#Outlined on My Finger Printed in My Heart

[naffeclipse]

Bloody Mess

Reader x Sebastian Solace

Commission Info

I'm rattling @o-cinnamonstickz so hard right now for requesting Sebastian with an injured reader! This is my jam, and I'm eating it up! The hot fish continues to plague us both. After an unfortunate turret encounter, the reader requires serious medical attention. It's a good thing Sebastian's shop isn't too far. A medkit or a helping hand could do the trick.

Content Warnings: Injury, blood, and stitches.

———

You hobble down the hallway with a hand pressed to your side. Sanguine oozes between your fingers, shining in the harsh light of the Hadal Blacksite. Every breath draws out a searing shot through your ribs. Every exhale teases your vision with blots of black. 

A mindless urge draws you forward. The room spins and dips as if rocked by waves. Another ribbon of agony cuts deep through your side, lacing through your rib cage and back to the bloody hole taking up your jumpsuit. Dark crimson freely soaks into the fabric. 

Turrets. Why did it have to be turrets in the other room?

You heard the mechanical whir as it trained its barrel on you, the red dot marking its target. The split moment you had to run and escape the line of sight was followed by several ear-drum-shattering discharges. 

The soft metallic fall of shell casings echoed like the drizzle of rain. 

Lacking a medkit on hand, you do, however, have dozens of flash drives and a few thick documents tucked into the pocket opposite your wound. What little good it does you now.

You stumble, almost dropping to your knees but you grit your teeth. A locker brushes your shoulder as you titter dangerously close to collapse. Your hand clenches over your slick and hot injury, wondering how much blood loss is too much. 

If you go down now, you’re not getting back up.

You attempt to push your hair out of your face but only succeed in smearing blood along your temple. Growling quietly, you endure another searing strike. It radiates through your torso as if the bullet had a fine time ping-ponging off of your internal organs.

The tremors working down your limbs spell an inevitable outcome. You force yourself to straighten. A dollop of blood falls to the floor by your feet and you stare down at the splatter for a moment too long.

You are not expected to return. The sharp and constant legal print pierces you with a narrow-straight tip.

A loud, high-pitched sound echoes distantly. Your heart stalls, caught between reserves of adrenaline and what pulsing fear assaults your waning consciousness. 

Pinkie.

The screaming grows. Surging with the last of your strength, you drop your hand from your bleeding side. One step after the other, you throw yourself into forward momentum, fueled only by the absolute terror locked in your veins. Your boot almost catches on your other in your dizzying dash.

Your eyes land upon a vent. The opening emits a light and muscle memory takes hold. 

The wail climbs until a ringing in your eardrums. The world whirls between red and gray and pink. Throwing yourself to the floor, you dive headfirst into the ventilation shaft. Knocking your injured side, a wretched gasp leaves you as stars burst across your vision. Pain roars and gouges at your bullet wound in time with Pinkie’s scream. The lockers lining the hall rattle with the angler fish's force before you scramble the last of the distance into Sebastian’s shop.

Dropping to the cold, gray floor, you sprawl out much in the way a chalk outline of a murder victim would be drawn. The pain rolls over you, pushing you deeper and deeper down. The heat of fresh blood spills over your side and onto the floor, freely flowing into a slowly expanding puddle. Your lungs heave to catch your breath. The darkness spreading around your vision threatens to take you completely under.

You can’t pay the ferryman again. There are only so many coins you can find in this abysmal place. Your life is worth only how much jingles in your pocket, and you’re starting to become dirt cheap. 

A deep snort echoes. Using the last of your strength, you turn your head to the one responsible for the sound, and glower.

Sebastian Solace stands tall in the corner of his shop. His anglerfish lure brightens the gray and gloom with a warm flare. His hands clasped together in front of him. His third waves his claws in a flippant greeting.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not much safer here with me.” He surveys you, his teal eyes glowing sharp. They upturn with equal disgust and amusement. “Nice diving technique. Ten outta ten.”

If it were any other moment, you would be roiling with anger and offer a rebuttal of preparing him to be made into a fillet. Furious, you have no energy to give to his usual taunts and threats. 

The floor is the most gracious safe haven you have known. The hot spread of blood along your ribcage continues to grow. Deep gulps fill you, but every motion of taking in air tears at the pain digging between your ribs. Silently, you lie in your own crimson.

A mighty shift of Sebastian’s tail slips along the wall. He peers closer, his third eye crinkling while he regards you like a toad that happened to get run over in the street. Repulsion sweeps across his features.

“You’re bleeding in my shop,” he growls low in his throat. “Do you mind?”

Exhaustion clings heavy to your skull. The weight of your eyelids grows tenfold. The wound racks your body until a groan threatens to slip past your lips. 

A scoff of abhorrence leaves him. The heavy thump of a trail begins to drag over the floor. The light shifts, and you stare upwards. Sebastian looms over you, his hands pressing in on either side of you, carefully avoiding the pool of blood your body is making on the floor of his shop.

Good. If nothing else, he’ll remember you by the stains you left behind. You’ll win by being the final nuisance. Hah.

You tense with a tsunami-level crash of agony against your nerves. Everything burns every last sensation. The heat and sear go on endlessly through your bones and along your flesh. 

“Hey, are you going to buy a medkit and fix up the mess you’re making?” his voice comes from far away and all too close as if your head is submerged in water. The tip of a large finger prods at your jumpsuit. “You’re making me hungry.”

Your fuzzy brain finds it funny how the anglerfish lure upon his head douses him in a halo-like glow. As if he’s anything less than a devilish fish coming to torment you in your personal purgatory. 

Not that even angelic light could wash out his disgust with you. 

You try to speak. A faint moan trickles from your lips, “You’re… not gonna… eat me.”

A chuckle echoes, raspy and mischievous. The urge to smack him sends tingles down your hand, but no strength.

“You’re looking pretty tasty.” Sebastian, however, grunts a noise of aversion. 

If you had the strength to laugh derisively, you would.

Flukes swish just in the corner of your dark vision. 

“What happened?” Sebastians’ gaze turns downward. You become aware of more hands roaming your jumpsuit. A large, slick palm presses to your wound. The pressure ignites every pain factor you thought might have settled with rest, and you flail fruitlessly before weakness pins you in place.

“Turret,” you utter, barely coherent. 

“Idiot.” He rolls his tongue. “Should I put you out of your misery? I will charge you for the bullet.”

You groan again. Your hands, slick with red and cold, try reaching for the arms moving you from the floor. 

“Bite… me,” you utter. Your head grows heavy with fog. The fish merchant falls farther away from you as your vision becomes long tunnels.

Light touches you. Warm and yellow, then teal of an unnatural glow. 

“On second thought,” Sebastian declares mockingly, “shooting you would make a bigger mess. I have a well-reputed establishment to run.”

The gurgles of disagreement flowing from you are met with a dismissive wave of claws. His hands, however, fall underneath you. Keeping away from the gaping hole in your body, he secures you in his grasp. In a haze of agony, you float, lighter than air as Sebastian lifts you off the floor. 

“This costs extra,” he mutters.

Your fingers weakly slip off of his arms. The argument in your mouth stays behind your teeth as you watch the shop bleed into grays and slants of light. The blots of warm yellow grow bigger and bigger until darkness inflicts the center. Then, all you understand is a black hole eating all.

Consciousness is fickle. It visits you only to slip out the door just when you think you are now well acquainted.

You hear movement, heavy and slow. The briefest breaths. You even feel a sigh against your temple as someone rubs away dry blood from your face.

Occasionally, you hear yourself. Pained moans fill the room like the hauntings of a ghost. An answering voice shushes you gently. You’re being too loud. Someone thinks so, anyway.

The hands upon your body never leave. They shift, lifting away from the injury that has sent you on this downward spiral into a black nightmare or drawing over your rib cage to secure something tight around you.

Two small pills are pressed to your lips. A voice urges you to be good and take it. You struggle, your eyelids too heavy as if drizzled in sticky sap to open, but your defiance is useless. Claw-tipped fingers clamp your nostrils shut. The immediate need for air answers, and someone shoves the medicine into your open mouth. Despite your incoherent panic, you swallow and gasp.

In a blissful immersion of relief, whatever it was takes hold. You dream of blood and Pinkie’s screaming face, intermingling into one, brightly hued nightmare. Then a void takes its place, and you drift endlessly in a dark sea.

For one brief moment, you truly wake.

Your eyes hardly open. Peering between your eyelashes, you find the light. The warm glow of Sebastian’s anglerfish lure, and his eyes. The teal pierces the darkness beyond where he and you are. He’s bowed low, tucked close to your torso. You lie flat on a cool surface. 

In half-consciousness, you find where his hands touch your side, prodding delicately with a thread and needle at your torn-apart flesh. You don’t feel a thing. Most of the blood is cleared away with an ever-attentive third hand clutching a rag now smeared in crimson. His gaze locks onto your bullet wound. A few mutters fall from his mouth. Curses, you think, for you.

Why would he bother with this charade? He should have left you to die for the simple fact of bleeding all over his shop.

You can come back. You’ve done it before: died, that is. You have been torn apart and chewed up and drowned. Each time didn’t take anything less than a ferryman coin. But each time, you awoke with a dread deep in your chest and a heaviness in your middle.

Does death linger? Sebastian didn’t say either way, but he frowned when you did manage to reach his shop again, and you mentioned how wrong it feels to remember dying.

This must be another dream. Strange but not so horrifying, if not a touch too raw for your heart.

Whatever exhaustion holds you down is back once again, and you slip away without a sound.

The next time your eyelids flutter open, you’re strangely still in Sebastian’s shop. You are curled into the coil of his tail, leaning on your uninjured side. The smooth, blue-gray scales touch you with a warmth you didn’t think the experimented fish guy was capable of giving.

Groggy and slow, you come to in the soft light. You squint up at the shopkeeper. He casually flips through a document, but a flick of his finned ear gives away his awareness of you. A low hum rolls in his chest. The faintest vibrations slip down his serpentine body and touch you. 

A needy want infiltrates you. How long could you stay here, pretending to rest? Maybe it’s not safe here, but it’s safer. You could sleep for a few more minutes.

The dull ache in your side gradually sharpens to a piercing, acute point. Less so than before. It's more contained, and less frightening to feel the hole in your side.

Slowly, you draw your hand down to your jumpsuit. To your amazement, your jumpsuit is still bloody and torn through with a bullet, but through the hole in the fabric is a white bandage. Your fingers roam in a crawl. Bandages wrap over your chest, concentrating on a thick wad pressed directly against your wound. 

You turn a squinted gaze upon Sebastian. He lowers the document with a huff. Faintly, you can smell iron and a strange cleaner. A disinfectant maybe. A glance down to the floor where you previously laid and let your blood spill everywhere is now spotless. 

“Welcome back,” Sebastian cocks his head in your direction. Teal eyes search your expression in a lingering look. “I thought you would never wake up. The sweet sound of your insults was beginning to fade in my memory.”

Your answering groan is all you can give. Stretching your arms slowly and wiggling your toes, you realize you are, in fact, alive. 

And not one ferryman coin is lost from your pocket. A strange concoction of relief and confusion pools into your middle.

Sebastian’s third arm unfurls its claws. The bandages wrapped around the appendage are fresh and less bloody. You suppose he must know a thing or two about medical procedures.

“What did you do?” you ask, less accusatory than perhaps you intended, but all the same, curious. 

“Let’s not worry your pretty head about what I did,” Sebastian growls low. A warning sits in between his teeth. “Next time, don’t get shot.”

You glare up at him. “Not even gonna charge me, huh?”

A wicked grin crosses his mouth, set like a shark about to catch a minnow in its mouth. You stiffen, then cringe at the slight pain. You look down to find a medkit tucked into the waistband of your jumpsuit. Interesting. You haven’t bought one recently. There must be a painkiller or two in there, right? You’re starting to mercilessly spin with pain. 

Popping open the lid, you find just what you hoped for—worth far more than buried treasure. You quickly pop two pills into your mouth and swallow them dry. The weight of Sebastian’s eyes is inescapable. He follows the gulp down your throat.

“Unless you're going to buy anything else, you should get going, sweetheart. Shop’s closed.” His flukes slowly slip along the floor, unwinding his tail from where it keeps you secure in his grasp.

“Right.” A weariness clings to your edges, but your mind is aware. How long have you been resting?

Before you can truly pick yourself off the ground, Sebastian uses the flat of his flukes to scoot you across the floor and into the vent—all without aggravating your bandaged wound.

You don’t offer resistance, too bewildered by how he all but tosses you out. You scurry through the vent and out into the hallway. For one moment, almost breathlessly, you smile smugly.

What a soft-hearted bastard.

You straighten and take a step down the hallway, patting your pockets. Perhaps you’ll give him a few extra documents as a thank you—

But your pockets are empty, and your documents and every single last USB drive are gone.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Let Your Heart Be Light

Prompt Day 17: Lights | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Pre-Steddie, Steve & Wayne, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Everybody Working Together

"What in tarnation?" 

Steve nearly falls off the roof of the trailer, but somehow finds purchase and hangs on for dear life, barely escaping toppling over the edge. His heart is pounding in his chest. He really thought he'd be able to do this without being caught.

But no, Wayne is standing there looking up at him.

"Christmas lights!" Steve hollers, as if that isn't blatantly obvious. 

"Figured that on my own, kid," Wayne drawls, and then takes a drag off of his cigarette. 

"Sorry," Steve says, holding onto the strand of lights, not wanting them, or himself, to fall. "Do you want me to take them down? I just wanted to surprise him when he comes home."

Wayne shakes his head, and Steve doesn't really know how to interpret that. No, don't take them down, or no don't stop? Wayne starts climbing the ladder, which wasn't even among the options Steve envisioned being possible. 

Eddie hasn't even been here before. He went from the hospital, straight to a rehab facility that Steve raised holy hell about until the government paid for it.

They created this mess, and Steve wasn't about to let them get by with their obvious plan to just let Eddie just suffer, barely slapped back together. He may never be good as new, but Steve was bound and determined to get him as close as possible. 

And it's been months. It's not quite Christmastime yet, but Steve thought this might be a nice sight when Eddie finally gets home.

Wayne leans against the trailer, and points a finger, "You'll need to secure those a little bit better, or the wind will get 'em faster than you can put 'em up."

Steve just nods like he totally understands what he's being told.  

He's not exactly sure how he'll secure them to metal any better than he already has without doing permanent damage, which he was obviously trying to avoid.

"Hang on, I think I still got the clips I used when Eddie was little. Out in the shed, maybe. I don't know where anything is these days after the move," Wayne mutters, like Steve should know about the clips, or where they might be. 

But Wayne disappears down the ladder, and it takes a long, long time, but he finally comes back with clips that he'd obviously made himself at some point in the past.

They're magnetic. 

Gutters aren't magnetic, and Steve learned that the hard way when he dropped the first one, but Wayne slides a washer inside the gutter, and like magic – magnetic.

And that's kind of brilliant.

"Did you make these?" Steve asks, holding it in his hand, looking at the magnet that's glued on the back.

"Yup," Wayne says with a nod, snapping the magnet in place, then running the strand of lights into the clip. It's perfect. "Old trailer didn't have guttering, but it had eaves."

Steve doesn't know what that means, but he nods.

And they work together, outlining the whole trailer, one clip at a time. It's relatively painless.

"You should sell these," Steve says, "like, the hardware store should stock them right next to the Christmas lights."

Wayne chuckles. 

Steve's serious.

"I'd help," Steve says, and Wayne laughs some more.

But Steve would, he really would. 

It's getting dark, and Wayne plugs the lights in. They look great. They'll be better when it's fully dark, even.

"Thanks for helping, kid," Wayne says, and it's not until Steve is pulling away that he realizes that Wayne made it seem like he'd done him a favor, and not the other way around.

"Well, look at that," Eddie says as Steve holds open his car door. He smiles up at the lights, and mission accomplished.

Several days later, Eddie's on the couch while they all bustle around the trailer.

Dustin is folding over the printed cardstock toppers. Smoothing the crease with a butter knife.

"Will drew this logo," Dustin says, and Steve knows that. They all know that. 

It's an assembly line they've got going after making more clips. Wayne only intervened once he realized they were trying to use a hot glue gun and not the J-B Weld he'd used. 

Once he'd straightened them out, showing them how to make them correctly, they got to work. Now, they're packaging them up. Counting them out and putting them into clear bags, then stapling the cardstock label to the top. 

They look good. 

The hardware store, Melvald's and the Big Buy all agreed to carry them. 

Nancy was persuasive, and didn't mention that they were designed by Wayne Munson. She'd just insisted they were invented and made locally, which they are, and that was that.

Steve hopes half the town buys a few sets to put up their holiday lights, and in the process, helps Wayne and Eddie recoup at least a fraction of what was taken from them after half the town lost their fucking minds, trying to pin everything evil that's ever happened in this hellhole on Eddie's shoulders.

"How many do we have?" Nancy asks, notebook and pen in hand. 

"Two hundred and fifty sets," Robin answers.

Maybe this will work, but if it doesn't, well, they tried. He bought the materials. Wayne insists he'll get his investment back, plus a cut. Steve's not interested in that, but agreed, just so Wayne would let them proceed.

Dustin did the math, and yeah, the mark-up is pretty great, without making them too expensive. 

Nancy already made Ted use them on their house, and she swears he's been telling his friends how easy they went up, no more staples ruining his shingles.

Steve himself lined the entirety of his own house with lights, and sold his neighbors on the clips after they saw the finished product. It really does look great. His dad never hung lights, never had the time, but the house finally looks like a home with them up there, Steve thinks.

It's crazy, but this scheme just might work.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 💡

Notes: Looks like a least one type Christmas light clips were patented in 2002, so Wayne really could have been cutting edge. Never, ever underestimate redneck engineering and ingenuity. I can remember the heavy duty staple guns coming out to hang lights, so if there were clips, they must not have been widespread. (I love a good research rabbit hole, but this seemed like a goofy place to spend any real time digging, haha.)

[daisyvisions]

I Wanna Be Your Dog - (k.yh)

➺ Pairing: Rockstar!Younghoon x Assistant!Reader

➺ Summary: Your job as an assistant to the band is simple: handle their schedule, and do what they ask you to do. But how far are you willing to help one member out with a certain ask if it means keeping your job?

➺ Word Count: 3.8k

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampies, edging, male masturbation, guided masturbation, handjobs, slight fingering, riding, lots of making out, groping, sexual fantasies, mutual pining (?), younghoon is down bad for reader (sub!younghoon if you squint), marking, mentions of hookups, pet name used (baby)

➺ A/N: Finally, my birthday fic for Younghoon is up! I had planned to write for rockstar younghoon ever since this tiktok edit came out last year. This was not the original story I had in mind but I hated how the outline was going and decided to save it for another member and use this plot instead. Title is inspired from the song of the same name by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts because the lyrics fit so well with one particular scene of the fic (iykyk). Proofread once, enjoy 😉

➺ Network & Tag: @deoboyznet @snowflakewhispers @winterchimez @aimeecarreros (thank you for introducing me to the song 😈)

For as long as you could remember, you've always wanted to work in the music industry. There was something about that chaotic world that you thought was magical. You were so determined to become a part of that universe you didn't care where you would end up.

And that is how you became the assistant to one of the hottest acts to ever grace the stage.

At first, you were way too excited to be involved in the day-to-day of the band's schedule; you didn't even care if you had to run many blocks just to get the specific brand of coffee they wanted.

But soon enough, the rose-colored lenses you had on would crack. Not only did you have to take care of the band's schedule and be at their beck and call, but you were also in charge of cleaning up their mess.

Which is the reason you ended up sitting through a one-hour phone call with the band's manager as he practically yaps your ear off about the band's lead guitarist.

"Do you know how many NDAs I had to sign just so these groupies would keep their mouths shut about Younghoon?" Jacob exclaims.

"I know, I'm the one who prints and mails those documents for you." You sigh heavily.

"The board is getting pissed off. It's getting too much! He has a sex addiction at this point!"

"Well, it's not like we can make him wear a chastity belt or a purity ring to stop him! You know how he gets." You reply, trying to hold in your frustration from how long this call has been going.

"They are in the process of promoting their next album and going on tour. If Younghoon keeps this up and the press finally catches on, it will not be a good look for us all." Jacob takes a deep breath and pauses for a moment.

"I need you to keep him in line," Jacob says to you with a stern voice.

"What?! How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, you're the assistant. It's your job to take care of those guys. Do something about it or you can say goodbye to your job."

Jacob puts the phone down immediately without even waiting for your reply. You throw your phone to the side, your heart racing as you feel the frustration consuming you, and it's not even eight in the morning.

You can't afford to lose your job. Not after you've worked so hard to get where you are already. And you will definitely not lose your job just because Younghoon can't keep it in his goddamn pants.

No, you're going to do something about this no matter what it takes.

As you insert the spare key in the lock of Younghoon's apartment, you're instantly startled as a figure appears before you. Her disheveled appearance already tells you who or rather, why she's in his apartment. Great, another day of running into a groupie.

"Oh, Lin, isn't it?" You try to give her a smile. You introduce yourself as the band's assistant.

"Oh—hi," she responds, but her eyes were looking elsewhere. "Excuse me, I gotta go, late for… an appointment," she mumbles.

"Of course, it was nice meeting you!" You put on that people-pleasing voice. Lin nods in return before stumbling out the door. You make a mental note to track her address and send her an NDA later in the day.

You walk further into Younghoon's apartment, already listing out in your head the mess you have to clean up later as you quickly scan different areas of the living room. You find him still dead asleep in his bed, probably unaware that his latest conquest has left the building as you walk closer to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Younghoon? You awake?" You gently shake his shoulder. As you continue to wake him up, you're caught by surprise as he grabs your arm and pulls you into his embrace.

"Hey baby, up so early?" His deep morning voice rings in your ear as his face buries into your neck.

You try to keep yourself composed as you wriggle yourself free, but your eyes widen at the sudden realization that doing so was a mistake as you feel something hard digging between your ass.

"Younghoon, I—"

"So eager for round two, huh? Don't worry, baby, I'll let you take the lead this time." He kisses a sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder as his hands start drifting near your hips. Before anything escalates, you pull his hands away and reach behind to flick him in the forehead.

"Younghoon, it's me!" You shout, sitting upright once more and shaking off that fluttering feeling growing inside your stomach.

"Ow. What the— oh. Oh hey!" He smiles at you. "Where's—"

"Already left. Witnessed her walk of shame just as I was going in," you smirk. "I brought you breakfast; better see you outside in ten minutes, alright?" You slap his shoulder to wake him up.

"Alright, alright, I'll get up," he groans as he turns to his side.

"Aw, all this for me? You shouldn't have." Younghoon slings his arm over your shoulder as he watches you set all the food on the counter.

"Just sit down and eat. We need to talk about something." You shrug his arm off.

"To talk… What did I do this time?" He sarcastically replies as he sits across from you.

"It's not what you did this time; it's what you keep on doing, Younghoon." You grab his plate and fill it up with the food on the table.

"Look, Jacob called me this morning, and he's not happy with your—" You pause, trying to come up with a proper way to address the problem.

"With my… what?" Younghoon takes a big bite from his plate, his eyes trained on yours as he waits for you to finish.

"Your sex addiction." You decide to get straight to the point. "You fuck nearly every girl that bats her pretty eyelashes at you or even gives you a decent amount of attention."

"Hey, I can't help myself, you know? This is the rockstar's life, after all." He shrugs as he takes a sip from his glass.

"Yeah, well, if you don't get that controlled and continue thinking with your dick, it's not gonna look good for the press," you reply.

"Since when have we cared about what the press thought?" Younghoon asks with slight irritation in his voice.

"Please, Younghoon, I need you to keep it together just until promotions and the tour are over. My job is on the line here." Your voice starts quivering. Younghoon sees your eyebrows scrunching and the tiny tear forming at the corner of your eye.

Oh, how he wishes he could kiss those worries away right now and keep you close to him. Seeing you like this whenever you're frustrated or upset makes his heart ache with a feeling he can't explain. It's probably because he has a soft spot for you, ever since you started working for them. And if he's the reason that you end up losing your job, he doesn't know how he'll be able to sleep at night.

"Please?" Your tiny voice calls him back to reality as your soft hands hold one of his. And how could he ever say no to you?

"Alright," Younghoon sighs out. "I'll do it. But it's not gonna look pretty." You chuckle at his response.

"I promise you can go back to doing whatever after the promotions. Deal?" You gently squeeze his hand for reassurance. Younghoon places his other hand on top of yours and squeezes in return.

"You got it, boss."

Much to your surprise, Younghoon does a fairly good job at keeping his word. At first, it was a bit difficult, but he somehow managed to pull through.

He couldn't forget that one time he was almost about to fuck the girl lying on his bed until he suddenly remembered your face and how upset you would've been if you found out what he was doing. He couldn't bear the thought of disappointing you, so he just came up with a lousy excuse for the groupie to leave and fisted himself later in the night until he was satisfied enough.

And since then, that's what he had been doing to get by. He was either fucking his hand or fleshlight while imagining all the different one-night stands he had in the past. But as the days went by, it was getting harder for him to reach that sweet release. Not even watching porn would get him off the way it did before.

He needed to touch and be touched, a pair of lips kissing him everywhere, and moans of pleasure ringing in his ear… he couldn't wait till the tour was over until he could finally ravish someone and forget their name the next day. Sounds like a shitty way to live but hey, this is the kind of life he chose for himself.

Just two more months, Younghoon, what's the worst that can happen?

Sweat starts to form on Younghoon's forehead as he vigorously pumps his throbbing length. He had been trying to get off for a while now, but it seems nothing has been working. This was the worst case of blue balls he has ever had, and if he doesn't cum any second now, he might go insane.

Younghoon starts to dig deep into his memories of past hookups to see if there was one moment he can use to get himself off. There was one memory that seemed to pop into his mind, but not any of the hookups he had remembered. No, it was a memory of you. The day you came into the apartment to talk to him about his problem.

He recalls the smell of your perfume when he buried his face into your neck, the way your ass rubbed against his morning wood accidentally, and how soft your hands were when you held his hand during breakfast.

