#Pros of Clear Braces

[anvaydentalclinic]

The Pros and Cons of Clear Braces That You Need to Know

About two years is the typical time period for which people are required to wear braces. Clear braces are a better option than typical metal braces because people frequently dislike how noticeable they are. Making the appropriate choice can be aided by being aware of some of the benefits and drawbacks of adopting clear braces. It’s useful to understand clear braces in more detail before discussing them.

What Are Clear Braces?

Traditional braces and transparent braces are comparable, with the exception of the clear brackets. They are less obvious when you are wearing them because of the clear brackets. They are typically made from a few different types of materials. They are typically made of plastic, porcelain, or ceramic.

It may be less likely that you’ll need to have them changed in the future if your orthodontist uses high-quality materials to create them. Clear braces employ the same wire and bracket system as traditional braces to move your teeth into the proper position.

Throughout your time wearing them, the wires and brackets will be adjusted by an orthodontist until your teeth have moved into the proper alignment.

Pros of Clear Braces

Looks: Adults who must wear braces could find it embarrassing. One of the main advantages of wearing clear braces is that they are less obvious than metal braces, as was already noted. To make the clear brackets less noticeable to others, it is possible to match their colour to that of your teeth.

People who have worn both metal and clear braces frequently report that wearing clear braces is less painful. The substance that was utilised to produce them may be less damaging to the cheeks and gums.

While clear braces can be more reasonable than other clear alternatives like Invisalign aligners, they do tend to cost more than conventional metal braces.

Attitude: People wearing braces frequently have a negative attitude. This is brought on by both emotional and bodily distress. Sometimes a patient’s only concern—especially that of a teen—is how they appear to their classmates. Clear braces provide patients more confidence, allowing them to focus on caring for their teeth while the braces perform their work.

Professional appearance: Clear or ceramic braces are a logical option for individuals who desire braces but don’t want their coworkers to notice them all the time. Without metal braces to captivate your boss or the board, you can showcase your talent.

Cons of Clear Braces

Compared to conventional braces, clear braces typically feature larger brackets. The greater size could make cleaning up around your brackets more difficult. Your gums may potentially become inflamed or shrink the less you are able to clean the area around your brackets.

Additionally, clear braces have a higher chance of breaking than conventional metal braces. Because they are more delicate, more time may be required to fix damaged brackets or make minor changes, which might extend the time it takes to straighten your teeth. Last but not least, it’s simple to stain the elastic ties that secure the wire to the brackets.

Treatment Period: Clear braces work just as well as metal braces, but not as rapidly. This requires wearing braces for a longer period of time.

Discoloration: Tea and coffee are examples of common drinks that can discolour transparent braces. This necessitates a more watchful approach to keeping your oral health in check. Teenagers in particular frequently struggle to deal with this issue.

Cost: Clear braces cost extra since the materials are more high-tech and treatment takes longer.

Making a decision about orthodontic treatment for your teeth can occasionally be challenging. You can make a better decision about whether transparent braces are the best choice for you by carefully weighing all the benefits and drawbacks.

In order to make a helpful recommendation, our orthodontist can provide you with more information and examine your teeth.

What’s the different between clear braces and clear aligners?

With the exception of the clear brackets and tooth-colored wire, clear braces are identical to the old-style “train track” style braces. Although they look much more covert than the old metallic style braces, they are just as effective at straightening teeth in Clacton.

Contrarily, clear aligners are somewhat different because they are made to fit over the teeth almost like a mouth guard. They are a fantastic option for those who require modest orthodontic treatment because they are clear, almost undetectable, and nearly unnoticeable.

What happens before I get my clear braces?

You must first get an evaluation at a dentist or orthodontist. They will examine your dental health and determine whether you qualify for clear braces. The dentist will need to address any serious tooth decay, gum disease, or gum recession first.

Placing braces on unhealthy teeth might result in a wide range of other dental issues.

Your dentist will likely refer you to an orthodontist, a dentist who specialises in straightening teeth, if they believe you are a candidate for clear braces.

How are clear braces placed?

Using a unique dental cement, your orthodontist adheres the clear ceramic brackets to the front surfaces of your teeth. After placing the brackets, your orthodontist joins the brackets to a tooth-colored wire and secures the wire with metal bands on your back molars. Finally, they will add transparent elastics to your brackets to properly secure the wire.

A clear brace placement by an orthodontist typically takes one to two hours.

What can I expect after I get clear braces?

After getting clear braces, you could feel a little sore and uncomfortable. These side effects are typical and ought to disappear in a couple of days. You can treat your symptoms in the interim by taking over-the-counter painkillers like acetaminophen or ibuprofen.

Additionally, you must avoid meals that are hard, crunchy, or sticky because they have the potential to shatter or dislodge your ceramic brackets. You will receive a list of things to stay away from from your orthodontist.

Conclusion

It’s crucial to keep in mind that choosing braces is about more than just looks. If not treated, teeth that are crowded, crooked, or have an underbite or overbite can lead to a variety of additional issues in the future.

With an even smile, you can brush and floss more easily, which can help you maintain good oral health and prevent gum disease and tooth decay.

Source: https://anvaydentalclinic.com/the-pros-and-cons-of-clear-braces-that-you-need-to-know/

[lightseoul]

HOLD ME CLOSE (HOLD ME TIGHT) (3.8k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. masaru has a stroke that nearly kills him. bakugou handles it well—until he doesn’t.

cw. pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (32), established relationship, mentions of illness, themes of grief, discussions of past trauma (bkg's)

a/n. i hope y'all cry because this made me cry lmao. writing really is easy if you take heavy inspiration from your personal experiences lol. this is written from bkg's pov, and serves as a mini character analysis as well ig?

bakugou remembers it clear as day.

it was only a few weeks after the two of you celebrated his 32nd birthday in a secluded resort out of town when he got the call.

he was in the middle of chastising his klutz of a sidekick’s ear off for forgetting to submit an important case report when his phone started ringing, and the very fact that it wasn’t your ringtone further soured his already worsening mood.

with a final reprimand laced with an hr-appropriate amount of expletives, he dismissed the rookie, leaving him alone in his pristine, corner office.

he recalls sighing in annoyance upon seeing the caller id, as well as his clipped tone when he greeted the old hag with a curt, “what.”

that annoyance was immediately replaced with alarm, however, when his usually bright mother spoke into the microphone, her typically level voice shaking with unmistakable fear.

“it’s your father, katsuki…” she started, and he instantly braced himself for the impact.

mitsuki takes a shaky inhale. “…he’s having a stroke. we’re on the way to the hospital. please, come here.”

he didn’t need to be told twice.

he remembers being on autopilot—the entire way to the suburban peripheries of musutafu where his parents decided to move after he got his own place at the age of 22. he’s not entirely sure—the journey over now a hazy blur—but he might’ve sent you the link to his location, because you magically arrived at the local hospital around fifteen minutes after him.

the moment he saw you burst into the entrance of the emergency room, a huge, tidal wave of relief immediately washed over him, he thought he could’ve collapsed. the second you lock eyes, he witnessed a whirlwind of emotions dance across your beautiful features, before you ran over to where he stood near the vending machine, unceremoniously crashing into his arms.

at that point, he had no idea what made you drop everything—including the precious work that you do—and just follow him based on an ambiguous gps locator he sent you without context, but he was glad you did.

because it was only as you held him so close to you all the while soothing his back and chanting soft ‘it’s okay’s’ in his ear did it hit him.

the fact that he’s fucking terrified.

it must’ve been at least three hours of stewing in tense silence in the emergency room’s waiting area before the two of you finally saw mitsuki.

he remembers the way his heart ached when he first laid eyes on his mother, someone who’s typically radiant and spirited and happy, now looking too frail and painfully vulnerable.

words weren’t exchanged as the three of you walked towards each other, and he promptly engulfed his mother into a tight hug before he could talk himself out of it.

“how is he?” he whispered into the side of her head, choosing to ask then, in the middle of a hug, because he didn’t know if he could stand the look on her face when she answered.

“he’s alive,” she managed to get out, but she said it so tentatively that he knew it was too soon to feel any sort of relief.

“but…?” he recalls asking with bated breath.

“it was a hemorrhagic stroke. it’s… it’s bad, katsuki.”

it wasn’t until a few more hours later, when the two of you were finally granted permission to enter masaru’s hospital room together with mitsuki, did he realize what bad meant.

some parts of this story are blurry now, but the way his stomach dropped at the sight of his father remains to be unforgettable.

the sight of him paralyzed, head to toe.

masaru remained confined in the hospital for a few weeks more after that. the three of you took turns—one would go home to clean up and catch some sleep while the remaining two kept watch and assisted the man.

you almost got booted out of there on the second day, with the nurse saying only immediate family was allowed due to overcrowding in the hospital, but bakugou was quick to step in and say you were practically married.

when the nurse politely pressed for more details while looking pointedly at your ring finger and the lack of a wedding band, he lied and said you forgot to wear it in your rush to get there.

she didn’t seem too convinced, but she thankfully let it go, probably because it was #2 pro-hero dynamight who said so, eventually exiting the room after checking masaru’s vitals.

he remembers you heaving a sigh of relief once the three of you were left alone, tossing him a small smile that sent a familiar shot of longing straight to his veins.

one day, he recalls thinking to himself, you will be married.

just—not now.

the first day home was as much of a nightmare as he expected it to be.

growing up, and until that moment, he never really found himself wanting siblings.

sure, it got pretty lonely during his childhood, but he almost always had kids following him around what with how flashy his quirk is, and he had izuku, which he can now admit was (and still is) his best friend.

plus, you always said you loved how he’d roughhouse you, which you chalked up to him being an only child and not having had the opportunity to do that with anyone else.

but, as the three of you struggled to lift masaru out of the car and into his newly minted wheelchair, he remembers wishing for a brother or a sister who could lend a helping hand and make sure all of masaru’s numb body parts were carefully looked out for.

it’s fucking hilarious, how he didn’t just lift his father all by himself with his pro-hero muscles, but the fear of accidentally hurting him even more turned out to be more paralyzing than he anticipated.

not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

not even you.

but as he watched you and his mother fluttering around, tending to masaru’s needs not even a minute you get in the house, it struck him that maybe he should.

you might not be his sibling (thank god, no), but you will most likely become his parents’ daughter if things go his way.

and, whether he liked it or not, he’s got to do something about the growing ache in his chest that’s only growing wider by the second.

the next few weeks he spent busying himself with the stuff that came with looking after a stroke patient.

mitsuki, who’s done nothing but throw herself into caring for her husband, insisted on helping him find the people they needed, but bakugou didn’t even let her get a word in.

when he tucked himself into bed right next to you later that night in his new bedroom (you moved in with him to his parents’ despite his protests), he recalls ranting about how the old hag was getting on his nerves with her inability to just let him handle shit.

“have i ever been incompetent?” he huffed, turning on his side so he could lie facing you. “it’s like she doesn’t even trust me.”

“i think the two of you just want the same for the other, kats,” came your steady yet gentle voice, not missing a beat and totally unfazed by his petulant behavior.

“…waddya mean?”

you reached out to caress his cheek, and he remembers how soft your fingers felt and how his eyes momentarily fluttered close at the warmth.

at the sight, you flashed him a sad smile before pressing on.

“you’re both hurting, but the two of you would rather carry the weight by yourselves instead of burdening the other. it’s how you and mitsuki show you care.”

he didn’t say anything after that.

at least, for a while.

finally, he spoke up. “…i just don’t like to be bossed around, is all.”

to that, you only tossed him a knowing look. “yup, just that. definitely. never mind your immense sense of responsibility and the stubborn yet admirable way you carry everybody’s bur—”

“yeah, yeah,” he cut you off before you could ramble any further. “i get it.”

seemingly satisfied, you grinned up at him before pulling him close, cradling his head by your chest.

with the new position, he could feel your familiar, rhythmic heartbeat.

your heartbeat that he liked to listen to for reassurance—telltale evidence that you’re alive and right next to him, and that no villain has wrestled you out of his firm grip.

and as he lay there snuggled into you and listening to the consistent pulse, he found his frantic, loud thoughts slowly but steadily being lulled to a hum.

thoughts that he knew you’d kick to the moon if you found out he’s been thinking them.

thoughts like maybe he’s just selfishly gatekeeping all the tasks so he could distract himself from the pain that’s threatening to swallow him whole.

thoughts like maybe he deserved this for all the wrong he’s done growing up.

thoughts like maybe his mother would be in far less pain if it were him instead of his saint of a father who had to go through this.

he fell into a fitted sleep that night.

after a few more weeks of searching for and screening applicants, and with your and mitsuki’s approval, he finally settled on a stay-in caregiver and physical therapist.

it took quite a while for the two to learn the ropes and master how he wanted things to be done around here, but they eventually got there, and when they did, they cleared a lot of stuff that has been on everybody’s plates ever since masaru had the stroke.

with that, mitsuki insisted the two of you go home to your shared condominium and get back into working full-time again, but neither of you relented. he tried to get you to return, not wanting to hold you back from the important things that you do, but you were quick to dismiss him.

he didn’t tell you then and there, but he secretly wished you would.

he’d never confess this to anybody, but he’d definitely crumble without you around.

he remembers one specific thursday, when you first started getting masaru into exercising his left, albeit non-dominant hand, by drawing.

it was silly, but he recalls not even being able to look his father in the eye as the two of you sat across from him who was plastered in his wheelchair, a small coffee table between you, on which sat a piece of paper, a pencil, a box of crayons, and an all might plushie you swiftly grabbed from his bedroom.

and as he sat there avoiding his father’s gaze, he watched you as you talked animatedly to the man, explaining the deceivingly simple activity: he just had to try and draw the plushie, after which, if he still had the energy, he could color in using the crayons you dug out from bakugou’s drawers.

but masaru wasn’t having it.

the man only stared at you in disinterest as you tried your best to engage him. despite himself, bakugou felt indignation creep up his spine.

he knew. fuck, he really did. after he made sure you’ve fallen asleep, he had spent nights researching his father’s condition, poring over mountains and mountains of information all in the name of being able to better understand and help him.

so he knew—he knew that strokes, especially severe ones, can cause noticeable changes in one’s personality, at least in the short term. it can turn someone sensitive and in tune with others’ emotions into someone who’s apathetic and seemingly self-absorbed.

still, that knowledge doesn’t stop him from jumping on his feet when masaru, his kind, sweet father, angrily wiped off the table with his left arm, sending the materials you worked hard to gather scattered all over the floor.

and, before he could stop himself: “hey!”

you were onto him in an instant, a soothing albeit restraining hold on his shoulder. “katsuki, it’s okay.”

he was about to open his mouth to spit venom when he felt you tighten your grip. he didn’t have to glance at you to know you were looking at him the way you always did when you were begging him to stay quiet.

and because he loved (loves) you, he did.

and as he wordlessly picked up the papers and pens in silence, he couldn’t help but mourn over his father, and the patience and calmness that characterized his being.

the very patience and calmness that he always wished he had, instead of his temper and aggressiveness, because that’s what you, of all people, deserved.

and then the all-too-familiar guilt hit him again.

because why was he acting like his father died, when he was still very much alive?

simple, bakugou thought to himself.

it’s because it feels like he has.

his relationship with masaru didn’t get better after that.

he’d been trying, he really had been. if not for you, who’d been tending to his father like he was your very own, then for his mother, whose fatigue and sadness have been chipping away at her by the minute.

he was washing the dishes in the kitchen after you’ve had dinner—all the while his parents watched tv in the living room—when you walked in, a couple more dirty plates in tow.

he wouldn’t have noticed he was glaring down at the brick of butter on the shelf if you didn’t point it out.

“a few more seconds and that’s gonna melt,” you quipped.

he looked back at you, gears in his head turning for a beat, before he chuckled half-heartedly and turned back to the sink.

behind him, he recalls hearing a click, which he now identifies as you putting down the plates on the kitchen island, before he felt your arms wrap around his middle, encasing him in a hug.

your voice was smooth when you drawled out, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”

still, and despite all the shit that’s been going on in his life, he still found himself shuddering at the pet name.

“nothing.”

“really?” came your immediate response. “because i was getting kinda jealous with how hard you were staring at that butter.”

at that, bakugou couldn’t help but snort. you followed suit, that delightful laugh echoing across the small room.

“stupid,” he simply retorted, although both of you knew there was no bite to it.

you didn’t press him for more after that, choosing to just hold yourself against his back in comfortable silence—which he now knows he’s grateful for.

because at that time, he couldn’t have told you he was feeling nothing but resentment for his pitiful father.

his pitiful father who loved to put butter in virtually every dish he whipped up.

his pitiful father who probably wouldn’t be pitiful if he just led an active lifestyle, monitored his health, and made better choices so that his poor mother wouldn’t have to go through all this.

his train of thought was interrupted, however, when a pang of that same old guilt hit his chest, and then he was once again flooded with scalding shame.

because what else should he be feeling for his father aside from empathy, as someone who has had far too many brushes with death itself?

“…katsuki?”

he recalls jolting ever so minutely, before turning his head to look at you, who, by then, was already standing behind him, apparently already having released him from the hug.

“huh?”

“i was just asking you,” you continued as if he didn’t just zone out. “our friends want to come by and visit, if you’re okay with it. is that alright with you?”

the last thing he needed was for his nerd-ass friends to visit and witness his family’s dirty laundry, which would inevitably be aired out for them to see given the circumstances. his entire life, he always, always, kept those from prying eyes, even if they were his closest buddies’.

but, at the mention of his friends, he found his heart clenching in yearning despite himself.

and so, before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded in approval.

“…and so that’s how i saved the little girl who was convinced i was the bad guy!”

he remembers everyone in the room erupting in laughter at kirishima’s story, even masaru, who’s been steadily gaining control of the left side of his body back.

his right has seen little to no improvement, but you and mitsuki have been making it a point to celebrate every win, no matter how small.

at kirishima’s gag, bakugou himself couldn’t help the somewhat imperceptible smirk that encroached on his face, which izuku, unfortunately, caught sight of. the #1 pro-hero beamed at him, and it took bakugou every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes at the nerd.

“what about you, midoriya-kun?” asked mitsuki, who’s seated on a stool right beside her husband, who’s nestled comfortably in the reclining chair you got him about a month ago.

at the call out, the green-haired man shifted his attention to the lady, before sheepishly retorting with: “oh, i just try to be funny.”

that granted him his round of laughter, and this time bakugou finally allowed himself to give into the visceral urge to roll his eyes.

he must’ve been being so obvious with his expressions, because it’s you who managed to catch him again, shooting him a chastising but nevertheless playful look.

before he could wink at you or do anything in response, though, he recalls mitsuki standing up quite abruptly, startling the five of you.

you shot her a question before anyone else could. “what is it, mitsuki-san?”

“i didn’t notice! we’ve run out of tea and snacks. sorry—” she leaned down to get the trays, “—let me get some mo—”

“i’ll do it!” volunteered the ever-good-natured izuku, who moved so fast the plates were on him before the rest could blink.

“i’ll help the nerd,” bakugou added, standing up before taking some of the cups from his rival lest the latter drops them.

at the uncharacteristically generous offer, izuku once again beamed at him, which bakugou immediately dismissed with a wave of a hand.

the short trek to the kitchen was quiet amidst the background noise, which has been brought up a notch thanks to kirishima’s vivid storytelling.

without a word, bakugou gestured where to get a refill on the snacks while he busied himself with brewing more tea.

the silence that engulfed them was comfortable—familiar—that was, until, izuku broke it.

“thanks again, kacchan.”

bakugou felt his eye twitch at the nickname. “for what?”

izuku turned on his feet to regard his best friend, a grateful smile gracing his boyish features. “for letting me and ei visit. i just wanted you to know i appreciate it. i’m sure it’s not easy having guests around while, you know…”

he wasn’t about to tell the nerd he and kirishima were the only ones he felt comfortable enough to visit at the moment, so he merely nodded.

(un)fortunately, the greenhead took it as a sign to continue.

“she’s been amazing, huh?”

bakugou met the man’s soft gaze, which was directed toward you.

“yeah,” came his sure reply. he remembers not even knowing where to start, so he just simply left it at that.

a pregnant pause.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan.”

that caught him off guard.

he must’ve looked stunned, because izuku shrugged quite timidly, before: “we all see how hard you’re working.”

the #1 pro-hero hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say the next thing, ultimately deciding for it.

“…but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, alright?”

and just as fast as he scooped the trays back in the living room, izuku patted him on the shoulder before taking the cups from him and waltzing rather clumsily out of the kitchen.

later that night, bakugou found himself unable to fall asleep.

it’s been ages since you both got into bed, and you were now on your side with your back turned against him, probably already fast asleep.

he recalls just staring up at the off-white ceiling, playing back in his head the earlier conversation he had with izuku again and again and again.

“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan,” was what the nerd said.

if he only knew.

if he only knew the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing his mind since shit went down.

there’s a reason why he hasn’t said a single word about the things he’d been thinking since day one.

there’s a reason why he’s kept all of this shit to himself even though they were fucking heavy to carry all on his own.

it was because he was scared of them, and even more scared of what people would make of him when he finally verbalized them into existence.

what you would make of him.

he’s spent most of his life running away from who he used to be, that the mere thought that he might have just always been that guy this entire time is like a fucking 100% detroit smash to the gut.

he didn’t even notice he was crying until he felt a single tear go down the side of his face.

he quickly reached up to wipe it away.

to his horror, he felt you shift beside him, and he found himself frozen in fear as he waited for you to settle into another position in your sleep.

but that didn’t come.

instead, he remembers so, so clearly how you turned to face him—absolutely, evidently wide awake—with such a worried expression on your gorgeous face, and how he just completely lost it at the sight of you.

he remembers how you scooped him into your arms as ugly sobs finally wracked his body, how you led his arms to wrap around your waist to help anchor him as he cried into your chest.

he remembers the soothing circles you rubbed on his back as you started to cry with him, your sniffles the only thing he heard aside from his own weeping.

he remembers the way your voice cracked when you started whispering ‘i’m here’s’ in his ear. and, he doesn’t know if it’s because that line carries a massive fucking weight for him, or that it’s you—the love of his life—who’s saying them, but the words wash over the entirety of his exhausted body like a violent storm, leaving him shivering in its wake.

he remembers deciding then and there, that he was going to tell you everything.

maybe tomorrow, but not now.

for now, and in the safety of your arms, he finds himself finally allowing the grief—the grief that he’s unknowingly been trying to tamp down—to come forward and make itself known.

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[andypantsx3]

INCENDIARY | 8 | BAKUGOU KATSUKI x READER

SUMMARY: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it. TAGS/WARNINGS: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, light hurt/comfort, themes of discrimination, canon typical violence, smut, aged up characters, fem pronouns + afab reader, 18+ mdni LENGTH: 3k, FIC MASTERLIST

For a few seconds, nothing made sense.

There was a rush of heat over your skin, skin-meltingly hot, and an arm around your waist. Then an explosion blew out all the sound around you. Your ears rang, and your hands scrabbled for purchase in Bakugou’s uniform as you were violently jerked backwards.

A rush of cooler air met your skin, and you realized you’d been pulled out of the car just as you watched it swerve and hit a light pole, the glass of the passenger windows shattering. You couldn’t hear the crunch of metal over the muffled ringing in your ears, but you could see the side of the car wrap around the pole, could imagine the metal squealing and screaming.

You were jerked out of the way again just as another rush of flame went flaring past you, so hot it felt like it had singed your skin, Bakugou’s arm curling around you as he aimed an explosion into the flames to blow you clear.

It was a testament to his strength and control that he was able to maneuver you with one arm, even as the two of you twisted midair, holding you tight against him as he caught his balance, bracing to steady you as you tripped wildly over yourself. He yanked you behind a parked car, blocking any clear shot at you, leveling a hand over the roof. Your hands still fisted in his uniform, you whipped around for the source of the flames—

Only to find him clearly, grinning wildly in the middle of the street, watching you over the top of the car.

Matsui looked just like the picture you’d been shown, all those months ago in the police station. He was plain, with dark eyes, thick dark brows and wisps of curly black hair. He might have been any other salaryman in the country, except for the naked hate that hung off his features as plainly as his clothes from his wiry shoulders.

Your heartbeat thudded against Bakugou’s chest, your nails digging crescents into the material of his uniform as a cold thrill of fear went down your spine.

And Matsui wasn’t alone. A jolt went through you as you noticed another figure beside him—a figure you’d last squared off against over the prickly grass of your campus lawn.

It was one of the QRAs. He seemed to be missing his other friends from that night, as the YouTube video you’d rewatched had made it clear you’d been yelling at three men the evening this had all started. And you were at least gratified to note he looked nervous, small and sweating, but the same hatred glowed clear across face.

It was funny, that all these months later, you had never actually learned his name. He was just some faceless jerk to you, a symptom of a cultural disease.

Bakugou’s voice in your ear, slightly muffled, notified you that your hearing was slowly returning to you. “—eyes on Matsui,” he was growling, and you realized he was speaking into an earpiece. “Some other fucking chump is with him, quirk unknown—”

But you knew it. You remembered from the comments of the video that had started this all: my guy out here with a pencil-sharpening quirk and he thinks he’s genetically superior.

“It’s—he can square the tip off of cylindrical objects,” you said, your voice slightly too loud in your own ears. “He was on my campus.”

A blonde eyebrow went up, but Bakugou quickly relayed the info, his eyes never leaving the pair in the middle of the street. “Get Monoma on the fucking cylinder idiot, I’ll get Matsui,” he finished. His mouth went hard as he seemed to listen to something back, grunting in return.

“Alright brat,” he said, turning to you. His tone seemed just a little bit clearer, the gravel in it pronounced. “Genius Office has a bunch of heroes on the way, not that we’re gonna need them for two fucking idiot civilians. Our backup is just a few streets that way,” he gestured in the direction of Matsui and the pencil sharpener guy. “I need you to get around them and make a run for them while I cover you. Can you do that for me?”

Your heart pounded in your throat, and your legs went weaker at the idea of moving out from behind the car. But Matsui had just torched one car—you were sure he’d be at it again in a minute.

You gathered yourself up, nodding. “Yeah. I can.”

At least Bakugou had been putting you through the paces this week so you had some level of exercise under your belt. You suddenly wished you’d had more, though. “I can run,” you said, to reassert yourself.

“Good girl,” Bakugou said, scarlet eyes flickering down to you momentarily. A little smirk touched his mouth, like he knew what he was doing.

You were embarrassed when a feeling like determination surged through you, your body responding to him even at a time like this. You let go of your death grip on his hero costume, testing your legs out under you. Somehow, the burn of your face was helping distract you from the weak, jelly-like consistency of your knees.

A spurt of flame made you jump, but it was just Matsui shaking out his hands, grinning at you over the roof of the car. He seemed to like that he’d scared you, and the guy with the pencil sharpening quirk laughed, pleasure twisting his thin mouth.

“Come on out, drunk girl,” Matsui finally crooned, his tone soft and medial. The sound of his voice made your skin crawl, and you suddenly wished for the deafening ring of Bakugou’s explosions again. “You think you’re my equal, don’t you? Weren’t you just on your way to tell the whole world that? Come on out and show me, little girl. Come out and show everyone how equal we are.”

The little pencil sharpener next to him looked smug, as though his quirk was any match up to Matsui’s either. You glowered at him, lip automatically curling.

“Just fucking run, brat,” Bakugou told you. “‘M gonna rip his intestines out right through his asshole, you’re not gonna wanna see it.”

A horrible little gurgling laugh escaped you. It was reassuring, Bakugou’s confidence. Fear still tingled down your spine but you thought if you started, you’d be able to keep running.

“Tell me when to go,” you breathed, testing your step again.

“Start running left as soon as I get out over this car,” Bakugou commanded. “He’s just some overpowered internet troll, he’s not combat trained. He’ll take the shot at me as soon as he sees me move and it’s gonna hit the right side of the car. It’ll block his visibility and you can get behind that bus stand before he’s done.”

You nodded. “And then?”

“As soon as he takes his next shot you keep going and don’t stop. I’ll handle him from there. Monoma’s in range and he’ll get the cylinder fuck as soon as I can get him clear of Matsui.”

You made a noise of acknowledgement, grateful you had Bakugou’s combat experience on your side. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready.”

Bakugou’s gloved fingers briefly touched yours and he nodded. Then he shook out his arms, bracing them behind him. “That’s my girl,” he said, sending a devastatingly feral smirk your way.

You had just a single moment for your heart to trip over itself, a flush breaking out across your skin. And then an explosion ripped apart the pavement behind him.

Immediately, a towering column of flame whirled past and you launched yourself out from behind the car just as you saw Matsui’s figure disappear behind it. The heat distorted the air in front of you, shimmering and waving as you threw yourself through it, tearing down the street as fast as you could.

A roaring explosion from Bakugou’s direction drowned out the slap of your feet, and you slid behind the ads papering the wall of the bus stop just as Matsui’s flames dissolved into the air. You heard another volley of explosions, crackling like fireworks, loud and obnoxious and clearly designed to draw attention.

The clatter of loose gravel pinged off of the bus stand, kicked up by the force of Bakugou’s power. Some of it skidded underneath, bouncing off your shoes in a riot of dusty pebbles and chunks.

You peered back out, trying to judge when to make your next move. You caught sight of Matsui aiming another shot after Bakugou, and your grip reflexively tightened on a piece of gravel, the rough, grainy edges cutting into your fingers. You watched as Bakugou dodged some sort of projectile thrown by the pencil sharpening asshole, too, and then maneuvered quickly as Matsui’s flames blazed to life in his hands.

As you watched, a sudden, overwhelming incredulity seized you. Matsui and the little pencil man were so dedicated to the idea of their own superiority that they were willing to risk life and limb against pro hero Dynamight. Their inflated fucking egos surpassed even quirk supremacy—like they thought they needed to feel truly supreme in all things, even against the firepower of one of the most dangerous pros of all time. Even as Bakugou clearly was just drawing attention and dodging until you were clear of the situation. He was so obviously just playing with them.

It was insane. It was stupid—they were so fucking stupid. They were so unbelievably full of themselves, and a white hot feeling choked you, all-encompassing in its intensity.

A certainty gripped you, like the memory of that night on campus when you’d first encountered the pencil sharpener QRA. It was so reductive, the idea of measuring yourself against someone based on arbitrary traits like strength or quirks. It was the ideology of a child, of an idiot, of someone so insecure in their own place in the world that they needed to dig people out of their own places so they could be insecure too.

But people were better than that. People could learn to be better than that, like Bakugou.

If anyone was lesser in this world, it wasn’t quirkless people. It was people who let themselves act lesser like this in their desire to be more, instead of confronting the reality of their own character.

And you had already proved you were not the type of girl who could keep taking things lying down.

Before you knew what you were doing, your grip was tightening on the piece of gravel. Your vision squared in on Matsui and the QRA, and your arm drew back, hefting the gravel in your hand. And then in a wild fit of emotion, you sent it arcing through the air, spiraling tightly, a messy but certainty-fueled throw.

It hit the pencil guy square in the back of the neck, knocking him into Matsui. Matsui stumbled, and the flames at his fingertips stuttered and guttered out.

Even from a distance, you could read the surprise on Bakugou’s face. An ugly, shocked laugh suddenly escaped him. Matsui quickly staggered back to his feet, wheeling on you.

But then an explosion swept across the street, blowing Matsui and the pencil guy right into the side of a building, your distraction the only opening Bakugou needed. They hit the stone with a dull thud, sliding down in a heap together, the pencil guy letting out a groan.

Bakugou and the hero you recognized as Monoma were there in an instant, strapping quirk suppressors right around their wrists, bearing them down to the ground. As soon as they had, a flood of other heroes and officers came washing out into the street, boots quickly scuffling in their direction.

You watched as officers cordoned off the street, ushering curious civilians back into their homes, and began to document the damage Matsui had caused. Several squad cars and an ambulance rolled into view, their lights sending flashes off of the surrounding windows, and Matsui and the pencil QRA were bundled away into them.

An officer came over to take a statement from you, and you fumbled your way through an explanation, mind still churning. You’d ended it. For all the talk about the superiority of their power, all it had taken was a wild throw from you to make both Matsui and the QRA stumble. All it had taken was the strength of your conviction to give Bakugou the opportunity to disable them for good.

