it's based off this post by @allsteddie - beautiful post here
Content: Anal sex, short handjob, swears, steddie!strangers!au
This is my first time like actually writing smut smut and putting it on the internet so BE NICE TO ME
i might continue this but ehhhhhh-
enjoy below :D
Steve Harrington had never felt more fucked over in his life. It was just supposed to be a nice, relaxing, lake getaway; where he could kick up his feet on a nice deck chair and have a beer. He’d been so excited, y’know, packed up his car, drove all the way down while listening to the radio, picked up some snacks at the gas stations along the way, just a good old time.
Then he got there, walked in, and was assaulted by the sight of some shirtless tattooed bastard in his lakehouse. One thing led to another, the owner accidentally rented it to both of them in the same week and wasn’t picking up their calls. Great. Both of them opted to stay because they both paid for it, regardless of the other stranger there. So… They’d be together for two whole weeks.
Steve just sighed, he was unpacking his suitcase, lucky for them, this house had multiple bedrooms. (No one bed trope for you fucks BLEH >:P) Steve was the kind of guy who liked to get a bit settled on vacation, putting his toiletries in the bathroom across the hall and shoving his clothes in a dresser. However, he didn’t want to spend long on this, he wanted to go jump in that lake. He’d driven like, four hours to get here, he wanted to go float around for hell's sake!
So he got changed into his swim trunks, put on his sandals, and walked downstairs, pausing briefly. Should he tell the other guy- Eddie, his name was Eddie, he’d mentioned that. Steve had his hand on the doorknob already, the house was eerily quiet, and he didn’t want to disturb the guy after all, so he decided to go silently. He marched down to the lakefront, to the dock, put his sandals down on the old stained wood, and dove into the cold water.
—-----------
Honestly, Eddie had been in worse situations, and that guy, Steve, seemed pretty reasonable. Just like, your typical average guy, besides the hair, that guy had crazy good hair. Eddie was a little embarrassed that the guy practically saw Eddie naked earlier, at least he’d had that towel. It still scared the shit out of him when some random guy was just there. Either way, it was all mostly water under the bridge now, and Eddie could enjoy his vacation.
He was propped up in his room right now, just having a quick smoke, he didn’t really feel like awkwardly running into that guy again at this exact moment. Eddie didn’t know how long he was in here, but he’d puffed the cigarette down to nearly nothing now. Maybe he’d go enjoy that hot tub on the deck? He’d seen it the pictures, read about the rules of it briefly when he came in. It had the lake view too, that should be nice.
He managed to roll out of his bed and change. He’d never really been a fan of swimwear, it rubbed in all the wrong places, but alas, he must. He put the cigarette butt in the ashtray, squashing it out on his way into the hall. He moseyed downstairs, stole one of the soda’s that Steve had brought into the kitchen, first come first serve, y’know. He wandered out to the deck, and after quite a long time of fiddling with the hot tub, he got it bubbling.
Eddie swears that hot water and jets were personally sent down from whatever divine entity there was. It felt great. He’d pulled his newly washed hair up, didn’t need to get chlorine in there. He glanced out to the lakefront, it was about sunset now, that orange color starting to settle over the sky and the woods around. His eyes scraped over the landscape, before halting on one figure.
Random hot guy– Steve. He was climbing the docks ladder and holy shit that was a smokeshow. Those little red swim trunks were practically nonexistent with how they were clinging to the guy. He was built, more than Eddie had noticed when he was wearing that dorky polo. That muscle was covered with even more hair, this guy was fucking hairy, and it was fucking hot. Those carmel locks of his, slicked back against his head as he climbed out, dripping wet, practically sparkling against the sunset as if the universe itself was highlighting this guy.
Eddie nearly snorted his soda when the guy ran a hand through his hair and bent down to pick up his shoes. “Fucking hell…” Eddie muttered, trying to ignore how suddenly the tub was too hot. He put the soda down on a stool that was near it and practically gawked as the guy walked back up the hill. Steve noticed him when he was walking up the staircase to the deck, Eddie scrambled to look like he wasn’t staring like the degenerate creep that he was.
“Oh, hey there.” Steve would greet, stopping in his tracks and glancing at the bubbling jets. “Hi.” Eddie hissed awkwardly, trying not to stare at his pecs or abs or the happy trail on those abs– Steve paused for a beat, “Is uh, the tub any good?” He asked and Eddie could tell he was struggling with the small talk. “It’s fantastic, like, seriously, haven’t felt this relaxed since I got high in a gym sauna.” Eddie praised, flashing the guy a grin, “Plenty of room for two.” He added, even if he mentally slapped himself for it.
However, the painfully attractive stranger didn’t sneer like Eddie expected, he just hummed, “Do you drink beer?” Eddie almost laughed, “Hell yeah I do!” He liked that response from Steve. Steve just gave him a little smile. “Guess I’m grabbing two then.” He declared before turning and opening the sliding door to go to the kitchen. That went better than Eddie thought.
—--------
Steve didn’t have the slightest idea how they’d gotten to this point, they were both laughing their asses off in the hot tub, him and Eddie, who looked begrudgingly nice with his hair pulled back. They were a beer or… Three deep, and had just been talking about anything really. From Eddie’s tattoos, music tastes, Star Wars somehow–Steve was suddenly grateful that Dustin had forced him to watch them all–, and life in general. Steve couldn’t tell if he was warm because of the tub, the alcohol, or the man sitting to his left.
“Aw man! I didn’t think you’d be this… Fun to talk to when you walked in on my vacation.” Eddie admitted, putting his empty beer bottle on the gathering stool that had about seven bottles and a soda can Steve doesn’t remember grabbing. Steve chuckled, “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He teased slightly, leaning back against the wall of the tub, the jet rubbing his muscles just right. Eddie was right, the hot tub was amazing.
“Y’know, like, the polo threw me off, you looked like someone’s dad.” Eddie scoffed, gesturing vaguely at Steve, who huffed in offense. “I’ll have you know that my very good friend gave me that polo for my birthday and I look phenomenal in it.” He objected, resting his arms on the slippery edge of the tub. Robin gave it to him and she’d said the exact same thing about it when she gave it to him, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. “You look pretty phenomenal out of it.” Steve straightened up at that comment, his gaze practically whipping over to Eddie who was staring at him in a way that made Steve’s gut twist.
Steve cleared his throat and Eddie seemed to realize that he was staring and what just spilled out of his mouth. “Ah, fuck– I mean, like, you’re in great shape dude, what are you like a model?” He shook his head, a sheepish smirk on his lips. Steve chuckled, “Model? That’s high praise, no I uh, I work at a daycare.” He shrugged it off, it wasn’t some big career to gawk at like his father’s. “So that’s adorable, you like chasin’ after little kids?” Eddie teased, shifting a little closer, probably because the jets were loud and he couldn’t hear, yeah, that. Steve blushed at the tease, “Well, I mean, kinda? I definitely… Never get bored.” Eddie laughed.
“What about you, what’re you doing?” Steve asked curiously, a guy that looked like Eddie, the tattoo’s and the confidence? He must be doing something wild. “Me? Eh, nothing much, I’m a mechanic down at my uncle's shop, though, my band has been starting to get more gigs recently, maybe that’ll go somewhere.” Eddie picked a pine needle out of the water and flicked it over the edge. Of course this guy was in a band, look at him. “A band huh?” Steve asked curiously, wondering just what this guy did, was it vocals or drums or whatever handsome bastards like him did in bands? Eddie grinned, “Yeah, uh, just a bit of rockin’ around.” He brushed it off with a wave of his hand, “I play guitar.” Eddie added, as if he could see the question behind Steve’s eyes.
Guitar, right, of course he did. Of course he looked like this with his tattoo’s and his long hair and he played guitar. Steve could practically see Eddie’s hands plucking strings quickly and he could think of a few other things he wanted Eddie to do with his hands quickly– Jesus Christ get a grip Harrington! He decided that was enough of whatever the hell this was, “I’m gonna grab some towels, I’m beat.” He excused, nearly falling on his face when he tried to get out, but he made it, practically running away from Eddie, who just watched amusedly.
Fucking hell…
—--------
Everything just escalated so fast, Eddie could track the trail of events that led him here and he still couldn’t quite figure it out. They’d gotten out of the tub and Steve had handed him a towel, Eddie had thanked him and started drying off, tugging his hair loose from his ponytail. Steve had stared at him silently turning red like Eddie just whipped out his dick. Then they both decided it was a good idea to hang the towels in the laundry room, it was a tiny ass space and Steve’s chest had brushed against Eddie’s back; then suddenly there were lips touching, sounds being made, and they were upstairs in Steve's bed.
Eddie was balanced above Steve, straddling his hips, one of his hands buried in that perfect hair of his, tugging it, the other was feeling up his chest. Their lips were locked in a kiss, a messy, heated kiss. Steve’s hands were running up Eddie’s back and sides, like he couldn’t decide where to touch. Eddie let out the softest groan as one of Steve’s hands moved to his thigh. Steve seemed to take that as an invitation, swiping his tongue over Eddie’s lip, which he readily welcomed in.
They were both panting and gasping, hands and bodies moving in a frenzy, like they both needed this. Eddie couldn’t help himself, he reached down that pretty body with that hand that wasn’t in Steve’s hair and snuck his hand into Steve’s trunks. “Fuck-” Steve would hiss when Eddie’s hand wrapped around his massive half hard. “Holy shit you’re- You’re huge.” Eddie muttered, pulling back from the kiss to look down at him in a very pleased surprise. Steve flustered, “Shut up.” The man muttered, pulling Eddie’s mouth back to his, his tongue slipping in like it belonged there as it explored him.
While Steve was kissing the sanity out of Eddie, Eddie started to slowly stroke, pumping Steve’s dick a little. Steve moaned into his mouth because of it and Eddie shivered involuntarily at the sound. Eddie broke off the kiss with a light gasp, “Shit… I want you, like, so damn bad” He admitted with a chuckle, his fingers raking through Steve’s hair– who looked like a goddamn wrecked angel at the moment. Steve’s breath was shaky, his chest bobbing up and down as he stared up at Eddie. “That… That’s mutual.” He gave Eddie the cutest little smile, which Eddie returned by giving his dick a little twist that made his head fall back.
Eddie took that opportunity, peppering kisses up the line of his throat, hearing that little soft sigh that Steve let out nearly broke him. He nipped at his pulse, “Baby, there is some lube, and some condoms, in that bag over there, I need you to grab it.” Eddie explained, nodding towards his duffel, he nipped at Steve again, who seemed pretty damned pleased with it. “And why can’t you get it, huh?” Steve muttered, his eyes fluttering at the bites. “Because, you’re the one who’s going to be using them, huh, big boy?” He chuckled, pulling back a bit to look down at him as he stroked Steve ever so slowly. “I want this dick in me.” He emphasized, before pulling his hand away from Steve’s hard, like an annoying bastard.
“You’re a tease.” Steve whined softly, sitting up and stealing a kiss that had Eddie’s toes curling. “And you’re desperate, but y’know, I’m feeling generous.” He mocked playfully, squeezing Eddie’s thigh. Before Eddie got the chance to respond sarcastically in kind, Steve had grabbed him and flipped him over suddenly, Steve now on top of him. “Holy shit…” Eddie muttered, staring up at what seriously had to be the most attractive guy he’d ever locked eyes with. The feral look in those warm hazel eyes was killing him. Steve chuckled, but got off of him, sliding off the bed to go find the materials Eddie wanted.
This was going to be a great night.
—----------
Steve didn’t think it could get better, not when Eddie had been making those cute little noises when he fingered his hole, scissoring him open, lubing him up to perfection. But then Eddie was on his elbows and his knees, his tattooed back was arched and Steve was sliding in. Steve swore that he went to heaven right then and there, Eddie was tight and the strangled gasp that came out of him made Steve want to rutt into his ass.
