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scary-grace · 8 days

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Enough to Go By (Chapter 7) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Kurogiri snatches you from the alleyway behind the clinic. You’re ready for it, or as ready as it’s possible to be when you don’t know what Tenko’s planning. When you reappear, you’re not in the bar – instead you’re in the hallway outside Tenko’s room, and the door to his room is open. He looks pleased to see you. The hand’s already down off his face.

“You’re here. Good,” he says – but his expression shifts from anticipation into something sharper almost instantly. “What is it? Are you –”

This has been the worst twenty-four hours you’ve had since the night you first saw Tenko again. Between the visit with your family and the news about Kazuo and your encounter with Tenko’s master, you don’t have it in you to pretend. You take an unsteady step closer to him. “Can I, um –”

“What?” Tenko asks, but some part of him must know, because his arms lift from his sides, opening to leave space between them. You take another step closer, until you’re well within the space, and you know when he realizes, because he takes a sharp breath. “Yeah, you can. Go ahead.”

He hugs you back too tightly, but you’re probably hugging him too tightly in the first place. He can’t decide where to put his hands. He keeps trying different spots, but no matter where he touches you, it’s never with more than three fingers down. For your part, you keep your hands still on his back, resisting the urge to run them over his shoulder blades or along his spine. He’s really thin. Almost malnourished thin. No wonder his wounds take so long to heal.

You let your head fall against his shoulder, let your eyes fall shut. “What happened?” Tenko asks. He adjusts his grip on you without fully letting go. “Why do you look like that?”

His master said not to tell Tenko – no, advised you not to tell Tomura. But he also said he’d have no further dealings with you. You don’t know where Kurogiri is, what Kurogiri might say, so you speak as quietly as you can, your mouth just below Tenko’s ear. “I met your master.”

Tenko stiffens. “What?”

“Kurogiri took me to him. I thought he was taking me to you, but –”

“What did he want?” Tenko asks. His voice is tense, already going flat. “What did you tell him?”

“He wanted to know how I knew you. I told him about how we met last year, when you came to the clinic.” You feel Tenko’s shoulders relax slightly at that. “I used the right name. I don’t –”

“Here.” Tenko pulls away from you, but only long enough to pull you through the door to his room and shut it behind you both. “What else did he ask?”

“About my quirk. He said he’d give me one, but he changed his mind.” You try to remember, but it’s hard verging on impossible. All you can think of is the hand closing over your face, the enormous figure looming over you. “He said I was your game piece, not his. What does that mean?”

You look up at Tenko. Tenko’s expression is somehow grim and calculating at the same time. “He says everything’s for me. Everything should be as I want it, so he won’t take you away,” he says. Then, almost to himself: “But he was suspicious. If he finds out –”

“Finds out what?”

“Here.” Tenko pulls you closer than before. This time you feel his chapped lips against your ear. “I was supposed to say goodbye to my old name. When he gave me my family to wear.”

His family to wear. His family – the hands. You almost throw up. Tenko keeps talking, faster now. “I didn’t think about it. I hadn’t in years, until – and I feel different when I hear it. Different than I’m supposed to. I want the same things, but more things. I don’t know how to say it.”

“You’re not supposed to be Tenko anymore.” You feel him nod. “You feel more like that when you’re with me.”

Tenko nods again. “You always know how to say it right.”

“I know you,” you say. His grip on you tightens. “You’re in trouble with him because of me.”

“No.” Tenko’s index finger taps a pattern on your back. “I feel better when you’re here.”

That doesn’t mean he’s not in trouble. It just means he cares about it less, or he’s less worried than you are. “Just be careful with my name,” he continues. “Call me Sensei’s name around everyone else, even Kurogiri. When it’s just us, like right now –”

“Tenko,” you say, and he nods. You feel a little better, maybe. You don’t know for sure. And you know you’ve been hugging him for way too long. You step back. “Sorry about this. I –”

“Don’t,” Tenko says. “I told you. I don’t mind.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment. In your peripheral vision, you can see that the room’s even cleaner than it was the last time you were here. The coffee table still has a pileup of games on it, but there’s also an open energy drink can sitting there. With a flower sticking out of it.

You fixate on the flower. “Where’d you get that?”

“I found it,” Tenko says, but he can’t hold your gaze, which means he’s lying and he probably stole it. “So you wouldn’t get confused this time.”

“About whether it’s a date?” you ask. He nods without looking at you. “Okay. It’s a date.”

“It’s a date right now,” Tenko corrects. “The new members of the League will be here at midnight. Do you have a disguise?”

“I think so.” You’ve been carrying it around in your bag, since you don’t have a way to predict when Tenko will call for you. “Do you want to see it?”

He nods. You fish both pieces of it out of your bag and put it on, situating the veil over your face and peering at Tenko through the filmy fabric. “Can you see my face?”

“Not really.” Tenko tilts his head, studying you. “What is it?”

“My friends and I dressed up as vampire brides last Halloween, but I went a little too hard on the bride part,” you say. “I was going to use a mask, but it was hard to breathe, and I couldn’t see very well. And the veil covers my hair, too.”

Tenko nods again. “What’s the crown made of?”

“It’s supposed to look like thorns.” You cringe a little bit. “Hirono made me wear it with the costume, and I still needed something to hold the veil in place. Does it work?”

Tenko comes closer. A lot closer. “Not at this range,” he says. You’d have to agree. If you can count his eyelashes through the veil, he can definitely see your face. “I’m not letting any of them that close to you or me. You can take it off now.”

You lift the crown off, and the veil after it, and Tenko takes them from you, setting them down on the end of the coffee table next to the hand he usually wears on his face. They look unbelievably weird laid out next to each other – like the costume pieces they are, things the two of you can take on and off whenever you want to instead of symbols of what Tenko already is, what you’re getting yourself into. “The others won’t be here for a few hours,” Tenko says. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Do you need to do anything to get ready for the meeting?” you ask. “It sounds important.”

“The plan’s already done. I’ll tell you about who will be there, but we don’t need anything else. Just –” Tenko lifts his head as if to scratch at his neck, then lowers it again. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ve thought about it enough. Can we –”

“Yeah,” you say at once. “Let’s just play.”

You play Call of Duty again, starting off in co-op mode this time. You were so worried that your skills would atrophy that you made Ryuhei and Mitsuru play with you until you got better, something Tenko remarks on right away. “I can’t believe you practiced.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a sidekick if I stayed dead weight,” you say. “Don’t worry. It won’t last long.”

The two of you still have a ways to go before the intermediate levels, and with the pressure off, Tenko starts telling you about the allies he’s collected. Mostly guys – for whatever reason, there aren’t a lot of female villains. The two women are Hiikishi, who goes by Magne, and Toga, who goes by Toga. Magne’s an adult with a serious record, and Toga would have a serious record if she was an adult, which she isn’t. “Seventeen?” you say, startled. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s a Stain fan,” Tenko says. He rolls his eyes, then takes out an entire group of enemies advancing on the two of you without looking at the screen. “So are two of the others. One of them’s got a fire quirk. He’s an asshole. The other one – he’s hard to get a read on. Keep an eye on him.”

“I can do that,” you say. You see a solitary enemy sneaking up behind Tenko’s character, adjust your viewpoint minutely, and shoot them before they can shoot him. “Who else?”

Toga apparently isn’t the only kid who’s taking on a life of villainy. There’s another high school student, too, and you think about what Kazuo said, about the question of whether the creation of new villains can be prevented. Two of the other new allies fall into the category of those Kazuo said would be drawn to violence regardless. You recognize both names from the news, and you’ve listened to enough true-crime podcasts at Mitsuru’s behest to know that at least one of them is supposed to be behind bars. “Did you break them out?”

“Kurogiri’s doing that,” Tenko says, unworried. “They’re the distraction. Compress will be doing the real work.”

“Compress?”

“We were lucky to find him,” Tenko says. There’s a nasty grin on his face. “You’ll hear more about him when we go over the plan. We – dammit.”

The two of you leveled up while you were talking, and there are twice as many enemies as before. You decide to drop the line of questioning and focus on the game. Playing with Mitsuru and Ryuhei, you never got through the first of the intermediate levels. Tenko’s better than they are by a long shot, but you’ll need all your wits about you to avoid dragging him down.

You and Tenko play in silence for the most part, working together as a team, and you notice the two of you shifting closer together as the game continues, moving from your separate corners of the couch to the middle of it. You’re paying attention to the game, but every so often your mind drifts – to the flower in the energy drink can, to the fact that this is apparently a date, to the fact that Tenko let you hug him and hugged you back. If this is a date, if he keeps calling it a date, there must be something he wants from you that’s more than this, more than whatever the two of you are doing right now. You could ask what it is. Part of you doesn’t want to know.

You and Tenko clear one or two intermediate levels, but on the third one, you know the two of you are in deep trouble. You’re low on health already, courtesy of getting dinged a few times on the level before, and your skills, while improved, aren’t good enough to let you hold your own. Tenko’s having to protect you, just like you were worried he would, and in the process, he’s taking damage, too. Despite that, courtesy of Tenko’s skills and your weird accuracy, the two of you progress to the end of the level. Almost.

“Come on,” Tenko hisses. He’s two seconds away from disintegrating his controller. “We can make it.”

No, you can’t. Not both of you. But if Tenko can get through, he can get to a save point, and you can finish the level later. If you both die, you have to go back to the beginning. With that in mind, it’s an easy choice. You maneuver your character between Tenko’s and the enemies sneaking up on him from behind, and shoot as many of them as you can before they overwhelm you. Tenko turns to stare at you in horror. “You died?”

“You didn’t. Go!”

Tenko swears, shoots the enemies you couldn’t kill, and clears the level at speed. He saves his progress. Then he turns on you. “What happened?”

You point at the screen, which is showing a slow-motion replay of your character getting absolutely shredded by enemy fire. “You were blocking for me?” Tenko looks unhappy. “Idiot. We could have won.”

“I was slowing you down too much,” you say. “I could help you get through, so I did. Now you don’t have to start over.”

“But you do.”

“I’m the sidekick. It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure why he’s looking at you like that. “And even if I wasn’t your sidekick – there’s no way I’d let my best friend lose.”

Tenko doesn’t say a word in response. Instead he sets his controller aside, then lifts yours out of your hands and does the same. You’re sitting really close together right now. He said this was a date. You make eye contact with Tenko, or try to. He’s not looking into your eyes. He’s looking at your mouth.

He’s being really obvious. You wonder if he knows. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

“Yeah. You.” Tenko doesn’t look away from your mouth. “Don’t you remember?”

For a moment you don’t. But then you remember the picture of the two of you on Valentine’s Day, and what happened after the picture was taken – you taking the valentine from him, planting a poorly-aimed kiss half on his mouth and half on his cheek, and promptly running away. You’re surprised he’s counting that. But you would count it, too, if it was the only thing you had to count.

“I remember,” you say. “So this is going to be our second kiss.”

“Who said I was going to kiss you?”

“You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last minute and a half. I’m not sure what else you could be doing,” you say. Tenko’s face turns red, which means you’re right, but he still doesn’t make a move. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.” Tenko shakes his head. “I don’t know where to put my hands.”

“Don’t do anything with them for now,” you suggest. Your heart is beating faster. “Let’s just try it and see how it goes.”

He’s leaning closer now, shifting position to close the gap even further. The flush in his cheeks is darker than before. “I’m not going to be good at it.”

“Hey, I was pretty bad at Call of Duty last time,” you say. Tenko starts to argue that kissing and Call of Duty have absolutely nothing in common, and you cut him off. “You know how I got better? I practiced.”

Tenko finally tears his eyes away from your mouth. “You wouldn’t have had anything to practice if I hadn’t taught you how. You should kiss me.”

“I kissed you the first time,” you say. “It’s your turn.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Fine,” Tenko says. He leans in and you tilt your head to the proper angle and your lips meet for the first time in fifteen years.

You really don’t want to count the kiss when you were five as your first kiss, but Tenko’s counting it, so you sort of have to. His lips are rough against yours, not in pressure but in texture, and you’re careful as you kiss him back. Careful for a whole host of reasons. His hands are curled into fists on his thighs, and you don’t want him to move without thinking. You don’t want him to pull away, either, which is what he’ll do if you go overboard. It’s not the hottest first kiss you’ve ever had, but it’s the most intense by far. The fact that your lips are the only point of contact makes it even more so.

You’re trying to be careful, but you’re not careful enough – Tenko’s lower lip splits, and you taste blood. You sit back in a hurry. “Sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“I don’t care.” Tenko closes the gap between you again, presses his lips against yours a second time. “Do you?”

“I don’t want to stop kissing you,” you admit. You feel Tenko’s lips curve into a smile, spilling more blood onto yours. “But you have to let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

You unfold your hands from your sides and raise them, setting them on Tenko’s shoulders. Tenko freezes. You risk dragging your thumbs slowly across his collarbones, too prominent just like his shoulder blades and vertebrae are, and see his eyes fall half-lidded. A slow shudder runs through him, shedding tension in its wake. “Do you mind?” you ask.

“No.” Tenko kisses you again.

Kissing Tenko is – strange. It’s not bad. Definitely not bad, and definitely not something you want to stop doing, but still, it feels strange. Part of it is the taste of his blood on your lips, the almost-starved ridges of his shoulders and spine under your hands, the fact that you can touch him but he can’t touch you. And part of it is the missing piece of time, those fifteen years where you would have known each other if this hadn’t happened to Tenko – whatever this was. It feels almost like a blink. When you look back in your memories, you’re little kids, linking pinkies on the way to school. Now you’re kissing on the bed in Tenko’s room with Call of Duty paused in the background. Or making out. If the total lack of daylight between your mouth and Tenko’s is anything to go by, you graduated to making out already.

You can’t get your tongue involved without tasting even more of his blood, but the sound he makes and the shudder that runs through him when you swipe your tongue across his lower lip to clear it away makes it almost worth it. His fists are no longer resting on his thighs – now they’re on yours, fingers uncurling and curling again. You dare to slide one hand upward, tracing the back of his neck, and Tenko groans, shudders. The thought comes to you, again, that you should be careful with him. He’s so thin, so shaky under your hands. If you push him too far, he might break apart.

Tenko’s trying to talk without disconnecting his mouth from yours. That’s not going to work. You wrap your arms around his neck so he knows you’re not going anywhere and sit back. “What is it?”

“I want to touch you.” Tenko’s eyes are locked on yours this time, and the hunger and desperation you see there takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to make it safe. I don’t want –”

Something happens to him then. You don’t know how to describe it. Something flashes behind his eyes, and his shoulders tense beneath your hands, muscles turning so rigid and brittle that they feel as though they could shatter. “It’s okay,” you say quickly. You shift closer to him without asking first, halfway into his lap, trying to give him some of the contact he wants without getting his hands involved. “You could go slow. Or be careful. Or if you had gloves –”

Tenko’s eyes light up. “Wait here.”

You shift out of his lap as requested and he gets to his feet, heading for one corner of the room. You take a second to get composed. You can still taste Tenko’s blood on your lips, and when you raise your hands to touch your cheeks, they feel hot. Kissing him feels good, is good – but you’ve always liked your makeouts a little more hands-on, and once Tenko’s able to touch you safely, you can’t vouch for how well you’ll behave yourself. Are you really the only one who’s ever kissed him? He must be a quick study. Even with his blood on your lips, you’re already missing the heat of his mouth on yours.

Tenko’s back a moment later. He has a pair of gloves on – gloves that are missing the first three fingers. It takes all five to activate his quirk, which means you’re safe, and he still has the chance to touch you directly. He hesitates before he sits down again. “Do you really want –”

“Yes.” You catch his hand – it’s safe to do that now – and pull him down beside you. He makes a startled sound, which you immediately muffle in a kiss. It’s cute, but there are sounds you like better. “I want you.”

You were going to be more specific with what you wanted – I want you sounds heavy as all hell when the two of you have only just gotten physical – but Tenko doesn’t give you the chance. He wraps his arms around you tightly, so tight that it’s almost hard to breathe, but he doesn’t hold you that way for long. Soon enough his hands are roaming across your back from shoulder to hip, freezing briefly when they encounter your bra through your shirt, all while he deepens the kiss to an almost unsustainable degree. It’s like he’s trying to steal the air out of your lungs.

Tenko’s hands seize your shoulder, your hip, and grip hard. You don’t like being handled roughly, but held – that’s something different. You swallow a gasp and press closer to him, almost in his lap again. His grip on you tightens further and he pulls you the rest of the way. Your lips unlock from his in the move, coming loose with a slurping sound that would probably make you cringe under other circumstances, with someone else. As it is, you seize the opportunity to catch your breath.

Tenko looks up at you. His fingers are pressing deeply into your skin, hard enough to bruise through your clothes. His chest rises and falls rapidly, pressing against your own, and his red eyes are wide, pupils dilated. When you shift, trying to get settled in his lap, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Hold still.”

You’re comfortable now. You don’t mind. You look at him, studying the small things, the ones you remember from before. The tousled, slightly messy texture of his hair. His eyelashes, always a little longer than you expect them to be. The birthmark at the corner of his mouth, which you lean in to kiss lightly. You’ve always wanted to do that. Half the reason your first kiss was so messy was because you couldn’t decide whether to aim for the birthmark or his lips.

When you draw back, you see a surprised look on Tenko’s face. “You like that?” he asks. You nod, and a strange expression flickers across his face. “My grandma had it too.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“My other one. I saw in a picture.” Tenko’s thumb moves in slow circles over your hip, like he’s rubbing a worry stone. You don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. “She was a hero.”

“Really?” You didn’t expect him to say that. He nods. “You never told me.”

“I was going to.” Tenko’s eyes shift away from yours. “I found out that day.”

That day. It takes you a second to parse that, but once you do, your blood runs cold. The question balances on the tip of your tongue, a question you’ve been asking yourself for fifteen years, a question you know you shouldn’t ask him. You don’t need to know what happened. You saw what happened. All you need to know is that he’s here.

“Hey,” you say softly. Tenko won’t look at you, so you reach out, cupping the curve of his cheek, turning him back to put you face to face, if not eye to eye. “I’m glad you told me now. Better late than never. It would have been good to know for our games.”

Tenko scoffs at that. “We used to play some stupid games.”

“I liked them,” you say. “I like any game I play with you.”

Tenko’s been avoiding eye contact, but now he looks at you, and your breath catches. You can’t let him look at you like that. You’ll say more than you mean to. “Do you want to keep talking?” you ask. “Or do you want to make out some more?”

For a second you think Tenko will opt for talking. He looks like he’s thinking about it. Then the hand on your shoulder shifts to wrap around the back of your neck, and he drags you down for another kiss.

This position seems like it works for the two of you. The difference in your heights is perfect for it, and it gives you a little more control over the kissing while giving Tenko the chance to put his hands wherever he wants. He keeps them well clear of anything too forward, and eventually he finds a place he likes for both of them – one on your lower back, beneath the hem of your shirt, and the other around the back of your neck. It keeps you close, as if there was any chance you’d pull away.

You’re kissing too deeply to talk, except for once, when Tenko pulls away to make eye contact. “No more dates with heroes.”

You only went on that one date with Sugimura. After the night on the rooftop in Hosu, you had to accept that your feelings were elsewhere. “None for you, either.”

Tenko snorts. Then, almost as an afterthought: “No more with anybody.”

“You’re trying to lock it down already?” you tease. “It’s only our second date.”

“I don’t care.” Tenko’s expression is serious. “I don’t want another sidekick. You shouldn’t want another –”

He trails off, searching for the word. The word that follows naturally is ‘hero’, but you understand why he won’t use it. “I don’t want that,” you say. “You can lock me down. As long as I get to lock you down. It’s only fair.”

When you’ve had talks with guys about exclusivity in the past, they’ve looked vaguely annoyed. Tenko actually looks pleased with the thought. Not that that stops him from ribbing you about it. “You’re the one with seven siblings. You don’t like sharing?”

“I hate it.” you say, and he laughs. “You would, too, if you were me.”

Tenko smirks. He leans back from you without loosening his grip. “Go ahead, then,” he says. “Lock me down.”

He really shouldn’t challenge you like that. It gives you ideas. You lean in like you’re going to kiss him again, diverting at the last second to kiss the side of his neck, and Tenko’s complaints about how you don’t get to lock him down if you won’t even kiss him evaporate in seconds. You keep kissing him anyway. He wants you to lock him down? Fine. You’ll make sure everybody who looks at him knows that he belongs to somebody, even if they don’t know who that somebody is.

His neck is sensitive, and he’s not the quiet type. As high as his pain tolerance supposedly is, he’s almost absurdly sensitive to pleasure, and you like the idea of making him feel good a little too much. You know it’s working when Tenko’s grip on you changes, when he starts scrabbling for purchase on your back or your hip rather than holding tight, but even better than that is the unsteady sound of his breathing in your ear, the little noises he makes. You like it when guys are vocal. After one sound that crosses the line into a moan, you stop, and speak without lifting your mouth from his skin. “Locked down enough for you?”

“Fuck,” Tenko mumbles. You draw back to look at him and find his face flushed. “Maybe a little more –”

You kiss his mouth this time. You’re getting used to the taste of blood.

You don’t hear footsteps in the hallway or hear the door open, but you absolutely hear Kurogiri’s voice issuing from the doorway. “Shigaraki Tomura. It is nearly midnight.”

You pull away from Tenko, but not completely enough – there’s a rope of saliva stretching between your lips and his, which you deal with by leaning in to kiss him again. Tenko’s clearly embarrassed by Kurogiri’s presence, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing you back before he pulls away. “Knock next time,” he snaps at Kurogiri. “Are they here?”

“I will retrieve them shortly. Once the two of you are presentable.” Kurogiri apparently doesn’t trust the two of you not to go back to making out. He stands in the doorway, watching as you scramble out of Tenko’s lap and Tenko gets to his feet. “So the date went well?”