Bakugou stalked over as soon as he’d given his own report, tearing off his gloves with his teeth and stowing them on his belt. His hair was a little windswept, and there was soot along the hinge of his jaw, but he was otherwise unharmed, not even a single burn through the fabric of his uniform. He glowed with the flush of a fight, of a job well done, and you thought he had never looked quite so handsome.

“Nice shot, princess,” he told you, flashing you a wicked white smile, sending a searing heat pooling in your stomach. “Thought I told you to run though.”

But he didn’t seem angry, because then his calloused fingers came up to take your chin, and he seized your mouth in a hard kiss.

You felt yourself flush all the way down to your toes, kissing him back eagerly. You were heady with your own success, with the way Bakugou had looked at you.

“We’re gonna be late for the interview,” you said when he finally let your mouth free.

Bakugou looked momentarily like he would rather bear you back off into the safehouse than let you go to the interview. And you did plan to thank him incredibly thoroughly for the save, once you’d made it back into some semblance of privacy together.

But you had things to say, still. Things to say now especially that you’d shut down a couple more internet trolls so handily. Now that you’d proven the ferocity of their ideology didn’t hold up in the real world—not when regular, everyday people like you had something to say about it.

“Always running that fucking mouth, brat,” Bakugou said, but his tone was nothing but appreciative. He set upon a nearby officer with alacrity, commandeering him and his car to shuttle you over to the studio, stuffing himself in after you resolutely.

He kept a hand on you the entire way, and stalked after you down the halls of the studio, sending the hordes of producers and production assistants into a frenzy. When they finally let you out of hair and makeup after scrubbing all the street grime off of you, he watched you carefully, those eyes hot on you as you settled into the chair opposite your interviewer, his mouth quirked up in a ferociously appreciative smirk.

The interviewer greeted you, and you answered her back, feeling safe and warm and secure under your boyfriend’s watch. And then the interview began, and she prompted you carefully, the same questions you’d been running over in your head for days.

“We’ve asked you here today for commentary on the cultural barriers that quirkless people like yourself face, and the National Diet’s efforts in passing a bill that would help tackle these issues,” she said, nodding at you warmly. “Is there anything you think is especially important for people to know about what it’s like to be quirkless in a society like ours?”

You took a breath in, and reviewed your answer determinedly. You’d bash quirk supremacy the way you had Matsui, like it was a neck and you were a bit of gravel, kicked up in all the fighting.

You leaned in and ran your mouth like you always did. This time, with nothing but firm resolution, assurance, and one admittedly hot, supportive boyfriend behind you.

UPDATE: QUIRKLESS LEGEND TAKES DOWN PRO-QUIRK BIGOT | REACTION Mika Reacts · 2.19M subscribers 3 hours ago · 11:24 · 1,006,041 views Description Hey guys, quirkless girl aka “drunk girl” is back on my channel in a jaw-dropping joint takedown by her and pro hero Dynamight. Right before an interview on New Day Japan yesterday… [SHOW MORE]

karma is a rock, karma is the gravel to ur neck on the weekend greenhopp 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 900 [Thumbs Down]

omg they gave him the fucken combo!!!! 🪨💥my man got the 10 piece with a biscuit no drink goddamn Hisa Ota 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 600 [Thumbs Down]

yooooooo remember the time i said she didn’t need a quirk to put one of these bros in a coffin?? dm me if u want ur future told. now accepting venmo and cash app. yeetus deletus 2 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.2k [Thumbs Down]

END NOTES: We finally made it, guys!! Thank you so much for sticking with this series for what ended up being over 1.5 years, my longest fic span yet, and being patient with me every step of the way. I have said it before but this fic especially has been my biggest challenge, and I am so grateful for the support that helped me make it all the way to the end.

I also want to say thank you again to my sensitivity readers @darkenedniqhts and @cat-slippered for helping me tell this story in the cleanest and most respectful way possible. I would not have tried my hand at anything with themes like these if it wasn't for you guys helping hold me accountable and educating me at key points. I appreciate everything you have done to make both the story and myself better over the course of its telling. I will be forever grateful.

[shibaraki]

WE UNFOLD IN POOLS OF GOLD ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, pro hero shouto, publicity stunts (a fake relationship) fluff, flirting, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, pick up lines, confessions, best friends to lovers

wc: 2.3K

“Look, as I’ve said this is only for the event tonight,” Shouto’s manager, Abe Riko, instructed you. Unease had twisted in your stomach as she looked you over with a critical eye, smoothed the wrinkles in your clothing and circled you like a shark. “You don’t have to confirm that you’re in a relationship, you just need to behave like you’re in one. Enough that it’ll create speculation”.

At first you’d been mystified that Shouto agreed to such a thing but it soon became clear the public perception was gnawing at him. To your confusion, people found Shouto to be an enigmatic hero type; they didn’t know how to interact with him and often hesitated in doing so, intimidated by his impassive expression and monotony.

You know Shouto to be the opposite. He is clever in social situations, he’s witty and blunt and he makes you laugh. With that in mind you supposed being their first choice was the least surprising part of the situation. Shoving a beautiful stranger on his arm would only lead to an inevitable stony faced and unfiltered disaster. As one of his best friends your presumed relationship is far more believable given how comfortable you are together.

The issue is you—namely, your feelings for him. Love that knows no boundary. Yearning dug deep in your bones. Hunger that leads you to eventually say yes.

A multitude of anxieties take root in your thoughts, playing out all the possible outcomes, bracing you for the inevitable hurt come morning. Because everything feels right, here. Shouto’s hand sits low on your back like it belongs there. He leans in closer than necessary to listen to you talk, commentates on the lives of the attendants around you; always a smile in his eyes when you laugh at something he says; the brush of his mouth to your temple; the fingers that squeeze at your waist.

“I think we’ve done well,” you say. “Don’t you?”

Rather than needing to stick close to his side as instructed, Shouto has been the one to trail after you, hand in gentle hand while you meander around the venue to greet people. He never enjoyed flashy events but you can tell your presence helps, along with the copious free alcohol.

“Only the tabloids will tell”.

Another waiter passes by, bowing his head low and proffering a tray of champagne flutes. Shouto plucks one up, bringing it to his nose, which wrinkles at the sharp smell. You laugh, distracted as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. “Let me try some”.

Shouto looks at you from the corner of his eye, near electric blue under the lustrous chandeliers hung in the high ceilings. You’ve had a hard time appreciating the architecture when you could simply marvel at him in his grey slim fit suit.

He swipes his tongue across his lip, wincing at the taste before tipping the rim of the glass against your mouth. Your heart beats loud in your ears as you sip the fizzing champagne, sharp and slightly zesty. A flurry of shuttering clicks go off across the room, dwindling into white noise. You’re accustomed to ignoring the reoccurring camera flashes now. “Shit. That’s so dry,” you groused under your breath.

Shouto hums, equal parts amused and congruent with your displeasure. “I wish they would serve something sweet and fruity for once,” he says.

You pointedly refasten your grip around his hand, arm drawn across your midsection to rub his forearm, “I got enough sweet and fruity right here”.

Something ravenous like pride rears in your chest when he tucks his chin and snorts. The movement coaxes a few stray red strands over his forehead. Sucking in a breath, Shouto’s cheeks swell and deflate as he exhales heavily. “Well, according to everybody else I am too boring. That’s why we’re here together”.

“And that’s bullshit. If anything you’re the pretty face making me seem more interesting here,” you say offhandedly, turning your attention to the undulating crowd. The live band takes on a spirited beat as more people gather on the dance floor. Shouto continues to stare in your peripheral vision, coloured in fondness you don’t know what to do with.

“I don’t know if that’s true,” he tells you, a diffident lilt in his voice. “You look incredible tonight”.

There’s a nascent giddiness sprouting in your chest. It feels so distinctly innocent and juvenile, the kind you feel throughout your whole body. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Shouto pauses, flustered, and swallows down another gulp of champagne. “…Abe-san is very good at what she does”.

The reminder that you’re engaging in a publicity stunt is jarring—but his sincerity eases any sting that might’ve come from it. It’s as though he were refreshing his own memory more than he is yours. The thought makes you smile and you take the flute glass from him, swirling the liquid gold inside.

“Shouto. Are you flirting with me?” you tease, holding his gaze as you find the cold impression of his lips on the rim and take a sip. You’ve started burning from the inside out, wiggling fingers entwined, and Shouto knots them together tighter in response.

“Flirting on a date is commonplace,” he returns, pushing the wayward strands back into his carefully styled hair. You soften at the sight. Pinned behind his left ear and combed over to the right, Shouto doesn’t hide his scar the way he used to.

You set the empty champagne glass on a waitress’s tray as she passes, and reach to fix his parting. “Well if we’re allowed to flirt then I can tell you I love your hair like this,” you murmur, fingertips brushing along his temple and down the curve of his right cheek. “It’s hot. And I like seeing more of your face”.

To anyone else the hot and cold hero might appear indifferent. But you feel when the air around him expands, thick with warmth. Shouto is careful to keep it under his skin. “Because you think my face is pretty?” he recalls.

“Now you’re getting it”.

“So then…” Shouto clears his throat, shifting his weight. The grip on your fingers loosens like he expects you’ll let go. “If I’m pretty and you’re cute, together we would be pretty cute”.

The lick of sheer affection that flashes through your chest is overwhelming. “Shouto,” you start, clutching at his hand, thoroughly enjoying the immediate regret written on his face. “Who taught you that?”

“I understand pick up lines just fine,” he mutters, only to sulkily add, “Kaminari may have shared some with me”.

You laugh. It’s all you can do to allay the urge to kiss him. Shouto is dangerous enough as he is—teaching him pick-up lines was the wholesome equivalent of handing him the nuclear codes. The room takes on a gauzy, yellowish tint as the waiters line up to push the balcony doors open, perhaps from all the blood rushing straight to your brain.

The energy amongst the guests takes a palpable turn and people line up to head into the gardens, where a grande marquee has been set up. He tugs your wrist, lightly guiding you to follow the crowd. Expensive garments shimmer under the gloaming moonlight.

You step into the cool night air, warmed by the heat thrumming through Shouto’s left arm. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

Ah, he’s going to pout any second now, you think. The drinks must be wearing on him. “Sorry. It was kinda bad,” you tell him, ducking forward to inflict upon him your unfettered smile—because Shouto finds your delight particularly contagious. The tension in his brow releases as he smiles back, nudging you in your side, because he knows exactly what you’re doing. “It wasn’t bad bad—stop sulking. I’ll do you one better”.

“You will?”

The fireworks begin then, snatching his focus; great starbursts of light against the dark sky, lighting up the garden every few seconds. A prismatic glow halos Shouto’s silhouette, returning next in a vivid green, then red. You become hyper aware of your clammy palms and the flecks of fire tousled from his hair in the wind.

Inhibitions softened, tongue loose in your mouth, you steel yourself to pinch delicately at the lapel of his blazer. “Hey. Pretty boy,” you rub the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “Is this boyfriend material?”

Shouto’s brow lifts in soft surprise and he blinks slowly. You’re struck once again by that fond gaze, how beautifully he wears it, and how he’s close enough that you can see the explosive display reflected in his eyes. As his smile grows the rough tissue above his left cheek crinkles, “Actually I think it’s cotton twill”.

You huff, suitably charmed at his feigned ignorance. Another firework soars into the air with a shrill whistle and the crowd around you murmurs in awe as it booms into a fleeting shower of gold. Neither you nor Shouto bother to glance up, or away from one another.

“You’re wrong, but that’s okay,” you sway further into his space; a small part of you is drawn in by the heat pulsing from his left side, but mostly because you wanted to touch him. “This is boyfriend material—no, husband material,” cheek squished to his shoulder, you peer up and curl your left hand around his bicep. The sleeve is tight against the muscle beneath. “Are you perhaps looking for a life partner?”

A traitorous hiccup jumps in your throat, and Shouto’s mouth thins as he tries not to laugh. There’s a blush staining him pink from his nose to his ears and it very well could be the alcohol, but inwardly you’d like to take credit for the dazed look on his face. Playing along he asks, “What are your qualifications?”

The surroundings and the people fade into obscurity until you forget exactly what it is that led you here. Just you and Shouto in the giddy darkness. “I can make you laugh. I can make you food. I can make you cum,” you hold up a finger for each point made. “I will still love you even when you watch me with that dead fish stare in the morning”.

Shouto’s half lidded expression flickers at that, his mouth jutting into a pout, though there’s no real hurt there. His knuckles brush against your cheek and unfurl to cup your jaw, “But you sleep with your mouth open. It’s cute”.

Turning into his palm you sigh, a little lovestruck, “I’m going to squeeze you like a grape”.

“Please don’t,” the low timbre of his voice wraps around you. “Best friends don’t bully each other,” he falters for a moment, waiting for another technicolour thunder to dwindle. “I suppose they don’t flirt, either”.

“One look at any of your old classmates proves that to be historically untrue, shortcake,” you cover his hand and stroke your thumb across the back of his knuckles. It doesn’t escape you that he has yet to let you go this evening, even going as far as waiting outside the bathrooms for you like some forlorn stray.

“Shortcake,” he mumbles the name as though trying it on for size. Abe-san and his team surely got what they wanted. Shouto smiled more tonight than he has in weeks and you can’t help hoping it’ll never end. “I like when you give me nicknames”.

You’re distantly aware of the lenses pointed in your direction; you conjure possible headlines and imagine the image printed below it, two people looped together in a perfect bow, and somehow it makes you a little braver. “Yeah? Well I like you,” you admit helplessly, clinging to the lapels of his suit. “I have for a long time. More than best friends should, if that wasn’t obvious”.

There’s a brief reprieve as multiple fireworks shriek through the air, splitting into hundreds of strobe stars. You get a clear view of Shouto’s expression as it flowers open before being plunged back into darkness.

“Oh,” his exhale is so loud in the deafening quiet. Hands find your waist and press you close, delaying your growing panic. “Was this our first date?”

“I mean, if you want it to be”.

“I don’t,” he says. Your heart stutters but his fingers keep you in place. “I wanted to take you to the Churaumi aquarium”.

You slump in his arms, cut loose by the relief, and he swallows you in a wintergreen embrace. “Fuck. You could’ve led with that first,” you mutter. His shoulders shake under your cheek.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding anything but.

Hands slip into his jacket. You cinch your arms around his middle as you lean back to get a good look at him. “…You’re seriously going to fly us out to Okinawa for our first date?”

Shouto looks back at you, gentled by the moonlight crowning his head. “Is that a yes?”

The fireworks must’ve finished, you note. A sea of people are surrounding the two of you; they pay you no mind, parting around your bodies with ease, too lost in themselves to notice. Slow, you arch into him, coming chest to chest, fingers locked at the small of his back. A cold sensation nips at your mouth as Shouto shudders an exhale.

“Yes,” you grin and bump your nose to his cheek. “If I kiss you do you think Abe-san will get mad?”

His hand comes to cup your nape, the other massaging idle shapes into your hip. “Probably,” he murmurs, tilting you—and with it, the world—to align your mouths and kiss you anyway.

[arwenlalaith]

At Your Service

Ship: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Summary: There's a nation-wide shortage of heat suppressants and you run out in the middle of a case in a small Alaskan town...

Word Count: 909

Author's Note: This fills the Alpha/Beta/Omega square on my @cmkinkbingo2024 card.

Emily knocked on your hotel room’s door. “Everything okay in there?” She sounded worried.

“Fine,” you said, your voice warbling just the slightest bit, betraying your attempt at confidence.

She tried the doorknob. “Let me in, Y/N... You’re scaring me.”

“I want to,” you said, just barely loud enough to be heard through the door. “But I can’t, Em. You’re just going to have to trust me. I can’t go to the precinct. Keep me in the loop and I’ll do what I can from here, but...”

“Y/N,” she said seriously, “You have thirty seconds to open the door or I’m getting Derek and...”

Almost immediately, you flicked the lock and opened the door, already mortified that you were having to have this conversation with Emily of all people. She was your best friend in the whole world, your boss, and the star of each and every masturbatory fantasy you’d had for the last six months... So, things were complicated, to say the least.

You yanked her into the room and slammed the door shut behind her and, when you turned back around, poised to explain the situation, you knew she already knew...

Due to a country-wide heat suppressant shortage, the tiny Alaskan town you were currently based out of hadn’t been able to refill your prescription. You didn’t exactly advertise that you were an Omega and you didn’t relish the feeling of walking into a precinct full of Alpha males in full-blown heat.

You didn’t have to say that, knew all the thoughts that were crossing Emily’s mind in that moment.

“Understood,” was all she said. And just as quickly, she was gone again.

____________

You didn’t know what Emily told the rest of the team, but no one else came to your room...until early evening when there was a knock on your door. You were reluctant to answer it, until you heard Emily call through the door, “It’s just me...” When you opened the door, she held up a bag of Chinese food. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Since you were, in fact, starving, you decided to let her in.

You could tell that she was uncomfortable as she crossed the room to set the food on the table and, for a brief moment, you were unsure why... Then, visibly trembling, she paused, bracing herself on the table while she collected her composure.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but before you could get the words out, she practically growled. “You smell so fucking good...”

“Wh-what?” you stammered.

She whipped around to stare at you with an absolutely feral expression. She took a few steps towards you, then quickly seemed to regain self-control. Holding up her hands in self-defence, she said, “I need to leave.”

“What? No! Why?” you exclaimed in quick succession.

“Because if I stay, I won’t be able to control myself...”

You put two and two together then. For a brief moment, you weighed the pros and cons of the situation. Then, quietly, “Stay.”

She studied you, seemingly searching for something in your expression. Whether she found it or not, you couldn’t have said, but regardless, she lunged forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. When it quickly became clear that you didn’t object, she lifted you up and tossed you onto the bed, then climbed on top of you.

You could tell that she was barely clinging to her restraint and, quite honestly, you didn’t want her to... “Emily...” you whined, but that seemed to be the extent of your speech capabilities at that moment. Instead, you wriggled out of your pyjama shorts and hoped that was clear enough.

She seemed to get the message, though, because she proceeded to literally tear your panties off, push your legs apart, and dove into your cunt. Agonizingly slow, she trailed her tongue through your slit, catching every last drop of wetness on her tongue. She hummed a pleased note. “Fuck, you taste even better than you smell...”

Hooking your leg over her shoulder, you dug your heel into her back, forcing her to stay where she was, lavishing your pussy with attention. “Emily,” you said on a gasp, “Em, please...”

She chuckled. “You like that, huh?” she taunted, “You’re absolutely soaked for me.”

You whimpered, nodded, squirming as she lavished you with attention.

“Hey!” she scolded, “You wanted this, so stay still and take it.” She gripped your hips, holding you down as she sucked your clit into her mouth.

Crying you, you arched your back off the bed, your body absolutely thrumming with need under her expert ministrations. “Jesus, Em! You’re so fucking good at that!”

Pausing to catch her breath, she met your gaze with an absolutely predatory expression, your juices dripping down her chin. “You taste so good, Angel, I could eat your sweet pussy all day long...”

You had a strong feeling she wasn’t exaggerating... “Please, please, please,” you begged for more. “I need to cum...”

“You can, Angel,” she purred, “Cum all over my face like a good little girl.” She lapped at your cunt with renewed determination, single-minded in her focus to coax an orgasm from you. And, when you finally came, she didn’t stop, working you until you sobbed, begging her to stop. “Stop?” she said with a laugh, crawling up your body to kiss you (and you could taste your cum on her tongue), “I’m just getting started with you.”

[atarathegreat]

It's Cold

December was always freezing in Tokyo, the only people who never really felt it being those lucky enough to have warm quirks. You always thought it was strange to see people in tank tops and shorts all year round, a few even keeping their quirks activated while they walked through the deep snow on the cold concrete. No one could complain, the warmth was melting the freezing flakes and leaving the sidewalks safe to trek on.

No one appreciated it more than you did, however. Your quirk was never meant to keep you warm or even, really, be all that useful. The setback of winter never kept you from your daily walks and visiting the coffee shop, the clear sidewalks always made it better. You always kept two cylinders of salt in your backpack, sprinkling it where you walked to keep the snow from sticking, because even with quirks people could slip and fall. Also in your bag, next to a couple bottles of water and pain killers, was a box of Hot Handz, mittens, and a fairly packed first aid kit. Being prepared in the super powered world was important, even if you were mostly prepped with regular items.

You pulled your thick jacket a little closer as you smiled to those you passed. The wind was biting and making your cheeks pink and making your teeth rattle together, you assumed it made for a very scary smile. Why else was no one smiling back?

"Whoa!" A small, too small, patch of ice made your heel twist and send you falling backward. Closing your eyes, you braced for the impact that never came, instead a red feather tickled your nose as smooth laughter poured down on you. "Easy, kid, the snow will get ya' out here." Pro hero Hawks was perched upon the wide street light, his thicker winter outfit doing little to keep him warm, if you had to guess from his matching pink cheeks and the way his wings shivered.

A smile tugged at your lips as you kicked to dislodge the ice, "Thank you!"

He didn't need thanks, it was his job to help people. Sure, it wasn't like you were in danger from anything but a busted tailbone, but he was a hero. You waved up at him, pouring a small amount of salt in the area before continuing on. Hawks watched you with confusion. Why was a civilian doing a task that the city was already getting paid to do? He shrugged, crouching to keep himself warm while he kept watch for the next hour or so.

Espresso and coffee beans is the smell that welcomed you. Wrapped you in the softest blanket and kissed your head before passing you a nice pastry. Few patrons turned to see who had let in a small amount of the cold, even fewer seeming to care about your arrival. The barista smiled and greeted you, asking if you'd like your normal order. "Can I also get a strawberry strudel, a warm black coffee with a couple packets of creamer, and two cans of the iced coffee?" You dug in your bag for your wallet as the girl rang up your order. Typically you would sit and watch the snowflakes fall on the big window overlooking the street, but today you made other plans.

So you tucked the strudel and cans of coffee in your bag, carrying the two tall and hot cups in your hands. It would tweak your morning routine, but you felt that it was worth it, even if it only brought a smile to someone's face.

"Hawks, sir!" You called up to the feathery man, motioning to the cup in your hands, "Care for a cup?"

He landed easily next to you, making you happier in your decision to bring him something warm when you heard his teeth clacking together. You passed him his cup, pulling your bag around, "I also got you a strawberry strudel, some iced coffees and here is some creamer, just in case you don't like black coffee."

Hawks tilted his head as you passed him everything, "You don't have to buy things for heroes, kid. We're practically made of money." And yet, you only shrugged at him, "This saves you time!"

As much as he wanted to argue that you shouldn't spend money on him, you were right. You had saved him time that he could now use doing his job or taking his break. "Thanks. What's your name?" Hawks pulled the cardboard sleeve off the cup, writing a small thank you on it before passing it back to you, "Cool name, take care, okay?"

You waited until you were a fair distance away and replaced the sleeve on your cup with the one the hero had written on. It was a sweet gesture that you had done for a hero, one that Hawks would tell to everyone at the agency for days upon days, especially when you made it a frequent part of your routine.

Everyday, without fail, you would walk under him with a bright smile and a wave, returning within the hour and passing him a warm coffee and a strudel, he liked his coffee black so you didn't need to buy creamer packets. One his day off he stood against the light post, casual clothes under an incredibly thick winter coat. He wasn't really sure why he cared so much to see you walk by, but the idea of you not smiling at him made him...upset? He didn't know, but he wanted to see you smile.

"Hey, hey!" He stepped forward as you walked up, "What's up, kid?"

You smiled, passing him a Hot Handz, "It's getting colder these days, so I'm trying to stay active!"

Any hero could admire that, especially from a person like you. Someone who fought to be kind to everyone, or maybe you were just kind by nature and didn't realize that people were assholes. "You into walks that much, huh?" Hawks held a wing over your head to keep the falling ice from collecting in your hair. He narrowed his eyes as your shrugged, "It's always just been a part of my routine."

"Fair enough. Can't say I enjoy the cold weather any more than the next guy." Hawks smirked. For a pro hero, you thought, he sure was normal. Or as normal as a man with wings could be. "So why aren't you on your light this morning?" You asked. He looked over at you, shaking his wing a little to get rid of the accumulating snow, "Day off, didn't want you to miss me."

He wanted to play it off perfectly. To have you, a complete stranger, know that you made his heart nearly explode with your kindness, that he looked forward to your daily smile, that he liked your face and the pink that the cold put on your cheeks. Now that he'd heard you laugh, heard your sweet giggle, he was smitten. "You'll be joining me at the coffee shop then this morning?" You asked, looking up and noticing your new shelter, "I know I sure could use the warmth of the shop this morning."

For the first time, everyone stared as you opened the door. The little bell chimed, giving you away, of course, but it was the hero at your side that really made them watch you. To your relief, the barista greeted you as usual. Hawks followed you up to the counter, leaning carefully across it and staring at you as you ordered the same thing as every other morning, just not to-go. "Finally taking a break?" The girl smiled at you, ringing up the order despite knowing the price off the top of her head. Your laughter made the mans wings fluff, only slightly, "Might as well, huh? Nothing wrong with sitting, and it's his day off so I don't have to hurry back."

Before you could pay, Hawks was shoving a card into the chip reader and giving you a cheeky smile, "You pay every other day, can't have you paying today. What kind of man would I be?"

He swore that the barista sighed, or swooned, whatever he caught the end of. Hawks was aware that he was an accidental womanizer, sometimes he was able to use it to his advantage, PR and fans and such. But you didn't seem to be jailed by his charms. You didn't react when his fingers brushed yours handing you the cup, you didn't react when he tucked your chair under you, you didn't even react when he placed his shoe snuggly against yours. You just kept talking about your routine, how you enjoyed the mornings when they were warmer and how bringing him coffee every morning was a nice addition. Just the simple act of bringing him coffee seemed to be enough for you. Did you really have no interest in the hero?

"So, why'd you get me the coffee that first day?" Hawks asked.

You perked up, "You looked cold, and if you were going to be perched on that street light all day then you needed something warm."

A small smirk spread over his lips and he leaned back in his chair, "How thoughtful of you. I'll just say it before I make a fool of myself,"

Hawks took your hand and pulled you closer to him over the table, "I think I like you."

Whatever pink hue the cold had granted you blended in with the new redness he was plastering across your cheeks. A hero liked you? What had you done aside from gifting him coffee? It was the least you thought you could do, seeing as he was always watching over that stretch of road where you walked.

"Say something, yeah?" Hawks squeezed your hand.

"Oh! Oh, uhm..." You stared down into your coffee, your reflection looking startled, "I didn't expect that..."

he chuckled, "Let this be a date? See how ya' carry through?"

December was always freezing in Tokyo, the only people who never really felt it being those lucky enough to have warm quirks. And now you, blushing and smiling as warmth spread through your limbs.

[lambilegs]

does it happen in a season? (part three: SPRING)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

soundtrack: the closer I get to you - roberta flack and donny hathaway; the cutest pair - regina song; I like it - debarge; crush - ethel cain; fade into you - mazzy star; weak and I'm so into you - swv; april encounter - hen meiwei

(contains: 21K words of more pining (yeah you know I keep doubting the word count could go higher but then gay longing and yapping take over so I apologize 😔), college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, content warning for: smoking cigarettes, jokes about cigarettes, description of transphobic and anti-sex toy-historical ideas (sex wars of 1980s), more religious jokes ofc, internalized homophobia, religious trauma, depictions of homophobia + fetishization of lesbians, sexual content, depictions of anxiety)

important note about sexual content: the start of sexual content will be marked by ✩ (bolded green-coloured star) and the end of it will be marked by ✩ (bolded red-coloured star). minors, and anyone who doesn't desire to read nsfw content, please use these markers in order to skip nsfw content.

----

SPRING. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

“okay, I think we need to make a pros and cons list,” maria says decisively, taking out her notepad and pen. 

“stop that right now,” amaya interjects, ripping the pen from maria’s hand. “the only con is the roommate thing.”

“which, might I remind you, is pretty significant,” maria points out, stabbing her pen in the direction of lee, who watches the entire interaction in a conflicted mixture of amusement and frustration. “even if you two get together, sure, it’ll be a pro that you guys know how to live together, but still, if something happens, it’ll be messy.”

“or you guys could stay together forever, and it all ends happily ever after. and you’ll also have one of the sweetest meet cutes known to man,” amaya supplies, tucking her hands under her chin and wondrously staring at lee, who averts her gaze in embarrassment, 

it’s been around a month and a half since she admitted to herself that she likes you. 

at least back in january, she had two days away from you to process it at her house before returning to the apartment. the more she thought of it, the more it logically clicked together. the moments of tension and pausing to look at you – for too long. the way she sometimes felt the strong urge to do things unreasonable, nonsensical, or even against her character, just for you. the fact that she wanted you to know her. it all made sense in the framing of her having romantic feelings for you. romantic. even the world itself tasted odd in her mouth, and felt out of place. she had heard people say that once they realized their feelings for someone else, it felt natural to think romantically of that person. but, not for lee. it had felt awkward and foreign to think of you in that way, at least with intentionality. she was used to thinking of you as her roommate and her friend. it felt jarring, this new development. 

the train ride home had had each nerve of hers prickling with anxiety. she didn’t know how to proceed. things had finally started to feel easy, and now, there was this newfound feeling to account for. should she tell you? just the idea of that sent a nauseating sense of fear through her. should she hide it? the avoidant nature of doing so felt a bit more comfortable, but still, the idea of never telling you felt wrong. she felt the need to form at least some plan. it was never in her nature to simply go with the flow. but, the end of the trip had offered her no clear answers – every side had its pros and cons, its negatives and positives.

before pushing her key into the apartment, she had taken a moment to brace her back against the opposing wall, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting to release long, quiet breaths. she liked you, so things would feel different – she knew that. but, things didn’t have to be different. she didn’t want them to be different. at least not yet. what you guys had was good – it was a steady stream of support, care and, well, something comforting. she didn’t want to destroy that by confessing. or by letting her feelings take control of her.

of course, like a lot of propositions in her mind, that was easier said than done when she finally had to face you. when you scurried out of your bedroom to meet her, she was immediately hit with the thought of what if things were different? what if instead of pausing in front of her, breathing hard and smiling, you could leap into her arms? just like how a girlfriend would. her breaths nearly shuddered at the word. girlfriend. it also didn’t help how overcome with emotion she had felt in that moment. leaving you, and the apartment, three weeks prior, had been all too difficult, her mind urging her to memorize your face. the three weeks had had her thoughts mostly entrapped by her mother and her house, but, every now and then, they had strayed to you – wanting to share something with you, wondering how you’d like the snowy trees surrounding her house, or just wishing you could be near. seeing you after those long three weeks had felt like taking a breath of fresh air after remaining inside for too long. she was gripped with a strong sense of relief and comfort at the sight of your face, feeling like she was finally back in familiar and safe territory. 

she was also more anxious than usual in that moment. there was something new present, and it threw her off: her feelings – well, at least the realization of them. she supposed they had been there for a while, so technically, nothing was truly changed. but, still, looking at you and seeing not just her friend, but also, someone she… liked, made things feel different. it made her more self-conscious of her own actions and words, wondering if any could potentially indicate her feelings and cause you discomfort. the pressure of the interaction had felt like too much, so she had excused herself and slunk away to her bedroom. it took forty three minutes of lying on her bed and trying to steady her thoughts before she went back to you.

at first, she opted for remaining as quiet as possible, asking after your break, and listening intently while you ranted about being assigned to babysitting duty for your cousins when out, and how chaotic it was. by the time you were done, she had learned the name of three of your cousins. it didn’t seem all that significant a piece of information, but it had to do with you. that gave it some importance. 

her plan to remain quiet had crumbled when you paused after telling her about something you had felt was unfair towards one of your cousins, blinking at her, clearly awaiting an answer. stronger than her resistance towards saying something revealing was her desire to not disappoint you. so, she responded. and you did, too. and that gave her some assurance. maybe to avoid talking on her end would only make things worse. maybe if she took such a preventative measure to avoid saying anything awkward, she’d be shifting the dynamic prematurely, anyways. besides, above all, avoiding mutual conversation with you seemed… impossible. she wouldn’t last long, she knew that.

at one point, you had halted, staring at her, and she looked away from you, fidgeting with her hands, waiting for whatever it is you wanted to say. 

