#whatever . will be fine !! just another day of this and then it’ll be other no big deal. just a reaction to the booster

[aphroditeinthesea]

hey!! I was wondering if you could do a Poseidon fem reader x Jason Grace blurb or hcs about their relationship with each other, but she has a pet cat that she is obsessed with and Jason is just admiring the two while his gf is treating her cat like a baby and saying it our kid? If that makes sense??

“ with two cats in the yard (life used to be so hard) ”

jason grace x daughter of poseidon ⚡

a/n this is my favorite request i have ever gotten, whoever sent this in ilysm & ik u said blurb but i got carried away

tw none

. ݁₊ ⊹ 🐾 . ݁₊ ⊹

“Where’s the baby?” Y/N spoke right as Jason opened the door to his cabin.

He laughed, “she’s asleep,” he let her in, softly kissing her cheek as she entered.

He had been spending the past two days with y/n’s cat while she had to go on a quest.

She smiled as she softly brushed her index finger along the cat’s forehead, whispering, “mommy’s home.” The tabby let out a small noise while she opened her eyes. Just like an infant would, the cat reached up her front paws, leaning up on y/n.

She picked up the cat, who made herself comfortable on her owner’s shoulder, “did you miss me?”

“Are you asking me or her?” Jason remarked.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “maybe both.”

He grinned as he stepped closer to her, “I think I speak for both of us when I say, I missed you.”

She giggled, leaning up to kiss her boyfriend, “good, you know I was hoping you two would bond while I was gone.”

He gently petted the back of the cat, “yeah, we’re best friends now.”

Y/N held the cat in front of her to look at her face, “did you have fun with daddy?”

The boy choked on his spit, “daddy?”

“Yes, daddy,” she faced the cat towards him, “this is our daughter.”

He smiled, “I’d hope that our future kids have better names than Purrmaid.”

“Hey!” She pulled the cat away, “I named her when I had just gotten claimed,” she defended, “and that’s Madame Purrmaid of the Atlantic to you.”

“Oh gods, that’s even worse.”

“I was twelve!”

The cat meowed.

She handed Purrmaid to Jason, “tell her you’re sorry.”

He grabbed the cat, cradling her, “daddy’s sorry for making fun of your name.” He went to let her, but she swatted his hand, leaving a scratch.

“She’s mad at you.”

“She is not,” he went to pet her again, instead getting scratched once more, “she might be.” He placed her on the ground before she swatted one of his legs, “what did I do?!”

His girlfriend cackled, “she’s going through a phase.” He exaggeratedly frowned, she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck, “it’s okay, I still love you.”

He held her waist, “promise?”

“Promise,” she reached up to kiss him again, “can I crash in your bed? I’m exhausted.”

“That’s what it’s there for,” he replied.

She sluggishly crawled under his covers. Purrmaid followed, laying on y/n’s chest.

Jason laid down next to the two, “is that comfortable?”

“I can’t breathe, but it’s okay.” She grabbed his hand, “you okay?”

“I’m fine, they’re small,” he comforted, “unlike Purrmaid.”

“You take that back!”

“I will once you stop feeding her your leftover lunch.”

“She gets hungry!”

“I don’t think cats are supposed to eat broccoli, my love.”

“Hmph,” she looked away for a second before turning back to the bright blue eyes, “we should get another one.”

He smiled, “you wanna?”

“We can get a boy, and you can name him!” She planned out.

“I won’t be naming him Thun-purr.”

“Aww, that’d be so cute though.”

“Fine,” he kissed her forehead, “I’ll name him whatever you want me to.”

“It’ll depend on what he looks like,” she replied, “because if it’s a tabby, he’ll be Harry, if he’s light, he’ll be Niall-”

“I take it back, you’re not naming him after One Direction.”

She lightly hit his shoulder, “I was joking, loser.”

“Sure, you were.”

“Seriously, what would you name a cat?” She softly questioned.

He sighed, “I’ve always kind of wanted to get a cat named, uh,” he hesitated, “don't make fun of me.”

“Babe, my cat is named Madame Purrmaid of the… I can't even finish.”

He chuckled, twirling his fingers in her hair, “fine, I wanted a cat to name Cannoli.”

She grinned, “that’s adorable!”

“Thanks,” he embarrassedly looked down while still smiling, “there used to be this bakery in New Rome where they had the world’s best cannolis and one time I saw this giant orange cat walking by it and I always thought that’s exactly the kind of cat I wanted.”

“Then you shall have your very own Cannoli,” she declared in a British accent, “I’ve actually never had a cannoli.” “Next time I head to New Rome, you're coming with me,” he smiled, “you and Purry.”

“Like that was a question,” she replied, petting the feline.

He breathily laughed, “do you want anything to eat?”

“I’m kinda craving a cannoli.”

“You’ve never had one,” he responded, confused.

“Yeah, but you love them so much, they must be good,” she added, “you have good taste.”

“I do?”

“You like me, I think that’s enough proof.”

“That’s a good point.”

She opened her arms, “come give mommy some sugar,” she said using a strange Boston accent.

“Y/N,” he rubbed his temples, “what are you talking about?”

“I don't know, I haven't slept in 20 hours.”

“Here,” he moved the blanket further over her and the cat, “get some sleep and I’ll get you something to eat, okay?”

She nodded as he began to walk away, “wait!”

He turned around, “yeah?”

“I love you.”

He grinned, he jogged back over to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Ahem?”

“Sorry,” he put his hand on Purrmaid, “love you, too.”

#jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace headcanon #jason grace one shot #jason grace fanfic #jason grace imagine #jason grace blurb #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x daughter of poseidon #jason grace x daughter of neptune #daughter of poseidon

[milflewis]

i am. in so much pain

#every part of my body . aches. i feel like i just went ten rounds and lost all of them tf #and i’m so exhausted jesus. slept exactly twnety minutes last night bc why not. this is so fun #and i have a fever. i . hate having a fever #i just got choked up listening to lewis respond to nice thingfans said about him. ffs #whatever . will be fine !! just another day of this and then it’ll be other no big deal. just a reaction to the booster #still rather have this lol than covid or long covid so. who cares #oh fuck it’s a friend of mines birthday #delete later

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

#simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #cod x reader #call of duty smut #cod smut #141 headcanons #headcanon #drabble

[deadsetobsessions]

“DIDJA SEE THAT, DANNY?!” Tim, a scrawny eleven year old now, excitedly smacked Danny’s arm.

“Ow. Yes, yes I did.”

“Oh, gosh, I have to tell Jazz about this!!” The kid waved his arms about wildly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Jaso- I mean, Robin, smiled at me! And said he liked my t-shirt!! Oh my god, he likes literature puns, he even laughed! And then he punched the bad guy in the face! Look! I even saved the tooth!”

“Okayyy, nope!” Danny plucked the tooth and tossed it, ignoring Tim’s betrayed face. “I’ll trade you that for this.”

Danny Held out a piece of paper with Robin’s and Batman’s sigil on it, from when he asked them to sign it after they “saved” the two brothers from the two-bit thugs trying to mug them.

“Oh. My. God. This is like the best day of my life!! I love you, Danny! You’re the best brother ever!! Oh my god! I have to get Nightwing’s signature!!!”

Danny felt a rush of warmth at Tim’s proclamation of affection. Ah, he should probably step in.

“Hey, wait, no, we’re not going to Blüdhaven for you to stalk another vigilante.”

“It’s not just any old vigilante-!” Tim ignored Danny’s dramatic clutching-pearls gesture of mock hurt. “It’s Nightwing. The original Robin! He gave me my first ever hug!”

Danny paused. God dammit.

“…Fine.”

“YESSSSSS!!!!”

——

Danny-

“I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

-is so damn tired.

“Tim. I’m literally a vigilante ghost. What makes you think I’d be stupid enough to argue with a kid who runs around Gotham at night to take pictures of other vigilantes?”

Tim deflated. “Oh. Honestly, I thought you’d put up more of a fight…”

Jazz laughed and ruffled Tim’s hair. “I definitely couldn’t stop Danny when he went out. He trusted me to support him and I trusted him to come to me if he was injured, though. Can you promise me that, Tim?”

“Yeah… okay, Jazz, I promise.” Tim promised, even if he was still pouty.

Danny chimed in.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m totally worried and I’m gonna hover like a mother hen when you go out, but again, I know how stubborn and crazy we vigilante types have to be.” Danny paused. “Do you want me to put up a token protest?”

Tim nodded, sulking. “Yes, please. I had a speech planned out.”

Jazz and Danny exchanged amused glances.

“Oh, okay, my bad, kiddo. Here, let’s start from the top.”

“Okay. Ahem,” Tim straightened his back, settling into his previous mulish expression once more. “I’m gonna be Robin whether you want me to or not!”

Danny placed an appropriately disapproving frown on his face. “No, you can’t! It’s dangerous! You could get hurt! You’re just a child!”

Tim launched into his speech. “But I can’t stay still and do nothing when people are getting hurt! Even…!”

They were gonna be here for a while. There was definitely something about Batman going on a spiral because Jason wouldn’t be able to walk again after the Joker got to him. Danny wondered if ectoplasm could help. He might offer, if it actually had a change of getting Tim out of the vigilante business.

But that’s for later, because they had time. Jazz was on Spring Break… and they’re still staying here for free, after all of these years.

“So, how are you going to convince Robin to let you be Robin?” Jazz asked Tim.

Tim froze. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.”

“Well, you could always remind him of the fact that we saved him from the Joker. He seemed pretty ready to leave the Robin mantle, the last time I saw him as Phantom.”

“I don’t want to blackmail him into it!” Tim whined.

“It’ll just be a suggestion, Tim.” Jazz smiled patiently.

“Besides,” Danny continued, smirking mischievously at his adopted little brother. “If you were actually blackmailing him, you’d pull out the photos where he ate dirt.”

“I guess that’s true…” Tim mumbled. “I know! I’ll have to follow them to see how I can best approach him!”

"I think that's called stalking," Jazz deadpanned.

"Well, it's not any worse than what he's already done." Danny shrugged at his older sister. "Sure, kid. Why not? Do whatever you want."

"I was planning to!" Tim bounced off to grab his photography gear. Jazz stared off after him.

"Should we be encouraging that?"

"More like can we actually stop him?" Danny leaned back, lazily completing his GED assignments. Jazz sighed.

"Guess not. Make sure he doesn't get in trouble."

"Do you even know how hard that is, Jazz?" Danny complained, dodging the whack Jazz sent at the back of his head. She smirked at him.

"Womp, womp, Danny. How does karma taste today?"

Danny flipped her off as he put the last punctuation on the paper. He heard a clatter and groaned.

“I’m gonna go watch Tim stalk Batman for the night. Want anything from the store?”

Jazz hummed. “Get me the specialty strawberry ice cream, from that one place?”

“The one that’s definitely a front for Falcone’s money laundering??”

“Yeah. They make good strawberry ice cream.”

“Sure.”

Danny went ghost and flew straight through the walls to catch Tim sneaking out by the scruff of his collar.

“No. Bad Tim.”

“Awww, come on Danny!”

#danny phantom #batman #tim drake #bruce wayne #jason todd #dc x dp #dick grayson #nightwing #bamf danny phantom #dcxdp #dpxdc #Tim is a fanboy above all fanboys #Jason is just straight up not having a good time #baby Jason would totally giggle with a kid and punch a grown man in the face right after #jazz: oh how the tables have tabled #jazz Fenton #Danny Fenton #squatter! danny fenton

[vampyrsm]

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏

✽ — PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader ✽ — SYNOPSIS: When a job goes south, Bakugou and Kirishima are left dealing with the consequences of saving a life that maybe they shouldn't have. ✽ — WORD COUNT: est. 30.2k ✽ — WARNINGS: Female reader (she/her used), Cyberpunk AU, gun violence, gunshot wounds, descriptions of dead bodies, blood, body modifications, amnesia, death threats, POV changes between Bakugou & Reader, enemies to lovers (?), eventual smut, angst, no beta reader, no second part, there are no happy endings in night city. ✽ — NOTES: It only took me two years but hey, it's here. You don't necessarily need to know anything about cyberpunk to read this, I've tried to explain things as best as I can in the fic itself. But if you have any questions, please feel free to send me an ask! ✽ — EXTRAS: Playlist // AO3

“Shit!”

“The fuck did you do now?!” The blonde rounds the back of the car, a hand clasping the handgun tight in one hand whilst the other runs frantically through his sweat-slicked hair. It was not meant to go like this, this was meant to be an easy job. 

That’s what Aizawa said! Easy! The warehouse they were supposed to hit tonight was rumoured to be empty, no one had been seen moving in and out of it for days. There wasn’t meant to be a gunfight and now Bakugou worries about how it’ll come back around to bite him in the ass. 

His eyes snap away from the pools of blood and a mixture of chemical fluids. Kirishima is hunched over something in the open trunk of the car, his shoulders are bunched and Bakugou can practically feel the tension rolling off of his best friend in waves. “Oi, what the fuck is—”

Kirishima steps back, and Bakugou’s words die on the tip of his tongue when he stares down at the loot Aizawa had sent them to get. He had said it was just a simple shipment, a bunch of cyberware shit that needed to be shifted from one side of Night City to the other. But this was not just any old sort of cyberware. 

Arasaka cyberware. 

That meant the crate would most likely be tracked, and inside of it would be goods worth more money than either of the two Mercs had touched in their entire life.

“Oh fuck me–” Bakugou speaks first, eyes locked onto the metallic case. “Ei, we need to drop this shit. We can’t be caught with it, they’ll have our fucking balls.”

“No shit we can’t be caught with it! But what do we do with it now?! We can’t just leave it, what if the Maelstrom comes back and takes whatever’s inside of it?” Kirishima’s the one glaring at Bakugou now, the look making the man of 6’8” seem more of a terrifying monster than anything. “Why did you have to say yes to this job, man? We were fine for a few more weeks–”

“Because it would’ve gotten us both out of the fucking city Eijirou!” Bakugou yells finally, he is shorter than Kirishima but still at his own height of 6’3”, he makes up for his lack of height in comparison with his explosive anger. “I took it so that we could go back fucking home! Don’t you want that?!”

“Of course, I wan–”

Bang!

Instinctively Bakugou and Kirishima drop to the ground, Bakugou pulls his handgun up and is ready to fire whilst Kirishima's skin shifts with the metal plating. The two of them were a two-man team that was inseparable, Kirishima the shield and Bakugou the firepower. Both of their eyes are locked together as they wait to see if there’s another gunshot, Bakugou’s heart feels like it might beat its way out of his chest any minute now. He was certain he had gotten everyone, his optical enhancements had confirmed as much. 

The red of his eyes flash to life as he takes a deep breath before peeking over the back of the car, it’s silent for a moment before he hears a dragging noise and sure enough—there’s a body heat signature east of the car, hidden behind some boxes and crates. His arms adjust on the car, holding his gun steady, ready to shoot the second their head peeks over the crate.

…But then the heat signature flickers out, and Bakugou drops his position in confusion before there’s another bang and this time the bullet does collide with the car. 

“Fuck, they’ve got some sort of tech that lets them hide from my optics,” Bakugou whispers harshly to Kirishima who has his back plastered to the car, his face stoic despite the possibility of being taken out by someone who was possessing cyberware that’d allow them to appear out of thin air practically. 

Kirishima nods once, the body plating along his forearms clicking into place as he readies to use himself as a human shield. Bakugou steels his nerves, eyes flashing back to life before finally saying “Move with me.”

The two of them are up in an instant, Kirishima crossing his arms over his upper half and tensing his muscles to ensure his body mass covers Bakugou entirely whilst the blonde slips his arm just beneath Kirishima’s with the gun poised and ready to shoot. The crimson of his eye gleams in the darkness when he catches the heat signature once again dashing from one crate to another and this time Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. The gun fires in rapid succession, neither of the men flinching. The reaction is immediate when there’s what sounds like something falling to the floor. 

“Lost visual again,” Bakugou confirms when the warm red spot vanishes from his vision, leaving just droplets of what must be blood on the floor in their wake. Both mercs wait in silent anticipation, Kirishima moving with each step Bakugou takes as if it were second nature to him—perhaps at this point in life, it was second nature. 

Kirishima had come with Bakugou from Tokyo to Night City nearly 15 years ago with the plan that the two of them were simply there for one job. It was going to give them life-changing money, something the two of them desperately needed for themselves and their families back home. 

“Ei!” Bakugou yells, Kirishima plants both of his boots against the ground and brings up his arms to defend his face. The bullet buries itself into the metal plating of his arm, pulling a deep grunt from the man.

“Motherfucker–!” 

Bakugou again fires the gun, a snarl resting on his face and this time he hears the sound of flesh being hit by the bullet, and then the sound of a body slumping onto the ground. Kirishima finally steps down from being the human shield, pulling his arm up to view the bullet that’s embedded deep into his forearm. No doubt the Doc will be pissed about this when he gets back.

“All good?” Bakugou asks, changing out the mag in his gun before glancing towards the foot he can now see peeking out from behind the boxes. Kirishima grunts a yes whilst pulling the bullet free from his arm, the sound of it hitting the floor loud in the now silent warehouse. “Doc’s gonna kill ya for that.” 

“Ya think? She only just upgraded it for me.” Kirishima almost whines, quite the opposite of the man he just was as he watches the black liquid of the synthetic fluids leak from his arm in place of blood. “If I ask her nicely, do you think– Hey, where are you going?” Kirishima watches Bakugou slam shut the trunk of the car before stomping his way over to the body he’d just shot, he had to know if it was enough scumbag from some gang or if Arasaka were already onto them.

Bakugou rounds the crate, readying his gun to fire once more and freezes in place; gun raised just slightly, eyes widened and mouth ajar. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me—Ei, get here. Now.”

Kirishima walks over when the ash blonde hisses at him to hurry the fuck up, wiping the black liquid free from his arms before looking down at what Bakugou was staring at. 

“Ohh.. fuck, dude.” He gapes at the girl lying on the floor, covered head-to-toe in blacked-out clothing. But it wasn’t the fact it was a girl that Bakugou had taken down, but rather it was the fact she had the Militech symbol stitched into the sleeve of her t-shirt. “What the fuck did Militech want with this?”

“I don’t know—maybe to reignite that old corporate war they had years ago with Arasaka? Everyone knows both of them are fucked up.” Bakugou is still frozen, the handgun still aimed to shoot. If he takes out this Militech assassin, it’s most likely going to be tracked back to them and by them; he means the new family he had found in Night City. It was a tightly knit group, all coming from similar backgrounds to his own but ending up in NC for different reasons. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t get them killed because he took a job to run away.

Kirishima squats down next to the body, head tilting as he leans a little closer towards her head. His hand hovers just next to her face, “The fuck you doin’ now? Gettin’ your big ass fingerprints all over the body so they ca—” 

“Shush,” Kirishima demands, and Bakugou goes to defy immediately before he’s shushed for a second time whilst Kirishima puts his index finger beneath her nose. It’s a tense moment, but he feels it. “Still breathing, we could still call trauma and—”

“And what? She relays to her boss that she ran into one very identifiable red-haired giant and his angry friend? No. We kill her.” 

“Wait! Wait!” Kirishima moves to push the gun away when Bakugou raises it, meeting his scathing glare with his own determined one. “What if we use her for info? Clearly whatever is in that box is worth enough to get both Arasaka and Militech willing to fight.” 

Bakugou’s jaw ticks as he clenches it, eyes flicking between his red-haired friend and the girl on the floor. He’s right, Aizawa might know something about this, and if they’re able to pull info from her about Militech then they could probably sell it to Arasaka for a pretty penny. 

“Shit.” He huffs, finally pulling the gun back and holstering it. “Fine, but you’re the fucker that’s got to explain why we’re dragging a half-dead Militech asshole through the Docs door.”

“—not keeping—” 

“This is your—” 

“Guys.” 

Everything felt…wrong. Nothing felt like it belonged, and yet it did at the same time. Mechanical parts clicking and groaning, blood pumping in and out, brain whirring to life. Lights that are far too bright for delicate eyes, and all noises submerged in synthetic water. 

What was happening? 

Where were you?

“Can you hear me?” a voice calls from a distant place to your left, you want to open your eyes or will your lips to move to form the words that are hanging at the end of your tongue. What happened to you? Nothing made sense, you didn’t recognise that voice and you didn’t recognise the coldness of the metal table you were laid on. 

“Hey—wait, calm down.” A smooth, cold hand presses itself against your sternum and it was as if a light switch had been flipped in the dark recesses of your mind. You didn’t have to think when your own hand wraps around the offending limb, fingers curling dangerously tight.

“Shit, I knew this was a fucking mistake!” A new voice, distantly familiar. There’s a scrambling of feet, and finally, your eyes are opening. The light is blinding, but you can make out the blurry outlines of figures that are double your size and they’re frantically moving to reach something; guns, you belatedly realise and you don’t miss a beat in hauling yourself off of the metal table. 

The two men—you can finally see them now and they’re nothing short of a pair of gigantic cyborgs—have turned to you with guns raised but they haven't made a move yet. Your arm tenses around something until you hear a squeak accompanied by a choking sound. Hesitantly you glance down to see you have a woman with brown hair pinned to your chest with one forearm crushing her throat and the other raised in their direction. 

“Now, just hold on.” The one with the red hair speaks, his hands raised to show he’s no threat but you don’t miss the way his skin shifts with the metal plating. Armour. He must be the shield, and the other must be the firepower. 

“Lower your weapon.” Weapon? You flick your eyes towards the blonde who most definitely isn’t lowering his weapon. The redhead shifts again, and he’s taken a step forward towards you but his hands are still up in surrender. “Please, lower your weapon.”

He must see the confusion on your face so he points towards your free arm currently not crushing the woman to your body. You hesitate to look where his finger is pointing, but it’s hard to miss when your eyes drift slightly away from the redhead. In place of your arm is what looks like an M-179 precision rifle. 

Wait—how do you know what type of weapon that is? You’ve never held a gun in your life before, you–you…–you were just some street rat. The weapon retreats back into your arm, clicking your own metal plates back together until it’s smoothed over as if it had never existed in the first place.

Did these people put these parts into you? Had they found you passed out in some dark alleyway and dragged you here to experiment on you? That’s the only explanation, it’s the only reason you’re in this dingy ripper doctor's office. 

“S–Stop. Can’t—breathe.” the woman croaks against your arm, and you realise you’re actually starting to crush her windpipe with your forearm. She stumbles forward with a hard choke, whilst you launch yourself back into the surrounding deskspace. Metal clangs and surgical instruments fall to the floor in a loud clatter, the roaring in your ears is too loud to hear what the people are saying to you.

Another set of hands place themselves against you, your upper arms this time but they’re no longer cold, they’re warm. A shroud of red covers the edges of your vision and all you can focus on is the face directly in front of yours, his lips are moving and it’s impossible to decipher what he’s trying to say. 

Why does his face seem so familiar? You had seen this hair somewhere before, and those teeth. You had never run into someone with such sharp teeth and yet your mind couldn’t stop trying to find just where you had seen them before. The red-haired man looks over his shoulder, letting you see the blonde who was frowning in your direction still brandishing the gun that was pointed directly at your head if anything were to go wrong. 

“—know man!”

“Move so I can—”

“You.” Both voices silence immediately. Two different sets of red eyes on you and yet they both carry a different feeling; one filled with curious sympathy and the other hardened disgust. “Who are you? I–I think I know you.” 

“Uh, well, I’m Kirishima.” There’s a groan of annoyance from what you assume to be the blonde whilst the one named Kirishima keeps his eyes on yours. “What about you, what’s your name?”

Your lips part, tongue moving to accommodate the syllables of your name and yet nothing comes forward. You try again with furrowed eyebrows but it feels like your tongue is too big for your mouth and your throat is restricting around your name. In your oncoming panic, you latch a hand to your throat, widening your eyes when you try again and again to spit your name out.

“Hey! Alright!” A hand comes around your wrist and peels your fingers away from the skin of your throat, and Kirishima takes a deep breath when he looks down at you. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” your only response is a shake of your head, and you swear the man's shoulders slump as he deflates a little at your admission. Had they known you?

“Fuckin’ brilliant, Ei. Now Aizawa’s gonna have our ass for bringing back a death machine with memory loss and the tendency to lash out!” Death machine? Did he mean you? However you don’t get to answer the question because the blonde stomps out of the room, the slam of the door stunning the room into silence. 

Another sigh before Kirishima drops his hands from your upper arms and straightens out to his full height. He is huge, bigger than anyone you have ever seen before. “You should rest before tonight.” He supplies, turning towards the door and you realise the brown-haired woman had also vacated the room at some point. 

“Wait. Tonight?” you take a careful step after him and you don’t miss the way his shoulders stiffen, nor the way his forearm plating clicks to ready himself. Was he scared of you? No. That can’t be right, this gigantic man could not be scared of you. You’re certain he could crush you if he wanted with just a single hand.

“Tonight you’re meeting our fixer.” and just like that he was gone, the door closing behind him with an audible click. 

They had locked you in.

Looking back around the room, eyes caught on the glint of various medical tools that had been scattered across the white tile floor. There are no windows besides the one at the far back of the room, but even from where you stand you can see it’s barred. You were well and truly trapped.

And so, with nothing else to do, you sat in the desk chair by the bed you had woken up on—and waited.

...

The next time you see Kirishima is when he had come to collect you from your makeshift prison, at some point someone—you assumed it was the Ripper—had shoved clothes in through the small gap of the door, you hadn’t realised you were in a state of undress when you had initially woken up. 

Kirishima smiles at you, but you can see it doesn’t meet his eyes as he towers over you. He’s dressed differently too, in a black leather jacket over a red distressed vest and black jeans with some very expensive-looking sneakers. He looked much more like his age like this, you didn’t realise he was more around your age. 

“Ready?” Kirishima offers, burying both of his hands into his front pockets and leaning against the frame of the door—While he seemed relaxed, you knew he was blocking off your only escape route.

You look down at yourself, you’re not quite sure how they had managed to get your size somewhat right but the black cargo pants and graphic tee were comfortable. The only thing they hadn’t measured correctly was the heavy orange bomber jacket that dwarfed you immensely. 

“Yeah, readier than I’ll ever be anyway.” Kirishima just nods, finally pushing the door open and letting you walk out first before he shuts the door behind you both.

The door immediately opens out onto a street, the floor is wet from the rain and the neon street lights give the dingy alleyway some light. You can’t tell where you are, when you look up there is nothing but a concrete overpass blocking you from seeing the sky. “C’mon, he doesn’t like tardiness.” 

“Who?” You jog to keep up with Kirishima’s wide – normal – steps, you barely come up to his shoulder and you have to crane your head up to look at him. 

“Aizawa, our fixer. He doesn’t normally meet with new faces, but you’ve piqued his interest.”

“But how? I’ve not done anything, I don’t even know who I am.” You try to explain, the emptiness that sits in your brain is unnerving, to say the least. 

Kirishima finally looks down at you, nothing but pity in his eyes. “That’s exactly why he wants to see you.” 

The rest of the walk is in silence, not that Kirishima seems to mind much whilst he flicks through his phone. You’re not quite sure who Aizawa was, but you knew what Fixers were. They were smugglers, fencers and they loved to handle information. Is that why he wanted to see you? To get information from you? But you had none to give, and when Fixers often don’t get what they want… they dispose of the useless item. 

Sparing a glance towards Kirishima, he was far too engrossed in his phone to realise the thoughts you were currently harbouring. You could make a run for it, he’s much bigger than you, sure, but you’re smaller. Maybe you’re faster. He could lose you easily in a crowd of people, you don’t want to be killed for something that’s not your fault. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Kirishima says without missing a beat, his eyes not drifting away from his phone and you have to focus on not tripping over your own feet at being caught out. He hadn’t even looked at you, you weren’t that obvious– “If you run then that means I have to admit Bakugou was right and then I have to chase you down.” Finally, he looks at you, raising an eyebrow to see if you’re still going to do it. 

“I won’t run.” You say with less conviction than you would’ve liked but Kirishima seems happy enough with it, finally pocketing his phone into his back pocket before nodding his head forward.

“Here we are.” You turn to look at the building you’re both standing in front of. It fronts what looks to be a bar, not quite as modern as some of the others you had passed by. It looked more oriental and authentic. It’s not imposing, it blends in perfectly wedged between two other buildings that look like stores—it’s the perfect place for a Fixer you realise, it stands out enough to those seeking the man known as Aizawa but in an area shoddy enough that it won’t draw in too many people. 

Kirishima doesn’t give you more time to inspect the building, guiding you inwards with a hand between your shoulder blades until you’re past the old wooden doors and inside a very well-kept bar. It’s relatively empty, with a few people hanging around by the bar but it’s quiet.

Your eyes rove over the multitude of artwork hanging from the walls, swirling paint strokes and sculptured mythical creatures. Kirishima drops his hand from your back once he’s sure you’re secured in the building, leaving you standing alone whilst he meanders towards the bar to talk to a pretty girl with bouncy curly pink hair.

“Oi,” a gruff voice calls from behind you, your shoulders jump at the closeness of the gruff voice and you spin to see the blonde from earlier. He has a frown on his face the second he meets your eyes before they drag down and latch onto the bomber jacket you’re wearing. He seems to glare somewhat harder, sucking at the back of his teeth. “No fucking around. I won’t hesitate to blow your head off this time.” 