There’s that syntax shift again. “Shut up,” Tenko mutters. “Don’t act like you didn’t break my rule. You took her to Sensei. You’re lucky I don’t kill you.”

“If his orders contradict yours, my instructions are to follow his,” Kurogiri says. Tenko’s head snaps up. “I thought you were aware.”

“Now I am.” Tenko straightens his shirt and settles the hand over his face. He turns to face you and you wince. “What?”

You’ve seen the sketch of him from the USJ incident. It’s been all over the news for the past few weeks. “The hands for your neck – you might want them. There’s, um, evidence.”

“Evidence?” Tenko repeats, puzzled. Then his face turns red around the hand. He hurries to the far corner of the room and lifts a set of hands out, quickly securing them around his neck. “Can you see it now?”

You shake your head. “It is well hidden,” Kurogiri remarks. He looks to you. “Your disguise?”

You forgot about that. You collect the veil and crown off the end of the coffee table and secure both over your head. “I will retrieve the others,” Kurogiri says. “But first, the two of you.”

Warp gates open beneath your feet and Tenko’s, and when they close, you find yourselves in the bar again. Kurogiri himself vanishes, and Tenko settles into his usual seat. You stand there awkwardly. “Where do you want me to be?”

“Sit here.” Tenko taps the bar, and you scramble up. “Watch everybody. Keep an eye on the Stain fans. Act like you already know the plan. I should have told you already. I just –”

“You had other things to think about.” Your veil hides your face better than the hand hides Tenko’s – your face can flush until you’re practically glowing and no one will be able to see it unless they’re right up close. “How will I know if you want me to step in?”

“You’ll know when, if you need to. I trust you.” Tenko looks left, then right – then down at his hands. “Fuck. I can’t wear these. They’ll –”

“Here.” You hold out your hands for Tenko’s, and when he extends them, you peel the gloves off and tuck them away. With the model hands on and all ten fingers exposed, he’s different. You’re not sure how to quantify it, but you know it’s there, and it prompts a question. “Should I call you Shigaraki or Tomura?”

“Shigaraki,” he says, and you nod – but then, as the first warp gates begin to appear, he changes his mind. “Tomura. You’re different than they are. They should know from the start.”

So he’s planning to make your status distinct from the others, right from the beginning. You don’t know if that’s a good idea, but before you can protest or push back even slightly, the first of the allies Tenko’s gathered step through the portals, and you fall silent. Unless something goes horrendously wrong, you’re going to stay that way for the duration of the meeting.

The first two villains to arrive are also the youngest – the girl, Toga, and the boy who named himself Mustard, after the gas. Next up is the fire quirk-user, notable because of his patchwork skin and the staples holding the living tissue to the dead. You stare from behind the safety of your veil. You have no idea how his body is holding together. It shouldn’t be possible.

Next is a heteromorph, green-skinned and purple-haired, wearing a Stain mask. He must be the one Tenko – no, Tomura – said was hard to get a read on. The one you’re supposed to watch.

Magne arrives, followed shortly afterwards by a masked man – Compress, definitely, because the two men who arrive last are the murderers Kurogiri must have just broken out of prison. They scare you in a way the others don’t, and you’re so wary of them that you almost miss the arrival of the last villain. And you really shouldn’t miss his arrival. After all, he’s the only villain here who you’ve met before.

“Twice?” you say, startled, and Tomura looks up at you. Luckily, everyone else is still getting their bearings, and at least you said it quietly. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Tell me later,” he says, and then he faces the other villains.

You’re not sure what he’s going to say, where he’s going to start, but in spite of the hands and the crew of monsters he’s assembled, all you can see is your childhood friend when he speaks. He sounds like he always did, laying out the details of the story before the game begins. “The heroes have regained their confidence. Because they dealt with Stain, they think it’s all been solved. I know that at least a few of you have questioned the effectiveness of what the League’s done so far. So have I. So we’re going back to what worked last time. We’re going to attack UA.”

Your stomach lurches. No wonder Tenko didn’t tell you. He must have known you wouldn’t approve. “They’ve tightened up security since your last attack,” Toga pipes up. “I took a look around, like you said. Nobody noticed me, but the whole campus is locked up tight.”

“Good work,” Tomura says, and Toga grins. Her incisors are sharp. “Toga’s reconnaissance confirmed my conclusion: UA is impregnable for now, which is why we’re not attacking the school itself. They’re running a summer training camp at a remote location, with significantly less security. That’s where we’ll hit them.”

“Them,” the fire quirk-user repeats. “Not All Might.”

“Not yet. We need to level up before we take him on.” Tomura’s shoulders are tense. “Hitting the camp, threatening their precious students – if the heroes can’t even protect their own kind, they can’t claim to be capable of protecting everyone else. Besides, that’s not the only reason we’re going there. You all are a good start, but we’ll need more allies if we want to win.”

“Why do you need more?” Mustard asks. “You’ve got us. We’re not good enough?”

Based on the belligerence, this is a sore spot. If Tomura can’t navigate it, you’ll step in – but somewhere beneath the hands, Tomura’s still the kid who knew how to make everybody feel included. “We can’t fight a war on just one front,” he says. “You and the others will win the strategic battle by destroying UA’s sense of superiority. And while you’re doing that, Compress and Toga will collect what we need to win the PR battle as well.”

“Indeed,” Compress agrees. “Are there other students you’d like me to capture, Shigaraki? Or are you interested only in the victor from the Sports Festival?”

The explosion kid. You remember him – the one who was so batshit berserk that he had to be muzzled and chained to a pole for the award ceremony. Tomura wants him for the League? “Use your discretion,” Tomura says. “He’s the priority. If you see others who are better suited to us than to the heroes, take them, too.”

“And I’ll get the blood,” Toga chimes in. Everyone turns to stare at her. “My quirk lets me turn into the people whose blood I drink! I can make myself look like a student, and I can say anything I want.”

Like a living deepfake. You knew Tomura was smart, but this is verging on diabolical. “What about the rest of us, then?” Muscular asks. There’s a sharp smile on his face, and just like Tomura, he’s tense. “Are we supposed to just stand around?”

“There will be pro heroes present,” Tomura says. “Mustard will incapacitate the students, but the pros will be more difficult to handle.”

“Difficult? For me?” Muscular scoffs and takes a step forward. “Just because an underground hero handed you your ass doesn’t mean I’ll have a problem.”

“If Eraserhead cancels your quirk, you’ll be in the same spot as me,” Tomura says shortly. He gets to his feet. Not good. “If you think I’m that easy to defeat, try your luck.”

It looks like Muscular wants to. Tomura’s hands are open at his sides, rising slightly, and just like you did in the convenience store last year, you speak up. “Both of your records speak for themselves,” you say, and Muscular turns to stare at you. “Tomura recognizes that the pros pose a threat to the success of the plan. And he recognizes that you’re well-equipped to handle them. That’s why you’re here.”

It’s quiet for a second. Muscular doesn’t step back into line, and neither does Tomura – but neither of them make a move, and when Tomura speaks again, Muscular doesn’t interrupt. “If you haven’t been given a more specific assignment, your job is to sow chaos,” he says. “Dabi, Spinner, Magne, Muscular, Moonfish – deal with the pros. If you have the opportunity to kill them, do it, as slowly or as quickly as you’d like. If not, keep them out of the way.”

“What about the students?”

Moonfish sounds like he’s speaking through a mouthful of razors. It makes your skin crawl, but Tomura doesn’t flinch. “The focus needs to be on the heroes and their failings, not on a bunch of dead kids. If that happens, that’s all anyone will talk about,” Tomura says. “Hurt them. Don’t kill them. That goes for all of them – except one.”

“Which one?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

“No.” The green-skinned heteromorph speaks up for the first time. “Not him.”

Tomura turns towards him, incredulous, and the heteromorph keeps talking. “Stain spared his life. He recognized him as a true hero. I won’t subvert Stain’s will like that.”

A joke pops into your head – Stain’s not gonna fuck you – and you clench your jaw shut. “Stain’s will?” Tomura repeats. “Stain lost.”

“His ideas still live,” the heteromorph – Spinner, you think – says. “Are you following in Stain’s footsteps or not?”

You see Tomura’s shoulders tense again and realize that you’ve got approximately three seconds before he blows his top. “Stain and Tomura share a belief that hero society is rotten to the core,” you say. “The fact that the only examples of true heroes Stain could find are All Might and a fifteen-year-old illustrates the decay. Don’t you think?”

You’ve put Tomura and Stain on the same conceptual level, and you’ve put Spinner on the spot – and most importantly, you’ve contained Tomura for the time being. “I guess,” Spinner says after a second. “I still don’t think –”

“If you’re worried about following in Stain’s footsteps, follow them by killing false heroes,” Tomura interrupts. “There will be plenty to choose from at the training camp. Don’t concern yourself with Midoriya Izuku. Act as your ideals demand.”

Tomura glances around the room. “That goes for all of you. Use what methods you’d like. Act as you see fit, so long as those actions don’t imperil our common goal. Disrupt the camp, disable any pro heroes who get in your way, kill them if you want, and assist Toga and Compress in completing their objectives.”

It’s quiet. You can tell Tomura’s waiting for an argument, and when one doesn’t come right away, he picks one. “Does anyone have issues with their assigned role?”

“I have an issue,” the fire quirk-user says. Dabi, you think. The one Tomura said was an asshole, and when he points one finger at you, you decide you agree with Tomura’s assessment. “What’s your role? Who are you?”

“Yeah,” Muscular says. “What’s under that veil? And why do you talk so much?”

“She’s our medic,” Tomura says. “She’s trustworthy.”

“She’s hiding her face.”

“So am I,” Twice pipes up. “And Compress. Shigaraki, too. Besides, it’s good to have a medic! If the medic’s good.”

You owe Twice for having your back, even if he doesn’t know you. Dabi doesn’t look convinced. “What’s your name?” he repeats.

“You get her name when I get yours,” Tomura says. “My alliance with her existed before the League did. She’s trustworthy.”

Toga squints at you, then takes a few steps closer. “I like your costume,” she says. “You look like a bride.”

“I can’t see your face at all,” Magne says. “Hopefully it’s cuter than the veil is.”

“I hope so, too,” you say. Magne laughs.

Tomura doesn’t like that. You can tell. “Kurogiri, bring the maps,” he orders. A warp gate opens in the middle of the room, disgorging a map taped to a rolling whiteboard. “I don’t know your quirks as well as you do. We’ll devise this attack plan collectively.”

Tomura wasn’t in school long enough to learn what a pain in the ass group project are, but given that villains don’t like being bossed around, it’s not the worst strategy. You hang back, physically and verbally, steering clear of Dabi and Muscular and only stepping in when the temperature needs to be turned down. You’re the least powerful person in a room full of people who think nothing of throwing their weight around. In some ways, it’s just like being at home with your family.

Tomura asked you to watch, and you start piecing together an understanding of the group’s dynamic. The most stable individuals in the group are Kurogiri, Magne, and Compress, all by a long shot. The most easily dysregulated is Mustard, and while you think Dabi and Muscular can probably control themselves, you also think they’ll choose not to. You have a pretty good grasp on Twice from your previous meeting. Moonfish doesn’t say enough for you to be able to tell, but he also doesn’t start fights, and Toga’s a dark horse. So is Spinner.

Spinner’s hard for you to figure. He’s got no criminal record, but unlike Toga and Mustard, he’s old enough to have collected one. He’s probably the biggest Stain fan of the group, the only one who pushed back against Tomura on ideological grounds, but he’s also something of a team player. His role in the attack gets settled early, and he shifts to the outskirts of the group. After a few minutes psyching yourself up to do it, you slide down from the bar and join him.

He glances over at you, then double-takes. “You look like a ghost in that thing,” he says. “It works, though. I’d hide my face if my face mattered.”

“How do you mean?” you ask. “You’re joining the League of Villains. Your face is about to get pretty famous if you don’t cover it up.”

Spinner laughs, but there’s a rueful note to it. “I’m not exactly breaking hearts by turning to a life of crime. At least this way I’m doing something with my life.”

Weird and weirder. “What were you before this? If it’s okay for me to ask.”

“Only if it’s okay for me to ask how long you’ve known Shigaraki.”

You think about that. “Does ‘a long time’ count as an answer?”

“That depends. Is it months or years?” Spinner asks. You don’t know if you should answer that, and Spinner can tell. “I know I pissed him off earlier. You shut it down pretty fast. I figure either it’s your quirk or you just know him really well.”

“It’s not my quirk,” you say. You think back to the first time Tenko told you his new name. “Less than forever, more than a year.”

“I was a shut-in,” Spinner says, answering your question without responding to your answer to his. No wonder he’s got a record. It’s hard to get a record when you don’t leave your room. “That video of Stain’s is the first thing I ever saw that made sense. If you all have the same goal as Stain did, then I’m in the right spot.”

You nod. Someone is raising their voice in the group, and you key in – but it’s just one of the versions of Twice, getting excited about something. Spinner glances curiously at you. “You sure you don’t have an alias or something?”

You shake your head. You might be at a meeting of villains, wearing a disguise, listening to them plan to kidnap one high school student and traumatize the hell out of a few more, but picking out a name for yourself feels a little far. If Tomura thinks you need a name, he’ll probably give one to you.

The meeting breaks up two hours after midnight. You missed hearing the date the attack will take place, possibly on purpose, and when the group splits, leaving just you and Tomura and Kurogiri, you don’t ask what it was. Kurogiri pours drinks for you and Tomura. You sit down at the bar next to him, and he speaks without looking up from his glass. “What did you find out about Spinner?”

“He was a shut-in before. As long as you can tie your goals to Stain’s, he’ll follow along,” you say. Tomura nods. “How did the rest of it go?”

“I’m leaving some of the on-site planning to them. I’m not there to give orders, so they need to be able to adapt.” Tomura takes a sip of his drink. “Dabi’s a pain in the ass, like I thought, but I’m giving him temporary control of a Nomu to use during the fight. That should keep him quiet for now.”

He’s thought of everything. “You’re good at this stuff,” you say. “You barely needed me.”

Tomura looks up. “Yes, I do.”

It’s quiet for a little bit after that. You and Tomura drink, you staring down into your glass and Tomura staring at you, until you look up at the clock behind the bar and realize what time it is. “I have work in the morning. I have to go home.”

“Stay.” Tomura catches your sleeve with three fingers, but a small portal opens, depositing your bag a few feet away on the bar. “Kurogiri can take you to work from here.”

“I can’t show up in yesterday’s clothes. And I need to sleep. So do you.” You’re right, and Tomura knows it. He scowls anyway. He’s never happy when you leave, but right now he looks unhappier than usual. “What is it?’

“Once the attack happens, I can’t bring you back until things settle down.” Tomura’s looking unhappier by the second. “The brat can’t see you until I know he’s with us.”

“Oh,” you say. You wonder how long that will take. “That’s okay. I understand.”

“It’s not okay,” Tomura snaps. “It’s – take that thing off. I need to see you.”

You take it off quickly. “Kurogiri,” Tomura says. “Turn around.”

“I will return in five minutes.”

Kurogiri vanishes, and once he does, Tomura lowers the hand from his face, pries the other two from around his neck, and just like that, he’s Tenko again. “It’s not okay,” he repeats. “I need you with me. I feel different when you’re here.”

“Different than what?” you ask. He must think it’s a positive change, or he wouldn’t want you to stay. Tenko doesn’t answer. “Send Kurogiri to get me as soon as it’s safe, Ten. I’ll be waiting.”

You see his eyes light up ever so slightly, but it fades fast. “You’ll forget.”

Your heart aches, but this is something you can fix. “Let me show you something.”

The last forty-eight hours have been chaos, and you’ve spent most of it miserable, terrified, drunk, hungover, or making out with your childhood best friend on his couch. But somewhere in the middle of that, you managed to get into one of the two boxes you brought home from your parents’ purge and take something out. You couldn’t bring yourself to wear the locket, but you tucked it into your bag along with your disguise, and when you put your disguise away, you fish it out.

Tenko looks suspicious. “Who gave you that.”

“My parents, probably. That’s not the important part.” You close your eyes and struggle to come up with an explanation, one that doesn’t make you sound obsessed or insane or too invested in this, in him. “I found this in a box in my parents’ house. There was a lot of stuff in there about you and me.”

“Like what?”

“Pictures,” you say. “A birthday gift from you. The valentine you gave me. I put all that stuff in there when I was ten and taped it shut.”

“Why?”

“My parents were taking me to get my memory wiped the next day, so I really would forget.” You see Tenko’s eyes widen. “I hid that stuff from them, but I saved it for me. So even if the memory wipe worked, I could open it up and remember you again.”

You open the locket and hold it out for Tenko to inspect. You see his expression twist. “I never forgot about you,” you say. “When we saw each other again, that’s why I reacted that way. I always hoped you were alive. If I didn’t forget you in fifteen years, a few days or weeks or months isn’t going to make a difference.”

Tenko’s jaw is clenched. The tendons in his neck stand out, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. You were trying to help, but it looks like you’ve made it worse. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have –”

Tenko seizes you and yanks you into his arms. “Shut up,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shoulder, or maybe your chest. “How am I supposed to let you leave now?”

“You have to. It’ll be okay,” you say. “I did promise not to go on any dates with heroes.”

It’s quiet for a second. Your arms are around Tenko, and you feel his shoulders shake. “That’s not funny.”

You know that particular note in his voice. It makes you feel better. “Don’t laugh, then.”

Tenko snorts, hugs you closer and tighter. Then he lets you go. “Next time you’ll stay,” he says.

“If I have the next day off, sure,” you say, and Tenko smiles slightly. “We never got to have sleepovers before.”

It’s true. You asked and so did he, but your parents said you were too young, even though neither of you would have been farther from home than right across the street. You see Kurogiri reappear out of the corner of your eye and know you’re out of time. “Be careful,” you say to Tenko. “Come find me as soon as it’s safe.”

“I will.” Tenko gets to his feet. “Turn around, Kurogiri.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing going on over there that I want to see.”

One of these days you’re going to ask Tenko why Kurogiri’s like that, why he seems like he’s two people in one. Not tonight. There isn’t time. You have time for one more kiss with Tenko, but that’s all – and the instant the two of you separate to take a breath, Kurogiri warps you away, dropping you back in your apartment. Your bag lands on the couch next to you. You still have the locket clenched in one hand. There are still a few drops of Tenko’s blood on your lips.

You lick them away, feeling twenty kinds of insane as you do it. Your mind is crowded with dozens of questions, thoughts, images, memories, all of them demanding to be addressed at once. You kick off your shoes, move your bag to the floor, and lie back on the couch. Your eyelids are heavy the instant you’re horizontal, and by the time it occurs to you that you should let go of the locket or at least put it somewhere safe, you’re fast asleep.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #x reader #reader insert #please hold

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bippot · 4 months

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Oooo I love you sooo much!!🙇‍♀️💜 Can I please request an Adrian Chase x fem!innocent!reader where a bad guy had taken her and being in a lot of danger, she ended up killing him in self defense, and Adrian (as Vigilante, while on his nightly searches for criminals to kill) happens upon a traumatized, covered in blood Y/n, shaking and crying with her head in her hands, muttering about not wanting to be a bad person and she’s just in shock of what happened to her and what she had to do. She’s the type of person who wouldn’t even hurt a fly, she has never even so much as held any type of weapon. Vig kneels down to her height and promises to “take care” of it, him attempting to comfort her in his own Vigilante way, also carrying her to his car and bringing her to his apartment. He would definitely be trying to assure her that she did nothing wrong in his eyes, he takes care of her injuries and takes care of her as she starts to pretty much live in his apartment, and what was supposed to be a few days, turns into months of her living with him, as neither one of them wanted her to leave. She feels safe with him and fell in love and he wants to protect her and is feeling in love for the first time 🥹

Bacon and Bloodshed

Patrol could get boring. As Vigilante became more well known for hunting in certain areas, criminals would stop being in those areas. Of course they would! Being out in the open doing in Evergreen and doing shady stuff guaranteed a bullet between the brows. Only someone from out of town would be so stupid to attempt to kidnap a woman when they were firmly in the 'Vigilante Zone'.

Dressed in a black hoodie and sweatpants, a thug who used to run around Gotham doing his misdeeds - and only left when he got on the bad side of Two Face and was lucky when a coin was flipped to see whether he got to flee or be shot in the eye - found himself in Evergreen. He lurked in the backseat of a completely dark car, waiting for the woman who owned it to finish her shift.

Fate was kind to some. A bitch to others. All of Adrian's life had been filled with hardship, maybe it was time for his luck to flip.

As soon as she sat down in the driver's seat, his hand came around the headrest to hold a knife against her throat. The criminal expected her to scream. To plead for her life. To cry. But she didn't. She was quiet in shock before she saw an opportunity as he was adjusting his position so he could hold the knife more comfortably and there was a brief moment of time when he moved his arm just enough away that she could bite down really hard into the fleshy part of his hand.

"You bitch!" He yelped in pain, dropping the knife into her lap and jerking his arm away.

Y/N picked it up and darted out of the car, running as fast as she could for the closest building that had a light on and people in. Most shops were closed. People were asleep. The corner store she'd had a late shift had its shutters down - she knew that, she did it - and the only option left was to dart down a dingy alleyway as the thug was hot on her heels.

She was going to die tonight, Y/N was sure of it at that moment. But not before she fought. She wasn't going down without kicking beforehand.

The alley was dark, the only light coming from a flickering red neon sign with a really disgusting logo for what she assumed was a tattoo studio. It was quite apart from the sound of the man's heavy footsteps echoing off the walls. She couldn't see him, but she could hear him breathing heavily and knew he was gaining on her.