“I, um… I really missed you.”

now, her response to something like this no longer felt solely dependent on her natural inclinations and comfort levels. because now that she knew she liked you, her responses to such sentiments felt heavy with the weight of potentially being something you either do and don’t catch a hint from. and she didn’t want you to catch a hint, she didn’t want things to become messed up with you. 

but, how could she have said anything but the truth to you in that moment, when you were so open and waiting? “thanks.” she had paused, lips pressed together. “I missed you too.”

with time, as the crush – whatever it is – settled into her, things between you two had naturally gotten back to their usual routine and comfortability. every now and then, she still had the temporary moment of worrying over if a word or gesture could be indicative of her feelings. but, it wasn’t nearly as much as before. there was no use in resisting the feeling. it was there before she had even realized it, so she doubted she could do anything to change its existence. not that she really wanted to.

she was content to let the feelings linger. and to continue being your friend, and trying to proceed with how things had been before – how she cherished things being, as embarrassing as it was to admit it. and not act on the feelings, since she didn’t want to ruin things. after all, she truly had no idea of knowing if you felt even remotely close to romantically interested in her. 

however, she soon learned that not acting on it was a lot different than not wishing or desiring to act on it. 

a month and a half later, and she had decided to tell her friends, craving someone to confide in this secret to. she didn’t want to mince words, so as they waited on their orders, she bluntly, abruptly said she thought she liked you. amaya had nearly choked on her gum and maria’s water burst from her mouth. both were equally shocked, though amaya whirled into delighted bliss and maria into skeptical worry. 

“listen, I thought there was something there since the protest, but–”

“why didn’t you tell me?”

maria ignored amaya. “but, I thought of it more later that day, and it could be risky, lee.”

this led to where lee is now. listening as her friends make a pro and con list. she doesn’t really mind it – it is a structured way to objectively look at things. but, part of her doesn’t really care. she likes you, and that’s that. she also doesn’t plan to do anything about it, at least not in the foreseeable future, so listing the cons of her doing so feels fruitless.

when she says as much, amaya frowns. “why? your feelings might be reciprocated, lee.”

lee hesitates. it’s a nice thought… a really nice one. but, she doesn’t know with any certainty. sometimes, you do and say certain things that make her entertain the possibility for a split second, but she always labels it as wishful thinking, knowing her own feelings must make her at least somewhat biased. besides, the things you do that she questions could be done with solely platonic intentions in your mind. she truly has no way of knowing. 

“I don’t want to mess things up,” she mutters, picking at a napkin.

“and that’s fair,” maria replies. “it’s your roommate, and–”

amaya raises a hand. “shut up. lee, don’t listen to her. you experience a crush, like, once in a blue moon. please don’t let this opportunity slide. seize it for yourself.”

maria rolls her eyes. “god, you’re such an english major. there are consequences that could come of this, you know? if her feelings are returned, something bad might happen which can sour the living arrangements. if her feelings aren’t returned, then things might be awkward for both of them.”

“guys–” lee softly says, trying to intervene.

“and you’re such a law major,” amaya bites back. “so pessimistic. like, what about a third option? one where they both like each other, and have an amazing rest of the year living together, with more to come.”

“amay–”

“and, and,” amaya presses on, “the roommate thing is the only con. so, I don’t see why she shouldn’t go for a relationship.”

“well, for one, we don’t even know if a relationship is in the books.”

it’s the truth, but a part of lee aches at hearing it. even if she knew it was in the books, she would still be terrified at the thought of shifting what you guys have. but, another part would feel at least a lot more assured in inciting such change.

amaya sighs. “which is exactly why she should confess.”

“guys,” lee repeats, a bit louder this time, capturing their attention. “I… I don’t think I’ll be confessing anytime soon, so, there’s no need for a list.”

as maria crumples up the paper, lee’s mouth twitches in discomfort, a twinge of regret curling in her stomach. she wishes she had at least taken the chance to tell them all the pros about you.

–

on saturday morning, you stand at the sink, scrubbing away at a bowl while lee makes sunny-side-up eggs. she brought a radio with her back from her mom’s, saying it’s one she found tucked away in the living room. when you had asked her if her mom wouldn’t need it, she said there was already another one at home, and the one she brought had been kept for a while. it was such a simple line, but somehow, the way she had said it felt laced with hesitation. you wondered at it, but she then turned the radio on, so you assumed she wanted to drop it.

a few weeks later now, as the news radio plays in the background, you carefully wash the kitchen utensils, gloves getting heavy and crinkled with soap. as the scent of eggs waft through the kitchen, you can’t resist the smile that tugs at your lips. this is sweet. this moment with her, quiet and relaxed in its domesticity. you feel like you could remain suspended in time forever, so long as lee is in the kitchen with you.

after ten minutes of the calming, repetitive motions of scrubbing and wiping, lee places a plate next to you on the counter, the white surface accompanied with a fried egg and toast. “eat. we can finish the dishes after.”

we. we, we, we. she won’t even let you do the dishes alone, sweet thing.

“you know, I think the weather is officially good enough to open the windows,” you announce, reaching for the latch of the window in your living room, pushing it open. a chilled breeze drifts in, goosebumps rising to your skin. your neighbourhood is showing the signs of winter’s last push before succumbing to spring, the skies grey, slush streaking the roads and snowflakes melted into cold rains.

“yet, you still insist on the tree,” she says flatly, curling into the couch, her plate resting on the plush arm.

you look back at her, smirking. it’s march, but still, you find yourself unable to part with the tree. you two had put it together so soon before the winter break, and had only gotten to really relish in it starting from mid-january. it’s so pretty, and it seems too little an amount of time to have enjoyed it before taking it down. “I know you like it too.”

“mm. maybe,” she quietly mutters as you sit on the other side of the couch. her tongue rolls in her mouth, eyes flicking between you and the cushion between you two. it makes you itch to move closer to her, but you don’t. 

“just ‘maybe’?”

her lips curl up. “if I admit to liking it, you might keep it up till summer.”

you chuckle with a shrug. “so? it’s our apartment, we can do what we want.”

“or do what you want,” she immediately replies, the lines near her eyes crinkling.

“even better by me,” you giggle.

“good to know my rights as co-owner are intact.”

you laugh. “no, no, but truly, should we take it down?”

she pauses, eyes resting on her lap for a few moments. “no.” when she catches a glimpse of your triumphant grin, she rolls her eyes. “shut up.”

your laughter slowly melts away, and your eyes ponder on the tree with a soft smile. “did you ever… I don’t know, have any odd shit like that in your past places? something equivalent to our post-christmas christmas tree.”

“no, not really. I was never friends with my past roommates.”

“why not?” you know you’re shamelessly prying by asking this, but you can’t even bother to care. if learning more about her and her life is prying, then so be it. you need it.

“I don’t know. we were either just amicable. or, well…” she guiltily glances to you, shrugging, “I didn’t like them. or they didn’t like me.”

your eyebrows furrow. as a roommate, lee is great. she’s organized, consistent with chores, she keeps to herself and doesn’t hog any rooms, and she never touches your food, even when you’ve told her she can. “why would they dislike you?”

“my second year roommate thought I was rude. she, I don’t know, made a lot of comments about how I act and how… off-putting it is.” she sucks in a small, shaky breath, head turned away from you. she seems hesitant to offer such a piece of information, and your mind becomes consumed with the task of ensuring her that she can trust you.

“that’s not true, though. yeah, you’re quiet and all, but that doesn’t mean you’re an asshole. you just take time to open up, is all.”

“I suppose she disliked the fact that I never did open up to her, though. I wasn’t the most receptive.”

“why weren’t you?”

she pauses on the question, eyes scanning her lap. “I don’t know. it just felt off. and from what I saw, I knew she wasn’t someone I’d be friends with. so, I didn’t see the point.”

the words are blunt, bordering on harsh. but, lee manages to speak them in a way that’s so earnest and raw that you don’t even flinch. she doesn’t say them maliciously, with bitterness or snideness prickling the edges of the syllables. she’s simply a person who trusts her intuition and knows what she wants. in a way, she’s admirable. your initial surprise morphs into something akin to impressed respect.

“yeah, but, even if she took it rudely, it was up to her to discuss it with you – not just assume you’re some jackass. especially if you never even did anything outright rude.”

“maybe.” she shakes her head slightly. “I didn’t mean to be rude,” she adds, her voice sounding small. “I just knew we wouldn’t get along.”

you frown, waves of sympathy rolling in. “hey, and it really isn’t rude. you just didn’t want to waste her time or yours.” it was an unconventional approach to have taken, sure, and against societal niceties, which so much of the time were fake, anyways, but it was just the honest way to proceed – a tact that not many people relied on. 

“yeah, maybe. she, um…” her eyebrows draw in, and her voice tinges with vulnerable embarrassment, “once, in front of her friends, she said something about me being unfriendly.” the admission is said in a low, shame-filled voice. 

“hey,” you coo again, hand instinctively reaching to her shoulder, you chest nearly bursting when that part of her relaxes at the touch. shit. she actually eases at your touch. that’s new. and it’s so good. you force your mind to remain on the task at hand. “that is horrible. seriously. to say that in front of other people, and humiliate you like that –  that’s messed up. I’m so sorry.” the more you think on it, the more rage begins to pulse in you. how dare someone treat her that way? you can imagine how timid she must’ve felt in that moment, the discomfort that must’ve choked at her, being spoken to like that in front of strangers. she’s already closed-off and reserved enough as is, and it makes you livid to imagine how much this stupid roommate’s comment had increased her natural inclinations to stay away from others. “you didn’t deserve that, lee. really.”

weakly, she mumbles, “thanks.”

“please tell me you know that.”

“I don’t, not really,” she says, sighing. when you give her a narrowed look, she says, “but, I’ll try to see it more that way.”

“good. and, well, you know, I’ll be here, too. to remind you.” your eyes flick over her face, feeling the skin of yours warm up at your own tentative offer.

she finally gazes at you. “I know. thank you.”

she knows. she trusts you to give her that comfort. that’s more than enough for you.

–

lee relishes in the soft padding of the rain against the window as she flips through her reading, scribbling down notes at each paragraph, highlighting important terminology. the noise is a soothing one, making her feel like the edges of her mind are softening and lulling her into a smooth stream of work. she happily loses herself to it, growing more and more satisfied as she progresses.

in the middle of it, her pager beeps and she picks it up. it’s from you, and the message consists of the number of your address. it’s your guys’ way of confirming if the other is home. she punches in the numbers back, sending it to you. 

moments later, the phone rings. despite your message having hinted at a call, she still starts at the blaring noise. she stands from the desk in the living room, and reaches for the phone. “hello?” 

“hey.”

she breathes in deeply at the sound of your voice, something stuttering inside her. what is wrong with her? she’s heard your voice countless times. “hi.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ll probably be home a bit later than five. the rain is getting kind of bad here, and I left my umbrella, so, yeah…”

she chews on her bottom lip, stomach stirring with worry. “are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah, I am. just don’t wanna get sick, so I’ll stay in the library till it ends. it’s okay, I’m okay.”

she nods at your reassurance. “okay. I’ll wait for you before eating.”

your following laughter makes her wonder if her words had been too revealing and needy. but, then, you say, “I’m glad,” and she sighs. she’s glad too, but to vocalize two such sentiments in a row feels like a lot.

when you both hang up, she seats herself back at the desk, continuing to do her work. two lines in, she stops, setting her pen down, listening attentively as the taps of rain harden. the more the rain pierces against the glass, the antsier she feels, shifting and picking at the spirals of her notebook. an idea swims in her head, one that had been present since you had notified her of your dilemma on the phone. but, she shouldn’t act on it. she has a lot of work. besides, she trusts you to be okay. you can handle yourself just fine, she knows you can. you waiting at the library, and returning home at a later time, is more than manageable for you. she knows this.

she lasts three minutes before standing up and retrieving the umbrella you had left on the counter. jesus, she’s losing herself.

when she reaches the campus library she knows you frequent, she slows in her steps at the sight of you sitting on the bench outside of it. you’re shielded by the roof, and your walkman is on, eyes languidly exploring the street shining with droplets. she sighs, coming to a full stop. you look… good. she blinks at the thought. you look more than good. you look, as uncomfortable as it is to admit, otherworldly, wrapped in your own private dream world, lost in the early spring day. what are you thinking of? do you like the rain? she wants to know these things with a desperation that catches her off guard.

and most of all, she wants to be near you.

she quietly approaches you, not knowing how to initiate conversation now that she’s here, having gone out of her way to do something for you. she supposes it’s not the first time she has, but this feels different. she can’t think of any clearcut reason for this moment, this gesture. you had required no support, no help. she’s simply here because she wants to make your evening easier and for you to be home sooner. the nonsensical reasoning makes it harder to know how to proceed socially.

you tip your head up in her direction, eyes widening at the sight of her. “lee?” 

she gives you a nod of acknowledgement.

your eyes flick to the umbrella. “did you come just to pick me up?”

she swallows hard. it’s interesting – how embarrassing it can be to just care. now that the impulsive seizing of the chance has been ridden out, and she’s facing you in the aftermath, she can’t help but feel the awkwardness of her own gesture. “um, yes.”

your cheeks lift and crinkle with a wide smile, and she bites her bottom lip at the sight, feeling her stomach turn. “lee, oh, my god, that’s so nice of you.”

she sighs, turning away. “it’s nothing.” raising the umbrella, she says, “let’s go. it’s cold.”

you two take the subway together, and as you walk home, she lets her eyes explore the surroundings of your guys’ neighbourhood. small, green buds have already started dotting the branches of the trees, and the sky is a dull, melancholic shade between blue and grey. the wind has lost enough of its itching chill that she’s gone back to her blue windbreaker, but still holds enough teeth to cause goosebumps to rise on her skin. she peers down at you and your short sleeves, frowning. “why are you wearing so little?”

“ah, slut-shaming me now, lee?”

she rolls her eyes, ignoring the joke. “it’s cold.”

“I know, I know, don’t scold me,” you practically whine, body racking with a shiver.

the small jolt of your body immediately sends her into motion, her next action complete, raw instinct. she silently pushes the umbrella into your fist, shrugging off her jacket when you clumsily catch the handle. 

“lee, lee, no, please, it’s okay,” you protest, your voice hooking onto a higher notch.

“mm,” she hums, awkwardly placing her jacket on your shoulders. her movements are stiff and she feels the flurry of unfamiliarity swirling in her stomach. this is a new kind of touch, one that feels strangely more intimate than her previous ones shared with you. it’s stupid, considering she’s laid her head in the crook between your shoulder and neck, has slept next to you, and has felt your arms hold her. but, this touch is the kind of typical thing you see in films, and it carries a distinctly romantic connotation. brushing her fingers on your shoulders, feeling your bare skin, encircling you from behind to drape the fragment of clothing on – it’s so close, but so fleeting, and she holds her breath for the moment it lasts. 

staring straight ahead, lee grabs the umbrella, resisting the urge to stretch her fingers out after having felt the dry texture of your skin. she inhales a sharp breath, eyes continuing to take in the buildings.

“thank you,” you murmur, and she gulps at the husk at your voice lowering, nodding wordlessly.

“so, how was your day?” you ask idly.

she tilts her head in your direction. “good. my new forensics professor is a really good speaker, and has a lot of knowledge on the topic.”

you beam. “oh, that’s great. better than your last one?”

“in terms of investment in the topic, yeah.” a small smile curls at her lips. “in terms of letting it slide if I miss an exam – let’s hope I don’t have to find out.”

“hey, do the cross just to be certain.”

she simpers, hand easily sliding into the gesture, years of practice refining the skill to perfection. it’s done out of humour, but the gesture still brings forward a burst of mixed emotions. to do such a gesture after months – it feels foreign as a movement. but, with it, comes a slew of memories of praying at church as a child, waiting for clarity abour herself as a teenager, and on what it was, who it was, she wanted. she doesn’t believe in her religion the way she once did, and her stance is that if there is a higher power, it’d be hard to know the facts about them. but, still, she sometimes sees something odd, hears about something miraculous, experiences something locking exactly into place, and she wonders if there’s a god behind it. and if there is, what if that god is ashamed of her? what if the fear she felt in high school was the right way to live, and everything she’s been doing since has been sin? the kind of sin her mother has fervently feared and despaired over ever since she was banished to their lonely, cold corner of the world, and the years of loneliness that ensued from this. when these thoughts occasionally come up, she tries to just ignore them. she’s worked so hard to get to where she is, and has gone through many back and forths. to be able to call herself a lesbian without shrivelling up is already an achievement for her. and she doesn’t want to go back to feeling like a sin.

at the same time, the movement of the cross isn’t unfamiliar. it’s estranged with how little she does it now, yes, but doing it feels akin to an estranged friend returning home. there’s a familiarity of it, tinged with the memory of doing the sign with her mom as a child, when her little hand would be held, and guided in which way to go. another memory is how lee would practice as a child, scared someone would judge her in the shadowed aisles of the church. the gesture carries history, even one she sometimes wants to forget. however, no matter what, it’s inexplicably tied to her mother and days of innocence. two things she can never let go of, and would never find in herself the ability to try in doing so.

you poke her arm. “c’mon, tell me more about the class. what do you like about it?”

she hesitates, but it seems you really want to hear, so she talks about it, going on an unintentional tangent regarding the information. it’s a course she’s already done, yes, but her new professor has sprinkled in so many details and facts that itch a part of her head in total satisfaction. and you listen attentively, asking why she likes this, and remarking on how cool a piece of information she offers is. it makes her warm with gratitude. 

you tell her about the projects initiated by the Gay and Lesbian Alliance group you’re a part of, such as an upcoming zine to mark the end of the year. lee listens as attentively as she can, nodding to your excited rambles. you hold so much passion, and to witness it is like basking under the warm heat of the sun. she twitches at the thought, the content of it a bit too poetic for what she’s accustomed to.

she also can’t help but feel appreciation for the community you’ve found, as well a glad you’ve secured it. she only has two close friends, and a handful of vague, or class-limited, companions, and rare and far inbetween have any of them been gay. in high school, it was nearly non-existent. not even in her school, but in her town. for a long time as a teenager, it had felt like she was the only person who knew what it was to feel those things. now, especially when attending a university that has an organization centered on people like her, she knows that’s not true. but, sometimes, just sometimes, she wonders what it’s like to be surrounded by people who she doesn’t need to describe her experiences to, who silently understand her. she wonders if such community would help in killing the last remaining bits of shame lingering in her, which are always aroused whenever she visits her house.

maybe some day.

when a car whirls by, spraying water in your guys’ direction, she mutters, “here, come here,” smoothly changing your places so that she’s walking closest to the edge of the road.

“no,” you nearly whine, tone complaining. “you already gave me the jacket, and how you’re also on the sacrificial side of the road?”

“‘sacrificial side’ is a tad dramatic.”

“no, no, not when you’re liable to getting sick.”

she shrugs. “no more than anyone else.”

“um, that is not true. you are definitely more liable when you’re skipping meals and up at odd hours of the night.”

she rolls her eyes, embarrassment creeping through her. of course you pick up on all of that. she can’t tell if the gentle scolding is something she likes, or something that makes her want to crawl into a hole. maybe both. after all, she so rarely lets herself be the subject of affection, so the experience of it, especially from you, is one that has her touched and wanting more of. at the same time, it’s mildly humiliating that the person she likes is aware of all her flawed habits. “it’s not that bad.”

“yeah, okay,” you scoff, tugging on her wrist. “come back to the other side.”

“no, just stay–”

“no, no, we each get something, then–”

in your tugging and her pulling, the umbrella drops to the ground, and lee immediately stiffens and winces at the sensation of the april showers soaking into her hair. you instinctively cover yourself with her jacket, your shirt underneath clinging to every curve and dip of your body. despite the cold, wet stickiness of her shirt clinging to her, she can’t help but quietly watch the sight, something stirring in her. you look good. really good. she feels her breaths get heavier. if you were hers, she could take you back to the apartment, and undress you, worship your body, warm it with her own, and kiss every one of those spots, over and–

she gulps down hard, averting her eyes. she distracts herself by picking up the umbrella, lifting it over you two. you’re laughing at the moment, hair soaked, eyes crinkled, and she bites back a smile. “stop. it’s not funny,” she gently chides.

“it is – just a bit,” you giggle. 

she shakes her head, a smile cracking through. “less than a bit. don’t get too ahead of yourself. you’re the one with the jacket, after all.”

“oh, yes, you poor thing, how could I be so inconsiderate?” you drawl in a mocking tone. “let’s get you home right away.” you don’t wait for her, continuing on your way home.

and she follows. like she probably always will.

when you two reach the apartment, and you take a good look at her beyond the chaos of the rain, your eyes widen. “oh, my god, lee, you’re drenched! go, go shower right now.”

before she can even process the words, your hands are on her back, pushing her in the direction of the bathroom. “but, my clothes…”

“I’ll get them, you just go shower.” your eyebrows are furrowed, mouth pinching down, and she wants so badly to brush her thumb over it and make it better. “where are they?”

she hesitates. she usually doesn’t like people entering her room on their own, and knowing this would be your first time doing it makes her a bit uneasy. but, it’s not because she doesn’t trust you – which is the reason she often dislikes the notion, paired with her privacy. it just feels a bit exposing. but, she wants you to know she trusts you, so she nods, and quietly confirms, “second drawer has my home clothes. third has… my intimates.” her voice lowers for the last words, feeling her face heat up.

you chuckle. “noted. I’ll hang it on the handle.”

she nods, shutting the door with a soft click. when she hears your footsteps quickly pad away, her forehead leans on the surface. god, what if you think her underwear is weird?

–

you burst into her room, again momentarily caught off guard by the meticulous cleanliness and lack of objects. as you step to her dresser, movements fast, you smile at the sight of a book on her bed, the remaining pages very few based on her bookmark’s placement. The Power of Myth. the book you got for her birthday. you will your mind to focus and whip around to the dresser.

in the flurry of rushing for lee, guilt gnawing at you for partially being the reason she’s now drenched, your movements work too fast for your brain and you open her first drawer, eyes scanning for her clothes. when the contents reveal themselves to your gaze, you suck in a sharp breath, reeling back with an abrupt, shaky step.

fuck. it’s a dildo and harness.

your stomach is a tornado of flutters and flips, and you feel almost light-headed at the onslaught of sensations. you gulp down nervously, and take one more peek into the drawer. after a moment, the guilt of snooping invades your senses, and you push the drawer shut with a loud bang. what the fuck is wrong with you?

with hands that feel lighter than usual, you tug her second drawer, and pick out sweats and the red sweater you sometimes see her in. you open the third drawer, and swallow down at the stack of plain bras, and comfortable, unpatterned underwear. she even has some men’s underwear, plain shorts-shaped underpants. you feel an embarrassing, feral, flustered sort of heat at knowing what she wears under all those modest clothes. 

☆

god, you sound like an absolute fucking pervert. you cringe, selecting a pair of grey underwear and closing the drawer with a heavy breath. you walk to the bathroom, neatly tucking them into the outside handle, trying not to rattle it too much, feeling almost as though she can sense the lust and shame through the door. you pause, listening to the shower run. without warning, images flash into your head of what she must look like, naked and wet, lean, gentle body coated in shining drops. fuck. you clench on nothing, backing away and to the living room.

your mind is swirling with thoughts. why does lee have the dildo? okay, well, that’s a stupid question. obviously, she’s using it for something – she didn’t buy it to study the damn thing. though, that does sound like an oddly lee-esque thing to do. your mind skitters with the possibilities. lee has always seemed so solitary that it was difficult to imagine her having an active sex life. of course, you had wondered about and considered it before, and you knew it was a possibility. but, this confirmed it more than anything. 

although, you suppose it could be something she doesn’t use on other people frequently, a thought that relieves you temporarily. because, truly? the idea of her frequently using it on different people makes something sink its claws into your gut – jealousy and childish anger. the notion of her using it on one specific person makes you feel even fucking worse. casual hookup, friend, girlfriend – you don’t care. you don’t want her to make love to someone else, especially someone who she wants enough to go back to, whether it be due to intimacy, an emotional connection or just good sexual chemistry. you don’t want her sinking it into anyone but you. 

it’s not the first time you’ve had such a thought. your feelings for lee have stirred and expanded like a lovely, permanent stain on a couch for nearly a half-year now. of course you’ve had the thought of what it’d be like to be hers, to be the person she carries on her arm, the one she kisses goodnight. of course you’ve thought, even fleetingly, about how she’d make love to you. but, the possibility of her potentially being with someone else – having a girlfriend, having someone who she might be going back to for sex and growing closer to – finally rearing its ugly head, and for the first time in a very grounded, very possible form of evidence, makes you squirm in what can only be described as devastated rage.

maybe it’s just something she’s saved from a past relationship, and is waiting to use on a future partner. but, why would she keep it in such an easily accessible spot? maybe she uses the dildo on herself. god, now that is a mental image that sends your body shifting on the couch. lee on her back, bangs clinging to her sweaty forehead, eyebrows scrunched in focus, lids wedged shut in pleasure, pushing that dildo in and out, set on pleasuring herself after a long day. god, does she use it when you’re out of the dorm? is she on the receiving end when or if she uses it with other people? at that last thought, the low burning embers of arousal are now washed out with ice-cold water. 

you still, focusing on the sounds ringing through the apartment. the shower is still on. feeling rather relieved at not having to face her yet, you sink into the soft cushions, head lolling back onto the edge. god, lee…

she’d probably be so patient pushing it in, just taking her time until it’s fully sheathed in your pussy, pushing your walls apart and filling your hole till it’s flush with the silicone material. maybe she’d hold your thighs apart, observant eyes drinking in the sight. or perhaps her shy, awkward nature would have her burying her face in your neck, holding you close and breathing you in as her hips thrust in and out slowly. you grind down on the couch without thinking, feeling yourself begin to grow sensitive. how else would lee have sex? would she relish sliding her fingers into your wet heat, letting the long size of them stretch you open? would that little satisfied grin she sometimes gets rest on her face as she watches you squirm and shiver? 

you freeze at the noise of the door creaking open before shutting again. she probably opened it to get her clothes. images flash in your head of a very soaked and wanting lee, pushing your back against the tiled wall as she pounds into you, soft lips skimming the skin of your neck. you rub your thighs together, feeling your center ache and dampen.

☆

when the door opens again, and you hear lee head into her room, you force yourself to sit still. you try to think of something else, but your thoughts keep straying. it’s impressive, in all honesty, that she has one. you remember being in high school, and hearing your peers’ debates regarding if the use of dildos was too phallic-centered for feminists, and if using sex toys was a betrayal of the cause. the sex wars were all you guys spoke about for a long time – reading articles and engaging in long talks about the dissections regarding ethics and what was considered sex that did or didn’t align with feminism. for a long time, you had been overwhelmed and conflicted with all the ideas. now, you know better. not every penis is aligned with, or even remotely related to, heterosexuality or being a man. not every phallic-object is either, and there’s nothing shameful in taking pleasure in it. it’s relieving in a way, to know lee probably feels the same way. after all, you still knew some people in your feminism class who avoided sex toys. despite being involved in the same movement, you're very much on an opposing side there -- clearly, considering your reaction to lee's toy.

when she walks out in her fuzzy, red sweater, brown hair lying damp along her back, bangs combed back, you curl into the couch, praying to some invisible force that her observant eyes won’t catch any telltale signs of where your thoughts had been. she glances at you, and you look away. relaxed, fresh from a shower and barefoot – she’s the picture of casual domesticity, and you gulp as she brings a glass of water to the couch, sitting on the other side. 

she nods at you. “you should shower too.”

“mhm, yeah, in a sec.” you pause, a deep ache in you yearning for some answers. you know it’s forward of you, too forward of you, to pry into lee’s love life. but, you’re desperate to know, for the fear of her being with someone else, or just as bad, wanting someone else, gnaws at you like a bitter virus. “lee, can I ask something?”

she tenses up. “okay.” 

“I was just wondering because, you know, you haven’t mentioned it before, so I just got curious…” you force yourself to continue, ignoring the whirling butterflies in your stomach almost triggering a nausea in you. “do you, um – are you dating? like, anyone?”

her eyes immediately widen, blinks alert and intense. “why are you asking me this?”

damn her curiosity. “I’m just wondering. we never spoke of it, you know.”

she sips her water slowly, as though the question demands caution. that scares you, and you hold your breath in anticipation. finally, she mutters, “no, I’m not dating anyone.” 

you nearly release a sigh of relief, pinching your lips together to keep it trapped inside. still, there’s one more inquiry drawing a finger of temptation along your throat. “but, um, do you want to? date anyone?”

her dark eyebrows, soft and striking, draw in and crease her forehead. “are you asking if I… like someone? or if I generally want to date?”

you pause, not even certain of which you desire to know. both are important, despite having initially meant the former option. you swallow hard, trying to force the tone of your voice to be casual and light-hearted. “well, you can answer both.”

she sighs, the noise short and sharp. you hope you’re not annoying her, the idea of such a thing sending a wave of insecurity rolling through you. but, still, you remain silent, needing an answer.

“I’m, uh, open to dating if it’s the right person. but, it’s not something I’m actively pursuing.”

“like, you’re not actively pursuing someone, or the very concept of dating?”

she looks at you, puzzled. “I don’t understand. what do you mean by ‘the concept of dating’?”

you suck in a heavy breath, starting to feel frustration build up. “I mean, do you mean you’re just not actively pursuing anyone right now, or are you also not actively pursuing dating in general – blind dates, set-ups, that kind of stuff?”

“oh.” she shakes her head. “I’m doing neither.”

your shoulders slump, unable to tell if you’re relieved, or conflicted even further. if she isn’t actively pursuing a specific person or dating, then that means she’s not committed to anyone – and perhaps that she doesn’t have her heart set on a singular person. but, her vagueness and lack of answer for whether or not she likes someone begs the question of if she really does want someone. which, in turn, would make any pursuit of her from your side fruitless. but, you can’t find it in yourself to pry more. she already seems uneasy with the line of questioning, and you yourself don’t know how you’d proceed with any answer she has to give. if she says yes, she does like someone, you deal with the gruelling clash of wishing it’s you, not knowing if it’s you, and dealing with the sour possibility of it being someone else. if she says no, there’s the relief that her eyes are reserved for no one, but then, does that mean she doesn’t see you in that way? of course, you have wished for her to like you back, and have pondered on the possibility. so, if her answer no means the latter, does that mean you have no chance? that you ought to give up? no. asking her directly would be too tumultuous, too confusing. 

“are you… dating anyone?” she asks, her voice small. you wish it could be because she doesn’t want you dating anyone – but, it could just as much be because it’s a vulnerable topic and lee is, well, lee. you try to ground yourself through these little pockets of hope that open for you.

still, you’re eager to make it known that you’re extremely single. “I’m not.” after a pause, you can’t resist asking, “why?”

lee shrugs, eyes trained on the ground. “you asked me, so I just thought of it.”

you sigh quietly. could she be any less interested? you feel petulant suddenly, wanting to remain silent until she finally admits something, anything. but, maybe, there really isn’t anything for her to admit. maybe she isn’t interested. you’ve known this the entire time that she might not be. you’ve pointedly reminded yourself of it when getting too lost in your daydreams, and too tightly gripped by the conviction that maybe she returns your feelings. the possibility of her not seeing you in that way always strikes a deep, burning sting into your mind. still, it’s not her fault. and summer is fast approaching, as is the end of your guys’ lease. if you’re going to be losing her in this close, intimate way, inevitably so, you’d rather the loss not occur early due to your own childish irritation and stubbornness rooted in your feelings.

and, so, you talk. but, you cannot find it in yourself to completely move on from this topic, not when you’ve managed to bridge the awkwardness in approaching it and may not have the nerve to do so again in the future. “you said you would date if you found someone right, right? what does – well, what makes someone right for you?”

her lips tighten together, forehead’s lines deepening as she momentarily ponders the question. “I just want understanding, is all.”

you cock your head. “what do you mean?”

