#For all you fucking know this could be someone's gateway into figuring out their own identity. we talk constantly about the sexuality aspec

[selfship-confession-box]

to be quite honest. shipping with CANON (not headcanoned) exclusively gay/lesbian characters as someone of the gender they are explicitly not attracted to is a form of erasure and lowkey homophobic. 'just make them bi' is a bad take. bi people are amazing and valid but not everyone is bisexual??? 'theyre not real' is a bad take bc representation matters and i feel like that doesnt really need to be said. obviously the character isnt real and isnt offended but gay/lesbian selfshippers can see how much you dont gaf abt their identities. gay people exist in real life too!!! homophobia is still so acceptable in fandom spaces and its kinda wild.

Actually this one gets to skip the queue because we just had another anon push their luck about this. I WAS originally going to leave this in queue but now feels like a better time to nip this in the bud.

This is the LAST thing I'm saying about this topic because frankly it's the majority of what we've been getting recently and it's exhausting. All future asks about this topic WILL be deleted. AS STATED ABOVE. DO WHAT YOU WANT FOREVER. YOUR EXPERIENCE IS YOURS AND YOURS ALONE.

TAKING POTSHOTS AT EACH OTHER IS NOT A CONFESSION.

THAT'S CALLED BEING AN ASSHOLE.

k thanks bye

[wicca-wicca-whack]

Yata Misaki x Reader

You’d been a member of HOMRA for about a week before Yata’s constant stammering got to you. On one hand, it was cute- he had trouble talking to girls, and it was almost flattering for someone to stutter the moment you entered a room. On the other hand…

“Dude! Your board is so cool,” you complimented his new skateboard, looking at the art on the bottom of it.

“Th-thanks...”

It made it unnecessarily hard to hold a conversation. You’d mentioned you skate, hoping it would open the gateway for a normal conversation, but he’d just nodded jerkily, avoiding your gaze. The other members told you not to worry about it- Yata had always been this way, Rikio had said, waving a hand lazily. As if that made it okay.

Politely, Tatara had pointed out that you were the first female HOMRA member above the age of 18- which you supposed made sense. He hadn’t been forced to socialize with a girl on his own level since he was in school, you guessed. Izumo insisted Yata would warm up to you, but you were getting fed up quickly. How long did he need? You’d been coming around the group of men for at least two months before you’d joined, the decision itself coming after you’d been robbed in an alley and narrowly avoided being heavily injured by the man who’d held a knife to your stomach.

And still, Yata treated you like the plague. So, you’d devised a plan, with the help of Tatara. To get the skater alone, maybe get him to talk to you more. But your current predicament was not at all what the pair of you had discussed.

Somehow, you’d gotten locked in a room together, and while, in theory, Yata could break it down, you both knew it would invoke Izumo’s wrath if he so much as scratched anything in the bar, let alone break down the door leading to the backroom. So, you grabbed your chance and, while sitting on a wooden box, watching Yata try and figure out how to open the locked door without breaking it, you asked if he had some kind of issue with you. You watched him turn to give you a confused look, and your eyes travelled over his flushed face.

It was no secret among the other guys that you thought Yata was hot. I mean, why wouldn’t you? He was slim and athletic, and his fighting style was oddly entrancing to you. And you’d seen him interact with the guys before, when he didn’t notice you coming in. He was really a sight to see.

“W-why would I h-have a problem with you?” He didn’t speak very loud, cheeks puffed out indignantly.

“Well, what should I think when the hot skater guy can’t speak to me for more than five seconds?” Bolder than you intended, and you cringed internally. Why would you say that? Right now?

“The… hot…?” You could swear he was about to explode, with the color of red he’d become.

“NO! Well, yes! Well- fuck.” You tried to backpedal, then decided that was worse than him just knowing what you thought. “That isn’t the point, the point is- well-”

“I-I didn’t know-”

“How else am I supposed to get to know you or even think about-”

“Y-you’re really cute too-”

With your voices overlapping, and your mind running, you almost hadn’t heard that. “You think I’m cute?”

Yata gaped his mouth like a fish, and if he could turn redder, you were sure he would. “Well-”

You didn’t give him the chance to keep going. You lurched off the crate, leaning up just enough to grab his face and give him a chaste kiss. You could swear his mind was static at this point, from the lack of movement from him, but then one of his hands hesitantly settled on your hip, and he pushed into the kiss, and your stomach erupted in light butterflies.

You pulled back, and he looked like he might say something, but the door opened, and he dashed out the door, with a high-pitched “See you!” tossed out behind him. Izumo watched him go, confused, and then turned his gaze to you. You shrugged, pretending to be just as confused.

Maybe being on the offense with getting to know him would be a good idea. His nerves were just standing in the way, you guessed.

Not for long.

[plasticross]

==> Scratch.

Your skin itches.

No, it burns. You keep your nails neat and short, but that doesn't stop your skin from turning a bright red from your claw marks. Over and over, you scrape your fingers over your arms, lashing out at yourself for letting him get you so upset. Again. But you really don't know what to do anymore, you've lost it, completely. She is a black hole that has devoured your thoughts, he is all you can return to.

You're mortified by how candid you were in his DMs. He rips out this energy from you that you can't handle, an intense rage, a desperation for literally anything, any response he could give. And then he gives it and it's... nothing. It's like he hands you a blank piece of paper. You have a constant demand in your head- figure him out, learn whats happening, get rid of this feeling, and then you finally get a single whiff of what you might need to get this feeling to go away, and he restricts it from you. He riles you up. He spins you around and makes you dizzy until you're sick and then shoves you into an empty, cold room, and lets you find your own way out. God, how could you say any of that. No one is supposed to know any of that, no one is supposed to know anything about how you feel towards yourself- towards your position. You were a gateway. You were peoples path to the light. You weren't allowed to be anything else, and if you were, you had to hide it. And yet there you are, practically begging for help in his dms.

It's an embarrassing cry for help, but at least it's kept to him and only him. Not like you'd have anyone else to cry to in the first place, but somehow this was worse. Somehow this was worse than crying to no one. He made you feel so horribly small, horribly vulnerable with every half word he gave, like when you'd speak to your grandfather.

A bubble hits your throat when you think that last bit, a sob breaking out through the silence of your hotel room. You wish he was here so you could ask him for help, or a hug, or anything. When was the last time someone gave you a hug? When was the last time anyone touched you outside of a blessing?

You scream, grabbing fist fulls of your hair, yanking violently.

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD!!!!"

Am I wrong? Don't you miss him? I know you, and you know me, and we know we both miss him. Cylo, lets be honest, half of the reason you struggle so much is because you've turned against his teaching-

You aren't listening. You are getting up from the bed in a daze, your hands reached out directly in front of you. You've memorized the layout of the apartment by now, no longer needing to rely on his descriptions.

....Wait how the hell are you doing that.

You plant both hands on the wall, reel back, and slam your forehead against the wall hard enough to send the hung up sad-clown painting to the ground. Your ears start ringing, but the voice- the instinct, the yellow text that describes your every hunch, quiets. The entire room around you spins as you connect your finger tips to your forehead, you didn't think you hit yourself hard enough to bleed, but there was a wet spot on your forehead. An array of colors consumes your sight, you quite literally "saw black" most times, but after the injury, your vision was filled with the most beautiful colors. Ones you haven't seen since you were sighted. One thing stands out however, a black spot, where you hit your head. You can't make out a wall, or any defining features, other than a wet splotch right in front of your eyes.

The colors take no time to fade, leaving as soon as they did, but the voice didn't return immediately. You stood still, completely still, with your finger tips still touching your wound. You were dazed, your head throbbed, and you had a hard time finding your thoughts without that text. You were left in the dark, your skin no longer itched.

[misc-obeyme]

hello hello, its sibling angst anon again ^^ i loved your response so pls dont apologize for the long ramble, bc i get like that about it too!! also, im glad you liked my song recs <3

speaking of those sibling slideshows i mentioned, for some reason tiktok has filtered them out so when u look them up, they dont show up??? you just kinda get them on ur fyp one day. or atleast thats what happens to me. but if u look up sibling webweaving here on tumblr, ohhh boy. its basically an amalgamation of different types of media be it poetry, song lyrics, shows and movies, and book excrepts all packaged as one that pertain to a theme. my fav is those about mothers and siblings, so unequivocally human. its like walking down a museum tbh.

and agh, i loved your thoughts on the demon bros sibling dynamics. plus yeahhh, its kinda hard to take anything seriously since it is an otome game, BUT who says u cant come up with your interpretations and thoughts? whos gonna stop you? anyway, each brother has a level of depth that is screaming to be fleshed out, but its all very surface level on game. belphegors burdening shame and regret from watching lilith die in front of him, and by extension beelzebub having the same feelings and/or his own guilt. (i remember belph talking about his trauma and the immersion immediately breaks off when an option pops up on the scream, "ask him to kiss you." LIKE. place and time!) asmodeus and lucifer, their entire relationship T_T speaking of which, satan and lucifer?! they're brothers, or say they are and the rest just kinda go with it. but does no one else wanna bring up how satan was even brought to existence? he was literally birthed from luci's wrath during the celestial war. thats like, a gateway for someone to write a long philosophical analysis about him and what it symbolizes. aghhudhwdhwhd i wish i could say more, but i'm literally out of words rn. if i was mc, i'd have to fight everyday to keep it together without breaking down and crying about this. espeically having to live under the same roof as them...ooofff

speaking of complex siblings dynamics, have you see succession? its a show on hbo. its about an ultra rich and powerful family that is ultimately, dysfunctional. theres four siblings and their relationship mean sooo much to me. i wont drop any spoilers just in case you dont know anything, but when i say dysfunctional i meant it!! one of the things i like about this show is that it doesnt have any flashbacks or show the backstories for most of the characters, rather they kinda drop pieces of information randomly and you just go ??? that happened ??? youd think it wouldnt be a good storytelling strategy bc how are you going to emotionally connect the story to your audience? but somehow, the show does it really well. for example, one of the brothers, roman, was heavily abused. and sometimes one of his siblings would go, "yeah i remember when dad used to heavily beat the fuck out of you" offhandedly, like its a cute little fun fact. and youre sitting there like....when did THAT happen??? ofc they wouldnt show it, but if you watch how roman and his father interact on show (roman is so submissive and scared next to his father) it starts to make sense. its like the "show dont tell" but they switch around to "tell and show." subtle interactions like that fully exposes a characters psychology. subtle body language goes a long way. theres also the eldest brother connor, whos seen as the father figure bc their real dad is so neglectful. but tbh connot gets shit on a lot and uuyfuefehfe theres more. i would talk about this all day. sibling angst got me on a chokehold.

anyway, sorry if i made 0 coherent sense but heres the end of the ramble T-T have a good day :3

(if i come back, can i be  🧬 anon?)

Welcome back! And of course you can be 🧬 anon, I will add it to the list!

Oh man, so I did a search for sibling webweaving and I was like woah what is all this lol. I had no idea there was a term for stuff like this, but I'm fascinated! I must not be getting the TikTok videos... admittedly my use of that platform is limited lol.

The thing about the otome game not delving into things means that we all get to speculate and come up with whatever we want. It's a blessing and a curse lol. On the one hand, I like being able to come up with my own interpretations. But on the other hand, it'd be nice to have just a little more depth that what we have.

I have thoughts about Belphie and specifically what happened in the OG with him. That was definitely a situation of, there is so much more going on here than they're bothering to get into. I also get that they can't really do a ton of that, partly due to the medium and partly due to the amount of characters they have to deal with. Like I think they can only choose to flesh out certain characters and the rest kind of end up on the back burner. Which is annoying because there's so much potential for so many amazing stories!

I also have a lot of thoughts about Satan and his relationship to Lucifer and everybody. It's like they give us just enough to make the story dramatic, but in the end everybody loves each other and so on and so forth. I'm not saying both Satan and Belphie shouldn't be able to reconcile what happened to them and move on, but it just happens so fast. It seems too easy. So I kind of headcanon it as, they hide everything. Not just those two, but all the brothers have a certain level of trauma that they just bury deep or at the very least don't display in front of MC. I know they make MC out to be the demon therapist, but nobody resolves their issues in one session and that's all they're normally limited to. But of course they don't have time to get into things that deeply in a mobile otome game lol.

I have not seen Succession! It sounds pretty intense. I think it's always interesting when media use different techniques to tell their story. Of course I have very little knowledge of how TV scripts are written, but for story writing, the way a character reacts can imply all kinds of past history, even if you don't know exactly what happened. Flashbacks are helpful, but I think it's interesting to have a bit of a mix. A character is always going to tell the story of their past a little differently than how it actually happened. And I find that it can reveal a lot about character just to see what they change or leave out when telling it. Of course, who they're speaking to can affect that as well. But it's definitely an interesting concept!

No worries, you made plenty of sense lol! You are always free to come back to my ask box if you so desire! <3

[clepsydra-system]

Us being on Tumblr for a few things, I don’t agree with seeing fakeclaimers posting on people’s comments and here’s why. I get people fake having this disorder and it’s disgusting but you don’t know who does and doesn’t without obvious red flags. Everyone’s System functions differently and nobody goes through the exact same experience. We ourselves are a Polyfragmented OSDD-1b system and I take this shit really seriously. Not only can it put a system in high distress, it takes a lot for a system to be fucking open about themselves in the first place because of this fucking shit. It isn’t your right to do that shit to people. People fake, it’s disgusting but still what would you do if the person you’re fakeclaiming is an actual system, send them into distress, trigger a protector, cause them to go into system lockdown for protection and fucking frontstuck somebody? It’s not fun. Trust me. You can cause somebody to self-harm the body, you can cause many fucking things and the fucked up thing is other systems do it to systems too all the time. People have different beliefs on systems and no belief is wrong, people experience being a system differently and this is the place that they feel they can actually spread awareness, be open, be themselves and crap. You have an issue with their belief system? Let them be. You aren’t them, they aren’t you. You aren’t inside their head, they aren’t inside yours. Nobody can say whether someone is faking or isn’t. We are a highly traumagenic system, we used to not believe in endogenics and disliked them because for us. We endured trauma, so much trauma and they didn’t but in our research we learned that isn’t the case at all. It doesn’t work like that and trauma is many things not just sexual based, etc. So stop harming people because your views are set in a specific light. I get it but still in all that we’ve never in our lives fake claimed or ever would because like I fucking said, I can’t see in anyones head.

We were told on two different occasions that we are a gateway and would figure it out what it means when we are older. Doing research we realized there are Gateway System beliefs and we were like. “Oh my fucking god this fits.” Literally two – three weeks ago we went on a trip to Utah and played with the Ouiji board our first time and our Gatekeepers name is Starlight and she spoke with us through the board. She moved the piece spelling out her name, so, we asked her age and she said 23. Age she identifies with but she’’s nonhuman and ageless and so I asked what her favorite thing to do is. I expected her to say Stargazing or something along those lines and she said, “Making people happy.” Which it is, just not something I considered her favorite thing. And said, “You’re valid.” Knowing we’ve been struggling with self-doubt and told us to “Be happy.” And said goodbye. So yes. I highly believe Gateways are real and valid, especially after that experience and nobody knew about Starlight besides our partners system. Sometimes we feel others presence outside beside us and can pin point who it might be from the feeling we get from them at the time. NOT everyone can leave and come back like some can, some are parts and some are their own individuals. When they leave and enter our body we get an extreme jolt that could be considered a cold chill but really different too. Our whole body will convulse and jerk. It’s an unpleasant experience. I get why people have a hard time believing it, fuck, we do too and even after that still struggle with it but just because of others experience and beliefs doesn’t make them any less fucking valid. People still don’t know how DiD, OSDD or anything fucking works so who are you to say either.

[bishy437]

ok fine i’ll write a dissertation on why sangcheng is a great ship and deserves to win just as much as chengyao.

sadly i’m not eloquent nor am i a wordsmith like all these other chengyao-ologists but here goes something

*ahem*

these two idiots are completely different people and yet Still manage to have so much in common it makes me want to chew my own face

CR era they are just two teenage sect heirs. one striving for greatness. the other completely disinterested in the cultivation world.

neither of them will ever live up to their parents'/guardian's expectations. ever.

they have no shared hobbies/interests and zero reason to even acknowledge one another other than political ones but thanks to wwx they are now in the same friend group

they get into shenanigans they get drunk and read porn together they do stupid teenager shit. ((nhs potentially being jc’s gateway into porn is hilarious btw))

anyways they had a grand ol’ time until wwx punched some guy and got kicked out so we don’t know what happened with them after that

lots of directions you can go with it but it Will end with them estranged

fast forward to wwx + nmj kicking the bucket.

They have now both experienced utter betrayal by someone they loved dearly and trusted. they lost their entire families. they've been pushed into roles of leadership way too early and they dont know what the hell they're doing but they have to do it.

are they on friendly terms post res? does jc wonder what happened to the friend he made in gusu to make him this way? how did the kid who managed to sneak contraband into the jianghu equivalent of Juvie become so useless/clueless????

whatever. Jc has bigger things to worry about. Like dragging wwx back to LP.

and he fails. miserably.

but guess what. JC still got his ‘brother’ back. he got to talk to him again. it wasnt like old times, but wwx is There. they’re not bros anymore and may never be again but at least wwx’s *alive*

he got his closure, he got his sorry.

but Dage’s still fucking dead. even after GY temple hes dead and mindless and never coming back.

Can you not see the Potential in that? can you look me in the eyes and tell me that nhs wouldn’t secretly harbor resentment towards jc?

like 'you got what i wanted. you got what i needed. i did all these horrible things and maybe it wasn't even worth it'

these men spent their entire adult lives working towards revenge/their brother (almost brother ykwim) and have nothing to show for it other than terrible reputations that precede them.

and what the hell do they do post GY temple without their anger to fuel them?

theyre not divorced, theyre the only two people standing in an empty room together fighting the urge to scream bloody murder as the walls close in on them.

they're tired they're confused they're devastated

jc: im tired of being angry and nhs: i dont want to be alone anymore CAN YOU NOT SEE???? THE POTENTIAL

these men understand each other like no one else and at the same time they Don't. they will never get each other's methods or mindsets.

who even are you anymore? who even am I? can you fix me? can you make the pain go away? get away from me. share a drink with me.

also. GY temple ends without Jc finding out the truth about what nhs did. Huaisang could easily take that secret to his grave if he so wanted. but if jc finds out via wwx then guess what. DIVORCE.

Now theyre divorced.

maybe jc will try to kill nhs for what he did and maybe nhs will let him.

so no, sangcheng is not a 'pair the spares' nor is it a simple 'uwu pure tender childhood fwends romance' it is So much more it is FUCKED

they're Doomed they're Saved they're headless chickens they hate each other they love each other do you Get it

there's so much more i could try to speak on but im not an adept writer and i cant articulate things well! but I will go down with this ship figuratively and literally.

and yeah maybe sangcheng nation doesnt portray enough angsty content in our fanworks for nonbelievers to respect us but who cares that doesnt mean im not constantly thinking about jc taking psychological damage battling his own mind on whether he wants to kill huaisang or fuck his brains out 24/7

enyways thanks for coming to my ted talk vote sangcheng bc they are just as spicy and deserving to win as chengyao! ^v^

Tournament of Jiang Cheng's Lovers

Semifinal, Bracket 2

Link to bracket

[thera-daydreams]

PLUS ONE

》 A TRESE TWOSHOT 《

[Maliksi x Reader]

📝 Summary: In which your beloved best friend snatches you from your apartment at dawn asking you to be his plus one for his cousin's wedding. Unbeknownst to the clueless you, everything is just going according to Maliksi's ultimate masterplan. With the help of friends and family, the Prince of the Tikbalang finally gets the girl he's been longing for. And oh, Señor Armanaz gets his dream daughter-in-law and the promise of grandchildren within the year.

📌 Warning: May contain some slight NSFW for spicy suggestiveness and cussing. No smut or anything super SPG—this girl can't write that for her life—but just be prepared. It's Maliksi we're talking about. We've got friends-to-lovers, obliviousness, pining, fluff, and a tikbalang simp. Figure it out. 😃

(word count: 7,454) ♥︎ Part Two: ?

》 AUTHOR'S NOTE 《

Not an Inday spinoff, but a lengthy oneshot in celebration of this blog getting 90 followers. Just ten more to 100, yay! Thank you so much for the love and support, everyone. I also promised that I'll be making this brainrot that @binibiningbabaylan and I have fangirled over a few days ago (find the original post here) when I finished the latest chapter of Inday. Here it is! 🥰

Before I forget, I was also inspired by the cute fic made by @crispybasil titled "Sunshowers" and the "Trese Boys As Things My Guy Friends Do" made by the amazing @smolla-than-a-bug (I bow down to your wonderful works in the Trese fandom). I definitely see Maliksi to be the type to go on spontaneous roadtrips and be the boyfriend to drive you around eveeeerywhere (while also driving you crazy). 🚘

There are also some songs mentioned throughout this work. You should probably listen to them while reading for the full experience. Ending was somewhat rushed but eh, I'm too exhausted and I've rewritten it too many times. Also, if someone makes some actual tikbalang smut, tag me please. Anyways, enjoy! ����

The way it all started was hilarious. Absolutely fucking hilarious. It happened like a blur. Literally. One second, you were snoozing in your bed. The next? You had a seatbelt on in the shotgun seat of a sophisticated-looking car. Your brain didn't even get to process it yet.

"... So let me get this straight," you grumbled, still half-asleep from your sleep marathon. You just finished a hugely successful project at work yesterday, got promoted, and wanted to make up for the restless nights you spent overtime in the office. Of course you were irritated from being disturbed. You were on vacation leave for two entire weeks, originally planning to go into temporary isolation by deactivating your social media accounts and reserving a beach cabana for yourself in Batangas.

