#I’m turning him around in my brain at top speeds

[cptnwynnie]

*sets him in front of you* behold, a crow

(Uncoloured beneath the cut)

[seasprincess]

JJ fic. I'm thinking sweet smut. Like almost goofy because that's just who he is, rarely super serious. And he and reader just know each other so well that things can be goofy, even during sex and neither of them care. Unprotected (if you're good with that). Then maybe reader finds out she's pregnant. Worried to tell JJ. But he's so thrilled.

bf!jj

a/n: I loveeed this ask

warnings: smut, pregnancy, unprotected s3x (wrap it pookies), brain rot.

“Have you got a condom?” As soon as the words leave your mouth the blonde, that’s on top of you, head pops up. He looks at you slightly confused. His hands stoping the rubbing against your lacy panties.

“I thought you were bringing them?” JJ says, his blue eyes looking into yours as he suddenly remembers.

He was supposed to bring them.

“Fuck sake.” He sighs as he runs his head, this isn’t the first time he’s had to run out and buy them during this intimate moments. He just a forgetful guy.

“Fuck it.” You say, not even thinking about it twice. You need this. He’s been touching you for too long. “You’ve been edging me f-“

“Edging.” He cuts off with a little snort and a smile. He’s so unserious it’s insane.

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

You look up at him and lean up, pressing your soft lips against his. Slowly his slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands continue to touch, rub and caress you. He’s being soft today.

But the way he’s fiddling with the zipper of his jeans is not soft nor slow. Of course it gets stuck, and he’s just there trying to rip it open. Trying to unjam it with some huffs and puffs.

While he’s doing that you’re pulling down your panties, the fold air against your core making you flinch a bit. Before you lay back down and he lays back on top of you.

“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks at you. This isn’t the first time you’ve done it without protection but every time he checks. Make sure you’re certain.

“Yes.” You say with a nod of your head. You just can’t wait any longer.

Slowly JJ enters your cunt, your tight walls sucking him in as you let at a moan. JJ jokes about his size to everyone. Saying how big he is. But they weren’t jokes.

“Fuck mama. So tight.” He says before placing a kiss on your neck. His thrusts picking up. His hand coming to your neck, not to choke you. But to make it easier to pick up his speed. “Such a good girl.”

Your walls clench around him as your eyes screw shut. Whimpers filling the space of your bedroom.

“Please don’t stop.” You breathe out as you instinctively grab onto the duvet, knuckles turning white as you look at him. His stupid face smirking down at you before reattaching to your neck.

His face practically lives there now. Hes always kissing and sucking on your neck.

JJ’s free hand slips between your legs and starts rubbing. Rubbing that sensitive bud of yours. His cock twitching inside your pussy.

It doesn’t take long for both you and JJ to cum. His thrust slowing down as he looks at you.

Both of you panting before the blonde just has to open his stupid mouth.

“That was so skibidi.”

“Oh my god.”

You can’t believe it.

‘This can’t be real.’ You think to yourself as you look at those two lines. The two lines that can either be a blessing or a curse.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sat on the bath mat of your bathroom. I mean you can’t have a baby. Can you? You’re only eighteen living at your parents house dating a guy who only recently learnt the difference between there, their and they’re.

You can’t be parents.

You just can’t.

“Baby I’m here to hang.” The sound interrupts your thoughts. the very guy you were just thinking about. Knocking a tune on your bathroom door.

You sniff and dry your eyes, trying to get rid of any sign that you were crying.

But JJ heard everything.

“Hey, yn? You okay?” His concern is evident in his tone. He cares about you more than you’d ever know.

The bathroom door slowly opens and your eyes meet the blondes. Slowly making his way to you, crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. You’re silent. You can’t speak. Don’t know what to say if you were to open your mouth.

So you just hold the test.

JJ’s eyes follow your gaze to the test. His breath catching in the back of his throat.

You want to know how he feels, is he angry? Upset? Disappointed?

Actually he’s none of them.

“I’m going to be a dad?” He says excitedly. Immediately you look at him. Shocked by this response. He’s happy?

“Yeah.” You say quietly.

“I’m going to be a dad!” He says louder and takes off his hat before standing up. Pacing the bathroom and smiling. Yapping about all the things he’s going to do. How excited he is to have a child.

You should’ve never been worried. You’re going to be parents.

[hysteria-things]

based off of this

BEREAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the bereal notification goes off when you and your boyfriend are in an intimate situation.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spanking, hair pulling, dumbification, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: DID NOT MEAN TO RELEASE THIS LATE BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT SINCE I REACHED THE POST LIMIT AGAIN😭

but anyway matt/chris will be back tomorrow!

nate’s phone blows up with notifications on the nightstand from the DA BOYZ group chat with nick, matt, and chris — but he’s too busy to check it now.

moaning loudly, your hands clutch at the pillow your head is lying on. your knuckles are white, eyes rolling back so far in your head. it’s been forty-five minutes, and you came twice already.

you guys are making a fucking mess, but neither of you cares at this moment. his and your cum combined slap against your thighs, a string of arousal connecting and breaking each time he thrusts into you. you mumble something into the pillows, but it’s so incoherent that it sounds like a moan.

his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, the other one running up and down the small of your back. he’s so deep inside your cunt that you seriously don’t know how he does it.

drool drips down your chin and onto the sheets below, body becoming rag doll-like when your grip starts to loosen and you start to rock violently to the speed of the way he’s plowing hard into you with no mercy. “there she is; getting fucked stupid on my cock because that’s all you have to fucking live for.”

only groaning in response, you start to see specks of white every time you blink. your pussy is so tight around his dick that it makes it hard for him to move. nate’s so balls deep that it feels like he’s in your throat.

silenced screams go past your lips as the headboard bangs rapidly against his bedroom wall, his tip brushing against your g-spot for the nth time tonight. he moans, grabbing your ass and jiggling it before slapping it. “might have to put my kid in ya.” he hisses, giving it another hit. “i need to breed this pussy full. you let me use it so well.”

catching a glimpse at his lit phone screen, he sees a specific notification pop up:

⚠️time to bereal⚠️

2 min left to capture a bereal to see what your friends are up to!

he smirks, grabbing his phone and opening the app. he points the camera to his face as the time counts down. eyes hooded and lips swollen, a handful of hickeys decorate his neck in red and purple, along with a few scratch marks on his chest.

pressing the white button at the bottom of the screen, he grips the top of your hair to yank your head off the pillow. he quickly turns his phone around, the back camera getting your face into view.

nate waits patiently a few seconds for the picture to render, letting go of your head so he can upload it. this is the first time he’s seen what you look like all night.

strands of hair are disheveled or stuck to your forehead from sweating, eyes crossed with your tongue sticking out like a dog. that poor brain of yours thinking only about nate’s cock fucking the shit out of you.

“i’m cu-mming.” you hiccup, shaking violently as you’re overstimulated from three hard orgasms. the boy behind you licks his lips, stopping deep before spurts of his hot cum fill your womb.

seconds later, reactions come flooding in on his post. some are from peers from high school, while the rest are from the crew.

madi’s eyes are wide, her hand covering her mouth.

nick looks disgusted, his face half out of the frame.

matt’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth hanging open in complete shock.

last but not least, chris smiles widely at the camera with a big thumbs up.

matthew.sturniolo: oh brother

nicolassturniolo: NATHAN DOE.

user: she’s living the dream, i’m afraid…

madifilipowicz: 😟

user: HE HAS BITCHES???

christophersturniolo: get that pussy bro😝

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @stellarsturns @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

[nymphomatique]

reader asking forcing. loser!miguel to tell her his desired fantasy and since she’s feeling a bit nice that day she decides she’ll indulge it for him <3 (i feel like he’d so be into roleplay hehe ><)

nonnie ur brain.. hold on.

cw: fem/dom reader, sub!miguel <3, slight mentions of shoe play, talks of punishment and like SLIGHT exhibitionism, miguel being a simp bit what’s new, a kiss 🤭, on da sweeter side, and as per usual: definitely not proof read lol enjoy 💋

a/n: i went tame for this but suggest what role play ideas u have bc miguel is DEFINITELY into that. like imagine him acting as readers maid.. in the maid outfit.. omfg.

“miguel?”

“ah! y-yes?” he answers between a moan. you’re currently sitting on your bed, miguel sitting upright facing you on your floor as you trail your heeled foot up his crotch.

“tell me something,” you start, cocking your head sideways and leaning forward to look at him a little closer. as you lean forwards your breasts spill over the the corset top you have on. you begin to use more friction with your foot, and his moans become more feverish. “what’s your fantasy? entertain me, i’m in a good mood tonight.”

and a good mood it was, you stumbled into your dorm at around 2 in the morning, miguel waiting patiently for you outside your door, kneeling in the empty hall just like you asked, when you texted him rather drunkenly from the club that you wanted to play with him.

miguel’s face flushes, his chocolate brown eyes hiding behind his glasses. “i- ah.. f-fuck. i don’t know..” he trails off, bucking lightly into your red bottom.

“you have one more time to lie to me before this turns into a ball busting session, dweeb,” you spit, halting your teasing and looking at him intensely. you can visually see him fold under your stare. “w-well..”

“go on,” you encourage, slowly starting your teasing with your heel back up.

“i’ve always wanted to- ah! to take someone on a dinner, all fancy. a-and in the middle of the restaurant, she starts to..” he halts, his lips tightening and his face going red.

“i said go on, miguel,” you say nonchalantly, but your heel applying pressure to miguel’s crotch. he lets out a sharp shudder and a string of curses under his breath, and then resumes.

“what we’re doing now.. tease me all dinner, and th-then punish me in the restroom for getting excited..” he sighs out, the pain and shame sending waves of pleasure to his pulsating clothed cock.

“yeah? punish you how? tell your mistress what you want,” he looks at you and moans, your foot increasing its speed and pressure.

“you- you’d make me beg to cum. i- i’d beg you to- fuck. to let me touch you. let me ache to please you, to serve you mistress,” he spill out from his lips, his eyes heavy and breathing shallow from your pleasuring.

“you really are pathetic miguel,” you laugh out. you stop teasing him and stand up, watching him look up at you from his place on the floor. you slowly saunter over to him and step each foot on either side of his legs, lowering yourself down until you’re sat on his lap, directly over his erection. you grab his hair and pull his head back, hovering your lips over his own. “but you know what?” you whisper, looking at his red face and tousled hair. “i like it.”

you go in for a kiss, your lipstick transferring to miguel’s perfectly shaped lips as you kiss him sensually. you pull apart from the kiss and look at him once more, him sitting there utterly dazed and confused, this being your first kiss. you get up and walk to sit back on your bed, looking straight at him, a small wet patch staining his pants. “get out of my room.”

he doesn’t hear from you until the following evening, a text message from you reading:

philemon at 8pm sharp. take a fucking shower and wear something other than hand me downs tonight.

[marsmaximoff]

i’m begging you. namgyu x reader, it’s lights out and namgyu needs to relieve his stress, SMUT!!! but consensual duh

🌑; lights out * ✧₊☽⋆˚

content warning: fem!reader. smut. unprotected. exhibitionism. praise/degradation. light choking. fingers sucking. getting caught. cum swallowing.

word count: 1k

author's note: oh, anon, if only you knew the way i smiled when i read the request.... anyway, first time posting smut (you can tell), and can we talk about how fucking weird writing it is? i did what i could, also english is not my mother language so bare with me. im sorry y’all 😔😔

dividers by @cafekitsune and @strangergraphics <3

voting leaves the room plunged into an eerie environment. you lay awake, haunted by the hopeless souls, when some ruffling is heard and your bed sinks slightly. you don’t need to ask to know who it is.

“you good?” he doesn’t have to utter a single word to show his agitation. the sounds he lets out are proof enough.

“i can’t fucking fall asleep. those x motherfuckers are riling me up the wrong fucking way.” he scoffs while finally lying down. uneasiness is clearly staining his voice, and you know that tone; he’s on the edge.

“you high?” he snuggles closer to you, pressing his back to your chest before playfully whispering in your ear, “how’s that feel to you, baby? mhm?”, his hard-on against your lower back. 

“fuck” 

“exactly,” he purrs. “i’m desperate as fuck.” needy hands begin to roam all over your body. “and you’re gonna help me.” he leaves a sloppy kiss on your neck before rasping out, “right?” his fiery breath has goosebumps exploding on your skin alongside a certain pressure starting to arise on your belly. still, you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers all piled up mere inches away. “can’t you get out and jerk it off?” his frisky laugh intensifies your arousal and you feel yourself getting hotter with every word he mutters. how can someone’s voice be so damn attractive? “why the hell would i do that when i have you right here? come on, be good for me.” his hands move underneath your shirt, and the dangerous mix of his alluring tone with the fire the physical contact is igniting on your back while he caresses it with his fingertips turns your brain into mush, making it almost impossible to stay sensible. 

“shit, gyu. here? now?” you make an incredible effort to fight your lust, “shhhh. don’t you wanna help relieve my stress?” and he shatters all of it, sending your remaining clarity away.

“fuck, yes.” you turn around and immediately yank his face towards yours, finally tasting heaven-like relief. “good girl,” he pants against your lips. “you feel so much better.” the kiss is messy and hungry. desperate. like you need it to survive. and in a way, he does. 

when your tongues make it too laborious to breathe, he pulls back with your lower lip caged in between his teeth. “why don’t you ride me a bit, mhmh? make me forget those assholes.” you don’t think ‘no’ could ever be a possible answer, not to him. so you nod, already craving that pleasure, and he quickly removes your green sweatpants. he doesn’t bother prepping you or even pulling your underwear down, tho, he’s way too gone for that. he simply grabs you by the hips and makes you sit on top of him. nothing else. the work is yours to do. 

without hesitating, -you want this way too bad-, you take his reddish, stiff member out and give it a few strokes. he grunts and you can't take it, so pushing your panties to the side, you sink in.

“yeah, that's what i'm talking about.” he gasps, totally unconcerned about the circumstances, as always. who cares about the other players when your pussy is taking him so deep? you however, bite your lips to hold back a moan while moving up and down, following a leisurely rhythm, not wanting to get too carried away. although the speed doesn't really matter. he feels wonderful, and a few seconds are all he needs to have you seeing stars. “you're so wet, such a perfect slut for my dick.” you shiver at his praise and he chuckles, gripping your waist with such passion it hurts. but only because you have to suppress your burning satisfaction.

“ride me harder.” the sight of him lying back, talking to you like this with the way he’s staring, has you instinctively bucking your hips. the pace escalates, and you slowly let loose. the grinding turns into bouncing, whimpers become full moans, and you're both so fazed the bed screech accompanying your noises goes unnoticed. 

you use his lean arms as support, gently tracing his perfect veins as a comfort gesture. “god, you’re so good…” your voice is groggy and strained. “i know.” you could get pissed at his overly confident attitude, but truth is you find it hot as fuck. he knows no one could make you feel like this.

“i- i’m- i’m sorry, could you please be quieter, if it’s not too much trouble?” 

it takes you a moment to process what’s happening, your lewdness acting as a blinding veil, but namgyu answers for you. 

“give me bullshit like that again and i’ll break your face, whore.”

the random woman is astonished as well as appalled. she apologizes again and seemingly leaves her bed, the footsteps dying out.

“fucking cunt. bothering me when i’m railing my girl...” he pushes you down and gives you a harsh kiss, the new position snapping you out of your trance. “what the fuck? ur still hard?” you ask through moans. “goddamn, if you knew how fucking good your pussy feels, you’d understand. ‘ts a damn drug.” at that, your walls clench, his sweet talk getting you every. single. time. and it motivates him to change positions, laying you on your side, as you were initially. but you're still a bit weirded out, and he notices. how could he not, with how well he knows your body?

“focus on me. don’t want you thinking ‘bout that or anything that isn’t me and the way i’m fucking you, got that?” his hand travels to your throat and adds a bit of pressure.

“yeah.” 

his girth perfectly stretching you out turns off anything that's not his cock, his movements get harder and deeper due to the still present indignation. “i’m close, gyu…” you cry out, yearning for that release. “of course you are, with how fucking much you’re leaking,” those words only make it worse. “i think you were just as desperate as i was, huh? such a perfect nympho for me”, he groans, thrusting faster. your head lolls back, resting on his shoulder, his dick hits you with such precision it’s hard to even keep your eyes open. slender fingers climb up your skin and reach your lips, which you instantly part letting out a low moan. with that, he pushes them inside, pressing down your tongue. and you suck them with all you’ve got left, licking and slurping while he fucks you in both holes. 

the double pleasure takes control over your body and you start to notice your shakiness. “gyu…” you babble, the capacity of forming full sentences is gone, not only because of his hand. “cum on my cock like a good girl, come on.” he demands against your neck, and your brain listens, as usual, sending throbs and contractions through your hips. your belly drops as if from a plane, he abandons your mouth eager to hear your falling over and you don't disappoint, squeezing his biceps while panting for air. “oh, fuck…” the aftershocks keep going while he pulls out, “damn, you drenched me” you’re not in your right mind to fully comprehend yet, “now, i don’t want it to go to waste, so you’re gonna swallow me up real good. yeah? not gonna drop any?” you answer by sticking out your tongue, and before you know it, the thick, salty, warm liquid fills your senses. you swallow and hear him sigh, relieved.

“shit, i’m spent. you’re such a good stress reliever.”

he falls asleep on your bed and ends up snuggling against you :3

❤️‍🔥 want more namgyu?

[webbluvrsugar]

thinking about frat!rafe Cameron and his inexperienced best friend

Thinking about him laying on your bed, his cap already tossed around somewhere on your room, your head against his stomach as he talks about some random girl he made out with earlier and how bad it was, asking you for your opinion when you can’t give any, you just stay laid down and answer things like “uh-huh” or “totally” that it’s clear you’re not paying attention, but in your defense, it’s hard to.

It’s hard to pay attention when his arm is lazily placed on top of your stomach, his veiny hand caressing you through the thin fabric of the tee than hangs of your shoulder, when his cologne is so strong that invades your senses, when his voice makes your brain turn into mush and you can’t reply to anything, when the only thing that makes you focus is when he asks you a direct question “what about you? Any bad experiences lately?”

Now, Rafe is not dumb, he’s asking out of possessiveness, he knows you’re a virgin and he knows you hate talking about this stuff but he needs to make sure you kept yourself that way, and when you answer “not having any experience at all” he knows he’s got you.

He pretends to be shocked by the fact, compliments you and tell you how beautiful and smart you are and that it’s a surprise that no one has fucked you yet, and that’s exactly how he managed to trick you to lay on your back, legs spread open for him as his thumb toys with your clit and his finger curls inside of you.

“Shit…you’re so tight around my finger, look at that.” He speaks as if you’d actually look, but you’re too busy covering your mouth and tilting your head back when he rubs soft circles around your clit.

“Gonna let me inside that virgin pussy, pretty girl?” He teases another finger around your entrance, and when you nod, he pushes it in harshly, without any display of patience, your moan already serves as an answer, but he wants to hear it from your lips. “Use your words.” He says, scissoring you open with his two fingers, the wet sounds of your cunt only turning you on even more.

“Y — Yes, Rafe.” You whimper, eyes rolling back when he curls them inside on that perfect spot, your back slighly arching.

He smirks through the corner of his lips. “Don’t even think I’m gonna fit,” he scoffs, the pace of his fingers speeding up inside you, making your hand run down to fist his hair.

“Maybe ill just have to break you in.”

[captain-tch]

Oscar Worthy Performance (Logan Howlett x GNPlatonicTeenReader)

You get caught shoplifting, and a stranger plays the role of disappointed father

It dawned on you as you were staring at the security guard, him speaking into his radio, that you had royally fucked up. His face was one of stone, his eyes hardening every time his gaze fell back on you, which was often. It was like he was expecting you to bolt. You didn’t blame him, in fact ever since the security guard shouted out down the aisle you had been seeking the perfect opportunity to run. Unfortunately, you weren’t blessed with super speed. Even the usual charming smile you armed yourself with didn’t work, your innocent false words pleading that you didn’t do anything wrong also fell on deaf ears. 

It was official - you were fucked. 

Your only saving grace was that the guard was that conscious of you running, he didn’t risk moving you to the office where escaping was even less likely. You were standing under the fluorescent lights of the supermarket, your coat being weighed down by your responsibility, cursing your minor mistake that brought you into this position. If you weren’t so shit scared of getting caught, you’d cause a blackout - but then he would know you were a mutant. There would be no hiding how your hands would glow as the light was absorbed, or how your eyes would flash with renewed energy. Right now the worst you could get is a slapped wrist, if you played this right, but if he found out you were cursed with the x gene? You’d be lucky to escape alive.

The radio buzzed. The security guard turned to answer it, one of his eyes permanently fixed on you. Sweat was beginning to coat your palms and your heart was jumping out of your chest. You frantically wracked your brain for another option, something other than revealing your powers, only to fall short. Your chest heaved upon realising how royally screwed you were.  

“We gonna call the cops?” 

You swallowed. Anxiety gripped you tight - you couldn’t afford to get caught by the authorities. You were living under the radar and that was attention you definitely didn’t need right now. You were deaf to the response on the radio, your whirling thoughts overriding all of your senses. Your mission would fail, the people who relied on you would suffer and you’d be thrown into prison, surrounded by mutants ready to establish themselves as an authority figure by picking on the little fish, namely you. 

“Roger.” The security guard turned his steely gaze to you. “You’re coming with me.” 

“Please, don’t do this.” None of your words could pass your lips, the words stumbling out. The man just rolled his eyes. “I don’t show sympathy to dirty thieves.” 

A slight weight was lifted from your shoulders. At least he only thought of you as a troublesome teenager, desperate to get the attention of their parents with some petty shoplifting. At least he hadn’t realised that at the exact time you were slipping the tin of beans in your pocket, the lights flickered for a beat longer than usual. 

“It’s my first time, okay, can’t you just give me a slap on the wrist and send me on my merry way?” Your lips curved into a wavering smile. 

The man scoffed. “I’m sure you tell everyone that.” 

“I promise - I’m not lying.” You were. 

“Tell that to your parents when they come down here.” His hand found your shoulder, gripping harshly. He spun you around, guiding you through the store. 

Panic rolled over you in a wave. Your eyes scoured around the store, desperately taking in the surroundings to help you evade your fate. Your gaze danced over the patrons, it was late at night and the store was barren. A young woman pushing a pram, a businessman staring at the vast display of alcohol, and then there was him. A man with a face of thunder, his brown hair twisted in the corners giving him the slight imitation of having horns. His white shirt was stained, a flannel thrown on top not in an attempt to hide the mess, but to emphasise the size of his shoulders and his arms. An idea hit you like lightning and in your desperation you did the first thing that came to mind. 

“Dad!” You shouted, drawing attention to yourself. The two men turned to face you, the businessman dismissing you with a single glance. But the grumpy man, he stared you down, brows tilted slightly upwards. You smiled desperately at him, hoping to convey your message in your slight grimace. “I thought you were at the site all day today.” 

“Um…” He looked over his shoulder, as if looking for an escape. 

A light flickered overhead, your eyes flashing slightly. The man stood straighter, looking between you and the security guard. He cleared his throat awkwardly, walking towards you. “Um…”

“Are you this dirty thieves father?” The security guard demanded. 

The man’s brows lifted as he took you in. His assessing eyes danced over your half worn combat boots, caked in dirt, and your jeans that had holes that might be considered fashionable if it wasn’t for the seams falling apart at the hem.  “Thief?” 

You shrugged. “Alleged.” 

The security guard squeezed his hand on your shoulder. “I saw you slip something into your pocket.” 

“That could have been anything.” 

“Sure.” The guard rolled his eyes, sharing a pointed glance at the stranger you claimed to be family. “Come on sir, you’re coming with us.” 

The guard carried on the journey to the office, his grip slightly too tight on your shoulder. You squirmed under his grip, trying to grab your saviour's gaze to no avail. He looked as though he was being led to his funeral. You wish you could express your gratitude but his eyes were fixed firmly downwards, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

A door was opened, and they were led down several corridors. They were ushered into a small room, screens adorning one wall displaying all angles of the store. Fuck, you thought, they updated the security since the last time. No wonder you got caught - you were normally so careful. 

“Take a seat.” He gestured to the two chairs, and you slumped into it. Your ‘dad’ took to standing against the door frame, his arms crossed.  

“Look, this is serious. You were caught stealing. You could go to jail.” You couldn’t look at him, busy worrying at your lips. “But you’re lucky it’s me on shift, I’m a bit more friendly than the other guys in this place.”

“Hate to meet the others,” you muttered under your breath. The guard stared pointedly at you. An apology was breathed out with little feeling behind it. 

“Let’s see what you stole, and we can go from there.” 

Sighing, you reached into your pocket, dropping tin after tin of beans on the table. With each tin the guards eyes softened, and you knew as dire as the situation had seemed, you struck gold. You discreetly pinched your leg, hard, and mustered tears to appear. 

“Daddy’s been working so many hours at the site, and we can still barely afford the rent. I couldn’t bring myself to eat someone else’s trash again - I couldn’t.” You hiccuped, impressing even yourself with your acting skills. “I couldn’t be hungry anymore, is that a crime?” 

You turned your weeping eyes to your ‘father’, allowing your lip to wobble. “I’m sorry, I know you work so hard. I’m sorry I let you down.” 

Your ‘dad’ had a face of stone, nodding his head silently. The guard looked at him expectantly, and ever so slowly, your ‘dad’ walked towards you. He rubbed your shoulder, the only action that could seem paternal whilst limiting any major contact. 

“I’m sorry too.” He grumbled. You thanked the higher powers on your side that the man was joining in on the act, making it all the more believable. For the first time since you had been caught, you genuinely thought you might be okay. 

