath of understanding, wrapping strong arms around you as you cry. 

“He was… he was gone… and there was nothing I could do!”

“Oh, baby,” Javi murmurs into your ear, rubbing tiny circles into the bare skin of your back. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry.”

“And, and…” You’re sobbing so hard that your chest burns, and it’s all you can do to breathe, but the dam has burst, and it’s all coming out now, whether you want it to or not. “Oh, god, Javi, I missed you, too.”

He chuckles a little at that, peppering your forehead with gentle kisses and thumbing the tears from your cheeks. 

“Steve was right,” he confesses, tucking your head under his chin. “We’re both idiots.”

This startles a wet giggle from you. You imagine Murphy confronting Javi like he’d confronted you, red-faced and indignant and insisting that you both deserve one another. “Yeah,” you sniffle through your tears. “He was.”

“He’ll be insufferable about it, too.” Javi’s holding your hand now, the pad of his thumb rubbing back and forth, back and forth over your knuckles. You sigh breathily into his chest, crying until your sobs turn to shudders, and then finally, until you’re wrung raw and thoroughly exhausted. 

Javi holds you the whole time.

You exhale raggedly, noticing for the first time just how slimy you are. “Ugh, gross,” you mutter, covering your face with your hand as you draw away from Javi, horrified. 

Jesus Christ, if you’d just slung snot all over Javier Peña’s bare chest… god, you think you won’t survive the humiliation.

But Javi doesn’t seem bothered. He sits up, glancing around his bedroom for a tissue. Finding nothing, he shrugs out of his shirt, offering it to you silently.

You stare at it, then him. 

“What?” he asks, incredulous. He’s still holding out the shirt, eyebrow cocked as if to question why you won’t just take it. 

 “Nothing,” you say. And that’s a lie. There’s something so uniquely Javi about the gesture, wanting you to wipe your nose with the shirt off his back. But that’s just him - genuine, resourceful, efficient. It’s cute and perfect and ridiculous, and it makes your chest swell and ache.

But you can’t quite put all of that into words right now, and you know he wouldn’t understand even if you tried, so you take the shirt from him with a grateful smile and blow your nose in it like a goddamn heathen. 

Javi wads it in a tight ball when you’re finished, chunking it unceremoniously on the floor. 

You roll your eyes, and he smirks at you, squeezing your hand as he climbs out of bed. After his cigarettes, you think. “Pretty sure you dropped them on the kitchen floor,” you call after him. 

“Yup,” he verifies from the hallway.

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean up, and by the time you’re done, Javi’s waiting for you, propped up against the headboard with his eyes shut, smoke curling from his mouth. He pats the bed beside him, not looking up, and you snuggle under his arm, sighing contentedly. 

This is new, the cuddling, sharing his bed, burrowing against his side as he smokes, and you savor every detail. His skin is still slick with cooling sweat, and you can hear his heartbeat beneath his ribs where your head rests, slow and steady. Neither of you need to speak, each just drawing comfort from the presence of the other.

Afterglow, you decide, is a very good word for it.

“Javi?” you ask after a long, long time.

“Yeah?” he whispers. You wonder if he thought you were asleep.

“What is this?” You wave your hand, indicating the tiny space between his chest and yours. You know what it looks like, and you know what it is for you, but you can’t stand the thought of leaving anything uncertain between you, not after all of this.

Javi takes a deep drag of his cigarette. He holds that breath for a long time, but the silence doesn’t scare you, not anymore. That’s just Javi’s thinking face, the one you know so well.

After a while, Javi turns to face you fully. “This is me,” he starts slowly, reaching for your hands and lifting them to his chest, “deciding that I’m not going to miss any more opportunities.”

Your breath catches. That sounds - well, coming from Javier Peña, it sounds an awful lot like a vow. 

“I’m all in, Ears.” Javi kisses each of your hands in turn. “If that’s okay with you.” He glances up almost hesitantly, the question burning in his eyes.

There’s something about the gravitas of the delivery that hints that his words are more than they seem. Javi’s gaze is pinned to yours, dark and serious, and a shiver runs down your spine. You might be lacking some context, but Javi’s resolve is impossible to miss. 

You consider it for only half a second. You’ve known for a long time now that there’s a lot more at stake in Colombia than just your career. Hell, you’d known that from the moment you let Javi walk away from your apartment for the first time. And he’s made his position pretty clear, too. You bite back a loopy grin as you remember him blowing past Martinez at headquarters. 

Yeah, there’s no salvaging this secret.

"All in," you say, gripping his hands tightly and wishing you could be half as eloquent and intense and awesome as he is. “I like the way that sounds.”

It’s the honest truth. 

Javi breaks out into a soft smile that shows off that single dimple, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

“Yeah,” you try to answer, just as you are interrupted by a huge yawn.

Javi snorts. “Go to sleep, Ears,” he says fondly, pointedly throwing back the bed covers. You shoot him a petulant frown, and he rolls his eyes, undeterred. “Seriously, baby. This is just getting stupid now.”

“Whole day is stupid,” you mutter darkly as you climb under the blankets - not because he told you to, but because you want to.

“Oh really?” Javi teases. “The whole day?”

“Well,” you pretend to contemplate. “Guess the sex was alright.” You grin wolfishly at him from beneath the covers. 

His response does not disappoint. “Alright?” He presses a hand to his chest, wounded. “Christ, baby, kick a man while he’s down.” He side-eyes you, frowning. “Guess I really do need to up my game, huh?”

“Your words, Jav,” you mumble. The full force of your exhaustion has hit you with a vengeance, and talking is hard. 

“I will make it up to you baby,” he growls in your ear, suddenly serious. “You know I will.”

“Mmhmm,” you sigh. Any other time, that voice would have gone straight to your core, but now, not so much. “I do.”

“Good.” He drops a kiss on your nose, then slips out of the bed. The loss of his body heat is enough to draw you out of your stupor, just for a moment. 

“Stay?” you call pathetically, just as the lamp flicks off. 

Oh. 

Javi settles back in beside you, wrapping his arms around your chest and nuzzling into the back of your neck with his nose. “Yeah, babe,” he whispers into your ear as you finally, finally drift off. “Not going anywhere.”

♠

Author notes/ confessions:

Whew, and that’s a wrap. Big, big notes here guys. I am incapable of being brief, apparently. 

First, I know a lot of you are chomping at the bits to know who the fuck bombed Ears’ apartment. I tried to place a few little clues here and there, but ROE takes place sometime between 2.06 and 2.07. To summarize, Los Pepes, the vigilante group targeting Escobar, is funded by the Cali cartel. In retaliation, Escobar starts bombing Cali cartel owned business - their drug stores in particular. This really heated up in Bogotá around December 1992, which is when ROE ends. 

Now, here’s the fun thing - Javi is absolutely already working with Los Pepes at this point - a relationship he initiated during the month that he and Ears were on the outs. Ears’ intuition in the car is correct - Javi does know, or suspect, more than he’s saying. This is a major plot point for a story that I have in the pipeline, but working that in here - god, guys, that’s too much, and ROE needed to end like 10k words ago, honestly. 

That being said, if anybody has interest in being a beta, or just letting me scream ideas at them, hit me up. This little “one shot” has turned into a full blown universe in my brain, and these ideas are dying to get out. 

The sex. Yeah, I know the sex isn’t great, but I wanted it that way. It was a strange choice on my part, both for Javi’s character and as a first foray into writing smut, but it just seemed appropriate. Sex is rarely ever as mind-blowing as depicted in fic, and besides, these two have had lots and lots of perfect sex. They’re a pretty equal match in that department, but this time is different. I wanted to put the emotions on display, rather than the physicality. It just makes sense that this time would be rushed, desperate, and messy. They are both emotionally and physically exhausted. Also, I really, really wanted to come full circle from the shower scene, where Ears never gets her completion, and also the scene on the sofa when Ears comforts Javi after a terrible day by saying, “I’m here.” There’s some sort of cathartic and earned about Ears bringing herself to completion while Javi just holds her. That being said, I know I owe Javi, and you guys, some smutty one-shots. I plan to deliver, I promise.

You’ll notice that I mention ears choking, coughing, sputtering, breathing, wheezing, feeling a tightness in the chest, aching… she’s got a small pulmonary contusion from being in such close proximity the blast zone. It’s a common injury in bombing survivors, and hers isn’t massive or life threatening, just inconvenient. Pulmonary contusion symptoms tend to develop hours or days after the injury, so she’ll steadily get worse, and when she does, the whole story of her experience with the explosion WILL come out. She’s still got a lot of trauma to process, both physically and emotionally, but Javi is gonna be there every step of the way (after he flips shit first, that is). I’ll let you guys imagine this one, though, because I have already dragged ROE out far longer than I really should have, and it’s mostly medical bs, anyway. 

Last of all, if you’re still here, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I haven’t written in years, and this story pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Your support, comments, likes, reblogs, reaction gifs - they all mean the world to me. 

@tiffdawg​, you are directly responsible for this dumpster fire. I hope you’re proud. :)

Much, much love, and a happy new year to each of you.

~ Jay

#Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña #narcos #Javier Peña fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos netflix #Javi x reader #Javi x you #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña imagine #javier pena x reader #the rules of engagement #smut #angst #hurt/comfort #slow burn #friends to lovers #better love #javier pena #holy shit i cannot believe i finished this fucking thing #unbeta'd we die like men #reader insert

[cocoswriting]

lee wilbur, ler techno? maybe smth where wilbur’s being chaotic so techno takes him down a peg? you dont have to tho— /gen

Chaotic Mf

Summary; Basically what the ask says; Wilbur was being chaotic/creepy and needed to be taken down a peg. [PLATONIC. DO NOT TAG AS SHIP.]

Warning(s); This is a tickle fic! If you don’t like that kind of stuff, then I recommend you just scroll past.

“You put ecosystems in jars?..”

“Yeah,” Wilbur responded casually, laying upside-down on the couch opposite Techno. He had his legs curled over the back of the couch and his head was dangling off the edge—it was a wonder how he hadn’t gotten uncomfortable enough to shift positions yet. Wilbur seemed to have a strange habit of never sitting correctly when he was in one of his “chaotic” moods, always finding some weird way to rest instead. “I go out and collect mud, rocks, soil, and I put them inside the jar.” he explained, and Techno scrunched up his face both in confusion and mild disgust.

“And... this is a normal thing?” Techno asked disbelievingly, flipping a page in the book he had in his hands, though it wasn’t as if he was paying much attention to the text anymore. Wilbur nodded happily from across the room, grinning as he opened his mouth to continue explaining, only to get cut off by Techno. “Wil, I don’t really care. I’m tryn’ to read right now.”

Wilbur huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, pouting in fake dismay and staring at Techno almost expectantly, even though the piglin was very clearly no longer looking at him. “Well, you should care,” the brunet replied with a sassy tone of voice, sounding akin to an annoyed child. “I swear I’m not the only one who does this! Ranboo does it too, or at least he did...”

“Ranboo did that—?... No, Wilbur, really, just talk about literally anythin’ else. I do not care about your jar ecosystems,” Techno was already used to dealing with Wilbur’s chaotic moods. They’d come in at random times, last a couple hours, and then eventually he’d lose all the excess energy he had and go back to “normal.” So it wasn’t as if he actually expected Wil to stop when he was told to—Techno knew he wouldn’t—but he figured he might as well try to change the topic that Wilbur would ramble on about. Honestly, Techno just wanted to read his book. “Can’t you bother someone else? It isn’t that late, Phil and Tommy are still up.”

Wilbur let out a loud, dramatic sigh followed by a shake of his head and a couple tutting sounds. “You’re no fun,” his tone was playful, indicative of the grin that was on his face, despite his words suggesting otherwise. “But fine! I’ll talk about something else.” Wilbur rolled himself over on the couch, sitting upright and then standing up to make his way over to the man sitting across from him. Techno tore his eyes away from the book and glanced up when he realised Wilbur had approached, raising an eyebrow and glaring half-heartedly at the musician.

“What?” Techno’s voice sounded tired, more tired than usual, but bore no real malice as he impatiently awaited Wilbur’s response.

“Have you ever seen Doctor Who?”

“Oh my god,” Techno looked down and rubbed his temples, dropping the book beside him and running one of his hands through his hair, groaning loudly. He heard Wilbur’s shrill laugh at his reaction, which was shortly followed by the sound of shuffling as he sat down next to the piglin and crossed his legs, seemingly prepping himself to start telling whatever story he wanted to tell Techno about. “Please.”

“I already told Phil about this one,” Wilbur began, biting back another laugh at Techno’s long sigh which came straight after. “So, there are these things called ‘weeping angels—!” Wil was quickly cut off by a rough jab to his side. He managed to force back any verbal reactions he might have given to the sudden electric tingly feeling that spread all throughout his side, but he couldn’t conceal the very obvious flinch and curling of his lips.

“You good?” Techno asked, having removed his hands from his face to shoot his brother a concerned glance. Wilbur felt heat rush to his face, but he couldn’t tell whether he’d paled, or gone red. “Did you...” He shifted closer to the brunet, cocking his head to one side. “You flinched,” The elder stated quite obviously, expression a mixture of curiosity and interest.

“You caught me off-guard,” Wilbur quickly stammered out, a sheepish half-smile spreading over his face. Techno frowned—and it was clear from just that gesture that he wasn’t buying it.

Techno placed one hand on his side and left it there, unmoving. Wilbur didn’t flinch that time, but he wanted to, his flustered state having raised his hypersensitivity to the point where he wanted to squirm even just imagining that Techno might find out. “I was just tryin’ to shut you up, you needa’ tell me what happened or I’ll assume that you’re hurt,” Techno said, beginning to slowly rub two(2) fingers in small circles on Wilbur’s side. The last part of his sentence came off as more of a threat to his brother—he didn’t want to worry Techno, but at the same time, getting found out like this would be so embarrassing.

“I-I’m not—“ Wilbur was cut off by a quiet gasp, but not quiet enough for Techno to let slip. One of Techno’s ears twitched at the sound and he made a gruff huffing noise, now reaching down to tug up the hem of his brother’s sweater, exposing the bottom half of his side. “Hey, I’m not hurt, okAY—!” Techno, being the oblivious bastard he was, began to rub gentle circles on Wilbur’s bare side, which elicited a comical noise sounding like a mix between a squeal and a yelp from the man. As Wil managed to squirm away from the tingles, butterflies erupted in his belly when he thought; there’s no getting out of this now.

Silence filled the room for a couple seconds, the gears turning in Techno’s head before it finally clicked, and he couldn’t help the smug expression that formed on his face when he realised what Wilbur had been trying to hide. “You’re ticklish,” he emphasised the ‘T-word’, causing Wilbur’s face to heat up even more, and the fact that Techno’s hand still remained hovering just ever-so-slightly above his side, was not helping. “How come I didn’t know this before? You keepin’ secrets from me, hm?” Techno shoved both of his hands up Wilbur’s shirt and gently ran his nails up and down his skin, eliciting a few snickers along with squeaks and he tried to muffle his giggles.

Wilbur frantically shook his head ‘no’ and looked down, his hair falling in front of his face and (thankfully) hiding his bright pink cheeks. Tingles and shockwaves of tickly sensations shot up his sides, the feeling only increasing the longer Techno’s fingers lingered in the same spot. “Well— you’re definitely much quieter now,” Techno remarked, and Wilbur opened his mouth to give a sassy response, only for a loud squeak to come out instead as the gliding nails began to gently scratch at each side of his back. He arched forward but shifted backwards, resting his back against the armrest and laying down. Wil had hoped this would quell the sensations at least a little, but it only made them worse, the little scratches becoming rougher as Techno’s fingers got trapped. “This seems like a good way to take you down a peg whenever you’re in one of your ‘chaotic’ moods.”

“N-no—hohahahaa!” As Techno moved his hands up to Wilbur’s ribs, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. High-pitched giggles flooded from Wilbur’s lips as he wriggled and squirmed, throwing his head back as his hands switched between trying to protect the targeted spots and trying to push Techno away. It wasn’t exactly working out for him, and eventually he just curled up, hoping to drown out the tickles somehow. It only got worse once he felt Techno begin to drill his thumbs into the spaces between each of the bones. “NOHO! DOHohon’t dohoho thahahat, plehehehahase!”