“This her?” a deep, almost sleepy voice drawls and you turn to meet the man to whom the voice belongs. He’s got shoulder-length black hair, and tired eyes yet the look he’s giving you is enough to tell you he’s very alert. You can’t help but straighten your spine a little, attention drawn away from the blonde who just huffs and wanders elsewhere. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.” 

You’re left blinking at the man, the silence suffocating until you look hesitantly across the room to meet a set of red eyes—but they aren’t Kirishima’s. Bakugou was clearly growing agitated the longer this was drawn out. “I’ve never been a threat.” 

“Bakugou and Kirishima seem to think otherwise, even our Ripper Doc had said you have some interesting chrome.” Aizawa continues, settling into one of the seats close by before he regards you again. “But they also said you don’t remember who you are, is that true?”

“I–... Yes, it is.” Interesting chrome? “I don’t know how I got my upgrades, I woke up surrounded and I just acted on instinct.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the palms of your hands growing sweaty and you suddenly feel like you’re standing in a pit with lions. 

Then Aizawa breathes in deeply, sighing a little on his exhale. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.” There’s a noise of disagreement from Bakugou somewhere to the side but Aizawa continues anyway, “You could be useful to us. I’m sure your memories will come back over time and you’ll be even more valuable to us then. It’d be stupid of me to let you go.”

“Let me go? You want to keep me prisoner?” 

“Not a prisoner. We just can’t have you wandering the streets in the state that you are, it’s safer for everyone involved if you stay here.”

It made sense, you supposed. You would be safer staying in one place instead of wandering the streets, especially if you had no idea who you were. Swallowing the lump of anxiety, you nod your head in agreement and Aizawa visibly relaxes in his seat before he casts a glance towards Kirishima and Bakugou. 

“On second thoughts… I think it’ll be better for you to stay with those two.”

“What?!” Bakugou all but yells, the beer bottle in his hand smashing onto the floor in haste to get to his feet in disbelief. “I am not a fucking babysitter, and I’m not looking after some corpo—”

“You found her, you look after her. Didn’t I teach you that when I found you?” 

Bakugou’s upper lip curls into a snarl, his eyes darting from Aizawa and towards you–it’s like you’ve been pinned to the spot underneath his hateful gaze. His tongue drags along his lips, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth before he leaves without another word. Kirishima is quick to take his place, stepping up close to you to take you back to wherever you had to stay. 

“I promise he’s not always this bad—well, most of the time he is but he’s a good guy,” Kirishima says, a hand back on the spot between your shoulder blades to guide you out of the bar and back onto the open street where you finally see Bakugou once again. He’s sitting on a motorbike, an expensive-looking one. “Yo, Bakugou. Are we–”

“You have one fucking chance left. If you pull that shit again that you did at the Docs, I’ll personally rip your head from your shoulders. Got it?” Bakugou points a finger in your direction, which only makes Kirishima huff a sigh of annoyance and drag a hand over his face. “One. Then you’re done.”

He must not expect an answer as he slips the helmet over his head, the sleek black of it reflecting only the neon street lights but you can still feel his glare on you before he revs his engine once, twice—then he’s gone. 

You look up at Kirishima finally when Bakugou is gone, and the redhead just smiles awkwardly at you whilst rubbing the nape of his neck. “I did warn ya.”

To say the next few days were painful is an understatement. 

You had been confined to an apartment shared between both Kirishima and Bakugou, whilst the redhead was happy to have another roommate—Bakugou was not. He made it his mission to make it hellish for you. 

It started with him refusing to cook you food whenever he did for Kirishima and himself (Kirishima had to convince him to at least give you something to eat or you’d die and then Aizawa would be pissed). Then it started with the loud music early in the morning, you had no real bed so you had to sleep on the expensive U-shaped couch and Bakugou took great joy in turning the radio on and making sure it was on full blast. 

Kirishima did try to stop Bakugou’s attempts to drive you to a point of anger that would make you act out, which only had Bakugou sneering in your direction before he left to go do whatever the fuck he did all day. 

And it was going somewhat well, that same routine every day. Until Bakugou got a call.

Currently, you’re sitting on the couch, your elbows digging into your thighs whilst you lean forward. The room was deathly silent, save for the sound of the passing Trauma Team AV that flew by the window. 

Kirishima was staring out of the window, both of his hands pressing against the cool metal window ledge, the lights of the nightlife outside reflecting off of the various strips of chrome covering his jaw and down along his throat. 

Opposite you was Bakugou, his knee bouncing in what appeared to be nervousness whilst both of his hands were buried deep in his blonde hair, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling above.

“This cannot be fuckin’ happening.” He groans for the nth time that evening since ending the call. “That old fucking man—the nerve, all of the shit I do for him… and this is how he rewards me?!” 

“Dude, Aizawa has never steered us wrong. He obviously thinks we can trust her.” Kirishima says in an odd tone like his voice was devoid of any emotion. You supposed it made sense, he had never been able to trust you either for whatever reason.

“Well, I think we can’t.” Bakugou drops his head back forward, meeting your gaze and a sharp shiver rolls down your spine. “You remember what I told you before I let you come and squat in my apartment?”

“Our apartment.” Kirishima supplies quietly, though Bakugou is undeterred.

“You’ll kill me.” 

“Right, I’ll fucking kill you.” Bakugou finally stands, swiping the pulse rifle off of the table between the two of you before fixing it over one of his shoulders. “Now get the fuck up, we’ve got a Tyger Claws cunt to go kill.” 

The back of Kirishima’s car was very plush, you couldn’t help but wonder how good at being mercs the two of them were. They seemed to be living in the lap of luxury yet they decided to stay in Night City, but you didn’t dare ask why they were still here. Bakugou would probably take the opportunity to bite your head off. 

You sunk into the leather and watched the city pass by, the rain bounced off of the roof of the car and rolled down the windows in thick streaks. It still made no sense as to why Aizawa put you on this mission with them too, they were capable on their own so just what did Aizawa expect from you? You can’t even remember a time when you had used a gun so surely you’d just be deadweight—another reason for Bakugou to be on your ass if you fuck up. 

As if somehow sensing your inner anguish, Kirishima turns in his seat enough to meet your eyes. 

“Ready for this?” You’re not quite sure why he’s asking, even Bakugou seems to furrow his brows in confusion at why the redhead even gives a fuck about if you’re ready or not. “It should be a pretty simple gig, the Tyger Claws are ruthless but this guy we’re going for? Big junkie, won’t see us coming.” Kirishima grins at the end of his sentence, and you can’t help the small smile that grows on your face.

“Right, yeah, I’m ready.” You say with a small nod.

“Say it with more confidence and I might actually believe you for once.” Bakugou gruffs from his own spot in the driver's seat, with only one hand on the wheel and the other propped up on the door beside the window. He’s chewing at the skin of his thumb; one might think he’s actually a bit anxious. Kirishima only gives you a look you now know is his attempt at apologising on behalf of the antagonising blonde before he sinks back into his seat with a huff.

“Don’t gotta be so rude all the time man, she probably doesn’t want to be here as much as you.” Kirishima all but grumbles to himself, looking away when Bakugou shoots him a scathing glare.

“Yeah? Then maybe she’ll fuck off at the first chance she gets, won’t have to deal with her anymore.” The car falls into an awkward silence at that, not even Kirishima can counter the fact that it would be simpler if you did disappear but you can see the sad frown that’s making him look much more like a kicked puppy than anything. The music on the radio does nothing to squash the tension, instead, it only adds to the palpable dark energy rolling from Bakugou in thick waves. 

Soon enough the car is pulled into a darkened alleyway, only the rats and drunkards faintly aware of the presence of the two big mercs who get out of the car in a heartbeat. They seem to move in an organised way; a practised routine you realise. By the time you close the car door behind you, there’s a gun being thrust in your face. “Here, I know it’s not much but—it should do the job,” Kirishima leans a little as if sharing a secret “It’s all Bakugou would agree to give you, think you still scare him.”

You hum, eyeing the handgun in your hand and feeling its weight. It felt lighter than you expected, your fingers moulded perfectly around the hilt and you tilted your head to inspect the barrel. Something feels very familiar with the gun now in your hand, and as you look at both Bakugou and Kirishima to thank them you falter for a moment. 

Your vision flickers, the city behind them flashes to an old warehouse before it returns to normal. Kirishima seems to be talking animatedly but Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto your own, an unreadable expression on his face—maybe it’s because there is no real emotion on his face. No scowl, no anything, he looks like a blank slate. 

“Anyway, we ready for this? It’ll be over before we know it and then we can go to that ramen noodle bar I mentioned last week!” Kirishima grins, slapping a hand against his hardened stomach. 

“Yeah.” Bakugou finally speaks, breaking his eyes away from your own and down to the weapon in his hands. “The plan is Kirishima will be the shield, I’m the firepower, and you just follow us and keep quiet.” He says whilst staring you down, gone is the blank expression and that familiar frown is again creasing his skin. You just nod, and he seems happy enough with that response to turn on his heel and lead the way into the back exit of the building. 

The building is rundown, as are all the buildings in Night City outside of the high-end Corporate zones. You traverse over tipped-over vending machines, various boxes and crates that had been ripped apart and ransacked for all their worth. It’s dark and dingy, a low stream of smog flitting through the air from the old vents in the ceiling. The only way you can tell you’re going the correct way is with the help of the flickering dim fluorescent lights overhead, Kirishima and Bakugou are both deadly silent and somehow moving without even making a noise. 

The journey up the stairs is quick, without the worry of someone hearing the three of you coming, both men take the steps three at a time—leaving you to hurry after them as quickly as you can. 

Both of them freeze once they reach the door that leads to the 6th floor, Bakugou shifting a few steps back and Kirishima takes his spot wordlessly in front of the blonde. The clicking of Kirishima’s skin has you focusing on him, the way the metal plating shifts almost looks like his skin is hardening. Bakugou has his own gun raised, the heavy rifle looks like it weighs nothing in one hand when he taps the other on Kirishima’s shoulder indicating he’s ready to breach. 

It all happens in three very quick steps. 

First, Kirishima rips open the door to the point where it’s detached from the wall and tumbles down the stairwell—you have to plaster yourself to the wall to avoid being squashed. 

Second, breaching. Bakugou has both his hands back on his rifle, his eyes illuminating the chrome strips on his face whilst Kirishima steps forward with purpose. 

Third, gunfire. It happens in five quick taps of the rifle's trigger, Bakugou hardly shifting from the recoil as he swivels just his upper half whilst hunching his shoulders slightly to ensure each and every single one of his shots is a direct headshot. The sound of bodies slumping on the floor is your cue to finally enter the room, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t.

The room smells horrific, a stench you for some reason recognise as death. But it wasn’t coming from the fresh bodies, no, it was deeper in the large room. The translucent sheets of plastic that hang from the ceiling obscure most of the room, with multiple splatters of blood staining the material. Bakugou lowers his weapon slowly, Kirishima finally parting ways to do his own investigation of the place. 

“Think we got him?” Kirishima asks, using his foot to roll over one of the men Bakugou took out before grimacing at the clean shot between the eyes. Bakugou was a beast with the gun, there’s a reason why he was so sought out by Fixers other than Aizawa. 

“Dunno, I didn’t get a clear look at their faces.” Bakugou comments from the other side of the room, squatting down to roll a guy over to inspect his face. 

Both men are too occupied with the gig to notice that you’re traversing through the middle of the room, pushing past the thin sheets of plastic to grow closer to the source of the blueish neon lights. With each step, the smell grows stronger, a rotting kind of stench mixed with what smells like fried electronics. A shiver rolls down your spine, a warning to stop yourself from pushing past the final sheet of plastic. Your fingers curl against the material, crinkling it and still, both men are blissfully unaware of what you’re about to unveil—

An empty ice bath. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together, multiple thick wires and cords were all scattered around the bath yet there was no one connected to those wires. You take a hesitant step forward, the smell is still so strong—something isn’t right. The ice bath looked fresh, except for the blood staining on either side of the white porcelain, following the streaks upwards until you see a blinking screen displaying vitals.

Ayaka Ichida. Age: 26 Occupation: Arasaka Executive ECG: N/A Blood Pressure: N/A

“Arasaka?” You murmur to yourself, fingers ghosting underneath the word. Why did that name send a painful twinge through your head? Perhaps it was just the notoriety of the corporation. Arasaka were rumoured to be funding the Tyger Claws way back in 2020 but it’s been nearly sixty years since then—

Your eyes lose focus the longer you stare at the screen, no longer looking at the words but rather the reflection of something moving behind you. It’s neither Bakugou nor Kirishima, you would’ve heard them approaching. This is a woman, her skin completely exposed, and dripping wet. Shit. 

Her arm raises, the revolver sitting in her hand looks weighty and it’s definitely fully loaded when you catch the barrel of it. You spin on your heel, a hand stretched out ready to yell at Bakugou to move but it’s like you hit an invisible wall. Everything feels fuzzy in your brain, a wave of electricity passing through your body and shooting up and down your spine. 

You must’ve shouted something because you can see Kirishima raise his head in worry, Bakugou clambering to his feet but it’s as if everything is moving in slow motion. The barrel spins, the trigger clicks and the flash of the gun is bright in your eyes. 

You don’t quite realise you’ve moved until it’s too late, the fuzziness in each of your limbs is all-consuming. It’s as if you’ve been dunked in ice water and your limbs are slowly regaining their warmth—it’s painful. You blink, and suddenly your face is in Bakugou's; his eyes are wide and mouth agape as if he’s at a loss for words. Your entire right arm aches, but your spine hurts something fierce.

Not quite understanding how you had moved from one side of the room to the other, you glance over your shoulder to see the body—it’s more of just a pair of legs at this point, blood sprayed up along the walls and to the ceiling; bits and pieces dripping and dropping with a sickening wet thud. Did you do that?

The ache in your arm brings your eyes back to it, and it’s no surprise to see that the entirety of your arm was replaced with the rifle you had pulled out not too long ago at the Ripperdocs. It doesn’t look like you damaged your arm, the skin easily shifting back into place whilst you turn back to look at Bakugou. There’s a spray of blood on his face too, the blonde of his hair tainted by a dark shade of crimson that almost looked black. Bakugou is looking at you with what you might assume is worry, or some level of it anyway as he still seems to be frowning.

You open your mouth to speak, your throat tightening until you sputter out a thick vicious black liquid. Immediately your hand comes up to your mouth, touching your lips to see the synthetic blood leaking from your lips in thick rivers. “Wha…” you try to speak. Taking a step back from Bakugou, it feels like you’ve been hit by a train, your fingers go to press against the sore spot on your back but instead, you meet—nothing.

Your fingers pass through where your side should’ve been. You can feel the sticky synthetic blood coat your fingers as it continues to pour from your body, you can even feel the outline of the frayed edges of the artificial muscles you didn’t know you had.

“Shit!” There’s a set of hands on your shoulders, your entire world tilting backwards suddenly. “Hold the fuck on!” A voice calls from somewhere, yet you can’t see where it’s coming from. Your senses shut down one by one until you’re left floating in an endless amount of space. 

It’s dark here. 

Cold.

The vastness of the space around you expands over the horizon, and it feels like something is pricking into your skin. It hurts, everything hurts here. It’s too loud, yet it’s completely silent. Glancing down at your hands, your stomach drops and swoops in anxiety at the sight—you’re not made of human matter, but rather data. Pixels, bunched together to form a non-corporeal form of yourself. You’d heard rumours of this before.

Cyberspace. 

It’s an odd feeling, to be existing but also not at the same time. The Net was such a vast expanse of data and network that almost anyone in the world could access but not everyone could take a step into cyberspace in the third dimension. It was jarring without a doubt but the unlimited knowledge one could access whilst inside of it? That’s why there were so many Netrunners, people dedicated to diving into the Net and hacking whatever data they needed. 

But this place you were currently in didn’t feel like you were getting an endless stream of data, it was as if you had been cut off. Everything around you is freezing cold, with not a single thread of data to grab onto to understand just where you are. 

“Hi?” someone says from your side, your head turned sharply to see someone with both lilac hair and eyes, they had a tired expression on their face but even the surprise on their face was easy to spot. 

They hadn’t expected to be put into the Net alongside you. Both of their hands moved up to show they had no weapons, not that an experienced Netrunner would need weapons inside of a place like this. 

“Listen, I was told to try and come pull you out. You’ve been in here for two weeks and—”

“Two?” How has it been that long? You had only just woken up, it felt like you had just been in the gunfight and protected both Bakugou and Kirishima; even potentially giving your life up for the blonde. “I–I don’t understand, how has it been that long? Who even are you?” 

“My name’s Shinsou. You need to listen to me very carefully if you want me to get you out of here, okay?” He takes a step closer, stretching out a hand in an attempt to touch you—

There’s a pounding on your head, a throbbing pain that spreads behind your eyes and down to the base of your skull. Accompanying the throb is a low hum, more of a thrumming kind of noise that beckons you to turn around. Slowly you do, eyes glancing up from your hands to meet a set of dull blurred verdant eyes. Though these eyes do not seem familiar, they seem deadly, calculating. They glare at you through the opaque screen you hadn’t noticed, you can just about make out their body on the other side.

They have a single hand pressed against the screen, and the other curled into a fist that’s repeatedly beating against the screen. Each time it hits you can feel the pressure on your brain, was this your own consciousness? Who was this person? You move to take a step back but their punches only grow more frantic, more aggressive. It’s getting louder and louder, and the pressure on your brain is unbearable. Why can’t you wake up? The throbbing grows more intense until there’s a shooting pain that brings you down to your knees, curling your fingers into the ground. 

You can’t hear the voice of the man named Shinsou anymore, you’re not even sure if he’s still there. All you can focus on is the throbbing pain, the way it chokes you and holds you in place. Demanding your attention.

“Found you.” A static-filled voice speaks from the darkness, and you look up to see the crack in the screen with a much clearer view of almost black-green hair. It sounds like he might be laughing, it sounds almost manic before he calls out a name, a name you can’t ignore—your name. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the world around you started to melt away until you were left in complete darkness once again, though this darkness felt somehow different. You could feel something beneath you, smooth and metallic, familiar.

The second time you awake in the Ripperdocs office isn’t quite as jarring as the first, the lights are dimmed and there are no arguing voices. It’s easy to open your eyes, staring up at the overhead lights that have been turned off. The room is silent, the only distant noise is the street just on the other side of the door. 

Slowly you rise from the table you had been laid out on, you didn’t need to look around to know you were alone this time. Has it really been two weeks since—you gasp, fingers touching the side where you had been hit but instead you meet the warm flesh of your body? Looking down to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, it looked like you hadn’t even been hit. No scars. Nothing.

There’s a laugh nearby, drawing your attention to the set of double doors you had never set foot through before. You slide from the cold table, your bare feet gently slapping on the cold tile floor. Taking a step forward your body falters, swaying to the side on uneasy legs, the table of surgical instruments clatters when you bump a hip against it and you freeze to see if anyone would be alerted to your presence. 

No one comes bursting through the door.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take another step forward. This time you were careful of where you placed your feet, and with each slow yet steady step you finally regain control over your legs. Soon enough you’re standing in front of the double doors, the voices on the other side muffled but they don’t sound familiar in the slightest. Were you even back with Bakugou and Kirishima? Had you been sold off as Bakugou had wanted? Fear danced up and down your spine, you’d have to fight your way out of here if that was the case. 

Steadying your heart, you raised your hand carefully to the door, ready to burst through.

Three… Two… One.

You slam the door open, throwing your body through the now open space and your arm lifts as if on autopilot to readjust the metal plating to reveal the rifle buried deep into your very bones. With a quick scan of the room, you register you’re inside what looks like a common room of some sorts. There was a sofa, a pool table, a kitchen on the east side of the room and a gigantic TV that was broadcasting something. 

There’s movement, a heat signature, and your arm automatically moves to point at the two men who are on the sofa. The yellow-haired one is the first to scream, then the one with black hair who scrambles off of the sofa to try and seek safety. 

“W-Wait!” The black-haired one yells, throwing his hands up, “Don’t shoot! We’re not the enemy!” 

Another door on the other side of the room beside the kitchen bursts open, there’s a scrambling of feet and clambering to all get in the room first. But Bakugou is the first in, his hand firm around the gun in hand as he raises it ready to shoot until he realises he has the barrel of his gun pointed at you. If you weren’t staring at him you might’ve missed the way his shoulders sag in relief. Kirishima is next to come in, eyes darting from both men who were sprawled amongst the mess of chips and used beer cans that had been dashed across the room in their attempt to flee immediate death. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” A voice that’s now familiar to you calls your name, the man with lilac hair sidesteps around the two hulking figures. There’s a lazy smile on his face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Both Kirishima and Bakugou parrot the name Shinsou had given you, eyes drifting from Shinsou and to you, connecting the name to the face they’ve been living with for a while now. 

“Yep, that’s the name of our friend here.” Shinsou walks into the room as if there wasn’t just a standoff moments ago, dropping into an unoccupied seat. “We should probably tell you everything that happened whilst you were ‘out’.” He makes quotation marks around the word, both of you missing the way Bakugou has his eyes locked onto you—or more importantly, your side. Shinsou gestures for you to sit down, and you make your way around the couch slowly whilst the two men you had scared scamper to sit elsewhere. 

“I’ll be blunt with you. You’ve been out for nearly three weeks in total. We would’ve tried to pull you out faster but… you have some very impressive chrome. It took me two weeks to break your defences and even then you rejected me in a heartbeat.” 

Your eyes break away from Shinsou as he explains your ‘absence’ to watch Bakugou as he tentatively perches on the arm of the couch right next to you, both of his arms crossed over his chest. But the things Shinsou is saying make no sense, you hadn’t pushed him out, it was—you scrunch your eyebrows together, the headache still ever present in the back of your mind the harder you think. 

The silence stretches out in the room, just the sound of the TV droning on about Militech moving towards renewing partnerships with Lazarus. 

Shinsou clears his throat, demanding your attention once again. “Your wounds actually healed by themselves. You have synthetic muscles but they’re something else. No one has ever seen something like that, even Uraraka said it’s not something Rippers can get their hands on.” 

“Yeah… you weren’t actually breathing by the time we got you back here… I—We thought you were going to die.” Kirishima supplies from his position behind the couch, both of his hands clamped on the back of it and you can see the worry settled on his face when you look up at him. So you were dead for a portion of time, had all your chrome and cyberware saved your life? If what Shinsou said is true about your muscles repairing themselves then the time locked into your consciousness made sense.

Shinsou seems to notice the shift in the air first, clearing his throat before he stands up. He gives a stern look towards both Kaminari and Sero who are blatantly staring at you as if you were some anomaly. “We should go.” 

“But—” the one with the yellow hair and black streak starts, eyes darting back to you with a question that was probably best unasked.

“Nope. Get the fuck up, we’re leaving.” Shinsou commands, already partway out of the door and he knows Sero and Kaminari will follow as he doesn’t bother looking back. 

And soon enough, it is just you, Kirishima and Bakugou who looks like he’s about to shit himself with how tense he is next to you. It’s awkward, to say the least. You’re not quite sure what you should say, sorry for the trouble? Sorry for not dying? You’re sure that last one would apply to Bakugou, he had wanted you gone. 

“Why?” 

It’s Bakugou who breaks the silence, his head held now between his hands as he stares intently down at his shoes; knee bouncing, he’s anxious. You glance at Kirishima but the redhead just shrugs, urging you to look back at Bakugou. “Why what?”

“Why the fuck did you take the hit, huh?” His eyes meet yours, and you can’t miss the white of his eyes partially red, he was on the verge of tears. “Why the fuck would you do that when I mean nothing to you? It makes no fucking sense, no one just jumps in front of a bullet for someone. I wouldn’t have fuckin’ done it for yo–” He stops himself short, chewing on the words on his tongue that are better left unsaid. But the words still sting the same regardless of how true it is: Bakugou would not have taken a bullet for you, he would not have risked his life for you. Why did you care so much?

“I don’t know.” But it’s not the answer Bakugou is searching for, a frown is on his face but it’s not quite the same as the usual one you often saw him wearing. This one looked pained and confused. He diverts his gaze quickly, refusing to look at you once again before running a hand through his hair. “I guess I felt like I owed you for saving my life.” 

Bakugou only gives you one last glare before he’s up from his spot and marching back out of the room, leaving an icy chill in his wake that makes Kirishima sigh. 

“He means to say thank you, it’s… been a lot for him. We really did think you’d die on us back there, and I think Bakugou didn’t want another death on his conscience that wasn’t done by his own hand.”

Kirishima stands to his full height when you do, both his hands buried into the pockets of his jacket. “Anyway, let’s just go back home, yeah? You probably want to shower.” 

“Tellin’ me I smell, Kirishima? You don’t smell of roses yourself big guy.” You grin when he smiles at you, the banter between the two of you is easy. His shoulders sag with relief before he’s strutting out of the room before you. 

“Nah, not roses. Just pure manliness.” 

“Manliness smells like a Maelstrom cesspit?” Kirishima whirls on you with his mouth agape, a chuckle leaving his mouth.

The city opens up to both of you when you step out of the doors, the difference this time being it’s the middle of the day and the streets are bustling with people going to and fro with their plans for the day. You take a deep breath in, Kirishima still rattling on just next to you about how Maelstrom actually doesn’t smell that bad. You break into an easy smile, a genuine laugh leaving your mouth for the first time in a long time. 

A tingle runs up and down your spine, the shard slot on your neck buzzing as if someone was tugging on it, you look in the opposite direction of Kirishima to see if perhaps there was a nearby jammer or Netrunner who tripped on your own network.

But instead, you’re faced with something that makes it feel like you’ve been submerged beneath icy waters, your bones rigid and muscles tightened. 

Standing idle amongst the moving crowd is a large man, with broad shoulders but that isn’t what makes him stick out like a sore thumb. It’s not the corporate suit he’s wearing, but rather it’s the mop of green hair on his head accompanied by emerald eyes that are wide with mirth when you meet his gaze over the crowd. You can see his lips move, but it's like his voice is deep in the back of your brain.

‘Soon.’

Kirishima calls your name from your side, drawing your attention back to him for a split second before you glance back towards the crowd. The man was gone. “All good? Do you need more blockers?”

“Huh?” You blink up at him, blockers? Oh. Meds that rippers always pumped you full with whenever you had any amount of cyberware. When was the last time you had taken some anyway? “No, uh, I’m fine, thank you. Think I just need a real sleep.” 

“You just woke up from like a month-long nap, you’re telling me you’re still tired?” He grins down at you, guiding you back down the familiar street. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” 

The door to the apartment slides open with a hiss, revealing the dim lights of the amber overhead lights. Bakugou was home. Kirishima steps in first, shedding the thick jacket he had on to toss it onto one of the hooks. You followed after him easily enough, it hadn’t felt like so much time had passed but looking around the apartment you could see it. 

Things had been moved, the plant on the window ledge had blossomed and grown beautiful red leaves. Stepping further into the apartment, you watch Kirishima disappear behind a black glass door that slides open for a split second to reveal Bakugou who was hunched over what looked like one of his rifles before the door slid shut. 

You had been forbidden to enter the armoury, it was for Bakugou and Kirishima only. Bakugou had come with that rule, you couldn’t blame him but it wasn’t as if you needed their weapons. The thought of the gun embedded in your arm makes it ache, a tingling sensation that numbs your fingertips momentarily. Sitting down on the couch, you let out a sigh of relief when your muscles finally decompress and relax. 

Despite your body relaxing your mind was still running far too fast, too many thoughts bouncing back and forth—you suppose it’s from the fact you were connected to the Net with no blockers, all that information could fry someone's brain and you’re just glad it hadn’t happened to you. 

The peace and quiet doesn’t last long however, soon enough the entrance door opens with a whoosh and you turn in time to see a multitude of people walk in. You recognise two by name; Aizawa and Shinsou. You recognise both men with yellow hair and black hair, but there’s a woman with them that you haven’t met before with short dark purple hair. 

“What the fuck are you all doin’ in my fucking house?” Bakugou growls from near the armoury, arms crossing over his chest.

“You didn’t think we’d let you walk away with the coolest new member of the gang, right?” The one with yellow hair flops into the seat next to you, long gone is the fear he had shown just earlier that day. 

He grins at you when you stare at him, “Denki Kaminari, but you can call me whatever you want.” Kaminari offers with an easy smile, earning him a snort from the black-haired man who smacks him on the back of the head.

“Ignore him. Name’s Sero, it’s nice to meet you without a gun pointed in my face.” You shake his hand when he offers it to you, still wordless at how they’re effortlessly welcoming you into their gang. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou finally yells, but no one flinches at the volume of his voice. “What the fuck are you all doing in my house?!” 

“New job.” Aizawa supplies, and immediately the room plummets into silence. “I know it’s only been hours since you woke up, but we really could use your help on this next one.” 

Bakugou moves to open his mouth, but Shinsou jumps in. “You’re the only one here who can disappear from someone's optical enhancements. Do you know how rare that is? We wouldn’t be asking you to do this if we didn’t think you’d be able to pull it off without any problems.” 

Aizawa continues, “You won’t be doing it alone of course. The whole crew will be going, but you will be the key player in this job, you’ll have to be the one to go in first.”

“When?” is the first thing you ask, and all eyes shift to you. 