Steve took a deep breath, rubbing Eddie’s hips, “You okay?” He asked gruffly, just wanting to check, he knew he could be… A lot. “O-Oh fuck I’m– I am great, Steve.” Eddie hissed out, his hands digging into the sheets. The way he said Steve’s name had his cock twitching, he let out a soft huff. “Alright,” Steve leaned in, gently kissing Eddie’s shoulder, “You feel so good, huh?” He praised him, slowly starting to rock his hips into Eddie’s ass, thrusting gently into that insatiable hole of his. Eddie gasped, “My God! Shit! You’re- you’re fuckin’ big, oh my-” He groaned into the mattress, burying his face in it.
Steve couldn’t have that, he moved one of his hands from Eddie’s hip to his hair, gently pulling his head up. “Nuh-uh, wanna hear you, wanna hear you fall apart of this dick.” He murmured, picking up the pace. Each thrust seemed to make Eddie fall apart a bit more, his ass squeezing Steve’s cock desperately as Eddie moaned and babbled nonsensically. “S-Steve!” He’d groan, biting down on his lip, his hole beginning to flutter around Steve. “Doing’ so well,” Steve praised him, raking his fingers through his dark curls. “Look at you, taking me so good.” Steve mumbled affectionately, punctuating it with an especially rough thrust into him.
“I-I’m–!” Eddie started, his hips twitching desperately, seeking out friction for his already dripping cock. “I know, I know, c’mon baby, cum for me.” Steve reassured, keeping his pace hard and rough, with a few hiccups, he was starting to feel that end coming too. Steve moved the hand that was in his hair to Eddie’s dick, who practically screamed when he did. A few more thrusts and some stroking, and Eddie came like a waterfall onto those sheets, his ass squeezing Steve like he was trying to drive him crazy. “Good job, did so well,” Steve praised breathily as he thrusted a little faster into his ass, riding out Eddie’s orgasm as he reached his own. Eddie was whimpering by the time Steve spilled into that condom. “Fuck!” He swore, leaning over and burying his face in between Eddie’s shoulder blades.
They stayed like that for a bit, panting and pressed together. Steve kissed Eddie’s shoulder absentmindedly, stroked his hips lazily. Eventually Steve pulled out with a groan, stood up to throw away the condom. “Fuck I ruined your sheets.” Eddie muttered as he sat up, noting the obvious stain. “We’ll wash 'em in the morning.” Steve reassured, walking over and leaning in, kissing up Eddie’s throat. “Guess we’ll just spend the night in your bed.” He suggested, pulling back to catch Eddie’s big ass grin.
lovers, strangers - a fem!shigaraki x f!reader fic
You teach Shigaraki how to get off the right way, and over the course of a week and a day, things spiral far beyond her control - and with hers gone, yours isn't far behind. (cross-posted to Ao3)
for @pixelcafe-network's Kinktober event, I got to write for Day 30 and the prompt 'orgasm control'. Canon, fem!Shigaraki, explicit, some angst, 6k words. dividers by @cafekitsune.
“Tomura,” you say solemnly from the barstool on her right, “I think you need to get off.”
“No,” Tomura says, offended. The two of you have been drinking, sure, but not enough to make you that stupid. “I was here first. It’s my bar. You get off.”
“Not off the chair,” you say. “You need to get off. Off.”
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re looking at Tomura like she’s supposed to know, and when it finally clicks, Tomura’s face goes up in flames. “I do,” she snaps at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I get off. I get off all the time.”
She doesn’t realize how loud her voice has gotten until Kurogiri clears his throat from behind the bar. Tomura forgot he was there. “Perhaps I will leave the two of you alone for now,” he says. “If you have need of me, Shigaraki Tomura, I will of course return at once.”
Tomura gestures for him to go. Her face is so hot and flushed that it feels like Father’s hand is going to melt right off of it, and you’re just sitting there calmly, like none of this matters to you at all. Why is this happening? It’s a fucking disaster. “What were we talking about?”
“How you get off all the time.”
“No,” Tomura hisses. “Before that. Why are we talking about getting off at all?”
You open your mouth, then pause to think about it. “We were talking about hero outfits, and how stupid it is that so many of the women’s costumes are sexy instead of functional. And then you were saying that making people horny isn’t a battle strategy and your face was getting all red —”
“You can’t even see my face.”
“And I said I thought it was a good strategy because it was definitely working on you and you turned even redder —”
Now Tomura remembers. “Stop talking.”
“And then I said that it was a good thing Eraserhead’s costume wasn’t tighter, or else you’d have taken one look at her cleavage and passed out —” You pause for breath. “Then you started squirming in your seat — like that — and that’s when I said you need to get off.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Tomura mutters, even though it’s way too late to make a difference. “I know how to get off. It doesn’t help.”
You give her a weird look. “What do you mean?”
“It’s supposed to make it go away. It doesn’t. So I’m not going to waste time sticking my hand down my pants when I could be doing something that actually matters.” Tomura’s sweating through her shirt. She wishes she’d worn a bra, even though she hates bras. She feels way too exposed. “Stop talking about it. You’re pissing me off.”
“Sorry,” you say, and you get up to leave. But you say one more thing as you head out, tossed back over your shoulder like the insult it is. “Maybe you’re not doing it right.”
Tomura can’t let that go. She stands up, staggers, and chases you down the hall. “I’m not doing it right? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“If it’s supposed to feel good and it doesn’t, maybe you’re doing it wrong,” you say. “That’s all I meant. I said I was sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry,” Tomura says. She’s got you cornered against the door to your room, and you look like you want to get away — but Tomura knows you could get past her, and you’re not doing it. Her temper breaks loose all at once, and any judgment or filter she’s managed to hang onto through two and a half scotches on an empty stomach goes out the window with it. “If I’m so fucking bad at beating off, give me a tutorial.”
Your eyes widen. “What?”
“You’re the one who said I need to get off,” Tomura says. She can see she’s thrown you off, and she likes it. Probably too much. “Since you think you’re some kind of expert, show me how to do it.”
“I’d have to know what you’re doing wrong,” you say slowly. Your eyes shift down from Tomura’s, then back up. “You’d have to show me first.”
“Are you trying to get out of showing me? It won’t work.” Tomura reaches around you and opens your door. You stumble backwards, and she follows you in. “Pay attention. I’m only doing it once.”
Tomura’s never been in your room before. It’s a lot cleaner than hers, and you apparently make your bed in the mornings. Tomura doesn’t feel any guilt for flopping down on it. You were right earlier, as much as she hates to admit it — she is horny, and she does need to get off. She shoves one hand between her legs and gets to work.
“Wait,” you say. “Do you usually keep the hand on?”
“What do you care?”
“I need a baseline,” you say. “Otherwise I won’t know what to fix.”
Tomura doesn’t wear Father’s hand when she’s trying to make herself come. She lifts it off her face, drops it on your nightstand, and sticks her hand between her legs again — and you interrupt her, again. “I can’t see like that.”
“So get glasses.”
“I can’t see,” you repeat. “Take those off.”
“Stop being so picky.” Tomura glares at you for a second before wriggling out of her pants. “Some expert you are. Is that good enough for you?”
“I never said I was an expert.” Your eyes are glued to Tomura’s crotch. Tomura’s stomach flips. “Underwear, too. And spread your legs.”
“Stop telling me what to do,” Tomura snaps. She yanks her underwear down roughly, then sits up to throw it the same way as her pants went. “Happy now?”
You nod. “Show me.”
Fine. Tomura sits back against the pillows and spreads her legs, the way she does when she has time on her hands and a makeshift toy to work with. Not that that happens very often. It always makes her feel stupid. It’s weird that she feels stupid about that, but not about jacking off while you sit at the end of the bed, watching. Tomura sticks her hand between her legs, noting with disgust and embarrassment that she’s wet, and moistens the tips of her fingers before finding her clit.
You’re full of shit. Tomura knows exactly how to do this — pressing down on her clit, rubbing hard enough that she’ll be sore later. The pressure and friction send little jolts through her body, nothing like the bullshit she sees pornstars pretending to feel. So what if this doesn’t work? It’s something to do. Tomura knows how to masturbate. She doesn’t need you to tell her. She does exactly what she always does and comes exactly the same way she always has. The only difference is that you’re watching.
It’s weird that you’re watching. Weird that your eyes follow Tomura’s fingers as she wipes them on the underside of her shirt, only to snap right back between her legs the second Tomura’s hand falls away. Tomura’s heart rate is barely lifted. She knows her face isn’t flushed. What could you possibly be so intent on? It’s not like Tomura has anything going on down there besides a bush she doesn’t trim.
She loses patience with you fast. “So?”
“I can see why you don’t feel good afterwards,” you say. “You’re going about it all wrong. Doesn’t it hurt?”
“After. Sometimes.” Tomura shrugs. You’re shaking your head. “What? It works.”
“Not the way you need it to.”
“Then show me,” Tomura says. “It’s your turn.”
You switch spots on the bed with her, taking off your pants just like Tomura did. But you don’t start with your legs spread like you told Tomura to. Instead, your hands run over your body, and Tomura’s eyes can’t help following them. You aren’t jerking off. She doesn’t know what you’re doing.
Your nails scrape along your jaw, then down to your throat. You tilt your head to one side to make more space, shift slightly on the bed as you run your fingers over your throat a few times, stopping to get under your neckline and trace your collarbones. Tomura could watch that all day. Or so she thinks, right up until she sees your other hand disappear under your shirt.
“Pull it up,” Tomura demands, her mouth growing dry. “Now.”
You glance at her, your eyes lingering, before you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it up to expose your breasts. You’re touching yourself lightly through the cups, which probably feels like nothing. It’s not doing nothing. Tomura watches in sick fascination as the outline of one of your nipples grows more prominent. Instead of sliding your hand inside, you switch to the other side, touching yourself the same way until you get the same response. Tomura’s not that patient. If she was running the show here, your bra would be long gone, along with the rest of your clothes. Tomura’s skin heats up at the thought. Something is wrong with her. She’s never thought about you like that before. You’re not even her type. So why —
Tomura’s so distracted by her stupid thoughts that she loses track of your other hand. By the time she finds it again, you’re touching yourself through your underwear. You’re wet, wetter than Tomura’s ever been in her life. She can’t imagine being so wound up that it’s visible through her clothes, probably visible from the moon. She hears a soft sigh exit your mouth, tears her eyes away to look back up at your face. Your eyes are half-lidded as you toy with yourself. You’re taking too long. Tomura could have come three times by now. But she wouldn’t be like this. You’re so sensitive that touching yourself through your clothes is enough to make you moan.
That sound’s going to live in Tomura’s head forever. She actually feels it wiping out half the stuff in her spank bank, taking first place and settling in for a long stay. You finally edge your underwear down and out of the way, and finally, you spread your legs. All Tomura can do is stare.
Your fingers are gentle as you explore yourself, tracing over your folds, running along either side of your slit without sinking a finger in. Tomura never saw the appeal of fingering — in the unlikely event that she ever hooked up with a girl, she’d see if she could skip it — but her fingers are twitching as she watches you and thinks about how she’d make you come. You’d feel so tight and warm around Tomura’s fingers, even before your body started to throb and clench, even before you were lifting your hips for more. Tomura’s fantasies, when she wastes time on them, almost never include anybody else, and when they do, that person is serving her, pleasuring her. Watching you right now, while you shiver and gasp and touch everywhere except your clit, Tomura can’t imagine a fantasy that doesn’t include this. That doesn’t include her doing this, to you.
Or somebody else. Tomura cuts the thought off without mercy. This is a one-time thing. A lesson. It’s never happening again.