As Techno gazed down at the giggling boy, he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t melt at the sight of his bright, carefree smile. “Why not?~” His tone of voice was still deadpan, but it had a sing-songy edge to it this time. If Wilbur had the guts to muster up insults at the time, he would’ve called him every name in the book just as revenge for the horrible teases. “Does it tickle too much? Surely you can’t be that ticklish, right?~” Every time the T-word was mentioned Wilbur felt the pit in his stomach fill with more butterflies, and his blush began to slowly spread out to his neck and ears. “It’s your own fault for bein’ annoyin’.”

“Ihihihi wahahasn’t beheheing ahahannoying!” Wilbur insisted, his giggles slowly increasing as Techno’s fingers danced their way up his ribs, heading for his armpits. But before they could reach the spot, he instinctively slammed his arms down to protect himself, blocking the offending hands just in time. It seemed that Techno took this defensive action as provoking, because his immediate response to that was to sigh disappointedly and start skittering around Wil’s neck and shoulders, causing him to scrunch up like a turtle and begin to wriggle side-to-side in a weak attempt at escaping the tickles. “Nohohoho! Fuhuhuahahack ohohoff— yohohou’re sohoho mehehehehahan!”

“Mean? This isn’t mean,” Wilbur could hardly make out Techno’s words anymore, considering he was much more focused on the shocks of tickles and his own embarrassment. But once he heard those words leave his brother’s lips, he couldn’t help but start squirming even harder on top of squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t process what the words meant in his state—but he’s heard that tone before. And that tone means ‘you fucked up’. “You wanna see mean?” Techno asked rhetorically and Wilbur began frantically shaking his head, letting out giggly little “nononono”s as he tensed, prepping himself for the inevitable attack that would come next.

“AAAHAA!” Wilbur shrieked as he felt Techno’s lips make contact with his tummy, quickly followed by an explosion of tickles as he blew a raspberry, shaking his head during it to make it even worse. Wil bucked, cackled and squealed, only for his hips to get held down and mercilessly drilled into by two(2) of Techno’s fingers. All of his nerves felt like they were on fire, and he felt everything—every last pinch to his hips, every raspberry that was blown, and it was almost too much for him to handle. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t loving it. “NAHAHAHAAA! TEHEHEHAHAHAHA—!”

Even after Techno ceased the raspberries, he still seemed fully intent on being as merciless as possible. He continued to drill right into the dip of Wilbur’s hipbone, using his other hand to rapidly squeeze his tummy, never letting up and never slowing down. Wilbur had completely given up on trying to fight back, his arms were too tired for that now and he knew it was no use, so instead he began using his hands to cover his bright pink face with. “Oh, poor Wilbur,” Techno began, a very obviously feigned sympathetic tone in his voice. “Being tickled is just such a hard job.”

“SHUHUAHAHAT UHUHUHUP!” Wilbur forced out through his hysterics, helplessly rolling his torso back and forth, attempting to focus his attention on literally anything else other than the tickles he was receiving. He couldn’t decide if he loved or hated it—it was unbearable and maddening, he felt like he was being driven up a wall, but at the same time he had to admit that he was having fun. He was soaking up all the attention like a sponge. It didn’t take much longer before his laughter became wheezy and strained, though, and he’d decided he had enough. “O-OHOHOKAHAY! STOHOHAHAHAHAP, THAHAHAHAT’S ENOHOHOHOUGH—!”

Techno listened straight away, ceasing the tickles and backing away as Wilbur curled in on himself, hugging his midsection while trying to rid of the after-tingles that still remained. “You alright?.. was it too much?” Techno asked, reaching over to deliver a couple, comforting pats to Wilbur’s head. He would’ve leaned away if it weren’t for how exhausted he was from all his laughter. “...sorry,”

“N-noho, noho... it,” Wilbur knew he should be careful with his choice of words there. He didn’t want to give away how much he’d actually enjoyed himself, but at the same time, he was well aware he’d likely given that fact away while being tickled. He supposed there was no point in lying—especially if it would risk making Techno worry over nothing. “...wahas nice.”

There was no response for a couple seconds, but then the silence was interrupted by a snort coming from Techno, and Wilbur instantly knew what he would have found amusing. But as Techno gently ran his fingers through his hair, practically soothing Wilbur to sleep, he found he didn’t care as much as he did before.

They should do this again sometime.

#mcyt #dsmp #tickle #tickling #tickle fic #fic #ticklish!wilbur #lee!wilbur #ler!techno #ler!technoblade #requests

[korpuskat]

i'd be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint [Pagan Min/Reader]

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 1,944 Content: DFAB & Gender Neutral Reader. Blasphemy & Sacrilege, Inappropriate Use of Religious Objects, Shibari, Bondage, Suspension, Begging, 

"I didn't think you'd be into... this..." You murmur, raise your arms as Pagan's nimble fingers slide the rope around your chest, once, then twice, forming lines across your skin with the deep red-brown material.

"Oh? Why's that?" He grins and it makes your stomach flip- a completely different anxiety than the one that's born from being completely nude as he takes his time forming shapes with his preferred medium. "One must be adventurous to rule a kingdom, and it's quite aesthetically pleasing."

"Thought it would be too similar to your work."

"Work, hah." He carefully threads the ends of the ropes back behind you, pausing to give you a moment to turn away from him. "Maybe for De Pleur, but I for one do not make it a habit to personally tie up terrorists with this much care." With only light touches he brings your arms back and binds them at your elbows, weaves the rope around your outstretched limbs until you can no longer pull them apart or lift them, as he secures that set of knots to harness forming at your chest.

"Though," He starts, then taps your shoulder to make you turn again. His eyes wander over your body, appraising his work thus far before lowering himself to his knees to begin working again at your waist. "This does give me some ideas."

"Thought you didn't want to tie up terrorists." You tease him and it earns you a half-amused glance and raised eyebrow.

"I don't, but someone must. It's the only way to stop them from making a mess of things." His hands are tireless, forming a thick, intricate weave along your outer thigh before it splits into individual strands- and Pagan tips you backwards onto the bed as he finishes that foot with your toes extended, leaving your leg as immobilized as your arms. Only a few minutes in and you can't move the majority of your body- and the thought sends a wave of heat through your body, culminating between your legs. In a vain attempt to subdue the building desire, you press your thighs together- which does not go unnoticed.

"Always so needy." He tsks, but his words carry no weight. Even if you didn't know your neediness made him feel wanted, his own excitement was obvious, tenting the front of his pants. "Almost done." He purrs and rolls you onto your stomach. He touches your unbound leg. "Lift, please."

The angle is odd, but you raise your leg as much as you can. It must be enough, because Pagan rests your ankle in the crook of his arms as he works more rope down this leg. He seems to work quicker, his own impatience growing- and you can't blame him. That heat burns between your legs and you have nothing left to sate it with other than the imaginings of what's to come.

"There." Pagan sighs, and steps away from the bed. He walks around in front of you, once again appraising his work- and you realize you can't put your leg down. Without his support, your leg hangs in the air, the rope shorter on the back of your leg than the front, the tension alone keeping it up. It's an odd sensation, like your weight isn't spread the way it should be- but you don't focus on it long as Pagan retrieves his phone.

All at once the heat rushes to your cheeks and you're ducking your face into his plush beddings. He laughs, always one to enjoy your embarrassment. "Nothing to be shy about, darling. Don't you want to look good for your king?"

"You're horrible." You grumble into the mattress, try desperately to close your legs as he circles around.

"Mmm," His clothes brush against your inner thighs. "Is this so horrible?" His fingers slip between your labia, slick and easy with your building arousal. Unbidden, your hips buck as best they can with the ropes restricting them, and still Pagan is as careful as he was threading the ropes. Never once do the pads of his fingers touch your clit, circling tantalizingly close and never quite making contact. All it does is fan the flame, all your focus centered on the feather-light pinpoints of his touch.

He stops as quickly as he started, coming around in front of you once more. Your mouth is already open, correctly anticipating his ritual of making you clean his fingers.

"Now this may take a moment." Behind you once more, he messes with the ropes- and you struggle to figure out what's happening- until you feel a peculiar pull across your body. You twist in your binds, try to glance over your shoulder- all you get a glimpse of him with his shirt sleeves rolled up, buttoned to expose more of his forearms as he grabs the rope again and pulls.

This time you slide right off the side of the bed. "Pagan?" Your voice shakes, not quite sure what to make of it- and he pulls again, not even answering you. One leg bent back, you balance carefully on the toes of one foot- each pull on the ropes takes more and more of your weight. He keeps going until you're nearly hanging by your leg, almost inverted except for your one leg that still dances across the floor, skittering across Pagan’s plush carpets for purchase, not quite supporting you and not quite dangling.

Pagan exhales, and with your new position you spin lightly in the center of the room, field of view drifting around until you catch sight of him again. He's trying off the rope, and mutters half to himself, "Let's buy a winch next time."

Though he sweats lightly, as soon as he makes eye contact with you the exhaustion wears off quick. His fingertips remain light and teasing as they trace down the long lines of rope, testing the strength of his knots that keep you in your perilous position.

"I think," He says, breathless, "this is right where you belong, don't you?" His fingers race along your arms, up to your shoulders, up and up till they're stroking through your hair. You strain to look up at him, watch as the fire builds in his eyes. "It's what you really want, to be under my power. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nothing to do but to obey me."

With a whine you avert your eyes, try once more to bring your thighs together- and all it takes is a rough tug at your hair to bring your focus back to him. Your hands flex aimlessly, staring at him as he licks his lips, "That sweet pussy of your must be aching by now. I know you want to beg, so go on."

"P-please." It's hardly more than a whisper, and Pagan's face hardens, more insulted than amused by your first attempt. A forceful swallow and you try again, "Please, Pagan... touch me?"

"Tsk, that was pitiful. You can do better than that."

A bite to your lip and you’re still fighting to get the words out past your shame. "Please, I need it, I'm aching," You whine, can't even drop your head with his hand still tangled into your hair. "I- I'll do anything you want."

The knuckles of his free hand caress the side of your face. "Oh, I know you will, darling. But that's bargaining not begging. Is the blood rushing to your head already? Come on dear, let it out."

You're aching and he won't stop, ruthless, almost sadistic and all you want- all you really want- "Use- use me. Please, King Min, please, use me- I want- I want to make you cum, I want to taste you, please-"

Pagan grins, unashamedly pleased in your slow descent into subspace. "All you had to do was ask." Finally, he releases his hold on your hair which leaves your scalp tingling and your neck straining to keep watching. It's a sight worth fighting for; he unbuckles his belt and makes short work of his pants, the pink fabric parting- and your whole body throbs. With one hand he strokes himself, takes care to draw his foreskin back and watch as you begin to drool. If he could, perhaps he'd tease you like this for hours- make you watch him slowly please himself while you beg and insist that you could help. It would be agony for you both.

His own impatience is what makes him grasp your hair again- and he doesn't even have to tell you to open your mouth.

His taste and scent fill your every sense- the faintest twinge of sweat, but mostly soap and his cologne. Until, of course, he holds the sides of your head and begins to move. The first hint of bitter precum has you moaning, remembering the last time you'd had the privilege of making your king come undone with your tongue.

"I didn't tell you where these ropes came from, did I?" He manages to say between grunts, doesn't wait for you to try to answer. "Some unloyal citizens had thought to- oh, to rebuild one of those bell towers."

Your mind fights to the surface to understand, but all you can manage to do is stare up at him with big, glassy eyes. "They're sanctified. Meant to dispel fucking demons." He says and lets his head fall back. The weight of his words begins to settle in- and he pulls you as far as you can go and holds you there. Your nose flush with his abdomen, pressed against the black, well trimmed hairs. Your throat spasms with the intrusion, gagging- and Pagan doesn’t let up until your chest begins to burn.

He pulls you off him entirely. You gasp in lungfuls of air as he wrenches your head up again. He's half-crazed, panting, as rabid as you've ever seen him- "Are they working? Do you feel like you're curing evil?"

There's no right answer. Nothing you could say would be right, but he’s pleased enough at your open-mouthed panting, how you’ve nearly come undone just from sucking him off.

Pagan grabs the rope and spins you, your one foot dragging on the floor until you're facing away from him again. His hands find your hip and your strung-up leg- and there's nothing for you to do but squirm. He pushes in and his first thrust is like music; your whole body sings for the stimulation, the attention, the touch of your king. As rough as he can be with your body swaying, his fingers dig into your skin, desperate for any sort of leverage. Hard, then harder- his short-clipped nails biting into your skin. It's still not good enough; he grabs the ropes that twist around your arms, his fingers winding around his own knots as he yanks you back onto his cock.

His other hand reaches around, latches onto your throat and pulls as hard as he can, your body aching as you're bent backwards, straining against the ropes. Close, close enough for him to pant in your ear as he fucks you- "They're for worship.” He spits the word, drives it home with a thrust so hard he must bruise your cervix- and follows it with a hand sliding over your side, over each line of rope. Down, over your belly, down to your still-neglected clit. You keen as he brushes it, draws faint circles over it- "Do you feel worshipped?" His teeth close around the shell of your ear- and that's all it takes.

Lightning passes through you, leaves you gasping, begging with empty words as Pagan grunts, mutters a "Fuck, fuck!" A long, stuttering sigh- and his forehead rests against your shoulder, breath slowing in rhythm with your still-twitching body.

The serenity doesn't last long- the ropes cutting into your skin brings you down from your high. A single tiny "Ow." has Pagan up- and through his own post-orgasmic stupor manages to cut through the ropes and steady you enough to fall back onto his bed together.

With half-asleep limbs you shuck the knots from your body. Pagan watches with one eye before conceding, "Maybe too adventurous."

----

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#Pagan Min #Pagan Min x Reader #Far Cry #Far Cry 4 #Pagan Min x You

[lissacmonster]

Wrong Place, Right Time

TMNT x (Gender Neutral) Reader (Non-romantic) Synopsis: Reader goes into an abandoned building to find their dog, and ends up finding a lot more than their dog. Rating: Teen Genre: Action/Thriller Pairings: None Content Warnings: The dog is in danger for some of it (but isn’t actually hurt) Other Tags: Funny, Combat, Short Story, Fanfiction, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Shredder

When you left your apartment that night, you had no way of knowing how unprepared you were for the events that would unfold. Armed with a flashlight and a roll of doggy bags you and your dog Cody had slipped out into the fresh, cool night air. You also brought a can of bear mace in case you ran into any creeps. Bear mace wouldn't have necessarily been your first choice, but it was leftover from the time you went camping and you wanted to put it to good use.

The dog was just happily sniffing around and relieving himself when he suddenly stiffened up. Following his gaze, your eyes landed on a cat. The cat was happily strutting across the street, unperturbed by the dog even as he began barking hatefully and straining against the leash. You held your grip and started pulling him back the way you had come. But he turned around, dug his heels in and managed to pull out of the collar.

The cat suddenly noticed it was in danger and darted around, looking for a place to hide. Cody followed the cat in circles around a parked car, then he chased it around the corner.

You ran after him, "Cody! Get back here!"

You were half angry, and half worried that he would run out into the street in front of a car. Instead, when you rounded the corner, he was wriggling his way into a boarded up building. His tail disappeared through the space in the boards just as you leapt forward to grab him.

"Cody! NO! Get back here, now!" You said, using your best angry parent voice.

But Cody was on a mission to find that cat. You knew that he would be single-minded until he found what he was looking for. It might have been admirable if you were coon hunting together out in the countryside, or something. Instead, it was annoying because you were on an evening walk in the middle of Manhattan.

You groaned in exasperation and looked up at the building. It was an old apartment building or something, a rough brick structure that was 5 stories high. The windows were mostly boarded up, and the ones that weren't were missing their glass. There were no lights on inside. It didn't look like anyone had been here for a long time. At least, nobody you wanted to run into...

And nobody you wanted your dog to run into either! Your protective instinct kicked in. You called through the hole to him for another 30 seconds. When he didn't reappear, you started looking around for a way in.