“I don’t need… something, you know, really grand. someone right would just be someone who knows and accepts me. someone who understands, and who I feel comfortable with understanding me.”

the admission is tenderly spoken, her voice low and hushed, a sweet blush to her cheeks. her jaw is clenched, revealing the tension she feels at such a topic. but, her words, like always, are honest and pure. it makes sense. she’s someone who takes so much time to open herself up, someone whose every, miniscule layer counts for something as it’s pushed away to reveal her true self. she wants someone who knows her beyond those reservations, who knows and sees her for who she is. someone who has the patience to travel through the outward impressions until they know her through and through, and who will embrace the parts of her she chooses to trust them with. with someone as private and solitary as her, it makes sense that the person she wants to love is the person she doesn’t have to explain herself to. does she feel that way with you?

you grow curious as your mind wanders to her lack of lovey-dovey language. it’s lee, so it’s not surprising that her language is so somber and objective. but, you want to dig into her brain a bit more, see what she thinks of romance, soulmates, love – the whole lot of it. you’re sure your feelings for her are also instigating the burning itch to know more, but it’s also the fact that lee never seems to talk much about this stuff. up until this point, she’s seemed totally indifferent to romance, and it makes you long to know more. “but, love? what about love?” does she maybe not care about that? does she only want companionship, but without all the heavy emotions?

“for me, what I described and… love are the same thing.” she sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, then moves her head up, eyes suddenly latched onto you with unwavering focus. “it’s what lasts longest.”

“past all the passion and heat?”

she clears her throat, eyes darting away. “yeah.” after a moment, she asks, voice tentative, “what do you look for?” she watches you carefully, sharply, from the corner of her eye.

you hesitate. what do you look for? it’s not like you have zero experience, you’ve definitely had your fair share of getting-to-know-you stages and dating. but, it almost feels like those past experiences, rather than leave you sated in singlehood, have only increased your want of something new. your conception of love, and learning what it is and isn’t, has been a winding, directionless journey for years. from fleeting, mind-consuming, temporary infatuation, to heartbreaking obsessions, to mild attraction in what was better off as a friendship – you’ve experienced a range of it all. a share of good experiences, but definitely a lot you would’ve forgone if it hadn’t served a lesson. it’s made you tired and worn, and scared to try again, but you’ve always known that as soon as affection and its power worms its way into you, the doubts you have pale in comparison. perhaps you’re young enough that your past experiences, and their eventual failures, haven’t totally crushed your hopes. in fact, they’ve just made you overly eager for something that’ll last, something that’ll feel completely right this time.

“well…” you shuffle in your seat, suddenly on edge with the weighty question and her complete silence. “I guess my answer is a bit different than yours. I’ve had good experiences, for sure, but also a lot of mediocre ones. and I guess after having experienced heartache more than once, I just have even more of a, like, longing for something that’s really romantic and long-lasting. like, the mediocrity and breakups have only made me crave something that’s both right and will be forever – even more.”

“so, you’d like something special?”

you can’t help but smile. special is exactly what you need. “yeah.” 

“and long-lasting?”

your eyebrows furrow. “uh, yeah? why?”

her voice is so quiet, continuing to drink her water. “just asking.”

in the silence that follows, you feel the need to explain yourself further, just so she doesn’t feel put off by your answer, in case she, well – you push away the possibility. “I’ve just had experiences that have all ended.” you huff out a humoured scoff, realizing how badly you’re stating the obvious. “I just mean, well, I’d like to not go through heartbreak again, so I want a relationship that feels right when I enter it. you know, no doubts. the other stuff is just me being tired of things ending or not feeling right, and just wishing for something that could be romantic, right and also just last long.” as you keep speaking, your tone shifts to one that’s more heightened in both passion and frustration, hand gestures flailing.

lee’s nostrils flare, and a muffled laugh leaves her mouth. “yes, I can tell.”

you roll your eyes. “you know what I mean.”

her smile softens before melting away. “yeah. I do.” her head angles in your direction. “you deserve it.”

you swallow, feeling your legs tingle from the anticipation of her saying something like that. “you do too.”

she hums, and that’s that.

–

when lee decides to accompany you to a party on a friday night, she truly wonders what’s become of her. you two aren’t even dating, and she’s practically putty in your hands. when you had asked her about attending a party hosted by a friend who had in last semester’s mythology class, you did it with a laugh, and she knew it was because you expected her to give a resounding no. your head had snapped in her direction when she muttered a quiet “sure,” eyes wide. at first, she herself wasn’t even sure why she said “yes.”. all she knew was that you were going to be somewhere, so she’d rather be there than at home by herself. jesus, what a weird thing to feel.

maria practically burst into laughter when lee called her to confirm her attendance, and after she joked about how amaya would have a field day, lee rolled her eyes and hung up. It’s been so long since she last felt this way, and frankly, she had forgotten just how humiliating it is for her friends to see her in such a state.

on the subway ride there, you plug both yours and her headphones into your walkman, an offer of sharing music that she quietly accepts. you two sit like that, side by side, in the rumbling movements of the subway, silently listening to SWV together. other than the initial tension she feels at listening to something as romantic as Weak with you, it’s rare for her to feel so comfortable like this, so at ease with sharing a lack of words with someone else. she often won’t instigate a conversation if she doesn’t need to, but she will be cognizant of the way the other person might be reacting to the silence, and that, in turn, makes her feel uncomfortable too. it’s always just been easier to be alone than to have to grapple with the subtle and inescapable expectations of interacting. it always takes a while before she can truly feel comfortable sharing the emptiness of a space with someone, even longer to totally stop worrying. but, she’s at that place with you now. and you’re there with her, too. she can feel it, in the way you slump next to her, shoulder brushing hers, and in how your head leans back on the seat, eyes wandering along the cart. she wants to ask you what you’re thinking of, but she doesn’t want to interrupt this moment.

when you two reach the party, she sighs in relief at the sight of it less packed than the one she had attended in october. still, her mind scans her surroundings as soon as you both enter, trying to gauge just how many people are present and how stifling it may be.

in the middle of this, she feels your hand, warm and soft, slide into hers. her stomach tightens at the sensation, and she breathes in a shuddering inhale. she knows why you’re doing it, and the knowledge of that makes her feel only more exposed and pulled at the seams for you to stare upon. she wonders if anyone looking this way suspects that the two of you are a couple. a pleasurable tingle simmers in her stomach at the thought. images flash in her mind of you guys dating, and this sort of hand-holding being expected everyday, on every walk. it’s a nice thought, and she grinds her teeth together at the aching longing she feels inside. she can’t help but admit just how good it feels to think of having you in that way. but, she knows she shouldn’t become hopeful. not when she has no intention of pursuing you.

when you two start moving through a narrow hallway, making your way to the living room, people crowding in, she grips your hand harder and gratitude floods her chest when you return the squeeze. 

her eyebrows suddenly furrow, eyes darting to your interlocked hands. when had she stopped tensing at your touch? her mind searches for the moment, but she cannot place it. the realization makes her equals parts awed, surprised and uncomfortable. it has been that gradual, she supposes. her hand flexes in yours. how did you do this?

as you two approach the fireplace, she tenses up at the sight of maria and amaya, prematurely cringing at the earful they’re going to give her at this sight. her suspicions are confirmed when she catches the eye of maria, who smiles at her, then, after glancing towards your interlocked hands, whispers to amaya, who’s suddenly alert, very obviously seeking you both out.

when you guys move close, lee’s lips firmly press down, sending her friends a sharp look that she hopes shuts them up. 

of course it doesn’t. “hi, mr. and mrs. lee harker,” amaya drawls out, her pink cheeks clearly indicating how tipsy she is. lee’s eyes flutter in exasperation as maria whacks amaya's arm. why couldn’t have two extremely awkward people have adopted her into their group? why did it have to be amaya and maria?

she glances at you warily, immediately taking note of how embarrassed you are, your laughter trembling more than usual and quiet in volume, eyes flicking along the room. protectiveness immediately kicks in, and she says, “we’re fine,” not wanting to bring more attention to their teasing.

your hand suddenly flinches in hers, and a surge of anxiety pulls through her gut. was that the wrong thing for her to say?

amaya seems to notice lee’s tension, for she pats your arm down, saying, “sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“no, no, don’t worry, I know,” you respond, nodding, though lee notices that your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. her mind whirls with possibilities. are you upset that such a joke was made? do you feel uncomfortable? are you upset with her for not correcting them? did lee assume wrong in believing you were fully public about your sexuality? she feels her chest begin to get heavier. 

“here, come,” maria cuts in, waving you both over. “let’s play beer pong.”

as you two walk behind maria and amaya, lee’s breaths feeling shorter and more shallow, you turn to her suddenly. “hey, you okay? I can feel your pulse.”

she gulps down, self-consciousness pushing her to release your hand. it surprises her just how wrong it feels to do so, the feeling becoming more apparent when your eyebrows draw together. in her state of unrest, she can’t tell if it’s confusion, hurt or anger. jesus, this is exactly what she feared. that her feelings would make things unsettled between you two, and shatter the total comfort it had taken months to achieve in your friendship.

at your lack of response, you move closer, and she steps back. “I– lee, what’s wrong?”

your eyes, wide and focused on her, make her feel cowardice, and she looks away. she takes a few moments to collect herself. she doesn’t want to confide in you about a worry so small, so miniscule, and so meaningful in its relation to you. but, she knows if she chooses to start dismissing and hiding her feelings with you, it could very much just become the start to a chain of similar events. this instinct, this automatic kick to hide what she’s feeling – that’s what’s natural to her, that’s the reflex she’s leaned into all her life. returning to it could prove itself as all too easy of an occurrence, and who knows how long it would take to undo that? she doesn’t want that to happen. her nose makes a scratchy noise as she sharply breathes through it, and with that, she says, “I just– are you uncomfortable? because of what amaya said?”

she watches the way your throat moves as you swallow. after a moment, you shake your head softly. “no, of course not. I felt a bit… shy, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

she nods tightly, the relief overwhelming her in a long wave of lightness. 

“is that what you were nervous about?”

she stares at your docs, and silently tilts her head in the affirmative. 

“lee, even if I was uncomfortable, I’d never take that out on you, you know? you didn’t make the joke. but, besides that, I wasn’t uncomfortable or upset or anything, okay? just a bit… shy, is all.” it seems to take some effort on your end to say those last words, and she hopes it’s not because you’re downplaying the weight of your feelings. but, you said you weren’t uncomfortable or upset, and she doesn’t know how to proceed other than accepting your words. 

“okay?” 

she glances up at you, shifting under the heaviness of your attentive gaze. “I’m okay.” and it’s true. your assurance has helped ease her breath, and other than the discomfort she feels at the crowd of the room, her body is steady. 

“okay, now, let’s go play beer pong,” you drawl with a grin, tugging her by her arm. she wants to ask you to hold her hand again, but she resists, knowing it’s too forward.

though it takes a ridiculously long amount of time to convince the already drunk host to let lee play due to her abstinence from alcohol, despite her telling you, amaya and maria that she really doesn’t care, she finally is at the edge of the table, ball poised in her hand. she suddenly feels like she’s in high school again, the pressure of watchful eyes assessing her athletic ability making her tense. the fact that you’re there, on the other side of the table, cheeks lifted in bright grin, doesn’t help whatsoever. she supposes most people would feel supported, but your unwavering gaze only makes her feel even more unnerved. just like she did in high school, she focuses her attention to the task at hand, eyes skimming along the open gaps of the cups before lightly tossing the ball into one. when she gets it in, the host, derek, amaya said his name is, whistles. 

she ends up being the only one on her team to get every ball into the other team’s cup, which in all honesty, is probably because she’s sober. you miss two of your five shots, but even in those moments, lee twists her mouth to resist smiling, shy at the idea of being so plain in her affection for anyone to see. though, perhaps she speaks too soon, for as soon as she spots derek laying a friendly hand on your shoulder, she feels her jaw clench. she forces herself to look away. you’re not hers, you’re not someone who it makes sense to be possessive over. she has no right to. despite repeating this to herself, her stomach burns at the sight of derek continuing to keep a hand to your back as you guys play.

luckily, you slide from his touch when your eyes catch the sight of the girl lee met in your feminism class. you run over to her, swinging your arms around her. it should help, but it really does nothing to quell the simmering envy in lee’s stomach. she wishes she could touch you so easily, and vice versa. she knows it doesn’t make sense – you probably hesitate to touch her sometimes because you know her aversion to it, but she can’t help but irrationally wish you’d forgo all the consideration. see, this is why crushes are so anxiety-inducing to her – they make the sensibilities she always depends on wane for more personal pursuits and fulfillment.

she’s shaken out of her thoughts when your friend beckons everyone to the ground. “everyone, get into a circle! let’s do spin the bottle.” at her side, you’re grabbing her arm, fervently shaking your head, but she drags you to the ground next to her.

lee grits her teeth. great. 

“if it lands on you,” amaya whispers as the bottle swivels around, “just say you don’t want to kiss anyone. besides, I’ve played this game where people fucked if the bottle landed on them – this is nothing.”

“cold comfort,” lee whispers, pointedly staring at her.

she watches in a complete lack of amusement as the bottle lands from person to person, instigating a range of pecks to make out sessions. not that she knows from watching, she can just tell based on the time it takes and the noises. she simply stares at her lap when a kiss occurs, too uncomfortable to invade on such an intimate moment. not that there’s much to invade on, considering how many of them were encircled on the carpet of derek’s shared house. at least fifteen, while the rest of the guests mingle on every floor, playing games or taking shots together.

everytime the bottle blends into a blur from how fast it turns around, lee freezes. she’s afraid of it landing on her, but terrified it’ll land on you. if it does, she isn’t sure how well she’ll be able to control her body’s show of discomfort. she might just have to excuse herself to the bathroom. yes, that’s what she’ll do. 

when amaya and some other girl kiss, lee nearly leaves prematurely when one of derek’s friends wolf-whistle. she chooses a spot on the carpet to hone her gaze in on, and tries to reign in her annoyance. idiots. from her experience, the men who are most eager to watch any form of intimacy between women are the same ones who find it unbelievable that a woman’s attraction may not include them. they existed in high school, and they still do in university, it seems. she looks up at you, wondering if you’re thinking the same, blinking in surprise when you’re already watching her. when the two of you lock eyes, you playfully roll yours, and her lips fold into a forced smile. even in this moment, her stomach can’t handle looking at you, knowing what might come. she wishes she had just stayed at home tonight.

of course, the bottle eventually lands on you. she tears her eyes from you, choosing to focus on the feel of amaya’s hand softly rubbing her back, mentally choosing which words she’ll use to excuse herself. she leans into amaya’s ear, whispering, “I’m going.”

“um, I don’t think you can.”

lee glances at her in confusion, then moves her eyes to the bottle, nearly closing them in equal parts relief and aggravation when she realizes where it’s pointed, her stomach dropping so hard she feels light-headed for a second. jesus christ. 

derek chortles, clapping his friend’s back. “is there a lesbian goddess looking down on us or something?”

“yeah, it’s telling you to go fuck yourself,” maria sharply says, glaring at him. “stop with the fetishizing.”

derek raises his hands. “it was a joke, relax. jesus. can’t say anything these days.”

“lee?” amaya tentatively asks, her hand on lee’s back stilling.

lee glances to her friend’s thigh, shoulders heaving as she takes in a deep breath. she knows she needs to look at you, to see what you’re thinking, what you want – even if she already knows what her decision will be. her gaze slowly roves past your form before carefully landing on your face. your eyes are wide, lips parted and quivering, staring at her in clear nervousness. and what might be expectancy.

she swallows hard, piercing, relentless anxiety plummeting down to her abdomen. she doesn’t know what you want from her, and even if she did, she doesn’t know what your reasons are. but, it doesn’t really matter, because she knows she’s not comfortable with this. part of her is tensing with the curiosity and desire to kiss you. to let the intimacy that’s taken months to grow between you two progress even more, to feel the softness of your mouth. but, she can’t. not when it might mean nothing to you. not in front of all these people. 

and so, she shakes her head. “no.” 

“awe, c’mon, don’t be like that–” derek’s friend coos. 

“I said no,” she firmly repeats, staring at her hands. she can’t bear to look at you. what if you see it on her face? what will she see on yours?

“why not?” the question comes from the friend she met in your feminism class.

irritation springs in her. why can’t anyone just respect her answer? “because I don’t want to.”

she realizes how it comes off moments after saying it, especially when silence rings in the group. she can’t bear to look at you, fear gripping tightly at her. what if she’s hurt you? the pressing need to know overpowers the sense of alarm she feels. she looks up, nearly flinching back when she sees your mouth curved tightly, eyes cast down, hands wringing together. when you meet her gaze, your eyes are bouncing around, not remaining on her for more than a second at a time. you can’t even meet her eyes. she doesn’t know if this is due to embarrassment, shame or pity. she’s not sure she wants to know.

she lasts two more rounds, before excusing herself quietly and leaving.

on the porch, she lights a cigarette, wanting nothing more than to escape this party and lock herself in the refuge of her bedroom. how did things go downhill so fast? she wants to go back in, and tell you how she doesn’t dislike the idea of kissing you, not at all, and that she’d kiss away every frown that makes it onto your face if she only had the courage to take a risk. but, there’s too many people inside, too many eyes that’d be trained onto her as she approaches you. and who is she kidding? even in privacy, she could never say those words.

five minutes later, she guesses, she hears the screen door open, and she knows from the silhouette it’s you. her head tilts in your direction, taking a slow drag. “game finished?”

“no. I just needed a break. and I…” she hears your pause, the sentence hanging in the air, “... wanted to check if you were okay. those guys were being dicks.”

she screws her eyes shut. you’re still so nice to her, even after she said something that might have embarrassed you, and that definitely caused awkwardness. she wonders if there’ll ever be an end to the gentleness you distribute to her. “they were.” saying it out loud, remembering their obnoxiousness, sparks another dose of anger in her. so entitled they were, to seeing whatever forms of affection they felt content to turn into their own plaything. the kind of guys who are content with only accepting lesbianism in dosages that are self-satisfying to them. anything that doesn’t have to do with the permanent removal of them. anything that they feel can be put away in a neat box after their temporary engagement with it. almost as though it’s so incomprehensible for attraction to exist separate from men that they always need to be involved in some way, even as a voyeur.

“lee?” 

she snaps out of her impassioned, internal tangent, eyes flicking to you. the moonlight coats your face in blue light, and she’s suddenly struck with the thought of: I should have kissed you. but, as soon as it runs its course, she looks away, knowing she’d never have had the nerve, or sense of ease, to have done such a thing. 

“are you upset?” she mutters.

“no.” you pause. “why would I be?”

you both know why. she wishes you could just bring it up directly instead of tossing around vague questions. now, it’s on her to bring it up and address what’s going on. but, then again, how many times have you done that for her? is it really so unfair that she should now? her eyes trace the nearly-bare trees, lined with the sprouts of small, green leaves, which shine as emerald in the darkness. “because I didn’t do what the game asked of me.”

“well, I–I was upset, at first.” 

she flinches. she always knew it would, but it feels terribly hollow to know you are, or were, upset with her.

“but,” you continue, voice riding on the smooth whistle of the wind, “I know that’s not fair. you’re more than allowed to not want to kiss me – or, or anyone.”

she nods. she knows this already. “then, why were you upset?” she supposes it’s because of how embarrassing it might’ve been to not be kissed in front of others, to have it publicly declared that someone doesn’t want to kiss you. she nearly winces at the memory of her words, wishing she had chosen more carefully.

“um, because…” she hears your fingers rasp on the railing she’s leaning on. “I felt kind of, like, insecure? I don’t know. I mean, did you not want to because, like, there’s something wrong with me?”

her head darts up, shoulders stiff and nearly strained in tension. a small groan rumbles in her throat. “no. not at all.” god, something being wrong with you is the absolute last thing on her mind. and it’s one of the least likely reasons she’d ever refrain from kissing you. she’s sure there are some things flawed about you, there are with everyone. but, that’s no reason she’d ever decide to avoid or postpone anything with you. she’s ready to accept you. “that’s not the reason,” she whispers.

she can hear your breaths becoming shaky, unsteady. “then, why?”

she squeezes her eyes shut, debating on what to say. she doesn’t want to lie, but the fear of how you’ll perceive her honest answer gnaws at her. 

finally, she shakes her head. she wants, so badly, to reassure you in this moment and make it clear just how, well, not wrong of a person you are. even if it means you catch wind of her feelings, she can deal with that later. if amaya was here, she’d tell lee to do the romantic thing, to say something wholly honest. to admit, something, anything, that sheds a bit more light onto her feelings. lee doesn’t think she’s quite ready for that, but she’ll tiptoe on the precipice of it if it means making you feel better.

“I didn’t want to kiss you in front of all those people. because…” she pauses, thinking on how to ensure you it has nothing to do with you as a person. she straightens up, turning to your wide, curious eyes. “because if I kiss you, I don’t want it to be in front of an audience.” even the mere words I kiss you have her mouth tasting different. it feels like a reverent trifecta of words, like some sort of prayer. 

she gulps down, needles of worry poking her insides at your silence. she shifts her body away, and watches the grass on the lawn, wet with the afternoon’s rain, the deep breaths of cigarette smoke soothing her slightly. and she waits.

–

and you still your breathing in shock. if she fucking kisses you? if? as in that’s a possibility? the idea that that’s what she means feels too far-fetched and too good to be true. if this was someone else, you could convince yourself that those words just slipped it out without them thinking or realizing. but, lee always proceeds with caution. she pauses before talking, she speaks calmly. if she says something, she means it. so, if she means this, then what does that indicate? that kissing you is a possibility? it’s something she has thought of before? or does she just mean that in some completely hypothetical, alternate universe where she’s aligned to very specific feelings, then she wouldn’t kiss you in front of others?

you watch her as she continues to lean along the railing, elbows propped onto it and eyes observing her surroundings, grey smoke whirling around her as she exhales the smoke. she looks beautiful, and you want her so bad. you want to ask more, but you’re scared. scared her answer will prove of her indifference to you, and you’ll be forced to figure out how to abandon these long active, aflame feelings. if anything, you’d prefer to swim in these feelings then submerge only when forced to, like if you’ve done nothing to pursue her by the time the lease is up, and then, you both part ways, and you’re forced to endure the heartache. the idea is a sour one that causes a swell of pain in you, like some internal bruise. but, what could you do other than that? confess to her like some nervous high schooler? try to subtly pursue her with flirtation and gestures? even if you did that last option, you doubt it’d give you answers. you can’t see lee confidently flirting back in such instances, and she might not even register your words as flirting. and confessing… it can so easily cause damage to what you guys have and your own heart.

for so long, you’ve been content to carry these feelings for her, but not act on them. but, a culmination of things – the semester approaching its end in just a matter of three months, the jaunting reality check of realizing the chances of her dating and being with someone else, and her saying this kind of stuff – is starting to make you itch for more than a friendship. the idea of not even trying to seize a chance with her makes you sick. but, the idea of doing so and getting your heart shattered makes you just as disoriented in fear.

it’s why you still can’t say anything now. even though you want nothing more than to shake her body and ask her if she wants to kiss you, if she wants you even half as badly as you’ve wanted her, because even half that amount would leave you feeling so fulfilled. because that’s how much you crave her.

“thanks,” you whisper, not wanting to completely ignore her efforts to reassure her.

she nods.

“do you want to get out of here?”

“I do.” she taps the cigarette against the railing. “but, if you want to stay longer, I’ll wait.”

your stomach swells with a bleeding sort of affection that drowns out any other emotion. when she’s this kind, how can she not expect you to like her? 

“we can go.” in all honesty, your mood for a party has been doused by the liquid heat of her words and your subsequent pining. you want nothing more than to digest what she said in pure silence, lest for the music in your walkman. 

she pauses, head cocking to you. you think she’s about to say something, but she just quietly raises the cigarette to you. you carefully take it from her, gulping when your fingers brush her cold skin. “wait here,” she softly says, then heads in, probably to tell everyone of your guys’ departure. 

behind you, you can hear the Debarge song your cousin used to be obsessed with playing. you still remember some of the lyrics – I like the way you comb your hair, I like the stylish clothes you wear, it’s just the little things you do that show how much you really care. you think of lee, suddenly feeling that you, too, would like to write a song listing the things you like about her. there’s so much. she also makes you feel so unnerved just by a look, and has made your ability to feel passion for another person, an ability which had been in slumber for so long, awaken with a great start. you're still afraid of what might happen, of the future, of potential heartbreak, but liking lee, and wanting her, is something you're powerless against.

a few days pass, and things feel quieter than usual. you can tell lee feels some amount of hesitation around you, from the way her shoulders tense when you enter the room, to the way she takes longer than usual to respond. you don’t know if it’s out of guilt, or fear that you’re upset, or something else, but you hate the stilted tension you both have become ensnared by. so, one morning, after taking some deep, calming breaths, you approach her with a peace offering. 

“hey.” you wait for no answer, immediately continuing. “so, if we take the subway up north, we can see those cherry blossoms that everyone’s been talking about. do you want to go today?”

her lips part with a quiet, wet sound, and you try very hard to ignore it. after her eyes dart between you and the papers in front of her, she nods. “okay.” 

an hour later, as you two walk up the path leading to the park’s cherry blossoms attraction, surrounded by lime green buds sprinkling the branches and hugging every crevice and curve, you ask, “were there cherry blossoms where you grew up?” 

lee looks at you sharply, as though surprised that you spoke. you nearly smile – did she expect you to carry on in complete silence? of course you wouldn’t. you want things to go back to usual. 

“yeah, we did.” she stares ahead.

okay, complete silence it is, then.

that is, until lee sighs, then continues with, “my house is surrounded by trees. it looked nice this time of year. my mom, um…” her mouth flinches. “my mom once knitted me a blanket of the blossoms.”

something in you throbs in adoration at the idea of a young lee cuddled in such a tenderly made gift. “that’s so sweet. so, she knits?”

“knits, crochets – she made us a lot of stuff growing up.” you see the bob of her throat as she swallows. “she was a nurse, so it was her way of relaxing. plus, easier to afford than buying those things.”

you absorb this information. with how independent lee is, it makes sense that her single mother worked so hard, and that lee was probably left to fend for herself a lot of the time. you wonder if lee took inspiration from her mother growing up, and used her as a guidepost in forming her own steady, assured habits. and in light of this information, you suppose lee’s lack of spending might’ve also taken root in how she seems to have grown up financially. 

your fingers reach into your pocket, skimming along the camera she had bought you.

“it’s also just more personal,” you add. “you know, a homemade thing like that is always going to beat store-bought.”

“why do you think so?”

you shrug. “because, you know, it’s something physical that a person poured hours into creating, just to make you happy. and there’s something sweet about it, isn’t it? having a physical, like, product of someone’s affection, being able to hold it and know they did too.”

her lips fold in tightly together, and she blinks hard at the path ahead. “yeah. but, she doesn’t do it anymore.”

you frown. “no?” 

she shakes her, the corner of her lip pulsing. “no. she doesn’t have it in her to do it.”

“what do you mean?”

“my mom…” a loud exhaling puff of air slips from her nose. “she’s not well.”

you feel the downwards pinch of your lips deepen. does she mean it physically, mentally or emotionally? either way, you wonder if it has something to do with why she dreads going there so much. as the only daughter, is she over-relied on? “what do you mean?”

“she sometimes becomes… well, disconnected. to me, her surroundings, even the stuff she says. at least, it feels like she’s disconnected. and she’s, um, really scared for me – because I live away. and I think she’s scared for herself too.”

“because she’s alone?”

her eyes flutter shut momentarily. “yeah.” her voice is raspy, heavy with responsibility.

sadness surges through you. she looks so pained in confessing all this, so wounded over being away from home, away from a mother who clearly is struggling. but, from what lee has said, it feels like she was struggling in her own ways too. “that’s not your fault,” you try to gently remind her.

“it is, in a way,” she mutters. “I could’ve stayed closer to my house. but, I wanted to leave.”

“why? why did you want to leave?”

“because I was tired of it all.” her voice is hushed, breathy with the shame of the admission. anyone could tell how bad she feels to admit this. “tired of her holding on so tight. of feeling guilty for always leaving – guilty for a lot, really. of her paranoia… for the world and about sinning, and–” she cuts herself off, lips claiming together, turning away from you as though she’s aghast at having admitted so much.

but, it doesn’t feel like so much to you. her vague descriptions of her situation only further your confusion and curiosity. “why is she so paranoid?”

“she’s gone through a lot – when raising me on her own. and that just made her scared of everything outside our home. and even before those things happened that caused that fear…” she bites her lip. “she was cut off from her family before having me, and criticized a lot. I guess she was made to feel like a sinner, and she was scared of me becoming the same. or, I don’t know, just feeling the same. but, it was too much, her reminders and pressure. even when she was barely saying anything, I was scared. I couldn’t take it.” her words begin to waver at the end, and a piece of sympathy stabs you in the chest. you can see the great effort it’s taking her to confide in you about this. sure, it was clear since that first visit back home in october that whatever her and her mom had, it was complicated. and the more her facial expressions became decipherable to you, and the more she spoke to you about her mother, the clearer it became just how much the visits strained her, and the total, utter weight they placed upon her shoulders. but, it also became revealed just how much of a necessity they were for her, and despite all the discomfort, the intense amount of care and loyalty wrapped in those hours and days for her. but, this is the first time she’s given such a specific account of what her and her mom struggle with. just hearing all the layers to it is enough to make you falter in your steps, and you marvel at how much she must have gone through to lead up to her departure for university. most of all, you feel a pain for lee – she deserves to have a bond with her mother that is steady and comfortable, and to hear just how disarrayed it is in reality makes a longing stir within you. a longing that is purely for her sake, solely to secure her some more peace after all she’s clearly undergone in life and continues to carry with her.

“I’m sorry. that she was cut off, and that it led to, you know, you receiving so much pressure from both her and yourself. and for all the other stuff, like the paranoia and you feeling like you couldn’t leave her.” your apology feels so weak. all you can do is really just comfort her with your words and provide her some empathy. but, it changes nothing. she has still suffered through her life, and your words won’t erase the aftereffects it has on her. the lack of action you can really commit to makes you feel pathetic. but, you suppose that’s part of being her friend, someone who care so much for her. being there, even if you can only do a bit to help. because giving her any help takes precedence over any self-satisfaction you can wring out from accomplishing something bigger in assisting her. “you didn’t deserve to go through that. I wish you had had things easier, really. I can’t even imagine how hard it was – how hard it must still be.”

“thanks,” she mumbles, hands stuffed into her pocket. her eyes skim along the ground before latching onto your face, and she tilts her head in acknowledgement.

your hand itches. how badly you wish you could hold her and tell her everything will be okay.

when you two arrive at the cherry blossom trees, you’re immediately swept into immense awe, the feeling making you afloat in delight and admiration. the small flowers are an array of white and cream, small peaks of pink scattered about through the army of them. students surround you and lee, many of them sitting on the ground and playing card games together, eating food or drinking from a shared bottle. other people walk about, taking strolls or walking their dogs. the thing interlocking all of you together is the collective spark of joy and curiosity from the cherry blossoms, children being lifted by their parents to tug some from the branches, while other people reverently touch the petals.

you try to take a peak at lee, eager to see what her response to the scenery is, a satisfied thrum running through you when you catch a glimpse of her small smile, eyes scanning the park in her careful, unfaltering way. 

“see? aren’t you glad we came?” 

she huffs with a noiseless laugh. “you’ll really use even a natural phenomenon as a chance to brag?”

you feel your shoulders loosen at her response. thank god. things finally seem to be easing up. “well, if I won’t, who will? you certainly don’t give me compliments,” you mockingly say with an exaggerated frown. 

“mm,” she hums, pretty brown eyes drawn up as they skitter over the branches. “it just takes a lot of effort to come up with them.”

you burst into a loud, offended round of laughter. “is that statement meant to indicate social awkwardness or a lack of good traits in me?”

she shrugs, her smile widening. “I’ll let you guess.”

“if I do so correctly, will you tell me?”

“I shouldn’t spoil the fun.”

you snort at just how fucking deadpan she sounds saying that. “fun? I’m sorry, but who is it that leaves every party early again?” you taunt teasingly, bumping her shoulder. secretly, you harbour the wish that mentioning the party in a moment of banter will ease whatever tension and awkwardness has been caused by it, and any hesitation you felt at your choice fades away delightfully fast when she only rolls her eyes, responding with, “who is it that returned with me last time?”