His cock throbbed in his hand remembering those small moments, playing an imaginary scenario in his mind wherein you didn't stop his hands from traveling to your hips. How he would've pressed himself into you further and continued kissing your neck. How his hands would’ve groped your breasts tenderly as he whispered filth into your ear and you would’ve moan his name in response.

"So pretty…" he murmurs to himself as he bucks his hips up, thinking how beautiful and kind you've always been to him even if he tends to be an asshole at times.

He moans at the thought of how soft your lips would feel against his own, remembering the time you drunkenly kissed him on the cheek during that one after-party a few days ago. He had to quickly turn away from you to hide his cheeks turning pink.

God, he knows his abstinence from sex has gotten so bad to the point that even the smallest gestures from you are enough to send the blood in his veins right down to his cock. He's never been this hard in his life, and he can't tell anymore if it's because he's blue-balled or because he's thinking about you.

Either way, Younghoon was all up in his head that he didn't even hear his front door being unlocked as you let yourself in.

Your visit to Younghoon's tonight was unplanned. He had forgotten his lucky leather jacket in the studio a week ago, and you took it upon yourself to get it dry-cleaned for him.

As soon as you got the call from the dry cleaners, you thought it would be nice to drop by his place and surprise him with his newly cleaned jacket and bring his favorite food for a late night snack. After all, you wanted to show him how grateful you were for keeping his word.

"Younghoon?" You call out his name. You knew he was home after spotting his keys and wallet on the console table. You try to call his name again but still no response. He must be asleep. I should go check on him, you think to yourself.

Younghoon? He hears your sweet voice ringing in his ear. God, he must be down so bad if he can start hearing you call out his name, as if you're right close by. He can already feel himself closer to the edge as he hears his name once again, pumping himself to the point of no return until his door suddenly swings open.

"Younghoon, I— Oh my god!"

"Shit!"

You both catch each other by surprise.

You tried to look elsewhere, but the image of Younghoon jerking himself off is now burned into your memory, and you don't know what to do. Younghoon, on the other hand, whimpers from the loss of his orgasm.

Had you been delayed by a second or two, he would've released his load onto his stomach, relieving himself of stress. But now, he's on the verge of crying as he feels himself getting incredibly pent up.

"I'm so sorry, I'll just go—" You turn around quickly.

"No, wait!" Younghoon's voice stops you from closing the door. You couldn't help but turn around and face him once more. He looked like he was in pain, his eyes becoming watery as he deeply breathes in and out.

"Help me…" He cries out to you.

"W-what?" Your eyes widen. He can't be serious, right?

"Please! I can't— been trying. I can't do it." A tear falls down his pale cheek.

"Please, it hurts so bad…" He whimpers once again.

"Younghoon, I can't—"

"Please! Just this once. We'll never speak of it again—" He pleads like his life depends on it. And with the way he's looking at you like you're the only one that can help him get out of this sticky situation, how could you say no to him?

"A-alright." Your feet move towards him even before you replied, your body already deciding for you on what you need to do next.

You sit beside him, placing your hand on his thigh as you glance over his hand gripping his cock. You feel your core pulsate at his pink tip peeking out from his fist. But you try your best to completely ignore whatever intrusive thought you have and place your hand on top of his, gently holding it as you look into his eyes.

"Just this once, okay?" You hover above his cock enough for your spit to fall onto the tip and move his hand slowly up and down as you guide him through his orgasm.

This wouldn't be the first time you've seen his cock. The first two times were by pure accident and from afar too. But nothing could've prepared you from seeing his member up close.

The way the veins are protruding from how rock hard he is at the moment, wondering what it must feel like to fill you up to the hilt. You try to think of anything deemed unsexy as you stare at his manhood, but that ends up failing as you start to feel your underwear slowly getting wet by the second.

While you're too caught up in your own thoughts, Younghoon couldn't help but stare at the way you looked at his cock, all slack-jawed and dreamy-eyed. It was like you wanted to do more than guide him, like you were ready to devour him any moment from now. As if a dark cloud of lust is slowly taking over you right before his very own eyes. And that was turning him on a lot.

He subconsciously reaches out for you with his free hand, his fingers holding onto the back of your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss. Your lips are even sweeter than he had imagined, making his heart beat so fast from how soft they feel on his own. Younghoon knows this moment won't last forever, so he decides to just enjoy it while it lasts.

You instantly moan from the feeling of his lips on yours, holding his wrist as you lean forward to press yourself against him. You pull his hand away from his cock and replace it with yours instead, the softness of your palm wrapped around his length making him hiss in pleasure. You start to grip him harder, controlling the pace of your hand jerking him off.

Younghoon groans into your mouth as he slips his tongue inside. His hands grabbing onto your hips before pulling you closer to him to straddle his lap. You continue to jerk him off as his hands start caressing the sides of your body.

"Please…" he whines into your mouth.

"Tell me what you need, Younghoon—" You kiss his cheek before moving down to his neck.

"Wanna touch you— fuck— Can I touch you? Please let me touch you." His eyebrows knit in pleasure as your lips suck a particularly sensitive part of his throat.

Too busy with lightly sucking on his skin, you grab one of his hands and guide him to the front button of your pants, signaling him to remove the article of clothing from you for better access. He wastes no time helping you out of your jeans and having you back on his lap.

His fingers slowly sliding beneath your underwear, groaning at the sensation of how wet your folds are. He's honestly amazed at how you're able to get this wet without being touched; it motivates him to slide his fingers between before finally circling around your sensitive bud.

You let out a soft whine as you feel your knees turn into jelly. All you could think about right now is to sink yourself down onto his member and ride him into the sunset. Somehow it was like he could read your mind as you feel his hand pull your underwear to the side and the other pull you by the hip to align your entrance right above his tip.

"This okay?" You look down at him.

"Y-yeah, more than okay." He stutters.

"C'mere." You lean down to kiss him, slowly letting yourself sink down to the base of his cock.

Both of you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding until you finally sat on his lap. The feeling of Younghoon being fully sheathed inside you already has you seeing stars, and you haven't even moved yet. He swallows your moans as he starts bucking his hips up, holding you in a tight embrace as he fucks himself into your tight hole.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" He mumbles as he pulls his lips away from yours to get a good look at your face.

The way he looked at you as if you had a halo around you was making the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. You knew the effect he had on you, especially when he would randomly flirt with you. But for some reason, the effect of his words felt different.

It was like he was confessing something he had locked up inside of him for a long time, making you blush like an idiot. Your eyebrows knit in pleasure as his thrusts start to become faster. Your walls are gripping him like a vice; he knows he's bound to reach his peak anytime soon.

"Let go for me, Younghoon, you can do it." You whisper in his ear.

As soon as you say these words, a sudden burst of warmth blooms inside you. His hips relax onto the mattress as he comes down from his high, but his hands guide your hips up and down his cock, helping you reach your own release.

He must've been so pent up, you think to yourself as you feel him still incredibly hard inside you. The tip of his manhood nudges that sweet spot deep inside you so good you feel yourself nearly falling over the edge.

"K-keep going, baby—" He breathes out. "Use me."

You take control of your own movement and bounce on him like there's no tomorrow. Your fingernails raking the sensitive skin on his chest as you chase your own high. Younghoon can feel himself reaching his own high too the more you keep this pace up.

Everything about this moment was making him absolutely dizzy. Your walls practically choke holding his dick, his first load already dripping out of you and coating his balls, and the way the squelching sounds echo in the room as you use him for your own pleasure?

He will never look at you the same way ever again. You've officially ruined him for anyone else after this.

"Younghoon, I'm gonna—"

"C'mon baby, cum on me. Fuck— make me yours." He mumbles as he feels close to the edge with you.

After a few more bounces, the rope inside you finally snaps, making you cum so hard you feel like you're going to faint. Younghoon's second release follows right after yours, but this time his load is more than the first. You both know for sure that as soon as he pulls out, a waterfall of your mixed juices is bound to rush out of your hole. So you just decide to keep him close longer as you both try to catch your breath.

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his breathing pattern slowly regulating as he rubs his hand up and down your back. You both bask in the silence a little longer, secretly savoring the moment before you have to part ways.

"Younghoon?" You lift your head to look up at him. He hums in response.

"If— if ever you need help with this at a different time…" You pause for a moment. "I'd be happy to volunteer." You feel your cheeks burn up at the thought of doing this with Younghoon again.

"Yeah? You wanna help me out?" His eyes widen, his heart beating faster again knowing this wouldn't be the last intimate moment with you.

"Yeah, just as long as you sign an NDA about it." You jokingly reply. He chuckles and kisses your forehead.

"Well, get ready to print a lot of those—" He grabs your ass and gives it a good slap, making you yelp in surprise.

"—because you have a lot of catching up to do."

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 30

part 1 | part 29 | ao3

cw: Steve Harrington committing unforgivable thought crimes (besmirching LotR)

"Uh," Steve stammers as Eddie tugs him off the couch, because he just propositioned the guy while covered in snot and tears and wearing a blanket as a cape, and now that guy is holding his hand.

Eddie doesn't let go after he gets him to his feet. Their fingers lace together, and his palm is soft and warm, his fingers slightly callused. Steve can feel his own pulse pounding in his wrist.

"Simmer down," Eddie teases, "I'm not having sex with you. Yet," he adds with a lewd waggle of his brows when Steve puppy-dog pouts at him. "This is better than sex, anyway."

"If you're having shit sex, maybe.” Steve rolls his eyes and lets himself be dragged past a messy counter, where Eddie stops to grab a black lunch box and a cassette tape, a tissue for Steve’s face, then down the hall to Eddie's bedroom.

"My kingdom," he grins as he shoves the door open and waves Steve through with a bow.

His room is amazing. Awesome and terrible all at once: awesome, because it looks like someone put Eddie’s essence in a blender and ran the blades without a lid, and terrible, because the place is a fucking pigsty. There’s a bag of bread on the floor.

Eddie tells him to make himself at home, so Steve plops down on the edge of his bed, takes in the explosion of artwork tacked to the walls while Eddie buzzes around the room — swoops and swoons like a drunken bee, kicking shit into messy piles, sticking a cig in his mouth and forgetting to find the lighter, turning on the stereo. He pops in the cassette, and Steve lets out a surprised laugh when he hears the upbeat strumming.

"Rumours? Really? That's your 'better than sex' cure?"

Eddie cranks the volume. "It's workin’, ain't it?" he mumbles around the unlit cig.

Steve tries to frown and fails. "…Shut up."

Eddie snickers at him; gives him the cutest smile he's ever seen, nose scrunched up, eyes crinkled at the corners, then he tucks the cigarette behind his ear and shakes his hair out with a grimace. “Christ, it’s hot in here." His hands move to the hem of his shirt. "Look away or don’t, baby, I’m changin’!”

Steve smiles and averts his gaze, falling back on Eddie’s bed and looking at the ceiling with his legs dangled over the edge. In his periphery he can see Eddie hopping gracelessly around the dresser, trying to tug his foot out of the end of his skinny jeans, cursing under his breath; dropping all the ‘g’s off the ends of his words.

"I like your Southern accent."

"Do ya now?" Eddie throws it on thick, really hamming it up, "Well then, I reckon it's plum near the most attractive dad-gum thing y’ever did hear 'round these here pawrts."

Steve honks a mortifyingly stupid laugh, which makes Eddie laugh like a chime in a windstorm, which just makes Steve laugh even more, and maybe Eddie was right.

Maybe this is better than sex.

He wipes at his eyes, misty for a good reason for the first time all night, and when he looks up again Eddie’s dressed in his pajamas. Dark gray gym shorts, a black cut-off tank, the arm holes deep and loose to expose his armpit hair, his ribs.

Steve’s mouth goes dry.

Eddie’s wiry and pale, firm muscle wrapped around his string-bean frame, and he's covered in tattoos — black line art and gray shading, fantastical beasts and staffs and swords, a crazily-detailed set of serpent scales snaking up his side. But it's his legs that catch Steve's eye.

His legs are covered in words. Words and doodles everywhere, from his calves to his thighs, the lines wobbly and thick like Eddie put them there himself. There are quotes in sloppy cursive, longer ones in blocky print; a few stylized to look like comic book dialog, the words POW! and DANGER outlined in spiky bubbles above his knee. Steve wants to trace the lines; rehearse him like a poem, learn each ink stroke with his fingers until he can recite them all by heart.

Eddie catches him staring and gives a small, pleased grin. “Like what you see?”

Steve’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. “Yeah. I really do.”

The smile widens. Eddie clambers onto the bed, stepping over Steve’s head and plopping down beside him with his back against the wall, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out long and loose.

Steve shifts to lay the same direction, and his shoulder brushes Eddie’s leg, his wrist ghosting against his ankle bone. He doesn’t pull away; likes the look of their skin tones side by side — the smooth desert landscape of his inner arm, accented only by a few veins and moles; the riot of ink and art all along Eddie’s shin. Eddie’s feet are bare, and they’re wide, a little hairy (reminds Steve of Dustin’s nerdy ring book, and he almost says as much, but he knows Eddie’s even more obsessed with that shit than the kids are. He really doesn’t want the dude to pop a brain boner and spend the next four hours lecturing Steve about jewelry lore.)

“What are you giggling at down there?” Eddie nudges at his elbow.

“Nothing,” Steve says, and Eddie responds “All right then, keep your secrets” in a silly character voice. He stretches to the side and grabs a joint off the bedside table.

“Now,” he says, voice slipping into that deep, slow sing-song thing he does — his sales pitch tone, Steve realizes. “This part is, of course, completely optional, but. In my humble, expert opinion—”

“So humble,” Steve teases under his breath.

“—It really enhances the whole experience.”

“The Stevie Nicks Therapeu- thera-” Oh, screw it. “Un-saddening Experience?”

“That is correct.” He holds it out over Steve’s face, wiggling it in offering, and Steve thinks about his conversation with Robin over brunch:

"I can't believe you did coke.” "I can't believe you smoked weed." "I know." "Was it okay?" He hasn't tried weed since... "Yeah," she answers seriously. "Yeah, it was okay. It was nice, actually."

“Okay,” he decides. I trust you. “Let’s do it.”

Eddie puts the joint between his lips and lights it up.

—

part 31

listen i know it’s a quote from a movie that will not exist for another 16 years just let me have this. tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

What The Heart Desires ❤️💚 (BakuKiriMina x Black!F!Reader 18+ Short Fic)

❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Ejirou x Mina Ashido x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which two lonely-hearted girls make a wish on a star one Christmas Eve for their hearts’ desires: a Daddy Dom. What they don’t expect that night after their annual Christmas party is to receive that wish in two. When their very special party guests and secret crushes show up unannounced at their door proclaiming their romantic feelings and that these two cuties are theirs, what will our two lonely hearts do? Will they have to choose?

Tags: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Pro!KiriBakuMina (Late 20s-Early 30s); Bimbo!sub!Mina x Bimbo!sub!Reader; Dom!KiriBaku; Fantasy; Comedy; Size Difference; Aphrodisiac; Dubcon/R*pe; Body/Chest Worship; Scar Appreciation; Foreplay; Messy Kissing; Spit Play; Cum Play; S*x w/ S*x Toys; Anal Play; Spanking; Choking; Hair-Pulling; Degradation/Praise; Daddy Kink; DDLG; Mild BDSM; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Slutifcation; Objectification; Multiple Positions (Doggystyle, Missionary, Daisy Chain, etc.); Polyamorous; Everyone Is Bi; Mutual Os; Creampies; Ownership; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FIVE. SIX. BONUS CHAPTER.

❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️❤️💚❄️

FIVE: FOUR IS A CROWD.

You have never been so desperate to get your clothes off and be naked until you’re in the arms of an extremely hot guy.

Not even are you so ready to strip after a hard day at work. You feel as if you might explode from impatience if you’re not out of your romper right now and have Bakugou’s hands on you.

The blonde looks just as impatient as you, his fingers already moving down to the front of your romper to pop the buttons that are, unfortunately, stitched to the fabric. “Then let’s finally get this shit off of you,” he growls.

Your body tingles in excitement, thrilled to finally be at the “getting naked” part. Mina pouts, cutely crossing her arms over her perky chest. “Aww, but aren’t they so cute on us?” she asks, not-so-subtly wiggling her ass. The pros practically drool watching her perky asscheeks giggle.

Kiri trails his big hand down to her behind, making her gasp when he squeezes it. “I agree with the hot head. As cute as you girls look in these little numbers, I wanna see ‘em off.”

Together, he and Bakugou begin to strip you and Mina. Bakugou is way more impatient, fumbling with the buttons and not realizing that they’re not real. “Dammit,” he grunts. “How the fuck do you take this off?”

“Wait, wait, you’ll rip it!” Mina protests as Kiri unhooks her romper. “Take your time, ‘Suki! We really like these!”

Bakugou ignores her, grumbling to himself. You giggle, taking his hands and turning around to show him how it’s done. “Here, let me help you.”

You shiver as Bakugou kisses your neck while he unhooks your romper. He drags the festive PJs off of your body, revealing a red push-up bra that makes your breasts look juicer than normal and a matching thong that outlines your delectable ass.

“Damn,” Kiri exhales while Bakugou lets out a sigh that he has been holding in. You shiver in delight under their lustful gazes.

“Uh, baby…what’s that?” Kiri questions, pointing at your panties.

You look down, now realizing that Dynamight’s logo is printed on the front. “Oh!” you exclaim, covering yourself. Bakugou snatches your hands away, firmly holding them. “Uh-uh,” he growls. “Don’t even think about coverin’ what’s mine. Lemme see.”

You flush hotly at his lewd words and in embarrassment as he peers down at his hero logo on the front of your panties. “Ohhh,” he chuckles, smirking. “So Dynamight’s your favorite, huh?” He grabs you closer by your ass, squeezing it in both hands. “Y-You both are,” you whimper, staring deeply into his vermillion eyes

Mina giggles from beside you. “Mine too…only I decided not to wear my merch tonight.” Kiri swears suddenly, earning your attention. “Fuck, Mina!” he gasps. “No panties?”

Your girlfriend stands in front of the redhead completely naked, her toned body, perky ass, and hardened, pink nipples on full display for them.

The tent forming in Bakugou’s pants seems to grow bigger as he gazes at the pink-haired pro. “You little mix,” he growls. “You were just waitin’ for us to come through and use you, weren’t you?”

Mina innocently shakes her head. “No, Daddy,” she replies. “I just get hot at night with the fireplace and all.”

Bakugou tsks at her out-of-the-ass lie as one of his hands moves up your back to toy with your bra. “She’s the brat,” he announces, flames dancing in his gaze at you. “But I think both of ‘em need some punishment.”

Snap!

The bra comes off, leaving your breasts exposed. Bakugou’s smile widens. “Some redirection,” he adds. Kiri’s smile mirrors his boyfriend’s—wicked, devious, and not at all friendly.

You feel a shiver run through you as Bakugou possessively wraps a hand around your throat. “On the couch,” he demands. “Both of you.”

Helpless to their charm and undeniable sexiness, you and Mina obey your Daddies and sit together on the couch, teeming with excitement. The two pros stand before you, the firelight illuminating their handsome features and lustful gazes.

“We should probably join ‘em, Kats,” Kiri says. “I think we’re wearin’ too many clothes for what we’re about to do.”

You and Mina can’t keep your eyes off of the duo as they strip off their shirts, pants, and everything else in between until it’s all on the floor. It’s like unwrapping two of the biggest Christmas gifts at once!

You gape at the wonderful, dream-worthy physiques standing before you. The orange-red flames of the fire lick across their tanned skin, casting shadows across their toned stomachs, mouth-watering pectorals, and big arms inked with tattoos, perfect for keeping you warm and possibly breaking you in half.

You can’t help but notice the slight differences between their bodies despite how attractive both are. Bakugou has scars roping up his right arm and down his hand while his left arm is a tatted sleeve that stops at his left pec. He is cleanly shaven, all of him bare…except for down below, of course.

Kiri is much bigger in size and muscle mass with tattoos inking his arms, back, and right hip. Fine, black hair pebbles his thighs, chest, and stomach, making your pussy throb impatiently with need.

And their cocks. Their cocks!

You wanna talk about “big”? Bakugou and Kiri’s dicks are the very definitions of it.

While Kiri is a bit thicker and Bakugou has a slight hook, both of them are big, long, veiny, and very, very hard.

Mina licks her lips at the sight of their pink heads dripping in precum that dribbles down their shafts like vanilla ice cream cones. Bakugou teasingly makes his cock bob up and down by itself, knowing that your and Mina’s eyes will follow, the both of you dickmatized.

Your trance is only broken when Kiri suddenly sits down beside you and tosses you over his lap like you weigh nothing, making you shriek in surprise.

Ever the brute, Bakugou yanks on Mina’s ankles, pulling her to the end of the couch, and puts her on all fours, her ass tooted up for him. “Just tell us if you don’t like it,” Kiri says before he raises his hand and sends it across your ass.

Spank!

You gasp as his hard, calloused palm smacks your ass, making it recoil deliciously in your G-string. At the same time, Bakugou spanks Mina’s ass, making her moan and her toned asscheeks jiggle against his palm.

Spank!

Kiri smirks at your reaction, his cock twitching between his thighs. He gently begins to massage and rub your ass, soothing the burning sensation. “You liked that, huh?” he chuckles, his voice and touch like silk.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper. And you did. Your pussy is throbbing and leaking from the bite of pain.

“You want another, babydoll?” he whispers. “Give me those words. Tell me what you want.” He winds his finger around one of the straps to your thong and pulls on it, making you gasp as the thin strip of cotton covering your pussy tightens against it.

“Please, Daddy,” you moan. “Hit me again. Y-You can use your quirk too.” You sound absolutely pitiful and slutty…and you love it. So does Kiri judging from the way his cock throbs.

He lifts his hand again, using a little of his quirk to harden his palm. When he comes down to spank you again, it is harder than last time and you hiss at the pain, but your erogenous zones are also stimulated.

Spank! Spank!

“O-Ow!” Mina cries. You weakly look up, finding your girlfriend’s back arched and her ass red from Bakugou’s relentless spankings. “Want me to stop?” he asks. Mina bites her lush bottom lip and shakes her head, making the blonde snort. “Of course, ya don’t, ya little freak. Probably glad I’m even doin’ this to you.”

Spank!

“Ain’t that right?” he demands. Mina squeezes her eyes shut against the pain, gripping the couch for dear life. “Yes, Daddy!” she whines. “Yes, I’m glad!”

Spank! Spank!

Bakugou spanks her again, his palm glittering with sparks from his quirk. “Sexy little bitch,” he grunts, his cock hard and bobbing between his thighs. “Makin’ me this fuckin’ crazy. Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?”

Then he reaches over to spank you, slight sparks licking across your skin.

Spank!

“Ah!” you gasp, flinching at the pain licking across your skin from Bakugou’s quirk. Kiri smirks at his boyfriend, licking his hand to soothe your stinging asscheeks. “Takin’ my girl all of the sudden?” he scoffs. “You’re so greedy, Kats.”

Bakugou tsks, rolling his crimson eyes. “She’s both of our girl, idiot…unless you’d rather me take ‘em both for myself.” He gives Kiri a smirk as he strokes Mina’s apple-red ass, making her weakly moan.

Kiri’s smile fades and his voice dips into a lower, raspier tone that makes you wetter than wet. “No way,” he scoffs. “I wanna play with them a little more. You two got any toys in here?” He looks around the living room as if a sign will appear to direct him to the right location.

“In there,” Mina softly replies, weakly pointing at the lampstand next to the couch. “In the drawer.”

You almost wish she didn’t say anything because when Bakugou goes scavenging in the drawer, his eyes widen an inch. Then he slowly turns to Kiri and breaks out into a wicked grin that would frighten anyone.

There, he pulls out everything you and Mina keep hidden in your goodie drawer for “playtime”—two vibrators, one rose toy, fuzzy handcuffs, a pink strap-on (for when you two are feeling more dominant), and, most importantly, lube that tastes like cherries and heats to the touch for comfortable stimulation.

You and Mina are so freaky that you have two goodie drawers. The one upstairs is full to capacity, so you had to move some of your toys downstairs for possible sex on the couch if you two are too lazy or horny for the bedroom.

Kiri looks at you two like he just hit the jackpot. “Daaaamn, you keep all of that in here?!” he laughs, a red blush on his cheeks.

Even Bakugou is a little rogue as he picks up a rose toy. Your favorite. Makes you cum every single time. “Fuckin’ whores,” he scoffs. “I bet all you two do is play with each other’s pussies all day long.”

He turns to Mina, squeezing her cheeks in his hand as he grips her chin. “Bet you get each other nice and wet and needy, huh?” His eyes blaze as he gazes down at her, no doubt making her wet to the touch.

Kiri helps you sit up despite your stinging ass and fixes your hair for you, ever tender and loving. But even you can see the lust burning in his eyes.

“We’re gonna have some fun with you two,” he deviously whispers. You shiver in delight, your mind running wild with hot fantasies of what is to come.

Bakugou hums in agreement, turning to hotly stare at you as he keeps a grip on Mina’s chin. “And you’re gonna be good girls and enjoy yourselves, right?” he gruffly asks.

You and Mina know better than to disagree or disobey. Especially when you know that this duo that is so addicted to you both only wants to make you feel good this Christmas Eve.

“Yes, Daddies,” you say in unison. Bakugou and Kiri grin, only giving you and your girlfriend a peek into what you have in store for you tonight.

[tyunzonlystar]

Your sexy professor (K.T.H)

Warnings!!: Breeding, Age gap (22-31), reader is 22, Choking, dom!Taehyun, sub!Reader, Afab!Reader, humiliation? Making out, spit kink, hair pulling, degradation, hickeys/marking, orgasm denial, sir kink, spanking, pussy hitting/slapping, unprotected sex (pls use protection), talk of masturbation, overstimulation, dry humping, oral (F receiving), pet names (good girl, slut, princess, pretty girl, baby, sir, darling, naughty girl, my love, smart girl, honey), multiple orgasms? (2), fingering, slight size kink?? Basically just filth

Summary: You couldn’t stop staring. You know it’s wrong but you can’t help that your sexy professor shows up in those suits where the top is gonna rip from his muscles and the trousers show his print. He knows you’re staring. He likes it. Even he stares at your plush thighs in those short skirts. Word count: 2864

Smut under the cut! MDNI OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Everyone called Taehyun "sir" but the way you said it... it was different. It turned him on. Everything you wore, said, did... turned him on. Chewing your pen lids, the way your pen sat between your plush lips, your sexy crop tops, your thigh highs on a cold day, your mini skirts, your acrylic nails,the way you look up at him through your lashes, your soft makeup, the 'hello kitty' tattoo on your abdomen, your cute hairstyles, your decorated notebooks, your perfect handwriting. The way you said "sir", "sir can you help?", "thank you! It makes more sense now!", the way you mumble "what the fuck?" at a question

or even just cursing at classmates.