In the alley where you were standing, there were lots of bits of metal and you took a second to poke through them and find a good one. First you found a weird, 3-pronged dagger of some kind, which you tucked into your belt. Maybe you could use it for protection in case somebody dangerous was squatting in there. (Although, if you were being honest, you mostly kept it because you thought it looked cool.) Then you found a metal rod that seemed sturdy enough to work as a crowbar. In no time, you were squeezing through a gap you had made in the boards covering the doorway.

After clicking on your flashlight, you noticed that you were standing in an old lobby. There was a torn up spot on the floor where the front desk had obviously once been affixed. The wallpaper was peeling. The hardwood floors, which had probably been gorgeous when they were kept up, were covered in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs were hanging in the corners and doorways, with their own gathering of dust.

You followed the sounds of Cody's feet skittering against the floors.

"Cody!" You whispered harshly, creeping towards him. If there were any questionable people around, you didn't want them hearing you guys. Luckily Cody wasn't raising hell yet, which told you that he must have lost track of the cat.

You spotted him at the end of a hallway.

"Cody, c'mere," You called, sweetly.

He looked you dead in the face and then turned and walked through a doorway into pitch black nothingness.

What. A. Brat.

Gazing down the stairway, you wanted to cry so bad. That damn dog had just run down into what must be the basement. You stood at the top, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to see down the steps. After a minute you realized that it wasn't actually pitch black. There was some kind of light that was dimly illuminating the bottom of the steps.

Gathering every last ounce of courage, you made your way down the steps. Every step creaked horribly, and with each one, you felt certain that your foot was about to sink through rotten wood. A dank smell invaded your nostrils more as you descended. How long did you have to breath black mold in before it would make you sick, anyway?

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, you found that you were standing in a hallway. The floor here was even more dirty than the ground floor above. There was garbage piled all over the place. If anyone had ever squatted in this building, you were willing to bet that they'd done it here in this basement level.

A voice sounded from down the hallway. Your head snapped towards it in alarm, but after a few seconds it was clear it wasn't directed at you. It had come from a doorway at the very end of the hall which was slightly ajar, pale blue light spilling from it. You fought the urge to sprint back up the stairs and instead crept down the hall towards the voice. You tucked the metal rod into your belt and pulled out the strange dagger, ready to strike if someone suddenly rushed out at you. The voice was speaking again.

"...think you can defy me, turtles, but once again I've proven you wrong."

"You're not gonna get away with this, Shredder!" A second voice, female this time. She sounded scared. What were you walking into? You felt strangely numb as you continued to move forward, your heart pounding.

"I already have. Look at them! Once I have what I need, I'll dispose of you all," It was a deep, rich voice with a cold fury beneath.

"And then what? You took the mutagen out of our blood when we fought you years ago. So what could you possibly want with our blood this time?" Another male voice countered, sounding calm, but angry.

"Th-that's right! Our blood is free of mutagen, you can't use it to mutate anybody!" Another, nervous-sounding male voice agreed.

You reached the doorway and peered around the doorframe very slowly...

Within the room was some kind of makeshift laboratory. One bulb hung from the ceiling, casting the whole scene in harsh bright light. Several figures were visible in the large room. The first one that caught your attention was the huge figure in the center of the room. It looked like a man wearing a thick, heavy suit of strange armor. The armor had lots of sharp angles and spikes on it. You couldn't see anything else about him because he was silhouetted against the harshly-lit room. He was facing two figures who were lying on the floor.

One of the people on the floor was the woman. She had dark hair and eyes and was wearing a yellow jacket. Her hands were bound and she was glaring hatefully at the armored man. Next to her was another man. He wasn't talking, and he was lying very still... Was he ok? Or was he...?

You didn't finish that thought because you caught sight of four... somethings against the far wall.

They were... turtles, you guessed. But they weren't like any turtles you had ever seen. They were tall and buff with humanoid faces and bodies. Each was wearing a different colored mask, as well as various gear. They were strung up against the wall by lots and lots of chains. There was some kind of machinery connected to them, but it was hard to make out what it all was from this far away.

The spikey man- what had she called him? Shredder? He was speaking again, "I don't need to mutate anybody. All I need is your DNA, and I will have an unstoppable army."

"He's cracked, you guys," A new voice. It was gruff, and it came from the largest turtle, who was wearing a red mask.

"Oh no... I-I think I know what he's talking about!" The nervous voice was coming from the tallest one, in the purple mask, "He wants to clone us!"

"Is that true?!" The orange one finally spoke up, "Man, you can't make another Michelangelo! I'm the one and only!

"Stockman, how much longer before they're drained?" Shredder interrupted.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as an answer sounded out from very close to you.

"Another 2 hours, Mr. Shredder!"

"Why must it take so long?" Shredder asked, threateningly.

"W-well... We only had so much equipment..." Stockman defended, "I mean, there are ways of removing it faster, if you catch my drift. But if you want a clean, untainted sample, this is the best way to go!"

"Hmm... Very well." Shredder agreed after a moment.

You were now pressed against the wall just outside of the door, clutching your chest. That Stockman guy had been no more than 4 feet from you just inside the door! He was against the wall that you couldn't see, though, so you hadn't noticed him.

Stockman was talking again, more to himself, "Aw man... That cat got in again..."

A soft growling sounded from within the room. Oh god. Cody.

"What the..." Stockman started and then yelped, "HEY!"

His chair clattered to the ground as Cody's chorus of barks started up. You rushed back to the door and were frozen to the spot as you watched the scene unfold. It was utter chaos as Cody tore around the room after the cat, which was leaping around on the equipment and furniture. Cody managed to knock over 2 chairs, jump up on a table, and upset several important-looking instruments before he was caught around the neck by the monstrous man's hand. Cody's high-pitched cries snapped you out of it.

"STOP!" You hurled yourself forward. Everything in the room seemed to stop in time. All eyes settled on you and every face held surprise. Shredder's helmeted head turned towards you, observing as you sprinted toward him. You had the dagger drawn back with the intent to jam it into the metal of his stupid, shiney armor.

You didn't even feel it when he swatted you away like a fly. All you noticed was that suddenly you were flying backwards. You quickly sprung back to your feet. Your skin felt electric as adrenaline coursed through your body. There was a throbbing feeling in your face where he had struck you. The strange dagger had skittered out of your hands.

Cody was no longer in his grip, that was the good news. The bad news was that now you were getting an up close and personal look at this Shredder guy. You could see every facet of the armor from here. The most striking part was the helmet, which resembled a leering skull.

You wondered what his face looked like behind the helmet. Did he look as surprised as everyone else? His voice didn't betray any surprise, only amusement.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here... A new hero, come to save the world. Such a pity you’ll have to die."

You tried to keep your voice steady as you explained, “Look man, I don’t know what you’re talking about- I’m just here for my dog!”

"Really, turtles, is this weakling the only ally you have left?"

None of them answered. They were still staring at you and glancing at one another, like they were trying to figure out if they knew you from somewhere. This was getting awkward.

"No, really, I don't know them," You insisted.

"Is that so? Well, then, how do you explain that." He lifted one of his huge metallic arms. It took you a second to realize he was pointing at your shirt. You looked down and gasped.

Save The Turtles was emblazoned across your chest in bright green letters, complete with a cute little cartoon rendering of a turtle.

God damn it. Of course you had chosen to wear the shirt you got from that time you volunteered at the turtle sanctuary.

"Uh- that's-!"

Before you could explain it to him, Shredder cut you off, "ENOUGH! Stockman, restrain this fool."

"ME? I'm not here to be your muscle!" Stockman sounded indignant.

Shredder was just throwing out another line about how weak you looked, and that restraining you would hardly require "muscle," when you darted around him and over to the far corner where Cody was cowering. You had to climb around some equipment that seemed to be collecting blood from the turtles. You were uncomfortable being so close to them, as you had yet to discern whether they were friendly or not.

"Hey, that's my staff!"

You looked up at the turtle with the purple mask. He was peering down at you through glasses that made his eyes look 3 times bigger than they actually were.

You glared at him, "No, that's my dog!"

"No, I mean that thing on your belt!"

Was he talking about the metal rod?

"WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! DUCK, KID!" The one in the red mask was shouting.

You dropped instantly to the ground. A huge BANG! sounded from above and drywall rained down on you. There was a big piece of metal embedded in the wall where your head had just been. Cody scampered away, whimpering in fear.

"He's coming up behind you!"

You whirled around to find Shredder was advancing towards you. You glanced around for an escape, but you were boxed in by equipment.

Suddenly Shredder stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around. Stuck in his back was the dagger you had dropped. The girl in the yellow jacket was standing there, having plunged it into the battery pack on the back of his suit.

You stepped carefully out of the way of the equipment and cast around desperately for a way to help her.

"Quick! Use the staff!" The purple one called.

When you looked clueless, he clarified, "The thing on your belt!"

Oh, the rod! Great idea! You grabbed the rod, jumped on Shredder's back and started pummeling his helmeted head with the thing. This drew a chorus of complaints from the turtles.

"Aw MAN! C'mon, kid!"

"Duuuude, that's not funny! Kick his butt for real!"

Purple was fighting desperately to be heard over all the commotion. He sounded completely exasperated by this point, "No, I meant-! Press the button!"

What button? There were no buttons on the-! Oh, wait. There was a button on the rod. How had you missed that? You pressed your thumb down on small, red button. Instantly, both ends of the rod shot out, extending it by about 5 feet. In the process, it struck Shredder's helmet, launching it violently from the man's head. With a startled cry you toppled off of Shredder's back. The man rounded on you. You looked for the staff, but it had launched itself far out of reach.

"Now, I'm going to put an end to this little game," He said, and you could see the full extent of his fury on his face.

The four turtles were all shouting things and you couldn't make out any of it. All you could see was the hate in the man's eyes as he approached. His long black hair hung in his face untidily. He was panting and his lips were pulled back in an angry grimace. He looked like some kind of beast, like a lion, or like a...

"Bear!" You shouted suddenly. You tugged the bear mace out of the little pouch on your belt.

Shredder was towering over you now. He raised one of his bladed arms, poised to strike. Popping the top off, you raised the bear mace, pointed it at him, and pressed the switch.

Shredder was suddenly engulfed in a cloud of orange smoke. He roared and stumbled backwards. While he was distracted with that you scrambled to your feet. The woman was busy unlocking the chains that were trapping the turtles.

"Thanks, Angelcakes!" The one in orange said gratefully as he shrugged off all of the blood-collecting equipment.

He came over and stood next to you. You eyed him warily, but he was just looking at you with interest, "Hey, that was pretty rad how you stood up to Shredder like that! You pretty much ruled, even though you kinda-sorta... suck at fighting!"

Your pride had never been particularly tied to your fighting skills, so you just said, "Thanks. What's your name?"

"Michelangelo. But the ladies like to call me Mikey."

The two of you kept an eye on Shredder while the woman continued unlocking the turtles chains. You even sprayed a few more times in his direction when he got too close. Eventually he managed to rip the metal armor off of his hands so he could rub his burning eyes. Now he rounded on you again.

He looked truly out of his mind by this point, his blood red eyes were streaming and his face looked pinker than any face you had ever seen.

"Whoa... I think he's gonna-"

Before Mikey could finish, suddenly Shredder was charging at you. Mikey yanked you aside as someone barreled past you. The one with the red mask slammed into Shredder, colliding with him with the force of a refrigerator.

"Oh, shit! Is he ok??"

"You mean, Raphael? He's fine! He gets thrown into cars and stuff all the time," Mikey waved his hand dismissively.

Raphael rolled to his feet, pulling the dagger out of Shredder's back as he did so. He walked back to where you guys were standing, "Thanks for bringing one of my Sais, kid."

Things were kind of a blur from there. The turtles restrained the Shredder. The one with the blue mask was apparently the leader, and his name was Leonardo. He was on the phone with the chief of police. Wow... So your local police department was cool with these turtle ninjas? Who would have thought... Maybe your uncle's conspiracy theory about reptiles controlling the government wasn't totally crazy.

Donatello, the one with the purple mask, was attending to the man who had been lying on the ground when you came in. The man's name was Casey, and he wasn't dead as you had previously thought. He did have a pretty nasty concussion, though, and kept repeating the same phrases over and over (A common symptom with concussions, Donatello told you).

Don also took a look at your own injuries while he was at it. Your face was beginning to swell from where Shredder had struck you, and you would be sporting a nasty-looking bruise for a while. Other than that, you would be just fine.

After everything was said and done, and you had talked to the police, and Shredder had been loaded into an armored vehicle and hauled away, you and Cody were finally leaving to go home. You were back in the cool night air, walking your dog on his leash. You wondered if Cody would think twice about chasing a cat next time, or if the whole event had gone over his head? He definitely didn't look like he cared that he had just been in life-threatening danger.

Before you could ponder it much more, the brothers suddenly appeared around you.

"Heeeyyy, let us walk you home!" Leo offered aggressively.

"No, that's ok! You don't have to!" You really just wanted to be left alone now.

"We insist." The grin on Leo's face looked mostly threatening.

Leo threw his arm around your shoulder, as if to make sure you wouldn't run away, and started practically dragging you along.

They took you on the coolest shortcut you had ever been on. You scaled buildings and leapt across rooftops. It was just like in Assassin's Creed! Of course, they had to carry both you and Cody the whole way like a couple of carry-on bags.

When they set you down finally, you were in the alley next to your apartment building.

"Thanks guys," You said, "But how the hell did you find out where I lived?" You hadn't ever given them any directions.

"I have my ways..." Donatello said. He adjusted his glasses and they glinted dramatically like in an anime.

They were all kind of staring at you in a vaguely menacing way, "Uh... Are ya'll gonna... kill me because I know too much or something?"

"What the-! Of course not!" Donnie yelled.

"Hey, relax, buddy! We're not those kind of ninjas!" Mikey laughed, "That's not how we handle people who know too much!"

"Not any more, at least..." Raph said, narrowing his eyes at you, "The chief said it was too messy to keep covering it up."

You gulped nervously.

"Raph! Don't tell people things like that!" Leo shoved him and turned back to you, "Don't worry, he's joking. YOU'RE JOKING, RIGHT RAPH?"

"I'M JOKING. JESUS CHRIST!" Raph yelled back, "Just, don't go runnin' your mouth about us, aight?"

The leader in blue leaned in uncomfortably close to stare into your eyes, "If you say anything about us, we will come back to see you..."

"Aaaand PUNISH YOU," Mikey added, "In a gentle, non life-threatening way!"

You put up your arms defensively, "Trust me, I am not telling anyone that I fought some kind of terminator samurai to save my dog and some turtles."

You thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth before he straightened up and lead his brothers away. They scaled the walls of the surrounding buildings with ease, and then they had vanished just like that.

============================

Will you ever see them again? Would you LIKE to see them again? I hope so because I have a lot of ideas for this series.

Thanks for reading, ya’ll. It’s the first story I have finished in ages and it feels good to be back.

#tmnt x reader #bayverse tmnt #tmnt donnie #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt mikey #tmnt leonardo #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic

[baka-monarch]

Heros and Villains

Description: just a small crack fic

George approached the house cautiously. This was it. He had finally tracked them down.

For years George had been fighting a villain and protecting his city. He was known as Goggles, because of the goggles he wore to help him control his lazer eyed abilities- although his nemesis had come to call him Goggy. Who might his foe be?

A terrorist who went by the name Dream. No one really knew where they came up with the name, but they did know of his manical cackles from every time he grew to the size of a giant and destroyed the city. George was so sick of that laghter- that- that sickening, teasing voice that Dream used every fight. All the useless flirting- EVERYTHING. He was so tired….

So here he was. Finally he'd tracked them down to this house. Reports say that there were several eyewitnesses that saw the villain come near this area- and event fewer claimed to see him come to this house.

George took a deep breath as he approached the door. He was just checking, he wasn't even wearing his costume, just his normal clothes and a pair of color blind glasses specially designed to double as a temporary replacement for his goggles (unfortunately they completely restricted his powers unlike his goggles). He took one more breath before he finally rang the doorbell and waited to be greeted by an unfamiliar face and blond hair.

Surprisingly, someone with black hair greeted him.

"Can I help you?" The mysterious man asked, looking George up and down. Their voice was unfamiliar. Had George been wrong then? Was Dream not here…. Or…. Maybe hiding?