The guard sighed, pushing a box of tissues towards you. You made a show of taking a few handfuls, wiping aggressively at your eyes and blowing your nose. 

“Look, I know it’s hard. I’ve been there myself. But you can’t do this. I’m going to take the tins back, I’m sorry. There’s some food banks in the area, let me write them down.” The security guard sent you a soft smile, then disappeared. 

You collapsed back into your seat. Your anxiety was ebbing away and all you could do was thank whatever god was watching over you. You eyed the tins on the table, contemplating if he had counted them before leaving. Your fingers itched to slide one back in your pocket; you fought the urge, not wanting to end up worse off.  

“Quite impressive, have you ever considered a career in acting?” Your ‘dad’ commented, distracting your intense gaze on the food, his lip quipping up. 

“Hollywood couldn’t handle this.” You sighed. “You might not want to though, your role of loving and doting father leaves something to be desired.” 

“I didn’t even know I had a child until ten minutes ago.” 

“Funny, my dad said that too.” 

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why the fuck did I even get involved.” 

“Only you can answer that question, bud. All I know is I’m fucking glad you did.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, rapidly closing it when the door opened and the security guard reappeared. He handed you a list with writing scribbled on. The man then turned to your ‘dad’. 

“I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to step up. Your kid needs you more than ever.”

“Noted.” 

“You guys can go - but if I see you here again, I won’t be as kind.” 

“Thank you sir.” You nodded your head respectfully to him, sniffling for extra measure. 

You led the way out of the office, the guard leading you both to the staff entrance of the store and closing the door behind you. 

The pair of you walked away from the employee entrance, turning the corner. You fell against the wall, feeling a huge relief wash over you. You released a big breath, a bright smile lighting up your face. All of the muscles relaxed in your body and the sweat on your palms started to dry. “Wow, that was close.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Excuse me?” You huffed a laugh. “I carried that performance, you were merely a supporting actor.” 

“Yeah? From how I see it, without a ‘parent’ present you would be speaking to the cops right now.” 

“Whatever.” You shrugged. “Wanna smoke?” 

“I’m not going to promote teenage smoking.” 

“I’m gonna smoke whether or not you join me.” You dug into your inside pocket, producing a sealed packet of cigarettes. You received a look of disbelief and awe. “What? I wasn’t going to give up all the goods.” 

“Fuck it, I’m already an accomplice.” He offered his hand, and you handed him a cigarette. “Got a light?” 

You fumbled around in your pockets, foraging and finding an old match box. You handed it to the man, waiting patiently for him to light his cigarette. You pulled another one out of the pack, bringing yours to the end of his, watching as the light of flame spread to yours. You jumped up the wall, perching so that you rest your elbows on your knees as you took a drag.  

“Thanks,” he muttered, bringing the cigarette to his lips and exhaling smoke. You copied his motion, silence falling between the two of you. 

“Why me?” 

“Huh?” 

“Instead of the other guy in there.” 

“Isn’t it obvious? He was all prim and proper, you don’t exactly look like a law abiding citizen. Criminals stick together, well, sometimes.” You frowned, finally giving yourself a moment to actually think about what could have happened if he didn’t intervene. “But you didn’t have to - any reason why?” 

He looked at you, then at his hand. You noticed the line of scars perfectly indented across his knuckles. A flash of silver shot out of those scars, then retracted back into his skin. “It’s us versus them, right?” 

“Right.” You shook your head in disbelief - as if you not only managed to get someone to go along with your ploy, but that they also managed to be a mutant. 

“Well, as nice as this was, I’ve got places to be, trouble to cause and Oscar’s to win.” You stubbed out your cigarette, jumping off of the wall. “Am I ever gonna learn your name, or am I going to have to keep calling you Dad?” 

“Logan.” 

“Well, thanks old man. I owe you, big time.” You started to make your journey home, tucking your hands deep in your pockets, when you stopped at the sound of Logan’s voice. 

“Wait.” Logan called out. “Answer me this - of everything to steal, why beans?” 

Your expression fell. “I’m sure you can figure that one out, pops.” 

“There’s a place -” You cut him off, turning your back to him. 

“No thanks, I have my place, you should go back to yours.” You were almost disappointed when you made it to the end of the road and you hadn’t heard a response. But you didn’t turn around, determined to find another store to rob so you didn’t go back home empty handed. 

Logan waited until he couldn’t see your form anymore, the sting of the cigarette burning his fingers as ash crumbled around him in a halo. He shook his head, throwing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot. “Fucking kids.”

marvel masterlist

[pullupinarari]

The house feels haunted [LH]

author’s note: it took me 6 days to write the biggest angst this blog has ever seen. i’m sorry if it turns out to be shit, but this made me feel miserable so I hope yall enjoy it 😭

warnings: there are mentions of cheating and a miscarriage happens in this fic. it’s nothing too specific but there’s mentions of blood. it’s devastating, heartbreaking, and it has a sad ending. if you don’t want to read it, don’t feel the need to announce it. read at your own risk‼️

• masterlist

wc: 13 673 - English is not my first language! Feedback is always appreciated

You were never a fan of storms. You never really enjoyed hearing the sound of the thunder hitting the ground at a forceful speed, with a power that seemed as if it was fed by anger, making you shake in your sleep as if you didn’t feel safe inside your own house. 

The way the lightning would appear like a flash inside the four walls of your bedroom, making goosebumps appear on your skin as your brain would let you know: it’s hitting. It can hit anywhere near you right now, and it can set everything in to a fury of flames around you, burning you alive if you’re not lucky enough to survive, to make it out alive. 

Usually during those nights, your boyfriend Lewis would hug you tighter, kissing the top of your head nonstop while your body would tremble in his arms. He would softly hum a lullaby to you, his fingers playing with your hair gently, letting you know that everything is fine, that you don’t need to be afraid: and if anything happens, he would be by your side to protect you. 

In the middle of waking up and falling asleep a countless amount of times during the night, you could always find the warm comfort of his frame, faithfully glued to yours, ready to embrace your figure a little closer if needed. 

For the past few days, it seems as if your life is being chased by a storm though. After Lewis came back home from being away in a work meeting abroad, your boyfriend seemed distant. His eyes wouldn’t shine as bright as they used to when he looked at you, he was quiet most of the time when he was near you, as if he wasn’t happy to see you again. The intrusive thoughts in your mind were quick to come up with a thousand different scenarios of everything that could be happening for him to be acting so weird lately. 

“Maybe he is preparing a surprise?” , “but it’s not my birthday, nor our anniversary”, “OH, maybe he is going to propose? Maybe he is nervous because he has been thinking about it?”, your mind asks and answers at the same time, your fingers playing with the promise ring on your finger. 

A few weeks before leaving for his work trip, your boyfriend mentioned a couple of times how he would like to “take the next step” with you, how gorgeous you look when wearing white, displaying a teasing wink on his features while the most charming smile would show on his lips. So maybe, he kept thinking about it while being away, missing his girlfriend to the point of wanting to fly you out to his hotel room. 

The anxiety of the unknown would carve on your stomach, trying to read his mind, until he figured out that he needed to be honest with you. 

Ironically, it happened on a rainy day. The drops of water hitting the windows would announce the bad omen surrounding the four walls of the house you have been sharing with Lewis for three years now. 

- I need some space, Y/N. I can’t keep doing it like this. I need time for myself, I need to live my life on my own for a while. I just need to be alone. - he said to you, his words careful to leave his mouth, as if they had been thought and rethought a thousand times, until Lewis found the best way to let them out. With a soft tone, his voice barely above a whisper, it almost felt like he wasn’t breaking your heart in half. 

But he was. It took you a second to process the message he was passing you, but once your brain received it, your instinct was to hold the man’s face in your hands, your fingers caressing his cheeks as your tear-filled eyes would look inside his chocolate ones, trying to read him again, to see through him, to try and understand why this is happening. 

- Lew? No, no, baby please! Why do you want a break from me, from us? Was it something I did? I can do better, I promise, I will try not to be so clingy if that’s the problem, I’ll try to- 

Cutting you off, Lewis’ hands gently grabs your wrists, removing your fingers from his face, distancing your bodies a bit as you got closer to him while trying to find a way to save your relationship. 

- This is on me, Y/N. You did nothing wrong, I swear you didn’t. I just need space for myself, I need to dedicate some time to my mind as well, and I need to do it on my own. - his voice is growing hoarse as he records all the tears swelling in your eyes, falling on the skin of your rosy cheeks, growing redder due to the fire collapsing inside of your body.

You weren’t expecting it. Never, in a million years, were you ready to hear your boyfriend saying that he wants to move on with his life, without having you by his side. Maybe you were wrong, maybe all those nights where you would feed your thoughts with illusions of him proposing to you, deceiving yourself so you can keep your mind busy, denying all the negative possibilities that could happen, maybe that’s what brought you here.

You still don’t know why he wants to be alone, now. Maybe you were always way too busy in your own fantasy to see the signals that might have been there all along, only to be ignored by you. But as he distances himself more and more from you after those last words left his body, you knew that nothing would make him change his mind. 

Packing your clothes with your eyes full of tears was the most hurtful thing that you have ever done. Having to leave the only place that has felt like home for so long, where you would feel safe, with the only person who was able to love you the way you are, with no judgments, no restrictions, no interruptions. 

With a simple bag over your shoulder, having no force in yourself to pack everything right now, you show up in the living room where Lewis was sitting, waiting for you to finish packing. 

His face is laced with coldness, as if it’s almost indifferent for him to watch you leave, to forget about the four years of his life that he has shared with you, three of them while sharing this place where you would call your shelter, the four walls that would protect the both of you, in the embrace of the other’s arms, feeling seen and understood by one another. 

Taking one last look at him, you could swear that you would grab his hand and take him with you to see the sea, through your eyes. The ones where the waves of emotion don’t stop crashing against your skin, leaving indentations along your features, staining your cheeks with their shape as the salty water keeps running until it reaches your chin. 

The deafening silence fills the room. Neither of you knows what to say, but neither of you feels the need to say anything. Just by looking at your face, Lewis can already feel his heart clenching in his chest, and the endless tears leaving your eyes are enough for him to discover how great the sadness of this world is. 

There’s no point in telling you that he is sorry, or how he wishes things could be different. He wouldn’t mean it, anyway. So without a word, he just sees you walking out the door, and out of his life - his brain still trying to figure out if it’s temporary or definitely.

You expected more from your life than to walk out of your ex-boyfriend’s house with just a bag in your hands, a tear stained face and a broken heart. You expected more than to find yourself muffling your cries on a pillow, lying your sore body on a cold bed, one that you don’t recognize, that definitely doesn’t feel like home, the way your sheets used to. 

Staying at a hotel room, all you can do is let it out now to the four walls that don’t know you yet, but are about to become your most truthful confidants. Right now, you don’t want to call your parents, your brother, you don’t want to talk to anyone about what happened. You grabbed your most important belongings from Lewis’ house, and you will go back to pack the rest of your things once you clear your mind and figure everything out. 

But now, it’s just you, the pillow you’re hugging close, and the raindrops hitting the window, your eyes watching them dancing in the glass, while your own drops of sadness leave your body as well. 

The sky doesn’t clear, it’s been heavily grey for some days now, the clouds occupying the entire space on the highness of the atmosphere, never indicating that they can disappear soon. When you look outside, it’s like you get a visual representation of your love life, of your feelings, a storm that’s slowly forming in the midst of your core, changing the promises of your happy future forever. 

And even as the days go by, the agonizing pain in your chest doesn’t cease. Crying yourself to sleep every night, struggling to focus on your work without crumbling down into a puddle of tears. 

You haven’t been eating much, always feeling drained to your core, exhausted all the time, not even feeling like getting out of bed. What’s the point in trying to take one day at a time, if your mind just continues to repeat the pain in your heart, relieving all the words that left Lewis’ mouth when he kicked you to the curb. 

Your body feels weird, weak, but you’re too heartbroken to care. You feel too lifeless to listen to the signs that something is happening with you, constantly ignoring the way your stomach feels off, how you often get nauseous just by looking at food, to the point of ignoring the fact that your period is late. But it’s okay, it’s just a consequence of all the stress and emotional turmoil that you have been going through, your body will - hopefully - go back to normal in a few weeks. 

But it doesn’t. And it’s not until your brother is handing you a pregnancy test - that he went to buy at a nearby pharmacy, after you told him everything that’s been happening to your body lately, that you acknowledge the symptoms. 

Two, bright, red lines. The result that swept you off your feet, changing your perspective of life forever. Your trembling hands hold the test, warm tears paint your eyes as you try to compose your breathing. 

For some minutes, your brain crashes, not understanding if this is good news or not. On one hand, you don’t feel ready to deal with a pregnancy right now, to raise a baby on your own, especially while feeling so hurt and heartbroken. But on the other hand, everything happens for a reason, right? You know how Lewis always dreamt of being a dad, so maybe this could be a sign: a sign of hope, telling you that there’s still something bright out there for you to look out for. Maybe, after breaking the news to him, Lewis might love you again, enamoured by the thought of creating a family by your side, like he used to mention so many times before. 

Some shy feelings of hope tingle in your stomach now, making you caress your belly mindlessly. There’s a baby growing inside of you, after all. A baby that was made out of love, the type of love that Lewis just needs to remind himself of again, to allow himself to feel it beating in his chest while looking deep into your eyes. 

That night, you go to sleep with a mix of emotions bubbling inside of you. The thought of becoming a mum makes an effortless smile appear in your features, happy tears appearing in the corners of your eyes as you imagine how your belly will grow in the next few months, how you are living the true miracle of life, your body sheltering your baby - everything you have ever wanted. 

But still, there’s a hint of unsureness, feeling hesitant to go back to Lewis’ place to tell him the news, to look at his face again after the cold gaze he shared with you last time. Nevertheless, this is his baby as well, and he has the right to know that a little one who is half of him, is on its way - and even if he decides not to be part of your child’s life, at least you did your part, and you can live the rest of your life with your kid without feeling anymore remorse or regrets. But right now, you can only go to sleep with the hope of a brighter tomorrow, of a day where the sun will finally show up, illuminating the most hidden corners of each street, helping to give you a good feeling about what you are going to do.

Surprisingly, you wake up to a heavy rain, the heaviest of the past couple of weeks. The skies are painted in a dark grey, making you furrow your eyebrows at the way the weather seems to match perfectly the way you feel. 

Taking a deep breath, you get ready to leave your hotel room, calling a taxi to take you to your ex-boyfriend’s house. While you’re on your way, you can’t help but notice that insecure feeling pooling in your chest again, how you feel anxious and unsure about knocking on his door again. 

He did ask you to give him some time, you don’t want to disturb him, you don't want him to think that you can’t leave him alone. This is not what this is about, this is about something bigger than just the two of you and the end of your relationship, this is important, way more important than anything else you two might feel or need right now. 

His car is parked outside, signaling that he is home. Trying to ignore the way your heart is pumping blood into your veins at a crazy speed, you take several deep breaths while standing in front of his door, not having the courage to ring the bell. You can feel the hot tears threatening to spill out of your eyes already, but you hold it together, composing yourself to act like an adult, like an independent woman who has a baby growing inside her right now. 

The rain hasn’t stopped and somehow, it keeps falling heavier and heavier as time passes by. Your clothes are wet, your hair is soaked from standing on the front of his house, but there’s a warm hand touching your stomach absently, caressing the little bean that seems to support you so much already. 

With one final deep breath, you finally ring the bell, the anxiety making you fidget, as if you can’t stay still, waiting for him to open the door. Some minutes pass by, and you can’t help but find it weird that he is taking so long to open the door. So, out of urgency, you ring the bell again. 

You decide to look to the road, watching some cars passing by as you try to distract yourself from the fact that you are waiting to see him again. You notice the shadow of a person coming to the door, your heart racing in your chest as you get ready to look into his chocolate eyes again. 

But, as the door finally opens, you find yourself unable to move. Your eyes widen at the sight, your mouth slightly agape, not believing what you’re seeing right now. 

- Who is it, Sophs? - you hear Lewis’ voice, directing your eyes to his frame that comes into sight a few seconds later. 

Sophia, one of your best friends, the one you shared all your life details with, looking back at you with the guiltiest look on her face. Her hair is a mess, she’s wearing one of Lewis’ t-shirts - your favourite one, the one you used to wear every night while he was away for work, the feeling of comfort by being wrapped in his scent always lulling you to sleep in his absence. 

The man grows silent as his eyes land on you as well, not knowing what to do or say in this situation, definitely not expecting to see you, to have you knocking on his door in the middle of a rainy afternoon, only to find him with your best friend. 

A simple towel, loosely wrapped around his waist is the only thing that’s covering his lower body, his bare chest in full display and your vision goes blurry by the amount of tears that soon start escaping your eyes. 

- Lewis… - a shocked, desperate, questioning whisper leaves your mouth, your hand holding your stomach tighter, as if your conscience is telling you that you have something to hold on to, so your knees don’t give out right now.

You take one last glance at both of them, mindlessly showing them a quiet nod, a hurt one, connecting all the dots in your mind before turning your back to the two people that you never want to see again in your entire life, the sight and scenarios running through your mind being unbearable. The screaming feeling in your chest is so loud that you bet everyone around you can hear it, destruction and desperation hitting you again as you run out of his place, using all your strength to escape this horror movie that you got into. 

Your sobs are loud in the middle of the street while your tears mix with the raindrops that find their place in your skin, walking on the rain - feeling so hopeless, on the verge of wishing life to end up right here, right now, because there’s nothing left for you after all this. 

The only man you truly loved, the only one that made you feel cared for, loved, understood, seen. The one you would do everything for. After all the times you cherished him, supported him through his career, holding everything down at home so he could feel free enough to fly high, to conquer the world, even after knowing how you hated to be alone, how you would wish for him to never leave your side. You still did it for him, and you would go through hell to make your relationship work, to see him happy, only for him to feel like the world was his. You knew that was what he had to do, and you would be happy for him as well. Still, you built all your dreams around him, only for him to break it down into ashes, right in front of you.

And now, he crushed your heart into pieces in a matter of weeks, destroying every beautiful memory that you two shared over the years, betraying you in such a cruel, raw way, treating you like you meant nothing to him now, like you never did, actually. 

And your best friend. Sophia, your fucking best friend, the one you’ve known since you were four years old, the friend you grew beside, the one who became your soulmate, the one you would take on every adventure through life, the one you trusted with your life. 

The two together, their bodies entangled in between the sheets, in an unimaginable moment for the three - neither of you wanting things to really happen this way. 

In one last leap of faith, you call your brother, crying to him on the phone, begging to pick you up, not trusting your body nor anyone around you anymore. 

Waking up with a tear-stained face, an exasperated sigh leaves your body. Exhaustion really took over you once you got to your brother’s house, realizing that your current condition doesn’t allow you to run like a madwoman in the rain anymore. 

There’s already a tray of food on the bedside table, waiting for you to wake up, making a groan leave your throat as you hide your face in the pillows. Your head hurts, your mind feels insufferable, your body feels weak. You are not hungry, the last thing you want to think about right now is food. But then, you force yourself to switch your chip. There’s a life inside of you, growing by the day, even if you feel like dying. And if you can’t find the strength to survive for your own well being, it is your duty to do it for your baby. 

And that’s how you try to look at life for the first days, after everything that happened. Forcing yourself to eat, to drink enough water through the day, to go for a walk, to get some fresh air and some bits of a shy sun that insists on showing up from time to time for only a couple of minutes. 

Your loyal support, your brother, never left your side through it all. He was the one scheduling your first doctor’s appointment ever since you found out you were pregnant, wanting to know if his niece or nephew was okay, not wanting your emotional state to cause any damage to the baby. 

Finding out that you are already seven weeks pregnant came as a surprise to you, not realizing how fast time is passing by while you just seem to be living in slow motion. With a numb mind and a sore heart, everything seems harder to process. But nothing could have prepared you for the moment when you would get to hear your baby’s heartbeat. 

The fast, rhythmic sound of your baby’s small heart, creating an orchestral music that changed the entire environment around you, immediately triggering new tears to leave your eyes. But as surprising as it seems, these aren’t sad, heartbroken tears. These are new ones, the kind that you haven’t felt in so long - the happy tears that seem to warm your insides as they slide through your cheeks. 

This is a turning point for you - you can feel it. It’s like the heartbeat of the small life that’s growing inside of you fills your veins with a sense of hope, of a type of love that you never felt, but the one you are needing now, more than never. It seems that the skies and all the gods got together to hear your prayers, your loud sobs and cries, gathering a solution to help mending your pain: your child, someone for you to take care of, to love, to cherish - a little one that will definitely put all of your pieces back together, helping you in ways that neither of you could ever understand.

And now, you realize how real this is. How you have a baby that’s part of you, that you will be able to hold in your arms if you are patient enough to wait eight more months - and brave enough to deal with all the changes that this period will bring to your life. 

Above it all, you understand that you can’t give up - on yourself, on life. You have a higher purpose, something that’s so much more important than just an ex-boyfriend, making every past event seem so small and unimportant when compared to how badly your baby needs you. 

You are its shelter, its home. You are the only thing your child has right now, and you can’t fail the most important role of your life, from now on. Looking at the little bean on the ultrasound’s screen, a gentle smile finally paints your features. There’s your future, your reason to hold on tight to life again, your reason to continue living, the small glimpse of hope that will help you find the beauty in everything again.

It’s with your head lifted and with an undimmed heart that you leave the doctor’s appointment. Feeling lighter than air, your fingers gently wipe the tears that last escaped from your eyes, letting out a sigh that seems to relieve all the weight that has been lying on your shoulders, lately. It amazes you how the little glimpse of life inside of you has the power to change your life in such profound ways. 

You’re willing to change, things really need to change. You can’t just continue to pretend that you’re living, while rotting in bed all day, silently crying to a pillow, allowing your body to immerse itself in these destructive feelings and thoughts. You need to be strong for your child, regardless of everything that happened. 

Lewis is a matter of the past, now. Anything that he might have done doesn't matter to you anymore, it’s not your business to keep him in your mind for hours on end, making you feel like you’re the worst person in this world. 

For the past few weeks, all you did was allow your mind to consume you, your brightness, your will to live. You felt like you were dying inside, but looking back now, you realize how crazy you were for even thinking that. You’re not dying inside, you’re rebirthing, literally creating a new life inside of your body, one that will step on this land and make every flower blossom again, allowing the sun to shine even brighter in your direction. 

With the determination to create a better future for yourself and your kid, you pack your bags, leaving your brother’s house. You thank him for everything he has done for you, and for all of the things that he will keep doing, holding you when you need it the most. But it’s time to start a new chapter of your life, after weeks of mourning the loss of something that was never really yours. 

Moving to a new place, in a new city just thirty minutes away from your family - not too far, but not too close to constantly remind you of your past, you prepare yourself for the new life you will have from now on.

Now, the rain doesn’t show up as much as it used to. Now, the sun comes out for longer, illuminating your desk at your new work, invading the curtains of your new house, playing with your features as it illuminates your eyes, shining in your hair, emphasizing the way your bump grows through the weeks. 

The changes are fast, your body preparing itself to all your baby’s needs. Excitement grows by the day, erupting through you the more you find out about your little savior. 

It’s a girl, you just recently found out, and her name just immediately resonated inside of your mind, of your chest: Hope. The one who came to your life to show you the light, to save you, to guide you through a different path, to mend your heart and shush away all your pain.

Even if there are days that feel as unreachable and lonely as the stars that hang tall on the dark sky of the night, making you sense that you are living only on a few mortal verses of your life, through the pages of the book on your lap, there’s always a calming, warm hand that travels through your baby bump, helping to ground yourself, to let you know that you are not alone, and you won’t even have to feel like you are anymore - you found yourself a life partner, one that will forever be by your side.

Now, you keep yourself busy by buying lots of pink and purple clothes, decorating your little girl’s nursery with soft tones, ones that symbolize peace and quiet, hope and renovation - the sensations she brings into your life. 

You created a photo album for little Hope, one that already has all the ultrasound pictures inside, the beginning of your princess’ life being something so important for you to keep safe inside the pages of the album already. 

Most of your clothes stopped fitting you already, reaching your fifth month of pregnancy. The dresses got looser, your bump developing in the most gracious way you have ever witnessed, like a baby bird, safely nestling itself on its mother’s wing. 

The kaleidoscope of butterflies that erupted through your entire being on the moment you first felt your girl moving inside of you, is indescribable. The proof that every day, you are one day closer to meeting your baby girl, now, finally becomes even more real as your fingers gently touch your belly to meet her soft kicks, meeting your soulmate even before she arrives in this world. 

Now, your smile appears more often on your lips, picking up some flowers from your garden as the sun warms your skin. Even if you don’t have an excuse for most of the goodbyes you had to say when you left your old house, the newfound feeling of peace and love growing inside of you by the second, make everything worth it. It’s just you and your baby girl, your parents and your brother that come and visit you often, and the expectation of a bright future.

Everything truly felt like a dream, until that fateful morning when you woke up with the sound of thunder hitting. It’s been a while since you’ve heard the sound that could make your insides shake with fear, making your heart race in your chest as you were startled by the storm. 

You have been feeling off the entire day, your body was sore, you felt light headed and weak, almost on the verge of passing out if you allowed your knees to collapse. For hours, you felt absolutely exhausted, even if you had just gotten out of bed after sleeping for an entire night. Your stomach felt weird, making you lose all your appetite, even if you would try and force some food inside your body, thinking about your little Hope’s well-being.

