thigh highs and thin ice ft. multiple blue lock men
・❥・smut mdni ever wondered what a pair of thigh highs do to a man?
ft. sae, rin, isagi, nagi, bunny, kaiser, aiku
itoshi sae
sae notices immediately and says absolutely nothing. just catches the way the lace band cuts into the soft top of your thigh and files it away. dangerous and quiet about it, which is worse.
he's not a leg man specifically but you in thigh highs does something to him that he genuinely resents. it's the gap. that sliver of bare skin between the hem of your skirt and the stocking top. drives him insane and he'd rather die than tell you.
will find an excuse to be physically close to you within like ten minutes. his hand will find the back of your thigh like it always does but this time his fingers drag slower, catching on the lace edge. deliberate.
cold face but oh so warm hands. he'll run his thumb under the band just to feel the indent it leaves in your skin, his jaw tightens. still not saying anything. guess you're going to have to pry a reaction out of him.
if you catch him staring he holds eye contact and raises one brow. like yeah, and? unbothered ahh except for the fact that he's been half hard for the last twenty minutes.
"come here." two simple words, but who are you to deny dear sae? he takes his time, both hands on your thighs, thumbs tracing up the stocking material until he hits the lace band and just stops there, pressing into the indent it's left in your skin all day. "you knew," he says. flat. not an accusation. just a fact. then he pushes your skirt up and puts his mouth on that exact strip of bare skin above the lace, warm and slow. and when he finally slides your underwear aside and pushes two fingers into you he keeps his mouth there, curling them forward, watching you from below with heavy eyes while you grip his shoulder and try not to shake apart.
"you're going to come like this first," he says against your inner thigh, lace edge pressed against his cheek. "then we'll see about the rest." the smirk that follows is the most expression you'll get out of him all night. but his fingers won't stop until he's proven he means every word of it.
itoshi rin
rin stares and doesn't even pretend not to. zero shame. his eyes just drop straight to your legs and stay there for a genuinely uncomfortable amount of time.
gets weird and quiet and irritable about it. like he's mad at you for looking like that. will scoff and mutter something about you being annoying. classic behavior. he's literally just flustered and projecting.
can't stop touching you once he starts. he's a physical person with you anyway but the thigh highs make him almost obsessive about it, hands always gravitating to that specific band of lace like a magnet.
if you tease him about noticing, he grabs your thigh hard enough to make you squeak and just squeezes, staring you down. "shut up." eloquent as always.
the inner thigh thing kills him specifically. the softness there, the way the stocking ends and bare skin starts. he will put his mouth on that exact spot with zero preamble if given the opportunity.
rin puts you on your back, pushes your skirt up, and gets his mouth on the inside of your thigh right at the lace band without any preamble whatsoever. he just bites down, not gentle and you arch off the mattress. his hands pin your hips flat and he sucks a bruise into the soft flesh just above the stocking top, nose pressed against the lace, jaw working, before he hooks his thumbs into your underwear and drags it down, leaving the stockings exactly in place. he looks up at you from between your thighs with that flat dark expression. "these are stupid," he says before putting his mouth on your cunt, eating you out like he's been thinking about it all day (which he has). tongue relentless on your clit and two fingers curling inside you while the lace edge scratches against his cheek with every movement of his head.
when you come he doesn't stop, works you through it until you're twisting away, and even then he just presses one last biting kiss to the inside of your thigh and sits up. looks at you, completely wrecked, thigh highs still perfectly in place. "annoying," he mutters, and reaches down to undo his belt.
yoichi isagi
isagi does a genuine double take. like actually has to look away and look back. sweet boy is not subtle, his whole face goes red immediately. it's adorable and also a little devastating.
fumbles his words for a solid minute after noticing. trying to have a normal conversation with you and completely losing his train of thought mid sentence because you shifted and the skirt moved a little.
he gets fixated on the lace specifically. keeps glancing at it. he doesn't even know what he wants to do about it yet, he's just… very aware of it. spatially. it takes up a lot of real estate in his brain.
isagi is a please-touch-me-first kind of guy normally but the thigh highs rewire something. he actually reaches out and touches them, like he's asking permission with the gesture, fingers just barely grazing the stocking material. "these are… nice," he manages. ground swallowing him whole.
the response he least expects is how loud his brain gets about the gap of bare skin. he thinks about it later when he's lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
"can i just," isagi starts and doesn't finish, cheeks already pink, hands on your thighs with his thumbs right at the lace edge. you part your legs for him and something in him relaxes and ignites at the same time. he pushes your skirt up slow, watching his own hands like he can't believe he's doing this, and when the bare strip of thigh above the stockings comes into view he exhales this quiet "god." he gets his mouth on that strip of skin and drags it slow and warm, fingers sliding your underwear aside, working you open careful and thorough because isagi when he finally gets going is relentless about making sure you feel good. "you're so," he starts, and stops, and tries again while his fingers curl inside you. "you feel so good, i can't, i"
he keeps the stockings on while he fucks you, both hands gripping that bare strip above the lace like it's the only thing he can think to hold onto, flushed and overwhelmed, forehead dropping to your knee. he thinks about it for weeks.
seishiro nagi
nagi blinks at your legs for a long moment, tilts his head slightly and goes "oh." that's it. that's his whole reaction. except he keeps looking back at your legs every like ninety seconds.
it's not that he's performing indifference, he genuinely processes things slowly. but something about the thigh highs sticks. he brings them up twenty minutes later, totally unprompted, while you're both doing completely different things. "those stockings are nice."
lazy tactile guy. will end up with his head in your lap eventually and will absolutely just… start messing with the lace band while he lies there. picking at it, stretching it, completely absentminded about it. doesn't connect that it's driving you insane.
if you're gaming together he'll pull your leg over his lap and just rest his hand on your thigh. the stocking material is apparently a texture he likes because he keeps rubbing his thumb back and forth over it. very soothing. to him. you are not soothed.
when he gets into it properly he's slow and thorough about it. he wants to leave marks above the stocking band specifically, like his own little detail that exists in that exposed triangle of skin. doesn't explain why. just does it.
nagi sets his controller down and runs his fingers along the top of the stocking band, slow, like he's taking an inventory. when you make a sharp sound at the snap of lace against your skin his eyes come up to your face and something shifts in them. "oh," he says. quieter this time. he gets you lying back, tilts his head, trails his fingers from your knee up to the lace band on one leg then the other like he's checking they match, satisfied and then puts his mouth on the inside of your thigh and starts sucking a bruise into the skin there while his fingers slide your underwear down. he goes down on you the same way he does everything, slow and thorough, tongue working your clit in long flat strokes while one hand stays at the lace band, thumb pressing into the indent it's left in your skin.
after, he looks at the marks he left above the stockings and presses his thumb into one of them, gentle. "soft," he says, satisfied. then he reaches for his controller.
iglesias bunny
bunny's reaction is immediate and dramatic and delightful. lets out a low whistle, grins like he just won something. "okay, hello." fully shameless about it.
he's a comments-about-it openly kind of guy. will tell you your legs look incredible, will gesture vaguely at the whole situation and say "what do you think you're doing to me right now, genuinely." theatrical about it but he means every word.
the gap of skin between the stocking top and your skirt is his enemy and his best friend. he keeps touching it, fingers brushing that edge with this grin like he knows exactly what he's doing.
he'll drop to a crouch in front of you for some reason, like he needs to be at eye level with your legs specifically, and look up at you while his hands rest on your knees. the eye contact from that angle is a menace.
bunny talks during everything but he talks more when he's this visually stimulated. there will be commentary. detailed commentary. you asked for this by wearing them.
"i need you to know," bunny says, grinning up at you from where he's kneeling between your legs, "that i've been thinking about this since the second you walked in." he pushes your skirt up, drags his lips along the inside of your thigh right at the lace edge and then puts his mouth on you without further comment, loud and enthusiastic about it, groaning against your cunt like you're something he's been denied, thumbs pressing into that bare strip of skin above the stocking tops. "this what you wanted, yeah? wanted me on my knees for you?" he glances up, eyes bright, fingers pumping slow. you tell him to shut up but don't stop. "rude," a simple reply. but he obliges, happily, and goes back to work.
when you come he gentles off slow. pressing soft open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh and then to the lace band itself, then sits back and pushes his hair out of his face. "told you," he says, grinning. "been thinking about it all day."
michael kaiser
kaiser's reaction is this slow, appreciative top-to-bottom look that makes you feel like you're being appraised. slight smile. he says "mm" like you've confirmed something he already suspected about himself.
he is absolutely the type to make a whole thing of it. very vocal, very deliberate, will absolutely say something like "well, you're clearly trying to get attention, so here it is." and then give you his full undivided and terrifying focus.
the possessiveness spikes immediately. something about the thigh highs makes him want to mark every visible inch of skin above the band. likes the idea of you being visually perfect in every other way except for the bruises he left on the inside of your thigh.
uses it against you. will let his hand slide up your skirt just to the lace band and stop there, totally calm, watching your face while you squirm. he finds your reactions to his restraint genuinely entertaining.
gets intensely focused during sex when you're wearing them. keeps them on. absolutely keeps them on. something about you otherwise undone and still wearing the thigh highs, that small composed detail against the complete mess of everything else, genuinely does something unhinged to him.
"keep them on," kaiser had said and he meant it. you're on your back, skirt gone, top shoved up, an absolute wreck and the stockings are still perfectly in place because that is clearly the point. he's buried in you to the hilt and not moving yet, just watching your face with that focused terrifying calm while you beg him to move. "not yet, dear," and drags his lips along your throat and keeps his hands on your thighs right above the lace bands, thumbs pressing bruises into the bare skin there. he fucks you slow on purpose when he finally does move, deep grinding rolls that make your legs shake, stilling every time you try to rush him, amused. "you're going to take everything i give you." when he finally lets you come he looks down at where you're joined, at the lace bands still bright against your skin, at the bruises his thumbs have put into the soft flesh above them, and something in his expression goes briefly, uncharacteristically undone. "look at you," he breathes. afterward, once he's collected himself, he presses one kiss to each bruise above the band. "next time," he says, "wear them with nothing else."
oliver aiku
aiku is a grown man who has absolutely been around enough to play it cool and he still can't quite manage it when you show up like this. he does this thing where he grins and looks away briefly, like he needs a second to collect himself. very cute on a man that big.
very complimentary about it, in that warm genuine aiku way. "you look gorgeous, sweetheart" but his eyes are already on your legs when he says it. he means both things simultaneously.
he's handsy at baseline and the thigh highs make it worse, hand always finding your thigh in public, thumb absently tracing the lace band through your skirt like he can feel where it is. possessive without even thinking about it.
size kink is very present here. big hands against the back of your thigh, fingers wrapping around easily, the contrast of his rough palms against the soft stocking material. he's very aware of it.
likes to slide his hand under your skirt and run his fingers along the very top of the stocking while you're doing something completely mundane, just to watch you lose your composure.
aiku gets you up on the kitchen counter and stands between your knees with his big hands running slow from your thighs to your calves and back, just feeling the stockings under his palms, before he pushes your skirt up and puts his mouth on that strip of bare skin between hem and lace and takes his time there, unhurried, laughing warm and low against your leg every time you try to pull him where you actually need him. "patience, sweetheart." when he finally gets his fingers inside you he's good at it, careful and thorough in the way that big men with steady hands tend to be. he fucks you on the counter with the stockings on, hands gripping your thighs right at the lace bands, head dropped to your shoulder, the lace scratching lightly against his hips every time he pushes in deep.
you come with his thumb on your clit and his hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs and he holds you through all of it, steady and warm, murmuring into your hair. after, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh right at the stocking band and looks up at you with that slow grin. "going to need you to wear those again," he says. "like. soon."
an: pt 2?? anyways first time writing aiku (was gonna be hugo but i changed my mind)
Bunny wouldn’t consider himself to be an extremely jealous man.
In fact, he’d say he’s pretty secure in your relationship. Yes, he still gets his moments where he gets slightly defensive over you, like when a guy you’re talking to gets a little too close or weirdly friendly with you, but he has always been able to keep those feelings in check, because he knows that at the end of the day you’ll always be his.
That was until you decided to bring your new friend home.
A fluffy, hateful, stinky friend that has his mind focused solely on making Bunny’s life a living hell and shitting everywhere.
Benito was the name of Bunny's newest archnemesis.
Since you got that stupid pet rabbit your boyfriend feels like he has become a second thought to you. Before Benito was in your lives he was the only bunny you cared about, the only you kissed and cuddled with on slow afternoons like this one, but now, he has been substituted by that thing who has become your main priority these days.
Worst part of it all is that he tried to befriend the animal on multiple occasions, just for it be to no avail because the fucking thing kept on biting him every time he tried to display any type of affection to it.
He genuinely thinks that rabbit has a problem with him. Or perhaps is possessed by some evil spirit that makes him act that way, because aren’t they supposed to be cute and nice?
Well at least bunny knows he’s cute and nice himself, unlike Benito, who’s laying on your lap as you run your fingers through his white fur.
Bunny can see right through that damned creature's facade. He can see the malice that brews inside it behind the cute nose and the way his ears perk up when you speak to him in that silly baby voice of yours — Bunny wishes you’d speak like that to him too…it’s been a while. “Who’s my good little bunny? ”
“I thought it was me…”
“Huh?” You didn’t even notice your boyfriend standing by the bedroom’s door, looking all droopy and honestly, a bit pathetic. Benito nuzzles himself even more on your lap and Bunny feels all the venom he’s been bottling up almost spill out in the form of a snide remark. There’s nothing good inside that malicious creature.
“I said I thought it was me…but it’s fine. Benito is your new favourite bunny it seems.”
“Baby, don’t tell me you’re jealous of Beni again.”
“What if I am?” You just roll your eyes at him and keep focusing on that rotten critter in front of you. “All you care about is him now…Do you even love me anymore?”