"Oh, sorry, I was just looking for someone." George was never great at lying, so he spoke the half truth, hoping it wouldn't give himself away. The man leaned on the doorframe and looked George over again, as if they recognised him.

"Hm, well I'm Sapnap, I'll be glad to help you." They reached a hand out, and George recognised it as a handshake and took it.

"That's really nice of you, I'm George." He introduced himself, the name unfamiliar in his own mouth from saying 'Goggles' for so long.

"So who're ya looking for George?" Sapnap smiled lazily as he let go of their hand. As soon as the guy had spoke Sapnap had assumed 'George' was some kind of cop or something. Most normal people don't just go ringing doorbells looking for people. So for now he'd play nice.

"Oh just- a guy, has uhm, blond hair." George described, knowing it was a horrible description. Could anyone blame him though? No one had ever seen Dream without his terrifying smiling mask before, so he didn't HAVE many details.

"That's pretty vague." Sapnap chuckled.

"Yeah-" George chuckled nervously back.

Both men jumped as there was a crash from inside the house. Sapnap rushed inside, having no idea what could have caused that. George wasn't far behind, having an idea of what- or who- it might be.

To the horror of both, but for very different reasons, there stood Dream. Mask and costume on. Next to him was a bookshelf, knocked over- no doubt, George guessed, from them trying to listen to his and Sapnap's conversation.

"So you found me." Dream's smile could be heard under the mask, as he dusted himself off- obviously having been through a small tumble.

"Smarted then you have me credit for, Dream." George smirked back. Sapnap just stood between them, as who they bother were dawned on him, and he was suddenly scared of being in the cross fire.

"So you're-" Sapnap started but was cut off.

"Yep, little Goggy here seems to have found my hidey hole." Dream teased, making George roll his eyes.

"Who I am doesn't matter. Dream, it's time to give up, you've been found. You lost." George narrowed his eyes, ready to rip off his glasses in a moments notice, already avoiding looking at Sapnap to protect the citizen.

"Ah, but you forget George." Dream said it, knowing exactly what he was doing as he caused a shiver to skitter down the hero's spine.

"And what's that, Mr. Sizeshifter." George got into a defensive stance. He was afraid of this. Dream only laughed.

"I can shrink others too."

Neither George or Sapnap had any time to react as Dream began to glow- focusing his power to his hands he was able to trap the two humans and shrink them down to his birth height. Four inches tall. The average height of a borrower.

Dream expected George to run forward and protect Sapnap. Which is exactly what he wanted as he grabbed a nearby jar and slammed it over the two of them.

"Sorry about this Sap, you were a good place to borrow from but looks like you'll be stuck like that for awhile." He ignored any shouting front he shrunken humans as he scooped up the jar and screwed on the lid. Dream lifted his mask just enough to smile at the two.

He'd never forget how scared they looked.

Mcyt g/t tag list:

@nomynameisanon @trashpumped @loriepoptale @encaos @i-am-a-weeb @wyforyu-gaming @shy-septic-dragon @5unfl0writ3r @colorfulsiren @moonmwah @iwasgoingtohellanyways @echoslime @wilbur-simp @trouble-off-grid @the-misfits-system

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #borrower!dream #sizeshifter!dream #hero!george #human!sapnap #villain!dream

[internalsealpanic]

The Mechanics of Living part 2

Summary:  You trick Tim into going to a closed-off sector. Things go well. a/n: I will be doing a director’s cut for this is anyone is interested (by anyone I mean @glorified-red) Warnings: very slight body horror and gore 

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

It was easiest to just tell Tim all the facts rather than rely on the goodwill you've built in 3 years to persuade him.

There's a reason sector 4-D was cordoned off last year. For some unknown reason, a section that had been little more than a concrete wasteland started teeming with infected life.

People say it was an abomination (An unidentifiable, Tim corrected but you still think abomination captured the appropriate dramatic for that.)  that wandered in from farther in the waste. Some people say it was one of Bludhaven's beasts they let loose. You highly doubt Bludhaven was in any shape to contain whatever it is ravaging sector 4-D. After all, it wasn't in any better shape than Gotham was at the moment. You doubt it's ever been in better shape. They're like two cities constantly caught in this vortex of awfulness, looking at each other from two different sides thinking 'poor bastards'.

Sector 4-D was an easy hunting ground where young scavengers got their feet wet before they could move on. Now it was a dead zone, a dead zone with too much potential to pass up.

Like every sector, sector 4 was vast and unexplored and supposedly, there had been a library there. A building full of books and most importantly, medical textbooks.

You feel a little bad plucking at Tim's heartstrings when all you cared about was the payout. Appealing to the guy's sense of responsibility was kind of cheating but-- BUT! The specified textbooks do have stuff about bacteria and illnesses so you aren't really overstating their importance.

You try to push down the number of zeroes the man had shown you as you zip past a rusted sign.

You don't really trust anyone other than Tim to help you with this. Besides, all the other people who won't stab you after cashing in the reward probably don't know half as many words as Tim so you'll definitely need him to get the right books.

You stare at the rows of cars before you. They're overrun with weeds and vines and rust. A stark reminder that your Gotham is just a fraction of what it had been. You stop your bike in front of a taxi with a faded yellow body.

"This is it. This is where your life as an adventurer begins."

You swallow back the wave of nostalgia, letting the bike roll past it into the mess of cars to keep it a little more hidden. It isn't illegal to go to this sector yet. At least not when you checked but you really don't wanna gamble your Scavenger's license on clerical errors by either of your guilds.

Tim steps out of the sidecar, careful not to jostle Basil in his bag. You want to point out that you should probably wake the cat up otherwise you were wasting food on him but you knew better than to expect cooperation from Tim's fur ball from hell.

“So which theory about the illness do you think is the most plausible?” He asks, tucking the walkman away. You both thought it was stupid name but you didn’t really wanna question the teller. “The one that involves the least aliens.” You pause, narrowing your eyes at Tim whose hand is currently being eaten by his cat. “Or alien adjacent things.”

“So, you're one of those people who thinks the government did it.” Tim is *such* a little shit. Maybe that’s why his guild master gave him the most useless cat on the planet. Grade A my ass, you think staring at the furball nipping at his knuckles.

“Not on purpose, no.”

Tim raises a brow. “I didn't know you had that much faith in humanity.”

“Pffff, I think they just fucked up.”  

“Here, I was accusing you of being optimistic.”

“A mistake really.”

You two come to a crossroads.  A giant large yellow lantern hangs in the middle of the street, swaying listlessly in the air. It’s strange.

“Do you think the people in the old world used those to scare away the sick?”

“If they did,” he looks around, “it didn't work.”

Your eyes flit over the area.  Stone walls crumble, vegetation willing in the cracks. Still, even with the overgrowth of life, the city feels hollowed out. Nearly a decade ago, you’d first laid a hand on one of the stone arches of the city hall just down by main street. Nearly a decade ago, you felt the stone crumble beneath the pads of your fingers. Nearly a decade ago, you had come the closest to knowing what it was like having the sickness. Even one of the great cities had been reduced to a fraction of its size.

“Do you think the color of the light matters?” Tim asks, pointing again to the lamp.

You squint. You hadn’t noticed it at first but yeah, the color of the lights was different.

“Maybe,” you tilt your head, “or maybe the people from before were just idiots.”

“You just have a bad opinion of them, don’t you?”

“Like you don’t.” You shoot back, tapping your bat against your boot.

Tim rolls his eyes and shrugs.

You try to smile at that but something’s wrong. Your skin bristling, the air is stale despite the wind. You watch the lantern sway back and forth, the thin wires holding it up, fragile and precarious. A bad feeling crawls up your spine.

There’s a pressure in the air, the atmosphere turning into a vacuum.

Basil hisses, looking as vicious as he can.

The wind stops.

The skittering voices rise like the fluttering of locust wings.

A writhing mass, pulsing and menacing, blots out the horizon. It opens its maw to wheeze and the stench of rot floods the air. Your insides curdle and wilt from the intensity of the putrid odor. Once the *thing* draws another breath, the skittering begins again and this time you know where it’s from.

You can see it in the way its neck twists and undulates, its rotting flesh rippling as the fragmented voices rasp out of its throat. Its limbs, deformed, move unnaturally as it ambles towards you.

You stare at it. Your limbs unmoving. That thing *is* an unidentifiable. In all technicality, it fits the neat taxonomy laid out by experts. It is neither man nor beast. Its form corrupted beyond recognition. It’s rotting and shambling. But the thing you are looking at cannot simply be sorted neatly because it is what it is.  

A creature that god himself did not touch.

An abomination.

You splay a hand on Tim’s chest, pushing him back lightly.  Glancing at each other, you nod as you slowly step back into an alley. You quietly curse Gotham’s gloomy weather for the thing’s appearance. You thought you would have at least ‘til sundown to look for loot before having to flee to a safer sector. But when in Gotham, nothing is ever certain even the rising of the sun.

All you have to do is be quiet. Easy enough. Being silent is the first thing you learn to be in this world.

It blinks at you.

It. Blinks. At. *You.*

Your heart stops, the blood running in your veins turning into lead.

Dozens of eyes blink at you. They’re not all human from the looks of them. It opens its maw again, your muscles bunch up in anticipation of its miasmal breath. The discordant voices coming from its mouth coalesce into a horrible sob.

Tim grabs your wrist and pivots towards an alley. The sudden change in movement shocks your body awake. You scoop Basil up and bolt down the alley, letting Tim lead the way.

Desperately, You try to concentrate on the scuff of your shoes against pavement instead of the creak of limbs and the plop of flesh as it drips off the creature. The pinching of Tim’s features tells you he’s doing the same.

You round the corner, shoulder hitting brick, narrowly avoiding dozens of hands reaching for you. Basil yowls and hisses and you would apologize but your shoulder is screaming at you and goddammit Basil, we have bigger issues.  

You and Tim squeeze into a space between the buildings seemingly too small for that thing’s gelatinous form. You make the mistake of looking back only to see its limbs skitter up the building and down the other end of the alley. It smiles at you, rows of teeth glittering in the sparse light.

This was it.

This is where your life ends.

Where else is there to go?

You expect the acceptance to come in like a flood or relief. Life was hard with very little room for breath. Scraping by, tooth and nail, knuckles bleeding for every scrap of stability. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You suddenly feel so tired like the adrenaline had been keeping you together for the past few years. Acceptance should have come easy.

But it doesn’t.

You open your eyes to glance at Tim, finally resignation sets. His features are still pinched and his hand is trembling beside yours. You really did screw this one up big time, huh?

You bite your cheek.

Watching Tim’s mind work, you know you have to keep him alive. You squeeze Tim's hand. He narrows his eyes at you. You give him a crooked smile and let his hand fall.

You pivot, foot pushing against the pavement as you launch yourself to the other end of the alley.

If your estimates are correct, you can buy him 15 minutes. 15 minutes would be more than enough for him to make it back to the bike--

Tim yanks on your hood, throwing open a door. The creature howls as Tim hurls both of you into the building.

"What the heck was that?!" Tim screams.

"A Dick." You answer, rubbing your head. fuck. Tim could throw.

"No! You were being fucking stupid."

You scowl at him in the dark. "Thanks Tim. I get it."

"No, you don't!"

"Can we argue--"

The door rattles and shakes. A fist-shaped dent embeds itself on the metal door. You glance at each other before scrambling towards the very safe-looking stairs.

You fly up the steps like hell was on your heels and as far as you're concerned, it was. You wrench Tim's bag from him and you're half tempted to throw him over your shoulder as well but you're not sure the stare case can hold that much weight.

If you climb to the roof--  If you... climb... It can climb. Fuck.

You and Tim seem to come to the same conclusion as you throw yourselves into another door.

You shove a sofa in front of the door and sit on it.

"Please tell me you've miraculously come up with a plan." You hiss glancing over to Tim who's staring at the window.

He glances over his shoulder to look at you. "If I could pull off miracles, you wouldn't be so dumb."

You sigh. Ok, yeah. He has every right to be mad. It was an incredibly stupid move but it's a numbers game and yeah.

Tim runs his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He needs to come up with something. He glances out the window. He walks over and leans out the window.

"We should jump."

"Would you like to elaborate?" You wheeze, still not really letting go of a

"Follow me."

"Tim, I have never trusted you less in my life." You snort, quietly. But you make your way to the window.  You set Basil down and look at what Tim is pointing to. There's a dumpster filled to the brim with trash. There doesn't seem to be any infected mice in there and the road to the right is a straight shot back to the bike.

You lick your lips.

"So we're on the same page."

"Uh, if that means what I think it means then yes."

Tim lets out a breath as he opens the window as quietly as possible. You listen to the steady beat of limbs thumping against the wood. You hold a collective breath. The window clicks into place with a loud snikt.

The thumping stops.

You practically shove Tim out the window while you stare at the door. It rattles and shakes.  A screech erupts the stairwell as you jump out the window. You land with a thump, sinking beneath the mounds of plastic.

Your heart is hammering and pressing into your throat. Its beat is in sync with the steady thump of the limbs. The wet squelching of rotting flesh scraping against the rusted metal of the dumpster. You want to heave but Tim shoves a hand in your face. You gag silently. Tim's hand smells putrid from the trash.

You hold your breaths until the thumping goes away. You don't dare breathe until Basil settles down.

You fall limp against the trash. Your limbs feel like jelly. You gag. Thinking about jelly right now is probably the worst thing for your health.

Tim nudges you with his foot. You turn your body over as quietly as you can.

You watch him make shapes with his hands. You frown.   You cycle through your memory trying to remember what the gestures mean then let go of Basil when you do.

Basil rises from the trash, padding against the plastic.

When you hear Basil jump down to the pavement, you dig your way out of the trash.

"For the record, I hate your plans." You say, gagging.

"What was yours?" Tim fires back, dusting his hair.

"..."

"Just what I thought."

You're the first to climb out, holding your arms out to him mockingly. He silently threatens to curb stomp your face. You snort and tuck your hands to your side.

Thankfully, you make it to the bike without incident.

Tim tucks his body into the sidecar, occupying himself by comforting Basil. You hand him a bat as you start the bike.

"Just in case."

You kick the bike into gear as you two ride into the sunset.

You breathe a quiet breath, letting your eyes slip shut for a moment. The road is clear for about 14 breaths.  That’s all you want to think about.

At the fourteenth breath, you open your eyes to an open expanse of road, endless and breathtaking. You turn to Tim and laugh. He gives you a sour look. You’ll just buy both of you some canned pineapples later and he’ll maybe forgive you. Basil certainly does as he doesn’t participate in Tim’s sour protest, opting instead to crawl into Tim’s bag.

Then you hear it above the roar of the engine.

The skittering.

Voices like the fluttering of wings.

It screeches, the raspy cry making your skin crawl. You don’t wanna look back. You don’t want to see the unnatural movement of its body as it bounds towards you.

You kick the bike to a higher gear. The engine will hate you but you can’t repair it if you’re dead.

The bike slows down. Tim stands up raising your bat over his head, bringing it down. It does not clang. The sound is squishier and moist. Your stomach rebels. Hazarding a glance behind you, you see the writhing mass holding onto your bike.

“TIM,” you shout.

“I--” Swing “-- AM--” Swing “--A LITTLE--” Swing “--BUSY!” “THERE’S A CAN OF HAIRSPRAY IN MY DUFFLE.”  

Tim ducks down, throwing you the bat. You swing wildly at the creature, summoning up a truly impressive bout of swearing.

Tim sprang up, nearly falling off the sidecar if not for you grabbing his shirt. Tim flicked the lighter, pressing down on the nozzle of the spray, and unleashing fire on the beast. The thing cries, voice shattering as it burns. You watch its flesh burn. Oh, what a pleasure it was to see it burn.

"We are never doing this again!" Tim wheezes.

"Of definitely fucking not." You bark, kicking the bike to a higher gear. The purring of the engine sounds like music to your ears.

"We are definitely doing easy sectors by a bit." You laugh.

When you don’t hear a snarky remark, you glance to your sidecar. Tim is slumped into his seat, breathing hard. You raise your brow but turn your attention to the road.  You shake him. You shake him again and again.

Tim doesn't respond.

You pull your hand away and it’s slick with blood.

______________________________________________________________

Thanks for reading!!!!