Throughout the day, some cramps occupy your lower stomach, igniting a sense of insecurity in your brain. The pain grows more intense as the time goes by, mixing your senses with the dizziness surrounding your head. You try not to think much about it, imagining it can be just a bad day, lack of rest or just something that you ate that wasn’t good for you. But the spots of blood on your pyjama shorts are what caught your attention.

Panic immediately washes over you, sensing now that something might be really wrong, and your reflex kicks in, dialing 911 to get yourself an ambulance, not wanting to wait any longer, before something terrible happens. 

It all happened so fast, it felt like a blur to you, from the moment the paramedics got to your house, to the emptiness inside of you while lying on the hospital bed: surrounded by nurses, IV tubes, different machines connected to your body, you slowly open your eyes, feeling like you have just been sedated. 

Once you regain your consciousness, your hand reaches for one of the nurses’ arms. 

- Is my baby okay? What happened? Someone talk to me, please I need to know what happened. - you plead, only to be met with a sympathetic look on the nurse’s face.  - The doctor will be here soon to talk to you, ma’am, please just try to remain calm. - the lady holds your hand for some seconds before leaving your side. 

You’re in panic, your heart feels heavy and accelerated in your chest, trying to understand what happened, why no one is telling you anything, so your hand reaches for your source of love and comfort: your baby.

Your fingers gently caress your bump, grazing along your skin as you decide to touch your favorite spot, the one where your baby always touches back, meeting you through the barrier of your skin. After some attempts of touching the same place, your heart drops when you realize that your baby isn’t touching back, and you definitely don’t feel her moving in your belly anymore. And, as much as you try to keep calm, convincing yourself that maybe it’s just the effect of all the medication they are giving you, your maternal instinct can’t stop ringing inside of you, letting you know that something is definitely not right. 

There’s not a single detail about the doctor’s face that helps calming you down one bit, once he enters the room. The man has a closed facial expression, looking as if he has been thinking about what he has to tell you. And, deep down, you already knew. 

He takes a stool, using it to sit next to your bed, so he could be eye level with you. There’s a sigh escaping his body, a heavy one, one that doesn’t bring good news attached to it.

- How are you feeling, Y/N? - he asks, briefly checking your vitals on one of the screens beside you. 

You know he is trying to make small talk, trying to find a way to initiate the conversation, until he has the guts to touch the topic he is currently avoiding. 

- Doctor, I just want to know how my daughter is doing. Please, I have the right to know what’s going on. I need to know. - your voice is cracking already, some small tears are making their appearance on the corners of your eyes. Your heart already knows, you can’t keep denying it. At this point, you’re just begging for someone to burst the bubble for you.  - Y/N… There were some unexpected complications, and we did everything we could, but unfortunately we weren’t able to save her… I’m very sorry for your loss. - his words come off slowly, weighted while showing you an understanding look, breaking down the news of a reality that you don’t want to face.

Soon enough, your body is met with an empty, cold room again, the deafening silence filling your veins as you cry out every emotion in your being to the point of exhaustion. Your baby girl is gone. The light of your life, the company that would never leave your side, the reason why the sky would be filled with such bright, beautiful colors at the end of every day. 

What if you die with all of the colours? In the same way that the sky turns black after the sunset, following the clouds that dress the dark blue, turning it into a painful shade of dark grey, reaching black while the moon stands tall in the atmosphere, only to hide behind one of the clouds. In this moment, your life has lost all meaning, all color surrounding your days. After this, what’s the reason to keep going? 

After Hope, the flood in your eyes, pouring from your heart, is everything you have left. Now, you won’t get to see the color of her eyes once you would finally cradle her in your arms, you won’t get to smell her hair, to touch her small, soft hands. Right now, the only thing you have left of her are the thoughts and dreams of all the nights when you imagined what she would look like. But that's just a dream that won't come true anymore.

Even while being in your belly, your daughter was able to hold you, to put together all your missing pieces. She gave you the sleep and all the dreams you needed to survive, every time her small fingers touched yours through your bump, hugging you the way she could. 

Maybe that was the purpose of her short passage through this dimension of life: to teach you more about the purest love that lives inside of us, and not on anyone else. But right now, the only thing you can do is cry and scream, question God and life, wanting to know why this is happening to you. Why did they have to take your baby girl away from you? 

You were never a fan of storms, until you felt the thunder hitting inside of you, wrecking you apart, ripping you to shreds, destroying every good thing that was left of you. And as the rain outside grows heavier, your heart can’t help but see them as the tears of your little one. The drops falling outside, hitting your window, are the tears of the ones who left already, missing their loved ones who stayed in this world - that are missing them in the same way, especially the ones who left way too soon, like your little princess. 

He doesn’t really know why, but ever since that rainy afternoon when you ran away from his house with a tear-stained face, Lewis was left with a heavy heart, like the echo of thunder - one that hasn’t left him for the past five months, constantly pumping inside of his chest, not giving him any rest.

He regrets what he did to you, he truly does. There’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t think about you, and there’s nothing more that he wants than to talk to you, look into your eyes again, letting you know how sorry he is: for the woman who left his bed, for making love the way he saved for you inside his head. 

Lewis still dreams about you, every single night. And since you are no longer next to him, all he wants to do lately is lay down, so his mind can bring you closer to him again, making it seem like all his mistakes have been erased, holding your figure in his arms gently like he used to love so much. 

But, every night, he ends up being tortured by his own mind, his guilty conscience not letting him rest while he replays every single thing that happened on the last day he saw you. Every time he washes his body, he thinks about the way his limbs were entangled with another woman’s, in between the same bed he used to love you in. Looking back now, it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth losing you, over some stupid one night fantasy, trading the love of a lifetime for someone who he never wants to see again, after his mind captured the heartbreak in your eyes. 

When he lies in his bed, his mind wishes your scent would still be in his sheets, calming down his racing heart to sleep. And it could be, having him not decided to bring another woman over - losing every bit of your existence that still lingered in his place.

His heart shrinks in his chest every time he remembers every detail of your skin, the precious features he used to hold safely in his hands while his lips would shower you with love. It’s you: the one for him, the missing piece in his heart, the half of his being that seems to disappear and never come back again. Your silence destroys him, and even while being blocked on your phone, he still insists on dialing your number every morning, almost falling in love with your voicemail message that seems to never abandon him, repeating your voice over and over again, even when his mind threatens to forget about it. 

Deep down, he knows he lost you - for good. But, for some reason, inside his mind, it’s like you just said ‘be right back!’, like you would tell him across the living room, when you would go out to do some grocery shopping. 

And even if he knows that he lost you, and that you don’t even want to look at his face again after everything he did, his heart can’t help but force him to wait, patiently looking at the dry flowers that you used to water before you left, that ended up dying, like all the love you held for him - waiting for you to open the door again, flashing him your bright smile at the sight of the love of your life lying in bed, waiting to cuddle you, so the love between your bodies can blossom again, the house can feel as bright as before, the flowers can come back to life. 

It hurts him to realize that you said goodbye, even after not really being here. Not talking to him, not wanting to hear everything that he has to say to you after you caught him in the most shameful moment of his life. And just like a fallen fighter, lying on the ring, waiting for the empty room, Lewis still waits for your love, even if that’s the last thing he will do with his life. 

There’s still some loose notes that he found around his place, love notes that you used to write him before you left for work, so your boyfriend could wake up to some loving messages from you - that and that he makes sure to keep reading on a daily basis now, to remember how much you used to love him, and how he managed to lose the most precious thing that has ever appeared in his life. 

I have the name of a flower when you call me. But, when you touch me, I don't even know if I'm water, a girl or an entire field of flowers that has crossed through me. - another letter reads, making tears tingle in the man’s brown eyes as his soul feels emptier by the day, when you’re not by his side. 

It’s hard for Lewis to pull through every hour of every day, knowing that you’re not in his life anymore, the reason why his heart would beat faster, making everything seem so dull without your giggles as the soundtrack of every moment you two would share. 

But nothing could prepare Lewis for the instant he ran into your mother. It was supposed to be just a normal, quick trip to the nearest pharmacy, so he could buy some vitamins, feeling a cold starting to get to him. 

His eyes darted through the space while he waited for someone to call his number in line. And that’s when his eyes landed on your mum, the nice, sweet lady that always accepted him in her family, as if he was her own son. 

Her hands are full with different boxes of pills, and his eyebrows furrow - could she be sick? Her face doesn’t make it seem like the lady is sick, but instead, she looks rather down, and he can’t help but notice how she’s all dressed in black, almost as if she was mourning the loss of someone. 

His heart can’t help but hurt at the thought of something happening to you, but he doesn’t feel the courage in himself to reach for the woman, to try and ask what happened, not after all the damage that he caused his daughter. 

Even if he tries not to stare too much at her, your mother recognizes him when she’s getting ready to leave the pharmacy, and she’s the one approaching Lewis. He can’t help but feel himself growing afraid of what your mother is about to tell him, this being the first time he gets the chance to talk to someone from your family, after everything that happened. But, somehow, the woman’s sad eyes let him know that she’s not reaching out to berate him.

- Hi Lewis… I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s something that I think you should know. - your mum’s tone is serious, alongside her closed facial expression, and that’s enough to startle your ex-boyfriend even more, growing worried that something actually might have happened to you. 

Walking outside the pharmacy into a secluded corner of the parking lot - trying to escape the heavy rain that insists on falling from the sky, Lewis keeps noticing how your mum’s breathing sounds heavy, like she is carrying all the weight of the world on her shoulders, and his anxiety just continues growing in anticipation. 

- Is everything alright, Carol? - Lewis asks, trying not to pressure the woman to talk, but feeling his nerves boiling with concern. 

His ex-mother-in-law takes a deep sigh, looking him in the eyes. 

- You were an absolute prick for what you’ve done to Y/N, everybody knows that. But still, I think you have the right to know, since you were the father… - your mum speaks softly, but still with some bitterness evident in her tongue.

Lewis’ face immediately scrunched at the word ‘father’. He was the what? 

- Excuse me, what? - he can’t help but interrupt your mother’s train of thought, not understanding what she’s trying to tell him right now.

The thing is, your mother knew that Lewis’ didn’t know about the loss, but she thought he knew that you were pregnant. But no, he didn’t. He didn’t know anything. And it takes a second for her to realize it, but once she does, a deeper sigh escapes her lips. 

- Y/N was pregnant, Lewis… when all of that happened between you two… She was already carrying your child, she found out when she was six weeks pregnant. I thought she had told you. - the woman briefly explained, making Lewis’ eyes widen, his mouth hanging open, at a complete loss for words at what he is finding out, now. 

No, you didn’t tell him, and now he understands why. That morning, when you showed up at his place, you were going to tell him. But you ended up not doing it, due to the miserable picture that you met once the door opened. 

Lewis forcefully closes his eyes, wishing things could go back to normal once he opens them again, but they can’t. There’s a whirlwind of new information swirling around his brain, and he is struggling to keep up, to let it sink in, but he feels like all the air just got ripped out of his lungs. However, there’s still more to come. 

- No, I didn’t know, unfortunately. But, you said she ‘was’...? - These last words leave his mouth slowly, a whisper that he is scared to unravel if he speaks louder, not wanting to come to terms with a harsher reality. 

Carol just nods her head ‘yes’, visibly growing emotional as Lewis feels his entire world collapsing around him, now. 

- There were some unexpected complications… Y/N rushed to the hospital, she said she was in a lot of pain, the doctors admitted her immediately… But unfortunately, they couldn’t save the baby. Her name was Hope. Your daughter, my granddaughter. - your mum is now fully crying as the pain still feels fresh on her skin. The woman covers her eyes with her hands momentarily, while Lewis is just looking around in pure shock, feeling some tears showing up on his eyes as well. 

He feels a part of himself dying as well, just by knowing that he was going to be a dad, a girl dad, his biggest dream ever. The love of his life was expecting his baby, and not only was he dumb enough to waste everything you two had, but he also wasn’t by your side while you were going through the worst moment, the greatest loss of your entire life. 

And for some seconds, your mum and Lewis just silently share the tears escaping their eyes, the man not really knowing what to say after this bomb that just dropped in his chest. 

- Was there someone else with her? - he finally speaks up, not knowing if you decided to restart your life with someone else, or if your family was by your side through this hard time.  - She only told us about it once she left the hospital… We went to visit her after, but unfortunately she was there all alone when all that was happening, oh my poor baby girl. - the woman’s cries are the ones of a mother who couldn’t protect her daughter, be there for her when she needed it the most… just like the sobs leaving your body every night, because you were not able to save your princess. - But believe me, Lewis: that baby was a little fighter. Just like her mum. 

His hands rub his face, a sigh escaping his figure now as well, not really wanting to believe that all of this is real. 

- And how is she? -  Lewis asks, thinking about your state, how you must be feeling terribly, how badly you must need someone to be by your side, and how desperately he feels the need to reach for you, to mourn the loss of the angel that was half of you and half of him. - These are for her. - your mum shows him the meds she just bought. - Physically, she is still recovering, but emotionally, she is absolutely destroyed, Lewis. I am afraid that I lost my little girl forever, as well. She will never be the same again. - your mother can’t help but share a hug with Lewis, the man who loved you, who made your sparkle shine for so long, the one everyone thought would be your ‘forever’. And also the one who lost you as well, without any chance of getting you back.  - Anyway, my son will be visiting her tomorrow, so he can bring her this medication, and right now, the only thing we can do is give her time. It will take her a long while to recover from all this. - the woman says, wiping away her tears as she tries to compose herself. 

At her words, Lewis’ brain lights up with an idea. 

- Can I come with him? Please, I need to see her. I need to see her more than ever now. - he pleads, seeing the way your mum’s face closes again, her features so similar to yours, definitely not thinking it’s a good idea. - Please, Carol. You said it earlier, I have the right to know, I have the right to talk to her, at least one more time. It was my baby as well, and I didn’t even know anything about her! -  Lewis insists, trying to get the woman to give in to his begging.  - Well, we all know why you didn’t know a thing about your daughter, Lewis. - the words hit him like a ton of bricks, making him go silent for a minute, knowing that she is right. He didn’t know anything about his child, because he made the dumbest, worst mistake of his entire life. 

But, if there’s something that Lewis might be thankful for, is the soft spot in your mum’s heart for him. Deep down, she just wished everything could go back to normal, to the way things were before, so she could look into her daughter’s eyes and see the sunshine on them again, instead of having to deal with the pain of seeing you so miserable. Your mother doesn’t know how you are going to react to the sight of Lewis being in front of you again, but she can only hope that maybe it might help you in some way, softening your broken heart, as you share the pain of losing something so dear to both of you, that you never got to meet. So, sighing, she gives in. 

- Okay, maybe you can go with Simon. But if you mess this up one more time, I’m never looking at your face ever again, Lewis. You need to keep in mind that this is partially your fault, as well. You can’t just meet her and think that you will win my daughter over again, because that won’t happen. I’m warning you. - the woman says to him, before finally entering her car and driving away. 

Lewis walks inside his car as well, taking a deep breath as he leans his head on his seat. Finally, the tears fall free from his eyes as he allows himself to feel everything in his bones. Every information, every mental image of you pregnant, suffering alone, losing your baby.

And he wasn’t there. And he didn’t know about it. He wasn’t there to go with you to your doctor appointments, to hear his daughter’s heartbeat, to caress your belly, to rub your feet once they started swelling, to hold your hair back when your morning sickness got the best of you. He was the father of that baby. He should have been there all along, by your side. And he didn’t, because of one dumb, unreasonable decision that he randomly made on one night, just because he was feeling bored to spend the night alone. 

Now, everything makes sense. Your hand in your belly once he saw you at his door, the regret, pain, splattered all over your eyes as you took in the scene unfolding inside his house, the definition of another woman’s touch on his body. 

He feels sick to his stomach, grossed out by himself, not bearing to be inside his own body right now. The man punches the steering wheel one time after the other, sobs and screams leaving his frame as he feels an inexplicable anger growing inside of him. But he is not angry at you - he could never be. He is angry at himself, at his actions. 

What if he had chosen to run after you, on that rainy afternoon? What if he had decided to follow his gut, that was telling him to meet you, to not let you go. Maybe things would be different - or not. At least, maybe you could have told him about the pregnancy, maybe he could have been a bit more involved in your baby’s small existence. 

But instead, he decided to leave you alone, not wanting to put salt in your wounds even further. Little did he know that he was just starting a storm inside of you, leaving you to deal with the consequences of it all by yourself. 

The raindrops are loud when they hit his car windows, almost as if they’re trying to muffle the loud cries escaping the man’s body, so the world couldn’t hear how destroyed he is right now. 

When you needed him the most, he didn’t show up. He didn’t feel any urgency in coming to your place after promising you the future and ripping every shred of hope out of your soul, playing with your feelings, stringing you along and masking it as if it was nothing, seeing the desperation in your features, the hurt painted in your eyes, so devastatingly that it could send bullets straight to his chest.

The only thing he gave you was the discouragement of a broken heart, of a lonely soul who lost everything it once had. But desire is the limit of the mere mortals, and wishing he could make it different right now, is the only thing he can do, but it won’t change a thing. He ruined the most important thing of his life, and above all, he lost the chance of growing the happiest of families by your side, ruining it so hard that he didn’t even get to meet his daughter. 

Your mother’s words echo through his mind. A little fighter, just like her mum, and he can’t stop thinking about how life has been so cruelly good to him lately: standing high on podiums, travelling through the world, succeeding in each task he would dedicate himself to. While you were suffering, in pain, crying, alone, bleeding for your baby, losing part of yourself in the process, while he had no clue about what was going on: his daughter, that would desperately need a father to hold her, to protect her, to lull her to sleep. One that never got to touch her mother’s belly to meet her small hand, to speak to her, to kiss her through the skin on the bump she comfortably used to lay. One that she didn't get to meet while she was still breathing. 

How could he dare to even feel an ounce of happiness in his body, even when his mind would feel heavy with the thought of you? While you were yelling out of desperation, the sound almost reverberated in his lungs, making him feel like something wasn’t right. While you were trembling out of agony, feeling yourself dying in seconds on that fateful day. Only to be heard, comforted by strangers. When he should have been there, he should have been better to you.

And on that night, Lewis can’t even fall asleep. Tears keep falling free from his eyes as it almost feels as if he can hear the sounds of your screams echoing through the walls of his house, in the same way they reflect all the tears that escaped your eyes on the last days that you’ve been to his place.

His house feels haunted, by the thoughts of everything that you had to go through alone, and by the idea of him being father of a soul that briefly passed through this earth, but that he didn’t get the chance to meet.

His daughter, Hope. What a beautiful name you chose for her, Lewis couldn’t have chosen a better one. His mind rushes to put your features together, so he could maybe try and imagine what his princess would look like, if she has had a chance to breathe in the scent of all the flowers in this land and feel the rays of sunshine hitting her soft baby skin.

After the storm, lightning stops radiating through the skies, only reverberating inside of you, after taking your baby away from you. Every time it rains, you picture your baby’s cries, how you could nestle her on your chest, kiss her forehead softly and calm her down. And when the rain stops, the calm that remains is more of a void than a relief. 

Three weeks have passed by since your baby girl’s heart stopped beating. Three weeks of immeasurable pain, missing her, her touches, her company so, so much. Right now, you have nothing to hold on to. So you just force yourself to stay until late at your office, glued to your laptop screen, filling all your hours with work, so you can forget about everything else, so your mind doesn’t have enough time to think about anything else. 

Everyone else around you would say that you have been acting like a robot, lately. Living on autopilot, burying yourself in work duties, getting little sleep, eating late at night inside of your car - in the rare moments that you remember that you need to eat.

It’s not as if you don’t want to eat nor rest. That just doesn’t seem to be a crucial part of what surviving means to you, lately. Life took away from you the most beautiful things you once had. Your relationship, that used to feel like a dream. Your baby, that came to you to save you, to be in your arms and glue all your broken pieces together. Now, you are left with nothing.

The only reason why you keep pushing through the days, is because you need to. In your mind, you are the common factor to both losses you suffered in the past months, so maybe you are the problem. Maybe you aren’t good enough to keep anyone by your side for long enough. 

Maybe you did something so wrong that Lewis just grew tired of you, wanting a break from you and everything you represented in his life. And maybe that’s why your baby couldn’t stick around until her time came to meet this world, to meet you: her mother, who carried her alone until her last breath. 

Not a day goes by where your eyes won’t shed some silent tears, but ever since you lost the light of your life, you feel so lifeless, that it’s like you can’t even feel a thing inside of you anymore, just letting the tears fall free while barely feeling them on your skin.

You feel like your baby can be watching you from above, like the little angel she is. Maybe that’s why you haven’t given up on life yet. Hope can definitely see how bereft you are, noticing that you haven’t been doing too well. This is not the mummy she knew and loved. The mummy she met was healing, thanks to her. It had a lighter heart to her, and was on the way to find the peace of mind that she so desperately deserved and wanted. Mummy smiled more, especially when Hope would stretch her tiny hand to talk to mummy. 

But that’s not who you are, anymore. Once again, you are left with desperation, with your broken, empty heart to hold, to try and mend. But you’re not mending it anymore. You just keep living because you deserve to suffer, you deserve to take all the punishments from not being able to save your daughter, to be there for her when she needed you the most. Your body failed her, and that’s why she’s no longer here.

If you are telling the truth, you hate that you are here again: in this dark place, in the middle of a void that doesn’t allow you to breathe, living through the struggle of just wanting to cave, never wanting to fight, dying inside. Of being lonely all the time. You should say sorry to the friends you’ve lost due to your isolation, to your family, from pushing them away most of the time. 

You regret a lot of things and you owe a lot of apologies to a lot of people, but mostly: you are sorry to yourself. This was never your intention, this isn’t how you wished your life would go. And you could promise you will get help and actively start trying to live. But that would be an empty promise. And you just truly are sorry that you lost yourself for good, this time. You wish you could fall into a deep sleep, begging for someone only to wake you up once all of this is over and the old you has reappeared. But for your old version to show up, you needed to have your baby girl in your arms. There’s no way you can be yourself without Hope close to you. 

You need time, of course you do. But that won’t bring you back. With time, the rivers and the hills will come closer. And with time, the thing that will start eating out of your hand and nest in your bed, is just one: silence.

In the afternoon, Lewis feels the anxiety running through his body as he gets ready to hop in the car with your brother, Simon - another person he hasn’t seen since you two had broken up.

The car ride is filled with an uncomfortable silence between the two men, neither of them speaking much besides the time when your brother told Lewis how you decided to move to this small town, around thirty minutes away from your parents house. 

Apart from that, they don’t really quite know what to say to the other. Your ex-boyfriend notices how Simon is also dressed in black, just like your mum was, and he looks down at himself, noticing how he unconsciously chose a pair of black jeans and a dark grey sweater, feeling like he lost someone important to him as well, even if most people don’t think he has the right to feel this way.

Lewis can feel this tension growing in between them, feeling in his bones how your brother is resenting every single thing that your ex-boyfriend did to you, realizing how hard it must be for Simon to sit beside him again, especially while driving him to meet you. 

If he was being honest, your brother was against this idea of Lewis knowing where you live right now, of him going there to interrupt your moment, thinking he can even feel half of all the pain that you have been through lately, most of it being caused by him and his selfish, self-centered attitudes. 

Knowing you like the back of his hand, your brother is sure that you won’t enjoy Lewis’ visit. But maybe, just by looking deep into your eyes and seeing the way you will reject him, will make the man finally back down, giving up on bothering you even further, on finally leaving you to try and recover. 

When Simon finally stops the car, Lewis’ heart races in his chest, making him feel so small and insignificant when compared to the importance of this moment right here, right now. Leaving the car, he follows your brother, who walks inside a dark green gate, leading to a small garden in front of a house. 

Unlike every other day, today isn’t raining. The light grey clouds are still standing high in the sky, but there’s a glimpse of sun in the horizon, one that gently lights up the day. Lewis finds your silhouette, sitting on a bench, your eyes fixed on the timid sun rays that seem to entice your gaze. 

Your brother is the one taking the first step, walking to the front of you, so your eyes can meet the guy who never left your side through it all. You slowly get up, wrapping your arms around Simon’s body gently in a warm hug, the only source of comfort that you allow yourself to feel from time to time. 

Simon is looking back at Lewis, and you follow his eyes, turning around to feel your world squeezing your body, tightening around you to the point it hurts to breathe, with the unwanted presence of the man who threw the first rock that made your glass start to shatter, until it completely broke down. 

Lewis is completely silent and frozen in place, like his mind has forgotten all about words and movements. He can’t believe his eyes. The first sight of the love of his life, after five months of not seeing each other, is brutal. You are all dressed in black, looking thinner than the last time he saw you. Your hair is longer now, and you use it to cover most of your features, but the dark bags under your eyes are still evident. 

In a silent exchange of glances, neither of you dares to say a thing, until Lewis finally feels the strength in his legs to slowly walk over to you. His steps are heavy, contrasting with the way his knees feel like they could buckle at any second. And when he gets as close as he physically can to you, his eyes meet yours again. 

The eyes that once held all the hopes and dreams of a life by his side, that would shine in the moonlight, while lying next to him in between the sheets of his bed, the ones who used to mirror all the love stringing along both of your bodies. They are, now, as empty as a dark, abandoned street, whose most hidden corner can’t even be recognized at night. The eyes that he once knew how to read as if they were his favorite book, are now the ones who scare him, the void inside of your soul visible through the gate that your gaze allows. 

Lewis’ own eyes are flooded with tears now, not even caring about wiping away the tears that fall down his cheeks. His trembling hand is slowly reaching for your face, gently putting some strands of hair away from your features, so he can see you in your plenitude: the emotionless expression, the dark eyes that seem lifeless. When his fingers start caressing your cheek lovingly, his breathing gets caught in his throat, noticing how cold your body feels against his touch. 