"OI YOU FUCKING PRICK!" you shout at on of your male classmates

“STOP RUNNING YOU PUSSY!”

Your classmate runs into Taehyuns class and you run in after him and chase him into his seat in the lecture hall.

“Why’d you run? There’s no way you’re scared of me” you laugh

“Y/N you’re a little scary… Like you just chased me into the lecture hall”

“You’re such a scaredy-cat C/N” you say and make your way to your new seat that Taehyun put you in so you’re infront on his desk. You pull out your notebook and pen and lay it on your desk as the room fills up with students. You decide to draw a heart with his initials in and hope he doesn’t notice.. “I mean he wouldn't… right? He has about 100-180 students in that one lecture hall so surely he won't notice” You snap out of your thoughts asoon as he walks in and taps on your desk.

“You’re listening right, Ms L/N?” He asks in his deep voice that you touch yourself to at night with all the recordings you got of him talking.

“Uhm yeah im listening…”

Taehyun  smiles down at you and leans down to your ear

“Good girl”

Your cheeks heat up as you give a small nod and he carries on talking. If you weren't listening before, you definitely weren't now. The only thing running through your mind were his words…

“Good girl” “good girl” “good girl” “good girl”

Once again you’re pulled out of  your thoughts with a tap on your desk causing you to flinch as you look up and your eyes are met with your sexy professor looking at you with a smirk.

“Y/N please stay after class. Count it as a detention for not listening.” He says sternly but only he knew it wasn’t a detention he was gonna give you. So once again you nod your head and start paying attention to what he was saying as your eyes wandered from the board to his broad shoulders, his muscles and obviously his outline…

“I  wonder what he looks like without that shirt on.. Or without any clothes at all.. What does he look like working out?” you think to yourself before copying the person behind you so it looks like you listened. And as you were about to start daydreaming the bell rang. A loud groan fell from your lips, annoyed that in 20 minutes you could be at your dorm in bed doing skincare or even touching yourself but no! Here you are sitting in the now empty classroom with Taehyun standing behind you.  He goes and locks all entries to his classroom so you have a few seconds to fantasize more and he comes back and clears his throat.

“S-sorry sir… How long is my detention?”

“Until I want you to leave so not for a while” He grabs a chair and sits next to you. “Why weren’t you listening to me today Y/N? You always listen. Always the top in my class. You always have the most notes and ask the most questions and even asking for help on harder topics. What’s happened today, hm? Got something or someone on your mind, pretty girl?”

You look down at your skirt and shrug as you sort your thigh highs out. Taehyun grabs you by your chin forcefully and makes you look at him.

“Use your fucking words. I know you’re not dumb.” He smirks

“I-uh.. I was just thinking about what i was gonna do when i uhm get home!” You lie.

“Strike 1 baby. No lies.” He says sternly and pulls you on his lap. “Lie again and i'll kick you from my class” He smiles and places his hands on your hips and grinds you down on him. That immediately made you talk.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was thinking about you shirtless and what you look like without any clothes on!” you say fastly

“I see…” He smirks and grinds you down harder making you whimper. Taehyun wraps one of his hands around your neck and pulls you in for a messy kiss. His tongue ran against yours and his teeth collided against yours. The kiss was desperate. So desperate. You were clinging onto his tie, grinding down on him as you started chasing your high, salvia was on both of your lips, it was just so desperate and messy. Soon enough you felt your high coming closer and closer and you pulled away from the kiss.

“Close princess?” He said with a smug smile on his face. You whimpered in response as your hips stutter and you let out moans.

“Taehyun! Mmmh… Taehyun- sir! P-please!” You moaned right next to his ear.

“Cum for sir baby”

And with that you came. Just from dry humping him. Wait- his hands weren't slowing you down.. He was making you grind on him harder and faster!

“S-sir! T-too much please!”

“I’m sure I can get another one out of you, hm?” He chuckles.

Once again you were moaning out his name as your second orgasm crashed down on you. Taehyun finally stopped your hips from moving and pulled you by your hair so he could look at your already fucked out face. His thumb tapped your bottom lip and your lips parted. He gathered spit and a sparkly pearl of spit fell from his lips into your mouth.

“Swallow it”

You close your lips and swallow his spit as he smiles at you sweetly.

“Y/N i have some work to do.. So make your way back to your dorm and i'll see you tomorrow sexy girl” He says in a sad tone and he kisses you again.

6:15am

You put on one of your pink skirts that showed off maybe a little too much.. I mean it is just about covering your ass and the top of your thighs. You grab your pink thigh highs with a little white bow on the top and you put on your really cute hello kitty crop top to match the outfit. You then grab a pink jacket and lay it on your bed so you can go and braid 2 little plaits into your hair. Then you go and start doing your skincare routine and then adding some makeup (concealer, mascara, brows, ect.) and of course you have to put on your pretty pink lipgloss. You check the time.

7:30am     

That was just enough time to spray your best smelling body mist all over yourself and doing another outfit check before you left your dorm and took many elevators and stairs to your first class which was sadly not with your sexy professor. It was fine though.  You could just miss that class but you didn’t you went to all your lessons and finally Mr. Kangs class came around so you didn’t eat your lunch just so you could be the first person there. You walk in and you both greet eachother as if nothing happened. After all you couldn't act like you were just last night as everyone would suspect something going on. Some time passed and now he was halfway done with his lecture on whatever subject. You had no clue what was going on, you were daydreaming once again. Surprise surprise.  All it took was two taps on your shoulder and you quickly looked to your side and saw your classmate.

“What?” You say annoyed

“Pay attention.” She said.

“Shut up you freak. All you want is him in your pants for being “such a good girl”” you mock the last part. “He doesn’t want you hun. Sorry to burst your bubble C/N. And if his fine ass doesn’t want you then nobody does so shut the fuck up and leave me alone” You roll your eyes as she looked dumbfounded.

The class ended and she was the first to leave without looking back. Clearly you scared her off your man. Who does she think she is?

“Y/N” Taehyun spoke up.

“What?” You groan

“Excuse you? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You clearly. Nobody else is here.”

“L/N drop your attitude or do you need me to fuck it out of you?”

“Shut up, that girl was being an annoying cunt.”

“Firstly, don’t tell me to shut up. Secondly, don't take your anger out on me.”

“Sorry sir..”

“Come here”

You get up from your desk and walk over to him and he pulls you onto his lap. Taehyun cups your face and kisses you passionately. His tongue danced along with yours before he pulled away.

“Bend over love”

You stood up and bent over his desk as he flipped your skirt upwards to get a perfect view of your plump ass. He rubbed the flesh then landed a harsh slap on your ass. Then another. And another. And another until there was a red handprint on your ass. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but before you knew it your cute panties were around your ankles.

“You’re this wet from just spanking? Slut.” He swipes two fingers along your drenched pussy before getting on his knees and kisses your clit. He sucks harshly on your little bud as you let out a loud whimper. Taehyuns long, thick fingers find your tight hole and he inserts 2 and finger fucks you at a fast past and hits all th sweet spots your fingers could never reach.

“S-sir! Tyun ‘m c-close!”

He hums against your clit and it buzzes throughout your whole body as you clench around his fingers he pulls them out and his lips leave your now swollen bud.

“Tyunnnn why’d you do that?” You pout and turn your head to look at him. He shrugs with that same smirk on his face.

“Such a slut for thinking you just get to cum after speaking to me like that. If you think your cuming at all then please darling think again”

He gets off his knees and flips you around so he could sit you on his desk.

He moves your hair and he kisses your neck and sucks dark purple and red splotchy marks into your skin and with every hickey he makes a high pitched whimper left your throat.

“You’re moaning just from me kissing your neck? Oh honey… You’re dripping on my paperwork…”

Your face flushes in embarrassment as you look away.

“Open.” Taehyun commands so you comply and open your mouth a little as a droplet of his spit plops in your mouth and like a good girl you swallow. Taehyun lifts you up and bends you over his desk again. He unbuckles his belt and pulls his trousers and boxers down. He flips you around and your eyes widen at his length as you look up at him.

“You’re going to fucking break me!”

“Shut up. No I won't. Now be a good girl for sir and undo my top, hm?”

You do as he says and take his tie off and your small hands start fiddling with the buttons on his shirt slowly undoing them one by one as it falls off his shoulders and his chest and abs come on show. Your hands trace his abs and once again your flipped around and bent over as he smears his pre-cum around his length before pushing into you inch by inch.  

“Tyun ‘ts t-too big! W-won’t fit..”

“I'll make it fit princess.”

With one last push he was fully inside you and with no warning he was already gripping at your waist and hips slamming into you at an impossible pace. His hand leaves your waist and he slaps your ass earning a loud moan of his name from you. You grip at his desk to try and stabilize yourself so you don't shoot forward. Taehyuns hand finds your hair and tugs it so you’re looking up at him and he leans down and kisses your forehead as his hand leaves your hair and goes around your neck pulling you up to him. The only sounds were skin slapping, your moans and whimpers, his grunts and his whimpers when it felt way too good. Your back flushed against his chest as he sat down on his chair making you ride him, hand never leaving your neck.

“Sir ‘m gonna c-cum..” you whine as you clench around him.

“Oh i don't think so” He grips your hips and makes your movements stop, your orgasm slowly fading away.

“Whyyyyyy” you whine

He ignores you and starts bouncing you on his cock again but before you can do anything you’ve already came around him. Taehyun obviously isn't happy so he lifts you off his cock and pushes you onto his desk, your chest now pressed against the cold wood.

“You naughty fucking girl.” He says in a husky tone before he hits your pussy then pinches your clit making you moan over and over again.

“Count.” One harsh slap to your pussy.

“O-one”... “Two”... “Hnng t-three”... “Fuck! Four”... “Five”... “S-six!”... “Seven”... “E-eight”...

“Good girl”

If your clit was swollen before then it was to be numb by now.

“And just for this session i'll make you pass your quiz from last week”

“Don’t care ‘bout grades just call me your lady” 

“Y/N…”

“I know i'm young but my mind is well beyond my years”

You pick up your panties and kiss his lips.

“See you tomorrow sir!” you leave his class

You woke up and got ready like normal and went to all your classes impatiently waiting for Taehyuns class. Finally it was his class and you got there 20 minutes early.

“Taehyunnnn” You run up to him and he picks you up.

“I missed you Tyunnie” you pout and kiss him

“I missed you too, my love” he kissed you back

He spun you around in his arms and put you down.

“Go sit down okay? Remember to stay after class” He smiles as he greets other students filling the classroom

“Today we have a quiz!” his voice echoed the lecture hall as everyone groaned and he started handing out the tests. Taehyun walked over to you and placed the quiz on your desk and you grabbed his arm.

“You have a question L/N Y/N?”

“If I pass this quiz will you give me your babies?” You whisper in his ear as he gives you a stern look.

“We’ll talk after class” He says as he walks away and hands out the quiz to the other students.

“Silence from now please! This should take you the whole lesson if you get stuck, I'll come help you. But please don’t waste my time if you don't need it.” He projected as he sat at his desk. You tried your hardest on this quiz just so you could pass and you finished 10 minutes before the end of class so you went up to him and handed him your quiz.

“Finished or need help?”

“Finished…”

“I'll start marking it then” He smiles as you sit back down at your desk slowly falling asleep.

The bell awoke you from your little nap as everyone left once again you stayed.

“Pretty girl”

“Hm?”

Taehyun pats his thigh and you walk over to him and sit down on his thigh.

“You’re such a smart girl.. You passed.”

You smiled at his words as he moved your panties to the side and undone his trousers and pulled them down just so his cock could fall out. He lifts you up and slowly sinks you down onto him. Once he was halfway he slammed your hips down which made a scream of his name fall from your lips.

“Fuckkk.. You wanted m-my babies?I’ll give you my fucking babies yeah?” He groans as you nod eagerly. “Fuck N/N im so close. Cum with sir, yeah?”

You whimper at the nickname and nod your head as you clench around him and cum. After a few more bounces on his cock he painted your gummy walls white as your body went limp in his arms.

“Marked as mine now.”

DO NOT STEAL, COPY, TRANSLATE OR POST ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT GIVING CREDIT!!! feel free to reblog though🌸🌸

Tags: @smutnoullitheorem

[bellaramseysgf]

Home Late (E.M)

Warning(s); Smut 18+ only!, slight dub/noncon,controlling!eddie,spanking,mentions of his rings,praise kink,Eddie covers readers mouth with his hand,brief mention of drugging,insinuated to readers mom being a cougar,one threat of using a paddle.

Pairing(s); Stepdad!Eddie Munson x Afab!Stepdaughter!Reader.

Summary; You come home late and your stepdad take it upon himself to punish you.

A/n; this is the longest Fic I’ve wrote in awhile. It’s also very dear to my heart bc of how much effort I put into it. Please enjoy!!💕

You weren’t one to not follow rules. Whatever your mom said you did. Don’t talk to strangers, don’t eat ice cream for breakfast, make sure you do your chores. It was easy stuff to follow,really that was until he came along.

It was definitely weird seeing your mom date someone less then 5 years older then you. However,she was happy and that was the end of it you assumed. Until this dumbass asked her to marry him and decided to come in and reck your whole life.

He set new rules,changed your garage into some dnd meeting place,wouldn’t let your younger siblings watch tv past 7 and now you had a curfew of 11pm.

It pissed you off how your mom was just okay with it,she just let him come in a rule your world. Now,you were 21 and still living at home.

You still saw yourself as an adult, you work, you help pay for groceries or bills if need be,you were apart of this household. Yet he makes all the rules end of discussion.

You were doing this just to spite him really, just to see that stupid look on his face when he realizes you came home late.

Both Eddie and your mom always went to bed around 11:30, so you coming back at 1am should be just enough time that they’re both sound asleep.

You pushed your key in the lock and turned it as quietly as you could. You stopped to pull your heels off as well so that they wouldn’t clack on the floor.

The house was quiet,no lights on. You made your way to the stairs before a light flicked on and you jumped.

“Just where the hell were you?” You knew before you even turned around it wasn’t your mom who was waiting on you. “None ya.” You stated plainly turning to look at him. “2 hours past curfew, just what were you thinking?” You shrugged “I just lost track of time. I’ll clean something tomorrow to apologize.” “No, I think this needs to be handled a different way.” You raised your brow at him.

Eddie knew you were doing it to upset him, just because it took the man 3 years to finish highschool doesn’t make him stupid. You knew exactly what you were doing.

Eddie beckoned you over with his finger “what” you said annoyed and you walked to meet him in the living room.

You let out a gasp when you were thrown over his legs. “Eddie what the fuck” you were met with his hand pressing over your mouth. “Shut the fuck up. For once.” His open hand bunched your dress up until he saw your cute little cherry printed panties. “You’re so damn annoying.” He said and you gasped when a smack landed on your ass.

You mumbled curses into his hand and started to squirm. “Stay still before I get my paddle” his tone sent delicate shivers through your body. You stopped your squirming and were met with a “good girl” you choked back the whine that wanted to come out at his praise.

“You never want listen.” Smack. “Just so bitchy” smack. “You’re so disrespectful” smack. “You never listen to any rules” smack. “You think you can get away with it?” Smack. “No, you can’t.” Smack. “I’m so tired of your attitude” smack. “Someone needed to remind you of your place.” Smack.

You were in tears. The rings in his fingers leaving defined outlines more then likely. Your ass stung and you wanted to get up and run away before he could realize how wet you’d gotten.

“I bet I know something that’ll help with that attitude.” He said and used his open hand to undo his belt. “If I move my hand you be Fucking quiet.” He demanded and you nodded. He let you up as he worked his pants and boxers off. He wasn’t fully hard but he was almost there, the size of him made your pussy clinch around nothing.

“Panties, give them.” He held out his hand and waited patiently until you handed him the fabric. “You’re gonna sit still until I decide” he informed as he tugged you into his lap. “What..what about my mom?” Youvasked and he chuckled “don’t worry, I made sure she’d stay asleep.” You shivered.

Was he insane? Did he actually drug your mom? Why did that turn you on even more.

Eddie lifted your hips and lined himself up before bottoming out inside you. “Stay still and be a good girl.” He said and you nodded.

After long your eyes got heavy from the nights events. All the dancing you’d done catching up on you’re body,the aches sat in and your eyes became heavy. You let your body slump down into Eddie’s chest.”

“Sleepy?” He asked and you nodded “now you know why I’ve you come home.” He smarted off and you just nodded not having the brain capacity to snap back. “Wanna go to bed?” He asked and you shook your head. “No? Why not?” He asked and you answered with a roll of your hips which wasn’t a good idea, you were met with a slap on your ass afterwords.

“Use your words.” His tone was scolding and you let out a shaky breath “what about this?” You whispered and Eddie chuckled.

“Darling,when did I say I was gonna fuck you?”

[rocambolestim]

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[universefcb]

Please feed me with cute pau x reader fluff. Like them shopping.. groceries.. clothes.. idc.. SOMETHING!!! Your fics make me backflip in joy 😞🙏🏻

↬❥ Shopping

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

sy: You and Pau Cubarsí are going to do the monthly shopping, but he is too funny and makes you laugh a lot.

a/n: And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: No warning.

The sun was lingering in the sky, hidden between fluffy clouds, and you were on your way to the market with Pau. He was driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding yours over the gearshift, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Are you excited?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Excited to go shopping? Yes, of course. My childhood dream,” you joked.

“I take this mission very seriously, Y/N. No distractions. No picking up junk. We buy what we need and leave,” he said, as if he was outlining a war strategy.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile appeared at the corner of your mouth. This was going to be fun.

First stop: fruits

Pau stopped in front of the shelf of apples, picking one up and examining it with a critical eye.

“You have to choose carefully. If it’s hurt, it’s gone.”

You took the apple from his hand and took a bite.

“That’s great.”

“Y/N!!!” He widened his eyes, holding back his laughter. “We have to pay first!”

You chewed, looking at him with the most innocent face.

“Relax, no one will notice. I’ll pretend she was already bitten.”

Pau covered his face with his hand, shaking his head, but laughing.

“You give me work.”

“And you like it,” you retorted, winking.

Second stop: basic supplies (or not)

You followed Pau through the aisles, watching how seriously he took his shopping. He would pick up an item, check the prices, and do the math in his head. Meanwhile, you would sneakily throw junk into the cart.

“Y/N…” he stopped suddenly, picking up a package of colorful cookies. “Was this on the list?”

You smiled innocently.

“It’s on my mental list.”

He sighed, but put the package back in the cart.

“Just because I love you and I can’t say no to that face.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you hid it.

“I will use this against you every time.”

"I know."

Third stop: clothing section (because why not?)

Halfway there, you saw a cute sweatshirt on sale.

“Dude, look at this!” you pulled him towards the clothing section.

He crossed his arms, looking suspicious.

“You’re running away from the mission, love.”

“But look at this sweatshirt!” you hugged the soft fabric, pouting.

Pau sighed dramatically.

“Okay. But only if you try this one.”

He picked up a sweater with a ridiculous print of dogs wearing sunglasses and handed it to you.

“Man, that’s horrible!”

“Exactly. You’re going to look beautiful.”

You laughed together, and at the end, you tried on the hideous sweater just to be funny. Pau took pictures of you with a goofy grin on your face.

“I’m going to make this my wallpaper,” he warned.

“I hate you.”

“Lie. You love me.”

He winked and pulled you in by the waist, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead.

Finalizing purchases

At the checkout, as you were checking out your groceries, Pau took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Mission accomplished, soldier?” you asked jokingly.

“Mission accomplished,” he replied, squeezing her hand lightly. “But anything that involves you is worth it.”

His face heated up, and Pau just laughed, giving him a peck on the cheek before pushing the cart out of the store.

[dwoality2123]

Wait for Me?

A presence appears on his vulnerable side. He doesn't turn to look nor does he tense nor let his breath get caught in his throat. “Hi,” he whispers into the tranquil quiet.

“Hi,” he hears barely.

He hums. “Would you mind if you transfer to my other side? It's hard to hear you when your words are this gentle and quiet....and, I want to see you.”

It was quiet but he felt his companion move to his right side. Still, he does not turn to look at the tuft of brown hair better, or the ever-so-slightly blemished warm skin. He merely looks on, admiring the astonishing view that the high vantage point gives him. 

He sees hands fiddling, a rare sign of vulnerability that Zuko finds out of character—to give Zuko with trust he does not know he deserves. A long beat and Jet finally talks 

“Did it ever mean anything?”

“It always did, for me. My heart has always been printed on my sleeve and I am not dishonest enough to be able to fake such authenticity.”

Silence.

“I did lie to you. I have lied about my name, and my character. I have lied about my scar, and about a lot else. But my feelings were as true as the sky is blue. Please, do not doubt that aspect of me.”

Yet another meaningful silence, a moment for his words to settle in Jet's mind.

“It hurt.”

“I know.” And he did. To find that your lover is part of a nation that you so passionately hate. To find that your lover's people were the cause of your misery, the slaughterers of your family and of your friends and of your village. That is a pain pill hard to swallow. “And I'm sorry.”

But, at the same time, Zuko was a child younger than Jet when it happened. And Zuko's only part in that act of sin was his ignorance and complacency. He does not say these things, for he knows he cannot handle Jet's wrath right now. His bellowing voice and his words. 

“I hurt you too,” Jet mumbles almost too quietly for Zuko to pick up on, but he did. Mumbled with a cracking voice.

“You did.”

“I've hurt so many people.”

“You have.”

Jet bends over, forehead touching his hands from where they rest, clasped together, on the half wall before him. He takes a shaky breath and clenches his jaw. And then he straightens himself, moves his hands to grip the wall tightly instead, neck craned upwards and eyes blinking quickly. “What do I do?”

He turns to look at him—looks at the way his tanned skin glows warmly under the golden rays of the sun setting in the horizon, his straw-like hair that tells of a hardened life billowing with the gentle winds, and his brown eyes glinting with amber and hazel...yet dim and haunted. 

Reluctance outlines his hands as his pale fingers glows almost white in contrast to the gaunt cheek to caresses. A miniscule twitch in Jet's hands doesn't go unnoticed, the clench of his fists and the frightful and hesitant gulp of saliva. Yet, despite it all—the fears and the doubts and the distrust, he leans his cheek into Zuko's awaiting palm.

Zuko looks at him with soft and fond eyes, the gold of his eyes glowing brighter than ever with the concentration of the sun in them. Jet looks at him from under his dark lashes for a miniscule moment before looking to the colorful sky. 

Tentatively, Jet's calloused hands—and thin, thinner that it was before, thinner than it should have been, malnourishment highlighting the jutted bones of his knuckles—wraps itself around Zuko's, guiding it gently towards his chapped lips to press a kiss against his reddish knuckles that sends a message of a thousand unspoken words. 

Jet lets his lips rest on the back of Zuko's hand, and in his humble ethereal glow, Zuko sees all the reasons his heart started fluttering for the man in front of him. Jet's eyes are closed and his hand squeezes his a bit tighter, as if he was daydreaming of a universe beyond their knowledge or maybe he was reminiscing of memories that feel out of reach—too good to be true but no less real. 

And Zuko can only watch and ingrain the image into his brain for his mind to see and remember for all the days to come, to dream about in the star-filled nights, to feel when his memories slowly leave him in his old age—if he survives long enough to reach that.

But nothing can stay in the beautiful stasis for long, no matter how much he wishes it to, for time is never on their side and time will continue to take if he lets it. So he turns his hand in Jet's grip and watches him sadly open his eyes with a knowing and resigned glint. He holds Jet's chin and lifts it upward, commanding Jet to look at him. 

Then he goes back to caressing Jet's cheek, letting the pads of his finger ink all of his wishes and desires on Jet's skin, hoping he is open enough for Jet to understand—and he does, if the shaky exhale was anything to go by. Zuko smiles affectionately.

“Let them learn, Jet, let them learn to forgive. And if they cannot, then you learn to let go, to move on and move forward, to heal.” He gently brushes away the fallen lash on Jet's cheek. “Heal, Jet. If not for yourself, then for anyone else. And if not for anyone else, then for yourself.”

Jet's eyes gained a teary sheen and he opened his mouth a bit then closed it with an exhale, pressing himself deeper into the soft touch of Zuko's. And he opens his mouth again to whisper, “I don't know how.”

He gazes into Jet's eyes, thoughts swirling behind the amber hue of his eyes. To say: you will figure it out, that is a promise and that is inevitable. Try and you will succeed. Open your mind and see yourself and see the world, see, Jet. Look and you're going to find what you seek. But for you to be able to move forward, you need to let go, Jet. 

To tell him: you are not alone, not as much as you seem to think. And you will never be alone because I will always be there, at your beck and call. No matter what, I'll figure out a way to get to you.

Instead he says only, “you need to stop focusing on every bad thing and you need to start accepting the good things, or else you'll forever be miserable.”

“I don't deserve to…” Jet trails off.

And Zuko understands what was left unsaid. Because he's felt it so passionately, and believed in it for so long. And he knows it's not true.

“You don't need to deserve happiness, you just need to be. You've done awful things, yes, so make amends. You can't take it all back, but you can't swallow in despair forever.”

Jet looks at him, trying so hard to keep the tears at bay. He understands, just as he understood all of the messages sent in Longshot's language, all the words spelled out in Jet's eyes. 

He presses a passionate kiss to Jet's other cheek and answers, “I will wait. For however long it will take you. For however long it takes you to find yourself and then find me.”

“And if I don't show up?”

He was silent, tasting words and sentences in his tongue, turning them on all sides to formulate something of an answer. “I’ll still love you.” 

Jet hiccups and his breath hitch and tears fall down and he sniffles.

“But I’ll learn to move on, even though I’ll never stop loving you or learn how to. I’ll move on. And maybe we both would find someone else, but you will still be someone I have loved and I will love.”