Tag list:  @batarella​, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz​ , @birdy-bat-writes​,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red @ marshmallow12435 @vvipgot7be​ @jadedhillon​ @notsostraightweeb​

#tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #Tim Drake #post apocalypse

[cybertronian-cupid]

I'm feeling really uneasy having to spend the holiday season with my family, so, if that's not a problem, could I request some fluff with TFP decepticons? Like,, comforting their s/o, making sure they feel safe and happy?

You didn't specify which ones you'd like best, so *rubs back of neck* what happened was a bit of a fluff surprise story. Hopefully it makes you smile Anon, and makes the holidays atleast a little more bearable.

*squints* though I think we should have the comfort styles of the Cons written somewhere... Keep an eye out, they'll be posted as soon as they get pieced together in some semblance of sense. ~Gregoria🏩

We hope you like it, Anon, and we hope this holiday season treats you well. You deserve nothing but happiness~Mila 💟

Holiday Surprise Fluff: Poly!Reader x TFP Decepticons (sfw)

(Yes. All of them. That includes the troops.)

............ ............ ............ ............ ............ ............

Being partners with Steve had its perks. Sure, there were some drawbacks as well, but considering how close all Vehicons were, that just meant the human suddenly had a whole lot of love and support, when one of these aliens decided to zoom into their life.

And well, when Breakdown met them and saw just how close the other guys are with them, and how nice they are treated by this fleshie, who's to blame the poor mech for falling for them too?

Knockout flirted with them once, and caught feelings when they laughed and flirted right back at him.

The rest of the ship caught feelings for the little organic faster than the cosmic rust, with the High Command being the most confused and vary over trying to express their feelings about it.

After all, their human isn't just a partner of one Steve.

They are a partner of all Steves, and soon of the Insecticon troops as well, with officers falling prey to their charms one after the other. In a sense, they have the whole ship wrapped around their tiny fingers, and soon they earn the affection of the Communications officer, Second in command and the Lord of Decepticons as well.

With ALOT of compromising and weekly reminders amongst the top three, that their human loves everyone aboard the Nemesis. The whole Nemesis.

How they manage that, remains a mystery to everyone aboard and yet, the morale has never been higher, so who is going to look a gift horse in the mouth? Noone, that's who.

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

Steve drives them through the groundbridge straight into the command center.

Sondwave greets them with a merry tune, Lazerbeak chirping happily as they are swooped up into familiar well maintained servos.

"Here you are, " Knockout kisses their face all over, before glaring at Steve. "If I remember correctly, today was MY turn to pick OUR lovely fleshie up"

"But you just did sir," Steve answers prompting a groan out of Knockout, before rushing off towards the barracks laughing.

"So, what ARE you guys planning?"

"We can't tell you just yet," Dreadwing smiles at them. Skyquake is leaning against his twin, nodding.

"It would ruin the surprise."

They pout and look at the ceiling.

"Not even an itsy-bitsy clue? Come onnnn, you guys have been driving me crazy for long enough."

Airachnid giggles, skittering off her perch and extending a welcoming servo for them to step on. She holds them close to her spark, heels clicking as she walks.

"Not even that. Orders from the Second in Command."

"I thought you were ALSO Second in command."

"Who isn't at this point," Shockwave points out when the femme places them in his servo, pressing a quick kiss before dragging the two warriors with her, off to who-knows-where. Being carried and placed from servo to servo was a thing that took some time to get used to, and yet, they are always handled with such care and love they can't really stay mad at their partners for too long.

They gaze up into the red optic staring at them.

"Shockyyyyy,"

"No,"

"Shockerrrrs,"

"The answer is still no," his voice is firm and unyielding, but his finials are wiggling in amusement.

Whatever the others are preparing is clearly going to be good.

"Come on, can't you just tell me? " they try again, genuine laughter from the Warlord snapping their attention to the entrance. Disappointment setting in when he is not actually standing there.

>>Patience, little one,<< the recording echoes from Soundwave, who steps through the groundbridge a moment later, with parting words of

"And enjoy the show."

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

And what a show it was. Almost an hour of all fliers, spinning and looping around each other, acrobatics of transforming mid-flight to blow them a kiss, before transforming again and resuming what has clearly been practiced time and time again with how perfect their forms were.

They couldn't look away even if they tried, each segment of them all dancing in the air grander than the last, topped off by Predaking creating rings of fire for them all to fly through.

It was a spectacle of the kind they have never seen.

Their excitement has them almost jumping in place when all commanders return to the bridge, optics twinkling with glee at their s/o and their clear enjoyment and pride.

"That was just the start," Starscream smirks knowingly, with Breakdown presenting them with a thick coat.

"Just wait till you see what our Liege has in store for you,".

🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸🔸

They honestly expected a gladiator match. Hardshell, Dreadwing and Skyquake against Megatron and Soundwave. Or perhaps some sort of a firing range, or anything that would indicate a show of strength, or precision and cunning. They wouldn't be surprised if the Warlord somehow decided to do it all inside of an ice cave just for the extra challenge.

They didn't expect to be taken to one of the empty mines.

They did not expect there to be decorations put up, a mix of what they know to be Cybertronian designs with different Earth influences mixing into them all and still looking stunning in their own way.

And they did not expect every grounder of the Nemesis to be present.

"What is all this?" they ask, their eyes roaming over everyone. Their frames polished, their engines humming in sync, as they all break into a song.

A song about them.

They caught a glimpse of the title one night, when Megatron forgot to put that particular datapad away.

"Oh it's nothing," he waved their question off, settling them down in their bed above his berth.

"Megs, what are you planning?"

His grin and a tilt of his helm had them laughing, the expression on their face earning them a chuckle of his own, and yet no answer beyond the teasing "You'll see".

Any questions directed at others about what they think could be in the works, were met with the same grin and chuckles of "You'll see, it's a surprise."

Arms wrap around them from behind.

"Happy holidays," Steve says, nuzzling his helm against their head.

"Care for a dance?"

Dating Steve had many perks. Dating the whole Nemesis, has around a million more. And they have all night to count them all, as they dance and laugh with their wretched, evil, horrible, no good Decepticons.

At a house somewhere on the planet, there stands a very, very irked Makeshift, currently tangled in strings of lights, reminding himself that he is a vital part of the operation "Our Human Will Have The Best Holiday Celebration". He's been bossed around this way and that, without much rhyme or reason for a week now, and at this point, he would much prefer to listen to a certain Seeker screaming his voicebox raw, than to be listening to yet another round of 'All I want for Christmas'.

He will have someones spark if he isn't the one that gets to cuddle with The Spark of Nemesis for at least a week after his mission is complete. He knows those will be well deserved after the madness he's being put through.

#Tfp decepticons x s/o #tfp decepticons x reader #Poly!reader #poly!reader x decepticons #Tfp decepticons #Anon

[qitwrites]

a numbers game 

Fandom: BNHA 

Pairing: Kiribaku 

(AO3) 

Bakugou knows his personality and general rage-filled disposition towards everything, in general, isn’t winning him any favours, but the texts have made him contemplate just how shitty he must’ve been in a past life to deserve a fate like this.

Because no one - and Bakugou knows such assholes as Monoma - but no one deserves to be on the receiving end of unsolicited dick pics. From random numbers. At all times of the day. For the last 3ish months.

“I am going to throw my phone out the fucking window, I swear on all that is good and pure, fucking bull-“

“More dick pics?” Camie interrupts with a wide grin, plucking the phone out of Bakugou’s hand.

“What the fuck else?” Bakugou snaps, trying to pull his phone back in vain. Camie holds it just out of reach, eyeing the disgusting penis with a critical stare.

"Hmm,” she says, passing the phone back to him before taking a sip of her terrible grass juice that smells like a badly mowed golf course, “the lighting is bad and he hasn’t done like, any grooming at all. 3/10.”

“You’re being generous,” Bakugou huffs, deleting the picture immediately and swallowing the still raging urge to fling his phone at the nearest wall. “It’s unsolicited. And his fingernails are fucking filthy. -100/10.”

Camie rolls her eyes. “You’re being dramatic again Kitkat.”

Bakugou counts to 10 in his head, tries to find that last shred of patience he knows is somewhere deep in his dark pit of a soul and breathes out in a rush.

“I need to fucking figure this out before I actually lose it and track down one of these fuckers and choke the life out of them.”

Because here’s the thing- Bakugou has been receiving dick pics and dirty text messages like hi bby want sex? and imma dick you down gud boo – he’s positively swooning, what a lovely way to be wooed – and he has no idea how to stop it. Yes, he could cancel his number and get a new one, but all of his bank details are linked to this one. He’s had it since he first got a phone in middle school, and now all of his documents are attached to the damn thing. The very idea of going to the banks and the DMV and every other stupid establishment to get it changed makes him grimace hard enough that he decides to bear with it.

Except, every time he receives one of these horrible pictures, his urge to blow up the phone, nay, the entire world, simmers at dangerous levels.

“Cool it kitkat,” Camie croons, giving his forearm a squeeze, “you’re making your homicidal face. That cannot be good for wrinkles.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Bakugou grunts, flinging his phone away carelessly and watching it skitter around on the kitchen counter before halting dangerously close to the edge. “I just want it to stop.”

Camie puts her atrocity for a drink down and pulls the fridge open, rummaging around as she says, “I have a theory about all this.” She pulls out a jar of jalapenos and places it in front of Bakugou. The blonde yanks a fork out of the admittedly cute utensil bucket in the middle of their counter before snapping the lid off and spearing a good 3 pieces in one go. He chews on them slowly and directs a raised brow at Camie.

“Well,” she muses, picking her drink back up, “as a woman that receives a LOT of numbers from guys and gals and non-binary folks alike-“ Bakugou makes it a point to roll his eyes hard enough to knock his head back; Camie’s laughter is loud and boisterous “- I have a tactic for when I don’t know how to say no and don’t want to give my digits.”

Bakugou has another forkful of jalapenos in his mouth when he narrows his eyes at her.

Camie shrugs, “I usually change the very last digit of my number. Works like a charm. I never meet the person again, and they can’t contact me. Win-win.”

“Win-win my ass,” Bakugou seethes. “Do I look like I’m winning right now? I am this fucking close to killing someone, because of stupid tactics like yours.”

Camie finishes the last of her drink, and speaks around her straw, “You say that, but do you know how many people, and especially dudes, don’t take no for an answer? The only reason I give out any digits at all is when I can’t guarantee my safety. I know it’s not like, the perfect solution or anything, but I’m giving you facts right now.”

And Bakugou does, in fact, know that. He’s met those pushy assholes- people that don’t back down, people that don’t take no at face value, people that push and prod and get up in his space. It pisses him off to absolutely no end.

“Whatever,” he concedes. He spears another forkful of jalapenos before grumbling, “So, what the fuck do I do?”

Camie grins, minx like. “Why don’t you text the number one ahead and one behind your own and ask? I mean, in the best-case scenario you figure it out and get it all to stop, in the worst case, you get to yell at like random people. Isn’t that your second favourite pastime, right after yelling at that pigeon outside our balcony, the one with an agenda?”

“Don’t talk about that fucking pigeon,” Bakugou fumes, “fucking piece of shit bird and those dark, robotic eyes. Something is up with that; you can’t convince me otherwise.” He mulls over the rest of her suggestion before relenting, “Well, I guess I could spare a moment to yell at the fucking extras giving out my number to perverts with no manners and gross penises.”

“I find it so funny when you say the word manners,” Camie says as she walks to her room, “It’s almost like you know what it means!”

She isn’t even looking at him, but she manages to dodge the jalapeno that sails at her head. It hits the wall with a sick squelch, and when Bakugou hears Camie’s door shut, he drops his head on the counter with a loud, resounding thunk and muffles a scream into the marble.

  He forgets to send out those texts, and when he receives yet another picture, not three days later, of someone holding their disgusting penis in their hand, like it’s an accomplishment or some shit, he sends out a text message to two different numbers typed with shaky, sweaty fingers.

>> xxx-xxx-xxx6 , xxx-xxx-xxx4

I don’t know who the fuck you are, and you don’t know me, but it’s possible that one of you assholes gives out my number to random people who, in turn, send me fucking dick pics. It’s been over 3 fucking months, so knock it the actual fuck off. And in case it isn’t you, fuck you anyway.

  Bakugou wakes up from a restless sleep to sunlight sloping in through the blinds of his room, a dry mouth, and three new text messages from an unknown number.

Because his brain takes time to boot up in the mornings, he foregoes the phone entirely and makes his way to the kitchen in search of caffeine. Camie is always up before him, and he gratefully pours himself a mug of her insanely strong black coffee, the kind to palpitate your heart and make you vibrate in your seat. She calls it jet fuel, Inasa calls it death, Todoroki just blinks.

When he’s half a mug down, he finally retrieves his phone from his room and takes a seat in the balcony, surrounded by plants of all kinds. The sun is bright but not harsh, and he takes a second to enjoy it before opening his messages.

He doesn’t even recall sending the messages last night, and for a moment he’s enraged at the idea that someone sent him even more dick pics, but there’s no photos waiting for him, just three messages.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 omg omg OMG I didn’t think anyone actually used this number im sorry D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 no really im so so sorry holy shit I was just following this idea that my friend gave me cause im terrible at turning people down but I didn’t realize they were messaging an actual other person OMG

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ofc I wont be giving your number out anymore im just so sorry bro, god, this is so damn UNMANLY of me

At least the person has the decency to sound apologetic. Not that it tempers Bakugou in any way, shape or form, but he takes note of it somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind.

Bakugou you better not give it out anymore fuckmunch. I should sue your ass for putting me under so much psychological distress.

The guy replies startlingly quickly. Bakugou opens the message with a quirked brow.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 shit can you actually do that?

Bakugou has no idea, but the key to selling anything is confidence, and he’s got enough to spare.

Bakugou try me

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM REALLY REALLY SORRY OK TRULY D:

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and not just cuz you might sue me or anything, it was a terrible move on my part :’(

xxx-xxx-xxx4 can I make it up to you somehow??

Bakugou huffs, deflating a little. He’s angry yes, positively incensed for the most part, but the guy sounds genuinely sorry, and he’s finding it increasingly difficult to stay mad at someone that’s just being so damn decent and taking full responsibility.

Bakugou I don’t fucking know.

Bakugou just stop giving out my no.

Bakugou I swear to god if I get ONE MORE NUDE

Bakugou I will find you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you don’t have to find me ill come to you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 cuz ill def deserve it at that point

xxx-xxx-xxx4 anyway, im sorry again. really ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get some sleep, so tell me later about how I can make it up to you!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 goodnight

Bakugou checks the clock at the top left corner of his phone screen. It reads 8:31am.

What the fuck does this guy do for work anyway? And does Bakugou care?

He decides no, he doesn’t, because he’s really too busy to care about anything, especially assholes that hand out his number to horny strangers because they’re too chickenshit to say no.

He nods at his own conclusion, downs the rest of his death-in-a-cup, and walks back inside, ready to start another long day of work. Bakugou gives himself an hour before he puts this all behind him, fully forgotten and finally taken care of.

  Why the fuck haven’t I blocked this fucker yet, is the first thing Bakugou thinks when he gets more texts from them.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 heyyo!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 did you think of anything????? How can I make it up to you??

Bakugou stop texting me, that’ll be a great start

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I will as soon as u tell me how to make it up to you!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I was being so unmanly and cowardly, I need to fix it!!

Bakugou good for fucking you, leave me alone

xxx-xxx-xxx4 y don’t you keep thinking abt it and lemme know !!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 if it helps, I can hook u up with some free drinks!! I co-own and bartend at a place downtown!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just think abt it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I gotta get back to work, talk soon!

Bakugou stop texting me dammit

Bakugou isn’t a naïve person, but he somehow convinces himself that this will be the end of things.

  It is, predictably, not the end of things.

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I just realized I didn’t give u my name

xxx-xxx-xxx4 Kirishima eijirou!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and you are?