Well, turns out, you weren't going to Batangas anytime soon. All because your unreasonably spontaneous bestfriend of ten hectic years stole you from your apartment at 2AM. Was this considered kidnapping? Was this him just being more in touch with his tikbalang side, taking unsuspecting women in their sleep and leading them to their inevitable death? (He was going over the speed limit, so it was a valid thought.) Will wearing your shirt inside-out save you today? Lord, masyado ka pang pagod para mag-isip ngayon.

"Go on."

"You abducted picked me up in the middle of the night because you want me to be your plus one at your cousin's wedding in Tagaytay?"

"Yup. And technically, the venue is right on the outskirts of Cavite going to Tagaytay," he corrected you as a matter-of-factly.

"Same thing, whatever," you huffed tiredly. "Your cousin's wedding is at 6AM today. In a few hours. In four hours."

"Uh-huh."

You groaned exasperatedly, "Mal naman, eh! You didn't even let me bring anything. Could've at least given me a heads-up a few hours ago. I'm practically emptyhanded right now save for my phone! Sinungaling ka, you said this was just a normal midnight drive—not a freaking wedding!"

The Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang, son of the Great Stallion, heir to the Armanaz herd, and the Top Drag Racer of C-5 Expressway—if that was even one of his Game of Thrones-like titles—grinned as he continued driving beside you. He let you continue ranting in the passenger seat while he mulled over his ultimate masterplan that would change his entire life later on. He was a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy, so all this wasn't his thing. But for you? He'll make plans, alright.

"Wala man lang akong dinalang masusuot o kahit konting makeup para maging presentable sa harapan ng buong pamilya mo," you exclaimed, in absolute despair. "Do you know how out of my league you are? Your rich-ass family might judge me—hell, your dad might see me as a hampaslupa if I show up there in my pambahay and tsinelas!"

"Psh, I'm not out of your league," Maliksi waved it off, smoothly turning a corner. "And calm down. We've known each other for a decade! My dad practically loves you as his own daughter. Heck, the entire family knows you and keeps telling me they want you adopted in already. Lolo Andres and Lola Perlita said they'd have the paperwork settled. You just need to sign them."

It would be even better (and easier) if you married into the family. To him, specifically (as if he'd let anyone else have you). God, he was already being so obvious in his advances, but you were just so damn oblivious whenever it came to romance. None of this needed to happen if you just got it through your thick skull that he was madly in love with you.

"That's not the point, idiot!" you slumped back into your seat, hopeless. "Do you think the bride and the groom will get offended? Shit, baka masumpaan ako kung magagalit sila, Mal. Mukha akong patay galing sa South Cemetery."

The long-haired tikbalang rolled his eyes, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Nothing's going to go wrong. Chill ka lang diyan. I've got everything under control, babe."

Babe. Yes, he even called you babe but you thought it was him being a himbo and a massive flirt. Now, it was his common term of endearment for you, but you still assumed it was him just being irksome to you and that you couldn't stop the man from saying it anymore. Thus, you let it be (the most obvious hint of his attraction to you, bestie).

"... Ugh, why didn't you ask Hannah or Amie to go with you?"

He just smiled knowingly, shrugging and making up an excuse, "Nagmamadali ako, eh. Hannah and Amie are also coming, but they already have the other tikbalang as dates."

"'Luh, ako pala ang backup choice mo?"

"Heh. Whatever you want to think."

Little did you know that you were always his first choice. Always. Even when he pursued Alexandra Trese many years ago, trying to convince himself you were just his best friend, it was always you. How did he come to that realization? Well, an international band he was a fan of released a song a couple years ago and he heard it being played in a club in BGC. The song title?

It Was Always You by Maroon 5.

Needless to say, after hearing the song and being unable to get it—get you—out of his mind at night, he stopped courting Alexandra. Unfortunately for him, that time, you'd started dating other men. Therefore, he was left on the sidelines... until your latest and most painful breakup, at least. That was five years ago. You still hadn't dated anyone since then, kind of traumatized from getting into another failed relationship like that.

In the present day, as if the fates were playing on you two, one of your favorite artists played on the radio. A very ironic song given the situation you two were in.

Best Friend by Rex Orange County.

Maliksi knew it was a favorite of yours. He knew it by the way your eyes lit up like a star brightening the twinkling night sky. Like the sun first rising in the morning at Apolaki's command. Like the moon extending its gentle rays from the magic of Mayari herself. If there was anything he wanted to ask of the old gods, it was you—everything else be damned.

"I wanna be the one that makes your day, the one you think about as you lie awake," you half-sang and half-screamed happily, somewhat out-of-tune. "I can't wait to be your number oooooone! I'll be your biggest fan and you'll be mine—"

Maliksi glanced at you, not minding that his eardrums were probably getting microscopic ruptures from your aggressive singing. As much as he wanted to stare at you all day, he had to keep his eyes on the road. But the lyrics you were singing were wrong; the Prince of the Tikbalang was already yours from day one.

"Babe, McDo drive-through tayo for breakfast. Let me make it up to you. Gusto mo ng caramel sundae for your promotion gift? Sige. Ako bahala. Chicken nuggets din? Mabubusog ka ba niyan? I don't think they serve those this early..."

》》》

"Sandali lang!" you shouted out from inside an empty room. You'd just arrived at the venue—the Alta Veranda de Tibig in Silang, Cavite (practically the gateway to Tagaytay)—an hour or so ago. The hired makeup artist just left so that you could privately change into the outfit that had been bought specifically for you. Curse Mal and his ability to buy anything (perhaps anyone) he wanted. "Bwiset, Mal, you didn't tell me we'd be part of the damn entourage. We have to be walking the aisle in thirty minutes, simbako! You just love rushing me, don't you!?"

If only you were the one walking down the aisle today towards him.

When you exited the room, Maliksi couldn't help but let his jaw drop as he skimmed your figure, clad in the luxurious, silky satin blush midi dress he bought in one of those fancy stores in Makati yesterday. He imagined that it would look great on you, but now, seeing it on you in person... you looked divine (and frankly, he wanted to see it off your body to see what was underneath—but don't get too ahead of yourself, Mal). It was a whole 'nother level from his imagination. The deep cowl neckline and thin spaghetti straps showed your lovely collarbones... as well as a peek of your cleavage. His favorite and the best part of it all? It was backless, allowing him to gaze at the tempting curve of your spine.

He hadn't realized he had grown silent until you smiled and closed his mouth, tapping his chin.

"Lalangawin ang bibig mo, Mal," you laughed softly. Never had you seen him so speechless. You then flicked your hair back, ridiculously posing for him like you were on the cover of Vogue magazine (haba ng hair mo, gurl!). "Do I look that good? Char lang."

"... You look absolutely ravishing—I mean, uh, stunning. Hot. Yeah." That was all he could say. He mentally punched himself for not showering you with more suave compliments.

Still, your face brightened up, not knowing that the man in front of you just fell for you a thousand times harder, "Wow! Really? Damn. Ang galing talaga ng MUA na kinuha mo, ginawa akong artista. Give me their contact number later! May work event pa naman ako in two months. I'm shocked, it's like they made me rise from the dead! Even my eyebags are gone, Mal! How'd they do that?" Heck yeah, your confidence was boosted. He offered his arm to you like a gentleman, making you half-heartedly roll your eyes (you took it anyway). From holding it alone, you could tell that your best friend was a sinewy man (well, you knew that already after seeing his tikbalang form before—the little shit didn't even wear a loincloth like all his clanmates; your poor eyes were eternally scarred).

You looked him up and down. You wouldn't lie—Maliksi is and always has been an attractive man. Now? With his hair in a ponytail (pun not intended), definitely one of the hunkiest men you've ever known. "You're not looking too bad yourself, horsey."

"Ako pa!" He puffed his chest out in pride. You chuckled at his reaction.

"By the way, how do you even know my dress size and my shoe size?"

"Babe, I've known you too long. You know almost everything about me, I know everything about you."

You snorted at his confident tone, "'Di nga? You don't know every single thing about me, Mal. Assuming ka masyado."

"Alam ko nga anong cup size mo. Wala lang 'yang shoe and dress size."

You slapped his shoulder, cheeks quickly flushing red, "Huy, umayos ka! Walang hiyang tikbalang na 'to." With this guy as your best friend? You heard dirty jokes at least once a day. "Don't be inappropriate here!"

"What? It's only fair I know!" He looked down on you suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. "You already know I always go commando, so of course I know that your bra is a size—"

"Shhh! Baka marinig ka, 'nyeta."

"So? Let them hear. My best friend has a nice set of melons!" he shouted. You were grateful there was no one around. Hopefully.

"Oh my God..."

Your best friend chortled at how flustered you'd become. He led you to where some of his family was waiting, with a couple of his relatives already greeting you. You instantly and quite easily mingled with them, your worries of them not accepting you far from even true (they all knew how much their prince loved the innocent you).

"Kayo na talaga, pare?" one of his older tikbalang clanmates asked while you went away to be fawned over by his aunts.

Maliksi chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched you from afar, "Heh. Hindi pa."

Another one of his clanmates—a younger one—laughed, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, "Talaga? That's cap, bro. You two are like a married couple already and you guys still aren't a thing?"

"Ilang taon na ba kayong magkakaibigan?" the older one asked him.

"Almost ten years," Maliksi responded, a smile unconsciously pulling his lips up as he remembered your moments together. He watched you converse with his female relatives (who adored you the moment Maliksi brought you to a family event many moons ago).

The two tikbalang snickered as they saw the look on the Great Stallion's heir.

"You're down bad," the younger one said, snapping a photo of his lovestruck kuya. "You've got it so bad for her, dudeparechong!"

"Balak mong ligawan anytime soon?" the older tikbalang inquired.

"Heh. Balak ko na ngang pakasalan. Kung pwede, ngayon."

They looked at Maliksi as if he was crazy. He was very much serious, though, even if there was a huge, lopsided smile on his face. The Prince of the Tikbalang raised a brow at them.

"What? Don't give me that look. Our ten years of being best friends is practically the courting and the dating stage already."

"Eh... you're right. Don't waste anymore time. Go and marry her today, dude. Suporta kami sa'yo, basta groomsmen kami sa kasal niyo, ha!"

"Ge. Without question."

Meanwhile, on your end with the ladies of the family, they started pestering you on your love life (like all typical Filipino aunties). Chismis everywhere.

"O, iha, single ka pa ba?"

"Kailan ka magpapakasal? Malapit ka nang pumasok sa thirties mo."

"Do you want kids? How many?"

"Are you and Maliksi a couple? You look good together! Kayo na, 'di ba?"

"Will you be getting married next? Are you engaged? When's the wedding? Invite niyo kami!"

Before you could get overwhelmed by their questions, Maliksi swept you off your feet to lead you to the entourage that was lining up outside the chapel area. Again, it happened like a blur. He laughed at the partially nauseated look on your face.

"You okay there?" he asked, grinning.

"Your family thinks we're together," you muttered quietly, not meeting his eyes. You weren't sure why you felt... tingly about their statements.

He tilted his head at you curiously, gently setting you down on your feet and helping you stand.

"Do you hate the idea?" It hurt him to ask you the question, but he wanted your thoughts on it. Perhaps doing this was a bad idea. Maliksi was competitive in many things, including wanting you to be his, but if you were so opposed to it, he would never force you into something you didn't want. He let go of your hand; you didn't even notice he'd been holding it until he let go. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

Your wide-eyed gaze snapped back to look up at him, "No! No, it's not that! And... it's not bad." Your hand felt strangely empty now that his was gone. Biting your lip, you disclosed, "You're not making me uncomfortable, Mal. Don't ever think that."

With that, you shyly interlocked your arm with his, tearing your eyes from his to mask the growing warmth you felt spreading in your veins. You two didn't say anything else when the ushers let you walk down the beautiful, petal-covered aisle together.

The man beside you was starstruck. Hopeful. Maybe both of you did have a chance. Maybe somewhere in the depths of your soul, his feelings for you were being reciprocated. For the rest of the sacred ceremony in the gorgeous main pavilion, both of you relished in short, comfortable, and low conversations. He even cracked jokes every once in a while—really funny ones that made it challenging for you to you stifle your laughter.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride."

Maliksi fervently prayed to Bathala that he'd experience the same opportunity he was seeing with you someday. One day.

Even while the sun was brightly out, the sky began showering down light rain onto the land. You were in awe as you looked out the window.

"Hala, totoo nga pala! Tignan mo!" you laughed, tugging Maliksi's suit sleeve, pointing at the window.

"Na ano?" he curiously inquired, not understanding what you were referring to.

"Na kapag may tikbalang na kinakasal, umuulan habang may araw pa," you replied, eyes filled with childlike mirth and wonder. A rainbow had even begun to form by the clouds. "Look, it's magical! Ang ganda pala ng view dito kasama ang old Spanish architecture. Timeless na timeless. It's so pretty, 'no? Picture tayo 'maya, Mal."

Unlike you, it wasn't the sky outside that the prince was looking at. Amidst the loud cheers for the newlywed couple and the bubbles the guests were blowing, his vision could only focus on how magnificent you looked while being amazed. You were his best view. (Ed from 90-Day Fiancé, kabahan ka na, may katapat ka sa pickup line mo.)

》》》

"Smile for the picture!"

You giggled as Maliksi was dragged into a photo-op with the bridesmaids and the important older wedding sponsors a few feet away (funnily, he looked a little constipated around them). All of a sudden, when he was heading back to your direction, you were roughly pushed into the said man's arms. When you turned around, there was nothing (except maybe a gust of wind that came out of nowhere).

"Ooh, gotcha. Careful," the tikbalang steadied you, strong hands holding your biceps. "Natapilok ka?"

"... Huh, hindi naman," you wondered suspiciously, looking around. "I think someone pushed me? Parang tinulak ako... but wala namang tao."

"Weird. Maybe it was just the wind."

It actually was. Really. Maliksi knew for a fact that it was those two taong hangin who were spying on you from the corner, trying to pair you up. He gave them a thumbs-up while your back was turned in the opposite direction. Hannah and Amie returned the thumbs-up before vanishing. Suddenly, the two wedding photographers had moved on from the bridesmaids and were right beside you.

"What a lovely couple you two are!" she praised. Before you could correct her, she held up the black contraption she held towards you two. "Pose for the camera, lovelies!"

And so you did, the photographer guiding you two on what to do. Maliksi wrapped his arm around your waist and you leaned on his side, looking sidewards to the camera with one leg cocked in front of the other. Her assistant, who was holding a polaroid camera, printed out two photos for you.

"Thank you," you told him, taking the photos from his hands then flicking them rapidly to make the images develop. You and Mal were about to walk to the reception area when the photographer stopped you, handing the male beside you a business card.

"If you two need a photographer or a videographer for your wedding, call me," she signaled to both of you before running to another guest, bringing her assistant with her.

You gawked, "Mal, did you just hear what she said?"

"Loud and clear." A grin was on his face. He seemed very pleased at what he heard.

"... How can she even tell if someone is married or not?"

Maliksi's free hand took your left hand, tapping the ring finger, "Nothing here."

"Ooooooh. I get it now." Your brows creased. "Huh. This is like the fifth time today the people here have mistaken us for a couple."

Maliksi shrugged, teasing you, "Who knows? Baka may potential tayo, babe."

Before you could ask him what he meant, he was hurriedly towing you to the reception venue. While he was doing that, you stared at the now-developed polaroid photos you were holding. Huh. Maybe you two did look like a couple.

"Come on, they're serving some snacks at the welcome reception area. Peach pie and mango float-flavored. Paborito mo, babe."

》》》

The rest of the night went by without a hitch. You were actually enjoying the event—the host was great, the food was great, the music was great. Everything was great... that was, until the games.

"Alright! Now that the bride's garter has been removed, let's have the bouquet and garter toss... starting with the females!" the host announced. "Dear bride, please stay here in front. And all single ladies—and by single I mean ready to mingle and are not married—please rise and stand here on the dance floor. Let's play matchmaker tonight, everyone!"

"Uy, single ladies daw," Maliksi nudged your side. "Sign mo na 'yan." You snorted like a pig.

"Nope, ayokong madamay sa bouquet toss," you whisper-yelled at your best friend. "Do you know how embarrassing that is?! Besides, they won't notice if I don't join! Special tactic ko 'yan sa weddings: pretending I'm not single. Katabi naman kita."

More women came to the front, making you feel assured that you didn't need to participate. The host was about to say something, when the bride interrupted to whisper something into his ear.

"Hala, halaaa! Sabi ko all single ladies, pero may isang single lady na nagtatago pa!" he announced, making you freeze. Please don't let it be you. "What's her name, beloved bride?"

"Y/N L/N." You nearly spat out your champagne. You? Did they just call out your name? How did they know?

"Oh fuck," you cursed quietly.

"'Di ka makakatakas dito, babe," Maliksi jabbed, making you stand up. "Tinatawag ka na."

"Baka may ibang Y/N L/N dito," you resisted, attempting to sit back down. "I can't do this, Mal."

"'Sus, ikaw pa. And it's just a symbolic ceremony!" he encouraged, as if he didn't have any underlying intentions. "I doubt the bouquet will go to you anyway."

Sheesh, what a big fat liar you are, tikbalang prince.

You expressed your dissatisfaction with the situation, "Bwiset, fine. I'll just... dodge it. Or evade it. God, I swear..." You calmed down, confident. "I'm not going to worry. I've never caught the bouquet at my own friends' weddings anyway."

When you were at the dance floor, Maliksi snickered, seeing the bride—his cousin—wink at him. After all, he had thoroughly bribed her earlier.

《《《

"It's about time you settled down with someone, Mal," the bride commented while he slipped her the newest Hermés designer bag filled with a bunch of jewelry (plus some bills) two hours ago, right before the reception began and while you were in the restroom freshening up. "Hehehe, this is why you're my favorite cousin."

"Do we have a deal?"

"Of course. I'll make sure she participates. I'll also try to throw it in her direction."

"Good. Thanks."

"You better invite me to your beach wedding. I can tell how much you love her."

"Not a problem. I'll even make you a sponsor."

The bride stared at her bouquet, already practicing how she was going to throw it, "Tito's going to thank me so much for ensuring that he's going to get grandkids soon, hihi."

》》》

Back to the present, on the other end of the room, Maliksi saw a familiar duo give him a sign that they were ready. Bingo. Time to execute the most important part of his plan.

《《《

"I don't care how you do it," he told the two wind elementals after he bribed the bride. "I've already instructed the bride on what she should do, pero siguraduhin niyo lang talagang lumipad sa kanya ang bouquet."

"Mmhmm," Amie flipped her hair, a hand on her cocked hip. "And what do we get in return, oh great Señorito Armanaz?"

"Sagot ko bar-hopping niyo for one month."

The two girls pretended to think about it, making Maliksi roll his eyes. He had to pull out the big guns, huh?

"Fine. Magbibigay ako ng cash deposit plus pwede niyong gamitin ang black card ko for a one-week shopping spree in Ortigas." There. Bullseye. That's what they liked.

"Deal!" they exclaimed excitedly.

Hannah let a cool gust of wind enter one of the nearby windows, testing out how they're going to do this. "Ano pa bang pinaplano mo for Y/N mamaya?"

Maliksi hummed, "Basta."

》》》

You tried your best to hide within the densest part of the group of women. The bride seemed to have her eyes on you, weirdly enough, and she looked almost feral wanting to throw her flowers into someone's face.

That someone being you. Most likely.

"Target locked on," you saw her mouth move. She positioned herself like she was about to throw a football at someone (ahem, you). Holy shit, was she talking to you? Miss ma'am, it was a bouquet toss not a bouquet throw. The bride seemed to notice this, and once more regained her elegant composure.

"3, 2, 1," the host counted down. "Go!"

Surprisingly, the bouquet flew very high into the air (it was a wonder it didn't get tangled in the ceiling decor), but quite a distance away from you. You grinned, knowing it was too far to even touch you. Squeezing through the crowd of women eagerly awaiting the bouquet, you went to return to your assigned table.

Ah, what a wonderful evening.

Sike!

Something painfully landed right into your face, leaves and flowers getting into your hair and mouth.

... Wait, leaves and flowers?

Before you could comprehend it, the bouquet dropped right into your arms. What kind of ungodly, inhuman force allowed this to even happen?

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have our lucky girl for the night!" Everyone clapped, with some—those guests you knew—even cheering your name unbelievably loud. The host approached you, a glint in his eye which you couldn't understand. "Miss Y/N, kindly sit here while we await the lucky guy who catches the garter from the groom."

What just happened?

"All single gentlemen, please proceed to the dance floor. Remember, the man who gets the garter gets to slip it onto the lucky lady's leg later!"

Oh, God. You pinched the bridge of your nose. What you'd give to be back at home or to be in that resort in Batangas you'd planned on going to for a solo vacation.

"To make this even more exciting," the host stated, handing you a black blindfold. "Our lucky lady has to keep her eyes closed until her lucky man for the night captures the bride's garter! When the music plays, only then can she uncover her eyes."

See? Humiliating, just as you expected. Still, you wrapped the blindfold around your head (albeit hesitantly). You attempted to guess who it might be, thinking of all the tikbalang friends Maliksi had introduced to you back then whenever he invited you to his clan reunions.

"Groom, are you ready?" the host asked, microphone loud and clear.

"Ready na ready!"

"Single gentlemen, are you ready?!"

"Ready na ready! Awoo, awoo!" they loudly chorused, exactly mimicking Spartans about to engage in battle. You sweatdropped in the seat you were in. This was actually kind of scary. Maybe you felt a bit objectified.

"3, 2, 1, go!"

There was a brief moment of silence, which made you concerned. Ba't ang tahimik? Then, everyone erupted into roars and bravoes much louder than when you caught the bouquet—perhaps even louder by tenfold. What the heck was happening?!