And then he caught up to her. He was so close Y/N could smell him, see his shadow looming over her. So, she stopped and turned around, the knife held out in front of her like a sword. "You're not going to kill me, pretty lady." He laughed. "You don't have a chance in hell."

That wasn't true. She was a lot faster than him when he lunged for the knife, and while he was bigger than her and could easily wrestle it out of her hands as soon as he got the chance, he didn't get the chance. The thug was no match for a big cut across the neck she gave him, and he collapsed on the ground, gurgling blood.

Staring down at the man who had tried to kill her for no apparent reason, her hands shook and her knees felt weak. She stood over him as his arm raised, almost as if he was asking her to help in some way. "Oh no. No. No. No..."

In an instant, she dropped the knife and slumped to the ground, her palms pressing down on his wound to try and stop the bleeding. It was a futile effort, but it was all she could do. The man gurgled again, more blood dribbling out of his mouth and splattering all over her clothes and arms until he just stopped. No movement. No twitches. No rising and falling of his chest. Nothing.

Despite what she originally thought, Y/N was going to live. And was going to live with this for the rest of her life. A lump filled her throat and she began to cry, her hands wiping away tears and replacing them with streaks of blood. She stayed there for so long, her body shaking and racked with sobs that it felt like she couldn't stop no matter how hard she tried.

"Aw, I missed all the fun!"

Jolting to point the knife at whoever had just spoken, Y/N looked like she was about to puke. Her eyes were red, her nose runny, her face was covered in blood, and she was shaking like a leaf. Once she realised Vigilante was the one who spoke, she held her hands up in surrender and was babbling, "H-he, uh, he tried to kill me! He had a knife! I don't know - I really don't- I don't why! I don't know why he did it! It was all just a mistake! Please, I just, I j-just really want to go... Can I go?"

Slowly, so slowly so he didn't spook her, Vigilante got closer and lowered the weapon with the tip of his forefinger. He squatted down in front of her until their noses were practically touching - well, if he didn't have his mask on, they would've booped. "Miss, you okay?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Y-yeah," she managed through her tears. "I-I just, I t-thought I was, uh, I was going to die."

He poked the dead guy with his boot to push the body fully onto his back and fully examine the damage. "You sliced this guy up, good job," he said, shaking his head and chuckling. "He was a big guy too. Damn, you're good with that knife. You really got him."

Adrian had intended to be a compliment, but Y/N's face scrunched and she began crying again. "Did I say something wrong? Please don't cry. I'm not good with that sort of thing. I'm sorry," he added, reaching out to touch her shoulder in the hopes it was comforting.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" she asked, sniffling. "You're going to kill me 'cause I did that."

"Why would I do that?"

A small laugh escaped her mouth but it was dry and humourless. With a whimper, she wiped at her nose with the back of her wrist. "I'm a killer... oh my god, I'm a killer. I fucking killed that guy. Like, I knew that but - Jesus fuck! - I'm going to hell," she exclaimed, burying her face in her knees. "I don't even believe in hell!"

"Eh, it was self defence. No big deal."

Her crying continued unabated and he knew he needed to get here out of the alley before the police came. "Hey, hey, look, don't cry," he said, trying to get her to look at him with her wet, beautiful eyes that he wished he could see without the red glass of his visor obscuring what colour they were. "Look, you're just a girl who had a bad night. And, yeah, that bad night involved killing a guy... if there's one thing you should take away from this experience it's that you are a badass!"

"A badass?"

"Yeah, and since you're such a badass, I think we should get you away from this crime scene so you don't get put in jail," Vigilante explained, getting to his feet. "It's okay, I swear. I'll make it look like I killed him, no sweat."

Holding his hand out, he helped her to her feet. She hesitated for a moment before she placed her hand in his, her eyes darting around the scene again. Surely, her prints would be all over this place. Even if she fled, there'd be remnant DNA to place her at the scene.

"I can tell my boss that this guy had an alien in his head and she'll clean this up." He looked down at the body again. "Wait, hang on. Lemme just -" Vigilante unsheathed his gun and shot at the dead guy's head. "We really have to go now. Bring the knife with you."

Without another word, Y/N grabbed the bloody knife by the blade and followed him out of the alley, walking quickly to keep up with his long strides. She was shivering, scared out of her mind, and following a masked hero to his car that he called his 'Vigilante-mobile'. The second her butt hit the comfy seat of his Sebring, all the adrenaline that was barely keeping her together finally depleted and she passed out with her head against the car door, her body exhausted from her near-death experience.

When Y/N awoke, she was safe and sound and under a warm duvet. She wasn't in her house, that was clear. And she'd definitely never seen the jumper she was wearing. Whoever had put it on her (she assumed Vigilante but she couldn't be sure) hadn't removed her bloodstained shirt and, therefore, ruined his own clothes. Y/N tiptoed as silently as she could out of the bedroom, unsure of whose house she was sneaking around.

Maybe he thought he wouldn't fall asleep when he lay down on the couch for a breather. Or maybe he would wake before she did. Or maybe it was just that the mask was uncomfortable to sleep in. Because his face was out on display as he slept. Full display. His mouth open. His hair wild. And his gear at a pile by the leg of his sofa, just in case.

And she saw him in all of his handsome glory. Without a doubt, that was the awkward busboy from Fennel Fields. On the few times Y/N had been there, she always let her eyes linger on his bespectacled face despite how much her friends teased her about it. It felt weird knowing who Vigilante was, even if she didn't know his real name. When he woke up to realise she was gone and had gotten enough of a look at him to be able to point him out on a lineup, he would hunt her down. Y/N had decided she'd done enough running the previous night and, yeah, it would be harder to get away from Vigilante.

So, she didn't run. She gently tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey," she whispered, leaning over and poking him in the chest. "Hey, Vigilante."

Adrian startled awake, almost falling off the edge of his sofa as he scrambled around for his mask.

"There's no point. I know what you look like."

"Shit."

His search stopped. Then, he just stared at her as he tried to figure out what to do. He'd killed people for less. But it was his incompetence that caused this situation and she should have to die for something that was his fault. There was a secret other reason for why he didn't want to kill her. One that was superficial and totally not logical at all. His cock was the one who created that reason and this was not the time to be thinking with dick.

"Do you want breakfast?" He offered like they were pal's and this was a completely normal thing to happen between them. "I make a mean bacon sandwich."

She nodded slowly, unsure if she was going to be poisoned or have a nice meal with a crime fighting vigilante. It seemed it was the latter since he got to frying the bacon in no time, whistling an upbeat tune as he flitted about his kitchen. "What's your name?" Adrian asked, trying to get a read on her. Was she going to run? Would she try to attack him? Or would his ultimate dream play out and she'd totally be enamoured by his cool and super suave lady saving ways?

"Y/N. You're the cute busboy from Fennel Fields."

Most people on the FBI's watch list would focus on the fact that she knew an aspect of his life he hadn't told her. She could recognise him and that was potential information she could tell law enforcement. Adrian didn't focus on that, though. The goofiest smile she'd ever seen on anyone ever came over his face as he replied, "You think I'm cute?"

"...Yeah."

"YOU think I'M cute?"

"Whenever I eat there, I try to hype myself up to flirt with you but, I don't know, you're at work - I know I hate it when guys hit on me while I'm working - I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Being hit on by strangers isn't part of your job description," Y/N explained, her voice a little quick and rambly like she was trying to get all her words out before he got weirded out.

Adrian's smile somehow widened even more. His eyes flitted over her body before he went back to looking at the bacon as he started pushing around the pan. "You think I'm cute," he repeated again, this time smugness replacing his initial doubt.

"I do."

"I think you're cute, too." He smiled a little bashfully to himself, then confirmed that, "If you wanted to hit on me, I wouldn't mind."

"Oh, okay then. Maybe I will."

Mirroring his, Y/N also got a huge smile on her face as she rested against the countertop and beamed up at him, inquiring, "What's your name?" while he tried not to keep all his focus on her. He didn't want to burn the bacon but it looked as if that was what 2as going to happen.

"Adrian."

"Adrian?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm... you do look like an Adrian."

"Is that a good thing?"

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous giggle tumbling from her lips. He rolled his eyes, but found himself laughing along with her. He'd never been particularly good at flirting, but somehow with Y/N, he was finding that he really wanted to try. "You look like a Y/N," he added, his voice lower, his eyes flitting up and down her form. "I've always thought Y/N was a name for someone pretty and you've proven me so right."

Her cheeks flushed at his compliment and she ducked her head to look at her shoes. Adrian couldn't grasp the fact that he'd successfully made her blush. It was a miracle. A jolt of pride went through him at this victory of making her blush, of getting a reaction out of her, of being more successful than ever before.

They ate their bacon baps, conversation bubbling up as they got to know each other. Bit by bit, Y/N revealed some details about herself and Adrian did the same. It was almost as if they had stumbled into an unexpected breakfast date. They were fairly similar - both living on the nerdier side of life and accustomed to being alone - but there was one glaring difference, Y/N was practically harmless (except from the night before).

She'd reprimanded Adrian for trying to kill a spider and ensured that it was safely placed outside with a glass and a discarded takeaway menu. When he told her all about his misdeeds in gruesome detail, she asked him to tone it down a bit. It was just too gross. And, even though they should've spoken about it just a little bit, Y/N changed the subject immediately when he brought up the thug from the night before. She didn't revel in her violence in the way he did. It was a momentary blip. An act of self defence. And it would be something she'd think about for the rest of her life.

Breakfast turned to lunch and they were still talking. Adrian discovered that it was nice to be listened to. Actually listened to. He was so used to being brushed off and dismissed, but Y/N didn't do that. She sat at the dining table, her head resting on her fist, and laughed at his jokes and encouragingly nodded and asked follow up questions. It was weird, but a good weird.

"Oh, is that the time?" Y/N finally noticed how long she'd been in his apartment for. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you had a bunch of stuff to do today and I just got in the way. I'll get out of your hair now."

"No!" He didn't intend to sound so eager. Adrian coughed. "I, uh, I mean... you could stay if you'd like to. I mean, if you don't have anything planned. You can stay in my hair, y'know, hold tight to those follicles if that's what you want."

More giggles came out of her thanks to his words and he found himself grinning and biting his tongue to not say something even more stupid. "Would you like me to stay?" Y/N asked, looking at him with her big, soft eyes.

"I mean, if you don't have plans or something."

"I'm free. For the whole day, if you'd like."

Adrian felt a grin spread over his face. "I would like that very much, yeah."

She leaned in close to him, her face only an inch from his, and whispered, "I can stay all night, if you're interested in that too?"

Those words shot through him with the speed of a bullet. The smile that had spread was now practically splitting his face in half. "I'm interested." He heard the squeakiness of his voice but couldn't do anything about it. "I'm very, very interested."

His hands found her waist and he pulled her closer to him, pressing his hips against her. He could feel the rise and fall of her breath, the tempo increasing the closer he got. Her hand slid up his arm and into his hair, fingers wrapping around the back of his head.

"Good," she let out, her lips so close to his that he could feel her breath on him. "Because I'm interested too."

"Can you stay forever?"

"I can try."

Their eyes locked, hers twinkling, his wide with laughter and something that looked very much like giddiness. He felt his heart thudding in his chest and his ears were filled with the beat. He wanted to close his eyes, to press his nose into the side of her neck, to bury his face into her hair, to kiss every inch of her, to cherish her company for however long fate allowed him.

#adrian chase #vigilante #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x female reader #adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x y/n #peacemaker

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the-kr8tor · 10 months

Note

Hello again can you please do a yandere ex Hobie x reader

Where hobie and the reader breaks up because of his jealousy but he can't let them go because he believes that they're still his and no one else's.

Also thank you for doing my first request 😊🥰

Hi hun! Thank you for requesting again! I'm glad you like the first one ❤️ you're very welcome btw!

Yandere/possessive! Hobie x gn! Reader

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Your eyes keep flickering around your dark surroundings, it's so dark and quiet out that you can hear your own heavy breathing, you hug your jacket tighter around your torso, seeing your breath come out of your lips makes you more unsettled.

You just came out of the pub with your friends, they happily listened to your woes about your recent break up with Hobie. They cheered you up a bit, you parted ways with them with a smile.

But why do you still feel a presence with you?

Crash

Hearing the clatter of discarded cans on the side of the alley made you jump, quickly taking out your trusted pepper spray, pointing it towards the dark alleyway.

You sigh in relief when a stray cat jumps out of the alley. But you still feel a looming presence watching over you, so you clutch your spray tighter, ready to attack.

Times like these you miss Hobie's protective arms around you.

You shake the feeling, remembering why you broke it off. He got too jealous, too overprotective of you. To the point where you can't go anywhere without him by your side.

Sometimes the overprotectiveness wasn't completely useless, he's spider punk after all, threats thrown at him are also threats to you. Or that's what he always says to you anyway.

You see shadows dance under your feet, you instinctively look up, seeing nobody, maybe they're just clouds passing over the moonlight.

You shake your head, you're just paranoid.

Unbeknownst to you, Hobie's been circling around you like a predator hunting its prey.

Hobie's been watching over you everytime you go out, looking out for anybody who gets too close to you. He didn't like how that bartender stared at you all night. He'll handle that later.

You broke it off weeks ago, but he'll be damned if he actually honored it. He loves you too much to leave you on your own. You're too perfect for this shitty world, Hobie would rather burn the world down if it means he gets to be with you.

He watches you walk briskly, clutching your pepper spray, Hobie smiles to himself, he taught you well.

You finally reach your flat, unlocking the door quickly, you're still tipsy, fumbling with your key ring, you see a dark shadow on your peripheral making you screech, its white eyes staring at you, unmoving, its horn-like spikes shine under the moonlight. The rest of its tall body looks like the void, undescribable.

Is this it? The thing that Hobie warned you about? The reason why he's so protective of you?

Sweat drops from your forehead, despite the cold weather, you look back at your keys, finally finding the right one, you risk a peek over the dark form, finding the space empty.

You enter your home, breathless, locking your doors quickly, and double checking every bolt. You run towards your phone, debating whether to call Hobie or not.

Hobie doesn't like scaring you, but if it makes you rethink your choices and leads you back towards his embrace, then so be it.

Your hand shakes as you dial his number.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading ❤️

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #yandere!hobie brown #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #yandere!spider punk #fanfic #atsv x reader

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whumpy-wyrms · 10 months

Text

The Last Lab Rat #1: Only The Beginning

masterlist | next

content: lab whump, kidnapping, begging, needles, drugging, manhandling, restraints, captivity, trans whumpee, defiant whumpee, intimate whumper

—

Anton decided five years was more than enough time waiting. His experiments were getting more and more dangerous to be practiced on himself, he needed a human test subject.

He began searching right away, despite the little voice in the back of his mind telling him it was a bad idea. Remember what happened last time?

He ignored that voice. Guilt? Morality? Whatever it was, his experiments were more important.

But he was never much of a people person, and now he had to go out and find the perfect poor soul that would have to endure an indefinite amount of gruesome scientific experimentations. He needed someone young and healthy, but still strong and able to take care of themselves for the most part.

And someone who would definitely not be missed if they were to disappear for a while.

After a few weeks of looking, he found someone. He never caught the guy’s name, but he would have to do. Anton spent his nights watching the man— who he assumed to be in his early 20s— from a distance. He worked a dead-end minimum wage job and was living in a small apartment with at least two other roommates. The guy didn’t go out much, and seemed to have little to no friends or family. He was a complete nobody. He was perfect.

It wouldn’t matter if people came looking for him anyway, Anton had a plan. He was a mad scientist, after all. He had a few tricks up his sleeves.

Anton spent the next few days planning out how to kidnap his new soon-to-be test subject without being caught. It turned out it was easier than he thought. All he had to do was wait, really, until it was the guy’s turn to take out the trash.

. . .

It was the dead of night, and Dew had his headphones on, so he couldn’t hear the stranger’s footsteps coming from behind him. Once the trash bag was in the dumpster and Dew turned around to go back inside, he suddenly felt a strong hand grab his wrist and pull him into an alleyway.

Before he had time to react, Dew’s scream was muffled by a hand clamping over his mouth and pulling him against the man’s chest. Dew struggled and kicked out as he watched his attacker grab something from his pocket.

It was a syringe.

Dew shrieked and bit down on the hand holding his mouth closed. The man hissed in surprised and loosed his grip enough for Dew to take a few steps away, only to be stopped by a hand around his ankle. Dew fell forward onto the hard concrete, kicking and screaming for help.

The man tightened his grip on Dew’s ankle and dragged his body towards him, the syringe in his other hand.

Dew kicked out, tears now freely flowing down his cheeks and his arms flailing for anything to grab on to. After he got close enough and the man started to lower the syringe— which was filled with a bright green liquid— towards him, Dew finally found his voice.

“W-wait!” Dew let out a petrified squeak, staring with wide eyes at the stranger looming over him. “P-please no, n-not that!” His breath hitched in his throat when the man made no effort to stop moving.

Anton tilted his head. He stopped himself from hesitating, he needed to do this. He thought this would go a lot more smoothly, for some reason. His new test subject was making way too much noise.

“Sorry,” Anton said, expression unreadable. “It’s nothing personal.” With that, he lunged forward and stuck the needle through his sobbing test subject’s neck, injecting the contents of it into his bloodstream. He covered Dew’s mouth before he could scream in pain.

When the syringe was empty, Anton quickly moved to the side and rummaged through some things in the corner that Dew hadn’t noticed before. Anton wasn’t worried about his new test subject running away right then; he would soon be far too weak for that.

Dew lied still on the ground, clutching his neck in terror. What did he inject him with? What was it going to do to him? His thoughts were racing as his body slowly started to give up on him. He tried crawling away from the man, but he felt himself just becoming weaker as he succumbed to the drugs.

Anton paid no mind to the blabbering mess that was next to him. He grabbed the rope and duct tape and began restraining his new test subject. It was a long ride home, after all.

Dew whimpered in protest as duct tape was covered over his mouth, but his body just felt too tired and weak to stop it. He didn’t have the strength to struggle anymore as rope was tied around his wrists and ankles, and a blindfold was gently placed over his eyes. Though, that didn’t make too much of a difference; his eyes were already drooping closed anyway.

The last thing Dew heard before being shoved into the trunk of a car and engulfed in more darkness, was a quiet “I’m sorry,” from the man. Then, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

. . .

Anton was a nervous wreck on the drive home. He had never done anything like that before. Sure, he’d had his fair share of experimenting on unwilling human test subjects in the past, but not downright kidnapping an innocent person. He was mainly worried about anyone hearing or seeing them, though. He knew he’d have to get his own test subject eventually, and he was prepared for that.

He calmed down once he got to the lab. It was a long 4 and a half hour drive, and now it was around two in the morning; he was tired. He had to make sure he looked for a new test subject far away so nobody that came looking would find them all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere.

Anton parked the car and walked to the trunk. His new test subject was still fast asleep, and probably would be for some time. He gently moved his arms beneath the man’s legs and back, lifting him in a bridal carry. His test subject’s head lolled to the side against Anton’s shoulder. He looked cute sleeping like that.

Anton entered his cabin in the middle of the dense forest, descended the stairs, and arrived in his lab.

The scientist walked through his laboratory and up a small staircase to a little room in the side of the wall that overlooked the lab. He unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

Anton had prepared for this moment for a long time. He knew he’d need a human test subject eventually, and he knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake his predecessor made last time. This person was a human, and he was going to be treated like one.

Anton had transformed that small viewing room into a bedroom, adding a bathroom in the back as well. Sure, it didn’t give much privacy for his test subject since an entire wall was glass, but Anton decided that just meant he could observe his subject in his natural habitat, so it worked out okay.

He knew deep down he should feel bad. This was an innocent human being he was stealing from their life, after all. But this was also his entire life’s work here, and the scientists’ that came before him. What would his mentor think, if he gave up everything for one measly little stranger’s life?

Besides, he’s a scientist, not a sadist. He’d make his test subject feel as comfortable as he possibly could, that’s the least he could do, after all, he didn’t deserve any of this. He gave his subject his own room, a small way to make him feel some sense of control he didn’t have.

Anton gently set his test subject down on the bed and began untying him, removing the duct tape and blindfold in the process. Once he was done, he attached a chain to his ankle and tied him to one of the legs of the bed. It was long enough for him to move around the room and into the bathroom, but not far out the exit door.

Anton swiftly checked his subject’s pockets only to find an old looking MP3 player that was connected to his headphones. Right. He was still wearing those. Anton carefully removed his subject’s headphones and MP3 player and put them to the side. He probably won’t need those anymore, but might use them as a reward for good behavior, so they were worth keeping.

Otherwise, nothing else was in his pockets. No phone or wallet, so he couldn’t even find out what the man’s name was. Oh well, he’d have to ask him when he wakes up.

Anton took off his subject’s shoes— he wouldn’t be needing those anymore, it wasn’t like he’d be spending a lot of time outdoors— plus, they’re uncomfortable to sleep in. His glasses, too, were gently removed and placed on the nightstand next to a folded up hospital gown.

Anton tucked the smaller man under the covers; he wouldn’t want his test subject getting cold the first night, would he? As the other slept peacefully and oblivious, Anton took one last glance at him before heading to the door. It’d still be a few more hours until he would wake up, which would be much later into the night by then. Anton had made sure the camera above the door had a movement sensor, just for tonight, so he’d be notified the second his new test subject had woken up.

As Anton opened the door to leave, he hesitated, taking one last look back. His test subject was wearing a hoodie with strings. Can’t have that. Anton swiftly removed the strings, trying to ignore his guilty conscience of past experiences, and left his subject alone to sleep.

. . .

Dew opened his eyes, tired and groggy, but he wasn’t in his room. His head was throbbing, and it took him a couple of blinks to even get used to the blinding light coming from… somewhere. Not like that mattered since his vision was blurry anyway. Where were his glasses? His ears were ringing too. The faint buzzing from the lights didn’t help.