Bakugou blocking you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 aww come on man, don’t be like tht ☹

xxx-xxx-xxx4 wait, r u a man?????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE AT LEAST TELL ME THAT I DON’T WANT TO MISGENDER U OMG

Bakugou can you calm the fuck down holy shit

Bakugou yes I’m a dude, you’re fucking fine dumbass

xxx-xxx-xxx4 oh phew!!!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ok my dude

xxx-xxx-xxx4 please come down to the bar??????

xxx-xxx-xxx4 do you actually drink though?? If you don’t we still have great mocktails

xxx-xxx-xxx4 and I can whip up some awesome protein shakes

xxx-xxx-xxx4 ohhh and our food is bomb,,, I promise

Bakugou do you ever just stop talking

xxx-xxx-xxx4 NOPE :D

Bakugou Not a compliment

xxx-xxx-xxx4 what can I say

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im an opportunist

Bakugou you’re telling me

Bakugou fucker

xxx-xxx-xxx4 IM STILL SO SORRY

xxx-xxx-xxx4 PLEASE COME TO THE BAR LET ME MAKE IT UP TO YOU

xxx-xxx-xxx4 actions speak hella louder than words

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I must action you

Bakugou what the fuck 

xxx-xxx-xxx4 you get what I mean!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 <location> this is the place

xxx-xxx-xxx4 its name is RIOT, u cant miss it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 just lemme know when u can make it

Bakugou I haven’t agreed to shit asshole

Bakugou stop assuming things

xxx-xxx-xxx4 free food, free drinks, free live performance of whatever band’s performing

Bakugou …………………

Bakugou I’ll think about it

xxx-xxx-xxx4 HELL YEAH

xxx-xxx-xxx4 whats your name btw?

Bakugou like id tell you

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I need it for the reservation!!!!

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so that I don’t accidentally serve the wrong gentleman all your free perks

Bakugou didn’t say im coming yet

xxx-xxx-xxx4 im super optimistic

Bakugou I can tell, you’re giving me a headache

xxx-xxx-xxx4 so………… name?

Bakugou no

xxx-xxx-xxx4 I’ll get it out of you eventually

Bakugou try me

Bakugou fucker

If Bakugou finds himself smiling at the end of the exchange, well, that’s his business.

  “So, you finally figured out who was responsible for the penis pictures?” Todoroki deadpans around his cosmo.

“That’s wonderful Bakugou!” Inasa booms, slamming his beer down on the counter with gusto. Bakugou throws a spoon at him.

“Shut it Baldy,” he grunts, going back to chopping veggies. “And yes, I did, but now this fucker won’t stop texting me, insisting on making it up to me or some shit.”

“And this is a bad thing?” Todoroki summarizes slowly. Bakugou turns around in time to see him mouth why to Inasa before taking another generous sip of his drink. Inasa shrugs his stupidly large shoulders before asking, “Why is that a bad thing?”

Bakugou throws another spoon at him. “Because, I texted them so I could stop people from texting me. Now this person’s volunteering information to me about being a bartender and shit and constantly apologizing and it’s fucking annoying.”

“You know what’s interesting?” Camie muses, stirring her bloody mary with a long ass celery stick. “You’re getting all these text messages from this bartender, and you can like, so easily block this one number and be done with it, but you like, keeping responding. And keep, you know, not blocking.”

He can’t see it, but he knows Todoroki is nodding, the fucker.

“That is a good observation!” Inasa booms again, and Bakugou has to resist the urge to fling his entire cutlery set at the man’s thick skull. “Do you like this person Bakugou?”

“What’s there to like, I don’t even fucking know him!”

“Well,” Camie starts, takes a bite out of the celery stick, continues, “he’s well-mannered. Clearly good looking, because you got a LOT of penis pictures these past three months, and that also leads us to believe the business is doing really well, if so many patrons come in begging for a number. All good things, don’t you think?”

“I hate you,” Bakugou says, stirring the curry with barely repressed rage. “I hate all of you. I hate humanity. Fuck people.”

“Or fuck this person in specific,” Camie says gleefully. “You haven’t gotten laid in like 8 months boo, you need to get some.”

“You’re the actual fucking worst.”

“In all seriousness,” Todoroki interrupts, putting his empty glass down delicately, “why haven’t you blocked the number? It seems like an easy enough solution.” The asshole has the audacity to sound genuinely curious, if not slightly amused.

Bakugou hates everything.

“I don’t, I don’t fucking know, ok?” He finally admits through clenched teeth. The blonde kills the heat and places the curry on the counter while Camie brings out the rice and some pickled vegetables from the fridge. She pulls out a beer and twists the cap off before handing it to Bakugou, who snatches it away and takes a quick swig before continuing, “He’s actually kinda nice to me, I guess. And I like watching him be so sorry about all those penises. I may have also mentioned suing him for psychological distress.” Bakugou catches Todoroki’s gaze. “Can I do that?”

Todoroki hums, “You can try, but I don’t think you’ve got that solid a case. Plus, haven’t you deleted virtually all the evidence?”

Bakugou grips the neck of his beer bottle harder. “I fucking hate everything.”

  bartender asshole <image attached>

Bakugou what the fuck

Bakugou why are you sending me cat pics?

Bakugou also that cat is stupidly cute

bartender asshole I know right?????

bartender asshole her name is ruby

bartender asshole and id die for her

bartender asshole i just figured ud be a cat person

Bakugou ………….

Bakugou I hate u

bartender asshole :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou Bakugou Katsuki

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

bartender asshole HI BAKUGOU SO NICE TO KNOW UR NAME

Bakugou I hate everything

bartender asshole except ruby. Its not allowed

Bakugou …………………………………

Bakugou except ruby

bartender asshole :D :D :D :D :D

  Kirishima, it turns out, is a ray of fucking sunshine. Bakugou has a distinct feeling that looking at him directly would be a blinding experience.

Not that he knows who to look for though; he has no idea what this guy looks like. He guesses that he’s buff, with all the times he tells Bakugou about the gym showers running out of hot water and beating his best weights doing bench presses, but he knows nothing else.

He does know that he’s sweet as fuck, making it impossible for Bakugou to stay mad at him. He doesn’t blink at Bakugou’s cussing, and he sends him cute pictures of Ruby.

There is a part of him, small but steadily growing, that wants to meet this stupidly nice bartender.

Bakugou hates everything.

  dumbass bartender so what do you do???

Bakugou front-end development and web design

dumbass bartender oh damn!!!

dumbass bartender so youre like smart smart

Bakugou obviously

dumbass bartender have I seen your work anywhere??

Bakugou I recently redid the website of that protein powder company you don’t shut up about

dumbass bartender ????????????????????

dumbass bartender that’s amazing!!!!!!!!!

dumbass bartender I just revisited the website, it looks so cool

Bakugou duh

Bakugou im the best

dumbass bartender I don’t doubt that!!! :D :D

Bakugou don’t you have work?

dumbass bartender aww bakubro are you looking out for me <3 <3

Bakugou call me that again and I will fucking end you

dumbass bartender before the free drinks??? That you are yet to redeem? ?? at my wonderful establishment?????????? :D :D :D

Bakugou I hate everything.

dumbass bartender D:

Bakugou except RUBY DAMMIT

dumbass bartender :D

  “Just to recap,” Kaminari says with an incredulous look in his eyes, “this guy cusses like a sailor, is constantly insulting you, never initiates conversation, and you still like him?”

Kirishima’s answering grin is bashful. “I mean, when you put it like that it sounds not so great, but he’s really not that bad! He’s super funny and confident, and he LOVES Ruby. Plus, I don’t like him like that, I just think he’s cool.” Kirishima picks up another glass from the washer and starts carefully drying it with his dishcloth before saying, “And, you know, I did put him through a lot by giving out his number. His behaviour is kinda warranted if you ask me.”

“I mean, in the beginning maybe, but haven’t you guys been texting for over a week now?”

“Denki, are you forgetting that giving out another number was your idea?” Kirishima mutters, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “I’m in this mess because of you.”

Kaminari suddenly seems to find the glass in his hand a lot more interesting. Kirishima’s laugh echoes around the empty bar.

‘What’s so funny?” Ashido muses, bringing a crate of bottled beer behind the counter.

“Kirishima is going gaga over angry dick pic man.”

“I’m not going gaga, what the heck-“

“I think it’s cute,” Ashido says with a big smile. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you actually be interested in somebody; it’s really cute!”

“I don’t like him like that,” Kirishima stresses, though his cheeks are a little warm. He can blame that on the lack of air conditioning, he thinks. 

“We talking about angry dick pic man?” Sero asks with a shit-eating grin. “10 bucks say he’s actually a middle-aged guy with a cheese fetish.”

“That’s so random-“

“You’re on!” Ashido yells, slapping her hand into Sero’s. “I think he’ll be a hottie.”

“He hasn’t even said he’ll come,” Kirishima says, eyes downcast.

“He’ll come,” the three chorus, going about doing their tasks. Kirishima shakes his head fondly and finishes up with the glasses. Just as he’s put all the shot glasses away, he feels his phone vibrate.

Bakubro just finished a massive project

Bakubro could use a drink this weekend

Bakubro know any good spots?

Kirishima’s face breaks into the biggest smile as he rushes to answer.

Kirishima I know a bar that serves free drinks with your name on it!!!!

Kirishima amazing food, dope music, the bestest drinks

Kirishima ive heard the bartender is a great guy too

Bakubro way to toot your own fucking horn damn

Kirishima :DDDDD

Kirishima bt seriously

Kirishima please? ???? ??

Kirishima PLEASEEEEEEEEE??????????????????

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro fine.

Bakubro Friday night at 8

Kirishima looks up from the screen and calls out, “Denki!”

“Yeah?”

“Switch shifts with me, I’ll do Friday.”

“Um, ok, why though?”

Kirishima doesn’t respond, just goes back to texting, his heart thudding in his ribcage.

Kirishima YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Kirishima cant wait :D

Bakubro I’m bringing my stupid friends btw

Kirishima wait

Kirishima you have friends???????

Bakubro I am going to end you

Bakubro you know what? Fuck you im not coming

Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

Kirishima IM SORRY OFC U HAVE FRNDS

Kirishima please come

Kirishima how big a table should I reserve????

Bakubro don’t bother

Kirishima IM SORRRYYYYYYYYYY

Kirishima <image attached> <image attached> <image attached>

Bakubro bastard

Bakubro you playing dirty by sending me pics of Ruby

Kirishima need to weaken your guard somehow

Kirishima pls tell me it worked

Bakubro ugh

Bakubro ill be there

Bakubro reserve a table for 4

Bakubro your stupid bar better be worth it

Kirishima I promise it will be!!!!

Kirishima whoops in joy, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He looks up to see three sets of eyes looking at him with varying degrees of amusement.

“You get a really mushy look on your face when you’re texting him, it’s almost gross,” Sero points out with a laugh.

“Hush you,” Ashido admonishes, whipping her dishcloth at him. She walks over to Kirishima and gives him a big hug. “I think it’s very, very precious.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s coming this Friday!” Kirishima beams, holding Ashido closer against his side.

The three giggle.

“10 bucks say Kirishima messes up the drinks at least once.”

“HEY!”

Ashido squeezes around his middle. “Hon, I love you, but I’m not dumb enough to go against that.”

“HEY!”

They end up laughing and fibbing at each other for the rest of the prep time, and Kirishima feels his heart absolutely soar.

  Friday brings with it crunch time, running lines and lines of code, having a mini-breakdown because the stupid text block keeps floating around on the webpage like it’s in outer fucking space, being forced into one of Camie’s ridiculous vlogs and having an existential crisis about what to wear on a non-date get-together with the guy that ruined Bakugou’s life for close to three months.

Camie spends most of the day laughing at him. Bakugou throws more condiments at her.

“Fucking help me at least, you useless wench,” Bakugou growls, shifting to clothes as he throws a pair of jeans at her. Camie dances out of the way and doubles over, laughing till she tears up from the force of it all.

“I can’t, I just can’t,” she wheezes. “Did you just say wench? What era are you from babe?”

“FUCK OFF,” he roars, leaping towards her. Camie shrieks and ducks away, making a beeline towards his closet.

“Ok, ok, let’s get you dressed! What kinda look are you trying for?”

“Fuck if I know,” he grouses, feeling oddly out of his depth. He wants to look good, but he has no idea for what.

That’s a lie, he knows why. He just won’t admit it.

“Well, why don’t we pick something simple but flattering? Plus, if it's in your style, you’re bound to be more comfy.” Camie pulls out a pair of black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a black fitted round-neck tee shirt, and some black boots. While he’s changing, Camie pulls out a silver chain, some bands for his wrists and a collection of rings.

“Do you want me to do your eyes?” she offers, holding up some mascara and an eye pencil. Bakugou shrugs and sits on the edge of his bed. Camie’s smile is soft as she stands between his thighs, gently but efficiently applying his make-up. When she’s done, he walks over to the mirror to look at himself, and he has to admit- he looks good. Always one to take care of his body and his figure, Bakugou is lean muscle packed into a 5’10” body. His blonde hair is as messy as ever, but the combination of his make-up, the accessories and his clothes give him an edgy look like no other. Camie throws a dark fitted jacket at him before sauntering over to her own room.

He continues to reply to some work emails when his phone buzzes.

dumbass cant wait to see you!!!

dumbass just ask for me at the bar

dumbass or I might be the one to greet you!! :D :D

Bakugou I know dumbass

Bakugou what, are you nervous or some shit?

dumbass I mean, kinda????

dumbass it’s our first time meeting afterall

dumbass I don’t even know wat you look like!!!!

Bakugou blonde wearing all black

dumbass redhead wearing a shirt with the riot logo!

Bakugou whatever

Bakugou ill be there at 8

Dumbass cant wait <33333

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou scoffs, his own nerves calming at the thought that he’s not the only one that’s a bit out of sorts. It’s nice to know that sunshine Kirishima is jittery about all this.

Also, interesting to know that he’s a redhead. Bakugou can’t quite imagine it, but in a few minutes, he won't need to.

His stomach roils with anticipation, and Bakugou hates every single thing.

Camie pops out of her room at half-past 7 in a maroon romper that cuts above her mid-thigh, hair done in a loose bun, makeup absolutely perfect. Her heels put her at a height taller than Bakugou, but he’s gotten used to being the shortest in their stupid posse. Doesn’t piss him off any less though.

She gets a phone call just as she pushes a tube of lip gloss into her purse.

“We are downstairs!” Inasa’s voice rings through her speaker, stupidly loud.

“Can it, baldy,” Bakugou grunts with a roll of his eyes, “we’ll be there in a sec.”

“See ya!”

Before Bakugou can usher Camie out the door, she pushes her clutch into his hands and walks over to the kitchen cabinet, pulling out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila.

“Wha-“

“Liquid courage, my dude,” she says, pouring two generous shots and pushing one at Bakugou. She picks her own glass up and gives him a devilish smirk, “Bottoms up bitch!”

Bakugou picks the glass up with a resigned sigh but smirks back equally devilish. They cheers, smack the glasses against the counter and drain them smoothly. Camie puts the glasses in the sink, places a smacking kiss on Bakugou’s cheek and laughs brightly as she dances out of the way of his rage.

They finally load up in Inasa’s range rover, Todoroki plays classical Japanese music over the speakers and Bakugou regrets everything.

  Riot is apparently something of a beloved establishment in its neighbourhood, and Bakugou growls when he sees how long the line leading to the bar is.

“Holy moly, that’s a lot of people!” Camie points out helpfully as she disembarks from the car.

Todoroki straightens his two-tone denim jacket and runs a hand through his hair as he says, “We have a reservation, so I think it’ll be fine?”

“Yes, I agree with you Todoroki,” Inasa beams, locking the car behind him as they walk towards the building. The outside is made of exposed brick and neon lights, and the RIOT sign is a deep red colour, eye-catching and beautiful.

They bypass the people in the line and walk up to the bouncer, who eyes them warily. He’s built like an absolute tank, broad and block-like, and his silver hair shines in the artificial light.

“Can I help you?”

“Bakugou, table for 4,” Camie says cheerily. The bouncer looks immediately enamoured with her before his eyes go wide.

“Wait, Eijirou’s Bakugou?”

Bakugou’s ears burn at that.

“I’m not fucking anybody’s!” he snaps. The bouncer immediately looks at him, and his face breaks into an even wider grin.

“Well, I’ll be damned! Can I see some ID real quick?”