“listen, in my defense,” you drawl, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “derek and his friends would’ve spoiled the rest of the night.”

“yeah. they would’ve.”

you falter at the quieting of her tone. “you didn’t like them either?” you already know the answer, of course.

“no, I didn’t.”

you smile at her bluntness, then wave a hand to a spot under a particularly large tree with winding, crooked branches that provide some shelter from the surprisingly bright afternoon. “here?” 

she nods, but continues to stand with her hands in her pocket. when you cock your head in confusion, her eyes awkwardly skip between you and the ground. oh. oh. she’s waiting for you to sit first. your mouth quivers with the temptation of a grin, stomach a whirlwind of butterflies. yeah, you certainly did good picking this one. 

when you sit cross-legged on the ground, lee shuffles to a spot a safe distance from you, stretching her legs out, and you nearly groan. you’ve been close to her numerous times by now, sure, but in her presence, you feel practically touch-starved, never being able to relish in enough of the pleasant tingle of her arm brushing yours. if you were together, maybe lee would brace her back against the tree, and you could lie between her legs. or lay your head on her lap. you feel a pleasure at thinking of these spots on her body you’ve never had the pleasure of touching before, seized by a desperation to know what they feel like. her thigh against your cheek, shoulder against your ear, wrist against your lips. 

she pulls a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, nimble fingers easily tugging one out. she carefully scans the grounds before taking out a plain silver lighter and lighting it. you could practically bury your face into the muddy grass. how does she look so good doing everything? how does lighting a cigarette, when it's in her hands and between her muted pink lips, turn into the most angelic of actions?

when her eyes sharply capture your gaze, you nearly flinch, immediately forcing yourself to linger on the small family walking by on a nearby path. 

“what is it?”

you ignore her intense eyes. god, why did her sparing doses of eye contact serve to do nothing but unnerve you? “nothing…” you fumble for something, anything, really, to say that can take the focus off you. “just thinking about what a great anti-cancer campaign you’re making for the children here.”

she laughs lightly. “yeah, well, I try.”

you raise an eyebrow at the cigarette. “very hard, apparently.”

her beam softens into a gentle tilt of her lips. “I’m glad it’s paid off for some recognition.”

“at this point, just admit you’re an attention whore, lee,” you tease. lee’s the farthest thing, you know that. she’d probably be content to slink into the background for the rest of her life.

you pull out the camera she got you, pointing it at the trees, the sunlight bursting through the edges of the leaves in a way that sends them into lime jewels, glittering under the sun’s heat. a thrill runs through you. spring really is here, warmer days to come.

when you direct the camera to lee, she glances at you from the corner of her eye, but says nothing, continuing to smoke. your hands feel like they could tremble in this moment. it’s your first time photographing her, and if you get the film developed, it’ll be your very first photograph of her. the knowledge of it all – capturing her in permanence, keeping her secure in this physical memento that’ll always exist somewhere, no matter what happens – makes the moment feel heavy on your heart. even just making it clear to her that you want her locked – no, that’s not right – kept alive in this way, is a vulnerable admission in and of itself, even if it’s declared silently through the simple raise of your camera. you can’t help but feel relieved she says nothing.

you snap the photo, her pose relaxed, torso leaning back on her palms, which are planted to the ground. behind her is a flood of white and pink flowers dotting the world, the grass alit with the flaming light of the sun.

you set the camera in your lap, thumb stroking the shining black surface. how powerful this little box is, to be able to retain and express a single moment forever. you know it’s a blessing to have such power available through the technology of these days, but how apparent does it make the sentiment that a moment only lasts for as long as a singular shutter. the way the petals litter the ground, how the kids’ laughter sways along with the wind, lee’s closed eyes as a particularly fresh breeze kisses that spot between her brow – you’ll only have these moments before your eyes for a few minutes or even a few seconds. and then, they’ll be gone. it leaves you with a bittersweet ache – how the witnessing of something can mean so much, and instigate such a flood or silence of emotions, and then, in a matter or minutes to hours, be gone and faded into a memory tucked away. sometimes, even though it’s silly to admit, you sometimes feel like you’re running out of moments to actually live on, scrambling to fill your time with things that can make for good memories rather than just trusting your life to naturally supply them to you.

you suppose part of that is due to the pressure of being in your youth. so many people frame university as the peak of their life, an amazing couple of years that simmer into oblivion the older a person gets, which apparently ends up being for the best, since they claim life never ends up quite matching up, anyways. you’ve heard this rhetoric so many times that you feel like there is a ticking clock constantly pricking at the back of your mind, reminding you pointedly of just how much time you have left before graduation. you feel like you need to keep doing more than before, and truly seize this apparently opportune, once-in-a-lifetime experience.

but, you don’t like the thought that things end here. that after university, or one’s twenties, life is just a downhill slope that you have no choice but to roll down the steep shape of until finally dropping into an abyss. you’d much rather life have the directionless shape it’s possessed so far, when happiness and good phases strike you with resounded and delighted force, and when hard times cause you to plummet when you least expect it – all without warning. your so-called “youth” surely hasn’t been all that ideal, and it hasn’t aligned to any exclusive feeling or experience. so, why should you subject the rest of your life to such a bleak, single-dimensioned expectation? sure, with each new year, each new stage of one’s life, more complications, complexes and dilemmas arise. that just seems part of the territory of having more time on earth, and so, more experiences to amplify the nuances and contrasts of life and struggle. but, surely, that cannot mean life simply ends when the number “two” leaves your age. because you’d like to think that in your thirties, and forties, and however many decades, even if life becomes more of a confusing jumble to map out, the lingering time on earth has only provided you even more experiences to dance and experience contentment in. you hope life is like that, for the idea of things becoming a slow, dull tug downwards as soon as you enter the real world is one that is too heartbreaking to face.

“what are you thinking about?”

you pick at a blade of grass. “wouldn’t you like to know?” you don’t even know what compels you to say such a thing. if it’s because you simply want to tease her, or if it’s a desperate attempt to seek out confirmation for her care for your thoughts.

“I would.”

you feel your face warm at the earnest declaration. “I was just thinking about – I don’t know, do you ever feel pressured to, you know, live it up at our age? have all these experiences because people say this should be the best time of our life?”

“no.” she takes a slow drag, pondering on your words before continuing. “I know what I do and don’t like, and I… don’t have the energy to pretend otherwise.” she shrugs lightly. “I just like doing what I know I like.”

“that must be nice.” that sense of security in herself, in the passage of time.

“you feel differently, though?”

“I don’t know.” you feel embarrassed now to confide in her about such a thing, knowing that she cannot relate. “there’s all this pressure about living out your twenties, and life ending once you depart from that age, so I get scared I’m not doing enough.”

“yeah.” she nods. “but, it’s not really true, is it? your life won’t end in your twenties. I think the people who say that are probably just… I don’t know – going through, like, recollection, nostalgia or some kind of monotony.” 

“that’s what scares me, though. that that sentiment of, like, missing your youth, is so common that it might indicate that those feelings – that emptiness – are inevitable.”

“and maybe they are. but, that doesn’t mean you have to deal with it if you don’t want to. if you ever feel that way, change it.” her eyes raise to you, honest and bright under the sun, shining to a light brown. “and don’t spend time on anticipating those feelings. that’s counterproductive.”

you huff out a small laughter. you don’t know if it’s her logic-driven thought process, or discardment of common social dilemmas, but her blunt words are so structured that you cannot help but chuckle in a mixture of amusement and endearment.

“if I do ever get in that slump, promise to help?” you ask, raising your hand to hers.

she blinks at your hand before enveloping it in hers. she’s dry and cool in your grip, and you wonder how cold her skin would feel under your lips. “promise.” 

–

lee feels pride simmering in her at the sight of you using your camera, but she hides her smile behind the cigarette, wanting to keep her happiness at watching you to herself, like a private secret.

when you aren’t looking at her, she watches you, eyes taking in how you bend in all different kinds of angles to get particular shots. at one point, your shirt runs up your back and she very intentionally rips her eyes from the patch of skin and faint hairs she saw. she’s more than thankful that you’re occupying yourself when her mind begins to race with images of sliding her palm along that spot and feeling its warmth.

after you lean in close to photograph her hand with the cigarette, so close she can smell your shampoo, she finds herself compelled to ask, “did you used to photograph?”  she can’t tell if your eagerness is due to a dormant passion getting awoken, or if this is your first time engaging with it.

you nod, smiling down at the camera. “yeah. I used to have a lot more hobbies as a kid. you know, photography, reading, drawing, writing. I was always interested in those things.”

from your class choices, to the kind of work you do in your organization, lee could always tell that you leaned towards creative work. but, rather than feel any sense of curiosity satiated at your answer, she feels it only fold in on itself and heighten. “what kind of things did you write?”

“I went through so many phases, I can’t even pinpoint one.” still, you bring your knees up, thoughtfully wrapping your arms around them. “for a while, I was really into fantasy. I loved writing stories on, you know, magical swords and daggers, characters who fit into all the archetypes. and imagining myself in those stories, too. when I hit puberty and started having back to back crushes, it was romance.” lee picks at her sleeve when you say this. so, romance had been something on your mind for a while. she wonders if any experience you could ever have with her – romantic, that is – would automatically be a disappointment. 

“I also had a sci-fi phase,” you add as an afterthought. “I loved, and well, still do, imagining myself in different stories.”

she hums. you seem to have a world of tales available to you, lost in your mind. she wonders what’s that like, to have so many universes and worlds to transport yourself to. she wants to learn about them all. she wants to know what exists in the ideal worlds you’ve spent your life travelling to. “what, um… drew you to those kinds of stories?”

“I guess it all depended on what I craved at the time. or what the media I was surrounded myself with caused me to crave? sometimes, I’d get through a fantasy series in a week, and real life would feel so boring in comparison. and so, I’d write stories, and through that, could at least temporarily live in that world, you know?”

she nods. she really does know. as a child, she had partaken in such little fantasies, imagining herself to be in the films she often watched alone when her mother worked long hours at the hospital. it gave her a sort of solace from what often felt like a lonely existence. 

“that sounds nice,” she admits. “that your thoughts felt believable enough that you could transfer to another place.”

“did you not have that?”

“not really. if I did, I don’t know, daydream, it’s not something that would last long. even with wanting to act – I thought it was a logical way to escape real life. I don’t think my thoughts were enough to convince me.”

“I get that. in a way, it might be a blessing.” when she raises her head to you, you smile. “sometimes, the daydreams being so convincing made it all the more heartbreaking when I came back to reality. I got to experience this beautiful fantasy, and then, it just shattered.”

 when lee had realized things would probably not work out for her as an actress, she supposes she had also felt shattered in a way. her escape plan had been broken. to you, the escape plan must have been your fantastical refuge. she can understand why it would have caused pain. “yeah. I mean, like you said, maybe it was a good thing? did it help you… like your life more?”

you chuckle. “not really, considering I always escaped back to it. now, though?” you glance at her and when she tilts her head, you continue. “now, I’m better with it. I also just don’t really do much creative stuff anymore. it never feels like I have the time.”

“maybe you should make a schedule.”

you giggle. “thank you, lee.”

she blinks. she doesn’t really know what’s so amusing, but you’re laughing, and she’s content with that.

–

“who would’ve thought there’d ever be a day where lee harker is the one who extended an invitation to a public place?” 

lee huffs slightly, backing away as you make your way through the bathroom, shoes softly tapping along the cream tiles. “yes. to the bar, not the bathroom.”

“they said you were in here!” you weakly justify, knowing the only real reason for being here is having wanted a moment alone with her before heading back out. 

not that it’s so unbearable outside. after all, it is a bar that lee willingly agreed to attend, so you knew from the get-go that it’d probably be quite soothing in comparison to some of the other places in this area. the part of the bar with the tables is alit with colours of pink and red, a soft flush to every object in the room, almost as though every inch is tinged with love. the streams of colour swarm even into the bathroom, casting everything into a hot, ethereal glow that seems to make your surroundings hazy. like a faraway dream.  

you and lee had spent the afternoon pouring over your work together, and due to her lighter load, lee left earlier to meet her friends, since maria had wanted to see the local band performing. she had initially bid you a goodbye, then promptly left, but not even ten minutes later, she returned back to you and fumbled out her notebook and black marker, quickly scribbling the name of the place down and handing it to you.

and now, here you are. when you found amaya and maria, amaya gestured for you to ignore maria, who was watching the performance in a trance, saying into your ear, “lee’s in the bathroom. the one downstairs, the guy here said it’s barely used.”

the music is muffled in the confines of the bathroom, and it feels like a private utopia. the warm light wraps around lee’s skin, and she looks iridescent, something spun out of flame and ash, eyes impossibly darker in the dim light.

“hm, avoid making that joke with them.” her lips quirk up. “I think two parties in a row have already started convincing them that I’m okay with more.”

“two in a row?” you scoff. “lee, the one you went to before the last was in fucking autumn. october, to be exact. that’s, like, a seven month gap.”

“well, my gaps in this circumstance tend to align more to seven years.”

you snicker. “fine. fair enough.” her words give you pause and you roll them over in your head, like a dice, trying to determine any possibility, before asking, “why did you come last time, then?”

she leans on the edge of the counter, and two sinks down from her, you perch up on the ledge. “I, um… well, I didn’t want you going by yourself.”

perhaps you’ve gotten too accustomed to her friendship. back in fall, a confession like that probably would’ve had you jumping in ecstasy. now, it just brings in a wave of embarrassment with a pinch of annoyance. so, she only came because she felt you’d be a loner there or something? self-consciousness and desire for more from her make an ugly pair, and you feel the bitterness of their combined powers.

“I wouldn’t have been alone,” you mutter, looking down. “my friend was going to be there.”

“I hadn’t realized.”

“so, if you had, you wouldn’t have come?” you can hear the petulant, undignified lilt to your voice. you know you sound irrational right now. it is damned sweet that lee came to make sure you weren’t by yourself. but, you pine for something more, and you know it’s selfish, but it’s been months, and you’re wanting.

“um, I don’t know.”

you sigh sharply, turning your head from her even further.

“what’s wrong?”

her voice quietly echoes in the bathroom, and you hear the soft trepidation lining her words. you hate that you’re the one to have caused such uncertainty. again. you debate perhaps lying, but the idea of that makes you wince. even if the ordeal of exposing the truth is a tad humiliating, the idea of starting to lie to lee is worse. you two have finally built to a friendship that is easy and vulnerable – how could you ruin that? and you can’t bear being dishonest with her. besides, she’s said something before that was… questionable, what with the night of the party. perhaps, you also have a one-use pass to say something questionable.

“I kind of wanted to hear you went just to… I don’t know, because you wanted to hang out with me.”

“I went for that too.” the admission is immediate and gentle, and you start at the lack of hesitation in it. perhaps you seeming off is compelling her to do it to assure you.

her response should sate your desires, and in some ways, it does. but, the mention of the party, the reminder of what she said about if she kisses you, only instigates a newfound desperation for answers. what did she mean when she said that? before, you were so concerned with having your friend back that you didn’t care to try to investigate, and fear of what could happen if you did only held you back more. but, what if this was your only chance? what if lee never says anything like that again?

trying to subtly pry, you ask, “did you, um… regret going?”

you watch her eyes flick up, glancing at the stalls across from you before going back down. “why would I?”

“you know…” you gulp down hard. just out with it. do it. “spin the bottle. the guys being jackasses,” you add, trying not to shine the spotlight entirely onto the potential kiss.

she shrugs, tilting her head in your direction. “I did regret it for a bit. I felt – I don’t know.” she shakes her head, and you hear the sharp breath of her singular inhale. “I felt worried I had embarrassed you.”

your mouth curves. god, she’s so sweet and darling. how no one has currently captured her heart, you don’t know. “I was a bit embarrassed. but, it’s not at all your fault. you had – have – every right to say no. I just, I thought it had to do with me.” you rub your palm on your neck, feeling your face burn at the admission. fuck, it could be so goddamn anxiety-inducing to practically lay out on an emotional autopsy table, insides spilled out for her to scan.

“it didn’t,” she says in a hushed tone. you can barely even look at her. “if anything, I would’ve…” a soft tapping noise emerges in the bathroom, and you know it’s her nervous fidgeting against the cold counter. “... preferred you over anyone else.”

you freeze at the words, feeling your nails dig into your palms. god, does she even realize how big a deal some of the stuff she says is? she tosses it around as though it’s nothing, even though you know she gives careful consideration to every sentiment spoken. what does she even mean by that? your body is still feeling weightless from the bolt of pure shock, as though you’re far away from this moment. there were awfully attractive people in that circle, people you had felt great anger at the thought of lee kissing. and she had secretly preferred you above anyone else, even her close companions? but, you suppose it wasn’t truly such a secret, since she just told you. and maybe that’s because there’s nothing to truly hide – maybe her desire for your lips in that moment had hinged on nothing but comfortability, friendship, and maybe shared sexual preference.

there’s only one way to find out. “why? because we – we have, I don’t know – we’re both gay? or because we’re friends?”

“mm,” she hums, nodding.

disappointment strikes at you like a harsh, ringing bell, the waves of the impact sending rolls of hurt through you, your stomach aching at the sudden emotion. “that’s it?”

from your peripheral vision, you see her shift. “‘that’s it’? did you… want there to be something else?”

fuck. she’s catching onto you. “I… I, well, no, I just wondered if there was.”

“why are you wondering?”

your stomach flips, her very direct questions shattering any semblance of control you thought you had on the situation. it leaves you horribly unsettled, and you readjust yourself on the seat, trying to ease the weight of your words with some distracting movement. “I just, I don’t know, I would just like to know.”

“but, why? any other reason could make things… different.”

your head whips to her, holding your breath without realizing. surely, she must be talking about romantic feelings. no other admission having to do with the almost-kiss could cause discomfort. only something having to do with having wanted the kiss could cause things to change. nothing else. right? you’re sure of it. but, again, she’s speaking in a hypotheticals – she’s not confirming she has these reasons herself. perhaps she’s just truly curious about why you’d want to know. it feels too good to be true, to think she really could want this kiss.

but, the part of you that itches, and longs, and feels like raw flesh under her gaze, wants to hope. and if you hope that she has those reasons, then you hope some kind of assurance will help. “different isn’t bad. and you know, if something one of us said ever did cause, I don’t know, change, then I think we could get through it.” hypocritical words, considering you had been hiding your feelings for months out of fear of the heartbreak and change that could be aroused from a confession. but, it’s true – at least, it feels true when you think of lee confessing. because you’d ensure that anything she does, or says, would never cause a strain on your end. when you think of her being the one to initiate something, a sort of protectiveness takes over. you’d never let her words lead to a severement of the friendship, not if you can help it.

she’s silent.

your fingers cling onto the edge of the counter, the nausea of anxiety swimming in your throat. “please, lee, is there anything else?”

her eyes meet yours, and they’re practically shining in the shadows of red. “there is.”

your fingers ache. “tell me.”

“I wanted to kiss you. I want to, still.”

your eyes burn, and you grind your teeth together, trying to will away the sudden urge to burst into tears. you didn’t realize just how badly you had wanted her, and itched for her to touch you, until now. just the confession from her is enough to make you want to crawl to this dirty, tiled floor and sob against it.

“I want you to, as well.”

she breaks the eye contact, her breaths shaky and heavy. you see the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, and your hand flinches. 

“lee, come here.”

she glances at your knee before nodding quietly, lifting herself from the edge and slowly making her way to you, not stopping until she’s right in front of you. her hands fiddle at her sides, and her sense of nerves is an odd sort of comfort to you, your own stomach still prickling with the anxiety and anticipation of the moment. hands trembling, palms sticky and sweaty, you gently take ahold of her wrists, and tug her closer. she lets you lead her, just as she had that day in the subway station. god, what would have happened had that day never occurred?

her face is impossibly close to yours. you feel the smooth coldness of her watch, and you nearly shudder at the warmth of her nearness. you can feel the weight of her so close to you, and with just another tug, your chests could easily press together. you feel your mind go numb, slightly delirious, at the exhilaration of being so close to her. you could count her long, beautiful lashes if you so wished it. her gaze lifts to you, and your eyes skitter down, stomach turning at knowing she just caught you watching.

her hands carefully slip from your grip, and you feel your gut tighten in momentary panic until she places the flat of her hands on either side of your thighs. seated on the counter gives her a few inches over you and she leans down so your faces are levelled. you gulp, feeling your body taken captive by an indescribable amount of flutters and whirlwinds.

“can I kiss you?”

your lips part, the entire moment feeling far from real life, wrapped in the hazy veil of a dream or a fantasy. you’ve thought of this moment so many times – and to experience it feels like something far from the bounds of everyday life.

but, it also feels extremely real. the soft guitar of a Mazzy Star song streams through the walls, you can hear the tremble of lee’s breaths, you can feel the sticky, wet sweat of your armpits, causing your shirt to cling to you. you smell the cigarette smoke on her, and you wonder if she can smell the musk of the long day on you. the counter isn’t comfortable, and presses too harshly against you, and your lips are still dry from the chill of the rainy afternoon.

It’s painfully real, and the last thing you’d ever want is any alteration, no matter how minor.

you nod, trying to still your breaths.

lee’s eyes scan your face, just as it has so many times before. has she wanted to kiss you every one of those times?

her lips close in that hard, determined line, and you know she’s ready. those dark eyes remain on your lips, and she slowly moves in, eyelids shutting as she presses them to yours. 

the two of you meet with a small, wet sound, and your eyes close on instinct, red and blue spots clouding your vision. her mouth is soft, so soft, like every other part of her she hides, and you shiver at the feeling of them tenderly cushioning yours, wrapping around and exchanging the tenderest of touches with your bottom lip. lee kisses like she does everything – with focus, hesitation and a slow build to comfort. her lips move with careful slowness, small wet noises coming from her ministrations, and your stomach aches with how gentle her movements are, as though your mouth is a place to study and commit to memory.

☆

she cups your face with one hand, thumb gently smoothing over the bumps of your pimples, and you nearly groan at the touch. fuck, how long you had wanted her this way, how much you had craved and hungered to feel these little touches that only resided in fantasy – those long fingers along your jaw, the pad of the thumb on your cheek, those pretty, pink lips moving against yours. every small touch has you feeling a new burst of agony, excitement and arousal, all mixing together to replenish and answer the longing questions that had accumulated over months of wanting this girl.

this girl who can’t keep away from your mouth, who is starting to move faster and harder, her mouth massaging against yours with wide, firm movements. the tip of her tongue skims across your bottom lip, and you feel yourself clench at the cold touch of it. without meaning to, a soft gasp pulls from your lips, and lee’s tongue pushes into it, brushing against yours once, twice, before breaking from hesitation and beginning to stroke it with gentle laps. you squirm against the counter, aching to push down on it and grind against it, the spot between your legs aching. 

her other hand raises to your back, and you marvel at how big it feels, the touch sending you into a long, painfully obvious shudder. lee’s lips twitch, and you know she’s smiling. her fingernails skim along your back over the fabric of your shirt, and you moan softly at the tickling sensation. another puff of air hits your lips, the movements of lee’s mouth stilling for a split second, before the velvety sound of her laugh rings in the bathroom.

☆

god, she’s laughing against your lips. laughing against your fucking lips. her tongue is out of your mouth, but her lips still brush yours, upturned in a wide smile. the realization feels like the most important, cherished discovery of your entire life, and it being a true reality, one that you’re experiencing, makes you feel like you will remain locked in this moment forever, never able to move on. how could you, when this moment existing, truly occurring, is the one thing to be made real from months of private dreams and pining thoughts? you will never move on.

as the heat of the moment sizzles down, and the fog clears, lee continues to smile against your lips. you mumble, “shut up.”

your eyes wander from her nose to her eyes, and you’re frozen at how fond she looks. laugh lines creased, under eyes more defined from the lift of her smile, blinks slow and gentle, so different from how harsh they are when she’s deep in thought – she looks at you like something to treasure, and you’ve never felt so desired and exposed. not that your memory is reliable right now – every sense, every thought, is wrapped up in the kiss.

“mm,” she hums. “okay.” then, she leans in again. 

–

when lee calls her mom that night to check in, and she’s asked the usual question of: did you say your prayers?, lee doesn’t feel like it’s a lie to say yes, even though she doesn't say her prayers, and never has. it's because she held you tonight, for the first time, and that felt so close to holiness. 

she feels like she's running on a high. she feels like she could almost commit herself to belief again, so long as the scripture is written on your lips. 

[snippy-tano]

Old Injuries

surprise! i’m back!

at least for this request anyways. this request came from a commenter on ao3! so thank you AnimeWeeb_2001!! basically they requested a one-shot with Hunter where the reader hurt her leg during a mission they were on together and kept it from Hunter until she literally collapsed and couldn’t walk anymore. basically some solid Hunter fluff.

and I am very happy to oblige! 

so here it is! hope you all enjoy it!

masterlist is here!

taglist is here!

tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life; @marvel-starwars-nerd; @mackstrut; @dissapointingpancake; @ahsokatano-thetogruta; @welcometothepedroverse; @padawancat97; @fractiouskat; @mandaloriandin; @bantha-shit; @badbatch-simp24; @katelynnwrites​; @s1st3r​; @leotatombs​; @torchbearerkyle​; @rain-on-kamino​; @the-navistar-carol​; @bombshe77​; @arctrooper69​; @social-mockingbird​; @littlebluebatbrat​; @get-wr3ckered​; @flowered-bicycles​; @idoubleswearimawriter​; @eris-k; @dangraccoon​

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

The mission itself was meant to be easy. 

A quick in-and-out that didn’t require the entire Batch. Which is why it was only you and Hunter who went. And for the most part, it had been going smoothly. 

You had both split up to cover more ground and make sure exit routes were clear. Hunter had commed you moments before stating that his path was clear and he was heading to the rendezvous point. 

You had no sooner echoed your own confirmation of a clear path and turned off the comm when your foot stepped in a small hole and pain exploded throughout your leg. You instantly saw stars and your good knee hit the stone ground. 

You forced your eyes open and looked back, seeing a small cracked hole in the pavement. If you had been paying attention, it was absolutely avoidable. 

Back when you were a teenager, you injured your knee playing a game of boloball with some neighborhood kids. It was as simple as some torn ligaments and you had made a full recovery at that time. But occasionally, if it was particularly cold or if you slept strangely, it would ache. 

In this case, all it took was stepping in a hole for the condition to flare up in the worst possible way. You knew you didn’t tear anything, at least you were pretty sure. It didn’t quite feel as painful as it did the first time, so you were fairly confident that you only slightly re-injured your knee. 

But you had to admit, it kriffing hurt.

You let out a groan of pain, blinking your eyes to get rid of the fuzziness and tears. Your hand went to your knee, as you forced yourself to take a few deep breaths, trying to will the pain away or at least hope that it lessened to a more manageable level. But that was not happening. 

Kriff this was bad. 

Really really bad.

Hunter’s voice calling your name over the comm dragged you out of your fog. “-you okay? Are you there? Report. I’m at the rendezvous.” 

“‘M fine.” You choked out a response, grabbing your blaster and forcing yourself to your feet despite the agonizing pain. “I’m almost there.”

You stumbled to the edge of the alleyway, bracing your hand on the cool brick of a building. You took a few deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. When your vision focused and you could breathe again, you started moving. 

Each step was like agony. Your knee felt like it was on fire and every slight movement had pain shooting through your leg. It was far more intense than it had been in a long time, which worried you.

But you needed to focus. Hunter was relying on you for this mission. 

You would not fail.

Pain was an old friend. You had this under control.

You spotted a figure in the distance among the busy market and you forced another deep breath into your lungs. The figure turned and you met eyes with Hunter who gave you a nod as you approached. 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you okay?” 

You willed your heart to stop beating so rapidly and your breathing to calm down. You plastered a small smile on your face. “I’m fine, just ready to get this over with.”

Hunter let out a soft chuckle. “You and me both. Come on.” 

He turned and headed into the crowd and you followed as closely as you could. The pain had not lessened in the slightest, in fact it had only gotten worse.

You may not have torn anything this time around, but if you kept walking on your leg, you just might end up reinjuring it. 

Stop. Focus.

Hunter entered a building and you stepped in after him, taking a glance around the darkened bar. He took a moment to gaze around the bar before walking towards a booth in the back corner. 

You headed for the bar, practically collapsing in a stool with a wince. A bartender appeared in front of you almost instantaneously.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Normally you’d refuse. 

Now was not the time or place to have a drink. You were on a mission and needed to be completely sober. But the throbbing, stabbing pain in your leg was a powerful motivator. 

“Give me something strong.” You rasped out and the bartender grinned. 

“Coming right up.” 

While you waited, you again focused on your breathing. 

Kriff you were so stupid. How could you do this on a mission? Hunter was relying on you and you injured yourself. 

Kark.

A glass appeared in front of you and you gave the bartender a grateful look before lifting the glass and downing the amber liquid in one go. The burn down your throat momentarily distracted you from the pain in your leg. You could feel the warmth beginning to seep into your body and felt yourself take a shuddering breath. 

You glanced over at the corner of the bar and saw Hunter speaking quietly with the man in the corner booth. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it didn’t look like it was going poorly. 

At least not yet. 

You heard the sound of liquid being poured and turned to see the bartender refilling your glass. When he saw your confused look, he chuckled softly. “This one’s on the house. You look like you could use it.”

You gave him a quick grateful smile that he returned before stepping away to tend to other patrons seated at the bar. You looked at the glass in front of you, fingers playing with the cool condensation on the glass. 

You shouldn’t. 

Your first drink wasn’t nearly enough to get you even remotely tipsy, but you really shouldn’t be drinking. Not while on a job. 

But then you thought about your leg and the continuous stabbing pain. 

And you downed the next one. 

You pushed the glass away as the drink burned a path down your throat and again began to warm your limbs. You pulled out some credits, probably more than the first drink was for, but you wanted to repay the bartender at least something for his kindness. 

You felt the ghosting of a hand at your back and turned to see Hunter with a bag now slung over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to the empty glass, but he didn’t say anything. 

You stood up, clenching your jaw and the pain in your knee as it protested you standing on it again. The bartender gave you a small wave and you returned the gesture with a nod as you followed Hunter out of the bar. 

As soon as you were back in the crowd, Hunter began to speak. 

“Are you sure-“

“-did you get what we needed?” You interrupted and he hesitated for a moment. 

You were only here to “recover” something that had been “stolen” from Cid by someone she’d managed to piss off, which didn’t surprise you. You honestly weren’t even sure if it was Cid’s to begin with, but she was insistent and concluded that a small party would be better, hence why it was only you and Hunter.

Your contact, the man in the corner of the bar, had “stolen” what was “stolen” from Cid and offered it for a price that Cid deemed acceptable. It was a ridiculous mission and you’d make sure to tell her when you returned. 

“Yes. We can go.” 

You took another two breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. 

You both moved fairly quickly through the busy market streets, heading to where you had parked the Marauder. You were almost there, almost home free.

You could rest your knee and finally get off this planet.  

There was some movement in front of you and you looked up just in time to see two kids running through the street towards you. You barely had time to brace yourself before one of the kids ran into you, shouting an apology as they kept going. 

Normally, it would have been fine.

But normally you weren’t injured. 

You stumbled as a renewed pain shot through your leg and Hunter was quick to grab your arm, steering you away from the busy streets only a few turns away from where the Marauder was waiting. 

So much for the alcohol. 

Your uninjured knee hit the hard ground as you gasped for breath. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” Hunter’s steady hand at the crook of your elbow was steadying in a way, but it also reminded you that you were in the middle of a mission and couldn’t afford for this to be happening right now.

“I’m fine, just give me a second.” You choked out, trying to push aside the continually growing pain. 

“What happened? Did you get hurt?” Hunter insisted. “Your heart rate is too erratic.” 

“My knee.” You hissed. 

You felt Hunter’s hand rest gently on your leg and you gasped as a flash of pain exploded through your leg. Your hand clamped on his wrist, as you inhaled sharply. 

“Don’t.” You choked out and he was quick to pull away, arms raised. 

“Can you walk?” He asked and you nodded. 