You finally find your way to your clit, and your touch is light, nothing like the heavy pressure Tomura needs to get anywhere. But you look like you’re feeling better than Tomura is. You’re shifting on the bed, your hips tilting upwards for more. Tomura watches your other hand leave your breasts and join the other one between your legs. You coat your fingers and slip them inside you in a smooth move that makes you gasp, and Tomura’s stomach clenches tight, refusing to relax. She can’t fucking relax while she’s watching you fuck yourself slowly on your fingers, lost in your own world. Tomura might as well not be here, which blows. You’re supposed to be teaching Tomura what to do. You should be looking at her.
You don’t do some performative bullshit when you come, not like the pornstars Tomura’s seen, but it’s clear to Tomura that whatever it’s supposed to feel like, you’re feeling it. A spike of jealousy nails Tomura through the gut as you touch yourself through it, your breath coming in little gasps. She doesn’t feel like that. She’s never felt like that. It’s fucking unfair that you get to feel like that and she doesn’t.
Your body relaxes slowly, and you seem reluctant to pull your hands away and let your legs fall shut. “Any questions?”
Tomura has questions. None of them are coming out of her mouth if she can help it. She shakes her head. “Switch spots with me,” you say. “Show me what you learned.”
“I wasn’t taking notes or something.”
You roll your eyes. “Show me what you saw. Take your time.”
Tomura hates taking her time, and now that she’s watched the show you put on, she feels ten times weirder about jacking off in front of you. “Did you fake any of that?” she asks as she lies back and you shift to the end of the bed. “Don’t lie.”
“I didn’t fake any of it,” you say. Tomura parts her legs and feels almost sick with need when she sees how quickly it draws your eyes. “Don’t try to copy exactly what I did. Make yourself feel good before you start trying to hammer your clit into submission. What did it ever do to you?”
Not work right. Tomura doesn’t answer you. She’s supposed to make herself feel good. How? Her body feels awful most of the time, sore or tired or just wrong, the kind of wrong that makes her want to claw her neck to shreds. Her body is useless. It’s not going to feel good, no matter what she does.
But what if it’s not her? Tomura wonders for a split second how you would touch her, and before she can stop herself, she’s tipped sideways into a fantasy about you peeling off her clothes and touching every inch of her. Where would Tomura need you to start? She reaches down and sets both hands on her waist, running her fingers lightly over her lower abdomen. It feels awkward when she thinks about them as her fingers. When she imagines they’re yours, it’s a different story. Her skin feels prickly, sensitive. It’s hard to think about anything except where you’ll touch her next.
It’s like that everywhere. Tomura runs her fingers over her lips and pictures you touching them. When she hikes up her shirt to cop a feel of herself, she thinks about how you’d touch her, how you’d probably tease her until she begged for it. You’ve got the patience for that, probably. Tomura’s barely started and she’s already desperate to touch herself. She has no idea how you held off like you did.
She’s not as good at this as you are. It’s not long before she gives up keeping her hands away from where she needs them. Tomura twitches at the first touch of her fingers, feels her spine twist when she realizes that she’s probably leaving a wet spot on your bed. Fuck, she’s disgusting — and she doesn’t care. Tomura gives up on going slow and switches to rubbing her clit. She’s not sore. She’s sensitive, so sensitive that the lightest brush of her fingers is enough to make her squirm and moan. Going slow sucks. Tomura is so wound up she can’t think straight, can’t do anything but keep touching herself, can’t live like this for a second longer. She presses down a little harder, feeling her body seize in anticipation, and —
Your fingers close around her wrist, pulling her hand away. “No.”
“Fuck you,” Tomura snaps, suddenly furious. “This was your idea. You said I needed to get off and now you won’t let me?”
“I have a better idea,” you say. “Let’s see if you can wait a week.”
“No.” Tomura can’t wait a week. Tomura needs it now. “Why?”
“I’ve heard edging makes it feel even better,” you say with a shrug. “I’ll do it with you if you want.”
Tomura’s body twitches, strains in desperation. She’s still got one hand free. It would be so easy to come like this. You’re even touching her. Tomura grits her teeth. “Why would you do it?”
“Solidarity,” you say with a shrug. “I started it with you, so I should finish with you.”
“Nobody’s finishing if we do it your way —”
“I saw how you looked at me,” you say. “If you wait a week, I’ll do it myself.”
Tomura’s frustration takes an immediate backseat to shock. “What?”
“If you wait a week, I’ll be the one who gets you off,” you say. “However you ask for. Whatever you want.”
“Deal,” Tomura says without hesitating. “And I get to touch you.”
You look startled, but you’re nodding in agreement before the shock fades. “Deal,” you say, and even though it’s your bedroom, you get dressed and leave.
Tomura lays there for a while, her head spinning, her body still humming with need. She doesn’t want to wait. She’s not patient in general and there’s no way she can be patient for this — but if she is, she gets something better. She gets you touching her, and she’ll get to touch you, seeing everything you did to yourself and doing it better, until you can’t touch yourself without thinking of Tomura. With that in mind, Tomura can wait as long as she needs to. This will be easy.
This is the worst week of Tomura's life.
thought the promise of hooking up with you would be enough to get her through the worst sexual frustration she’s ever felt, but she didn’t count on the fact that she’d have a whole week to fantasize about what hooking up with you would be like. This is your fault. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t told Tomura she needed to get off. None of this would have happened if you’d just told Tomura what to do instead of showing her.
Maybe that wouldn’t have helped, either. Tomura can’t think about you telling her to take off her underwear and spread her legs without her face heating up, so she must like how your voice sounds when you’re telling her what to do. Sure, you were both kind of wasted, but the memory does the same thing to Tomura when she’s sober as it did when she was drunk. Tomura tries to chalk this mess up to being drunk, but she can’t. She started it, and now she’s screwed. She just can’t figure out why this is happening now.
It’s not like you’re something new. You’ve been here for years. One day Sensei told Tomura he had a gift for her, and then he brought you out. You have a weird quirk — some hyper-regeneration thing that’s strong enough to hold off any physical damage, including Decay, unless you somehow figure out a way to turn it off. Tomura doesn’t know where Sensei dug you out of, but you’ve been here ever since, a part of Tomura’s narrow world the same way Kurogiri is. Except Tomura has never, not once in her life, wanted to fuck Kurogiri.
She didn’t think she wanted to fuck you, either. You were right to call Tomura out over Eraserhead, and the fact that Tomura’s type is tall women with tits she could suffocate herself in and who could also snap her like a twig. That’s not you. But if Tomura somehow found herself on a date with Eraserhead or some other ill-advised hero crush, she couldn’t talk to them. She doesn’t know how to talk to people. She knows how to talk to you.
And you know Tomura pretty well, too — enough to know that this stupid week is killing her. Tomura loses patience about once every couple of hours. “I could just do it,” she says to you, two days in. “I could rub one out and you’d never know.”
“I would,” you said without looking up from your teacup. “Your poker face sucks.”
Tomura’s poker face really sucks. That’s why she has to wear the hand any time she’s doing something serious. If she doesn’t, exactly what’s going on with her will show all over her face. Not like you. Tomura’s never really sure what you’re thinking, and this week is no exception. She can’t jerk off without you finding out about it, but you could absolutely get away with rubbing one out, and Tomura would never know. You wouldn’t, right? Why would you when you can just haunt every second Tomura spends alone with her thoughts, coming up with fantasy after fantasy and getting so turned on that it feels like physical pain. Maybe the blue balls thing guys on the internet whine about is a thing after all. Either way, the end of the week can’t come soon enough.
But at the end of the week, Sensei has an assignment for Tomura, one you’re not needed for. He won’t say when Tomura will be back, and Tomura’s so pissed about it that she comes close to whipping Father’s hand off her face and flinging it at the TV screen. Not that it’ll help anything. Tomura still has to go on the stupid mission, and who knows when she’ll be back. You’ll have plenty of time to change your mind.
You come to say goodbye to Tomura while she’s suiting up for the mission. She can barely look at you. “What do you want?”
“You’re upset,” you say. “Can I help?”
“No. Get out.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” you say. “Tell me what’s wrong. Didn’t I help last time?”
“No, you made everything worse. And now you’re gonna change your mind —”
“No I’m not,” you say, instead of pretending you don’t know what Tomura’s talking about. “As soon as you get back. I promised.”
“Wow. Don’t sound too excited or anything.” Tomura zips up her jumpsuit fast and grabs for her backpack. “If you’re going to talk about it like you’re taking out the trash, forget it.”
“Tomura.” You get in her way, take the backpack from her hands, speak with your voice lowered. “As soon as you get back. I’ve been waiting for it all week.”
“Yeah? You could have fooled me.” Tomura’s face is heating up under your gaze. “You should —”
Prove it is what Tomura was going to say, but you’ve already leaned in, kissing Tomura’s cheek just below her birthmark. “Get back soon,” you say, your lips soft against her skin. “I’ll be awake.”
You draw back, and while Tomura’s still trying to figure out if she should give a kiss back, you hand her the backpack and leave. Tomura had better get a move-on, too. The sooner she leaves, the sooner she gets back.
Tomura’s gone for too long, and worse, she’s worn out when she gets back. The doctor had a Nomu go rogue, getting loose in the mountains above Jaku City, and Sensei decided it would be good practice for Tomura to catch and subdue it. In theory. In practice Tomura got the shit kicked out of her, and she had to kill the Nomu instead of subduing it, which means that Sensei’s disappointed and the doctor’s just pissed. She gets back the next morning, too filthy and tired to think straight, and tries to stumble straight for her room. You intercept her on the way. “You need to get cleaned up first,” you say. “Here.”
Tomura almost falls asleep standing up in the shower. When she gets out, there are clean towels and a pile of clean clothes waiting for her, and when she stumbles back to her room dressed in them, she finds that you’ve brought her some water and a painkiller for her headache. And you’ve turned down the corner of her bed.
“Thanks,” Tomura mumbles as she climbs into bed. “I fucked up. Sorry I — kept you waiting —”
She falls asleep before you can answer. When she wakes up, midafternoon, you’re gone.
She finds you hanging out in the bar again, like you were a week and a day ago. You look up at the sound of her footsteps. “Hey,” you say. “How are you feeling?”
“I waited,” Tomura says. “A whole week. More than a week.”
She wants to say you owe her, but she’d sound like an asshole. She wants to say you promised, but she’d sound like a little kid. She was sort of horrified to realize that even getting the shit beaten out of her wasn’t enough to cut into how she’s been feeling since you grabbed her wrist and wouldn’t let her come. “I want it,” she says finally. “It. You. Now.”
You don’t argue with her. You get up and head to your room, and Tomura follows, locking the door behind you both.
In spite of how sore she is, Tomura knows she needs to move fast if she’s going to get what she wants. She reaches out and touches your hip, tugging the waistband of your pants. “Do you care about these?” she asks, and when you shake your head, she Decays them. “Now lie down.”
You do, and Tomura crawls over you, still dressed. She has to stay dressed as long as she can or there’s no way she’s getting everything she wants from you. You take off your bra without being told to, but you leave your shirt on, just like Tomura fantasized about. She’s not sure if you know that or if you just prefer covering up.
Whatever. Tomura doesn’t need to think hard to know where to touch you. All she has to do is copy what you did last time, fingertips down the side of your neck, one hand under your shirt, and once she has you squirming she can do exactly what she wants. But Tomura’s mind skids to a stop once her hands actually settle on your skin — her palms first, then her fingers, all five fingertips down. Decay activates, the way it does whenever she touches something for too long, and she feels a useless surge of terror before she realizes that you aren’t crumbling beneath her hands. Your quirk makes you a great bodyguard. It also makes you safe to touch.
Your skin is warm. Tomura can’t remember the last time she touched something that was warm like this. Someone else that was alive, and stayed that way. It paralyzes her, and you catch her by the shoulders and lie back on your bed, pulling Tomura down on top of you. Your lips brush against Tomura’s birthmark and she shudders, pressing herself harder against you. Fuck, this isn’t working. She needs to feel you, and she’s out of patience. Tomura takes her shirt off, Decays her pants, and sprawls out on top of you again.