He tried to sit up, but realized his entire body hurt. Dew ignored the pain and moved his arms to his side to push himself upright anyway, but after just a couple of seconds, he fell back into the mattress, exhausted. His arms were weak, actually, his whole body was weak. He could hardly move.

Dew opened his mouth to call out– not even for help at first– just for anyone, for anything. But his voice was sore and raspy. He didn’t have the strength to speak. His mind was groggy as he wished for someone to just tell him what was going on. The more he tried to remember why he was like this, his headache only grew more painful.

Dew decided the only choice he had at this point was to go back to sleep. Wherever he was, whoever brought him here, he knew he would find out sooner or later. He was too tired to notice the restraint around his ankle keeping him chained to the bed, as he drifted off into another dreamless sleep.

. . .

After a few hours, Dew gasped awake, jolting upright despite his struggles earlier. He was surprised he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling, but then realized he wasn’t in his bunk bed anymore. He remembered where he was, and panic started to sink in.

He could hardly see— where are his glasses? Dew frantically looked around until his eyes landed on his glasses on the nightstand to the left of the bed. He snatched his glasses up and put them on.

Dew quickly looked around the strange room, panic starting to creep its way into his head. The room was small, and there was almost nothing in it. Straight ahead on the opposite wall was a steel door that seemed to be the exit. The bed was located in the middle of the room against the wall, and it was the nicest bed Dew had slept in in years. The wall to his right was entirely glass; a window looking out to what seemed to be a mad scientist’s lab below. Huh. He decided to ignore that for now. To his left was a normal wall with another door, though it was smaller than the other one and partially open.

Above the exit was a camera. Dew scrambled out of bed to take a look and suddenly felt a tug on his ankle. He looked down to see a long chain attached to one of the legs of the bed. Great. His panic was beginning to skyrocket.

Why was he here? How did he get here? Who put him here? His mind raced with questions and confusion, but he knew he had to stay focused. This was probably just a dream anyway; he had lots of weird ones.

After peeking into the other doorway which turned out to just be a small bathroom, all of his attention was focused on the camera. Someone was watching. Whoever it was, whether it was the person who put him in here or not, he would get their attention.

He stood as tall as he could, with a stoic expression. He needed to look strong and determined, he couldn’t let whatever freaks put him here see that he was absolutely terrified and defenseless.

After staring the camera down for what felt like either a couple seconds or 20 minutes, Dew heard footsteps coming towards the door, seeming to be walking up stairs. That’s right, his… cell was overlooking a fucking futuristic mad science lab just like the ones in movies. How could he have forgotten?

Dew stood his ground. He couldn’t think about that right now, there was someone on the other side of the door. One by one, he heard the locks on the door clicking. Dew stood his ground. He saw the door knob slowly spin. His heartbeat quickened, he couldn’t hide his fear. Fuck this!

Dew frantically leaped under the bed, covering his mouth with his trembling hand, trying to be as quiet as possible. The door slowly opened, making a loud creaking sound. Whoever was there was being eerily quiet.

From under the bed, Dew watched the person walk into the room, and then shut the door behind them. And lock it. They turned back around with a confused hum and walked slowly towards the bed. Every footstep rang in his ears and the closer they got, the more Dew wished he thought of a different plan that wasn’t hiding under the bed like a scared child.

He knew there was no point hiding under the bed, this person could just look to see where the chain led, not like there was anywhere else for Dew to have gone. This was futile, Dew knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Whatever this person wanted with him, it couldn’t be good. Once the footsteps came to a stop, Dew realized he was crying. All the events from last night came flooding back.

“Hey,” A voice rang. Dew knew that voice. His hand slowly reached up to his neck to feel the injection sight. It was real. This was real. “You awake? What are you doing down there?”

Dew felt like he was prey being taunted by a predator, like some sick game. He remembered last night now, remembered the struggle and fear and terror and—

Dew couldn’t stifle a small sob. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know why he was here, or where here even was. He didn’t know what this guy wanted with him, or what would happen to him. It was too overwhelming, Dew couldn’t take it.

The man crouched down next to the bed and looked underneath. Dew couldn’t stop sobbing as he curled up into himself. He just wanted to be left alone, he wished he could turn invisible or disappear from reality, so he wouldn’t have to be scared anymore. He felt the man’s eyes on him, but he didn’t move.

. . .

Whatever Anton expected when his test subject woke up, it wasn’t this. The poor thing wouldn’t even crawl out from under the bed, much less look at him. Anton didn’t know what to do, the guy was obviously in distress.

Anton couldn’t exactly… force the guy out from under the bed. He wanted to gain his trust, for what it was worth. He didn’t want to sedate him either, they needed to have an actual conversation about what his new test subject’s life will be like now. Anton needed to get him to come out on his own. Hell, he didn’t even know his name. Maybe that was a good place to start.

“What’s your name?” Anton asked.

“…W-What?” His test subject looked up at him, confused. He furrowed his brows and murmured, “Dew… My name’s Dew.”

“Alright,” Anton couldn’t stand those eyes staring at him now, wide and sad and confused, as if Dew was pleading him for answers, for anything. “I’m Anton.”

Dew glared at him. He was getting nowhere.

“Dew, are you hungry?” Anton asked. That made Dew’s ears perk up. He thought for a moment, it’d been a while since he’d last eaten. He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping in this room for, but he felt his stomach growl at the thought of food.

Dew took a deep breath and tried to stop crying. If he wanted to get out of this, he had to be smart. He had to be strong. He shakily nodded his head and moved out from under the bed.

To Anton’s disappointment, Dew moved to the opposite side of the room, away from him. He curled up in the corner next to the window that looked out to the lab. Yeah, Anton would have to explain that soon, huh.

Anton stood, grabbed something off the nightstand, and walked over to Dew. He towered over him as Dew looked up in fear.

“Alright,” Anton started, gesturing to the hospital gown in his hands. “So, I’ll go get you some food, and while I’m gone, I want you to put this on.” He set it down on the bed and began to head towards the door to give Dew some space.

Dew took one glance at the hospital gown and found his voice again.

“W-wait—” Anton paused at the door, looking back curiously. “I don’t— why am I here? What do you want with me?” Dew asked timidly.

“Oh,” Anton began. “I guess I should tell you now then? You’re my new test subject, to put it simply. I’m a scientist and I needed a human to start doing my experiments on. Understand?”

Dew’s stomach turned. He felt like he was going to be sick. No, he most definitely did not understand. Was he just expected to accept this like it was nothing? Like this guy didn’t just kidnap him and take him away from his life? From his friends? Dew stared in disbelief. No, this couldn’t be real. This was a dream. This only happens in weird futuristic sci-fi movies. Not real life.

Dew shook his head rapidly, he felt his heart going a million beats a minute and he needed to get out of here.

“I’ll uh, give you some time to process?” Anton could see Dew’s panic, which was obviously getting worse by the minute. Maybe sedatives were the good choice here?

“I’m not wearing that,” Dew said. He reminded himself he needed to stay strong, no matter what his gut tells him. He needed to focus on one thing at a time. He’d get out of here soon.

“Why not?”

“I…” Dew realized he was still wearing his binder. It had been on all night. He guessed Anton didn’t notice. If the scientist didn’t even know Dew’s name, how was he supposed to know he was transgender? Did Anton really know nothing about his new so-called “test subject’s” life? How was Dew supposed to adjust to all this change and have to come out to this freak who kidnapped him and called himself a scientist, who could so easily do anything he wanted with him if he chose to?

“I-I wanna go home,” Dew said, tears forming in his eyes again. He didn’t know what help that would do, but it was worth a shot.

Anton walked over to him, and Dew stood. He realized just how much bigger Anton was than him. He easily towered at least a foot over Dew, who was a measly 5’3. Great. Dew cursed himself for being so small for someone in his early 20s. He didn’t stand a chance against his captor.

“Dew,” Anton put his hands on Dew’s shoulders. “You’re my test subject now. I know, that’s probably hard to accept, and I’ll give you all the time to adjust that you need, okay? I’ll get you food, just put that on and you can ask me whatever questions you need to.”

“Why are you doing this?” He choked out, refusing to make eye contact.

“I need a test subject, like I said. I couldn’t keep experimenting on myself, it was getting too dangerous.” Great. So Dew would be expecting a whole world of excruciating pain and agony soon then, huh. “You’re young and healthy, and you have your whole life ahead of you— which will hopefully be spent here, if all goes well.” Anton gave Dew a few light pats to his cheek and when Dew didn’t say anything more, he left the room.

Dew turned his gaze out the giant window and watched numbly as Anton walked down the stairs and across the lab to a small kitchen area and began heating up some ramen. Dew ignored that dreaded hospital gown and began to look around the lab a bit more, since it was literally his only view.

It was a huge place, with lots of science-y looking things scattered about. There was no other way to describe it really, this place looked exactly like you’d expect a futuristic sci-fi mad scientist’s lab to look like.

There were various large vats of chemicals, most of which were empty. Weird looking plants— which seemed like they were definitely not from Earth— were scattered around the lab, some behind glass barriers. There were giant white boards filled with scientific equations Dew couldn’t understand, as well as a bunch of huge computer monitors towards the back of the room. There were shelves with stacks of brains in jars, various strange looking weapons, and vials with glowing liquids. About a dozen empty cages sat in a corner of the room, all of different sizes. There were papers scattered around a desk, with even more papers stacked on top of it. In the middle of the room was an operating table with different types of restraints, and next to it was a tray filled with dissection tools.

Dew was terrified, as he’d been all morning. Or… night? What time was it? Dew realized he couldn’t see any clocks in there, at least ones he could read. There were a few down by Anton’s science stuff, but they were all 24-hour clocks. Dew cursed himself for never bothering to learn those.

After he was done looking over the room that would probably cause Dew some very bad nightmares in the future, he wandered over to the bathroom. Before he went in, he felt a slight tug on his ankle. Right. He was still chained to one of the bed legs.

He untangled it from under the bed and went to the bathroom. He wasn’t putting on that hospital gown, his clothes were fine. Though, he noticed his shoes and hoodie strings were gone for some reason. Also his headphones and MP3 player. Shit. He’d have to get those back somehow. He didn’t know how he’d survive here for more than a day without his comfort music.

Once Dew was done in the bathroom, he curled up in a corner again, the one by his nightstand, far from the window. After a few more minutes, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs again to the room.

Dew hoped this guy wouldn’t be too mad that he didn’t do what he said, but he was not letting him take his clothes away. Dysphoria was the least thing he needed right now, and he was not about to come out to his kidnapper.

Anton opened the door to Dew’s room to see his test subject huddled up in a different corner, wearing his same clothes. Anton sighed disappointedly, knowing he’d soon have to teach Dew it’s not alright to disobey him.

“Look, if I give you food, will you change your clothes?” Anton asked.

“What time is it?” Dew asked, voice shaking once again. He eyed the glass of water in Anton’s hands, he realized he was incredibly thirsty.

Anton checked his watch, “Around 4:00 AM,” he said. When Dew didn’t respond, Anton crouched down to his level and put the bowl of ramen in his hands. Dew stared blankly at the food when a terrifying thought occurred in his mind. His wide eyes looked up in fear at the scientist, who realized what Dew was thinking.

“I didn’t poison your food,” Anton sighed again. “Look,” He carefully took a spoonful of the ramen and ate it, showing Dew it was safe to eat. Dew hesitantly dug in, though he despised the texture.

After he was done eating, Dew eyed the water. Anton took a small sip before giving it to him, showing it wasn’t drugged. His test subject gulped it down in seconds. Dew stared warily at Anton after that, wondering what his captor was gonna do next.

Anton glanced at the hospital gown, and Dew frantically shook his head. “I’m not wearing that!” He said. Anton sighed.

“Alright, you can stay in your clothes just for today.” Anton said. “But you’ll have to change into that eventually, it’ll make everything much easier for me.” Dew glared at him.

“Anyway, I need to get a DNA sample,” Dew watched as Anton reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. His breath hitched and eyes widened in terror. “I’m gonna need to draw some blood now, okay?”

NO. No this was not okay. Dew frantically shook his head and looked around the room for an escape, but he was completely cornered. “N-no!” Dew’s voice cracked in fear and he couldn’t stop his tears. “No no no no, please—” He cowered deeper into the corner, making himself even smaller. He once again wished he could just disappear.

“What’s wrong?” Anton tilted his head in confusion. Surely his test subject had had his blood drawn before, so what was the problem? “I won’t take that much, I just need a small sample to see—”

“NO!” Dew cried. Great, a panic attack, just what he needed. “Y-you— you d-don’t understand!”

Dew had always had a terrible phobia of needles. He always cursed himself for never getting over that fear, especially since he had to give himself T-shots every week. Oh. That was another thing he’d have to figure out while trapped here.

Anton noticed Dew’s obvious distress, and put the needle down. He wasn’t sure what to do, this was going terribly.

“Dew,” Anton said as he put his hands firmly on his shoulders. “Breathe. Come on, take a deep breath, that’s it.” Anton had never been good at comforting people like this, but he supposed he had to get used to it if he was going to be the one responsible for taking care of his test subject.

“I…” Dew squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He thought about things he loved: music, comic books, that video game he’d been playing recently, and that cartoon character he was currently hyperfixated on. Once he was, for the most part, calmed down, he started speaking again. “I- if you need blood, why couldn’t you’ve just taken it while I was asleep, w-why’d you have to wait until- until—”

“Dew,” Anton squeezed his hands on Dew’s shoulders. “Relax. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I… I-I’m scared of needles.” Dew choked out. Now this weirdo knew his weakness.

“Hm,” Anton murmured. “That’s a problem.” He needed his test subject to trust him, it would only make things easier in the long run. But that obviously wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so Anton had to try a different approach.

“Dew, if you don’t comply, I’m going to have to force you.” Dew whimpered as Anton picked up the needle again, and took Dew’s left arm in his other hand.

“W-wait,” Dew squeaked, struggling against Anton’s grip. “P-please no, I-I don’t-”

“You don’t want to be sedated again, do you?”

“N-no! No, but- please—”

“Dew, I’m gonna draw some blood, and then I’ll leave you alone for the time being, does that sound good?” Being left alone did sound like what Dew needed right now. He couldn’t stand the thought of being around this creep any longer.

Dew whimpered and nodded his head in defeat. He really was in no position to argue with this maniac. He had no idea who he was or what he was capable of, and he really didn’t want to find out what would happen if he kept disobeying. He’d do what he says for now, and figure out a way out of this place soon.

Anton slowly pushed the needle towards Dew’s elbow, who was now shaking and trying to hold back tears. Dew whimpered when he felt the pinch. It never hurt really, he knew this fear was irrational, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted this to be over and done with so he could be alone.

After Anton got his blood sample, he silently stood up and walked towards the door, taking one last look back at his test subject, who was still curled up in the corner, staring with wide, teary eyes at the scientist.

Anton would have to work on gaining the little guy’s trust later.

. . .

Dew didn’t do much else that day. After Anton had left him, Dew was happy to be alone, wishing he could just curl up with his cat and listen to music, but that wasn’t possible at the moment.

After a while of just huddling in the corner, Dew peaked his head over his bed and out the window. Anton seemed to be doing something with that blood sample. Dew wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what.

He took a breath as he stood, scared that Anton would notice him get up and confront him, but that didn’t happen. Dew slowly took the blankets off the bed and huddled up underneath it again. He always liked being in small, dark spaces, and those bright lights were giving him a headache.

Dew didn’t want to fall asleep, but he didn’t really have much else to do. It wasn’t like he could sleep anyway, with his mind racing with thoughts of needles and pain and mad scientists. He didn’t want to think about what being a “test subject” even entailed, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it. He was a human! He didn’t want to be experimented on like some lab rat!

Dew hugged his blanket and closed his eyes, wishing he was anywhere else.

—

first chapter done!!! this is my first time posting my writing to tumblr (or literally anywhere else), and my first time writing about whump in general so i hope people will like it!! I’m really excited to continue this, i have lots of plans for my blorbos 😈😈

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long

let me know if you wanted to be added to the tag list!

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semischarmed · 1 year

Text

Bookstore

I chuckled leading Ryan down the steps.

“Cmon, should just be down this alley”.

It always rained in the city, but the clouds seemed to be just a bit darker, the water pouring just a bit heavier down the alleyway. Neon signs from outcast shops and suspicious eyes peered across window covered blinds.

Ryan was clearly uncomfortable. “Look dude, this place doesn’t even show up on a map. You sure they’re not gonna harvest our organs or something?”

I laughed.

“Sash wanted another book from this store for her birthday, right?” The corners of his mouth pulled, confirming. “Same kind that I got her for Christmas”? This time, a nod. “Well, you can’t really get these kinds of books from a regular store… you have to know a guy” I winked, running my hand over his shoulder and pulling him close to me in a joking fashion.

The smell was divine. The man must have just had a gym session before coming to me. Among the scent of the rain and city, his musk penetrated, clinging to my nose. An earthy, almost acrid scent graced my lungs. I squeezed him tighter to me, involuntarily. A second later, I felt another scent permeate my soul. It filled me with indescribable envy and dizzying lust, and I felt my mouth salivate at what could only be a gust of the damp air from inside his shorts, escaping through a small crack from when I had pushed his body closer to mine. I realized far too late that I was clinging onto him.

His face was not amused. Ryan grunted and distanced himself slightly, avoiding invoking the past few moments between us.

Ryan grimaced before sighing, cutting the silence. “Yeah man, I guess. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s worth it at this point. He pondered for a moment, thinking of the hours she spent reading and rereading from that old book, transfixed, mesmerized. This was definitely what he needed to take their relationship to the next step. “Of course it is.” He seemed to mentally note.

Sasha was always really good at attracting amazing guys. Kind, charming, guys straight out of movies seemed almost drawn to her. Of course, they were never really her type- she always seemed to like them a little nerdy.

That all changed with Ryan. Just after Christmas, he caught sight of her reading from an old book at a cafe, offered her a drink and a chat, and for the first time in her life, she reciprocated his advances.

Ryan was patient and gentle. He often brought flowers, asked about her day, took her on dates. I felt a bit of resentment from him, as Sasha didn’t seem particularly romantic, and often invited me to their dates, almost bringing Ryan to me for “approval”. He seemed to take it all in stride though, remaining friendly and cordial and often including me in their conversations.

“We’re here” I stated flatly. In front of us stood a dingy black door, dimly lit by a small, flickering bulb. I stared at Ryan for a reaction. He gulped, before calmly placing his hands on the door. It nudged slightly, whining. He gestured for me to help him.

We both pushed into the creaky door that seemed to lead into an infinite void. Blackness swallowed us both before the door slammed shut and the room seemed to illuminate.

The bookstore seemed larger on the inside, row upon endless row decorated with looming shelves and ornate books. A gentle, woody scent lingered through the air, pulling us deeper.

“So.. how did you even find out about this place?” He asked as stared in awe at each shelf.

This time, I shrugged, holding a smile. “I know a guy”.

Ryan inspected each book closer- not a single one numbered or lettered. He pulled a stool from nearby before staring again at one of the nondescript books.

“None of these have any titles?” He asked.

I hid another smile as I innocently asked him to try one.

As he pulled a book from the shelf, he seemed to be acutely aware of the dust accumulating on the spine. He brushed the spine slowly before the title of the book revealed itself: “Ryan Weathers”. Ryan looked back at me, incredulous.

“W-what the fuck”? he laughed gently. He opened the page to inspect the words, and I watched as dread began to paint his face. “This… this is me… this is my story” he gently said. Without warning, he immediately began to thumb through the pages to look at the end of the book, only to be met with blank pages. He frowned as he continued slower this time, working backwards until he finally found the last written page. “Ryan entered the bookshop”.

———

“Weird”, I stated. This time, I couldn’t pull my smile. “Can I see?“ I unsheathed a pen from my pocket in anticipation.

I quickly pulled the Ryan book from his grasp and greedily wrote a few lines. Ryan turned back in horror and stared. He could no longer move.

I quickly showed him the results on the pages of his book. “Ryan sat still, awaiting his friend’s orders”. I scribbled a few more words, and huffed in slight heat.

A bead of sweat formed on Ryan’s temple, as he slowly began to undress. I followed suit, placing my bag on the floor and pulling out a book.

“Dude… dude… what is this?” He asked softly.

I pulled a book from behind me- Sarah’s book, waving it in front of his face with a smile. I inched my naked form closer to his “Sarah really picked a good one, didn’t she?”I leaned up to Ryan, pulling his naked form around me and moaning as I wrapped his arms over my shoudlers.. “Thank you for getting a nice pump before coming here.” Ryan couldn’t move as I began to caress each of his biceps, running my tongue across and picking up his post-workout funk. Divine.

I slammed my face into his armpit, smearing a thin layer of his acrid essence across myself. I huffed as I continued. I intertwined our hands together and wrote a few more words onto his book. “Fuck bro, we’re gonna smell so nice.” We said in unison.

I grabbed another book off the shelf- this time it had my name. Ryan’s eyes worriedly scanned my pages for a clue as to what I’d do next. I used our intertwined hands to pull another item off my bag and held it up for both of us to see- this time it was a pair of scissors.

I gingerly cut a few pages off my book and looked expectantly at Ryan. Despite being unable to move or speak, his eyes relayed volumes. They were wide and hate-filled, and seemed to threaten me. I almost stopped at that moment in fear of what he’d do to me after he broke free. The fear was unfounded though, as he could only calmly sit in silence and watch in terror.

I continued, pulling myself up to his damp form and grinding our bodies together. Of course, Ryan would not reciprocate, but it was enough run my brain feral in lust. I rushed even faster as I could feel Ryan’s now-damp warm body breathing heavier in rage. I continued until I felt a pull from myself and wave after wave of cum splattered among both or bodies. I swiped a bit, huffing in heat as I ran it across his mouth.