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” 

You took a few more deep breaths, feeling like the stupidest person in the galaxy for hurting yourself, even if it was an accident. After a few calming breaths, you gave a nod to Hunter and he looped an arm around you, helping you to your feet. 

Once you were standing, he kept his arm in place, supporting you as you wavered slightly. 

“Are you sure you can walk?” He asked and you gritted your teeth.

“Positive.” 

You had a feeling he knew you were lying, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he helped you hobble back out into the busy streets towards the waiting ship. Thankfully, not many of the crowd paid you any attention, so some of your pride was still intact.

You were right around the corner from the ship when you knee buckled beneath you. But this time, Hunter was ready, easily keeping you upright. Before you could protest, he looped an arm under your knees and lifted. 

You hissed in pain at your knee being jostled and Hunter breathed a quick apology.

“I told you I can walk.” You whispered as he moved quickly through the shipyard, the Marauder getting closer with every step. 

“This is faster.” Was all he replied. 

He was probably right.

Unfortunately. 

You made it to the ship and Hunter climbed the steps with ease, setting you down gently in a chair. He gave your face a quick once over as you waved him off. The door to the ship hissed shut as he left you and began starting the ship for take off. . You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the pain in your leg.

It wasn’t as harsh as before, but the throbbing was nearly unbearable and any movement had sharp pain shooting through your leg. 

The ship jolted and you inhaled sharply, cursing under your breath. 

A few moments later, as you were starting to feel like you could open your eyes again, you felt a gentle hand on your wrist. You looked up to see Hunter kneeling beside you, eyes soft in a way you only ever really saw him be with Omega. It had your heart clenching in your chest.

He gave your wrist a squeeze before he removed his hand and set down a medpack on the floor. As he riffled through it, he began talking. “What happened?”

“It’s an old injury. Normally it’s fine.”

“But not this time?”

“Apparently not.” 

Hunter nodded as he pulled out a stim and quickly administered it with only a few curse words. 

“When did it happen? Not the original injury, but this? Was it that kid?” He asked and you bit down on your lip.

You avoided his gaze until you heard him say your name softly. 

“Right after we split up to clear paths and check the perimeter. I misstepped.” You replied and he only let out a soft sigh. 

You knew that sigh. 

He did it all the time when Omega and Wrecker mention they put more mantell mix on the tab, or when Tech stays up all night without realizing it, or when Echo neglects to mention one of his prosthetics gets too stiff. 

It’s his “I’m disappointed sigh.”

And it’s never been directed at you. 

You’d always had sympathy for the others when on the receiving end of the sigh, but it was another thing entirely to know he was upset because of you. 

Kriff you’d have to apologize to the others. They were right. This is brutal. 

“You don’t have to hide these things from me.”

Okay. 

You were wrong. 

That statement was even more painful than his “I’m disappointed” sigh. 

“We needed to complete the mission, as stupid as it was. I wasn’t going to say anything because we couldn’t turn back. I knew we would finish it quickly and get back here where I could rest.” You said. “I know it’s stupid and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just - I just didn’t want to compromise the mission.”

Hunter rubbed his forehead before sighing again. “You’re more important than the mission.” 

You felt a pang in your chest and took a shaky breath. 

“You got that? You can tell me these things.” He again said and you nodded softly. 

“I got it.” Your throat felt tight, but you responded. 

“Okay, now let’s see if we can patch up your knee.” Hunter pulled out the small medkit and you carefully sat yourself up fully, wincing at the sharp pain in your leg. “How did you hurt it initially? You mentioned an old injury.”

“I was a teenager. We were playing boloball in the streets and I tore some ligaments. It healed back then, but sometimes it flares up.” You said as he pulled out a brace and some bacta.

“How often does it flare-up?” 

You sighed. “Sometimes when it’s cold or I step weird it bothers me, but for the most part it’s fine.”

“Except for today.” Hunter asked with a bit of a smirk and you let out a breathless laugh.

“Except for today.” You confirmed and he shook his head. 

“Let’s get your boot off and see if we can get some bacta on your knee.” He said and you quickly leaned forward to untie your boots only for your hands to be batted away by Hunter’s. You watched, stomach swirling, as he very carefully untied your boot and removed it without jostling your leg too much. He then helped you very gently roll up your pant leg until it was slightly easier to access your injured knee. 

Hunter wiped off his hands on a damp towel before beginning to spread the bacta onto your slightly swollen knee.

You did your best to not think about just how gentle he was being or how much it made your heart thump in your chest. You knew Hunter would likely be able to hear any changes in your breathing or heart rate, so you just focused on keeping them both as even as possible. But you weren’t sure if you were succeeding. 

Hunter finished and while he washed his hands again in the small refresher, you slowly worked your pants back down over your leg since the bacta dried quickly. Hunter reappeared and pulled out the knee brace you happened to have lying around. He carefully secured it, helped you put your boot back on, and then assisted you standing up. 

You swayed slightly, Hunter’s hands quick to grab your arms and hold you steady as you bumped into him. You weren’t able to stop the loud thump of your heart in your chest. You were both eager to get out of such a charged situation and also unwilling to move at all. Your hands gripped his arms and you resisted the urge to sway closer. 

Hunter gave you a small smile before leaning forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

It was at that moment that you truly felt like you stopped breathing. Your eyes closed and you wished to live in this moment for the rest of your life. 

There was a sudden loud beeping from the cockpit and Hunter pulled away, clearing his throat. “Come on, we’re almost to Ord Mantell.” 

He stepped away, offering his hand. You looked at his hand before looking up at him. He looked shy, more timid than you had ever seen him. It had a smile spreading across your face. You placed your hand in his and he helped you hobble to the cockpit and take a seat in one of the pilot chairs. 

You gave his hand a squeeze before you let go and you felt your mood brighten further when you saw a faint darkening of his cheeks. 

You turned to look at the controls, helping Hunter with the landing sequence after you dropped out of the hyperspace, feeling lighter and happier than you had in a long time. 

Maybe the resurfacing of old childhood injuries weren’t a bad thing, because maybe, just maybe, they would lead to something new and exciting.

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire, Chapter 1: A Little Night In Spring

The full first chapter of A Court of Peace and Ire, a Tamlin healing arc fanfic featuring actual acknowledgement of wrongdoing, conversations to actually heal the divide of Prythian, with a little bit of Neris vibes and whatever else I feel like putting in here.

This is my first ever fanfic for ACOTAR and I wrote it in a feral haze, so please be gentle. Also warning, this is a Pro-Tamlin fanfic. If you're not a fan of Tamlin, scroll on. The full fic will be on AO3 once I get a damn account, but i feel this could work as a one-shot by itself.

Trigger Warnings: Slight su*c*dal ideation, depression

--

Tamlin wondered what day it was, awakening to the sun spearing into his eyes through broken slats. A huff blew through his nose, deepened and heavy by the huling shape of his bestial form. 

Having golden fur didn’t help, his pelt sucking in all the light in an auric bloom and making it difficult for him to look at himself. 

Well, more difficult…

He had stopped bothering to clamor up the steps to his own bed at night, opting to let the weight of melancholy send him huddling into the corner of his foyer. It was cold, and it bothered him, but he didn’t deserve much warmth. 

Didn’t deserve much of anything actually, beyond incessant tirades from the High Lord of the Night Court and the occasional drop off from Lucien; a friend that was wasted on him. 

The High Lord of Spring ran his long beast-tongue over his teeth; he was glad Lucien had found true friends in this so-called Band of Exiles he had formed. The name was fitting, but Tamlin hoped that Jurian and that mortal queen would treat him better than he had.

Tamlin tucked into himself more, as if to brace himself for the great mental fall into his own dread. Everyone had fled, left his service, left his side, all for the things he had done and allowed to be done on his watch. Whipped sentries, predatory priestesses, letting the devil Hybern slither through his land to poking holes in the walls, and rend Children Of the Blessed apart like crows with corpse-flesh.

Such an immense, spectacular failure would be emblazoned in the history books soon enough, and Tamlin would probably also be cursed to see it consumed and discussed by the next generation of Fae. He couldn’t starve himself, couldn’t let dehydration sap him to a husk, and every beast and briggand he had come across during the days he actually got up to patrol, were all no match for even a sliver of his magic and strength.

Such is the strength of the High Lord, especially of Spring; “blessed” to never wilt. Doomed to never die a “passive” death.

High Lord. The one thing Tamlin never wanted to be, and the thing that Rhysand and his father damned him to become.

Tamlin heard a sound of wind rumbling through leaves; the unmistakable sound of winnowing. It came from down the hall past the stairs, and the High Lord braced himself for Rhysand and more of his half hearted attempts to reach out.

And indeed, a fae did march in with dark hair and eyes of glimmering blue, but he was barely two feet tall and had a set of dark pajamas ordained with stars. Two vestigial wings peaked out from behind him, and he held a plush night-beast in his tiny hands.

Tamlin swallowed, caught somewhere between genuine curiosity and terrible dread as the boy turned and gazed at him, eyes wide as he took in the High Lord of Spring’s animal shape. 

He braced for a wail, a cry of fear at the sight of him, but it ever came. Instead, the boy smiled and made his way down the hall in a slow but resolved toddle, his intent clear as he dropped his toy to free his hands.

Out of instinct and a spark of hatred from the boy’s resemblance, Tamlin craned his neck and growled, teeth flashing in the light of day. But the boy only paused, cocked his head to the side, then kept right on walking until he was inches away.

 Either the child was too young to yet know fear, or the Illyrian in him refused to let him back down, to ignore the danger in the pursuit of his goal. And he indeed reached it, pushing his small hands against Tamlin’s muzzle and running his fingers through the fur.

At the touch, Tamlin was utterly paralyzed, save for one twinge of the nose as he sniffed the air above the boy’s head.

He knew who this was, knew it in his blood and heart and bones, the smell a mixture of a familiar pair that had melded into something new.

It was his son. 

This was Rhysand’s son…by Feyre.

The Heir to the Night Court was in Tamlin’s manor, and was fucking petting him.

--

Mother above, what did kids his age eat?

Tamlin scoured his kitchen and cabinets for something to give the kid. A vicious rumble rose from the boy’s belly after about two minutes of roving over the High Lord’s snout, but his face hadn’t lost the pout he made when Tamlin changed back into a Fae. At least he didn’t start crying, thank the gods.

Two lone jars of applesauce rested in the dark shadows of the cupboard, Tamlin picking them up and searching them for any signs of rot or wasting. Thankfully, neither was present. “Guess you’ll have to do.” 

He turned back, unscrewed the top, and gently laid the green mushed mixture across a wooden plate he fished out, topping it off with a mismatched spoon before placing it down in front of the child.

The boy glanced up at him, utterly lost to the purpose of the silverware.

“What?” Tamlin said, eyes narrowing as the part-Illyrian shoved his tiny hand into his tiny mouth. “Oh, gods. No. I’m not feeding you.” Tamlin pushed the plate closer to him, and as if intent to push his buttons, the boy pounded his hand into the sauce and scooped it into his mouth, dribbling down his chin and onto the floor.

Tamlin hadn’t cared about a clean floor for years, but somehow that got him on his feet. A rag found its way into his hands, wiping the mess from the kid’s face and hand before getting the rest off the floor. Then he remembered that he had gods-damned magic, and that he could have just made it all vanish at a whim.

He really had been out of it, hadn’t he?

The kid made to dip his fingers in the apple sauce again, the High Lord halting him and reluctantly picking up the spoon. Carefully, he caught a spoonful and brought it to the boy’s mouth, a groan bursting from his lips as the child ate, then smiled with full cheeks.

“Cauldron boil me, what am I doing?” Tamlin asked himself, even as he picked up another bite for the kid to take.

He looked so much like Rhysand, minus the cool, daylight blue of his eyes, young and wide with wonder. It reminded him of the first day she had come, how in awe she was of his manor, of the world of the fae at large…of Tamlin himself.

The High Lord caught a drop of sauce before it stained the boy’s clothes. He had to have winnowed here by accident, a consequence of his already burgeoning power. Even at his young age, Tamlin could feel it, a smoldering ember that would blaze right past both him and Rhysand once he reached adulthood . 

The fact that Tamlin had not kept up with his wards didn’t help matters either, but still, why would he have ended up here of all places? He figured Rhys would have probably spelled the boy to never come within miles of Tamlin’s Court, yet here he was: Rhys’ son.

Feyre’s son…

Something in Tamlin dropped, a heavy weight whose rope had finally snapped. He held no hope of Feyre ever returning, of there ever being some chance for reconciliation. But the presence of this boy, the manifestation of her and Rhysand’s love for one another, the finality of it was a cold shard to his heart. He should hate this boy, be doing everything in his power to banish and scare him from the manor. But then he remembered exactly whose words—whose feelings—those were. 

The echoes of his father and his brothers circled around him, telling him the boy was a grave reminder of his failures, a taunt or some kind of trap to give Rhys the excuse he needed to rip out Tamlin’s throat once and for all. 

The second he harmed a hair on his head, the High Lord of Night would come and indulge in his violent delights.

Tamlin broke from his thoughts, noticing that he had paused with the spoon just out of reach for the boy to eat. He brought it down to let the kid feast, and in time the entire bowl of applesauce was gone.

As Tamlin cleaned the bowl, his eyes lingered on the rest of the dishes, the disgusting stack that had grown from his immense negligence. He cleaned about seven more than he intended, before noticing the part-Illyrian had gotten up and began waddling, keen to collect the night-beast toy he had discarded.

Tamlin walked and sat on the step leading to the foyer, watching the kid mimic the growls and hisses of the beast in emulation.

“Your parents must be worried about you.” He said, knowing the kid wasn’t paying attention. Visions of Rhysand tearing his manors apart, soaring over the night skies in search of his son, Feyre worried sick and hunting right alongside him, bow in hand in case of any danger.

 It should have brought Tamlin comfort, to imagine them so harried, so desperate and worried and willing to do whatever it took to find him, just as he had done…

But it didn’t.

The High Lord of Spring flicked his gaze back to the boy, catching in the middle of a yawn as he exhausted himself. His  half-lidded pale blue eyes struggled to stay open, but he shuffled up and approached Tamlin at the steps, his tiny hand tugging on the high fae’s pants. Tamlin’s brow rose, unsure as to what the kid was trying to tell him, until the heir of the Night Court pushed and nuzzled his head against Tamlin’s side.

“Are you…are you ordering me to change?” The boy’s head rose, his blank stare holding save for a single blink. He was. He was asking him to turn back into his beast form so he could fucking sleeping on him!

Tamlin almost laughed. Only a toddler and he was just as indignant and entitled as Rhysand was. He had half a nerve to scoop the kid up, winnow straight into the Night Court, and drop him off right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Instead Tamlin sighed, letting himself fall back into that golden, antler-crowned form and sloping down at the base of the stairs. The boy laughed and giggled, happy to see the great beast once again, and quickly made himself comfortable laying down at Tamlin’s gilded flank. 

The High Lord waited, held still and calm until he heard the soft breaths to sleep. He inched up slightly but the boy didn’t stir. Made sense that the heir of the Night Court was a heavy sleeper. He shifted and caught the boy in a masterful flair of magic, picking him up and gently moving to stand as he thought on what to do.

Did he send a fucking missive? “Hey, your kid wandered into my mansion and I was wondering if you wanted him back.”

No. No, he would have to go himself. Have to winnow in with no notice and explain everything, and hope that the gods were kind enough to grace the Night Court with enough patience for him.

He watched the boy sleep, and sighed. This was their child; Rhys and Feyre would have no patience for any story, any excuse, especially from him.

Tamlin let the shadows of his power coil around him, praying to the Mother that the sound of winnowing wouldn’t wake the boy, and as he felt the cool bite of frosted grass under his bare feet, he opened his eyes and found the kid still asleep.

Seems the gods were kind today.

Gazing up to the massive soap-stone colored tower, Tamlin lost himself in the coiling darkness of the night above, in the quilt of stars that peered through the clouds.

He hadn’t been here in years, and he didn’t realize just how much he missed the sky here until now.

The boy stirred in his hands, reminding him of his mission, and Tamlin skulked carefully towards the back door of the yard he now realized he was in. A small quilt sat at the edge of a stone bench, and he quickly wrapped the boy in it so as to beat back the Night Court chill.

Laying him down carefully, Tamlin brushed a small curl out from his face and stood to leave, but not before noticing a set of banners and decorations through the back door’s window. Frills and starlight-colored decorations flanked a trio of Italic letters: “N, Y, X.”

“Nyx.” Tamlin repeated, smirking at the irony of it. Some kind of celebration had been had, the decorations left up for some time, either out of pure laziness or lack of time on the boy’s parents’ part. Then the door within the party room suddenly opened, swift movement sending Tamlin scuttling behind the bench.

When the sound of the back door opening never came, he peeked out, and his heart shuddered at the sight within.

Feyre, face stained and garbed in a dark sweater, stood there speaking frantically to another girl with the same colored hair; probably one of her sisters. A dirty paintbrush was nestled in the bun she had put her hair in, and it was clear she was on the verge of crying with how upset she was.

Tamlin kicked himself; he should have bought the kid back sooner. Damn the crying or the hunger or the petty revenge, or whatever strange compulsion that made him keep the boy around this long.

This was his life, and his mother was worried sick.

Tamlin’s hand dropped and picked up a small piece of gravel, arching back in preparation to tap the glass before winnowing back to the safety—and loneliness—of Spring. He only paused when a pair of sleepy blue eyes stared back up at him.

Damnit, he was awake.

The boy was putting two and two together despite the haze of slumber, sitting up and reaching out for the High Lord as he reeled back, threw the tiny stone, and winnowed out of the yard before he could even hear the tap of its landing.

Nyx, alone in the of the estate garden, began to cry.

[ms-fandomgirl]

BBHG: Tonkatsu (Ch. 4)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Words: 5,291

Summary: A chance encounter in the Shibuya Train Station leaves you with a sore shoulder and a mysterious bento box. You’re willing to write the incident off and move on, otherwise preoccupied with navigating a new city and a new job, but a bombastic blond, meddling friend, and fate itself seem to have other plans.

Genre: Pro Hero AU, fluff, strangers to lovers, medical setting

Links: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Cross-posted on Ao3!

Tonkatsu - A Japanese dish consisting of a breaded, deep-fried pork cutlet. It is often served as a set meal with shredded cabbage, rice, miso soup, and pickles.

A crescendo of loud voices and heavy footfalls crested over you as you neared your destination. You grimaced, wanting to turn around and go back home, although that wasn’t an option here. Unfortunately, you weren’t in the train station. Those people you could handle. These were a different breed all together, and one you would rather die than face. In front of you, surrounding the main entrance to the hospital, was a sea of overly-eager reporters.

News of where Red Riot and Chargebolt were staying must have gotten leaked to the general public, although it also wouldn’t have been too difficult to figure out. Your hospital was the biggest one in the area, and it was also closest to where the attack had occurred. You tried to sneak around the outskirts of the mob attempting to get in, but your blue scrubs gave you away.

“Excuse me, do you work here?” one reporter asked, a young woman with pointed glasses and even pointier eyebrows drawn onto her face. You nodded quickly and tried to continue on your path, but it was too late. The crowd descended.

“Do you work with Red Riot and Chargebolt?”

“What are the conditions of the heroes?”

“Would you be willing to offer up a tour of the facility for an exclusive interview with our team?”

“When will the heroes be released from the hospital?”

They were most likely accosting you simply because you worked at the hospital. They had no reason to know that you did in fact work with Red Riot and Chargebolt. Still, you began to sweat at the thought that they had somehow figured it out, that they were targeting you specifically, and that they wouldn’t let you go until they had wrung every last detail from your body.

“I can’t answer your questions right now! I’m just trying to get to work,” you responded, trying to push your way through. This, however, was the wrong thing to say. You thought your answer was neutral, but the reporters latched on to your statement like a dog sinking its teeth into a prime cut of steak.

“So you confirm that you have information on the heroes Red Riot and Chargebolt?”

“If not now, then when would we be able to set up an interview with you?”

“What is it like to play nurse for two of the top ten? Are they still as charmingly handsome while infirmed? Hero Heartthrob wants to know.”

The last comment made your memory flash to a serene-looking Chargebolt, in a coma for the foreseeable future, and your blood began to boil. Who even were these people, to demand such things from you or anyone else for that matter?

“Don’t you have something better to do than harassing any poor medical personnel who enters these doors? What about reporting on the families of the injured civilians, or the manhunt for the villain? Go do your actual job and leave me alone to do mine.”

The reporters quieted in shock, and you braced yourself for the flurry of backlash that was sure to be unleashed your way. But it never came. Instead, their gazes morphed into something close to fear as the silenced stretched on. You failed to suppress a small smirk in victory, happy that even if you didn’t have their respect, as you doubted they ever respected anyone, you at least had their attention.

However, as they continued to stare at you, you began to feel a little uneasy, since they weren’t clearing a path for you either. You looked at the girl with pointy glasses who you now realized wasn’t staring at you, but at something directly behind your ear. You turned to look, but a deep voice boomed from behind, freezing you in place.

“You heard her. Scram.”

It was amazing to see how quickly the reporters could move when pressured. They parted cleanly down the middle, fleeing like beetles who had their dark log overturned and exposed to the sunlight. You finally turned to face one very ticked-off Bakugou, complete in full hero costume with a backpack slung over his shoulder, his arms crossed over his chest and a frown dipping the edges of his lips.

Despite his expression, you couldn’t help your small smile of gratitude. Playfully rolling your eyes, you motioned to the door, holding it open for him to enter. “You know, I thought that the reporters were actually scared of me for a second there. It felt nice.”

He chucked low in his chest, refusing your offer until you went in first. “It was quite a sight to walk up on: seeing some random nurse mouth off to a bunch of reporters like that. It was almost impressive, if you had upped your intimidation factor more.”

You huffed in frustration. “Would it kill you to give an actual compliment?”

“Yes.”

His words were harsh, but there was a slight bounce to his step that indicated he wasn’t completely serious. However, as the two of you made your way to the special ICU wing, his footfall became heavy, and all mirth slipped from his body replaced with a somber resignation. The change in atmosphere dampened your mood as well, and even more so as you heard raised voices coming from room 3307.

“I just don’t understand why I wasn’t informed of this decision until right now,” Gia said, her piercing voice echoing off the walls. She was standing in the center of the room, her arms crossed as she was facing Dr. Hiyashi with thinly veiled contempt.

For his part, Dr. Hiyashi looked surprisingly calm, although very weary from yesterday’s events. “The decision was made by myself and other nursing administrators. I appreciate your concern for these two top priority patients, but overall the hospital needs your talents of Diagnosis with the larger multitude of other patients.”

“But I could ensure that they are provided with whatever care they might need. Much more accurately than she could.”

Her attention had turned to you, standing awkwardly at the entrance of the doorway. You weren’t sure whether you were allowed to enter during this conversation, but it seemed now that the choice had been made for you. You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it. She might have been throwing a fit, but you couldn’t help but feel there was some truth to her words. It was a concern that had kept you up last night, when you had been replaying the day in your mind, and it surfaced once again, trying to drag you down into the depths of uncertainty. 

“Oh yeah? What’s she doing wrong, then? If my friends aren’t being taken care of, I want to know.” Bakugou took this chance to make his presence known, stepping out from behind you. Gia’s eyes, which had previously been glaring at you, widened in surprise at his appearance. She at least had the good sense to look chagrined by her previous statement, now knowing that she had an audience.

She blinked, regaining her composure before giving Bakugou her most practiced smile. “I was just implying that if something did go wrong, my quirk Diagnosis would be much better suited for caring for them.”

She had dodged his question, and Bakugou didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. “She’s already been taking care of them for a full day now. If something’s wrong with them, then you should be able to tell, right? Use your quirk to see.”

She looked over at Dr. Hiyashi, who simply shrugged. It was obvious he wanted this conversation over with. She sauntered over to Red Riot first, reaching out to touch his shoulder. The tell-tale green glow that emanated from her hand signaled that her quirk was in use. After several seconds, she retracted her hand, making a show of staring intensely staring at his monitors. She did the same to Chargebolt, walking back to the center of the room with a hand on her chin. The average onlooker would think she was troubled by something, but you knew that look to be one of calculation. A pit formed in your stomach as you realized she was planning something. 

“Well?” Bakugou demanded, his full force directed at Gia. He stepped closer to her, not enough to be in her personal space, but enough that she had to look up to meet his gaze. “Stop the scheming and give me an answer. I don’t have all day.”

Your eyebrows raised and so did hers, shocked at being caught. She swallowed, attempting to clear her throat before answering. “Chargebolt is in perfectly fine condition right now, and so is Red Riot.”

“Then what are you still doing here?” He pointed back to you. “She can obviously handle things by herself.”

“But if something happened unexpectedly-”

“I’m sure could also handle it because that’s literally her job. Just like it’s your job to work somewhere else. I don’t get what’s so confusing about this.”

Gia was the first to break eye contact, glancing down to the side. You almost felt bad for her. Being on the receiving end of Bakugou’s bluntness looked like an absolute nightmare. Then again, with the number of times she had made your life miserable, you mainly felt a sense of second-hand victory.

“We can continue this conversation elsewhere,” she said, turning to Dr. Hiyashi. While she couldn’t bring herself to admit defeat, she did exit the room as fast as she could, not even sparing you a glance as you left. Your gaze landed on Bakugou, who had a smirk plastered on his face as he watched her leave.

Dr. Hiyashi coughed into his hand, drawing the attention back on him. “While I might agree with the sentiments you spoke out about, I must ask you to refrain from speaking to any staff under my care in that manner again.”

You thought Bakugou might try to pick a fight with him as well, but it seemed as though even he could put on a filter when necessary. He gave a quick bow of his head in apology to the man. “I understand, Doc. As long as she doesn’t come in here and try to start running things again, we won’t have a problem.”

‘So close,’ you thought, watching Dr. Hiyashi’s shoulders sag. He rubbed his temple, pushing up the hair on his forehead. You swore you heard the words “it’s too early for this” mumbled from his lips. Nonetheless, he turned to face you, holding out a clipboard.

“We’re still doing some blood work on them, but for right now, things continue to remain the same. We’re also still trying to determine the exact composition of the toxins flowing through their system. I’ll let you know when more results come back. For now, you’ve been doing a good job at keeping things stable.”

You nodded, and he left as well, eager to be out of the room. Now only you and Bakugou remained. Despite the tap of his foot, he did seem to relax a little once it was just the two of you. His shoulders loosened, and he stretched his arms high above his head before wandering over to the side of both of his friends’ beds, inspecting their faces closely before sitting on the couch.

“Thank you.”

You broke the silence with a low bow to the man on the couch. It was perhaps a little humiliating, but after the stunt he just pulled against Gia, you thought it might be okay to stroke his ego, just this once.

He grinned in response. “Believe me when I say that it was my pleasure. She seemed like a pain, and I definitely would rather deal with you over her.”

“Of course…” you trailed off. You’re not sure whether to be flattered by the statement.

To take your mind off of the enigma that was Bakugou, you look down at the clipboard in your hands. The blood tests that had come back already showed no other symptoms or new areas of concern, which you considered a win. However, the toxin seemed to keep them in this comatose state, with no progress made toward uncovering its nature or cure. You adjusted the IVs according to the doctor’s notes, in hopes of flushing out the toxins from Chargebolt’s body.

You had zoned in on your work, focusing only on Chargebolt and momentarily forgetting the other person in the room. However, as you turned away from your patient’s bed, you were met with Bakugou’s garnet gaze, focused completely on you as you worked. You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling slightly nervous, and he seemed to snap out of whatever thoughts he was buried in.

“Do you eat lunch here?”

The question threw you off guard, and you scrambled for the right words. “Like, as in here here? No. But as in the hospital here? Most of the time, although I didn’t have enough time to make a lunch last night, so I’ll have to stop by a convenience store.”

He squinted his eyes, appearing to weigh the options of his next words in his head. “Don’t.”

“Huh?” you asked intelligently. “I need to eat, Bakugou.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know that. Eat with me, dumbass. It’s my turn anyways.”

With that, he reached into his backpack, pulling out a bento wrapped in pale orange cloth. Your heart stuttered in your chest before beating with increasing intensity. He had cooked for you, again. And not only had he cooked for you, but now he wanted to eat with you too?

“What’s on the menu?” you joked, trying to take your mind off of the glaring implications of eating lunch with Bakugou.

He gave you a cutting smile in response. “You’ll just have to come back and see, but I promise it’ll be the best damn thing you ever ate.”

His words were extremely cocky, but you couldn’t help but believe him. They rattled around in your mind for the rest of your shift like loose coins in a dryer, incessant words that resurfaced right when you were beginning to think you were over them. Of course, it didn’t help that you had told Hina about the whole interaction, and she now shot you suggestive eyebrow raises and winks every time you looked in her direction.

Just as your luck would have it, you were incredibly busy. You counted down as the minutes ticked by, first in anticipation, and then in dread once your lunch break hit but you were still on your feet. You tried to finish your tasks as quickly as you could, but between chatty patients and an influx of visitors, you bitterly watched your lunch break slip away until a meager 15 minutes remained.

You all but sprinted to the special wing of the hospital in the time you had left, needing a moment to compose yourself before entering room 3307. Bakugou was right where you left him, leaning forward on his elbows and lost in thought as he examined a mess of papers he had spread out on the coffee table. Upon your entrance, he looked up, his trance broken. He flashed a grin before beginning to shove the papers into a manila folder.

“Almost thought you ditched me,” he said, motioning you to sit in the chair closest to him.

You complied, fighting the urge to wring your hands. “I got caught up in my shift, unfortunately. It felt like everyone had something to say to me today, which isn’t awful, but you know, definitely puts me behind. I’m sorry to make you wait.”

He shrugged, passing you the pale orange bento box before fishing around in his backpack. After a second of digging, he was successful, pulling out a sage green bento with small, smiling hand grenades decorating the fabric. He flinched as you couldn’t contain the laugh bubbling from your throat at the sight.

“It was a gag gift from Shitty Hair over there, after he noticed I kept bringing my lunches wrapped up in that orange one. Said it was ‘manly’ or some shit.”

He rolled his eyes as he said it, but you noticed that once unwrapped, he folded the fabric into a neat square before setting it beside him, away from the food. His gaze turned to you, and you realized he was waiting for you to open the box still clasped in your hands. You unwrapped it with care. Taking in a deep breath, a broad smile crossed your face as you hummed in satisfaction.

Neatly cut and almost professionally presented in the bento was the best looking tonkatsu you had ever seen. The pork cutlet was fried to perfection, with small flecks of red in the otherwise golden batter denoting a hint of something spicy. Next to it was a bed of shredded cabbage with thinly sliced pickles on top. On the second layer, furikake rice took up the majority of the space, with blanched greens and a sliced tomato occupying the left corner in lieu of the traditional miso.

You licked your lips in anticipation, muttering a quick blessing of thanks before eagerly picking up your chopsticks. You loved the taste of fried food, but you hated the act of actually frying it. That’s part of the reason you were so impressed with the tonkatsu. Then again, with a quirk that literally creates explosions, you supposed a little hot oil wouldn’t be an issue. The other reason you were so impressed with the tonkatsu, was because, well -

“This is amazing,” you mumbled, mouth full of food.

“I told you it would be the best.” Bakugou preened at your compliment, almost glaring at you accusingly for your lack of faith. 

You held your hands up in mock surrender. “And I believed you! I had my doubts from the curry, but ever since the mapo tofu and now this, I have full faith in your cooking.”

At that, he let out a small choke, swallowing his rice hastily before replying, “Hey, what’s wrong with my curry?”

“You know what’s wrong with your curry!” you stressed. “It was too spicy. Plus, you used squash, which is a questionable choice to be sure.”

“What, you can’t eat your veggies?” he mocked.

You gave him an unimpressed look, making a show of shoveling the largest bite of cabbage and pickles you could get into your mouth. You chewed without breaking eye contact, smiling as you swallowed. “No, I like almost all vegetables, thank you very much. Just not squash.”

Your mind began to wander, the talk of vegetables reminding you of the myriad of plant life you have back at your apartment, courtesy of Shiozaki. “I’ve been experimenting with some different spices lately too. Ever since I moved, I have an abundance of them at my disposal.”

“You’re new here?”