- It’s me, Y/N… I’m here, love. I know it took me a long while, but I’m here now. - he cries, only to be met with silence from your side. 

You don’t mind replying to him, not feeling an ounce of any feeling or sensation through your body. You don’t hold any grudges, any remorse. You’re not angry nor sad at him anymore. To tell the truth, you don’t feel any kind of emotion towards Lewis anymore. The only feeling that you allow to inhibit inside of you, is the pain and guilt of losing your baby, of not being able to protect her, as you were supposed to. And that’s the only thing that makes you feel angry at yourself: the heaviest weight that you will carry forever on your shoulders. 

So you just stay silent, even if the man in front of you is begging you to say something. There’s nothing to say, there’s nothing to do after every event that took place in your life for the past five months. Instead of speaking, your eyes just try to look through him, inside the soul who you once thought to be yours, but that, in reality, it always belonged to the world, and never to only you.

Lewis’ eyes dart from your face to your belly, and his hand yearns to land a small touch on it, as if he will get to feel the heartbeat, the movements of his daughter that he didn’t get to meet while he could. However, the man prevents himself from doing it, trying for a second to imagine the indescribable amount of pain that gesture would bring you. 

Breaking down in front of you, the man crumbles, wrapping his arms around you tightly, bringing you close as his head rests on the crook of your neck, sobbing into your frame. This used to be his favorite place in the whole world: your neck, your chest, where he would search for your warmth, where he used to lay his head to drift off to the most peaceful of all sleeps when he desperately needed a rest, one that would allow him to switch off all the worries inside of his brain. That’s the power you used to have on him. 

And now, he can’t even feel the softness of your skin anymore, being met with the barrier of the black turtleneck you’re wearing, feeling like a wall made of stone, preventing him, and the rest of the world, from getting access to you again.

Underneath the fabric of your shirt, he knows what he would find: the sharpness of your bones, the coldness of your fragile body that has been through so much, instead of the enticing scent of yours, the collarbone lines that were once soft under his lips. 

Still, he holds you as close as he possibly can, almost trying to glue all your pieces back together, but he doesn’t feel your arms wrapping around his body at any moment. 

You are staying still, your arms on the sides of your body, limp, without a reaction. You don’t reciprocate his touch one bit, not feeling like you should try to console someone who simply decided to leave your life. But still, you allow him to find his home in you again, even if it’s just for a brief moment, while his face is ducked in the crook of your neck, hiding from his actions, from the world outside of this moment. 

Your eyes are staring at the emptiness of the air, noticing how numb you feel as you hear the man’s loud sobs and cries, feeling how his arms are desperately touching your figure, scared that you might run away again if he lets go of you, scared that he might drown in his sorrow if you don’t hold him up. But his pain doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. It’s not yours to deal with anymore. He wasn’t there for you when the most painful tears were staining your crimson cheeks, when your throat hurt from screaming so loud when you lost your baby, when you bled for days, only to deal with your destruction by yourself. 

And after giving him the bit of home that he can still find in yourself for a moment - even if you feel like you have nothing else inside of you to give, you finally take a step back, leaving his hold, his touch. 

Lewis is left clutching the air, his breathing ragged, a shocked expression on his face. Desperation fills the man’s body, destruction coming along with it because this wasn’t just a step back from his hold, and he knows it. He knows how badly he fucked up, he knows the pain he caused to your life. You’re no longer his, and he knows what that step back from him actually means: for as long as you’re breathing, you will never be his again. 

- I know you were going to tell me about the pregnancy, and we both know why you ended up not doing it. But baby, you should have come to me either way, after everything that happened. I should have been there for you, it was my responsibility to be there for you, my love. - Lewis’ face is stained with tears as he tries to reason with you, feeling a heartache so strong inside of him that could kill him right then and there. 

His voice is gentle, even if he’s hurt. Your presence is making him feel so guilty that he tries to use the loving pet names to make you soften up a bit more for him, reminding you of what you two once had, hoping it could help ease the heavy weight on his shoulders, alongside the agonizing pain in his chest.

But again, his tears and begs don’t make you feel anything. 

- It was my loss, so it is mine alone to deal with. - you say, your tone hoarse and cold. The first time he hears your voice again, after so long, without it being through your voicemail message. And your words sting, hard, in his heart.  - It wasn’t only your loss, Y/N… I was the father of that little girl. I had the right to know, to hear her heartbeat, to see the ultrasounds, to dream about a life with her in my arms, just like you did. - the salty tears don’t stop falling from Lewis’ eyes, feeling completely wrecked by the moment, by your harsh words. 

For a moment, you look down at your hands, fidgeting with your own fingers while biting your tongue, finding no point in arguing, in letting him know all the harm he caused you. He’s not stupid, he knows all about that. Your gaze travels through your ring finger, that still has the tan line of that damn promise ring he gave you, one that you wore for so many years - and a bitter chuckle escapes your lips, remembering all the empty promises he made, but never kept. 

- She stopped being your daughter the exact moment I went to your place to let you know I was expecting, only to find you lost in another woman’s arms. Mind you, not just any woman, but my childhood best friend. All of that because you needed time away from me, right? Because you needed a break. - your words are sharp as a knife, and you nod your head at his silence now. - Exactly, Lewis. You were never her father, you didn’t deserve to know anything about my daughter. And I’m devastated that I lost her, it’s a pain that will never stop haunting me, but if I’m being honest, I’m so glad I never had a baby with you. 

It’s like the entire world collapses around Lewis, his heart feeling like it’s being punched over and over again by you, collecting every consequence of his actions, drinking the tears that never stopped spilling from his eyes since the moment he saw you. 

Turning your back to him, you grab your coat from the bench. 

- Tell mom and dad I love them. - you ask your brother, hugging him one last time before entering your car. 

Lewis is left a sobbing mess, his body almost giving in as he is the one sitting on the bench now, hiding his face in his hands as he lets out all the sorrow spill from his body, through the endless tears escaping him. 

This is it, for him. It’s the end of a dream that he prayed so hard to get back, but that slipped through his fingers, on his own will - he destroyed his own world. And right now, it doesn’t matter how he might scream loud and feral, pouring out his rawest emotions, how badly he might sob, missing you to death. He doesn’t do it for you anymore. And even if, deep down, you still love him, it doesn’t really matter anymore, because the two of you will never be in the same room again.

Your name slips from his lips a countless amount of times, whispering it as if it could bring you back, asking God why?, only to be met with the silence surrounding him, matching how silent you went when he hugged you, not feeling magnetized to him anymore - that silence that could be heard from afar, sounding louder than all the heartbreaking screams you let out on the day you lost your little light. 

Now, the sun won’t shine as bright as it used to before, for him. The flowers won’t have such beautiful colors, the earth won’t move so graciously. If the power of the understanding between two souls doesn't change the world, definitely no part of the world is exactly the same after two souls understand each other. And how badly does he miss the times you would understand the other so easily, so effortlessly, firmly believing you were made for each other.

After this, nothing will be able to mend Lewis again. He is paying for everything he has done to the love of his life, and no trophy or podium could ever replace the dark void that lives in his heart, now. No sun can erase what has already collapsed inside of him.

Driving away, you let out the deepest breath, your hands tightening around the steering wheel until your knuckles are turning white. The rage inside of you right now is enough to start a storm, to make the most scary of all thunders to erupt through the skies, but looking at your passenger seat, you remind yourself that you have more important things to do, now. 

Today marks the third week that you’ve lost your baby. In the morning, you went to the florist, buying a bouquet of pink carnations - the lady letting you know that they represent a love, or someone, that will never be forgotten. 

And now, as the sun starts getting ready to set on the horizon, you drive to the river near your house, the safe place you used to go when your morning sickness would get the best of you, when you feel lonely most of times, having no one by your side and finding some comfort in the birds flying around you, in the flowers blooming alongside the way. It’s a newfound tradition that you make sure to do every week, on the exact same day, living through the days in autopilot, until the day arrives. 

Near the river, the wind is cold but soft, gently pushing the hair from your face, drying all the tears from your face. Sitting on a bench near the water, your shadow is hugged by a tall tree that protects you from the rain, in case it decides to fall. 

This is your place now, your refuge. Where you come to cry, to speak to your daughter, knowing that she loved the time you two have spent here. The hours pass by fast when you’re paying attention to the warm, gentle, bright colors that invade the sky as the sun sets in front of you, while noticing the movement of the tide, how the water reflects the nature embracing you. 

You could forget to eat, to sleep, or to do some house chore. But you could never, ever, forget about the date you lost your baby, never forgetting to stop by the lovely florist that already has a new bouquet ready for you every week, never not sitting by the river at the end of the day.

It seems like this safe spot hugs your heart, caresses your broken soul, speaks to you in ways no one ever did. It’s like your little Hope lives here now, waiting for her mummy to come see her as she asks the skies to prepare the most beautiful sunset for your eyes to see. 

And as you throw the flowers into the water, you carefully see the way the tide hugs the petals away from you, slowly taking them out of your sight, just like life has taken away your baby girl from your hold. 

It’s a silent moment that speaks for your heart. It’s a hurtful I miss you, and I’m sorry I failed to protect you, I will always love you more than life, that you can’t seem to say verbally, just letting the tears fall down your cheeks as you see the seagulls flying in direction to the horizon, towards the light, searching for it, in the exact same way that you try to search for yours: for a light, a signal, a reason to keep going - even if she lives in the sky, now. 

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | part two ->

chapter summary: A bet is proposed.

the song: honey by halsey

2,563 words | please see the masterlist for general warnings | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  Your fingers tightened around the handlebars, palms damp and grip too loose for your liking. A deep furrow seems permanent between your brows, resting under the cherry red plastic that brought you into this mess. Their words ringing in your ears like a jingle of a commercial - annoying and unable to ignore if you tried. 

  “What a girl - she needs a helmet to ride a bike?”

  And if that comment alone wasn’t bad enough, Steve Harrington had to chime in. Leaning over his own handlebars, smirking, daring you to challenge him. 

  “What you need it for anyways? Not like you were planning to go down the destroyer. Bet you were just going to Benny’s for ice cream.”

  The other boys had snickered, Steve’s smirk grew into a full wattage, cocky, grin. That is until you lifted your chin, kicked up dust directly at him as you turned your bike and said: 

  “Cute you still call it the destroyer. I’ve been biking down that hill for years. How about I show you and buy you an ice cream cone afterwards Harrington?”

  Boys ‘oo’ed’, Steve’s jaw clenched, and your chest filled with some sort of powerful and addicting feeling as you biked towards your lie. 

  Which now sits in front of you. The legend so aptly named by the Hawkins population of thirteen and under due to it’s sheer height and the gravel that sat below it. A hill way out near the Quarry, it took half the day to bike there and back - if you still had your bike after that is. It was the tallest point in Hawkins aside from a grassy hill teens would sneak away to. 

  From the top of the destroyer, you could see the whole town, all the way down to the bottom of the Quarry, the road, and where it turned to gravel to lead to the sort of landing at the base of the pit. 

  It was the point the hill turned to gravel that truly gave the bike killer its name. If one somehow got the courage, or in your case straight up stupidity and false confidence for brains, to decide to go down the hill, your speed by the time you reached the bottom would be too much and the gravel was a relentless enemy. 

  You’d heard stories of bikes skidding, of scratched up, bruised limbs. There was even a tale of one boy who toppled over his handlebars and popped his shoulder out of place. 

  And you’d told Steve Harrington you’d been going down it for years. 

  “Hey.”

  His voice was far quieter than you were used to hearing, like he wanted you to have to lean in and listen to what he was about to tell you. 

  When you turned to tell him you didn’t care for what he had to say, you were shocked to find his cheek pulled between his teeth, wavy hair pushed up at odd angles like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times. Steve wrapped his fingers around his own handlebars tighter, like if his grip was strong enough, yours would be too, straddling his bike next to yours and gulping as he looked down the hill. 

  “What?” You finally asked, fingers toying with the straps of your helmet. 

  “I don’t think you should do this…” 

  As the boys whispered behind you, you frowned and didn’t dare think about how Steve’s voice wobbled a little, like there was some real emotion behind the warning. 

  Like he cared. 

  “I’m truly touched you were able to scrounge up enough brain cells to force a thought, but I have never and will never care what you think Steve Harrington.”

  That same swelling feeling of triumph filled your chest when the other boys laughed and Steve’s ears started to turn as red as your helmet. 

  Steve ignored the laughing, voice a twinge stronger than before as he said, “You’re gonna get hurt.”

  “I’ve done this hundreds of-“

  Steve said your last name, grabbed your handlebars. His golden eyes burning with something as he practically begged you to listen to what he was trying to say.

  “You’re being stupid.”

  From this close, you could see more freckles along the bridge of his nose, see that his eyes weren’t brown but had a little green in them. You could smell lemonade and sunblock and something about it all made you panic. Made you push him off and add extra bite to your tone, hoping your words stung him.  

  “Yeah? Well, you’d know all about stupid, Harrington.”

  And then you pushed off, the call of your name drowned out by the wind rushing past your ears. 

  Hawkins, Indiana - the present

  Your eyes roll almost in time with Harrison Ford’s. A man who’s currently on the suspended screens because he has some weird thing about a movie with him being on while he’s flirting. Like Harrison’s energy is in the store with him, a guiding wingman. 

  What a tool. 

  Eddie’s lips quirk up in a lopsided smirk across from you when your shoulders tense at the shrill giggle to your left. You roll them back, then your head from side to side. Your fingers meet to form the goal post again, elbows sticking to laminated sheets screaming about summer deals and most definitely some sort of residual soda spill.

  “So,” a deeper voice than what you know it to typically sound like catches the tail end of the giggle, “If I were to call this number right now-“

  “I’m not home, silly,” another forced giggle interrupts. 

  Eddie sighs when you straighten up again, your teeth snapping at a red vine as you watch the hand reach forward and tuck a perfect blonde ringlet behind an ear, then linger. 

  “Well,” he leans in, voice stickier than the honey of his eyes, “If you were home…I’d call you.” He taps the tip of her nose with the pad of a finger, then flashes a smile brighter than the overhead fluorescents. “And ask you if you’d be free for a movie tonight?”

  Robin snorts next to your ankle behind the counter. Green vest covered shoulders rising as they shake with somewhat silent laughter and her head hides between her knees, tapes scattered on the floor around her. 

  Your head shakes back and forth in baffled amazement. It’s like an accident - you can’t help but watch  the wreck that’s about to-

  “And if I were home to answer, I’d tell you to pick me up at 7.” 

  The red vine falls from your mouth onto the counter, as you watch a little piece of paper leave manicured fingers and slip into the front pocket of his gray polo.

  A paper football smacks your nose as Eddie sighs out of his. As her hips sway under tight denim, haloed by the bright sunshine when the trill of the door chimes on her exit, the overpowering scent of vanilla and peaches continues to suffocate. 

  Steve Harrington turns to you all with a cocky grin. He pulls the digits scrawled in loopy font out of his pocket and nestles it between brown leather and green bills before returning the wallet to his back pocket with a pleased sigh. 

  “Oh yeah, I’m back.”

  And then he high fives the TV.

  Not just a tool - a whole box of them.  

  Steve turns when you snort, eyebrows raised at you as he takes his place behind the counter again. 

  “Something funny?” He asks, reaching toward your box of red vines. 

  “Real funny,” you admit, snatching them closer, “That you think anything about that interaction means you’re back.”

  Your waist hits the counter as you step out of his reach when he takes another forward with a tilted head. His fingers just miss the red candy when he huffs. 

  “Enlighten me, babe.”

  “Don’t,” you hiss, “Call me babe.”

  The counter digs into your back, Steve leans in closer, mint and cedar beginning to overpower the peaches, and you hate that you don’t mind the difference. 

  Steve’s lips smirk, a freckle just above his top one lifting as he tsks, “Wow. Not gonna even acknowledge my big brain word?”

  “Would you like a round of applause, Harrington, for correctly using the word enlighten?” 

  He grins, he nods, his fingers snatch a piece of the licorice up, “Yeah. Yeah I would.”

  You catch the end of the candy, shaking your head with a scoff. “She called you big boy.”

  Robin, whom you don’t want to admit you’d forgotten was even behind the counter with you, sighs, loudly.

  “Wow. Thanks. I had just forgotten.”

  Steve tugs on the candy between the two of you with raised eyebrows and a look of annoyance. “And?”

  You tug harder, and Steve dares to take another step closer with it, knuckles brushing yours that lay limply next to thighs almost touching. 

  “And, that means you didn’t do a thing except let rumors of what’s underneath your too tight Levi’s spread like the rash you’ve probably given to half this town.”

  Another tug of the candy, though gentler this time, pulls you closer, plastic crinkling against your abdomen as he proudly whispers, “Not rumors, babe.”

  “Call me babe,” you practically growl, “One more time. See what happens.”

  “Okay,” Steve tilts his chin in a challenge, fingers twitching on the candy, “Ba-“

  The red licorice disappears with a flash of silver metal, snapped between white teeth before it’s waved around dramatically.

  “While this is super fun to watch. She’s not wrong Stevie.” Eddie shrugs. 

  Steve takes a step back, red Nike swoosh flashing as he kicks at thread bare carpet. “Sure. She’s never wrong.”

  You have to physically stop yourself from sticking your tongue out at him. 

  Eddie hoists himself up onto the counter, chain tapping and clanking against things as he gets down just as quickly he sits when you snap your fingers and point to the ground. 

  He raises his hands in surrender at you, then waves at Steve with a squint of big, brown eyes. 

  “You’re not back. You barely had to put in any work with that cutie. She was making heart eyes at you from the parking lot, man.”

  Steve holds his arms out at his sides, like he’s innocent. “Just because girl’s know I have a sizeable-“

  “Ew,” you snap another bite of candy. 

  “Appendage-” Steve continues, ignoring you. 

  “You’re sick,” Robin delivers in a monotone from her stack sorting. 

  “And they know I know what I’m doing with it,” Steve talks over Robin in their well-oiled banter, “Doesn’t mean I don’t have to work hard.” Steve dares to place his fingers over his chest and continue with pride dripping from each word, like he truly believes and is proud to say, “I still have to put in the work to look good, to flirt and think on my feet. I have to pull out the Harrington charm. It’s not my fault I have more than other guys to work with.”

  Eddie ponders what Steve is saying thoughtfully, he places his hands behind his back and paces, nodding his head carefully. 

  “Maybe so,” Eddie sighs dramatically, gesturing with a bow to Steve, “We cannot all be gifted with such well-endowment.”

  “I truly hate it here,” Robin says to the ceiling while Steve beams. 

  You tilt your head at Eddie, trying to figure out where he’s going before he gets there. 

  He slaps his hands on the counter, metal clanking against glass displaying candy as he proclaims, “I propose a challenge.”

  Steve snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter next to you, his elbow nudging yours. “What, like a duel?”

  Your eyes roll as you dig your elbow into his, pushing him away. 

  “Intriguing, but maybe another time. I’m fresh out of jousting materials I’m afraid,” Eddie grins. “No, I think, to really know if you’re back, to prove this,” he waves his hands at the entirety of Steve, “All takes real work and you’re not just coasting on what the good lord gave you, you’d need to use it on someone who’s unsuspecting. Someone,” Eddie purses his lips, “Who isn’t already swooning over the mere thought of you.”

  Robin spins, blue eyes alight with intrigue. “Hold on. I’m listening.”

  Steve tilts his head, “You want me to get the number of a girl who hates me?”

  Robin grins like it’s the best things she’s ever heard, but Eddie shakes his head, tugging on a curl. “No. Too easy. I think you need to sleep with her.”

  Your mouth drops open in disbelief and Robin whistles low and slow. 

  Eddie pretends to hold up a scroll, reading from air in a theatric voice, “I, Eddie Munson, declare that Steve Harrington cannot get the next girl to walk through this door of thy Family Video to have sex with him. The rules shall be that Harrington may only pursue said girl after careful consideration of her un-swoonability by yours truly, and will have one week to prove his charming capabilities. The stakes? One hundred dollars. Does Steve Harrington accept such a bet?”

  You scoff, “You’re both not actually making a bet on-“

  Steve’s hand slaps into Eddie’s, both boys smirking as they shake on it. Steve waves his other hand in the air, all nonchalant while confidence oozes out of him. “Next girl that walks through that door, I’m going to fuck. Easy.”

  “Unbelievable, You’re both unbelievable.” Your words are lost on deaf, egotistical ears.

  Eddie nods, he grins with shoulders raised at Steve. “Right. Since you’re back, easy peasy.”

  “Her ass and tits will be squeez-ied.” 

  Robin boos, cupping a hand around her mouth. 

  You gesture to her, “That? That’s what you finally have a problem with?”

  Robin shrugs, grinning, “I’m off the clock in one minute. Then he’s your problem.” She looks at Eddie, “Still able to give me a ride home?”

  Eddie nods, “I am but only the ladies driver,” he turns to you with a snap, “Speaking of, think you left your vest in my van, doll.”

  “Oh shit, thanks,” you bounce around the counter as Robin heads into the back. The door chimes as you squint into the late afternoon summer sun, sneakers kicking pebbles on the way to Eddie’s van, when it hits you. Suddenly. Wonderfully. Beautifully. 

  Your vest is sitting on the counter next to your red vines. 

  You spin, gravel crunching beneath your heels as you look at the front of the store.  

  Heavy steps thud against the ground as you race towards it, meeting a frantic Steve at the set of glass double doors.

  He grips the handles, wild eyes and shaking his head no, as he holds them closed and you tug to open them, grinning. 

  Eddie bows behind Steve as Robin cackles. 

  “What’s the matter Harrington,” you call through the doors, enjoying the way his jaw pulses, “Why can’t I come inside? Enlighten me.”

  Steve’s gaze traces your face, it lingers on your smile before it meets your eyes. 

  A challenge in both sets of glares, neither of you willing to back down. 

  He let’s his hands fall from the handles and rest on his hips as the chime trills overhead with your step inside. 

  You bat your eyelashes, you press the back of your hand to your forehead and pretend to faint against the glass. 

  “Good luck, big boy.” 

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[midnightarcheress]

woke up wanting to write something with my pretty boy kyle and this was born.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. gaz obsessing over the pretty college girl by his side. implied future stalking ig? unedited. part one | part two

someone catches Kyle’s attention on the plane.

his legs are on the verge of cramping and his breath is ragged, running to board his connection flight at the last call. after falling off a helicopter twice in the last operations, he developed an uneasiness of flying, no matter the aircraft, preferring taking the train over being miles up in the air, even if it triples the travel. but this time, he just wanted to get home the fastest way possible for a much-needed night of sleep in his own bed, instead of the barely cushioned military-issued mattress.

he hopped on the plane and made his way through the corridor, gaze fixed on the numbers under the luggage rack, attentively looking for his spot. he stopped by row thirteen, eyes darting between the number and the woman on the window seat. i could’ve sworn i marked that one when i booked? Kyle checks the boarding ticket again – row 13, seat A. it’s the right seat, why is there someone on it? 

an annoyed sigh escapes his lips, gathering the energy to speak up and reclaim his rightfully bought seat. the problem is, he gets ultimately struck when the seat-thief notices him standing and turns to face him. wide eyes meet his brown ones, immediately softening at the sight of your tempting glossy lips and delicate fingers pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. pretty little thing.

“i’m sorry, is this your seat? it was empty on the first flight,” you say, an apologetic tone in your voice as you frantically close the book on your lap and shove it in a bag, “i’ll move back for you–”

“it’s alright, keep it.” he interrupts, throwing his carry-on in the rack and taking the empty middle spot beside you. he smirks at your appreciative nod and watches you settling again on the backrest, buckling the seatbelt at the shining signal hovering your heads and paying extra attention to the flight attendant announcements, even when no one around seems to care. sweet girl, so considerate to everyone.

the plane starts speeding on the runway, and from his peripheral he views your squeezed eyes and nearly white fingers gripping the armrest, breathing quickening during the gravity push of the take off. it takes a moment for you to release your tight grasp and exhale, making his hand twitch with an urge to soothe you, tell you that you’re safe.

he shakes the sensation and leans his head back, focusing on the one thing he can do to pass the time – sleep. but he can’t keep his gaze out of you, glancing to his left whenever you make a movement, no matter how small. the rapid keyboard tapping guides his irises to your laptop screen, catching a few words in a sea of what for him sounds like an alien language. DNA strand? allele? locus mutation?

he sneaks a look through your figure and his eyes land on the familiar blue logo on your hoodie, the same one he always sees on the walk from the market to his flat. uni a couple blocks from me. do you live on campus? or nearby? that neighborhood is awful at night, full of old blokes searching the pubs for a quick fuck with a naive college girl. but you seem smart, not the type to fall for their tricks, right?

the harder he tries to avoid your presence, the more you make yourself known, almost making him feel like it’s on purpose. the way your plump lips wrap on the water bottle, slight drop scaping on the corner and trailing down your neck, your flowery perfume filling his nostrils when you shift on your seat to remove the top layer of your clothing, exposing the low-cut blouse underneath and the soft roundness of your tits. is that for me, sweet girl? need a break from studying so hard? the sudden tightness of his trousers brings him back to his senses, stirring the thought out of his brain. 

keep it cool, Garrick, he repeats over and over in his mind, ignoring the tent forming on his lap and praying to whatever god is out there that you won’t see it, even while standing up and brushing your legs on his knees to get to the corridor due the cramped space. however, he doesn’t miss how the guy by his side shamelessly ogles your cleavage when you step past him, making his blood boil and his fists clench – like he wasn’t doing the same exact thing minutes before.

while you're away, he glances at your screen again, noticing the constant message notifications from the contact ‘Marcus - DO NOT ANSWER’. already looking bad for you, mate. curiosity takes hold of him and he starts reading the texts, silently chuckling at the guy’s pathetic attempts to get your attention. what did he do to earn a cold shoulder, sweetheart? did he hurt you? didn’t he pay enough attention to you? i bet he couldn’t even fuck you the way you deserve. 

he keeps skimming the messages until the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth fades into a frown when he reads ‘you’re gonna regret leaving me’. now, who’s this prick? think you’ll get away with threatening my girl?

his body stiffens when you come back, eyes darting back to the small telly in front of him when your hand brushes on his thigh while sitting once again. he hears your irritated huff when you skim through the messages, shutting the laptop with near violence. i can take care of him for you, love. you won’t have to deal with that by yourself anymore. 

the pilot’s muffled voice coming through the speakers and announcing the landing shortens his daydreams about getting rid of Marcus. it would be a great way to keep himself busy while on leave, making sure to do it fast and secretly, of course, just to protect his sweet little thing. poor guy wouldn’t even know what hit him.

the pressure change on his ear is the telltale sign of the aircraft lowering its altitude, landing gear out to hit the lane and brake the machine. he turns to the side, watching again your knitted eyebrows and how your nails dig into the seat. this time he doesn’t contain himself and his hand gently lingers over yours, the softness of it sending lightning strikes over his body and almost making him cum instantly. 

your glinting eyes find his face with a grateful gaze, lips mouthing a sugary thank you when the plane finally stops. he helps you take your handbag out of the rack with ease, using the situation to flaunt his muscles. i can even pick you up, darling. would love to feel your pretty thighs around my waist. you wouldn’t have to walk a day in your life. 

his eyes follow the sway of your hips through the airport, heart almost bursting when you wave goodbye and flash him a timid smile. you think that’s the last time you’ll see him, he thinks this is just the beginning. a name and university? he’s used to finding people with even less information. see you soon, sweet girl.