That’s better. Your legs tangle up with Tomura’s and you shift beneath her, getting comfortable as your hands find their way from her shoulders down along her arms before wrapping around her. You kiss Tomura’s birthmark again, then the side of her neck, and then Tomura has to pull away. “Stop,” she says. “I can’t —”
“Like I showed you,” you say. Your hands find their way to Tomura’s waist, just where she imagined you touching her before, then slide upwards. She spent the last week fantasizing about that, too. “It’s easy. See?”
Your hands are warm as they cup Tomura’s nonexistent breasts. Tomura arches her back, pressing forward into your hands, before remembering that she can’t have both things she wants if she falls apart here. “Lay down,” she says, and your hands linger for a second on her skin before you pull away.
Tomura’s not as patient as you are. She can’t take the time you did as she works her way over your body, but she still tries to get her hands or her mouth on everything she can reach. She bites your shoulder through your shirt, sees you wince, and regrets it enough to come back, tugging the neckline of your shirt aside to lower her mouth to the same spot again. It’s hard to think, because you’re touching her. Nobody touches Tomura. Even if they did, they wouldn’t do it like this.
Tomura feels your skin heating up as she works her way down your body, and when her leg slides between yours, you raise your hips to meet her. You’re so wet Tomura can see it, a smear down her thigh where you ground against her, and Tomura almost buckles under the pulse of need that strikes her. She can finger you later. She needs to feel you, now.
Tomura nudges your legs apart, then straddles you awkwardly. And then she’s stuck. You prop yourself up your elbows to watch her. “What are you trying to do?”
Tomura’s read enough to know how stupid what she’s about say is. “Scissoring.”
“Oh.” Your eyes widen, and you shift position, forcing Tomura to change how she’s straddling you. “This might be kind of awkward. I can do something else you’d like more.”
“Later.” The heat between Tomura’s legs is unbearable. She’s wet and swollen and sensitive, so sensitive that even her fingertips would feel too rough. “Stay still.”
Her body won’t do what she’s telling it to. Her thighs are shaking, sore from yesterday’s nightmare, and she feels stupid and horny and pathetic — and then you shift beneath her even though she told you to hold still. Tomura steadies herself, face in flames. Then she sinks down a little further, feels her clit brush against your folds and heat, and almost comes on the spot.
She hears you catch your breath, but she drowns it out in an agonizingly loud moan as she sinks down further, desperate for more pressure, more friction. “Fuck,” she gasps, rocking her hips forward again for that slight contact, just enough to show her what she’s missing. “Fuck — I can’t —”
Tomura doesn’t know why she keeps saying that, because she is. Wedged between your legs at an awkward angle, grinding against you, your bodies unable to fit together for more than a painful tease. She doesn’t understand. She’s been pent up for a week, so fucking horny that she was sure she’d come if you so much as breathed on her, and now she’s scissoring like she’s in a porno and she can’t get there. Her body picked right now to stop fucking working. Tomura could almost scream from frustration.
Or cry. That’s what her body’s trying to make her do, as she presses ineffectually against you, and your voice slips through the mess in her head. “You look so pretty.”
Tomura freezes in place, her mind flooding with heat, and you start moving instead. It’s worse when you’re in control, when it’s your fault she can’t come, but she can’t focus on anything but your voice. “So pretty,” you whisper, your voice breathless. Tomura makes the mistake of looking at you. You’re staring at her the same way you were a week ago, when she was touching herself on your bed. “You’re desperate, aren’t you? I saw how you touched yourself the first time and I knew there was no way you’ve ever gotten what you need. And you still waited a whole week —”
“You said I had to —”
“If you wanted me to make you come,” you correct. Your breathing catches as you grind against Tomura again, your clit sliding past hers. Tomura whines in agony, and she hears the strain in your voice. “You really want it to be me?”
Fuck you, Tomura wants to say. Look what I’m doing. What do you think? But you’re grinding against her again, your eyelids fluttering, and the word spills out of Tomura’s mouth before she can stop it. “Yes,” she moans, hating herself, hating you for making her like this. “I need you. Now — please —”
You sit up, ending the torture, and roll the two of you over, pinning Tomura beneath you. It’s not much of a pin — she could get out — but she doesn’t want to. Tomura’s body surges against you as you kiss her neck, as she feels your tongue flick against one of her nipples before circling it. She claws at your shoulders, hard enough to leave marks if it was possible to do, and when your fingers slip down between her legs, her mind is ready to snap. And when you shift down further, your fingers inside her and your tongue lapping her clit, the explosion of pleasure and relief as she comes wipes Tomura’s mind clean.
You finger her through it, your free hand holding her hips down so you can keep eating her out at the same time. Tomura’s body still aches and strains for more, and before she’s even taken a deep breath, her body seizes up again, clenching tight around your fingers. Her second orgasm almost hurts, and she’s still squirming and sobbing when you slow down until you’re barely touching her at all.
Tomura can’t come anymore — not right now, not after that — but the fact that you’re pulling away from her, sitting up, sitting back, feels like a disaster. “Here,” she says, or begs. She’s not sure where she’s gesturing to — her side, on top of her again, anywhere so long as it’s closer than this. “Here —”
You stretch out on your side next to Tomura on your wrecked bed, your own face flushed, your eyes averted. “Look,” Tomura orders. You shake your head. “You fucked me and now you won’t look at me?”
“I’m always looking.” Your lips barely move. “You just don’t see.”
Tomura sees you every day. She’s seen you every day for years, growing up side by side — except she never saw you like this before, never thought of you like this before. Did you think of her? How long were you looking at Tomura before Tomura noticed? Tomura reaches out and pulls at the hem of your shirt, and after a moment’s hesitation, you take it off.
Fuck. Tomura can’t focus on one part of you long enough to satisfy her. Her eyes are drawn to everything. Scars, birthmarks, hips, legs, shoulders, breasts. Depending on how long you’ve been looking at her, Tomura has a lot of catching up to do. And even though she’s so relaxed she can barely focus her eyes, she has one fantasy left. “You said I could touch you if I waited,” Tomura says, and you nod. “I waited. I want to touch you now.”
You nod, and Tomura throws whatever plan she has for you out the window. You’ve been waiting, too, right? She won’t make you beg. She’ll do what you want. When you roll to one side, facing away, she wraps herself around you from behind and lets her hands wander over your body until they find their way between your legs.
Tomura presses your legs open with her hand on the inside of your thigh and spends a second there, stroking your skin until you spread your legs wider for her. Fuck. The fingers on her other hand sink into you, and you’re just like she imagined. Just as tight, just as warm, and you react just like she hoped you would. Your body clenches and unclenches around her fingers, little sounds slipping out of your mouth, almost too quiet for Tomura to hear. “Louder,” she says, and you shake your head. Fine. “See if you can stay quiet for this.”
Tomura pins your leg between hers, locking it open, and frees up her hand to rub your clit while she fingers you. You don’t get to take her apart like you did and walk away. Tomura’s going to make sure you feel this, feel her, the way she felt you. Your body seizes in response to her fingers on your clit, and Tomura remembers the light touch she saw you use. Lighter. She wants to hear you beg.
You don’t beg, but you don’t stay quiet. There’s desperation in your voice. “Tomura, don’t — stop —”
Like Tomura was ever going to do that. She wants to feel you come around her fingers, and she does. Your legs clamp down tight around her hands as you shudder, and Tomura grins against your shoulder when she hears you sob for breath. If you hadn’t worn her out already, she’d be ready to go again just listening to you.
Your voice sounds strange when you speak. “Edging. What do you think?”
“It blows,” Tomura says. You nod. “I’m glad I waited. It’s better with you.”
Better is understating it. Now that she has this, has you, there’s no way Tomura’s going back to whatever the fuck she was doing before. It’s too good like this. There’s too much else she wants from you. “Next time I get to touch you first.”
You don’t answer. You’re still and quiet in Tomura’s arms, and an odd surge of unease pierces through Tomura’s thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say. “You can go first next time. I should —”
You sit up, or try to. Tomura holds you back. “Where are you going? It’s your room.”
“You seem tired. I’m not going to make you leave.”
“Yeah. It’s your room. We’ll both sleep here.” Tomura has to let go of you to work her way under the blankets, turning back a cover for you. “Come on.”
Sleeping naked with you feels like a bad idea. Tomura doesn’t want to think about what she’ll be like if she wakes up horny with you right there. But she’s tired, and she’s not ready for you to leave yet. She’ll feel better if you’re here.
The thought crosses her mind again, as she settles in for what feels like it’ll be a good night’s sleep. She voices it again, too. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, and Tomura drifts off to sleep.
You’ve left by morning, just like you did the night before. By the time Tomura thinks to look for you, you’re long gone.
Author’s Note: Hi! I wanted to try something different because of writer's block. Thank you so much for checking out my work as always. - V. 💜
=============
Darnit!
Though quite embarrassed over the years, Clark Kent will never forget what happened on his way to work at the Daily Planet this morning. When simply moving down another sidewalk, every footstep almost scrambled near his destination until he freezes mid-stride and bumped into a pedestrian.
To make matter even worse, his brand-new coffee, fresh from the local shop, spilled right down the middle of your clothes.
“I’m so sorry.” Clark attempted, trying to pick up the pieces. His own clumsiness probably ruined your entire week, let alone one particular day.
“Don’t apologize, accidents happen.” Despite being unable to properly introduce yourself, you brightened this smile in hopes of easing his nerves. Fretting wouldn’t help anyone, especially not him today. “Take care.”
And just like that, you gathered essentials and walked off, regardless of fixing your outfit later.
Stan was hesitant to actually step across that threshold where light met dark, so he couched right on the cusp and reached in instead. He expected his hand to hit ground any moment now, then he could fumble for the stupid money clip and get the hell out of here. But his hand simply… didn't. Stan realized with a cold flash of fear and no small amount of confusion that he’d somehow overbalanced himself, his boots desperately scraping against the asphalt as he careened forward.
He yelped as his other hand instinctively moved to catch himself, but there’s nothing to catch himself on. There was no ground for either of his palms to touch, just darkness, and it swallowed him whole.
Or, Teenage Stan & Old Man Ford portal adventures.
Somebody to Call My Own
Like most dimensions, it started with the Science Fair. And like most dimensions, there was an accident. An accident that set off a chain reaction of events that eventually led to the destruction of Earth. However, unlike most dimensions, The Axolotl gave one Stanford Filbrick Pines the gift of premonition at birth for reasons unknown.
The Stanford Filbrick Pines of Dimension 419”3 was destined to build something much, much bigger than himself that would connect hundreds upon thousands of Dimensions and change the multiverse for the better.
Or, the infamous Watchdog Ford saves a Stan variant called "Lee" and is saved in turn.
Multiverse Time with Dr. Pine
An AU offshoot where the Dr Pine is a sentient puppet and in the multiverse.
The AU was created by @aroace-get-out-of-my-face
Even a Falling Star Still Shines
“Fuck.” Mabel said. With feeling.
What had gone wrong? She’d been holding Dipper’s hand when they used the Time Tape, so they shouldn’t have been separated. But here she was, having a staring contest with the clearly exhausted and completely disheveled younger version of her Grunkle Ford. And, if she was being honest, if she had the option of being stranded with one of her Grunkles… she would have preferred Stan.
Or, a timestuck AU featuring Mabel and Ford.
We Never Meant To Become Strangers
An AU in which Ford is changed after accidentally going through the portal, not quite as human coming out as he was going in.
Or, Ford is a cosmic horror.
Infinity Falls
An AU where Stan tells Ford that he accidentally broke his machine and Ford is able to fix it, changing the course of history.
Or, a story featuring a darker Pines family and co.
A Gilded Cage
In this universe, Bill Cipher goes by Liam. He's jaded and reclusive after accidentally destroying his dimension, drifting from dimension to dimension. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge, filling the void by distracting himself with learning everything he can about the multiverse.