The music played. Very raunchy, spicy, babymaking music. You expected it to be the typical Careless Whisper by George Michael or Pony by Ginuwine (corny songs which you could probably laugh at, at least), but no. Nuh-uh, this was probably worse. The DJ must be pretty young, the song of their choosing being a slowed, bass-boosted, sexier remix of Earned It by the Weeknd.

Ano 'to, bold? Fifty Shades of Grey? The hell was this?

Alright. This was embarrassing. Thank the heavens there were no children at this party. From the music alone and its implications, this was strictly for adults.

You removed your blindfold (that was okay now, right?) as the guests whistled playfully. You peeked one eye open reluctantly, then inwardly groaned. Oh, no. You should've expected it to be him of all people from how loud the reactions were. And all those yells from the crowd were from his family.

Son of a—

"Well, this has proven to be a very interesting arrangement!" the host proclaimed. "Our lucky man for tonight is none other than our great clan leader's heir, Maliksi Armanaz! Congratulations, sir! You get to slip the lacey little garter on Miss Y/N!"

The said very smug tikbalang stood a few feet away from the chair you were sitting on, smirking at you. His hair was no longer in that mesmerizing ponytail—instead, he'd tied it into a more sinfully attractive man-bun, loose strands framing his face and accentuating that sharp, angled jaw of his (say yes and thank you to Manny Jacinto's jawline, besties).

"Let's cheer him on in his new mission, everybody!" the host pushed. Was this that glint in his eye earlier? And was that a one thousand peso bill sticking out of his pocket?

The groomsmen, Mal's cousins and uncles whom you've met before, hollered words of encouragement to the tall man (who was, oddly enough, not one bit fazed). In fact, Maliksi seemed like he was famished as he stared you down.

You swallowed, feeling like you were going to get eaten (heh, say that again). Maliksi had shrugged off his dark suit blazer to the beat of the song (holy fuck, he also unclasped the suspenders attached to his pants right before your eyes—asdfghjkl). Were you prepared for this? No. Will you ever be prepared? No!

"Mr. Armanaz, before you begin," the host interrupted. "We have an additional challenge for you in this mission. Kaya mo ba? It was a request of the newlywed couple."

"What is it?"

"Use your teeth!" the bride and the groom cheerfully shouted, clapping with the other guests. Whatdidtheysaaaaay???

The cocky bastard didn't even hesitate, his smirk at you growing wider; those pearly whites of his on full display. Was it just you or were his canines a little sharper than usual?

"Anything for the newlyweds. Challenge accepted," he dashingly replied, winking at you. You sputtered indignantly. Pisteng yawa. Putangina. Putek. Pakshet. You swore you thought of every swear word in the book at that moment. What did that YouTube parody song about Filipino mythological creatures say again? About the tikbalang? Ah, yes. Half-macho dancer and half-stallion. Maybe the joke was true, especially when you saw what Maliksi did next.

He bit the shred of lace, loosening his necktie (bestie, you good there?), unbuttoning some top buttons, and rolling up the sleeves of his collared white undershirt up to his elbows (consequently showing off his toned, veiny forearms—those lucky bridesmaids behind him nearly fainted). Honestly, you felt like you were about to lose your mind from embarrassment. With how tantalizing your guy best friend was being? Let our response be: San Pedro, kunin mo na ako. Was he doing all this to tease you? To rile you up?

Because damn it all, it was working. In your ten years of knowing Maliksi Armanaz, withstanding all his daily dirty jokes and flirtatious attempts, never had you seen him like this. So... wolfish. Ravenous. Like he was a man that hadn't been fed in years.

He stalked closer towards you, falling to his knees in front of your legs. Your gown had a long slit that extended up to an inch or two below where your left leg began—your best friend was eyeing his target already, knowing where to place the garter. Normally, you would never even wear something as revealing as this gown. It just wasn't your type, but Maliksi was the one who bought this for you for this specific occasion, so you had no choice. It was this or your pantulog he stole you in just hours ago. At first, you were confident in the gown. Now? You felt too... naked.

Somehow, in the heat of it all, you'd muted out the noise of the venue. Maliksi teasingly lifted your foot up, fingertips slyly grazing the thin shoe straps around your left foot—his calculated touch leaving fire in its trail. Once the garter had been successfuly inserted past your high-heeled stilettos, the man kneeling in front of you kept his hands to himself. Despite the fact that now there was absolutely zero skin-to-skin contact between you and this man, your body felt hotter than it ever was before as he expertly slid the lacy bit of cloth up your ankle at an agonizingly slow pace.

Maliksi's warm eyes had turned dark, his pupils blown, a tinge of red in them—of his true beast—while he maintained striking eye contact with you, pulling the garter up your calf with his teeth. Smoothly tugging... tugging... tugging. Tangina, it was like he was undressing you with his eyes alone; like he was telepathically telling you to keep your eyes open.

To keep your eyes on him, where he was knelt inbetween your legs, his hands intentionally locked on his back. Did you ever imagine this? Him between your legs? Maybe. Once or twice. But you never thought about it seriously; Maliksi dated girls left and right in the past.

His lips... his lips were so close... so close to your leg that you could feel the heat of his breath along with the lace. Were you about to die? Perhaps you already did. Maybe you were in heaven. Up... up... up... snap!

Suddenly, he stopped, grinning up at you mischievously and letting the elastic bounce back to the skin of your left knee.

"I'm not going any further, don't worry, babe," he whispered, noting that your eyes had become misty and glazed over. Internally, he grew worried. "That's enough." Did he think it was from discomfort? From you being uncomfortable? Bitch, no. It was the exact opposite. You had never been this turned on in your entire life.

You felt like your soul had left your body at that moment. Did you just have a heart attack? Was your blood pressure okay? Before you or Maliksi could stand, however, someone bellowed from the wedding sponsor tables.

"Higher! That's an order!"

Fucking hell, it was Maliksi's father who shouted. He wasn't in the huge tikbalang form you'd normally meet him in, but he was still very intimidating in his humanoid form, commanding attention and subservience wherever he went. You could tell where Maliksi got it from.

Instantly, the other guests—already half-drunk and wanting the spirit of partying to continue on—joined in.

"Higher! Higher!"

The host cheered, "You heard Señor Armanaz! Higher!"

Maliksi gave you a questioning look. Even if it was his father who spoke up, he still wouldn't do anything you didn't want. Well, you two made it this far; there was no point in getting embarrassed now. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. You probably couldn't erase the redness on your skin with how much you'd blushed from this night. It was as if the heat was tattooed onto your skin.

"Go on, Mal," you whispered to him, bending your torso down closer to his face, eyes half-lidded from want. "Finish what you started, babe."

With those sultry bedroom eyes he'd never once seen you show him before—plus you turning the tables with that familiar term of endearment, how could he refuse? Like a switch had been flipped inside him, he immediately complied, taking the frilly scrap of stretchy lace between his teeth once more, moving it further up to your thighs until where your high slit ended—centimeters below the warming juncture between your legs.

Your legs felt wobbly... boneless, as you stood up from the chair, the fabric of your gown cascading over where the lace sat securely on your upper left thigh. The party was still going strong even after you two finished the garter wearing tradition.

"'Atta boy! That's my son!" Señor Armanaz blazoned, standing up and raising his glass for a toast. "Cheers to the newlywed couple! May they last forever!"

You guys weren't the newlyweds, but it did sure feel like it. If the clan leader was hyped up, everyone was hyped up. Heck, the groom and the bride didn't mind one bit what had just transpired on their dance floor. In all the chaos, Maliksi took you out of the reception area and somewhere quieter. More private.

You would need to have a serious, urgent talk with your boy best friend.

》》》

You two silently sat on a stone bench in a gazebo somewhere in the reserved venue for the wedding, trying to cool down and get yourselves back together (at this point, you needed ice from that steamy, half-scandalous event you just went through). Here, there was no one else except for the chirping of crickets, the lush trees surrounding the area, and the golden fairy lights strewn all over the roof. Awkwardness was something you'd expected after what just happened, but somehow, you still felt comfort in this man's presence. For the past thirty minutes, both of you just stayed still, lost in your thoughts and reflecting.

"Mal?" you finally spoke up.

"... Hmm?"

"Ano tayo?"

"Whatever you want us to be."

Your fingers instinctively reached out for his, just like they always did when you were anxious. Sensing this, he grasped your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Soothingly. He massaged the skin of your fingers, distracting you from your nervousness. It seemed like both nothing and everything changed between both of you. The gesture was the same, but so different at the same time.

"Mahal mo ako." It was not a question. It was a statement. A truth—one that you'd been too blind to see before. One that you only discovered while you stared into each other's eyes in that party not as best friends. You realized with a jolt in your heart what he really felt for you, and now, what you really felt for him. In those thirty minutes of silence, you knew. You just knew.

"Yes. I do."

"... Just as a best friend?" you probed.

"..."

Finally, you gazed into his eyes, previously so dark and full of hunger. Now? Just reluctant. Vulnerable. Open. Unsure of what to do next.

Seems like you had to be the one to take initiative tonight. Taking out your phone, you opened your music app and pressed play on a certain song. Ikaw at Ako by Johnoy Danao. You removed your heels (which were starting to blister your ankles and toes), then pulled him up to stand.

"Dance with me," you murmured, grabbing his arms to wrap them around your waist. He was stiff. Tense. What was he to do when the woman he's been pining after for so long let him hold her? All his gallantry and ability to romance disappeared out the window the moment you let him touch you so intimately.

You two weren't even waltzing. Just swaying. Slowly, you leaned your head on his broad chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

"... I love you," Maliksi admitted in the middle of it all, feeling like he was dreaming. Your head on his chest kept him grounded to reality, however. "More than anything in the universe. I fell for you ever since you patched me up when you were nineteen and I was a reckless drag racer who didn't have a purpose in life. 'Nung dinala mo ako pabalik sa Armanaz Tower on the verge of death. Simula noon, ikaw lang."

"I realized that," you smiled, reminiscing the old memory. You were just a broke college student that time, coming back to your dorm from making your group thesis at a classmate's house. Imagine your panic when you found a half-man, half-horse bleeding out by some bushes on the way home at night. Despite your fear and your little money (only enough to feed you for the week), you went out of your way to buy a first-aid kit at the nearest 7/11. It was scary, but you managed to mend the creature's wounds by the side of the road. When he was finally able to speak, turning fully human (which you admit, freaked you out initially), you arduously carried him back to his address—to his father and his clan, even if you had classes the very next morning. Because of your heroic deed of saving their precious heir, the tikbalang clan had become indebted to you: a teenage girl on the verge of a mental academic breakdown, just making her way through the cruel adult world. How old of a memory that was, you thought, yet you still recalled it in perfect detail. "Just a while ago."

"Ah." He swayed you gently.

"Lahat ng ito, plano mo?"

"... Yes," Maliksi fessed up. "Except for this part where we're here dancing in this belvedere. Wala sa plano ko. Gusto ko sanang magconfess doon sa may fountain para sweet, pero..."

You lifted your head off his chest, smiling at him with one brow raised, "You know, between both of us, you're supposed to be the spontaneous one. Planning isn't usually your thing."

"I know. It's a failure, huh?" Maliksi sighed.

"Nah." You shook your head, then suddenly locked lips with him. It was so fast and surprising he didn't even get the chance to return your first kiss. For once, you caught him off guard. You pecked him on the lips again. "It's not a failure."

"Wha—"

"I'm sorry for making you wait, Maliksi. Ten years. We're twenty-nine now, and only tonight do I realize how blind I've been. We've been going around in circles, wasting so much time. Ayoko nang mag-aksaya ng oras," you whispered guiltily against his lips. How could you have been so blind? Andaming nasayang na taon. Making up your mind, you told him, "Yes. Sige, I accept. I'll be your plus one."

The tikbalang was flustered and baffled from the kiss, as well as your revelation, "... But, you already are?"

"No, silly. I meant that I'll be your plus one for life. For as long as you'll have me," you laughed, now processing that you were currently dancing barefoot with your boy best friend and had just kissed him in a wedding you didn't even plan on going to. The universe had a mysterious way of doing things. "Guess I'm the spontaneous one now, huh?"

Maliksi was tongue-tied. "Seryoso ka ba? Is... Is this a marriage proposal?"

"Whatever you want it to be," you echoed his words back to him. "Best friend, plus one, girlfriend, wife—mmpf!"

He kissed you so hard your lips bruised. After an impromptu makeout session which was definitely more in character for Maliksi, you both pulled away, panting heavily in search for air, still desperate for passion. He cupped your cheeks, giving you a sweet, featherlight Eskimo kiss.

"You're missing one more title."

"Hm? What do you mean, Mal?"

"Love of my life." He kissed you again, this time lifting you off your feet and spinning you around (his sneaky right hand was resting on your bum, too, giving it a tight squeeze). You know in the Princess Diaries where the main character's foot just... pops whenever the prince charming kissed her? Yeah, that happened to you on that humid summer night. This was right. You two were meant to be together. Everything was falling into place.

The bungalow you reserved for your Batangas vacation leave ended up being the site of your very eventful honeymoon with the Prince of the Tikbalang (with his libido, it wasn't that difficult to continue where you'd left off in the garter toss; that scrap of lace came off your leg the same way it went on). Actually, nauna pa ang honeymoon sa actual wedding (it was definitely spontaneous). Right after your confession in that alcove, you two went to Maliksi's father to ask for his blessing (which he gladly gave, cackling and saying that it took you long enough) before you guys went driving off to Batangas that night. You and Mal indeed had lots and lots of fun in that resort (I'll let you imagine the rest). More beautiful memories were made from that point on—this time, not just as best friends.

All that and your small, intimate wedding occurred in early April. Just when you thought that it'd be impossible to fulfill Maliksi's life goal of having a baby within the year (nine months of pregnancy meant that the earliest you'd give birth would be January next year), the impossible happened.

Exactly thirty-two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, the Armanaz herd welcomed one prince and two new princesses into the world. Triplets who were instantly adored by everyone in the clan.

Señor Armanaz had never been happier, and so were you and your husband. Your best friend. The love of your life. Your forever plus one.

Maybe being spontaneous wasn't so bad after all.

Taglist: @belladaises @binibiningbabaylan @4kodzuk3n @sparklingmallow @severuslovebot @holyshxtangel @marinac15 @space-flamingo @pippethealien @kashasenpai @disappointmentpastry @hornehlittleweeblet2 @seijohoe @monimiin @ibelievein2dmensupremacy @tinybonksharkcop @methehipster @banisuoh @genshin-idiot @lemonnie-kimmie

[raevenlywrites]

okay. i have some time to myself before work and i need to troubleshoot my headphones anyways so lets take another run at the season 1 finale

Infestation, attempt 2

full disclosure, i listened to this and most of ep 40 on the way home, and i do remember id made it this far in my first listen years ago. so I've had some time to organize my thoughts

The emotion in the recordings make more sense now. Knowing that hes coming to the tape recorder after a failed digital attempt, him knowing those statements are "real"- and all the stuff about him feeling "watched" lends credence to my idea that those statements take on a life of their own, literally trying to scare him into believing. It feels like the Fears feed on attention, on believe, and on acts of...worship? to their domain.

The Jon/Martin of it all is adorable. "...you didnt die here, did you?" "Did you think I was a ghost?" Adorable. (Also Martin's poetry oh my fucking god. Its getting harder and harder to be sus about Martin, emotionally.)

Elias remains absolutely sus.

Sasha is too brave for her own good.

Tim remains an idiot doofus.

The found footageness is deeply interesting. I very much appreciate that ep 40 follows up and fills in the gaps left by the piecemeal nature of ep 39. Its a wild departure from the slow, steady scares of the statement readings. As someone who primarily consumes stories through audio rather than video, I feel pretty qualified to comment on how deftly they use the medium. This isnt just an audiobook. It isnt just a radio drama. It honestly kind of reminds of homestuck in that respect, how its utilizing a (at the time) newish medium to tell a story that could only be told in this way. Every Fear having a signature sound. The subtle shift from Sasha to Not Sasha (close enough i could fool myself into thinking they were the same VA at times, at others being absolutely certain theyre not. chefs kiss). They way it makes you work, to have to keep a stringboard or consult with a community to figure it all out. The way it responds to reader feedback. Its such a beautiful and unique piece of art. It makes me wish I could get into Nightvale, bc it feels like these two were maybe somewhat in competition? I can see how both would be good homes for the HS fans left adrift towards its end.

Human Remains

Jons obsession with needing to keep watch does not bode well for him

"Did you not get the tapes?" "No there was a problem" and yet we got to hear them???? Now im confused about the conceit all over again XD Ive been kind of assuming a meta framework of "Listener is a grad student" or whatever, so now im like "...listener is....????"

I want to know what Elias knows. bc he clearly knows a lot.

"Martin found a body." Oh no, Sasha- "Tell me what happened to Gertrude Robinson." Oh, my bad. Tell me more.

So glad Tim's shitty jokes got his ass XD

"We're safe inside the archive" really curious about that. What slowed the worms? The archive entity (the Eye, i think? this is meta knowing through fandom osmosis)? The efforts of Elias and the Lucas Family and whatever the shit consiparcy is behind all this?

Worm Gateway is freaky as fuck. That is clearly a portal and its only a matter of what they were trying to let in and if that was always the goal of them gathering en masse or simply a shift of resources during the premature attack Jon triggered.

Yeah, that is NOT Sasha. I still applaud how vaguely close but definitely not the same they got. Very good at making reality doubty vibes - oh shit, Michael XD Forgot all about him. Oh, Jon, you almost noticed she's wrong!!! *sobs*

Oh, Martin. You dear sweet kicked puppy man. Well done for bringing him to life, Alex Newall.

ugh, i wish i had the kind of patience to track down which case files were taken, but i super dont. feel free to tell me if you know

-

So that's season 1! I did skip a few eps (vampire hunter, the piper, lost johns cave, schwartzwald) so if theres something vital in them you think ive missed, let me know! i did listen to them all first go around, but as weve seen my memory is garbo XD

Time for today's Magnus Archives listen! Well start with Ep 34: Anatomy Class, and continue with eps 35: Old Passages, 36: Taken Ill, 37 Burnt Offering, 38: Lost and Found, 39: Infestation and 40: Human Remains, finishing up season 1!

im beginning to suspect I made it all the way through season 1 on my first listening attempt, bc this all still feels familiar XD (eta: yup, defo made it through season 1 the first time)

Anatomy Class

Yay! Another guest!

im sorry but thats all i can think of when i hear tooth apple XD

This scare reminds me of Not Graham, for some reason. I know it wasnt a case of identical dopplegangers, but it still feels related. No real evidence, just vibes.

Old Passages

Leitner ep! Leitner ep!!!

-

Oh boy! this episode has everything: Leitner, Jared Key, that one architect guy, a jump scare, Squirmies, and Breackon and Hope! The tension is ramping up and im getting excited for the show down :D

Taken Ill

Oooh i dont remember this one at all - except for the bit at the end with the deliveries. Having a garbo memory is fun; some of this feels new, some of this i remember vividly, most I dont recall until were partway through

Burnt Offering

Yay its Martin again!

-

Man, this one was weird. just weird

Lost and Found

Hey, its Selasa (sp lol) from Piecemeal!

-

Eek! Another jumpscare. Also I cant believe Sasha went in there. Not enough money in the world lol

Infestation

im assuming this is a part 2, so to speak. just in keeping with the found footage of it all- oh! no. hes being... thorough and a little obsessive XD

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

part i, autonomy in your coherence | c.g

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

You’ve forgotten your feelings for Carl, because he didn’t feel the same.

You just wished you did a better job at it.

WARNINGS: mentions of death, suicide ideation

this is a continuation of watch you burn away and i recommend you read that, first! this is also part of a series, so here is the masterlist if you need it!

(cross-posted on ao3!)

Your father once told you he had a patient that died from heartbreak.

“Your heart can’t really break, though, right?” You’d said. A doctor for a father and a laboratory technician for a mother made you more than aware of things, seeing through the myths and pretty white lies of figures like Santa and the tooth fairy.

(They had gone through with it anyway, because although their child knew, it was a gateway to normality in such a busy home.)

Your father scratched his chin, unsure how to respond. “My patient had died from a broken heart, though the process wasn’t as simple as it’s term name. A broken heart — the nonliteral meaning — can be the cause and the domino toppling to many things that could lead to death.”

“Like what?” You’d said with little admission into the conversation, having been flicking through a novel you’d picked up a while back (which featured a one eyed pirate and his partner who’d ended up dying in the end — not that you knew, yet, at least.)

“I don’t know, er,” Your father swirled his coffee lightly, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “Mental health issues, for one. Erratic actions, depression, a lost sense of self. Obsession.”

“Huh,” You muttered, looking up at your father for the first time. “A lost sense of self? Really?”

“What is your father teaching you?” Your mother said, stepping into the kitchen with a questioning expression. The conversation ended there, without so much as a thought after.

You wish you pried your father for further answers. What you’d give to get the workaholic of a man to dump his duo psychology medical major thoughts unto you with little care.

The knowledge would be gold in your time of need, when pulling and pushing distance further between you was like venturing through a field of thorns.

(Perhaps you just missed your parents. But that couldn’t be it, right? They’d died and you had lived, their blood on your hands and the gun in your fingers, their glazed over eyes and your own that nearly matched, cold and willing without a drop of emotion.)

But you’d gotten through it for him— without him. Without anyone, quietly harboring scratches and bleeding from the field with little effort.

If someone asked, you would tell them with full and honest confidence that you harboured no more attachments. You were a naive teenager, running through your feet and over yourself for something that was just a crush.

Crushes are — in their whole singularity and purpose —  temporary.

They are brief, and momentarily something that causes ripples and waves in your thoughts, just the slightest mention or faint sight makes you detour down a road of sickly sweet dreams and fantasies.

He was first love (like? You didn’t love him, no, it was a crush and it was something for the unattainable and the inappropriate — in which with full truth, he was.) so you poured the honey glazed remembrances and rose coloured lenses over your memories, because he was a first love, and you know that those were cracks in the heart, growing vines and constricting the part that was him — the part that’d always, always be there, without a doubt.