“Here we go again…”
“Just say you hate me and want me to die, [Name].” Yeah he’s overreacting and he knows, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is for his partner to pay attention to him again. Is that so bad? “It will hurt less than you ignoring me for…him”
“Bunny Iglesias,” that fake stern tone of yours tells him you’re not taking him seriously and he does appreciate that at all “You’re doing all this because of a rabbit. You’re jealous…of a rabbit.” When you put it like that it really does sound stupid. “And you’re acting as if I don’t pay attention to you at all.”
“But you don’t.”
“Liar. But I can pay attention to you now if you’re that desperate.” You pat the empty spot on your lap, an invitation for him to join you on the bed. “Come here, you big baby.”
Finally, after so long, he’ll have your focus on him for once. He borderline skips himself towards your bed before laying his head on your thighs, being face to face with his furry rival who he swears is shooting daggers through his red eyes at him. “Have I been neglecting you that much?”
Bunny almost moans when he feels your hands on his hair, “Yes…I thought you hated me for a second.”
“I could never. I love both my bunnies.”
“But you love me more, right?”
“I can’t answer that when Beni is here too. He’ll get jealous like you do.”
It’s fine, you don’t need to answer. Bunny knows deep down he’ll always be your day one no matter what, and that your pet rabbit will never come in comparison to your overgrown, clingy bunny of a boyfriend.
an — bad bunny se enoja because reader likes an actual bunny more than him ty to everyone who sent me this idea in my inbox! u guys were like all spiritually connected cus u sent me the same idea 4 times lool
Synopsis: Hugo Vivian is once again convinced that you both are fated to be- even in the form of miis in Tomodachi Life.
Pairing: Hugo Vivian x Gender Neutral Reader
Note: A short fic because I wrote this instead of sleeping after randomly getting inspired at 1 in the morning.
Blue Lock Masterlist
Hugo merely raised a brow when you approached him to ask if you can add him as a mii.
He was very aware of your lastest obsession with the game as he personally bought it for you after you mentioned you wanted it once in your reposts on your social media accounts.
Of course, he did a bit of research in what kind of game it is before buying it and frankly, $60 is not even that much so he still doesn't understand why you were fussing over the price.
He just nodded before pulling your wrist, making you fall in his lap with a yelp and wrapping his left arm around your waist before resuming back to the book he was holding in his other hand.
That was weeks ago.
With his busy schedule, it's no surprise that he pushed the matter to the back of his head and similarly, because of your exams, he observed that you hadn't even touch any of your games.
Back then, he was quite curious on what personality traits you gave him so he watched you as you set his mii up.
Unfortunately for you, that was the last time that you logged in before getting swept up with studying.
However, after he picked you up from your last day of finals to your shared ,and ridiculous far too spacious, condo, you immediately went to open up tomodachi- clearly eager to see any changes in the miis relationship.
Though, it seems to even surprise you because of the loud gasp you let out.
He blinks his eyes in confusion before taking long strides towards you- clearly very curious on what made your jaw dropped.
You flipped your switch, so that he can see the screen, and cheerfully gestures to it.
"Our miis got married already?!"
Huh
"Married?"
He repeats with his usual dry tone but there was a glint in his eyes.
"Yeah!," you eagerly explained, "Wow, I didn't even have the time to set our miis up or encourage any romantic events but it seems I didn't have to-"
You were cut off by two pairs of strong arms pulling you into his embrace. He nestles his face in your hair and breathe in your scent.
His arms squeeze you towards his chest making you have no space in-between your bodies.
You look up slightly from his chest and noticed that his ears were flushed with a pretty pink.
You can't help but hold in your giggles when you thought of a 6'2 french football prodigy, famous for his nonchalance and stoic exterior, blushing like a school girl because of a game.
You were so caught up in your musing that you almost miss the quiet mutterings.
"It's obviously isn't it?," his tone was firm and filled with conviction, he pulls away enough to grasp your chin with his hands so that your gaze meets his, "We are meant to be together, mon amour"
It's destiny for him to fall in love with you and he isn't exactly surprised- maybe it's time for the ring ,he's hiding in his drawer, to meet its rightful owner.
i LOVE the way you write w jotaro bro, so can i have some more of jotaro and tomadachi life please 🥹🥹 thank you angel ❤️
⎯⎯ ƒorcing your boyfriend jotaro to play tomodachi life with you ! ꒰ part ᴛᴡᴏ ꒱
⤷ part ᴏɴᴇ here
"i think i'm in love with polnareff..."
"well, i think you're full of shit," jotaro spits out as soon as he hears the high-pitched voice of your mii coming from your nintedo.
nestled between your legs, jotaro rests his head on your stomach while a biology textbook sits forgotten on his lap. whatever chapter he'd been reading had long since lost the battle for his attention. more importantly, he'd finally ditched his hat, giving you unrestricted access to his dark curls.
your fingers glide through his hair, and despite the annoyed look on his face, he doesn't pull away.
"aww, c'mon, joot," you murmur with a soft laugh, squeezing him lightly between your thighs. "it's just a game. you make it sound like the world's ending."
his only response is a disgruntled grunt, though the way his big hand wraps around your thigh to play with the plush of your skin says otherwise.
you move around your island and you swear you can hear your boyfriend mutter something about the french.
you pick up your mii and drag it around until you find jotaro's mii. it's sitting near the shore, drawing adorable little hearts on the wet sand with a branch. when you get close enough to drop your mii next to his, a small speech bubble appears above jotaro's head.
"y/n, i love youuu!"
"you're so obsessed with me. pathetic," you say, flipping your hair in a rather dramatic way. all of your sass evaporates though when joatro's hand which is still snaked around your leg, landing a small, lazy smack on your thigh before casually flipping through a few pages of his biology textbook with his free hand.
"ugh cut me some slack, would ya?" you grumble and force your mii to talk to jotaro's again. heart eyes form inside your boyfriend's avatar's eyes when it sees yours waving at it.
"c'mon~ hurry up and get married already," you silently hum to yourself as you stay glued to your nintedo. this time, rather than smacking you, jotaro's hand softly caresses your leg with his fingertips. he turns his head slightly to the side to kiss your inner thigh, the senantion of his lips on your skin sending shivers up your spine.
"don't beat yourself up over it. if that dummy doesn't have the guts to do it, then i will. one day."
a/n: this is rather short, i'm sorry (-ω-、) hope you liked it though!
I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.
Chapter One
The night you’d found the mask, had been a cold one. A bitter one. It was just an all around crappy-feelings-fest of a night.
You’d left home. The pressure in that house was too suffocating for you to stay in it any longer. The walls were too high, your room felt too isolated, the floors were too clean, the windows were being pelted by rain, and the sound of said rain felt like jackhammers in your skull. But worst of all? Damian was hogging the TV so you couldn’t watch the adult swim old cartoon reruns.
So you left.
It wasn’t like it was hard. No one was really home besides you, Alfred, and Damian so no one stopped you. Well, besides Ace. The dog padded over to you as you were about to leave. You gave him a few pats and told him you’d be back in a couple hours.
That was how you were here now. On Gotham’s Harbor, sat at the end of one of its shabby wooden piers, listening to the calming sound of harsh waves slamming into boats. You didn’t really mean to come here. You’d just picked a direction that seemed to draw you in and soon, you were leading (or were you being led?) yourself to the harbor. It was still raining. You were soaked head to toe and were sure to have a fever by tomorrow.
You found yourself not minding that fact.
Your eyes drifted to the few boats docked at the other piers. Barnacle-bottomed with chipped paint was the standard look for most of them. They looked worn, and if boats could have feelings, you’d guess they were probably tired.
You were tired too.
You were always tired. Since you were about fifteen, you’ve been in a bunch of clubs and stuff. It was exhausting, but you also didn’t want to go back to the manor, a place you don’t feel welcomed, immediately after school. Damian being there, while still scary, is something you could deal with.
But Jason?
The man pops in unannounced and randomly. Just the thought of him potentially being there makes you stay away from the manor extra late. You don’t ever want to be near him again. Not after that night. Not after he almost killed you. And speaking of the man, he was there. He’d been forced into staying for a family dinner. Something you wanted no part as long as he was there.
You pulled out your phone to check the time. The light nearly blinded you. You hunched over it so the harsh rain wouldn’t pelt it too.
9:37pm
Said family dinner should be in progress right about now. And would you look at that? Not a single call or text massage. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It almost made you want to chuck your phone into the water, but… well, it’s your phone and it has all your doggy pictures of Ace in cute outfits. You couldn’t bear to part with it.
Instead, you turned it off, shoved it back into your pocket, and went back to staring at the waves.
Y’know, if you ignored the hammering rain and the fact these waves could topple a grown man, this was almost peaceful!
Your eyes drifted down to now watching the murky water as it swooshed and splashed back and forth. You were praying no bigger waves came. Gotham’s water was practically radioactive. You don’t want aids from getting Gotham water on you. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket after all.
You brought your knees closer to your chest and hugged them tighter. You definitely should’ve. You’re not only soaked but extremely cold from all the wind sweeping around. Any gust felt like getting freezer burn, and you weren’t a long forgotten package of peas at the bottom of a freezer.
You should probably go home n—
What is that?
You squinted at the murky water. It’s dirtiness, plus all the motion from the waves was making it hard to tell but… was something glowing underneath the water?
James Gordon - Police Commissioner POV
Jim was not having a good night. The Joker had broken out of Arkham again. And was wreaking havoc again. Currently, Jim and other officers were crouched behind their vehicles and using them as cover to shoot at the bastards. Not only that, but it was raining cats and dogs all of a sudden. The storm had come out of nowhere in the middle of the shootout!
And to think the day had started off well too. Barbara had come to visit and even brought Jim those donuts he liked. Not only had he had to leave his donut at the precinct, which would probably be stolen by that food thief who thinks he’s slick, but now he was in a shootout!
To recap the situation, Joker had gathered his goons in Old Gotham to rob and steal like the no good crooks they are. As for any civilians caught outside and nearby? Well, not only were they robbed, but they were also held down and forcibly injected with a new strand of Joker Venom.
And… while all that was horrible, it also didn’t make sense. Joker doesn’t really do daylight robberies like this. If he’d needed money, he’d simply kidnap a class of school children and sell them off. So why would he do all of this?
Jim got his answer in the form of the formerly spasming victims of Joker Venom suddenly getting up to join the chaos. As usual, hair was tinged green, skin was bleached, and smiles were stretched from one ear to the other. But this was different. The Joker would point to a shop and they’d all follow. To a person and they’d run to tackle. To anything and they’d respond with tearing at it like piranhas and running to their leader to give him their spoils.
Are you fucking kidding him right now?
The Joker has finally gotten around to using mind control?
You might as well fuck Jim in the ass.
The commissioner paused his shooting at goons and henchmen and grabbed the walkie-talkie attached to his coat. He needed to radio the precinct and have them turn it on.
He needed the Bat-Signal.
It was dark out, so it should reflect on the sky, but the bats normally came out after eleven. He’d just have to hope one of them would see.
You continued staring at the water. The rain started falling harder unbeknownst to you. Your shoulders and back were both numb from the constant harshness of the rain and cold. The rain falling harder made the water rougher and stronger, waves slamming into the docks and piers with more force.
The glowing was getting brighter and brighter. So much so that you felt it start to illuminate your face. A flash of something green tore through your mind as a bolt of lighting could be heard nearby. A shadow slowly rose over you.
You slowly looked up.
Uh oh.
A gigantic wave was looming over you. Your eyes widened.
You really couldn’t catch a break, could you?
It slammed into you with what was probably the force of a bull. It shattered the shabby wooden pier you’d been sitting on. And when it started to recede, it dragged you under the water.
Oh God! AIDS water!
You struggled desperately as the water tugged and shoved you around like a ragdoll. Everytime you would just barely break the surface and get the tiniest gulp of air, another wave would come and slam you back down.
Was it your imagination, or were the waves getting stronger and stronger?
Another wave slammed into you and shoved your head back under the water. You felt your brain rattle from the force as it sent you deeper in the water. You had neither the chance to close your eyes nor mouth. You tried not to think about the fact you’d swallowed a little bit of it.
It burned your throat on the way down.
You didn’t think you’d be able to see anything underwater. Like you’d said multiple times, it was murky. Yet, below you could see the glowing object from before. It was still a blob due to the fact you were underwater but you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to it. Something was compelling you to.
Another harsh wave wracked the surface above, pushing you forward slightly towards the object. Then, it pulled you back when it receded. For some reason, you needed to see this object. You needed it. You needed to touch it. Hold it.
Put it on.
What? Put on what? The blob?
Your hand closed around a part of the blob. It seemed that despite your blurry vision, the blob, wasn’t in fact a blob. It felt wooden and thin. You hands turned it around as you moved it closer to face so you could just get a better look. Thats all.
If you tried really hard, you could ignore the—
Put it on.
Put it on.
Put it on.
—that keeps repeating in your head.
You brought it closer and closer. The shimmer that you once thought was green was now purplish on the side you’d turned the blob over to see. When it got close enough, you felt your skin start to pull itself towards the blob— the mask, now that you could see the eye and mouth holes better. At the sensation of the pulling, you tried to pull away but it was too strong.
It stuck itself to your face as you clawed at it, thrashing and struggling. Water left your lungs in a panic. You could feel it closing around your head, sinking into your skin, merging with your face. You began to spin, underneath the water, still desperately clawing.
From there, you blacked out.
James Gordon - Police Commissioner POV
Jim and the other officers were still in a shootout. Now though, the Joker had taken out a couple cars, and by extension people, with some rocket launchers he’d gotten when more of his goons came to help.
A shot whizzed past Jim’s head and took out one of his rearview mirrors. He peaked around his car once more and fired his gun a couple more times until he ran out of ammo before ducking behind his cover once more.
Shit, where are the bats?
He peaked around the car again, but ducked again when he heard a… “what in the world?” …from a female officer next to him. He looked to her and saw that she was looking up. When he also looked up, he saw a spinning something soaring through the sky.
What in the world indeed.
From what Jim could make out, it was green and white and had hints of either pink or red from what he could see. He and the officer next to him watched as it continued to spin through the air. It was about to land in the middle of the shootout. Just what was it? Something from the bats? No, they don’t use color, it must’ve been something from the Joker.