Bakugou cusses colourfully under his breath but pulls out his license, and after a quick check, the bouncer, whose name is Tetsutetsu, steps aside to let them in.

“Have a good time!” he says happily, almost too happily. Bakugou feels his hackles rise.

“What the fuck?”

“It appears that Kirishima talks about you at least as much as you talk about him,” Todoroki observes, walking next to Bakugou.

“I don’t talk about him, fuck you!”

Todoroki’s delicately raised brow makes him want to punch something. Or someone. Preferably both.

“Fuck you all,” he reiterates before stomping inside.

Now, Bakugou is a relatively creative soul – his job kinda demands it – so it’s not his fault that he’s actually quite captivated by the interiors of this stupidly popular bar co-owned by a stupidly nice person.

The inside has exposed brick as well, and most of the furniture seems to be retro. There are large pipes and barrels behind the bar, made of what seems to be pure copper. Black marble covers the bar tops, and the lights are a mix of neon and muted whites, bright enough to see but still bathing the room in an alluring aura. There’s music thumping through the speakers, loud enough to dispel any silence but still at a bearable volume.

“Swanky,” Camie whistles, taking it all in.

Bakugou nods begrudgingly before setting his eyes on the bar.

“I’ll go get us a fucking table,” he mutters before walking over, hands digging deep into his pant pockets. He sees a lanky black-haired guy and a girl with tan skin and pink hair behind the bar, talking animatedly with the patrons as they serve them drinks at a dizzying pace.

When he finally gets a spot at the counter, the pink-haired girl finishes up with a customer and bounds over to him.

“Hi,” she greets, smile wide and happy, “haven’t seen you around before! What can I get you?”

“Kirishima,” Bakugou says because apparently, his brain to mouth filter has decided to abandon him in his time of need. The girl tilts her head in confusion and Bakugou feels the life drain out of him.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m fuckin here because of dumbass Kirishima,” Bakugou barely grits out, fingers digging into his palms painfully. “The name is Bakugou, table for 4?”

He sees it all in slow-mo- the way her mouth goes slack, the way her eyes light up like firecrackers on New Year’s, and then the way her smile becomes positively blinding. He hates her already.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, “of course! So glad you’re here! Oye, Sero?”

“What?” the black-haired guy says without looking, topping up a perfectly poured glass of beer.

“You owe me 10 bucks.”

This gets his attention- he hands the drink off and looks at her, “Why would I-“

The girl just gestures at Bakugou and winks, “It’s him.”

Sero – or plain face, Bakugou’s brain helpfully supplies – immediately looks at him, his eyes widening. “Shit, seriously? Aw, man.” His smile becomes mischievous. “I’ll get Kirishima.” He opens the door behind the bar and disappears.

“What the fuck was that?” Bakugou snaps, beyond irritated to be so out of the loop.

“Nothing, nothing,” Pinky sings, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “Kirishima will show your party to your table. Do you want anything in the meantime?”

“… a beer,” Bakugou concedes because he’s not dumb enough to not get a drink before he sees Kirishima if he can help it.

“Coming right up!”

He waits at the bar, watching as his group of dumbasses ooh and ahh at the place, looking delighted. A bottle of cold beer hits the counter with a satisfying thunk, bringing his attention back to the bartop.

“Enjoy!” Pinky still has a stupid smile on her face but before Bakugou can say anything, the door behind her is thrown open and plain face steps out.

“The restocking can wait, literally the only thing you’ve talked about for the last 3 days is finally happening.”

The guy following him is all tanned skin and thick muscles under a fitted deep red tee shirt. His hair is a bright unnatural red, pulled into a high pony with a few strands still framing his face. His eyes are a softer red than Bakugou’s own, his cheeks sharp and high, and when his eyes meet Bakugou’s, a zip of electricity races down his spine and along his limbs till he can feel it in his toes.

When the man makes his way over, Bakugou also notes how damn tall he is- easily around 6’4”. His smile is shy, and he smells like sandalwood.

“Bakugou, hi,” he breathes, hesitantly holding his hand out. Bakugou takes it in a daze, still amazed by just how stupidly beautiful this stupidly kind bar owner is.

“Heyyo, you disappeared fam, how’s it going?” 

Bakugou hates everything.

He reluctantly slips his hand out of Kirishima’s warm, firm grip and turns to Camie with venomous eyes. “I literally just met him Cam, shut the fuck up.” He turns back to Kirishima, “Can you show us to our table?”

Kirishima shakes his head once before his smile turns blinding, and Bakugou finds himself fighting the urge to shield his eyes. “Of course,” he says in a voice that’s deep and warm and honey-like, “right this way!”

Bakugou snags his beer off the counter and takes a quick swig before Camie steals it and takes a few sips of her own. He growls at her but otherwise behaves, watching Kirishima’s back as he leads them through throngs of people engaged in cheerful conversation.

“Ok, well, he’s hot,” Cam says around the lip of the bottle. “Total beefcake. Whaddya think, boo?”

“I think you should fuck off,” Bakugou hisses, his face burning.

“If you wanted to go on a date, you probably shouldn’t have invited us,” Todoroki says, taking the offered bottle from Camie. 

Before Bakugou can explode in their faces, Kirishima stops and turns around. “Here ya go!” He gestures to a table behind him, tucked into a more private corner of the bar. It’s large and cushy, and when Bakugou gets in after Camie, he’s surprised at how soft the material is.

“So?” Kirishima says, eyes trained on Bakugou.

“Fuckin what?” Bakugou snaps, voice lacking any heat.

Kirishima laughs, head thrown back to reveal a long, thick neck and Bakugou is so damn weak.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue before gesturing at each of them, “Camie, marketing expert by day, YouTube beauty vlogger by night, pain in my ass always. Todoroki, environmental lawyer and a soba obsessed weirdo. Inasa, physiotherapist and resident dumbass.”

Kirishima gives them all a wave before saying, “Kirishima, co-owner of Riot and the reason why Bakugou saw more unwarranted penises than strictly necessary in a lifetime.”

“Asshole,” Bakugou grumbles, earning him another laugh and a bashful hand ruffling the back of Kirishima’s head.

“Still so sorry about that man,” Kirishima offers, “everything’s definitely on the house for you all! Speaking of ordering-“ Kirishima moves on to explain their ordering system-

“You can scan the code with your camera app,” the redhead says, pointing at the barcode on the centrepiece of their table, “and it pulls up our bar and food menu. Just enter your order and your table number,” he points at the large digits on the side that glows a bright 15 back at them.

Inasa pulls his phone out to order. Before he leaves, Kirishima says, “Can I get your drink order before I go?”

Camie asks for a LIIT, Inasa gets a Soju bomb and Todoroki starts off with his usual- a cosmo.

“You good on that beer?” Kirishima asks Bakugou warmly, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, sliding lower into his seat. “Maybe get me another, your choice?”

“Coming right up,” Kirishima beams before stepping away, and Bakugou’s heart splutters around his chest at the sight of sharp white teeth and cheek-aching grins.

“He’s so cute!” Camie squeals, stealing the last of his beer. “And he’s totes into you too.”

“I have to agree, he’s very attractive,” Todoroki says impassively.

“Certified hottie,” Inasa rounds up, flashing his own biceps for some reason.

Bakugou is so done, and they’ve been here all 5 minutes.

  “Kirishim- Kirishima, the beer is overflowing,” Ashido says, pushing him away and taking over. “God, you’re so gone for him, it’s almost embarrassing.”

Kirishima snaps out of his stupor and moves to take the glass back. Ashido hip checks him away.

“You’re being a little stupid, go help Satou with plating and take the food to lover boy’s table.”

“He has a name, you know,” Kirishima mumbles, but Ashido simply laughs, and Kirishima feels his neck and ears go warm.

Because who let Bakugou walk into his bar looking like that? Looking so damn gorgeous in his all-black get up and his perfect eye make-up and that fierce scowl?

Kirishima’s heart had pretty much stopped at the sight of him, and it was yet to regain its usual rhythm.

The redhead rests his forehead against the wall and mumbles, “I’m so screwed.”

“We know buddy,” Sero says, patting his back sympathetically, “we know.”

  For all that Bakugou hates outings and people and outings in places filled with people, he finds himself having a moderately good time.

Because the food is delicious if lacking a little heat, the alcohol is mixed perfectly and the music is fantastic, filtering through old rock classics with some alt stuff mixed in.

And then there’s Kirishima- tending the bar with ease, laughing along with his co-workers, and sending Bakugou wide, happy smiles that sets his entire face on fire.

“This place is awesome,” Camie whoops, banging another shot glass on the table before knocking it back with ease. Todoroki joins her, his impassive face not so much as twitching at the taste of strong tequila before he bites into a lime. Inasa is already beer drunk, cheeks dusky as he hums along to the music.

“Insufferable,” Bakugou mumbles around his 4th-ish beer. He likes to keep up his grumpy act till his last shred of dignity melts away cause of the alcohol, and he’s probably pretty hit already because he lets Camie pull him into her side with her arm around his shoulder, his nose suddenly privy to the scent of her mellow perfume.

“I love you guys,” Camie beams, picking up her beer and waving it in front of her. Todoroki and Inasa clink their drinks against it, and Bakugou silently waves his own bottle around before downing it.

“You guys good on- oh my god, are you Camie? THE Camie?”

It’s Pinky at their table and her eyes are so comically wide that Bakugou can’t help his snort of laughter. He feels Camie straighten up, but her arm around him stays, holding him close.

“Define THE Camie,” she says with a smile in her voice.

“The beauty blogger that I’ve only been following for the last 3 years, holy shit I love your videos.” And then suddenly, her eyes narrow on Bakugou before she snaps her fingers. “NO WONDER YOU LOOK FAMILIAR! You’re the angry blonde in all her videos!”

“Haan? You wanna go pinky?” Bakugou growls, moving to stand up. Camie keeps him firmly by her side, her laughter shaking them both.

“That’s us!” Camie says. Bakugou finally fights his way out of her grip and throws her a withering look, or his drunken attempt at one anyway. She winks, and he fake gags. “I don’t get recognized in public all that often LOL, this is fun.”

“Did you just say LOL in a verbal fucking conversation?”

“What do you mean you don’t get recognized; you literally have like 3.2million subscribers.”

Camie ignores Bakugou and shrugs at Pinky. “I guess my primary demographic aint here fam. Speaking of which,” she thrusts her hand out, “what’s your name?”

“Ashido Mina,” she says, taking her hand firmly. Camie introduces her to the others, and Bakugou looks back at the bar, disappointed to see that he can’t find Kirishima.

“Can I top you guys off?” Kirishima says, suddenly right next to their table, effectively startling the shit outta Bakugou.

Camie chirps an affirmative, Todoroki asks for a water and checks to see if Inasa’s breathing as the big olf continues to sleep, curled up in the corner of the booth.

“And you Bakubro?”

“Don’t call me that,” Bakugou frowns before adding, “I should probably stop, I’m already kinda tipsy.”

“Lightweight,” Camie teases.

Bakugou gives her the stink eye. “Woman, the one time I tried keeping up with you, I ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning and you didn’t have so much as a hangover, so fuck off.”

“Seriously?” Kirishima says, eyes wide.

“That’s amazing,” Ashido murmurs, her smile crooked and dangerous.

Bakugou. Hates. Everything.

“He had no lasting liver damage, we’re all fine,” Camie reassures before diving into a conversation with Mina about beauty hacks and good mascara brands and global warming.

Kirishima leans close to Bakugou, bathing him in that warm sandalwood scent. “How about I get you some water and one last beer? A Hefeweizen?”

Bakugou turns to look at him, and his breath hitches in his throat when he notices how close they are, when he sees just how red Kirishima’s eyes are, how the heat seems to radiate off his skin. He exhales in a rush and looks away, answering with a jerky nod.

Kirishima gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze – he’s so warm, his hand is fucking huge – before walking to the bar and picking their stuff up.

When pinky finally meanders away from their table to serve other customers, Camie leans her head on Bakugou’s shoulder and says, “We’ll leave soon, ok?”

Bakugou nods again, leaning some of his weight back into her. Todoroki catches his eye and flashes him a warm, tipsy smile, and if he returns it with one of his own, well, he’s drunk out of his skull and has approximately no fucks to give.

  Long after putting Bakugou and his posse in a cab, before which they insisted on paying pretty much the entire tab since they ate and drank a LOT, Kirishima and the rest are cleaning up when Ashido whips him with her cleaning rag.

Kirishima looks at her with betrayed eyes, “Wha-“

“Ei, you better text him again.”

“About what?” Kirishima says glumly. “I did what I said I would do, and I promised to leave him alone after that.”

“Boy please,” Ashido scoffs, roughly wiping down one of the tables, “ya’ll made such gooey eyes at each other all night, plus I’m pretty sure he paid the entire tab just so you could keep up whatever façade you guys have going on to cover up the fact that you have INSANE chemistry with one another.”

“Yeah, the tension was palpable bro,” Sero chimes in, throwing an arm around his waist. “I think you should text him too. He seemed really amusing, and his whole group was a riot.”

Kirishima rolls his eyes at the pun but smiles at them, feeling a new burst of energy in his limbs.

“You guys are absolutely right! Worst case, he blocks me. At least I won’t have any regrets.”

“Yeah boy, get it with that optimism.”  

  Bakugou wakes up to a slight headache, a mouth that tastes like ash, and a profound sadness that settles atop his sternum, weighing him down and pressing him into his mattress.

He sees the glass of water on his bedside table with ibuprofen placed neatly next to it and downs them both without so much as a second thought. As his brain slowly comes back online, he takes a moment to finally navigate his messy feelings and comes to a crushing realization-

Kirishima doesn’t have to text him anymore.

The redhead had said that he’d leave him alone after making it up to him, and yes, it was Bakugou’s standoffish nature that got them into that situation in the first place. And yes, Bakugou had paid the tab mostly because it was too high a bill to be footed by the bar and Bakugou made bank, but also because a small, minuscule part of him hoped that the gesture would make Kirishima insist on another outing or something to ‘make it up to him'.

The blonde doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the fact that he forgave Kirishima almost two days into texting him.

He almost avoids his phone out of fear alone and makes it through a whole cup of coffee and 3 chapters into a novel recommended by Deku before finally picking up his phone to check for emails and notifications.

He expects none from Kirishima.

So, of course, there are 3 from the redhead.

Bakugou’s heart leaps to his throat and he can’t seem to unlock his phone quite fast enough.

fuck he’s cute hi Bakugou, thank you for coming last night!!!

fuck he’s cute it was actually really cool 2 finally meet you. U didn’t have to pay the tab tho :’D

fuck he’s cute bt since u did, I still owe u. can we figure it out later??? Also, what did you think of the place???

Bakugou dumbass

Bakugou you’ve got a swanky place, I’ll give you that. Food was fucking good too. could be spicier.  

Bakugou you got cam completely hooked

Bakugou and yeah, you better make it up to me later. Asshole.

Kirishima replies a few hours later, just as Bakugou finishes up a yoga routine that stretches out his back in the best way possible.

fuck he’s cute :D :D :D :D :D

fuck he’s cute can’t wait

fuck he’s cute <image attached>

fuck he’s cute ruby says hi

It’s a selfie this time, not a picture of just the kitty. Bakugou can appreciate how cute the mutt is, but for once, he has no attention to spare her. Not when Kirishima’s eyes are crinkling around the edges from how hard he smiles up at the camera, not when he’s wearing a tank top with relaxed arm holes, showing off bulging muscles and hints of ink, and not when just the mere thought of him makes Bakugou’s stomach flop around uncontrollably.

He barely manages to reply coherently.

Bakugou the only bright spot in this shitty world

He presses his phone to his forehead and quietly contemplates just how gay he is. Camie pets his head on the way to the kitchen.