He's summoned by a Ford and sealed in a glass cage, surrounded by the half-dissected corpses of other Bills. In order to be released from his prison, he has to make a deal with Ford, acting as the Stan twins' eyes and ears. Ford is a literal mad scientist while Stan is a grunt in a gang. Both have ambitions and intend to use Liam to achieve their respective goals.
Neither could've foreseen the obsession that would consume them.
Or, a (very) dark AU centered around my billsona and the Stan twins.
too scared of what she'll see, somebody holding me
(9,799 words)
Scar found Grian to be as confusing as she was amazing.
They were doing some great work on set together, they were getting along much better behind the scenes, and Grian also happened to be a fantastic kisser.
Really, Scar didn’t think someone could have it all, but then Grian came into her life just to prove her wrong.
The confusing part of her lied solely in her attraction to others, Scar supposed. She didn’t even know why Grian had suggested being friends with benefits with her when from day one, she clearly wanted Big B.
Scar just didn’t understand.
“Like she’s a great friend and everything, and I love being with her, but I just wish she would pick a lane, ya know?” she rambled on.
BDubs and Cleo stared back at her, wholly unamused, and possibly concerned.
“…right,” BDubs finally responded. The awkward silence on their end only made the conversation feel worse, and they were trying their best to be supportive. Just not in the way Scar wanted them to be.
“Have you… I dunno,” BDubs started, and Scar was already rolling her eyes simply because of the tone he was using. “-tried talking to her?”
Scar crossed her arms, and scoffed at the idea. “Pfft… no,” she replied. She leaned into the counter top, and rested her head in her hands, growing distressed. “We already established it’ll just be friends with benefits, no feelings,” she whined. “So I can’t even say anything to change it, cause that’s how we said our relationship would be!”
“You can say something,” BDubs reminded her, still annoyed. “Tell her you like her, or whatever.” He grumbled under his breath, “Or tell her to kick rocks for all I care.”
“Hey! No, I like her, she’s not leaving unless she wants to!” Scar argued back.
BDubs continued to mumble some vague threats under his breath, so Scar turned to Cleo for some suggestions. “Cleo, what should I do?”
They side-eyed BDubs, annoyed that now they were the last defense to and give some lame advice they knew Scar wouldn’t listen to anyway. Little did she know, Cleo actually had some experience in this department.
“Sabrina, as someone who recently divorced their husband of fifteen years, I’m going to give you some advice,” Cleo stated. Scar’s expression dropped, and she suddenly felt like she was being lectured.
Maybe she was also happy to finally learn more about her, since Cleo didn’t talk much about herself, but at what cost?
“You need to be honest about what you want, or leave, because problems like these don’t go away. They just get worse with time.”
Scar grumpily frowned. “It’s not that bad, though. I don’t think I need to leave her over it.”
“You bring it up every dang time I talk to you!” BDubs shouted, finally able to vent out his frustrations.
Cleo set a hand on top of his head. “Down, boy,” they chided him. BDubs crossed his arms and pouted, mirroring his younger sister. Cleo almost wanted to take a picture and frame it just to point out how similar they looked.
“Well yeah, I bring it up a lot cause I hang out with her a lot,” Scar continued to argue. “And when I’m not with her, she’s out there ogling Big B.” She rolled her eyes as the image of Grian flirting with Big B popped into her mind.
“You can’t control her, Sab,” BDubs replied, dumbfounded and disgusted.
“I’m not trying to!” Scar cried back. “I just want her to make up her mind!”
Cleo was getting bored of this, if she was honest. She could see why BDubs was so exasperated, even if Scar seemed to have good intentions. Arguing didn’t fix anything, in her experience.
Finally, Cleo butt in as the two were sticking their tongues out at each other. “You seem to like the thought of her more than the actual her.”
Scar looked shocked, maybe even hurt that Cleo would even suggest that. She immediately rebuked the idea, “I do not. She’s fun to be around, and we’ve gotten along so much better since we’ve actually started getting to know each other.”
Cleo stared at him with a blank, unimpressed expression. “I’m just saying,” Cleo continued, “I see you putting in a lot more effort into this relationship—or whatever you call it—than she does.”
“She does put in effort!” Scar continued to defend her. “She brought me a treat when she apologized, and she was the one who asked to meet up outside of the studio!”
Cleo and BDubs shared a glance with each other, neither of them buying what Scar was saying.
“She even introduced me to her friends outside of the studio, and we sneaked- snuck… is it snuck? That doesn’t sound right…” Scar stopped speaking for a moment, trying to reorient after she confused herself. BDubs tried not to laugh, but Cleo still smacked his shoulder when a little snicker slipped out. “We sneaked away to make out in her friend’s closet! You don’t just do that with someone casually, right?”
BDubs stuck out his tongue with a “blegh,” not wanting to hear those details about them. Cleo was honestly just proud of her for figuring out the right word.
“That does sound like a pretty big step, you have to admit,” Cleo gave her the point.
BDubs threw his hands up in the air. “Aw heck! Why don’t you just marry her then?!” he shouted. Scar wanted to argue back, but BDubs cut in before she could, “Let’s talk about something else. This isn’t going anywhere.”
Scar pouted, and crossed her arms. Cleo also wanted to move on, but didn’t want to shut Scar out when she clearly needed some help. “In conclusion, Sabrina, it’s your life, do what you want, but you should definitely talk to her. Maybe put down some limits or boundaries.”
Scar met their eyes, and a gave a small nod. “I’ll think about it,” she acquiesced.
BDubs grumbled more under his breath a bit more, “Yeah you better fricking think about it, always complaining about her,” but she didn’t let it bother her.
“So who’s your ex?” she asked Cleo out of the blue.
Cleo made a face at the question—one of shock and maybe disgust, if Scar had to define it. She took a moment, cleared her throat, then eloquently replied, “It was Etho.”
Scar gawked, her mouth hanging open as she processed… that. “Etho?” she dramatically asked again. Cleo nodded, then clicked their tongue. BDubs just crossed his arms, seeming a little grumpy at the mention of their ex. “Is that why you’re glaring at him all the time?”
Cleo rolled their eyes, and defended themself, “I don’t mean to, it’s just my face.”
Scar had to admit that Cleo had a bit of RBF, but she could tell the difference between her blank, calm expression, and when she was looking at Etho.
“You guys were together for fifteen years? What happened?” she softly asked. She then found herself rambling, “I mean you don’t have to tell me, of course, but I’m- I’m just curious.”
Cleo gently smiled, which Scar hadn’t really seen her do before. She hoped she was growing on them, and that maybe she’d gotten their approval. She really didn’t just want to be that “annoying little sister-in-law” to them if they stayed with BDubs.
“Like I said, communication is key,” they simply replied. “If your partner asks what’s wrong, because they’re concerned and just want to help you, maybe do the both of you a favor, and speak.”
Scar slowly nodded, and finally understood why Cleo was so fervent in her lecture that Scar should just talk to Grian.
“So there’s just… a lot of… unresolved stuff between you two, I’m guessing?” Scar continued, hoping she wasn’t prying too much.
Cleo nodded, and glanced to the side like she was purposefully focusing her glare at the wall, rather than Scar. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s been a year now, hadn’t spoken much to him until the project started. We ended it on… okay terms. He let me take a lot of the money so I wouldn’t struggle, and he just wanted to keep the house.”
Scar hummed affirmatively as she nodded. “That’s nice of him. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you two,” she sympathized.
Cleo nodded as well, and set her eyes back on Scar. “Yeah, well…” they lectured her again, “that’s why communication is important. Secrets can tear a relationship apart, even ones you thought would last forever.”
Scar glanced at BDubs, who still didn’t look happy that they were talking so much about Cleo’s past relationship. “At least you met BDubs because of it, right? That’s a nice silver lining,” Scar tried to lighten the mood.
BDubs finally let a small grin grace his lips, and leaned into Cleo’s side, resting his head on her shoulder. “And you got to start your businesses,” he contributed. “Those have been a plethora of help.”
Cleo chuckled at his word use, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
Scar’s eyes widened with intrigue, and before she knew it, she was asking, “Ooo, what businesses have you started?”
Cleo rolled her eyes fondly, and answered, “Just my own fashion studio, trying to help some young designers get their stuff on runways. It’s just my name on the building, I have someone else managing for the most part.”
“And the kitty cafe!” BDubs reminded them.
“And the kitty cafe,” Cleo reiterated to please her boyfriend. “Same thing there, I just step in sometimes to make sure the cats are well cared for and that everything’s up to my standards.”
“Aw man, that sounds cool,” Scar replied earnestly. “I wanna do something like that when I’m done with acting. I don’t know when that will be,” she continued with a soft laugh, “but it’s on my bucket list.”
Cleo nodded, genuinely interested in what she was saying. “It’s always better to start sooner than later. I could help you get started if you need it. Even something like fundraising is a good way to dip your toes in.”
Scar hummed affirmatively, hooked on the idea. “That’s not a bad idea. I’ll keep that in mind!”
Raising money for cats immediately came to her, or helping fund research and more accommodations for people with disabilities and chronic pain.
Getting to know Cleo had been fruitful, just like she hoped. She would just… push the advice about leaving Grian to the side for now.
Scar sighed as the scene finally ended. They were finished with filming for the day, they just had some fight choreography they had to practice before they could go home. Scar was unfortunately already pretty sore, and her chronic pain had not taken the hint that she couldn’t afford to be hurting today. She’d get through it though, she reassured herself. Just a little bit longer.
Everyone took a break and mingled within their groups while Grian and Scar changed out of their costumes, and met Ren and False in the choreography studio.
False and Ren were already in a light conversation, holding their own fake swords and going over notes for the scene they would be practicing. Scar was starting to see the point Gem made about Ren not knowing how to act around the people he liked. False was pretty blatantly flirting, and he just… didn’t notice?
Welp, that’s their issue, Scar figured. I’ve got my own love life to figure out.
Speaking of love life, Grian finally entered the studio. It astounded Scar to no end of how she managed to look so good in sweatpants. They even had her own logo on the side, and a bright pink stripe running up the legs. Only Grian could make that work!
Grian grabbed two swords, and tossed one to Scar. She caught it easily, and playfully swung it at Grian. The woman blocked the blow, and would’ve continued their play fight if False didn’t clear her throat, and say, “Not bad, but let’s teach you both how to fight for the camera.”
The two let their swords rest at their sides as False started instructing. “Now, Joel gave me some notes on your characters for this scene to keep in mind. Sabrina, Delaney is an archer at heart, she’s going to be a bit more clumsy with the sword. Think a lot about its weight and where you’re swinging, because she wouldn’t be used to those things.” Scar nodded, and took a deep breath as she tried to settled into her character’s mindset. False continued, “Ariana, Lark is more used to daggers, but has a little bit of experience with swords. She’s scrappy and always going for small, quick swings to just get in whatever hit she can.” Grian nodded as well, and admired how much the writing and choreography team were taking the characters’ personalities into consideration.
Ren smiled as he listened to False instruct. He just lived to hear her talk and lead, if he was honest. He did keep her notes in mind, though, since he would be helping her demonstrate the fight so that Scar and Grian has something to base it off of.
He tried not to let his mind linger on when they had been practicing earlier, but he couldn’t help it. He absentmindedly chewed on his lip as the scene from before replayed in his memories.
He jolted when False nudged him with the tip of her sword. “Ready to demo it?” she asked. She noticed his mind had been wandering, and raised an eyebrow.
He nodded eagerly, and choked out, “Y-Yeah, yeah, all good!”
She rolled her eyes and tried to bite back her smile. “Alright, I’m going to be Delaney, he’ll be Lark,” she mentioned to the actresses, who had their eyes trained on the pair.