Ryan’s eyes squinted in sheer disgust as he was forced to taste me, before I pulled my finger from his mouth. “Need both to complete the ritual” I laughed. Ryan could only looked shocked, likely thinking the main event was over.

I grabbed a few of my pages and hastily smeared our saliva and cum mixture across Ryan’s page. His eyes widened as I stuck my pages into his book, glued by our concoction. Ryan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head slightly and he felt is body push closer to mine involuntarily.

When his eyes opened, He saw our now-shared arm flexing. I reran my tongue across my new Ryan-bicep, moaning as we both felt the touch of my tongue. We were connected now. I looked back and saw pleading this time from Ryan’s eyes.

Ignoring his silent pleas, I pulled another batch of pages from my book, swiping them in the mixture of sweat and my cum across both our bodies before pasting them on Ryan’s book.

Again, Ryan’s eyes pulled back and I began to feel his vascular legs as my own.

I ran our shared arm across my new legs, shivering in shrill delight at the feel of Ryan’s musculature.

Rabid with ecstasy, I could no longer controlled myself and started tearing page after page of my own book and interweaving it into Ryan’s. He began to vocalize soft protests as he felt his flesh betray him and begin to encapsulate me. I almost drowned in the scent of Ryan’s thick musk, interweaving and dulling my senses.

Before I realized, I had cleaned our sweaty body of my cum, and was left with half my book. I could still feel Ryan’s other arm finish swallowing my own inside him as we continued to slowly meld. Drunk and mad with the power of Ryan’s body becoming mine, I leaned my sweaty back to his cheek, feeling the safety of his warm body lull me to sleep.

———

When I awoke I could feel the furious Ryan next to me, desperately trying to move our arms and legs in vain. “Sorry bro” I lazily stated. My words now felt like a mix of Ryan’s and my own- a testament to how far combined we were. “Got lost in our sauce”. I chuckled with his laugh.

I could feel Ryan’s penis poking inside me, its imprint hanging limply on my belly. He caught sight of it too, and began to slightly move his head in protest as he could feel my thoughts relay what would happen next-

I gingerly used our new hands across my belly, pinching and prodding until I could feel Ryan’s dick imprint securely through my flesh.

With a wide smile and a moan, I began to use my own flesh as a sleeve over his dick, rubbing back and forth and thickening. At this, Ryan couldn’t help but moan as well. His head shook back and forth next to mine, clearly attempting to avoid the rush of our joint masturbation session.

He thrashed in vein as I felt his dick quickly stiffen and begin to prod into my belly.

I could barely keep my mental clarity from my senses being bombarded with lust and bliss. With shaking hands, I guided Ryan’s arms to gently squeeze and slot his thickening dick over mine.

At that, we both vocalized a lustful “FUCK”.

The heat and the sensations were unreal, as his dick continued to grow inside of mine, I felt myself push into my absolute limit. I screamed another fuck as I continued to pump with my Ryan arms, feel his cum exit my piss slit.

The feeling of Ryan’s warm batter coming out of me was unreal, and I barely escaped another bought of unconsciousness. Ryan was not so lucky, and I felt his sweaty head slump down next to mine. I hummed gently in his voice as I continued to work, this time using Ryan’s own cum to glue the rest of my pages into his book.

I watched my flesh begin to discolor and shape, following the contours for Ryan’s own. His torso began to push through my own and in a treating sensation I felt my flesh reconnect- now showing Ryan’s body from torso-down.

I shivered in shrill delight- this body… our body… *my* body. *I* was Ryan now-

I felt his sweaty head stir awake, and his cheek lean into mine. From his face, I could feel the corners of his lips pull into a smile. Ryan began huffing as his own face began to encapsulate my own, and the last bit of resistance of the old Ryan- small tear in our right ear slowly dribble down our cheek. I wiped the drool off our shared mouth and promptly collapsed as one being.

When I awoke, I began to pick up Ryan’s book- *my book* and wrote a few more words cementing his role as my personal meat-suit to eternity. I rewrote some passages from Sasha’s book undoing her spell before placing both our books back on the shelf and watching in delight as the titles began to fade.

I ran my hands across my new face- Ryan’s face before putting on his clothes and promptly leaving the bookstore a new man.

—————

The pics could probably use some work… Happy 2023!

#male possession #male merge

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home-of-renn · 1 year

Text

Can you imagine if the Addams family were the first people Danny's ever met to truly view death as something beautiful and serene??

Sam doesn't count - she's goth and collects skull-shaped buttons and is intrigued by the spooky and the occult. But her fascination is superficial in that she's still alive and will never understand the true meaning of death until she herself makes that final journey. Like most people Danny knows (including himself), she was raised in a society in which death is viewed as a dreadful finality.

Danny avoids the topic of his death/resurrection - so does everyone around him. He didn't want to die, it just happened. He died but he's still here and now he's a mistake that can't be undone.

Sam, along with everyone else who knows, shares a sense of guilt that weighs them down and leaves unspoken words festering between them. It's heartbreaking, but there isn't anything that can be done about it. So sometimes they'll crack a joke and have a laugh and Danny will make an inappropriate number of puns for the given situation, but for the most part they all avoid the elephant in the room.

The Addamses are a whole different ball park.

They speak openly about his liminality and take every aspect of half dead existence in stride. Jazz has made a number of unsuccessful attempts at getting Danny to open up. She's patient and Danny loves her - but the Addamses don't approach it like there's anything wrong with him.

They understand that Death is the greatest equalizer and that without it life has no meaning. Truth be told, the Addamses are a family filled with joy. They respect death and in doing so are able to live their lives to the fullest. There is no fear of the unknown, just an understanding that not all things require an immediate answer and that not all things need to be known just yet.

They speak about Death and the deceased with reverence - without grief or mourning. They see the joy even in death and it's completely different to anything Danny has ever encountered. In Amity, death is a constant reminder. Restless spirits are looming threats that haunt every corner and darkened alleyway. In Amity Park, ghosts are nothing but harsh reminders of what's to come.

But the Addamses speak of death as if it were any other milestone and not the final stretch of a home run. Like moving out for the first time or starting a new job - some things can be scary, but dying is nothing but a change of scenery and becoming a ghost is but a pit stop along the way.

Of course, ghosts don't form from people who lived fulfilling, happy lives. They’re formed from pain and suffering so deep it becomes ingrained into your soul, leaving it tethered and unable to move on.

But what is an Obsession if not a chance for peace? A final opportunity for all those who never had the chance in life.

They don't prefer Phantom over Fenton, but they don't shy away from his ghostly side.

Doorways spirits aren't meant to be - but Danny is and will ever be the only one. He's a paradox that not even Clockwork can undo, too knotted and tangled to ever come loose.

The Addamses don't pretend to understand him - if anything they have as many questions as he does. They lend him books from their library and let him star gaze on their roof.

They treat him like something that was meant to be, and Danny had no idea how much he needed it.

#dp #home of renn #dp x addams family #dp x the addams #DP x Addams #danny fenton #danny phantom #the addams #the addams family #dp x the addams family #drabble #sam manson #dp crossover #danny phantom x the addams family #dribble drabble #dp ficlet

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seaslugfanclub · 5 months

Text

🦊 Foxes and 🩹Bandages

(Honest John x OC)

TW!: Blood, Violence, John gets the shit beat out of him…

“Fucking Mutt!”

Honest John reeled, his vision swimming as he was slammed into the brick wall behind the pub.

Usually when one of his scams went south, he and Gideon would be able to scurry away before their victims could confront them. If not, John would usually be able to defend himself when necessary, being a fox and all.

But tonight was one of those rare occasions where John picked the wrong sap to mess with. John had assumed he’d swindled yet another drunk in one of the countless pubs in town, but it wasn’t until he and Gideon exited through the back of the building that he realized the man they stole some fifty lira from in a game of jacked cards had followed them. With a vengeance and drunk rage.

Which is where John finds himself now.

The alcohol on his assaulter's breath only encouraged John to take shallow intakes due to it becoming increasingly painful to breath. A result of the drunk man’s knee being driven into Johns chest, moments prior to being picked up by his shirt(Johns cape long being torn off in the scuffle)

and being pressed into the stained wall. Where the man began to land blow after blow to John's face.

In between the punches John wondered where Gideon had run off too, having left the moment the first hit landed. Though no matter how angry and betrayed John wanted to be, he knew that he’d never done anything to deserve being supported by the cat.

So John tried his best to keep his eyes closed, hoping that this onslaught would end soon with the drunk getting all his anger out, but the man seemed to have no intention of stopping.

Through the dim light of the alleyway, John caught a shimmer of light reflecting off an object that the man began to pull out of his pocket, a flash of fear overriding all pain that John felt as he began to thrash pitifully.

A switchblade .

‘What a gruesome way to go,’ John mused to himself, spitting out a tooth. ‘Just as well though,such is the short life of a thief…’

John braced for impact, waiting for the man to dri-

*CRASH*

John felt two things at once; Shards of glass hitting his face, and the hands of the drunkard lifting off him, causing John to collapse onto the dirty cobblestone below. Even with the sound of blood pumping in his ears, he could hear a heavy thud. Then silence.

————————————————————————

It was a miracle that Gideon had found Ace, the cat sobbing as he tried to explain wordlessly that his friend was in trouble. Ace had half a mind to leave John to the consequences of his actions, maybe then he’d learn to stop his endless scamming. But with how half-mad with panic Gideon was, Ace relented and followed him to a dingy alleyway behind a pub. Finding Honest John getting the living shit kicked out of him.

Ace loomed over the unnamed man’s body, tightly clutching the now broken bottle that they used to slam over the drunkard head. The man was so consumed with rage that he didn’t notice the coyote sneaking up behind him, but he went down hard after a bottle was broken off his skull. Ace sniffed, cringing at the rank of the alleyway, the combined scent of blood and booze stinging in their snout.

All of that was quickly forgotten as weak groans broke the silence of the night, Ace instantly abandoning the shattered bottle as they rushed over to the crumpled and bloody body of Honest John.

“Johnny!!!”

Gently lifting his body, Ace inspected the entirety of John's form. His iconic hat was nowhere to be found with blood matting his fur, staining its fiery red color a dirty iron. His right eye was all but swollen shut, purple discoloration making its way through the cream color fur of John's snout. Even his snout looked crooked, causing his breaths to come out in shallow wheezes. His already ratty clothes were ripped to a state of disrepair, blood soaking the fabric around numerous cuts. To put it simply, things were looking really bad for Honest John.

“C’mon buddy, can you hear me!?” Ace rushed out, slapping John's face lightly. “John!?”

Honest John cracked open his eyes, and through blurred vision he could make out the worried expression of Ace hovering close, snouts almost touching.

“Coyo- Coyote?”

He wheezed, finding it hard to focus on their face, black spots dotting his already shaken vision. It hurt to talk, much less breath. Ace huffed in relief, happy that he wasn’t unconscious, if he was then his condition would’ve been too critical for Ace to deal with. And Ace wasn’t too confident that any doctors in the area would be keen on helping the town thief.

But Honest John was awake, albeit too weak to lift his own head up, and that was something Ace could handle.

“Yeah Johnny, it’s me. We’re gonna get you out of here. You’re gonna be alright..”

Careful not to rustle his limp body, Ace lifted John into their arms as they began to stand, now holding him bridal style. Ace could already feel John's blood beginning to soak through their shirt, furthering the seriousness of the situation.

John was too weak to protest being in Ace's arms, not even mustering up the strength to bite out a witty remark as he felt them speeding out of the alleyway and into the streets. He just surrendered to laying his head against Ace's chest, silently basking in the warmth of their body pressed into his. A more than welcomed contrast from laying in the cold alley.

John was too delirious to recognize where Ace was taking him, but in between bouts of consciousness he felt a small paw clutching onto his limp arm.

By the time Ace reached their flat, John was white as a sheet, even with his fur covering his body. They wasted no time rushing him to their bed, delicately setting him down on the old mattress. While relooking over John's wounds, they flinched as a small brown figure approached the bedside.

“Jesus Christ- Gideon!!”

Ace was so distracted with John, that they had almost forgotten Gideon, who hadn’t left their side since exiting the alleyway. Gideons usually dopey demeanor was now painted with worry, unsure of what to do, and looking wildly between Ace and John.

“Gideon, I need you to listen very closely. Do you understand?” Ace asked him as they began to unbutton John's shirt.

The scrappy feline bobbed his head up and down in acknowledgment, now leaning closer to Ace.

“Good. Now I need you to fetch the first aid kit underneath the kitchen sink. It’s a red box with a white cross on top. I’m gonna fetch some water to clean him up.”

With a thumbs up from Gideon, they split up from the bedside. Gideon pulled everything out from under the sink to reach the first aid kit, leaving an entire mess across the kitchen tile, and Ace filling up a bowl of water to the brim, not caring if it spilled as they rushed back to John's side, a towel laid over their shoulder.

Once Gideon delivered the kit to Ace, they bent down to look him in the eyes, “I’ll take it from here, why don’t you clean up yourself and get some rest. You can stay here as long as you promise not to nab anything while I’m working, understand?

Gideon made a cross over his heart, going off to find the washroom, before quickly turning around to give Ace a tight hug, and once again leaving the bedroom.

Brushing off the shock from being hugged by the mute cat, Ace turned their attention back to a now passed out John. Brushing the side of his snout with their palm.

“Get comfortable Johnny… It's gonna be a long night.”

————————————————————————

Honest John didn’t expect to wake up. Much less surrounded by comforting warmth and not the burning of fire and brimstone.

For the first seconds of him coming to, he thought he was in heaven. But then all the pain from the night prior hit him harder than the drunk, dashing away any idea of him being dead.

John groaned, he felt stiff. He tried to open his eyes, only to be blinded by bright light, causing him to tighten his eyes closed. After a couple of seconds to readjust, he opened his eyes again, this time much slower.

The first thing he saw was the early light of morning filtering through an open window to his right, a light breeze tickling John's fur. The second thing John noticed was that he was swamped in a thick blanket, laying in a small bed. The softness of the bed was virtually unfamiliar to John, who spent most of his nights huddled next to Gideon in alleyways or abandoned buildings, relying on his cape to keep the both of them warm.

Speaking of Gideon, there he was. Fast asleep beside him, sitting in a chair and resting his furry head on the mattress, soft snoring leaving his body. His fur was a notable shade lighter then when John last saw him, and he was wearing a long button down shirt that acted more like a dress due to his tiny stature.

“In God's name?….”

“He hasn’t left your side the entire night.”

Honest John flinched, a burst of adrenaline shooting through him as he whipped his head as a familiar someone entered the room.

“Ace..” John mumbled, watching the coyote grin wearily as they walked up to his side carrying with them a glass of water and a bottle of pills.

“Here, take this, the medicine will help with the pain.”

Ace spoke in a hushed tone, passing the water and two pills to John. Swallowing the aspirin, Honest John didn't realize how parched he was until he began to down the water, but he finished the entire glass in a matter of seconds. After a few seconds of silence between the canids, Honest John broke the quiet.

“What happened?”

Ace’s face hardened a bit, but it was a different sternness from the one they usually gave John when he was up to something, it looked almost… protective?

“You ate shit. It was really bad, John. I uh- I brought you home to clean you up. Your snout was crooked, and I had to wrap your arm up,” Ace motioned toward John's arm, which he now noticed was in a sling. “Yeah I think it’s broken, so I didn’t wanna risk it. Your ribs are most likely bruised, too.”

Now that Ace pointed it out, John realized he was shirtless, and covered ears to tail in bandages, the smell of rubbing alcohol permeating off of his fur.

“You sure that’s not an excuse to see me in a state of undress?” John teased.

“Shut up.”

Ace huffed in amusement, then gestured towards Gideon. “I don’t know how he found me, but if it weren’t for Gideon pulling me towards that pub, you would’ve fuckin’ died.”

John tore his eyes away from Ace, now looking back down at Gideon, who was still fast asleep. Emotions that John would usually sneer at began to bubble in his stomach, to think that he accused Gideon of running off on him…

“He really cares about you, Johnny..”

“What about you?”

Ace perked up, surprised as they looked down at a now wet eyed fox.

“Why did you follow him? Save me from certain death and take us to your house? Fix up a no good neerdowell like myself? I know you're not a naive do- gooder, there’s just no reason.” John accused the notion of being cared for feeling foreign.

Ace stayed quiet for a while, a little stiff, before they sighed.

“Honestly? I don’t- I don’t know. You're a total shit head. But you have people that actually want to be around you, I guess that includes myself- I dunno- I’m not good with this stuff.”

They shrugged, avoiding John's eyes.

“Oh Ace… try not to fall in love with me too quickly.”

John's avoidant quip brought Ace out of any sentimentality they felt, barking out a laugh and gently shoving John's good shoulder. The shy air quickly dissipated between them as a familiar banter began. In between chuckles, John spoke quietly,

“Your not so terrible as I thought, Coyote”

“…. You're welcome John.”

. . .

“.Can I wear a shirt of yours too?”

“Wh- Y’know what- Sure.”

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I’m sure you all are only here for silly (Y/N) shenanigans, but I was really proud of this and wanted to post it somewhere! Don’t worry, I’ll get back to our regular schedule soon!

#disney villains #self insert #disney imagine #oc insert #oc x canon #honest john #pinnochio #hurt/comfort #f/o imagines

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forgwater · 2 years

Text

Ruffian

Silver Bullet AU -Deuce-

Silver Bullet AU by @jackplushie

I really don't know what to say about this one, hopefully you enjoy

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The dark corners of the poorly lit alleyway don't inspire any trust, yet here you are, walking along the treacherous shadows of the looming brick walls of the dingy buildings surrounding your bar.

Hell, your bar could be called dingy. And not only because it hasn't been properly maintained in years, but also because of it's patrons.

Shady men. All of them.

Whether they were more prone to brains or brawns it didn't matter. What mattered was staying as far away from them as possible. Keep it professional. Keep it cool.

You keep walking. It's been unusually quiet in these parts for the past few months. Some new gang must've taken control over the area and you can only hope they won't come demanding money for their protection racket.

CLANG!

A metal lid rolls around as you turn the corner.

Great.

A figure stumbles from the darkness. You were so close to reaching the bar without incident.

Disheveled, dirtied clothes. Broken skin around his knuckles. Splashes of blood all over him... you doubt any of it is his own. The metallic smell lightly clings to him.

Sharp blue eyes stare at you for a moment, cold and unyielding, before they widen in recognition, yours following suit.

Deuce, you believe is his name.

As much as you'd like to ignore all of your patrons, some can't help but stand out. And someone with blackish-blue hair is sure to be noticeable.

You can't ignore the way he looks at you either. Even in the moody light of the bar you can see from the corner of your eye how he follows your every move, looking you up and down in the process.

You can't quite put your finger on exactly what he wants, but you've got a pretty good guess.

And now you're being faced with that same man in a dark alleyway.

"Ah! Sorry for... uh... my current appearance...?" he tries explaining himself.

You almost laugh. Almost.

You didn't really expect some mafia goon to be this flustered by being seen like this. Especially when he knows you've seen worse. Hell, you even bandaged him once or twice.

"You're going to the bar, right?" he tries to start the conversation, but you just shrug your shoulders as he continues "I was gonna head there too." the man offers a smile "I just kinda lost track of time doing- ah... nevermind." he looks to the side, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I... could use a drink too...yeah..." he says quietly "I can wait outside while you prepare things, if that makes you feel more comfortable." he adds. Deuce is quite considerate for a thug, you note.

Well, at least he is to you. The same couldn't be said for whoever must've faced against him a while ago.

"I'm glad I run into you, actually!" another smile, coupled with hopeful eyes this time. You suppose you might as well let him tag along.

"Here for the protection racket?" you ask half jokingly only for the man to almost choke on air.

Yep. You knew it. These streets are under new management. And Deuce is part of it.

This is something you've come to expect in the few years you've worked at that crumbling bar... even if it still fills you with dread.

"You don't need to worry about that." he finally answers.

You pause for a moment, feeling a chill run down your spine as your eyes widen in surprise.

What does he mean by that?

In the sickening warm light of the streetlamp you can't help but feel your stomach twist in knots. The cold wind blows around as you look at the dangerous man before you. Perhaps you've gotten too careless.

"Ah, did I scare you? Sorry." he quickly apologizes "Wasn't my intention." he reasons. But you can't help but feel trapped.

Yet you start walking again, with your new... "companion" in tow. The man in question stealing furtive glances your way, unnerving you further as you kept ignoring him.

When you finally reached the bar he places a hand on your shoulder before you can open the old wooden door. Gently. Too gently. You turn to recoil, but he quickly catches your arm and then lets it go.

"I'm really sorry! I really didn't mean to scare you." he tries.

Lies, you think. But the sincere look in his eyes makes you doubt yourself.

"What the hell do you want then?!" you practically scream at the man.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'll be in charge of the street your bar is on and that I'd like for us to get along!" he blows back.

"Besides, it doesn't even matter if you agree or not." he mutters as he takes on a more serious look. "I will be making sure you are protected, no matter what." he looks you straight in the eyes.

"So just let me take care of you."

#silver bullet au #twst silver bullet au #twst au #yandere twisted wonderland #twst yandere #yandere deuce spade #yandere deuce x reader #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #deuce spade #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader

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s-brant · 1 year

Text

Anonymous128

After being ditched by her friends on a night out, Y/N is saved from an attempted assault by a masked hero known as Spider-Man. He takes it upon himself to make sure she gets home safe and figures he’ll never see her again only to come face to face with her the next day. This time, he meets her as Harry Styles. (or the spider-man au)

12k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, violence, attempted assault, PTSD from the death of family members, grief, survivor’s guilt, and some mild sexual tension.

The sky is starless.