“Moved to the city for my rotationals, although I hope to end up here one day. It’s definitely been a big change though.” You trailed off as you thought about your time in the city, with all of its challenges so far.

“I hope I can make it,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Bakugou, but he heard you easily in the otherwise silent room. 

“Aren’t you making it right now?” He gave you a quizzical look, and you averted your eyes before responding.

“Yes, but I’m still in school right now. It’s all structured. Once I graduate, I’ll be out on my own, and I’ll need to figure out a job, and friends, and my life, and-”

“And you will.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the finality in his tone. At your worry, he had tensed up once again, leaning forward on his elbows towards you with his eyebrows furrowed. You thought he would have joked about your rambling, but the glint in his eye was nothing but sincere.

“And how can you be so confident about that, hm?” You tried to draw out your question, make it sound more like a joke, but the words fell flat. You smiled, but you were certain that the underlying current of uncertainty made it look more like a grimace. 

“Because it’s true, if you have enough guts.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hoping for more of an explanation than simply “guts,” but the tinny boom of a thousand tiny explosions rang throughout the room as his cellphone went off. You hid your laugh behind your hand as he answered. He seemed deeply pissed to be disturbed by whoever was on the other line, but surprisingly obedient. After what you would consider minimal grousing on his part, he ended the call, sighing as he began to pack up his backpack.

“Sorry, but the boss called. I have to go in for an emergency meeting,” he grumbled. He was frowning as he said it, and it almost seemed like he wanted to stay a little bit longer due to his slow movements.  He reached for your bento box out of instinct, but you leaned away, clutching the empty box to your chest.

“It’s my turn to cook now,” you grinned, shaking your head and holding the box as far away from him as you could.

He could have easily gotten it from you, but he quickly gave up, zipping up his backpack instead. “I guess it is. Better make me something good.”

You scoffed, gaining the courage to tease. “Don’t I always?”

At this, he fully laughed. “Yeah, you do.”

You beamed at the compliment, and Bakugou quickly looked away, fiddling with the straps of his backpack before standing up in a rush.

You thought nothing of it, walking with him out of the room and down the twisting hallways until you arrived at the entrance of the ICU wing. After giving one more heartfelt thanks for the meal, you watched him leave before returning to your regular duties, feeling time tick by just a little bit slower.

The rest of your afternoon was excruciatingly painful, not because you injured yourself, but because you were stuck behind the desk of the visitor’s check-in due to a nurse calling in sick last-minute. It wasn’t that you necessarily hated visitors. Most of them were just concerned family members, and you couldn’t fault them if they were a little weepy or frazzled. However, it seemed as though the majority of visits had occurred in the morning, and the waiting room was left unnaturally empty.

While the quiet was welcome, it was rather boring after a while, so you began to busy yourself with updating patient files within the system. It wasn’t the most fun work, and it was normally handed off to an intern or other assistant, but it was better than sitting there doing nothing. You had finally gotten into the flow when a soft cough sounded above you, ripping your focus away from the screen. 

You looked up, coming face-to-face with a humongous bouquet, all different varieties of flowers but all in some shade of vibrant red. The arrangement was beautiful, but it was so large that the person holding it was completely lost behind the florals.

“How can I help you?” you asked.

The flowers rustled before a timid voice spoke from behind them. You had to lean forward in order to even hear it. “Uh, I’m here to see Red Riot, if I can?”

Your shoulders dropped at the comment, happy that your exasperated expression was obscured by the gift. The agencies of both Red Riot and Chargebolt had released an official statement telling the public that all gifts for the heroes should be directed to them for both safety and privacy reasons. However, it seemed like this fan didn’t seem to get the memo. You were mildly surprised that they had even narrowed it down to your wing of the hospital specifically, but you figured that if the ravenous news reporters could figure it out, a devoted fan could as well.

Nonetheless, you pasted on your best customer service face before answering. “I’m sorry! As officially announced by the Fatgum Agency, you need to direct all cards and gifts to them instead of us. I cannot accept this.”

The vase shook with more agitation, and a couple of lily petals scattered to the ground in the disturbance. “Oh, uh, you don’t understand! I’m not a fan of Kiri’s. I mean, I am a fan, but not just a fan. Um, I’m here to see how he’s doing and to drop this off on behalf of the Fatgum agency.”

After a moment of hesitation, during which more petals were dislodged, the vase was quickly set on the ground out of your view. The stranger stood up to properly introduce himself, but you were already gaping at him, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment. You were an idiot, a complete and utter idiot. You resisted the incredible urge to bang your head on the desk in front of you in frustration. How many times had you heard that voice before? Only every other lunch break. Hina would never let you hear the end of this.

Standing before you, hands fiddling with the strings of his indigo hoodie, was none other than the Number 12 Pro-Hero Suneater.

“Of-of course. I’m so sorry about the confusion.” This time it was your turn to trip over words.

“No, no it’s really my bad. I should have introduced myself properly. I’m sure you’ve gotten some excited fans already. Sorry,” he replied, looking down at the floor.

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault at all, and that you were the one who was in the wrong, but you knew the conversation would go on interminably. Previous interviews proved that to be the case. Instead, you shook your head, your air of customer service being replaced by a genuine smile.

“While I’d like to disagree with you about that, let’s just say it’s both of our faults and call it a truce, okay?”

He nodded in approval, giving up as you continued your spiel. “For protocol, do you have a valid form of identification on you? I just need to see it before you can go back and see Red Riot.”

His eyes widened in surprise, as though he had forgotten about this step. He began to rummage through his pockets, muttering apologies as he did so. You brushed them off with a chuckle, watching as he dug through the pockets of his pants, hoodie, and finally the jean jacket he was wearing on top if it. You had to admit, he might not have been your type on page, but in-person, he was pretty cute. Hina had a point.

‘Hina-’ you mused. ‘What she wouldn’t give to be here right now…’

“Here you go,” Suneater said, breaking your train of thought by finally producing his license to you. You took it from him quickly, looking at both sides just to be safe before returning it. Of course it was the real thing, because of course, this was the real Suneater before you. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

You stood up from your chair, walking over to the intercom on the wall. You coughed once, clearing your voice before pressing the button.

“Nurse Hina, please come to the visitor’s desk. Repeat: Nurse Hina, please come to the visitor’s desk. Special request. Over.”

You returned to your seat before glancing up at Suneater, who seemed rather alarmed by your actions. You tried to don a mask of cool professionalism, but you’re pretty sure the corner of your mouth twitched upward as you began to explain the situation to him.

“Nurse Hina has been placed with the specific task of caring for Red Riot during his stay. Both he and Chargebolt are being kept in a special access wing, so she will escort you to their room.”

Suneater relaxed at this statement, not noticing how your eyes sparkled with mischief. Sure, you had access to the same wing that Hina did, and yes, you were currently on duty for visitor requests specifically, but Suneater didn’t know that. If things went according to plan, he never would.

The sound of footsteps were rapidly approaching behind you, and you turned in your chair to see a flustered Hina.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” she gasped out.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Nurse Hina. A special request has come in to visit Red Riot, and as the presiding nurse in charge of his care, you will be escorting this visitor there.”

Hina looked at you with complete and utter confusion, and you silently begged her to play along. Your eyes darted back and forth to the visitor area where Suneater stood, and she had the good sense to follow your gaze before saying anything first.

You knew the exact moment she registered who was behind the window. Her spine instantly straightened, and her eyes grew wide until the whites were clearly visible. You subtly bumped her shoulder as you passed her to open the door, attempting to break her out of her stupor. It worked, and she followed you out of the door to properly greet Suneater, although she still looked like she was in a daze.

“Nurse Hina, this is Suneater. He’s come on behalf of the Fatgum agency to deliver this bouquet and to check on Red Riot. Suneater, this is Nurse Hina. She will be taking you to Red Riot’s room, and she is here to answer any questions you might have about him.”

The two bowed politely to each other, muttering basic formalities before Suneater bent over to pick up the absurdly large bouquet of flowers once again. He nearly dropped the vase a couple of times, clearly preoccupied as his gaze remained fixated on Hina instead of the object in his hands. He eventually used his quirk to provide extra stability so he could hold the flowers with one hand against his hip while still keeping his face uncovered. You swore Hina squeaked when she saw the tentacles come out.

At this point, it felt as though both people had completely forgotten your presence, but it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You watched the scene unfolding in front of you with unbridled glee.

“The flowers are beautiful. I’m sure he’ll love them once he wakes up,” Hina commented as she held the door open for him. You slipped in after them, going back to the desk as they continued down the hallway.

“I’m glad you think so. Fatgum made me pick them out. I don’t have much experience with doing that type of thing, but I know he likes the color red, and so I just chose some that seemed to work together,” Suneater mumbled, but Hina had caught every word he said.

She nodded enthusiastically. “And they do! I especially love the tiger lilies. They’re my favorite.”

Suneater latched on to the statement, giving her the first genuine smile you had seen from him all day. “Oh really? Mine too!”

Their voices faded as they walked down the hallway, and you squealed the second you were sure they were out of earshot. You didn’t hear from Hina for the rest of your shift, but if anything, you took that as an extremely good sign. The rest of the afternoon was uneventful in comparison, but it hardly mattered.

All you could think about was that, without a doubt, this was the most eventful day of your life. That, and you were officially the best friend ever in the whole entire world.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! It was supposed to be a short one, but it ended up being the longest yet. Since it ended up so long and I traveled for the holiday season, I am unfortunately pushing the release of chapter 5 back to Dec. 8th (unless I miraculously write it in like 4 days). Sorry about that! I'm hoping that the extra time will be able to give me back the buffer I had built up before. Thanks so much for your understanding!

As always, reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated, but please do not repost here or on other platforms. However, fan arts, edits, or anything like that are beyond amazing and totally welcome! If you have a question about it, just ask me.

Tag List: @lavender99, @gold24fish, @bqkuho3, @satorulicious, @cringeycookies, @summrwalkr, @nyxmania, @poopoobuttsy, @st1rvoid, @kitzusune, @nindevorak, @stxrrielle, @cax-per, @kisskissshutmydoor

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[lightseoul]

you're losing me

synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.

cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing

word count. 2.5k words

“Where is everybody?”

You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”

You merely hum in response.

A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.

“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”

At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”

You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”

You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”

“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.

“Okay.”

You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.

It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.

“You alright?” you ask.

He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”

Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.

“What is it?”

At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.

And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N.”

At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.

He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.

He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”

That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.

You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.

You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”

Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”

And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.

��Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”

You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.

Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.

“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.

He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.

You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”

“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”

“Okay.”

You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.

He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.

Since when did he get so hesitant with you?

“I’ll go then,” he announces.

And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.

Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.

The days after are unremarkably the same.

He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.

On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.

Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.

You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.

And so you rarely see him.

But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.

Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.

Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.

Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.

“Nightmare,” he croaks.

At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”

The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—

“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”

Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.

He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.

“Okay.”

The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.

Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:

Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.

Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.

Still, maybe he needs this night out.

You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.

With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.

Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.

You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.

You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.

Huh.

You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”

“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”

Your Katsuki? Drunk?

For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.

“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”

“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”

When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”

Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.

“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”

“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.

Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.

You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.

“We’re here, Kats.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.

Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.

“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”

You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“My mom made me do it, you know.”

You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”

“Propose to you.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”

You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”

He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.

“It was stupid of me, though.”

Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”

He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.

“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”

“Katsuki.”

“You can do way be—”

“Katsuki!”

He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.

You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.

“Look at me.”

He does so.

“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.

“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He thinks you don’t want to marry him.

Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.

You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.

And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.

You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.

Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.

You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.

He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”

At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”

He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.

A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”

Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.

You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”

He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”

“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”

At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”

At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.

“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”

Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”

At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”

You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.

“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”

Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.

“Not if I propose to you first.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3

[bethdutten]

the ending i learned to love

summary: One of these days, he’ll get it right and he’ll see it through, one way or the other.

warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-harm, angst but with a happy ending!

a/n: this had no business being this depressing im sorry

Bucky survived everything, more than anyone should conceivably be forced to survive, but he wasn’t sure if he could survive himself.

He wished he could stop punishing himself. Could feel like it was enough. Sometimes he thinks he should stop calling himself a survivor; because, did he? Did he survive, if he still feels like this?

It was a regular November night when he met you. It also happened to be the night he had decided to finally commit to either living or dying. He couldn’t keep existing in this in-between place-- feeling like a man who should be dead, living anyway without actually wanting to. 

He told Steve he was going for a walk, headed out towards Central Park, which was exactly the same and completely different than he remembered. He walked with his hands in his pockets, head down, going over the pros and cons of killing himself like he did every night, when a loud bark pulled him out of his thoughts.

It was the only warning he got before a large mass of fur knocked into him, jumping right up on his chest before he had a chance to dodge out of the way. He swore, right hand stuck in his pocket as he struggled to catch his fall. There was a thin layer of ice on the ground from an early rain that froze in the cold November temperature, and he just barely managed to get his left hand out to brace his fall, completely forgetting he’d forgotten his gloves.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

A voice called out from in front of him, a figure in a black coat holding a leash grabbing on to the dog before it could lunge at Bucky again. Bucky grimaced, clenching his fist against the ground, ready to snap at the irresponsible owner of the dog as he looked up and--

You held out your hand, eyes full of worry. “Are you okay? She never does this, I don’t know what got into her.”

Bucky blinked, watching your gaze flicker down to his metal hand when he hesitated. But you didn’t pull your own hand away, and he carefully took it, mindful not to grasp too tightly as he pulled himself up.

Your hand lingered in his for a second too long, sliding up his wrist to squeeze his forearm. “Sure you’re okay?”

He didn’t know what the hell was going on. He can’t remember the last time someone treated him like he was... normal. Before the war, at least. If it wasn’t the obvious aversion to his arm, it was his murderous facial expressions that tended to scare people off. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.”Um. Yeah. Uh-- I’m fine.”

You gave him a tentative smile, hand dropping from his arm. “She always walks right beside me without a leash, I don’t know why she jumped on you. You don’t happen to be carrying any dog treats on you?”

Bucky felt himself softly smiling back. “No, more of a cat person.”

“You seem like it.” 

He tucked his hands back in his pockets, shrugging. “Are you saying I seem unnecessarily cruel and independent unless hungry?”

You laughed, and the sound made Bucky’s cheeks warm. It was a sound he instantly wanted to hear more of. “A bit? Is this your way of fishing for a dinner date?”

“Oh, uh, no. No, I just--” Bucky looked down, flustered and cursing himself for how lame he sounded. He used to be good at this-- but that was a different lifetime.

But you just knocked your shoulder against his, putting him at ease, again treating his left arm like it was no different from his flesh and blood arm. You grinned. “I’m kidding. Although, my dog did just maul you to the ground, the least I could do was buy you some food. Or a coffee?”

Bucky looked up, your cute head tilt and slight blush confirming that you were, in fact, asking him out. 

Just a minute ago, he was contemplating whether Christmas was a pro or a con to be alive for, and here he had a gorgeous girl holding his metal hand like it was nothing and asking him for coffee. Later, he would tell you how close he was to picking death, and how you literally saved his life. Now, he just gave you a smile, a real smile, one he hadn’t had a reason to use in years, and said,

“I’d love that.”

---

That was two years ago. Now, Bucky lived in Brooklyn with you and your dog and Alpine (who reluctantly shared her home with you both if only to appease the man who fed her). And he still wasn’t quite sure if he was strong enough to survive himself.

Because he had everything, he had you. And he was still sitting on the bathroom floor, blood dripping down his shoulder from where he was clawing at where metal met flesh, and wished he no longer existed. Bucky thought of all the violence he has inflicted in his life, none has been as violent as what he has done to himself. Because it had to be, right? How else could it make up for all he did?

You came home from work, letting the dog out and feeding Alpine, going through your usual routine. Bucky had been on an assignment with Natasha and Steve all week, and he usually called before he came home. You were just about to text him and ask how it was going when you noticed the light coming from under the bathroom door.

“Buck? Are you home? Why didn’t you--” you pushed open the door, freezing as you took in the sight beside you. Bucky looked up at you with fear in his eyes, red-rimmed and wet with tears, his right hand shooting up to cover his shoulder. But the blood had trinkled down his chest and caked in his nails-- you knew immediately what he'd been doing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, dropping to your knees and grabbing his hand, pulling it away from his shoulder to see the damage. It was bad, but at least he didn’t take a knife to it like that time a year ago. You met his eyes, sighing. “Baby, why didn’t you call me?”

“Don’t, please,” he choked out, watching you lean over to grab the first aid kit under the sink and rifling through it for the bandages and antiseptic. 

You ignored him, pouring the liquid over his shoulder to get a better look at the injuries without all the blood. There were a few gouges that were still bleeding, but most of it was surface damage. You pulled off your shirt, shaking your head when Bucky whined as you struggled to pull him up. 

“Come on, in the shower.”

“No, just leave me--”

“I’m never leaving you!” you snapped, looking him dead in the eye and steeling yourself for a fight. Sometimes it was like this-- arguing over whether to let him suffer alone or let you help, like you could ever just leave him like this. Like you ever stopped thinking about him, could stop loving him. Like you could live without him.

Bucky gave a huff of defeat, letting you pull him to his feet and undressing him the rest of the way, carefully leading him into the shower before following him in. You ran the water as hot as you both could handle, standing under the spray as it washed the blood down his chest and circled pink around the drain. 

You wrapped your arms around him, letting him tuck his face into your neck and cry, and stood there until the water ran cold.

---

Afterwards, once you’d washed his hair, bandaged up his shoulder and set him up in bed with a movie, you cuddled up against his left side, pressing soft kisses to the skin above the bandage.

“I wish I could have met you when I was whole.”

Bucky said it so softly, so broken, you squeezed your eyes shut to hold back the flood of pain that brought tears to your eyes. You wished you could take all his hurt into you.

“Bucky,” you hushed, leaning up to meet his eyes, resting your hand on his face to make sure he was paying attention. “You have always been whole to me. And I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, but he still acted like it was. He stared back at you, frowning as he searched your face for a lie, and found none. “Really?”

You nodded, kissing him softly. “I love you.” You pulled back and smiled against his lips. “I love you.” Kissing him again, you whispered, “I love you—“ yelping when he swiftly rolled you onto your back and hovered above you, laughing. You grinned at the beautiful smile on his face; he was incredible, unbelievable. You didn’t understand how you got so lucky.

“I love you.” Bucky kissed you slowly, metal arm holding himself above you as his other hand trailed down your body, hips grinding down against yours. You moaned, back arching to press as much skin to his as possible.

“Bucky,” you panted, raking your nails down his back, avoiding his shoulder. “Need you.”

“My turn to make you feel better.”

—-

It was his birthday. Every year was a reminder of how he wasn’t supposed to be here. A bonus year, he called it. Usually hoping it would be his last.

This one was different. This year, he started to plan for the future; something he never really did until he met you. You asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, and he said he wanted something lowkey. Just his closest friends, the ones who were like family, and you.

You said you’d book a table at your favorite rooftop bar in Manhattan, just a casual thing.

Bucky should have known you’d invite half of the city, instead.

He feigned a smile and tried not to flinch when they jumped out in surprise, Steve at least having the sense to look guilty.

“She planned it, man. Didn’t want you to think we didn’t all love you.”

Bucky just rolled his eyes and slung his arm around your shoulder, already resigned to the night being ruined. But he kissed you sweetly and murmured, “Thank you, babe. I love it.”

“Everyone here is so happy they get you in their life,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his as you sighed. “Especially me. I can’t wait to celebrate a million more of these.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “God, this serum might just make that possible.”

“If only I’d be so lucky,” you grinned, dragging him along to a table near the edge of the rooftop. “Come here, I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?” There was a group of people gathered away from the crowd, a man at the center of it laughing. Bucky froze, yanking you back by the hand. “Wait. Is that… you didn’t.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk. “I did.”

A cousin’s friend’s friend happened to know the publicist for Keith Richards, who was in the city with the Stones for a show later that week. They were Bucky’s favorite band, and he was convinced Keith must have gotten some version of the serum to survive the 80s.

He snapped out of it, turning to you with a huge smile on his face. “I love you.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Go on, fangirl with your favorite person. Happy birthday, baby.”

Bucky shook his head, cupping your face and kissing you hard. You licked into his mouth, moaning softly before remembering where you were, pulling away and feeling yourself blush.

He grinned, kissing you again quickly. “You’re my favorite person. Best gift ever.” He turned and headed towards the group surrounding the rock star, and you made sure no one bothered them for the rest of the night. And you were only slightly jealous.

You didn’t get back home until after 3AM, Bucky going on and on about his conversation with Keith in the cab. You grinned, sitting down on the bed as you slipped off your jacket and dress, leaving them in a pile on the floor to deal with tomorrow.

“So the night was good?”

Bucky sighed, collapsing down beside you. “No, actually. You kinda ruined my birthday.”

You frowned, leaning over and brushing a piece of hair from his temple. “I know you wanted something small, but I thought inviting Keith Richards would be more special—“

“But it was supposed to be just you, me, and our close friends where we went on our first date, so I could ask you something I’ve been preparing for for months,” he explained nonchalantly, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a ring.

You felt your heart drop, staring at the diamond ring in his hand as Bucky slowly slid off the bed and onto one knee, taking your hand. “And now you’re making me do this at 3AM the morning after my birthday, in my stupid bedroom, nothing special at all—“

“James Buchanan Barnes, shut the fuck up,” your whispered, hands shaking as Bucky gave them a squeeze and smiled softly at you, holding up the ring.

“Fine, but one more thing. Will you marry me?”

You felt your vision get blurry, every moment in your relationship replaying in your mind— the first day your met, when he’d been walking in the park deciding whether he should live or die; every night you woke up from his nightmares, holding him until he could breathe again; all the times he tried to hurt himself, all the nights you whispered how much you cared about each other, every time he made you laugh until it hurt and he made love to you like he was worshipping you.

But he was still healing. Every day was a fight against himself. And someday you feared you wouldn’t be there in time. You couldn’t lose him, not as a best friend, not as a boyfriend, not as a husband. “Buck,” you started, voice cracking with emotion. “Promise me. This is for forever, right?”

There was a look in his eye like he knew exactly what you were thinking; and he probably did. He was so good at reading you. It’s why he never doubted your love for him, even if he doubted how much he deserved it every day. But he didn’t take this lightly— truth be told, he’d thought about this from the first month he met you. And he wouldn’t have asked you if he didn’t know it was more than a marriage proposal.

It was him finally deciding once and for all, to live.

“Listen. I love you now. I’m with you now. I’ll do my best, moment to moment, to be here now. That’s all I can promise. That’s all I have.”

You let out a watery laugh, smiling. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

Bucky held out the ring again, a worried smile of his own on his face. “So, will you be my wife?”

And despite giving him the best birthday and the worst proposal, he wouldn’t have changed a single thing when you said yes.

[skymar13]

Hey!

Just an idea… Aizawa x pro hero!reader with the reader being the sister to Oboro Shirakumo and both Aizawa and reader finding out oboro’s body is a vessel as “Kiriogiri” to the LOV.

I really enjoy this idea… havnt done Aizawa so you get a star. Not proof read because I don’t like rereading my own work but I will sooner or later.

:angst

Shouta Aizawa x oboros sister! Fem! Reader

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You were confused, truth be told all three of you were. The safety comity specifically requested for you your husband and hizashi to be escorted to tartarus. You were annoyed truely you were. You had things to do and papers to grade.

“Excuse me but what exactly are we doing here? We’re busy people we don’t have enough minutes in the day to spend doing busy work” you rolled your eyes as you felt shouta grasp your hand signaling for you to stop whining.

“Loud Cloud, you’ve been specifically requested, for what I am not authorized to disclose.” The guard said with a touch of nervousness in his voice. You were known to be quite a blunt and let’s just say difficult person.

“Yeahyeah cmon [name] you know there’s gotta be something totally important if they want to deal with you!” Hizashi said in his usually loud voice with his pointer fingers.

“Yeah like they’d willingly face your wrath.” Shouta said with a barely noticeable smirk.

“I hate you both.” You said as you turned around the corner the guard pressed his key to the reader that opened another door. There were two more guards standing on the opposite side who requested any items you had. You and Shouta only had your phones keys wallets while Hizashi dumped out years worth of gadgets.

“Cleared proceed. Follow me.” The female guard said walking down another large stretch of hallway and at the end awaited the police captain the head of the prison and the safety comity lady.

“Hello Eraserhead, loudCloud and present mic. It’s wonderful to have you, but before you go in we must disclose some information about the prisoner we’ve brought you to see.” The lady said.

“Inside we have the infamous Leage of villain member kurogiri, he was formally known as someone all three of you were well acquainted with, now we must brace you for this particular piece of information” sherif relented and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. All three of us nod side eyeing each other as I grab onto shoutas hand.

After a pause he continues “we’ve found out that kurogiri is a nomu of sorts and the vessel is oboro shirakumo” I felt my breath get stuck in the back of my throat and eyes widen.

“My brothers been dead. That’s impossible.” I said my voice slightly raised.

“I saw him with my own eyes that cant be.” Shouta voiced barely above a whisper his eyes wider than mine.

“No way man he can’t be alive, it’s just not possible.” Hizashi yelled eyebrows etched into a deep pinch

“That’s what we thought too, but we’ve confirmed that is him.” Sherif confirmed. “We’ve brought you here today to se if you’d be able to tap into Shirakumo’s conciseness and bring him back” the comity lady sighed

My head felt dizzy and my hands started shaking I couldn’t believe it. ‘I saw him die, I caused his death.’ I thought u til I was pulled out by my husband grabbing my hand and squeezing it tightly.

Without another word they opened the door to his cell. There were three chairs and a small table that had water bottles and tissues placed on it. They pulled Shouta aside while me and Hizashi took our seats. I stared at the figure in front of me behind the glass.

“They’ve rid him of everything Zashi, they took his eyes, his freckles, his smile.” My eyes watered as I took in his appearance. A figure you’ve come acquainted with as you’ve caught him before.

“I know” zashi said quietly and Shouta walked in sitting on the last seat quickly activating his quirk.

Hizashi was the first to speak. Begging oboro to give a response that he was still in there to no avail. Then Shouta tried he gave a heart breaking speech about his teachings and how much he affected his life to no avail.

“My name is kurogiri. I am here to assist to master Shigaraki” was all he said in response to them.

“Do you remember when we had began at UA, in our first year I wanted to give up? I tried to quit and drop out but you never let me! You said I had such a bright future as a hero, that I had a smile that’d heal the world.” I yelled into the glass. “Truth be told you saved me! You were my brother but before that you were my hero! I prayed every night that it was a dream or cried that I should have been the one to die that day not you. I won’t give up on you because you never gave up on me. I am a hero because you were mine. My hero.” I hadn’t even noticed that I was crying or that I had stood up until Shouta pulled me into his side. “I wanted to be like you for so long. I coppied your hair color and practiced my smile in the mirror, hell I even took your hero name. You’re still my oboro” I finished tears pooling on the ground

“My name is kurogiri. I am here to assist master shigaraki” was all he said in response.

“No your name is Oboro shirakumo. You’re my brother.” I whispered looking into his void of a face.

“[name] sit down it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay” my husband tried to reason but I couldn’t my body wouldn’t let me do anything.

“We’re done here, we’ve tried everything it’s not going to work” Shouta yelled towards the door and the prison keeper opened the door.

I was still sobbing and for a split second I felt that oboro had came through I couldn’t tell you how or give any proof but I knew he did.

✧༺༻✧

We arrived home after a silent car ride. I slid my shoes off as Shouta did his. We hadn’t said a word to each other. We both knew that if we did that’s we would end in tears.

I turned on the shower taking a quick body bath. After wards I laid in bed and silently sobbed into the comfort of the soft sheets. I felt the bed dip as the familiar body of my husband laid down besides me. After a minute he pulled me into him holding me silently but I felt his tears on the back of my neck and the short shallow breaths he let out.

“It’s going to be okay.” We both said at the same time making us giggle.

There was truth to my words. We would be okay, because I still had Shouta. And as long as I had him then I had a piece of oboro.

[shibaraki]

THREE’S A CROWD ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, coworkers/friends to lovers, mutual pining, pro hero shouto, fluff + silliness, a very jealous shouto, PR agent reader, social media, workplace romance, first kisses, getting together

wc: 3k

As he grows older Shouto sometimes regrets picking his given name for heroics.

Call it adolescent laziness, but when he was a teenager it felt like rebellion; carelessly giving away that part of himself just to hear how different it sounded in other people's mouths. If repeated enough he thought the tragic lacquer might chip away piece by piece until his name was anew and no longer an echo of his fathers voice.

But now his bones ache and his work follows him absolutely everywhere. The hours he spends at the agency and at home bleed together, diluted into a single muddied memory. Officially adopting the moniker ‘Icyhot’ has never been so tempting. It would be nice to actually have skin to shed.

These instances of regret are infrequent, though. It may be jarring to have strangers call out to him so casually but he counts it as adequate payoff for his name making a home in your mouth. Who knew a sound could feel like an embrace?

“Shouto!”

When it’s you, hearing his name can only be a good thing. Usually.

He’s helpless to the small smile pulling at his lips as your contagious enthusiasm filters into the otherwise dim room like sunlight. You appear in the doorway to his office, remaining half hidden behind the frame, arms held behind your back and wearing an excited grin of your own.

Having you on the PR team has done wonders for his image, apparently. Employees loved throwing around puns about his cold demeanor being ‘thawed’. Shouto was never intentionally aloof, but he was perceived that way all the same.

When you don’t immediately flounce into his office to bother him he grows suspicious. “What is it?”

Shifting your weight between each foot restlessly, his eyes fall to the soft bottom lip caught between your teeth. You inhale deeply as if bracing for impact before stepping forward, bringing your arms out from behind your back.

And now cradled against your front is… him?

The plushie is atrocious. Two large desolate eyes stare back at him from beneath a bi-coloured felt fringe. Not only is it wearing a tiny version of the UA uniform, there is a pair of pointed cat ears on top of its head—one white and one red. Atleast the scar is on the correct side.

Amidst his judgment you have closed the distance, standing in front of his desk, squeezing the thing tight to your stomach. Shouto swallows down his immediate displeasure and feels ridiculous for it.

Voice tempered, he prompts, “A plush toy?”

Your shoulders relax, thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft fabric in slow, idle motions, “Yes—well, he’s actually a knock off. Technically I shouldn’t have bought it, but I couldn’t resist!”

“It’s ugly”.

“Don’t say that! Just look at him,” brought to your face, squashed up against your cheek, the toy seems to mock him. You laugh warmly, “Isn’t he cute? His head is so big”.

Shouto quickly delegates his attention to the report on his computer screen and begins to highlight random words to distract from the urge to pout. There’s a twisted petulance bubbling in his chest, at odds with the pitter patter of his heart. Ugly as it was, the plush still had his likeness, and you’d called it cute.

“What exactly did you buy it for?”

You shy away from the question slightly with a sudden air of embarrassment, gaze flickering toward his tall office windows to avoid his eyes.

“Well I…” there’s the quiet clearing of your throat, and then stronger, “I thought he would be a fun mascot for the agency. Your supporters would love seeing him in the background of your posts. It might be fun!”

Shouto was no stranger to social media. While he preferred to leave it up to your team and his manager it was a good occasional cure for boredom. Though the concept of having fans is still somewhat foreign to him, his supporters are amusing and vocal in their love; your suggestion is innocent compared to some of the things they’ve sent him. But he can’t disagree—they would have a field day.

There is a pregnant pause before he speaks and it sets you on edge. A pout to your lips, fingers guided to the small UA tie around his counterpart's neck, fiddling with the knot. You’re still avoiding his gaze, giving ample opportunity for him to glare at the toy, who only stares back with empty eyes.

“If Abe-san gives it the okay then I don’t see any harm in it,” he says. Your disposition sparks back to life, hiding your pleased smile behind the oversized head. Football shaped, he thinks blithely. He wants to kick it across Tokyo. And then he wants you to cradle his face instead.

“Thank you Shouto,” you murmur. Unable to see your mouth, the smile is still bright in your eyes. Steeped in honey-thick affection, Shouto resigns himself to fate. Saying no to you was never his strong suit.

He can only hope it’ll be a passing fad.