False started with a quick, small swing near the waist, just like how she described for Grian’s character. Scar watched as she swung repeatedly at Ren, using all of her force to keep backing him up. Ren, playing to his respective role, took a moment to realize what was happening, but finally started hitting back once he understood. They knew the scene would end with their swords locked together, before Delaney would do a big turning sweep that would knock both of their swords out of their hands, finishing the fight.
False and Ren ran through it about three times until Grian and Scar both felt like they’d seen it enough times to know what motions to do when. The pair stood back, ready to take notes on what they would need to improve the next time, and nodded for the actresses to start.
Scar took in a deep breath, and locked eyes with Grian. The woman gave her a little wink, before she swung for her stomach. She waved her sword towards her a few more times, effectively backing Scar up without ever hitting her, but Scar had a hard time finding the right moment to fight back.
She winced when a sharp pain shot through one of her legs, and caused her to lose her footing. “Wait-” she softly choked out, unable to form a better warning. Grian saw the fear in her eyes, but had already struck before realized. She accidentally knocked Scar to the ground, and gasped when she hit the floor.
“Shoot! Sabrina, I am so sorry!” she immediately apologized. Ren and False seemed taken aback at the situation, but figured they would just need a moment to laugh it off and start again.
Scar wanted to, she really did, but the stabbing ache in her legs couldn’t let her off that easy. She took Grian’s hand, and tried to force herself up, only to let out a soft gasp of pain when she put pressure on her knee.
“Shit-” she cursed under her breath. She settled back onto the ground, and took a moment to process what was happening. “Ari-” she called, since it was the first name that came to her mind. “I can’t…” tears brimmed her eyes, and she tried pushing herself up, only to get another flare of pain shooting through her. “I can’t get up.”
Grian’s hand slowly came to cover her mouth, staring down at Scar, shocked and unsure of what to do. Ren and False also seemed worried, but thankfully, knew how to react.
Ren slowly came over to Scar, and knelt down next to her as she tried to keep herself from crying. “Sabrina? Do we need to take you to the hospital? What are we feeling?” He kept his voice steady and even as he talked to her, trying to provide some stability.
“I just-” she was cut off by a soft sob, and forced back the tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn’t even tell if they were from the pain, shock, or embarrassment. “Can you help me to my room? I can- I can go again in a few minutes, I just- just need some time.”
Ren nodded, even if he didn’t fully believe her. He could wait to tell her she was certainly not going again today when they got to her dressing room. “Okay, here we go then,” he responded, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. False was quick to come to her other side, and help her limp back to her dressing room. Grian followed slowly behind, unsure of what she should do.
Scar kept her head down as they went down the halls, and through the main filming area. She hated the way she could see the writers perk up with curiosity and concern as Ren and False helped her to her room.
Grian made herself useful by getting in front of them and opening the door, then shutting it behind once they were inside. They gently helped her lay down on the couch and get comfortable.
“False, can you-” Ren started to suggest, but she was already on it.
“I’ll get ice,” she finished for him, and walked swiftly on her way to the break room.
Scar looked so ashamed as she stared down at the ground. “Guys, really, it’s no big deal. I’ll be fine in a few minu-”
“No, your health and safety comes first, Sabrina,” Ren cut her off. “I admire your work ethic, but right now, we need to make sure you’re okay.” He then suggested, “Do you want us to get BDubs in here?”
“No!” she immediately declined that idea. “I swear, I’m fine. I’ll just ice it for a few minutes and we’ll be good to go!” She tried to force a smile and cheery tone of voice.
Grian and Ren glanced at each other, wholly unconvinced.
“Guys, seriously, it’s no big deal, I’ll be fine,” she continued, and tried not to sob when pain shot through her knee, but she certainly couldn’t hold back the wince it caused.
She froze when Grian approached her, a gentle, understanding smile on her face. “Sabrina, where are your braces, love?” Grian softly asked her, and tucked her hair behind her ear.
Scar sniffled, and palmed away at her cheeks as a stray tear fell. “…In my car,” she finally answered. “I knew- I knew I would need them today, but I just- just wanted to see if I could do it without them,” she ashamedly admitted.
Grian pouted at that, but she knew Scar didn’t need a lecture right now. “Alright, I’ll be right back with them,” she replied, and pressed a kiss to her temple. She rummaged through Scar’s bag until she found her keys, and kept up a quick pace as she walked out of the room.
Ren sighed, and softly smiled at Grian’s determination to help her costar. “You two have come a long way, huh?” he pointed out.
Scar appreciated it, the easing in to what she knew would be a lecture. She seemed to be getting a lot of those recently.
She nodded, and smiled fondly. “Yeah, she’s been really great about… all of this,” she replied, and gestured to her legs.
Ren hummed as he nodded. “Speaking of…” he finally started. Scar tried to not make a face. She knew he was just trying to help. “I know I’ve brought it up before, but there are some ways we could incorporate your chronic pain into the story, or change your wardrobe so you can wear your aids without them being on camera. Whatever you want, I’m okay with, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you go forward with scenes like that one where you’re not wearing them.”
Scar sighed, and chewed on her cheek as she mulled it over. She hated the way that tears brimmed her eyes once more. She frustratedly wiped away at them, and took in a few deep breaths. “I can- I can do this job, Ren, I swear,” she reassured him.
He nodded, and gently replied, “I know, Sabrina. I never doubted you or your talent. You’re not losing your job, I promise. This role was made for you,” he passionately replied.
She hiccuped, and nodded as she continued to wipe away her tears.
He grew concerned at how worried she was about losing her part. “Has that… happened to you before?”
It took her a moment, but she finally gave another small nod in affirmation. “My- my last audition. It just went terribly. My knees weren’t doing great so I couldn’t do a lot of the action parts, and the director was awful about it. Made fun of me, said he didn’t know how I landed my other roles when I clearly seemed so incapable.” The worst of it was over, but she rambled a little further, “Then he tried to get me to sign up for some class he teaches to fix people’s imperfections. That was… weird.” She was scowling by the end as she recalled the memory.
He tilted his head, and the pieces of the puzzle that was Sabrina Scarpenter finally clicked together for him. “Is that why you brought me the gift basket when you told me about it?”
She nodded once more. “I thought it would soften the blow if you didn’t want me anymore.”
“And why you’re so hesitant to make this a part of your character?” he continued, in reference to her chronic pain. She nodded again.
He sighed, and tried to think of what he could say that would comfort her. When nothing came up, he said, “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
She wanted to grumble that she couldn’t move much anyways, but he was already out the door.
A minute later, Ren came back with Cleo and Etho in tow. The two seemed confused about why they were being pulled aside, but both of their expressions softened when they saw the state of Scar.
“Sabrina, are you alright?” Cleo gently asked. Scar found it uncharacteristic for them, but didn’t mind it so much in the moment.
Etho jumped in, trying to help, “Should I go get BDubs?”
Scar immediately answered, “No! Guys, I’m fine.”
Cleo shook her head, and glanced at Etho as she replied, “I… BDubs means well, but I think he’d only agitate her more.”
“I already got chewed out by him once this week,” Scar mumbled. She redirected her focus on the pair, with Ren standing to the side. She asked them, “So, why are you guys here?”
They both glanced at Ren, since he was the one who dragged them in there and hadn’t given an explanation. “I thought it would be helpful if you saw how many people would be fine with you needing accommodations, and how willing they are to help.” He handed the reigns over to them, and went on his phone, probably texting someone.
She rolled her eyes, even if it did melt her heart a little on the inside. “I don’t need-”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Etho interrupted her, and crossed his arms. He justified it by saying, “We already changed Ariana’s role so she could fit it better. Don’t see why we can’t do the same for you.”
Cleo looked like they wanted to scoff as they contributed, “Yeah, Sabrina, I’ve told Ren I’m open to changing up your wardrobe if it’s needed. We could even get a wheelchair, make it pretty for you and lore-accurate.”
Every dismissive thought in Scar’s head finally faded away, and she didn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, and her looking back and forth between the author and seamstress, she softly asked, “Really?”
“Yes,” Cleo replied incredulously, though her fond smile betrayed her. “Sabrina, I told you, tell people when you’re uncomfortable. Everyone here would bend over backwards to help you if you told them you needed it.”
Scar’s gaze fell to the floor as she took in their words. It… seems to be true? So many people were dropping everything just to help her.
The door swung open, and everyone startled as an exasperated False finally returned. She handed Scar the ice pack, and went to stand by Ren as Scar put in on her knees to help numb the pain.
“Are you alright?” Ren softly asked, not wanting to bring too much attention to her when she was clearly annoyed.
She sighed, and met his eyes as she replied, “I’m fine.”
He didn’t seem wholly convinced, but now wasn’t the time.
“Sabrina,” Cleo started, somehow perfectly balancing gentle and stern in her tone, “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but I think it would be wise if you started wearing your braces everyday.”
Scar pouted after they finished, and grumbled under her breath, “That’s what BDubs has been saying.”
Cleo chuckled, and replied, “I know.”
Etho saw his window of opportunity, and proposed, “How about this? You start wearing your aids everyday, and we don’t tell BDubs that this happened. Sound good?”
Cleo glanced at him, surprised and a little amused at his sudden authority.
It must have done the trick though—or maybe it was the underlying threat that they would tell her brother—because she finally nodded in agreement.
Everyone let out a breath of relief, and only the director and actress remained as they all filed out and went back to their work. Ren knelt down by her side, sensing that her head was flooding with worries again.
“Ren, it’s going to cost so much to do re-shoots,” she whispered, anxiety laced in her tone.
He set his hand on her arm in a comforting manner, and reassured her, “My inheritance isn’t running out anytime soon. It’s not like it’ll be the whole movie we’re redoing, just a couple of scenes. It’ll be fine, Sabrina.”
She still seemed a little unsure. He repeated, “It’ll be okay.” She led out a steady breath, and seemed a bit more calm. She nodded, and felt a bit better when he smiled at her.
“Now, why don’t you head home for the day? We’ll just focus on getting everyone up to speed, and seeing what we need to do for the re-shoots we need, alright?” Ren suggested.
Scar groaned at the idea. “Tango’s going to be pissed at me.” Editing was not the most fun job in the world, at least with how Tango made it seem.
Ren chuckled, and counteracted, “He’s been happy as a clam recently. I don’t think this will bother him all that much.”
She made a face of confusion. “Really? Wonder why that is?”
Ren seemed like he knew something, but didn’t want to divulge into it. “It’s not my story to tell-”
“Ohh, him and Jimmy, right!” Scar suddenly remembered. “I forgot, since I met Jimmy’s boyfriend the other night.”
Ren seemed highly concerned and confused at that. “What? I thought you set him and Tango up? He has a boyfriend?”
Scar got a mischievous look on her face, and simply answered, “It’s not my story to tell.”
Ren was a little disappointed, but he was just happy to see her acting like herself again. “Alright, you can head out whenever you’re ready,” he reminded her. “Maybe have Ari take you home. I’ll distract BDubs while you get out the side door.”
She smiled softly, and nodded. She made a soft noise when the door opened once more, and there stood Grian. “Sorry I took so long,” she immediately apologized, and came over to Scar’s side. She handed her the braces, and stood to the side as Scar moved to sit up with her feet on the ground, and slowly put them on.
Ren figured Scar was in good hands now, and winked before he left to go distract BDubs.
It took a few moments for her to get both on. She was already feeling better after getting to rest her legs for a bit and ice them. The pain didn’t fully go away, but it wasn’t as awful as it was before. The room was silent besides the clicking of the metal bits against each other, and when she finished, she looked up to see Grian already watching her.
Scar shivered when Grian set a hand on her shoulder, and stepped closer until she was in between her legs. Scar sighed contently as she wrapped her arms around Grian’s waist, and rested her chin on Grian’s chest, staring up at her with a look of bliss. She would’ve purred if she was able to when Grian gently brushed through her hair with her fingers.