“Shit.” Jim cursed under his breath.
It eventually landed with a loud crash, body sticking up out of the ground, stiff as a board. Its head was buried into the road as its arms stood stiff at its side, seemingly unaffected by gravity. It showed no signs of struggle.
Was it knocked out? Dead? If it was from the Joker, Jim prayed it was dead.
The two sides ceased their shooting to stare at the person(?) sticking out of the ground still. Now that it wasn’t spinning nor high up in the air, Jim got a better look at it. It was wearing a white, three piece suit with a red polkadot pattern consistent on every single scrap of fabric the…
Gentleman? Gentlewoman? Gentleperson?
…it was hard to tell, wore. Though, Jim could just barely make out that their tie was black.
It suddenly fell over. It didn’t move for a minute longer until it suddenly shot up straight to it feet. It had a wide grin similar to the Joker’s as it adjusted its lapels. “It’s good to be back!” They exclaimed as it whirled around taking in the sights. When Jim blinked they were in a full tourist outfit. Flamingo printed shirt, khaki shorts, and a camera around its neck, taking pictures of everything. They even snapped a couple of the Joker, who it’d conveniently landed next to, saying, “Glad to know jesters are still around!”
Jim blinked again and they were back in the polkadots. They were also shaking hands with the Joker. Holy Cow, that person is tall! They were good head over the Joker and even then the Joker pretty tall himself. “Pleased to meet you, good sir. Could you direct me to the nearest bank? I’m running a little low on cash.”
Their grins were uncannily similar.
“Sorry to say, but I’ve already plundered all the nearby banks, my colorful friend.” The Joker’s eyes narrowed despite the grin. Judging by the man’s tone, he was annoyed by something.
But what is the question?
“Oh, that’s a shame.” The green-masked person sighed, hunching in on themself. They then grabbed the Joker and started dancing with him. Full blown tango. The unexpectedness seemed to make the Joker laugh and the man joined in. They danced around, Joker going back to shooting any of Jim’s colleagues that had let their guard down and stood up to watch the scene fully. Any bullets aimed back at them were swiftly tango-ed away from or crushed against the green-faced one. It seemed they were bulletproof.
The shoot out picked up from there. Soon, goons and officers were taken out one by one until only few were remaining. By then, the dancing slowed to a stop.
The Joker held a hand up, signaling for his boys to stop. The officers also stopped their fire too, taking the chance to go back to crouching behind their vehicles.
“Y’know, I must say, it’s been a very long time since I’ve run into a kindred spirit.” The Joker said, though his tone came off rather snarky.
The polka-dotted person actually laughed in the Joker’s face. “I hardly think we’re kindred.” They sounded smug, then again, from the very moment they started talking they’d sound smug.
“You don’t? Then there’s only room for one person with a twisted grin!” The clown said as he pulled out his revolver and aligned it with the polka-dotted individual’s mouth. “Besides, I should really knock your teeth in for stealing my gimmick!”
“Oh, how I agree!” The green-faced person’s jovial tone turned harsher and rougher. It had the same speech habit as the Joker. That same silliness until taking a darker tone.
Don’t tell Jim this is another Joker.
The Joker fired and the shot rang true, shooting them in the teeth. Everyone watched how instead of blood starting to spurt from both their mouth and the back of their neck, instead a perfectly shaped hole lied in the center of their pearly whites. The green-faced person then threw their head back and loud gulp followed, along with their neck having an oddly bullet shaped thing go down.
“Now then! Back to our dance!” They didn’t go back to that strange tango from before, instead everyone watched as they spun the Joker. And kept spinning him. Again. And again. And again.
Until the Joker caught on fire.
The green masked individual then let the clown go and keep spinning on his own, still flaming. “Somebody stop me!”
Was that provocation?!
Everyone watched as it— because it had long shown that it wasn’t a they— it couldn’t be human— pulled a massive mallet out of its pocket. “Batter up, boys!” A pocket that was way too small mind you.
Also, batter up?
It seemed to grow annoyed when no one moved. “I said, BATTER UP!” Every officer and henchman watched in awe as its head enlarged so it could yell at them before it shrunk back to normal size and got to waving its mallet around like a bat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim watched the officer next to him as she did a double take at something she saw and starting running towards it. Jim followed her sight and… about a couple meters away was a police van with many, many signs around it, mostly arrows lit up by fluorescent lights and connected to no visible power source. The officer Jim saw rush over, and another officer, wrenched open the van doors.
When Jim whipped his head back to the green faced feller, The Joker was still spinning and it had reared back the hammer and swung. The clown went flying, the speed suffocating the flames, straight into the van. The two officers quickly shut it just before the sound of a sickening slam from the Joker smacking into van’s wall could be heard.
“Scoreeeeee!” It drew out the word. Jim blinked and it was suddenly in full sports fan regalia with a jersey, styrofoam hand, and beer hat, jumping around like it was at a national game. When Jim caught the back of its jersey it read: Mask.
Could it be associated with Black Mask then?
Jim blinked again and it was back in its original suit and it was walking towards Jim.
“Ah! Jim, good to meet the extended family!” It shook Jim’s hand from where the commissioner was still squatted down, literally lifting Jim off the ground as it happened.
“Excuse me? Family? What are yo—” Jim was cut off by it giving him a “ta-ta!” It then dropped him and literally spun off. It reminded Jim of the Tasmanian devil from Loony Toons.
Who— no. What in the world was that?
A new rogue?
Timothy Drake - Red Robin POV
When Tim woke up that next morning, he was exhausted to say the least. He didn’t get to finish dinner before the bat signal went off. Then, when they finally got to the scene of the crime, the Joker had already been detained, but now there was a new rogue of all things on the loose!
Tim and his family had spent the entirety of the night chasing after this person! They’d barely caught a glimpse of them too! The family was always either one step behind or too slow, and by the time they blinked, they were gone. Then, the family would be running across the city to the next sighting of the villain.
So, when he got up that morning, all he wanted was his morning coffee, but guess what? The mug usually placed on the coaster next to him on the desk he fell asleep at wasn’t there.
(You weren’t there to make it.)
His weighted blanket wasn’t draped over his shoulders either. He’d noticed when he tried to pull it around him when he felt the chill of Alfred opening his door to check on him.
(You weren’t there to drape it over him.)
Also, speaking of Alfred, he was the one who woke him up today instead of you. Alfred also made sure Tim actually got up instead of your leaving him alone immediately after, because you knew he would get up after another five minutes.
All in all, it was a shitty night and a shitty morning.
When Tim went down for breakfast later, the coffee wasn’t in the pot either. Actually, there wasn’t even a pot. When he asked Alfred, he told him that you swept through the kitchen looking like a zombie, made yourself the coffee and took the entire pot with you.
ayano x fem reader who likes to stay over and dress her up for school??<3
[Yandere Simulator] Ayano Aishi x Female Reader - "Dress Up"
[Requested by: sweetdoll-bees]
[Dividers by: dollywons and fawndollie]
Summary: She never really cared for her appearance until you came along.
Word Count: 4.01k
Content + Warnings: Talks of unhealthy societal norms
Additional note: I do not support relationships that follow these types of ideals (yandere). This is purely a work of fiction and is not meant to encourage or support these themes. It’s meant to explore these themes in a fictional setting. This note will be added to any of my works that contain yandere-themed characters, even if there aren't any dark themes present.
Enjoy!
There was hardly any point in paying attention to how good she looked. It didn't matter to her. Regardless of how she presented herself, there were still kids that were waiting to strike, picking on her relentlessly and inconveniencing her routines. If changing the way she dressed didn't alter how the other students treated her, then there was no point in wasting time experimenting with it.
She was perfectly content with wearing the school uniforms growing up. They were simple. It was one less target for the other kids to throw their degrading daggers towards. As long as she followed along with what she was given and expected to do, there were hardly any threats in the way.
When she'd first tried to mimic other girls in an attempt to finally feel something beyond a cold, hollowness in her chest, it was only makeup. Powder. Lipstick. Liners. It was uncomfortable on her skin, and she found that she felt no different when catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Another failure. There was no point in messing with that either.
Still, she would put on light details here and there, hoping to find something that would spark a sense of enjoyment. A bit of blush or eyeliner was typically all she wore. She was never one to care for acne, or blemishes, or eye bags. They were natural parts of a human being's face. What was the point in trying to hide something that had no purpose?
She never understood the fear and insecurities that would contort a girl's features whenever she'd realize her makeup had been smudged. All she could do was watch as they'd bolt out of their seat and make a beeline for the nearest bathroom. Moments later, they'd return, their face once again flawless in the eyes of others.
Maybe that's why they were so desperate to coat their faces in products.
To hide the faults.
To hide their lack of confidence.
For years, she'd assumed that the only ones who would put in an overzealous amount of effort to perfect their appearances were girls. It made sense, after all, considering the high standards set in place by the community and society in general. However, as she started paying more attention once reaching high school, it only took a few quick glances to notice that, no, it wasn't just the other girls.
The boys were all worried about how they looked, too.
As the realization made itself known in her head, an uncomfortable tension began to form in her body. Now, not only was she unlike any of the other girls, she was simply isolated from other people her age, including the boys. Why did they care so much about how others perceived them? It wasn't like their looks held any value when it came to academics or the real world.
No, that wasn't entirely true.
She'd seen it with her own eyes. Many times.
People were treated poorly if they matched the part. If there was even a single flaw prominent on their face, or their hair, or their outfit, they weren't given the same level of respect as those who seemed pristine at any given moment. Some people struggled to keep their jobs and relationships because of something so meaningless. It was ridiculous.
It was all absurd in her mind.
She continued on after her realization, sticking to her plan to wear the least amount of makeup possible and settle for plain clothing.
Perhaps she'd change once she met the one person who would fix her.
The one person who would find her missing pieces and put her together.
The one person who would be hers.
Until that day came, she was more than willing to lurk in the shadows and draw as little attention to herself as possible.
She'd met you entirely by accident.
She was more than aware of you already, given your over-the-top outfits and makeup that coincided with your bubbly personality. Not only had you caught the eye of the boys in your class. You'd attracted the attention of a lot of girls, too. They adored you in every sense of the word.
Ayano had initially assumed that you were yet another copy of every try-hard girl in the school: vain, arrogant, focused only on your looks.
A flatterer.
A doormat.
That's all she thought you were.
From the outside, it was hard to find anything that would suggest you were anything above superficial. Being surrounded by multiple people at once, all trying to keep your attention on them, made it hard for her to form any other possible opinion. She couldn't hear any of your conversations, nor could she get close enough to study the microscopic changes in your expression.
There was a temptation to try and get close to you. It started as a small spark occasionally flickering beneath her skin, but as time went on, it began to spread, lighting every nerve ablaze and making it nearly impossible to think of anyone or anything else. It was a new feeling — one of the only things she could feel — and she could not understand it either.
Had it not been for the constant talk of you throughout the hallways of the school, she wouldn't have even known your name. As the desire to learn more about you grew stronger, it brought forth another new sensation: sheepishness. She knew next to nothing about you, yet she was too afraid of how you'd react if she approached you.
The other students never spoke of her kindly, and given how chatty you were with a large portion of the school, it would be no surprise to her if you had heard all of the rumors and formed a similar opinion yourself.
If she approached you, would you run away?
Would you mock her and tease her for the things entirely out of her control?
A part of her, one she couldn't recognize fully, hoped that you would welcome her. That you'd flash her that charming smile you sent to everyone. That you'd greet her and fill her with a sense of calm and belonging.
As those wishes grew, she found herself becoming increasingly aware of her mother's words. Her advice. She'd find someone who would let her feel and grow. She warned that it would be confusing at first, but with a bit of time and understanding, it would become an addictive feeling, one that she'd never want to rid herself of.
There would be no numbness left. She'd finally be granted the chance to know what it feels like to be normal. To know what it feels like to care. To love. That's all she's ever wanted was to be normal.
But now, as she watches you from afar, there's a new want clawing its way into her soul. Within days, its made itself home in her heart, which she had convinced herself would never feel the warmth of what she wanted most.
You.
She wanted you.
There were so many attempts made to catch your attention, all of which failed or ended with her running off from shame before you could speak to her. Still, she studied you, trying to find a way into your life.
That's when it hit her.
You were into fashion — the one thing she cared so little about. It was your passion. One that you shared with the school. You never tried to lie about what your routine was, or what products you used. Ayano had even caught you handing a few of your favorite products over to the students who had asked about them. There was no hesitation in your aid, either, and it only took a bit of talking herself up before she wrote a letter and stuffed it through the slots of your locker.
Inside, on the neatly folded sheet of paper, rested her phone number, address, and a coy plea to help her experiment with her style and figure out what she was confident in.
To her delight, you agreed, shooting her a quick message to let her know that you had read her letter and were more than willing to help. You told her you'd come over on the weekend, and after she gave you a few of her measurements, you went on a small shopping spree, trying to find things that would suit her the best.
It was your intention to surprise her, although that wouldn't be the case. Not that you knew that. She'd followed you up to the mall, watching with pure fascination and intrigue as you effortlessly spotted and plucked different clothes off the shelves and racks. Each item kept a general color scheme, though there were a few that strayed away from it.
She had said she wanted to experiment, after all. What better way than to try all sorts of colors and styles?
Her eyes were locked on you all the way up until you left the building. Not wanting to get caught, she darted away and took a longer path home.
All she could do then was wait.
It was hard. She wished you were there with her already, but with every hour that built up to Saturday, the fear from before settled in the pit of her stomach. What if she did something that weirded you out? Would you leave if she got too close? If she got a little too open and honest about how much she'd learned about you in such a short amount of time?
She knew she had to keep all of that inside. At least until you were close enough for her to properly gauge how you'd react. Maybe, if she gained your trust fully, you'd find it endearing rather than terrifying.
By the time Saturday finally rolled around, her limbs were practically buzzing with excitement. Her fingers, numb and tingling, tapped away at her phone screen, repeatedly closing out of the messenger app and opening it to see if you had left her any new texts.