“In three days. Ideally, we would’ve done it sooner but I figured you might want to rest first. From what I hear, you had quite the trip on the Net.” 

Aizawa notices the way your eyebrows furrow, “Shinsou was in there with you, but it was Jirou–” He points over his shoulder at the girl, who raises a hand for a moment. “–who broke through your defences. Apparently, there was some resistance from an outside source. Got anyone who'd be interested in protecting the data in your head?” 

You shake your head, the only outside source may have been the man with green hair but even then you weren’t sure if he was real or not. You hadn’t been on blockers, you had been using your chrome carelessly. It could just be exhaustion. 

Aizawa just nods his head, turning his attention to both Kirishima and Bakugou before gesturing with his head for them to come to talk to him privately. Kaminari and Sero both dive instantly at the chance to talk to you, gushing over the cyberware you were sporting. Apparently, they had never met someone who lived to tell the tale after having so much changed.

Aizawa sighs when he’s away from the group, slumping against the wall whilst Bakugou and Kirishima stand before him. Kirishima looks tense, and Bakugou is… well, Bakugou. 

“You remember the original job?” Both men nod. “The package you were ordered to retrieve is Arasaka’s countermeasure to the new power Militech has come into. Jirou had a look at it and apparently, it’s some sort of advanced AI that can short-circuit everyone in its vicinity and even cause people to spiral into Cyberpsychosis.” 

“What the fuck?” Kirishima murmurs, keeping his voice down so as to not alert the others.

“What’ve you done with it?” Bakugou asks, not missing the wince on Aizawa’s face.

“Handed it back to them.” Bakugou’s frown deepens, lip curling to reveal gums and canines but Aizawa jumps back in. “I didn’t have a choice, Bakugou. It was tracked, after you left with the girl they sent some jacked-up chrome head to come and pick it up.”

Bakugou runs a hand through his hair, gripping at the roots. This was bad. Arasaka were pieces of shit when it came to cyberware and if they were going to hit Militech with this then another corporate war would definitely be on the cards. “Shit, fuck. You sure it was an Arasaka guy that came to pick it up, not someone working for D—?” 

“No, if I picked up on his chip, I would’ve put a bullet between his eyes myself.” 

“Not if I do it first.” Bakugou snarls, earning a nod of approval from Kirishima. “Fucker already ruined our lives enough, we don't need him to get his hands on something that could kill us all.”

“You think they know about her?” Kirishima prompts after a beat of silence, all three men turn their attention to watch you on the couch. You were still static, Kaminari arguing with Sero about something whilst Jirou and Shinsou teased Kaminari about whatever it was. You looked out of place but at the same time, it felt as if you were always meant to be amongst the crew. You smiled easily, even laughing along with the group. 

“I don’t doubt it. Jirou said the outside source that was blocking her from hacking into the system was military grade. She has something important to someone very wealthy. With this next job, stick close to her. If Arasaka makes a move, they’ll be trying to take her out first. If Militech makes a move…” 

Aizawa shares a look with Bakugou before the blonde nods in understanding. “Good. Good luck on this next one, you’re going to need it when working with those idiots.”

Both men watch Aizawa leave before joining the rest of the gang on the couch, Bakugou sinks into a spot opposite of you and Kirishima slumps himself not too far from everyone, his legs spreading as he fully reclines into the seat. All attention is still on you, and Bakugou can’t help but keep his eyes locked on you. 

“We should celebrate!” Kaminari grins, practically bouncing in his seat at the prospect. 

“Celebrate what?” Kirishima is the one brave enough to take on Kaminari, effortlessly shifting the attention away from you momentarily.

“The newest member, obviously! I think we should show her a good time.” There’s a series of groans, a squawk of indignation from Kaminari whilst Sero berates him for always making everything an innuendo. Yet Bakugou can’t find it within himself to fight the decision, his eyes watch the way your eyebrows lift in interest before a smile brightens your features.

Maybe he’ll go along with it, just this one.

...

Part of him wishes he had fought Kaminari on some part of it. It was no surprise that the bar hopping eventually led them to visit Jig-Jig Street. It wasn’t the nicest place to be, it was the rundown part of Japantown that people often went to when they were desperate enough to get their dick wet. 

Jig-Jig Street was the red light district of Night City, where you could ‘buy love’ by the hour or even get in contact with dealers who would sell you the most exotic of drugs or enhancements that would cost you a pretty penny. It was dangerous too, something that Bakugou often argued about whenever the others tried to drag him here. Too many times he had come home with a nasty black eye or even in the back of a police car from the fights that broke out here.

The crude flashing neon signs had Bakugou hunching in on himself, practically snarling at Denki who dared to poke fun at the gigantic blonde. Thankfully, it’s Kirishima who once again saves the day by shooing Kaminari away with the rest of the gang before he draws Bakugou in by his shoulder. 

Bakugou just grunts, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest before his eyes drift towards the redhead who’s now staring down at him. 

“What?” Bakugou barks, modified canines adding to the visage of him being a feral dog. 

Kirishima just laughs, “Loosen up man, let Denks have his fun. I have a feeling this next job is going to be a hefty one.” 

Bakugou shakes his head, squaring his jaw whilst he mulls over Kirishima’s words. He supposes Kirishima isn’t exactly wrong; this next job feels like there’s a heavy weight resting on them. An expectation of something; something that Bakugou hasn’t quite figured out yet. 

His eyes drift over towards you, embedded right in the middle of their little group. You still were a little bit stiff, eyes blinking owlishly whenever Kaminari came on a little too strong—but the alcohol had helped you loosen him, he thinks, you seem to smile a lot more now. 

“Whatever, get the fuck off me.” Bakugou snips, shoving Kirishima’s hand off of him and Kirishima knows not to take it to heart. Instead, he steps aside, watching his oldest friend stalk away into the crowd to god knows where. 

Bakugou wades through the crowds, dodging the half-naked bodies and the people high out of their minds who attempt to grab at him for his attention. He hated this part of town, it was the worst part of Night City – besides the gang wars and other shit the corpos got up to.

But this was a display of the depravity of the city, a show of just how long people would sink to feel something in this shithole of a city. 

Finally, Bakugou breaks out of the crowd into the open street. It was empty, given that it was nearing three in the morning. He lifts his head to stare at the sky, the overcast clouds enough to make him grumpier. The rain always fucked with his chrome, the cold chill that came with it would send it haywire. 

Glancing back, he can’t see the group he came with anymore and something in him itches to find you and make sure you didn’t get into any trouble that naturally comes with both Sero and Kaminari. 

“Running away?” A voice comes from his side, and it takes the years of experience that comes with being a hired gun to not jump out of his skin. His head snaps down, and a shiver rolls down his spine when he meets your gaze. 

“Yeah,” he admits, surprisingly, “Can’t fuckin’ stand this place. And you should split when you can too, you’ll end up getting roped into a threesome or some shit.”

That makes you purse your lips in an attempt to smother laughter before the corner of your lips threatens to break into a smile, there’s an easy air around you. You seem more relaxed, most definitely because of the drinks you had been throwing back when Kirishima challenged you. 

“Nah, Kirishima let me leave.” Bakugou arches an eyebrow at that, Kirishima had known you were leaving too? That motherfucker. He knew you’d come following after him, like a moth to a flame. “Figured it’d be safer to walk home with you than try and navigate my way out of here.”

That has Bakugou nodding in agreement, the fuzziness of tonight's drinks softens his need to put his guard up around you. “C’mon, it’s about to piss down and I’m not getting caught in it.”

He’s already walking away, and it doesn’t take long for you to match his stride. Your own hands are buried in the pockets of the orange jacket Kirishima had given you all that time ago – did you know it was his? He bought it with one of his first paychecks, it was in one of his favourite shades of orange but somehow it looked much better on you. 

His eyes drift away from the jacket you’re wearing and up to your face, you’re eyeing the signs as you walk by. They’re a range of ads for braindances that plunge you into a full-blown porno and ads for physical enhancements for stamina. It’s no surprise that everything in this part of town was about sex, Japantown practically ran off of it. 

But his eyes catch on your bottom lip, how you worry it over with your teeth and squint a little like you’re not really reading everything that goes by. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” 

“Huh?” You look up at him finally, and it makes Bakugou’s chest flutter with something unknown. It takes everything in him to push it down, chalking it to the previous train of thought about advertisements. 

“What you worrying about? Yer gonna chew through your fuckin’ lip if you keep overthinking whatever it is.” 

The way your eyebrows draw together and your face nearly crumples makes him want to backtrack, but instead you wipe your face of whatever emotion you had just felt. 

“It’s hard to explain. More of a feeling than anything.” 

Something Bakugou isn’t good with, he’s not one to talk about his feelings or whatever the fuck is plaguing his mind. “Just spit it out.”

You follow him up the steps to the large apartment building, and yet you remain silent as you try to mull over the words you want to say. Bakugou expects you to just ignore his request, and he doesn’t blame you. He’d never talk about his feelings even if someone held a gun to his head.

Once inside the apartment, he watches as you sidestep around him to go and stand before the large window. Pressing a button to let the metal shutters roll upwards in quick succession until the district of Japantown is exposed to you. It’s a sea of neon lights, people ebbing and flowing like water as they move around each other without ever looking away from the devices in their hands or implanted in their minds.

“Can I show you?” You speak finally, once he shucks off his jacket and flings it onto the back of the sofa. He eyes you for a moment, show him? Show him what, your feelings? His nose crinkles in thought, but he finds himself relenting. The liquid courage he drank earlier makes itself known when he relaxes on the sofa. 

“Sure,” and you’re turning to look at him as if you expected him to shout at you or worse. But you don’t comment about it, scared to lose your chance so you move over to him. Settling into the seat next to him he can’t help but notice you don’t budge him at all, your own weight nothing compared to his own — had you always been this tiny? 

“You gonna kiss me or some shit?” He blurts when you turn to face him, your knee pressed into his thigh and he tries to not think about the bareness of your legs. You snort, however, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that.” And you’re reaching for him despite that, his body grows rigid beneath your touch. Your fingers are gentle as they stroke along the smoothness of his neck before they card up through the short hairs of his undercut at the nape of his neck. You’re so close he can see the intricate thin strips of metal that help with your enhanced eyesight. 

He doesn’t find himself moving away, but rather leaning into the gentleness of the touch. 

“Hold still,” is all you supply before he feels something slip against the back of his neck, the plating shifting and moving until his body involuntarily jolts. Everything in his body yells at him to move, to stop you from doing whatever the fuck you’re doing but it’s too late. The connection is made and he’s plummeted into darkness.

There’s a blinding light and he blinks it away, only to find himself submerged in what must be the depths of your consciousness. It’s similar to what he’d seen in his short dips into cyberspace when the time called for it, but this is different. He’s standing in the middle of nowhere, screens and flicking images dash around him. 

Memories, he realises. Your memories from the moment you woke up and up until the very moment you sat down with him, but it’s not the memories you’re showing. Rather it’s the emotions connected to them, it’s bombarding his senses. He feels the tug at his heart, the fear that races up his spine when you first woke up in an unknown place and then the blissfulness you had felt when he took a bullet for him.

How could you feel at peace when you were going to die? It was too much for him to wrap his mind around, and quickly the emotion was changing. There was a sadness that weighed down on his body this time like his body was being pulled into icy waters when he heard the words he spat at you when you first woke up. 

You felt sad? Bakugou didn’t know, it made his heart ache something fierce. He didn’t want you to feel sad because of him – fuck, he just wanted you to know how much it bothered him for you to dive in front of him like that. He wanted you to know just how much time he spent in that shitty docs office, watching your near-lifeless body repair itself before his very eyes. 

But he couldn’t tell you that, he couldn’t tell you that Kirishima often was the one to wake him up from his slump across your lap in the mornings when he fell asleep hoping you’d just wake the fuck up and explain yourself.

Another jump in emotions, and he feels happiness – acceptance. You’re sitting among all his friends, and even with him in the picture, you feel like you found a place. Something in the memory makes his eyebrows raise, you glance at him and that feeling spikes. It feels like a thunderous amount of butterflies flutter in his stomach, rising up until they bombard his heart. 

He hadn’t even known you were looking at him like that. Yet beneath all that, he could feel the melancholy that came with your circumstance. You don’t feel like you belong, or perhaps it was the reality of your previous life's existence that weighs heavily on you. You had unresolved business, and that’s something Bakugou can relate to fully.

The next time he blinks, he feels the pressure of your forehead against his own. The slipping of the cord from his plating and how your fingers curl a little more into the longer hair further up the back of his head.

“Do you get it now?” You’re the first to break the tension, your question but a whisper above the whirring of the fan above your heads. 

And he thinks he does, that feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. You were content yet you were lost, you were happy yet you had a longing for something. You felt something towards him that was so indescribable it made his heart flutter. So he just nods, his own forehead pressing a little harder against yours to get it across that he truly does get it. 

His hand cups your jaw, thumb rolling across the fullness of your cheek before it presses into the flesh just a little. Your breath smells sweet; faintly reminding him of the drinks the both of you had earlier in the night. He doesn’t suspect you’re drunk, he definitely isn’t but that soft buzz keeps him from thinking too much. 

“It’s so confusing.” You admit, the word is just a breath against his lips and he finds himself wanting to swallow it. “I don’t want to think.”

That’s enough of a sign for him to make a move, his stomach churns with anxious excitement when he leans in. His lips finally press to yours in a tentative touch, your lips are warm and just as soft as they look. It draws him further, and further until his lips are moving against your own in a fluid movement. 

You don’t fight him when his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you into position so you can’t escape when he pries your mouth open with his tongue. The sweetness is stronger on your tongue, tangy with alcohol yet intoxicatingly enjoyable when he explores you like he might never get the chance again. 

It’s like everything explodes at that point, Bakugou grows insatiable; he needs to taste you. He needs to know you inside and out, this hunger pooling low in his stomach and burning a river of fire down to his groin. It makes him groan into the kiss when you offer a reprieve for a quick breath, he nips and bites at your bottom lip to see if he can pull any noises from you.

And he delights in it when he can, your moans are so foreign to him yet it’s a heady feeling. It has him tugging at you until you’re situated over the tops of his thighs, and in a fluid motion, he’s standing. His hands cupped under your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh that he’s never had the chance to feel before. 

It takes him no time at all to cross the space from the living room to his bedroom, the door sliding open and closed with a hiss before the automatic locks click into place. He tosses you from his grip onto the plushness of his bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning when he didn’t bother to make it. 

Bakugou looms over you like a predator, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths – you’re no better than he is, your lips are swollen and wet from his ministrations. Your heavy breathing only accentuates your breasts, drawing his attention down to them to see the rise and fall of your chest. His fingers move automatically, tucking underneath his shirt to tug it over his head. 

It’s flung off into some unknown direction, and when he looks up you’re leaning up. Your fingers skate along the sharp edges of his muscles, pressing into the places where the fat resides. Then you trace along scars that are white and some that are pink; you’re transfixed on him. It makes him preen under your gaze, and in your momentary distraction, he undoes the belt on his jeans before they’re pushed down too. 

The smile you give him makes his heart pitter-patter in his chest, you’re smiling up at him as if he’s the world to you. But the rational still-sober part of his mind insists that it’s just for the sex – he’s just a one-night stand to you and the feeling is mutual. Right? That is what Bakugou wants out of this, right? The tension in his stomach is unnerving, something akin to nausea at the idea of letting this not blossom into something more.

But he doesn’t get to ruminate on it further, your fingers drift downwards along the deep V on his hips until you’re at the top of his boxers. Automatically his fingers stroke up along your jaw, across your cheek until he’s hooking his fingers to the back of your head when you start to lean in closer. 

The feeling of your lips against the hard outline of his cock makes him jolt and melt at the same time, the rumbling moan is deep in his chest. How long had it been since he was last with someone? Fuck, he doesn’t even know but he can’t focus when the tip of your tongue slowly drags up along the thick vein on the underside of his cock.

He must jolt too harshly because you laugh a little to yourself before you take pity on him. Bakugou wants to snap at you, shut you up for even daring to laugh at him but the words die on his tongue the second he even thinks of them. Your hands are undeniably soft when you wrap your hand around his hardness. 

There’s a small crease between your eyebrows, an indication of either your concentration or perhaps your trepidation for what’s to come. 

“Lie back,” he offers instead, your eyes drifting back up to meet his and you slip free from the hand hooked on the back of your head, the loss of your softness around his length leaves a longing that lingers in the depths of his stomach. This time he takes the time to undress you, sliding you free of the dress Mina had managed to wrangle you into. 

It looked far too good on you, something he wouldn’t admit at the start of the night but his inhibitions continue to slip. “Look at you, so beautiful.” 

His fingers skim up along the now bare expanse of your hips, brushing past your panties line and mapping their way up your sides. You’re just as scarred as he is, but yours are so different from his. He can see the almost invisible lines where someone has taken a scalpel to you and modified your body. Did you even know who did it?

He swallows the lump down in his throat, forcing his attention up to your breasts once his hands brush along the sides. His thumbs roll up over your nipples beneath your bra, the pebbled skin hard enough–sensitive enough to earn him a shiver of delight. The smile that brightens up his face is nothing short of sinful, it shows the modified canines and displays all his carnal desires without him having to even utter a word.

You lift your body up when he demands it, letting him slip you free of your underwear until you’re as bare as he is. And Holy fuck, you’re fucking gorgeous. His eyes leave no part of you unseen, his gaze roaming over you until you’re practically squirming.

“Please.” You whisper, gasping when his fingers finally find a home in the width of your hips. “Stop staring and do something.” 

That has an eyebrow rising in your direction. “Oh? Someone’s demanding when she wants something. You want me to hurry up and fuck you until you’re too dumb to remember your own name?” 

“You’re too much.” You all but whine, and he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat in your cheeks if he were to lean in closer.

“You have no idea.” Bakugou grins, a sultry smile that has your hips bucking beneath his iron grip and he’s swooping down. 

Lips pressing into yours in a much more hurried fashion compared to earlier; it’s a hunger that can only serve to work someone up until the point of completion. It has his tongue rolling into your mouth, brushing against the back of your teeth and trying to hear you choke on him when he’s bearing his weight down on you.

He’s positively devouring you, and his hands work to spread your legs wide for him on either side of the thickness of his own thighs. Then his fingers make their way down between your legs, brushing against the crease between where your thighs bend. You’re whining, moaning and biting back just as hard when he dares to bite your bottom lip. 

He wants to fucking ruin you. 

Bakugou draws his head back just enough to peer down at you, the light filtering in through the half-shuttered window highlights parts of you that are otherwise shrouded in the darkness. It illuminates the harsh rise and fall in your lungs, the way your nipples are pebbled in the cool air and the slight glisten on your inner thighs.

Finally, he indulges you. His fingers press between your folds to slide against your clit before they slowly venture downwards. His middle and ring fingers circle against your entrance teasingly slow, his lips parting to breathe in your whines for more. 

His eyebrows crumple with your own when you moan at the intrusion of his thick fingers, his head is swimming with how intoxicating it is to be above you like this. To have this level of power over someone who could definitely kill him before he could blink.

The stretch is easy enough with how wet you got so quickly for him, and he groans all low and rumbling in his chest at just how tight you are. You’re so soft and velvety inside, your walls clenching rhythmically with your deep inhales.

For a moment, he just holds his fingers deep inside of you completely still. Relishing in the way you try to shift your hips beneath him despite how he’s pinning you down beneath the weight of his own body. It’s such a stark difference to the nervous wreck he’s seen you as, and so fucking better than the cold-blooded killer he knew you were deep down. 

“Fuckin’ look at you.” He whispers into the heated air between the sparse gap between you two, his eyes half-lidded as they meet your own. You’re trying your hardest to glare at him, but you can’t quite fight the euphoric feeling of him curling his fingers just a little to shut you down. 

“Who knew all it took to get you nice and compliant was to stuff you full with my fingers?” His tone is a little mean, a little condescending. The tears don’t come for you however, but he can see you slowly dropping into the headspace he wants you to be in. 

“Please,” you beg—a plea, a sweet melody that Bakugou thinks he wants to listen to for the rest of his life. But this was just a one-night stand, right? 

“Tell me what you want.” 

“Just–... Move already, please.” He grins wide at the whimper at the end of your words. A small part of him wants to draw this out, make you suffer just a little but the rational voice in his mind tells him he’ll only get more out of you if he obliges. 

So he does. His fingers crook upwards, brushing against the spongy spot that no one but he could reach with the length of his fingers. The reaction is immediate, you moan so sweetly that it has his own eyes threatening to flutter and roll into the back of his head. 

You’re practically gushing around his fingers as he fucks them into you, repeatedly crooking his fingers in an attempt to see how quickly he could make you crumble beneath the palm of his hand. Your thighs tense up, squeezing around his own when you try to close your legs to stop the onslaught of his fingers. 

Bakugou noses into your cheek when you tilt your head back, your lips parted as you try to breathe in. But he doesn’t give you the chance, he pushes you further into the bed with his weight, shifting his body up just slightly so your hips are forced to bend with him – then suddenly he’s fucking his fingers into you impossibly deeper.

His lips hover just next to your temple, panting heavily against you. It’s a task and a half to stop himself from painting the inside of his boxers that he’s still yet to remove. But he’s a man on a mission, and that mission is to make you cum on his fingers.

He doesn’t stop when he feels your hand clamp down around his forearm, the strength there is enough to stop a moving truck—except you’re distracted, lost in the pleasure that races up and down your spine until it settles in the back of your mind. You’re too lost in your own head to be embarrassed about the sloppy sounds between your thighs, his fingers forcing more and more juices from you until he’s certain his bed will be soaked through.

As much as Bakugou wants to watch your pussy take his fingers so well, he can’t move his gaze away from your face. You look like something they used to paint in cathedrals, an angel. Your head is thrown back into his pillows, eyes scrunched closed and mouth open to let your moans spill free. The light from outside bathes you in neon colours, catching on the metallic strips of your chrome. 

Even if it is just a one-night stand, Bakugou doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget the image of you in the throes of pleasure. 

Especially not when you finally do reach your climax for him. Your hand at his wrist tightens immediately, your thighs lock up with a tension that would worry him if he wasn’t aware of the intricate materials that you were composed of. Your chest stutters, and your mouth opens wider until he’s gifted with the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard; a series of moans that grow breathier with each pass of his fingers. 

“‘S too much.” You protest weakly, the hand that was wrapped around his wrist pushes in an attempt to free your swollen pussy from his long fingers. But he doesn’t pull out yet, only slowing down the roll of his wrist until finally he pulls free. Your entire body relaxes finally, muscles growing lax from where they’re wrapped around his waist. 

“It only takes one time and you’re done?” Bakugou questions with a teasing arch of his eyebrow, watching in amusement when your head rolls slightly to glare at him. It’s a hardly-there glare but you still give it to him regardless, it makes him grin down at you. “Nah, you’re not done.”

You’re like putty in his hands with how easily he manoeuvres your body around, tucking both of your legs together before twisting your lower half to the side. A large arm keeps your legs held up and off to the side, whilst his unoccupied hand strokes along the rigid length of his cock. It aches, pearled with pre-cum from just watching you cream all over his hand.

He levels the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, easily finding the hole that was previously spread so wide around just two of his fingers. The warmth is intoxicating, flooding his senses and clouding his mind. He doesn’t even notice you moving just slightly to slide a hand down over your hip to feel the length of his cock disappearing deeper and deeper inside of you.

The groan Bakugou lets out once his hips fall flush against your own is sinful enough to have you clenching around him, turning that beautiful groan into a hiss through clenched teeth. He snaps his gaze up to you, only to see your own gaze heedy with lust and half-lidded. He can feel every single inch of your velveteen walls, can feel the way you’re still panting and clenching around his cock. 

He thinks he could die here, quite happily might he add.

A large hand comes down to your ass, shifting the flesh just enough so he can flit his eyes downwards and see the sticky mess that’s already tacking his pubic hair. That same hand comes back down again to level your ass with a firm spank, and it has you squeezing around him tight enough to stop him from rolling his hips back to start fucking you.

It’s enough to make him forget he’s fucking you raw.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ hard. You like it that much, hm?” Bakugou goads with a bite to his bottom lip when he feels you pulse at the tone he takes with you. With enough willpower, he rolls his hips backwards just enough to pull himself out halfway before fucking his cock back into you. “Tell me how much you like it.” 

His stomach tenses when you brush the pads of your fingers against the tensed muscles there, his eyes drift away from where he was connected to you, along your arm until he finds your face. You’re looking him in the eye, eyelids heavy and lips parted when you moan low at the feeling of him rolling his hips smoothly once again. 

“Say it,” Bakugou bares his teeth at you, the modified fangs in his mouth gleaming with the passing lights through the window.

“Bak—” 

He moves before he can even think, faster than you can react. His hand engulfs the entirety of your lower face, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks until he can feel the solid metal that was buried in your very muscles. Your eyes are wide, more alert but you don’t fight him surprisingly. Bakugou hunches his body over your own until his forehead connects with yours, forcing you to look directly into his eyes.

The angle he’s at now has your eyebrows crumpling together, mouth opening in a wordless moan—he’s so fucking deep that he’s pretty certain he’s pressed right against your cervix.

“No, use my fuckin’ name.” He growls in your face, hissing his words through clenched teeth. You’re clenching around him so tightly that his head feels like it’s filled with nanites, infiltrating his brain until all he can think about is you, you, you.

A harsh thrust of his hips has you gasping, he can see you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back and eyelashes flutter closed to bask fully in the pleasure. But you keep his gaze, sturdy and unyielding. 

“Katsuki.”

He’s never heard his given name on your tongue before, so breathy and sweet that it has his pace faltering for a split second. His name sounded perfect when you said it like that, as if your very vocal cords were crafted just to moan his name like that—like an angel. Bakugou gives in to the urge to moan in return, jaw falling slack. 

Your hand is delicate around his wrist, guiding him to free you from the grip he still had on your jaw to slide it downwards until he finds your throat. His fingers latch around it naturally, digging in just enough to have you gasping against his open and waiting mouth but not enough to hurt you. He can see that you enjoy it—can feel it in the way your pussy drools for him more.

The second his hand locks around your throat, everything empties from his mind. His hips move as if they were designed to fuck you, to feel your skin slap against his and to have your entire body jump with each harsh rut. Your moans vibrate against his palm, a shiver working its way down his spine whenever your moans grow louder, more desperate when he shifts his weight just enough to bully the tip of his cock against your cervix.

The hand around his wrist tightens, the tips of your nails digging into his flesh. It makes him hiss in pain, gritting his teeth to fuck you harder. His entire body glistens with sweat, dripping down along his hairline where strands of his ash blonde hair stick to his dewy skin. It pools in the hollow of his throat and builds along his biceps, which flex and bulge with the effort of keeping up his position hunched over you. 

“G’nna—” You gasp, his hand instinctively closing around your throat before relaxing. “‘M g’nna cum.”

And fuck, if he thought you whispering his given name was hot then he’s not sure where that ranks. He’s not sure why he’s never considered just how hot it would be for you to admit you were close to orgasm, to inform him that he’s doing such a good job at fucking you that you’re about to cum.

“Yeah?” He huffs in the effort of his pace, suddenly rearing back and releasing your throat in favour of shifting your position. He throws your legs over his shoulders, large hands grasping at your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed properly. “Then cum.”

With his hands lower down on your body, Bakugou’s able to free one hand from grasping at the meat of your thigh to let his thumb roll over your clit with enough pressure to have your knees turning inwards and back arching off of the bed. The moan that comes you from is angelic, a sound that has his stomach twisting in anticipation and the need to cum—but not yet, he’s going to fuck you as much as he can before he reaches his end.

He can feel you clamping down on him, squeezing the ever-loving fuck out of him to the point where his hips are forced to take shallow thrusts. But his hand doesn’t give up on your clit; he switches to his fingers to pinch and cruelly swipe at your swollen clit. Your toes curl against the back of his head, and Bakugou finds himself leaning into the feeling—needing to feel every single part of you whilst your pleasure crests.

And when you do cum, Bakugou can’t help but groan alongside you. 

“Fuuu—... That’s it, good girl.” His tone is a little breathy, his chest rising and falling with the quick breaths he has to take to keep up the pace to fuck you through your orgasm and beyond that. His hand drops away from between your thighs, sliding up to grab at your waist before moving you up along the bed whilst situating himself on top.

He tugs your legs down from his shoulders, wrapping them tightly around his waist—you move easily for him, so pliant and willing to do anything for him after he made you cum on his cock. Your thighs mould easily around the thinner part of his waist, your ankles locking naturally. 

His cock remains buried deep inside of you, still savouring the aftershock waves of pleasure that have your walls throbbing around him. Bakugou leans down into your space, with one elbow to the side of your head whilst the other latches itself onto the headboard. You meet his gaze, finally gaining back some clarity. 

“Back with me?” He grins, sharp teeth on display when he looks down at you. He wonders if you find him intimidating like this, you’ve shown you were somewhat afraid of him in the past—never stepping on his toes, or overstepping when he ordered you to stay the fuck out of his way. Part of him doesn’t want you to be afraid of him anymore, he wants to make you smile more, laugh more, moan more—

A hand caresses itself along his cheek, drawing him out of his lust-ridden mind until he finds your eyes. Your thumb drags itself along the apple of his cheek, across the corner of his lips until you press your thumb against his lips. He’s not sure what’s enthralled him exactly, maybe it’s just the look in your eye—because you’re not looking up at him like you’re afraid, but rather you’re looking up at him with something scarily close to admiration. 