“I know today was a lot for you,” Grian softly started, and felt Scar twitch under her touch at the reminder of every conversation she’d just had. “I was wondering…” she slowly got out, “if you wanted to go out somewhere with me? I found a place I think you’d really like.” She may have spent that extra time in the parking lot looking for some cool places to visit in town after Ren had texted her, saying they could go and maybe she should do something to make Scar’s day better.
Scar flushed at the idea. “You wanna go out somewhere?” Grian giggled at her eagerness, even though there was still some weariness laced in her voice.
She petted her hair back, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Mhmm,” she hummed back, and smiled when she saw Scar lighting up with excitement. “Finish getting your things, then we’ll go to your car. I’ll take you somewhere,” she instructed. They were just going out somewhere—she knew that—but Scar felt herself melting inside at feeling so taken care of by Grian.
She took a moment to relish in holding Grian so close, and nuzzled into Grian’s skin like an affectionate pet. Grian chuckled fondly, and continued playing with her hair.
Today was rough, but this already made up for it in Scar’s mind.
Grian refused to tell her where they were going when they finally both got in Scar’s car.
She just had on a mischievous smile as she drove while Scar kept guessing different places in town. Hermitwood was a big place, after all, and new things were always popping up.
Finally, she parked alongside the sidewalk, and told her the place was on the street. Scar stared at all of the signs as they walked, and saw one that really caught her eye. Cleo’s Kitty Cafe, in bold letters on the front, with a giant orange cat on top of the building. Oh! That must be the place Cleo was talking about! She took a mental note that she’d love to go there sometime, maybe look at some of the cats and spend a couple of hours with them.
She stopped in her tracks when Grian turned, and opened the door to the cafe for her with a wide smile on her face, already noticing Scar’s excitement. “I made a quick call to reserve the place for about two hours,” Grian explained. “Come on in.”
Scar nearly squealed out of pure joy when she realized this was where they were going, and that Grian had even made sure they would get some privacy with the cats. “Oh my goodness, this is the best!” she excitedly responded. She couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to Grian’s cheek as she entered the cafe.
Grian froze at the touch, but didn’t say anything about it. Scar was already inside, looking at the menu on the wall, and didn’t see Grian fondly staring after her with blush burning her cheeks.
She cleared her throat, and tried to think of anything other than how cute Scar was when she was excited. It was hard to do that when she was presently still being adorable, but Grian thought she’d manage.
Scar ordered a hot cocoa with little cat marshmallows, and Grian got a caramel cappuccino with a cat head drawn into the foam. Money wasn’t an issue for either of them, but Grian insisted that it was her treat. The sweet smile Scar gave her in return was all she needed as proof that she was right for pushing.
They both couldn’t wipe the smiles off of their faces if they tried as they entered the main room where the cats were. Scar didn’t hesitate to sit on the ground and play with some of the more rambunctious cats that were vying for her attention. Grian sat down in one of the chairs, gently petting the cat that resembled an ocelot resting on the arm of it.
She watched Scar play with a little gray kitten that seemed especially infatuated with her, and couldn’t help herself from taking a picture. If she started a private album on her phone just for her pictures of Scar, that was no one’s business but her own.
Another gray kitten, nearly identical to the one in Scar’s lap, ran up to Scar and wrapped itself around her arm. She laughed as she played with the cat, and Grian’s album slowly filled up as the minutes passed.
The orangish-brown cat on the arm chair eventually woke up, stared at Grian with slow blinks, and promptly climbed into her lap, where he fell asleep once more. A silver cat with similar markings watched from a corner, and slowly trotted over to join the cat in her lap.
“Sabrina!” she softly cooed, “Look at how cute they are!”
She snapped a picture of the two sleeping cats curled up in her lap, and tried to pet them equally as she watched the two kittens fight for Scar’s attention. Somehow, Scar ended up laying down, with the kittens on top of her chest or nestling in her long brown hair. She looked happy as she could be though, that wide, beautiful smile never once leaving her lips as her giggles filled the air.
Beautiful, Grian pondered the word. She didn’t know if a better word described her, but it still felt so foreign for her to truly think about someone like that. It fit Scar, though. She was beautiful in every capacity of the word—inside and out.
Grian minutely shook her head. Yeah, she’s pretty, but…
Nothing came to her mind. Nothing bad she could say about her.
But what?
“Ari?” Scar softly brought her out of her thoughts. “The drinks are ready.”
Grian blinked, and finally took in what she had said. Scar leaned over, petting the heads of the two little kittens still playing at her feet. Grian gently pushed the sleeping cats into the chair as she slowly got up, and took another picture when the two cuddled even closer together.
She helped Scar to her feet, and continued to hold her hand as they picked up their mugs. Scar moped for a good few minutes when they had to leave the playroom to have their drinks, but the pair easily fell into conversation. Scar brought up her earlier conversation with Cleo—the one about starting a fundraiser and getting into business, not about cutting Grian off—and Grian listened intently, soaking in every word Scar said.
Grian reached out and held her hand across the table, rubbing her thumb gently into her skin as she told her she thought it was a great idea.
She reinforced the concept of raising awareness and funding for disabled people, since Scar still seemed to be going back and forth on it. Scar repeated what she had told Ren about her experiences with the other director, and why she was so hesitant about it. Grian seemed a little shaken up by the anecdote, but then reminded her that raising awareness could help prevent situations like those, and provide support when they did.
She noticed a sparkle in Scar’s eyes when she explained it, and all of that anxiety in Scar’s chest finally settled as she squeezed Grian’s hand.
It wasn’t long before they finished their drinks. Scar may have finished hers first, and rushed Grian to do the same. Grian didn’t mind it though. The excitement on Scar’s face was worth her quickly drinking the cappuccino when she was used to savoring them. She could always come back for another coffee. She was here with Scar right now, and she wanted to indulge in the moment for as long as she could.
Scar was immediately back on the ground the second they entered the playroom again. The two kittens that had taken an interest in her came bounding back, swatting at her hair or rolling around while she playfully pet them. Grian sat down parallel to her, watching the scene before her fondly. The two cats that had been sleeping on the chair woke up for a moment, and sat down by her side, gingerly leaning into her touches and pets. Still, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Scar.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you happier,” Grian softly pointed out.
Scar glanced at her, then focused back on the kittens. “Cats have always been one of my happy places.” She then corrected herself, “Or being with them- you know what I mean,” she finished with a small laugh.
“These seem to be the same breed as Jellie, you know?” Scar mentioned. “A bit darker markings than her, but definitely the same.”
Grian nodded as she listened. “Same cute grumpy face as her, too,” she noted, remembering the painting of her back at Scar’s house.
Scar smiled brightly, and stared at the cats like she never wanted to look away from them. Grian grinned, and glanced down at the two cats resting by her side.
Grian yanked the phone away from her ear as Mumbo practically shouted into it, and she understood for a moment why he was so cautious about her volume when he called her.
“I mean, two for each of us, but yes,” she corrected with a laugh.
She leaned up against the wall of the cafe, still waiting for Scar to come out of the bathroom so they could head back to Scar’s place for the evening.
Mumbo’s voice was faint, but she could still hear him groaning in disappointment and disbelief. “You two are never allowed to go shopping without supervision again,” he finally declared.
Grian rolled her eyes, and argued back, “You should have seen her though! She was so cute playing with the cats, and then next thing you know, we’re both signing adoption papers!”
“Oh goodness!” he cried out, exasperated. “I don’t know if I would’ve told you to be friends with her if I knew you would impulsively buy four cats.”
Grian just ignored him, and told him the news, “You’re their godparent, you know. Pearl and Maui need a strong male figure to look up to.” She leaned down to the two crates, holding two cats each, and pet Pearl’s nose that was poking out from the vent with her finger. She didn’t mean to adopt an animal with the same name as her sister, but she didn’t feel right renaming her when she already seemed so used to it.
Mumbo was quiet for a moment as he processed that information. “…really?” he asked in a tiny voice.
She giggled, and continued, “Yeah, of course. You know you’re my best friend—obviously you’re my cats’ godparent.”
He grumbled in response, still not over the fact that she was so spontaneous. Not that it was the first time she did something like that…
“I guess,” he drawled out with a smile he tried to force away.
She giggled, and murmured back, “Mhmm.” A moment of silence lingered between them, and before it could get too awkward, Grian asked the question she thought would win Mumbo over.
“Do you wanna come over and meet them?”
He was quiet for a moment, but she smirked fondly when he responded.
Scar hummed softly as they arrived at her house, and fiddled with her bag, looking for her keys as they walked up to the doorway. Grian was still smiling widely from a joke Scar had told her, and looked forward to hearing more while they played with the cats. Scar set her crate down when she had to look harder through her bag, so Grian obviously set hers down as well so she could pet all of their little noses that were poking through the openings.
She perked up when she noticed something on the doormat, and made sure to pick it up so Scar wouldn’t accidentally step on it. Her heart stopped in her chest when she realized what it was.
A pin.
In the shape of an eye, and colored a deep purple.
“Aha!” Scar announced triumphantly when she finally found her keys. Grian jolted at the outburst. She watched as Scar unlocked the door, but put her arm out in front of her before she could go in.
“Wait, can I go in first?” she anxiously asked.
Scar furrowed her brows in confusion. “Uhh… sure? Why, though?” she questioned.
Grian didn’t even know how to explain. “I just- uh… I’ll explain later. Stay out here.” She rushed inside, clutching her hand tight around she had found.
“Is anyone in here?” she yelled out. She waited, but heard no response, no scuffling from someone hiding in a corner, or making a dash for an exit.
She frantically skimmed through different rooms, looking for anything out of place. Everything looked just as she remembered the last time she was over, and Scar’s door was locked when they arrived. The paranoia still ate away at her. A shiver wracked through her body as she stood in the middle of the main room, holding herself tight and turning to look for anything that would prove her worries right. The thought of finding something was truly what scared her the most. “I’ll call the fucking cops!” she shouted, but received no answer.
She shivered, and swallowed when a sob clawed its way up her throat. She let out a small scream when Scar rushed to her side, and gently grabbed her shoulders. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”
Grian sniffled, and uselessly wiped away at her tears. “I can’t- I can’t-” she choked out. “I want Mumbo.”
In the back of her mind, Scar felt biting jealousy at her request. She quickly cast those thoughts aside. Someone she cared about was in pain, and she’d call whoever she had to to help her feel better. “Okay, why don’t you sit down? I’ll call him,” she softly suggested, and led Grian over to the couch.
Grian sat down, and hugged a pillow close to her chest as she quietly cried. She still stole glances from behind, or would linger on the windows, looking for anything weird in Scar’s backyard. Scar didn’t know what got her so worked up, but she knew it must be bad.
Scar made sure to bring in both of the cat carriers before she shut the door, and picked out Grian’s phone from her bag to call Mumbo. Thankfully, he was her most recent contact, so she had no issue ringing him up and telling him the state Grian was in. Mumbo worriedly replied that he was already on the way, but he’d go faster.
Scar glanced over at Grian, who’s sobs had calmed down to soft little cries and sniffles. She busied herself by opening the two cat crates, and cooing at them as they slowly wandered out. “Hi Katy-Bee, hi Mr. Finnegan,” she sweetly welcomed them, “this is your new home!” She turned to let Grian’s cats out, and gave them the same warm welcome. “And Maui, Pearl, our esteemed guests. Please make yourselves comfortable. I am at your service.”
Grian turned her head to watch. It took her mind off of the dread she was feeling, at least for a few moments. She softly smiled when Maui—the orangey-brown cat she thought resembled an ocelot—trotted up to her, and promptly pushed the pillow out of her lap, then sat down on her thighs. He curled himself into a ball, and purred when she languidly pet him.
Scar picked up Katy-Bee in her arms, and carried her over to the couch so she could join Grian. She was ready to make some light conversation, help take Grian’s mind off of whatever was bothering her, but instead, she found the woman staring at the pin in her hand.