She'd informed her mother about what was going on, and after an enthusiastic congratulations, Ryoba promised to make sure she and Jokichi were out of the house to grant her privacy. Ryoba trusted her daughter. She'd taught her well over the years, and now she was finally given the opportunity to prove herself.
True to her word, Ryoba made up some kind of excuse to get Jokichi to follow her out for a few hours, leaving Ayano to prepare herself to finally be alone with you without the worry of interruption or judgment beyond your own.
She'd decided on a pair of black track pants, a white, short-sleeved t-shirt, and a beige cardigan draped loosely across her shoulders, the buttons parted to keep it open for a more casual look. There was no makeup on yet, considering you promised to help her experiment with that as well, and she kept her hair tied up in its usual style.
Eager and desperate to see you, she leaned herself up against the wall by the front door, still checking your messages on repeat until you finally began typing. Her thumb, which had nearly swiped off of the app, froze, hovered above the dim lighting of her screen, hesitant to make another move.
'I think I'm at the right place,' you typed, the sight of your confirmation enough to leave a faint trail of crimson across her skin and get her heart pounding harder against the inside of her ribs. Without taking into consideration just how off-putting it would seem, she spun around and flung the door open, leaving her there with the view of you jolting and staring at her with wide eyes.
After a moment, she cleared her throat, briefly averting her gaze and stepping to the side to let you in. "Apologies," she mumbled. "I'm just very… excited." You offered a gentle laugh, one that she instantly wanted to hear more of. "It's alright. No need to apologize," you replied as you walked past her and into the house.
When she closed and locked the door, she turned to you, finding you standing there, waiting expectantly. It took her a moment to figure out what you were waiting on. "Oh," she blurted after another few seconds. "Sorry, I'm new to this. We can go up to my bedroom." It was then that she registered the bags in your hands. They seemed to be weighing you down.
"Here, let me help you carry those," she offered, already reaching for the bags clasped in your left hand. Huffing out a sigh of relief, you handed them to her without delay, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thanks. They got really heavy while walking here."
It was almost instinct to mirror your smile.
It was natural.
But how could she not smile back at you?
Your glee was contagious, even to someone like her who had hardly felt anything her entire life.
"You didn't have to find so many things for me to try. I would've been more than content with a few shirts or leggings."
You hummed, trailing behind her as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom. "Well, then there wouldn't really be much to experiment with. Besides, I don't mind. It'll be fun!" She hummed, her head turning briefly to eye you as she climbed the steps before you. "Fun. Yes. I'm sure it will be."
It only took a few more steps to reach her room. The room was everything you'd expected from her, given how distant and reclusive she seemed at school. Bare walls, a desk organized neatly with papers from school, a wardrobe tucked in the corner to hold her few outfits, and her bed, tidy and plain. It wasn't what you were used to seeing when you'd go over to friend's houses, but it wasn't a drab sight either.
It suited her.
You turned to her after setting the rest of the bags down beside her desk, nearly jumping out of your skin at the sight of her staring right back at you with an unrecognizable expression. "Is everything okay?" You asked softly. She nodded with a bit too much force, but you chose not to point it out.
"Yes, of course. I just," she paused, and you watched as her eyes darted around her own room, suddenly holding a mixture of unease and uncertainty. "Is there something wrong with how I've set up my room?" You blinked, surprised. You didn't figure that she cared what others thought — that was one of the main things that drew you to her in the first place: she didn't need the attention or validation of others to thrive.
She did well in all of her classes, and she always looked flawless, regardless of how minimalist her makeup was. She impressed you, honestly.
So for her to ask for your opinion on her bedroom — a space reserved solely for her?
"No, of course not," you finally answered after a beat. "It's very cozy. I'm just not entirely sure where to sit or stand while we mess around with the different outfits." Almost unnoticeably, her shoulders tensed, and she dropped her own handful of bags down with very little consideration of what could be inside.
She walked over and pulled her chair out from her desk, motioning subtly to the seat. "Sorry, I should've let you know sooner that you're free to sit wherever. You could sit here or on my bed, if you'd like." Internally, she hoped you'd choose to sit on her bed, wanting nothing more than to be able to catch your scent on her sheets as she dozed off later that night.
To her dismay, you chose the office chair, though she supposed it wasn't necessarily a loss. Your perfume would surely cling to it as well. It would give her all the more reason to spend her time studying at the desk.
"Thank you," you blurted, snapping her out of her thoughts. She nodded and hummed. "Of course."
She moved to her bed after grabbing the previously discarded bag from the ground. With a grunt, she dropped onto the mattress, took a breath, then peeked inside to see what you had brought. "So," you started while your hands clapped together excitedly. "I wasn't entirely sure if there was a specific style you'd like, and I really only see you at school, so I don't know what casual clothes you already have. That being said, I did take my time to try and find stuff I thought would bring out your features."
A hum was her reply. She nodded along, acting innocent, as if she hadn't watched you hand-select everything for her yourself. She feigned surprise as you began to pull out the different blouses and accessories. She disguised the recognition in her eyes as intrigue.
Even though she'd expected each item you tugged from the bags, she hadn't anticipated the feeling of flattery you'd unknowingly brought her. It bubbled through her veins, drawing her focus away from the clothes, and ultimately left her speechless as she simply watched you.
Not only had you gone out of your way to search for and buy different outfits you thought she would like, you'd also been thinking specifically of the features they would emphasize. "I think this'll really bring out your eyes," you said as you held up one of the blouses. "And if we mess around with your hair and makeup a bit, I'm sure we could find a style that would bring out your lips and nose, too."
You were thinking of her: of her eyes, her lips, her nose — the same parts her mind latched onto whenever she thought of you. Maybe you weren't thinking of those features in the same way as her, but it brought her delight to know you were thinking of her at all.
"I'll leave—" Your words instantly drew her back into the present. She gawked at you, an overwhelming sense of offense and hurt instantly contorting her face. Thankfully, you hadn't noticed.
You were leaving? Already? What had she done?
"—the room," she took a breath, "so you can get changed. Just let me know when I can come back in." Although she didn't want you to leave, she could only nod, then watch as you stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind you.
Her focus landed on the separate piles on her desk. There was no spark of interest in her eyes as they bore into the different fabrics, nor was there any better of an understanding in her mind for the appeal of it all.
Truthfully, she didn't care for any of the outfits. Not for the way they looked, anyway. She only liked them because you were the one who had given them to her. That, and you had put so much thought behind each article. Because you were the one to pick them out for her, pay for them out of your own pocket, and gift them to her, she loved them, every single one.
She thought back on the way you looked at each blouse, each skirt, each pair of pants, and she put on the ones that you seemed the most excited to see her in. With a brief look at herself, she made her way back to the bedroom door, prying it open and peering out to find you waiting a few feet away from the frame. Your head turned at the sound of the door opening, a smile your way of greeting her when you made eye contact.
"You're welcome to come in again," she spoke, then stepped back to let you slip in past her. When you made it in and faced her properly, you let out a small squeal, the grin on your lips once again growing contagious and forcing one to mirror itself on Ayano. "Oh, you look so good!" You said, bouncing on your toes. "So pretty!"
Pretty.
You thought she was pretty?
There was no way for her to hide the crimson creeping over her face at your words, though she wasn't entirely worried about concealing it either. You were far too focused on the way the outfit complimented her to notice.
"Thank you," she managed to murmur.
The next few hours felt like they were all blurred together. She tried on different combinations, all of which you met with pure excitement, and you never failed to shower her in compliments. That kind of praise wasn't something she tended to care for, but hearing you speak so highly of her? It drove her insane.
By the time you left for the evening, her heart throbbed with every recall of your words. She had to make it happen again.
The end of the next week, you once again found a letter in your locker. You recognized the handwriting immediately, barely having to skim over the message inside before you tugged your phone out, shooting her a text and letting her know you were more than willing to help out again.
This time, it was with her hair and makeup.
Feeling your fingers in her hair, nails occasionally grazing over her scalp, and leading different strands into specific directions to style it had her shutting her eyes. A small smile was the only outward indication that she was enjoying it, but she could feel the pleasure and delight coursing throughout each limb.
When you sat in front of her on the bed to apply different makeup products, she was stiff, even with you letting her know she could make herself comfortable. Her body was rigid because of the impulse she felt to pull you into her lap. She had to fight against it, not wanting to upset you or scare you away.
But having one of your hands cradle her jaw to keep it steady helped her ease up a bit. She practically melted into your touch, and beyond a small chuckle, you didn't comment on it. It was clear she liked being around you, even though you'd hardly spent time together. You seemed to bring her a sense of peace.
It was cute.
You liked being around her already, too.
It became a routine thing after that second day to come over to her house on the weekend and help her pick out different outfits and styles for the following week. After a while, though, you wouldn't hide behind that excuse anymore. You started spending time with her just for the fun of it.
Uncaring of the curious — and occasionally disgusted — glares, you began to spend time with her during school as well. You'd meet up with her at lunch, sit with her during study hall, chat with her between classes, and eventually walk with her to and from school.
It was only a matter of time before you caught feelings for her as well and finally became official with her.
To say she was elated would be an understatement. Her plan had worked flawlessly. You were hers now, and it was all thanks to something she paid so little attention to before.
Still, even after dating her for months — and years — you still chose new outfits for her. You'd help her dress, help her apply her makeup, and help her style her hair. She didn't bother hiding how much she loved it anymore. There was no need, to be fair. You got to watch every reaction you could pull from her.
Every sigh and small groan she'd give while your fingers carded through her hair.
Every perk of her lips when you reminded her how beautiful she was.
Every instant her body would fall slack beneath your touch as you put on her makeup for her.
She just loved that you were near her. She still cared very little for the cosmetics and outfits, but now that you were the one helping her experiment with it all?
She had to admit it.
She was warming up to it.
Started on: August 25th, 2025
Finished on: September 11th, 2025
Ayano x Oblivious reader who doesn't realize Ayano is into girls, so she thinks that they are just girl friends rather than girlfriends despite them cuddling and kissing (up to you how far they've gone). Reader has almost as big a crush on Ayano as Ayano has on her, but because of being told of Ayano's 'condition' she thinks she's just helping Ayano prepare for when she eventually get a boyfriend and husband.
Anyone else can tell they are a couple.
ft. ayano aishi x f! reader — yandere simulator
╰₊✧ the space between girl and friend seems smaller than ever┊0.7k words
your heart flutters whenever you’re close to ayano, whether you’re holding her in your arms or she’s pulling you in for a kiss, but you always have to remind yourself that it doesn’t mean anything to her. she’s always been upfront with you, her best friend, about the genetic condition that makes her completely emotionless until she meets the boy who can lessen its effects, before it disappears entirely when they become proper lovers.
that’s what she said specifically, until she could meet “a boy,” which crushed your soul, although you refused to let it show.
it’s why when your relationship started crossing some lines and became more physical, you thought she was simply trying to prepare for that future boyfriend of hers. it wouldn’t be the most outlandish thing, you’ve heard of friends with benefits or practice partners before, and ayano has been quite a recluse for most of her life, so you always assumed you were just helping her get ready with social and romantic aspects.
it didn’t bother you at first, you were actually more than happy to help her with such things, but as time passed and things escalated, you found that you could no longer be content with just being friends. sometimes, you wail about it to your friends, how unlucky you are to have fallen so deeply for a straight girl, and while they always do their best to comfort you, they can’t help but be confused.
were you and ayano not already girlfriends? the dark-haired girl is usually friendly enough to other students, although always vacant and disinterested, but she was an entirely different person when she was by your side. her gray eyes would sparkle, and she would be much more animated than usual, like you were a light that lit up the darkness in her soul. besides, the two of you were attached at the hip, always chatting on the school roof, eating lunch together, and even walking home together while holding hands. everyone and their teachers were under the assumption that you two were past the friendship phase and were now dating, but apparently, you weren’t aware of what everyone else thought when you were in your own little bubble with her.
you’re really just as clueless as they say. ayano originally thought it was an exaggeration, but you’re completely oblivious when it comes to romance to a degree that almost seems cartoonish. are you really unable to see the amount of adoration in her eyes every time she looks at you? is it that difficult to believe without words that she loves you more than anything else in the world? you were correct about your unique relationship only being “practice” at first, but things have changed since then, and her attitude towards you is different as well.
ayano supposes that she was always an outlier when it came to the notes her ancestors had made about their condition. while it was supposed to be less potent with every generation, the characteristic numbness symptom was just as present in her as it was in her ancestors, and while all of her predecessors fell in love at first sight, it took her time before she was able to fully realize how happy she was by your side.
the only issue is, she’s still too afraid to verbally confess her feelings. she knows that she could kiss you on the lips or even pull you into the bedroom as much as she wants, but as long as she doesn’t say a word about her feelings, you were never going to know and will always be thinking it doesn’t mean anything to her. maybe, one day, you’ll even be fed up with this arrangement and end it, leading to an awkward gap between the two of you which will only grow since you’ve forgotten what it was like to be with her without acting like a couple.
no, it was clear now that she must muster up the courage to tell you the truth of how she feels. she refuses to allow things to eventually fall apart like a slow death, and she refuses to ever let you go after you showed her how wonderful it was to be in love.