Your thumb drops down from his lips and to his chin, and with the slightest of tugs you pull him down into your space. He collapses onto both of his elbows on either side of your head, his breath coming out in warm puffs against your face. He can smell you this close, a mixture of sweat and that sweet perfume Mina had bought for you. 

Again, he doesn’t fight it when you pull him that final inch. Your lips are smooth against his own, so gentle and intoxicating. You kiss him like you want to savour this, savour him. And so he lets you, he lets you savour him just as he savours you in return. His mouth pries yours open easily enough, your tongue eager to meet his own in a smooth curl.

His hips begin to move on instinct, both of his thighs spread wide so he can thrust hard and deep. Your skin slaps against his, a wet sound that has the pit of pleasure in his stomach tightening and tightening with each passing second. His balls smack against the roundness of your ass, drawing up with the urge to spill deep inside of you—but he won’t, as much as he’d love to feel your walls milk him for all he’s worth.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss off, head falling back into his pillows whilst he props himself back up over the top of you. With a better view of your body, your tits that bounce with each rut of his hips, he finds himself standing right on the precipice of his climax. His thrusts grow faster, more erratic in their strength and depth—effortlessly fucking you through your next orgasm when you open your mouth in a silent scream.

“Fu-fuck, fuck,” Bakugou pants, his stomach clenches and his balls draw up tight. He pulls back suddenly from your space, away from the intoxicating heat that radiates off of your body to pull from your pussy entirely. His hand wraps around his cock and he fists it aggressively, thumb pressing against his head before he sucks in one deep breath, only to release it in a loud groan.

His cum comes in thick waves, drawing lines up along your stomach and up along your chest. You lay there, with your legs wide open and eyes half-lidded; watching him cum all over your body. Bakugou finds his hips still thrusting with each spurt from his cock, squeezing every last drop before tapping the sticky tip against your belly button where it had mostly gathered. 

His entire body relaxes immediately, the weight of his responsibilities disappearing into nothing when he lets his mind bathe completely in that post-nut haze. You seem in the same mind, letting your legs droop at his waist and an arm coming to rest over your eyes, giving you a moment to catch your breath. 

Slipping away from you, Bakugou doesn’t bother to pick up the clothes scattered around and instead beelines it for the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He pauses by the door leading out, he can’t hear any noise—hopefully, Kirishima was still out, if not then he’s going to be up Bakugou’s ass about fucking you. 

Rummaging through a stack of towels, he finds a light and small one to wipe you down with. But as he’s about to re-enter the bedroom, he turns to see you’re standing up and looking around for your underwear.

“Where you runnin’ off to?” He gruffs, his own voice ruined from the session—he needs a drink of water, he makes a mental note. 

You look up at him, quite like the image of a deer in headlights. “Uh, well—I just thought you’d want me to… go.” 

Bakugou’s eyebrows furrow together before his eyes flit down to the ropes of cum still on your skin and he wants to ask if you planned on ruining your clothes with his cum. Instead, he shakes his head, stepping back into the dimly lit bedroom. 

“Get back in bed, let me clean you up.” He watches as you stare at him for a second more, hesitating or debating on refusing his offer. But clearly your exhaustion wins out, because you turn with a drop of the dress in your hand and climb back in his bed, careful to not drip any of his cum on the sheets. 

On the way past, he reaches down to a compartment in his wall to pull out two bottles of water. Placing them on the bedside table, he stands at the foot of the bed looking down at you. He can see you squirming under his gaze, the embarrassment starting to creep up on you but Bakugou can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed about the fact he was still completely naked. It felt good, with you.

You don’t squirm away when he wipes you clean, careful between your legs when he sees how puffy and swollen you look down there. But it still makes you flinch, a quiet gasp leaving your lips and it’s impossible to not smirk up at you before he drops the towel somewhere in the pile of abandoned clothes to be dealt with tomorrow. 

Grabbing one water bottle, he offers it to you. “Drink up, and then actually get in bed. ‘M tired as fuck.” 

He turns away when you take the bottle from him, still sporting that slightly bewildered look on your face as if you expected him to kick you to the streets—or rather, the sofa. Part of him does question why he’s letting you stay in his bed in the first place, but the idea of you going out to that shitty sofa after sex… it just doesn’t sit well in his chest.

He gives you the time to bury yourself beneath his sheets whilst he kicks the dirty clothes towards the far wall, next to the laundry basket before returning to you. You look tiny in his bed, made especially large to accommodate his height. You’re nearly lost beneath the thick sheets and mountain of pillows, it makes his lips curl into a playful smile before he crawls into bed with you. 

You shift out of the way to let him lay down, the room dimming further until you were both plunged into darkness save for the passing lights through the slatted shutters on his window. He can still make you out in the dark, with his optics shut down and eyes naturally enhanced—he can see you’re looking at him over the top of the covers, debating on if you should still make a run for it.

“Fuckin’—...” He huffs a sigh, shifting under the sheets so quickly you don’t have the time to stop him. “Stop actin’ like I’m going to bite you or some shit.”

You curve into his muscle easily enough, moulding into the shape needed to be held close. His chin rests atop your head, thick arms looped around you. It’s odd—Bakugou wasn’t a hugger, definitely not a cuddler but having you in his arms, the smooth feeling of your softer skin beneath his and the warmth that comes from your very being is comforting. 

His heart flutters in his chest when he can feel your arms slowly wrapping around him until you’re embracing him fully. You cling to him as if you were expecting him to rip you away at any given moment and ruin the moment. Has he really been that harsh to you? Sure, he’d been a bit of a dick when he first met you but you were choking out their only Ripper whilst holding a gun to their faces that’d eradicate them before they so much as blinked.

And sure, he had a tongue as sharp as a knife… fuck, maybe he was that harsh with you. He blames it lazily on the drink still in his system, despite the pestering fact in the very back of his mind that he worked most of it out of his system fucking you into his bed. It makes his head ache with the sudden rush of conflicting feelings, thoughts that clash over and over—

Forcing his eyes to shut and muscles to relax, he basks in the warmth of your much smaller body wrapped around his own and lets himself fall asleep.

You wake up feeling… warm. Not hot, nor cold. Comfortable too. The softness of the sheets around are some of the best you’ve felt in weeks, the blanket you’d been given to sleep with on the sofa was somewhat scratchy when you’d tuck it under your chin. This one is smoother, doesn’t catch on the thin intricate strips that are near-invisible to the naked eye that line your body. 

There’s a weight across your body, a leg wedged between your own and a heavy arm draped over your waist. The warmth is coming from directly behind you, a solid press of muscle that breathes steadily against the back of your head. And if you glance just enough over your shoulder, you find a head of blonde hair that’s softened after a night of sleep. 

Bakugou has himself plastered against you, completely. His face is buried into the back of your hair, and with him this close, all you can smell is him. His bed smells strongly of the aftershave he uses, and the man himself smells like your late-night activities—a musk that has your head in the clouds in remembrance. 

You’ve never felt anything like that before. Not that you can remember, anyway. Bakugou treated you more than just someone he wanted to fuck, he didn’t toss you around or disregard the fact you had to cum too to enjoy yourself—he made sure you were on the same level as pleasure as he was, if not more. He kissed you like a lover would. 

That last thought has your face heating, an odd feeling of butterflies fluttering up into your stomach until they settle in your lungs. It was ridiculous to have such a childish thought flit into your mind, Bakugou certainly wasn’t the type of man to settle down—his lifestyle didn’t fit with it.

You could tell just from the way he lived in his own home, he functioned to serve himself only—with the exception of Kirishima when he forgot breakfast. But outside of the walls of his apartment, his work lifestyle wasn’t fit for a partner in any sense of the word. He was a merc, mercs didn’t lock themselves down with someone because it was dangerous. Simple as.

Having a partner in Night City was the same as putting a target on your back. You became weak and vulnerable—something Bakugou would never let himself be. You knew that just from the weeks of living beside him. 

“What’s got you thinkin’ so hard this early?” Bakugou’s voice is deeper, raspier in the mornings… and it’s impossible to not clamp down in longing that he was still buried inside of you. 

He shifts behind you, one long deep breath in before he releases it. His muscles ease off of you when he breathes out, the weightlessness of sleep disappearing with each second. Instead, the arm that was slung over your waist grows bold in it’s movement. His large hand guides his fingers delicately over your skin, circling your belly button before meandering off until he finds your hip.

“Hm?” He nudges you with the tip of his nose, prompting you to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are smouldering, barely open and yet the red that stares back at you is bright. The long eyelashes you’ve never had the chance to see so clearly bat delicately against his cheekbones. 

“Nothing, sorry for waking you.” You whisper back, and his eyes automatically drift down to watch the movement of your lips. The hand at your hip kneads softly at the flesh there before it moves lower, the tips of his fingers skirting up and down along your thigh. It’s enough to draw a harsh shiver up your spine, and in turn, causes Bakugou to let out a raspy chuckle.

“Yeah?” You pick up on the playful tone in his voice, a teasing grin growing on his face. “How ‘bout you make it up to me? Hm?” 

You’re drawn to him biting on his bottom lip before his grin grows wider, watching you watch him—a back-and-forth dance to see who snaps first under the surmounting sexual tension in the room. The hand on your thigh slips down, hooking his fingers into your inner thigh to hoist your leg a little higher up on his hip. His cock is hot and hard where it presses between your thighs, the tip tapping against your clit. 

Shifting himself up onto one elbow, partially hovering over you from behind, he finds your lips with his own. The kiss starts off softer than he kissed you last night, it’s not as hurried—not yet anyway. Bakugou kisses you like he wants to savour your flavour, to save the taste of you on his tongue. He tilts his head just slightly to delve in deeper, and then prying your mouth open with his. 

His tongue is invasive, in the sense that he has to dive as deep as he can into your mouth. His tongue curls against the roof of your mouth, feels along the points of your teeth before he’s back to caressing your tongue with his own. The hand between your thighs spreads you lewdly beneath the blankets, a middle finger finding your clit before he strokes it down along your slit; wet and slippery for him.

Bakugou groans into your open mouth, before greedily going in again after the single breath he takes. This time the kiss is more energetic, more consuming. His cock twitches between your thighs, tapping against your thigh with its sticky tip. You can’t help but roll your hips back into him, push your ass out in invitation—

A loud bang in the living area has you both flinching, lips parting just enough for you to see the scowl starting to form on Bakugou’s face.

“Fuckin’ Ei. Just ignore ‘im.” His voice is harsh with desire, a low whisper that has your stomach tightening. Bakugou swoops back in, devouring your lips with more vigour, desperate to get what he wants now he knows that his roommate is awake—who knows when he’ll get a chance like this again. 

He manoeuvres you on the bed, climbing over the top of you until you’re in a similar position as last night; your thighs at his waist and his hands pressed into the sheets on either side of your head. His cock bobs again between the two of you, smearing his pre along the smooth skin of your inner thigh. His lips part from yours once again, this time to chart a path down along your jaw and neck. He bites and kisses in tandem, sucking your skin until you can feel the bruises starting to blossom there. 

Bakugou continues to consume you from the outside, pressing his hips down finally to relieve himself of the pressure building in his groin. He groans beautifully against your skin, a sound so intoxicating you can’t stop your eyes from rolling and your hands seeking purchase in his hair. It’s soft to the touch, and it doesn’t go unnoticed when you accidentally tug on it, his hips press harder against your own. Rutting his cock against your pussy.

“Shit, g’nna fuck you—”

“Yo, Bakugou!” The bedroom door opens with a loud hiss, and you can only squeak out in surprise when Bakugou all but presses you into the bed in an attempt to hide you. “I thought you said we had food in, and—... uh–...”

“Get the fuck out!” Bakugou snarls, reaching over to grab the closest thing to him on the bedside table. There’s a shift of his entire body, something flying through the air and the resounding plastic crunch of Kirishima being smacked by the poor water bottle that was launched. 

“Sorry!” Kirishima back peddles it out of the room before Bakugou can scramble to find something else to throw, the door hissing to announce that he was well and truly out of the room. 

The air is no longer thick with sexual tension, instead, there’s a lingering awkwardness that has Bakugou deflating on top of you. His face is buried into the crook of your neck, and you can feel the heavy sigh that’s pushed out of his body in acceptance that he won’t be fucking you again today. 

“He’s such a fuckin’ idiot, can’t trust him to do shit on his own.” He grumbles against you, his lips so close you can feel each word forming on them. He leans up off of you, kneeling between your legs and you try your hardest to not grow embarrassed at your nakedness on display. He looks almost sad, defeated at the fact he knows he has to go deal with the red-haired giant that’s no doubt ripping apart his kitchen looking for food.

“Sorry,” he huffs, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on your lips before he’s up and out of bed. “You can just sleep in here if you want. I know that eyebags said you need to rest after whatever the fuck happened so—just, rest here.” 

You raise an eyebrow before realisation dawns on you; he means Shinsou. You smile at that, tucking the comforter back around you and burying yourself among the pillows. You watch as Bakugou blindly digs through his wardrobe, plucking out various clothes until he finds what he wants. 

As if sensing your eyes, he glances over his bare shoulder at you with a wicked smirk on his face before bending down to draw his boxers up his legs. “The showers just in there, feel free to use whatever's in there.” He nods with his head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Okay, thank you.” You smile at him when he turns to look at you, he looks awfully handsome like this. Half dressed, a shirt in one hand and belt loose around his waist where he still has to button up his black cargo pants. He hovers for a second, fingers curling a little tighter around his shirt and you can see his jaw working to help him spit out the words he wants to say.

Except, he’s interrupted again by another bang—one that sounds suspiciously like the microwave door being broken. Bakugou groans in annoyance, running a hand through his hair before giving you one last glance just before he leaves the room.

You’re left in silence, the outside world still asleep despite the sun rising. 

“You fucking idiot!” Bakugou yells, muffled but still loud enough that you feel like you’re in the room with him. The rest of the argument fades out into muffled voices, and soon sleep retakes you with the comforting smell of Bakugou still clouding your mind.

It isn’t until a handful of hours later that you emerge from the bedroom. It had quieted down soon after Bakugou had come out to confront Kirishima, and you managed to shower uninterrupted—you found clothes laid out on the bed for you, no doubt from Bakugou who must’ve heard the shower running at some point.

When the door hisses open, you’re met with the smell of beer and the voices of multiple people. People you’ve come to know as Shinsou, Sero and Kaminari. Of course, Bakugou and Kirishima are there too but the former is quiet as he watches the group yap about something he’s uninterested in. 

“Nah, man. I’m telling you, she was looking at me.” Kaminari whines, earning him a snort of laughter from Shinsou and a shake of a head from Sero.

“You’re delusional, she’s a doll. They don’t see a thing.” Sero snickers when Kaminari pouts at that, leaning into Kirishima’s side who mockingly consoles him for thinking he had a chance with a doll.

The name is something that most people know, it was a way for people to get away with doing whatever they wanted to another person without the repercussions. Fuck a doll and they have their memory wiped by the end of it, confess murder and they’ll just smile at you. Dolls. You’d seen plenty of advertisements for it last night whilst visiting Jig-Jig Street, the idea of a chip like that existing made you feel sick.

A call of your name has your eyes blinking, snapping out of the trance and looking towards the source. Shinsou. Immediately Sero and Kaminari flinch in realisation that you were standing right behind them on the sofa, an unwanted reminder of when you had nearly blown them to pieces no more than 48 hours ago. 

“How’re you feeling?” Shinsou asks, head tilting slightly.

“Fine, better than yesterday.” You smile back a little, eyes making their way automatically towards the ash blonde who sits with his knees apart on the opposite side of the sofa, an arm draped over the back of it and a beer can cradled in the hand on his thigh. “Still tired.”

“Even after you slept all day?” Kirishima asks next, and you make the mistake of glancing at him because he has a very knowing smug grin on his face. “Or maybe it was because you didn’t—”

“Oi, shut the fuck up.” Bakugou grunts before taking a sip of his drink, and you’re thankful for the intervention. You use the momentary distraction created by Bakugou to slip into a seat, finding the only place available between Bakugou and Shinsou—there’s a large enough gap that you know was reinforced by the blonde. 

Bakugou only offers you a sideways glance when you settle into the seat next to him, you can feel him watching you; observing to see if you had any regrets from the previous night. But you have none, not a single one. You felt… happy. You didn’t have an overwhelming sense of dread sitting on your chest, instead you felt at ease. You relax into the plushness of the sofa, indirectly sinking into the spot where Bakugou had his arm slung over the back.

The conversation has already moved on, thankfully. All four of the men engaged in the conversation, with Bakugou drinking away at his beer whilst observing the group gathered. 

“Do you remember that gig over in Watson?” Sero snorts, earning him a groan from Kirishima and a laugh from Kaminari. Sero flicks his gaze over to you, and you can see the mischief there when he realises he has an audience who haven’t heard the story.

“Hanta, don’t.” Kirishima whines, sinking into the seat with a large hand coming up to cover his face. You’ve never seen him quite like this; embarrassed. It was new, and you can’t help but smile at the idea of hearing something that would cause the giant of a man such emotions. 

“But she hasn’t heard the story!” Sero exclaims, grinning from ear to ear as he leans forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. “Alright so, we had this gig over on the Northside, up in the Watson district. It was probably one of the easiest gigs to date, a simple in-and-out steal.”

You can feel Bakugou shift next to you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see him grinning over the lip of his beer can. 

“Anyway. It was me, Denki and Ei.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “And for some reason, big Red here wanted to be the guy to do the stealth portion of the mission.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Uraraka just installed some new cyberware. She said I wouldn’t make a sound!” Kirishima huffs when you shoot him an incredulous look. A man who was over 6 ft 7 was definitely not suited for stealth work. If anything, you would’ve picked Sero—lanky, tall, light-footed.

“You’re about as heavy as a bull, you’re heavy footed as fuck Ei.” Bakugou goads, a grin on his face when Kirishima turns the glare his way. 

Sero snickers, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We were meant to just steal this van, apparently it was Maelstrom property but we needed what was in it. All Kirishima had to do was sneak in, hotwire the van and get the fuck out of there. Instead, he trips every alarm known to man and has to hightail it out of there in a van with only two wheels.” 

Bakugou offers a laugh, a genuine laugh at the memory of Kirishima returning to the hideout with a van hanging on for dear life.

“What about the time we had to eradicate that Daemon on the Net?” Kaminari snickers, which in turn has Shinsou turning his sights on him. “Shinsou popped a boner when his connection was flooded with those sex toy ads.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Shinsou growls, and you watch quietly when he lashes out at Kaminari who dares to laugh in his face. “I told you, the next time you tell someone that shit I’m—”

The conversation fades out slowly, your eyes focused on the spot in the centre of the coffee table. Daemons on the Net. Something about that sounds too familiar, would the man you saw in your own subconscious connected to the Net count as one of those daemons? Has someone injected you with something to cause a break in your cyberware? 

You can still hear his voice, calling out your name. You could still feel the shards of glass he shattered in your mind, in your soul. They were lodged so snuggly against your vital organs, pressing yet waiting to be given the order to execute. That happiness you had felt just moments ago is washed away, replaced with the reminder that you were clueless as to who that man was—clueless to who you are. 

A nudge to your foot has you blinking rapidly, glancing down to see Bakugou had knocked his foot against your own. You look at the man at your side, only to find his eyes already set on you. His hand is empty of the beer can he was drinking, and he’s staring at you like he was able to see your inner struggle. 

“C’mon.” He grunts, standing up suddenly and you have no choice but to follow after him. You follow him towards the front door of the apartment, where he suddenly turns to you with the black and orange bomber jacket you’ve grown attached to. You don’t fight him when he throws it over your shoulders, holding the arms to help you with putting it on. 

“Where you goin’?” Kirishima calls from the living area, all of the guys turning their heads to watch you adjusting the jacket on your body whilst Bakugou does the same with his own riding leather jacket.

“Out. Need more beers, figured I’ll take this one with me to save her from you guys being a bunch of freaks.” That earns him a number of groans and insults. “Shuddup, last time you were left with a girl alone, you all had to stiff leg it out of there.” 

He doesn’t wait for the next round of insults hurled his way, instead, he pushes you out of the door first before letting it shut with an audible hiss behind him. You can still faintly hear them arguing through the door but Bakugou shows no issue with the fact he probably just left his own apartment to delve into chaos. 

Bakugou leads you down the stairwell that leads to the garage, he holds the door open for you once you reach your destination and you’re met with a large parking lot. You’ve never been in here before, all the times you went out it was with Kirishima and he was adamant about walking around Night City instead of driving—he hated traffic just as much as the next person it seemed. 

You follow behind Bakugou like a lost puppy, eyes darting from car to car. All of them ranging from heavily modified or straight-up pieces of junk that should be scrapped for a few Eurodollars. When he comes to a stop at the end of the garage, a light flicks on overhead to show the sleek black motorbike you saw when you had been first introduced to Aizawa. 

Bakugou steps off to the side, rummaging around through a bio-coded locker which leaves you to investigate his motorbike a little more closely. It’s beautiful, obviously one of the pride and joys of the ash blonde. Your fingers ghost delicately along the smooth leather seat, it looks untouched—or rather, well-loved and cared for. 

You tilt your head to look down along the expensive body, eyeing the fact there wasn’t even a single scratch on it. Just how well did he care for this bike? Your eyes spot what you’re looking for; Yaiba. 

“It’s a modified Kusanagi CT-3X, if you’re wondering.” Bakugou finds himself next to you, one helmet perched atop his head and forcing the hairs down into his eyes, the other is under an arm.

“A rare Arasaka bike, right?” Bakugou nods at your words, an eyebrow arched as if he’s impressed you even knew that—to be fair, so are you. Your mind buzzes at the information you’re able to pull effortlessly from the bank of information sitting in your mind. “One of the fastest and most expensive bikes out there, how’d you get it?”

“Callin’ me cheap now?” He sneers but there’s no heat to it, he grins when you turn to look at him. He adjusts the helmet under his arm, holding it up to you so he can place it carefully over your head. “It was something I got with my first real paycheck, I always wanted one. Even as a kid when I lived in Tokyo, Yaiba had some of the best bikes out there and I just knew I wanted one.”

You smile up at him when he reveals just a slither of his past. So he wasn’t from here, it made sense. There was something about him that was never truly comfortable about being in Night City, no matter how long you live here—you’re never truly a part of the city as an outsider. Bakugou’s careful in pulling down the helmet, pressing a button on the inside before pushing down his own helmet.

“You hear me alright?” He questions, and you have to stop yourself from flinching at the voice in your ears. You nod at him, and you can hear him snicker quietly over the Bluetooth connection between the two helmets. “Alright, let’s get going before Ei comes and hunts us down.”

He slings a leg over the bike effortlessly, the entire thing bouncing on it’s suspension before he looks over at you through the small lifted gap of his visor. You hesitate for a moment, glancing from him to the seat behind him—if you can even call it that, there’s hardly any room and you’re going to be pressed up right against him. Why does that even matter when you were naked and under him this mor—

“Stop thinking and get the fuck on.” He grumbles, going as far as to reach over to grasp at your forearm to tug you forward. You have no choice but to clamber ontop of the bike behind him, your hands coming to loosely grab at the material of his leather jacket. Bakugou sighs heavily through the comms, using one hand to grasp at each of your hands individually to secure them snugly around his chest. “Hold on, this thing goes fast.”

The bike rumbles to life beneath you, Bakugou no doubt revving it on purpose to make you scoot closer to ensure you weren’t going to slip away when he put his foot down. You cling to him, your arms tucked tightly around his ribcage and head tilted so you’re not poking the front of your helmet into his back. 

Soon enough, you’re out on the road, and you’re amazed by just how easily Bakugou moves the bike with his own weight. He makes it seem effortless when he weaves in and out of traffic, how he bends easily forward forcing you to move with him so that he can pick up speed. You can only watch the world blur past, streaks of rain hardly leaving a mark against your visor from just how quickly you’re going.

You cling to Bakugou, hands grasped tightly on his stomach. You can feel each of his muscles under his shirt, they tense and hardened when he rounds corners much too quickly. He sits back up from his leaned position, forcing you backwards and tilting your head to look over his shoulder. You can see from the speedometer that he’s way above the legal speed limit, hitting a solid 150mph.

The wind and rain batter against the exposed strips of skin on your body, and your hands sting like you’ve been pelted with a million little rocks but you can’t complain too much. The rush, the adrenaline, it’s something else. You feel weightless when Bakugou expertly rounds corners or when he picks up speed along a long stretch of road, weaving between cars that beep and no doubt scream at him for being such an idiot.

“Look to your right,” he speaks into the microphone that’s connected directly to your helmet, his voice sounds calm—at peace. This was his peace, his getaway. To speed his way through a city that could kill him in the next moment. 

You do as he says, glancing to your right to see… you. It’s a clear reflection along some corporate building, you can see yourself attached to his back holding on for dear life. The city on the other side of you is bright, flickering and flashing despite the downpour of rain. You didn’t notice it when you were in the garage but Bakugou had modified his bike to light up, the inner trim of the wheels is set alight with bright neon orange lights.

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity. You let go. You can hear Bakugou over the comms shouting at you to grab ahold of him again but you feel free. Weightless. Truly weightless. You can’t hear that man's voice in your head anymore, you can only hear the howling wind and the beat of your own heart. You can’t feel that barrier in your mind, splintered and fractured, irreparable because you’re free. 

When your arms extend out at your sides, you can feel a frantic hand grab at the fabric of your jacket. Bakugou holds you in place whilst you let yourself go; to feel free, for the first time. Your heart races in your chest, the feeling like nothing you’ve ever experienced before in your life and you want to cling to this feeling, to this freedom. To the man in front of you, the one who had gifted you that freedom so easily. 

The reflection of the two of you disappears quickly, the building left behind and you can’t help but grin when you finally hear Bakugou again over the whistling wind.

“I swear to fuckin’ god, I won’t be scooping your brains off the road. Put your arms back around me!”

You laugh into the helmet, wrapping your arms once again around his body. You can still feel the tension in his back but it melts just slightly when you grasp tighter than before, holding the entirety of your body against his own. 

“You got a death wish or somethin’?!” He still growls despite you being reattached to him, and you give him another laugh that makes his shoulders sag just slightly in relaxation. “Fuckin’ idiot—...”

“Thank you for bringing me out tonight.” Your words are met with silence, your head comes to rest against the broadness of his shoulders comfortably as you watch the world pass by. The city eventually bleeds out into green, grass and trees that tower high into the sky. You’ve never been here before.

“Yeah, whatever.” Bakugou grumbles quietly, and if it wasn’t for the connection between your helmets you would’ve missed the bashfulness in his voice. “We’re nearly there so just hold on this time, dumbass.” 

You let your body move effortlessly with his, swaying from side to side when he does sharp turns around corners that would have an inexperienced rider thrown off the back of their bike. The rain has started to lessen, only a light drizzle that drenches the back of your jacket and you only squeeze tighter around the single source of warmth. 

Bakugou slows the bike down to a complete stop once he reaches the destination in mind, with a glance around you can see you’re in the middle of nowhere. There are a few houses dotted around, if you can call them that, they’re more like massive mansions. 

“C’mon, keep that on and keep quiet.” Bakugou taps your thigh to get you to climb off the bike before he follows after you. You watch him manually move his bike to hide in the shadows behind some bushes and you’re furrowing your eyebrows immediately in confusion. Just what exactly was he planning?

He tilts his head in a gesture to get you to follow, taking you off of the road and down a steep hill that leads further into the underbrush. The city is obscured by the number of trees and large shrubs, and you nearly lose sight of Bakugou when he ducks in and out of the shadows—but as you watch him, you realise he knows his way through all of this a little too well.

“You’ve been here before?” You whisper over the link, and you see Bakugou glance over his shoulder at you for a moment before returning his gaze forward.

“Yeah, been comin’ here since I first moved here. It’s the only place with some real grass.” His voice lowered down to a whisper has your stomach set alight with butterflies. You continue to wordlessly follow him until he abruptly stops, throwing a hand back to grab at your forearm before pulling you down into a crouch next to him.

You peek around his shoulder, your eyes silently activating to see what he might be seeing. Immediately you hone in on a large SUV parked up on the ridge of the road, around fifty feet in front of you. There’s four heat signatures, all of them belonging to men who are in thick armour and strapped with multiple weapons.

“Arasaka.” You whisper to Bakugou, who quietly nods his head. He doesn’t move a muscle, holding your wrist tightly in his hand as if he’s waiting for them to just look in your direction and open fire. “They’re not holding their weapons, they’re not looking for anyone.”

“The Arasaka estate is up ahead. They’re still on guard dog duty.” Bakugou supplies, causing your eyes to move away from the group of men to the estate he speaks of. You can see it much more clearly with your augmentations active, you can see the heat signatures within and the overwhelming amount of security measures in place.

There’s an indistinctive shout causing you to dart your eyes back towards the group of people only to see them piling back into the car. Bakugou visibly deflates in relief, his hand around your forearm slips down to your wrist before he’s tugging you after him. You follow lowly just behind him, mindful of each step as you grow closer and closer to the edge of the underbrush. Bakugou exits first, standing to his full height which drags you up next to him.