(However much you didn’t want it to be.)

The leaves and the venomous flowers that sprout in decaying grooves come with age, and you are older now.

You bear fresh scars that litter your entire being and wear newly buried bones of people who were once not just that, the dirt still sitting in the crevices of your nails, and you seem to forget their voices with each passing day.

With something like time that runs round with the world — ignoring it’s inhabitants and stealing things that you’d hidden away for safekeeping — you’ve taken up the hobby of art, furiously sketching faces that are six-feet under.

The skill is beautiful and horrific all the same, watching like a person with amnesia as the portraits begin to lose their depth, the freshness, the personality that came free with who you’d chosen to print on the page.

More and more, the faces look like reference art rather than a taken from life picture, which was all telling them to sit still and watching their eyes crinkle at the edges when you show them the result, voices echoing and asking if they could have it.

Everyday, as it has become a peevish habit like biting your nails or obsessively reminding yourself your stove is off, you draw pictures of everyone.

If you are close enough with them, you ask the subject to sit and model for you, analyzing every breath and laugh they take when you crack a joke or engage them in meaningless conversation just to see how the light hits their brows when they raise, the shadows pooling in their aging lines.

Everyday, you wish and hope and even fucking pray that their portraits continue to be something of anxious routine, rather than trying to dump their image out of your head and onto paper so you can see their faces one more time.

His image seems to change with each moment he sits in for you, once a face with two piercing blues, then a patch and eyes that looked at the dusty wooden floor, and later, someone who looks at you straight, something that told you he was a survivor, who bore his battles proudly, the scar on the right of his face sitting ruggedly and bewitchingly.

You draw him, exactly the way you see him, and when you show him the picture, he laughs, and says “You made me look too pretty,” and you shake your head, “It’s exactly the way I see you.”

You do her, too, upon request. When she sits, you draw her almost like it was professional, drawing the curvature of her face with exact precision, intense shading, marking the features she holds. The dip in her nose, the straight of her hair.

(You often forget who you’re drawing in these moments, and when you step away from the canvas you’re hit with whiplash. It’s subconscious, the way you do these things to please him, wanting to see so clearly how his face spreads delicately with delight.)

It takes a little while for you to convince Ron. When you first propose the drawing, he gives you a confused face, before walking off to do shooting practice. He’s gotten better with the gun over the years, and doesn’t respond when you tell him you know why.

(His mother didn’t come out of it alive, and his brother didn’t come back without harm. The younger boy was alive, but would grow up with only his brother by his side and one less limb to account for.)

The second time, he makes a snide comment, albeit with no bite, about how ‘you must be a horrible artist, to ask me of all people to model for you.’

The third time, you’ve dragged him to the small office you makeshifted for the drawings in the garage. He studies every slit of paper you’ve ripped out of your book, the unfinished sketches or yet-to-be painted canvases piling up against the walls. Complete works sit proudly on your wall, displayed for the world to see.

His hands hover over the paints sitting on your desk, charcoal, dirt, sticks, paintbrushes, handmade dyes, wallpaper cut-outs.

“Why?” Ron says curiously.

“‘Why?’ what?” You echo, fiddling with a fork you grabbed from the kitchen, splaying out a thick lather combination of beet dye and cement onto your finger to check the consistency.

“Why do you draw these portraits? I get the others because,” He says, leaving the words “because they’re dead” hanging in the air between you two in mutual and regretful acknowledgement, “But you draw these everyday. You drag Carl and Enid off, or just sit on the benches and draw Maggie and Glenn knee-deep in the dirt.”

You sigh a dreadful breath, wiping the rest of the beet-cement mix onto the page with the pad of your fore-finger. “We’ll forget them one day.”

He looks at you, unblinking. The dead, the gone, and the soon to be long forgotten only existed in your memories, in your words, and when the time came that the world had moved on and stopped, they would cease. Their whole memory relied on the living, nothing about them able to reach and grasp life on their own. Memory was all that was left, and it was all you could do to wash away regret.

“And the rest?”

You bite your tongue hesitantly, your movements rigid, “You see their portraits. Everyday they get less and less coherent. When — when time comes , these drawings will be the only thing getting me by.” You whispered.

The ball had dropped. Coping and grief in it’s big and ugly form, preying on your conscious hungrily, taking shelter in your largest worries. Claws sunken in your flesh, the monster was a thing that felt like it would never go away, because it would loom right alongside death itself, watching and waiting for the moment they’d deemed someones time to have been enough.

(It would never be enough. Enough meant they’d pop in from next door and ask to borrow something, enough meant they’d swipe dirt across your face to make you angry — enough meant they would come in everyday and sit for their portrait once more.)

A creaking on the floorboard caught your attention, eyes watching as Ron’s feet walk to the corner of the room, before hopping onto the wooden seat with little effort.

“I’m not going. I never will. But — do it anyway. I’d… like to see how I look on paper.” He said cheekily, picking up a thin pencil off your desk and handing it out to you.

So you did. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes snowballed into hours in the dim lighting of the garage, asking the blond to turn his body, stretch his head and make different expressions, fulfilling and destroying the little worm of worry sitting in your head.

When you’re done with the charcoal, turning it around for Ron to see and to inspect, he asks, “What about you?”

“And what about me?” You say. His questions never make sense without further discussion, but the boy always has to wait for you to pry and ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have any drawings of yourself. You’re the artist, the photographer, the one who makes these things that will stay longer than the memories and the words — so what about you?”

It’s rare that Ron delves into his emotions and the things he really means, but when he does, it’s something that stays, for a long while.

“I,” You didn’t have an answer for it. You weren’t one to do a self-portrait, it not being the same as having someone to sit and take from. “I don’t want to.” You finished simply, an ice cold realization coming to reality in you.

“Why?” He says the same words as before, but the words hold a heavy weight.

“I don’t know.”

You knew.

Maybe one day, you’d wished that you’d wash away like seafoam on the beach. You wouldn’t leave a single portrait behind of you, and the memories and the words were left mum behind his lips, because you knew how he got in a loss.

Quiet and unfeeling, it was so selfish of you that you’d counted on how he got in that state to leave you behind, neglecting you like the fruits of your memories you’d never get to bear.

Ron’s gaze bore into you like he knew exactly what you were thinking, telepathically taking in every thought you’d conveyed at your dispense.

“You should.” Is all he says, before stepping off the wooden stool and out the door.

What was wrong with you? You feel so… entirely foolish. Obsolete. Embarrassing.

You walked past the remnants of those who were gone everyday, obsessively creating canvas over canvas of them and the only thing you could think was that you’d wish to position yourself beside them?

This world was catching up to you, and fast, but you’d just have to run faster than it could.

[neesieiumz]

6 Months {Izuku Midoriya x Reader}

(Pro-hero!Izuku Midoriya x Former Pro-hero!Reader)

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

L E A V E.

Summary: You were done. Done with everything. So what do you do? You move on. What's new? What's old? And who makes an even bigger space in your heart?

A/n: So this isn't based on another song, well technically it's still based on Sorry, but it's more like a part two to sorry than it being it's own separate part, you feel me? I know it took longer than expected, but there were so many paths I wanted to take and I didnt feel like rushing it. I really wanted to focus on flashbacks for this final part, your decision to leave the pro-hero scene, when Izuku and Melissa started to see each other... etc... I always made a gateway... in case I wanted to continue you and someone else's romance if I ever felt like it... So enjoy!

Support me on Kofi! Commissions are open!

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: Implied NFSW, but no deed is actually done, light drinking, (all in good fun)

___

Falling into your mother’s arms, you spilled everything from last night and this morning. On how you eavesdropped on his conversation, the confrontations from both this morning and at the brunch. Your father wasn’t home, left earlier this morning for his job. Both you and your brother moved out not too long after high school, him going on to college to become an engineer, and you moving into an apartment with Mina and Jirou while you worked for the same hero agency. Your mother was your closest confidant, she was the only one who could come to mind to tell her about what happened. She just held you, rocking you as you cried, cried about your broken marriage, and seeing the girl your husband abandoned you for. You cried about how both she, your dad, and your brother were right. How you should have never listened to him about giving up everything you worked so hard for. She held you in her loving arms, whispering sweet things in your ear.

“I should have listened to you,” you sobbed, holding one of the throw pillows close to you as you sat up on your couch, leaving her hold on you.

Your dress was bunched up to your knees so you pulled the wrinkled material out from under you as you shifted around on your mother’s leather couch. She pulled you into one last hug, the warm embrace making silent tears fall down your face. Your mom pushed the braids falling out of your now-loose bun from your tear-stricken face. Continuing to caress your face slowly, her slightly rough hands provided a familiar comfort from your childhood.

“This is not your fault, you can not blame yourself for his infidelity, nor can you blame yourself for sticking by your husband’s side and decisions. You did what you thought was right and absolutely no one can give you shit for believing in your marriage.” Her soft voice provides extra comfort to you.

“WHAT?!?”

You were in your family home, six years ago. You still had a couple of bandages around your face and arms. Recently, you just completed physical therapy, nearly regaining full control over your limbs. The fight you had was brutal, nearly leveled the entire city. However, you came out successful from it, even if it put you out of commission for over a year. However, since you’ve woken up, you and Izuku have been having intense conversations about the two of you and your futures together, which led you to the decision you’ve made today.

“YOU’RE RETIRING?!?!” Your brother yelled, standing up swiftly out of his chair.

You took a deep breath, keeping your head down as you nodded your head. It was just you, your parents, and your brother here, Izuku currently being in the top 25 heroes, had a lot of work to do so he could join you as you broke the news to them.

“Izuku and I have been talking and seeing how fast he’s going in the Hero Charts. This incident caused us to do some major thinking. The two of us worrying about each other on the job isn’t healthy. Having two heroes in a relationship, especially two who are going as high in the ranks as us as quickly as we are. Considering how there are a lot more people expecting Izuku to go higher since he’s All Might’s prodigy. So, I’ll be retiring and helping Izuku with his career from the sidelines.”

You let out another deep breath as you finished your monologue, your fingers twitching in your lap. You knew this was a decision your family wasn’t going to agree with, after all, it’s not like you don’t have your legacy to meet up with. Your mother, before Miruko, was the highest-ranked female pro hero in all of Japan. You had her legacy to go after since your brother decided to go into the family business with pro-hero gear.

“You can’t be serious!! After everything, you’ve worked for?!?! You’re just gonna give it up BECAUSE IZUKU SAID SO?!”

Your brother was the most pissed, after all, it was always both you and his plan that the two of you would live up to our parent’s legacy. He would become the best support gear inventor and you would become the best pro hero. So saying this puts a damper on the dreams you both had.

“You had one bad fight with a villain, but the doctors said you’re going to be cleared right?” You nodded your head at his question, “so why? Why would you need to retire after that one fight?!”

“Izuku proposed.”

Gasps of shock flew from heri mouths, you smiled sadly as you pulled your hand from under the other, revealing the small, silver ring with the pure cut diamond sitting perfectly in the middle of it.

“He’s the love of my life, and he’s the man who I want to spend the rest of my life with… to have kids with. We both understand how difficult this job is, and we both know how much I wanted to become a pro hero, but since he’s my endgame… something had to give. And so I did.”

Next was your father, having raised you since you were 3 years old. He saw how much you looked up to your mother, and to your grandmother as well. You come from a line from female pro heroes, and it was always your dream to continue that. He’s always supported you throughout the years, remembering all the times the two of you would work in his workshop on new hero gear, both with your brother and without as well.

“Y/n, don’t you think you’re rushing into this decision? This is everything you’ve been working for, and you’re gonna throw it away?”

“I know your concerns but this is for the best for me and him. I know being a pro hero was what I wanted, but…” you trailed off, looking away from your trembling hands.

Your mother, who was sitting beside you, could only stare at your trembling hands. Almost reminds her of the time she told her mother who she was marrying. How nervous she was, not because she was putting her career on the back burner, but because of what happened the last time she decided to pursue a romantic relationship with someone. She got you out of it, but it was still a painful journey. She took a deep breath, before shifting herself to where you were. She placed her hand on top of your own, making you look down at them before slowly turning your head to look at her.

“Are you happy?”

The question caught everyone off guard, their heads turning towards your mother. You slowly nodded your head, smiling at all the memories you’ve made with Izuku. When you first met as a transfer student, your first date and everything else.

“Yeah Mom, I’m happy.”

You took a deep breath, leaning forward as you shook the memory out of your head.

Meanwhile, your mom tried to lighten the mood, “Well, let’s hope your father doesn’t get to him… you know he doesn’t play about you… or your brother either.”

“He won’t be able to land a hit on him unless Izuku lets him.”

“Well, he better let him then!”

You laughed out loud at that, throwing your head back against the back of the couch. You could feel your mom get off the couch, leaning up as she headed to the dining table. Looking through the papers stacked on the wooden table, she pulled out a business card before walking back to where you were still seated on the couch. Your mom sat back down in her original seat, before handing you the same card of laminated cardboard paper.

Renai Miya, divorce attorney at law.

“Renai is a good friend of mine, she gave me that in case anyone I knew was getting advice soon. I’m sure she didn’t expect my daughter but I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”

You looked over at your mother, who just gave you another knowing smile. She just rubbed at your shoulders in comfort as you pulled out your phone.

---

Izuku was sitting at his office, ignoring the texts from both Shoto and Katsuki. After the argument and confrontation from this morning, he decided to stay in the office today and complete some overdue paperwork. Typing away on his computer, his mind began to shift from the email he was sent to the hero commission to the argument that happened between him, Kacchan, and Shoto.

“I’m sorry, YOUR WIFE JUST TRIED TO KILL YOU! We don’t know what would have happened if we hadn't come when we did!” Katsuki yelled, throwing his jacket off of his body.

“Izuku, this is a serious matter. We need to know what happened,” Shoto explained next, kneeling in front of Izuku’s crouching figure.

Izuku just shook his head, diving his head into the insides of his elbows. Shoto and Katsuki looked at each other, the concern shining in their eyes. They looked back at their trembling friend, who was now starting to rock back and forth while whispering “I fucked up.” over and over again.

“Izuku,” Katsuki started tentatively, “what did you do?”

Izuku stopped trembling and his rocking ceased as he raised his head slowly, locking eyes with his childhood friend. Katsuki’s leg began moving up and down in anticipation, waiting for him to say something.

“I don’t want to report this, trust me. So just pretend you never saw that.” That was all he said before standing up, pushing past them.

Izuku shook his head, focusing back on his emails. He sent the long paragraph he was typing, after making sure there were grammatical or spelling errors. He then leaned back against his office chair, throwing his head back. A gross, yet very familiar feeling was arising from his stomach, it was slimy, it was painful, it was guilt. He felt guilty, remembering how his wife looked at him at breakfast and right before she left. How the look in her eyes felt more painful than other villains could ever inflict on him.

Closing his eyes, his mind slowly drifted to a memory, a memory from three months ago.

It was dark, and Izuku was tired, so very tired from the shift he worked. However, he needed to do this. He needed to end whatever the hell he and Melissa had. The way they were conversing over private messages was getting too much. In a week would be his wedding Anniversary, and how his wife, Y/n, surprised him, reminded him about what he and Melissa had.

And how wrong it was.

He wore a black, sleeveless turtleneck, paired with a dark coat along with dark jeans. He had fake glasses on his face and his curly was positioned to cover his face so people wouldn’t recognize him. He kept his head forward as he approached the apartment complex Melissa mentioned she was moving into. After living on I-island for all of her life, she wanted a change of pace, especially since what happened with her father way back when. So she got a job as a top hero support inventor at the company where Izuku got his extra gear from. Since it’s also where Hatsume worked as well. He opened the door and walked into the lobby. He looked around the expensive-looking area, seeing the receptionist, and only one other person sitting on the complementary couch talking on the phone. He walked to the receptionist, who greeted him with a smile.

“Are you here to see someone?”

He nodded and gave his fake name, the one he told Melissa he’d be using, along with the apartment number that she gave him. The receptionist simply smiled before typing in her computer, before reaching over to the phone and pressing a couple of the buttons. Izuku could hear someone pick up, a muffled voice through the phone.

“Yes, Ms. Shield, A Iseada L/n is here to see you.”

Izuku took a deep breath, hearing the fake name he gave along with his wife’s maiden name. The receptionist gave off acknowledging hums to the person on the phone, who Izuku knew was Melissa. He rocked himself against his heels, feeling his fingers twitch around in his pockets.

“Alright, I’ll send him right up!” She ended the call, placing the phone back in its holder.

She then smiled at Izuku before pointing at the elevators behind him, “you can use an elevator. Ms. Shield lives on the fifth floor.”

Izuku nodded and thanked her before turning around to the elevators. He picked on towards the left and stepped inside of it, waiting for it to close before choosing the button that said “five.” The doors closed as generic elevator music played throughout the rising mechanical box. Izuku sighed, pulling off the fake glasses, before pushing his curls out of his face.

Third floor…

Fourth floor…

The elevator dinged as the door opened, revealing the fifth floor. Izuku stepped out of the elevator, using the signs on the walls to find his way to Melissa’s apartment. Walking past all the other doors, of the patrons of the apartment, who were currently sleeping to the world. Unaware that their number one hero was sneaking past them, claiming to be ending an illicit relationship.” Seeing the apartment number up ahead, Izuu could feel his heart beat faster. Taking another deep breath, he stopped right in front of the pitch-black door. Swallowing his spit, he closed his eyes before knocking on the door a couple of times. Almost immediately after he knocked, the door opened, causing Izuku’s eyes to shoot open, jumping back a little as Melissa stepped into the doorframe. Izuku was about to speak when his eyes drifted down to what she was wearing. It was a simple white t-shirt, ending right at her upper thigh. Izuku licked his dry lips, before looking back up at Melissa’s face who was giving him a knowing smile, that looked smug as well.

“Izuku,” her usually peachy tone came out a little subtle, silky and sultry, “I’m so happy to see you after so long. Come in.”

Izuku simply nodded as Messlia stepped to the side, allowing him to enter her expensive apartment, which could be classified as a penthouse. Izuku looked around, his eyes landing on all the decorations around her living room. He walked toward her wall, where she hung pictures. There were pictures of Melissa with her dad, her mom, All Might, and a couple of her friends from I-island. He continued looking around, before his eyes landing on a picture of the two of them, back when he was a first-year.

“You were so short back then,” Izuku heard Melissa say, as she came to stand next to him.

Izuku just nodded, continuing to look at the frames. He was enveloped in the nostalgia he was facing when he didn’t even notice Melissa coming up behind him. He only noticed her when he felt a hand coming up around his waist. He froze, his heart pounding away in his ears. She then stood right behind him, before pressing up against his back next, her hands now circling his waist.

“Melissa…” he started, feeling her fingers mess with his zipper and belt under his overcoat jacket.

God, was she wearing anything under that shirt? He could feel her breasts, her hardened nipples pressing against his back. He took another deep breath, licking his lips before moving his hands to where her own was and prying them off his belt, just as she was beginning to unbuckle it.

“Melissa, we can’t do this. I’m married. Happily married at that. I can’t keep doing this to her.”

Melissa only hummed, moving her body from behind his own, stepping in front of him. She was wet, her long wavy dripping down her face and body. The water from her wet hair dripped onto her shirt, her white, very thin shirt. Izuku’s breath hitched as he slowly glanced down her body, her nipples visibly being shown through the fabric.

“Yet, you can’t keep your eyes off me Izuku.” Hands grabbed at his jacket, pulling him closer to her.

Izuku gasped as Melissa brought her hand, cupping his face before bringing it down. Izuku gasped once again as he felt lips upon his own, feeling her other hand reach inside his jacket to pull him closer by the waist. Izuku was about to push her away, he needed to push her away. God, he was married for fucks sake, to someone who loved him dearly. But her lips, they felt so good to him. Glossed from the shower she took, they tasted of mint and strawberries. Izuku, taking a deep breath, went to push off his jacket, never letting go of the kiss. Mellissa, smirking into the kiss, helped him out of the jacket before squealing as Izuku scooped her up before slamming her on the wall.

“This is a one-time thing,” he mumbled against her lips, using his hips to hold her up against the wall as he took off his shirt next.

“Yeah…” Mellissa said with a skeptical tone, feeling his hands go under her wet shirt next.

“A one-time thing…”

Izuku groaned, throwing the papers in his hands across his desk. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself out of his desk. He stood up from out of his chair, walking over to the wall which was replaced with windows, looking down upon the city of Mustafa. He could hear the faint sounds of cars driving and honking, he could see the civilians, everyone he protects. Looking across the street, he could see a cafe. It was one that he frequents since it’s so close. The door opened, and it revealed a couple. A laughing couple. The man was holding a medium-sized bag, with the logo of the cafe plastered across the bag. He was wearing a dark brown suede jacket that was buttoned shut. The woman was wearing a matching jacket, wearing as a dress, her curly hair pulled up in a bun. She held their coffees as they walked along the sidewalk. Izuku smiled sadly, before looking over to the couch in his office.

Laughter rang out inside the office, the sun had already gone down a long time ago and the night shift heroes were all out patrolling, leaving Izuku, a couple of sidekicks, and a couple of more janitors. It was your anniversary, but unfortunately, a string of villain attacks happened today. This pulled Deku out of his day off and kept him away. So, you decided to surprise me with dinner at his office. You cooked shrimp alfredo, packing it in pretty containers, before stopping by a couple of stores, buying a fancy cake that said “Happy Anniversary.” The last thing you bought was some expensive alcohol, a bottle of wine and champagne just in case. She then dressed up, a dark green silk dress paired with a matching coat and heeled shoes. She brought a few decorations before carrying all of that, using your clouds. Izuku smiled once he walked into the office with everything, abandoning his work and helped you set up the table.