“Even if I'm like this?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

He presses a kiss to Jet's cheeks.

“I know, and I have never held it against you, but I have long since forgiven you.”

He presses their foreheads together.

“Say it and I will, Jet.”

Jet remains quiet but soon—”Wait for me, please....Zuko?”

He smiles as he feels Jet's breath against his lips. 

“Okay.”

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

Six Sentence Su...Monday! I was kindly tagged by @brainrotdotorg and I didn't think I had a wip with actual words in it (plenty of unwritten outlines... the Ghost Trick crossover of my heart...), but it turns out I have one? This was meant to be a Valentine's Day thing for last year. then the company got me groaning forever with their ~forbidden fruity kisses crap and put me off kimharry for months, and then other things took precedence. I'd still like to finish it, though.

Under a row of chestnut trees, a dozen plastic tables with faded chessboard prints huddle forlornly around a defunct kiosk. “War orphans,” says Harry scratching his chin. “What war, detective? These can’t be older than the Thirties.” “Class war.” “Ah. Of course.” Kim runs a gloved finger along the edge of a board. “Too bad the kiosk must have locked up the pieces. Or they were stolen long ago.” Harry looks at the chessboard, at the pebbles under their feet, at the chessboard again. [...]

Tagging whoever wants to do this!

[helloescapist]

To See His Smile

Word Count: 5,598

Setting: slow burn oneshot, Amajki x GN!reader; SFW

Content Warning(s): none

Summary: From your first encounter with the seemingly stoic hero, Suneater to the aloof senpai of The Big 3, and all of the pieces in between, you adored the many sides of Amajiki Tamaki, but what you loved most of all was the smile he rarely shared.

[Not my art, credit goes to the artist!]

There were so many sides to him, more than just the stoic emerging hero the public knew and adored. More the embodiment of anxiety and social recluse U.A. students were familiar with. There were so many sides to him, layers wrapped delicately and protectively like a rosebud who dared not yet blossom. The first glimpse beneath the surface was enough to have you hooked, not that you had ever intended to meet that fated day.

The train set for the Kansai region bustled with energy having departed on a school excursion. The optimistic chatter amongst classmates. Assigned groups knitted closely together. Some compared brochure notes, dedicated themselves to sight-seeing, the thrill of exploring neighboring temples and aging castles claiming their attention; others simply swapped treats amongst themselves pocky for senbei, health snacks packed by doting parents lost amongst the bargaining, all too willing to subject themselves to a wayward tour. Although based off of the composed members, it was likely their bellies would be their guide. While one group discussed desired activities, hearts poured into escaping to the shopping districts and local fashions, another could be heard just as eagerly plotting buoyant romantic rendezvous, daring to sneak into co-ed hotel rooms. The distant views of sakura trees passing them by, Mount Yoshino’s beauty left astray. Gentle waves of white and pink blossoms framed against a sky outline before the inevitable drawing of the destined station. Your own group partners adored in their perspective uniform, having chattered away as you watched the flowers disappear from view. Of all the things you had considered would happen that day, hanging off the side of a building was not in mind.

                The arrival was swift and full of excitement to the prospect of independence. Quick to disburse luggage at the school-selected onsen, not having bothered to change out of uniforms, and barely having the time to snug a scarf around your neck to protect from the chill the region offered before your group ushered you forward. Your heart practically humming in your eardrums, beyond excited at the prospect of visiting the sky gardens in person. From the shopping opportunities, restaurants, cafes, adorable mascots, and so much more, you were thrilled at the opportunity to immerse yourself in the botanical gardens, and be swept away of the composition of traditional Japanese flora, the even more tempting opportunities to interact with rare species accumulated from other countries, alluring for someone of your particular quirk. And the very reason you had crossed your fingers, prayed to every shrine and every God you could surmise, hinted at your group peers in the hope that they would consider it a stopping place for your voyage—your opportunity mostly provided by Yuki’s enthusiasm for pudding peeked at the mention of a famous café that was hosted by the botanical garden. The hearts were practically shined in her eyes as her hands clasped your own tightly, yanking you forward impatiently and excitedly. Her sunshine yellow hair printed with orange pats, her grin brighter than the sun, and the red plaid of her skirt ruffled as she urged you to run, tossing all decorum to the side. Behind you, the opposite to her energy were your companions, Aoi being pushed forward. Uneasy, murmuring about heights, and Mizuki’s hands pressed firmly across his shoulders as he urged him forward, half bothered to share words of reassurance but not dedicated enough to hide their exhaustion from the train. Your group parting upon the entry of the premise. Yuki pudding bound, her gusto radiating causing her tail to tap eagerly against the ground. Aoi tucked closely behind her, doing his best to remind her of her manners much like a motherly hen. Mizuki having found a fondness for the building’s mascot, and you slipped off to the gardens.

                And it was worth it. So very worth it. The gardens were nothing short of breathtaking. Tiers of gardens coordinated and widespread amongst the indoor radius. Its extensive variety flora captivating viewers. Waves of colors, symphony of scents. The occasional delicate floral notes orchestrated from roses, a tropical hint from palms, spicy white dianthus caryophyllus, and citrus notes from lemon balm. The calming effects of nature at your beck and call, and the colors that graced the sites. Reds derived from ginger plants and celosia. Oranges tinted from fruit bearing trees, kalanchoe thrysiflora, and yellows painted with devil’s tongues, and marigolds. Greens gifted from various ivy types, and dusty hues from barberry, agave, and even Chinese Jujube. Blues of many varieties ranging from lavenders to hydrangeas, and then there were the purples. Mystical wisteria, magical foxglove, and masquerading nightshade. Peaceful, and opportunities you could ever dream of, as you breathed in the warmth. Acknowledged the passing by of viewers. Groups of students that frocked pass you, whispers of romantic proposals, lovers that dared to sneak kisses from prying eyes, and even families on an outing. The only real question was, were to start. Hours poured over studying the brochure and information pamphlets, there were so many wonderful beginnings, opportunities to dive into study. But where? Where? There. Perfuming the air as you inspected petal after petal, delicate to the plant as you leaned over on bent knees, tucking your heart intentionally behind your ear as your lashes grazed your cheeks. The current specimen at your fingertips, dracaena. Careful to avoid any pricks as you inspected its pores, examined soil textures, and took notes on its surrounding, and potential uses. How difficult it would be to manifest this particular plant, and how tasking it might be on your stamina, body, and potential side-affects it may have on the environment, targets, or even yourself. Biting your lips, you were too absorbed in the specimen to notice your surroundings. The rush of students and onlookers peering from windows. Distant noise of explosions that lightly vibrated the spikes upon the Dracaena causing you to glance up, but for later than you would like to admit. Intrigue had turned to terror, people fled from the windows, the shattering of glass, and crumbling of walkways beneath your feet. Stationed at the edge of the sky botanical, visitors flooded the exits, and your heart thrummed in your ears. Eyes locked on the busied exit. A familiar pump of adrenaline in your muscles, but the distant ebb of a wail tore your gaze from escape.

                A little girl dressed in overalls that hung loosely on her shoulders, hung desperately to the ground. Her fingers giving out beneath her as the building swayed with some unseen collision. Her eyes wide as tears rolled from her cheeks. Trembling as she screamed for her guardian, but amongst the growing tragedy, her voice was lost amongst the crumbling rubble. A bite of your lip, and quick calculations in your thoughts as you scanned every flora in your immediate knowledge before devising a half hazard plan drawn from necessity. Drawing yourself forward, you stretched your hands out, manifesting the strength of Chocolate Vines, its scent carried on the smoke as you wound it around a steel beam, the end coiled snug against your wrist as you dived for the child.

                Nope. Of all the possibilities the day offered, it had never occurred to you that you would be hanging from the side of a building, snagged against the side of the building with scratches marring your flesh. Shattered glass and crumbling concrete, and a child secured tightly at your side. Her sobs echoing your ear drums as she buried her nose into the flesh of your ribs. Given the circumstances, what with the life-threatening consequences one wrong move could provide, you hadn’t suspected that of all the whispers of romantic endeavors your classmates had dreamed of would star you. You.

  ��             His mask, adorned in gold trim across his brow pass the bridge of his nose. Indigo tinted, his temple drawn, eyes squinted, and tentacles??? While the information is relatively unsurprising looking back on that fateful day, at the time, it was the quite the shock as he hoisted the combined weight of the child and you towards him before snagging onto your torso. Your vines beginning to wilt and snag, growing weak stressed from the demands. Around you, the building was unstable, the child anxious and trembling, and the boy who held you snug against his gaze followed a distant fight tumble about as he navigated his way to the ground. He seemed sure-footed, his bare feet delicate and adept at mobilizing his body in the quivering structure. It was in that time you etched his figure into your memory. The tips of his ears flushed against the changing winds. Hair the color of fresh blueberries, bangs that hung over baptisia australis eyes that threatened the shade of blue wild indigo blossoms as they refused to meet your own. Focused on the security and the safety of his passengers. What a cute misconception that was—the poor boy was horrified. His stomach had been in the pits, trembling at the close proximity to you, didn’t dare face the humiliation, and even worse, the situation and maneuvering had left him with little choice in positions to support your weight. He didn’t dare meet your eye, too stuck on calculating whether he should adjust his hold and risk dropping the child and you, or risk you believing that he, Suneater was a degenerate that had grasp on your chest, and the inevitable, deserved slap that would accompany it. What would Fat Gum do?

That had been the first of many encounters, and your first glimpse at the man behind the mask, adorned by the alias Suneater. Your initial introduction has been surprising; it wasn’t every day you get flung from a building, and are rescued by a cute elven boy. Let alone one so stoic. You hadn’t missed the gentle glimpse he had given you at the time, as you drew forth a small flower crown for the little one as you awaited the return of her guardians. The sight of its petals giving her a smile as you did your best to manifest other floral distractions. The gentle peek before tugging on his hood, shielding his face, and capturing your heart, but the second layer, the one that you tucked dearly to your heart was as much of a chanced opportunity as your introduction, and a rarity that you suspected only Togata Mirio.

The entrance exam for U.A. was… a lot. It was exhausting. Rounds of machinery hell bent on crushing you and your competitors. If the grueling exam wasn’t one thing, the practical was another. The point system had drawn out the fierce drive in everyone, not to mention the freak situation with that one kid with green hair—what on earth was that? The mere thought of it bore out a sigh from you as you drew yourself outside, searching out a water source and sunshine. Anything to recharge your battery. After all, the number of vines and ivies you had utilized to catapult yourself into the air, and how many rows of thorns you had weaponized itself—you honestly couldn’t count, but were well aware of the drain your body had endured. Your bones ached, and you felt fatigued as you stretched under the shade of a nearby tree, giving yourself a moment before preparing to drag yourself home. Sweat clung to your brow as you breathed in the soft day’s air, languidly wiping it away. You could feel the way your seat suit had clung to your form, not having considered how cutesy they appeared with the cat figure, and the other applicants hadn’t considered you a competent candidate, and admittedly, you felt a little embarrassed by the cat ears that adorned the hoodie, your cheeks burning at the thought. But how could you refuse to wear it? It had purchased with love, a symbol of good luck from your family, and sort of all the more reason why you had chosen a secluded area to cool off before the trek home.

                “Ahhh, that was GREAT!” A booming voice cheered. Deep and enthusiastic, stretched out over taunt muscles, and a wide smile far bigger than the sky above, and bright hair that dared to reach the clouds. Round eyes that squinted and heavily patted the back of his comrade as he heaved marked boxes for the U.A. faculty, “reminds me of our entrance exam! And that one kid! Man, the new first year class is going to be amazing. Don’t you think?”

                “There-there’s so many of them,” a weak voice mumbled. Struggling unlike his counterpart, standing shorter as well, the delicate boy had been roped into assisting the staff amongst the U.A. entrance. A doing of his friend’s own enthusiasm, who had often enjoyed watching the entrance exam, but this time, he had insisted, or rather dragged the timid boy. Volunteered him as well, and in doing so, exposed him to the upcoming class, and another reason to fret over his own capabilities. His soft complexion complicated as he gazed down at the contents of his luggage.

                A girl playfully responding to the blonde’s statement as she pushed forward, the smile on her face evident and humming. Her periwinkle blue hair long and buoyant. What she said, you hadn’t heard, and became increasingly realized that they were not aware of your existence. Their comradery drawing your attention as you watched both the bright boy, and beautiful girl speak to one another, heaving supplies towards the distance, and the boy strayed, dragging behind languidly. His movements stiff, full of worry. His face revealing his unease as his brow wrinkled. His thoughts claiming his attention, causing a thrum of chill down his spine and gloom over head. The stark difference from the hero who had rescued you. A complicated look etched across his features, his bangs looming over his face and high cheek bones. “I-I just want to go home,” he whispered.

                Adorned in the shade of the tree, you could make out the tense way he carried himself. Aware that his companions had led the way, perhaps unintentionally leaving him behind, or perhaps giving him a moment to breathe. You weren’t entirely sure, but having witnessed to his distress. You found yourself standing, considering whether or not to check in on him, you mean… was he okay? His eyes drawing swiftly up, wide. You could feel your heart slam into your throat, your stomach occupied in the place in which it used to rest as it threatened back flips. Shuffling you backwards, seeking further shade to hide as though you had done something so indecent as spying. Y-you could explain. It wasn’t that you were intentionally spying! You were here first! You were? Right? Yeah, of course, it was a simple explanation, and then when the group had passed you by, you didn’t want to be rude--- oh no, you were spying. Practically snooping, and preparing to apologize, and bend yourself down so far as to touch your knees with your own forehead. Forgiveness. You needed forgiveness, but would he give it? Oh no, no, no one wants to be seen at such a low, but it was the soft hum that caught you off guard. Encouraged you to stay tucked against the tree that offered a shield from sight. “ah, but Mirio asked this of me…. I should- I should do it.” His smile was as soft as his voice. Tender as the look in his eyes that traced the fluttering of wings. Its delicate hues danced playfully near him as if greeting his grace, and enjoying his equally pleasant aura. A pailo demetrius butterflied that dared to skim the ends of his hair, testing its landing spot. Undoubtedly having confused him for a wild flower, his hair having deceived the butterfly, or rather welcomed its attention. Not that the butterfly seemed to mind, greeted with a smile, nor did your rescuer. The most delicate smile creased his lips, met his soft eyes as he resolved himself to the task. “Thank you,” he whispered warmly to the butterfly before following after his companions. The setting of the sun basking in his soft glow.

Spying wasn’t right, and in part, maybe you had blossomed a questionable pass time hobby, but for all the luck in the world, you had witnessed something rare, unfathomably valuable, and equally breakable, and you would do everything in your power to witness it, if only for one more time.

The third time your paths had crossed was more conventional, orchestrated by Aizawa-sensei, and the first time you had officially heard his name, his true name rather than the one he had dubbed as a hero. It had been the demonstration provided by The Big 3, although it wasn’t intended to be so. It was simply supposed to be an explanation of the Hero Work-Studies that had escalated further than intended.

The class had been a murmur of excitement, curiousity, and drive. There were those who were star struck, like Midoriya, who was drawn into his own world, composed of strategy break down, quirk application, and overall… fanboyism. Others such as Bakugo and Kirishima were eager to hear about the opportunities the program offered, the prior setting himself bars above and eagerness, and confidence. Then, there were the skeptical, the ones with questions and considerations such as Asui and Tokoyami. The range of the classroom was wide, and diverse, each hero-to-be hanging on every word, and every action of The Big 3, and then there was you. Your eyes landed on him, the one dubbed the alias, Suneater, and introduced as Amajiki Tamaki. Just like that fated day, his eyes strayed. Shook underneath the gaze of others, quivered uneasily. His frown growing, and the quiet mumblings that from your seat, seemed incomprehensible. The soft of his skin revealing his anxiety, and trembles as he inevitably turned his back to the class once more. Miserable, and out of place, it was a side of him that U.A. as a whole had grown accustomed to, and perhaps familiarized themselves with, but the transition of anxiety to the sheer acknowledgement of his companion, Togata-senpai. The amount of pride in someone else’s accomplishments, and joy of the memories he shared to the class. Perhaps, it was the real him, a complex mixture of anxiety and pride in friends, and yet, it was that gentle smile of that fateful day that would not leave your heart, and whispered the reality to you. You were determined to see every side of Amajiki-senpai that you could.

And there it was, the mission. The determination and the drive to capture that smile once more, just to witness it again. You had left the Hero-Work program explanation with admittedly two goals in mind: the first to be accepted by a Hero, and the second… to see Amajiki-senpai’s smile once more! Lucky for you, this goal was thankfully intertwined in execution in skills.

The hours you subjected yourself to studying, poured yourself over tomes. Thumbed your fingers across spirals, exhausted your eyes into the late nights. Accidentally falling asleep at your desk. Worrying your family in more ways than you dared to admit, and missed out on a number of opportunities to engage in extra-curricular activities. The days felt almost like a blur of coursework, class hours and week days spent pouring yourself amongst the pages of botany pages. U.A.’s library offered so much valuable information, but your quirk required work. Knowledge, practice, and practical application… To be honest, going about blindly and testing out plant after flora, after specimen, and cacti would wreak havoc across Japan, and give rise to invasive species, that you suspected would endanger your potential hero licensure. Something you longed to avoid at all costs, after goal all, the first goal was to achieve a Hero-Work study, but that didn’t mean that you would be thorough in your investigation. After all, that’s what the practice fields were for, right? Principal Nezu, please forgive you for any future transposing’s your practice may inflict on the U.A. gardens. Thus, the library hadn’t been enough, drawing information from various internet sources, and on the weekends, daring yourself to outings dedicated to your research. Garden visit after garden visit, touring nursery after nursery, you were dedicated, and in time, your first goal had been achieved, but it wasn’t what you had hoped for. It wasn’t what any of you had hoped for.

It should have brought you joy, a sense of pride and recognition in your skills, and to some extent, it did. At least, initially. To have been selected for the Hero-Work program and to have been placed under Kesagiri Man’s care was one that desired praise, and an extra serving of tonkatsu at dinner. How you had beamed in your hero uniform, specially tailored to your form. Leaves that gathered and crawled up right your right leg, blossoming to cover your form naturally before trailing around your left shoulder until coiling at your wrist. Admittedly, to the few, it bordered risky, but remained modest. The intricately delicate head mask that had curved to the shape of your brow, slipping behind your ears into your hair as though fitted for royalty gave you the impression of having slipped from the pages of a fairytale, and how you had painstakingly thumbed through names, landing on the trial run of Danu. In addition to the praise, well, you really had felt excited for the weeks to come. After all, to have garnered a Pro-Hero’s attention wasn’t something to be easily dismissed, it was quite the accomplishment as well as noteworthy key point on any resume, and when it had been decided you would play a role in the Shie Hassaikai Raid, you were beaming at the opportunity to work alongside pro-heroes, and even better… the opportunity to see Amajiki-senpai adorn the alias Suneater. You were practically beam like a sunflower in summer, so much so you had even accidentally blossomed Indigoletta rose buds, rich in lavender petals and devoid of thorns, but now, all of that joy was nullified. The creeping sensation that crept up your neck, raised the hair on your forearms as fumes filled the air. The sound of rubble, and stone clashed in a chaos of elements. Gunfire that radiated amongst the surrounding area, breaths of wind and smoke. The stray attacks that grazed pass you. The numbing realization of how serious, and out of hand the situation had become. What had been a strategic plan, with intention and a clear route: those infiltrating had faced far dangerous circumstances than expected while you were left on the side lines. Charged with defending the injured, and supply those in need of immediate medical assistance—how you had stayed up hours expanding your knowledge into medical herbs. Rosemary, lavender, cloves, ginger, dandelion, eucalyptus—you named It, you had mentally filed it away, practiced manifesting it in your home (your home would smell of herbs and spices for months to come, not that your family had hinted any frustration, even going so far as to add leftovers in recent dishes). All the anticipation, and all captivated feelings of accomplishment had been diminished like a flame left in the rain as your fingers hesitantly traced his cheek, far paler than normal. How had this happened? The heroes…. You had pro-heroes. How had it become the Hassaikai Incident? Strained features, taunt lips that pursed and winced. The faintest of groan carried on dwindled sharp breaths, and eyelashes clasped between squeezed eye lids. A feeble warmth beginning to blossom across his features, as the color drained from his blanched complexion. Evidence littered across his cloak, carved into his features. His quirk beginning to mollify, octopus tentacles withdrawing, chicken feet and wings extracted, and the oddest traces of gemstones. Blood that stained, and rubble that threatened open wounds. The trembling in your fingertips undeniable as anxiety thrummed through your body, panicked heart beats that claimed your ear drums, and dulled your senses and response time. All you had wanted was to see him smile.

                The recovery had been better than expected, although truth be told, it was perhaps the anxiety that had convinced you it was worse than it truly was. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit how many trips you had made to the local hospital, peaking in on his progress. This is where you had witnessed, yet another side of the elven hero. The soft humility was commendable. The way he expressed concern for others involved in the incident from the loss of a mentor, inquired about Togata-senpa’s condition, and even yours—how that had sent your heart into fits. The sweet care for others, shifting attention to those who he deemed worthy even if it was at the cost of his own care—the way the tips of his ears would blush upon being fretted over by his attendant. The tender gazes out of the window when he achieved a moment, free of further probing. It was enough to elicit a soft sigh from you, and a bubbling of melancholy. Spying, when had you become such a snoop? You promise your parents hadn’t raised you this way, and imagined your siblings would chastise you if they had known, but for all the stolen glimpses between the hospital door, the shuffle of the occasional nurse, and even Recovery Girl’s reassurance that he was certainly recuperating just fine, and even awkwardly dodged your elder’s insistence that while he was a cumbersome boy, he wouldn’t reject a visit from a companion. Yet, you could never bring yourself to knock, merely leaving random visitation flowers with the nurse in the charge of him for the day, sputtering out some clumsy excuse to leave without greeting him. The last visit having been total humiliation that had you buried in your pillow. You really hadn’t mean to escalate from mere snoop to pervert. The adrenaline of the nurse having rejected your delivery request under Recovery Girl’s insistence you were amped up! You could do it! You could! Until the door popped open, the distinct giggle of Hado-senpai emitting from the room, and thin muscles that impacted your face. Your rush having dragged you straight into his chest, to both of your horror. “She-she didn’t see me,” he had stammered, yanking his bandaged form against the door frame, resting his forehead against it, and shielding his features. Failure. Complete and total failure, and even worse. Contact. The flowers in your hands smooshed against you. Hado-senpai’s periwinkle curls caught in the air, practically thrumming with the electric current personality radiated. Her bags practically bouncing with her, as her delicate blue topaz eyes found the bouquet caught in your fingers, a presumptuous grin spreading as she attempted to draw Amajiki-senpai’s attention. You noped out of there as fast as your legs could carry you, pushing the floral arrangement into her hands before disbursing down the hall, eliciting knowing giggles from medical staff.

Upon hearing that Amajiki-senpai had decided that the laughter was directed at him specifically, you had determined to keep your distance for the time being. Well, at least until the shame had dissipated. In that absence, you struggled, and remained vigilant. You really, just wanted to see his smile again, and while Vermilion’s had survived the onslaught despite the odds, Suneater’s had practically been banished into the shadows. More late hours dedicated over books, anything to see that captivating smile resurface. The determination to have that very same smile directed your way having taken root at the school festival.

Class 1-A had found themselves determine to win over the student body while the beauty pageant fostered growing tensions amongst competitors. The ever-boiling tension between Hado-senpai and Kenranzaki-senpai had ushered in wave after wave of stomach aches on your behalf. Having been allocated a sewing position in the costume creation for 1-A’s performance, you had definitely developed a whole new appreciation for the hero uniform department, and received a few private requests as well. That’s how you saw it, the growing crushing realization that if you didn’t land every stitch on Kenranzaki-senpai’s gown with a dedicated level that reached her expectations, you suspected you would be receiving end of her tank, or much worse given her talent as a member of U.A.’s Department of Support. The terror sending you reeling as you sat to the side, panicked, rushed, and wary of every scuffle between the two upper classmen. In this time frame, you had bore witness to a gentle reassurance. The warmth Amajiki-senpai in attempting to consul his friend’s feelings, and on the day of the pageant, as you wearily mended a snag on Kenranzaki-senpai’s dress (seriously though, a tank? In a DRESS?), there he was, front and center. Braving the crowd. A fond smile that graced his lips, one so warm you suspected it could thaw even the coldest winter day, perhaps could even still the ever-driven Kenzranzaki-senpai. Imagine, all of the students who had gathered, pressed against the stage in anticipation to see beauty. Blissfully unaware that a true vision of enchantment was not Hado-senpai that twirled in the air, but her supporter, Amajiki-senpai squished amongst viewers, happy to see her achieve her goal.

The burning desire to have that smile, that mythical smile directed your way had led you here. Fingers covered in dirt; the soil wedged between your nails. Your hands delicately cupping the earth between your digits. All the hours of being Hatsume Mei’s test subject had come to bare fruits, and to the gods above, it had been trying. How Midoriya had endured her assertive personality, and well, risky decision-making skills were beyond you—you suspected it would be weeks before all of your bruises and scrapes healed, but here it was. The full soil report across the school grounds, targeted to more secluded areas. Each region mapped consistently. Hatsume may be a bit fanatical in her own unique way, but she was extremely thorough. Your smile expanding as you examined your surroundings. From Hatsume’s report, you were able to determine the soil type was a match, from the drainage needs, the pH balance, and even the sun exposure. “it’s perfect,” you whispered to yourself as you yanked out your water bottle, chugging it as quickly as you could before threading your hands deeper into the ground, making sure to clear the topsoil. “I can do this.” With closed, tight eyes, you dedicated your all to envisioning the roots strong and sturdy. Its shrub structure encompassing the area, healthy, dark green leaves, and felted form. Lance like stems that gave way to various shades of purple, deep violets, and light and delicate lilac. Grow. Grow. Grooooow. Spreading across the opening, tucked away on U.A. grounds were only students who wished to have a moment alone would wander, out of sight, and out of mind. The perfect escape. Murmuring praise to encourage its growth, after all, everything grows with kindness. Its blooms reaching towards the sky, enjoying the high sky, and stretching slowly, but surely before maturing at ten feet tall, wide spread and the heavenly sweet scent of honey beckoning the environment. Your grin spread, a soft shade of scarlet spread across cheeks.