When you glance around, you’re silenced by the view. It’s beautiful. Night City is in the distance, so wide and yet so tightly compacted into tall skyscrapers and tall flashing neon signs. Bakugou’s hand slips away from your wrist when you take steps towards the cliff edge that looks down on the lower level of residents, you can’t take your eyes away from the city before you.

It looked so… small. So dense and yet you knew the intensity of it all from the very moment your eyes opened in that ripper’s office. Night City was a vicious beast, a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out if you weren’t strong enough to survive—but when you look at it from here, look at how insignificant the people are and how tiny the city is. It’s almost impossible to comprehend.

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” Bakugou speaks clearly next to you, having taken off his helmet and holding it beneath his arm. You follow suit and remove your own, thankful for the fresh breeze and slight drizzle against your face. You glance towards Bakugou only to see his eyes set on the city before you, absorbed in his own thoughts. “Figured you could use it too.”

“It looks so beautiful from out here, but inside… it’s—”

“One of the worst places to live. Yeah, I thought it’d be great moving here all those years ago. But I was a dumb kid with a dumb idea, and now here I am.” Bakugou huffs, running his free hand through his flattened hair to re-fluff it before settling himself down onto the ground.

You take his lead and sit next to him, putting your helmet to the side and being careful to not let it roll off the edge of the small cliff in front of you. Setting your eyes back onto the city, you feel that sense of freedom again. You were free from the city, even for just a moment, you felt like you could breathe for yourself for the first time. Your heart wasn’t pounding, your mind wasn’t racing and your skin wasn’t itching in knowing what lay beneath it all. 

“Any reason you spaced out when Dunceface started talking about Shinsou’s gig with the Net?” Bakugou inquires after a moment of silence, you turn your attention to him to find he’s leaning against his propped-up knees, head tilted in your direction. “Don’t gotta tell me shit but—”

“It just reminded me of when I was… healing.” You admit, not missing the way Bakugou visibly winces at the reminder of what put you there in the first place. “When I was in there… Something happened, and hearing Kaminari talk about Daemons—it made me think about why I can’t remember anything.”

“What, like someone’s infected your network or something?” Bakugou shifts slightly, raising his head to look at you properly with a level of concern that looks frankly terrifying on his face. He looks… worried.

“I don’t know, maybe? It’d make sense. I have this empty part of my head that I can’t access, like it’s been cut off from me or something. What if there’s a Daemon in my system? Or worse.” 

“Shinsou would’ve picked up on that. Or even Jirou, she’s the one who said you had impressive firewalls inside that head of yours.” 

A part of you wants to agree with him, because it does make sense. They would’ve found the source of whatever was wrong with you, but instead, they came out empty-handed and you, empty-headed. But you can’t shake the vision of that man, the blurred green of his eyes and then when you saw him in the street… something just wasn’t right. 

“Maybe you’re right. I just—it’s scary, y’know? Not knowing who I am.” You whisper that last part, and Bakugou’s eyes turn from concern to a shade of pity. He shifts himself closer to you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulders to pull you in close until your head is tucked against his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter who you were, that’s what I always told myself when I moved here. I’m not the same guy as I was back then, I found myself. I found a new purpose. That’s just what you need, a new purpose, a new life that you created yourself.” His words are mumbled from where he presses his cheek against the top of your head. 

A new purpose, a new life. That’s what you wanted. To shed yourself of whoever you may have been before all of this, before you had met Bakugou and Kirishima—before you had been let into their family even with them knowing you were capable of killing them all. Your heart aches but not in agony this time, it aches with joy. 

You wanted so much more than what this city had to offer, you wanted to find out what you liked; your favourite foods, your favourite movies, your favourite smells and also the things you hated. You wanted to live.

“I think I’d like that,” you smile, shifting your head against Bakugou’s shoulder to look up at him. He meets your gaze with a soft look on his face, an almost invisible smile on his face. “I want to see the world.”

“Yeah? The world? That’s a lot to see.” His smile grows when you laugh quietly. 

“Would you show me the world, Katsuki?” 

Bakugou is quiet at your question, his eyes flit down to your lips before they find your eyes again. He looks so beautiful this close, the different shades of red in his eyes are breathtaking. There’s so much captured in them, every emotion he feels and every thought he has flicks behind them before his eyebrows visibly relax, his body holding you closer.

He leans in, lips brushing against your own before he speaks. “I’ll show you it all.”

And when he kisses you, he kisses you softly and gently like you were to be handled with such care. It’s not love but you have a feeling that it might blossom into something like that. One day.

Before you know it, the three days of rest have come and gone. It felt like you had blinked and you were back right where you started before everything had happened in that plastic-wrapped room. But this time you had Shinsou on one side and Kaminari on the other in the back of Bakugou’s car. 

Currently, Shinsou was connected to your interface via a cable that slipped free from his wrist and fused itself into the plating on your palm. He had told you it was to relay all information that you’d need to ensure you got in there unnoticed, he loaded you with visuals of maps, layouts of their cameras and their usual patrolling routes.

Kaminari on your other side was fiddling with a hunting knife, the jagged edge was glinting in the passing street lights and every now and again it would buzz with electricity. He told you it was connected to his own chrome, he’s able to absorb electricity and pass it back through objects—something that had earned him plenty of shocks to the system that left him reeling.  

Even with the presence of Shinsou in the back of your mind offloading a multitude of data, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bakugou who was once again in the driver's seat. He had been different in the three days since that night outside of the city. He was more open to the idea of intimacy, often opening his arms for you at night and holding you in the mornings until he had to inevitably get up.

Kirishima had noticed it too, grinning along with the back-and-forth jokes between you and Bakugou. He thankfully didn’t make a scene out of the gentle touches he absolutely caught the two of you exchanging when you assumed no one was around.

Your chest fills with those pesky butterflies, the smile on your face must look mushy because you can feel the ache in your cheeks. You felt genuinely happy, an emotion that was your own and something you were able to hold onto. You wanted to experience everything with Bakugou at your side, and no doubt Kirishima would tag along too. 

After that night out in North Oak, you had returned home to find that it was just Kirishima left and Bakugou had offhandedly said that a trip to Japan was on the table. Kirishima had leapt at the opportunity to talk about his hometown, about the different shops and restaurants there. He spoke about his country with so much love, and Bakugou had a nostalgic look on his face—so you asked if he’d take you there one day. He agreed, of course, stating it’ll be the first stop on your way to conquering the world.

Kirishima, of course, had no idea just what that meant.

“Try to keep your head clear,” Shinsou comments from the side, effectively dragging you free from your thoughts. “It’ll go more smoothly if you’re not actively trying to force me out of that brain of yours.” Your eyes drag along the cable connecting the both of you, something that could open you up in the most vulnerable of ways. 

During the three days of rest, you spent more time with Shinsou too. He had been a Netrunner for a long time, even coming from Arasaka’s very own prestigious school with the help of Aizawa funding him through the entirety of it. The rest of the crew hadn’t been so fortunate, coming from no education at all or limited from when they lived in Tokyo.

That was another thing you were curious about. People didn’t just come to Night City for fun, it was a city designed to trap you here until your inevitable death. Apparently, Shinsou had always been in NC, born and raised in Japantown but almost everyone else had tales of the way things were being run back in Japan—long story short, it was being overrun by corporations that had no regard for people who were beneath them. It was either leave or die.

“Done. Should be good to go.” Shinsou says, withdrawing the cable connected to your wrist. The information flickers through your mind rapidly, similar to how someone would graze through a filing cabinet. Everything was here, this would be a simple operation if you pulled it off correctly.

You hadn’t realised the car had drawn to a stop until Bakugou turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowing together as if he was trying to figure out something to say. But instead, it’s Kaminari who speaks up, slapping a hand against your thigh before he grins. 

“Ready to pull off the coolest fucking job?” You don’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes lock onto the hand for a second too long before he meets your eyes again. All you can do is nod along, still unable to break your eyes away from Bakugou until he forces himself to look away first.

With a nod of his own head, Kaminari deems that worthy enough of a response and grins at you. His hand squeezes your thigh absentmindedly before he climbs out of the car, yelping with Bakugou grunts a command at him the second he steps out of the car.

Soon enough, you’re out of the car too whilst Kirishima ensures you have your weapon loaded and Shinsou talks over the game plan again. “You need to get to the underground levels. On the first floor, it should be primarily empty, the rest of Maelstrom will be beneath that. All you have to do is get into that room, snag a shard and leave. We’re here for backup.” 

“I’ll have to go dark when I’m inside.” You see Bakugou shift on his feet a little at that, the uneasiness of you being unable to communicate with them properly if anything was to go wrong. They all nod in agreement regardless, stepping back when you slip the handgun into its holster on your waist before shrugging off the orange jacket that Kirishima had given you all those weeks ago. Bakugou wordlessly takes it from you.

Looking at the building just across the street, it looks unassuming. A simple warehouse, but even you could see the spray tags on the walls of the Maelstrom, this was a significant base of theirs. 

Just as you’re about to step forward to begin the job, a hand grabs your elbow and you turn to see Bakugou looking at the building instead of you. “Don’t do anything reckless this time.” His eyes drift down to meet yours, the red flaring to life in his eyes for a second. “Got it, hotshot?” 

Your eyebrows raise. “Hotshot?”

“You took a pulse rifle shot—”

“Oh, you’re terrible. Really? Hotshot?” You grin at his words, it was another terrible joke he couldn’t stop himself from making. His lips twitch in a small smirk before it fades, the gravity of the situation settling on him once again. “I’ll be fine, I have you to back me up this time. Right?”

Bakugou stays silent for a moment before he nods. “Right. I’ve got your back.” He looks hesitant when you take a step backwards, his fingers that had been in contact with your elbow twitching at his side before he ultimately decides to pocket them. “Don’t play hero either, you get out of there if you have to.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me Katsuki,” his eyes widened the tiniest amount at the use of his name, no doubt a flurry of memories from just a few nights ago flitting through his mind. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be taking bullets for anyone today. I have the world to see, remember?” 

But before Bakugou could say anything, you fade into nothing right before him. Even when his eyes flash to life, he can’t see you anywhere. His eyebrows draw together in concern, this plan felt rushed—he should be going in with you, you shouldn’t be taking this on alone. What was Aizawa thinking? A hand clapping on his shoulder draws his attention away from where you may have gone.

…Your shoulders drop once Bakugou looks away, you could see the concern on his face, painted as clear as the sky above. You couldn’t remember if you had ever done solo missions like this before—having a partner to help would’ve been nice, but you had no time to dwell on it when you started to walk towards the big warehouse. You note the multiple cameras as you pass by them, the red blinking light flickers for a moment before they’re shut down. Have you always had cyberware that could shut down electronics? 

“That was me.” Shinsou’s voice is loud in your head, as if he were speaking directly next to you. “Sorry, should’ve said something.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” You murmur back, eyes darting back and forth once you slip through the open warehouse door. There was a big truck in the centre of the room, modified with spikes and reinforced windows. Definitely Maelstrom. 

“About twenty feet in front of you, and then to the right there should be a door that will lead to the stairwell. That’s your way in.” 

You follow Shinsou’s guidance without hesitation, feet moving silently across the floor whilst your eyes dart back and forth through the dark warehouse. It was odd for it to be so empty, were they all really below ground? Surely there should be a guard— “Stop!” Shinsou all but hisses at you, your entire body freezing at the edge of a rack of crates. 

There’s movement, and your eyes dart upwards to see a drone scanning slowly. Drones? Since when did Maelstrom have the money for drones? You don’t say anything as you watch the silent drone pass by, thankfully having not detected you even through your invisibility. This could prove to be a problem if they’re using tech like that, who knows what else they have hidden. 

“There are no mentions of drones anywhere. They’re chromeheads, sure, but they always liked doing shit themselves.” Shinsou supplies once you’re moving again. Slipping into the stairwell that Shinsou had directed you to, you notice the difference in temperatures almost immediately. It’s freezing. 

“Turning off comms.” 

“Wait—” His voice cuts out immediately, something doesn’t feel right down here. It shouldn’t be so cold, it’s like stepping into an industrial freezer. Maelstrom didn’t like the cold, for one simple reason; it fucked with their cyberware. 

Freezing temperatures caused it to malfunction, which meant… it’ll fuck yours up too. You need to back out, and report what you think might be down there but—something is stopping you. Aizawa would be pissed if you back out of this with your tail between your legs, he definitely wouldn’t let you come back empty-handed either. 

With slow careful steps, you continue to descend into the freezing depths of the basement. Rounding the corner that leads to the final set of steps, you stop in your tracks. The lights are off, save for a slow, long blink of a red light. All the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, something screaming in the back of your mind to back out now. Your hand slips to the handgun on your holster, withdrawing it when you press your back to the cold concrete wall. 

You can do this. You can find out what’s in this room, slip by and find the shard. You can do this. You can. Sucking in a harsh breath, you brace your body before whipping around the corner with your gun raised but your blood runs cold, determination falling from your face and morphing into fear. “What—”

...

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t contact her?” Bakugou snarls, glaring at Shinsou who’s hunched over a laptop that was once tracking your whereabouts. 

“She said she was turning off comms, but she wasn’t even in the basement yet.” Shinsou frowns, running a hand through his unruly purple hair for a moment. “Fuck, you don’t think she…?”

“No,” Kirishima replies, leaning against the car with his eyes locked on the building in front of them. “She wouldn’t do that, not now.” 

“Should we go in?” Kaminari offers, glancing over Shinsou’s shoulder to stare at the blank map. 

Shinsou opens his mouth to talk before all heads whip towards the warehouse, their hearts thumping in their chests whilst the sound of the alarms being tripped drowns out any words any of them may have wanted to say. 

There are approximately three seconds of calm before the storm hits full force. The Maelstrom weren’t in fact in the building at all, instead hiding in the surrounding smaller buildings dotted around. Yet none of them looks at the group that is sitting staring at the scene unfolding; they’re all descending onto the warehouse. 

Onto you.

“It’s a setup,” Bakugou says, words coming out monotone as if he wasn’t quite aware of what he was saying—unaccepting of the ugly truth. “She’s been fucking set up.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. His feet move before he fully registers that he’s barreling towards what is most likely certain death, he thinks he can hear Kirishima shouting at him to stop but he can’t. You weren’t going to fucking die now after everything. 

His heart hurts from how hard it pounds against his ribcage, the rifle in his hand is light when he raises it to shoot anyone who steps foot into his path. Bakugou barrels through the open warehouse door, following the directions Shinsou had given to you no more than ten minutes ago. It seems a lot of the Maelstrom have made their way below ground, or had been shot on Bakugou’s way in.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of you being trapped beneath the ground with a gang of twenty or more descending on you with the intention of killing you. His hand itches around the rifle, fingers twitching with the urge to open fire the second he can. 

Something like true fear starts to pool into Bakugou’s stomach once he deduces that you must’ve descended the only set of stairs. The freezing fog slowly creeping up the steps is enough to make him shiver, the chrome in his body aches from the slow approaching cold. There’s no way you could be down there and still be alive, you were more metal than human than he was.

And yet still, Bakugou pushes through the veil of fear that washes over him and descends the stairs. The fog swirls and wraps around him like tendrils, tugging him further into the icy depths of the dark basement. His thumb brushes against the side of his gun, flicking it off the safety and soon a red laser helps guide him through the dense fog. 

He can’t see anything, or anyone, it does nothing to quell the horrid feeling that’s making a home in his chest. Had they already gotten to you? Kidnapped you? Did they know you were a high-priced target? The Maelstrom were no strangers to wanting to get their hands on money, they’d do anything for it.

In the darkness, Bakugou stumbles as the tip of his boot catches on something. He catches himself quickly enough, gun darting downwards and he’s unsurprised to see the remnants of one of the gang members. They already weren’t people anymore, but seeing them like this was something else. You had certainly been the one to cause such damage, but that just leads to the question – where the fuck are you? 

A hand clamps onto his shoulder, jolting the large blonde to move and reposition his gun until it was under the chin of whoever dared to sneak up on him. Just through the thickness of the fog, he’s able to see the illuminated red eyes of Kirishima staring down at him. It only soothes his heart a little, he knows Kirishima will have his back through this and for whatever is to come next. 

“You fucking big idiot, who just grabs someone in the dark?” Bakugou hisses regardless of the relief that settles into his rigid bones, his heated breath puffs out to add to the ever-growing fog that surrounds them. 

Kirishima smiles a little, albeit sheepishly and lets his hand drop from Bakugou’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to shout, who knows what’s in here.” Kirishima manages to whisper back, his eyes finally darting away from Bakugou to scour the darkness.

Bakugou can only grumble about that, Kirishima did have a point. Neither of them knew what was in there, and Bakugou couldn’t rely on his eye enhancements in the frigid cold. So he just moves, and Kirishima moves naturally along with him. 

“Do you think they got to her?” The dreaded question comes tumbling from Kirishima’s mouth.

“I fuckin’..- I don’t know.” Comes Bakugou's blunt reply, but he doesn’t mean for it to be so blunt. There’s just no other way around it, the possibility of you being taken or worse is slowly increasing. Bakugou doesn’t know what to do with the slow-building guilt in his conscience. He should’ve turned this job down for you, you were just blindly following whatever Aizawa demanded of you.

A click has both of the men freezing, Bakugou’s rifle in his hand poised and ready to fire the second the threat shows itself.

…The gun feels like a ten-tonne weight in your hand, it makes the synthetic fibres in your muscles in your body ache. But nothing is quite as heavy as the shard in your hand, it makes your stomach lurch uncomfortably to the point where your breakfast threatens to make a return. 

When you rounded the stairs and found the shard in a lone storage slot within an open cabinet, you had never wanted to run more. It wasn’t the fact it was a shard—but rather that it had your name engraved into the delicate metal. 

As soon as you had picked it up the red blinking light had turned off, the freezing air spilling from the now empty cabinet and tumbling onto the floor. You were plunged into darkness, and yet you could still see the shard as clear as day in your hand. 

However, it wasn’t just any data shard; it belonged to Militech. They were known for their ruthless advances in A.I. and other technological achievements, and the very thing in your hand with your name etched into it—you knew it could only mean trouble, whoever had dropped it off here wanted you to find it. But why? You didn’t understand, with each passing thought that involved Militech and the shard in your hand, it felt like your brain was ripping itself apart trying to recover memories that were locked behind a thick wall. 

You had to get rid of it; destroy it or make sure no one ever got their hands on it. This thing could hold countless pieces of information on the inner workings of Militech and its operations. 

“Hurry, or they’ll kill you.”

There’s a quick shuffle of footsteps coming down the steps behind you, and your fingers tighten uncomfortably around the chip. If you died here, you’d never be able to get away and ensure this thing never saw the light of day. The Maelstrom must’ve paid a pretty price for this thing, or perhaps they were keeping it safe until Militech came and picked it up. You couldn’t risk any of them getting their hands on it. 

You only had one choice. 

It’s not a painful procedure, it feels more like a tingle when the chip slides into the slot next to your own data shard on the back of your neck. But then it locks in, and it feels like you’re injected with nanites; they bite and chip away at you until they take root in your brain. They skitter and scamper across your spine, wrapping themselves around every vertebra. You can feel the way it spreads and wraps itself around your frontal lobe, squeezing until it’s too painful to bear. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, and your fingers press fruitlessly into the slot to try and pry it out of your body but it won’t release. It feels like your very soul is being warped and pressed into a mould, ripped and torn until you’re no longer a person anymore. 

The scream that tears apart your throat doesn’t sound like your own, it’s mangled and distorted—you can feel yourself fragmenting, your very skin splitting apart to rebuild itself in an attempt to save itself from the A.I. that was rapidly infecting your system. Your mind feels like it’s on fire, burning in the deepest depths of hell until finally, you feel nothing. 

Everything clicks into place, and the pain vanishes just as quickly as it had latched on. You move automatically when the first wave of Maelstrom approaches you, your handgun tossed to the side in favour of the gun embedded in your arm. It whirs to life, and you can only watch through the tinted glass of your eyes as you make your way through people as if they were nothing more than wet paper.

It all slowly comes to a lull, bodies slumped to the floor and blood sticks to your skin. It should feel cold but you feel like you’ve been locked out of your own body—everything is numb. 

It’s all so empty now, the memories you had formed over the last few months of being part of a family flicker and fade from existence. You couldn’t put a name to the faces in your mind, the voices and laughter becoming nothing but static that blinds you to the noise of approaching footsteps.

Not until it’s too late. You hear a shout, your eyes adjusting to the darkness to make out two outlines of gang members. One has a gun raised to you, the other has their hands raised to you as well yet you don’t spy a weapon. The Maelstrom weren’t known for their chrome for nothing, you suspected they had some interesting weaponry just like your own. 

Your eyes flicker, the augmentations in your eyes malfunctioning the longer you resist the command to execute all those who pose a threat to you. A warning flashes across your vision, a clear message that if you continue to resist you’re at risk of imminent death.

You raise your gun in response. There’s a presence looming just behind you, out of sight, yet you can hear a low chuckle – the familiarity of it has your blood freezing, and yet you can’t find the strength to stop yourself from acting on command for whoever was in control of the A.I.

“Put it down!” One of them yells, yet it’s muddied by the static in your ears. It sounds like they’re shouting through an old radio. “Lower your fucking weapon!” 

“They’ll kill you. Make sure you get there first.” The voice over your shoulder supplies, and you swear you can feel the puff of warm breath against your neck. There’s a soft brush of curls against your cheek when they lean just enough into your peripheral you can see green.

There are more whispers between the two of them, words you can’t make out but their momentary distraction is enough. Your arm tenses, the warning across your vision vanishes and then there’s a blinding light, it illuminates the darkness of the basement enough for you to finally make out the faces of the two men who had approached you. 

You can only blink, the familiar red and blonde hair makes your heart lurch. This all seemed so oddly familiar, a strange sense of deja vu washes over you. You expect to see one of them fall to the ground, but instead, it’s you who watches the world tilt and fall away.

You can’t move. Your limbs feel like they’re too heavy for your bones, and the cold finally starts to seep through your bones the second you make contact with the floor. 

“FUCK!” The blonde all but screams, and before you know it he’s in your face. Your body moves like a ragdoll until you’re scooped into his lap. You think you can feel the brush of his fingers against your forehead, frantically swiping away the hair that clings to your sweat-ridden skin. You can feel one of his hands move away from your face to press hard against your chest, you watch his face crumple when he realises something.

He’s speaking, rocking just slightly and the static starts to fade away until you hear him. “‘M sorry. ‘M so fucking sorry. I didn’t–I knew I shouldn’t–.” His sentences aren’t complete, broken up by the wet sobs that shake his body. His hand is wet when it comes back to your face, the smell of synthetic blood clogs your nose. 

The unnamed blonde continues to press his fingers against your face, squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to get you to respond but you can feel something now; a tug to just let go. You can only watch when the red-haired one squats down next to you as well, his mouth moves but there’s no sound.

You don’t think you have it in you to speak, to tell them something—anything, your world slowly starts to darken around you. But you hope the man cradling you knows he meant something to you; even if you can’t quite grasp the reason why. You just know that perhaps you might’ve come to love him, if you were given the chance to.

“Another disappointment.” The unknown man shrouded in a cloak of darkness watches from over the shoulders of both men who crowd you, but neither of them seems to notice him, too preoccupied with attempting to stop the rapid warmth that is spilling from your chest. The last thing you see is him shaking his head, a flash of green before there’s nothing.

. . . .

There’s a clatter on the sofa, followed by a choked sob. Bakugou rakes his hands through his hair, pushing back the long strands that fell onto his face. He side-eyes the headgear next to him; a braindance. 

It wasn’t just any braindance, it was one he had made specifically for him. They called it ‘Soulswap’, it was a walkthrough of your entire time with him, from the moment he had found you in that warehouse and up to the moment he had shot you. How it was made was something that Bakugou fought with for a while, it was morally wrong. To have someone dissect you like some high school science experiment and implant strands of your data—your memories—into something that he could watch. 

A ding on the coffee table draws his attention away from the braindance, and he swipes up his phone to see Kirishima has sent him a message.

[22:34] RED: Stop reliving it. You know that isn’t what she wanted.

Bakugou scoffs, what the fuck did Kirishima know about you? What the fuck did he know about the weight in his chest that replaced his once beating heart? He knew nothing. No one listened to him when he said that it wasn’t you at the end, that you weren’t in control. 

It was charted down to Cyberpsychosis on your unofficial death certificate. 

The uneasiness continued to eat away at Bakugou, even when he chose to ignore the onslaught of text messages from the others. It’d been this way for the last four years and it had only come to fruition now. It was hard to find someone capable enough of creating a braindance that wasn’t just a cheap way to get off or to kill someone without repercussions.

It was a delicate job, and he had finally found the guy to do it. 

Yet now he’s unsure if he should’ve gone through with it. Whilst it was all in cyberspace, he could still feel the emotions you had in your final moments. You had felt something for him, just as he had felt something for you—does feel something for you. 

Sinking back into the sofa, the world buzzes around him yet it feels like Bakugou is still stuck in that basement all those years ago. It used to take a more violent toll on his body, his modifications often becoming the victim of neglect until Kirishima forced him to keep taking the blockers to ensure he didn't spiral into psychosis. 

Bakugou’s head lulls back, staring up at the spinning fan on the ceiling. It won’t be long until Kirishima comes back and lectures him about bad habits or whatever the fuck he wanted to be on his ass for. 

“And with the renewed partnership between Militech and Lazarus, I truly believe we’ll be able to bring a stop to crime here in Night City.” 

That voice causes Bakugou to snap his head up, glaring at the television that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room. It wasn’t often he would make TV appearances but it wasn’t unexpected. He watches the camera pan across an array of Militech drones and other tech that he can’t quite understand before it falls back onto the CEO of Militech.

Izuku Midoriya.

Midoriya has a fake smile plastered on his face, hands buried in his deep expensive pockets as he stares at the interviewer just off to the side. His verdant eyes are dull, devoid of anything lifelike. Bakugou isn’t surprised entirely by that, Izuku was… once a friend, but he betrayed him and the rest of them for a chance at fame. 

He moved to Militech and quickly overtook the company, plunging them into tech that wasn’t short of war machines. 

“Hah, yes. It is true, we have been working on a new AI that we think will definitely be capable of deterring even those inflicted by Cyberpsychosis.” 

Bakugou blinks, his attention drawn back to the screen to see Izuku laughing about whatever had been asked, something about that laugh sounds familiar – not just from when he had known Izuku but from recent memory. 

And when it slowly dawns on him, it curdles his blood and makes his stomach tense. That laughter. The voice that lacks any emotion. The world fades into nothing around him the longer he stares at Midoriya talking animatedly about something in the interview, his chest tightens more and more until it feels like his heart may just burst.

It wasn’t a case of regular Cyberpsychosis.

Izuku Midoriya was the one who triggered it. He must’ve been the one who had planted that foreign chip, he wouldn’t just hand something like that over to the Maelstrom.

“We’re proud to announce the next line of fully-developed Artificial Intelligence; Akuma. This is just one of our newly created full cyborg—”

Bakugou finds his body locking into place, muscles growing tight and stomach twisting in knots before his heart plummets down into his stomach. His eyes widened. There. Right next to Izuku is… you. But it’s not the you he knew, it’s a duplicate, one of the new cyborgs created to withstand ‘Akuma’. 

He can tell from the way you hold yourself, rigid and cold like you were just some lifeless robot. You don’t respond to the stimuli around you, staring blankly ahead. It feels like his heart is being torn apart once again, shredded in a blender until there’s nothing left but an empty void that sits in his chest.

He knows for a fact that it’s not the real you, the one he held, the one who took a bullet for him—the one he was going to take home to meet his parents. He watched you go up in flames at a pyre funeral. It was Aizawa who had suggested it. “To make sure no one gets her.” Looks like that didn’t fucking matter, did it?

…No. Izuku must’ve had your DNA stored from when you worked at Militech. You were just an experiment, all the chrome you were sporting wasn’t just because you were a Militech worker, but rather because you were one of the prototypes for Militech. From the very start, you were destined to fail—another disappointment.

Bakugou doesn’t even register that he’s already moving, swiping up the bomber jacket you wore. The pulse rifle swung over one shoulder and the door slammed shut behind him. It was time to pay his childhood friend a visit.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo oneshot #bakugo katsuki imagine #cyberpunk!bakugou #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut

[livyjh]

Hunger

Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: on a patrol near Jackson with Joel, you run out of food and have to make do with whatever you can find. Eating the wrong thing makes you both feel… different.

A/N: Here’s another one shot unrelated to Temptation :) I really wanted to write a sex pollen thing with Joel and here it is!!

Warnings: sex pollen/sex poison, smut, dub-con based on the nature of the sex pollen/poison trope, talk about being hungry/eating, unprotected p in v (don’t do this), masturbation, rough sex, angry fucking, being mean to each other, Joel calls you a slut, choking, hair pulling, quick mention of blood/taste of blood, nipple play, spanking with object, anal play, creampie.

Joel Miller Masterlist

****************************************************

“I’m fucking starving.” You sigh, walking alongside Joel in the forest.

You were on day two of a three day patrol route, tonight you’d stay in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. Tomorrow you’d return to Jackson.

“Drink some water. It’ll hold ya over.” Joel sighs back at you. “Or pick some mushrooms.”

You scoff at him. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.” He chuckles quietly.