The two of you enjoyed dinner together, talking about your day, specifically on how Izuku was swamped with back-to-back villain attacks. To the point where he was the same police officer twice in two different scenes. After dinner, the two of you move to the couch, still holding your wine glasses now filled with champagne.

“I have a gift for you,” Izuku mentioned, pushing himself up off the couch before going behind his desk, going through the drawers.

You giggled, shifting around the couch to get a little more comfortable, your jacket long discarded. Izuku hissed out a “here it is!”, before pulling out a neatly wrapped box, closing the drawer with his foot. You took another sip of your bubbly alcohol as Izuku skipped over to you with the box in hand.

“Here you go, darling!”

You smiled, placing your glass on the small lamp table to the right of you before sitting up and taking the box from your husband. He smiled at you as he sat beside you, seeing you begging to open up the carefully placed wrapping paper. Once all the wrapping paper was removed from the box, you gasped, seeing the logo on the box. BVLGARI. A smile slowly appeared on your face as you untied the golden silk ribbon. Slowly lifting the top of the box, you pulled out of the pure white tissue paper. This revealed one of the most beautiful necklaces and earrings you’ve ever seen. It was an emerald necklace, it had two emeralds, and also was decorated with mini diamonds along the border, and considering the brand, you knew it was real. The earrings were dangly and matched the way the smaller emerald looked on the necklace.

“Izuku… it’s beautiful…”

He smiled, taking the box out of your hands before taking the necklace out of the box. He whispered at you to turn around. Following his instructions, you swept your goddess braids to the side as he placed the necklace around your neck, the cool feeling of the metal tingly against your warm skin. Izuku then connected the chain, letting the necklace fall against your nape before leaning over your shoulder and placing a light kiss on top of her almost-bare shoulder. You shuddered, leaning into his touch as his hands moved from your shoulders, trailing down your body to rest them on your hips. You let out a moan, feeling him give your neck a nip, reaching up to grab him by his messy curls. You smirked, before sighing into the neck kisses he was leaving on your neck.

“You smell,” he inhaled slowly, “really fucking good.”

Giggling at his words, you placed your own hands on top of his own before turning around. You lifted yourself off the chair. Izuku lifted an eyebrow as you placed your hands behind your back.

“I have a gift for you too, it’s not a material gift but…” you trialed off as you reached up the straps of your dress, before beginning to slowly pull them down, revealing the thin straps of your expensive lingerie.

Izuku’s eyes sparkled as your dress trailed down your body, revealing the expensive material cut and crafted to fit your body perfectly. The way the emerald green clashed perfectly with your deeper skin. Your manicured hands trailed down your body as your dress pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but the sinful lingerie and the heels to match. Izuku licked his bottom lip as you slowly walked over to him, dragging your heels with each step. Lifting yourself, you slowly placed yourself on his lap, feeling Izuku’s hands immediately attach themselves to your hips. He gave you a sly smile, looking up at you.

“And you look so amazing,” he gave your body another glance, making you smirk and lean back, using your arms and hands to steady you.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck before diving into a kiss. His lips tasted of mint and strawberries, it was a new taste but one you didn’t mind. Deepening the kiss, you gasped as you felt Izuku’s hard on all the way through his pants.

“I love you so much, Izuku Midoriya.”

A moment of silence went by.

“I love you too, Y/n Midoriya.”

Izuku took a deep breath and was about to open the next one when his phone, his personal one, started ringing. He reached in the drawer and pulled it out and looked at the screen. Sweetheart was calling, a picture of you and Izuku at your wedding anniversary plastered across the screen. Izuku was less blacked up back then, and you still had a crutch from your physical therapy from your incident. But god did you both look so beautiful and happy. Izuku was wearing his suit from the wedding but without the jacket and a couple of buttons unfastened. You, however, changed out of your wedding dress into a white velvet dress that was strapless and came with these long gloves in the similar fabric that you only wore for official pictures. Izuku was carrying you bridal style along with the rest of you and his family and his closest friends.

Izuku simply smiled sadly, before answering the call.

“Y/n?”

He heard nothing at first, nothing but the phone static so he called out your name again. This time he heard someone take a deep, trembling breath as if they had been crying for a long time.

“Izuku.” Your voice was scratchy, and hoars too. Izuku could feel his heartbreak and drop to his ass all at the same time. He did that.

God he was supposed to be a hero, save people and never let them down.

Now he may have just ruined his marriage.

“Y/n.” He said again, “how- how are you?”

“I’ve called a divorce lawyer.”

Oh. Straight to the bullet.

“We can’t- we can’t talk about this?”

“What’s there to talk about? You did this to me. You did this to us. Now face the fucking consequences of your actions.” Your voice was scratchy, the rasp appearing with each word you say.

“I know what I did.”

“And yet, you still did it.”

Izuku took a deep breath, leaning back into his chair. He looked up at the ceiling of his office, looking at the dazzling, overhanging chandelier in the middle of it.

“So there’s nothing I can say or do to convince you to stay?”

“You can have the house, as long as you pay me alimony for the next two-three years, for a reasonable price of course.”

You completely ignored his question, going straight into what was going to happen next. Izuku took another deep breath, this time leaning against his hand as he placed his elbow, pointed up, against his desk.

“So this is it?”

“This is it, Izuku. I told myself I would never lessen myself for a man, and I already broke that when I quit my job. I’m not gonna keep doing that to myself.”

“I-I love you.”

You gave off an airy chuckle as if you couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. And with that you ended the call, those being one of the last words you’ll be saying to him until the meetings between the two of you and your divorce lawyers.

---

“Y/n?” A muffled voice called out, pulling you out of your sleep along with knocks on your door

You pushed yourself off the bed, throwing the hotel blankets off your body. It was late at night, you went back home after your impromptu visit with your mother. You packed up what you could in one go before stuffing it in your car. You couldn’t see Izuku after that, so you tried your best to remove any trace of yourself from that house. You were just about to fall asleep, the tv playing a random 90s show for background noise. Digging through one of your suitcases, you found a robe to wrap around your body before moving towards the door.

You summoned lightning in one hand as you checked who was at the door. Seeing red-and-white hair, along with a bright blue eye and a dull grey eye, you took a deep sigh of relief before slowly opening the door. Standing there, wearing a raincoat and holding a closed umbrella was Shoto Todoroki. His hair that grew since high school was pulled back in a ponytail as he looked down upon with concerned eyes.

“Y/n…”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as he said your name. You then opened them back up before giving him a sad smile.

“Shoto… can I help you?” You leaned against the doorway, placing a hand in your waist.

“I heard from Izuku, the two of you are getting a divorce?”

You leaned into the hallway, looking to see if anyone saw him before pulling him into your hotel room. You closed the door and locked it behind you immediately before turning on the light. Shoto looked around the luxury rented room, seeing all of your suitcases and other items stacked up against a wall. Feeling your hands tremble, you sat on your bed, folding your hands underneath themselves.

“How did-“ your voice came out raspy and dry, so you cleared your throat before speaking again.

“How did you find me? I didn’t tell anyone where I was.”

Shoto simply smiled, “being the #3 hero has its perks. I figured you didn’t want a lot of people crowding around you so I said I’d talk to you.”

Hearing that, you lifted your head swiftly, “people already know about the divorce?”

Shot shrugged off his raincoat, revealing the long sleeve black turtleneck he was wearing. He placed his umbrella in a random corner before going to sit beside you on the bed.

“After what happened this morning, Izuku only told us that you’re leaving him… and wouldn’t tell us why. We called everyone, Uraraka, Iida, Kirishima, we even called his mom and All Might… all he said was that his marriage was over. No reason as to why…”

You let out a slight chuckle, your shoulders jumping slightly at the irony of the situation.

“So the only person you could come to was me, right?”

Shoto simply nodded his head, shifting his body closer to you.

“Y/n… I know you… you aren’t this rash person. You wouldn’t come to this decision on a whim. I thought you and Izuku were okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you spoke, “I thought we were okay too… Shoto I… he…”

Your body shuddered and shook as sobs flew out of your mouth. As tears fell, you covered your face and turned away from Shoto, hunching over yourself. That’s when you feel hands, one warm and the other cold, pull at you, grabbing at your waist before pulling you into a warm body. Shoto’s comforting hands and his placing you on the fireside of his body allowed him to let it all out once again. He didn’t say a word, only letting out soft shushes in your ear as you continued to cry.

You could hear nothing else other than the air conditioning and your cries echo throughout your room. It felt like an eternity before you slowly started to quiet down. Taking a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself out of Shoto’s hold before getting up to get a water bottle. Shoto, his eyes still shining with concern, said nothing as you twisted the cap open and drank half the bottle.

As the pudding of your head slowly went away, you placed the bottle on the desk before sitting back on the bed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry my eyes out all over you,” you apologized, grabbing one of the pillows to hold closer to your body.

Shoto shook his head, waving off your concerns, “it’s okay, it’s black anyways.”

You just nodded your head and looked away.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong? Why are you and Izuku getting a divorce?”

You took a deep breath, your mind racing with everything you’ve been through… the day you met Izuku, the day you asked him out for the first time, the day he asked to be your girlfriend, the day he proposed… the day you two got married… everything.

“Izuku… he cheated on me…”

It was silent after that, the buzz of the air conditioning and the beeps of the cars below the two of you filling the tense air.

“He… he what?”

You bit your bottom lip as you spoke again, “he cheated on me, with Mellissa, you remember her right? Melissa Shield? All Might’s “niece”?”

Shoto nodded his head, shifting his body to face forward as he leaned forward, using his hands to steady himself. He lifted his head to the ceiling as he fully processed your words.

“Oh… oh wow… I never thought that he would do that.”

You scoffed, flopping back into the bed, “well me neither, and yet… here we are.”

You started to laugh, laugh at this situation, laugh at here you are now. God, everything was so fucked, wasn’t it? Feeling the bed shift, you could feel Shoto lay down on the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you before pulling you into him once again, this time leaving you on his right side so you could cool down. The feeling left sighing, leaning into his touch even more.

“Izuku is an absolute idiot, and I’m glad that you’re leaving him at the first sight of disrespect.”

Coming from Todoroki and his background, those meant a lot to you. You smiled before lifting your head to look at him.

“Thanks, Shoto, that means a lot.”

He smiled, before slowly removing his hands from your waist.

“I should let you sleep, I just wanted to come to check up on you.” He bent over to grab at his umbrella before turning around to grab his raincoat.

Sniffling, you nodded your head, wiping away your tears before getting up to see him off, “thanks for coming to check up on me… even though the way you found me was a little creepy.”

—-

You officially divorced three months after that day, Izuku tried to hold out as long as he could but soon enough even the number one hero couldn't hold out that long. The number of times you had to tell him you weren't going to come back to him was astounding, his stubbornness knew no bounds. You allowed Izuku to keep the house and he was to pay you a hefty amount of alimony along with the money he was to pay you for spousal distress.

When news came out that the number one hero and his wife would be divorcing, the media went into a frenzy. Even bigger than the one about your wedding. You had to rely on your family to help you out until the news and paparazzi left you alone. It was even worse on Deku, being the top hero and not even able to save his marriage? Talk about a blow to his reputation, it almost cost him the #1 spot. If it wasn't for the Incident at the Kasona Mall, where a villain decided to blow up a mall, where he saved over 50 people in one swoop, Bakugo would have finally been able to claim that #1 spot.

Speaking of pro-heroes.

H/n is back on the scene! Officially signing with The Todoroki Agency!!

You were a pro-hero again, stepping back into the spotlight after over six years. After not much deliberation, and encouragement from friends alike, you decided to come out of retirement once more. You had to retake the licensing process and test of course, but you passed with ease. Being a hero was almost like riding a bike, it was ingrained within you. After The Hero Commission reinstated you, you got so many offers. From Fatgum to LeMillion, and Gang Orca. However, you already promised a certain person that you would join up with him.

“You sure you want me Shoto?” You were sitting in his penthouse, visiting him after he got hurt in the Incident at Kasona mall.

The two of you had gotten closer ever since that day he found you in your hotel room. He helped you get back on your feet, helped you pick out a new house to live in, (since you left the house to Izuku), and helped you study to retake the test. He nodded, shifting his position on his couch. The movement however, caused him to wince as he had to move his arm, which slung into a cast. You immediately got up and helped him move into a more comfortable position without straining himself. He thanked you for the help as you sat back down, grabbing your glass of wine.

“Yeah, you were an amazing hero when you were active years ago. I know this is a decision I’ll lose no sleep over.”

You chuckled, sipping on the wine he put out for the two of you. He smiled softly at you, his intense stare causing your body to heat up slightly, or that could be from the alcohol, you honestly didn't know. You licked your lips, shifting your legs to help lessen that heated throb between your thighs.

“Alright, I guess I’m joining your agency.”

You grew out of your old outfit, so with the help of Hatsume and other designers, you got a whole new outfit. Instead of the original leotard/bodysuit you had when you were younger, along with the thigh boots, it all connected into all one large jumpsuit. It was black with purple accents adorning all across the outfit along with a brand new cape. You turned around, summoning clouds to lift you as you twirled around. Hatsume, the designer who made your new hero costume, Hokkaido, and Mina, who you also told about the true reason you and Izuku got divorced, all smiled as you felt out your new outfit.

“Well?” Mina asked, smiling as you landed on your feet.

You turned around, trailing your hands down your body, feeling the aft fabric and metal accents clash together on your body before smiling at yourself in the mirror.

“I love it.”

Your office was on the same floor as Shoto’s, him constantly relying on your knowledge and wisdom on other matters. The two of you were the leaders in the recent missions the two of you had taken together. This whole process was a lot like riding a bike, coming back easily. You had missed this, you had missed this so much, and you could tell the world and missed you too.

The media accepted your return with open arms, jumping right back to the top 20s. You were a very powerful hero after all.

After three months of coming back, making it six months since your divorce, your parents decided to throw a party for you. To celebrate you coming back, and ranking high on the Billboard Chart in so little time. You tried to get yourself out of it but they took no excuses. So you decided to make the most of it, you felt like a whole new woman. Placing your braids in a bun, you wore a strapless black velvet dress with matching long-sleeved gloves. You slipped on some ankle-strap, black stilettos, and pearl jewelry set to complete the look. The party was small but it was filled with life, all of your old classmates and even your old co-workers from your old agency even came. Mina, Jirou, Tsu, and even Yaomomo, as busy as she is, came. Kirishima even got Bakugou to come. Everyone was so excited to see you come out of retirement and take to the streets again. Some did try to pry into your broken relationship with Izuku, but you just ignored them and told them to enjoy themselves at the party.

“Y/n.”

You turned around to see Shoto standing there with two champagne flutes in his hands. You smiled and walked up to him, hands extended out for a hug. He wrapped his arms around the best he could with the two drinks in his hands. You giggled at his struggle as he tried to step back without spilling the drinks.

“I see your hands are full, Boss.” You winked as you took one of the flutes of champagne out of his hands.

He just chuckled as you guys cheered, clinking your glasses together before taking a sip. As the sweet liquid hit your tongue, your eyes trailed down his body at the suit he was wearing. All black suit with the jacket, with a white dress shirt, red tie and tailored to perfection. You licked your lips as he breathed in, seeing his chest press up against the white fabric. Clearing your throat, you pulled your eyes away from his chest as you looked up at him finishing his drink. You smiled at him and he returned it as he placed the glasses on an empty table.

“You seem so much happier.” You heard Shoto comment behind you.

You turned to face him and couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

Shoto walked up to you, the proximity between you two making your heart pound this a little faster. He leaned down, using his right hand to make you look in his eyes.

“When you first announced your retirement, and when I saw you after that… I do not doubt that you were happy but…” he trailed, his grip on your chin tightening slightly.

“But… but what?” You let out a whisper, feeling his thumb softly move against your skin.

“There was still this sadness in your eyes, that I could never pinpoint but now… I can’t see it at all.” He let go of you after that, taking a couple of steps back.

You took another deep breath, pressing a hand against your chest to feel your beating heart.

Smiling at Shoto, “thank you, that means a lot.”

The two of you continued to drink together, whether it be champagne or something stronger. The more the drinks came around you two, the two of you drank, and the more you two drank, the more handsy the two of you got. Shoto’s arms never left your waist and would find themselves trailing lower and lower down your body. You would find ways and excuses to slowly caress his face or his chest. The two of you would just get closer and closer. Luckily, most everyone around was drunk so even if they did notice, it was unlikely that they would notice. Soon enough, people began to leave, wishing you the best of luck and congratulations.

Then it was just the two of you. Shoto, despite being as drunk as you are, helped carry you to your bed upstairs. As he laid you in the bed, you reached out to him, pulling him down onto you and your bed. You giggled as he flopped on his back, allowing you to quickly straddle him.

“Y/n,” he giggled, he was more emotional, happy drunk, “Y/n why are you doing?”

You smiled, licking and biting at your lips as your hands trailed down his body. Feeling at his chest, before trailing down his abs, your hands and fingers going ever ripple and ridge on his body before landing right in the top of his pelvic area, feeling his hard-on poke out through his slacks. You hissed slowly as you began to rock into him, your dress riding up with every movement you made. Your movements caused him to whisper curses under his breath, his hips buck as he grabbed onto your waist tightly. You gripped at his shoulders as he guided you up and down his waist, his touch leaving your skin electrified, the opposite temperatures causing trembles throughout your body. You then leaned down to plant light kisses against his neck

“You’re so fucking handsome,” you whispered against his skin, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt.

He just smirked before flipping you on your back, using his knee to spread your legs.

——

It was a week after the party and you had just gotten back from your shift of patrol. It was early in the morning, say almost 4 am, and you were ready to go home and get some sleep. Saying goodbye to your sidekick, you walked towards your office to get some final papers before going home. As you opened the door, you could feel dull light entering your vision. So you turned and followed where it was coming from only to find yourself right outside of Shoto’s door. That’s where you could hear the argument.

“Izuku I—”

“NO— I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU, YOU’RE SLEEPING WITH MY EX-WIFE!”

“I think you’re the last person to be concerned about what she does now!”

“You’re one of my closest friends, I’ve known you the longest! And you just stab me in the back like this!?”

“I think that you should leave Izuku before I make you. What Y/n and I have, it’s none of your business.”

You could hear a slam, and hear something break before hearing heavy stomps echo throughout the room. You hoped it didn’t come to them full-on fighting, you knew Shoto could handle himself against, however, when Izuku was mad, Lord did he get mad. You hope you won't have to face him again, after all this time.

“I don’t want to hear a word you have to say!! I should have known, you’ve ALWAYS been chasing after her! Since our time at U.A!

You tilted your head at that, confused at what he meant. Shoto has been chasing after you since high school? You thought that Shoto always had a thing for Yaomomo, despite her and Jirou getting engaged recently. It was because of that, you believed Shoto had shifted his focus onto you…

“So what? I thought I left her in good hands, out of all my friends, you were the ONLY one that I thought could give her a good life. I thought you could love her and only be with her! Now I see that I couldn’t even trust you with that! So you don’t get to decide how she spends her time and who she spends it with! Not after what you did to her!”

It went quiet after that, but you could still see the heavy breathing out of both of them. You bit your lip, heart pounding as you grasped at the wall, staring to hear to see if they speak under their breath.

“What… what are you talking about?”

“She told me… she told me what you did... How you cheated on her with Melissa. Don’t give me that look, I’m not gonna tell anyone. She asked me not to, it’ll do no one any good if it got all. They’ll just hound her for months for this.”

You could feel your body begin to rock back and forth, you could feel the tension rising all the way from the place where you would stand.

“So I say again, you have no right to have any say about what she does in her own time. Even when she was married to you, she was never yours! She’s her own woman, and after being suffocated by you, she deserves to do whatever she wants. I’ll be here, no matter what, and I’ll stick by her because that’s what people who truly love someone do!”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, you could feel tears swell in your waterline. Taking a deep breath, you stood up slowly, brushing off any dirt or dust collected on your lap before walking towards the door. You gave a knock on the door, before slowly turning the doorknob to reveal a trashed office. Plants turning upside down, smaller tables flipped around, and books spread all across the floor. Your eyes then landed on the two of them, standing behind the bigger office desk. Izuku was holding Shoto by his shirt, and the two of them had intense looks on their faces. You took another deep breath, seeing the way Izuku looks after so long. He grew out his beard, despite him hating it so much. His already scruffy, curly hair grew even more unruly. His eyes turned towards you, the shock after seeing you so long causing him to lose his grip on Shoto.

“Y/n…”

You closed your eyes and rolled your neck before closing the door behind you.

“Shoto is correct, what I do with my time is absolutely none of your business Izuku. We’re done, we’ve been done for six months. If I’m going, to be honest, we’ve been done for a year… since you had an affair with Melissa for six months as well,” you stated, slowly walking up towards the two of them.

“So what I do with him, what I do with anyone… is no longer your business. Now get out!”

Izuku stood there, shocked at your words, slowly turning his body to face you.

“Y/n I…” You made a motion with your hands, quieting him.

“Izuku Midoriya, get out now!”

He jumped back, before turning back to Shoto, giving him one last glare before walking past you towards the door. You kept your back towards him, and the door as well, as he opened it before walking out, shutting it behind him. With that, you then turned to the last man standing in the room. You gave him a soft smile, slowly shaking your head as you amble across to him. You placed your hands on his biceps as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He smiled down at you, before leaning in for a soft kiss. You chuckled and smiled into the kiss, tightening your grip on his arms. You could feel the grip you had on you tighten with every second of the kiss. Once you let go, you slowly reached up to caress the side of his face with the scar with your hand.

“You look stressed… is it because of your day? Or because of the walking trash that just walked out?”

He chuckled softly at your words, shaking his head. You smiled as you walked towards his desk, moving some of the papers off before sitting on top of his desk. Shoto gave you an up and down glance, before walking towards you and standing in between your legs.