Do you think transfem!Ryoba would be into breeding? I feel like after getting married to her wife, her breeding kink would sky rock through the roof.
ft. ryoba aishi x f! reader — yandere simulator
╰₊✧ i want to have sex with you (your sweet caress won't do)┊0.7k words
contains: smut!! 18+) dom transfem/g!p ryoba & sub reader┊established relationship (married), unprotected piv, breeding, slight cum inflation
ever since that fateful day when ryoba fell head over heels in love with you at first sight back at akedemi, she’s desired you in both body and soul. she was absolutely infatuated, evident by how her entire life came to revolve around you, spending all of her free time stalking you around campus and casually “eliminating” anyone who dared to come between the two of you. while she’s too shy to actually speak to you, she’s diligent in consistently putting love letters and little gifts on your desk, signing them as a secret admirer while feeling all giddy inside when she sees that you smile upon finding them.
still, even when anonymous, she’s still holding back about the true extent of her feelings, carefully planning out the content of the letters rather than scribbling out her full-blown thoughts. she’s self-aware enough to know how creepy some of them come off when she puts down the pen, and the last thing she wanted was for you to be afraid. all the notes that get out of hand are safely tucked away in her room, containing everything from details about you that she isn’t supposed to know, like your schedule and deepest secrets, to how much she desires you physically.
especially how much she desires you physically. ryoba doesn’t like to think of herself as perverted, but things just get out of hand in her imagination, going from something cute like kissing to something lewd like eating you out in a matter of seconds. she often finds herself burying her face in her pillow late at night, fisting her spit-slicked cock in the middle of the night while pretending it was your hand instead.
perhaps that’s why, a few years later, during your wedding night, she seems extra eager to consummate the marriage. it’s still surreal to her that she managed to get this far on purely natural means, not needing to resort to the means her mother used with her father, and she was elated to know that all of her hard work had paid off when she laid you out on the bed and both of you got to work of stripping off your respective white dresses. of course, you were needy for her as well, but she’ll soon find out that she has a new obsession with filling you up with all the love inside of her.
obviously, it has crossed her mind before, but ryoba has never given it too much thought until now since all of her focus was on winning you over. now that you were completely hers, both body and soul as she always wanted, her priorities have shifted into wanting to start a family, and as soon as possible. just the thought of having a baby with you, a product of your love for each other with both your genetics, was enough to have her dragging you back to the bedroom once the day was over.
you were rather neutral on the topic at first, but seeing how enthusiastic she was on the topic, you weren’t about to stop her. you never see the glint of possessiveness that flashes in her eyes every time she holds you under her, but you can always feel it from the way she holds onto your wrists as she ruts into you, and she can always feel when you’re coming close from the way you’re clenching down on her. she thinks it’s so romantic whenever you both finish together, even pressing down on your lower abdomen to feel the way her seed fills your womb. it would take a couple of days before you would be able to take a test, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to crack a couple more tries of impregnating you in the meantime.
after the kind of childhood she and her sister had, neglected by her mother and raised by her grandmother instead, she has learned from all of the things that have worked and didn’t. she doesn’t plan on letting her mom see her grandkid, but she’s sure she wouldn’t care much anyway. kataba, on the other hand, who brought her up in the best way she possibly could, would probably tear up at being a great grandmother. ryoba just can’t wait for the two of you to become mothers, she already has names picked out and a picture of what the nursery would look like!
Hello!! Can I request for a g!p Ryoba Aishi who gets turned on by reader after she sees reader lactating? If it's okay 😔💔
ft. ryoba aishi x f! reader — yandere simulator
╰₊✧ getting turned on by the sight of you lactating┊0.5k words
contains: smut!! 18+) dom g!p ryoba & sub reader┊established relationship (married) & baby ayano, lactation & breastfeeding, handjobs
your baby daughter is the second most darling thing ryoba has ever seen in her life, a product of your love for each other that will grow into your images, making her heart flood with love and affection in a similar manner to when she was around you back in high school. it’s no easy task to take care of ayano when neither of you have any parenting experience, but thankfully, her grandmother is more than willing to lend a helping hand if needed. hopefully, the next time the two of you decide to have another baby, things will be a whole lot easier to manage when you have learned from previous mistakes.
however, there was something that your wife was struggling with which was even more difficult than raising an infant child, and that was keeping her desires at bay. no sex until you have fully recovered, doctor’s orders, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt you because she couldn’t control herself. besides, there were more pressing matters at hand, so she tried her best to keep her mind off intimacy.
easier said than done, because these past few weeks, you’ve been glowing in a way that she’s never seen before. while you’re clearly exhausted by the new responsibility of being a mother, you were absolutely gorgeous and practically irresistible to her. if she’s to be frank and vulgar about it, your tits have been very appealing to her with the way they would swell up and leak with milk for the baby. god, she’s so perverted when it came to you, a trait that still remained with her from her younger years and still hasn’t grown out of.
still, as much as she was trying to keep herself under control, you could see the lust flashing in her eyes as clear as day, and while you weren’t in any condition to get fucked, you could think of another way for her to get her fix and keep the edge off.
breastfeeding a grown ass woman is pretty different from a baby, but even with her size and teeth, she’s much more gentle and considerate when she’s suckling on your boobs. it helped to keep the pressure building in them off when ayano was already full, and while she’s happy she could be of service, it didn’t take rocket science to know that wasn’t the first thing she had in her mind.
even though it was only a small act of intimacy compared to what the two of you were usually up to, it was enough to keep her horniness at bay. you even had a hand wrapped around her leaking cock, gently jerking her off until she bursts. it didn’t take too much stimulation for her to cum when she was already so pent up, but she was mildly disappointed that the fun was over too soon. she didn’t need to worry though, there were plenty of other opportunities to do this again once the baby had been put to bed.
╰₊✧ she’s late to class because you kept her busy┊0.7k words
contains: smut!! 18+) dom reader & sub g!p megami┊blowjobs
her peers and professors know megami to always have a calm and steadfast demeanor, rarely ever caught off guard by anything at all, even if she were to receive the most drastic and life-shattering news or if she were to experience something particularly traumatic. she’s the “untouchable goddess” who never falters or is caught off guard, so imagine their surprise when the student council president comes to class thirty minutes late, a dark blush dusting her face and her chest heaving, out of breath and extremely flustered as she took her seat, trying to calm down and draw so much attention to herself. they all knew better than to question her, but there was a slight tension in the air where everyone in the room was wondering just what could have possibly happened for her to be acting so strangely.
thank god, none of them have the faintest clue or idea of what actually happened. they would never suspect the kind of sinful activities the two of you were up to in the back of the calligraphy room. even though she has quickly been able to compose herself now that she’s in class, she could still feel your tongue licking along the underside of her cock while she was sprawled out on the floor with her panties pulled down to her ankles.
now, for the record, megami is the more dominant one in your relationship, always has been with how naturally leadership came to her, and it was usually no different in the bedroom, but today, it seems as though something had gotten into you with how horny and bossy you were. although she was confused, she didn’t mind it too much, not when she was more curious than anything about your sudden change in behavior, but she didn’t really have the opportunity to ask about it or analyze it when you were climbing on top of her in a searing kiss before lowering herself to between her thighs.
it isn’t the first time she’s been more submissive for you, but to be doing it behind the divider of the calligraphy room was almost too much for her, desperately covering her lower face with her gloved hands. she knew everyone was in class, and even if it was a different time, no one ever comes in here except for kuroko when she’s making her rounds, yet her body is feverish from nerves and pleasure.
these past few weeks, she’s just been bending you over the nearest surfaces in the most convenient locations due to how busy she’s been, and she nearly forgot how damn good it feels to be enveloped in the wet heat of your mouth. either giving head was one of your greatest talents, or the act of getting a blowjob while both of you should have been in class was too erotic for her to handle. it was probably the latter, as embarrassing as it is to admit. even for someone as trained as her, she struggled to stop herself from squirming when you bobbed your head along her length, and it only worsened when you were giggling at her state, the vibrations making her shake and shiver with a moan.
it’s so rare for her to be so vulnerable, and you couldn’t help but find her so irresistibly cute when she’s reduced to a whining mess. you could practically feel your core thumping in rhythm with her pulsating cock, uselessly running your thighs together in a poor attempt of alleviating the ache. you felt like you were going to go crazy without anything to put your desire at ease, but you couldn’t stop yourself from sucking her off like you were sucking on a lollipop. you even think she tastes as sweet as one when she finally cums on your tongue, the sticky glob weighing heavily on your tongue before you happily swallow it.
megami still can’t get the look on your face out of her mind, all hazy and borderline feral with lust. it got to the point where she forced her mind to other places to prevent getting a hard-on in the middle of class, but if one thing was certain, it was that she was going to return the favor during cleaning time.
‧₊˚✧ ❛[ overprotective of my lover (you make me wonder) ]❜
━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹
ft. megami saikou, ayano aishi (+ rivals) x f! reader — yandere simulator
╰₊✧ megami is forced to temporarily leave akedemi for her own safety, but she soon learns that the danger lurking on school grounds has fallen for her girlfriend and is willing to do whatever it takes to have her for herself┊1.8k words; part two
contains: secret relationships (megami x reader), reader takes the place of senpai/taro yamada, typical aishi/yandere behaviors, rivals x reader, murder & other typical yansim things, lesbian megami & homophobic saikou family
➤ author's note: made a fic instead of headcanons since it’s more of a scenario, but this was so much fun to write! unfortunately, even though it has an open ending, i probably won’t be writing a part two in the near future due to the fact that the game still isn’t finished (and probably never will be lmao)
from the moment she was born, megami has been trained and conditioned to handle whatever life may throw her way, from minor inconveniences to life-or-death scenarios. her genius and extensive training is various martial arts allow her to solve whatever problems arise no matter how complex it may be without much difficulty and always remains resilient in the face of danger without hesitating to fight her way out if necessary, but this current situation is something not even a woman like her knows how to handle
she already hated her father for forcing her to take temporary leave from akedemi due to the fact that an aishi was enrolled in the classes, claiming he feared for her safety. truthfully, she feels like he doesn’t trust in her yet or have full faith in her skills. she’s perfectly capable of defending herself, practically invincible in hand-to-hand combat, proficient in using weapons of any kind, and possessed quick thinking as well as improvisation skills which could get her out of any spot of trouble no matter how drastic the circumstances may be, but she hated even more that she was no longer able to see you in person since her every move is currently being monitored. she wasn’t even able to sneak around by contacting you using her cell phone as it was bugged, meaning all of her activities on the device were being tracked. currently the only way she could get in touch with you was through letters she bribed her little brother to mail to you, often receiving the replies hidden in a stack of documents he puts on her desk for her to read before bed and fold them under her pillow as her most treasured possession through these difficult times. she’s living in the spacious saikou mansion, yet she feels more like she’s in prison and slaving away over the assignments her father gives her to train her for her future.
(kencho would normally snitch on his sister in an attempt to get ahead of her, but his parents cut off his allowance for three months after crashing one of their cars, so he’s willing to help her out in exchange for a good amount of money. besides, he thinks it’s good blackmail material to use on her, but little does he know, she has more dirt on him than he could ever imagine so he’ll never have the guts to spill it.)
her entire life has been carefully planned and scripted, almost like she was in a truman show situation where she was permanently placed in front of cameras for all of japan to watch from the moment she wakes up at five in the morning to the second she falls back into bed a little past midnight. while she’s grateful for her family’s amazing genetics and the money she was born into with opportunities to triple her net worth, it’s exhausting keeping up this appearance, and she can’t help but feel resentful towards them for keeping her from living an authentic and normal life.
that’s why, when she’s alone with you, she feels like she could finally be the true part of herself that she’s nearly forgotten all about instead of what was expected of her: the robot who did whatever her family asked and programmed her to do, the authoritative student council president who was able to command everyone with a single word, the nepo baby citizens call her without knowing anything about her at all aside from her name, and the future wife of another wealthy heir when she didn’t have any interest in men. even if they were only for a few moments away from the public eye before she had to put her mask back on again, it was the most freeing and treasured moments of her life, and it made her fall deeply in love with you. she already had her future planned out with you— what was going to be her real future. the two of you just have to endure a couple of years of hardship, keeping your relationship a secret and going along with what her family wanted. once she’s promoted from heiress to ceo of saikou corp and secures the title, she’ll finally take her life by the reins and marry you, even if she would be scorned and considered a disgrace by her family, it would all be worth it if it meant she could be with you.
(a true rebellion would be her running away from her family and their plans for her entirely before eloping with you, but the truth way, despite her master proficiency in every single thing she does, she can’t imagine herself being anything other than the saikou corp ceo, but she knows that once she claims it, she’ll be the boss of herself and no one will be able to touch her.)
that was the plan, but megami caught wind of something happening in akedemi while she wasn’t there. as soon as she learned she wouldn’t be at akedemi in person for the first few months, she employed the help of the other student council members to keep an eye on the aishi, and while they were a little confused on why they needed to be wary of a seemingly harmless girl, they obeyed without a second question.
this girl, whose name she learned to be ayano, has been spotted stalking you multiple times, both by them and by security footage on various cameras in town (which were hacked into thanks to shiromi). she follows you on your route to and from school as well as your outings with your friends, she takes candid pictures of you even if you’re not doing anything interesting, and she consistently steals your things from a pencil you’ve chewed on during a test to a bloody bandage you’ve thrown away. she appears to be completely and utterly infatuated with you in a very creepy and borderline unhealthy manner, to the point that she also develops a keen interest in girls who approach you with romantic intentions.
the first girl was osana najimi, your childhood best friend, whose daily interactions with you mysteriously went wrong for reasons she didn’t understand until you rejected her confession under the cherry tree on friday.
the second girl is amai odayaka, the president of the cooking club, whom you’ve become friends with since she was teaching you how to cook. similar to the last girl, ayano started watching her and listening in to her conversations, almost like she was trying to learn more about her before getting rid of her.
at first, the girls thought the president was just a little paranoid. they knew about this secret relationship, but didn’t think she had anything to worry about when it was megami saikou versus this rather random girl, but then kuroko witnessed the horrifying scene of amai burning alive in the home economics room on thursday. she immediately suspected foul play since she spotted ayano carrying a screwdriver to the scene of the crime, but when she told the police, it was back in the workshop. while her fingerprints were on the handle, it was open to anyone in the school who needed it, so it wasn’t definitive proof of anything, and the police ruled it to be an accident.
this was bad, so very bad, and it kept megami up for the entire night.
of course, she knew that there would be other people vying for your affection and attempting to make you fall for them. it was a given when it comes to someone as beautiful and lovable as you, but that wasn’t a problem in her mind. she trusted you and had full confidence you wouldn’t pick anyone over her or cheat on her, ayano aishi was the one she didn’t trust.
she knows all about her mother and her history at this school, and she knew ayano was the very same type of person as ryoba aishi and all the other women of her bloodline. once they’ve fallen in love with their “senpai,” they latch onto them like leeches and never let go, obsessed with possessing them entirely and willing to do whatever it takes to achieve that, even if it means killing those whom they consider to be rivals or possibly taking you against your will.