You roll your eyes, trudging through the humid spring weather. “Are there any edible flowers out here? Shit, I’d eat tree bark at this point.”

Joel shakes his head. “Don’t know much about the plants out here.”

You frown. Until…

“Oh my god.” You gasp and run to a bush you spotted about 10 yards away.

Joel calls after you, using your name to try and get your attention. But it doesn’t work, you were laser focused.

On a tall bush, almost as tall as you, there were berries. Ones that looked… like a raspberry, or a blackberry, but they were orange. You weren’t a hundred percent sure, but, you feel like you remember maybe eating these before.

“Joel!” You wave him over and he walks faster to get to you.

“What?” He sighs, putting a hand on his hip.

“These are edible.” You smile at him, then look at the bush, then back at Joel. “I think.”

He rolls his eyes and begins to walk past you.

“Joel, I know you’re just as hungry as I am. And I swear I remember eating berries just like this before. They should be fine.” You reasoned with him.

He turns back to face you. “Fine. Eat a couple.” He shrugs.

You gulp and stare at the berries for a few seconds before plucking a few and putting them in your mouth. You start to chew and soon scrunch your nose. They’re tart. Not quite sour, but very tart. You couldn’t give a shit at this point.

“They’re good.” You smile at Joel and pull more berries from the bush.

He walks over and picks a berry, bringing it up to his nose to smell it before finally putting it in his mouth. He starts to chew. “These are not good.”

“Quit complaining. It’s food. If those goddamn squirrels hadn’t gotten into your pack that you just left lying around for an hour…”

“You’re the one who fell asleep while you were s’posed to be watchin’ our shit, I was hunting.” He sneers at you.

“That’s because you talk in your sleep and I barely got two hours last night!” You scoff at him.

“Swear to god, if I die by some fuckin’ berries after all the shit I-“

“You’re not gonna die, Joel. Don’t be such a pussy.” You laugh and keep plucking berries and putting them into your mouth.

He sighs and breaks off a small branch, picking a couple more berries and eating them. “Reminds me of pineapple… except, not good.”

You shake your head and keep eating, ignoring his complaining for the next ten minutes while you both gorge yourself on the fruit.

“Should be getting to that safe house in the next hour.” Joel nods at you as you both continue walking, bellies full and satisfied.

A half hour passes and you feel like your skin is too hot. Your clothes are too hot. It was humid, but… it was only maybe 60° out. You shouldn’t be sweating like this.

Joel was on the same page, having taken his light jacket off only ten minutes into continuing your walk to the cabin.

“Joel…” you speak cautiously.

“I don’t feel good either.” He sighs.

“What should we-“ you start.

“Just gotta let the body process it. Or reject it. Whichever comes first.”

You both let out long sighs and keep walking.

15 more minutes and there’s a dull ache in the pit of your stomach. Lower than that, actually. It feels like where your uterus is.

You notice that Joel is breathing heavy, sounding more and more labored.

“Down… uh,” Joel glances at you and then stares for a second. “Down this trail here.” He points to a spot a few yards up where the main road diverts to a slim trail, barely noticeable if you hadn’t been looking for it. It was overgrown.

You nod at him, feeling warmth bloom in your chest and face. You follow him down the trail for a couple minutes when you come across a large fallen tree.

Joel climbs over it easily with his long legs. You? Not so much.

You struggle for a moment as you try and get your footing on a branch start on the side of the log, but you can’t.

“Jesus, give me a fucking hand, will you?” You snap at Joel.

He rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand to help you over the tree.

The second you grab his hand, you feel a jolt of electricity run up your arm and straight to your core. You couldn’t pinpoint what was going on. You felt irritable… angry… but all you could think about after getting over that log, was how Joel’s skin felt against yours.

You approached the cabin just a couple minutes later. You both walk inside and set down your bags before Joel disappears into the bathroom.

You hear the faucet start to run. You’d forgotten this place was connected to water… just didn’t have a working water heater.

You sat down in a recliner in the living room and involuntarily moaned when a spring under the thin recliner padding pressed against your heat through your jeans.

“Fuck.” You breathe.

You wait only ten to fifteen seconds before you figure Joel is gonna be awhile and you stick your hand down your pants. You start rubbing your clit furiously, hoping for some fucking relief before Joel comes back.

You’d go upstairs to the loft style bedroom so at least there would be a delay in Joel catching you like this, but you think rubbing your thighs together while going up stairs would make you cum anyways.

“Fuck it.” You whisper to yourself, dipping two fingers into your cunt. This is probably the wettest you’ve ever been.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d soaked through both your panties and your jeans by now.

You hear a low grunt come from the bathroom over the sound of the faucet and it only spurs you on. Was it because you were horny out of your mind, or did that sound sexual?

A moment later, the faucet turns off and you quickly pull your hand out of your pants and wipe the wetness on the side of the recliner. Just in time too, as Joel walks out of the bathroom a second later.

He spots you on the recliner, leaned back, eyes hooded, legs spread, and something in his face changes.

He looks furious, but… helpless.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth, the sensation making your whole body tingle. You look Joel up and down, feeling more wetness pool between your legs.

God, you normally didn’t get along great with him, but… you’d kill a hundred men just to have his cock inside you right now.

“Something’s wrong.” Are the first words said in that moment. Spoken by Joel.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You breathe hard, standing up.

“Don’t you fuckin’ mouth off to me.” Joel spits, stepping closer and pointing a finger at you.

You push his finger out of your face, another jolt of electricity moving through you at the skin contact. “What are you gonna do about it, old man?” You seeth.

Joel then grabs you by the throat, pushing you against the nearest wall. You can’t help but whimper at the feeling, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” He frowns.

“Make me.” You test him.

His grip on your throat tightens, his other hand moving up to grab the hair on the back of your head. He tilts your face up by pulling down on your hair and you squeeze your thighs together, moaning despite him choking you.

You reach down into your own pants again, needing just a little relief from the searing pain and pleasure coursing through your clit.

Joel whimpers at the sight of you, his face darting down to yours and crushing your lips together.

You growl into his mouth and bite his bottom lip, and then you taste blood. He grunts and pulls back, looking down at the tank top you were in, grabbing the front with both hands and ripping it from top to bottom. You shrug the ripped clothing off, reaching behind yourself to undo your bra as you look up at him.

His eyes are damn near black. Pupils blown as wide as you’ve ever seen. He’s panting and leans down to kiss you again, despite you having bit his lip too hard on the first one.

His hands drift up your hips and over your breasts, quickly stripping you of your bra. He leans down immediately, taking your right nipple into his mouth and biting just enough to get you to squeak out a moan.

“Joel-“ you cry out as his fingers tweak your left nipple.

“What?” He asks harshly.

“Fuck me, goddamnit. Don’t have time for this shit.” You snap back.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He barks the order as he backs up and starts to unbutton his own shirt.

He watches you with dark eyes as you slip your boots off, then your jeans, then your mostly soaked panties.

By the time he’s got his shirt off, you’re completely naked, staring at the tent in his jeans. You reach down and start to fuck yourself with two of your fingers. Joel undoes his belt and rips it from its loops in one swift motion.

You stare at him with doe eyes as he folds the leather strip in half before grabbing your wrist and pulling your fingers out. He growls and grabs you by the shoulders, moving you to lean over the arm of the couch. Lightning fast, he undoes his zipper and pulls himself out. You don’t even have time to look back when a *crack* fills the room and your ass stings painfully.

“Did I tell you you could do that?” Joel smacks your ass with his belt again.

“I told you to fuck me, already!” You screamed at him, looking back.

“Careful what you wish for.” He growls and lines up, pushing into you in under a second.

“Fuck!” You clench around him involuntarily, hearing his belt buckle hit the ground. This gave you a little relief from having to experience even more pain than you already are; between the whips of the belt and the way Joel is stretching you out.

“You asked for it.” He grunts and starts with fast, rough thrusts.

“Yeah, I know.” You spit the words at him over your shoulder.

“Show me some goddamn respect.” His cock hits the sweet spot inside you as he speaks, making you whimper loudly.

One of his hands is gripping your hip, the other reaching around your front, under your arm, gripping your breast harshly. He was holding onto you for dear life and you couldn’t get enough of it.

You’re hissing through your teeth at almost every thrust as the sound of his hips slapping your ass fills the room.

Joel doesn’t let up, his hands in bruising grips on your body. The hand on your breast moved to the front of your throat, gripping it, slowly cutting off your blood supply. He pulls you up against his chest, the new angle of your hips helping him get deeper as he fucks up into you.

“More!” You shout at him, fingers tapping the back of his hand on your throat.

He tightens his grip on you, you’re starting to see spots when your cunt pulses around him and you squirt your release all over his cock. “Fuck!” You gasp, tears forming in your eyes when Joel finally loosens his grip on your neck and you gasp for air.

You sob a string of curses as your orgasm washes over you, but Joel doesn’t stop. His hips begin to stutter and you know he’s got to be close.

You reach down and fiddle with your clit, wanting to cum again already.

“You’re a freaky thing aren’t you?” Joel asked, replacing your fingers with his own. “Bet you’d let me do anything I wanted. Fuckin’ slut.”

You nod as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Gonna let me cum inside you?? Fill up this tight pussy?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Y- yes!! Fuck, fucking do it!” You grind down against his cock and fingers and suddenly you’re both losing it.

Joel’s fingers and hips stutter as he pumps his load into you, your cunt milking him for all he’s got. He keeps moving until his hips and back start hurting.

His dick is still hard as a rock when he pulls out of you. And there was no end in sight for you, you think you could cum ten more times and not be satisfied. You didn’t know at this point.

Joel moves around you and sits on the couch, cock in hand. His wet strokes are music to your ears as you maneuver yourself into his lap, facing away from him, each of your legs on the outside of his.

You can feel your own slick and his cum mixing together and leaking down to your asshole as you lean back against Joel’s chest.

“Fuck me again.” You pant.

“Shut up.” He spreads his thighs to make yours even further away from each other, reaching around and looking over your shoulder as he pushes two fingers into you.

He collects the wetness and starts rubbing up and down your slit, his thumb repeatedly brushing over your bundle of nerves.

“I told you I don’t have t- time for this, Joel.” You cry as you start to grind up against his hand with each downward movement of it.

“And I told you to shut up.” He growls and bites your earlobe. He can feel you dripping on him and he grabs you by the waist and folds you forward, making you put your hands on the coffee table for balance and support.

He lines himself up and pushes his cock into you, his fingers still covered in your juices moving to the hole that he hasn’t filled yet.

“Oh-“ you breathe, stomach churning with pleasure. “Do it. Fuck, don’t tease me, Joel. I’ll fucking stab you in the leg, I don’t-“ You’re cut off when his middle finger slowly pushes into you, making you gasp.

He starts thrusting himself up into your pussy while his finger worked its way in and out of your tightest hole, your slick and Joel’s cum sufficiently lubing you up.

His finger moved faster as his hips bucked up against yours. You start to roll your hips in rhythm with his and you’re about to cum again.

Joel feels you clench around him and he knows you’re close. He starts fucking you especially hard, loving the way you were bouncing on his cock.

His finger pulls out of you and he grabs your hips with both hands for more force and then you’re screaming his name as you cum hard.

Close behind, Joel groans as he shoots his load into you again. His hands start to loosen on your hips, his dick starting to finally soften inside you. Your anger has faded, your stomach no longer burning with feral need.

Joel pulled you back against his chest again as he came to his senses. “Did I hurt you?” He spoke softly, cock flexing, still in your pussy.

You hum a sigh, tired. “No. I mean… yes. But it didn’t hurt in a way that I didn’t like.”

“Alright.” He wraps his arms around your waist, hands splaying out over your belly.

“This okay?” He asks after a moment, nose tracing circles in the soft spot behind your ear.

“Yeah… I-“ you take a breath. “I think I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile.”

Joel laughs quietly. “You ‘think’? Whaddya mean?”

You shake your head, smacking his arm lightly. “I just didn’t want to admit to myself that I had a crush on you. So I played up the sass a bit.”

“Ahh, okay.” He hums.

“Like you didn’t? You tease me all the fucking time, Joel.”

He nods, breath ghosting over your neck, causing goosebumps to raise there. “And I know you love it.”

————————————————————————

Tag list: @evyiione @chyannealaniz @cesspitoflove @supersingle

Want to be added to the tag list?

#fanfic #fanfiction #smut #pedro pascal #imagine #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel x you #joel x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x plus size reader #sex pollen #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller self insert #reader insert #plus size reader #smutty #pwp #tlou smut #the last of us smut #joel smut

[ktgoodmorning]

You'll be okay

Alexia Putellas x reader

Part 4 to that awkward smile

You struggle with your concussion recovery but Alexia's there to help you.

A short little one to finish up this series!

I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I

Masterlist

The morning after your concussion, you were woken up by the intense pounding in your head, just as bad as it was when you first went down on the pitch. The pain meds given to you by the physios had apparently worn off and now it was catching up with you. You instinctively had buried your face in your pillow as if it could make it all better, letting out a whiny sob that you had fought so hard to hold in. Your girlfriend was a light sleeper and was always even worse after a game day, that combined with your injury, had her barely sleeping at all that night, instantly awake as soon as you made a sound. 

You didn’t notice her wake up until you felt her hand gently running up and down your back as you cried into your pillow. Of course the crying only increased your pain but at this point you couldn’t stop. “Amor, I’ve got you, okay? You’ll be alright.” Her voice was rough from sleep, normally something that would leave you instantly distracted from whatever was going on in your mind, but not able to overcome the pain you were currently feeling, causing you to cry even harder. 

Alexia must have realized that your sudden increase in pain was due to your medication wearing off, as she quickly tried to get up to get you another dose, only being stopped by your tight grip on her t-shirt. “Don’t go, I need you.” It broke her heart to hear the way you cried for her, showing a side of you that she hadn’t seen for many years. 

“I’m just going to get you some more pain meds, I’ll be right back, I promise. I really think it’ll help, okay?” You didn’t really respond, just lightening the hold you had on her shirt so that she could get up while you continued to sob hard in complete agony. 

It felt like ages even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes until your girlfriend returned to your side, water bottle in one hand, medication bottle in the other. At this point you had only spiraled further, gasping for breath as you continued to make yourself feel worse and worse. Alexia knew you were struggling but had no idea how bad it was until she saw you now, somehow even more worked up than when she left you just a few minutes before. “Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay, you’re gonna be just fine.” She pulled you over so your head was laying on her lap, allowing her to run her fingers through your hair and try to calm you down. “See if you can take a deep breath for me, I’ve got you now.” 

“I- I can’t-” You continued to gasp for breath, only freaking yourself out more and causing you to start shaking your head quickly, as if you could almost will it all to go away. 

“Hey, don’t do that you’ll hurt yourself, amor. It’s okay, it’s okay, just look at me.” You finally opened your eyes, the first attempt you had made at calming down. “There you go, you’re doing so good. See if you can breathe with me.” The blonde held eye contact with you, taking exaggerated deep breaths in hopes that you would follow her. Her one hand remained on the side of your face, gently stroking it with her thumb, while her other hand laced her fingers with yours, letting you squeeze it as hard as you wanted to help cope with the pain. 

After a few minutes, your breathing had slowed significantly, returning to quiet cries. The second you had slightly calmed, Alexia helped you sit up so you could take your meds, trying to get them in your system as soon as possible. She had never seen you so broken before, and it had left her unsure of just how to help you, especially as she watched you continue to cry, completely helpless. “How can I help you, amor?” Her voice was much softer than you had heard from her before, filled with uncertainty once again. 

“Can you just hold me please and tell me it’ll be okay?” Your girlfriend immediately opened her arms to allow you to collapse into her chest as you still continued to cry, breaking her heart even further over your reaction. 

“You’ll be okay, mi amor. Your head will start feeling better any minute now when your meds kick in. The doctors said, this is the worst of it, remember? It’ll only get better from here, and I’m not going anywhere, I’ve got you.” She rocked you slightly, just saying anything she could think of to make you feel better. 

“It hurts, Ale.” You whimpered into her shoulder yet again as she held you tightly. 

“I know, amor, I know. But it’ll get better, you’ll be okay. Let’s see if you can fall back asleep for a while, I think it’ll help.” You gave her a slight nod, but started to climb off her lap and back to your side of the bed, causing Alexia to scrunch up her eyebrows in confusion. “What are you-” 

“Ale, I woke you up. I know you’d rather get up and make some breakfast instead of laying in bed all day, you don’t have to stay here with me.” She just shook her head at you, while she pulled you back into her arms. 

“It’s okay baby, I couldn’t sleep anyways. You know I barely sleep after games, so do you really think I could sleep knowing you were concussed next to me?” You remained silent, unsure of if you believed her or if she was just being nice to take care of you, but of course she saw straight through your silence. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll be right here. If I fall asleep you can wake me up whenever you want, even if you don’t have a reason to.”

You finally allowed yourself to get comfortable once again in her arms, knowing there was no way she’d take no for an answer. As you fell back to sleep, you could’ve sworn you heard her mutter a “te amo” just before you drifted off.

Last one of this series! Would love to hear any feedback or requests for what you'd like to see next!

Masterlist

#barcelona femeni #woso imagines #barca femeni #fcb femini #woso one shot #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #espwnt x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia x reader #wosoreading24/7 #wosoreadingalexia #espwnt #woso fanfics

[moonstruckme]

Hey love, im back to plague you with another idea...

A situationship / budding relationship james x reader where shes the Black brothers sister, but every time one of them catchs the two of them alone they physically pick her up and just walk away with that menacing Black stare.

Tysm love x

Thanks for requesting sweetheart!

James Potter x Black!reader ♡ 911 words

“Do you really think this is the best place to hang out?” you ask James, eyeing the closet in his dorm as if you’re brother’s going to come popping out. 

“It’ll be fine,” he promises you in that optimistic, sure-footed way of his. 

From the way Regulus had talked about Sirius’ friends at Hogwarts, you’d expected James to be insufferable. Arrogant, entitled, the true embodiment of the mask your oldest brother puts on when he’s here at school. But you’d discovered when you’d arrived that Sirius’ goofy friend wasn’t the James Potter you were warned about. He was self-assured, certainly. Confident, but in the years you’ve known him it’s never seemed like anything more sinister than that. James doesn’t walk into every room like he owns it; he walks in like it’s home. He brings that everywhere with him—that feeling of home, of belonging. It seeps into you when you’re with him, and to your brother’s acute repugnance, you’re with him more and more these days. 

“Remus is off with Lily, and Sirius got pulled aside by coach after practice, so he’ll be on the pitch running drills for a good hour yet,” James goes on. He sits down on his bed, and you follow suit. “Plus, your dorm is occupied and this is the only other semi-private place I could think of.” His smile goes a bit sheepish as he shrugs, one-shouldered and boyish. 

You catch his meaning—the privacy carries implications neither of you are ready to act on—and you’ve got no reason to feel awkward about that but a nervous laugh fizzes up out of you anyway. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you admit. Though Sirius is far from unaware of this blossoming whatever between you and James, neither of you are keen on him finding out through the grapevine that you were seen canoodling in the hallways. Privacy is ideal. “So, I’m guessing practice went better for you than it did for him?” 

James shrugs again, the show of humility making you both grin. You can never seem to stop doing that around him. “Yeah,” he says, “practice for a seeker is pretty straightforward. Less strategy to it, so I guess I got off easy.” 

“You make it sound like Sirius isn’t just hitting things with a bat,” you deadpan, and he laughs. The sound feels like sunbeams shooting straight into your gut. 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” he hedges. “But hey, are you coming to the party after the match on Saturday?” 

“Is there still going to be a party if you lose?” 

James fixes you with a look. “We never lose, sweetheart.” 

Another giggle bubbles out of you, though the joke isn’t really that hilarious. You secretly love when James calls you names like that. It makes your heart do all sorts of funny, acrobatic things. You don’t love that it’s probably not so secret, and he can almost definitely tell. His eyes go warm now, a knowing smile playing on the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ll think about it.” 

“You should come,” he encourages, leaning his hands back on the mattress. You very pointedly do not let your eyes linger on his forearms as he does so. “It’d make me happy to see you there.” 

“You’re always happy,” you tease. 

“That’s because you only see me when I’m seeing you.” You must look confused, because James’ clarifies, voice softening slightly, “I can’t help but be happy when I’m with you, sweetheart.” 

The combined effect of the words, the tone of his voice, the sweet way he’s looking at you—it starts up more than butterflies in your stomach. There’s got to be a whole ecosystem in there by now, with buzzing bees and jumping frogs and everything. You look down, a half-hearted effort to hide the smile that takes you.

“James,” you murmur, lightly chiding. 

The door comes open, and your brother’s eyes widen as they take in you on James’ bed, his hand an inch away from your leg and both of you looking terribly caught. Then they narrow. 

“James Potter, zip your pants back up right this instant!” 

“Sirius!” you exclaim, and there’s no lightness to this chiding, your face heating with mortification. You glance at James’ zipper, just to be sure—and yup, it’s fully closed, everything contained—and then glance quickly away, horrified all over again that you’d looked. 

“We weren’t even doing anything,” you seethe, knowing your stare matches your brother’s as you glower at each other from across the room. “What are you even doing back?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, utilizing that older brother’s insouciance he knows gets under your skin like nothing else. “It seems you’ve gotten turned around. These are the boys’ dorms.” His words drip venom onto the dull red rug. “I’ll be happy to escort you back to yours. Let’s go.” 

“No.” You set both hands on James’ bed, feeling ridiculously petulant. Sirius raises a brow as if to say No? but you ignore him. “This dorm is as much James’ as it is yours, and he invited me here.” 

“Pads,” James says, not quite softly, but mildly compared to the fiery tones you and your brother are throwing back and forth, “we’re just talking.” 

“And now you’re done talking.” Sirius shrugs, stalking toward you. You grip James’ sheets a bit tighter on instinct. “If I recall, you have a potions’ essay to write, and you’re not—ugh.” He grunts, wresting you away from James’ bed using a hold that’s worked since you were kids. James himself offers no help, other than a sympathetic grimace as you’re hauled off. Sirius fixes him with a cold glare in return. “You’re not getting that done in here.” 

“You are so immature,” you gripe as he starts tugging you towards the stairs, your feet barely skimming the ground. 

“We can talk about—oi, quit!—we can talk about who’s more mature when you stop pinching me, you prick!” 

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter x self insert #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fluff #big brother!sirius #sirius black #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter blurb #james potter scenario #james potter one shot #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders x reader #hp marauders

[apocalypse-shuffle]

HOBIE BROWN | SPIDER-PUNK (atsv)

─────────────────

─────────────────

“Brand New Metal” (Hobie Brown & Fem!Reader)

| Hobie helps you pierce your nose.

| SFW, piercing description, needles

| Featuring almost the entirety of my own piercing experience. (Pic source: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) movie)

You pull away for what feels like the hundredth time in five minutes and Hobie’s hand moves outta the way even faster, barely a blur of movement before it’s back within his bubble of space.

“C’mon, Mama, I can’t do this if you keep jumpin’ away from me.”

You shift in place where your butt is planted beside the hard water stained sink. Shoulders dropping you rub your hands down your face.

“I know that,” you grumble.

Problem was, knowing barely qualified as a quarter of the issue, and whoever said knowing was half the battle clearly hadn’t been staring down the point of the thickest needle you’d ever seen in person.

You wave your hand to the metal rod with a grimace. “But look at the size of that thing, Hobes. That’s gotta be overkill.”

Hobie’s accent seems to get thicker as he hits you with a deadpan tone, full brows shading his eyes.

“This’s a twenty gauge needle. I’ve seen you ’old your guts inside you and still make time to bash in some fascists, this’s nothin’.”

In response you flip him off but Hobie - perfectly unfazed - only starts twirling the needle around two latex glad fingers.

His own piercings - of which there were plenty - glint off of the dim yellow lighting of his bathroom like a taunt. Or at least it feels like that to you.

“Look, I already told you piercings ain’t some crucial part of the scene, Mama. You don’t have ta do any of this. It’s all just boxes and labels, the lot of it,” Hobie points the blunt side of the needle at you. “And you know I hate labels.”

“Yeah, Hobes, the whole of Camden knows. Besides, I want it cause I think it looks nice not cause of capitalism’s agenda to make us buy shit instead of looking at whatever human right of the day they’re doing away with,” you shrug and Hobie’s mouth twists to the side for a second before he’s shrugging too.

“Great. Point’s been made then. Pick a struggle.”

“Fuck your struggle,” you frown. “It’ll hurt.”

“Hn,” he scoffs and shakes his head. He’s giving you this narrow look like he’d let you keep this back and forth up for the rest of the day without any complaints though. “Fake ones exist for a reason.”

“Fake ones won’t give me the satisfaction of a real piercing though.”

“The lie that we need to feel pain in order to be worthy of livin’ is also capitalistic propaganda, Luv.”

Now it’s your turn to give him a look; face dropping and one brow rising.

Hobie chuckles.

“Fine.” He grins, sharp. “We both know I know exactly what it is you’re sayin’. I just can’t tell if being an accomplice to yer masochism is fair to me.”

“You wouldn’t deny a woman her creative outlet, would you?”

“S’pose not,” Hobie agrees, taking another alcohol swab and disinfecting the needle again for extra measure.

He eyes you up and down and you smile, fluttering your lashes at him and kicking your heels into his cabinet doors. You needed Hobie to be the one to do this. For one, because you were not going to be able to do this yourself, and for two, because he was really the only person you trusted to puncture a literal hole in your body.

You take a deep breath, now if only you could chill the hell out.

Hobie shakes his head, wicks flopping around and knocking into each other languidly.

“Yer one ‘elluva reluctant participant to this for someone agreein’ they’re a masochist,” he nods to the needle while brandishing it like a knife. He knows you're full of shit, but he’s not about to make your decision for you. “You gotta stop flinching every time light just glints off the needle if you really want this.”

You lock eyes with him, sitting up to your full height and trying not to back away from the metal rod. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the adrenaline rush to kick in.”

“Pretty sure that happens after the pain, yeh?

A huff and your fingers curl over the edge of the counter and squeeze.

“Just…get it over with, Hobie.” You take a deep breath. “Please?”

“Alright alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Hobie eases a hand around your jaw and raises the needle. “You know I’ve got you. Now keep still.”

Another deep breath from you and Hobie meets your eye for a second time.

“On three,” he grunts. With your head in his grasp you can’t physically nod so you use your eyes to convey your agreement.

Hobie takes a breath to start the countdown and you inhale with him. You’ve gotten your ears pierced before, you could do this. It was fine. Plus you’ll have a few seconds to prep yourself before he gets to number three. You got this. You both exhale.

“Three,” he states.

Without a second to spare the needle pierces through the squishy cartilage of your nose and your breath catches in your throat. Instantly tears well in your eyes and your face heats up something fierce - like somebody’s holding a blow dryer on the highest setting up to it with zero mercy. Your joints pop, grasp on the counter growing tighter in your attempt to keep yourself from jerking out of Hobie’s hold. The sheer need to not garner an actual injury from the metal is almost solely what keeps you in place.

This wasn’t like an ear piercing at fucking all. Fuck this septum piercing and fuck Hobie too. What the fuck?

“Ow! You motherfucker!”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! I only wrote his accent clearly some of the time; you’ll have to forgive me. I was confusing my damn self, okay? I did my best.

Also what I said about how adrenaline works isn’t really correct so don’t take that as gospel.

Edit: Had this labeled gn!reader on accident at first y’all, that’s my bad. Sorry for any confusion.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#hobie brown #spider-punk #black!reader #black y/n #hobart brown #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie x black!reader #spider punk x black!reader #black female reader #platonic!black reader #hobie brown & black!reader #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown & reader #across the spiderverse #spider man across the spider verse #atsv imagines #x black!reader #spiderverse imagine

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Manager

Managers can teeter on the edge of being the most helpful and supportive authorities in your life or the worst. More often leaning toward the latter, it isn’t bizarre to feel helpless when they put a strain on your paycheck or your general health during and outside the work day. It’s infuriating and downright despairful when they use the power of management to make you miserable. But you can always file a report to HR or the branch head. Sometimes it’ll work but not always. More likely than not there’s more support for them further down the line which makes it even harder to contest. 

“(Y/n) didn’t I tell you to smile when you’re at the front? S-M-I-L-E!”

But there’s something just as alarming about the manager who doesn’t have that. No favor from directors, open to the reprimands of human resources, and even a criminal record to boot. There’s something that compels you to listen when you look for an ounce of sympathy in those amber eyes to find a tempest of unhinged madness. You can only begin to visualize in a fever-driven nightmare. 

That’s your manager. 

The lovely, awful, and disastrous manager that fills you with helplessness like no other. 

Yandere Manager is just so naggy. Not only to you but your coworkers as well because there’s always something to comment on. Even when it’s not insulting or condescending it just rubs everyone the wrong way. 

“The way the uniform looks on you makes it look like we dragged you off the street.”

“....”

“....You’re the one who gave her a uniform that isn’t her size.”

“Yeah, but she’s the one who looks homeless. (Y/n) how about you mind your business and actually do your job. Thanks!” 

Yandere Manager is especially unpredictable in his support of you. Sometimes joining unruly customers when they blame you for something you messed up on. While also defending you over something small that didn’t require anyone’s input let alone his. Situations with entitled customers is a coin toss with him.