  It takes Bakugou some time to get used to waking up to Good Morning texts and a stream of random thoughts from Kirishima all day. The flutter in his stomach disappears a few weeks into talking to the redhead, instead replaced by a bone-deep warmth that always manages to make him feel a little better.

dumbass kirishima GOOOOOOOD MORNING :D

dumbass Kirishima someone threw up on my fave shoes last night

Bakugou HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Bakugou suffer

dumbass Kirishima y u so mean to me ☹ ☹

Bakugou cause its fuckin hilarious

dumbass Kirishima ☹

Bakugou ugh

Bakugou <image attached> [it’s a picture of Bakugou’s balcony, and all his plants look vibrant green as the sun hits them just right]

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima legit felt my serotonin just spike

dumbass Kirishima thxxxxxx

Bakugou whatever

Bakuguo dumbass

 ---

 Bakugou if I plan a murder can I count on your stupid muscles to help me move the body

dumbass Kirishima D:

dumbass Kirishima at least take me out to dinner b4 involving me in your crimes

dumbass Kirishima what a lack of manners

Bakugou stfu

dumbass Kirishima :”D :”D

dumbass Kirishima youre joking right?

dumbass Kirishima right??

dumbass Kirishima RIGHT?????

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU THIS IS A BAD TIME TO LEAVE ME HANGING BRO DO NOT DO THIS

Bakugou don’t call me bro

dumbass Kirishima THAT IS NOT THE POINT RIGHT NOW

Bakugou lol I didn’t do shit dumbass don’t worry

Bakugou or did I?

dumbass Kirishima BAKUGOU NO

 ---

 dumbass Kirishima <image attached> [it’s a gym selfie; Kirishima is crouching in front of the mirror shirtless, hair pulled into a bun atop his head. He’s glistening with sweat, and he’s got a more serious look on his face. He’s not actively flexing any muscle, but the pose makes his thighs, calves and biceps bulge. One hand holds the phone, the other is resting on his bent knee]

dumbass Kirishima working on deez gainz

Bakugou what time do you usually workout

dumbass Kirishima depends on my schedule actually

dumbass Kirishima I prefer the morning, but when I take the late night shift I usually go be4 work the next day

Bakugou hmmm

Bakugou let me know

Bakugou maybe we can go together

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D

Bakugou ugh I changed my mind

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D :D

dumbass Kirishima no takebacksies

Bakugou fucking fantastic

dumbass Kirishima :D :D :D

 ---

 “So, let me get this straight- you guys gym together at least once a week, you talk every day, your stomach flutters at the mere thought of him and Cam swears he’s making googly eyes at you all the time, and you still haven’t asked each other out yet?”

Bakugou flips his phone off, “Fuck off Deku, don’t be a little shit.”

Midoriya’s face morphs into an amused smile on the other end of their facetime call, “Are you being bashful Kacchan? That’s adorable.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“NOOOOO,” Midoriya bemoans dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m missing all this.”

“Yeah, well, who the fuck told you to teach kids English halfway across the world dumbass?”

“I miss you too Kacchan,” Midoriya beams, making a heart with his hands.

“I truly loathe you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Midoriya puts a few papers away before sighing. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, are you going to make a move? How do you plan on doing it?”

“I don’t,” Bakugou ruffles his hair and ducks his head to hide his rapidly warming cheeks, “I’m not asking him out Deku, fuck that.”

“Why not?” the asshole whines, eyes wide and innocent. “You deserve happiness Kacchan. Plus, he seems like a really nice guy.” Midoriya leans forward and adds in a whisper, “I’ve heard he has a fantastic butt.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes and flips him off again, “Fuck off, you can’t say that without actually meeting him.”

“I’ll be back before then. You guys better be dating already when I get there.”

“Stop telling me what to do, shitty Deku!”

“Never Kacchan, that’s what you do for the people you love.”

“Ugh, how are you so gross when you’re so far away, I hate you.”

Midoriya’s laugh sounds tinny over the phone speaker, lacking its usual body and warmth. Bakugou huffs again before picking his novel back up to read.

“Hi Zuku,” Camie calls out from over Bakugou’s shoulder. “You need to come back soon and help me with Kitkat, he refuses to make the first move!”

“Butt out of my fucking love life, you freaks!”

“Can’t butt out of something that doesn’t exist Kats,” Camie deadpans.

Bakugou feels extremely justified in flinging a stress ball right at her. The kitchen fills up with raucous laughter, from his phone and from the person standing in front of him, and Bakugou thinks that adding a deeper, warmer laugh to the mix, coming from a specific redhead might not be the worst thing in the world.

  Kiri bakugouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Bakugou what?

Kiri just wanted to say hi <3

Bakugou wth

Kiri we still on fr the gym tomorrow?

Bakugou obviously you dumbass

Bakugou I need you to spot me

Bakugou im beating my personal best tomorrow or im going to die trying

Kiri so manly :O :O :O

Kiri I’ve got you bruh

Bakugou don’t call me that

Bakugou and I know you do

Kiri <3 <3

 ---

 Bakugou <link>

Bakugou that playlist you were asking about

Kiri u da bomb katsuki

Bakugou katsuki huh?

Bakugou getting cocky I see

Kiri I mean, weve known each other for like 4 months now???

Kiri ur one of my closest pals

Kiri I don’t have to, I just thought ud like it more than bro

Bakugou I do like it more than bro

Bakugou eijirou

Bakugou I guess ur not terrible

Eijirou ????

Eijirou did you just?? pay me????? A compliment??

Eijirou who r u and wat have you done to katsuki?

Bakugou fuck you

Bakugou just fuck you

Eijirou <3 <3 <3

  Bakugou wakes up one morning, approximately 5 months after meeting Kirishima for the first time, with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

His work goes smoothly. The coffee tastes potent and fresh, his body feels fine, his plants are thriving, Camie is busy with her own deadlines and therefore not bugging him, even the sun is mellow and warm; the perfect weather.

The pit in his stomach worsens with every hour.

It doesn’t help that all of his messages to Kirishima have gone unanswered; he hasn’t even been online all day. In the months that they’ve communicated, he’s never gone a day without texting the man, and now it’s like he fell off the face of the Earth.

When it gets closer to 6 in the evening, Bakugou decides to call if Kirishima doesn’t get in touch himself. Because the pit in his stomach is making him nauseous, and he needs to know if the redhead is ok if only for the sake of his own damn health.

He gets a call from an unknown number at 5:20 in the evening. The pit in his stomach becomes a yawning chasm as he picks up the call.

“Hello?”

“Bakugou, it’s Ashido, from the bar.”

Bakugou pulls in a deep breath. “Where is Kirishima?”

“Um, there was an incident last night, at Riot.” She sighs deeply before continuing, “Kiri got jumped in the alley outside by a bunch of really drunk homophobic assholes that saw him turn down some guy’s number. He actually fought them off for the most part, but he’s sustained a broken nose and some fractured ribs. We’re at the hospital right now.”

Bakugou sinks to the ground, his stomach plummeting with him. “Are you fucking serious right now? Fuck-“

“I’ll text you the hospital details, ok? I’m sorry we didn’t call sooner, between talking to his moms and the hospital folks, it slipped my mind.”

“I’ll be there,” Bakugou says, standing up on shaky feet and stumbling back to his room. “Just don’t leave him alone.”

“Never in a million years.”

They hang up and Bakugou changes, hails a cab, and gets to the hospital in a complete daze.

His affection for the redhead, brimming and spilling from every crevice, makes itself evident when he lays eyes on him in the hospital bed and feels a surge of protectiveness. He wants to kill the people that did this, he wants to gather Kirishima in his arms and hold him tight, he wants to crawl into bed with him and talk about stupid shit and see him smile again.

“He’s pretty high on pain meds right now,” Ashido says from somewhere behind him, pointing to his IV lines, “so he’s been saying really funny stuff. The doctors did a full evaluation and said he should recover completely in 5ish weeks.”

Bakugou nods and swallows thickly. Ashido squeezes his arm before leaving the hospital room, shutting the door behind her softly.

Kirishima hasn’t seen him yet, so Bakugou approaches his bed carefully before placing a hand on the guardrail. The noise pulls Kirishima’s attention towards him, and Bakugou’s gut tightens when those large, warm eyes go completely soft at the sight of him.

“Kassaki~” Kirishima slurs, his smile large and dopey.

“You absolute dumbass,” Bakugou chokes out, his hand moving from the rail to grip Kirishima’s tightly. Kirishima’s fingers twine with his own with practised ease and his smile turns gooey.

“Hi Kats, you look beautiful today.”

Bakugou half-laughs, half-sobs and rubs his eyes fiercely. Kirishima’s face is a bit bruised, and there’s a huge bandage on his nose, but he doesn’t look nearly as bad as Bakugou had first feared. The pit in his stomach finally calms, slowly loosening until he can breathe normally again.

“Shut up Eiji,” Bakugou grumbles, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. He leaves his hand in Kirishima’s.

“Ok,” Kirishima agrees easily. It takes 10 seconds for him to break the silence again.

“Hey Kats?”

“What?”

“Are we dating?”

Bakugou startles at that, eyes snapping over to Kirishima’s. He doesn’t look accusatory or hurt or weirded out or anything- merely curious.

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh.” Kirishima frowns, “Why not?”

Bakugou huffs out a small laugh, “Because we’re both idiots.”

“Oh,” the redhead says, then nods. “That kinda tracks.”

“HEY!”

Kirishima’s smile becomes dopey again, eyes crinkling in the most endearing way.

“I really like you Kats. You’re so smart and funny and you always smell like fabric softener, and you’re just like. Really pretty.”

Bakugou feels his face heat up completely, his grip on Kirishima’s hand tightening.

“Just rest, you dumbass,” Bakugou says weakly, his entire body too hot for comfort. He watches Kirishima’s smile become something warm and loving in a way that hits his heart, and he doesn’t let go of the redhead’s hand, right up until the end of visiting hours.

When he exits the hospital alongside Ashido, he feels the last of his energy drain.

“I cant believe we didn’t get to him sooner,” Ashido mumbles, rubbing at her eyes fiercely. “The bar was noisy, and he just wanted to dump out some trash. Hanta noticed he was gone a while before we went out back and found him punching the last dude.”

Bakugou purses his lips. Truth be told, he cant believe Kirishima had gotten so badly hurt so close to his own bar, and he’s pissed as fuck that the idiot brigade had even let it happen, but the sincerity in Ashido’s voice tugs at his chest painfully.

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you.” Bakugou laughs humorlessly. “He’ll probably say there’s nothing to forgive in the first place.”

Ashido’s laugh is hollow, “That’s our Eijirou.” She looks at Bakugou again. “You coming tomorrow?”

He flashes her his best sneer. “You best believe I’m going to come by every single fucking day till he’s discharged.”

Ashido’s smile becomes a little more genuine, a little more well-rounded.

“I’m really glad he has you.” Her voice goes all soft and gross as she continues, “You mean a LOT to him, in case you didn’t already know.”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou mumbles, before waving her off and walking away.

Because he does know.

He also knows he’s falling madly in love with him, and that he’s completely and utterly screwed.

And he finds that he really doesn’t mind all that much. Some people, he rationalizes, are worth the horrible butterflies and the too hot too cold feelings down the back of his spine.

Some people, he realizes, are worth loving with everything you’ve got.

  It takes Kirishima five weeks of house arrest to recover completely. Bakugou spends every weekday and a few of the weekends with him, staying over more often than not. He fusses over the redhead, forces him to take his medication on time, and cooks him everything under the sun.

“You’re spoiling me,” the redhead whines when Bakugou serves him what smells like the best mapo tofu he’s ever going to have.

The blonde grins triumphantly, “You’re damn right I am.”

They bicker and banter constantly, but they also curl up and marathon old bond movies at night. Kirishima goes over the bar’s paperwork while Bakugou works off his couch, and they take turns making the coffee. Ruby falls in love with Bakugou and curls up on his chest every chance she gets, and Bakugou laughs at Kirishima’s look of betrayal. The redhead’s couch is ridiculously comfortable, and he leaves his memory foam pillow with the blonde.

“You refuse to take my bed,” he grumbles, “so you damn well better accept my stupid pillow.”

Bakugou’s neck thanks the redhead profusely.

It’s new and weird, living with someone for the first time. Kirishima’s posse are in and out through the day, and Camie comes by just as often, bringing a change of clothes and gossip with her. Todoroki drops in with some high-quality tequila sometimes and Inasa brings his infectious energy, and through all of this, Kirishima remains in high spirits, even if he goes a little stir crazy sometimes.

It’s new and it’s weird, going from casual touches to more loving ones, more comforting ones. It becomes commonplace for Bakugou to rest his head between Kirishima’s shoulder blades on the days that he has a bad time at work. It’s normal for Kirishima to place his head on Bakugou’s lap while they watch shark documentaries. It’s easy for them to bump knees and press their calves together while enjoying their morning coffee.

It’s new and it’s weird and it’s amazing.

Because Bakugou finds himself falling in love with the little things. The way Kirishima sticks his tongue out when he’s smashing the PS5 controller during an especially intense game of Mario party, the way he makes the coffee with a sleepy smile on his face, the way he hums off-key to a song that’s stuck in his head, the way he can understand Bakugou- can differentiate between his frustrated fuck, his bashful fuck, his angry fuck, his sleepy fuck.

And how he accepts it all without so much as a hitch in his step.

Bakugou watches himself fall in love, slowly, and then all at once.

  “How is it that he lived with you for almost 5 weeks and you STILL didn’t ask him out? Or kiss him stupid? Or something?”

Sero has a finger pinching the bridge of his nose, the other flexing loosely in front of his chest as he tries to fathom the stupidity of two people that could not be more into each other if they tried.

“I, I uh-“ Kirishima hangs his head, “I have no excuse.” He sighs deeply. “I was scared he’d give me a pity answer cause I was injured and everything.”

Ashido looks over her shoulder with incredulous eyes. “Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“Eiji, I know you love us so like, if any of us were hurt like this you’d take care of us till we were better too. But do you think someone like BAKUGOU would practically move into someone’s house to make sure they were ok if he wasn’t nuts about them? Really?”

Kirishima’s face flushes, and he waves her away. “I don’t want to read into it. He’s just a really, really, really good guy. And what we have is good, it’s great! We’re bros. Pals. Friends. It’s all good.”

Ashido continues to stare at him for another moment before throwing her hands up and yelling, “BOYS!” She stomps into the kitchen to help Satou with prep for the day.

They continue to stock up the bar, Kirishima assigned to prepping limes and the ice machine, when the door opens and someone steps in.

“Sorry, we’re not op- Bakugou?”

And there stands the blonde with the biggest bouquet of flowers – chrysanthemums and sunflowers – that Kirishima has ever seen. The redhead distantly hears the sound of a door close behind him, and suddenly they’re alone, the tension positively stifling.

“Bakugo-“

“Go on a date with me.”

Kirishima sucks in a startled breath, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Go on a date. With me,” Bakugou repeats, his neck and ears tinging the loveliest shade of red. “The romantic kind. Where we dress up and get food and drinks and fight over the bill and walk each other to the door and get super awkward before we kiss. All that shit.”

Kirishima isn’t sure how it happens- one moment he’s on this side of the bar, the next, he’s jumping across and gathering Bakugou into a tight embrace, mindful of his newly healed ribs but still unwilling to release the blonde until Bakugou returns his hug, burying his face into Kirishima’s chest.

“Is that a yes?” Bakugou mumbles when they finally pull away, his hands fisted in Kirishima’s shirt.

“In every possible language out there,” Kirishima answers, ducking down to softly kiss Bakugou on the cheek. He laughs as the blonde cusses and shoves him away and laughs even harder when Bakugou’s own smile covers his entire face, bright and open and oh so breathtaking.

That smile is Kirishima’s and Kirishima’s alone.

  Eiji hiiiiiiiiiiii

Bakugou I swear to god Ei

Bakugou if you’re late for our first date I will find you

Eiji and give me a kiss? :*

Bakugou I don’t kiss people that don’t have good time management

Bakugou so fuck off

Eiji still so mean to me ☹

Eiji I want that kiss tho

Eiji so ill be ready

Eiji promise

Bakugou good

Eiji  <3

Bakugou <3

Eiji :D :D :D :D :D :D

Eiji YOU LIKE ME ENOUGH TO SEND EMOJIS HU H <3333

Bakugou it will never happen again

Bakugou so fuck right off

Eiji :”D

Bakugou im outside

Eiji be right there

Eiji <3  

#bnha #kiribaku #bakushima #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #flustered #boku no hero #mha #they're idiots your honor #giving out the wrong number au??? #if that's a thing?????? #this one's a monster y'all