[sizzleissues]

Its May.

Okay so this is in the same AU I had last year its just changed and evolved while also being the exact same. Except now I have 15,000 words of it written, like 7,000 words of planning and lore and hours upon hours of research that I will be pointedly ignoring. Will be posting more stuff this month about the AU and my hopes and dreams for it

Also slight art improvement check? I’ll put their original mermaid designs below the cut.

It’s Marinette as a mermaid and … its not Adrien or Chat Noir but a third worse thing (Catwalker but in the purest manifestation of it being a curse and not who he wants to be) I will be making designs for mer!Ladybug, and mer!Adrien as its own thing later on.

Okay if you want to indulge me look below the cut

Old mermaid designs first. I am going to be talking about my design thoughts, thoughts and ramblings about this AU and what I’ve been up to. You have been warned

As you can see, some things have changed but neither design I hated, I just wanted to go further with it.

My brain is quite specific about mermaids and how I want them to generally look. I wanted to distinguish biological merfolk from transformed humans by having them being anatomically different. So Adrien has a vertical tail instead which is also way faster underwater. His transformation is quite distressing for him and very chaotic. Of course when he accepts it he’s not so raggedy.

Marinette similarly avoids her life as a mermaid by becoming human and I wanted her mermaid design to hint toward her fascination with humans. She wears a top she fashioned from human fabric she found in a sunken merchant vessel. In general all other merfolk either forgo clothes or wear things fashioned from materials available to them. There’s deep fear of humans and human things so even though human clothes are available to them (off dead bodies but…. Whatever) they choose to difference themselves as much as possible. The same taboos don’t exist for them and their bodies are already adapted from the temperature of their environment. Adrien has stray bits of netting and seaweed on him because he’s not exactly the best at controlling his speed and often crash’s through fishing nets and patches of seaweed resulting in stuff being caught on him.

A lot of their designs are still being worked but I’ve definitely pushed them the right direction!

On to the AU. You might have seem me cryptically talk about something I’m writing the past few weeks. This is because it’s been in my brain since last May and been on and off writing it since then. I decided I’d talk about it once May came back around but and then when I finished writing it, start posting sneak peaks and more spoilery art until it was fully edited and I felt confident in it to post with an aim for it to finish posting once May rolled around again. Oh god.

It’s set in the late 1700s in a fictional version of France that’s actually fragmented over a bunch of islands. I have done more fashion research than I ever thought I’d do and in the end we will still be taking creative license but know I do know what they actually wore! I ALSO did a butt tonne of research about sailing ships and turns out they are super complicated and now I know too much and yet too little still about them. It should be super fun and action packed if I can manage. Have some really good scenes already in my head I know you’ll love. We’re already three ships battle deep and I’ve only written four chapters. (It chills out for a bit after that)

This is entirely self-indulgent by the way. I’m writing this for me, you guys are just a bonus. I literally don’t care as long as it satiates my rabid need for the fic that only lives in my brain at the moment. Saying that, I do want to put my best foot forward.

The next thing I will be posting for this is their human forms and more blabblerings about that. For I am insane and all.

[tinytalkingtina]

Cool Whip

Rating M | WC 1330 | Ao3 link

Tags: getting together, first kiss, innuendo, bisexual steve and eddie, eddie speed-runs a sexuality crisis, inappropriate use of whipped cream, fast burn (these two have never gone slow in their lives), fade to black

Written for the STWG July 28 prompt "Oh. Oh."

Steve stared at Eddie in complete silence.

Eddie fidgeted under his gaze. “So. Perhaps. In this instance, giving into the gremlin that lives inside my head was not the best choice I could have made,” he said sheepishly.

“Really Edward. You don’t say.” Steve was still holding the incriminating weapon, had been since he confiscated it. Every so often he twirled it around in his hands.

“What if you uhhh, did it back to me? We’ll be even?” he offered. “Come on, it’s fine, I won’t even fight you on it!”

“Can’t do that because we’re at my house, not yours, and this was my last pair of clean pants and underwear. So, unless you want to walk around like Winnie the fucking Pooh for the rest of the night, maybe we don’t spray whipped cream down your jeans too.” 

Steve ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I’m going to go take a shower and wash this shit off of my junk now, ‘kay? Just put the ice cream back in the freezer, we can do a movie night together another time, I guess.” Disappointment was written all over his face. Oops, Eddie didn't realize how much he must have been looking forward to watching Raiders of the Lost Ark. 

As Steve turned around to go, Eddie knew he should let him. Unfortunately, Nosnum Eidde, the impulsive gremlin living in his brain, was still firmly in control.

“Wait, let’s not waste it. Let me clean you up!” He blurted out.

What?

“What?” Steve was staring again, this time with eyes wide in confusion.

“Let me…clean up the mess I made. On your body.”

“Eddie I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

It did sound like a joke didn’t it. But if it was a joke, why was the thought sending sparks of lighting along his spine. 

“I don’t. Don’t think I’m joking right now,” Eddie said slowly. “Give me a minute here.”

It wasn’t like his brain had a perfect track record when it let Nosnum have the wheel. Like those times it had told him that he could climb the tallest tree in the trailer park without getting stuck at the top, or point out how hypocritical O’Donnell was acting during class without getting detention. 

But it had also gotten things right on occasion. And with Steve standing so close, it was busy pointing out things Eddie hadn't thought about before: like for example, when Steve chewed on his lips in agitation, they became invitingly plump. And, despite the growing damp spot on the front, those jeans were still hugging Steve's ass perfectly. 

Perhaps most importantly, he wasn't rushing forward to punch Eddie's lights out for insinuating, well. He just stood there with a faint blush coloring his cheeks. In his house, a place currently unoccupied by anyone else, not even Robin. While wearing a shirt that was just on the wrong side of too tight with his hair coiffed for a night out and oh my G-d—

“Steve…was tonight supposed to be a date?” Eddie was shocked the question fell out of his mouth so steadily.

The blush on Steve's face grew darker. “I mean, sort of? Was getting mixed signals from you but—yeah.” He shrugged. “We haven’t been able to hang out one on one since I figured things out. Thought I’d see how tonight went before making a move.”

“Oh. You. You had a plan to seduce me.” Eddie wheezed a little. "You like me like that?"

“I uh, kind of put two and two together about a month ago. Had a really long talk with Robin, and turns out apparently normal men don't want to, you know, make out with their guy friends. Or imagine Harrison Ford holding a whip when he’s all sweaty and—wait, what about you, Mr. 'Propositioning My Friends To Use My Mouth?’ How long have you known?"

“About five minutes consciously.” Eddie said in a strangled voice. “Maybe ten if we consider what I did to your pants subliminal foreplay.”

Steve snorted. The gremlin in Eddie’s brain was convinced this made him even more attractive. Huh, maybe this had been going on for longer than he had realized, if a snort could set him off.

“Not really sure what submarines have to do with Cool Whip, but yeah we can probably count that. Welcome to the ‘part gay’ club man! You’re taking this really well, no offense.” Steve pat him on the back, the brief contact sending more sparks through his veins.

“Yeah, in 1985 I’d probably be doing something destructive right about now.” Eddie agreed. “But the me of 1987 can’t really muster up the energy for another panic attack after finding out about inter-dimensional portals or. You know. Everything else that happened.” Wow, real smooth Eddie, way to kill the mood of whatever fever dream was happening right now.

“Besides,” he tried for a joke. “1987 Eddie has a high school diploma. My brain’s so full of facts there’s no more room for anything else unless we shove it into my mouth and—“ His eyes widened as he caught up with what he was saying. He ducked to hide behind his hair. “Uh, what I mean was, um. Yeah I’ve got nothing to say for that.”

Steve gave another adorable snort and walked closer. “We may have to work our way up to that one, but maybe I could give your mouth something else to put its lips around instead?”

“Dude that doesn’t even—what, do you want me to vacuum seal your mouth with mine? How would we, wait, please tell me that isn’t the secret move you pulled that had all the cheerleaders in school losing their minds over?” Eddie squeaked out.

Steve blushed again even as he laughed. “First of all I only ever actually dated like, three people in high school, I wasn’t as big a slut as rumors made me out to be. And okay that might have sounded better in my head, but in my defense I kind of can’t think of anything but kissing you right now.”

Eddie rapidly nodded his head. “Yes, that’s. We should do that. Please.” After a slight roadblock in which both of them on autopilot tried to take the lead and grab the other’s face, they finally managed to actually press their lips against each other.

And oh. Oh. 

Look, this was far from Eddie’s first kiss. But this was the first time someone still wanted to kiss after seeing him eat eggs with maple syrup on them. Or who knew he secretly slept with his childhood stuffed animal. Because Steve wasn’t angling to get cheaper weed, or trying to get back at his parents by having Eddie knock on the door in his ripped jeans for a date.

Steve knew Eddie’s whole sordid history, and kissed him anyway, holy shit.

The kiss itself was short and relatively chaste. But after they stopped, Steve didn’t immediately lean out of Eddie’s space. Instead he gave the tip of Eddie’s nose a quick peck before resting their foreheads together. A giggle bubbled up out of Eddie’s chest.

Steve rapped his knuckles on Eddie’s head. “Everything okay up there?”

“You like me. Steeeeve Harringtonnn likes me!” Steve smiled softly at him as he cupped Eddie’s cheek in his palm.

“Yeah, I do, you big dork. And I’d love to continue this, but because someone sprayed whipped cream onto my junk, I need to go shower it off before it gets even crunchier because wow, this is uncomfortable.”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to blush. “Sorry about that again. But if you want maybe uh, maybe I could join you and actually help clean it off?”

Steve smirked. “I think we can work something out, yeah. Come on.”

Running up the stairs while Steve tightly held his hand, Eddie decided that perhaps this time, his brain might have had the right idea after all.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening:

Eddie: "Wait, I was flirting with you the entire Spring Break from hell wasn't I."

Steve: "That was point #1 on Robin's 'Eddie is into you' list."

Eddie: "In hindsight this does explain why she kept saying I could be myself around her last week. I used the opportunity to give her a 2 hour long intro to metal music lesson."

Steve: "Yeah, she said I still owe her for that."

@augustjustice @stellarspecter Come get your fast burn Steddie!

[hyukasmiles]

—Yeonjun—

Yeonjun misses you. Misses you so so so bad, hates when he has to be away from you. Texts you over and over and over again that he wishes you were with him, pouts to his members when you reply that he’ll be home in a few days and it’ll be ok.

He knows it’s true, two more days in Japan and he’ll be back in your arms, but here; alone in his hotel room he’s so overwhelmed with missing you tears well up in his eyes.

You pick up his facetime almost immediately, your tired, pretty features making him miss you more. “Awe..” You coo, kissing your screen. “My Junnie is crying.”

“I miss you.” His frown hurts. “My heart hurts.”

“I miss you too! So excited for you to come home!” You shift, so innocently, just trying to get comfortable but your pretty tits come into his view and Yeonjun is reminded of another thing he misses. “You’ve got my perfume, spray it on your pillow it might help you sleep.”

The tank top you’re wearing is so thin, pretty nipples almost completely visible through the fabric. “Yeah… that’s a good idea.” He doesn’t tell you he’s already drenched his bed and clothes in it, or that he’s quickly getting hard in his pants.

“Three days, Junnie, you’ll make it.” You move again, yawning and stretching and putting your body on display for him. “I miss you too, I had your hoodie on earlier but it’s too hot for it.”

Surely you won’t notice his hand slipping into his waistband. “We’re coming back a day early this time, so only two.” You make a noise in the back of your throat, eyes going wide as you smile out a yay.

“Really!” Your face presses closer at the same time his hand wraps around his achy cock. “That’s great! I can’t wait!” He can’t either, tempted to book a plane ticket and rush back to you now. “Are you guys having fun in Japan? Do any shopping before the concert?”

“Ye-yeah, I got you some stuff.” Another little noise and his hand slowly tugs upwards in his dick. “A sh- A shirt and some makeup from don quixote.”

“Awe, thank you.” Yeonjun’s hips jump, your hand would feel so much better, any part of you would feel better. Your tits are in his view again and the thought of fucking them draws a whine out of him, stopping you mid sentence. “You ok?”

“Yeah..” His voice is unstable, hand speeding up as you raise an eyebrow. “I’m jus-t tired and miss y-you.” His thumb swipes over his tip and another whine is pulled out of him.

“I guess I should hang up if you’re so tired.” You pull away from the camera, perfect boobs finally on full display for him. He wishes he was there to see them in person, too squeeze and lick and kiss and fuck.

Yeonjun panics a little, hand stopping as you try to say goodnight. “No- no, I want to hear your voice.” He rolls onto his stomach, hips hitting against the mattress. “Need to hear your voice. I just miss you so much.” His phone slips out of his as he reaches for a perfume-soaked pillow, groaning as your smell fills his brain.

“Do you feel good, Junnie?” You coo, seeming to have caught on to him. “Pick me up, I want to see.” Yeonjun props his phone against the bed frame, sitting up to show you his erection. “Look at that, so hard.”

“I miss you. Want to fuck your tits so bad.” You kiss your teeth, free hand cupping your boob and jiggling it a little. “Wanna cum all over them n’ then fuck your pretty cunt.”

“Show me how you’d do it, Junnie.” He picks up the pillow again, folding it in half and sliding his weeping dick between the fold. His knuckles turn white with his grip, hips rolling into the pillow. “Does it feel as good as me?”

“No.” He laughs, hips hitting the pillow harder. “Your cunt is so fucking warm, makes me feel like my dick is gonna melt, and your skin his so soft in my hands. It’s just fucking heaven to fuck you, nothing will ever come close.” You blush at his words, cooing about how sweet he is.

Yeonjun’s hips drop moving to rut against the mattress again, he can feel pressure building up, your pretty face and tits edging his release. “I wanna see you cum, Junnie.” His orgasm hits him then and there, shoulders sagging as he cums over the cotton sheets.

“Fuck- fuck I wish you were here.” His hips slow as he calms down, using his hand to milk out every last bit of cum. “Feels like a waste when my perfect girlfriend looks so pretty covered in my cum.”

—

inbox always open 🎀

[dayabelle]

December

Pairings: Bakugo Katsuki x Fem Reader

Part 2!

Part 1, Part 3 soon

This one's a bit shorter then my other works but it won't always be this short

---

December 2nd,

The morning light filtered through the frosty windowpanes of Y/n’s workshop, casting a soft glow over her workbench. She stirred a fresh cup of coffee, the warm aroma filling the air and mingling with the ever-present metallic scent of her tools and gadgets. It was quiet now, save for the occasional crunch of footsteps on the snowy street outside. She loved these calm moments before her day picked up speed.

With her mug in hand, Y/n walked over to the bulletin board hanging on the wall beside her bench. It was filled with pinned blueprints, notes, and checklists. At the top of her list for the day was finishing some sketches for shock-absorbent gloves, an idea that had been rattling around in her brain for weeks.

Settling onto her stool, Y/n flipped open her notebook to a fresh page. Her pencil glided over the paper, bringing the gloves to life. She thought about the pro heroes she’d seen struggling with heavy impact injuries—how a bit of clever engineering could reduce those risks. The sketches became more detailed as she jotted down notes:

Adjustable compression settings.

Reinforced yet lightweight material.

Energy redistribution to minimize strain.

Minutes turned to hours as she lost herself in the creative process. Her coffee cooled beside her, forgotten. The quiet hum of the street outside became a comforting background melody.

But the sound of the bell above her shop’s door jolted her from her focus. She glanced up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, and saw a familiar figure wrapped in layers of winter clothing.

“Hey, Y/n!” Ochako Uraraka’s voice was bright, her cheeks pink from the cold as she stepped inside.

Y/n blinked in surprise before smiling. “Ochako! What brings you here this early? I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

Ochako laughed, brushing snow off her boots and unwinding her scarf. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I just thought I’d stop by—talk about some gear stuff, and, well, maybe just hang out for a bit.”

“You? Hanging out? That’s new,” Y/n teased, motioning for her to come in. “I’m guessing your schedule finally let up a little?”

Ochako shrugged, pulling off her gloves and plopping down onto a nearby stool. “Something like that. It’s December—feels like everyone’s slowing down a bit. Plus, Deku told me you’ve got a big meeting today, and I just had to come see how you’re feeling about it.”

Y/n groaned, grabbing a rag to wipe her hands clean. “Let me guess. Bakugo?”

“Ding, ding,” Ochako said, smirking. “Come on, what’s going through your head? The guy’s kind of...intense, you know.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Y/n replied, leaning against her workbench. “I mean, I’m not really worried. It’s not like I haven’t worked with stubborn heroes before. But he’s got a reputation, and I’m hoping he doesn’t live up to it.”

Ochako giggled. “Well, good luck with that. Honestly, though, you’re probably the best person to handle him. You’re like...unshakable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Y/n said, smiling. “How about you? Anything new with your gear?”

Ochako’s face lit up as she leaned forward. “Actually, yes! I’ve been thinking about a new design for my boots—something that could give me more control when I’m floating heavier objects. You’re still the only person I trust to make it happen.”

Y/n reached for her notebook. “Alright, tell me what you’re thinking.”

The two spent the next hour brainstorming ideas, Y/n sketching as Ochako animatedly explained her vision. The conversation flowed naturally, shifting from hero gear to casual gossip. Ochako filled Y/n in on funny stories from her hero work, tales of Deku’s overworking tendencies, and updates on Eri’s progress.

“Deku’s been running himself ragged,” Ochako said, shaking her head. “I swear, he doesn’t know the meaning of taking a break. But, honestly? I think he’s really excited about you meeting Bakugo today. He thinks it’s going to work out great.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. He’s been hyping it up all week.”

“Maybe he’s right,” Ochako said with a grin. “I mean, if anyone can get Bakugo to chill for five minutes, it’s probably you.”

"Bakugo Katsuki," she muttered to herself, placing a few prototype sketches into a drawer. She couldn’t help but wonder how today would go. Izuku had said he was intense—and that was putting it lightly. From what she’d seen on TV, Bakugo was all bark and plenty of bite.

Her gaze drifted to the clock hanging on the wall. It was only 9:00 a.m., but she knew better than to waste any time. Kirishima would likely arrive on time, cheerful and eager, but Bakugo? She wasn’t sure what to expect.

Y/n tied her hair back into a practical ponytail, pushing aside a few stray strands from her face as she surveyed the area. Red Riot’s completed gear sat neatly on the workbench, polished and ready for pickup, but she’d made sure to clear enough space for the two new arrivals.

Y/n leaned over her notebook, pencil tapping against her lip as she processed Ochako’s description of the boots. The shop was warm and cozy, filled with the faint scent of melted wax from the candles she’d lit earlier. The soft glow from the lights strung around the shop framed the room in hues of gold and green. On the workbench beside her were scattered screws, bolts, and bits of leftover red material from Red Riot’s gear.

Outside, the muffled sound of laughter and caroling drifted in from the street. Y/n glanced briefly toward the frosted window, catching the sight of bundled-up children tugging sleds and shopkeepers arranging garlands on their doors. It was a peaceful scene, contrasting the chaos she usually worked in during December.

Ochako shifted in her chair, her finger tracing over one of Y/n’s sketches. “I love how you add so much detail to everything. Like this,” she said, pointing to a design for a stabilizing mechanism. “It’s stuff no one else would think of, but it always makes the gear feel...I don’t know, personal.”

Y/n smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the edge of her notebook. “That’s kind of the goal. Hero work is personal. Everyone fights differently, so their gear should match. Plus, I guess I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

“A bit?” Ochako teased, raising an eyebrow.

Y/n chuckled, tossing her pencil onto the bench. “Alright, maybe more than a bit. But it’s worth it when the heroes tell me the difference it makes. That’s what I care about.”

Her gaze drifted to the shelf above her workbench, where a collection of thank-you notes and small trinkets from various heroes were displayed. Among them was a tiny, hand-carved figure of a bear from Eri, a framed sketch of her first design from Deku, and a polished silver medal from Red Riot for her work on his early gear.

Ochako followed her gaze and smiled. “You know, if you ever decided to take a break from the workshop, you’d probably be swarmed with invitations to dinner from all your clients. They love you.”

Y/n snorted, leaning back in her chair. “Dinner sounds nice, but you know me. I’d probably end up sketching designs on the tablecloth instead of eating.”

The two laughed, and Y/n reached for her coffee mug, grimacing when she realized it had gone cold. She set it aside and stood, stretching her arms above her head. Her thoughts wandered to the afternoon ahead.

“I can’t believe I let Deku talk me into meeting Bakugo,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not that I’m nervous or anything—it’s just...he’s a lot.”

Ochako tilted her head, studying Y/n. “You’re overthinking it. Just treat him like any other client. If he gets out of line, well, you’re Y/n L/n. You can handle him.”

Y/n sighed, her lips quirking into a wry smile. “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s hard to ignore the whole ‘walking explosion’ thing. Deku talks about him like he’s a bomb waiting to go off.”

Ochako laughed. “That’s not far off. But he’s got a good side too. You’ll see. Just...maybe keep anything flammable out of reach.”

Y/n smirked and shook her head, glancing at the clock. It was nearing 11:00 a.m., which meant she had about an hour before Bakugo and Red Riot arrived.

Ochako must have noticed her glance because she stood, pulling on her gloves. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to work. But you’ll have to tell me everything later. I want details about this meeting.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but grinned. “Sure, sure. Just don’t expect anything dramatic.”

As Ochako wrapped her scarf around her neck, Y/n walked her to the door. The bell jingled as Ochako stepped outside into the snow-covered street. She turned back, giving Y/n a quick wave before disappearing into the bustling crowd.

Y/n lingered by the door for a moment, watching as the world outside came alive with the vibrant energy of the season. She could hear the faint strains of a holiday tune playing from a nearby speaker, blending with the chatter of people exchanging greetings and the clatter of footsteps on icy cobblestones.

Her thoughts returned to Bakugo. Despite Ochako’s reassurances, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of apprehension. She had worked with all kinds of personalities in the past, but something about this meeting felt different. Maybe it was the way Deku had insisted on it, or the fact that Bakugo had gone through multiple gear designers before coming to her.

Y/n shook her head, brushing the thoughts aside. She had work to do. Grabbing her notebook, she made her way back to the bench, tidying up the scattered tools and clearing space for the upcoming meeting. As she worked, the nervous energy slowly faded, replaced by the familiar rhythm of her routine.

As Y/n rose from her seat in the cafe, the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries surrounded her. She approached the counter, handing the barista a few bills as she ordered a to-go cup of their signature roast. The barista smiled warmly, quickly preparing her drink and sliding the cup across the counter. Y/n grasped it, the warmth of the coffee seeping through the cardboard sleeve into her fingers.

Pushing open the door, the bell jingled softly, and the chill of the outside air greeted her. She adjusted her scarf, the faint aroma of cinnamon and evergreen lingering in the air. The festive decorations glinted in the morning light—the strings of red and green fairy lights twinkling above her, and wreaths adorning shop doors.

The town square sprawled out ahead of her as she walked back toward her workshop. Cobblestones dusted with snow crunched beneath her boots, and the chatter of townsfolk filled the air. At the center of the square stood the massive Christmas tree, towering and majestic, its branches adorned with golden ribbons, sparkling baubles, and delicate ornaments. A small train of children circled the tree, their laughter echoing as they admired its grandeur.

Nearby, a group of carolers huddled together, their harmonious voices carrying through the square. The melodies of “Jingle Bells” floated around Y/n as she walked past, the sound blending with the jingling of bells and occasional calls from vendors selling roasted chestnuts and warm cider.

She paused for a moment by the tree, taking in the scene. The way the snow clung to the branches of the tree and rooftops reminded her why she loved this little corner of town so much. It was serene yet alive, a perfect balance that fueled her creativity.