“Miss I’ll just remake the drink for you.”

“No no, you don’t have to I just want to know what was used instead of oat milk.”

“Oh okay then it's…Mr. Manager?”

“....YOU!?”

“Me?”

“Oh no.”

“NEVER WALK INTO MY ESTABLISHMENT AGAIN!”

“What why? I didn’t–”

“IF YOU REFUSE TO LEAVE I’LL HAVE TO REMOVE YOU BY FORCE.”

“Ahhh!”

“Wait! You don’t need the crossbow! Put it down!”

“DON’T EVER SPEAK TO MY EMPLOYEE EVER AGAIN!”

You can hardly pinpoint a pattern to his discord even after his honest confession when you catch him rifling through your things. But he won’t explain why he steals your lunch or makes fun of you in front of your coworkers. Or why he slashes your tires and breaks the windows of your home. It gets so bad you’re starting to think he uses this supposed obsession as an excuse for his behavior.

“Will you please explain why you broke into my car…for the fourth time?”

“Hmmm no.”

“...fine don’t. Now get out.”

“No I don’t think I will.”

“I have pepper spray and a tasor.”

“I can handle pepper spray.”

~Kzzt~

“Okay fine, you win this time.”

But despite your suspicions, he’s very much obsessed. Convinced he’s owed your affections he doesn’t mind breaking into your home, invading your personal space, and making light fun-as lovers do. No, his more sporadic actions happen to be something like knee-jerk reactions of his love for you. Similar to cuteness aggression. Because in his mind he’d prefer to break another window of yours than murder the family next door for looking at you too long. 

“This will have to do for now. I mean they can’t pin me for their carelessness when driving into a ditch, right?”

Usually, he doesn’t mind just doing whatever he feels like but since you’ve caught and called the police on him he’s on a tight leash. Not because he’s at all afraid of the police. Not at all. It’s because then he’ll be breaking the hold he has on you. Let me explain.

The minute he did the slightest thing out of line you called the higher-ups who threatened him and assured you he’d be fired. Great. But when he cornered you in your own home with the possibility that this wouldn’t stop when he was fired you had to pause.

“Sure you might get rid of me at work but then you’ll never know where I am. Instead of staying at work with you, I might just be in your room or at your friend’s house, or in your car!”

“T-t-then I’ll call the police on you!”

“After I’ve already left? Well sure they can serve an order and arrest me if I’m too close but when I break out–and trust me I will–you’ll have no idea when or where I’ll be coming from. I’ll be a constant boogeyman over your life if you kick me out now.”

“.....”

“So don’t get me fired, kay?”

Yandere Manager who is only given a warning by his employers and police before you stop attempting to get others involved. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s completely right. For all the times you find him breaking in, already broken in, or stealing something of yours he’s never lied to you. The same can’t be said for others but even when he’s doing something wrong he’ll always be honest with you. 

“Mister Manager? Did you do something to my lunch?”

“No! How dare you accuse me of such a deplorable thing! I should write you up.”

“....(Y/n)?”

“Clyde.”

“What?”

“Did you mess with his food?”

“Yes.”

“Dude are you serious?!” 

Life with Yandere Manager isn’t going to be easy at first but when has it ever been for an employee like yourself? It’s best that you get used to your Manager’s obsession, heck it might help make your grueling shift a little bit better.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere oc x reader #yandere original characters #yandere manager #yandere original character #yandere oc x you #yandere ocs #yandere ocs x reader #yandere manager x reader

[mattitties]

sworn enemy - matt sturniolo

I don’t have many enemies in my life. I try to get along with most people, and even if I don’t like them, I do my best to be friendly no matter what. But there’s one person that I absolutely cannot stand: Matt Sturniolo.

I moved to LA about six months ago, and the triplets were some of the first people I met. I got close with Nick first, then Chris, and I attempted to get close with Matt, but he was so closed off and became outwardly rude to me every interaction we had. I have no idea why he hates me so much, but I will not tolerate him giving me that kind of attitude for no reason when I’ve tried to be his friend.

So I don’t try anymore. I’m over at their house more than I’m at mine, and I’ve gotten to the point of completely ignoring that asshole when he comes into the room. Is it rude to ignore someone in their own home? Sure, but none of this would be happening if he didn’t make it abundantly clear from day one that he has no interest in being my friend.

Nick and Chris invited me over tonight to watch a movie, so of course I accepted. Despite everything with Matt, I absolutely adore Nick and Chris and would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with them.

“Helloooo,” I say when I walk into the living room, where they’re already setting up the movie.

“Hey!” Nick smiles as he gives me a hug. “Movie’s almost ready, you wanna get some snacks?”

I nod and head to the kitchen, saying hello to Chris in the process. I’m so invested in rummaging through their fridge that I don’t even notice Matt walk into the room until he groans.

“Oh joy, look who’s here!” he says as I turn around.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you,” I tell him as I grab some drinks. “Just go back to your cave and it’ll be like I’m not even here!”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel your presence even from there. Seriously, who invited her?”

“We did,” Chris says. “Come on dude, isn’t this getting a little old? It’s time to get over whatever dumb shit you have against her and grow up.”

Matt shakes his head as he takes a box of Goldfish to the couch. “Nah, I’m good. So what are we watching?”

“Oh, so now you wanna watch with us?” I ask. “Two seconds ago you were acting like it was the end of the world that I’m here.”

“Well, this is my house, and I should be able to watch a movie in my house even when little annoying creatures are sitting on my couch,” he smiles sarcastically at me.

I say nothing in response. He’s such a dick. 

“Oh, before I forget, do you want to come to TopGolf tomorrow night with us and our friends?” Chris asks me.

“I wish, but I’m going to a bar tomorrow night with my roommate,” I tell him.

“No worries, we’ll go another time. Matt’s not going either because he’s just too good for all of us, isn’t that right Matt?” Chris teases and pokes Matt’s stomach, earning a punch to his upper arm from Matt.

I roll my eyes at Matt’s clear inability to have any fun and sit back as the movie begins. 

I should not have gone out tonight. I’m having the worst night. I should have gone to TopGolf with Chris and Nick. All my life choices are being regretted. 

My roommate is currently in the bathroom probably sucking some random guy off, and I have somehow gotten in the middle of two drunk guys fighting over god knows what. The place is crowded and I’m being swallowed in a sea of people as I desperately try to get away from the fight before punches start being thrown. 

I’m unsuccessful. 

In the midst of the chaos, one of the guys accidentally nails me right in the eye as he goes to hit the other. He doesn’t even notice and continues going after him, but other people do notice. I really wish they hadn’t. I want nothing more than to just get out of there.

I push my way to the entrance and ignore the small crowd of people following me and asking if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I tell them, speeding up and breathing a sigh of relief when I make it outside.

The pain in my eye doesn’t even register until I open my camera and see it: red, bloody, and already starting to swell. I’m tearing up, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or from the disaster that is tonight. I need to go home, but there’s no way I’m going back inside to get my roommate, and she definitely won’t see if I text or call her. I could Uber, but I’m terrified of Ubering alone, especially in Los Angeles at 11 PM. I don’t want to bother Nick and Chris while they’re out, even though I know they would drop everything to get me. 

A pit in my stomach rises as I click Matt’s contact name and text him.

are you up? kind of in a situation here and need a ride

Bruh

Call someone else

i wouldn’t ask unless i really needed help

please

I hate how desperate I sound, especially to him, but I’m cold and scared and in pain, so at this point I really don’t care.

Jesus fine where are u

I send him my location and wait. He pulls up ten minutes later, and I do my best to hide my tear stained and bloody face as I get in the car.

“Thank you so much,” I tell him, trying to control my shaky voice. “I’m really sorry, I just–”

“Are you okay?” he asks. I’m barely looking at him, but I can feel him staring at me. 

“Yeah, why?”

He turns my face towards him with his thumb. His eyes widen when he sees my eye, which definitely looks worse than it did 10 minutes ago. “Dude! What the fuck happened???” 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell him, my eyes starting to well up again. 

“You’re not fine. What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Nobody did anything, I swear. Two guys were just fighting and I couldn’t move fast enough and I got hit. It’s my fault, but I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I explain unconvincingly as I start to cry. 

“If it doesn’t hurt, why are you crying?”

“Because I just wanna go home, Matt! Can you just take me home?” I sob.

“Okay, okay,” he says gently as he switches gears to drive. “Can I take you to my house? We need to clean up that eye.”

I nod and look out the window as he drives us home. He is the absolute last person I want to see in this state. I know he’s going to use this against me in a few days and he’s never going to let me live it down. 

When we get to the triplets’ house, I make a beeline for Matt’s bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. 

“Oh my god,” I mumble. I look awful. My eye is completely swollen and it’s turning purple. I have a gash in my cheek. “Why the fuck did I go out tonight?” I say as Matt walks in behind me. “I have to go to work looking like this! I’m not gonna make any tips! People are gonna throw up looking at me!”

“Okay, calm down,” he tells me. “Sit on the toilet. I’m gonna clean it and get you some ice and then you can just chill here, okay?”

I nod and sit down on the toilet lid as he gets a cotton ball and some hydrogen peroxide. He tilts my chin up to look at him. “Little sting,” he mumbles. I scrunch my face at the feeling of the peroxide on the cut. “I know, I’m sorry, almost done.”

He dabs the cut a few times and throws the cotton ball out. “Come on,” he says, motioning me to get up. “Go lay down and I’ll get ice.”

I silently oblige and lay on his bed, giving him a small smile when he returns with some ice chunks in a ziplock bag covered in a paper towel. 

“It’s the best I could do,” he says when he hands it to me. “We don’t have any actual ice packs.”

“It’s great, thank you.”

He lays down next to me and turns on the TV. I’m not even paying attention. All I can think about is trying not to ask the one thing I desperately want to know. I almost keep myself from saying it, until it just comes out of my mouth like word vomit.

“Why don’t you like me?”

He looks at me, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What?”

I immediately regret everything, but I ask again. “Why don’t you like me? I mean, Nick and Chris both like me, so I would assume you would too, but like… did I do something to you?”

He sits up and turns the TV off. “I dropped everything tonight to come save you from a bar. Why don’t you think I like you?”

“You’re just so mean to me. You have been since the day we met. And I don’t understand what I did to deserve that. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, I just want to know why.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I do like you. I never meant to make it seem like I don’t, I thought we were just playing around. Like friends tease each other, ya know?”

“Well yeah, but… you’ve never done anything to make me think we’re friends, so…”

“I’m sorry,” he says. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then closes it.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothin. Do you want to stay here tonight? I can get you something to change into.”

“Oh,” I reply, completely taken aback by this. “Yeah… yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.”

He offers me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt which I take into the bathroom and change into, discarding the ice pack in the process. I take another look in the mirror and sigh.

“God, I look fucking disgusting,” I say when I climb back into his bed.

“You look beautiful,” he says so quietly I have to double check if I even heard him correctly.

“Don’t tell me that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not.” He turns on his side to face me. “You are beautiful.”

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

His eyes are moving between my eyes and my lips. I’m starting to put the pieces together, and it’s terrifying. 

“Because I’m tired of pushing my feelings down and making it your problem,” he says. I don’t say anything, I just give him time to explain. “I didn’t want to like you because you were Nick and Chris’ friend first, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. I thought being a dick would make my feelings go away. It didn’t.”

“I like you, Matt,” I whisper. “I have since I first met you. It made me so sad to think that you didn’t like me. And I’m sorry I’ve also been mean to you.”

“Don’t be sorry, I deserved it,” he says. “Do you still hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Good,” he says before lightly holding my cheek and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I freeze for a moment, not fully processing what’s happening, and then I hold his wrist and kiss him back, our lips moving perfectly together.

It’s clear that neither of us have any intention of taking it further tonight. We continue to kiss for just a couple minutes until we separate, doing nothing but staring into each others’ eyes. 

“Goodnight, Matt,” I say.

“Goodnight.”

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [19] - Couples Therapy

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A therapy session can be enlightening.

Word Count: 2300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

It wasn’t like you thought taking Bucky to couple’s therapy for your technically fake marriage was going to be easy, but you didn’t think it would be this difficult.

Bucky bounced his leg beside you on the sofa while you both sat in the waiting room, his eyes darting around the room as if he expected someone to attack him at any moment.

“What happens if she asks me questions?” he asked you gruffly and you pulled your brows together.

“You’ll be fine.”

Bucky huffed out and turned to you.

“How about instead of doing this, I just pay you money to walk out of here?”

“Not gonna happen, Bucky.”

“I’ll put the weekend house under your name, you like it there.”

“The weekend house will be mine once we get a divorce anyway,” you reminded him. “It’s on the prenup.”

Bucky licked his lips. “Do you want another house?”

“Stop trying to bribe me,” you told him as he eyed the door to the therapist’s office before fixing the gun in his waistband and you gasped.

“Why did you bring a gun to the therapy?!” you hissed and he narrowed his eyes.

“We don’t know what expects us in there!” he whispered back, making your jaw drop.

“Do you seriously think—Bucky, look me in the eye and tell me you think our therapist is going to try to shoot us in couple’s therapy—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?” the therapist’s voice reached you as the door opened and you both turned to her before you smiled at her sweetly.

“Hi!”

“You can come in,” she said, stepping aside and you let out a breath, then stood up, holding Bucky by the arm to signal him to stand as well. Bucky heaved a sigh as if he was being tortured but followed you into the room dutifully and you both sat down on the couch, the therapist taking her seat soon after.

“Dr. Raynor,” you said and she smiled back at you.

“Mrs. Barnes.”

“Y/N is fine,” you said and motioned at Bucky. “And this is Bucky.”

Bucky gave her a curt nod quietly and you cleared your throat, shifting your weight.

“My therapist Dr. Cooper recommended you,” you told her. “She speaks very highly of you.”

“Dr. Cooper is a very respected colleague of mine,” she told you. “The feeling is mutual. So what brings you here?”

“Well, we’ve just got married,” you said. “And I’ve been in therapy since I was a child, basically. Bucky on the other hand has a more distant stance towards it so I figured it could help us both if we did it together.”

Dr. Raynor nodded and turned to Bucky.

“And what about you Bucky?” she asked. “What brings you here?”

Bucky raised his brows before pointing at you with his thumb. “She did.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the couch and Dr. Raynor hummed.

“You don’t think you should be here?”

“Honestly doc, I have no idea why I’m here,” he said. “I’m fine, our marriage is fine, so...”

“It hasn’t been a month since we got married,” you added. “Just putting it out there. But I think it’ll help Bucky if we build this—habit.”

She turned to Bucky. “And how about you?” she asked. “How do you feel about therapy, Bucky?”

“My dad would always say whatever your problems are, they should stay between your two ears instead of anyone else’s,” Bucky replied, bouncing his leg again. “Hate to agree with the guy, but he has a point.”

“George isn’t exactly the epitome of good mental health, Buck.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Either way.”

“Fathers may have different viewpoints especially when it comes to mental health,” Dr. Raynor said. “Given their generation.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Well, he and my mother have never been to therapy and they’re fine.”

“Your father had like one thousand mistresses,” you pointed out, making Dr. Raynor raise her brows and Bucky made a face.

“Allegedly.”

“It’s not allegedly, Becca literally told me she once—”

“Bucky, how would you describe your parents’ marriage?” she asked and Bucky heaved a sigh.

“They’re fine.”

“Would you say you look up to their marriage?” she asked. “Or that you want to have a similar one?”

You scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

“You wouldn’t want to have that?” she asked and you shook your head.

“Bucky can’t disrespect me like that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

You pulled your brows together, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Both,” you said without looking at him. “We have a deal, so I believe he will hold up his end of the deal.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the proud smile curling Bucky’s lips and Dr. Raynor nodded.

“Anything else you feel like you took after your father, besides your opinion on therapy?”

“Why are we talking about my father?” Bucky asked back while you tried to hold back the retort. “I thought this was couples therapy.”

“We can talk about anything you feel like we need to talk about,” Dr. Raynor said. “But most of the time, our parents’ relationship is the blueprint of our own relationships even if we don’t realize it.”

“That’s not what’s happening here,” Bucky said, motioning at you. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“What she said,” Bucky said curtly, nodding in your direction and you heaved a sigh. “He’s good with my mom, and he’s great with my sister, no need to talk about him.”

“But not with you?” Dr. Raynor asked and Bucky dragged his tongue over his teeth.

“He’s fine.”

“Bucky,” said and he shot you a look.

“What?”

“He’s fine with you? Really?”

“Y/N, not everyone needs a father, okay?” he insisted. “Some of us need a boss while growing up in this business.”

“I don’t think you needed a boss instead of a father when you were a kid, actually,” you insisted, making Dr. Raynor tilt her head.

“Would you mind explaining that?” she asked. “That boss comment?”

Bucky drummed his fingertips on his knee.

“It’s a part of…” he stopped himself and cleared his throat. “My father knew what I was capable of, so he pushed me until I saw it. Until I proved myself. That’s not a terrible thing, it worked out after all.”

You licked your lips.

“Really?” you asked. “So you’d be totally okay with following his footsteps?”

 That made him stop for a moment and he scoffed.

“Fine, I wouldn’t do the cage fight because that shit’s medieval but it was because he knew I could handle it,” he defended him. “He’s great with Becca, and I don’t need him to be good with me. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Your stomach did a painful flip. “I forgot about that.”

“Cage fight?” Dr. Raynor asked and you both turned to her, Bucky crossing his arms over his chest. You nibbled on your lip.

“Um,” you said. “Our fathers are... CEOs and we both have family companies. There’s this tradition that—the family company has a boss and an heir and when you’re the heir, you need to show that you can handle the job.”

She frowned slightly.

“And the job can get pretty physical,” you said as Bucky let out a bitter chuckle beside you. “And one of the requirements is…when an heir is picked after years of training and everything, once the boss decides it’s time for them to prove themselves, they put you in a cage with other um—” you thought for a moment. “Some professional fighters that happen to be in the business as well, working under the family. Bodyguards, if you will.”

Not bodyguards.

They would put the heir in a cage with the best fighters working for the boss.

“But usually the bosses ask the heir to prove themselves right before they pass the crown, so to speak,” you said and stole a look at him. “Not George though.”

“I was ready to prove myself.”

“At sixteen?” you asked him. “No one fucking asks that of the heir at sixteen, Buck. My father didn’t even put Ian through that yet.”

“I was already his heir, he wanted to make sure,” Bucky said. “I beat everyone up in that cage, didn’t I?”

“Your nose was broken,” you counted with your fingers. “Three of your ribs, you could barely see through one eye for like two weeks because of how swollen it was—”

“But I proved myself,” he pointed out, making you clench your jaw and Dr. Raynor sat up straighter, trying to shake off the shock. “I’m glad I did it, I’d do it again.”

“You see?” you asked. “And then he asks me why we need therapy.”

“I don’t need therapy,” Bucky shot back. “I don’t even know why I’m here, I'm perfectly fine.”

Dr. Raynor licked her lips, then grabbed the notebook by her side while Bucky pursed his lips, slipping a little on the couch.

“Great,” he said. “She has a notebook and everything. Charm, how soon can we leave?”

                                                   *

Well, no one had gotten shot during your first couples therapy session, so as far as you were concerned, it was a success. Bucky had to drop by his office for half an hour to check on something, and after that you figured you could go to lunch together to discuss the next step in your plan so you tagged along.

Becca was already there in his office when you two walked in and Bucky tilted his head.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mom sent me,” she told him before coming to kiss your cheek. “Hey!”

“Hi there,” you said, kissing her cheek back. “We’re going to grab lunch after this, do you want to come?”

“Sure, I could eat,” she said, flinging herself on the couch. “Steve is here too, by the way.”

Bucky frowned. “Did you two come together?”

“Nope, I ran into him by the entrance,” she said while you took your spot next to her and Bucky walked to his laptop to switch it on.

“Mom sent you?” Bucky asked and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, dad asked her to?”

Becca raised her hands while you gritted your teeth at the mention of George.

“You can’t shoot the messenger, there’s truce now.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m going to get shot by the messenger?” Bucky asked back, making her grin.

“You know how mom is,” she reminded him. “She wants all of us to get along. I take it you’re not willing to have another dinner anytime soon?”

“Fuck no—”

“Hey,” Steve said, knocking on the door and waved at you before turning to Bucky. “You’re busy?”

“Not at all,” Bucky said. “Did we have a meeting today? Did I forget?”

“Nah, I was just around,” Steve said. “Figured I could give you the news myself. Clint is flying to Chicago.”

Bucky pulled his brows together. “What?”

Steve shot him a grin. “My reaction exactly,” he said and came to sit on the other sofa. “How was therapy?”

“Ask Y/N,” Bucky said, clicking on something on his laptop. “She was the one who dragged me there.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “He brought a gun to therapy.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “Did you shoot the therapist, Bucky?!”

“No!” Bucky exclaimed. “Jesus, you two have zero trust in me.”

“How was it, really?” Steve asked you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“He’ll find it easier in the following weeks.”

Bucky frowned at you.

“Following weeks?” he asked. “We’re going there again?”

“Bucky, therapy is not like getting vaccinated,” Becca pointed out. “You can’t just have one session and expect it to fix your shit.”

“I don’t have the time—”

“I already talked to your assistant for the next month, try me,” you said sweetly and Bucky let out a groan, then turned to Steve.

“What is it about Clint and Chicago?”

“Well, he seems to believe that he can convince Rhett.”

Becca’s head whipped up and she blinked a couple of times while you tried to keep a straight face, and subtly pressed your index finger on your lips, giving her a slight grin. She let out a breath, then turned to Steve while Bucky scoffed.

“Yeah, that’s impossible.”

“What’s that about Chicago?” Becca asked and Steve heaved a sigh.

“Chicago’s prince became the new king recently,” he explained. “I thought it was hard to talk to his father, I spoke way too soon.”

“Yeah, he’s a dickhead,” Bucky pointed out while you bit inside your cheek to keep your laughter in. Becca sat up straighter.

“Why?”

“He doesn’t trust anyone who’s not from Chicago,” Steve said. “Refuses to do business with anyone else.”

“But doesn’t he kind of have to do it?” Becca asked. “Even we do business with other cities.”

“Chicago is different, Bec,” Bucky said. “They have their own rules, and as of now, they don’t actually need other cities.”

“Word on the street they might have to do it soon though,” Steve said. “Every boss in New York is trying to convince him, but as Bucky said, he’s a dickhead so…”

“That’s pointless, I’m telling you,” Bucky said as he typed at his laptop, then slammed the lid shut. “Okay, I’m done. Lunch?”

“I have a meeting with Sam,” Steve said as he stood up from the couch and he and Bucky walked to the door while Becca clicked her tongue, turning to look at you with a huge grin on her face.

“So,” she said and you hummed.

“Yes?”

“I take it he doesn’t know?”

“Nope.”

“None of them do?”

You shook your head, still smiling and Becca let out a laugh, then threw her arm over your shoulder.

“Nice plan,” she said and you giggled.

“Thank you,” you said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Let’s go, you know how hungry therapy makes me.”

Chapter 20

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob! bucky #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob boss!bucky #mob boss bucky barnes #mob au #mob!au #bucky barnes x you

[gold-dustwomxn]

mystified

part 4

summary: after sudden attacks on women around town, you take a self defense class. ellie, your long standing crush is the instructor

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

cw: violence, alcohol consumption, smoking weed, smut mdni!!!!

oral (e receiving), strap (r receiving)

angst fluff and smut

a loud chiming paired with vibrations has you jumping up, hand pressed flat against your racing heart. your rude alarm blares into your ear as you groan into your pillow. shit never fails to scare you half to death time every single time. as you lay in your bed and wipe away the sleep from your eyes, your mind floods with ellie ellie ellie. you’ve been with her practically everyday and you can’t seem to get enough of her. she’s the first thing on your mind when you wake up, and the last thing on your mind before you fall asleep.

ellie🌿🗡️: Morning babe. I hope you have a good day. Try to pay attention in class instead of texting me. I’ll see you later🖤

me: good morninggg💗 i’ll try my best for u 🫡 try not to get injured at work again

you giggle and feel those butterflies in your stomach again. it’s pathetic how giddy she makes you feel from a simple text.

dina🤍: are u and ellie coming to the party tonight? istg if u say no

me: uggh idk. u know I hate those college parties

dina🤍: cmonnn u guys never come out. youve both been holed up in a lesbian fuck fest for like 2 weeks straight

me: LMAO stfu. fine I’ll ask ellie if she wants to go

ellie grudgingly agrees to go to said party for your sake, and because she’s been neglecting her friendship with jesse just a little bit— too preoccupied with wanting to spend as much time as possible with you, and you her.

she decides she’ll stay sober for the night so she can drive and keep an eye on you. as you walk into the party hand in hand, you’re flooded with an overwhelming stench of alcohol and weed, strobing lights and music so loud that you feel the bass thumping in your chest. it’s too fucking crowded and hot. you need a drink to loosen up.

“well, well, well, would you look at who the cat dragged in.” jesse smirks at the two of you, receiving a double eye roll from both you and ellie. “who the fuck speaks like that anymore jesse?” ellie says with a laugh. “just good to see you alive in the flesh and all.” dina giggles and attacks you with a warm hug.

she steals your attention away from ellie, fiddling with your shirt with a goofy smirk. you laugh and narrow your eyes, “what is it?” dina leans in closer to whisper, “so, what’s the deal with you two.. are you official yet?”

you look at ellie to make sure she isn’t watching and whisper, “no, we haven’t.. labeled anything? I don’t know.. I mean, I do wanna make it official, but I don’t wanna scare her away, you know? kinda just letting it play out and see what happens.”

she looks at you, unamused. “stop being a pussy, you guys have been in love with each other for years. It’s not like she’s some random girl that you just met.” you roll your eyes, “relaxxx, it’ll happen when it happens.” dina laughs and shakes her head, “whatever you say. I need another drink.”

as she walks over to mix a gross concoction of god knows what, your eyes drift back to ellie who is preoccupied, deep in conversation with jesse. your eyes wander over every inch of her, biting your lip. her muscles are pulled taut against her flannel, jeans tight around her thighs, intoxicating green eyes glowing from the flashing lights in the room. one drink has you so fucking horny, it’s ridiculous.

ellie catches you staring and raises an eyebrow, “you good, babe?” she chuckles. you look away, trying to save face. “yup, I’m feeling good. can you come with me to the bathroom?” she nods with no hesitation, innocently thinking that you just want her to stick close by.

as soon as the door closes, you pull her tightly against you by the loopholes of her jeans and slam your lips into hers. she freezes for a moment, caught off guard, but quickly catches up, slipping her tongue into your mouth with a groan and sliding her hands down to squeeze your ass.

she then tugs at your hair, pulling your head back, breathless and takes a look at your glossy eyes, and down at your swollen lips. “what do you think you’re doing, huh?” she rasps out, smirking. you lean in, placing wet, needy kisses on her neck, pawing and squeezing at her biceps, “I wanna go down on you so bad right now.” you practically whine in her ear.

she chuckles, “right now? in here?” she looks around the bathroom, scrunching up her face. “we’ve been here for like a half hour, babe.”

you cup her through her jeans, watching her breath get heavy, “c’mon, don’t you wanna feel my mouth on you?” you pout.

she removes your hand and pulls you tight against her, brushing your hair to the side, placing a kiss on your neck. you whimper as she licks a slow stripe up to the sweet spot behind you ear, giving it a small suck.

“you’re gonna be a good girl for me and wait until later.” she whispers into the shell of your ear, making you shudder. you mentally curse her for having more self control than you, while ellie mentally curses herself because she’s horny as fuck now, but loves teasing you. “ugh, fine, ellie.” she chuckles and pats your cheek, leaning in to give you one more lingering kiss.

dina being dina convinces you to take multiple shots of tequila with her while ellie stands with jesse watching the both of you dance, laughing in amusement at the two of you.

as the night goes on, you start to stumble. ellie grabs onto you, “hey, baby, I think it’s time you lay off the drinks now, huh?” she chuckles at you. you wrap your arms around her neck and nod, “mhmm, I’m getting tired. can we leave soon?” you slur out. she nods, wrapping her arms around your waist, “yeah, we can go now.”

after you say your goodbyes to dina and jesse, you walk behind ellie, trying to make your way through the sea of bodies to head out.

all of a sudden, you feel a hand squeeze your ass and you gasp, stumbling into ellie. you turn around and see a guy grinning, reeking of booze. “don’t fucking touch me!”

ellie turns around and takes in the scene, her face morphing into one of rage. she places you behind her and shoves him hard against his chest. “back the fuck up,” she grits out.

he laughs mockingly. “oh, what, is this your bitch?” time seems to stop for a moment, a chill traveling down your spine as you watch her face drop, making you suddenly feel stone cold sober.

ellie punches him square in the face, making him stumble back. people begin to move out the way, circling them, whooping and hollering as if it’s a fucking show.

he lunges at her, trying to hit back. she catches his wrist and twists his arm, as she elbows him in the face, making him fall down and grab his now seemingly broken nose.

your jaw drops as you watch ellie climb on top of him, knee to his chest as she throws punch after punch. “ellie! stop!” she doesn’t hear you, doesn’t even seem to be present in her own body.

jesse hears the commotion and runs into the room. he grabs ellie, trying to pull her off of him “ellie, stop! you got him! you’re gonna get arrested if you don’t stop!”

ellie stands up, chest heaving as she flexes and shakes out her aching hand, knuckles bloody. she looks at you, her gaze softening with guilt as she takes in your upset demeanor.

you look around at all of the people staring, and grab ellie’s arm. “c’mon, we’re leaving. now.” she looks at you as you swiftly walk ahead of her to her car. “I’m sorry-“

you cut her off, “ellie, what the fuck?! you can’t just go around beating the shit out of people like that.”

she huffs and throws her arms up in the air defensively, looking as if she was about to speak, but stops herself.