Y/N knows that hoping for a sky full of stars in London is useless. In any major city such as this one, light pollution prevents anyone from getting a view of a stray star, let alone constellations, and it's needless to say it's been depressing.

The stars, however, are the least of her worries right now.

Her footfalls roll like thunder on the sidewalk as she runs as fast as she can in the opposite direction of the men chasing her down. In all honesty, she probably shouldn't have punched one of them hard enough to hear a loud 'crack!' when he tried to pull her into the alley, but she didn't know what else to do. She didn't think about how it'd probably anger him more, or that he might have friends coming out of the bar too, all she could think of was her dad's warning to stay safe on her first venture out in their new city.

She feels the sharp winter air enter and exit her heaving lungs like breathable fire, and her hair whips against her face as she flips her head to look back at them over her shoulder. Every time she checks, they appear closer than they had the last time, so she decides not to look anymore. Instead, her focus pours into throwing one foot down after the other with as much strength as possible.

The time she spent out at the bar with her new friends was fun. They danced, laughed, and drank round after round of cocktails after they arrived, crammed and smushed in the backseat of an Uber, together. She met them on the first day at her new job and found herself adopted by the friend group like a shiny new toy. The two other girls are a few years older than her and work at the bakery because it's run by their mother, who was kind enough to give Y/N a job to help her dad pay for college.

It's an indefensibly bad salary, but as long as she's contributing, however little it is, her dad allows her to continue living with him for free. Plus, every little bit helps. It can't hurt to chip away at tuition costs with her barely above minimum wage pay.

They left early to meet their other friend at a club a half hour away, leaving her behind to find her own way back, and that was when she ran into the man outside of the bar. Her Uber was a street away when she felt a pair of hands seizing her hips to guide her out from the safety of the sidewalk, and, before it could get worse, she stomped on his foot and spun around to sock him square in the face.

"Get back here, you bitch!" one of them screams after her.

She thinks it's the one she punched, but there were about four of them the last time she looked back, so she can't be too sure. The loud smacking of their footfalls on pavement echos on the walls of buildings around her as she banks left into another alleyway to come out on the other street.

Apparently, that was a mistake.

Y/N makes it more than halfway through the alley before her eyes widen at the sight of a dead end leading into the brick wall of a building. It looms over her like a titan, trapping her in with no chance to leave except for the way she entered, and she turns to sprint out before they come after her, but it's too late. They're already turning into the alley.

She stumbles away until her back hits the wall and screams for anyone who will listen, "Help! Somebody, please, help me!"

The brick is freezing against her hands, which flatten against the wall behind her for stability, while she shrinks into it in an effort to put as much distance between her and them as she can. Who knows what they'll do once they catch her. It's hard to say whether they're in it to rob her, assault her, or flat out murder her, though she supposes she'll soon find out whether she wants to or not.

The group of five men, not four, closes in on her faster than she can prepare herself. They look like normal, average men, and that's what's terrifying about them. How could such normal looking people chase a woman down for not allowing their friend to kidnap and assault them without a fight? Monsters lurk beneath the skin of unassuming people at all times, but something she often forgets, especially at a time like this, is that heroes do as well.

One of the men turns to the initial guy who touched her and asks, "Is this the one that punched you, Reggie?"

Her attacker has shortly chopped blonde hair, a short build, and a lithe body like that of a teenager. Hell, he might even be a teenager. If he were alone, she could take him on without a hitch and leave him bruised at her feet. With his friends, it's a different story. It's clear that he acts this way because he has his more muscular, older friends to back him up—a chihuahua surrounded by a pack of wolves to fight his battles for him.

They stand a few feet apart and keep the gaps between them too small for her to make a break for it without the entire posse closing in, so she doesn't bother doing that.

Think, she wants to scream at herself, do something! But she's frozen. They say people are either fight or flight in a situation of survival, but she's the third, lesser-known reaction. Paralyzation.

Reggie steps forward a few paces for the sake of winding her up and smirks in satisfaction at how she presses back harder on the wall. At least she can derive satisfaction from the fresh blood trickling from his subtly crooked nose. The mere sight of her must bring back the minutes-old memory of the forceful punch because she watches his nostrils flare with rage at where her eyes are locked onto his face.

"Yeah, it's her."

It's a jarring pattern of speech that leaves her guessing what he'll say or do next. He advances a step, and she prays silently for someone or something, anything, to intervene and put an end to this before they violate or kill her.

Suddenly, beneath the paralyzation reaction and fear that takes hold of her body like poison, she's angry. His rage seeps out of him and into her, leaving her with nothing but contempt for the situation unfolding. If this is how she's going to die, she's not going to be happy about it. The least fate could do for her is make it better than this, better than falling prey to a gaggle of losers with pungent beer breath and botched haircuts. Seriously, who is their barber and why did they let them leave the chair like that?

She gathers the saliva in her mouth from the back of her throat and hacks it up to spit at Reggie. A tiny dollop of spit slaps his cheek right on target with a satisfying splat.

"Go fuck yourself," she snarls.

Just like that, a switch is flipped. The combination of the attack with spit and her telling him to go fuck himself sends him rushing forward at her through the last bit of space left between them.

The world moves in slow motion in the time it takes for Reggie to pounce into action and take two running strides to reach her. Her wide eyes watch in terror as one of his hands strays to reach for the knife stashed at his hip. It occurs to her that angering the scary men with knives might not have been the best idea. His brows are set with a serious streak of frustration and his mouth is moving with a spew of derogatory insults, but she hears nothing. There's nothing for her to do except kick her legs out to shove him away and hope his face isn't the last she sees.

Right as his fingers graze her wrist to tug her off of the wall, something strange happens.

His hand is yanked from her wrist as though pulled by an invisible string from the masterful hands of a puppeteer. Then, when he reaches with the other hand, the same thing happens, and she realizes that the string isn't invisible at all. Under the light of the full moon illuminating the alleyway, she sees that the substance sticking to his hands glimmers like the spun silk of a spider's web.

It clicks with her what's happening, and, with the realization, time starts to fly past at a quicker rate again.

"What the fuck—"

One of his friends who came up behind him to help is yanked back by the string of web fluid and slammed face-first into the building wall she stands against. He hits it with enough force to make her wince, but she can't lie, it's a little funny considering what they were about to do to her. She doesn't give a reaction at all, though. Not a wince, or a laugh, or even a gasp. All she does is watch in shock.

He moves, swinging and jumping from place to place with the practiced skill she's seen a multitude of times on the news and widespread social media videos. There's no denying his talent as he shoots out strings to lasso every single one of the screeching men that attempt to flee now that they realize who's here to save her.

With four of them restrained in a heap against the brick wall with his webbing binding their hands and feet, there's one left. The last attacker rushes down the pathway in the direction of the street lamps lighting the way back to safety, yet he's no match for her savior. The masked man swings from his perch on the balcony of one of the surrounding buildings and lands with a splash in a puddle midway through the alley.

His arm extends with a flourish, hand flipped back to shoot another string of fluid from the inside of his wrist, and that's it for the final man. He comes barreling back into the standing dog pile of his friends in a matter of seconds. The five of them groan in unison upon impact. Yet the groans can't overshadow the sound of more webbing shooting out once the last guy is wrangled to adhere them all together.

A minute and a half ago, Y/N was certain she was about to be assaulted or killed by these people. Now, the group is smushed together in a sticky web right next to where she stands with their feet dangling off the rain-soaked pavement.

The man in the mask rolls his head on his shoulders to crack the bones there, likely tense from the work he just did. His footsteps patter on the ground. They grow closer and closer before, finally, he stands in front of the group of men he just stuck to the wall like flies and scoffs.

"That'll teach you not to pick on innocent girls, you sick fucks," he mutters. Though she cannot see his face beneath the blue and red mask, decorated with one-way eye holes that allow him to see the outside world but prevent her from seeing his eyes, she can hear him scowling. "You're lucky m'not gonna do worse to you, you know that?"

Part of what made his role as a vigilante acceptable to the general public, and his oddly large and mildly cultish online female fanbase, is that he has a strict no-killing rule. Even his fiercest villains are defeated in non-lethal ways, then left to law enforcement or the government to handle. The police aren't fond of him, they see him as a threat, but he's doing everything he can.

Reggie retorts from the bottom of the dog pile, "Lucky? You call this lucky? I think my ribs broke!"

He scoffs, about to go in on this guy and give him a piece of his mind about how he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't put his hands on a woman, before being stopped by the sound of her voice emanating through the quiet alley.

The first thing she thinks to say is, "Holy shit."

His attention shifts from the pile of human shit stains to the young woman crouched against the wall beside them with her arms hugging her legs. Mascara is smeared in tear tracks down her cheeks as she looks up at him with an expression of surprise, giving him the random impulse to reach out and wipe his thumbs across them until the makeup is cleaned off.

The thought jolts him out of the seconds-long daze her voice put him under. What was that? Maybe it was because he pitied her for what almost happened, or because her voice sounded so sweet even when it was dripping with shock from seeing him, but he got the instant urge to comfort her when their eyes met. It struck him like a bolt of lightning that he tries to shake off now that the thought has passed.

Weird.

Nevertheless, he bypasses the odd urge and ignores the grumbling guys swearing they'll get back at him for this to walk over to her. On instinct after the scare they gave her, she flinches at his approach before remembering with a clear mind that he's the one who saved her.

Y/N opens and closes her mouth like a fish at the man standing tall above her crumbled-up form before finding the gall to speak up again.

"You're"—she sputters with no real thought in her head except the thought it takes to perceive him—"You're Spider-Man."

Anyone with access to the internet, even back home in New York, knows the name Spider-Man. Of course, those who live in London are more personally entwined with the web-slinging vigilante, but he's known worldwide for saving the city from malevolent forces multiple times. He's building up a decent reputation whether you love or hate him.

When she moved here, her awareness of him shifted from a fleeting curiosity every time he'd pop up on her phone to researching him after hearing rumors of where he'd been fighting crime recently from the girls at the bakery. Their obsession with him is what prompted her to Google him after a lecture one day. As far as the general public is aware, he's native to the country and has been active for a year, but that's about all they know about him. Everything else paints him as this masked enigma that appears to patrol the city and protect the population to the best of his ability.

"In the flesh," he says.

He crouches down with his arms draped over his knees to make himself seem less of a threat to her. Like animals do, he makes himself smaller in an act of submission. The action settles her tensed up shoulders and forces an exhale out without her knowing it.

His voice shifts from an exaggerated friendliness to a tone of worry.

"Are you okay? I saw them chase you, but they didn't touch you or anything, did they?"

And though she cannot place why or how he does it, everything about this man radiates comfort. With him crouched down in front of her, asking her how she is and looking at her through his mask, she can't find it in herself to be afraid anymore. Safe. The feeling is warm and cozy. It floods her heart with a sense of belonging she had yet to feel since moving here.

She gets why so many people adore this guy now. How could she not, anyway? After he saved her life, she guesses she'd be somewhat ungrateful to not view him in a flattering light from now on. Most people would sit back and let something bad happen, or at the very least call the police, but he didn't. He saved her. His entire brand revolves around helping others, around being kind, not causing pain or harm.

Her throat bobs with her swallowing thickly and shaking her head to tell him no, they didn't get to touch her inappropriately. Not yet.

"I punched the little one so hard his nose broke, so, no, they didn't get to touch me before you got here," she admits.

With both of them ignoring the offended, "Little?" coming from him in the background, he chuckles softly, and the delightful sound sparks her laughter too. Since she can't watch his face as he laughs, she catches on to how his chest stutters up and down in time with it.

"Serves him right," he says, then pauses and stands back up with an outstretched hand. "Do y'want me to swing you home?"

It takes a second or two for her to notice he's giving her his hand to help her stand up again, but once she does, she takes it. Her soft palm slides against the material of the suit covering his large hand and interlocks their fingers together for him to pull her to her feet. His strength startles her at first when he tugs her up, but he's being gentle for his standards, even if it sends her intoxicated body off balance enough to need him to steady her.

She stumbles right into him, face ramming into his solid chest, and he has her scooped up in his arms before she can dare fall back onto the dirty ground. Her face appears from where it was buried into him to give him an apologetic smile. To herself, she savors the scent that comes off of him. It's kind of funny to imagine Spiderman spraying on cologne before he suits up and swings around the city.

Spider-Man looks down at her with raised brows, though it's not like she can see it, as the young woman clings to him. She appears about his age, objectively pretty, and the one thing that strikes him as odd is her accent. Definitely not from around here.

Y/N flashes a sleepy smile and stares at him through her curled eyelashes.

"You smell nice."

Well, that wasn't what he was expecting her to say. Perhaps an appropriate, "Thank you", "I'm okay, no thanks", or, "I would like some company to walk home, actually" but not that. It's not to say he doesn't appreciate the compliment, he does, it's just not what he thought she'd say.

"And you're drunk," he says matter of factly, "How are y'getting home?"

With that, she squirms her way out of his arms despite being the one holding on tightly enough to cut off his circulation in the first place and digs through her crossbody purse for something. Her body sways as she pulls her phone from the main pocket of the small bag, and he remains on high alert to catch her at any moment.

Manicured fingers tap the lit-up screen a few times and, before he knows it, she's shoving the phone up at him to display the fruits of her drunken effort to secure a safe passage home. The phone is held up an inch from his face, so he squints against the harsh light and pushes it away with a hand on her arm until he's able to read what's on the screen.

The Uber app is opened and displays that a driver is a minute away. On busy weekend nights like tonight, he's sure that people employed by these apps hang out right around popular bars and wait for responsible people like her to book a ride rather than drive drunk, so her driver isn't far.

Why was some part of him hoping she'd want him to walk her, or swing her, home? It's not like they're friends or anything, all he did was save her.

"Oh," is what he says.

They plummet back into silence, and she's turning the phone back around to check her messages the second the one-syllable word escapes him. He really isn't trying to read what's on her phone, but the way she holds it makes it hard not to see the fifteen unread messages indicated by the red bubble above the app. The messages are opened and read within the span of thirty seconds before she swipes out of the conversation with a sigh.

It was under a contact named Eric. Fleetingly, he wonders if it's a friend from the bar or a boyfriend worrying himself sick over where she is and why she's ignoring his messages. Not that it's any of his business. As soon as he sees her glance up at him, he shifts his gaze away from the screen and internally scolds himself for being a nosy little bitch.

"He's sooo mad," she whines, "Why does he act like I have to ch-check in with him every single time I do so much as breathe? It's like, I'm not a kid, you know? I'm grown, I can handle myself! He ignores me whenever we see each other anyway."

The part of him that wants to point out she accidentally ordered an UberLux for six people instead of a normal one, which would cost way less, keeps his mouth fixed shut. He's sure she's capable of handling herself when she isn't seven drinks deep into the night. She handled the one guy pretty well after all. His nose is crooked and his face will have a gnarly bruise to show for that.

Instead, he asks, "Can I borrow your phone for a moment?" And when she eyes him up skeptically, he looks down at himself and admits sheepishly, "I can't carry my own in this suit, I'll just need it for a second. I forgot to text my aunt that I'm coming home late. She needs to keep the door unlocked f'me."

Whether it can be attributed to her being drunk or plain stupid, he doesn't know, but she passes him the phone.

His gloved thumb swipes the screen as far as it'll go until he's able to see every single app she has and zeroes in on Venmo. Does he know why he's giving this girl money to cover the cost of her expensive Uber mistake? Absolutely not. In all honesty, he might regret it this week when he needs to skip a few meals as consequence, but right now he's being charmed by her pouting face and knows it'll be the cherry on top to wake up to a hangover, an angry boyfriend, and the most expensive ride cost of her life tomorrow. It's the least he can do.

It's not like his Venmo profile shows his name or face anyway. He finds himself by searching his handle and requests a £45 payment from himself on her account. The actual cost of her ride is a smidge more but that's the most he can afford to spend without impeding on his actual "I need this to survive" money. Looks like he won't spend money for pleasure until he gets paid again. It's only a few days from now.

By the time he's handing her phone back to her, an overpriced luxury car is pulling up on the street at the end of the alley right on time.

Y/N is in a relieved yet tired daze the entire walk over, and it isn't until he's opening the car door for her that she speaks again. Faintly, they both hear the driver asking, "Is that Spider-Man?" and she shushes the older fellow by telling him it's his Halloween costume. Seeing as it's January, the response garners a confused look in the review mirror at her, but he assumes it's some college kid having fun. Tons of people dress up as him for laughs.

"Well," she says as she slips into the backseat and buckles up, "thanks for not letting me die. Keep smelling good."

He nods.

"Keep throwing those killer right hooks."

This causes an adorable giggle to erupt from her, head thrown back in glee on the headrest at the memory that will be much more traumatic once the alcohol and adrenaline wear off come morning. As long as she's not thinking too deeply about the attack until she's safe at home, he's fine. It's not safe for her to be out at this hour if she's this intoxicated.

Her hand is on the door handle to swing it closed.

"Will do, bug boy," she says, then slams it shut.

The driver up front distracts her attention from watching Spider-Man walk backward from the curb to answer his typical questions about how she's doing and if she wants a mini water bottle, which she so graciously accepts and cracks open the second he hands it back to her. Her sore throat is thankful for the relief given by the swig of water, and she shuts her eyes with her head tilted back in gratitude.

At the feeling of the car rolling forward and driving away from the alley where she narrowly escaped being injured or killed, her eyes shoot open to catch one last glimpse of the man who saved her.

Through the fog of her hot exhales on the chilled window, she sees that he's already gone.

Harry is stupid.

He knows that. Obviously, he knows that, but now that he's sitting across from his best friend at his favorite bakery for an "emergency" afternoon study session, he's positive he's the most stupid man to walk the earth.

Why did he pay for that girl's Uber last night? Probably because he couldn't handle the thought of her waking up to a hangover, as well as an overpriced Uber charge, and did it without thinking of things like this. That's why he's sitting at the corner table with no food and a grumbling stomach. Zayn offered to get him something, but he also has this complex about not letting others buy him things he should be able to cover on his own, so here he sits. Hungry and stupid.

The display case of baked goods looks downright mouthwatering as he eyes it from across the room and zeroes in on a tray of fresh croissants. His heightened senses allow him to see each detail handmade with love into the flaky delicacy, and he has to turn his head so as to not start drooling.

One of the first complaints he had after he woke up with his new powers was this: how everything, from his strength to his senses, is heightened to a degree he'd never known before he was bittem. At first, becoming Spider-Man wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure, super strength, speed, spider-like agility, and so much more seem fun when taken at face value, but when you're a confused teenager waking up with more power than you know what to do with, it's not as exciting.

"Are you okay?"

Zayn snaps him out of his thoughts.

He looks up and pretends that he wasn't spacing out in the first place, shifting in his seat to appear more engaged with the course far below his abilities. He's working on becoming a biophysicist and working as a professor eventually, yet that requires a PhD, so he's stuck in college for quite some time. It's admittedly difficult for Harry to balance his coursework, being a photographer for the paper, and protecting London from crime, but he makes it work.

Harry takes a swig from the reusable water bottle he filled on his way out of his place this morning and shrugs.

"I'm fine. Just tired, you know how it is."

The words left unsaid between them couldn't be any louder. Neither of them acknowledges it, the mutual frustrations they share as best friends with their agreement to disagree on Harry's lack of transparency surrounding certain aspects of his life.

It took weeks of him promising his aunt, Anne, didn't abuse him for Zayn to let go of the bruises and injuries that appeared after Harry disappeared at random for hours at a time in secondary school. His friends secretly theorize that he's gotten into an illegal underground fighting ring, hence the bruises, injuries, and why he's no longer the string bean with no muscle that he once was, and he lets them. Better than them discovering the truth.

"Yeah, anyway—"

He swears he means to pay attention to him after spacing out for what must have been the third time today, but as soon as his friend begins asking a question again, the door opens with a delightful chime and a familiar face draws his focus away.

Oh no.

Harry slumps in his seat again on the instinct to hide himself from the woman he saved last night before he remembers that she doesn't know what he looks like beneath the mask. On her name tag, it reads the same name he found on her Venmo username.

She looks better in the afternoon light shining through the windowed walls of the bakery. Her hair is swept up from her face with wisps framing her face, and he can tell she used extra makeup under her eyes to conceal the leftover mascara smudges from the early morning. Before he can get a full look at her clothes, she's swiping an apron off of the rack behind the counter and clocking in for the next eight hours of managing the cash register.

His stare remains fixed on her the entire time she waits for new customers to approach the counter. Her lips twitch into a closed half-smile as she checks her phone behind the cover of the register.

In harmonious timing with her clicking a button on her screen, his phone buzzes in his lap. The Venmo notification opens under a sly move of his thumb under the table to keep Zayn from noticing.

y/n paid you +£45 i'm not taking your money but thank you for everything

He goes to look up at her again with narrowed eyes, not that it matters since she doesn't know who he is, to find her standing beside their table. It takes everything he has to not jump in surprise, swallowing the lump in his throat and clicking the power button on the side of his phone to shut the screen off.

"Is there anything you gentlemen would like? Maybe a coffee refill for you," she says to Zayn, then turns to Harry, "Or something for you?"

Fuck. She probably came over because he wouldn't stop staring and figured he wanted something.

He starts to say, "No, m'good actually—"

"Actually, Harry will have one of those croissants over there," Zayn interjects.

He looks at his friend with wide eyes, nudging him under the table with a silent instruction to tell her never mind, but he gets a swift kick to the shin instead. The part of him that wants to call him out for ignoring his pleas to not spend money on him is silenced by the part that's grateful to have such a generous friend. Even when he's distracted and spacey while he should be helping him study, Zayn is kind enough to get him a pastry.

For a second or so, Y/N stands and watches the quiet kicking fight that's not at all concealed beneath the table with amusement tugging at her features until Zayn wins. He comes here every time after class on days he has them, so they're well acquainted enough for her to feel comfortable laughing at this, but it's the presence of his buddy that stops her from commenting.