You had done it. Buddleja japonica. A native variety of butterfly bush. The delicate flutter of wings, emerging colors drawn from all surrounding areas, enticed by the promise of nectar. Exhaustion weaved on your features, and admittedly, you knew that latter, you would need to provide another round of foliage to entice the butterflies to remain, but for now, you could only bask in the scenic view of your makeshift butterfly garden, and approaching figure. Thin, and taller than yourself, long fingers that grasped the note you had slid into his genkan cubby at school, the telling shade of the envelope and cute sticker you had attached. The surprise on his face, admittedly because he had steeled himself to facing a challenge head-on, some part of him believing someone hated him enough to call him out to a secluded area of the school—not that anything in the note had suggested as such, although you had to confess that the vague request to meet you here regardless of the daring heart addition may have sent the wrong impression, and had the poor boy reeling into a variety of panic attacks before he had worked up the nerve to appear.

His deep-set amethyst hair catching the glimmer of sunlight, his eyes deeper than the sweetest Murasaki tart now wide as the glow of a blush spread from the tips of his ears, danced across his cheeks, and landed on the tip of his nose. His mouth opening in wonder, and awe as the butterflies danced across flower petals. The occasional one straying to greet his arrival before his eyes found you, knelt on the ground. The exhaustion as evident as the dirt that marred your hands with the level of dedication your quirk and feelings had nurtured, your hair falling just right in the iridescent of the day creating the faintest of halo glows. The coy expression you bared, gazing ever so affectionately at… him? The realization causing his form to shake and him to advert his eyes, the blossoming of warmth in his heart and smile that threatened to break. His wrist drawn up to hide himself from view. Doing the best to conceal the growing blush that had claimed his delicate features, his almond eyes widened as they traced your silhouette. “B-beautiful,” whispered shyly across the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #14: Telling

Locke stumbled at the top of the hill and decided that was enough effort for the day. He removed the Doman sword from his belt and shrugged his bag and gunblade away, set all three to the side, and fell onto his back to catch his breath. The sky overhead was a bright blue, the clouds dispelled by the storm a couple days prior, and the midday sun was shining bright, chasing away the autumn chill. Locke basked in the warmth and let his eyes drift shut. “Come on, delivery boy,” Odranne said. He heard her step around him and continue toward her workshop. “No time for a nap. I’ve got a job for you to do.” “Been on my feet too long,” Locke grumbled. “Nap first.”

“I won’t mix our friend’s medicine otherwise.” Locke cracked an eye open to stare at her. She waited by the front door, a covered basket dangling from one arm. “He didn’t tell me I’d have to do anything for you. Neither did you, not until now.” “I apologize, I couldn’t speak of it in the market. Regardless, it’s important, and I won’t work until you hear me out,” she insisted. Her tone was firm, leaving little room for argument. Locke sighed but didn’t move. “Won’t work for free.” “You won’t have to. I’ll pay you.” He considered that for a moment. He did need the money. Both for the boss’ rent and to fix his arm. “Food too,” he said, imitating her tone. “I want a meal first. I’ll do your job. You pay me. Then you give me the old man’s medicine. In that order.” Odranne made a show of considering the offer, tapping her chin with one slender finger. “Very well. Though you’re being a little too bossy, I agree to your terms.” Locke stifled a yawn and closed his eyes again. “Great. Wake me when the food’s done.” “I can’t explain the job while you’re sleeping,” she pointed out. “You need to be awake for that. Awake and preferably inside, it’s of a…” she trailed off, searching for the right word. “A sensitive nature.” “Tell me over dinner.” Whatever face Odranne made, Locke was pleasantly unaware. He heard the door open and then shut behind her, leaving him free to fall into sleep’s waiting arms, cradled by soft grass and caressed by sunlight. Like that, he dreamed. A trail wound its way through the woods, gray branches and green leaves reaching up through the snow underfoot to carve the outline of a path. It was well-trodden, made smooth by the footfalls of those who came before. Reynir led the way, the kit trailing behind. Long strings of meaningless noise drifted through the air as the kit chattered away. Engrossed in the one-sided conversation, he strayed from the path, prints fresh against the untouched snow. Reynir called him back. He spoke softly, more meaningless noise, but the kit hung on every muted word. When he finished his brief speech, Reynir ruffled the kit’s hair and ordered him onward. His chest swelled with pride as the kit followed the trail unerringly this time. The forest gave way to a clearing of white and gray. A two-headed wolf with the body of a man waited at its heart, seated upon a throne. Too many teeth filled its grinning mouths. It rose to its feet, armor clanking and chains rattling. Swathes of starlight fell into its outstretched hands. The beast threw its heads back and howled at a red sky streaked with blue. The kit answered with a shrieking war cry. “Delivery boy? Delivery boy, are you alright?” Locke opened his eyes. A tan face with sharp features stared down at him, mouth twisted into a frown, eyebrows knitted together. He had enough time to rub the sleep from his eyes and look past the face, up to a red and orange sky, before he remembered he was visiting a potionmaker in Gridania. Without answering, he sat up, forcing Odranne to take a step back in doing so. He got to his feet and collected his things, returning his swords to his back and hip and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Starving. Food ready yet?” he asked, forcing a chipper note into his voice. He studied the houses below the hill, looked toward the gate in the distance, checked the claws of his right hand for dirt. Whatever expression Odranne was wearing, he didn’t want to see it. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Yeah, it is. But what—” “Good.” Locke trudged past on uncertain legs and pushed the door to Odranne’s workshop open. The smell of something rich and savory met him at the threshold, and his stomach growled, urging him to step inside. “Come on. Tell me about this important job.”

[blinkaftermidnight]

S3 Fic Chapter Two

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Read the whole fic outline

[Chapter Two]

Now

Leah forgets where she is at first, because there’s a body beneath her, a chest steadily rising and falling beneath her head, and Leah is warm and safe and surrounded by a familiar, comforting scent, and –

It’s Fatin. They’re in the bunker, not at home. And they are not anything, so this is – it feels weird. Very weird. Too intimate for friends. Leah extracts herself carefully, but Fatin doesn’t wake up, thank fuck. Leah’s face burns red even without Fatin making fun of her, even though Fatin probably doesn’t even know how they ended up sleeping.

Leah stands beside her bed for a moment, lets her eyes linger on Fatin until it starts to feel creepy. Leah’s not quite sure what she intends to do. Maybe go shower. At least change into fresh clothes – clothes that don’t smell vaguely like Fatin. She doesn’t get far, though, because there’s a knock at her door, and that’s enough to cause Fatin to stir, inhaling sharply.

“Guys,” Dot shouts. “We gotta get going! Kirin’s already got the boys together, so hurry up!”

Leah falters, watching Fatin slowly sit up and rub at her neck, then Leah calls, “We’ll be ready in a minute!”

“I won’t,” Fatin grumbles. “I’ll meet you out there, okay? I’m gonna get changed.”

Leah nods. Her mouth’s too dry for her to trust herself to speak. Fatin smiles at her, and Fatin looks Leah over, quickly, but Leah still catches it. It makes Leah nervous for a reason Leah can’t quite identify. Fatin closes the door behind her, and Leah hears Fatin and Dot’s muffled conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Fatin says. “Leah will be out in a minute. Just chill, Dorothy.”

“Don’t tell me to chill.”

“You’re just freaking out because you feel like you have to supervise four boys, too.”

And that’s all Leah hears before she turns her attention to getting ready. No point in showering if she’s gonna sweat on an island all day, but she brushes her teeth before she turns her attention to her box of belongings. It’ll be hot. She doesn’t overthink wearing her cutoffs and blue T-shirt, definitely doesn’t overthink wearing her own shoes. She’s tying her hair up when someone pounds on her door.

“Leah! C’mon,” Dot whines. “What’re you doing – oh shit.”

Leah stands in the doorway, watches Dot check her out, and she decides not to call Dot on it. “What?” Leah says flatly.

“Nothing, I just didn’t think you’d – nothing. Forget it.”

“Is Fatin ready?” Leah asks.

“Of course she’s not, but Rachel and all the guys are.”

Leah inhales deeply, glances over at Fatin’s room, then volunteers, “I’ll go get her.”

“You’re braver than me,” Dot chuckles.

“And you don’t get to judge my outfit when you’re literally wearing your cargo pants,” Leah says, and it takes Dot a moment before she grins.

“You’re making a joke,” Dot says, pointing a finger at Leah. “Your sense of humor’s a little too dry for my taste.”

Leah smirks, doesn’t feel the need to respond before she heads to Fatin’s room and knocks. "Fatin?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” Fatin calls.

Leah takes that as permission to enter, which is her mistake, honestly. Fatin doesn’t seem to care that she’s standing in front of Leah in her bra and underwear as she’s working on putting her hoops in, even smiles at Leah.

Leah’s eyes widen, and she blurts, “Sorry,” as Fatin rolls her eyes and waves her hand dismissively.

“Look, I’m gonna be done in two minutes,” Fatin swears. “Get over here. Help me with this.”

Fatin holds out her ZERO FUCKS necklace, and Leah can’t exactly say no, can she? Fatin gathers her hair out of the way, waits while Leah fumbles to get the necklace secured around Fatin’s neck. Fatin thanks her, and Leah barely hears it over the sound of her heart pounding. Fatin doesn’t seem to notice, just ties her hair up and slides into her pink leopard print jacket. Doesn’t zip it.

“Fatin.”

“Hmm?”

“Pants,” Leah says.

Fatin laughs. “Oh, right.”

“What? Trying to impress the boys?” Leah teases.

Fatin rolls her eyes, shakes her head, says, “Not even funny. I just forgot I’m not allowed to wear whatever the fuck I want anymore unless I want someone to stare at me.” Fatin digs up a pair of shorts, makes unnecessary eye contact with Leah while putting them on, then motions to the door. “Lead the way.”

*

It’s apparent the boys haven’t exactly settled who’s on the island exploration group, because there are five of them, and Josh and Kirin are still arguing when Leah arrives alongside Dot and Fatin. Ivan and Henry hang behind Kirin, Ivan with his arms crossed over his chest and Henry with a set of headphones around his neck. So the boys went and retrieved their stuff, too.

“I should go,” Josh insists. The look Rachel sends Dot definitely reads as save me, but Dot shrugs.

“Are we ready?” Dot asks.

“One sec,” Kirin says. “Dude, you should stay. Help Scotty hold down the fort. See what you can find here. We’ll be back.” Kirin claps Josh on the shoulder, and Josh finally backs down. “We’re ready,” Kirin says.

“Cool,” Dot says. “You’ve got the –”

Kirin takes the backpack from where it’s slung over his shoulder and holds it out, says, “You can carry one if it’ll make you feel better.”

Leah notices the second backpack is on Raf’s back, and Raf smiles when Leah’s eyes wander over to him. Leah feels Fatin’s eyes on her, but Leah looks to Dot next, waits to see what Dot’s gonna do.

“It’s fine,” Dot says. “As long as you aren’t gonna screw us over.”

Kirin smiles, says, “Promise,” and slaps a green hat on his head, backwards. Leah can tell Dot wants to say something about it, but she holds off. He pushes past Raf to lead the way out of the bunker, and Leah thinks she hears Fatin whisper something to Dot about letting a fuckboy take charge, but Dot waves her off.

“I’m not worried,” Dot says, and Leah feels Fatin’s eyes on her again, but Leah’s more than happy to defer to Dot.

Especially once they set foot outside. The island is both completely unfamiliar and vaguely familiar at the same time, somehow. The temperature and landscape are similar, but everything is laid out differently. There’s no doubt they’re in brand new territory – at least, the girls are.

“This isn’t your island by any chance, is it?” Rachel calls out, before Leah can get that far.

“No,” Ivan answers.

“It isn’t yours?” Henry questions.

“No,” Dot says. “So we’re all in new territory, on a completely different island. Awesome.”

“So, um, what exactly are we out here to look for?” Raf asks.

“Water, dipshit,” Fatin replies, but she backs off when Dot holds her hand up.

“Water,” Dot says. “Food sources. That bitch left us in the wilderness for fifty days. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here? Eventually, we’ll start to run out of supplies in the bunker, so we need to make note of anything useful.”

“What do you think the chances are that we’ll just stumble onto a fucking boat?” Ivan asks.

“Probably zero,” Leah mutters. “There’s no point in chasing pipe dreams, so just keep an eye out for something useful.”

*

They aren’t getting anywhere. Well, actually, they are. They’re quite far from where they started, though the bunker remains in sight; they just haven’t found anything. This island is fucking huge. That becomes apparent very quickly as they trek through the forest, sweating their asses off and grumbling about the bugs. It isn’t long before Kirin strips off his shirt and stuffs it into the backpack on Raf’s back, ignoring the annoyed look Raf shoots him.

Leah understands the desire to remove layers, and if she was still on her original island, she’d be taking her shirt off, too, but for now, she just sweats through it. Just like everyone except Kirin, who possibly just has no shame. Kirin comes to a stop, roughly an hour after they first set out into the wilderness, and turns to face the group.

“We aren’t covering nearly as much ground as we need to if we want to get anything done before we run out of daylight,” Kirin says. He seems to address Dot directly, as if he’s determined conclusively that Dot is going to make all the decisions for the girls.

“So what’s your idea?” Dot asks.

To Leah’s left, Fatin stiffens. Leah has a pretty good guess at what Kirin will suggest, and she has a pretty good guess at what Dot will think they should do. Judging by Fatin’s reaction, Leah thinks Fatin knows, too.

“We need to split up,” Kirin says. “We’ll cover more ground. We can regroup in a few hours back at the bunker.”

“I agree,” Dot says, but before Kirin can get too cocky, before his grin stretches too wide, Dot adds, “but we need to blend together.”

Confusion flickers on Kirin’s face, but Fatin jumps in before Dot can explain herself, says, “Dorothy, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

“What? Don’t trust us?” Kirin questions.

“Not at all, actually,” Fatin replies. “Just because we all had a similar fucked up experience doesn’t make us anything more than strangers.”

“Look, I trust Leah,” Raf says diplomatically, “and I trust that we all want what’s best for ourselves –”

“Yeah, you would,” Kirin scoffs. “The same way you trusted Seth.”

“Who the fuck is Seth?” Rachel asks.

“It’s not important,” Henry says, “right now, at least. Dot is right. If we’re going to split up, we need to blend together.”

“Thank you,” Dot says cautiously. “That way, we all have a stake in it. So let’s pair up, split in half, and head in different directions. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something.”

Tense silence falls over the eight of them, and Leah finally looks at Fatin. Fatin’s jaw clenches, and she’s staring at Kirin. He’s staring right back, doesn’t look particularly thrilled about the whole situation, either.

“I’m going with Leah,” Fatin announces, reaching over to grab onto Leah’s forearm.

“Then I’m with Rachel,” Dot agrees.

After a long moment, Kirin calls, “Raf! You’re with me. We’ll go with Leah.” Before he’s asked, he takes the backpack off his back and holds it out to Dot. “Look after them,” Kirin tells her, and Dot nods and accepts the backpack.

“Take it easy,” Dot says, mostly to Fatin. “Don’t forget to mark a path if you find something –”

“I learned from the best,” Fatin interrupts, gently. “We’ll be fine. And we’ll see you back at the bunker later.”

“Good luck,” Dot says.

“To all of us,” Ivan adds. “We’re gonna fucking need it.”

*

Fatin charges ahead of Kirin to lead the way into the unknown, and Leah hangs back, not quite walking alongside Raf, but there’s almost no denying it. Leah can’t easily keep up with the pace that Fatin sets, though Kirin sure tries to. He’s got something to prove, if Leah had to guess.

“So,” Raf says quietly, waiting until Leah looks over at him, “she’s a little intense?”

Leah blinks, nods her head toward Kirin’s back. “So is he.”

“Yeah, he’s been worse. Trust me.” Raf pauses, must realize Leah doesn’t intend to carry a conversation, and tries again. “You think they’re competing for something? Got something to prove?”

Before Leah can respond, Fatin abruptly stops walking and turns back to snap at Kirin, “Can you stop walking right up my ass? Jesus.”

“Maybe the heat’s getting to us,” Leah mutters, and she pushes forward, past Kirin, to grab onto Fatin’s arm. Fatin relaxes, slightly, when she looks up at Leah. “Can we just keep walking? Please,” Leah says, to all of them.

“That’s what I was doing,” Kirin says defensively. “Sorry if I got all up in your space.”

Fatin rolls her eyes, and Leah squeezes Fatin’s arm before she can bite Kirin’s head off for his fake-ass apology. “I know it’s frustrating that there’s fucking nothing out here so far, but let’s at least try to work together so we can find something.”

“I know it’s hot,” Raf says, “but let’s try to keep our heads cool?” He pauses. “That sounded totally lame. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck me,” Kirin groans, shaking his head. He sets his eyes on Fatin, says, “I’ll walk in front of you, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Fatin says. She pulls her arm free of Leah’s grasp and swiftly removes her jacket, ties it around her waist, and now Fatin bares almost as much skin as Kirin. The more sweat that drips down the back of Leah’s neck and causes her shirt to stick to her skin, the more tempting the idea becomes, boys be damned.

Leah and Fatin walk behind Kirin, side by side, and Raf walks carefully off to the side of Leah, probably not willing to risk Fatin going off on him, too. Leah glances at Raf every so often, notes the way his blue shirt is soaked with sweat. It feels disgusting, Leah knows, because she’s in the same boat, and she finally caves, pulls it over her head and slings her shirt over her shoulder.

“Look at you,” Fatin teases, bumping her hip into Leah’s.

“Please don’t,” Leah says, but she has to fight the urge to smile while Fatin grins at her, while Fatin’s eyes shamelessly rake down her body. “Don’t check me out,” Leah says.

Fatin laughs, which gets Kirin to glance back at them, and Fatin says, “Well, what else am I supposed to do out here?”

It almost slips, the first thought Leah has. Look at Kirin. Fatin’s eyebrows raise, so Leah might’ve made a face, and she weakly says, “Keep an eye out for water?”

“Please,” Fatin scoffs. “But, you know, actually, I want to hear about that Seth kid. Why isn’t he here with you?”

It gets uncomfortably silent, even as Kirin pushes forward, and Raf seems to hang a little farther back.

“Are you gonna tell her, or am I?” Leah asks, twisting to stare at Raf.

Raf falters, and Kirin stops walking. He converges on Raf fast, and he’s got a fistful of the front of Raf’s shirt in his hand before Leah or Fatin can think to do something – and once they can think, they simply watch.

“What did you tell her about Seth?” Kirin hisses.

“I – nothing! Just that, you know, we had to exile him because all he did was lie, and I – I beat the shit out of him.”

After a second, during which Leah doesn’t breathe and Fatin’s hand grasps onto Leah’s shoulder, Kirin releases Raf and steps back.

“Well, shit,” Fatin says.

“He’s dead,” Leah says flatly. Kirin’s staring at her, but she stares at Raf. “You told me you beat him to death.”

“That’s what I was told,” Raf mumbles. He smooths out his shirt, runs his fingers through his damp hair, pushes it back from his forehead. “They had me handcuffed when they first interviewed me.”

“So we’re out here with a murderer?” Fatin asks sharply.

“He deserved it,” Kirin dismisses. “Seth doesn’t deserve any of your fucking sympathy.”

Kirin starts walking again, and Raf follows, but Leah and Fatin stay frozen for a moment. Fatin leans in, fingers digging into Leah’s shoulder as she whispers, “What did that Seth guy do?”

“I don’t know,” Leah says. “Raf wouldn’t say, and I don’t think even Gretchen knows. But whatever it was, it was really bad.”

“I guess it’s good you’ve got the murderer on your side,” Fatin says, and Leah can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

“You coming?” Kirin shouts. Fatin rolls her eyes, smiles at Leah, nudges her forward. “So we had nine people,” Kirin informs, before the silence can become awkward. “Why are there only seven of you?”

“What happened to your ninth person?” Fatin retorts.

“Died on the first day,” Kirin says nonchalantly.

Fatin hesitates. “Yeah. Same.”

“You don’t think – I mean, Gretchen wouldn’t have killed them on purpose, right?” Leah says.

“Maybe she did,” Kirin answers, though Leah was kind of asking Fatin. “And then Seth was a piece of shit who got what he deserved. He was a threat. Violent and mentally unstable.” Leah feels Fatin’s fingertips press into her bare waist, but Leah just swallows hard, refuses to look at Fatin. “Who was your other person?” Kirin asks.

“She was working with Gretchen,” Leah says. “Watching us. We thought she died, too, but…”

“But?” Fatin prompts. “Leah. You didn’t –”

“I couldn’t drop that on Rachel in front of everyone,” Leah admits. “Just – I’m going to tell her when we can get a minute alone. Please, Fatin, just don’t. Don’t.”

Leah doesn’t miss the way Kirin and Raf exchange a look. A look that clearly says what if one of us is in on it?

“That’s fucked up,” Kirin finally says.

“Maybe Seth was – you don’t think he knew about all of this?” Raf asks.

“Bro, I have no fucking clue, but if he knew and still – whatever. There’s no point in speculating, right?” Kirin says.

“Unless it wasn’t him,” Fatin points out. Smiles. “Unless it’s someone with us, right now.”

“Don’t even start with that,” Kirin warns.

“Or what?” Fatin challenges. She stands her ground in front of him, though he’s significantly taller than Fatin – taller than Leah, too.

“Fatin,” Leah says quietly, and Fatin swats Leah’s hand away from her. Fatin glares up at Kirin, waits for him to do something.

“I’m just saying, there’s no point in worrying about it, is all,” Kirin says. He flashes Fatin a smile. “Maybe you should let your girlfriend hold you off. I don’t fight chicks.”

“You’re disgusting,” Fatin replies.

“What’s so disgusting about not wanting to hit a girl?” Kirin questions.

“Seriously, can we just – stop this?” Leah cuts in. “None of this is helpful, and finding nothing is stressful enough without you two arguing.”

“So, what? You’re the fiery one, and your girlfriend’s the levelheaded one?” Kirin quips.

“She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” Fatin snaps. She shoves at Kirin’s shoulder. “Keep walking.”

Leah would probably overthink what Fatin says, if she was given the opportunity to. In theory, she should have plenty of time to think about it. Should be agonizing over it – and analyzing why exactly she’s agonizing over it – as they continue to walk aimlessly through the trees. But their aimless walking comes to a quick end, literally minutes later, when Kirin grinds to a stop.

“Oh, shit,” he says, and Fatin pushes forward to see what he’s looking at.

“Oh my God,” Fatin blurts.

Leah rushes to catch up with them, swipes at the sweat on her forehead as she skids to a halt between Fatin and Kirin. Her eyes drop to the forest floor, to the body, lying motionless in front of them, beside a backpack. She’s on her side, hair concealing her face, but Leah’s stomach drops out of her ass. Because holy shit –

It’s Nora.

*

Then

It’s the most unhinged laughter Fatin has heard in all of her admittedly limited years of life. Then Leah explains Top Ramen, and Fatin lets herself relax, tells herself she doesn’t need to spend her time constantly worrying about Leah. Besides, Leah’s been spending a lot more time with Rachel, and Leah seems better. Scarily better. The too good to be true type of better.

Fatin will drive herself crazy if she spends too much time thinking about if Leah’s actually better or if she’s just pretending to be better. If Leah didn’t need some time and space from Fatin, if Leah needed help, then Fatin trusts that Leah would seek her out. Sort of. Sort of trusts that Leah would seek her out, because maybe Fatin made Leah rethink who’s really on her side after Fatin shoved her into the rocks and got up in her face and threatened to kill her. Maybe Fatin isn’t Leah’s go-to anymore. Maybe Rachel has taken that position.

Which is fine. Like, whatever. Fatin doesn’t even care. As long as Leah has someone. As long as Leah doesn’t try to die again. As long as Leah doesn’t completely lose every last shred of her sanity. As long as Leah can be okay. Leah doesn’t have to choose Fatin as her confidant or what the fuck ever. Leah just has to fucking make it off this island in one piece.

“You doing okay?”

Fatin jumps, exclaims, “Jesus, Shelby! Warn a bitch.”

Shelby smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. Thought you heard me. You must’ve, uh, really been thinking about something?”

Thinking about something while staring off in Leah’s direction. That’s what Shelby wanted to say, Fatin knows. Sure, Fatin’s thinking about something. And she’s staring at exactly what she’s thinking about.

“Who knew you would finally tear yourself away from your girlfriend’s side just to come pry into my inner thoughts,” Fatin jokes. When Shelby doesn’t laugh, Fatin drops the act. “I’m fine,” Fatin assures her. “You don’t need to check me out from a distance.”

“Like you’re doing with Leah?”

“What – no,” Fatin sputters. “That is – I’m not doing that.”

Shelby shrugs. “Okay.”

“Don’t go spreading that around.”

“Since when do you care if you get caught checking someone out?” Shelby teases, and Fatin mentally tells herself that she needs to loosen the fuck up, and she needs to do it now. She’s just gonna make herself look fucking stupid.

“Does she seem okay to you?” Fatin asks abruptly, nodding toward Leah.

Shelby blinks, says, “I – uh, yeah? She seems like she’s doing better.”

Better. Right.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t seem, I don’t know…too good to be true?” Fatin questions.

“It’s cute, that you’re worried,” Shelby says. Before Fatin can pointedly tell Shelby that it is not cute, actually, Shelby continues, “You could just go ask her, you know.”

Fatin still feels like she’s on thin ice with Leah, but Shelby doesn’t need to know that. Or at least, Shelby doesn’t need to hear that from Fatin. “I think I’ll pass,” Fatin replies. “Kinda surprised Rachel hasn’t killed her yet, though.”

“I can’t say I saw that match coming,” Shelby agrees. “They seem to make it work, though.”

“More like they’re having a collective manic episode.” Shelby chokes in surprise, and Fatin grins. “What? It’s true,” Fatin insists.

“Can I offer you some friendly advice?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe don’t share that thought with anyone else.”