“you looked like you were gonna kill him.”

she scoffs “I wasn’t gonna kill him.” you turn to look at her, “well, if jesse hadn’t been able to stop you, who knows what would’ve happened.”

she looks down at her tattoo and rubs the skin, “guys like him need to learn that they can’t get away with shit like that! and... and seeing him look so fucking proud of himself… looking at you like you were a piece of fucking meat.”

you observe her digging her nails into her tattoo and realize where her mind is drifting off to. you stop walking and grab her face, speaking softly. “look at me. I’m safe and you’re safe. I understand that you wanna protect me, but you can’t lose it like that, okay? you need to learn to walk away unless it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

she looks between your eyes and nods, grabbing gently onto one of your wrists. “okay. I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s over now. everything’s okay.” you nod at her slowly and lean in to peck her lips. “c’mon, let’s go back to your place so I can clean you up.”

“you don’t have to-“ you cut her off with a semi-serious glare and she nods.

on the drive home, she rubs your thigh softly and takes small glances at you. she chews on her bottom lip anxiously, thinking about how you’re able to ground her. her chest tightens with shame— you shouldn’t have to deal with her issues.

ellie stands between your legs as you sit on top of the sink, cleaning her knuckles gently with deep concentration. she watches you and thinks about how she’s falling for you, hard. she’s never felt this way about someone before and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t scare her a little. her thoughts are interrupted as you finish and kiss the inside of her wrist. she gives you a soft smile when you look up at her and leans in to kiss you, “thanks, babe.”

ellie plucks away at her guitar as she smokes a joint while you lay there sipping on water and watch her in comfortable silence. unbeknownst to you, her mind races, picturing the look on your face after she basically bashed that guys face in.

she doesn’t think she deserves someone good and sweet like you. the idea of letting you go fucking crushes her, but it’s better to let you decide if you wanna end things now before the two of you get more serious, as if you’re both not in deep already.

she takes a hit of her joint and places her guitar to the side, laying a shaky palm on your thigh. “hey... I’m sorry about earlier.” you shake your head, “it’s okay, I promise. I’m not upset anymore.”

she looks down for a moment before looking back at you, “it’s just... you don’t deserve to have to deal with my bullshit. I understand if you don’t wanna… do this anymore.” she gestures between the two of you and fidgets nervously with her fingers.

you sit up quickly and grab her hand, stroking her knuckles. “is that what you want?” she looks at your teary eyes and shakes her head immediately. “no, no, it’s not what I want. but I want you to do what’s best for you.”

“ellie, I really like you. I’m not afraid of baggage, you don’t have to push me away.”

she looks at you, unconvinced. “I’m a fucking mess, ___. I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it yet, but I’m not the easiest person to be around sometimes.”

“and you know what’s best for me?”

“no, I’m not saying that. I just-” she throws her hands up, trying to figure out how to convey what she’s feeling.

“you’re not some broken, cold hearted person, ellie. I can decide for myself what’s good for me. you’re good for me.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” she whispers, eyes tearing up.

you inch closer to her on your hands and knees and give her a soft, lingering kiss.

“then, don’t.” you whisper against her lips and pull back.

she looks back at you in silence for a few moments in a daze, completely enamored with you.

you give her a teary smile and let your words settle in for her, “plus, it’s kinda hot seeing you like that. you still haven’t taught me more self defense moves like you said you would, you know.” you laugh trying to make her feel better. she lets out a weak chuckle and shakes her head.

“no, but seriously,” you place your palm on her cheek to keep eye contact, making sure she takes in your sincerity, “I lo- like you.. a lot and I wanna be with you, okay? we all have our issues. you’ll have to stick around if you wanna see mine,” you smile. ellie’s ears perk up, wondering if she was just imagining that you almost said you love her. she chuckles and nods, “okay,” she whispers, “so does this mean you wanna be my girlfriend then?”

you look at her in mock offense, “is that how you’re gonna ask me?”

she laughs, “okay, okay.” she clears her throat and straightens out her back. “___, would you like to be my girlfriend?”

you can’t help but laugh at her attempt to be serious. “yeah, I’ll be your girl.”

she gives you a wide grin and cups your face, giving you a passionate kiss.

you both pull away breathless. “you know.. I think we should consummate this relationship.”

she laughs and raises an eyebrow, “oh yeah? and how’s that?”

“well.. for one, I didn’t get to do what I wanted to earlier.”

“mhmm, you are right about that. go ahead baby.”

as ellie lays on her back, you kiss along her stomach down her v-line to her inner thighs, each kiss making her muscles tense up.

“c’mon, enough teasing.” she huffs, breath heavy with glossy eyes.

you shake your head in defiance and she grabs onto your jaw. “be good.” she says sternly, but strokes your cheek gently with her thumb.

she watches you lick a stripe up her wet folds and her eyes roll back, letting out a shaky breath.

“s-stick your tongue out, baby.”

you flatten your tongue and she takes a fistful of your hair, slowly bucking her hips against your face. “jesus.. fuck. love your fucking mouth so much.”

looking up at her with doe eyes, you moan, and she grunts, “s-so perfect for me. making me feel so good, baby.”

you bob your head up and down with her thrusts, and suck hard on her clit, making her whimper unwillingly. “oh fuuuuck. good fucking girl, don’t stop.”

she grips your hair tighter and grinds faster against your face, head falling back into the pillows and swallowing hard. “gonna cum.. fuck!”

finally her body seizes up, her hole clenching around your tongue as her arousal seeps into your mouth. “holy fuck.” she breathes out shakily. “fuckin-“ she grunts, “swallow all of it.” she holds your head in place, rocking slowly as you happily lap up every inch of her cum. “yeah.. good girl.” you pull back and brush your fingers over her thighs with a love drunk smile.

she pants and looks down at you with furrowed brows, swiping her thumb across your glossy lips, spreading around her slick and your saliva before sticking her thumb into your mouth. you suck on it and she closes her eyes, sighing.

you climb on top of her, kissing her deeply, both of you moaning into the kiss. “wait,” she pulls back.

“what?” you whine at the loss of her lips against yours.

she chuckles and sits up, opening her nightstand drawer and pulls out a box. “how would you feel if I used this on you?”

you examine the unopened box and your eyes widen when you see what’s inside, making your thighs squeeze together. “yeah-yes.” you stutter.

she laughs and traps you with her legs to flip you on your back, “yes, what?”

you yelp and giggle, “you can use it on me.” she grins and leans in to kiss you.

after ellie coaxes multiple orgasms out of you with her mouth and fingers, she gets up to grab the strap, adjusting the harness around her. “okay, you sure you want it?”

you swallow hard in nervousness and excitement. “y-yeah I want it. just go slow.”

she leans down and gives you a soft kiss. “of course, baby.”

ellie lubes up the dildo and strokes the shaft before settling between your shaky legs, giving them small kisses. “you nervous?” you nod, “mhm, a little.”

she caresses your thighs and gives them gentle squeezes, “it’s okay, I’ll be gentle and if you want me to stop just tell me, okay?” you nod, “okay.”

as she slides the strap up and down your folds, you let out a whimper and spread your legs further apart. she has to bite down hard on her lip to hold back a moan.

“you ready?”

“yeah,” your breath gets heavier in anticipation.

she slowly inches her way in while rubbing small circles on your clit, eyes focused on your face. when your eyes start to tear up, she leans down and peppers soft kisses all over your face. “you’re doing so good for me, baby.”

as she bottoms out, you both moan in unison. “you okay?”

“y-yes, you can move.”

ellie starts out with a slow pace, rolling her hips into you, gradually going deeper and harder with each thrust. she feels her own arousal pooling as she watches your face twist in pleasure and the view of your cunt sucking her in.

“fuck, ellie, g-go faster please,” you moan out. ellie smirks at your words, "my pleasure, sweet girl."

she wraps your legs around her waist and starts to increase the pace and vigor of her thrusts, pounding into you hard and fast. you can feel every inch of her as she slides in and out of you, filling you up with such intensity that has you moaning uncontrollably. she groans “you look so fucking good like this,” leaning down to kiss you messily, panting into each other mouths.

she watches you with heavy lids, drunk off of the sounds of your moans and the wet sounds of your cunt. “feels good, pretty girl?”

“mmph. so good, ellie. so good.”

as she starts to increase her pace even more, you grip onto her shoulders tightly, pulling her chest to yours, sinking your nails into her skin.

“taking me s-so fucking well baby, knew you could do it.” she feels herself getting lost in her own pleasure as the base of the strap bumps against her clit just right.

your body starts to tremble against hers, with ellie having to work harder to thrust in and out of you, your moans turning into high-pitched whimpers, and she knows you’re close.

“el-ellie! fuck, I’m gonna-” she holds onto you tightly and watches you as you slip into ecstasy, and can’t help but moan herself. she thinks you’re absolutely breathtaking like this. and that view alone is enough to make her eyes roll back, triggering her own orgasm. her hips sputter as she slaps into you, leaning down to kiss you sloppily.

she lifts her head and lets out ragged breaths, her eyes glazed over, “you did so good for me, baby.” she kisses your forehead gently.

leaning on her elbows, she stares down at you, eyes mapping out every inch of your face, completely infatuated.

“I lo-“ she stops herself, it’s too early to say I love you. or is it? you’ve known each other for years, and she could’ve sworn you almost said it earlier. she decides against it, not wanting to ruin the moment.

you run your hand through her hair and brush your nose against hers, “say it,” you whisper. she looks between your eyes and swallows thickly.

“I love you,” she whispers shakily.

you lift your head, slotting your lips against hers in a slow, passionate kiss.

“I love you, too.”

tysm for reading ily all 💗💗

taglist: @me-and-your-husband @fireflyels @cinnamonmilf

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #emmysfics #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams the last of us #ellie the last of us #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x female reader

[temiizpalace]

☆┊WALKING IN A WINTER WONDERLAND !

SUMMARY: ah, it’s snowing at ramshackle. since there’s so much snow, you should invite somebody over just so there’s something to do. who do you invite, and what do you do together?

CHARACTERS: all dorms (+ grim)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: cursing

CAN BE READ AS PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC (EXCEPT ORTHO)

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is yuu

snowball fight

he walks up to you, smiling innocently with his hands behind his back. you knew he was faking already. before you could even say anything, he had already chucked a snowball at your face. okay bitch it’s on. you form a ball and throw a snowball back at his head. snowballs could be seen flying left and right, hitting each other almost everywhere. you get the in the last hit before sprinting away and hiding behind the trees.

before you knew it, this was war.

grim, ace, leona, ruggie you forced leona outside

building snowmen

he already brought things to make snowmen in a little baggy before he left. it wasn’t stuff to make ONE snowman.. it was enough to make an entire army of them. somebody was excited.. still, it was fun! rolling the snow into 3 different sizes, stacking them on top of one another, finding sticks for the arms, it was great! you both decided to stop at 5 snowmen cause there’s only so many snowballs you could roll. obviously you named them. if you don’t where’s the fun in that? he loves these snowmen til the end of time, and would protect them for as long as he can. (don’t remind him about spring..)

deuce, trey, jack, kalim, ortho

sledding

there was a small slope at ramshackle, a sled in hand, and two people ready to go down at alarming speeds. he tells you it’ll be okay and that everything’s going to be fine, but as soon as he pushes off it feels like your life is flashing before your eyes. while he’s smiling and laughing, you’re worried about whether you were going to survive or not cause unfortunately you’re sitting in the front. thankfully you lived to see another day, and tell him it’s his turn to be in front. to your dismay, now that he’s in control you’re even more worried for your safety.

floyd, epel, lilia

ice skating

there was a large patch of ice nearby, and you couldn’t help but want to skate across it. finding skates was the problem though.. oh. nevermind, sam has those too! being such a generous person, he purchased the skates for you so you can save your money for more important things. you both stepped onto the ice, nearly slipping and falling right onto your face. it’s been too long since you’ve skated..

vil knew how to skate and glide gracefully across the ice. he looked so much like a figure skater right now.. just deadass elegant. it made you look like a noob.

however, if this isn’t vil you’re thinking of, he has ZERO experience on ice skating. there either was no snow where lived, or he wasn’t allowed to skate on his own. he requires some assistance. you held his hand, guiding him on the ice. almost falling over several times. exchanging smiles and laughter with each other as he learned along the way.

riddle, azul, jamil, vil, malleus

building a fort

you both decided to build a “secret base” together just for the heck of it. you and him were building the wall, occasionally throwing a snowball or two at each other, til finally the fort was complete. he was insanely proud of it and invited you in immediately. he was so excited, he even made some furniture inside. seriously there was a little booth and table when you walked in. it was kind of tight inside but at least you two being close together was keeping you warm.

cater, idia, sebek

walking in the snowfall

snow was falling from the sky as you both walked through the forest of snow covered trees. winter seemed like the only time of the year where ramshackle was a beautiful sight to see. you and him were having conversations about whatever the hell you wanted without any judgment whatsoever. he was also telling you about how beautiful the sky is at night during the winter. how the stars truly shine this time of year. he so graciously invited you to see it with him tonight as you accepted with a joking curtsy.

jade was totally freaking out about every pinecone though

jade, rook, silver

A/N: was thinking about jamil the entire ice skating segment 🫶🫶

date written: 11/26/23

© temiizpalce — don’t steal or copy my work!

#disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts x reader #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade x reader #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #jack howl x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #epel felmier x reader #rook hunt x reader #idia shroud x reader #ortho shroud #malleus draconia x reader #silver vanrouge x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst fluff #twisted wonderland fluff

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 4

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1874

The One I Want Masterlist

---

“Are you excited?” Jake asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. 

You take a sip and let the liquid run down your throat, then pull the cup away from your face to examine it. Your eyes dart from the caramel-colored drink to your roommate and back. He keeps getting it right, and you don’t know how. It’s as if you wrote the exact measurements of the contents of your usual coffee order on a sticky note and slapped it on the fridge so he had no choice but to memorize it. 

“Thank you,” you say. “And, yea…I guess so. It’ll be nice to have a reason to get out every day, but I have a feeling I'll be bored sitting around.” Which you’re perfectly fine with. A job is a job in your mind, and stumbling upon the gift shop across from the beach was convenient for both hirer and hiree. But Jake doesn’t need to know just how unfeeling you are toward your new job. You wouldn’t put it past him to try to unnecessarily cheer you up.

He’s done it a lot. At any hint of distress, you find him beside you. And as someone who finds themself lost in thoughts that allow anxiety or stress or pain to seep onto their face, it means Jake Seresin is often close. Which also means you are constantly at war with what your mind is willing to accept. 

There’s the suspicious part consuming most of your mind, telling you that people—men like Jake, especially—don’t go out of their way. Not for someone like you. But another itty bitty piece of your mind wants to believe Jake truly is this nice and caring. You wouldn’t hate to have that kindness in your life be a permanent fixture. 

Since you moved in you can’t deny that you rise each morning a little less worried about what the day will hit you with. And you know it’s Jake who has fueled that—indirectly, even. He has yet to comment on you or your body or your clothes or what you eat. Neither positively nor negatively. Though you do catch him staring from time to time, whatever he is thinking doesn’t leave his mouth, which is far more restraint than others have shown in the past. 

Jake shoves his hands into his sweatpants pockets and shrugs. “We usually take an hour for lunch. I could always stop by.”

“And do what?” You can’t hold back your snort, nor can you conceal the upturned tick of your lips. Your first smile of the day, light as it is, and Jake’s eyes fix on your mouth until you say, “Are you overdue for a new keychain or cheap beach snow globe?”

“I might be. Those snow globes are great,” he says with a grin, endearingly crooked. “You know, you shake ‘em around; snow goes all over the place.”

“Yes, I’m aware of how they work.”

“Well then you understand why I might want a new one,” he sasses, all but sticking his tongue out like a child.

You hum to hold back your laugh, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ve started to find him funny in the last few weeks. Something tells you his ego doesn’t need it. Then, with your hand extended you pass him the mug and make your way toward the door to grab your purse off the nearby hook. “I’ll try to remember that. Thanks for the coffee.”

You are almost out the door, out of his sight and so close to gaining the distance you’ve decided you need from him, when he calls out to you.  “Hey, do you want me to pick you up at the end of your shift?”

The smile you’d finally let free from his earlier joke falls, and you swallow hard, suddenly wishing you’d had the money to keep the rental car you used to get yourself from one state to the next. Though you’ll have hours away from him for the day, and the days to come, Jake coming to get you when you’re likely drained from boredom will instantly ruin the mental fortitude you’re trying to regain. 

You’d never speak it into existence, but your new job benefits you in more ways than one. After coming up short on last month's rent, you’ll finally be able to put a dent in the money you owe him—because you are paying him even though he doesn’t ask for it—but you were also banking on the separation giving you the chance to get your thoughts and pulse under control. 

Anticipation has wormed its way into your daily routine lately. You wake. Wash face. Brush teeth. Dress. Think of Jake. Scold yourself for thinking of Jake. Itch to see him, for reasons you’d rather not focus on. Get pissed for the rapid beating of your heart. 

You don’t need it. Not the unexpected thoughts, not the chaos of your pulse, not the disappointment in yourself for failing to learn from previous experiences. Thinking of him too often will fuck things up and leave you worrying about much more than just Jake or his friends or the odd stranger paralyzing you from a sudden comment or snide remark on how you look. Before you know it, you’ll be digging into the front pocket of your suitcase for the final two notecards and tossing a coin. 

“It’s only a mile-long walk,” you say, praying the unsteadiness of your voice isn’t detectable through the wall segmenting hallway from kitchen.

“So?”

You sigh. Definitely not the answer you wanted. You don’t know how to respond. There’s no excuse on the tip of your tongue, so you settle on, “Have a good day, Jake. Go save the country or something.”

—

You were spot on with that boredom prediction. Hours have passed and you’ve been forced to fill the time with menial tasks that might just be shrinking a few brain cells. Examining every item in the shop, counting every item in the shop, recounting the little squishy sea critter toys after a group of preteen girls lingered too long in that aisle. As someone so used to being on the move, each minute is slowly eating away you. 

With limited options, there are opportunities to let your mind wander and, eventually, you drift into your memories. When the urge to stop them arises, you’re shocked that you kick it back. And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re grabbing a pocket-sized navy-colored notebook and a pen with a plastic seashell for a cap. 

A self-help book you’d skimmed a year prior suggested writing things down to process trauma and grief. The author-slash-therapist didn’t ask for well-detailed memories and feelings, but instead, a quick scribbling of the first things that come to mind. Despite how simple the task seemed, you hadn’t considered it. It seemed silly to relive the pain, to rip open wounds. Even poorly stitched wounds, you won’t deny, that left ragged and raised scars. You’d just been content with no longer bleeding. 

But recently, you’ve neglected a pulling; a string threaded and knotted into your heart with a force trying to tug it free from the confines of your chest. Though you know that would only serve one unenticing purpose, to demand you examine the organ and assess the damage time has worn into it, you don’t reconsider flipping open the cover of the notebook. 

With a free mind, you write down names, places, and towns. You write down words that were thrown at you. You write down the first time someone attacked your most vulnerable parts. And the things said and done that drove you out of one location and onto the next. You write until pages of white are filled with what could only be compared to an insane person's pastime. You write until another customer comes in just as the sun begins to fade. 

You feel her presence before you look up from the notebook in your lap, and when you finally do, you internally flinch at the sight. 

The pin-straight yellow strands of her hair reach a few inches below her shoulders, her lips are coated in bright red, and her eyes are enhanced with heavy dark shadow tones. She is tits shoved together, pushing cleavage out the low V of her camisole, and tight ass filling out tighter, dangerously short, shorts, and tiny waist a man could wrap his hands around and touch fingertips. She’s everything you avoid, and she pays you no mind as she makes her way to the mugs at the back corner of the store before heading for the t-shirts.

It’s obvious she entered with a mission when you find her not one minute later standing in front of you and setting the items on the counter. As you scan and wrap the mug and place it in the bag with the shirt, you don’t miss the similar words written across both cheap gifts. My Boyfriend is a Naval Aviator flows in cursive script over the chest of the shirt. My Girlfriend F*cks a Naval Aviator curves with the rounded shape of the mug.

You wonder if that boyfriend is one of Jake’s friends. Rooster does have a girlfriend and you have no way of knowing if this woman is his type. You kind of hope she isn’t. 

“It’s sixteen dollars even,” you mutter. 

She reaches into her cami and pulls out a twenty, slamming it down on the glass countertop that doubles as a display case for the slightly more expensive, yet still cheap, merchandise. The leftover four dollars are then shoved back between her push-up bra and breast. The bag is ripped from your hand and she promptly exits. 

That’s one way to end a first day, you think. At least it was one more thing to do with your time. Annoying kids, a notebook you’re not going to dare touch for a few days, and a woman with underlying anger issues who reminds you too much of your past. You deflate as you realize tomorrow is not likely to end up nearly as eventful.

Closing the shop is, thankfully, a quick process, because you’d like to make it back to the apartment before the moon and stars become your main light source. Walking home in the dark doesn’t suit you but you weren’t about to accept Jake’s offer knowing it likely wouldn’t stop there. First he’ll be picking you up, then it’ll develop into him dropping you off, then you’ll be hanging out with him and his friends every weekend. And then what? What good will any of that do you?

As it turns out, though, you don’t have a choice. 

Once the building door is shut and locked, you turn to find a black truck pulling up beside you. Your heart misses its next beat as fear grips you, but then you recognize the vehicle. The passenger window rolls down to reveal sandy blond hair, then green eyes, then sharp nose, then wide grin.

“You didn’t actually say no,” Jake says. 

Fuck. 

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you step closer, wrap your fingers around the car door handle, and pull. 

---

A/N: ended up having to do something tonight, so this part came a little early. I hope you liked it :)

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @sailor-aviator @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @emma8895eb @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin x y/n #jake seresin x plus size!reader #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fanfic

[mhahaikyuus]

Hair

wc:; 1.4k

tags: black reader x katsuki, newly established relationship (still trying to keep up the illusion for your partner), black reader doing her hair, emotional reader, Katsuki being the rational calm boyfriend, fluffy, cute ending.

a/n: i skimmed barely proofread sorry for any mistakes, hope you guys enjoy. reblogs appreciated.

“I can come over tonight?” Katsuki asked on speaker of your phone. 

You two spent everyday together since he had confessed to you by shoving flowers into your hands and running off before you had a chance to respond in slight shock. 

“Uh I’m busy tonight sorry.” You said watching yourself in the mirror studying your scalp distracted. 

“Okay what about tomorrow?” Katsuki grunted unhappy he would spend time away from you. 

“Tomorrow I'm busy too, i can’t hang out this weekend.” You said eyeing the thin black plastic bag filled with beauty supplies sitting on your vanity. 

He frowned, you always told him about upcoming plans you had. At lunch always rambling about whatever you wanted and him listening with small grunts and nods. You didn’t mention anything before about plans. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. Not wanting to pry so early into a relationship and scare you off. He had plans to make you his permanently but he was nosey. 

“My hair,” You answered honestly.

“What do you mean your hair? It takes that long?” He asked confused. 

“Yeah, it does. I have a lot of hair and it takes a lot of hours sometimes a couple of days.” You admitted with a sigh already dreading the process. 

Katsuki sat there on the other side of the phone with a small sigh of relief. You weren’t blowing him off with anyone else, just your hair. He had no idea about black hair but he knew he cared about you and that meant this was important. 

“Do you need help?” He offered making you silent in surprise widely blinking at the phone. 

The man that would tell his partner in the field to fuck off when he asked. Was readily offering you his help. 

You let out a small laugh, “I do but I don’t think you know what that entails. It’s a really long process and it’s tiring. Im okay though thanks for asking.” 

He just wanted to see you. After spending every day together for a month, he doesn’t know if he could go 3 days. 

“Alright the offer still stands if you change your mind. Don’t tire yourself out.” He sighed and you both said your goodbyes. 

You fiddled with the ends of your hair with a huff. 

“Let’s get this over with.” 

~

You wanted to ram your head into a wall. Staring at half your head being braided, 10 hours down and probably another 7 to go. 

Your back hurt, your arms hurt, your head hurt it was not ideal. Not eating all day and getting irritated at everything you were in a mood. 

Throwing the rat tail comb from your hands on the floor you flopped onto your bed in tears needing a break. 

Your phone began buzzing, face still in the mattress you reached around til you found it and pressed answer button. 

“Hello,” You answered muffled 

“Hey how’s it going?” Bakugo asked 

You sniffled pulling your head up tears running. 

“It’s fine.” 

Bakugo heard how upset you were causing his forehead to crease, “What’s wrong baby?” in a softer voice. 

“It’s nothing it’s just my hair and i’m tired and cranky and i haven’t eaten all day. I’ve only done maybe half of my head and i want to stop.” You said through tears. 

“Hey, hey please stop crying it’ll be okay.” Katsuki said trying to soothe you through the phone but it wasn’t working. Noticing a twinge in his chest at the sound of your soft sniffles.

You left out small huffs trying to control your breathing, “Yeah…sorry I should go you don’t want to hear me crying. Sorry to bother.” You realized you were probably scaring away the one guy you did like with your hysterics. 

“No I didn-“ 

“I have to go thanks for calling.” 

Katsuki stared at the phone feeling his stomach sink. 

~

You cried until your eyes were puffy and reluctantly went back to braiding your hair. You were so impatient and tender headed but you would not spend 200+ dollars on box braids. 

After about an hour you heard a knock on your door. You opened it to your boyfriend with a bag of takeout and one from the pharmacy. 

You yelped in surprise slamming the door just as fast as you opened it. 

Katsuki was very confused and kind of hurt at your reaction. 

“Y/n! What the fuck come on.” He yelled from the other side of the door. 

Your face held such embarrassment, hoping this was a figment of your imagination. 

Your boyfriend was NOT here when you looked like a hot mess. 

Your non-black boyfriend at that. 

This is a nightmare. 

“What are you doing here!” You yelled back through the door. 

“Baby you were crying and I haven’t seen you in almost 2 days!"

You groaned, “You can’t see me like this! you have to go home.” 

He grunted in annoyance, “You better open up. Im not leaving when you were crying.” 

You were silent waiting for him to go home and he wasn’t budging. With a sigh you opened the door peaking out at him. 

“Are ya gonna let me in?” He asked with raised blond eyebrows and pretty crimson eyes.

You opened the door and stepped aside. 

“What’s wrong why are you slamming doors and crying?” He asked looking down at you as he entered your apartment.  

You slowly closed the door behind you and leaned back against it. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” You admitted thankful that you didn't blush noticeably.

“Baby like what.” He sighed dropping the bags on your coffee table and bringing you in close. 

Your head fell into his muscular chest, smelling his cologne.

“My hair.” You mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled back and used one hand to push back your hair to see your face. Your hair is in sections and a half-braided mess. 

“I like you and your hair. So will you calm down please?” 

“Really?” You asked with teary eyes looking up at him. 

“Yes, I do.” He reassured his hands gently holding you, his main goal to calm you down from this tired anxiety driven mood.

“Okay.” You mumbled head falling back into his chest. 

He rubbed your back, “What’s going on?” asking again. 

“I stayed up all night and im not even halfway done. I have a headache.” You mumbled in tears. 

Katsuki led you to the couch and made you take a seat. 

“Take a break. You look hangry and I brought food.” He said propping you in his lap and handing you takeout. 

You finished your food and leaned your head in his neck. Your headache stopping. He was right as usual, you were hangry. 

“I’m sorry for slamming the door in your face that was mean.” You said wrapping him in a side hug. 

His hand rubbed the side of your thigh with a light kiss on your nose. 

“It’s okay, ya didnt break my nose with the door slam.” Katsuki said making you laugh.

“Can I?” He asked gesturing to your head and you nodded. 

Katsuki’s thick fingers touching your blow dried hair. 

“It’s soft.” He said with mild surprise, “Like really soft.” 

You laughed, “Yeah I do have soft hair, but so do you.” Reaching up and lightly tugging on his spiky blonde hair. His hair was getting longer in the back. It may be because he loves your hands all over him and especially his head, giving you more hair to yank. Just a theory of course you would never say to him.

He grunted, “You feel better?” 

“Yes…” You nodded as he smiled knowing what he was gonna say

“Crying over the being hungry?” He teased showing his canines with his smile and you rolled your eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying.” 

“Are you discriminating against a black woman?” You squinted but Bakugo had heard that before. 

“I just came over here with food to stop your crying and got a door slammed in my face.” He said with narrowed eyes matching your own.

“Uh fine.” You sighed, “Can you not be a good boyfriend so I can call you a bigot.” Your hand trailing up his stomach under his shirt, wanting skin to skin contact.

He pinched the inside of your thigh making you yelp in pain in response. His head deeply buried into your neck just enjoying your touch

“Ow…”You whined rubbing the bruised spot. 

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