there are only going to be more girls who grow a liking to you, and there are only going to be more deaths on campus because of that. she knew ayano was dangerous and shouldn’t be running around free, but she had hoped that the “senpai effect” wouldn’t be triggered and therefore she would have no reason to be violent, but she now understands how naive she was to think that.
she can’t continue asking the other girls to keep tabs on ayano when they all have their own responsibilities to juggle and were likely to get even busier as the weeks go on, so she was going to roll the dice on a decision that was either going to be a stroke of genius or one of the worst decisions of her life. normally, megami doesn’t like to gamble and much prefers making carefully thought-out choices, but it comes to someone as unpredictable as an aishi who is in love with her girlfriends and willing to put her future happiness in jeopardy, she was going to need something that was high reward even if it was high risk.
the rest of the student council was ready to protest when they heard her idea to have ayano join their ranks as a historian, scared of what she would do with the newfound power once she dons the white uniform, but they were willing to listen. being a part of their team would allow them to keep a closer eye on her, but the students were also going to be more aware of her presence due to her status, and her strange behaviors would be more noticeable. the plan was to overload the girl with tasks and responsibilities for as long as they possibly could under the guise of “testing” her ability to be in the position before eventually resorting to under-the-table tricks to get her expelled from the school.
despite kuroko being a little iffy on the idea of framing her at first, all of them agreed that it would be for the best if it meant preventing more deaths in the school. megami was also going to take some money out of her own pocket to install discreet cameras and metal detectors around the school, ensuring that not a single thing the aishi does will go unnoticed. she didn’t think she was going to be resorting to such tactics so early on, but if it meant protecting you and the other students, then she was perfectly willing to do it. if ayano was going to play dirty to get to you, then the student council was going to do the same to stop her.
request:
Okay for requests could I get headcannos for how Megami (Yandere sim) to finding out ayano is obsessed with her girlfriend (reader)? (I just feel like it’d be interesting since reader and megami are partners before she leaves the school for 10 weeks so now she has to sit with this knowledge both when she’s at the school and when she’s forced to be away)
pairing: henry bowers x reader
summary: your childhood best friend, henry, turns into something much darker when you reach high school. you avoided him until you absolutely couldn't -- but he's different than he seems. at least, with you.
themes & warnings: henry is still an asshole but everyone has a soft spot (his is you), swearing, violence, soft!henry, he's rough around the edges, angst (sort of) with resoultion, fighting, romantic tension!!!, use of a slur, sexual harassment mild
every time you walked down the halls of derry high school, you prayed you'd melt right through the floor.
it wasn't because you were insecure. in truth, you were very secure in yourself. it wasn't because people were mean to you. in fact, most loved you. it was because of them. the same reason that anybody wanted to dissolve into the cracks within the four walls of the place they were supposed to grow up.
derry high school was a monument to beige linoleum and flourescent humming. the air itself tasted stale, a mixture of industrial cleaner, old textbooks, and the faint, metallic fear that seemed to seep from the lockers. for most, the fear was abstract. a fear of tests, rejection, not being enough. but usually, it zeroed in on the ones wearing scuffed boots, a jean jacket, and traveling in a pack.
your own place in the derry ecosystem was secure. you were well-liked in a quiet, unchallenging way that came from being friendly to everyone, but known well by few. you were the reliable lab partner, the one who remembered birthdays, the student who could bridge the gap between the drama kids and the yearbook staff. social fluency was your armor, a way to move through the world without making a target on your back. it was a skill born of necessity, honed over by years of watching and learning. of course, it helped that you were pretty. you wore light, floral colors. your hair was always done neatly, makeup smooth and blended. your mary-janes were always un-scuffed and buckled. your skirt swished around your long legs as you walked, sending the occasional polite smile towards someone or waving quickly to those who said hello to you.
henry bowers, though, was an absolute minefield.
he wasn't just a school bully. he was a force of nature, a low pressure system that darkened the hallways before he even rounded a corner. his entourage - belch huggins, victor criss, and patrick hockstetter - trailed behind him not just as friends, but as a wave of insecurity and fear send towards everyone in their way. their laughter was loud. a jarring, predatory sound that cut through the student murmur and commanded silence. desks were kicked, freshmen were shouldered into lockers, and any sign of perceived weakness was pounced upon with cruel, creative glee.
but you remembered someone different. a boy with grass stained knees and a gap toothed smile, who shared his cherry slushie behind the elementary school bleachers. a blonde haired boy who'd get a fierce, protective glint in his eye if anyone so much as looked at you sideways. as much as you remembered him, he didn't exist anymore. you knew what happened to him, though. he had been buried layer by layer under the weight of his father's beatings and his own hardening heart. you'd watched the transformation happen across the cafeteria, with a profound and private grief. the boy who'd been your first friend had become the thing high school students feared most.
now, you navigated the school with one goal - not to be seen by him. you developed a sixth sense for his presence. the particular cadence of his boots on the linoleum, the change in the air when he entered a room. you wanted no part of it. you wanted no part of who he'd become. a laugh in the wrong direction, a moment of vulnerability caught at the wrong time, and you could be seen. really seen.
and being seen by henry bowers was a complicated, dangerous thing. a cold, blue stare that seemed to strip a person down to the real parts of themselves. not just the positives, but the fear and inadequacy. the secrets they tried to hide. sometimes it lead to taunts, shoves, punches and kicks, but sometimes it lead to nothing at all. just that chilling, empty gaze that felt worse than physical harm. you didn't know which version he'd pick if he was to notice you again. you spent years perfecting the art of never finding out.
today, though, everything would change.
you'd been having bad luck all day. you slipped in the mud and fell into a puddle on your walk to school, so you had to go home and change, making you late. then, you spilled your water bottle in class and soaked your freshly written essay for english literature. in chemistry class, you received your test back, only to realize you got a 0 because you forgot to put your name on it. you had to go beg your teacher for a new grade. luckily, since you were a diligent student, she was willing to give you half.
now, you were walking away from the brick school, lukewarm tears drying onto your face from your shitty day.
you listened to the wind in the trees, the crunching of the gravel under your thick shoes, sighing and hoping your evening would be better. your skirt, a bit smaller than usual because of your rush to get dressed, still swished around your thighs in the wind. but then, you heard another set of steps. boots. heavy footsteps falling onto the ground with the same reverberation that you heard on the linoleum floors at school. you felt something cold slither down your spine - fear.
tilting your head slightly, you caught the sight of him in your peripheral vision. you had only been walking for two minutes before you noticed patrick hockstetter behind you, his tall, lanky and predatory form slinking casually.
fuck. fuck fuck fuck.
being noticed by henry was pretty bad. but he was mean, not perverted. patrick was a whole different animal. the type to grope girls from behind their desks, force them to give him a kiss and slap them if they didn't. the type to follow you home and stand outside your window for an hour just to creep you out. he fed off from it. the thrill was something he enjoyed.
you swallowed hard, feeling your heart speed up impossibly. you felt the adrenaline release, the clammy hands, the erratic breathing. fear. in full swing. you kept your pace steady, a deer trying not to bolt in a predator's sightline. the crunch of gravel behind you wasn't just there; it was synching up, a sinister metronome to your own hurried steps. you could feel his stare like a physical weight between your shoulder blades, cold and invasive.
a shortcut. you needed a shortcut. the usual route home was a straight shot down neibolt street, but that was too exposed. your mind raced, flipping through a mental map of derry's back alleys and cut-throughs. there was a gap in the old johnson fence, a quick dash through the overgrown lot that spilled out onto your street. it was risky - dark, isolated - but maybe better than being stalked in the open.
you made a sharp, deliberate turn left into the mouth of a narrow alley between the drugstore and the boarded-up cinema. the sunlight vanished, replaced by the damp chill of perpetual shadow. the crunch of gravel ceased for a beat, and then, horrifyingly, it resumed. he’d followed.
your breath hitched, coming in shallow pants that fogged slightly in the cool air. you walked faster, your mary janes slipping on the wet, uneven pavement. the alley seemed to stretch on forever, the light at the other end a taunting, distant pinprick.
"hey." his voice wasn't loud. just a dry, papery sound that slithered down the alley walls. "pretty girl. don't you know its rude to walk away?"
you didn't turn. you couldn't. your muscles were locked. the swishing of your skirt felt absurdly loud.
his footsteps quickened. he was closing the gap between you, ready to pounce. "i'm talking to you. turn around. let me see that pretty face all cried up. heard ya sniffling."
of course that was why. he loved when girls cried. it was something you'd heard all around from the other girls who'd been unfortunate victims of patrick hockstetter. crying didn't ward him off - it enthralled him. he was sick.
terror, sharp and acidic, flooded your mouth. you broke into a run, the strap of your bag slapping against your side. the alley exit wobbled in your vision.
a hand, bony and strong, clamped onto your upper arm, yanking you to a halt. your bag fell to the ground with a thud, dead weight that patrick obviously deemed unnecessary. he spun you around, his grip like iron. up close, he was all pale skin and hungry eyes, a slick, unpleasant smile on his gleaming teeth.
"now, that's better," he cooed, his breath smelling of spearmint gum. his free hand came up, a finger tracing a line down your damp cheek. "what's the matter, honey? bad day? i can make it better."
"let me go," you managed, your voice sharp and authoritative despite your fear. you'd always been good at masking how afraid you were.
"or what?" he laughed, the sound bouncing off the bricks. "you'll tell? i don't care. i been told on lots of times."
you tried to glare, but you couldn't. the fear was eating you alive. he was stronger, faster. you had no way out.
"i won't tell. i won't say a word. but please, can you just let go?" you pleaded. maybe being nice would help. maybe doing the opposite of what all the other girls had done would have reverse effects.
your voice, shifting from a sharp command to a soft plea, seemed to catch him off guard. he was used to screams, cursing, crying. not soft, desperate negotiations.
"please?" he echoed, his voice a dry whisper. his head tilted, like a bird examining a strange insect. "you're asking nice, huh?"
you held your breath, hope against hope. his grip on your arm loosened slightly, an infinitesimal degree. but the confusion curdled into something more sinister - interest. a new kind of thrill. this was different. clearly something he'd never seen. someone being decent to him when he was being disgusting.
"that's real sweet. cute, even," he murmured, leaning in closer. "but see, when you ask nice.. it just makes me wanna see what happens when you don't."
his free hand moved from your cheek, sliding down to grip the back of your thigh under your skirt, pulling you sharply against him. you gasped, the air knocked out of you, the world narrowing to the feel of his bony frame and the cold dread solidifying in your stomach. your carefully constructed composure shattered.
"stop it!" you cried out, high and panicked. it ripped from your chest reflexively.
patrick's laugh was giddy. "there it is, sweetheart. i like that better," he hummed, reaching up to the waistband of your skirt. "but what happens when i--"
the sentence died off in a choked gurgle.
not by your hand. not by a shout.
henry moved like a shadow given violent purpose. he didn't come from where you could've seen him, but must have come from the other side.
he didn't tackle patrick. he simply appeared behind him, one arm snaking around patrick's throat in a vicious chokehold, the other clamping over the top of his head. it was fast, brutal, and utterly silent save for the scrape of boots and patrick's muffled gasp as he was wrenched backwards and off his feet.
you stumbled forward, free, catching yourself against the cold wall. you watched, heart in your throat, as henry dragged patrick, kicking and clawing at the iron bar of his forearm, back into the gloomy shadow. henry's face was pale, emotionless, eyes reflecting ice. he didn't look at you. his focus was on the squirming form in his grasp.
he slammed patrick face-first into the side of a dumpster with a sickening, wet crunch. patrick went limp for a moment, slumping, a low moan escaping his bloodied face. henry held him up, then leaned close. his voice, when it came, was flat and deadly, carrying perfectly in the silent alleyway.
"you don't look at her. you don't think about her. your fucking shoes don't point in her direction. you got that?"
he gave patrick a hard shake. a strangled sound of agreement or pain was patrick's only reply.
"if i see you within a block of her," henry continued, his voice becoming intimate with its menace, "i won't use my hands next time. i'll use a tire iron. and i'll make sure you're awake for it."
he released his hold, and patrick collapsed into a heap of shuddering limbs on the filthy ground, blood streaming freely from his ruined nose with his predatory confidence utterly annihilated.
"get the fuck up and go home, hockstetter. before i change my mind and kill you."
he stepped over patrick's prone form as if he were nothing more than a sack of garbage. he didn't look back. his entire being was a live wire, every muscle taut, the violence still radiating off from him in waves. you could feel his heat from feet away.
he stopped a pace in front of you. his eyes, which had been so cold and empty while dealing with patrick, were now a turbulent, stormy blue. they darted over your face, your disheveled hair, the red mark on your arm and the tear in your tights. the raw, agonizing conflict was back - fury, shame, and a protectiveness you didn't know still existed.
his hand lifted slightly again, hovering. it was large, capable of brutality you'd just witnessed, but now it trembled slightly in the space between you. he looked at it as if it was a foreign object, then clenched it into a fist and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.
"you're shaking," he said, his voice low and rough.
you were. you couldn't stop. the adrenaline was draining away, leaving you cold and hollow and stunned. you managed a small, jerky nod.
he looked away, his jaw working. the silence stretched, filled only with the faint scrambling of patrick getting up once he slightly recovered. henry's shoulders stiffened, and he took a half-step to the side, deliberately placing his body between you and the sight of patrick struggling to his knees. protection. subtle, but also obvious in a way.
his gaze landed on your bag, still lying where it had fallen. he moved then, bending to pick it up. he did it with that same jarring care, brushing off the gravel and dirt. when he stood, he didn't offer it. he simply held it, his grip tight on the strap.
"c'mon," he muttered, not quite looking at you. he tilted his head toward the far end of the alley, the one that lead away from the main road, away from prying eyes and away from the direction patrick limped off in. "this way."
it wasn't a suggestion. it was a directive born of a lifetime of understanding derry's shadows. he took a step, then paused, glancing back to make sure you were following. you fell into step beside him, not quite at his side, but half a step behind. he adjusted his pace to yours, just as he'd always done when you were kids.
your chest tightened.
the alley opened into a narrow, weed-choked service road behind the old cinema. the silence between you was a thick, tangible thing.
after a few minutes, he spoke, his voice gruff. "he won't come near you again."