Clutching her coffee tightly, Y/n resumed her walk. Her workshop came into view, the frosted windows glowing warmly from the light inside. She unlocked the door and stepped into the familiar space, the comforting smell of oil and metal greeting her like an old friend.

Once inside, she set her coffee on the desk and got back to work.

Back in her workshop, Y/n settled into her desk chair, pulling her laptop closer. Her coffee sat steaming beside her, untouched as she opened the secure portal provided by the Hero Commission. Only certified hero gear designers had access to these files, which included in-depth analyses of quirks, combat footage, and notes from heroes themselves about their gear. She typed in the credentials Deku had shared with her yesterday for Bakugo Katsuki’s profile and pressed enter.

The screen filled with detailed reports. Her eyes skimmed the initial overview:

Hero Name: Dynamight

Quirk: Explosion

Mechanics: Sweats a nitroglycerin-like substance from his palms, igniting it to create explosions of varying intensity.

She clicked on a section titled Combat Footage. Clips began to play, showcasing Bakugo in action. His movements were ferocious, fast, and precise, but chaotic at the same time. He used his explosions for propulsion, blasting himself across the battlefield with remarkable speed. She noticed how he used his gauntlets to channel and store excess sweat, firing concentrated blasts when needed.

“Smart,” she murmured to herself, watching as he obliterated a massive stone wall during a training session. “But there’s room for improvement.”

She paused the footage and leaned back, her mind already racing with ideas. The gauntlets he currently used were bulky and seemed to weigh him down during long battles. While their storage capacity for his sweat was impressive, they lacked flexibility. She also noticed that Bakugo occasionally flinched after firing larger blasts, likely from the force reverberating through his arms.

Opening another file, she studied the blueprints of his existing hero gear. The gauntlets were made of a reinforced alloy that could withstand high temperatures, but they didn’t seem optimized for maneuverability. Bakugo’s quirk relied heavily on his speed and agility; he needed something that complemented those traits.

Y/n began sketching on a piece of graph paper, her pencil moving swiftly across the page.

She started writing down some plans.

Improvments to old design-

Lightweight Material: Replace the alloy with a cutting-edge, heat-resistant carbon fiber. This would significantly reduce the weight without compromising durability.

Dynamic Storage Chambers: Instead of one large storage unit, she envisioned several smaller, modular chambers integrated into the gauntlets. These would allow Bakugo to regulate the release of his sweat more efficiently, offering him better control during prolonged battles.

Shock Absorption System: She planned to line the interior with a gel-based material that could absorb and distribute the impact from larger blasts, minimizing strain on his arms.

Adaptive Fit: She wanted to incorporate an adjustable mechanism that would allow the gauntlets to mold to his arms, ensuring maximum comfort and reducing unnecessary movement.

Integrated HUD: Though Bakugo didn’t seem like the type to rely on tech too much, Y/n considered adding a small, retractable heads-up display to one gauntlet. It could provide him with real-time data about the gauntlet’s sweat levels and temperature.

She returned to the combat footage, replaying a moment where Bakugo propelled himself upward, firing rapid explosions from his palms. His movement was seamless, but she noticed how his gauntlets dragged slightly when he twisted mid-air.

“He’s compensating for their weight,” she muttered. “If I can make them lighter, his precision will improve.”

The reports also detailed Bakugo’s tolerance to his own explosions. His hands could withstand immense heat, but prolonged use led to redness and swelling. Y/n jotted down a note to include a cooling mechanism in the lining—perhaps something that could release a soothing mist after heavy use.

Her thoughts turned to the design itself. She wanted the gauntlets to look intimidating, matching Bakugo’s explosive personality. She sketched a sleek, angular design with sharp edges, the carbon fiber glinting in her imagination like obsidian. She added a small insignia resembling an explosion near the wrist—subtle, but fitting.

By the time she looked up from her sketches, it had already become noon. Her coffee was cold, and her shoulders ached from leaning over her desk. But she smiled, satisfied with the rough blueprint in front of her.

"Let’s see how he likes it," she thought, rolling her neck as she glanced at the clock. She felt ready to meet Bakugo and see if her vision for his gear aligned with his. For someone as demanding as Dynamight, she knew this was just the beginning.

As she leaned back to admire her sketches, the shrill ring of her phone broke her concentration. She grabbed it off the desk, her eyes lighting up when she saw the name flashing on the screen: Kirishima.

"Hey, Red Riot," she answered, still catching her breath from her brainstorming session.

“Y/n! Hey! Sorry to bother you,” Kirishima’s cheerful voice came through, loud and bright as ever. “I just wanted to check in about the gear. Bakugo told me you’re working on some designs for him, too. We were thinking, uh—maybe we could just come by together to pick mine up and talk about his?”

Y/n smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, that works. I just finished up your gear, actually. Your timing is impeccable.”

“Sweet! I’m excited to see it,” Kirishima said, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “What time works for you? I know you told me yesterday but ive been so busy”

“Noon. You guys can swing by then,” Y/n said, glancing at her sketches of Bakugo’s gauntlets. “It’ll give me time to prep for whatever nitpicky feedback Dynamight’s going to throw my way.”

Kirishima laughed. “Yeah, he’s got... opinions. But don’t worry, I’ll keep him in check.”

“Thanks, Eijiro. I’ll see you both at noon, then,” she said, ending the call with a smile.

As she set her phone down, Y/n took a moment to collect her thoughts. Bakugo Katsuki and Eijiro Kirishima—two of Japan’s most notable heroes—were about to walk into her workshop. It was a mix of excitement and nervousness, but she was ready. Or at least, she hoped she was. She had famous heroes stop by a couple of times, but these were heroes that her friends were close to. So it felt somewhat different.

The call with Kirishima basically said "were on our way now" so she hopped up from her chair.

Y/n set her phone down and glanced around her workshop. While it wasn’t a complete mess, it certainly wasn’t in pristine condition. Scraps of metal, blueprints, and tools cluttered her workbench, and a light dusting of sawdust coated the floor near the storage shelves. She rolled up her sleeves, ready to tidy up before her guests arrived.

She began by organizing her tools, placing wrenches, screwdrivers, and hammers back into their designated spots on the wall-mounted pegboard. The sound of metal clinking softly filled the room as she worked. Next, she gathered the scattered blueprints and stacked them neatly on her desk, making sure to tuck away anything unrelated to Bakugo or Kirishima’s projects.

As she worked, the faint aroma of coffee from her earlier cup lingered in the air, mixing with the metallic scent of her workshop. She grabbed a broom from the corner and swept up the sawdust and stray screws that had somehow made their way to the floor. Despite the hustle, her thoughts drifted to the upcoming meeting.

Y/n was used to dealing with pro heroes—her work attracted them, after all—but there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the way Midoriya had talked about Bakugo, the fiery personality he’d described in vivid detail. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d never worked with someone quite as infamous for their temper.

She finished tidying up the workbench and glanced at the clock. It was 11:50. Ten minutes. She sighed and leaned back against the counter, finally noticing her reflection in the window. Her black long-sleeve shirt, snug against her figure, and loose black sweatpants weren’t exactly what she’d consider meeting-hero clients attire.

But it was too late to change now. Besides, she figured comfort trumped style in her line of work. With that thought, she took a deep breath, grabbed the finished gear she’d prepared for Kirishima, and placed them carefully on the workbench.

The small bell above her door jingled, signaling their arrival. Y/n turned to see two towering figures entering her shop. Kirishima, his spiky red hair as vibrant as ever, stepped in first, his broad smile lighting up the room. Right behind him was Bakugo Katsuki, his ash-blond hair messy in a way that seemed deliberate, his sharp red eyes scanning the workshop.

“Yo, Y/n!” Kirishima greeted enthusiastically, brushing a few snowflakes off his jacket. “Thanks for letting us come by together.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, stayed silent, his gaze shifting around the room. His eyes lingered on the intricate tools and designs scattered about, and he crossed his arms as if he were already evaluating the place.

“Hey, Eijiro. And… you must be Dynamight,” Y/n said, offering a polite smile. “Come on in.”

“Yeah,” Bakugo muttered, stepping further into the room. His presence was intimidating, but Y/n held her ground. She motioned for them to follow her toward the workbench, ready to dive into what she hoped would be a productive meeting.

Y/n led Kirishima and Bakugo toward her workbench, where the gloves and arm strains she’d designed for Kirishima were displayed. She grabbed a sheet of paper from the edge of the desk and handed it to Kirishima with a small smile.

“These are the details for your new gear,” she explained, pointing to the carefully organized list of features. “I focused on making them lighter without compromising their durability. I used material that will channel your speed and shock-absorbent, so they’ll hold up better during prolonged battles or harsher environments. The adjustments should also help you maintain your stamina.”

Kirishima scanned the paper with a bright grin, his red eyes lighting up as he nodded enthusiastically. “This is amazing, Y/n! You always outdo yourself.” He lifted one of the gauntlets, inspecting its craftsmanship. “The detail is insane. You’re a lifesaver.”

Y/n shrugged modestly, but the praise made her lips quirk up slightly. “I know how important durability and flexibility are for you. If there’s anything that feels off when you’re testing it out, let me know, and I’ll tweak it.”

“You got it,” Kirishima said, carefully placing the items into his gear bag. He glanced at Bakugo, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, silently observing. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you later, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered, waving Kirishima off without looking at him. Kirishima paid in advance, he already knew you would give him the results he needed.

Kirishima laughed and shot Y/n a thumbs-up before heading for the door. The bell jingled softly as he left, leaving the shop in silence.

Y/n turned to Bakugo, brushing her hands on her sweatpants before grabbing a set of blueprints from the workbench. She held them out to him, her posture calm but her mind racing slightly as she waited to gauge his reaction.

“Here’s what I came up with,” she said. “It’s a rough idea based on the videos I watched of you in action and the research I did on your quirk and current gear. Let me know what you think.”

Bakugo took the blueprints without a word, his expression unreadable as his sharp red eyes scanned the designs. The silence stretched on, filled only by the faint hum of the workshop lights.

Y/n resisted the urge to fidget, instead leaning back slightly against the workbench, watching his reaction carefully. She had dealt with stoic heroes before, but there was something about Bakugo’s intensity that made the silence feel heavier.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “You actually looked into my quirk for this?”

“Of course,” Y/n replied simply. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to create something functional. The modifications I proposed here,” she leaned forward, pointing to the blueprint, “will improve the efficiency of your gauntlets, letting you channel smaller, controlled explosions when needed without sacrificing power output for the larger ones. I also added heat dispersal channels to reduce strain during prolonged battles.”

Bakugo nodded slightly, his gaze still fixed on the paper. “Hatsume never put this much thought into it,” he muttered almost to himself, his tone lacking its usual edge.

Y/n raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, she crossed her arms and waited for him to continue.

“This isn’t bad,” Bakugo finally admitted, glancing up at her. “Not bad at all.” It was fucking perfect, he had to resist the urge to grin like a maniac. He would become unstoppable with this, he already had so many images in his mind of how he could use this to become better.

“High praise coming from you, Dynamight,” Y/n replied, her tone light but her lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“Tch. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbled, though his expression didn’t carry the usual bite. He folded the blueprint carefully and tucked it under his arm. “When do you think you can have a prototype ready?”

“Depends,” Y/n said, already mentally calculating the timeline. “If you’re serious about this, I’ll need to do some fittings and tests with you first. No point in making a prototype that doesn’t work for you.”

Bakugo nodded again, his intense gaze meeting hers. “Fine. Just don’t waste my time.”

“I don’t plan to,” she replied evenly, her eyes unwavering.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Bakugo straightened, adjusting his stance.

“Alright. When do we start?”

Y/n stood in front of Bakugo, her fingers brushing through the air as she explained the materials she would need to get started on his gauntlet prototype. She moved fluidly, her hands gesturing as she spoke, outlining the complexity of the design in a way that was second nature to her.

“Alright, first things first,” she said, her tone clear and focused. “I’ll need a specialized alloy—something lightweight but durable enough to handle the heat and shock from your explosions. That’s about $2,000 just for the raw materials. I’ll also need heat-dispersal channels to manage the thermal output from your quirk, which will run around $1,200.”

As she spoke, she walked around the workshop, gathering scattered tools and a few reference materials, as though illustrating her thoughts in the space around her. She then turned, meeting Bakugo’s gaze, and continued, “I’ll need an explosion-containment lining inside the gauntlets to handle the shockwaves. That’ll be another $1,000. Plus, there’s the electronics—the trigger mechanisms, the sensors to make sure everything is responsive and reliable, that’ll cost about $800.”

Bakugo stood silently, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze sharp as he watched her explain, his lips twitching slightly, though he didn’t interrupt.

“I’ll also need to account for testing materials, because, you know, things don’t always work out perfectly on the first try. That’s another $500. And, of course, using CNC machines for precision cutting and the 3D printer to create components will be another $2,000.” She paused, taking a breath. “I’ll need time to do all this, so we’re looking at about $2,500 for labor and overhead costs. And since I’ll need to use some special hero commission materials, we’re looking at an additional $500 there.”

She looked at him then, raising an eyebrow, giving him a moment to absorb the numbers before adding, “So, all in all, we’re talking about $11,500 to get a full prototype ready.”

Bakugo didn’t flinch, but there was a noticeable tension in his jaw as he heard the cost. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a thick stack of cash, his fingers tightening around the bills. He didn’t say a word—just grunted low in his throat and handed it over to her.

Y/n took the money, not at all surprised by his blunt approach, but she couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the stack in her hands. “Not a word, huh?”

Bakugo shrugged, looking away. “I’m not here to waste time. Get it done.”

She glanced down at the cash, counting it quickly, before nodding. “Alright. I’ll get started immediately. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

He turned to leave, not offering much more than a sharp “Good,” as he headed toward the door.

“Hey, Bakugo,” Y/n called out just before he reached the threshold.

He stopped, half-turning toward her with a raised eyebrow.

“If this works out the way I think it will, you won’t regret it,” she said, her voice steady, though there was a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Bakugo just grunted in response and left without another word, the door jingling as he exited. Y/n stood there for a moment, glancing at the cash in her hand before putting it into her desk drawer.

“Guess it’s time to get to work,” she muttered to herself, already thinking about the next steps in the process, the quiet hum of her workshop filling the space once again.

The quiet of the workshop was comforting. The hum of the machines, the occasional clink of tools, and the soft buzz of her thoughts as Y/n set to work on Bakugo's gauntlets. The pressure to deliver something extraordinary didn’t faze her. She thrived under it, and the $11,500 in her desk drawer now felt like fuel rather than a burden.

She started by laying the groundwork—the design, the blueprint she’d handed Bakugo, now spread out before her on the workbench. She had every intention of refining it, fine-tuning it as she went, but this was her starting point. The key was precision. Each detail mattered. Bakugo’s gauntlets had to reflect both the raw power of his quirk and the controlled precision he needed to prevent injury from the sheer force he wielded.

First, she focused on the gauntlet structure itself—the base. She reached for a few sheets of the alloy material, noting the color and texture as she ran her fingers across it. It was lightweight but strong, the kind of metal that would absorb the shockwave from his explosions without crumbling under pressure. As she sliced through it with a laser cutter, her mind raced ahead to the next steps. The gauntlets would need cooling channels to handle the heat from the constant explosions.

She pulled out the high-tech filaments that would make up the internal cooling systems, cutting thin strips to fit the gauntlet’s curves. There was a certain satisfaction in working with these materials—each one felt like a perfect fit, much like a puzzle that, once complete, would give Bakugo the edge he needed in battle. As she worked, she couldn’t help but think back on their first encounter. Despite his rough exterior, there was something about the way he carried himself that made her think he was capable of collaboration, not just stubbornness. It gave her a glimmer of hope that this partnership might turn out better than she originally expected.

She worked with a focused intensity, hands moving fluidly as she welded the cooling channels into place, ensuring they were secure and precise. The internal circuitry was just as important as the outer materials. She carefully designed the wiring that would run through the gauntlets, making sure the feedback sensors would respond to Bakugo’s movements, allowing for immediate adjustments. She cut out the small compartments for the sensors, ensuring they were compact enough not to add unnecessary weight but sophisticated enough to be effective.

As the hours slipped away, the rhythm of her work kept her grounded. The afternoon light outside started to fade, the snow beginning to accumulate once again on the windowsill, but inside, the workshop remained bright with overhead lights, the glowing edges of her work casting soft shadows against the walls. The smell of burning metal and fresh components filled the air, an aroma Y/n was more than familiar with, a scent that meant progress.

With each weld, each adjustment, she grew more certain this project would be one of her best yet. It was a good feeling, one that had been absent for a while. Y/n had worked with dozens of pro heroes, each with their own quirks, each with their own needs, but Bakugo’s gauntlets felt different. They felt important, like this was more than just another paycheck or another job to tick off. She could see the potential in him. The gauntlets weren’t just about power—they were about refining that power, helping Bakugo control it better. That made the task feel personal in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

She glanced over at the clock—almost six hours had passed since she started. She hadn’t even realized it was so late. She stopped for a moment, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of grease across her face. She didn’t mind; it was part of the process.

The prototype was beginning to take shape. The metal frame of the gauntlets had been fully assembled, the internal components locked into place. The cooling system was in the final stages, and the wiring was nearly complete. She reached for the finishing touches—smoothly applying the final protective layers and ensuring the heat dispersion technology would function at peak efficiency.

As she worked, she thought back to Bakugo. He was more than just a short-tempered, explosion-happy hero—there was something beneath all that. She hadn’t seen the worst of him yet, but she could tell he had a purpose in mind, and she had a feeling he wasn’t as difficult to work with as Deku had painted him to be.

“Not as bad as you thought, huh?” she whispered to herself with a small smile, placing the gauntlet down carefully and surveying her work.

It was then that she realized—she could see herself working with him again in the future. The complexity of the project was rewarding, but there was also something satisfying about bringing a design to life that was uniquely tailored to a person. She had no doubt that Bakugo would be back once this was done.

Taking a step back, Y/n let out a breath, allowing herself a moment of pause before she started to put everything away for the night. The gauntlets were almost ready for testing, and soon, she would have to hand them over. She couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be. Would he appreciate the care she’d taken? Would he be surprised by how much effort she’d put into understanding his needs, his quirks?

A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was eager to see.

Y/n took a step back from her workbench, eyes scanning over the gauntlets one last time. The prototype was finished and ready for Bakugo’s approval. She wiped her hands on a rag, then reached for her phone on the desk. The quiet of the workshop was now only punctuated by the soft clicks of her fingers on the screen as she typed.

She could feel a certain tension as she composed the message, not because she doubted her work, but because it felt like the final step—she was finally about to send Bakugo the results of all her hard work.

Hey, Bakugo. The prototype is ready. I’ve tested the cooling system and the wiring, and it should be good to go. Come by tomorrow around noon to test it out and let me know if you need any adjustments. If you like it, we’ll talk about the next phase of the project—creating the real thing. Let me know. Y/n

She hovered her thumb over the send button for a moment before quickly tapping it.

Setting the phone down, Y/n moved to check the clock again—it was already getting late, but a feeling of accomplishment made it hard to relax. With the message sent, her mind started to wander through the possibilities of tomorrow. Bakugo’s reaction, the adjustments he might ask for, the pressure of making sure the prototype met all his expectations. She had a sense that Bakugo would be… difficult, but it was a good challenge. She knew the stakes of the job now, and it would be worth every bit of effort.

She tidied up around the workshop, organizing her tools and putting away the leftover materials. The place was filled with the faint, lingering smell of metalwork and machine oil. She had managed to create a perfect, functional prototype, but there was still more work to be done once Bakugo gave his final feedback. She hoped it would be a good test.

After everything was cleaned up, she grabbed a quick drink from the fridge and sat back down at her desk, still buzzing with excitement over the gauntlets. It would be a busy day tomorrow.

The evening passed in a warm, easy rhythm, with Eri's giggles and stories filling the shop as the two of them shared snacks and swapped small talk. The cozy hum of the heater in the corner of the shop provided a comforting background as the wind outside howled softly against the windows, and the dim glow from the overhead lights cast a gentle ambiance over the room. They spent hours talking about everything from school to the heroes Eri admired, to stories Y/n told about the latest projects she was working on. There was a sense of calm, of contentment in the air, as they sank into the moment.

After the movie ended, and Y/n made sure Eri was comfortable on the couch with a blanket, the young girl sat up suddenly, her bright eyes wide with curiosity. "Y/n..." she began, her voice tentative yet full of hope. "Can you teach me something small? I want to learn how you make all your amazing gear. I know I'm still young, but... I think it would be really cool to know even a little bit about it. Please?"

Y/n paused for a moment, surprised by the request, but there was a warmth in Eri’s face, a genuine desire to learn. She couldn’t say no. With a soft smile, Y/n nodded, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "Alright, but only something small. You're still getting the hang of all this stuff."

Eri bounced on her feet, grinning ear to ear as she followed Y/n down the stairs. The dimly lit shop seemed even more peaceful in the late hours, the lights from the upstairs hallway casting long shadows as Y/n moved toward the storage room. She reached for the doorknob, pulling open the heavy door to reveal shelves lined with tools, boxes of wires, metal pieces, and components that had been used in countless projects.

Eri stepped inside, her eyes gleaming as she looked around the room, taking in everything. The air smelled faintly of oil and metal, a scent Y/n had grown so familiar with over the years, but to Eri, it was like stepping into another world. Everything looked so complicated, yet so exciting.

Y/n motioned for Eri to sit down on the floor with her, and they both crossed their legs. Y/n set a small project in front of them: a simple gear mechanism that needed to be assembled. It was basic, just a few pieces to put together, but it was the perfect place to start. She handed Eri a wrench and a few screws. "Okay," she began, "this is a basic gear system. It’s what I use in some of the prototypes when I need to test how things move and interact. All you need to do is line up the gears and use the wrench to tighten them into place. It's simple but precise work."

Eri’s hands shook slightly as she took the pieces, her fingers not quite sure where to begin. Y/n smiled, her voice soft and encouraging. "It's okay, take your time. Start with this piece here," she said, pointing to the largest gear. "Line it up like this..." Y/n moved her hand gently over Eri’s, guiding her fingers into position. "Now, tighten the screws just like this."

The warmth from the lamp beside them made everything feel intimate, almost like a private moment between them, a scene pulled straight out of a quiet film. The only sound was the soft clink of metal, the faint hum of the heater, and Eri's soft breaths of concentration. Y/n sat next to her on the floor, her legs crossed, her hands resting lightly on her knees, watching Eri carefully. There was a quiet intensity to it, the girl’s determination clear in every small movement, every furrow of her brow as she tried to understand the mechanics of what she was building.

Y/n didn’t rush her, watching as Eri carefully placed the pieces together, her movements tentative at first, but growing more confident with each small success. There were moments of frustration, the pieces not fitting correctly or the gears not clicking into place, but each time Eri made a mistake, Y/n gently guided her back on track, explaining things in simple terms.

"That’s okay, just try again," Y/n said, her voice gentle, guiding her through the small mess-ups. "You’ll get it. It’s all about patience."

Eri nodded eagerly, her face flushed with the small victories. Slowly, as the pieces began to fall into place, her confidence grew, and the gears clicked together perfectly. Eri looked up at Y/n with a proud grin. "I did it! Look!" she said, holding up the small gear mechanism, now fully assembled.

Y/n smiled softly, her heart swelling with pride at how far Eri had come in just a short amount of time. "You did great," she said warmly. "Just remember, it’s all about taking your time and staying patient."

Eri’s face lit up with excitement, but she looked down at the gear she had made, her hands still trembling with the energy of the moment. "I’m going to be like you one day, Y/n. I swear."

Y/n chuckled softly, ruffling Eri’s hair affectionately. "You’re already on your way, Eri. Just keep practicing. I'll send you home with some basic stuff tomorrow. "

With the small project finished, they stood up together and began making their way back upstairs. The whole atmosphere in the shop felt like it had slowed down, as though the world outside had paused to watch them. Eri was still buzzing with excitement, talking about everything she had learned and asking more questions about gears and her future as a hero.

When they finally reached the bed, Y/n set up the blankets and pillows for a comfortable spot to settle in. Eri quickly curled up under the warm covers, her eyes growing heavy as she settled next to Y/n. They started another movie, but soon the quiet of the evening and the gentle glow of the screen lulled them both into a peaceful silence.

Y/n smiled softly as she glanced over at Eri, her heart full. This moment, this simple night, felt like a memory she would keep forever. Something that would be etched into her mind like the soft hum of gears spinning—steady, constant, and full of promise for the future. Maybe because Y/n had always wanted a daughter, even if Eri wasn't close enough to be considered one. Moments like these filled her heart.

---

The morning sun was just starting to peek through the blinds when Y/n heard the soft shuffle of Eri’s footsteps coming down the stairs. It was still early, but the excitement of a new day had already worked its way into the young girl’s energy. Y/n had already been awake, preparing a cup of coffee in the kitchen as she checked her phone.

Eri came into the kitchen, her backpack slung over one shoulder, looking much more grown-up than she had when she first arrived at Y/n’s place. Her hair was neatly combed, her uniform crisp, and she had a bright, eager smile that made Y/n’s heart flutter with affection.

"Morning!" Eri chirped, the cheerfulness in her voice making the space feel warmer.

"Morning," Y/n replied, setting the mug down on the counter. She turned to look at Eri, who was practically vibrating with excitement. "Ready for school?"

Eri nodded, biting her lip as she glanced around, as though trying to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. "I really appreciate you letting me stay over. It was so fun! And thank you for teaching me that stuff last night." Her voice dropped a little shyly as she thought back to their time in the workshop.

Y/n smiled softly. “Anytime, Eri. You did great last night. I’m sure you’ll be building your own stuff in no time.”