“So… why was Izuku here?” You asked him, rubbing at his shoulders and arms.

Shoto took a deep breath before leaning forward and laying his head on top of your shoulders.

“He came up here, accusing me of different things. I never found out he found out that the two of us were seeing each other… I was more focused on other things…”

Izuku was always so stubborn, that could be a good or bad thing depending on who side you were on. You sighed, nodding your head as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Let’s go to your place? I’m really tired and I honestly just want to get as much sleep as I can.”

You could feel Shoto smile into your shoulder, before nodding. You were about to push him off of you, so you could both get what you need and walk out together, a sudden force whooshed you off your feet, arms grabbing at you and carrying you in a bridal position.

“Shoto!” You squealed, holding on to his shoulders.

He just softly chuckled once more, as he carried you out of the office, nothing but smiles on the two of you’s faces.

___

Taglist: @tremendouswolfsaladranch @simi0603 @tanakasprayer @kirishimaisthatbitch @theadorkablezaza @katemocha @pineapplejuic3 @kehlaniwwe @honeylavender13 @p102ab @maybeisthemoon @dark-yuh @introvertatitsfinest @lazymooneye @yzviea @fan-girling-over-everything @@chscklvr @dragonsdreamoffire @superheros-and-others @gabbygibbsgirl

[exaltatuss]

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[ficsnroses]

An Even Exchange II - John Wick x Reader

series summary (oneshots, can be read as stand alone) : you sell your virginity to john wick. part 1

summary : john calls you for the first time after you agree to become his to use, whenever he pleases. 6.1k words.

warnings : smut, consensual sex. rough oral sex [male receiving]. *the lightest* bondage. x f! reader.

notes : hope you enjoy this! rushed through this part a little bit because I’m really excited to write that thing i wanted to write for this in chapter 3...wink. I did edit this at 2:30am after finishing studying, please bear with me if there are mistakes! feedback so so welcome. ily xx 

“When I need you, you come. No questions,

no excuses.”  

.

In the late of the eve, John had called her.

His contract, she’d accepted.

Short, the conversation entailed none more than his quiet words, confident, assured. “I need you tonight.” He’d spoken, rich, beautifully rung off his deep tongue, the sound as smoky as ash in his throat.

Part of her wonders, ponders about this mysterious man. Handsome, built on perfect shape, he’d surely have no trouble finding someone to satisfy his every need. Perhaps, someone who could offer him more than she could.

He’d been the first man she’d slept with; he’d taken her virginity. Surely, he could find someone far more experienced to take care of him.

John’s home is large; extravagant. Crisp white beams and shining glass windows. A large yard, tall built trees generously speckled upon the estate. Surely, John Wick is a lavish man, equipped with more than enough financial security.

He did buy her.

Walking further, the night sky gleams, the moon glows in cold warmth.

Cold warmth.

Bittersweet.

After the night at the hotel, she hadn’t been summoned by John yet. A loch 4 days later, his call had beckoned her in the late hour of the night. The thought of what she was walking into right now bites in her head, gnaws, the ponderings growing with each heavy step.

She wasn’t scared of John; she knew he wouldn’t treat her awfully.

If the night at the Continental had proven anything at all, it was the assuring fact that John would respect her, her boundaries. He’d use her for his every need, yet never without consent.

Something special seems to grow inside John; she’d learned that in a mere three hours spent with his manhood curled between her legs.

John fucked her twice more that evening, only bid goodnight when he’d had to call it a night, sleep dense on his sex satisfied form. A taxi swept her home that evening, dropped her safely in her home, John’s proposition heavy on her mind,

Her answer yes, even heavier.

With each step, the thought of what would be to follow exhausts her, even before arrival. Beneth her feet, the path seems to crumble a little more; distracted, restless, she finds herself unsure of what to expect.

Reading into her own emotions, thoughts, feelings had been tough over the course of the prior four days. Between the sheets, John was a force to not be reckoned with. He’d shown her the fucking stars, left her yearning for more through the entire duration of the evening. Kind, respectful, reserved, his naturally dominant nature only intrigued.

She found herself marvelling more and more about the man with the bolded tattoos, the soft, mocha hair that curtains his dark eyes, the broad scars and firm mauve bruises that littered his skin. She wonders if somewhere under a hard exterior, was something softer.

Wonders, muses, guesses.

His cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; strands lengthy, messier than the night at the Continental. A candle burns in his long, lavish hallway; a flickering flame, steady, stirring. He’d greeted her, a nod of his head, reserved, his demeanour professional.

“Can I get you anything?” He’d asked, voice firm, yet held with that familiar comfort that had drawn her to him nights ago. He was assertive, reserved, yet still,

kind. Had she met him on the glittering streets of busy New York, perhaps ran into him at a heavy trafficked coffee shop, struck up a conversation of how she’d seen his familiar coffee hued hair and mahogany eyes seldom in the secluded walls of the Continental, she’d never assume.

She’d never guess,

that sex was all he wanted. Something physical, was all he’d engrossed.

She’d gotten comfortable in the silence he’d hold, his persona exclusive. Nonetheless, the most she’d heard out of his gravelly throat were the occasional grunt of pleasure, soft, muffled moans laced with a hoarse undertone emitting the air as he’d be thrusting selfishly on top of her. To his question, she returns. “I’m alright, thank you.”

He nods, as she follows him up the profligate wooden stairs. Something inside her builds, the striking view of his toned back and muscled features tensing when he leads the way. His home is quiet, and much to her surprise, it looks like a home. Flowers in vases, paintings of daisies and sunflower blooms wreathed to tall white walls, crisp and snowy.

Flowers bloom in his home, solace currents.

She’d never thought, that John Wick, lives among pretty flowers, that bloom.

 From behind as she follows up the stairs, he looks towering, strong, defined.  

She stares, and she stares, and she thinks. That the evening would end, with this nerve-wrackingly gorgeous man, nestled, buried between her legs.

        The top of the stairs arrive, and with them, a new found suffocation. 

Shackled with dread, a foreign feeling prevails to the sight, perhaps astonishment, bewilderment. And even through the ice of his reserved, quiet demeanour, she’d swore she’d seen a flicker in his compose. A halt of movement, as he’d glanced their way as well, despite best attempts to avoid.

Pictures scatter scarcely along the crisp white walls; John, and a woman. Photographs of a couple, happily in love, diffuse the walls, in the home of the man who taken her purity not long ago.

Proof of something bigger disperses the walls; stipples the walls where she’d soon offer her body,

to the same man who’d looked smitten in them.

The joints in her neck creak almost glancing their way, her veins course with a poison of something dreadful. Brittle fingers mould along her sides, taking place in frantic burden.

Intrusion; the feeling of being out of place.

This room is smaller, emptier, colder.

A single king bed presents against the wall, center of the room, silk sheets and monumental pillows. John’s back tenses as he paves the way, perhaps a drain of the way her eyes held thick with worry, seeing the sights of the previous hall. His hands fall rested to sturdy sides, breathe collected, expression grim.

She knew less things about John than the amount of hours they’d spent together.

She’d fucked him more times than things she’d known of his personal life.

And with the realization fading in; of John being a stranger, with his own life, his own battles, she wonders. Wonders if this was wrong. If she was breaking a house, fueling the destruction of a home. The thoughts race, the worries set in. Her bones carry a weight that hadn’t been present when she’d entered the lavish home; the grimmer lights of the dimly lit hallway matching those of her weary mind.

A sharp edge cuts. Something cuts, and cuts into her, twisting uneasiness.

“I’m not married.” John’s deep voice interjects her ponder, voice harder than before, and a shiver falls, cascades her spine; and it has nothing to do with the frigid air of bedroom. His attention turns to her, only brief, eyes only finding her face for a mere second or two, before finding more comfort diverted to the hardwood below. “I’m not in a relationship,” He exhales, and she’d swore the lines of his forehead tensed with each syllable. “This…isn’t wrong. Rest assured.” He adds, and the silence that follows her gentle nod of head was near deafening. She’d listened to the erratic, uneven beat of her own heart to his statement, a dense swallow in her throat when his figure advances toward the bed further.

John had probably only communicated a meagre 100 words to her, and she ached to hear more. His broad, tattooed back holds a story she knows not all ears can retain. The whispers are real; the stories had made their way around.

John Wick hadn’t become what he is over the sun bidding goodbye to a dark night.

A man of focus, as greatly as him, is conditioned. Taught, hardened, habituated to kill.

The questions, she knew would remain just those.

Questions,

that John would never entertain. This was a business deal; and to his personal details, she had no right.

For a moment, he stops. His head turns slow, his reserved features hold the weight of a million words, pent up frustrations pleading to be let out. Their eyes meet across the room. She doesn’t understand the look in his eyes. And out of all the things she’d sworn he’d wanted to say,

One stays imminent.

Need. He needs her.

He called her here today because he needs her. Needs a vessel, a gateway to relief.

Her job is to take care of him, sexually. To make him feel good. She stands, observing the way his tall, dark frame reminds her of what was to come. He’d mould their bodies together as one so expertly, so skilfully,

John was all she’d ever tasted; the first, and only man she’d ever let touch her.

And the worst part of it all, was that she was unsure, she could ever let another do the same again.

John’s thrusts would leave her weak, the sex was something holy in its own right, and she, was falling hopelessly addicted with each session. Hopelessly intoxicated by the way he’d make her feel so, so fucking good, when it was her job to satisfy him.

His low, rich voice breaks the secure silence.

“Come here.” John beckons, peeling back the silken sheets of the bed. The week at glance had offered him nothing but dire, bone chilling work. Missions complete, exhaustion prevailed. The usual amber tones held in a tall glass of Bourbon compared none to the waves of relaxation she could provide him.

He’d been craving more. Physical satiation. In dire need of long repose, John found himself unwilling to wind down with anything other than her.

Tonight, he’d find relief inside her. His nirvana would come buried inside her warm, heavenly haven reserved solely, for him.

her buyer.

A heavy inhale cascades his lungs as he watches her, drawing closer. He toys, caressing the light threads of her top between his fingers deliberately, and a pitch black smoke pools his eyes, the weight of his member between the seams of his pants falling heavier, and harder, and thicker by the growing second. “I want this off you.” His smoothly rich voice leaks, and his hand travels, trailing, smoothing over the fabric rested to her figure.

Her throat goes dry. Anticipation builds. He toys with the hem of her blouse as she stares into his eyes; his watching the way her hands peel the textile off her figure. She needs him. Perhaps, more than he needs her.

John sighs, breath heavy, perhaps flustered by the rush of blood to his manhood at the sight of her body; something about the way her curves and dips fall so effortlessly to her frame, the way her long sleeve bodycon dress moulds, seducing each inch of her femininity under the warm bedroom lights.

Captivatingly beautiful. Enough to make any man weak in his knees; an enchantress.

His newly purchased toy.

Watching intently, a captivated John barely bites his lip in amusement, watching the skimpy fabric peel off her frame, revealing delicate lace shielding devourable womanhood. “Mhmm…” John barely sighs, the ring of a rich hum brewing in his throat as his eyes gloss, drink in the supple skin of her hips, the tender swell of her breasts under the lace. His hand travels nonchalantly to his throbbing manhood, palming tenderly with chocolate eyes firm to her body, and she’d swore.

In his head, he’d already undressed her a thousand times. His hands had already roamed, delighted each inch of her skin.

Leisurely, a sturdy hand falls inside John’s pants, his palm wrapping around the weighty shaft of his cock, rising eagerly to the thought

       of what he’d do to her

       tonight.

Pulling out his cock to the sight of her, half bare, awaiting his instruction, he opts for a seat to the Californian king, wanting so desperately to see her in all her glory. “Take it all off.” John affirms, an order she was willing to oblige.

John was the first to see her body fully on display, the first to set gaze to what only she had seen formerly. His prying gaze sends a pool of warmth, shivering goosebumps on her silken skin. Something about the way his gaze alone makes her feel so desired.

He sits, a heavy hand rested to his thigh, the other wrapped loosely around his swollen shaft, stroking, and stroking as his eyes watch, lock to her heavenly frame as she strips for him. Bulging veins throb thick in his dick, sensitive to his fingers touch, delicate to the sight of her unravelling, a gift just for him. “Beautiful…” He whispers, merely under constrained breath to the striking view, gruff toned, yet velvety as he watches her fingers un-clasp dainty bra hooks, allowing the textile to fall off her smooth shoulders so seductively. Her skin shines under warm light, and his hand unknowingly tightens around his base, eyes taut to her skin.

Right now, in this moment, everything he saw in front of him belonged rightfully, only to him. She belongs to him. For him to touch, for him to use as pleased. “Fuck…” A burning John mutters under his breath; a fire rummages inside his belly, the pent up frustration of a load inside him pleading to be released. With a stocky hand still offering tender strokes to his member, his voice gruffs, a deep baritone searing through the silent atmosphere. “Come here,” He punctuates. “On your knees, in front of me.”

Shivers emit down her spine, and her eyes find the floor, unable to connect to his just yet.

John was moral, humane. Yet still, he was her buyer. Surely, he wouldn’t hurt her or make her do anything she didn’t please; as confusing as it may have been, she wasn’t uncomfortable around him.

But she was nervous. Nervous that she wouldn’t do good. Nervous that she’d fall short of what he’d wanted. A sum as great as what John was paying her would break most people.

She finds herself pondering, why he’d chosen her.

“Show me how deep you can go.”

Like a lightening bolt. His voices come in crashes, pounding like a lightening bolt. Something about the way he speaks to her.

The hardwood beneath her feet was cool, she’d known her knees would bruise for him soon. A warmth drills inside, anticipation of what was to come builds, and she thinks. She marvels,

She muses.

Of how her owner would use her tonight. Of what he’d want her to do.

Following suit, she collects herself, kneeling in front of John on the bedroom floor, his menacing cock sprung erect a mere few inches away from her face. John allows it to fall out his palm, opting to caress the ends of his muscle toned white shirt, drawing it over his head, revealing that familiar, beautifully toned torso. Bold tattoos, complimented by fresh, deep purple bruises;

They hadn’t been there the last time they’d fucked.

And she remembers, under the dimly lit lights, the ink that stands bold to his back is a story; that perhaps his lips could dare not hold. She still wonders. She still guesses. She guesses, she guesses.

Tension tightens in his muscles, darkness ripples in his eyes.

John needed her sex badly, direly. The lonely depths of his desolate palm hadn’t sufficed since he’d been reminded of what human connection could do; how holy finishing inside a woman felt, paralleled to grey tissues and empty walls.

“Put those lips on me, sweetheart.” John’s voice illuminates.

Heavy curtains hide what went on inside the dimly lit bedroom. Veiled the way they sin in secret; Hid the way he was slowly creating a realm; one she’d touched not long ago.

One where only her and him were real. Pleasure was all that triumphed, his body the religion, and the alter was her mouth.

With cold hardwood underneath, she sinks to her knees in front of him, studying the way his thick hand holds his member, urging towards her lips; within seconds, she obeys. Lingering his length, she encircles his tip, shallowly taking the thickness into her mouth. Within seconds, every throbbing vein on his cock glides easily through her lips, cascading over her tongue, held by hallow, tightened cheeks. Tightening on her shining tresses, John’s head falls back in pure, unaltered, pleasure. His eyes close, his body tingles, the feel of her wetness swirling, exploring his shaft take over.

And in her mouth, he melts. He melts, and tensions fade.

“Fuck…” John sighs, eyes fluttering shut with each tender bob. She goes slow at first, offering kind, nervous bobs. His teeth grit, the sounds of sloppy slickness current through his ears, building inclination. Slow, steady, his palm trails, encapsulating around her hand as she works his length, bringing it his thick base. “Remember how I showed you, use your hands on what won’t fit.” He instructs, gently encouraging her to jerk his remaining length. She obliges, watching the way his chestnut eyes hold a familierness within them; despite being his, John treats her kindly.

Treats her human.

“That’s it.” He manages, groaning quietly under his breath as he gazes her, on her knees with his cock sheathed in her throat. It had been a while since anyone had taken him this way;

since he’d allowed anyone to take him this way, after... her. 

Hel. 

“Tighter, darling.” He breathes, tightening his grip to her messy hair. “Look up, eyes on me.”

Slowly, steadily, she bobs further, taking more and more, pushing herself. John hired her for him to use, to please himself. Yet she finds herself, pushing her own limits to please him. To be good for him.

With his cock throbbing in her mouth, she wonders; what it was, about the man with the bolded ink, the broad back and toned muscles.

Flattening her tongue over his length, she feels his palm in her hair, guiding gently, up and down, up and down on his painfully erect member, low groans and throaty moans leaving his lips in a delightful hum. As she ventures further, gliding more and more and more of him through her wet haven, choked gasps begin to emit, John’s bulge throbbing relentlessly now, weightier on her tongue. Punctuated by praise, and nonchalant breaths, she feels his spare hand move, planting to her bare breast as she continues to move. Tenderly, softly, his thumb swirls her hardened nipples, massaging, fondling the soft swell of her supple chest in his palm.

No man had ever touched her where John does, with each intimate stroke, each lustful touch, he marks her. Marks her as his.

The sounds of her mouth, they kiss his ears; the sinful, sloppy, wet sounds, the slurps, the vibrations against his cock offer an unholy wish.

He wanted more. He needed more.

With the baritone of his voice searing her ears, his question comes as she continues to move, allowing his tip to hit the back of her throat with slow, stable bobs. With a heavy hand travelling up, planting to the nape of her neck, John signals her, ceasing her devour of his erection. Muscles tensing, she gazes the way his biceps fall beautifully firm, his beard lays perfectly groomed, a darkness rippling in his chocolate orbs. Reaching forward, his warm thumb brushes over her ever so slightly buzzing bottom lip, voice deep, ringing with currents of dominance, assertion. “Do you trust me?”

As if habitually, she feels herself nodding slightly in return. Without thought, without said. She nods, and she stares, and she stares, and she stares, feeling his gaze sink into her. Without a moment to waste, she watches John raise off the mattress, opting for a stance towering over her, leaving her still on her knees, his cock dangerously close to her mouth still, glistening with her wet saliva falling in strings off his shaft. Gazing, she swallows a dense lump, watching the way he takes hold of an intimidatingly large erection, guiding it back to the security of her lips, swirling his head around the plump of her pink stained mouth. With a hand firm to the back of her head, he pushes a conserved amount of his length back into her mouth, his hand that had been holding his cock finding the back of her head, accompanying his other.

His voice flows through the room, heavy, shallow. “If it’s too much, squeeze. I’ll stop.”

And without warning, he sinks deeper, and deeper, and deeper into her throat. Only stopping when he knows she won’t be able to fit more. His hips rock, slow at first, his hands keeping her head situated still in place, slowly beginning to move faster, faster, harder, quicker. Incoherent gags fall her throat as the realization of what he’d begun overtakes her.

John, was fucking her mouth.

Exactly how he pleased,

however, he’d want.

Loosening her jaw, her hands plants firm to his callous, large thighs, feeling each vein, each curve of his dick plummeting across her wet, soaking tongue. Completely at his mercy, the sound of hallow gags and a mouth full of cock impend the room, gasps for breath muffled by his immense size sizzling in her throat as he thrust, and thrusts, channelling his needy pace into the vessel of her mouth. Hot tears char against warmth skin, his thick balls thudding against her chin as eager hips buck impatiently into her mouth, harsh praises and tender approval falling his deep baritone.

“You’re alright, darling.” He allows, warm thumb brushing, wiping away the sear of sweltering tears hot on her cheeks. “I won’t hurt you.” Unchecked tears and muffled moans follow suit, peppering the air as he thrusts, pulsating, throbbing, twitching in her mouth.

Bliss overtakes, John’s each nerve snapping, tingling with blissful warmth. She’s working wonders on his cock, louder, courser moans surface his throat, eyes fluttering in and out of light as his head falls back, diminishing into the feel of her. He shudders, shivering with each dip; the warmth, the tightness unlike anything he’s ever felt before. She, was quite literally, something else. He thinks to himself, he dreams to himself, of how he’d went so long, without someone like her. With each sink, his jaw tightens, goosebumps peppering his skin, chest heaving as she tries her best to hold in stifled gags; his hands eventually moving to cup her soft cheeks on either side as he drills into her mouth, chasing ecstasy,

-until with an abrupt pull, her head yankers back in his grip, silky strings of saliva connecting to his tender length; his cock falling out her mouth still hard. Still filled with need. Feeling a mess, her brows thread in confusion, eyes wet, lips seeping the wet pool of slick he’d created inside. Her skin singes, a char in her eyes from the burn he’d left.

“On the bed.” He eventually ordered, flustered from a rush of his own paradise. His cock aches, his body yearns for the walls that squeezed, nestled around his member nights ago. If there’s one thing John knew, it was exactly that.

His release, needed to come from being inside her. She was far too heavenly to finish elsewhere. She obeys, finding place on the silky bed, supple skin and exposed womanhood making her appear all the more appealing. John’s member twitches to the sight of her; tantalizing, a sex siren, and she didn’t even know. “I want to tie your hands.” John speaks, ravishingly rich. “Do you consent?”

She’d nodded. She wasn’t even aware, when the words swirled inside her head, and when her hazed conduct nodded diligently.

She’d nodded, to be truly, at his mercy. She’d watched him, collect rope from a wooden beside drawer, positioning himself behind her, gently pulling her wrists together. He restrains them, fastening an knot, leaving her brewing with anticipation of what he’d do next.

Excitement, eagerness to be fucked selfishly by him.

“Our contract will be regular.” John adds, towering tall beside the bed. Fishing a condom from the box, he slides it onto his thick manhood, his gaze turning locked to her body spread for his taking in the sea of sheets. “If you’re comfortable taking oral contraception, I’d encourage it.”

The pill. He wants her to get on the pill.

She nods. She nods to all the propositions that spill his lips. She nods, and she nods.