Fatin shrugs, and she’s just glad that it seems to do the trick. Shelby walks away without grilling Fatin on how she feels, especially about Leah. Fatin doesn’t want to talk about her feelings. Barely wants to think about her feelings, actually. Feelings are, like, so not her thing, but she can’t even convince herself of that anymore. Not after thirty something days out here. See, this is why Fatin doesn’t surround herself with women. It inevitably leads to obnoxious and inconvenient fucking feelings.

Leah turns back, and their eyes lock, accidentally, and Fatin finds a smile flickering on her face before she can stop it. Leah, though, smiles back widely, and there’s a familiar fluttering deep in Fatin’s gut, but she hasn’t felt it in over a month, because she’s been trapped on an island with seven – now six, RIP – girls, and Fatin’s taste in women is very particular, and –

Damn it.

*

Acknowledging that she’s physically attracted to Leah is practically nothing. Maybe if Fatin tells that to herself over and over, she’ll start to believe it. Fatin returns her attention to Martha’s book, but it’s just not doing it for Fatin anymore. Her mind wanders too much, wanders too far away from the novel’s plot and into dangerous territory. But maybe Fatin should allow herself to indulge in an outlandish fantasy. Or she would, if it didn’t feel creepy while Leah’s sitting with Rachel literally ten feet away.

“How’s the book?” Rachel calls.

“You want an honest opinion?” Fatin asks.

There’s a pause. “Maybe not,” Rachel says.

“It’s just so…vanilla,” Fatin complains. “I don’t know. I want something spicier.” Actually, the plot’s moving away from the wedding planners just fucking into the wedding planners having feelings, and it’s kind of annoying. Fatin snaps the book shut and rolls onto her side so she can stare over at Leah and Rachel, asks, “What are you up to?”

“Rachel’s thinking about a career in carpentry,” Leah says.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to know,” Fatin says. She picks the book up, says, “I’ll go back to agonizing over my dry spell, I guess.”

“Oh, poor you,” Rachel teases. “You still haven’t figured out how to do it with your hands?”

“No!” Fatin exclaims. “I have not. Maybe I need to start trying, though.” Fatin smirks at the laugh she draws out of Leah. “Unless someone’s willing to help?”

“Keep it in your pants, Fatin,” Rachel heckles. “Maybe when Dot gets back –”

“No,” Dot says as she steps into camp. “I don’t know what you’re volunteering me for, but no.”

“Getting Fatin off,” Leah informs.

“Definitely no,” Dot laughs. “I’m sorry, Fatin, but that’s something you gotta work out for yourself.”

Fatin rolls her eyes. “You’re all such prudes.”

“Or we’re all straight?” Rachel supplies.

Fatin huffs a laugh. “I highly doubt that, but okay.”

Fatin risks a glance at Leah, but Leah’s attention is back on the carpentry project she’s sharing with Rachel. Damn. Fatin really thought that would work. Well, whatever. Fatin’s eyes return to the book. There’s no way she’ll focus enough to read it, and if someone calls her on how she’s not turning pages, she’ll just say that this particular sex scene is very well written, and Fatin is appreciating it and obviously letting her mind run with it.

Fatin’s mind is running, alright. Running in the wrong fucking direction. She should be thinking about having hot, dirty sex with some sleazy groom who’s willing to cheat on his bride on the day of his wedding, not about fucking Leah.

Leah. Leah Rilke. Leah, who can’t hold onto most of her marbles even on a good day. She’s over there building a fucking birdhouse out of bamboo and laughing with Rachel. So what the fuck? Fatin usually has better taste than this.

Fatin shouldn’t insult Leah – even just to herself – because Fatin happens to be attracted to her, in some way or another. Fatin really hopes to fuck that it’s purely physical. Fatin has no choice but to concede at least that.

“Is it really taking you that long to read one page?” Dot snickers.

“Obviously I’m not reading anymore,” Fatin replies, easily. She drops the book onto her chest, exhales. “Obviously I’ve moved onto –”

“Please, don’t,” Rachel interrupts.

“Fine,” Fatin sighs. “I won’t share my personal fantasy with you all.”

“Wait, maybe I want to know,” Dot says.

“Don’t make this worse,” Rachel warns, pointing the axe at Dot.

“Look at our birdhouse,” Leah says, beaming proudly as she holds it up, and Fatin could smack herself for wanting a piece of Leah. Clearly thirty something days on an island has caused Fatin’s standards to severely plummet.

*

It’s a pretty damn good birdhouse, all things considered. Fatin hums to herself as she crouches beside it, and Rachel smiles at her.

“Pretty good, right?” Rachel says.

“Surprisingly good,” Fatin replies. “I’m legit impressed.”

“It was mostly Leah,” Rachel informs.

Fatin lifts the birdhouse and peers through the opening. “Sturdy,” Fatin says. “How’d you get this shit to stick together?”

“Some sort of sap from a tree.”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Fatin says. She isn’t here to talk about their birdhouse, though it is pretty damn impressive. “How is she, would you say?” Fatin asks, and yeah, that was so not a smooth transition at all, but Rachel doesn’t seem to notice.

“Leah?”

“Yeah.”

Rachel shrugs. “She seems better.”

Fatin suppresses a frustrated sigh. That’s what everyone says. Better. Excuse Fatin for not believing it. “She built a fucking birdhouse,” Fatin says. “Do you not find that a little concerning?”

“She’s staying busy,” Rachel says defensively. “We both are.”

Fatin hesitates. “Yeah, why is that?” she asks cautiously. “I mean, you see how I spend my days. You could do the same.”

“Lying around, dreaming about sex?” Rachel says doubtfully. “I’d rather build birdhouses than think up a sex fantasy while I’m at camp with everyone else.”

“We don’t have to know that’s what you’re doing,” Fatin replies, smiling.

“I can handle my dry spell,” Rachel says, smiling back.

“Okay, that was sorta rude.” Fatin pauses, takes a breath. “And here I was, thinking we were about to have a moment.”

“We don’t have to have a moment,” Rachel mutters. “I’m doing better.”

“Yeah,” Fatin scoffs. “Better in the same way that Leah’s doing better. Excuse me, but I do not buy it. Not for a second.”

“Since when do you even care?” Rachel says.

“What do you mean? I pushed Leah’s ass into some rocks for you.”

Fatin flinches. Maybe that wasn’t the way to go. Not to mention everything that followed that particular event. Rachel doesn’t react though, just stares down at the stupid little birdhouse.

“I’m figuring it out,” Rachel finally says. She sticks her right elbow out, lets it fall back to her side, readjusts her sling. “All of it. Slowly. I don’t know, maybe it’s easier to ignore it as much as possible and build shit.”

“You mean you and Leah aren’t out there crying your eyes out?” Maybe that’s supposed to be a joke, but Fatin realizes that could come across as a bit of a low blow. She intends to backtrack, maybe even to apologize, but Rachel exhales heavily.

“No. We’re just staying busy.”

“Does that help?”

“Actually, yeah,” Rachel says. “I mean, it won’t bring my hand or my sister back, but at least I can feel…useful.”

“You’re useful whether you build birdhouses or not,” Fatin replies. Then winces. Who is she becoming? Jesus.

Rachel just shrugs and picks the birdhouse back up, holds it out to Fatin. When Fatin just stares at Rachel like she’s crazy, Rachel says, “It’s for you.”

“What? No, it’s not. It’s yours.”

“Actually, it’s Leah’s, and I think it’s for you. So take the stupid birdhouse.”

Rachel deposits the birdhouse into Fatin’s hands, and Fatin exhales in defeat. She takes the stupid birdhouse. Fatin assumes that’s the end of the conversation, and she starts to get to her feet, but Rachel tugs on her jacket, and Fatin stops.

“I’m keeping an eye on her,” Rachel tells Fatin quietly. “Don’t worry.”

Fatin doesn’t know what to say. Just presses her lips together. “And who’s keeping an eye on you?” Fatin asks.

“Leah.”

Fatin snorts, stifles it with her hand and manages to say, “Sorry. That was – sorry.”

“No, it’s pretty funny,” Rachel chuckles. “But you shouldn’t worry. Somehow, I guess our kinds of crazy balance out.”

Fatin nods but says, “I don’t understand what that fucking means, but okay.” Rachel releases her hold on Fatin’s jacket, and Fatin gets to her feet, holding the birdhouse carefully. “Well, great chat,” Fatin says. “Let’s do it again in another thirty days or so.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

*

She picks it up on a whim. The journal. Nora’s journal. No one else is doing jack shit with it, and there’s a pen, so Fatin figures she might as well. Plus, Fatin’s never pretended that she isn’t nosy as shit, and she wants to see what the others might’ve written in here. Maybe there’s a love confession. There are lots of drawings. Nora was actually sort of an artist. Fatin lingers on a drawing of Dot, trails her fingertips over the page, feels indents where the pen pushed into the paper as parts of the drawing was shaded in.

Hmm. Could be interesting. Fatin adds it to her bed with her growing collection of other people’s belongings, including Martha’s book and Leah’s birdhouse. Besides, holding onto Nora’s journal and monopolizing it really has nothing to do with Leah. Definitely has nothing to do with Leah’s theories about Nora. Fatin is just…bored. She might as well snoop through the journal when she finds the time and see if there’s anything juicy hidden in it.

“Fatin! You coming?” Dot calls.

“Yeah,” Fatin replies. She sets Martha’s book on top of the journal near the end of her bed, tosses the orange track jacket over them, and carefully places the birdhouse on top of the stack. “Be right there.”

[adelaidedrubman]

for NSFW headcanons: lingerie for John and Jestiny (fingers crossed the fish lingerie appears)

HI skelly THANK YOU skelly the fish lingerie does indeed make an appearance!! unfortunately that’s the only instruction i know how to follow because this is way over the sentence limit and doesn’t actually have any real smut. sorry.

summary: jessie cleans up nice. 

wordcount: 900 

warnings: sexual themes/situations (no explicit sex). property destruction (one sided) and verbal berating (mutual). standing johnjess warning. 

John had grown so accustomed to getting himself worked up for the familiar sight of Jestiny coming to bed in her standard baggy, oversized t-shirts that at best hinted at the outline of bare breasts beneath whatever crude and flaking graphic was plastered on fabric falling to settle past her thighs that he frankly never even allowed himself to imagine the possibility she could ever emerge from his en suite bathroom wearing anything else. 

Hell, he hadn’t even thought she owned proper lingerie — not by any serious definition, anyways. The mismatched sets of busy, garish prints of cartoon hearts or double-bunched cherries that occasionally cried out beneath tattered synthetic lace warped by careless trysts with the ‘tumble dry high’ cycle could hardly be called as much. 

He certainly didn’t expect her to ever adorn the delectable curves of her body with something as glitzy, ornamental, and damn appealing as what she currently strolled over to his bedside in — the force of that signature sturdy yet bouncing gait with sculpted arms swinging at her sides making breasts rise and fall in rhythm from their place hoisted up by iridescent brassiere, the rich greens licking its sides striking the most alluring contrast with the flaming red of her hair (both above and below) only to blend into a vibrant pink gradient that brought out the blush of her lips (both above and below) as the material tapered towards the middle and stretched in a thin strip across her toned stomach. 

And as he rose from the bed to meet her he noted even more tiny, intricate details, as if she had decided to make up for lost time by selecting something all the more baroque. From the tan tone of the fishnets stretched over muscular legs to the braids of translucent plastic that made up its supportive straps to the heavy, opalescent pearl suggestively seated at the front of the panties (it was misplaced slightly to the left, he thought, but he appreciated that the vision was there nonetheless). 

“My, my,” he purred as fingers rushed to undo the tie of the silk robe serving as his own loungewear, half-undone and barely pooling at his elbows by the time she grabbed him by them to shove him against the wall. “Someone decided to clean up nice tonight.” 

“I clean up nice every fuckin’ night,” she growled against the dip of his neck before tracing her tongue along it. “I just decided to do a little extra this time.” 

“And to great appreciation,” he hummed, reaching a hand up to drag along the swell of her cleavage. “You look divine.” As his fingers fell to the fabric of the bra he noted the scalloped lace with shimmering threads interwoven gave the illusion of fish scales. He gave a low laugh at the sight, winding a lock of copper hair around his index. “My little mermaid.” 

He felt her breath hitch against his throat. Oh, she must have liked that. 

“And how lucky I am to be your Prince —” 

He felt the grip of her hand vanish from the crook of his arm, and something heavy thud against the wall beside his skull. Oh —?

“Fuck. You.” 

The remainder of her body heat vanished as she took two long steps backward, eyes narrowed into a glare. “I’m sorry, what —” 

“Fuck,” she repeated through gritted teeth, her hand shooting towards the dresser beside them to quickly snatch one of the model airplanes resting there, “you!” she shouted in punctuation as she slammed her hand against the wall once again, this time shattering the plastic of the model where she struck. “The little mermaid?!” 

“Why the fuck would you do that?!” he demanded, eyes darting between the broken bits of what was once a perfect replica of a skyhawk on the ground and the woman who’d so viciously destroyed it. “I was paying you a compliment, you ungrateful, belligerent —” 

“The little fucking mermaid?!” she screamed, snatching another, larger airplane from atop the dresser and bringing it down to meet the leg she jerked upward to snap it in two. “I —” she sucked in a deep breath, stomping her foot atop one of the halves of the model and crushing it further, “am a fucking rainbow trout, you goddamn asshole!” 

“Well, that —” John hissed, falling to his knees at the pile of broken plastic and jabbing a finger towards it, “was a McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom II!” 

“It was a fucking kid’s toy, you immature, overgrown brat!” she snarled. Hypocrite, he thought as he watched her storm towards the door. “But maybe putting it back together can keep you busy tonight, since I sure as shit won’t be!” 

“And where the hell are you going, exactly?” he snapped as she threw open the door to take her outburst into the hallway. 

Her fists clenched into tighter balls as she swung her head back to look over her shoulder with a parting glare. “Fishing!” she shouted back before slamming the door shut behind her, the angry thump of bare feet stomping against cedar continuing to echo through its insulation.

“Fuck!” he screamed back inarticulately at the closed door, swinging his hand forward to send the broken plastic flying to scatter along the floor. 

He drew in a few more ragged breaths in an effort to compose himself before jumping to his feet and dutifully chasing after her. 

He preferred those damn t-shirts to lingerie after all.

[littlespider666]

Chapter One

“Congratulations on making partner at Empirical PR!” 

Applause fills the room as you feel your cheeks begin to flush. You bow your head in appreciation as your best friend pours you another shot of sake. It had been a long six-month internship (completely unpaid) for you to prove your worth and get hired by the prestigious company. Six months of sleeping, eating, and breathing EVERYTHING to do with public relations. Late nights monitoring clients’ public reputations via news platforms and social media, writing and outlining speech after speech, preparing media packages, boosting their ratings by speaking with the press via phone and email—and all without any recognition, let alone a thank you. To say you deserve this was an understatement. You were a hard worker, and to see that acknowledged by a company as highly regarded as Empirical was an honor. They were the only firm trusted enough to handle all PR for the Pro Heroes.

What made this moment even sweeter was knowing how hard you had worked outside of the internship to make ends meet. In between your PR work you were racing around the city as an Uber Eats courier and ended up launching your own food business.  It wasn’t easy by any means, but you’d found a way to make it work (you might have abused some pills but nobody needs to know that). Your food business, The Doki-Doki Bunny, started as a small idea, but thanks to your PR background, it quickly gained traction. Wearing a pastel pink bunny costume complete with floppy ears, sparkling eyes, heart shaped blush, and a cute little frilly apron with an all over carrot and heart print, you became the city’s mysterious and quirky food sensation.

You’d built a cute, over-the-top brand for Doki-Doki Bunny—from designing pastel packaging with adorable messages to creating a viral social media presence. Your Instagram was filled with photos of colorful bento boxes and adorable plating, while your TikTok videos alternated between food prep and doing those dumb tiktok dances in costume. One in particular really helped you go viral.

Set to Tinashe’s "Nasty," the TikTok starts with close-up shots of you rolling sushi and garnishing ramen bowls, your hands moving with precision and flair. The camera dramatically cuts to you, fully decked out in your Doki-Doki Bunny costume. The floppy bunny ears bounce dramatically as you nail the energetic hip movements, pausing between transitions to sprinkle green onions or artfully drizzle sauce over a dish. The final clip shows you finishing the dance with a playful wave before presenting a perfectly plated meal to the camera.

The caption read: “Food so good it’ll make your heart go doki-doki! 🐰❤️ #DokiDokiBunny #NastyChallenge #FoodieTok”

You hadn’t thought much about it after posting, but within hours, the views had skyrocketed. Cho had been the first to text you, spamming fire emojis and screenshots of the TikTok. Customers lined up at your stand that night, phones in hand, excitedly showing you the video. Even now, weeks later, the momentum hadn’t slowed. 

After the celebration that night, you and Cho stumble back to your apartment, still buzzing from the excitement and a bit too much sake. The city lights blur into streaks as the two of you laugh over some inside joke that neither of you will remember in the morning. Your heels dangle from your fingers as you balance precariously on the curb, declaring yourself the queen of the world.

“Your Majesty,” Cho bowed dramatically, almost losing her footing in the process.

“Peasant,” you slur, “you shall carry me to my palace!” You try to climb onto her back, and the two of you collapse into a heap of giggles.

Just as you’re rounding the corner to your apartment, a flash of movement catches your eye. Two familiar figures in hero costumes stride down the street on patrol. Even in your drunken haze, it’s impossible not to recognize them: Dynamight and Red Riot. The energetic redhead is talking animatedly to the taller blonde who doesn’t seem to be invested in the conversation. Whatsoever. 

“Oh my god,” Cho gasps, clutching your arm. “Is that… Dynamight? And Red Riot?”

“I think it is…” you whisper-shout back, as though they can’t hear you from less than twenty feet away.

Without thinking, Cho brings her fingers to her mouth and lets out the loudest whistle you have ever heard. “Oh boyssss-i mean sirs, sirs. I think we are some damsels that are in need of some big strong men with big dic-”

“Oh my god” you squealed and covered her mouth with your hands. “Cho you can’t say that to them. They’re Heroes, ” you slur, “ of the law.” You get really close to her face, hands still clasped over her mouth. “Shhhh ok? Don’t”.

You turn back to apologize to them and much to your surprise notice that both heroes stopped in their tracks and are staring right at you. Dynamight narrows his eyes, while Red Riot chuckles awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck.

“Go home, you’re drunk,” Dynamight barks, his voice sharp enough to cut through your haze.

“Pfft, you are!” You shout back. Cho snorts into your hand as you drag her away, cheeks burning as you mutter apologies under your breath. The two of you dissolve into a fit of giggles all the way up to your apartment, where Cho flops onto your couch and declares it the best night ever.

                               ✦•········★········•✦

The shrill sound of your phone vibrating on your nightstand disturbs you from your alcohol-induced coma. You open your eyes and immediately squeeze them shut again, regretting your poor decision-making skills from the night before.

Too many shots. Too much soju.

It always ends up like that when you and Cho go out on the town. You two had met back in pre-k when she put a little boy in his place for pulling your hair. To this day, you still have no idea what she whispered to him, but you will always remember the look of absolute fear on his face as she smiled sweetly and skipped toward you. “Boys are so dumb,” she said. “But don’t worry—he won’t be bothering you again.” Those words rang true, and you two were inseparable ever since.

You aimlessly reach for your phone and answer without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” 

“How much do you love me?” Speak of the devil.

“What do you waaaant, Cho”?

“Fine. I’ll make it quick. My bastard father is at it again! He volunteered me to host his clients for a nice dinner and I need a private chef.”

“I refuse.”

“Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything!”

“Cho, YOU LITERALLY HAVE HUNDRED OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS! Why not hire an actual chef? I just fuck around and find out half the time.”

“Yeah, but it’s always so good! Please? I promise I’ll pay you just as well as I’d pay a professional. Plus, I need someone to shoot the shit with when I excuse myself from the table because of their mind boringly numb conversations. Please please pleaseeeee?”

You can almost picture her little pout in your head. With her stupid little adorable face. 

“Ugh, fine,” you groan, throwing your covers off of you. “Send me the time and a list of any known dislikes or allergies and some ideas of what kind of menu you’re wanting. AND if you want the bunny costume, it’s gunna cost you extra.”

                              ✦•········★········•✦

You’re standing in the middle of the grocery store aisle,holding a very very empty basket. You reach for your phone and open the text thread between you and Cho to see the last exchange is still the picture of a cute cat you found on instagram. You sigh heavily and press the record button sending her a voice message.

“Bitch, hello? Still waiting on the grocery list. Feel free to send it any day now. Not like I’m standing here clueless or anything,” you say, exaggerating your frustration as you glance around the aisle. “Seriously, Cho, do you think I’m some kind of psychic chef? Give me something to work with here.”

You end the message with another sigh and glance at your phone screen while waiting for her to reply. Your TikTok app is still open from earlier, and your eyes widen as you see the notifications. The follower count at the top keeps climbing, little hearts and comments flooding in from your latest videos and you let out a little eeeep. Whether it's out of excitement or anxiety you’re not sure.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” you mutter to yourself, gripping your phone tightly. “It’s no big deal. It’s fine. And normal. And not at all overwhelming.”

Just then, your phone chimes. Excited to finally have some guidance, you open Cho’s message, only to see two words staring back at you: No yellowtail 🙂

You blink. That’s it? “Annoying,” you groan, already imagining the smug look on her face as she probably sips a latte or chugs a whole bottle of expensive wine somewhere without a care in the world. “Okay, fine. Let’s just wing it, per usual.”

With no clear direction, you wander down the aisle, grabbing random ingredients and trying to piece together some semblance of a menu in your head. Your eyes land on a single jar of something expensive-looking perched on the very top shelf. It looks fancy enough to impress Cho’s guests and since it’s the last one it must mean it’s good, which means you have to get it, right?

Standing on your tiptoes, you stretch as far as you can, fingers barely brushing the jar. Before you can make a second attempt, your phone vibrates in your hand. A notification pops up: [DM from ProHero_Nighthide]: ‘Hey, can you handle a big order for a private party this weekend?’

Your eyes widen. “Holy shit,” you whisper, opening the message quickly. You’re mid-reply, typing out a professional yet enthusiastic response, when a shadow passes over you.

“Excuse you,” a deep, gruff voice cuts through your focus. Your fingers freeze, and you glance up just in time to see a large hand snatch the jar effortlessly.

“Oi” you exclaim, spinning toward the culprit—a tall, ash-blond man wearing a black surgical mask. You pause for half a second—taken aback by how annoyingly striking his crimson red eyes are—but quickly snap out of it. “Uhhh, I was about to grab that!”

“Ok? Well, now you don’t have to bother,” he says, tossing the jar into his basket without so much as a glance in your direction. “You’re welcome.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by the audacity of it all. “You can’t just—what kind of person does that?!”

His gaze finally shifts to you, eyebrows raising slightly as if he’s just noticing you exist. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Probably the kind of person who doesn’t stand around getting in people’s way.”

“Getting in your way? What do you mean? You literally swooped in, outta nowhere like some kind of…villain and stole-”

He snorts his voice booming ever so slightly, “Stoled?”

“Yes!” You shout back standing on your tiptoes (he seems to have a good foot and a half on you) and pointing in his face. “You stole it right from under my nose!”

“Yeah? Well maybe next time don’t be distracted wasting time playing on your little phone.”

“I wasn’t wasting time! I was working!” you shoot back, yanking your basket closer to you like you’re scared he’s going to literally reach into it and take something else. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I needed that specific jar!”

“Right,” he drawls, clearly amused. “Like you would even know what to do with it.”

You blink. “Huh?”

You watch as his eyes, completely full of judgement, flick from your face to your baggy XXL tshirt that has stains near the collar, down to your mismatched socks that you actually forgot to change before you left the house, and then to your prized Crocs that you just had to get when they did a collab with Saniro, and then back up to your face, “I don’t know….just seems like maybe instant ramen is more your thing then high end ingredients.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He turns on his heel, “That’s exactly what I was trying to do in the very beginning, Sweetheart.” 

You stand there, fuming, as his words sink in.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, glaring daggers at his retreating figure. “Insulting my comfy clothes? The fucking audacity. Sorry not everyone can look like they stepped straight off the pages of a fashion magazine twenty-four seven.”

Your grip tightens around the basket as you seethe.

“And how the hell does what I wear have anything to do with what I eat? That’s so dumb. So dumb.” You grumble, shifting your weight as you stew in indignation. “I mean, do I enjoy instant ramen sometimes? Sure. But that doesn’t mean—” You let out an exasperated noise. “Ugh.”

You looked back to the empty shelf with a frustrated huff, “I better not see him at check out or it’s on”.

                              ✦•········★········•✦

Bakugou steps out of the grocery store pocketing his mask, the jar of Yuzu Kosho nestled safely in his bag. His lips twitch into a smug smirk as he remembers the stunned look on the girl’s face. What a mess, he thinks, shaking his head. He’d rather give up his right ball than let someone who wears fuckin’ crocs get away with the last Yuzu Kosho to use on ramen she’s probably gunna end up microwaving.  

As he makes his way back to his apartment, he barely notices the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. It isn’t until he drops his groceries on the kitchen counter that he finally pulls it out, seeing his group chat blowing up.

Shinso: Locked in the caterer for the anniversary party this weekend. You are all welcome, by the way.

He attaches a picture of a dm exchange.

[ProHero_NightHide]: Hey, can you handle a big order for a private party this weekend?

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Hello! I am humbly honored by your request. And I could but it depends! How  many people are we talking? 

[ProHero_NightHide]: 30ish

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Any dietary restrictions or requests?

[ProHero_NightHide]: None. Just make it good. But I’ve seen your stuff so I’m not worried about that 🥰

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: Flattery won’t get you a discount. Just so you know 😘

[ProHero_NightHide]: Lmao 😂😂 it was worth a try. But seriously, I have high expectations. Don’t let me down, Bunny. 

[Doki-Doki Bunny]: You’ll be so impressed you’ll cry.

[ProHero_NighHide]: Perfect. I love a good cry. See you Saturday at 5pm 🐰

Kirishima: Dude no way!!!! I’ve been dying to try their food! I’m so pumped for this party now!