"i know," you answered quietly. the certainty in his promise was absolute.
another blocked passed in quiet. the evening was settling in, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. the same shades were settling onto the back of your bruised thigh.
"henry," you said, his name feeling strange and familiar on your tongue after so many years of silence.
he flinched, almost imperceptibly. "yeah?"
"thank you."
he swallowed hard, the motion visible in the corded line of his throat. he stared straight ahead, his profile sharp against the dying light. the wind blew the trees and weeds, creating a scratching sound in the empty back road.
"don't," he said, the word bitten off. "don't thank me for that. it scared you."
the raw honesty of his words, the simple, unflinching admission - it scared you - struck you with more force than anything that had happened that day. he wasn't apologizing for the violence, not exactly. but he was acknowledging its effect. it was a level of awareness you hadn't believed him capable of anymore.
"everything about today scared me," you admitted, your voice quiet but steady. "i fell in the mud this morning. i failed a test. patrick. the.. the alley. my leg hurts. you," you listed them like items, giving each its due weight. "but the first five things were just things that happened. the last one.. you came for me."
he stopped walking. he turned fully to face you. the dim light caught the planes of his face, highlighting the tension in his brow, the soft, vulnerable curve of his mouth he always tried to harden with a sneer like a snarling dog.
"i would've done it anyway. for fuckin' greta or.." he said, the words sounding bland. "any chick."
you shook your head slowly, your eyes not leaving his. "no, you wouldn't have."
the denial hung in the air. henry's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking furiously. he wanted to argue, to spit out a lie that would rebuild the wall he'd torn down when he beat hockstetter's face against a dumpster. the truth was a physical weight, too heavy to lift. he couldn't. he wouldn't have done it for anyone else. he wouldn't have promised murder with a tire iron. he wouldn't have felt the world narrow to a single, white-hot point of rage at the sight of someone else's hands on the girl who was the only person that had been remotely good to him in his life, besides his mother, who left.
he looked away, the admission of his own truth being too much to bear while looking at you. the fight drained out of him, leaving behind a raw, exposed weariness that made him seem younger and older all at once.
"no," he echoed, his voice hollow. "i guess i wouldn't have."
the admission cost him. you could see it in the way he swallowed, in the slight tremor of his tight muscles. he'd just handed you a weapon, the knowledge of his own weakness, and waited for you to use it, like everyone else had.
but you didn't. you just stood there, the silence between you shifting once more. you weren't afraid anymore. you weren't sure you ever had been afraid of henry. maybe of who you thought henry was. but never him. there was an acknowledgement of a bridge that had been burned, and the fragile, impossible idea of building a new one from the ashes.
"you stopped answering my calls. in eighth grade." you whispered.
the words landed not as an accusation, but as a quiet, devastating fact. they cut through the fragile truce more cleanly than any shout could have.
henry’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with a shock that quickly morphed into pain. He hadn’t expected that. not here, not now. he’d braced for fear, for disgust, even for gratitude. not for this old, specific wound, gently prodded.
he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. he looked stricken, cornered by a ghost from a time when the world’s cruelty still had the power to surprise him.
"dad stopped letting me use the phone. after i.." left a message on that woman's answering machine posing as her dead kid.
the memory, sharp and ugly, clawed its way out of the dark. it wasn't the full truth, but it was the part that mattered, the part that explained the answering machine. the rest - the late-night calls, the whispered cruelty to a grieving mother, the one twisted skill patrick hockstetter had that henry, in his deepest misery, found fascinating for a week - that was a shame so black he'd bury it with him.
he couldn't look at you. his gaze was fixed on a broken bottle glinting in the weeds. "he took the phone out of the wall. smashed the machine. said it was a.. a faggot's toy." he swallowed. "i never heard any messages."
the confession was a softer, lesser evil. it painted his father as the monster (true) and him as a victim (only partly true). it was the version that might let you keep looking at him without seeing the rot he sometimes feared was in his core.
he risked a glance at your face. you were just listening, absorbing, your expression unreadable. the silence stretched, and henry felt the old, familiar panic rise: the need to fill it, to shock, to push you away before your silence became condemnation.
"so," he said, the word coming out too sharp. "you got your answer. i didn't get your calls 'cause my old man's psycho and i was.." he trailed off, unable to name what he was becoming. "you were better off. trust me."
it was the same thing he'd been doing for years. the protective cruelty. but it sounded feeble now, even to him.
you took a step closer.
"but that's not fair. you didn't give me a choice." you hummed, frowning.
he shook his head, a bitter laugh bubbling from his lips.
"you woulda chosen wrong. you always did."
the words hung in the air, colder than the evening chill. but you heard the tremor beneath them, the echo of the boy who used to whisper secrets under the bleachers, who believed he wasn't worth choosing.
"you don't know that," you said, your voice soft but unwavering. "you never gave me a chance."
he stared at you, the bravado crumbling from his face, leaving only a raw and bewildered ache. "why would you choose this?" the question was sharp. "look at me. look at what i am. i'm everything you hated. you'd be stupid as fuck to choose anything i got."
"i am looking, henry," you took another step, closing the distance until you could see the flecks of lighter blue in his irises, the faint scar through his eyebrow from a fight. "i've always been looking. and i'm not stupid."
"i know you aren't. so go home. be smart." he hissed.
"stop it, henry."
"you stop. you're being a dumbass."
"you're the one being a dumbass!" the words burst from you, not a shout, but a firm, frustrated exhalation. they hung in the air, shocking you both. it was the kind of thing you'd yelled at him when you were kids, scuffling over the last cookie or a cheated board game.
henry blinked, the harsh mark of his anger fracturing into surprise. no one talked to him like that. not anymore. they cowered, lied, pretended he didn't exist. they didn't call him a dumbass straight to his face if they liked their teeth. he was a threat. a monster, the source of anxiety.
"you think pushing me away is smart?" you continued. "you think spending your whole life making sure no one gets close is some kind of genius plan? its not. it's the dumbest thing i've ever seen. and i watched richie tozier try to lick a frozen lamppost."
a sound escaped him - a choked, rusty thing that was almost a laugh. it was cut off instantly, but the damage was done.
he rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the traitorous reaction. when he lowered it, his expression was exhausted, all the fight gone out of him. "what the hell do you want from me, y/n?" the question was a plea, stripped of all pretense. "i don't.. i don't know how to not be an ass. i'm good at it, it's all i got."
"it's not." you said stubbornly.
henry's lips curled into a bitter smile as he shook his head again, irritation flooding back into his body. his frustration was tangible, making him an unseen form of anger, but not violence. a dam that was about to break through. he groaned.
"you sound fuckin' stupid. again."
you quirked your eyebrow, inhaling sharply to retort.
"yeah, well, you--"
you couldn't get another word out. his body was flush against yours in a second, the smell of engine oil from the shop he worked at occasionally, his aftershave, and the same spearmint gum you smelled on patrick (they must've shared earlier at lunch) flooded your senses.
the kiss wasn't gentle. it wasn't questioning. it was a collision. a desperate, furious argument made with lips and teeth and the hard press of his body against yours. it was everything he didn't know how to say and the only way he felt he could shut your mouth.
for a single second, you froze. the shock of it short-circuited every thought.
then, instinct took over. not fear, for once. not the urge to push him away or avoid him. something older, deeper. the crush from sixth grade. the nights you rode your bikes through the empty streets and you admired his blonde hair in the wind. the times you'd iced the bruises he got from his dad as he cried silently. the shared snacks. the innocent hugs. your hands, which had been hanging limply at your sides, came up. one fisted in the worn denim of his jacket, gripping tight as if he might vanish again. the other flattened against the solid, frantic beat of his heart through his thin t-shirt against his warm skin.
you kissed him back.
his hand, which had come up to cradle the back of your head, gentled, his fingers tangling in your hair. the press of his mouth softened, became searching, almost reverent.
it was the most terrifying and honest moment of his life.
he was the one who broke it, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. his breath was ragged, a shuddering gust, mingling with yours. his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he couldn't bear to see your reaction.
"had to make you stop talking. you ain't a good listener."
you laughed breathlessly.
"i might try to listen even less now."
a shaky exhale warmed your skin as the last of the rigid tension in his shoulders dissolved.
"wouldn't blame you," he murmured, his voice low. his eyes were still closed. he looked younger like this, stripped of all the defenses you hadn't let him use. "i talk a lot of shit."
"you do," you agreed, your thumb tracing the threads of his shirt. "i'm sure i could give you a run for your money, though. i learned some stuff."
a low, genuine chuckle rumbled in his chest, the vibration humming against your palm. it was a sound you hadn't heard in years - unforced, uncynical.
"yeah?" he said, finally opening his pretty blue eyes. they crinkled at the corners with an almost-smile. "what'd you learn? how to call a guy a dumbass in five languages?"
"six," you corrected. "and how to tell when someone's being a fake asshole to keep me away from them."
he hummed.
"smart girl. always were."
the compliment, so simple and sincere, was probably the nicest thing henry had said about someone for years. it warmed you from the inside, melting the last chill from the alley.
"you aren't so bad yourself," you said softly. "when you want to be."
"didn't wanna be. easier to play dumb."
you didn't argue. you didn't try to tell him he was wrong. you just reached up and touched his face again, your fingers tracing the lie of his jaw, feeling the tension there. you knew what he meant. the avoiding you, pretending to be the monster his father expected, because being vulnerable had been too dangerous. abandoning the boy who loved cherry slushies and loved his best friend.
"must have been exhausting," you murmured.
he exhaled, leaning into your touch, the safeness of it flooding him with a feeling that was so rare. his eyes drifted shut again, this time softly. "yeah," he whispered, the word ragged. "it fuckin' was."
for a long moment, you just stood there in the quiet service road, embracing him. two kids who'd gotten lost, finding their way back to the same map.
when he opened his eyes again, they were clear. resolved. "i'm done playin'," he stated, his voice low but firm.
"good," you said. "i really missed you."
he smirked sheepishly, rolling his eyes. it was as if the statement embarrassed him slightly.
"sappy. can't lie, though," he said, his voice raspy. "i missed you too. thought of ya every day."
thought of ya every day. it explained the cold stares in the hallways - not hatred, but a tortured form of protection. he'd been seeing you, missing you, every single time. not plotting to bully you.
a lump rose in your throat. you didn't trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded.
he cleared his throat, the vulnerability making him shuffle his boots awkwardly. "alright, alright, doll. enough of this.. feeling shit." he tried to sound gruff, but it came out fond. "let's get you home. your old man's gonna think i kidnapped you."
he walked you home, his hand a warm, calloused anchor in yours. this time, the silence was companionable. the kind of quiet that exists between people who don't need words to understand each other.
at your doorstep, he didn't let go. he turned to face you, but as he did, his eyes caught your leg. the shimmery purple bruise in the rip of your tights from patrick's hand. he hadn't realized it was there.
his throat burned with disgust and fury.
his entire body went rigid. the softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal fire. the same one you'd seen in the alley when he made patrick eat dumpster. the grip on your hand tightened for a second, a reflexive spasm of rage, before he forcibly relaxed it.
he didn't speak. just stared at the violent, ugly splash of color against your skin. his jaw worked, teeth grinding so hard you almost heard it.
"henry," you said softly. "it's okay. it doesn't even hurt anymore."
"it's not okay," he laughed, his literal psychopathic tendencies flashing in blue irises. "that's.. he was one of mine. i let that.. that thing walk around with me. and he put his hands on you and left a fucking mark."
you frowned, reaching for him. he didn't pull away, but he stiffened. you put a hand on either side of his face, tracing your thumbs gently along his cheeks.
"you're here with me now. and i'm okay. you told me he'd never touch me again and i believe you." you said, reassuring him. "the bruise will heal. it'll go away and there will never be another one."
your words were a balm, but they couldn't reach the depth of the poison in him. you knew patrick would see henry again before the end of the night. but still, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing. he was listening, but also calculating.
"yeah," he murmured, the word a low concession. "it'll heal." his eyes opened, and the calculation you saw there was ice-cold, precise. "but he's gonna take a little longer to."
he took your hands from his face, not pushing them away, but holding them tightly, as if he needed the anchor. "you believe me. good. now i gotta make sure he believes me. all the way down to his bones, the dense fuck."
there was no rage in his voice now. no psychopathic flash. this was worse. this was the calm, terrifying certainty of a predator who has identified a threat to its den and is methodically planning its elimination.
"henry," you said, your voice firmer, trying to break through the grim focus. "you can't... whatever you're thinking. you'll get in trouble. real trouble."
a faint, humorless smirk touched his lips. "trouble's my middle name, sweet cheeks. but this ain't about trouble. this is about sending a message so fuckin' clear, even a sick freak like hockstetter can't misunderstand it." he let go of your hands and cupped your face, his touch suddenly, shockingly gentle. "you're my line. he crossed it. there are consequences. that's just how the world works."
he said it like he was explaining gravity. an immutable law. a new law that since you'd come back into his life, he'd implement ruthlessly.
when your father's silhouette filled the window, henry glanced towards it, his blue eyes now relaxed. he didn't step away from you, he simply reached for your hand and squeezed, offering a rough looking smile.
"your dad's watching," he said, his voice low and utterly calm. the fury was gone, replaced by a focused, operational readiness. "gettin' dark. time to go inside."
"henry," you said, still concerned about patrick's fate. "please--"
"i'm not gonna kill him," he interrupted, a strange amusement on his scarred face. the promise was blunt, but it was truthful. "i'm not gonna get put away after i just got my girl back. we're just gonna.. talk. 's all. talk."
the word talk, coming from henry bowers, was even more sinister than a death threat. it was a euphemism that promised a world of pain. but the other part - my girl - echoed in the space between you, a claim so profound and possessive it stole your breath.
the porch light flickered on, a sudden, harsh interrogation.