The first thing she notes about Harry is how quiet he is, at least with her. Before she came over, he exchanged a few low-volume sentences with Zayn that she couldn't pick up on, but he hasn't said a word to acknowledge her. Little does she know, the smooth, confident hero she met last night inhabits the same body as the reserved man sitting in front of her.

There are two sides to him. One side is the legend that is Spider-Man and the other is just, well, him. He's Harry, plain and simple. Some aspects of who he is when he wears the mask have seeped into who he is the other ninety percent of the time, but, for the most part, he's the same guy as usual.

She smiles.

"Alright, but don't worry, it's on the house," she says with the same sweetness he recalls melting his heart last night, then adds, "Are we still on to go to that pottery place together? Millie flaked, so it'll just be us. I hope you don't mind."

Whereas with some people, the third party to their platonic date dipping last minute could indicate that Y/N secretly has feelings for him and wanted an excuse to hang out alone, but with her, that isn't the case. Though she can admit he is ungodly handsome, she and Zayn are friends. That's it.

That's why he smiles and says, "Tomorrow at five."

After she walks off to retrieve the raspberry pastry, he can tell Zayn is preparing to launch into the story of how he met her. He's ready to listen with rapt attention, curious to know anything he can about the pretty woman he saved from peril yesterday, when his phone goes off again. This time, it isn't the typical buzzing vibration of a text or the Venmo notification he got five minutes ago, it's the ringtone he set especially for the police scanner notifications he feeds through his phone to alert him of crime.

The notification banner flashes on his screen a transcript of the police dispatcher rattling off the exact location, and as it continues, he wants to groan and throw a tantrum at the fact that it's not a minor call. They'll need his help.

Harry pushes his chair out with enough speed and brute strength to send it flying back off of it, then trips onto his ass over the legs of it trying to amend his mistake. Damn superhuman strength always making him look weird. Even the other girls employed here look up to see what the fuss is about, and he offers a tight-lipped smile as an apology. None of them except for Y/N seem to accept it based on the looks they give.

He swipes his backpack off of the back of it and swings it onto his shoulders.

"M'really sorry to do this, but Anne just texted saying she needs help right now. Something about a family emergency," he strings together something believable to get out of here as quickly as he can. "I'll make this up to you. I promise, I owe you one."

There's nothing for his friend to do except watch him, at a loss for words but understanding of the situation all the same, as he pushes the front doors to the bakery open and disappears into the fading afternoon sunset.

Y/N is stupid.

She knows that. Obviously, she knows that, but now that she's shutting the door to the apartment she and her dad live in together, it's becoming more apparent than ever.

This "home" is more of a ghost town to her as of late. Back home, before her mother passed away, there was once a time when he behaved the way a father is supposed to. He made a point to take interest in her interests, make time for her outside of his job, and show her in casual actions how much he loved her, but she can't say the same for him today. The difference in how he treated her last year versus now is unfathomable to her.

She used to be his angel, his most prized creation, and now...It isn't the same. Now, she comes home every night to an empty apartment and no matter how hard she wishes, he refuses to put anything above his work. The hours at Syco Industries are long and they work him to the bone, so she tries to cut him slack. Perhaps after he's been there longer, they'll give him leeway with forcing him to work late each night, but as it is today, they hardly see one another.

Is it bad if she admits she's torn between wanting things to be the way they used to and enjoying his absence? The thing is, whenever he's home, it feels as empty as it does when he's gone. They don't interact or bond, so what's the point? Isn't it better if he's not here at all?

Y/N comes out of her room in her favorite pajamas, a pack of makeup wipes clutched in one hand and swinging with her steps as she plops down onto the living room couch with an exhausted exhale. The television was running all day, it seems, after her dad forgot to switch off the news before he left for work this morning. She leaves it up for white noise while she checks her phone for the first time since clocking out at the bakery.

Messages? Dry. Instagram? No activity. Tumblr? Void of new content to devour. Twitter? Filled with pointless online discourse she doesn't feel like sorting through after a long day...Venmo? No notifications from her friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

Disappointment sinks into her at the sight of the untouched payment she made midway through the day while Zayn's hot friend was staring at her. Was she actually expecting him to send it back again just to talk to her? For fuck's sake, he's Spider-Man, he has a lot better to do with his time than text a random drunk girl he saved via Venmo payments.

The news report diverts her frowning face from her phone at the mention of the very stranger she was blindly hoping to hear from. Speak of the devil. Swinging from building to building, he appears on the screen the same as he did the last time she saw him. Though it's already written at the bottom of the screen in bold lettering as the headline, she listens in to hear everything said by the bottle-blonde news anchor.

"Good evening. Here we are watching footage from two hours ago of police putting culprits of the bank robbery heist into custody. Authorities are still uncertain of how the group managed to infiltrate the heavily guarded vault, however, Spider-Man showed up to save the day."

Her voiceover continues while the camera cuts to footage of him hanging from the roof of the bank with his feet planted on the wall, watching the thieves getting loaded into the backs of the police vehicles. And, just as fast as he appeared to help, he slips into the night and swings away to wherever it is he calls home.

There's a voice in the back of her head asking why she cares so much, why she's so curious about him, but she can't find it in herself to care. The guy has plenty of girls swooning over him anyway, so what's another one with a harmless crush gonna do? Either way, it turns her cheeks hot with embarrassment enough for her to pull the remote from between the couch cushions to click the red power button that turns off the television.

The exact moment the screen goes black, her phone goes off, and she's starting to get a little freaked out.

Upon reading the source of the notification, Y/N takes a few seconds of pause to sit back and stare off at the skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment. It's as if he's haunting her. First, she noticed his Venmo payment at work. Then, he came on the news as soon as she came home, and now he's sent her the money back again. The banner at the top of her screen doesn't divulge who the payment is from, but it doesn't need to. There's only one person it could be from.

After debating whether or not the universe is torturing her over the mini crush she developed on a man she doesn't know, she opens it.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'm not letting you pay for that yourself.

Across the city, Harry is sprawled out on his bed with his suit still clinging to his skin and the bedroom door locked (just in case) to keep Anne out. His typically well-kept head of hair is damp with sweat and tousled from being trapped beneath spandex for the better part of three hours. With his phone clasped in one hand, he uses the other to brush it out of his face and allow him to see his Instagram feed better as he scrolls through it.

He's not the type to post much on social media. His account, which he's thankful is named @harrystyles so the girl with his Venmo cannot find his true identity, has pictures uploaded every four or so months. He doesn't follow anything but his aunt's and close friends' accounts either, so his timeline is flooded with things he actually cares about, not mindless drivel. One account he does follow that isn't someone he knows is an updates account called @spideyupdates which he found a few months ago out of morbid curiosity.

It's odd to think that he has fans, especially since they're not fans of him as a person, but rather fans of the persona he takes on whenever he dons the mask. Some of them are rude despite claiming to like him, some are overly protective, yet he finds that most are sweet. He doesn't really know why he follows it, though, it's a little weird.

The most recent post from them was uploaded a half hour ago detailing the robbery he halted this afternoon. He's about to finish reading it when his phone buzzes with a new Venmo notification.

y/n paid you +£45 take it back bug boy 🕷

She leaves the app open this time in anticipation of his response.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 🖕

For the next few minutes, she and Harry go back and forth in a neverending fight with the final objective of getting the other to break and take the money. The message section of the payments is either filled with joking threats or nothing but the middle finger or spider emoji used as taunts, and he isn't quite sure why he's engaging with her by the time she stops and sends a normal message.

As soon as he heard her soft voice speaking to him from where she sat with her knees hugged to her chest, he felt himself surrender a little. As crazy as it'd sound to say, he knew when they met that he felt a sort of gravitational pull to her.

He isn't sure what to make of it. He hasn't had a crush on anyone since being turned into this, so he doesn't know if this is how attraction feels now. The Spider-Man side of life keeps him so busy, he hardly has time for the Harry Styles part. He hasn't gotten laid in a year. There's no time.

y/n paid you +£45 thought i saw you limping in the video they took on the news. are u okay?

Y/N leans against the kitchen counter with anxious delight swirling in the pit of her stomach once she hits the button to send the same forty-five dollars back to him. The spoon she's using to shovel mouthfuls of yogurt into her mouth dangles from her lips and threatens to slip out to crack her phone screen at any minute. Her original intention was to fetch a yogurt from the fridge to eat on the couch, but her internal struggle about choosing whether or not to start a regular conversation with him made her stop where she is.

The message she sent would probably make Harry ghost her if he hadn't seen firsthand how genuine her disposition is. Rather than asking it to probe for information about the man behind the mask the way others would, she's asking because she cares about people. Because she cares about him.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 I'll survive. I just twisted up my ankle a bit. Don't worry about it, sweetheart.

Looking down at his right ankle, he rolls the foot around to test out how painful it is when he moves the joint. Thanks to the rapid rate at which he heals since the spider bite, there's none.

The day he was bitten has turned blurry in his memory but he remembers enough. It was after his desire to discover more about his late father was reignited by finding some of his old belongings in the attic. He never saw his mom or dad again after they left him with his Aunt Anne and Uncle Rob. But finding his things in the attic awakened a part of him he hadn't known was there and sent him scrambling to follow the clues of the top secret Syco Industries folder left behind from when he used to work there.

His phone pings with a new notification a half minute after he sent the last payment, but his mind doesn't stray from the memory just yet. It holds him hostage.

He hangs on, recalling how he stumbled into the intricate web behind him and shook what must have been dozens of the altered spiders onto him. He swept them of off his clothes, ripped them out of his hair, and fled from the room with the paranoia of the arachnids crawling around on him still.

From then on, the rest is history.

The seconds blend into minutes of Harry staring off into nothing before he remembers he hasn't answered her message yet.

y/n paid you +£45 who said you can call me that? i'll have you know i can be very un-sweet at times.

His lips upturn into a grin that makes his dimples appear. If she were able to see him smiling like this, she'd probably go weak in the knees.

When her phone buzzes on the coffee table after six long minutes of going unanswered, she lets out a soft, inhuman-sounding shriek and fumbles for it with one hand while the other wipes her makeup off. Her empty yogurt container is long gone now. She sits crisscrossed on the couch with her head down to read his message. It warms her heart that he answered. She was starting to think he got bored of interacting with her and left like the girls did at the bar last night.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Then stop calling me bug boy.

Her response is immediate.

y/n paid you +£45 absolutely not. you are, in fact, a bug and a boy.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 **Bug MAN

The apartment living room is overtaken by her giggling with her head tipped back on the back of the couch and the TV continuing the next loop of the bank robbery news in the background. In her peripheral vision, she can catch the swift movement of him swinging through the city not long ago.

y/n paid you +£45 you do realize i'm never letting you win this one, right...bug boy?

And he can see it in his mind, how she must look right now. He imagines her curled up in bed with a fluffy blanket engulfing her while the phone screen illuminates her prepossessing features. Those nude varnished nails he saw when her hand was clutched in his must elicit a soft clicking sound whenever she types him a new message.

anonymous128 paid you +£45 Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.

Y/N smiles down at her phone. God, the pet name! She's about to respond again when the sound of the front door unlocking prompts her to click her phone off and drop it onto the couch, trying to appear as casual as she can when her dad walks in.

He appears to her as he always does: detached, tired, and willingly overworked to a degree of numbness that has stolen away his previously vibrant personality. With his briefcase clutched in one hand and his tie undone around his neck, he walks past her into the kitchen without a word spared in her direction. The smile that she made in response to Harry's message, which then shifted into a smile existing from the excitement of getting to see her father tonight, disappears.

A ghost. That's all she is anymore.

Y/N endures another three minutes of waiting for him to acknowledge her existence and staring ahead at the news broadcast playing before she's had enough. It takes three minutes of him fixing himself a quick dinner for her to stand and pad her way over to the kitchen to force him to see her. Her arms cross over her chest as she leans against the counter, watching him.

After a beat of silence, she asks, "How was work?"

His work doesn't interest her in any capacity. He isn't allowed to tell her the interesting details seeing as they are classified as top secret by those in charge, so he only tells her insignificant details about paperwork or butting heads with coworkers over disagreements in their experiments. But she also knows that it's what matters most to him, so he's more likely to engage if this is the topic.

As to hibernate in his room as soon as possible, his post-work dinner consists of a questionable frozen meal that's been sitting in a box in the bottom of the freezer for the past month or so. Since his back is turned to allow him to poke at the microwave buttons, she scrunches up her nose at the "meatloaf" sitting in its plastic container with flakes of ice coating it in a thin layer.

"Work was work," he says flatly.

Wow, what riveting detail! Part of her wants to quip something along the lines of, "Thanks for such an enthusiastic contribution to the conversation, sperm donor," but what ends up happening falls far short.

She presses her lips together in firm restraint, wishing she hadn't bothered, but now that she's already trying to pull something other than the usual monotonous tone and neglect from him, she switches topics. Perhaps a bit of current events will wake him up.

"What about that Spider-Man?" she asks with butterflies in her stomach at the thought of her mini-crush on the stranger. Well, she supposes they qualify as friendly acquaintances now. "It's kind of amazing what he does. He singlehandedly stopped that bank heist. It was all over the news. He seems like a really nice guy."

His posture, which had been slumped from a twelve-hour long day of experiments, mathematics, genetics research, or whatever the fuck it is he does at Syco that she cannot pretend to understand, turns rigid. As soon as the web-slinging hero was mentioned, one would think a bucket of ice water was thrown over him. He turns around to face her suddenly enough for her to hold herself back from retreating a step in reaction.

"He's not nice, he's a pest that can't mind his own business and let the police do their jobs. We think he—"

He stops short, catching himself as his passionate tirade against Spider-Man starts drifting into a territory he didn't intend it to, at least not consciously. It makes her brows furrow, her forehead creasing with an expression that is equal parts confusion and suspicion. Not suspicion against her new friend, either, but against her dad.

"What do you mean "we"? What do you think he did?"

For an extended second, their eyes are locked in an intense gaze he can't escape, then the beeping of the microwave sounds off as his conveniently-timed savior to her mild interrogation. He turns to retrieve the hot container from it and reaches behind her to swipe his fork from the counter with a scoff. As if she's overstepping for even wanting to know.

"You got class tomorrow, right? Try to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I don't wanna hear you walking around at three AM, alright? I'm gonna go get some sleep," he says as though nothing else happened before this.

She can't do anything except stand there in silent shock at his refusal to engage with her further on the topic. It almost makes her feel crazy to see him leaving for his room after that. That did really happen, right? He actually said that cryptic thing about her new friend. It wasn't another product of her fanciful mind...right?

Harry, after watching his phone for a ridiculous amount of time for her response, stepped away to toss his suit in the washer while Anne slept and showered off the mixture of sweat and grime off of him from the day. Though he got a glowing review of how he smelled from Y/N last night, if he's been genuinely exerting himself in the suit all day, it gets gross.

He flops face-first back onto his bed with damp hair and a towel slung around his hips when he finally returns from his shower. Surely, she would've responded by now, he thought mid-washing his hair. However, his notifications are empty, and he doesn't know why it disappoints him. The conversation did come to a natural conclusion, but he has a feeling he wouldn't have been satisfied no matter how long it continued.

The last thing Harry was expecting to open his phone to while he took a break on his midday patrol of the city, swinging onto the nearby roof where he stashed his backpack, was two missed calls from his best friend and five messages. At first, as the nature of his role as a vigilante conditions him to, he jumped to the worst-case scenario. His mind created images of his friend bleeding out in the street with a bullet through his chest, then jumped to a new scenario where one of his enemies somehow discovered his true identity and found his dearest friend to lure him in.

Once he opened the text thread, though, he sighed with an initial rush of relief, then let himself settle into an attitude of contemplation.

Zayn I need help

Zayn Like a huge favor

Zayn I hate to bring up that you said you owe me one so soon, but my mum just went to the hospital. She got into a car accident. She's okay, but she has a concussion and I need to go see her. She'll need a ride home.

Zayn Here's where the favor part comes in... Zayn Remember how I promised Y/N I'd go to that pottery thing with her today at five?

That is how Harry ended up here: waiting outside of said pottery class at 4:56 pm with a pair of sunglasses on to conceal his bruised eye from last night's scrap with the bank robbers. His response was immediate as soon as he glanced up at the time to see it was a mere half hour until he had to be there. He didn't even formally agree. In such a rush to fill in for Zayn and not be the shittiest friend in the universe, he was frantically stripping off his skin-tight suit and changing into his street clothes while yelling at Siri to ask for the address.

Is it weird of him to not want to be here? Despite his crush on her and his wish for the Venmo messages to never end, this feels different. Fantasizing about her was one thing, but what if they got along? What if they ended up having a genuine connection and—Oh my God, she's right there.

"Harry?"

Y/N approaches with confusion written across her face.

With the sun, or, the bit of light that manages to escape from the heavy cover of moody clouds overhead, haloing her, she looks like a dream to him. He prefers this version of her to both he's met thus far—the dolled-up party girl and the bakery worker he saw from across the room yesterday. It's clear to tell that this is her. This is her when she's planned on going out with someone she feels at ease with. The clothes are comfortable yet chic, and he wants to taste the mulberry-hued lip gloss off her cute mouth.

That last thought has him scolding himself. What is wrong with him? He should be explaining himself right now rather than gazing longingly at her lips from behind the shades of his sunglasses. He promised himself this would never happen again after what he went through before...

He pushes off the wall and steps up closer to her in acknowledgment of her noticing him, saying, "Um, did Zayn tell you?"

Based on her face, it is evident that he didn't.

"His mum's in hospital," he says, then rushes to clarify the severity, or lack thereof, of the situation when she gasps, "Not like that! S'not bad. Well, it is bad that it happened at all but the car accident wasn't that bad. Just a minor concussion and some bruises. She's getting discharged soon and he asked me to come with you. I hope that's okay."

"Oh..."

It's not that she's upset. She isn't. After all, Harry seemed nice enough at the bakery and it doesn't hurt that all of Zayn's friends are unrealistically gorgeous—like come on, how does her friend know so many hot dudes?—but she had this vision of what the afternoon would be and this isn't it. So it isn't the feeling of being upset, it's the one of being mildly disappointed.

Nevertheless, she tries to hide it.

Bless her, he thinks as he sees her utter failure at trying to conceal her true feelings. He can see why his friend spends so much time with her. Now that they're interacting as much as they did in the alleyway, this time sober and with him as himself instead of his alter ego, he can sense how sweet she is without the biases of being the one to save her life swaying her treatment of him.

In her surprised quiet, he searches for something to say to make it right.

"We can skip it if you're not comfortable. I won't take it personally—"

"No!" she exclaims, then realizes her volume and tones it down several notches to continue with a reassuring tone, "I've honestly been meaning to find myself a new hobby and it took forever to get into this class, so, I'd love to do this with you...unless you don't want to? If that was your polite way of trying to let me down easy and get back to whatever you were doing, then it's okay, I swear. I know pottery might be boring to some people."

As if he's gonna ditch her and let Zayn down in his time of need. No way. Never happening. Crime, as well as his studying, can wait an hour or two. Not to mention...she needs him too. However much he pretends it isn't about her, a small part of him can't stand the thought of letting her down either.

He shakes his head.

"I love pottery."

It is clear based on the misshapen wet lump of clay spinning on the potter's wheel in front of him that he has never done this before. Despite claiming to love pottery, which she, naturally, took as him having experience with it, she doesn't need him to take the sunglasses off to know he likely looks like a lost puppy at the moment, eyes wide and searching.

The woman at the front of the room doesn't give anything but encouragement whenever she makes her rounds around the room, but this time, when she stops in front of their table, her brows raise halfway up her forehead before she can mask her reaction.

"Wow!" she says, then peeks at the name tag sticker on his shirt before taking another glance at his vaguely bowl-shaped clay lump, "Harry, that's...creative! Very creative."

It's a beginner's class, a one-off most people never return to, so she isn't going to be critical of the people here. Most of them are grandmas who got a free class for Christmas, and Harry sure as hell isn't intent on coming back, so he's thankful she isn't embarrassing him in front of the old ladies who have grown quite fond of him since the class started. They like his tattoos. One of them said he looks like a "hunky sailor". Whatever that means.

It's actually infuriating if she thinks about it too long. He's so likable and charming, enough that when he screws up his pottery into an unrecognizable mess, he still has several old ladies stationed around them turning around and complimenting his "bowl".

When Barbara, the instructor, walks away, she has to press her lips together in restraint as she turns to look at him and his creation. The look on her face has him shaking his head with a smirk growing on his face.

"Quit laughing," he says under his breath so as to not interrupt whatever Barbara is telling everyone to do now.

Even if she weren't looking at him, she'd hear the smile in his voice, and it does nothing to prevent her stifled giggles from escaping. The clay spins on its own and becomes more deformed as the seconds pass, and it takes every bit of self-control for her not to burst out into cackling laughter. It takes her back to being in grade school, being in a class with her best friends seated next to her while they tried not to laugh.

"I'm not laughing, I'm just, uh," another giggle escapes and she has to slap a hand over her mouth, "I'm in such awe of your work that I can't help myself—"

Whatever it is she wants to say is cut off by the full-on, obnoxious laughter she wanted to let out as soon as Barbara left, and he can't help but join when she shoots them both a look of warning at the sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her fight against her laughter and force her face back to its resting expression to no avail. It's moments like these that startle him, making him wonder why he feels so drawn to her. Nevertheless, he resists it. He doesn't even entertain the thoughts shooting around in his head. It doesn't matter, he reasons, she probably has a boyfriend. Her texts from the night they met made that clear. Plus, she's better off anyway. Being around him can only put her in danger.

Though he's laughing, she can tell it's not fully there. It's buried beneath a sense of sadness or something that distracts him from staying in the moment. She likes to think she's a very perceptive person, and she can tell he's thinking about something else. The laughter dies down into silence. She can tell there's something haunting him, something she triggered.