Sero: Oh shit. Doki-Doki Bunny? The ramen they be postin’ on the gram looks fire 🔥

Denki: I bet she’s hot af. The way she was moving in that last video? 👀👀👀 Like, that bunny costume is doing something to me, bro

Midoriya: How do you know they’re even female? It’s just a costume, and with technology these days anyone can make it look feminine if they want to.

Sero: Facts 😂😂😂

Shinso: I feel like we are getting way off topic…

Denki: Listen…I don’t know any men who can move like this

He sends a link to a tiktok video and Bakugou reluctantly clicks it.

The video loads with the signature pastel aesthetic that kinda makes him wanna puke. The camera pans over artfully plated bowls of ramen, steam rising as broth is poured with careful precision. A soft, upbeat track plays in the background before the shot cuts to the infamous bunny costume.

The figure moves in sync with the beat, hips swaying and hands mimicking the motions of garnishing dishes mid-dance. It’s playful, ridiculous, but undeniably skilled.

Bakugou’s eyes narrow as he watches.The fuck is this shit? he thinks, his lips curling into a scowl. Still, there’s something irritatingly captivating about the way everything is so... polished. Professional. The final shot of the video ends with the bunny holding up a perfectly plated dish, with their pointer finger and thumb pressed together in the shape of a heart.

Kirishima: See??? Absolute legend.

Denki: Yeah but bro. BUNNY. 🥵

Sero: The food always looks insane.

Midoriya: Honestly, the plating technique is incredible. It’s rare to see this level of detail outside of a fine dining restaurant. I wonder if they went to culinary school…

Denki: Nobody is going to talk about bunny tho???? 😞

Bakugou: This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen.

Denki: Bet you wouldn’t say that if she was cooking personally for you. 😏

Bakugou: I wouldn’t want some costumed weirdo cooking for me. Besides, I can cook better shit myself.

Sero: Oh shit, could you imagine a Bakugou vs Bunny cook off? That would be so dope

Shinsou: Would actually pay to see that.

Kirishima: Honestly, I’d watch that too. Bakugou in the kitchen, all intense, vs. Bunny dancing while plating. It’d be like Iron Chef on steroids and shrooms!!

Denki: AND Bunny would win. I mean, come on, the theatrics alone. 🤩

Bakugou: Tch. Like hell they would. Dancing doesn’t make the food taste better, dumbass.

Sero: Nah, but it makes it more fun. You’d probably just yell at the ingredients until they cook themselves. 

Shinsou: 😂😂😂

Bakugou: Fuck all of you 🖕

Kirishima: Why fuck me for???? 😭😭😭😭

Midoriya: Or me? I didn’t say shit 😂

Shinsou: We’re just saying, Bunny could give you a run for your money 🐰

Bakugou scowled at his screen, his fingers twitching over it’s keyboard as he debated whether or not to respond. Arguing with these idiots wasn’t worth it—especially when they were all ganging up on him like this. Dipshits.

“Tch. Whatever,” he muttered under his breath, tossing his phone onto the couch. It sat there for a moment, screen still lit up with the group chat. His foot tapped impatiently against the floor, his mind running in circles.

“Like hell they could,” he grumbled, snatching the phone back up.

He opened TikTok with more force than necessary, quickly typing “Doki-Doki Bunny” into the search bar. The profile was easy to find—thanks to the annoyingly bright pastel aesthetic. He clicked on the first video without hesitation.

It opened with a close-up of a perfectly plated bento box, the food arranged so neatly it looked like something out of a commercial. The video cut to quick shots of hands expertly slicing vegetables and rolling sushi, then transitioned to the infamous figure in the bunny costume, the floppy ears bouncing as they sprinkled green onions over a steaming bowl of ramen.

Bakugou’s brow twitched as they started dancing, swaying their hips and twirling utensils in time with the music. It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It was...

Pretty good, he begrudgingly admitted, watching as the bunny finished the dance with a playful wave and presented another immaculate dish to the camera.

The caption read: “Food so good it’ll make your heart go doki-doki! 🐰❤️ #FoodieTok #DokiDokiBunny”

He clicked on another video, and then another, each one just as annoyingly polished and well-executed as the last. The food looked incredible—better than most of the crap he’d seen at fancy restaurants and as stupid as he thought the dancing was, the views? They were all climbing into the millions. He shakes his head dismissively, “So fuckin’ weird.” 

He swipes out of the app and back into the group chat.

Bakugou: Yeah whatever. We’ll see if they can put their money where their mouth is. 

Denki: I bet I know where you really wish her mouth was 😏

Sero: Oh brotherrrr 🙄

Midoriya: ***Their

Denki: Come onnnn she’s definitely a girl 😭

Shinso: Denki, man, I’m begging you

Rolling his eyes, Bakugou locks his phone and tosses it onto his plush sofa. The group chat was a mess, as usual, but for once, the chaos wasn’t what stuck with him. His mind wandered back to the videos—bright colors, precise movements, and food so meticulously plated it almost pissed him off.

The Bunny gimmick was stupid, sure, but there was no denying that whoever was behind it actually had skill. That food wasn’t just for show. It was the kind of skill you couldn’t fake.

His gaze drifted to the jar of Yuzu Kosho sitting on his counter, and without meaning to, the corners of his mouth tugged into the faintest smirk.

“Tch. Gimmicky or not…” he muttered, leaning back against the sofa. For the first time, Shinso’s party didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. He might actually be looking forward to seeing what this Doki-Doki Bunny could do in person.

                               ✦•········★········•✦

The soft click-clack of keyboards and hum of phone calls filled the modern but elegant office at Empirical PR as you adjusted the brightness on your monitor. The task of the day was deceptively simple—drafting a crisis management proposal for a hero who’d accidentally gone viral for a poorly worded offhand comment. The client wasn’t thrilled about the backlash, but you were no stranger to turning bad press into an opportunity.

Your screen displayed an outline of the talking points you'd been drafting, each one carefully worded to balance accountability with a positive spin. You took a sip of your coffee, adding a note about potential social media strategy when a voice broke through your focus.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Pro Hero Grand—or Yo as he had all but insisted you call him after the third time you crossed paths in the office. His PR was handled in-house by your team, so seeing him here wasn’t unusual. The way he leaned against your desk with a lopsided grin, eyes sharp with interest, definitely was though

“Staying busy?”

“Not an intern anymore,” you reminded him, keeping your tone light but professional. You kept typing. “But yes, I am. Could always be busier, though.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a solution for that.”

You could tell from his tone you didn’t like where this was going.

“How about dinner? This Friday?”

That made you pause. Slowly, you looked up at him, brows raising in mild surprise. Ah. So that’s where we’re at now.

It wasn’t the first time he’d flirted with you. In fact, the first time he did—you’re embarrassed to say, you were blushing like a little school girl, all shy with the giggles and the “omg no!” when he complimented you on your looks. Shindou is an attractive man and to say that his quirk isn’t of um, ahem..interest to you would be a bold face lie but, it wasn’t long before you realized that you weren’t special and he was this way with…well, everyone.

“Dinner?” you echoed, as if you needed clarification.

“Yeah. You and me.” His smirk widened just slightly, and he leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping just enough to make it sound intimate. “I think we could have some fun.”

Oh, he was good. The way he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth? Absolutely practiced and perfected. Damn him. 

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully weighing your options. Though it had been awhile you were strictly a never mix work with pleasure girlie sooo. You were gunna have to pass. Rejecting a guy like Shindou Yo wasn’t about just saying ‘no” though.

If you brushed him off too lightly, he’d take it as a challenge. If you rejected him too harshly, you’d have to deal with awkward tension every time he stepped into this office and that would be exhausting since he stepped in the office A LOT.

“That’s really sweet, Shindou,” you said smoothly, keeping your expression neutral.

“Yo” He corrected you. 

 “But I’m going to have to pass. I’ve got a lot going on right now.”

His grin faltered just a little. A split second of something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he recovered.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re married to the job.”

You exhaled through your nose, still smiling. He wasn’t dropping it. Of course he wasn’t dropping it.

“More like engaged,” you replied, turning back to your screen as if the conversation was already over.

Shindou chuckled, clearly undeterred. “Ah, so what you’re saying is there’s still room for a little fun?”

You shoot him a slow, unimpressed blink, the universal sign for I refuse to dignify that with a response.

Shindou let out a short laugh, tilting his head like he was trying to figure out what was happening. You could tell this wasn’t the reaction he was used to. Poor pretty boy, not used to rejection. 

“What?”, his voice still playful, but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. “I prefer to think of it as an open-ended opportunity.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you turned your focus back to your work. “Is that so?”

He shrugged, flashing you another one of his effortless grins. “What can I say? I like to keep my options open. And if you ever decide to do the same, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, the rapid click of heels against tile caught both of your attention.

You barely had a second to react before Cho appeared at your desk, to-go coffee in one hand and a mischievous glint in her eyes. She plops down into the chair beside you, crossing her legs dramatically. When she glances up and sees the handsome brunette lingering around your desk, she turns back to you, perfectly arched eyebrow raised. 

“Interrupting something?” she asked, barely hiding the smirk in her voice.

“Not at all,” you said smoothly, casting Shindou a final polite smile before turning your full attention to your best friend. “What’s up?”

“Lunch is up,” Cho said. “And also, this, and synchronously your dick, if you had one becauuuuuuse buh buh dah dahh.” She slides a glossy magazine across your desk.

Your eyes flicked down to the open page, and immediately, you wished you hadn’t. Because staring back at you, in all his brooding, delicious glory, was Bakugou Katsuki.

Clad in a sleek, should be illegal, perfectly tailored suit, arms crossed, jaw tight—he looked every bit the powerhouse that GQ clearly wanted him to be. The headline beside his image read: “Musutafu’s Hottest Hero: Dynamight Talks Power, Passion, and Never Settling for Less.”

You blinked. Then blinked again. “Cho.”

“What?” she asked, all feigned innocence. “I just thought you’d like to see what your boyfriend’s up to these days.”

Your face burned as you quickly flipped the magazine closed. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah but you wish he was,” she quipped, sipping her coffee.

Shindou, who had been quietly observing the exchange, let out a little scoff. “Dynamight, huh? Didn’t peg you for the type.”

“I don’t have a type,” you said quickly. Too quickly actually and you instantly regret it. 

Cho grinned, catching the slip. “Oh, babe, you definitely have a type.”

Shindou leaned against your desk again, his interest now piqued. “You know, I first met him back when we were in high school,” he mused. “Not exactly the friendliest guy then, or now. He tries real hard to sell that brooding bad-boy image, though huh?”

He tapped the cover of the magazine with a pointed smirk. “Gotta love when PR does all the heavy lifting. I was up for this too actually, but who can compete with that piercing stare. ”

Cho snorted. “Right? It’s like, smolder harder, Blasty, the cameras are watching.”

You tried to fight back a laugh, but it slipped out anyway. He did really have the smolder down to perfection. 

Shindou’s smirk lingered as he pulled out his phone, his fingers tapping against the screen as an idea clearly formed in his head. “You know... I bet I could have some fun with this.” 

“What does that mean?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” eyes glued to his phone as he walks down the hall toward the elevators, “Enjoy your lunch.”

And unbeknownst to you, just like that, with a few keystrokes, the spark that would ignite the Twitter feud of the year was set in motion.

                      ✦•········★········•✦

Once you stepped back into the office something felt… off. It wasn’t the usual post-lunch lull—the click-clack of keyboards and soft hum of phone calls were still there, but so was an undercurrent of absolute chaos. 

“Umm…the energy is whack as fuck in here,” Cho muttered, scanning the scene as you both walked in. Before you could reply, Minami practically tripped over herself sprinting to your desk, her phone clutched in her hand and her face pale.

“Oh. My. God.,” she gasped, like she’d just run a marathon. “You—Oh my God, you need to see this.”

“Okay, breathe,” you said, already bracing yourself as you set your coffee down. “What’s going on?”

Minami shoved her phone in your face, and there it was: screenshots of Bakugou Katsuki and Shindo Yo’s very public, very messy feud was trending worldwide.

“Oh no,” you muttered, scrolling through the timeline.

The first tweet you saw was Shindou’s:

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindou@GreatExplosionMurderGod I hope you treated the GQ photographer to a nice dinner or something because trying to convince the world you’re approachable while your aura screams “get the fuck away from me” takes serious skill. 💀 #PRMagic

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindou@GreatExplosionMurderGod But no fr, modeling might be your true calling, bro. I mean, the hero thing is cool and all, but this? This is something special. Ever considered leaving the explosions behind and embracing the smize? 😏 #TopModelShit

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouTf? Don’t ever @ me.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGodAww, come on, don’t be like that. You’re not mad, are you? I’m just giving credit where it’s due. You should try it sometime.

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouGive credit to you? For what? Being a jealous little bitch? Congrats. You nailed that shit.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGod

Lol imagine being jealous of a guy whose personality is just… yelling. 😬 You should try using your inside voice once in a while.

Bakugou Katsuki @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouI’d use my inside voice if you weren’t always saying dumb shit that deserves yelling.

Shindou Yo @TheGrandShindouReplying to @GreatExplosionMurderGod😂 Relax, man. Not everything’s a fight.Somebody gives this man a stress ball. Yikes.

Bakugou Katsuki  @GreatExplosionMurderGodReplying to @TheGrandShindouBro. Sit the fuck down. You’re literally just a human vibrator with a shit personality. Try not to short-circuit while you’re begging for all this attention, yeah?

The final tweet from Bakugou was attached to several thousand retweets, and the comments were… amusing but some were unfortunately brutal.

You stared at the screen. “Please tell me this is AI-generated?”

“Oh, it’s real,” Minami said gravely. “Bakugou’s management team logged into his account and changed his password, then deleted everything, but not before people retweeted the hell out of it.”

Beside you, Cho peeked at the phone and burst out laughing.

“Wait—human vibrator is actually kind of iconic.”

“This is a disaster,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Oh, babe,” Cho said, patting your shoulder like she wasn’t enjoying this way too much. “Good luck. I’m out.”

You shot her a look. “Seriously?”

She grinned, raising her to-go coffee in a mock toast.

“What? I don’t work here. Good luck! Call me later—I want all the tea.”

And with that, she spun dramatically on her heel, disappearing down the hall like she was walking out of a soap opera.

You barely had time to process Cho’s departure before the ding of the elevator snapped you back to reality. A group of sharply dressed people stepped out, all carrying sleek portfolios and wearing the exact expressions of people ready to chew someone out.

“That’s Dynamight’s team,” Minami whispered.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Minutes later, your boss Igarashi Sloane appeared, her heels clicking sharply against the tile as she surveyed the chaos. Her expression was tense, but her tone? Sharper.

Her eyes locked onto yours.

“Conference room now.”

                               ✦•········★········•✦ 

The moment you walked into the meeting, you felt the tension like a physical weight. Dynamight’s management team sat on one side of the table, looking exhausted and pissed.

Your boss sighed heavily, flipping open a folder as she addressed the room.

"Alright, let’s lay it out. This Twitter feud? The straw that broke the camel’s back. But let’s not pretend this is the only problem. Bakugou’s PR has been in freefall for the past two weeks."

She turned toward his team. "So, let’s start from the beginning. What happened?"

One of the managers rubbed his temples, looking like he needed a drink. "How much time do you have?"

"Start from the worst," Igarashi said, already bracing herself.

"That would be the incident with the reporter," one of them muttered.

You opened your notebook, clicking your pen as you prepared to take notes.

"Which one?"

"Exactly."

One of the assistants flipped through a stack of printed-out tweets, landing on one in particular. "It started when a reporter got a little too personal about his sex life at a post-battle press conference. His response?"

The manager cleared his throat, lowering his voice in a gruff mimicry. "The fuck? None of your damn business. What kinda bullshit questions are these? Get the fuck out my face’".

Oooof, you thought, not terrible but definitely not the greatest look. 

"It would've been manageable if he hadn’t knocked the mic out of the guy’s hand."

At that, you stopped writing your notes and gave his manager your full attention.

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. So then the clip goes viral, and Twitter runs with it right? Guess what was trending by the next morning?"

The assistant slides another paper across the table.

#DynamightVirgin

You clenched your jaw to keep from snorting. Professionalism. Personalism. 

A few people in the room coughed, clearly trying to suppress their reactions as well. 

"Okay," Igarashi said, exhaling. "And then?"

"Two days later, a paparazzi caught him walking out of an agency meeting and asked him if he ever gets laid or just relies on the gym to take the edge off"

You blinked. "Why are all these questions all about his personal life?"

"Because the internet is obsessed with it, Bakugou was voted #1 hottest Hero since he made Pro. Women and men everywhere are chomping at the bit to know every detail about his love life. He’s kept that pretty private. Only having one serious relationship a few years back, which I’m sure you all remember with Pro Hero Illus-o-Camie that went south real quick," the manager said flatly. " Anyway…Bakugou scowled, flipped the guy off, and muttered 'Get the fuck away from me.'"

You winced. "I mean…it could have been worse?"

"Oh, it got worse. Someone edited the clip to make it seem like he was cursing out a fan instead of a paparazzi."

You didn’t even really have to guess what the trending topic was this time but the assistant helpfully provided it anyway.

#DynamightHatesHisFans

"Great," you muttered. "What else?"

Another manager sighed. "Then there was the gym video."

"What gym video?" You and Igarashi ask in unison.

"The one where he yells at a rookie hero after basically circling him like a hungry shark."

You closed your eyes for a second, steeling yourself. "What did he say?"

The manager deadpanned, "'You gunna lift that? Or just stare at it like a pussy ass little bitch?'"

Someone in the back of the room muffled a laugh.

"It went viral as a 'rage moment' clip even though the rookie laughed it off and the end of the video," the assistant added.

"Let me guess. Another trending topic?"

The manager nodded grimly. "The next day, a hero networking event rolls around. Another hero says something snide to him. Bakugou tells him, 'Say that shit again, I fuckin’ dare you.’

"And then, the final nail in the coffin," the lead PR manager said, looking over his notes. "That same reporter from before? The one who kept asking him about his dating life? Found him on the street and baited him again."

You exhaled sharply. "What'd he say?"

"The reporter asked if he was worried if he was going to be single forever because 'no one will be able to handle his aggression.'"

Oh.

"And then Bakugou snapped. Pushed the guy’s camera a little too hard and it fell to the ground and ended up damaged property."

Oh no.

The assistant slid over one last printed sheet.

#DynamightSNAPS

"Okay, but that one is out of context," a woman from his team interjected. "The reporter was actively harassing him. It wasn't just one question, it was a whole setup. There’s more footage, but people are only sharing the five-second clip."

"Sure," your boss said, tapping a manicured nail against the table. "But public perception doesn't care about the full story. It cares about what goes viral."

Silence settled over the room.

"We need a strategy, and we need it now."

She’s speaking to you, directly, who is completely unaware because you are too busy writing in your Kuropi notepad.

It’s not until you hear her clear her throat that you raise your head and see her looking at you. 

“You want me to handle this?” You pointed at yourself, as if that would somehow make her reconsider.

Igarashi’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve already crafted successful strategies for countless clients, you bring a fresh perspective, and quite frankly, you’re the only one I trust to be brutally honest when it counts.”

Bakugou’s management team didn’t argue, probably too exhausted from all the damage control to care who was leading the charge at this point.

You sucked in a breath. Alright then.

“Okay,” you said, straightening in your seat. “I’ll have a full, actionable plan drafted before tomorrow’s meeting.”

Igarashi nodded in approval before rising from her seat, “Ok, everyone. We will meet here tomorrow morning at 8:00am. And I expect Mr. Bakugou to be present.”

The meeting adjourned. People shuffled out, murmuring to each other, leaving behind half-empty coffee cups and the scent of tension still lingering in the air.

And you? You sat there in silence like you had just been drafted into the war. 

Because holy shit. You just agreed to handle Bakugou fucking Katsuki.

This is fine. Everything is fine.

You exhaled, pushing your chair back as you surveyed the battlefield of notes and timelines spread out before you. This mess was now your responsibility.

The clock on the wall ticked. The office was quiet. Your coffee was cold.

Yeah. This was going to be a long night.

                   ✦•········★········•✦ 

The office was eerily quiet at this hour. The kind of silence that felt almost unnatural, given the usual chaos of the PR world. Your desk was a disaster—pages of notes scribbled in your Kuropi notebook, crumpled post-its scattered like confetti, and an obnoxiously large cup of coffee that had been refilled one too many times.

Your grand game plan for fixing Bakugou’s PR image was coming together—somewhat. Between half-caffeinated ramblings and your brain frying itself over how to make a man who told a reporter to fuck off seem like an endearing public figure, you had at least settled on some key points.

Immediate damage control (drafting a Twitter response that didn’t sound like a threat)

Softening his public image (good luck)

Showcasing his actual good qualities (you were sure he had at least…two?)

Convincing him to stop flipping people off in public (probably impossible)

The clock on your monitor blinked mockingly: 7:23 AM

You had exactly thirty-seven minutes before the meeting. You should’ve spent that time going over the final details of your strategy, but hunger had won the battle.

Rummaging through your desk, you found an unopened pack of mini oreo cookies, and before you knew it, you were inhaling them like your life depended on it. This was fine. You could eat and work at the same time.

Except, of course, the universe had other plans.

Because just as you shoved a ridiculously large amount of pieces into your mouth, the door slammed open.

You froze, half-chewed oreos in your mouth, crumbs clinging to your lips like you’d just been caught mid-heist.

Standing in the doorway was the man of the hour, Bakugou Katsuki. He was in gym clothes today. Joggers that were baggy yet somehow emphasized how large and toned his quads were. His arm muscles on full display in his tank which was a little slutty if you do say so yourself, cropped a bit so it showed just a smidge of his v and-

“Oi,” He took one look at you—frazzled, sleep-deprived, stuffing your face like a raccoon that had broken into a vending machine—and scoffed.

“The fuck are you doing?”

You blinked. He was early. Unreasonably early.

Trying to chew as fast as possible, you waved a hand in his direction, silently screaming at him to wait while you finished.

He in fact, did not wait.

“You’re supposed to be fixin’ my goddamn image and this is what I walk in on?” His lip curled in something between amusement and irritation as he eyed the mess on your desk. “Great. No wonder your little game plan is takin’ all night.”

You finally swallowed, pointing at the clock. “You’re early.”

“No shit.”

“You’re annoyingly early.”

His expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well, you look like you got run over by a truck, so.”

With what little dignity you had left, you wiped the crumbs from your face, straightened your spine, and exhaled. Professionalism. You had to be professional.

“Alright, I don’t know what that has to do with—nevermind” you said, clicking your pen with way more force than necessary. “The meeting starts at 8:00, so make yourself comfortable until then.”

Bakugou didn’t move, eyes still roaming over you like he was trying to place something. His stare was sharp, scrutinizing. Like he knew something you didn’t.

And then, as if he’d finally solved the puzzle, his smirk deepened. He takes a seat directly opposite of you and ok, you heard people talk about how he smells like burning cinnamon or caramel but at this moment, right now, you think that those people are unromantic illiterate morons. Because Bakugou doesn’t smell like caramel or cinnamon. No way. He smells like the warmth of fire embers still glowing dimly long after the flames have died down. The whisper of charred wood. Then there’s this low almost dangerous scent underneath that you just can’t place…something dark and sweet like vanilla aged in whiskey barrels—

“Soooo,” His gruff voice pulls you from your daydream, “You’re like PR princess by day and drunk sexual predator by night or somethin’?”

You choke on your coffee. “What?”

Bakugou grinned like he’d just won the lottery. “Sorry, predator is a bit too strong of a word huh? We’ll go with ‘harasser’ instead.”

“I’m so utterly confused right now. What are you talking about?”

He shakes his head dismissively. “Wild how you don’t remember” his eyes meet yours, his eyebrows raised, “Big strong men with big dicks? Ringing any bells now?”.

You freeze. Brain empty. Just literal static noise.

Because oh my god.

The memory comes rushing back so fast you could vomit.

The street. The drunken haze. The sheer, mortifying fact that Cho had whistled at them. And then—oh, fuck.

Big strong men with big dicks.

Your soul leaves your body. Like that bitch is gone GONE.

Bakugou is watching you like a cat who just cornered a mouse, chin resting lazily in his palm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he tilts his head. “Yeah. Thought so.”

You try to save yourself. “I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His smirk widens, slow and infuriating, because he knows.

“Nah, nah, don’t backpedal now, Princess,” he drawls, stretching his arms behind his head.

You wish for death. Right now. Instant incineration. The sheer audacity of the universe to make you black out that part but not completely eradicate it.

“Ok, but that wasn’t even me that said that, it was Cho! I was the one who actually stopped her from–”

“Ohhh, right, right,” Bakugou interrupts, nodding like he suddenly remembers something. “Still you know what they say, you are what you hang around..”

You squint at him.

“So a harasser by association.’”

You inhale sharply through your nose. This is a losing battle.

Bakugou, the absolute menace that he is, leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, completely reveling in your suffering. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of me and my–.”

You gasp. “I’m NOT”

“Damn, closeted then?”, he muses, voice practically dripping with amusement, “it’s ok sweetheart. I won’t tell anybody.”

Your entire body combusts. “OH MY GOD, IT WAS DARK, WE COULDN’T EVEN SEE WHO YOU WERE—”

“Holy fuck you’re such a liar,” he drawls “I heard your friend ask you if that was ‘Dynamight and Kirishima’ and you said yeah and you wanted us to double team you right there against the-”

“OH MY GOD! STOP TALKING!”

“Mmm..I don’t think I will.” He smirks.

You shoot death glares at his dumb handsome face. “You really are an absolute terror aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

You slap your hands on the table, ready to dig your own grave and lay in it. “Look. Can we please—I don’t know—act like adults and move past this?”

His eyes flick toward the stack of mini Oreo wrappers on your desk. Then slowly back to you.

You know what he’s thinking before he even opens his mouth.

“Yeah, real adult-like,” he snorts, lips twitching. “So what’s next? You gunna whip out a juice box and take a nap under your desk?”

You nearly lunge at him. “OH, FUCK OFF.”

Bakugou just grins, arms crossing over his chest like he’s so over the moon pleased with himself.

And then, because of course he’s not done being the worst, he casually tilts his head and goes,

“I will, but uh quick question first, does your taste in food match your taste in men? ‘Cause if your palate consists of instant ramen and mini oreos, it’s not lookin’ great.”