Eri beamed, her eyes sparkling. "You really think so?"

Y/n chuckled. "I know so."

Eri rushed over and gave Y/n a quick hug, surprising her for a moment. The younger girl was often reserved, but moments like this made Y/n’s heart ache with tenderness.

"Well," Eri said, pulling back and adjusting her backpack, "I’ll see you later! I’ll tell Shota you said hi!"

"Take care, and have a good day at school," Y/n called after her as Eri darted out the door, the sound of the bell ringing lightly behind her as she ran to catch up with her classmates.

Y/n watched her go for a moment before sighing contentedly, the house feeling quieter again. She loved having Eri around, but it was always bittersweet when she left for the day, like a little piece of happiness walked out with her.

With Eri now off to school, Y/n returned to the workshop, gathering her focus for the day ahead. She took a moment to mentally prepare herself for the upcoming meeting with Bakugo. It was only a few hours away, but she was ready. There was a quiet sense of satisfaction that came with seeing his prototype work so well the day before, and now it was time to fine-tune things.

She double-checked her tools, made sure the prototype gauntlets were in good condition, and organized the materials she would need to adjust the interior pressure system. She also took a few moments to tidy up the workspace—while Y/n was normally meticulous about cleanliness, the chaos that was her work sometimes bled into her space. Today, she wanted everything to be just right. The energy she’d had the day before had stayed with her as she worked, and it felt like the right moment to move forward.

As she adjusted a few parts on her workbench, she found herself lost in her thoughts. The previous day with Bakugo had gone better than expected. He was still prickly, still the same explosive person she’d heard about from Izuku, but his reaction to the prototype—his feedback—made her feel like they were building a connection. Not a personal one, but a professional one, and that was enough for now.

She was starting to see the bigger picture: her designs could impact heroes like him. And if everything went as planned, this was just the beginning of a long-term working relationship.

-

The doorbell jingled, and Y/n snapped out of her thoughts. She glanced toward the door, a moment of anticipation building in her chest. Bakugo was here.

She walked over to the door to greet him, the sound of his boots clicking on the floor growing louder as he stepped inside. He looked just as intense as he did the day before, but this time there was a calmness in his demeanor that Y/n noticed immediately. The gauntlets from the previous day were now strapped to his wrists, and he was clearly ready to see how the prototype held up in a more demanding test.

Y/n smiled, but it was a more neutral smile this time—professional, not personal. "Morning, Bakugo. Ready to test the adjustments?"

He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes scanned the workshop briefly. She saw him make a mental note of the setup, maybe trying to figure out if she had done anything else to impress him.

“Let’s get to it,” Bakugo muttered, sounding a little less gruff than usual but still direct.

Y/n nodded, gesturing to the workbench where the adjustments to the gauntlets were laid out, ready for testing. "I made some minor tweaks to the interior pressure system, like we discussed. Try them on and see how they feel."

Bakugo grunted in acknowledgment as he moved toward the bench, looking over the gauntlets with a critical eye. His fingers skimmed over the components, clearly assessing them.

"Don’t overdo it,” Y/n warned, noticing his intense scrutiny of the design. “Take it slow at first, just let me know if anything feels off.”

Bakugo huffed but didn’t argue, slipping the gauntlets back on. Y/n moved a few steps back, watching closely as he tested the movements. His first action was a simple flex of his fingers—just like the day before—but this time, Y/n could see the difference. He was more attuned to the gear, more aware of the way it responded to his quirk.

He extended his arms, testing the weight distribution. His posture was strong, his body coiled with the kind of power that came naturally to someone like him. Y/n watched for signs of discomfort—anything that could signal a flaw in the design.

"So?" she asked, her voice a little quieter now, as she waited for his verdict.

Bakugo remained silent for a moment, lost in the rhythm of his own testing. Finally, he looked up from his hands, locking eyes with Y/n.

“It’s better,” he said simply. “More flexible. I can work with this.”

Y/n nodded, feeling a wave of relief and quiet satisfaction wash over her. “Good. There are still a couple of minor adjustments to make, but this is a solid base to build on.”

Bakugo grunted, as if admitting something he didn’t quite want to, then turned to walk out.

“Let me know when you’re ready to finalize it,” he muttered over his shoulder before the door closed behind him with a loud jingle.

Y/n stood there for a moment, her heart racing with excitement. This wasn’t just a success; it was the beginning of something.

---

December 5th,

For three days, Y/n threw herself into Bakugo’s gauntlets with a level of focus that was both intense and consuming. The clock seemed irrelevant. Hours bled together as she carefully assembled, welded, and tested each individual part. The gauntlets weren’t just about performance; they were about precision, efficiency, and fitting Bakugo’s chaotic, explosive style of combat. She hadn’t even noticed how much time passed between bathroom breaks and the occasional text from neighbors or Izuku.

She had gotten used to working long hours, skipping meals, and letting her body run on caffeine and the occasional snack that she barely tasted. Her stomach had long since become accustomed to hunger pangs, a dull throb in the background of her mind as she focused on the minute details of the gauntlets. Every screw, every part, every piece of the technology she worked on had to be perfect. Not for her own benefit, but because Bakugo deserved it, whether he realized it or not. She couldn't afford to make mistakes with someone like him.

Her shop was a chaotic but well-organized mess. Tools were scattered across the floor, some forgotten and others deliberately placed for quick access. The only light came from the overhead bulbs, which cast long, harsh shadows on the walls as the night passed. The low hum of the machines was the only sound she heard as she moved, her hands shaking slightly with exhaustion.

She had taken the occasional break to step outside, her breath fogging up in the winter air, and to receive a text or two from Izuku—always checking in, always asking if she was okay. She hadn’t wanted to admit to him how far she’d gone without eating. But Izuku was kind and persistent, and sometimes his texts felt like a lifeline amidst the whirlpool of her work.

The gauntlets were finally coming together, but Y/n couldn’t help but feel both proud and incredibly drained. Her body screamed for rest, and yet, she couldn’t stop. Not yet.

...

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gauntlets were done. She stepped back, wiping grease and oil from her face with the back of her hand, inspecting the finished product. The sleek black and orange design gleamed under the light, the inner mechanisms already adjusted for Bakugo's quirk. The gauntlets had a custom-made feedback system built into them, amplifying the force of his explosions but distributing the recoil so it wouldn’t damage his limbs.

Y/n’s eyes were blurry from lack of sleep, but her heart swelled with a quiet pride. These gauntlets weren’t just equipment; they were an extension of Bakugo’s fury and power, honed down to a level of sophistication she didn’t think anyone else could pull off. She couldn’t help but think—Bakugo was going to love these. She wasn't just assuming he would, she knew it. She had seen his face after reading her blueprint, then when he walked out with the prototype.

But even as she stood in awe of her work, she realized how long it had been since she had properly cared for herself. The lingering hunger in her stomach was becoming unbearable, and a deep fatigue was pulling at her bones. Her body was starting to remind her that she couldn’t keep going like this.

The moment she finished the gauntlets, she knew she needed a break. She couldn’t push her body any further. A long, hot shower was the only thing she craved at that moment.

She stood under the showerhead, feeling the warm water cascade over her tired skin. The hot steam fogged up the bathroom mirror as she leaned against the tiles, letting the heat melt away the tension in her muscles. Her hands moved lazily through her hair, rinsing out the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the past three days of working nonstop.

The water felt like a balm to her soul, the soft spray soothing the aches in her back, her shoulders, and her legs. She stayed there for what felt like hours, the steam making her skin feel alive again. Each drop of water felt like it was washing away not just the grime but also the mental exhaustion that had been building in her mind.

Her thoughts began to wander as she relaxed, the weight of her work melting away. She thought about Bakugo—how he would react to the gauntlets, how she would handle seeing him again. It had been a professional interaction so far, but something about him kept nagging at her mind. He was abrasive, yes, but there was a part of him she couldn’t quite decipher, something raw and genuine underneath his rough exterior.

She let out a sigh as the water beat against her body. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had a proper break, but her mind was running wild. She forced herself to focus, thinking about how she still had a few adjustments to make. There would always be adjustments, but for now, the gauntlets were perfect.

Eventually, after a long time, she turned off the shower, reluctantly leaving the hot water behind. As the steam dissipated, she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, feeling like a new person. But that feeling wouldn’t last long. There was still more work to be done.

Just as she was starting to dry off, her phone rang, and she saw that it was Izuku. She quickly grabbed a robe and wrapped it around herself as she picked up the call.

“Hey, Izuku,” she said, her voice a little hoarse. She wasn’t sure if it was from fatigue or something else.

“Hey, Y/n,” Izuku greeted warmly. “How’s the gauntlet coming along? Bakugo’s been really eager to see them.”

“I just finished them,” she replied, a little out of breath. “They’re ready for testing. I’ll be sending him the details later.”

“Wow, that’s great! He’s been waiting for them, but you know how he is,” Izuku said, chuckling. “He’s probably pacing back and forth, eager to get his hands on them.”

You pictured a little troll with Bakugo's face on it, grimy little hands scratching his goofy head pacing back and forth and just scowling at the air.

Y/n smiled, even though Izuku couldn’t see her. “I’m sure. I’ll call him when I’m ready for him to test them out.”

“So… how’s everything else?” Izuku asked, voice lowering a little. “You’re taking care of yourself, right? I know you can get carried away with your work.”

She chuckled softly. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“Good, good,” Izuku said, but she could hear the concern in his voice. “By the way, there’s another hero who’s been looking to get in touch with you. They were impressed by your work, and I think they might be a good fit for your skillset.”

Y/n’s curiosity piqued. “Who’s that?”

Izuku paused for a second before answering, “His name’s Sir Nighteye Junior. He’s got some big projects in the works, and he’s been reaching out to top gear designers. He’s heard about your work with Bakugo and some of the other heroes.”

(LISTEN I FORGOT HE DIED YEARS AGO BUT I ALREADY WROTE HIM INTO THE STORY. PRETEND ITS LIKE SIR NIGHTEYE JR, JUST COPYING SIR NIGHT EYE'S NAME PLS)

Y/n’s brow furrowed at the mention of Nighteye. “That’s... interesting. I’ll need to think about it.”

Izuku chuckled again. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

As Y/n hung up the phone, she let the information settle in her mind. Sir Nighteye Junior, huh? It was a big opportunity, but it also felt like a lot of pressure. She wasn’t used to being sought after by heroes, not at this level. But she had no time to think about it right now. Bakugo’s gauntlets were her priority, and she was determined to get them just right.

The work was never-ending, but for Y/n, that was exactly how she liked it. There was always something more to learn, something more to create. The next challenge had already arrived, and she was ready to face it head-on.

She just hoped she’d have a moment to catch her breath before diving into it.

-

It had been a long, demanding few days for Y/n, and just as she thought she might get a break, the lingering thought of Sir Nighteye Junior's request gnawed at her mind. She had almost sent the message to Bakugo to inform him that his gauntlets were ready for pickup, but instead, she found herself staring at her phone screen, wondering if she should give this new opportunity any serious thought. Was she ready to juggle multiple high-profile projects? Her mind was buzzing with the pressure, but she knew she couldn’t put this off any longer. Sir Nighteye Junior was one of the richest heroes in Japan, after inheriting the original Sir Nighteye's inheritance. But Bakugo was a different story...

So, with a long sigh, she sent Bakugo the text: “Your gauntlets are ready for pickup. Let me know when you can stop by to grab them.”

She tried to relax, but her thoughts kept returning to Nighteye. Could she handle him as a client? What kind of demands would he make? She had met this guy before, and he was a complete ass. She buried her phone in her pocket and leaned back in her chair, but just as she did, she heard the chime of her front door.

Bakugo stood in the doorway, a familiar and yet unsettling presence. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her as he stepped inside, his usual cocky confidence on full display. But something about his demeanor was different—there was less of that harsh energy. Perhaps it was the fact that his gauntlets were finally finished, or maybe something else. She had just sent him that text a few seconds ago? Weird, he was probably on patrol nearby. What a weird little angry troll.

Y/n gestured toward the counter where the gauntlets rested, a sleek black-and-orange masterpiece of engineering. "They're ready," she said, standing up and walking over to them. “I made a few adjustments based on what you mentioned before.”

Bakugo walked toward the counter, his gaze quickly scanning over the gauntlets, his sharp eyes catching every small detail. He was quiet, examining them closely. Y/n couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t immediately make a snide remark or scoff. Instead, he paused for a moment, his fingers brushing over the design with a surprising amount of care.

"Yeah, this looks solid," Bakugo muttered. "Better than what I was expecting." His voice was low, but there was a hint of something—maybe respect, maybe admiration—hidden behind his usual gruff tone.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, unsure if she heard that correctly. "You actually like it?"

Bakugo scowled but didn’t seem to find any fault with her work. "I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t. You’re not completely useless when it comes to making gear."

Y/n’s lips twitched. It wasn’t the most glowing compliment, but coming from him, it meant more than anything overly effusive. Still, she didn’t want to get too comfortable. "I’m glad it’s up to your standards," she replied, trying to keep the conversation professional. "I made sure to adjust the inner feedback system, and the recoil dampeners should keep your arms in one piece after the big hits."

Bakugo grunted, picking up one of the gauntlets and flexing his fingers inside it. "It feels good," he admitted, still inspecting the mechanics. "Could’ve been a bit tighter around the wrist, though."

Y/n immediately noted the adjustment in her mind, feeling the urge to tweak it, but before she could say anything, Bakugo handed her the gauntlet, his eyes still on the design. “Not bad. You made these quick, I’ll give you that.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was that... a compliment? She nodded, acknowledging it. “Thanks, I did my best to get them just right.”

Bakugo was silent for a moment, then his voice shifted, this time a little less guarded. “You’re not so bad at this... I might’ve underestimated you.”

Y/n blinked in surprise, but before she could respond, Bakugo’s expression hardened again. “But if it’s not right when I test it, we’ll have a problem.”

Y/n chuckled to herself, hiding the small smile threatening to form on her face. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it."

But as soon as Bakugo left, her relief didn’t last long. The request from Nighteye had been lingering at the back of her mind. She felt the pressure mounting—could she really handle another demanding hero? Her phone buzzed again, and this time it was from Izuku.

Izuku: “Hey, I know you’re busy, but you need to take a break. You’ve been at this nonstop. Don’t forget to eat, alright? Please let me know if you need anything.”

'Damn how'd he know? Is he sending Bakugo over to spy on me?'

Y/n’s fingers hovered over the keys for a moment. She didn’t want to worry Izuku, but she knew she couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Still, it was hard to turn down the opportunities coming her way. She took a deep breath, putting the phone down as she forced herself to focus.

But just as she was about to start on those final tweaks, the doorbell chimed once more. She opened the door to see Bakugo standing there, a determined look on his face. He didn’t even wait for her to speak before he stormed in. Why was he back?

“Yo,” Bakugo said, glaring at her. “You’re still gonna be working on those, right?”

Y/n looked at him, confused. “What? I thought you were satisfied with the fit.”

Bakugo crossed his arms, clearly agitated. “I’m not talking about the fit,” he growled. “I’m talking about the fact that you look like you’re about to drop dead. Don’t even think about finishing anything else for anyone else until you get some rest.”

Y/n was taken aback. She opened her mouth to protest, but Bakugo held up a hand. “I’m serious. I don’t want my shit messed up ‘cause you’re running on fumes.”

Y/n felt a flicker of irritation. “I can handle it,” she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.

Bakugo shot her a glare. “No, you can’t. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

She opened her mouth again to argue, but Bakugo was already marching out the door. “I’ll deal with the other hero. Take care of yourself. You’re no use to anyone if you’re dead on your feet.”

Oh, so Izuku Midoriya was a snitch. He could never shut up, but seriously? Snitching on me to one of my clients, low blow mido.

Y/n watched as he disappeared, leaving her standing there with the quiet hum of her shop filling the space. The gauntlets, now finished, were still sitting on the counter. They were perfect. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude toward Bakugo, despite his harshness.

She pulled out her phone and texted him, telling him to come pick them up tommrow when his check towards her came in and she finished tightening it around the wrists.

She sat down, staring at the phone that still buzzed with messages from Izuku, and now from Nighteye, and from the other hero she was starting to work with. There was a lot to juggle, but for once, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it all together.

After Bakugo left, Y/n found herself alone in the quiet shop, the only sound being the faint hum of the overhead lights. Her phone buzzed incessantly, but she ignored it, the texts from Izuku, Nighteye, and even her neighbors a distant reminder of everything she was neglecting. She was already too far into the work, too close to finishing something that had been consuming her thoughts for days. The gauntlets were on the counter, and her hands instinctively reached for them again, drawn by the quiet need to make just one more adjustment.

She didn’t even realize how long she had been standing there, focused solely on tightening the area around the wrists of the gauntlets. The pressure on her mind was mounting, but the satisfaction of the work kept her focused, the details of the design unfolding in her mind as she worked. A small click of the wrench and a few more measurements brought the fit closer to perfection, but it wasn’t enough. She had to make sure the adjustment was precise, that the fit would be perfect for Bakugo’s gauntlets—anything less than flawless would be unacceptable.

She didn’t notice the hours slipping by. The light from the window faded, leaving the shop bathed in the soft glow of the overhead lamps, casting long shadows across the workshop floor. It wasn’t until the silence felt too heavy, too oppressive, that she took a deep breath and pulled her hands away from the work.

Y/n glanced at the clock on the wall—9:45 p.m. Her stomach growled loudly, a sharp reminder of how long it had been since she had last eaten. She blinked, momentarily dazed, and ran a hand through her hair. She hadn’t realized how far she’d pushed herself until now. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of blueprints, soldering, and testing. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning.

Her phone was still buzzing on the counter, but she didn’t have the energy to check it. She felt lightheaded from exhaustion, and her body was begging for a break. Still, she had to finish. The gauntlets weren’t quite there yet.

With a soft sigh, Y/n gave up on the idea of further adjustments for the night. She gathered the gauntlets and placed them gently on the table, her mind already preoccupied with how she’d continue tomorrow. She needed to rest, but a quick glance at the clock reminded her of just how little time she had. The pressure was mounting again—she still had to finish the adjustments and complete the other projects waiting for her.

But for now, the call of the bed was stronger.

Yawning, Y/n made her way upstairs, her legs heavy and unsteady. Her mind was already spinning with thoughts of work again, but it didn’t matter. She barely registered the soft light in the hallway as she shuffled toward her room.

Once in bed, her body didn’t hesitate—she collapsed into the sheets, the exhaustion finally catching up with her. Sleep hit her hard, and she was out within minutes, her phone still buzzing unanswered on the kitchen counter.

Outside, the night continued on, but inside Y/n's world was silent, save for the hum of her mind still whirring with the weight of everything she had yet to do.

---

Bakugo shoved his hands into his pockets as he stepped out of Y/n’s workshop, his mind still running through the adjustments she had made on his gauntlets. The way she worked, her attention to every detail—it had impressed him. But he wasn’t about to admit that. Not yet, anyway. He growled under his breath as he walked down the street, the evening chill nipping at his face. He’d barely slept the past few days, and even now he could feel the weight of the new gauntlets on his shoulders, his thoughts still tangled with the adjustments.

It was quiet, but it was that kind of quiet that felt oppressive, like everything was waiting for something. Something big. The hum of the city buzzed around him, but it barely reached his ears. His mind was still on Y/n and her workshop, the way she had talked about the process, her focus. It was a far cry from the way most people worked. He couldn't deny it—there was something about her approach that made him feel like his gauntlets might finally be exactly what he needed.

But that wasn’t his problem. Not now. He had a different problem. The problem of his life outside of work, the life he couldn't ignore when he wasn’t buried in prototypes and design specs.

The low rumble of a motorcycle engine broke his thoughts as he walked past the familiar corner bar. Kirishima, Mina, and Midoriya were already there, waiting for him. He didn’t care much for the whole "drinks with friends" thing—he wasn’t exactly the type to unwind with alcohol. But Kirishima insisted, and despite his usual gruffness, Bakugo didn’t mind the idea of letting off some steam after the past few days of stress.

He opened the door to the bar, the familiar smell of beer and grilled food wafting through the air. Mina waved excitedly from the back booth, her bright pink hair bouncing as she jumped to greet him. Midoriya looked up from his phone, and Kirishima flashed his usual goofy grin.

“Yo, Bakugo!” Kirishima called, giving him a nod. “You look like you’re about to blow up something—what’s up, man?"

Bakugo grunted, sitting down across from them. “Nothing. Just got done with some bullshit.”

Mina raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on his tone. “You’re not in the best mood, huh?”

Bakugo slouched into the seat, still feeling the irritation building in his chest, even though the gauntlets were coming along well. “I’m fine,” he snapped, but there was something in his voice that gave it away. Kirishima didn’t press it, but Midoriya, who had a knack for reading people, glanced over at him.

“Y/n?” Midoriya asked softly, as if testing the waters.

Bakugo tensed, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. She’s good. The gauntlets are... fine. Better than fine, actually. She knows her shit.”

There was a brief pause before Kirishima laughed. “I told you she was awesome, dude. You were all stubborn about it, but now I’m hearing some praise!”

“I’m not praising her,” Bakugo shot back quickly, his voice a little sharper than he intended. “I’m just saying... they’re good. I don’t have time for anything else. I don’t want her to screw it up with my gear.”

Mina smirked, glancing at Kirishima. “Sounds like someone’s got a soft spot for his gear designer.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed dangerously, his fingers twitching toward his drink. “Shut the hell up, Ashido,” he growled, but there was a flicker of something—maybe respect, maybe something else—in his eyes.

Midoriya cleared his throat, always the peacemaker. “So... you’re gonna get the final version of the gauntlets tomorrow, huh?”

Bakugo nodded. “Yeah. She said it’ll be ready by tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to test them, make sure there aren’t any problems. If she really knows what she’s doing, they’ll be ready for the field. And if not, I’ll make her fix it.”

Kirishima raised his glass. “To Y/n then, the genius behind Bakugo’s new gear!”

Bakugo scowled at him, but there was no denying the appreciation in his voice when he spoke again. “I’m serious though. If she makes a mistake, I’ll make her fix it. I’m not going back to that useless shit Hatsume made for me.”

Kirishima’s expression softened. “She’s got your back, man. You’ll see.”

Bakugo didn’t answer. Instead, he took a long drink, feeling the burn of the alcohol hit him faster than usual. His thoughts drifted back to Y/n, to the way she had worked on the gauntlets with that quiet focus. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she didn’t seem like the typical designer. She didn’t treat him like some pro hero—she treated him like another job, another challenge.

And for the first time in a long while, it felt like someone was actually getting his gear right.

While Bakugo sat with his friends, the conversation continued around him. But in his head, Y/n’s workshop, her blueprint, and the gauntlets she had crafted were all he could think about. He was still the same Bakugo—the one who didn't trust anyone easily. But this time, maybe... just maybe, his stubborn pride could make room for a bit of respect.

Bakugo’s mind raced with thoughts of the gauntlets, but it wasn’t just the work that was nagging at him now. Y/n had been pushing herself too hard. The stress was practically seeping out of her—he could see it in the way she was working nonstop, barely taking breaks. He'd noticed the way she rubbed her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands, the exhaustion that barely even seemed to phase her. It bothered him more than he'd care to admit, but he wasn’t one to show concern directly. Instead, his instincts kicked in. He wasn't going to let her screw this up because some asshole hero was rushing her to get things done.

It was mid-afternoon when he made up his mind. Bakugo had already done his part by making sure the design was spot on. The rest was up to her. But this new request from Sir Nighteye Junior—a high-profile hero known for his demanding nature—had put undue pressure on Y/n. She didn’t need that kind of stress, not now. She wasn’t some machine that could be pushed past her limits without consequences. Bakugo wasn't going to let some rich hero screw things up, especially when it was about his gear.

He couldn’t believe it—Sir Nighteye Junior had the audacity to demand Y/n prioritize his request over everything else. Bakugo clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edges of his jacket. No one was going to mess with his gauntlets, and definitely no one was going to force Y/n into making mistakes because they couldn't be patient.

Kirishima had told him about the meeting with Sir Nighteye Junior the other day. The hero was practically hounding Y/n for her attention, and he couldn’t stand the thought of some entitled rich kid rushing her work. Bakugo wasn’t a hero for nothing. He was going to set things straight.

Bakugo didn’t waste any time. He left his friends sitting at the bar with one goal in mind. He’d heard where Sir Nighteye Junior had been staying, a lavish penthouse near the edge of the city, and he wasn’t in the mood for playing games. He was sick of heroes like him flaunting their status, using their influence to get what they wanted, especially when it came to Y/n. She’d worked too hard to be pushed around.

He stormed through the front doors of the building, ignoring the receptionist’s attempts to stop him. He was Bakugo Katsuki, and he didn’t have time for pleasantries. The elevator ride up to the penthouse felt too long, the tension in the air almost unbearable. His eyes were sharp, burning with a quiet rage.

When the elevator doors finally opened, Bakugo marched straight toward the door of Sir Nighteye Junior’s suite. He didn’t knock. He didn’t need to. He kicked the door open with force, the sound of it slamming against the wall echoing in the empty space.

Inside, Sir Nighteye Junior was sitting behind an elegant mahogany desk, looking up in surprise as Bakugo stepped in, his expression a perfect mask of annoyance and anger.

“Bakugo Katsuki. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Sir Nighteye Junior asked, his voice smooth, but the surprise was still evident in his eyes.

“I’m here to make one thing clear,” Bakugo said, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re going to stop pressuring Y/n. Right now.”

Sir Nighteye Junior’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think you understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Bakugo snapped, cutting him off. “Y/n doesn’t need your deadlines. She doesn’t need you breathing down her neck about your gear requests. She’s been doing this for years, and she’s been doing it damn well. You’re not going to screw that up with your demands. You’ll wait, and you’ll like it.”