In his nude glory, she observes his body, once again. His, was a body she adored, awaited. Mammoth length, finished with that familiar rosy tip. The thick veins, the sturdy shaft, the dark bush that jungles around, protecting the treasure that was his beautiful cock. She swallows, she gulps in the glory, and her mound tingles when he climbs on the mattress, the weight of his body sinking into the foam. Carefully, feverishly, he peels her bottoms off, a pair of sexy lace underwear matching the bra she’d removed earlier. With thick fingers and a callous hand, he palms her pussy, spreading the nectar that seeped for his taking over needy folds. He spreads her legs open further, palms placed under her gorgeous thighs; opening her up just enough to see a sheen of slick arousal coating her cunt, paired with a salacious sight of her sensitive clit, too.

With his body hovering over her, John takes in the delicious sight of her body underneath him, bound, at his mercy, for his taking. Hard, deeply shaded nipples, satin skin, plump on her chest, her breasts swell so deliciously; he finds it impossible to resist. With his cock sheathed heavy in his hand, John offers himself slow, prepping tugs as his lips trail, sucking, leaving a lone, delicate mark painted into the sensitive skin. She gasps at the pressure, wincing almost, swallowing thickly when she glances between their bodies, gazing the sight of his thickness erect in his hand, preparing to take her.

With two sturdy fingers glossing over her, he gazes the slickness; the moisture gathered between her folds, all for him.

All for him, to sink into. With his hand palming her pussy delicately, his voice interrupts, deeply rich, reminding. “Tell me to stop if you need.” She nods, remembering, of the way he’d said the same the first time he’d used her. John Wick could ruin her, if he wanted.

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. She wonders where this humility comes from, how it lives in him. Yet, she keeps mum. She wont ask, she won’t intrude. This contact signifies merely, an exchange.

An even exchange; for him to get what he craves, for her to get what she needs.

Without much warning, John’s weight sinks into her entrance, the throbbing veins brushing her sensitive walls, quelling an obscene desperately muffled moan from her mouth, eyes widening, arm coming in rescue to cage in yelps and whimpers that threatened to fall.

The burn. God. God. Why does it hurt so much, at first?

The electrifying sensation of John’s cock burying into her overtakes; the searing burn of the stretch he leaves behind unmatchable, soliciting sinful whines from her body below. With her eyes falling shut, and her walls clenching around him, the sounds of John’s haste picking up fills the room, his hips eagerly pounding her tight, delicate pussy seconds in. John’s lust filled, dilated eyes gaze down, his hands holding her hips secure in place as lewd moans caged by her arm over her face barely whimper; his cock pulsing inside her cushy walls, grinding against that oh so tender spot between her legs. With his fingers threatening to paint bruises into her skin from his delicate hold, she feels John’s grip on her waist tighten, rapt with desire. Sucking in a sharp breath, his hips pick up pace, groaning quietly to the feel of her pussy, and he thinks-

Her pussy was made just for him; perfectly mould for him, to indulge in.

Her breasts bounce beautifully, her body jerks with each volatile thrust, his need cultivates further. The sounds of his balls smacking against her womanhood send him further, the symphony of her stifling yelps and imprisoned whimpers begging to be heard by his ears as he works her. “You...” John breathes, hips snapping relentlessly, animalistic into her as he grips her tight. “You don’t have to stay quiet.” He clears, confirming. Although this was an exchange for him to receive mind blowing sex which he so desperately needed, he didn’t mind her enjoying herself. In fact, he preferred it. He wanted it. Her moans of pleasure would confirm; that she was alright.

That this was alright.

With a nod of her head, Y/N removes her arm from the cusp of her face, eyes fluttering shut, only opening scarcely when John’s pace never slows. Panting above her, John rolls his hips aggressively, biting his lip to the sight of her unravelling underneath him, and she trembles.

With her eyes closed, she finds herself lost. Lost in the feel of John fucking her so deliciously, so intoxicatingly, the perfect amount of pain and pleasure. The pleasure that pushes her over, the pain of his godly size that only intensifies it. Her back arches, legs practically falling limbless. Sweat trails down their backs, and they release shuddering breathes.

The sound of skin assaulting skin fills the room, and when her nimble fingers crave to sink into his skin, the pressure builds further, anticipation darkening within her. The pleasure is so intense, she practically screams, beautifully frustrated, begging, pleading for her tied up hands to be free only to clench onto John. She felt herself, craving to hold onto John. A mixture of their juices coat her thighs, John’s member glistening under the lights from the sheen of her arousal. The smell of sex floods around them, the heat shared between their bodies sending a turmoil erupt. Her toes curl, and each nerve inside John builds and builds, on the brink of release; he feels silky drops of pre cum spill inside the barrier of the condom between them, he only wished it could add to the heaven of wetness she’d made, just for him. Squirming underneath him, she practically whines from the force, yelps, moans, tightens her cunt around him tightly as he continues to rummage into her body, allowing those familiar, boiling hot tears to warm up her cheeks from the sheer heaven he’s channeling into her. “John…” She gasps, desperately attempting to gather her choked breaths. Her voice breaks, and she inhales a shuddering draw of air. “Oh…John!”

He feels himself slam into her harder, and harder, melting inside her. It had been far too long since a woman screamed his name. Far too long since he’d had the pleasure of sharing release with someone. He swallowed every noise to leave her lips greedily, and she shuddered against the burning feel of him drilling into her heat, over and over, and over, and over. Enticing whispers of praise for her body fall off his lips, as if flowers to her ears. 

She’d never had anyone before John; the whispers of him voicing his pleasure from her only sent her further into oblivion. She feels herself growing tender, more tender by the second, the pressure building inside her core preparing for a release she knew would show her the stars; John had done the same only nights ago when they’d first exchanged service. He shudders, shivers, groans in his deliciously deep, bass heavy voice; feeling her squeeze around him harder when she screams his name a final time, her orgasm washing over in waves of cloudy, beautiful bliss.

His chest heaves, rhythmically, lust drunk and buried deep inside her, he huffs, pants above her, chasing his release, when it builds just to the brim, finally, desperately pulling himself out of her soaking cunt, the dainty condom harshly peeled off his dangerously firm, mighty cock, discarded hastily to the bin below.

Bringing his hand to jerk, tugging his harshly erect, tender cock, he watches her, flustered, skin sticking with sweat, cheeks warmed with after sex bliss. A euphoria has washed over her form, a paradise they’d created together; and he warns. He warns quick, before chasing his own. “Open your mouth, sweetheart.” He breathes through shuddering inhales, still jerking his sensitive bulge, watching her oblige, understanding exactly what he wanted.

He’d ripped off his condom tonight, before cumming. And suddenly, she realizes why.

John Wick, wanted to finish on her face.

With her mouth open, she anticipates. Another first added to her list of firsts when it came to her sex life. Another first, that came with John. John Wick; the mysterious, reserved John, who she knew next to nothing about. John Wick, the man she knew she’d have many more sexual firsts with.

And with his cock spilling release, she feels him inch closer to her face, unloading milky ropes of slick, glossy hot cum over her features; a considerable amount layering the insides of her mouth.

His cum, all over her mouth. Her face, tainted with his seed. Her hands, tied by his desire. Her body aches fiercely, her pussy remembers the force he’d channeled into her, and pleads for more. With his cum painted to her face, she feels for the first time.

She is his. She is his.

With a final grunt, John falls beside her on the bed, catching his own breath, and she sighs briefly, still flustered, at the feeling of lightness in her chest; vision growing fuzzy. Her head turns to the gray ceiling above, panting blissfully, stuck in the euphoria he built around her.

This world John was creating, this realm they both would exchange, was becoming something beautifully intoxicating. Something she wanted more now than, before. Turning her head slight, she’d barely noticed the shift of weight off the bed to her side as he’d untied her, his sharp, regal profile distant now as he grabs spare towels from the bedside. Laboured breaths calm immediately, easily smoothing out into an even rhythm.

Even the sound of his breath, flowing,

Sends a shiver flutter inside her.

Slowly, gently, he hands one to her, his naked form still in full grandeur as his buttery voice speaks, snapping her out of oblivion. “You’re alright?”

She only nods, connecting her gaze to him as she sits up, elbows base on the bed as she holds her weight up. Nude, the familiar blush of being completely naked in front of him brings a warmth to her cheeks, and she shies, crossing her legs closed, wiping her face of what he’d left behind.

John watches. He watches, and drinks her in. He’d gone so long without sex, without real touch.

But now, he had her. He had her service. He watches the way she swallows a lump in her throat, vapour dotted across her skin from their exertion.

She was gorgeous; beautiful, not that he had any right to think that. He’d only had right to her service. Her amazing, mind blowing service. The same service, that had kept him up nights prior, lost in reveries of the way she’d made him feel.

Unlike anything that could be moulded into coherent words. A goddess in her own right.  

He finds himself, far more relaxed, relieved than he’d been before she’d accepted his request for her to come. In the moment, relieved, sex gratified, John thinks to himself. Thinks of how lucky he would be from now on, to have her

whenever

He craved. His proposition had been spontaneous; a mere proposal after their first meeting; his sex clouded and intensely satisfied mind propelling him to offer. Now, after hearing her approval, her willingness for their exchange being a regular occurrence bound by contract, John electrifies.

He thrills, he rouses. His cock pulses to the mere sight of her in his guest room bed, beautifully crafted. His pensive gaze soaks into her; nude, jaded, the beauty of her splendour.

The beauty of her body. The sinful sight of her holy, delectable body. His eyes move to her pussy, glistening with product of what he’d made gush from her; a symbol of what was his. Her pussy, belonged to him-

for the duration of the contract, for as long as he owned right to her service.

He glides a shirt over his torso, a pair of grey boxers to accompany. The thought of a crisp pour of amber bourbon kissing his tongue sounds divine; a post sex drink to level nerves. Calm, collected, he gazes intently the way her sex smitten body positions, the trance dying down, her haze still thick, her skin vulnerable to prying eyes.

“I want you in the shower.” John speaks, rhythm of his tone reverted back to the reserved, assertive tenor. “Have yourself ready, please. I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”

        He’d be back for more. He wanted her, more.

Brittle fingers.

Insignificant, little, brittle fingers.

They’d begged to reach for him, pleaded to touch him the entire time he fucked her mindlessly.

Something fitted across his expression when he’d turned to face her briefly, eyes flickering down, and up absently. Something wrote in his features; something she wanted more and more each time their bodies became one.

        He, was her first.

        And she, wanted him, to be her last.

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[passionesolja]

My Rewrite of Reva from the Obi Wan Kenobi Show

If there’s one thing I despise, it’s a weak villain. I can’t stand an ambitionless villain (unless it’s for a narrative purpose). I love villains. I think they’re the cornerstone of a series —any series.

I don’t mind an angry villain. Sometimes it’s fun to watch a villain who just wants to watch the world burn for kicks. I don’t need a redeemable villain.

Reva is not a strong villain. She’s an cardboard cutdown who’s angry. She’s basically an henchmen who they’re trying to make the main villain before Vader. Which is pathetic.

We have six episodes of Kenobi in total. We should know what Reva is about and that she’s a real threat from the jump. Time is not to be wasted in such a short series

She should NOT be some gateway to Vader. She should be the MAIN antagonist or they shouldn’t even have made her and just put it Vader vs Kenobi.

Now, this isn’t me hating on Reva. I want a strong female WoC evil as fuck villain. If you’re going to lake an antagonist make an ANTAGONIST. No weak shit.

These are my potential rewrites of this character. Because Reva deserved better

Change her personality

Thus far, she has no personality. I’m sorry but it’s true. She’s just angry and defiant but that defiance has no purpose. Hell, it’s not even like they’re spinning it as she’s a Rebel Without a Cause. Which is fine. However, I do find it iffy that they’re side lining her like this. They’re giving her the Finn treatment. Here are some potential changes I would make.

Sith Scholar/Kreia-esque figure

Make her someone who’s extremely intelligent and maybe a maverick as far as the whole “Lightside and darkside divide” shit goes. She was a Jedi in her youth, now she’s a dark side user.

They could easily make her someone who thinks labels like “light and dark” are stupid and that power is power. Maybe she wants power to prevent herself from being in a vulnerable and helpless position.

Maybe she’s like “the Jedi were defenseless so they got wiped out and I lost everyone” but also like “I don’t see a reason for the light and dark to be so polarized. Lightning is lightning and force push is force push I don’t limit my potential”

Hell, you make her willingly join the inquisitors just to learn Darkside methods as well lightside methods.

If Darth Vader is dark, and Kenobi is light, Reva could be the one who wants it all. This would make her a foil to both Vader and Kenobi’s worldviews and set her in her own special lane.

Politician Inquisitor

Maybe she wants to be a Grand Inquisitor and Moff.

Maybe she wants to be in the position Sidious is in as galactic emperor.

She could easily be a character with a knowledge of the Force, but also someone with political ambitions.

She understands what all the sides want and she can game them in her favor to move to her own will. Like she’s willing to work with opponents to fulfill her own ends

Now, maybe it doesn’t have to be like Sidious’ shtick of “power for powers sake”.

Hell, maybe she’s like “I want to do what Sidious did and infiltrate the empire to be the first Jedi Galactic Emperor” however, her moral compass is grayed or dark because she’s willing to put ethics to the side for the greater good.

We’ve never had a character in Star Wars who was like “no I want to overthrow Sidious and rule then be a Jedi while doing it” this would also clash with a lot of worldviews and conceptions. It would make her stand out as her own entity and character.

Old Republic Mentality styled Sith

She could be someone with the ambition to say “I think Vader is garbage and I’m better so I want to he the emperor’s enforcer instead”

She doesn’t have to even know Sidious is a Sith Lord, she just wants to be his right hand because she knows she’s better than him. Now is she in reality? Who cares she knows she is and she’ll prove it.

So she could have this idea of “I get Vader and Kenobi in the same place and kill them both then I return to the Emperor with my worth proven”

This would put her as competition to Vader and fuck with his own psyche because he knows “oh shit I know that sith are ruthless”

She wouldn’t have to reveal this to Kenobi, hell, she could work with Kenobi and manipulate him into her getting into the position she wants him in.

She could play on his emotions of her being a Jedi youngling who survived Order 66, and so he’s less likely to doubt her even though the audience understands this is a plot.

Then, she gets Vader and Kenobi where she wants them. Hell, she could orchestrate them to even meet up and fight so that one kills the other and her job is made easier.

This would show that she’s a tactician 

Vader’s Secret Apprentice

She could be a starkiller type character. No, not as emotionally scarred or emotionally muted but someone who Vader sees potential in.

Maybe the the whole Inquisitor thing is a front so that Sidious doesn’t grow suspicious.

The two are both in on it. Reva willingly joins Vader in his schemes because she wants the power that Vader possesses.

You could even make there be an underlying tension between Reva and Vader because both of them understand the possibilities of the other switching up and trying to fuck the other one over.

Maybe Vader is paranoid after a few years of training Reva because he understands the vulnerable place he’s in because she could either rat him out to sidious (and take his place potentially) or maybe she’s paranoid that Vader will rat on her to save his own skin if it ever gets to that point.

He sees that Reva is wanting more than what Vader can offer, Vader sees himself as younger man in her and is terrified because he knows what he did to the Jedi to get that.

He knows if he turned on his master after ten years, that Reva could—and would—do the same to him.

So he’s having to come to terms with his own actions and he potentially at the receiving end of it this time via Reva.

They could still go after Kenobi, it could still be there thing, but it would add an dynamic of intrigue to the story and characters.

Near the end it could be Reva vs Vader vs Kenobi but Reva and Vader have to have a subtle war with each other because Sidious would get on both they heads at once.

Importance of Motivations

Motivations are PARAMOUNT to stories. So far, we don’t know what the fuck Reva wants. There’s no reason to be scared of—or even respect—Reva and that fucking sad.

I want Reva to be a menacing force of evil, past jedi heritage or not. I want her to someone that everyone in the audience understand the motives for and respects—agrees with her or not.

That’s important.

To me, they’re just using Reva to lead Kenobi to Vader so she’s no different than a henchmen goon. Which on its own is fine (you can have side villains who are incredible and threatening to the protag) but they also want her to be an narratively important character.

You can’t have both.

I want Reva to be a memorable and stand out villain.

I want her to be someone who we say two to three years from now “wow she was so cool and unique compared to other villain’s in the series”

I want her to be her own person and be fleshed out as much as possible for these six episodes.

Sadly, her just being angry and whatever for the fuck of it is flopping and everyone sees it.

Reva deserves to be up there with all the other great Star Wars villains. Imo

[marsofaries]

The Itsy Bitsy Spider {Katsuki Bakugou x Reader}

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Assault

Summary: Your grumpy (and ridiculously attractive) neighbor helps you rid of the spider in your new apartment. Things grow from there.

Notes: fem!Reader, ProHero!Bakugou, Bakugou hates feelings

That’s it. You were moving out.

So what, that you just managed to unpack the last box in your new apartment? One look at that eight-legged... creature, and it was their apartment now. You weren’t trying to be dramatic, but spiders were the absolute bane of your existence.

This led to you shakily standing over the said arachnid, a large All Might mug trembling faintly in your hands. 

“Oh shit, oh fuck-- FUCK!” You shrieked as the spider took a quick dart to its left. Nope. No way.

It had taken about an hour before the spider was successfully captive. Another hour to finally figure out what to do next. 

And now there you were, pacing back and forth in front of your neighbor’s front door, mumbling failed greetings to yourself like a desperate prayer.

“Hi, I’m-- that’s not right. How about ‘I just moved in and--.’ God, I sound like an idiot.” Gathering all of your courage, you rapped three quick knocks on the front of the wood. The urge to bolt was suddenly very powerful.

“I swear to God, Shitty Hair, if you-- Oh.” The door was suddenly swung open to reveal the most gorgeous person you had ever seen in your whole life. With biceps the size of your head, the man completely dwarfed you in size. He almost took up the entire space of the door, his spikey blond locks brushing the top the frame. Vermillion eyes stared at you cautiously as you forgot everything you were about to say. “The fuck you want?”

As you made no move to answer, the Greek god of a man pulled his lips into a scowl. 

“What are you, a fucking stalker or somethin’?”

That definitely brought you out of your reverence.

“W-What? No!”

A scoff left the man’s lips, and you suddenly wanted nothing more that to kick him straight in the jewels. However, you were on a mission. A mission to rid a tiny eight-eyed demon from your living room.

“There was a, uh...spider.” You slowly trailed off, waving weakly in the direction of your apartment across the hall.

 “A spider? Really?” The blond questioned condescendingly, rolling his stupidly-perfect crimson eyes.

A light flush brushed your cheeks in embarrassment as you stared down at your shoes. You were sure he was going to slam the door right in your face. But he didn’t.

The man brushed right past you, marching right though your open door-- making sure to loudly mumble as many complaints as he could. You stumbled after the tall blond, failing to keep up with his abnormally long strides.

You watched in silence as he crouched by the downturned mug, raising a single perfectly-sculpted brow. However, your silence was quickly turned into a squeak of horror when your neighbor dumped the spider into his bare-hand. 

For a moment of absolute terror, you thought the stranger was going to throw it at you.

Wide-eyed, you watched as he pushed open the nearest window and placed the spider on the railing of your fire-escape. Having pushed the window back down, the man turned back to leave your apartment. As he walked past, he shoved the now (thankfully) empty mug to your chest.

“W-wait!”

He paused, sliding his crimson gaze to yours.

“M-My name is (Y/L/N)… (Y/L/N) (Y/N).”

You weren’t quite sure why you felt the need to give him your name. Maybe it was because he helped you when you were absolutely sure he wouldn’t. Or maybe how he decided to let the bug free instead of kill it. Maybe it was the amused huff he let out when he heard your terrified squeak. Perhaps it was all three. You didn’t know.

His striking red eyes suddenly raked your frame before a smirk settled confidently on his all-too-attractive lips.

“Bakugou Katsuki.”

~~~

“HOLD THE FUCKING DOOR!” 

You let out a squeak at the sudden yell, sticking the toe of your nude-colored pumps between the sliding elevator doors. A muscled arm wedged itself between the doors, pulling them back open.

“You.” You breathed as none other than your extremely hot neighbor was revealed. The blond was clad in a loose black V-neck and sweatpants-- a large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. His hair was slightly damp, as small beads of water dropped off the edge of his spikes every couple of seconds.

“Stalker.” He acknowledged with a grunt. The corner of Bakugou’s lips shot up at your protests.

The ride down to the lobby was relatively silent and slightly awkward. You kept switching your weight on both legs as you struggled to find something to say.

“The fuck you dressed so fancy for?” The explosive blond finally said. You couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief at the break in silence.

“I got a new job at All Might Bank!” You were pretty excited, as it was your first day. The bank itself was pretty fancy, and you were cheery that it was named after the old symbol of peace. All Might had been your favorite hero growing up but you grew out of your hero phase as you had gotten older. Nowadays you couldn’t tell one hero from the other.

You turned to Bakugou with a smile, content that he even cared about your life. It was quite a surprise when compared with the vibes he gave off.

“What about you?” You asked cheerily. 

“... Agency.” He grunted.

“Oh! Are you a model or something?” You knew it! There was no way that a man as attractive as Bakugou Katsuki was not the cover of every magazine. He was, just not for the reasons you thought. You watched in confusion as the explosive blond emitted a loud snort.

“Or something...”

DING!

You were almost sad as the elevator dinged, signaling the end of the ride. Although it was short, and mostly awkward, you found yourself enjoying his company. You walked side by side until you reached the doors to outside, pausing slightly when he went to part.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou froze at your expressed gratitude, studying your figure with renewed interest.

“You know... for the spider?” You seemed to lose all cognitive brain function when he looked at you with those frustratingly gorgeous vermillion eyes. Bakugou scoffed and turned away, muttering a quiet response. Little did you know that he was trying to hide a light blush.

“Whatever...”