Suddenly, the giddy moment turns sour.

There's a pause, then—

She leans a little closer and asks softly, "Are you okay? You spaced out for a second there..."

In all honesty, Harry is a weird guy. He's wearing sunglasses inside on a cloudy day, he doesn't offer up much information about himself, he's astoundingly terrible at pottery, and that's all stuff she can take in stride. But she can't allow herself to ignore the voice inside of her that urges to look after other people. It's hardwired in her to do so. When she noticed his mood take an abrupt nosedive, she reached to place her hand on his shoulder and ask if he was okay without thought.

One would think her touch burned him with how he pulls his arm away. A second of tense silence passes, then his face softens as he sees the initial flash of hurt on her face. In his defense, they aren't close enough to have the Uncle Leo conversation yet, even if he includes the conversations they've had without her realizing he's Spider-Man.

One moment, they were laughing and having fun, then next, he had visions of her dead on the sidewalk with blood oozing from her chest. What if he falls for her, then she suffers the same fate? What if he can't save her like he couldn't save him? He doesn't know if he couldn't bear it.

Harry says, "Yeah, m'fine. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm sorry."

She nods, and they're so engrossed in each other that they don't notice Barbara wrapping up the class and instructing everyone to bring their bowls to dry.

Her gaze flickers over his handsome features, noting the little things about him that she hadn't taken the time to when they first met. The sunglasses conceal the seafoam shade of his eyes that she remembers fondly from yesterday, but they don't stop her from appreciating the rest of him. In a strange way, he seems familiar to her beyond their short interaction at the bakery.

"Can I say something that might sound weird?" she asks.

He watches her search his face with his breath hitched in the back of his throat, then nods.

"I feel like I've met you before." At the (forced) confused expression he makes, she elaborates, "I mean, before yesterday. You're so familiar—"

Thankfully for Harry, who is about three seconds from becoming nauseous with anxiety, the new direction their conversation has taken is disrupted by Barbara walking up behind them. She braces a hand on the edge of the table to glance at Y/N's bowl. The contrast of hers next to Harry's is downright embarrassing. It turns his cheeks a bright red to see her face as she debates how to acknowledge it.

It's not even bowl-shaped anymore after he let it spin on the table for a minute straight while they shared a moment. One side has collapsed in on itself, the other protruding out in a point. Both she and Y/N can't help but wonder how he managed to make it look like that, but they bite their tongues.

"That was a wonderful effort, Harry. I'm sure if you keep at it, you'll get better," the older woman says.

To himself, he thinks, That just sounds like you want me to keep paying for more classes, but okay.

She and Y/N talk to each other about the class, the former asking her how she has such natural ability for a beginner, and he pretends not to love how she looks when she blushes at the compliment and looks away. Her masterfully crafted bowl is swept away to dry on a rack for her to return and finish it in a week—a genius way to get people to continue their classes if he's to say so himself—while his sits on the stationary potter's wheel in its deformed glory.

Both women pause after they come back from the drying rack, but Y/N is the first to speak upon seeing the shy, near-embarrassed look on his face at the sudden attention on his failure. Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, as though she's working up the nerve to ask something that may overstep boundaries.

"Would it be okay if we stayed a little longer so I can help him finish his? I'll pay extra for taking up more time if you want me to," she says.

Barbara opens her mouth to respond without a second to spare, then hesitates. Her gaze bounces from her to him, then the bowl in front of him, and after a long ten or so seconds, her lips curve into a hint of a smile.

"I have to switch some of last week's pieces from the drying rack to the kiln, you can stay until I come back. But once I need to clean up in here, you guys have to leave, okay?"

With Y/N helping, it seems a lot simpler than he previously thought.

He sits in front of the wheel with fresh clay so generously given to him by Barbara before she disappeared to work on the other pottery pieces from another class, this time with a little less confusion.

Harry is a person of many talents, most of which come naturally to him and are aided by his unwavering work ethic, so it isn't often that he's this bad at something. On his first bowl, it was disappointing. On this one, he actually enjoys the process. Her stool is pushed close to his. Their knees knock with any slight movement made, and considering that he's moving his hands and arms constantly, their legs might as well be glued together.

Little does he know, it steals her breath away too. How could it not? He may not be her web-slinging crush, and they just met, but the girl has eyes after all. His face is as carefully sculpted as the advanced pottery pieces sitting on the drying rack behind them. She tends to get lost when her eyes roam up from his hands to steal a glance at the prominent edge of his jaw or the curve of his rosy lips at the Cupid's bow.

That's another thing: his hands.

Having to focus on them in order to guide him through the motions of forming the bowl is one thing, but when he doesn't understand her critique and she's forced to reach out to help him, it approaches on unbearable. The number of unspeakable things coming to mind...

The clay slathered on his hands wets her palms and fingers as they mold overtop them to physically show him what she's saying to do. Her touch glides over the cross inked beside his thumb. Their eyes are fixed in stares at the work they're doing rather than each other, both not wanting to look at each other in fear of amping up the tension even more.

"So," his voice is a deep hum, their shoulders pressed together as he demonstrates what she showed him to save this bowl from succumbing to the fate of the first, "Like this?"

This time, before she can stop herself, she turns her head to see his face with an encouraging smile, but when she does it, he's much nearer than she thought he'd be. The full impact of making eye contact with him is hindered by his sunglasses, but she can feel him looking. He also turned his head when he asked her the question, so their faces are one wrong move away from their lips brushing.

For an instant, she wonders about doing it, about leaning across the limited space and satisfying the curious side of her that has wondered how his lips taste since he first spoke to her. Though outwardly quiet and mildly intimidating, she imagines he's a gentle kisser, the type to stroke her cheek with his thumb or soothe the nip of his teeth tugging her bottom lip with a soft peck as an apology.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and, for a second, she thinks he's thinking about it too before the sound of Barbara coming back to the room makes them jolt out of their trance.

"How'd it go?"

She asks the question with her back turned to them, already picking up the supplies stored in the cabinet to further clean the workstations, and Y/N takes the opportunity to slip off of her stool to clean off her hands in the sink. Coincidentally, she picks the sink farthest from him.

"Good," she answers a little too fast, "Look at it, he's practically a pro."

"Pro is a bit of an exaggeration, sweetheart."

The nickname has her head whipping around to look at him over her shoulders as her hands sit beneath the stream of running water. It strikes yet another chord of familiarity within her, this one relating to the fact that Spider-Man likes to tease her with the same nickname. It's not like it means anything, people use it all the time, but it catches her attention all the same.

Harry doesn't make the same connection.

He stares back at her from where he stands with his body leaning against the table. His bowl is now placed amongst the others on the drying rack, right next to hers. His hands, covered in the muddy color of wet clay, stain his black skinny jeans as he lets his arms hang at his sides. He doesn't care, though. He just smirks at her from across the room, then makes his way over to her sink to wash his hands too.

Once again, they're shoulder to shoulder. Barbara being in the room forces them to remain silent, and he can't help but wonder what they'd talk about if she weren't here. Would she flirt with him? He can't help but wonder, even if he knows he shouldn't. There's something about her that makes his brain turn stupid in the heat of the moment. When his spidey sense picked up how rapidly her heart began beating in the seconds before Barbara interrupted them, all of his apprehension shifted to impulsivity. After all, he's a nineteen-year-old guy, and if a girl he's been crushing on since they met looks at him like that, there isn't much to hold him back.

She leaves the sink as soon as she can. Her cheeks still burn from the almost kiss, specifically the knowing smirk he gave her after it. Even as minutes pass in the time it takes her to gather her things and wipe down their area, it doesn't subside.

It isn't until she's following Barbara out the door that she turns back at the sound of the drying rack rattling, followed by a string of curses and a strange thwip! sound, to see him. Based on the frustration of him cursing under his breath, as well as the rattling rack, her chest tightened with anxiety and she prepared herself to see the pottery pieces on the floor, yet she doesn't.

Instead, she sees Harry standing there with his flannel sleeves rolled back down and his backpack slung over one shoulder. Not a single strand of hair is out of place, no sign of what sounded like a struggle when her back was turned. He flashes her an awkward smile and shrugs.

"I dropped my backpack."

She returns the smile and offers a sweet, "Well, come on then," before turning to leave the room.

Harry tips his head back on his shoulders and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as soon as she's out of sight. Barely hidden behind his back, a fully dried vase dangles from the ceiling by a web he shot out at the last second to save it from breaking on the tiled floor. Thank God he snuck his web shooters back onto his wrists after washing his hands.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #one direction fanfiction #fanfiction #spiderman!h

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btschooseafic · 6 months

Text

Scared of Love (in a coffee shop)

Pairing: ot7, ot6 x jungkook

Details: jungkook centric, a/b/o dynamics, coffee shop au, soulmates au

Summary: Jungkook loses his job and gains a new one.

Warnings: implied mpreg (not jk), attempted assault

Masterlist

***

Jungkook was towards the end of his shift when he caught the posturing alpha scent. It broke through the bar’s typical alcohol and sweat smells. He scanned the crowd as he finished making the drink he was working on, placing it front of the customer with a tense smile.

There was a man looming over a girl in the corner.

Jungkook moved over to them. “Everything okay here?” He called out, over the many conversations in the room.

“We’re fine,” the man said, barely glancing at him. The girl’s body was frozen stiff, but her wide eyes flickered to meet Jungkook’s.

Jungkook frowned. “Give her some space.”

“What?” Now the man turned to look at Jungkook, gritting his teeth, lip pulled back in a partial snarl. “This is none of your business, man. Back off.”

“You’re the one who should back off,” Jungkook thought aloud. “She clearly wants nothing to do with you.”

The man smirked. “She never said anything.”

The girl opened and closed her mouth, eyes still locked on Jungkook, gaze turning pleading. The man leaned his palm on the wall behind her, pinning her there. She whimpered. He laughed and the sour scent of terrified omega curled into the air.

“That’s it.” Jungkook came out from behind the bar and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him away from her.

“What the fuck!”

Jungkook twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him towards the entrance. Minho was working the door tonight.

“Keep him out of here, he’s scaring omegas!” Jungkook told the bouncer.

Minho nodded, grabbing the protesting alpha.

“You’ll regret that!” The alpha shouted after Jungkook as he moved back inside.

The girl was still in the corner. “You okay?” Jungkook asked. “Are you here alone?” She shook her head.

“My… my friends went to the bathroom. I went to get drinks, and…” She swallowed. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Jungkook grimaced. “That sucks. I’m sorry you were made to feel unsafe here.”

She shrugged. “I’m… it happens. I wish I was better at…” She sighed. “Thank you.”

Jungkook waited with her until her friends came back. They immediately wrapped their arms around her and offered to get a cab together.

Most of the customers left in the next hour, Minho shepherding any stragglers out the door with a firm hand and a tough look.

After he finished cleaning, Jungkook started the walk home.

It was early morning. The streets were mostly empty.

Jungkook sped up when the back of his neck prickled, like he was being watched.

Before he could react, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into a nearby alleyway. There was a loud rip as his jacket tore. It hung off his arm. Jungkook’s back slammed into the wall. He couldn’t breath.

“I told you you’d regret it.” It was the man from earlier, sneering down at him.

Jungkook gulped in air.

“I don’t,” Jungkook told him truthfully. Even if this alpha beat him up, he didn’t regret helping that girl earlier. She didn’t deserve this man invading her personal space like that.

The man’s brow furrowed. He leaned in and sniffed at Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook squirmed, trying to protect his scent glands. It was too late. The man laughed. Jungkook’s scent blockers must have worn off. They were a cheap brand that he frequently sweated off during his longer shifts.

“Omega,” he cooed. “Were you jealous? You wanted me to pay attention to you instead of her?”

Jungkook’s face twisted in disgust. “You’re delusional.” He tried to twist out of the man’s hold again.

“You’re too worked up,” the man told him. “Let me help you calm down.” He reached for the back of Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook bit his hand. The man growled and reeled back. Jungkook kneed him between the legs. The man howled and crouched down, curling in on himself. Jungkook took off at a run.

Maybe that was a mistake.

Alphas like that liked a chase.

Jungkook ran with the man on his tail for several blocks. Then he saw a crowd of people coming out of a nearby club.

He wove his way into the crowd, hoping the mixture of scents would hide his. Club goers frequently wore strong scent blockers or perfumes so they could enjoy their night without dynamics interfering. Jungkook caught a strong fruity scent and moved closer to it. He saw the man pause at the end of the block, raising his head to sniff.

“Are you being chased?”

Jungkook flinched, turning to the strawberry-scented man who addressed him. Jungkook’s eyes widened. He was very handsome, dark fluffy hair contrasted with his bright red jacket. His arm was slung over the shoulder of a shorter man, who was also incredibly good looking.

Jungkook nodded, still catching his breath.

“For fun, or an unwanted suitor?” The shorter man asked. Jungkook stared, still a little startled by how good looking the two men were. In his job, he saw a lot of people dressed their best on a night out, but he never seen anyone look so good in a plain white t-shirt. The shirt’s wide neck line showed off several mating marks. Jungkook pouted slightly—of course such a pretty man already had mates.

The man was still looking at him expectantly.

“He’s a bully,” Jungkook explained. “I wasn’t… I’m sorry I’m hiding behind you.” He glanced back at the end of the block. The man was gone. Jungkook sighed in relief. “Looks like he’s gone. I’ll leave—“

“Better stay for another couple of minutes. Make sure he’s really gone.” The man in the red jacket leaned closer to whisper to Jungkook. Jungkook breathed in the strawberry perfume, the sweetness making him dizzy. He wondered how it would mix with the man’s natural scent. “What?” The man raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tae!” The shorter man smacked his hand. “Give him some space.”

“Sorry.” Tae straightened up, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s okay…” Jungkook mumbled. He listened to the two men (mates?) bicker for a few more minutes before he turned to leave.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay getting home?” The man in the white shirt asked him concernedly. Jungkook nodded. “Well… okay, stay safe.”

When he got home, Jungkook scrubbed his skin hard to get rid of the feeling of that man looming over him. He was a little disappointed when the strawberry scent disappeared as well.

Jungkook woke later that afternoon, a little sore and bruised, but otherwise fine. He frowned at the tear on his favorite coat for a while before cooking something to eat. Before long it was early evening, time to head to work.

“You’re fired,” Jungkook’s boss said. Jungkook stared at him.

“What?”

“A customer came to me this morning, told me you attacked him, unprovoked, showed me the bite mark on his hand.”

“It wasn’t unprovoked!” Jungkook snapped. “He attacked me first—and he was harassing another customer!”

“I didn’t hear anything about that, just that you attacked someone,” his boss said. He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter who started it, the customer is always right.” Jungkook lowered his head, trying to think about whether to curse his boss out, or beg for his job back. He needed the money, but at what point did this job stop being worth it? “It’s nothing personal, but I’m running a business here.” He clapped Jungkook on the shoulder. Jungkook tensed at his touch. “I’ve got to make the tough decisions sometimes.”

Ten minutes later, Jungkook sat on the curb outside the bar, Minho standing beside him, watching him in quiet concern.

“Oh.”

Jungkook looked up, seeing the girl from last night. She smiled hesitantly at him.

He nodded at her. “What’s up?”

“I was hoping to find you here. I wanted to thank you, again, for last night.”

Minho squinted at her. “This is the girl that creep from last night was bothering?” He asked. Jungkook nodded. “Maybe she could talk to the boss, get him to give you your job back.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You lost your job?”

Jungkook nodded again. “Our ‘friend’ decided to drag me into a dark alley. I defended myself. He complained to my boss, so I lost my job.”

The girl frowned. “That’s ridiculous!”

Jungkook shrugged. “I think I’m done working here anyway. It sucks.” He glanced back at Minho. “No offense.”

Minho snorted. “None taken.”

“So… you don’t want me to try and help you get your job back?” The girl asked. Jungkook shook his head.

“The job search will be hell, but it’ll still be better than this.”

The girl bit her lip. “What if… what if I know a job you could go for?”

“Really?” Jungkook smiled. “That would be great!” He had already been dreading the process of touching up his resume. He hadn’t touched his portfolio since he left his apprenticeship. Unless his arm counted as an example of his work? He tilted his head. “What kind of job?”

Jungkook spent the rest of the night pacing in his apartment. He tried to settle down in his nest, but his nerves wouldn’t let him. He’d counted and recounted his savings, but it wouldn’t be enough to pay his rent and send hyung money. He needed this job. Hopefully the meeting tomorrow morning would go well.

Jin’s Cafe had the name Jin written over and over again on the window. Jungkook frowned, imagining a self-centered manager who wouldn’t be much better than his last.

“They’re really nice,” the girl said, as if she was reading his mind. “I promise.”

The sign on the door was flipped to ‘closed,’ but the girl punched a code into the keypad and opened the door.

The cafe smelled nice. There were the usual coffee and pastry smells, but also a fresh green scent, like a garden. The room was filled with shelves of books, records, and plants. Curving green vines ran under everything from trot to hip hop.

A man was restocking one of the shelves. He turned as they walked in, eyes widening slightly.

“Jiwoo-yah, you’re early. Your shift doesn’t start until later.”

“I know.” She smiled at him. “But, I actually wanted to introduce someone to you. You know how you said you could still use another employee?” She motioned at Jungkook.

“Hello.” Jungkook bowed slightly. “I’m Jeon Jungkook.”

“Min Yoongi.” Yoongi dipped his head. “I’m one of the managers here at Jin’s Cafe. Are you open to a casual interview, Jungkook-ssi?”

“Sure.”

“Jiwoo, have you eaten yet?” Yoongi asked her. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and get some breakfast from hyung? He’s got a new matcha toast he’s trying out.” Jungkook perked up. Yoongi grinned. “Ah. Bring one out for Jungkook-ssi as well.”

“Oh, no, no.” Jungkook shook his head. “It’s fine. I was just… curious.”

“Jin-hyung loves testing his food out on unsuspecting guests,” Yoongi told him, waving Jiwoo along. “So, Jungkook-ssi, do you have any experience working as a barista?”

Jungkook nodded. “I did work in a coffee shop during school.”

Jungkook waited for Yoongi to ask what he went to school for, but instead he asked, “Did you enjoy working there?”

Jungkook smiled. “Yeah. The manager was nice. And good at baking! She made these really good banana nut muffins I always used my employee discount on.”

“Do you have any interest in books, or plants, or music?” Yoongi asked. “We sell all three, so it’s good to know a little about them.”

“Well, I don’t know read much, and I don’t know anything about plants, but I do like listening to music,” Jungkook told him honestly. He and Yoongi talked about what kind of music they liked to listen to until Jiwoo came out again with a plate for Jungkook. The matcha toast was pretty, the green spread contrasting nicely with a neat row of strawberries on top.

“It’s yummy,” Jiwoo said. “Have some.”

“But don’t praise it too much, or hyung’s head will get too big,” Yoongi added. Jungkook actually lost his ability to talk for a moment, savoring the flavors mixing in his mouth. He let out a few appreciative noises. Yoongi frowned. “You don’t have to keeping eating it if you don’t like it.”

“What?” Jungkook frowned back at him. “But, it’s so good.”

“But your face is so angry!” Jiwoo protested.

“Oh…” Jungkook scratched the side of his face. “That’s just… how I look when I enjoy things.”

Yoongi grinned. “How cute.”

Jungkook flushed. “I…”

“You have green on your mouth,” Jiwoo told him. Jungkook groaned as she handed him a napkin. Yoongi was still smiling.

“Jungkook-ssi, how would you feel about starting on a trial basis?” He asked. “You haven’t met the rest of us yet, so I’d like to see how we all get along first, but I like what I’m hearing from you so far.”

“That would be great.” Jungkook bowed again. “Please take care of me.”

“No need to be so formal,” Yoongi said. “How old are you? Call me hyung.”

Jiwoo, as it turned out, was Jungkook’s same-age friend. She dropped formalities quickly, complimenting the purple tips of Jungkook’s hair as she walked him through how to use the espresso machine. Jungkook liked how she filled any silences with cheerful chatter before they could get awkward.

As soon as she finished running him through the sales system, Yoongi shooed him out the door.

“I wouldn’t start you on the morning rush for you first shift!” Yoongi said. “Are you free later tonight? We can introduce you to the rest of the guys and show you how to close up.”

“That sounds good, hyung.”

Jungkook walked home with a little spring to his step. He saw his brother had texted him, asking if he’d be available for a video chat with Seoyeon soon. Jungkook settled down in his nest, hugging the plush rabbit that Seoyeon had sent him from his last birthday. She had a matching one, “So when I hug my bunny, you hug yours, and it’s like we’re hugging each other, samchon!”

Junghyun answered after the first ring.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you? You texted me earlier.”

“Yeah, but you hardly ever respond to my texts. Usually, I have to get Seoyeon to lure you in if I want a response.”

Jungkook pouted. “That’s not true.”

“…Sure. So, what’s up?”

“Well, don’t freak out, but I got fired.”

“…Jungkook.”

“It’s fine! Totally fine! I didn’t like that job much anyway, and anyways, I got a new job already!” Jungkook didn’t tell Junghyun why he’d gotten fired, but he told him all about Jiwoo and Yoongi and how nice they were being to him.

“It really sounds like you could get along with them well,” Junghyun thought. Jungkook hummed in agreement. “I’m happy for you.”

Jungkook usually got along with coworkers, but he had never been too close to any of them. Jiwoo and Yoongi seemed like people he wouldn’t mind spending time with even outside of work.

“I’m excited,” he admitted. “I hope it all works out.”

#bts fanfiction #member x member #ot7 #ot7 x ot7 #ot6 x jungkoook #jungkook x ot6 #a/b/o dynamics #omegaverse #soulmates au #coffee shop au #jungkook centric #polyam

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