And that’s when it happens.

The connection clicks.

Your brain lags.

Your entire being just short-circuits.

Bakugou watches it happen in real time, the exact moment you realize.

You stare at him, mouth slightly open, as the puzzle pieces snap together.

Tall. Blonde. Red eyes. Real asshole.

The grocery store.

The instant ramen insult.

Bakugou sees the recognition explode across your face and smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, smug as fuck. “Took you long enough.”

You screech. 

“OH!” You cover your mouth with your hand, then point at him. “You little—rat!”

Bakugou scoffs. “Rat?”

“Yeah! You’re such a little rat. Scurrying around, stealing other people’s things with your grubby little rodent fingers!”

“First of all, I don’t scurry. Never fuckin’ scurried a day in my life. Second of all, shit wasn’t even yours. It was literally sitting on the shelf!”

“Sounds like something a rat would say”

“Wha-”

The sound of someone’s throat being cleared interrupts you as you both turn to see Igarashi. 

“Are you two done?” 

Bakugou leans back in his chair. “Yeah, sweetheart. You done?”

You glare daggers at him, jaw tight. “I will be when you admit you’re a rat.”

His smirk widens. “In your fucking dreams.”

“Then no,” you huff, arms crossing over your chest. “I’m not done.”

Igarashi pinches the bridge of her nose. “God, I knew this was going to be painful.”

She strides into the room, setting down her folder with an audible thunk that somehow manages to cut through the lingering tension. “Listen,” she sighs, giving both of you a sharp look. “I don’t care if you two had some weird lovers’ spat or if you’re in the middle of a mutual destruction pact—you are both going to sit down, act like professionals.”

Your mouth opens in immediate protest, but Bakugou beats you to it.

“Lovers’ spat?” He snorts, shooting you an incredulous glance. “Yeah right.”

Your nostrils flare. “Like I’d ever.”

Igarashi slams a hand down on the folder, the sharp thud cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

The room falls silent.

Your mouth snaps shut on instinct, and even Bakugou—who looks like he has at least ten more insults locked and loaded—leans back in his chair, arms crossed but silent.

Igarashi exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to ward off a migraine. “Alright,” she says, voice cool and composed. “Bakugou, why don’t you head into the boardroom? Straight down the hall, to the left. The meeting will begin in a few minutes.” She flicks her gaze to you. “I need a private word with my colleague.”

To your surprise, Bakugou stands without protest, though not without throwing one last pointed look in your direction. The smug glint in his eye all but screams this isn’t over, but he says nothing as he strides out of the office, door clicking shut behind him.

You barely get a breath in before Igarashi’s attention is fully on you.

“Igarashi—” you start, already prepped with your defense, but she raises a hand.

“Did I make a mistake putting you in charge of this?”

The question lands like a punch to the gut.

Your spine snaps straight. “No, ma’am!”

Igarashi stares at you, unimpressed.

You clear your throat, scrambling to reinforce your position. “I am more than capable of handling this. He just…” You trail off, realizing mid-sentence that trying to explain Bakugou Katsuki is an impossible feat. “I had a moment of lapsed judgment, but I promise it won’t happen again.”

Igarashi watches you for a long, unreadable moment, then hums, closing the folder in front of her with deliberate slowness.

“Good,” she finally says. “Because I can’t have you two at each other’s throats. I need you to get him to like you—”

You let out a sharp laugh. “Like me? Impossible—”

“Or at the very least, respect you enough to let us do our jobs before he damages his career beyond repair. We’re running out of options. He’s a great hero—one of the best. But he needs to be reined in before his temper does more harm than good.”

Damn it, she’s right. 

Bakugou is one of the best. His numbers, his rankings, his rescue-to-capture ratio—all of it speaks for itself. But none of that matters if the public turns against him. If he becomes more of a liability than an asset, people will stop seeing him as a hero and start seeing him as a problem. And problems get replaced.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, inhaling deeply before exhaling through your mouth. “Fine. I’ll handle it.”

Igarashi tilts her head slightly, scrutinizing you. “Handle it?”

“Yes.” You straighten your shoulders, setting your jaw. “I’ll get him to cooperate. Not matter what”

“Good,” she says simply, but you don’t miss the flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Because I’d hate to have to reassign this to someone else.”

You frown. “Wait—you were considering pulling me off this?”

“I was considering the possibility,” she replies smoothly, picking up her folder. “If you’d shown even a hint of doubt just now, I would’ve done it. But…” she pauses at the door, casting you a knowing look. “Something tells me you’re too stubborn to let him win.”

You scoff. “Damn right.”

Igarashi smirks. “Guess you’ll have to prove it. Come on, we’ve got a meeting to run.”

                               ✦•········★········•✦ 

The boardroom was already packed when you and Igarashi walked in. Bakugou’s management team sat on one side, looking weary but cautiously optimistic. Bakugou, on the other hand, lounged in his chair with all the enthusiasm of someone being forced to attend their own execution. His red eyes flicked toward you as you took your seat, the corner of his mouth still curled ever so slightly in that smug, I know your deepest, darkest secrets kind of way. You resisted the urge to throw a pen at his face. Igarashi, ever the professional, wasted no time. She took her seat at the head of the table and gestured for you to begin.

You straightened, rolling your shoulders back, and cleared your throat. “Alright, let’s get right to it.”

Bakugou’s gaze flicked lazily to you, like he was already waiting for an excuse to shut this down.

You ignored him and pushed forward.

“The goal here is damage control—both in the short term and long term. Right now, Bakugou’s public image is unhinged at best and a PR nightmare at worst.” You clicked the presentation remote, and the monitor behind you lit up with a slideshow. The first slide was a screenshot of his greatest hits from the past two weeks.

Bakugou let out a loud, unimpressed tch at the sight of his viral moments plastered on the screen. 

“The immediate priority is controlling the narrative,” you continued. “That means issuing a carefully worded Twitter response—one that acknowledges the most recent situation without escalating it.”

Bakugou immediately scoffed. “I ain’t apologizing to that smug piece of shit.”

“We’re not asking you to,” you replied smoothly. “The statement won’t be an apology. It’ll be a ‘let’s move past this’ approach—firm, controlled, and professional.”

“Lame,” he muttered.

“Effective,” you shot back. “Next, we need a positive public interaction to counteract all of this.” You clicked to the next slide. “A PR stunt. Something that reminds people that you actually do get along with other heroes.”

Bakugou groaned. “You want me to do some fake-ass hand-holding shit with another Pro?”

“Not fake, just controlled,” you clarified. “We could have you do a casual team-up with a respected hero, someone who can balance out your… personality.”

“Like Kirishima?” one of the managers offered.

“Exactly,” you nodded. “Or Midoriya. Someone with enough credibility and charm to make it seem natural. It doesn’t have to be forced, just enough for the media to get the right soundbites.”

Bakugou crossed his arms but stayed quiet. You took that as a small win. 

“After that, we’ll start working on a more relatable image. That means adjusting your social media presence—"

“I’m not censoring or changing what I fuckin’ post.”

“Not asking you to,” you said, clicking to the next slide, which featured some of his most aggressive Instagram/twitter moments. “But maybe, just maybe, we dial it down on the pictures where you’re flipping off the camera, glaring like you want to murder someone, or straight-up threatening the entire internet.”

Bakugou looked deeply unbothered, shrugging his shoulders “That’s just my face.”

“It’s your marketing problem,” you corrected. “We’ll shift your content to include things that make you look less like you’re about to start a bar fight and more like someone the public can root for.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Training footage, lighthearted interactions with fans, even something simple like you cooking—"

“I’m not doin’ some corny-ass Dynamight Cooks bullshit.”

“Then how about anything that shows you as a human being instead of a walking explosion?” you countered. “You have a good fan base, yes, but more people want to like you, Bakugou. You just don’t make it easy for them.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Igarashi held up a hand. “Enough.” Her tone was sharp, leaving no room for debate. She turned to you. “Continue.”

You exhaled slowly and clicked to the final slide. “The last step is repairing your relationship with the fans. That means public appearances that actually make you look good.”

Bakugou’s jaw twitched. “What, like kissin’ babies and holdin’ puppies?”

You smirked. “Wel funny you should mention that because I am in contact with Buzzfeed specifically for the puppy interview. But I think the first thing should be something more natural. Like an event at a school for some young fans, answering questions, giving them a hero moment they’ll remember.”

The room was silent.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Bakugou actually considered it.

“Kids are alright, I guess.”

That was the closest thing to cooperation you were going to get.

Igarashi finally spoke again, steepling her fingers. “This is a solid plan. We’ll move forward with it immediately.” She looked toward Bakugou’s team. “I expect full cooperation from all parties.”

Bakugou leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze locked onto you. “And what if I don’t play nice?”

You met his stare head-on. “Then you keep tanking your career, and I’ll be here to say ‘I told you so’ when you inevitably have to crawl back for help.”

The room went silent.

One of his managers coughed to hide a laugh.

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed.

You just smiled sweetly.

Igarashi exhaled and closed the folder in front of her. “Alright, since we’re done here. I think it’s best we make sure our client and his PR manager are actually on the same page.”

She turned to you, lips curling into a sharp smirk.

“And I think the best way to smooth things over would be a one-on-one.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Lunch,” she said simply. “You two need to iron out the details of this plan and ensure he understands what’s at stake.”

Bakugou scoffed. “The hell for?”

“To show the public you can behave like a normal person,” she said flatly. “It’s just a simple business lunch. A calm, professional meeting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Igarashi was already standing. “It’s settled, then.”

Bakugou grumbled something under his breath but didn’t outright refuse.

Your stomach twisted slightly.

Lunch with Bakugou.

In public.

What could possibly go wrong?

…Everything.

Absolutely everything.

                               ✦•········★········•✦ 

As the meeting concludes, the room empties one by one. Bakugou’s management team is the first to leave, relieved to finally pass this problem off to Empirical PR. Igarashi exits last, giving you a pointed look that says good luck, don’t embarrass me before the door clicks shut.

That leaves just you and him.

Bakugou leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that’s far too smug for someone who just had their entire career blasted and then put in your hands.

You clear your throat, smoothing out your notes. “So. Lunch.”

He doesn’t move. “Yeah?”

You stare at him. “…You do realize that means we have to go somewhere, right?”

“I’m not fuckin’ stupid.”

“Debatable.”

“You always insult your clients like this?”

“Only when they deserve it.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but instead of firing back, he pushes himself up from the chair, stretching his arms above his head—giving you a perfect view of his dumb little slutty little waist and stupid sexy abs.

“I’ll drive,” he says, already heading for the door.

You scramble to follow, narrowing your eyes. “Uh, you have a valid license?”

“No,” he deadpans, sarcasm so thick it could be legally classified as a choking hazard. “It’s invalid. Just like your fuckin’ genetic coding.”

 “Oh ha ha ha, you’re so funny Bakugou. And nice and kind, and approachable—OH wait…” you laugh at your own little jab as you press the call button on the elevator. It dings automatically, doors opening up as you step inside, barely holding back your smug grin.

Bakugou follows, standing beside you with his arms crossed. "Hilarious," he mutters, "Real fuckin' comedian over here."

You flash him a too-sweet smile, folding your hands in front of you. "It's all part of my PR strategy. Make you more likable. You know…by association."

"Tch," he scoffs. "Then you better step it the fuck up, ‘cause I ain’t seein’ results."

You gasp, pressing a dramatic hand to your chest. "Are you saying I'm not likable?"

He doesn't even hesitate. "That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The elevator dings open before you can rebuttal, and he steps out onto the main floor, heading toward the underground parking garage. The moment you see what he’s walking toward, you hesitate.

"Wait," you say, blinking. "That’s your car?" Sitting there, sleek and menacing in all black, is a not yet released to the public 2025 Aston Martin Vantage.

He tosses his keys into his palm and unlocks it with a beep. "Yeah. Why? What were you expecting?”

"I don’t know to be honest," you admit, walking around to the passenger side. "But I wasn’t expecting something this—" You wave vaguely at the car. "Elegant. I guess maybe I was expecting more loud? And obnoxious? Something that really screams “I’m overcompensating.”

He scoffs, “Trust me sweetheart, I don’t need to overcompensate for shit.” He holds open the passenger side door for you and you freeze because…what is he doing? 

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. Bakugou Katsuki—Mr. Loud, Rude, and Perpetually Irritated—was holding the door open for you?

He raises a brow, impatience flickering in eyes. "The fuck you starin’ at? Get in."

Still frozen, you point at the door like it’s some kind of illusion. “You—you're—opening the door for me?”

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah? And?”

“And??” You sputter. “You—you don’t seem like the type!”

He clicks his tongue. “What, you think I just shove people into my car? Jesus, I got some manners.”

You squint at him, skeptical. “Do you?”

He glares, leaning against the door frame like he’s seconds away from slamming it shut just to be difficult. “You gettin’ in or not?”

Deciding not to push your luck, you slide into the seat, the scent of leather and something distinctly him wrapping around you. Warm, smoky, and—fuck. You have to look straight ahead, resisting the urge to inhale too deeply.

Bakugou shuts the door behind you with a little too much force, rounding the front of the car before slipping into the driver’s seat.

The engine rumbles to life with a low, powerful purr—smooth, controlled, much like the man beside you. He flicks through the touchscreen settings before shifting into reverse, one hand resting casually on the back of your seat as he glances over his shoulder to back out.

And wow. That’s some arm. All corded muscle and prominent veins, the kind that belong in a thirst trap gym photo, not casually flexing inches from your face. 

“You good?” Bakugou asks.

You snap your head forward, “Yes, I’m fine.” you say quickly. Eyes on the road.

“Yeah? Tell your face then because you look like you just had a religious experience.”

Your mouth opens, ready to fire back, but nothing comes out because, well—he’s not wrong. You physically shake it off, forcing yourself to focus on literally anything else.

“Just drive, Bakugou.”

He snorts, shifting into gear and smoothly pulling out of the garage.

The ride is… shockingly smooth.. You honestly expected him to drive like he fights—explosive, aggressive, full of barely contained chaos.

Instead, it’s the opposite. Calculated. Smooth. Annoyingly competent.

You fold your arms, eyeing him as he flicks on his turn signal like a model citizen.

“Huh.”

He glances over at you, unimpressed, “What?”

“You’re a really good driver.”

“No shit,” he mutters, eyes on the road.

“I just thought you’d be more…I don’t know—unhinged?”

Bakugou scoffs. “I don’t drive like a dumbass.”

You tilt your head. “Could’ve fooled me with that attitude.”

“‘S’not the same thing.” His fingers tap against the steering wheel. “You think I don’t know how to control my shit?”

You hum, glancing out the window. “I dunno. If you did, you probably wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in right now.”

He side-eyes you, unamused. “That right?”

Before you can answer, he flicks on his blinker and turns down an unfamiliar road.

“Are we lost? Because it doesn’t look like there's any restaurants around here. ” you say, frowning.

“I gotta stop at home first.”

When Bakugou pulls into the underground parking of a high-rise building, you blink, momentarily thrown.

“Wait. You live here?” you ask as he parks in a designated spot.

Bakugou shoots you a dry look. “Goddamn, why do you ask the stupidest questions? Like no, I don’t live here..I just like to park my car in random parking garages for fun. The fuck you think?”

You roll your eyes but step out of the car, following him toward the elevator. The ride up is quick, but with every floor that passes, the realization of just how rich he is sinks in. You knew, logically, that Pro Heroes made a ton of money, but seeing it firsthand? Different story.

When the elevator doors open to his penthouse, your eyes immediately scan the space.

And it’s… really nice.

Like, too nice.

And of course it smells amazing.

Like that same smoky warmth he carries—embers, charred wood, and that deep, almost sinful sweet scent. It’s everywhere, wrapped into the very air you breathe, and you hate that your first thought is fuck, it smells so good in here.

Bakugou drops his keys on the counter and places his gym bag on the floor next to it.

“Gimme five minutes.”

You nod, reaching for your phone to commence a quick doom scroll, but then—

He grabs the back of his tank and yanks it off in one smooth motion.

Brain empty. Brain so empty.

Like, seriously—just TV static and a distant dial-up tone playing on loop.

Because Bakugou Katsuki is built. Broad shoulders, thick biceps that flex naturally as he tosses the shirt aside, strong forearms dusted with faint scars that somehow just add to the whole gruff, battle-worn aesthetic.

And his chest? Jesus. Defined, toned, sculpted like he was handcrafted by the gods specifically to be annoying and hot at the same time. His pecs are solid, his waist criminally trim in contrast to the sheer expanse of his upper body, dipping inward in a way that just should not be allowed..

There’s a trail of light blonde hair leading down past his waistband that you should not be looking at, but here you are. Looking. Gawking really.

You quickly snap your gaze away, staring hard at literally anything else—the countertop, the fridge, the floor—is that a speck of dust? Fascinating.

But Bakugou notices.

“Somethin’ wrong, Princess?”

Oh, he’s smug. You can hear it. Can feel it in the way he purposefully turns towards you, giving you an even better view of his obnoxiously perfect physique.

“Nope,” you say, voice way too high-pitched. You clear your throat, trying again. “Nope. All good. Totally fine.”

His smirk deepens. “Yeah? ‘Cause you look like you’re about to pass out.”

You glare, forcing yourself to meet his eyes—which is arguably worse because they’re sharp and full of amusement, and suddenly, the air between you feels too charged.

“Chyeah,” you scoff, attempting to recover, “I’ve seen a shirtless man before, Bakugou ok? I’m not a prude.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah? Then why’re you actin’ like it’s your first time?”

“Why’re you actin’ like you’re posing for a fuckin’ Playgirl cover?”

That actually makes him laugh—a real, gruff, low-in-his-chest laugh, and you decide right then and there that you hate how nice it sounds.

“Anyways like I said gimmie five. Just don’t touch shit.”

He turns toward the long hall which you are assuming leads to his bedroom, completely unbothered, leaving you standing there, arms crossed, trying to mentally reboot.

Because what the hell was that?

Forcing yourself to move, you take a deep, steadying breath and glance around his apartment, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

His place looked like a spread in Architectural Digest. Floor-to-ceiling windows, sleek modern furniture, an open kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances that looked completely untouched. Like did he even cook here?

The place is spotless, too. No clutter, no mess—just a few neatly stacked books on the coffee table, his hero gear organized in the corner, and a black leather couch that looks so expensive you feel guilty just standing near it. Where’s the chaos? The clutter? The messy stack of dishes in the sink?

Your eyes drift back to the hallway just in time to see him walking back out, now in a fitted black t-shirt and ripped jeans that— oh, great. Perfect. Now he looks even better.

You roll your eyes and turn away dramatically before he can catch you staring again. “Nice place. Kind of a weird flex that it looks like a showroom instead of an actual home, but hey, do you.”

Bakugou snorts, running a hand through his hair as he grabs his keys. “Yeah? Sorry my shit isn’t a disaster like your desk is.”

You scowl. “You’re so—ugh. Can we just go?”

He smirks like he’s won something, twirling his keys around his fingers before jerking his head toward the door.

                              ✦•········★········•✦ 

Bakugou, predictably, refuses to let you choose where you eat.

After a whole five minutes of bickering—because apparently, he absolutely does not trust your taste in food ("Instant ramen and mini oreos,I rest my case."), he takes a sharp turn and pulls up to a sleek, modern-looking restaurant downtown.

You eye the place warily as he parks.

The kind of spot that screams expensive but in an understated way. Sophisticated, refined, effortlessly cool.

You glance at him, suspicion creeping in. "This is where you picked?"

He unbuckles his seatbelt, side-eyeing you. "Here we go again with the dumb questions. YES! This is the place. Jesus."

"It’s just that….” You purse your lips, studying him. "I just figured you’d take me to, like, an all-meat barbecue joint or something. Y'know, where everything is aggressively protein-packed, and the servers all look like they deadlift for fun."

His eye twitches. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

You grin. "Nothing. Nothing at all." 

Bakugou just tchs under his breath before stepping out, slamming the door behind him with a little more force than necessary.

You follow, still amused, still a little skeptical as you step into the restaurant.

It’s nice. Even nicer than you expected. Subtle, modern, expensive without trying too hard. Everything from the sleek wood-and-glass interior to the low hum of conversation gives the place a quiet sort of exclusivity. No flashy logos. No obnoxiously long waitlist. Just quality.

Which, now that you think about it, is very Bakugou.

The moment he walks in, heads turn—because of course they do.

You see it happen in real-time. A murmur of recognition, hushed whispers, subtle not-so-subtle stares. You swear you hear someone gasp. But Bakugou? He doesn’t react at all. Just mutters a quick, "Two," to the hostess before she nods and leads you both to a table near the window.

You slide into the seat across from him, immediately reaching for the menu. "I’m ordering something ridiculously expensive, just so you know."

He doesn’t even look up. "Tch. Knock yourself out, just don’t bitch about it if it sucks, which it probably will, because it’s you.."

"Wow. Such confidence in my ability to choose food."

"I have zero confidence in your ability to choose food."

You roll your eyes but decide not to push it further, glancing over the options.

Then, it happens.

The moment neither of you could have prepared for.

Outside, through the wide glass window, you notice a figure lurking near the curb, camera raised—paparazzi.

You should’ve known. Should’ve expected it. Bakugou Katsuki, Musutafu’s most volatile Pro Hero, suddenly seen out at lunch with an unknown woman? The media lives for this kind of thing.

But what neither of you realize—what neither of you could have predicted—is the exact moment the shutter clicks.

Because at that moment, Bakugou—who had just insulted your ability to pick food—leans forward in his seat a little bit more, smirking just slightly, while you glare daggers at him over your menu.

And from the outside, through the lens of an opportunistic photographer?

It looks like he's just smiling at you.

Like, actually smiling. Like he’s not Dynamight, all fire and fury, but a man caught in a moment of unintentional warmth—unguarded, relaxed, maybe even… happy.

Neither of you have any idea.

Not yet anyway.

But you’re gunna.

                         ✦•········★········•✦ 

Lunch is going surprisingly well. 

You might even say you’re enjoying yourself.

And then…

Bakugou’s phone vibrates on the table.

He ignores it at first, taking another bite of his meal. Then it buzzes again. And again. And then, again.

You raise an eyebrow. “Popular, huh?”

He scowls, yanking his phone off the table and unlocking it.

The second he sees what’s on his screen, his face goes white.

“…What?” you ask, leaning forward, suddenly curious.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move. Just stares.

Then, ever so slowly, he tilts his phone so you can see.

You squint at the screen.

And then?

Oh.

OH.

It’s a post on Twitter.

It’s of you and him, from five minutes ago, sitting right here in this very restaurant. The photo. The one neither of you knew was taken. The one where he looks like he’s smiling at you.

And the caption?

“Wait… is Bakugou Katsuki in love??? 😭😭😭”

You make a noise that can only be described as an unholy wheeze.

It gets so much worse.

The replies are absolutely feral.

— “HE LOOKS SO SOFT HELP???”

— “Why does he look like he’s listening to her talk about the meaning of life 🥺”

— “The way he’s smiling????? My heart. MY HEART.”

— “She must have that WAP to have him cheesin’ like this”

— “WE NEED TO KNOW WHO SHE IS. I REPEAT. WHO. IS. SHE.”

Your hands fly to your mouth, horrified. “Oh my god.”

Bakugou looks like he’s about to combust.

He scrolls down—bad idea. Because it only gets worse.

— “NOT BAKUGOU ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME’ KATSUKI LOOKING AT A WOMAN LIKE SHE HUNG THE STARS”

— “HIS ENTIRE BRAND IS BEING RUDE AND UNAPPROACHABLE AND HE’S OUT HERE LOOKING LIKE A LOVE STRUCK BOYFRIEND??? I CAN’T.”

— “WHY CAN’T A MAN LOOK AT ME THIS WAY??? LOOK HOW HE’S LEANING CLOSER TO HER OMGGGG I’M SO UNWELL 😭”

You slap the table, barely choking back laughter. “HOLY SHIT.”

Bakugou grips his phone like he wants to crush it into dust. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!”

“Oh my god, you’re a meme,” you gasp, clutching your stomach.

“I’m gunna fucking kill myself.” He says, dragging his palm over his face.

And then ding—your own phone vibrates, looking down you see a message from Igarashi. All caps: MEET US IN THE OFFICE. NOW. 

“We’re being summoned.” You turn your phone towards Bakugou, his eyes squinting to read the text.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose, eyes darting toward the window where the paparazzi are still lingering outside, cameras raised like vultures circling a fresh kill.

“Alright,” he mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Let’s head out through the back.”

“Don’t we have to pay the bill?” You ask

“Relax mom, they have my card on file,” He stands throwing his jacket over his shoulders with ease, “now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Neither of you say much on the way back. You, because you’re still processing the insanity of the situation. Him, because he looks like he’s about three seconds from combusting.

When you finally reach the office, you barely have time to step out of the car before Bakugou is striding toward the entrance, his shoulders tense.

You hurry after him, already bracing for the inevitable shitstorm.

Inside, the atmosphere is charged. Igarashi is waiting in the conference room, flanked by a few members of Bakugou’s management team.

Bakugou barely makes it through the door before Igarashi throws a magazine onto the table.

The already printed magazine.

With the photo on the cover.

“I would say ‘take a seat,’ but something tells me you won’t want to,” she says, rubbing her temples.

You and Bakugou both lean in at the same time.

There it is, staring back at you. The now-infamous candid shot.

The headline?

“DYNAMIGHT’S SOFT SIDE?! WHO IS THE WOMAN THAT HAS MUSUTAFU’S HOTTEST HERO SMITTEN?”

You wheeze.

Bakugou, on the other hand, looks murderous.

“Smitten? The fuck?” he grits out, grabbing the magazine like it personally offended him.

Igarashi ignores him, her gaze shifting to you. “The internet has decided you two are dating.”

You blink. “Ok?”

“As you both know, public perception is everything,” she continues, gesturing to the magazine. “And right now? The world thinks you’re the one person who can ‘tame’ Dynamight.”

Bakugou makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” Igarashi says, her tone cool and composed, “that you two are going to lean into it.”

You stare.

Bakugou stares.

Igarashi rolls her eyes, “You’re going to pretend to be a couple.”

Silence.

Then, both of you at the exact same time:

“Huh??!”