~~~

You were happy to say that these shared elevator rides became a daily ritual, to the point where Bakugou started to bring you his delicious leftovers for your lunch (he made the meals especially for you, but would die before he ever admitted that). Before you knew it, you were quite smitten with the blond.

You couldn’t help but replay this morning’s occurrence in your head as you filed checking account after checking account.

 “Good morning, Bakugou-kun!” You called as you exited your apartment. You didn’t even have to look anymore. Bakugou had a habit of waiting for you outside your door to give you his most current dish. 

“Morning.” He grunted in response, hating the way his heart skipped a beat.

His eyes scanned over your form, (longer than considered friendly) as he checked your outfit. Bakugou always seemed to have some sort of fashion-ready advice on the tip of his tongue, and with you still thinking he was a model-- you were more that happy to comply. And also for the fact that he really did have a good eye for it.

“Undo the top two buttons… you look like a nerd.”

Your eyes quickly flashed to your white button-up, pulling at the two buttons with one hand.

“Better?”

Bakugou only grunted in approval. He was trying to act like he wasn’t on the verge of kissing the ever-lasting life out of you.

~~~

“Hey, Newbie! Get me a coffee, will ya?” You were quickly pulled out of your daydream by one of your (slightly arrogant) bosses.

“Of course, sir.” You answered as you hurried to the other side of the bank. You’ve been at your new job (and apartment) for about a month, and they still won’t let up on the whole “newbie” stuff. 

You sighed as you waited by the coffee maker, situated right to the left of the big glass entrance. Oh, how you would have loved to pour that coffee right over your boss’ head. Too lost in your own head, you failed to notice the suspicious group of men heading straight for the vault until one of them grabbed your arm.

“What the fu--”

“EVERYBODY DOWN OR SHE DIES!” 

Oh shit! Oh fuck! Your mind was reeling at a million miles per hour. The man had pulled you to where your back was to his front, and had a blade pressed against your throat. It seemed to come out of the inside of his wrist, being a relatively deadly quirk if handled correctly.

Everyone within the pristine building froze but quickly dropped to the floor after some warning shots from one of the robbers. Another suddenly morphed into some sort of beast and marched to the steel vault door.

You suddenly wished that you had a more physical quirk, cursing it for being so useless in this situation. Yeah, you knew basic self-defense, but it would be futile with three other villains in your midst.

Minutes felt like hours, and you could only hope that someone had alerted the police and nearby heroes. You winced as the blade dug into the delicate skin of your throat.

A sudden explosion burst through the skylight of the building, raining glass shards on the hostages. All at once, people were screaming, running, and blast after blast started ringing in your ears. You let out a sigh of relief.

The heroes were here.

Using the distraction, you quickly gripped the man’s arm tight below the base of the blade. You pulled it away from your neck ever so slightly, ducking your head to pull yourself through the gateway you had created. Keeping your hands locked at the base of the robber’s wrist, you twisted his arm and shoved up-- forcing it to pop from its socket.

A sudden bump to your shoulder from a running hostage caused you to slip up on your little self-defense sequence, allowing the man to break from your grip. He whipped around to face you, holding his dislocated arm. You panicked, so... you socked him in the face.

He let out an enraged cry, thick blood gushing from his nose. You were a bit surprised with how easy it was to land a hit on him. You thought that villains would have been more prepared before robbing a bank named after All Might.

Oh, well.

You punched him again in the nose for good measure, and he was out like a light. His hot red blood coated your knuckles, and you gagged in disgust. Ew. You wiped the back of your dominant hand on you button-up absentmindedly, before being shoved to the floor by your panicking boss. Wow. Your limbs felt like mush now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and you suddenly couldn’t find the strength to pick yourself off of the floor.

A final explosion went off, followed by the most desperate and wretched call you had ever heard in your entire life. And the call... sounded suspiciously like your name.

Your eyes shot up at the scream, searching frantically for the owner of that voice. You knew that voice, you only ever heard it in grunts and light-hearted mocking sentences, but you knew that voice.

“Katsuki.” You breathed, eyes suddenly locked on familiar crimson irises. 

Relief flooded his features as he saw you, and was at your side in seconds-- dropping quickly to his knees. 

“Oh my god.” Bakugou breathed, grabbing your head and cradling it tight to his chest and-- what the fuck was he wearing? Wait, there was no way... he was the explosion hero you saw on the news! Holy fuck!

“You scared the shit out of me! Do you know how terrified I was when I heard there was trouble at your work?! And you didn’t answer your goddamn phone? Jesus Christ, (Y/N).” Worried rambles fell rapidly out of Bakugou’s lips, seemingly void of any filter. You would have been ecstatic by his cute little worrying if your mind wasn’t reeling by the fact that your crush neighbor was one of the top ten heroes in Japan.

He suddenly grasped both sides of your face and pulled back so you were eye to eye.

“Are you hurt? I swear to God, if someone hurt you-- I’ll fucking kill them.” Bakugou’s eyes were frantically scanning your face, looking for any sign of injury.

“...Katsuki?” You mumbled softly, and he immediately froze. He felt his heart lurch in his throat as his name tumbled from your lips. You, on the other hand, were completely, and utterly lost. “You’re a pro-hero?”

“....What?” Bakugou questioned dumbly. “You could have been seriously hurt and that’s the first thing you think about?”

“What? I thought you were a model.” You whined, lightly smacking his chest.

At this, Bakugou let out a loud laugh, and you just watched in awe. You had never seen him laugh before. Even though half his face was smeared in black makeup and little injuries littered his skin-- it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life. He pulled back to look at you, but suddenly froze.

“You’re hurt! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Bakugou shouted, spotting bright red stains on the front of your blouse. You quickly grabbed his hand, hoping to soothe his panicking.

“Hey, hey!” You yelped, gaining his attention. “It’s not mine.” 

You gestured over to the villain knocked out next to you.

“Holy shit.” Katsuki breathed, before turning his vermillion gaze back to yours. A quiet, amused huff escaped his lips. “So you’re afraid of a spider, but can knock out a villain?” He questioned teasingly.

A light blush covered your cheeks, causing you to force your eyes down. You suddenly noticed just how close you two were. You were situated about half way onto Bakugou’s lap, as one of his large hands softly held your waist. The other was still trapped between your own. This caused your blush to only darken.

“Hey, eyes up here.” Bakugou muttered, lifting his hand from your waist and to the base of your chin. You force your eyes back up to his, but couldn’t help but sneak a quick glance to his lips. However, Bakugou saw it, and that was all it took.

Bakugou crashed his lips onto yours, and you were quick to respond. You tangled your hands within his soft blond locks, allowing him to completely dominate the kiss. His hands held you tightly to his body, refusing to give even an inch of space between you two. He didn’t let go even as you pulled back for air, his lips chasing after yours.

Time seemed to stop while he was kissing you, and every one was distressed with the thought of losing you. It was soft and sweet, and then rough and desperate-- the sweet smell of caramel, of Bakugou, invading all of your senses. 

You finally broke for air, breaths mingling shamelessly. Bakugou rested his forehead on yours, wanting nothing more than to never let you go.

“I’m so glad I found you, Stalker.”

Bonus:

A low whistle dragged out across bank, turning the couples’ gazes over to a certain hardening hero.

“SHITTY HAIR, I SWEAR TO--”

The End.

Notes:  This was my first imagine! I hope you guys liked it!

The police watching the final scene like: 👁👄👁 can we go home?

[magnhild]

Nora Valkyrie, Identity, and Purpose

Hey everyone, Blaire here, and almost exactly a year ago, I made this mess of a post where I laid out all of my thoughts on Nora and what I thought the show could have in store for her.

And honestly, most of my ideas were way off, and not at all correct. Also, the post kind of flopped.

Thankfully, Volume 8 has given me a chance to redeem myself, and write another, more coherent, essay about my favourite RWBY character; where this Volume seems to be taking her character, and what it means to me, personally.

Buckle up.

To the vast majority of people in the RWBY fandom, Nora is the least-developed character, and the one most lacking in dimension. Most of her character seems to be defined by two things; her energy and love for fighting, and her relationship on Ren.

Volume 8 took note of these conceptions, and addressed them head-on.

Of course, any keen-eyed viewer will have noted Nora’s hidden depths even before this volume, which I noticed in last year’s post. She is perhaps the most perceptive of the main cast, at least, when it comes to people’s feelings and relaionships. She was the only one to really comment on Pyrrha’s crush on jaune, and the first to bring up Blake and Yang’s growing relationship. It was also her level-headedness that resolved RNJR’s argument in Volume 4, Chapter 9.

Volume 7 also showed us her innate desire to protect the weak, and her disdain to those who have the power to help, but refuse. I personally get the feeling that this was her driving motivation in becoming a Huntress; to protect people who cannot protect themselves, perhaps because she doesn’t want anyone to have to grow up as she did. Nora’s fury at Ironwood in V7C7 is esepcially signifigant, because it’s the angriest we’ve ever seen her before, even more so in that this anger is directed at someone with much more authority than her.

But these little details were only the tip of the iceberg. These were traits she already had, and while they help to add layers to her character, they’ve done very little in terms of her actual development. 

This is where Volume 8 came in stronger than any other.

Volume 7 hinted to us that Ren and Nora’s relationship was beginning to get more complicated, between their bickering, Ren’s dismissiveness at Nora, and their kiss in V7C6. By the end of the volume, it was clear that they were still struggling, despite their clear love for each other. Volume 8 carried this thread along, having them split into different parties, and Nora giving Ren a bit of attitude we’ve not really seen her direct at him before. 

She’s frustrated with him, and disappointed that he can’t see what she sees. But despite her tough front, V8C2 then hints that she’s sadder about the split than she’s letting on, after May brings up Nora’s ‘friends’. C3 then brings this to a head, where we get a conversation that sees Nora opening up to Blake and Yang, and revealing a deeply sad truth about herself- that she has no idea who she is without Ren, because she’s spent so much of her life with him and him alone, and her feelings for him have shaped so much of who she thinks she is. We’ve never seen her so hopeless and lost, especially after she reveals that, as far as she’s concerned, all she’s good for is hitting stuff.

Right in these few minutes, the show takes how the audience percieves Nora, and reveals to us that those two core traits are the gateways to a far deeper insight of her character. She’s known for her relationship with Ren, but wait- what about when he’s not there with her? She’s known for hitting stuff, but wait- that’s all she thinks she’s good for. 

It’s revealed to us that, not only is this how most of the audience percievs Nora, but it’s how she percieves herself. And for all her energy and upbeat attitude, deep down, she thinks incredibely lowly of herself. For all her confidence in her fighting abilities, she lacks confidence in herself as a person. 

Surprisingly enough, the ‘who am I?’ character arc is one that was hardly explored at all up until this point, despite it being one of the most common and signifgant character arcs in fictional media. And I don’t think many of us at all could have imagined that Nora would be the one to get that arc, when she’s always seemed so self-assured on the surface.

And then, when Penny is in need of help, Nora takes Weiss’ advice to heart, and does the one thing she believes she’s capable of- being strong, and hitting stuff.

Nora overcharging her Semblance to take down the wall is seen by a lot of the fandom as some kind of win for Nora; as her ‘big moment’. But while it’s certainly a really cool and badass scene, it was far from a triumph for her.

This was Nora at perhaps her lowest point so far in the series. This was Nora figuring ‘well, if this is all I’m good for, I’ll do it to the extreme’. This was Nora thinking her only purpose was to greatly endanger herself for the sake of others, because she figured she was the only one who could. And she almsot got herself killed for it. 

While certainly a defining moment, it was far from triumphant. It wasn’t a win. It was a self-destrcutive act that reflected how little she thinks of herself; that she’s not worth anything unless she’s pushing herself to the limit doing the one thing she thinks she’s good at.

And to drive the knife in harder, it backfires horribly. 

Because now she’s bedridden and critically injured, with scars that are probably permanent; a reminder of her lowest point, forever marked on her body. She can’t fight now, can’t help at all, and Salem has launched her attack on Atlas.

And in her half-unconsious state in V8C7, she realizes this, delivering an absolutely heartbreaking line:

As far as she’s concerned, her last attempt at doing what she thinks only she can do- what she thinks is all she can do- has prevented her from doing anything of worth at all. She lost one half of herself when she split from Ren, and now she’s lost the other half too. The two things that she defines herself by are gone. And the worst part is, we don’t know if she’s awar of the fact Salem has begun her attack. We could very well see her fully wake up, only to realize that the world has begun ending while she was unconsious, and she can’t do anything about it.

Now, this scene, and Nora’s struggle in this Volume as a whole, hit home for me in particular.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably aware that Nora is only of my hightest- and only- kins. And I’ve only been able to relate to her more and more after what we’ve got of her in this Volume.

I am chronically disabled. I have a connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, which fucks up my body in a multitude of different ways, but signifigantly affects the joints. For me, it hits worst in my back, ankles, and my fingers. The fingers are my main problem. To make matters worse, I’ve also been victim to intense pains in my shoulder, which came out of nowhere a couple of months ago and have only gotten worse since. The slightest movement aggrevates it. As any follower of mine would know, I am both an artist and a writer. I create both for fun, and I’ve studied writing as a profession. It is these things I’m known for being good at, and not much else. 

Thanks to my disability and my shoulder though, I have to do these things less. Even on perscription pain medication, it still hurts. It hurts to write this even now; my shoulder feels like it’s burning up from the inside. It will only get worse over time.

So, I’m finding myself in Nora’s position. I can’t do what I’m good at anymore, and I don’t know what to do with myself as a result. Not doing these things makes me feel lazy and unproductive, and makes me feel that the people around me will abandon me so long as i can’t keep providing them content. And I’ve gotta say, it hurts a lot, and I don’t just mean physically. 

Because of what I’m going through, it’s especially important to see my favourite RWBY character just so happening to be dealing with the same problem; the same loss of idenity and purpose. We don’t know who we are or what we’re good for without the things we think define us.

While I’m unsure of my own future though, I find comfort in knowing that Nora’s problem will be tackled and addressed; that her friends will help her to rediscover herself and find her true worth. And while we’ve got a while to go until we’ll be able to see the Volume continue, I’m incredibely excited to see where Nora’s arc goes, especially if we can get some backstory along the way. I find myself wondering if her life before Ren is part of why she thinks so little of herself without him- was it the way she was raised to think? Is this the fault of her childood circumstances? Or is this just something she developed on her own, after becoming too dependant on Ren for comfort?

Whatever answers we get, I have faith that Nora’s story will be told well, and I’m very sure that it’s only just beginning. Even if she finds her worth before the end of the volume, her story won’t be over yet, not when we’ve still likely got at least four more volumes to go after this one.

In just seven episodes, Nora Valkyrie has gone from one of the least developed characters, to one of the most interesting and relatable, at least, in my eyes. There is so much more depth to her character than having a crush on Ren, and being the strong girl who hits stuff. There’s a layer of tragedy to her character that we’re touching upon now, and I’m excited to dive into it.

Thank you all for reading!

[onewithnomightypowers]

clandestine (chapter 1)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

Chapter 1: too wise to trust

A/N: y/n is bisexual but not paired with a women. the characters have been aged up. the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like it as much is i do. if you want to be tagged them pls tell me. also comments are appreciated as they motivate me to write more and i love to know how you guys feel about the story.  

warning: cursing, mention of miscarriage, mention of sex, mention of cat calling, angst. fluff? 

word count: 1.4k

important: character thoughts are bold and italic, flashback is in italic

masterlist   series masterlist   chapter 2

She picked up her makeup bag from her vanity and started walking towards her empty suitcase which was wide open on her bed. “What time is your flight?” Haz asked while walking into their bedroom. “I think it’s at 6:30 in the evening but the car will be here to pick me up at 4”, she replied whilst folding her clothes.

“So we have at least an hour to us”; he pulled her by the waist and started kissing her neck. She tried pushing his chest away but failed miserably. “Haz, I’m not in the mood, please stop”

“Fine. But you have been saying that for months now”, he was frustrated.

She ignored his words like always. 

He was right. They hadn’t had sex for at least five months now and it was starting to gain on Harrison. Their marriage, which had been ‘couple goals’ according to the internet, was now slowly falling apart. It was clear that Y/N was falling out of love but she couldn’t find grounds for it. She couldn’t reason it by making him the villain because he was a good man who, in theory, had done nothing wrong. Though, to her, it felt like he had. Maybe he didn’t love her enough or maybe all had gone astray when they had lost their baby last year.

“Will Tom be there?” his words felt like venom, entering her bloodstream.

She placed her hand on her forehead, trying to indicate that she did not want to have this conversation or the inevitable fight, again.

“Of course he will be there, he is my co-star. You should get off the internet, it’s feeding you poison”, she said in an almost nonchalant way. Trying her best not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his name. His name, which did not mean anything to her. Tom was her colleague whom the internet liked to ship her with, but he was just a friend. Haz found it hard to believe this because the internet told him so. Their relationship was so far gone that he had no other way of knowing what was going on in her life. 

His wife was so far gone. She was as distant as the sun is from the moon. The distance left coldness between them. The kind of cold that you feel when you pass a stranger. She was a stranger to him and the only reason he could think of was that she and Tom were having an affair. This was not true, but the ache in his soul found comfort in painting Tom as the villain. 

“I don’t believe you”, Haz spat out.

She threw her heels inside the suitcase in anger. “What do you not believe? That Tom is my co-star? Is that what you don’t believe?” her voice was louder than before.

“I don’t trust him.” Haz matched her voice.

“Do you trust me?”

Trust? Her? How can I trust a stranger?

It was his turn to ignore her.

She zipped her bag, put on her shoes, and left the room. “Fuck you”, she cried before slamming their apartment door and leaving for London.

--

Y/N had first met Tom at a cast and crew dinner in New York, six months ago. Greta, the director, had invited both her and Haz but he had decided to opt-out of the ‘fancy’ dinner. Y/N was excited to meet her new co-stars and mark the starting of a new project, a new phase in her life.

It was cold in New York, she figured she shouldn’t wear a dress. She put on black stockings underneath blue bell-bottoms to keep her warm. She wore a dark grey American Eagles t-shirt and over that, a tan leather trench coat. She liked commuting via subway because she believed ‘nobody gives two shits about who is sitting next to them on the train’; and a town car was much slower, especially when it had been snowing. She stuffed her heels in her purse and wore her commuting shoes.

Tribeca to West Village was a good ten minutes train. Her travel was mostly uninterrupted except for the catcalls which felt like the usual to a native. Just before ringing Greta’s doorbell, she got out of her Converse and wore her heels.

Y/N entered a packed house. Almost everyone was there and she was late. But someone was to arrive even later than her. She examined the room, everyone was mingling with each other. She didn’t know anybody there except Noah Baumbach from the time she auditioned for ‘marriage story’. She didn’t get the part but still loved the movie. She realized Tom was missing.  

Greta pulled her into a conversation about when the production of the movie would start or something like that. She wasn’t really paying attention. She was so eager to meet Tom that her eyes couldn’t stop roaming around the room, trying to find him, and just when she thought he wouldn’t show up, he did. 

Everybody’s head turned towards him when he entered the living room. It was as if every person in the room wanted him, including her. His dark brown hair, falling into place like a domino, had snowflakes in them.

“Excuse me”, Greta gave a small smile to Y/N and walked over to Tom. She greeted him and politely touched his back. “Now that everyone is here we should take the party to the dining hall”, she said in a loud and cheerful tone.

Following Greta, everyone started moving towards the dining hall. Tom sat right across Y/N on the grand dining table. “Hi, I’m Tom”, he introduced himself in his thick British accent. “And he’s English”, Y/N said, adding to her list of things she found captivating about Tom.  

“And?” Tom gave her a confused look.

Shit. I said it out loud.

“I-I mean hi, I’m Y/N”, she tried to cover up her mistake.

His dark brown eyes on her, made her thoughts run wild. It was wrong enough to feel right. The dinner was served and small groups of conversations were taking place. Somehow the whole table took on the topic of bisexuality. Y/N felt obligated to take part in the conversation, being part of the community herself. 

“I think bisexuality is a gateway to being gay”, Tom said to the whole table.

“You’re being bi-phobic, Tom”, Y/N called him out. All eyes were on her now.

“And how do you know that?” Tom asked Y/N.

“Because I am bisexual, and any decent human being would know that”

“Are you calling me indecent?”

“No, I’m calling you bi-phobic”

“But aren’t you married to a guy?”

“That doesn’t change my sexual orientation, and you’re being bi-phobic. Again.” There was silence, everyone was listening carefully. 

“Okay, so please explain to me how I’m being bi-phobic?”

“Just the fact that you believe bisexuality is a gateway to being gay and me being married to a guy, means my bisexual card has been revoked, portray your biphobia”

“I am a little confused”, Tom said while reaching for his wine glass. 

“Someone who is bisexual is attracted to both men as well as women. It isn’t a gateway to being gay, it is a legit sexuality of its own”, 

“Hmm, I suppose I stand corrected. I’m sorry if I offended you or anyone. I will go home, do the research and try to be more open-minded”, said Tom, smiling.

“Good”, Y/N said, feeling accomplished and impressed by Tom’s ability to accept his mistake.

Haz would have never accepted that he was wrong.

Y/N felt wonderstruck. Blushing all the way home. She hoped Tom knew how enchanting it was for her to meet him. She wondered if someone was waiting for him at home, like someone was waiting for her. She wasn’t quite sure whether Haz was waiting for her to reach home or not.

She reached home to an empty bed. Not knowing what to make of it, she got ready to sleep. 2 AM and Haz was still not home. She didn’t try to reach him because she knew all phone calls would go straight to voice message and all messages would go unreplied. She closed her eyes, feeling indifferent towards Haz. Even in her sleep, her mind echoed Tom’s name. She was unaware of the treacherous road ahead of her. And that gave her comfort. His thought gave her comfort.