There was a tense silence as Sir Nighteye Junior processed his words. Bakugo didn’t move. He wasn’t going anywhere until this was settled. He wasn’t about to let anyone ruin the work Y/n had been doing, not with the pressure she was under. It wasn’t just about her skill—it was about the fact that she had no time to waste on people who didn’t respect her process.

“I don’t take kindly to threats,” Sir Nighteye Junior said, his voice colder now. He stood up from his desk, pushing his chair back with a faint creak. “You think you can just come here and demand I halt my requests because of some woman’s workload?”

Bakugo’s eyes hardened. “I’m not asking you to halt your request,” he said, his voice even colder than before. “I’m telling you, you’re going to wait. And if you think I’m bluffing, try me.”

The tension in the room was palpable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence almost suffocating. Sir Nighteye Junior stared at Bakugo, a mixture of disbelief and frustration crossing his face. But Bakugo didn’t care. He had no intention of backing down.

Finally, Sir Nighteye Junior spoke again, his voice low. “Fine. I’ll give her some breathing room. But don’t think this means I won’t be expecting results. I’m not one to sit idly by.”

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his gaze unyielding. “Good. Now, don’t forget what I just said.”

With that, Bakugo turned and stormed out of the office, the door slamming behind him with a satisfying thud. He took a deep breath, his hands still clenched tightly at his sides.

As he made his way back to his apartment, Bakugo’s thoughts shifted back to Y/n. He hadn’t done this for her approval, not in the way most people would expect. He wasn’t trying to be a good guy. But she deserved respect. She deserved the space to do her work, and he’d be damned if anyone tried to interfere with that.

When he finally got back to his apartment, he slumped down onto the couch. He didn’t feel satisfied, but there was a strange sense of relief that washed over him. Maybe it wasn’t about the gear after all. Maybe it was more about making sure Y/n had the space to do her thing without being harassed.

With a sigh, he picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/n’s contact. Should he text her? Probably not. But then again, she needed to know. He didn’t care about being nice. But maybe—just maybe—she’d appreciate the fact that he had her back.

He sent the text.

"I dealt with that scrawny Nighteye Junior kid, he's off your shoulders. So make sure you rest so my gauntlets will turn out perfect. Got it?"

Bakugo’s face contorted in disgust as he recalled the stench of the penthouse. The air was thick with the lingering scent of sex, a sharp, off-putting reminder of the kind of people Sir Nighteye Junior kept company with. It wasn’t a place Bakugo was used to. He was used to being around real heroes, people who cared about their work, their craft, and their integrity—not some spoiled, entitled rich kid who thought he could buy respect.

The two women who had been lounging on the couch, barely clothed and obviously unbothered by the presence of a professional hero, only added to the vile atmosphere. They had barely even acknowledged Bakugo’s entrance, too busy sipping on glasses of wine and giggling like they hadn’t a care in the world. It sickened him, the lack of respect, the blatant disregard for what was important. It wasn’t his place to judge, but it still made him feel like the air was dirtier than it should’ve been.

But he had a job to do, and that wasn’t going to be swayed by the trashy atmosphere he’d had to endure for the past half-hour. He was there for one thing and one thing only: Y/n’s work. It was what mattered, not the indulgences of people like Sir Nighteye Junior.

Shaking off the memory, Bakugo sat down on the couch in his apartment, his phone clenched tightly in his hand. He’d sent the text to Y/n, but now he was waiting for her response. Part of him felt weird about it—he wasn’t the kind of person who just casually texted someone after something like this. But this was different. He knew he had to check in on the gauntlets; she deserved to have everything perfect.

There was a rare sense of calm now that the situation with Sir Nighteye Junior was resolved. He’d made sure Y/n wouldn’t be pressured anymore. He’d gone out of his way, despite his usual attitude, because she deserved it. Her work mattered too much for someone to throw around their power like that.

Now, as he waited for the message to come through, he couldn’t help but think about the gauntlets. They were perfect, weren’t they? He had been impressed with the prototype, and after seeing her dedication, after seeing her work with such precision, he knew she was the right person for the job. No more interruptions. No more stress. He couldn’t wait to see how it all came together, and now that the pressure from Sir Nighteye Junior was off her shoulders, Bakugo was certain she could finish them without any distractions.

As he stared at his phone, the buzzing vibration broke his concentration. The message from Y/n was there, and he quickly unlocked the screen, his eyes scanning it.

"Yup i got it, btw gauntlets are ready for testing," she had written. "Let me know when you can come by, and we’ll get started."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Bakugo’s lips. Perfect. It was exactly what he had been waiting for.

---

[captainpulisic]

you dream of my mouth - m. mount

a/n - this is for my baby s, you made me the happiest girl ever today- oh, and molly for manifesting it

wc: 2.5k gif creds to owner

whoever has the fucking audacity to be knocking at your door at two in the morning just made their way to the top of your enemy list. you stifle a yawn as you reach the door, who's even awake at this time?

slightly raising your tiptoes, you look through the peephole at the inconsiderate person who clearly doesn’t care about you getting your beauty sleep. yet the person you see has your eyes widening and falling to the ground, out of sight. 

as if he could see you. 

you’re sure you must still be dreaming. this has to be some sort of too realistic hallucination. you must be still tucked into bed, having the weirdest dream of your life. because why else would mason fucking mount be at your doorstep after months of no contact?

there was no reason for him to be here. after signing and transferring to manchester, he had wasted no time in breaking up with you, reasoning that long distance never really worked. after that and too far away from his former life, he was quick to be papped with new girls every other week. it made you miserable, seeing how quick he was to move on, to be so open about his newest flings. you, on the other hand, had some decency to be on the downlow about the guys you began to date- or tried to date, anyway. none of them managed to stick, falling victim to you comparing them to mason. they just weren’t him. and you hated how quick you were to dismiss them over that.  

catching your breath, you gain the courage to look through, again. your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you, it really was him. it was a blurry and disoriented lense but from what you can make out, he looks disheveled and quite a mess. his hair looks tousled, as if he had been continuously tugging at it.

you remember that had always been a nervous habit of his. and a habit of yours had become swatting his hands away, replacing them with your own as you tried to style his hair back into place. oh, how your hands were itching to do it right now. to run your fingers through it and feel him lean into your touch.

it had been ages since that’d happened. 

your heart wasn’t giving your brain no time to think because before you knew it, you were unlocking and opening the door. 

and there mason stood, looking at you like a deer caught in headlights. he tried to take a step towards you, stumbling in the process. he braced himself against the door frame, trying to balance himself as he mumbled your name. and you curse yourself for pulling him towards yourself, giving him some extra support. slurring his words, “tell me it isn’t true.”

great, you sigh. he’s drunk. 

“ben told me that he saw you out today,” he manages to mumble. your body freezes when his hand reaches up to cradle your jaw. and your heart speeds up when his thumb begins to swipe at your bottom lip. his eyes shift from your own eyes down to your lips, “that he saw out with some guy, saw you kissing him. ‘s not fair, it was me you were kissing not too long ago y’know?”

he always did get clingy when drunk. you’re too weak to shove him away but not weak enough to bite back, “until you left.”

you see the words register, as his eyes show a flash of hurt. the corner of his mouth slightly dips, as he shakes his, trying to forget about the night he idiotically let you go. 

“oh, ‘m sorry I left, pretty girl.” after a moment of eyes sweeping all over your face, his lips turn upwards, into a dopey smile. with his hand still cupping your jaw, he begins to swipe at your bottom lip again. “but i’m back now.” 

you’re certain your face is burning red, legs already turning to jelly. thank god he’s still technically holding you up or you’re certain you’d be on the floor by now. you curse him for having this effect on you and curse yourself for still falling for it. your problem had always been being too weak around him.

he waits for you to throw a sarcastic quip, or even to tell him to ‘fuck off’, but all he gets from you are blushing cheeks and an averted gaze. taking this as a good sign, he leans in to leave a kiss at the corner of your mouth. pulling pack to check your reaction, he grins when he sees your closed eyes and ghost of a smile. 

from there, he plants a few more open mouthed kisses on your cheek, always going back to the corner of your mouth in between each one. never on your lips, though- just slight brushes over them. the damned bastard won’t give you the satisfaction too easily. when he feels your lips begin to chase his, desperate to taste him again, he disappears once more. with the hand cupping your jaw, he lightly tilts your face upward, giving himself plenty of access to focus on your neck.  

you’re about to protest from the lack of actual kissing you’ve received but quickly bite your own tongue when you feel him leave a small bite at the crook of your neck. he presses a peck to the same spot, marveling at the fast forming bruise. mason hums, “there, the way it should be.” 

he fails to see you roll your eyes at his possessive antics, too busy refamiliarizing himself with the crook of your neck. it’s a trail of kisses from the curve of your shoulder to the space behind  your ear, a few bites given in between. hearing your breathy sighs, he takes it as reaffirmations to continue. so he kisses your neck and jaw and cheek (anywhere but your actual mouth, really- which becomes quite frustrating!), again and again and again. 

finding his way back up to your face, he comes to a halt when he’s eye level with you. as if seeing each other for the first time again, under happier circumstances, there’s a doe-eyed fondness in both your eyes and matching lovesick smiles.

decidedly having had enough of his teasing, your hands find their way to the sides of his stubble filled cheeks. it’s all so fast as your lips finally meet masons, finding a rhythm that’s all too familiar. it was soft, yet deep and heated. it was the making up of months without each other, being desperate to fill in for the lost time. instantly, you taste the alcohol that has him acting so brazen. both your hands were desperate, tugging and pulling at each others clothes. his hands have found their way to the hem of your shirt, feeling the warm skin of your hips. closing your eyes, your arms drop down to his shoulders, around his neck, pulling him flush against yourself. and you felt a tinge of satisfaction every time he moaned into the kiss. 

his lips never leaving yours, he began to guide you backward, still knowing the layout of your flat without having to look. when you felt the back of your legs hit the couch, you let mason push you down to lay on it. in an instant, he followed you down and was on you. again, his mouth was all over you. neck, jaw, lips, cheeks and repeat. 

you come somewhat back to your senses when you feel his fingers nimbly trying to unbutton your blouse. he finds it a difficult feat due to his still inebriated state. 

how often did he find himself in this predicament with all the girls he had been out with recently? your horrid, sensible mind question itself. all those girls that he’s papped with, how many of them end up on his couch? did any of them naively think they’d be the ones to finally lock him and his heart down, just as you had? 

the thought of it made you nauseous.

you couldn’t fall victim to him, not again. if you gave yourself to him once more, watching him leave would utterly destroy you. the possibility of history repeating itself, of him leaving and parading his latest conquest back in manchester, would be your death. you’re not sure you’d recover this time and you don’t want to see it through to find out. 

“mase- wait,” your heart feels betrayed by your mind, as you find the strength to lightly shove his shoulders. 

you see the confusion in his eyes as he peers down at you. holding himself up with his forearms, careful not to squish you, “is something wrong?”

you try to voice your pesky worries but you can’t seem to find the words. instead, you just shake your head as you begin to detangle yourself from him. you can see the confusion etched on his face but nonetheless, he silently mirrors your actions, unsure of when the night had taken a turn. it’s an awkward maneuver of limbs and loud silence. 

he had been positive everything was going to go his way tonight. truth be told, when ben had told him he had seen you out on a date with some guy, he had seen red. he was aware of how hypocritical he was being but the high volume of drinks he had drunk were making him think his childish tantrum was reasonable. taking another shot for good measure, he called a cab and made his way to your place. 

he wasn’t sure what his endgame was when you opened the door, if you even opened it. he wanted to confront you for moving on. he wanted to apologize for leaving and ruining the loveliest relationship he’d ever had. he wanted you to apologize for snogging some loser who wasnt him, out in the open where anybody could see. he wanted to apologize if he ever made you think any of those girls meant what you had to him.

each knock to your door, his mind flashed to those flings he had been stupid enough to have. with every knock, he felt a sudden urgency to let you know that they amounted to nothing. you needed to know of the few occasions these girls left, annoyed and offended that he had accidentally said your name instead. that no girl made his tummy feel as fuzzy as you did, no one came close. maybe it wasn’t the wisest thing to do but his intoxicated, hazy brain had to tell you that most nights, he’d fall asleep to dreams of you. 

too wrapped up in his thoughts, you clearing your throat snapped him back to the present. your eyes glued to the floor “i’m going to call ben to pick you up, okay?” 

what? why? masons mouth feels too dry. he’s at a loss for words. he hadn’t told you half of the things he wanted to and now you were kicking him out. he was sure his shock would sober him up.

as you stand up from the couch to go retrieve your phone, all he can do is helplessly stare at your retreating figure. he had so much to tell you and his brain was failing him. that last shot was a mistake, not a confidence booster as he had thought. 

when you come back into the room, he’s able to catch the ending of you saying, “alright, see you soon.”

you make a point on sitting on the other side of the couch, putting some distance between the two of you.

no, he wants to whine. I don’t want to leave. I wanna be with you and kiss you and your pretty mouth. I fall asleep dreaming of it. 

all he can slur out, “I wanna kiss you, again.”

it pains you to say, “mason, no.”

“why not?” he pouts, a sad look in his eyes. he reaches for your hand that had been folded in your lap, the hand that had been itching to touch him again. rubbing his thumb along it, “you used to love kissing me.”

“until you left me and started kissing other girls,” you bite back. you know it’s not a fair fight, him not fully there to defend himself. and then you feel even worse as you watch his face fall. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a small voice, “I never should’ve left.”

it’s useless to argue, he won’t even remember this in the morning. you sigh, “forget it, ben will be here soon.”

resigned, mason nods and leans back to sit on the couch. the silence is deafening and all he wants to do is kiss you. why won’t you let me kiss you? his brain wants to shout. 

as the clock ticks on the wall, he feels his eyes grow tired by the minute. he hoped ben would get lost and he’d be forced to spend the night. he didn’t care if nothing physically happened between the two of you, just being in your proximity would leave him content. 

the thought of it makes him let out a soft chuckle, with a yawn following close by. and on your side of the couch, you let your eyes wander towards him. it hurts having so close yet with the knowledge that you’ll never have him again, not truly. tomorrow he'll be on his way back to his new home with new girls waiting for him. 

no, it’s better this way you try to reassure yourself.

hearing another yawn escape him, you allow yourself to fully look at him. offering a small smile, “rest, i’ll wake you when ben gets here.”

“I don’t wanna,” another yawn, “I need to tell you so much.”

“you can tell me some other time.”

“but what if you don’t ever wanna talk another time,” his voice is sad and a bit sleepy. he’s about to fall into slumber any second now, you remember the signs of it. eyes slightly closing then opening, “and you need to know.”

you catch yourself whispering, “know what?”

he leans his head back further into the couch cushion. his words come out all mumbled together but you’re able to hear a faint ‘mouth’. 

“hmm?”

“your mouth, your pretty mouth”, more inaudible whispers, “I dream of it all the time.”

“mase,” you're cut off by a knock at the door. clearly timing had never been on either of your sides. when you look back at him, you’re met with his peaceful, resting face. maybe this was for the better. and as you let ben in and simply watch him half-carry mason to his car, your heart inexplicably aches. there was a sense of finality to the situation, an unspoken final goodbye. this time tomorrow, he’d be back in his new life and you’d have to start with your new life. it was over and you had to come to terms with it

this was kinda rushed but needed to celebrate the exciting day,, like always, feedback is very much appreciated!

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 04

Kinktober Masterlist felix culpa - "fortunate fault" Gaz x f!reader Kinks > dubcon, stuck kink, anal sex Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You were born to be a mechanic, and working on fancy, top-secret vehicles is one of your favorite things about your job. However, when you crawl into the belly of a broken down tank and can’t get back out, one of your fellow soldiers takes advantage of your (un)fortunate situation.

When the order rolled across your desk, you couldn’t believe your luck. You’d been selected by an elite task force to design a very custom, very deadly tank mod, and you were out of your mind with excitement. This was your dream job, and you were giddy the whole drive down to the site.

Parked out front on the concrete pad, you saw what looked like a Challenger 3, but something was… off. Yes, the paint job was different, and they’d chosen to go with a wider tread for the desert terrain they were in. But, that wasn’t all. They’d done something underneath, something secret and hidden. 

You didn’t waste any time. You were agile and you could always wriggle yourself into small places, perfect for a mechanic. And your brain loved puzzles, so this was going to be an amazing project. 

You were instructed to boost the navigation system to an incredible degree. But, if they needed desert-style mods, you were going to give them an intense aircon and liquid cooling unit as well as the mother of all filters. In order to get started, you had to work around this… contraption they had installed at the base of the tank.

When you got a closer look, you realized what it was. It was a wheel! They’d fitted the bottom of their tank with speed boosters and a three-sixty wheel to help them turn on a dime. This was insane. If only you could get a little closer to see if…

Oops…

You moved your hips backward, trying to free your body, but you were stuck. When you tried to move forward, your belt loop had caught on a long screw, wrapped around it so tight that you couldn’t free yourself with your hands. 

Fuck. 

“Hey!” You called out, trying to see if anyone was around to help you.

You tried again, a little louder this time,

“Hey! Is anybody there?”

Nothing. You waited for a while, trying not to panic, and then you head a large warehouse door slide open, its metal wall clanging and banging as it slid up into the railings. 

“Hey! Help me!”

“Well, well,” a smooth, deep voice teased you cruelly, “Wha’s all this, then?”

“I’m… uh, I think I’m stuck. Can you pull me out?”

“And you are?”

You told him your name and he offered his own,

“You can call me Gaz. In fact, you…” He bent down to the side of the tank and met your eyes, “You can call me anytime.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he was cute enough to make you smile at his terrible joke. 

“Can you help me or not, Gaz?”

“That depends,” you watched his boots march their way around the front of the machine, settling back behind you, “Wha’s in it for me?”

“Um…” You tried to think about what you had to offer, but you came up empty, “My eternal thanks?”

“I think I want somethin’ else.”

You felt his hands wrap themselves around your thick ass cheeks, giving them a rough squeeze. 

“Hey!”

“Thought you wanted out, babes. I’m just tryin’ to help you, ain’t I?”

You had to admit, his hands did feel pretty nice. He seemed singularly obsessed with your ass, massaging your flesh through your canvas work pants, using his knees to spread your legs wide so that he could dig his fingers roughly between the join of your legs. 

“Mngh… wait. Someone’s gonna see us,” you protested, trying to hide your pleasure. 

“Nah, don’t think so. Not while they’re in Cap’s briefing. Long-winded, him.”

You squirmed, trying to free yourself again, and you heard his silky laugh.

“I could leave you here, lovie,” Gaz threatened, “Let them find you in an hour or two.”

“Don’t go… Help me out, Gaz,” you begged, “Please?” 

“Then stay still,” he purred, “And let me get you out.”

You heard the soft whisper of a knife coming out of its sheath, and you felt him cut your belt loop. Then, he went further, slicing your belt and raking it out of your pants. Without the leather strap holding up your slacks, they began to slip down your hips, slowly revealing more and more of your body to your “savior”. 

“Wow… look at these,” his fingers played in the lacy strap of your thong, “Definitely not regulation, huh? Naughty girl…”

You whimpered, hearing your own desperation echo against the belly of the tank, letting this gorgeous man have his way with you. You rationalized it in your mind. He was helping, he deserved to touch, right?

In one fell swoop, he yanked your pants the rest of the way down, letting them get caught on your knees, trapping you even more than you already were. 

“Holy shit, this arse is a fuckin’ dream.”

His mouth was on you before you could take your next breath. You felt his strong tongue writhe its way towards your hole, licking you and suckling at your skin like a hungry beast, as if you were a fresh fruit, as if he were starving. You could feel the drool from his lolling tongue drip across the underside of your ass as he ate you out, moaning as he feasted on your pliant flesh. 

“Gaz, please…” You whined, trying to keep your voice down but feeling yourself beginning to spiral out of control. 

“Patience, lovie. Wanna taste you, first.”

“If someone sees us, they’ll… unghf–fuck… they’ll throw us in the glasshouse! I’ll lose my job!”

He sighed, annoyed, 

“Fine, a quick one, then, hm?”

“No, wait! That’s not what I… ohhh…” You tried to protest, tried to get him to listen to reason, but before you could state your case, he was pressing his thumb against the rim of your hole, stretching you open until you gaped for him, and you could feel his eyes bearing down into your darkness, imagining the suffocating warmth that awaited him inside.

He laughed softly, letting his thumb delve a little deeper. Then, he replaced it with his thick middle finger, and he began to writhe his way inside of you, stretching you out as he explored your body.

“So tight… Gonna be a rough ride if you’re tryin’ to rush me, baby.”

“Mmngh. Ngh. Nuhhh… No, just… let’s meet up later. Tonight… Won’t have to rush…” You were struggling to stay on the right side of sane because his fingers knew exactly how to twist and pry and press you open. 

He made a nasty little groan, a vote against your idea, 

“But, if I don’t try to get you unstuck now, my mate’s will come ‘round the corner and find you like this. They’re not as gentle as me, you know, lovie.”

Another finger slipped into your body before you were ready for it, and his knuckles made your asshole ache from the soreness of his touch. You cried out, and you had to listen to another devilish laugh as he fucked you on his hand. 

Your hole was making slurping, wet noises as he coated you in his spit, using it as lube so it would ease his way. You could also hear the tell-tale sound of him jerking his cock, the rhythmic slapping giving him away. 

“We’re outta time, babes. Need you to breathe for me, yeah?”

When you felt the soft tip of his prick, your whole body responded to him. Gaz was prying your cheeks apart with one hand and guiding himself in with the other. You began to stretch, and you held your breath, bracing for pain. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed at you, “Relax, baby. Gonna hurt you if you don’t let me in. There’s my good girl.”

You let out a trembling exhale, shaking uncontrollably as he forced himself to fit, his hard length twice as big as his fingers had been, making you see stars from the pleasure-wrapped pain. 

“Too big… it’s too much… I can’t…” You tried to protest, your hips grinding towards him, betraying your true desire. 

He rocked himself forward and back, popping his thick cockhead in and out of you, watching you shudder with every thrust. 

“You can, baby. I’ll help you. That’s it. Breathe for me.”

You tried to steady your heart, and every time your breath left your lungs, it shook with a nervous vibrato, culminating in a high whine. 

His cock dipped further. He was nearly halfway, and you felt like he would be in your throat if he took you any deeper. 

“Gaz, holy fuck!”

“Mmm, I know, lovie. But, you’re takin’ me so bloody well. Love watching your tight little arsehole stretch itself for me. When it twitches like that… yeah, that’s so fuckin’ hot.”

You couldn’t help the twitching. You were pulsing for him uncontrollably. Your body wanted to come, and it was ready for him to make you. But, he was going too slowly, trying to be careful with you. It was driving you out of your mind. 

You jerked your hips onto his cock, trying to fit more of him into your body with each thrust, listening to the huffy, gasping noises you were dragging out of him. 

“Oh, fuck me. That feels so good. You ready for more, love? I’ll give you more,” he snarled. You could hear the venom in his voice as he quickened his pace. 

Gaz abandoned his plan for a slow entry and shoved himself forward, rocking your body and making you cry out in an aching peal of pleasure. Then, he began to fuck himself into you, holding your cheeks apart so he could watch his invasion. 

You were a babbling mess, incapable of words or thoughts. All you could feel was the fiery bliss that sparked through your core as he rutted you into the filthy concrete. 

Your pussy was exposed to the rough ground, and it rubbed back and forth as he thrust his cock into you. You reached down to play with yourself, and you found out that you were soaking with thick, creamy slick. 

Spreading it liberally across your folds, you began making small, fast circles around your clit, eager to feel it swell and harden under your hands. You were so close; just a little more and Gaz would send you careening off the edge. 

“Touchin’ that greedy little quim, huh?”

“Yeah,” you moaned, confessing your sins to him.

“Good girl,” he rasped breathlessly, fucking you at a brutal pace now, unable to control his lust. 

That was the phrase that pulled your trigger, apparently. You listened to his lascivious praise and felt yourself rattle across the line, tumbling and whirling through a destructive orgasm, wetting yourself with pleasure, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing but air. 

“Tha’s it. Tha’s so fuckin’ good, baby. Come for me just like that…” Gaz let his hand strike down on your exposed ass cheek, and you screamed even louder, keening and rolling in the overstimulating sensation of his sex. 

His movements became frantic, and you could hear him grunting with a joyful rage. Then, silence. Everything went still. He froze, buried deep inside you, sunk to the hilt. He was coming in you, dumping load after load of hot spend, letting it pool at the furthest point he could reach, letting his prick paint your asshole white with his cream. 

Without saying a word, he pulled out, backing away from you. You heard him rustling around in his pockets, and then silence again when he found what he was looking for. 

“Fuck. Holy fuck… Gaz, are you gonna help me out of here?” You asked, panting and well-used, wondering about his promise. 

“Mmm, I dunno, baby. Looks like the meeting just let out. Give the lads a note, will ya?”

You felt the cold tip of a marker slide across your ass cheek, and you called back to him,

“Hey! What the fuck?”

“Gaz… was… here… There we go. All set. Good luck with your situation, lovie. When you get free, come find me for round two, yeah?”

“Are you seriously gonna leave me here?” You asked him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, the boys look pretty eager to help you, so I’ll let them have a go at it. I’m sure they’ll get you out. Ghost’s got a thing for puzzles. Oh, here. Hold onto this for me, would ya?”

You felt him slide the body of the thick Sharpie into your asshole, plugging his come inside of you, ready for the next man in line to leave his mark.