“What’s that?” she curiously asked. Katy-Bee laid down in Scar’s lap, with her belly in the air, and playfully swatted at Maui’s swaying tail.
Grian startled, not even realizing Scar had sat down beside her. “Um… it’s…” she struggled for a clear answer. She swallowed, and hesitantly replied, “I- I want Mumbo to be here if… if I tell you.”
Scar nodded, and swallowed down her jealousy once more. This isn’t about me. I just want Ari to be okay.
“That’s alright,” Scar responded. “He should be here any momen-”
Her sentence was cut off when Mumbo opened her front door, and entered the living room, panting. “Ari, are you okay?” he asked in between gasps for air. His red tie was crooked, and his usually perfectly sleeked-back black hair was a little wind-tousled.
Instead of replying, she just opened her hand that has been closed around the pin. All of the blood that has rushed to it from his hurry quickly drained until he was pale.
He sighed, “Well…” and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is… not good. Quite bad, actually.”
“I’m aware,” she grumbled back. She clutched Maui closer, and sulked as she stared at the floor.
“What’s going on?” Scar softly interjected.
Mumbo and Grian shared a look, then Grian glanced at her, back at Mumbo, and gave a small nod.
Mumbo sighed once more, and said, “Hold on, I left the wine I brought in the car.”
He turned back the way he came, and Grian stood up, keeping Maui in her arms as she moved to sit on the fluffy rug in the middle of the living room.
Grian looked back, and asked Scar, “Care to join me?”
Scar softly smiled, and slid down to the ground to be with her. She swept her legs to the side so it would be more comfortable for her knees, and carefully held Katy-Bee in her lap so she wouldn’t fall. “You’ll just have to help me up when we’re done,” she replied with a light tone.
“Good thing we have Mumbo here,” Grian joked back. “My arms aren’t good for lifting anything heavier than a microphone.”
Scar giggled, and they both turned their attention back to the Mumbo, who returned with a bag full of clinking wine bottles. He got three glasses from Scar’s cabinets, and filled them generously with the deep red liquid. He sat down next to Grian, and took a long sip as she rested her head on his shoulder.
Scar languidly drank her glass as she watched Grian smile and play with Pearl, who got tired of exploring Scar’s house and wanted to see her new owner again. She smiled when her other kitten followed the cat around, trying to play with her just like Katy-Bee had been doing to Maui.
“Still can’t believe you guys got four cats,” Mumbo commented, and took a healthy swig of his wine.
“Can you blame us? Look at how cute they are,” Grian cooed, and booped Pearl’s nose.
Scar stared fondly at Grian as she replied in kind, “Yeah, they’re so cute.”
Mumbo watched the both of them, then took another long drink of his wine. He gently nudged Grian’s side, and mentioned, “You should start explaining if you’re going to. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Grian sighed, and slyly glared at Mumbo with her head still turned down towards Pearl. Scar smirked when she noticed it, then startled when Grian tossed her the pin. She was relieved to find the back was covered so she didn’t have to worry about getting stabbed.
She looked at the pin, the deep purple stained eye, forever staring forward at whoever was holding it. It was a little creepy, if she was honest. “So, what does this mean?”
Grian let out another sigh, righted herself up, and took a long drink from her glass.
“That, Sabrina, is a sign from the Watchers,” Grian answered, albeit a bit dramatically. Scar could be into it.
“…Who are they?” she pushed.
Grian fidgeted with her empty hands, pulling and tugging at her fingers until Mumbo slipped her his hand, letting her tap and rub at his instead. She chewed on her lip, then slowly got out, “They are… a cult.” She glanced up at Scar, and finally met her eyes. “I was a part of them, for a while.”
Scar stared blankly back at her. No intelligent, or comforting responses came to her mind. All she could muster out was, “Oh…”
The story got easier to tell with some wine in her system. Mumbo helped her fill in the details if she would brush over anything, and Scar listened intently the whole time, nodding along as she took it all in.
When it was all over, caught up to the present day, Scar finally understood why the pin was so frightening.
“So… they were trying to get to me?” she softly guessed.
Grian swallowed down the lump in her throat, and nodded. “That’s… yeah. That’s why I…” she sighed, and drank up the last of her glass, “That’s why I freaked out, and searched your house. Made sure they didn’t leave a bug or something, or were still here.”
Scar nodded, and took a drink from her cup. “What do they want with me?”
Grian’s eyes settled on the sleeping cat in her lap as she hypothesized, “Maybe to get to me? And…” she chewed on her lip again, and caught Scar’s eyes as she continued, “you mentioned that director, from that shitty audition you had?”
Scar tried not to get upset as that day replayed in her mind once more. She nodded, and Grian continued, “You said something about him mentioning ‘perfection,’ and that he was part of a group that could help you?”
She caught on quick. “He was part of them?” she finished for Grian.
She nodded, and supposed, “Yeah, so they’ve been scouting you for a while, I guess. They probably got even more interested when they realized I was close with you.”
“What do they want from me? And you?”
Grian shrugged tiredly, then listed off, “Our money, cause they don’t know how to make any; our influence, cause they’re terrible at advertising; and they get a kick out of watching the confidence drain out of a person when they repeatedly point out all of your mistakes.”
Scar blinked, and dumbly replied, “Wow, I uh- wow.” Grian giggled, and Scar felt a little better knowing she lightened the mood a bit. “I can see why that’s pretty bad.”
Grian nodded, and went to take a sip from her glass, only to find it empty. “Ugh, this will not do,” she dramatically complained, and pouted.
Mumbo sighed, and pat her gently on the back. He was proud of her for actually telling someone about what she went through, even if she had to be a little tipsy to get through it. “I’ll get some more wine,” Mumbo quietly excused himself, and gently nudged the grumpy Grian off of his arm.
Scar tried not to show her jealousy at how much attention Grian was getting from Mumbo. Her eyes followed him until he wasn’t visible, and then it was just Grian and Scar.
Grian glanced at the woman across from her, and found her head tilted down as she pet the playful kitten sitting in her lap. Katy-Bee tried batting at her hand, and both of the women giggled as she fell over onto the floor. She scampered off to find the other cats to play with, and now Scar and Grian were truly alone together.
When Scar made no move to try and break the silence, Grian did it for her.
“Mumbo and I are just friends, you know,” Grian softly reminded her. Scar’s heart skipped a beat at the way she seemed so nervous. Grian’s eyes couldn’t bear to meet hers, and her fingers fidgeted with her shirt, scrunching up the fabric over and over.
“I know, Ari,” Scar calmly replied. She was a tad worried on where Grian was going with this. “Why are you telling me?” she dared to ask.
Grian huffed out a little sigh, and couldn’t keep her eyes on Scar for the life of her as she explained, “You did that little glare and grumble thing you always do when you’re jealous.”
Scar immediately scoffed and tried to defend herself. “I do not get jealous.”
“You do,” Grian doubled down, and Scar hated that she was right. Just a little bit.
“He’s really just my best friend, I promise. He’s been there for me through so much stuff, and we’re just really close because of it. He just… gets me, like no one else does.”
Scar was mindful of her breathing as she tried not to scoff, and glared away from Grian as she took another sip from her nearly empty glass. Seriously, Mumbo, hurry up. Grian made sure she didn’t have to try and hide her annoyance. “Except for you, I suppose.”
She’s trying to kill me. Her heart ached.
Silence lingered between them, a million questions running through Scar’s head. “Why do you care if I’m jealous?” she settled on. Their eyes met easily, both searching for the answer themselves.
Her eyes slowly widened when Grian set down her empty glass, and she couldn’t look away as she crawled on the floor and sat right in front of her. “Can I…” Grian took in a deep breath, and averted her gaze for just a moment as she composed herself. “Can I sit in your lap?” she softly asked, and played with the hem of her shirt again. “It’s fine if not,” she murmured at the end.
Scar hated saying no to her. It killed her to see that little pout. But she was really sore. She brushed some of Grian’s hair behind her ear as she gently answered, “Sorry, starlight, not tonight. Today was a really long day, and my braces can only do so much.”
Grian seemed a little upset, for just a moment. She understood why she couldn’t, and she respected it, but she really craved some physical contact. She thought for a moment that she could try having Scar in her lap, but that would still require her legs to do some work. She came up with another solution. “What if I…” she trailed off, and scooched until she was sitting by Scar’s side, but still facing her.
Scar parted her lips like she wanted to say something, to ask what she was doing, but she was interrupted by Grian gently looping her arms around her shoulders, and pulling her in for a kiss. They both had to lean into each other’s sides a little awkwardly, but it worked for them, nonetheless.
Scar sighed into the kiss, and moved her lips languidly against hers. She’d be the happiest woman on earth if she got to spend her evenings like this every night. Long, deep, and slow kisses, all with a hint of Grian’s favorite strawberry wine lingering on her lips and tongue.
Despite it all, the question still pressed at her mind. Maybe it’s because she just wanted to hear her answer. If it was good, then she could continue pining after Grian, and if not… maybe it would be best to quell those feelings.
She couldn’t imagine ever doing that, to be fair, but maybe she’d start thinking about it. No one had ever made her feel the way she did when she was with Grian.
Grian pulled away, but didn’t go far. She rested her forehead against Scar’s, their noses brushing, and her fingers playing with Scar’s hair.
Now or never.
“Why do you care if I’m jealous?” Scar softly asked, her eyes half-lidded and staring into Grian’s.
Grian glanced down at the floor, like she was searching for the answer herself. Scar was ready to be ignored, and maybe if she was expecting that, it was a good sign she should leave, because someone who loved her wouldn’t always-
“‘cause I like you,” Grian confessed. She looked her right in the eyes as she said it. Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment and anticipation. “I really like you, S’brina,” she whispered like it was a secret, just for the two of them to know.
Hope and desire bubbled in Scar’s chest, and she knew the blush on her cheeks, and the twinkle in her eyes reflected it.
Scar knew she was pushing her luck, but she asked anyway, “How much do you like me?”
Grian smiled fondly, and gave a small eye roll. Instead of answering, she pressed her lips to Scar’s again, softly moaning as they made contact.
That was the response she was expecting. She could hear Cleo in the back of her mind scolding her, reminding her that she needed to tell Grian what she really wanted, but… Cleo wasn’t here right now. They didn’t have to know. She got a little taste of what she wanted, and now she could spend the rest of the night getting drunk off of Grian’s lips and sweet confessions. She could learn to share Grian’s time and affections with Mumbo, so long as she got to have her like this.
Aaaaaaa guys I'm obsessed with @_lottol's design for Genya and the concept of this AU. Oh my *gahd.*
Quick disclaimer- @_Lottol on X is the one who came up with this AU and they are also the ones responsible for Genya's design for it. I simply used a screen capture from the Hashira Training arc to place Genya here, drawing him in Lotto's style.
Since a lot of shifts happen in the strangers AU, here's Gideon's lore!
Since Gideon mentors under Gyomei in his normal canon... He would train under Tengen in Strangers AU!
He would eventually become a Hashira after Tengen retires with his wives. He'd be the Pillar of Divine Judgement.
His peacock motif would become very much more apparent, and he would be more confident.
He would grow out his hair and don a peacock patterned cape.
He would be an absolute menace to society. And when I say society... I mean exactly one person. The Wind Hashira. Genya. 😆😆
They wouldn't have gotten to train together, but Gideon would have still met him and admired him. Since he's more confident in this AU, he'd be flirty without fear of rejection.
He would still *adore* Genya; the more he'd get to know him, the harder he'd fall.
He'd be close with the Uzuis. Tengen's wives would mother him, and Tengen would connect with him in their similar family abandonment pasts. Gideon would look up to him, would trust in his teachings and therefore would be able to combat his poor mental health better.
He would still be terrified of butterflies and tragically bad at math.