"y/n?" your dad's voice called, muffled but polite. "you out there?"
henry's eyes didn't leave yours. his amused smile didn't falter. he leaned in, lips brushing your ear warmly. "do your homework. put ice on that leg. i'll see ya tomorrow."
he pulled back, giving your hand one final, grounding squeeze. then, with a startling shift in demeanor, he turned toward your father, who was now a stern silhouette in the golden doorway. henry's posture changed - not slouching, but straightened with respectfull stiffness. he took a step back from you, putting a non-threatening distance between himself and the doorway of your home.
"mr. l/n," he nodded towards your father. "just walkin' her home. town's fulla creeps after dark." his voice was humble, different than you'd heard it at school.
your father's expression was unreadable, a mix of paternal concern and the deep lines of skepticism. he looked from henry to your face, searching for honesty.
"i see," he said, his voice careful and neutral. his eyes dropped to the rip in your tights, the hint of purple beneath the mesh. "everything alright, sweetheart?"
"yes, dad," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "henry walked me home. i.. i took a shortcut and tripped. he helped me."
the lie was flimsy, but you were going to stick with it until the situation was less tense. your dad's eyes lingered on henry for a moment. henry didn't fidget. he met the look with a calm, open expression that was utterly disarming. a true testament to all of the facets of his deep personality. the performance of a lifetime.
finally, your dad gave a slow nod. "alright. thank you, henry. we appreciate you seeing her home."
the 'we' was pointed, a re-establishment of the family unit, a subtle reclamation. henry just nodded again, that same respectful dip of his chin.
"no problem, sir. g'night."
he gave you one last look, a quick, private flash of those stormy blues that held a universe of promises and apologies. then, he turned and walked down the path. he didn't swagger. he just walked, a tall, solitary figure disappearing into the twilight, leaving behind the scent of engine oil, aftershave, and a silence that felt both relieved and charged.
your dad waited until henry was completely out of sight before placing a heavy arm on your shoulder and leading you to the kitchen. he gestured for you to sit at the table while he grabbed you an ice pack.
when he returned, you knew he'd seen the lack of the truth.
"you want to tell me what really happened?" his voice was soft.
you frowned, biting your lip.
"dad.."
"now, y/n. please and thank you."
the "please and thank you" was your father's secret weapon. it was the phrase he used when the situation had moved past parental concern and into the territory of seriousness. it meant the truth, the whole truth, was non-negotiable.
you took a deep breath, the scent of henry still faint on your clothes. you looked at your dad's worried, loving face and knew you couldn't continue to lie.
"patrick hockstetter.. that weird kid all the girls talk about from school?"
you watched the recognition - the horror. he'd heard the whispers at town council meetings, the worried murmurs from other parents. patrick hockstetter wasn't just a bully; he was a quiet, unsettling rumor given flesh.
"he followed me. trapped me in the alley behind the old cinema."
your dad's hand, which had been resting on the table, clenched into a fist. the knuckles went white. "did he hurt you?"
"he tried. he grabbed me. he.." you gestured at your leg, the memory of patrick's hand on the back of your thigh making your skin crawl. "he was saying disgusting things. and i couldn't get away."
the air in the kitchen grew thick with a parental rage so potent it was almost a smell. your father took two paces toward the back door, as if he might go out and hunt patrick down himself that very second. then he stopped, matering the impulse with a visible, shuddering effort. he turned back to you, his face a mask of anguish.
"and then?" he asked, voice still gentle.
"and then henry came." you saw your dad's jaw tighten at the name. "he came out of nowhere. he.. he pulled patrick off me. messed him up a little.. told him if ever looked at me again, he'd do worse." you didn't soften the words. your father needed to hear the brutal, unfiltered truth. "patrick ran."
your father was silent for a long moment, absorbing.
"he walked you home." he acknowledged.
"yes. he picked my things up. he was.. quiet. not like at school. he was just henry. like he used to be when he came to run around in the sprinklers with me that summer." you looked down at your hands, twisted in your lap. "he said sorry. for everything. for patrick."
your dad sank back into his chair, thinking.
"henry bowers," he said finally, the name heavy in the quiet kitchen. "his father's a mean son of a bitch. the apple doesn't fall far, they say."
you opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.
"but," he continued, his eyes wise and tired, "an apple can roll. sometimes it rolls a long way from the tree when it's given the right push." he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "just.. be careful, okay? that boy's got a world of hurt in him."
you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "i know, dad."
he kissed the top of your head. "get some rest."
but you didn't. you sat by your bedroom window, the ice pack melting against your skin, and watched the street. the night was still. when you went to sleep that night, you dreamt of him. just like you had many nights before.
when your alarm went off at 7:00, you got dressed quickly, forgoing the usual, careful outfit for comfortable jeans and a sweater. you threw your hair up into a ponytail, not bothering with curlers. at 7:43, you stepped onto your porch.
you took the long way.
and there he was, leaning against the old stone wall at the park entrance, exactly as promised the night before. tall, blonde, scarred up. a cigarette hung from his lips, smoking into the wind, and his eyes caught yours quickly. they scanned your outfit, noticing the differences.
"no skirt today?" he hummed. his voice was a low rasp, sandpaper-soft in the quiet morning. the cigarette bobbed as he spoke. his gaze wasn't a leer; it was an observation, a cataloguing of a change that mattered to him.
"not today," you said, stopping in front of him. the air between you was different in the daylight. less charged with desperation, more solid with this new, fragile reality. you were henry bowers' best girl.
he took a final drag, then flicked the cigarette into the gutter, crushing it under his boot with a twist of his heel. "cute." he smirked, tugging at your sweater. "shame, though. wanted pat to see the reason he got his second ass beating."
you rolled your eyes. he'd already delivered the first in the alley. the second.. it was the 'conversation' from last night. the one that left his knuckles raw. he hadn't just protected you; he'd sent a follow-up message. you were hoping he wouldn't follow through, but you were foolish for thinking it.
"you paid him a visit," you said, a statement. your mild irritation disappeared when henry's cold fingers reached for yours without you asking for it. a first move. not typical for him.
he shrugged, chuckling a little.
"he sees you, he sees me. he sees my hand comin' for his teeth. was gonna let it go, but the bruise pissed me off."
you scoffed.
"i told you that--"
"i know what you told me, doll. you told me it didn't hurt and it'd heal and all that shit," he interrupted, his voice slightly losing its playfulness. "but i saw it. on your skin. from one of my boys." he tilted his head slightly towards you, as if making sure you wouldn't slip away. "i can't let that go. the talkin', making nice, the long way home.. that's all for you. but that?" he gestured to your leg. "that needs a different language. and hockstetter only speaks one."
you glanced down at his hands. his knuckles were split, dried blood littering them from where he hadn't bothered to clean. you traced your fingers over the split gently, soothing.
"you forgive me?" his voice softened, but the teasing edge returned. "or do i gotta get on my knees?"
the image was so absurd that as hard as you resisted, a giggle escaped you. his eyes crinkled at the corners with genuine amusement.
"there it is," he murmured. "knew you weren't all pissed off."
you shook your head, still smiling, your fingers still tracing the ridges of his damaged hands. "i'm not. just don't want you to go getting yourself hurt for me."
his free hand came up, cupping your chin with surprising confidence. he forced your gaze to his face. "trust me. he looks way worse."
"didn't doubt it." you sighed.
he chuckled again, more air than noise, but real. he liked your lack of doubt. he liked that you didn't flinch from the evidence of what he'd done. his thumb stroked your cheekbone, a rough, tender caress.
"you're somethin' else, you know that?" he said, his voice a low rumble. "most girls'd be screamin' at me to stop, callin' me an animal."
"you are an animal," you said, but there was no bite in it. it was just a fact, one you were learning to accept. an animal, but not a cold-hearted one. one with some redemption still left in him. "the best kind, though."
he smirked again. "oh yeah? what kind?"
"the type with really nice arms in a muscle tank."
a loud, genuine laugh came now, shocking you both. it was a rich, full sound you hadn't heard since childhood, completely unrestrained. he threw his head back for a second, shoulders shaking, before he reined it in, but the wide, delighted grin remained.
"jesus christ," he wheezed. "that's what you got from all this? my arms in a tank top?"
you shrugged, feeling your own face heat with a blush. "i'm a simple girl, bowers, with simple needs. protection, loyalty, nice biceps. you're three for three."
he shook his head, still grinning, a lightness in his expression you'd thought was gone forever. "unbelievable," he let go of your chin to tug playfully at your ponytail. "alright, simple girl. let's get your simple ass to school before i gotta have another 'conversation' with a truant officer."
he kept hold of your hand as you walked, but the mood had shifted. there was a giddy easiness between you. he'd shown you the darkness, and you'd not only accepted it, but made him laugh about it. it felt like a miracle.
as you approached the school, the usual tension began to creep back, but was different. you were different.
"alright, listen," he said, his voice dropping as you hit the edge of the school property. "the shit you're gonna hear today... it's gonna be nasty. about me. about you. about what they think we did or didn't do." he squeezed your hand. "you look 'em dead in the eye and you don't say a goddamn word. let 'em wonder. let 'em be scared of what they don't know."
"you've given this speech before," you observed.
"never to anyone who mattered," he admitted. then, he straightened up, the mask of unapproachable toughness settling over his features like a helmet. "my shop's on the other side. i got shop class last period," he hummed. "i'll be at the fence at the bell. don't make me come find you."
with that, he let go of your hand. but instead of walking away, he did something that sent a fresh wave of whispers through the students loitering in front of the school doors.
he leaned down and kissed you.
it wasn't the same as the alley. it was firm, deliberate, and over in three seconds. a public brand and declaration. when he pulled back, his eyes were blazing with a fierce pride. proud of himself for being authentic. for letting you back in. proud of himself for finally having something good.
"see you at later, gorgeous."
then, he was striding away, not looking back. he left you there with the taste of spearmint and tobacco and the imprint of his lips on yours. you were the center of every astonished stare in the yard.
you took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the weight of his kiss like a suit of armor. you remembered his advice. you didn't smile. you didn't frown. you just lifted your chin and walked through the whispering crowd, your head high, your expression unreadable.
let them wonder. let them be scared.
you caught the gaze of patrick hockstetter, who'd quickly been left behind by henry, belch and vic. he looked worse than before. the sight of him was a cold splash of reality. patrick stood alone, leaning against the brick wall near the bike racks, a pariah twice over. one eye was swollen shut, a grotesque rainbow of purple and yellow. a butterfly bandage held together a split on his eyebrow. he held himself stiffly, as if breathing hurt.
but it was his expression that chilled you. the predatory hunger was gone, replaced by a hollow, sullen terror. and when his good eye met yours, that terror spiked into pure, unadulterated panic. he flinched, looking away immediately, shrinking into himself as if trying to disappear into the bricks.
the message was received. you were no longer prey.
inside, the whispers were a living thing, clinging to the lockers and trailing behind you.
"…saw him kiss her right out there…"
"…bowers? seriously? is she insane?"
"…heard what he did to patrick…"
"…she's dead meat, she just doesn't know it yet…"
you walked to your locker, ignoring it all. when you spun the combination, you found a small, folded piece of notebook paper wedged in the vent. you pulled it out.
in that same blocky, careful script:
don't eat the cafeteria slop. meet me at the east fire exit. 12:15. -h
a smile touched your lips. he'd planned ahead. he was bringing you lunch.
you tucked the note into your pocket, the paper as precious as a love letter. the morning passed in a blur. teachers glanced at you with new curiosity. girls you barely knew shot you looks ranging from pity to outright envy. boys gave you a wide berth, their eyes skittering away nervously.
when the bell for lunch rang, you didn't go to the cafeteria. you walked to the rarely-used east fire exit, your heart doing a funny little flip.
Hh was already there, leaning against the wall, a brown paper bag in one hand. he'd changed out of his shop coveralls into a clean, grey t-shirt that did, in fact, show off his arms quite nicely. he saw you and pushed off the wall, that private, soft smile that was only for you touching his lips.
"took you long enough," he said, handing you the bag.
you peeked inside. two decent-looking ham sandwiches, a bag of chips, two cans of coke, and two perfect, red cherries placed carefully on top.
"you made these?" you asked, touched.
"stole 'em from the teacher's lounge," he corrected, completely unashamed. "better ingredients. c'mon."
he led you out the door and around the corner to a small, hidden alcove formed by the auditorium wall and a stand of overgrown bushes. it was private, shaded, and quiet.
he sat down on the sun-warmed concrete, patting the spot next to him. you sat, your shoulders touching. he opened his coke with a sharp pssht and took a long drink.
for a few minutes, you ate in comfortable silence, the ordinary school sounds fading away. it felt bizarrely normal, like a thousand other lunches you'd shared as kids, just with more scars and a heavier understanding hanging between you.
"see hockstetter?" he asked casually, taking a bite of his sandwich.
"yeah."
he nodded, chewing. "good. he see you?"
"he saw me."
another nod. a satisfied glint in his eye. "good."
you picked up one of the cherries by its stem, twirling it. "you didn't have to do all this, you know."
he looked at you, his expression serious. "yeah, i did. this," he gestured between the two of you with his coke can, "this is the good part. the part i gotta get right. the other stuff…" he shrugged, his meaning clear. the violence, the intimidation, that was the old language, the background noise. this - the quiet sharing of stolen sandwiches - this was the new thing he was trying to build. and he was treating it with a focused, solemn intensity.
you leaned your head against his shoulder. he stiffened for a second, then relaxed, his arm coming up to wrap around you, pulling you closer.
"best lunch i've ever had," you murmured.
he rested his cheek against the top of your head. "don't get used to it. teacher's lounge might beef up security."
you both laughed, a soft, shared sound in your hidden little world. outside, the rumor mill churned, and patrick hockstetter nursed his wounds, and the whole school wondered.
but in your alcove, with the taste of stolen ham and cherries on your tongue and the solid warmth of henry beside you, there was no fear. there was only this: a fragile, fiercely protected peace, built by an animal with nice arms who was, against all odds, learning how to be gentle.