Those hopes are immediately quashed the following morning. His personal phone pings with a group chat notification on his way to work. Kaminari has sent a link to a twitter poll, along with a series of laughing emojis. Listed are various cat related versions of his name, each battling for the most votes.

Todoneko. Todopurrki. Shoucat? He huffs a quiet laugh. Nekoroki and Catoroki seemed neck and neck, barely a few percentages apart.

Notifications continue to flood in at the top of his screen. He ignores them in favour of clicking onto the profile. Sitting smug in the account’s picture is the plush of him. The image is a close up, taken from below, a purposefully unflattering angle to show the feline ears on it’s head.

It’s clear the page is new. Created today, if he had to guess. The bio reads: ‘employee of the month at Frostfire Agency’ and not much else. There is only one post— a picture taken today in a very familiar place.

??? VOTE ❘ @PawAndOrder : 33 minutes ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Dynamight angrily baring his teeth at the camera, skin flushed pink and hair pressed damp to his forehead. The Todoroki plush stands precariously on one of many benches in the agency gym behind him, a trademarked red and blue Shouto sweatband stretched over it’s head, school blazer discarded by the weights].

1K replies ❍ 12K likes

Shouto snorts and presses the like button. A cute burst of confetti flits around the heart symbol as he imagines you surreptitiously trying to set up the thing behind a volatile pre-workout Bakugo without being chased out of the gym.

He decides against replying. Abe-san has yet to tell him about it and he’d rather not incur his managers wrath so early in the day.

The agency is abuzz upon his arrival. Not outwardly, though. A hushed cacophony of tittering and whispers. The sidekicks greet him as usual as he walks through the main control room towards his office, poorly feigning normalcy. It’s as though the entire agency has gathered; an acting audience to whatever stunt awaits him.

Shouto refuses the urge to bristle. Memories of not quite grasping the interactions around him in those earlier years can sometimes unearth feelings of defensiveness. They mean well. Most people do.

Finding the source of their collective amusement comes sooner rather than later. You haven’t noticed him yet, the roles now reversed. Shouto stands in the doorway, having stepped back to silently watch you work while your guard is down. You’re crouched by his office chair, tongue tucked into the corner of your mouth in concentration, adjusting something currently obstructed from view by his desk.

Shouto never truly learned his own personal touch—he always fell back on tradition. Those habits are reflected around you. The space hadn’t changed much since his predecessor retired; not until you came along. You have the uncanny ability to imbue life wherever you go. Now there were fresh flowers to be replaced every other week. What was once a display case for awards to collect dust in now held digital picture frames. Things nobody would think twice about. There’s even a napkin folded into the shape of a swan that he stole from a gala the night he won the Hero Trailblazer award.

“This is supposed to be your home away from home,” you told him. “You work hard, Shouto! Harder than anyone I know. Allow yourself a little comfort. This place is too…?”

And then you had made a broad, vague gesture with your hands, struggling to find the words, hoping he would fill in the blanks. That was the first time you made Shouto laugh, and the initial push that tipped his heart over the crest, starting an inexorable roll into the unknown. He has yet to find out if you’d be waiting at the bottom.

Your satisfied hum breaks the delicate quiet. The sound makes him smile. Trinkets aside, a room was brighter with you in it.

Lifting his hand, his knuckles rap gently against his open door. You startle, reflexively ducking forward to hide, then peering over the top of his desk. Your eyes meet and he lifts a brow.

“What are you doing?”

Four strides, maybe three. That is all the distance between you and him. Shouto wants to reach down and kiss away that false wide eyed innocence. Part of him wondered if you were aware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. Your fingers always seemed to find it.

“Nothing,” you rise to your feet with phone in hand, you brush off the non existent dirt from your knees and straighten the creases in your shirt. Noticing his deadpan stare, you breathlessly insist, “I wasn’t doing anything weird—this is for work!”

Shouto ducks his chin as he snorts, outgrown bangs slipping forward from behind his ears over his eyes; at an awkward length that never seems to do as he tells it to. “I’m not sure that’s entirely…” he moves to the centre of the room, voice losing strength when he sees his chair. “…True”

Todoroki Shouto doesn’t pout.

“See?” you cross your arms over your chest, looking gratified with his hesitance. “Catoroki is work related. I took a photo for his next post”.

The ugly plush toy is sitting in his seat. Gone is the sweatband and the UA uniform. In the short time between last night and now, you’ve managed to find a doll sized version of his hero costume. You’ve sat it upright on a small cushion facing his computer and placed a pen and an empty pad of paper in it’s lap to make it look as though it is working.

Upon closer inspection, he realises that you’ve even thought to include tiny versions of the first aid equipment hung on his belt.

“Catoroki?” he repeats.

Nodding, you bend to pat it between the ears. “That or ‘Nekoroki’. We aren’t sure which name will win yet. Did you see the poll?”

“My phone hasn’t stopped vibrating since I got here,” Shouto answers, stuck on the gentle stroke of your hand to Catoroki’s grotesque head.

“Oh shit, sorry. Should’ve called before I posted it. I forgot you don’t read your emails in the morning,” you puff up your cheeks apologetically. It’s sweet when you’re sheepish. The pull is a little too strong and he finds himself on the other side of his desk, close enough to poke the swell. Air pushes through puckered lips as it deflates.

“Doesn’t matter,” unable to resist, he subtly activates his ice, breathing a chill into the air, coaxing you into his warm touch for a minute longer than is appropriate. “You were right though. People seemed to like it”.

“Do you?”

“Hm?”

Shouto frowns when you turn away to pick the plush up from his chair. The beady eyes laugh at him from the comfortable spot on your chest. You hold it to him as if it were a baby, asking with playful cadence, “Do you like him?”

Like him?

His nose wrinkles. You don’t seem to appreciate that Shouto is a restrained person. If he weren’t, that plush would have been acquainted with the Earth’s atmosphere the very first time you kissed its ugly velveteen hair.

What is he supposed to say here—‘I don’t like him. Apparently I’m jealous of a stuffed toy’?

He drags his discontentment from Catoroki back to your face and feels his heart seize. The corners of your mouth are slightly downturned, plush bottom lip held between teeth, laughter gleaming in your eyes. Your expression is indelibly fond.

Your finger pokes at his chest, firm and accusing. It restarts his heart, which only seems to quicken. “I knew it”.

Playing dumb is a skill Shouto has refined since early adolescence—

He blinks and intones monotonously, “Knew what?”

—but this is you; who sees through every facade and hears every note. You know him better than most, more than you realise. With you he feels gossamer thin, light like a hollow marrowed bird. It’s equal parts frightening and comforting.

So when you grin at him and say, “You’re jealous of Catoroki, aren’t you?�� the panic dwindles into gentle sea foam hemming his ribs.

Heat crawls up his neck and into his cheeks, the innate prickling of his quirk rising to the surface as his emotions swell. “No,” he lies, unconvincingly. It’s about the principle of it.

“Ah,” you walk your fingers up his sternum with a disappointed hum. “That’s too bad then”.

You have never touched him this casually before, with such intent. The air around you distorts. Shouto exhales a breath of steam and spine tingling laughter spills from your lips. Drawn to the sound, his movement pushes you back against his desk, and you lean on the edge with your legs parted to allow him closer. His eyes are wide, he’s sure. Caught between awe and disbelief, his hand resting on your hip like a bird on a wire, ready to flee if need.

“Shouto. Please,” you murmur, and it feels incipient. It feels like you’re at the bottom of a steep drop waiting to catch him. Your nose bumps his cheek, nuzzling at the old scar tissue there, breathing in each other in a moment of eager suspension.

He swallows. “Was that a ‘hurry up, please’ or a ‘go away, please’?”

A warm breath of laughter ghosts his lips. And for all his dithering, you are the one to kiss him. Cautious at first. He can taste your toothpaste, and it reminds him that the day has barely started. He presses firmer. Closer. Smooths over your waist as your fingers thread into the hair at his nape, enamoured by how soft you feel. Shouto shivers, dissolves like spun sugar, parting the seam of his lips to gently lick into your mouth, kept tethered by the too-corporeal cotton lump lodged between your bodies.

“I lied,” he rasps desperately as you pull away all too soon, like he hoped admitting it would bring you back. You meet his eyes, pupils dilating in the yawning sunlight as it stretches across his office. “I was jealous”.

“Yeah, I know,” you kiss his lips again, once, with some finality; it’s all teeth, both of you unable to keep from smiling.

“You were obvious”.

Catoroki <;ΦωΦ>! ❘ @PawAndOrder : 1 minute ago

[IMAGE ID: Pro Hero Deku holding the Todoroki plush, staring at it tearfully with a beaming grin. Beside him is Pro Hero Ingenium, who is squinting thoughtfully at the plush toy with his helmet held under his arm. Sitting petulantly in the back is Pro Hero Shouto, hunched over a bowl of cold soba and pouting].

2.5K replies ❍ 67K likes

[waterfallofspace]

A Matter Of Belief

A birthday gift for @ezynse! <333 Sooo, I'm a few days late 😭😭 but hopefully you still enjoy this~ (and maaaybe the fact it's a two part thing makes up for that..?~)

Summary: When N/anami attempts to lie about a cold, he succeeds. But when he isn't lying, well, considering what happened last time? They're not so quick to believe him. So, he finds himself having to prove his honesty.

Word Count: 4.3k (Part One: 1.9k - The Lies We Tell~ ) (Part Two: 2.4k - ~Come Back To Bite Us)

Characters: N/anami, G/ojo, M/egumi and I/tadori. (hints at N/anago, but can be read platonic or romantic, readers choice~)

(Warning, features vague notions of past contagion and light mess implications. Nothing outright stated, but be warned!)

The Lies We Tell~

A shrewd whistle pulls Nanami from his thoughts, head lifting from the safety of his cupped hands. Waiting to meet his eyes is a familiar, and deeply unwanted, sight. 

“Woah, you look rough,” Gojo hums, sucking air through his teeth with a sound not unlike a rusty gate pulling against its hinges. Hm; apparently metaphors are easier when you’re a little out of it. Or maybe it’s just Gojo that pulls that side of people out into the open. However against their will it may be. 

Clearing his throat, Nanami braces himself for the sounds that may escape in lieu of human speech. “Id’s-” A pause, cough, and tight inhale. “It’s not all that. I’m alright. Though, less so with you interrupting my work. I have a lot to complete before the day is up.” 

“Working? Is that what we’re calling ‘half-asleep in our hands’ nowadays?” Gojo retorts, a smirk creeping from his flashing teeth up to his blindfold. There’s no doubt his eyes are shining, taking in every pathetic inch of Nanami’s current state. Effortlessly infuriating, as always. 

Letting a sigh replace the urge to cough, Nanami turns his focus back to the laptop. A clear signal, leave me alone. Observant as Gojo is, there’s no doubt the signals were seen and understood.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” 

Then pointedly ignored. 

“Even if I explained it, you wouldn’t have any idea what it was.” 

Gojo lets out a huff, falling into the chair next to Nanami’s with a performative groan. Dramatic as ever, and certainly getting awfully comfortable. With a sigh, Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, giving Gojo a light glare as he feels unease start to take root.

His growing headache protests this action, a flash of heat through his temples nearly bringing a wince. Each blink serves to bring a moment of relief, quickly dispelled as the fluorescent lighting brings another wave of pain. 

Yet, despite the agony, pain can be endured silently without much fuss. No, his rising unease belongs to an entirely different sort of sensation. One that won’t go so easily overlooked. 

“Nana-mi, how long are you gonna be working on this?” Gojo cuts in with a whine. “I’m so bored. Why don’t we play a game instead!” 

“I’m busy.”

“Oh come on, we both know you can multitask like a pro!” 

Nanami sighs, allowing a single finger to brush the source of his growing agitation. “Is it ‘name all the things you like about Gojo Satoru’? Again?” 

“We have a winner!” Gojo smirks, clapping his hands together above his head. The noise echoes through the quiet office. Thanks to a meeting, to which an invitation was respectfully declined, the office is graciously empty. Then again, if it wasn’t, maybe Gojo wouldn’t be here at all. 

“It seems to be the only game you’re aware of. Or at least the only one you have any interesting in particihhhpating in.” Nanami swallows hard as his breath catches on its own.

Each inhale from here on out is a gamble. One wrong move and the dam bursts. Best course of action is to keep the breathing shallow, wait for an opportunity, and hope to keep it quiet- 

“So you’re sick, huh?” 

“hH’EDngXTchh!”  

The question breaks Nanami’s concentration, fingers barely reaching his nose in time to catch the sneeze. In an effort to relieve the pressure in his throat, he lets out a slight cough before the next itch takes its turn to pile on. 

“hieHh- nXGtCHhh! Pardon me.” 

“That can’t feel good,” Gojo offers with a wince, gesturing to Nanami’s throat. Admittedly, it does not. Still, not ready to admit defeat, Nanami tightens his mouth into a grimace. One Gojo seems to pull out of him often. 

“I’m not unwell, it is simply an… hiH’gehDNTchh!” Hands fly up to catch this one, Nanami leaving one hovering just under his chin as he finishes. “-immune system overreaction. Pardon.” 

“You can’t just say it like a normal person?” 

“It’s an allergic reaction.” 

“S-ee? Was that so hard?” Comes the teasing reply, Gojo managing to wink with his voice alone. Letting his fingers brush against his nose, Nanami disguises the action by sliding his glasses up it. 

“I’m fully capable of so called ‘normal’ conversations. I just prefer to choose a more sophisticated approach. Something you’d- eh’deNGTchh! Pardon. Something you’d know nothing about.”  

Gojo’s reply sounds muffled, something about ‘words hurting’ starting to fade away as Nanami gasps.

Fingers pinch his nose, giving the freedom to release an itchy hiss from his teeth. Feeling the flare of his own nostrils under his grip, another gasp gets caught in his throat. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was an allergy. This cold’s damn expressive. 

“Nanami?” 

Even if he wanted to reply, the option was entirely off the table. His entire face seems to buzz, nose practically quivering. Still, wishing to maintain decorum, or at least pride, Nanami takes another measured inhale. 

“hHIuh-!” 

This can be held back.

“hhieh… hih-!”

At least long enough for Gojo to lose interest and leave him alo-

“eHNgdtch– hiHh’eyIESHHh-iuh!” 

The first gets squished against his fingers, but the second breaks his hold, barely managing to be caught against his sleeve. The violent nature leaves his throat raw, sinuses starting to ache as a light drip threatens to bring forth another burst. 

“See,” Gojo interrupts, seemingly oblivious to the struggles as Nanami tries to clear his throat. “-that didn’t sound like an allergy sneeze.” 

There’s a silence as Nanami pinches his nose, feigning an all too real headache. Even a single word is out of the question, there’s no way his voice won’t hold the congestion. Silence for this long though… Gojo will piece together that there’s more than one kind of irritation working its way through Nanami. 

“Whad’s thad subosed… hehh–” Nanami replies at last, deciding to take the lack of consonants over the lack of words entirely. The intensity of the tickle as each word buzzes through his throat, however, was not accounted for. 

“Jeez!” Gojo laughs, chair nearly tipping over. “I can barely understand you!” 

“hIH’ESHHH-iuh!” Nanami answers with a groan, attempting to tack on some words at the end. “Pardod be. Thad’s dot by probleb.”

“Better blow your dose, Dadabi.” Comes the retort, Gojo pinching his nose with a dramatic flair, once more seeming to wink without the use of his eyes. 

Nanami scoffs, the action triggering a heavy cough. His arm raises on instinct, chair squeaking as he manages to aim away from the blindfolded annoyance to his right. Face still buried in the warm fabric, his hand reaching blindly for the handkerchief. It’s seen its fair share of use this week. 

Alright, so maybe it’s not exactly allergies, but the overreaction part wasn’t inaccurate. And should Gojo catch on that this is a cold, overreaction will be exactly what follows. He’ll be impossible to get rid of, and the word will spread like wildfire. 

Nanami grimaces against his arm, fingers finally reaching their target as his thoughts continue to wander. He has things to do, none of which include people fussing over him and interrupting his work. 

Not bothering to open his eyes, Nanami brings the cloth to his face and lets out a long blow, feeling the congestion shift enough to allow air through his sinuses once more. Once he’s satisfied with the action, he lets the handkerchief fall back to the desk.

Gojo’s remained uncharacteristically quiet through the whole ordeal, and stays that way as Nanami attempts a light sniffle to test the waters. He quickly realizes his mistake, breath wavering as he pulls the tissues to his nose. 

“hHEDtieZSHhh! eH’GhZshhoo! hh’eDGSHh’iuh-!” 

The sounds are heavy, congestion lining each breath as he attempts to stall the onslaught at three– “hH’EMPFFfshh-!” a light moan escaping as he’s unsuccessful. The tissues manage to catch most of the attack, only the last breaking its way into his arm. 

A heat suddenly floods his mind, all symptoms forgotten as Nanami feels a light panic enter his chest. The tissues… that he didn’t grab…? Is he feverish after all- the only fabric he’d acquired was the handkerchief, yet glancing down, what remains of tissues are clearly in his hands. 

Laughter brings him back to the room. He looks up to find Gojo laughing, nearly hysterically, as he gestures to the box on the desk next to him. A coworker had brought them in last week. Along with something else Nanami is not as grateful to have obtained. 

“You- you should have- seen your face!” Gojo manages through the near mocking levels of gasping, blindfold starting to darken in colour around his eyes. 

Nanami can’t help the humour that coats his annoyance. Crying from laughter…? A bit over the top, even for Gojo. 

With a final chuckle, Gojo settles back down, lowering his voice back to its average pitch. “You looked like you needed them.” 

“Ah. It seems I did. Pardon me again.” 

It’s all the admission Nanami’s willing to allow, but it seems more than enough for Gojo to run with. He pauses, lifting the corner of his blindfold to meet Nanami’s gaze directly. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m certain. One of my coworkers simply got a new scent that… didn’t agree with me...” It’s a lie, something Nanami is none too fond of, especially at such detail. However… it’s not entirely untrue. There was such an incident– it just happened weeks ago. 

Gojo tilts his head, gesturing to continue. 

“A gift from her American boyfriend. Seems they use much stronger scents across the sea.” 

This elicits a solemn nod, Gojo pursing his lips. “I’ve experienced a few of those. Powerful stuff.” 

“Indeed.”

“Interesting that I’m not getting set off though–” Gojo adds, taking a deep sniff. The crisp sound seems almost like a taunt, Nanami feeling his own sinuses protest the action. He curses himself, then Gojo’s overly-sensitive nose, before settling on a light shrug. 

“Probably got cleared out of the air by now. We do have a filtration system in the office– heh’dEHTChh-ue! Pardon me.” Gojo passes another tissue as Nanami attempts to finish the thought. “Though it seems it’s still lingering in my sinuses.”

Pausing for another blow and letting a few coughs escape under the guise of allergic irritation, Nanami sighs. “Now, if there’s nothing else?” 

Standing from the chair, Gojo sighs performatively, letting out a vague chuckle. “You’re so boring, Nanami.” 

“And yet you wasted nearly twenty minutes of your precious time with me.”

“Megumi’s off on a mission with Okkotsu,” Gojo laments, before pausing. A hint of sincerity leaks into his tone as the next words come out barely audible above the hum of the office. “Was feelin’ kinda quiet at school.” 

Nanami sighs again, certain he’s gained more oxygen in the last twenty minutes than he’s gotten in weeks from sheer amount of sighs. Gesturing towards the chair, he feels his headache protesting the action. He’s gonna regret this. 

Dropping back into it with a grin, Gojo gives a light and airy “th-ank you!” which Nanami pointedly ignores. 

“Stay quiet, I have to finish these forms.”

“You’re the best Nanami!” 

“eH’TSSCHh– ESSChh’iuh! And not a word about that.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Comes the airy reply, Gojo sliding the box of tissues closer. Fighting the urge to sigh again, a little overdone at this point, Nanami grabs a handful. 

It’s gonna be a long afternoon. 

~Come Back To Bite Us.

“nGxt– eNKxt! ah’kNXt! Oh, pardon me.” 

“Go home.”

“Megumi, that was rude!” Gojo chimes in, infinity still up as he angles his hips towards the source of his chastation, “We don’t speak like that to our elders,” before turning on his heel to face Nanami. “-but the kid’s right. Go home.” 

Releasing his nose, Nanami doesn’t miss the glare Megumi casts at him. Regardless, the itch wins out, and he sniffles lightly, clearing his throat before speaking. “I just got here. And besides, it was Itadori that called me in, not you two.” 

Nanami had been resting at home, mindlessly filling in some crosswords when he’d received what could only be described as a frantic text from Itadori. Something about ‘trouble, burning, and Nanamin’. Followed by, in all caps, ‘COME QUICK’, and a string of white boxes that Nanami elected to ignore. 

“Whatever.” Megumi’s voice cuts through Nanami’s thoughts, eyes drifting up to meet the icy glare being shot in his direction. “But I’m going back to my room. I sure as hell don’t want whatever you got.” 

Nanami blinks, pushing his glasses up with a sigh. “I’m not sick.” 

The irritated glare is almost comical, Megumi’s mouth tightening as he gestures to Gojo. “Last time you ‘weren’t sick’, this idiot showed up with a cold that he proceeded to share with all of us.” A light heat appears on the accused’s cheeks as Megumi continues, “We were all sick within a matter of days. I’m not taking any chances.” 

“Hey,” Gojo whines, crossing his arms with a huff. “That wasn’t my fault! I tried to call out, but someone had to keep an eye on you kids.” 

“Not a kid.”

Gojo grins, dropping his infinity to poke at Megumi’s cheek as he sings, “Not a child, still a kid!” before retreating with a yelp as Megumi knocks his hand away. 

“That’s no-” 

“Look,” Nanami cuts in, rolling his eyes as Gojo pokes a not-so-subtle tongue in Megumi’s direction. “Just tell me where Itadori’s room is, and I’ll find him myself.” 

“Not a chance. He’s almost as bad as Gojo when it comes to spreading illness.” 

Pouting at the accusation, Gojo rolls his head back to confront Megumi, some complaint or denial sprouting on his tongue–

“hnNGxt! agHKnt! eNGkt!”

–until Nanami cuts their bickering off once more, a ‘pardon’ getting lost behind the fist pressed against his nose. The increasing congestion leaves Nanami’s hand against his face, a sniffle loosening it more audibly than he’d desire. 

Standing from the couch, Gojo grabs a tissue with much too over-the-top of a flourish, yelping as Megumi slaps his hand again. Instead, Megumi places the box in Nanami’s reach, with another pointed glare and scoff. 

Unwarranted, seeing as, “I’b do-” A pause, deep sniffle, grimace forming as it does nothing to alleviate the ever growing tickle. Still, it allows enough clarity to continue with, “I’m not sick.” 

“Real convincing,” comes Megumi’s retort, Nanami ducking to the tissue box just in time to catch the next burst. 

“hHENCH-shha!” 

It escapes before he can suppress it, a heat starting to form at the tips of his ears. Normally stifling isn’t a problem, not unless he’s been at it for awhile, or it’s a particularly nasty itch. Neither of those should be the case in this situation. Much to Nanami’s chagrin, this was simply a failure on his part to contain it. 

“You sound entirely healthy.” 

“Megumi, what an attitude!” Gojo says, sarcastic displeasure dripping from each word as Megumi sucks in a breath. Turning on his heel, he spins around to face Gojo with a look that could kill. Guessing by who it’s aimed at, Megumi wishes it would. 

“You clung to my side like a parasite for nearly two weeks.” 

“I was dy-ing! You refused to comfort me in my time of need and suffering–” 

Letting their argument fade into the background, Nanami pauses to take stock of the situation. Despite previous denials being entirely for show, this time he’s really not sick. Everything has felt fine all day, no symptoms to speak of. Even now, there’s still no rawness of the throat, or heaviness in the lungs, it’s only his nose having a reaction. 

No– actually, the itch starts in his nose, but it’s spreading. Beginning to crawl up his throat, it’s burying itself in his ears, clinging to the backs of his eyes. This is most certainly an allergy, but to what..? 

It first began when he entered Jujutsu High, so it has to be something here. It’s the middle of autumn, so unlikely there’d be any specific flowers floating around, not that those tend to set him off anyways. And if it was a heavy perfume, Gojo would certainly be reacting too. 

Nanami gives the room a scan, eyes finally resting on a bottle of cleaning supplies sitting on the counter. The brand isn’t familiar, it’s not the one they use at the office, or one he’s picked up himself before. It has some sort of apple design on the label, though it doesn’t appear to be scented. Judging by the level of liquid, and the dampness of the cloth to its left, it’s been recently used. 

“--and then you made Okkotsu miss his assignment, which meant me and Toge had to take it, despite him still being unwell.” 

Tuning back in to catch Megumi’s closing argument, Nanami interjects before Gojo has a chance to form his defense. “Not sick, just an immune system overreaction. Likely to that cleaning spray. N-now… eh’kNCHhaa! Pardon me. Now, Itadori’s room? He claimed it was urgent.” 

Gojo crinkles his nose, glancing from Nanami to the spray and back, before chuckling. “What, is that American made too?” 

Judging by the strangled noise from Megumi, he understood the reference and found it unfortunately amusing. Apparently not many details of their encounters are kept private. Though, seeing as it’s Gojo Satoru in question, that was to be expected. 

Nanami sighs, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as the itch spreads deeper. Exchanging it for a pinch at the bridge of his nose so he can speak, he turns to face the most likely to allow him access.

“Gojo, I don’t have tihh… time for this. I need to find Itadori.” 

“Not a chance,” Megumi calls again, arms still crossed over his chest. 

“Staying in this room is j-just… just gonna… hHiuh-!” Nanami pauses, tongue pressed harder against his teeth as he fights back the overwhelming desire to give in to the tickle. Finally with a heavy sigh, he releases the pressure. “Just going to make the reaction worse.” 

Rolling his eyes, Megumi places a hand on the doorframe, firmly blocking the entrance. “Sorry, not buying it.” 

A sigh sounds from the couch where Gojo has found himself lounging again, eyes rolling as he makes a pointless gesture. “Just let the man through. He’s probably telling the truth anyways, what’s the point in keeping up the lie if we’re still denying him access?” 

“hH’ENchHsha! Pardon.” 

“Not planning on betting with three weeks of misery over probably telling the truth.” 

Gojo leans his head back to meet Megumi’s icy gaze, beginning yet another argument as Nanami feels his head begin to pound. Megumi’s an alright kid on his own, but put him in a conversation with Gojo, and it’s nearly infuriating. 

Exacerbated, Nanami lets a groan pass through his teeth, before walking over to the counter. Hearing footsteps, Megumi raises his head, ready to prevent an intrusion, before pausing. Quizzically, he casts a glance at Gojo, who merely shrugs. 

“What are you-”

“You don’t believe me? Fair enough, I guess I’ve earned that,” Nanami begins, internally cursing himself for this half-assed plan. “Still, I intend to see Itadori before I’m off the clock, so here’s your proof.” 

With that, he takes the bottle and sprays it against the cloth, before bringing it to his nose. The effect is immediate, Nanami feeling his hands grip the cloth tighter against his rapidly flaring nostrils on instinct. A rush of ticklish irritation spreads deep into his sinuses, his eyes watering as his skin takes on a rosy flush. 

“hH’ENCHha– YEASHH’ahh! hH’NkGt-sha! aH’GngKThah! hH’DESHHh’ue!”

Megumi and Gojo seem frozen, eyes glued to the scene playing out in front of them. Shock’s written plainly across their faces as Nanami ducks closer to the ground with each body-wrenching sneeze. All three of them locked in place. 

Gojo’s the first to break the spell, rising from the couch as Nanami– “hH’eNChsha!” continues to sneeze against the cloth. Each desperate inhale bringing another round of heavy, chemically tainted, scent.  

“enCHshHAa-! egZSHHshaa-! P-pardon– ek’eNCHSh-uew!” 

“Jeez Nanami,” Gojo offers, a wince scraping from his throat. Reaching over, he pulls the cloth away from Nanami’s twitching nose. “You’re gonna smother yourself.” 

“eHNChshah!” 

“Point proven, now try taking a clean breath instead, yeah?” 

The near whine Nanami releases as the rush of fresh air invades his sinuses is almost pitiful, eyes overflowing with allergic misery. Megumi finally takes this moment to react, grabbing the tissue box and bringing it over. 

Still barely able to pry his eyes open, Nanami only catches a second of the offering, but he’d wager the look Megumi’s wearing is a sheepish one. More than likely laced with some feigned annoyance to cover genuine concern. That kid was always a little too good at feeling sympathy for those around him. Seems Gojo managed to instill a few good traits along with all the bad. 

“Here,” Megumi huffs, actions confirming the suspicions as he presses a handful of tissues into Nanami’s frantically waving hands. 

“eh’mFFSSCHhh! ah’enCSHMFff! hiEHh– mMFFSHHhh!” 

There’s a vague murmur of concern from Gojo, his infinity breaking as his skin touches Nanami’s back, hand gently running across the violently shaking shoulders. “You gonna live?” 

“I- hHEZDCSHah! Pardon me. I told you I wasn’t… w-wasn’t… hH’ENCZSHhaa! Wasn’t sick. Now can- ah’yeISSHHh-uew! Pardod be-” 

“Breathe Kento,” Gojo mutters, casting Megumi a calculated look as he shifts awkwardly, offering another round of tissues. 

Accepting them with a heady sniffle, Nanami attempts to finish his sentence, “Dow cad I see Idadori?” grimacing at how heavy the words fall out. Pausing to blow, he accepts another round of tissues as the sensation prompts another round of heady sneezes, followed by a second blow. 

The congestion lining his sinuses seems to be more swelling than anything else, but the blows at least clears his voice enough to regain some consonants. “There’s still an hour left in the work day, and I’d like to see him before it ends.” 

Megumi winces, attempting to cover it with a shrug as he gestures towards the door he’d been previously blocking. “Last room on the left, end of the hall. He’d be there if he’s waiting for you. Otherwise you could check the kitchen, I think he was in there earlier.” 

Before Nanami can take a step, Gojo lets an arm rest on his shoulder, leaning over with a smug grin. “The kitchen was just cleaned-”  

“eH’NCZSHha! Excuse me.” 

“-How about you go get Itadori, and I’ll bring Nanami outside for some fresh air.” 

Megumi nods, walking off at a pace that, to anyone else, could almost be construed as hurried. Once he’s out of range, Gojo turns back to Nanami, concern etched across his sharp features. 

“You know, you could have just pushed past him,” he muses, grabbing another handful of tissues as Nanami’s nose twitches needily, his eyes fluttering shut. “Megumi’s all talk, he wouldn’t have actually stopped you.” 

“eNCHHff! ah’mMFFShhh-uew! Pardon me.” 

With another harsh blow, and a sigh, Nanami accepts Gojo’s waiting shoulder, beginning the nearly six feet journey to outside. With his eyes still watering and swollen, he’s relying almost solely on Gojo to get them safely to the door. 

“I know,” he begins, taking advantage of the illusion of privacy that the darkness brings. “But I couldn’t exactly blame him. I did lie before.” 

Gojo laughs, joyous and full-bodied, the action shaking them both as Nanami wrenches to the side with another– “hHENCHHshha!” that nearly topples them. 

When he can finally get a breath in, Gojo places his hand against the wall, studying the duo. Turning to Nanami, he offers a “Was it worth it?” 

“Provigg by poidt?”

 “I meant lying. Before.” 

Nanami takes a sharp breath. Once, twice, eyes blearily staring up at the sky, before a deep exhale trips out, a groan on it’s heels. 

“Lost it?” 

“Mm. I didn’t mean to, you know.” 

“To lose the sneeze?” Gojo chuckles, helping Nanami down the steps. “I didn’t figure you did-” 

Nanami cuts him off, tone softer than he’d ever admit to as he begins again. “To get you guys sick. I wasn’t planning on having you stick around, I just…” 

There’s a pause, the silence seeming to linger heavily in the air. It’s not cold enough to see your breath, but the chill still leaves Nanami rubbing his arms. No comment is spoken when Gojo leans in closer, nor when Nanami lets his head rest on his shoulder. 

Finally a sheepish laugh cuts through the atmosphere, Nanami glancing up to meet Gojo’s genuine smile. “Can’t turn away a person in need? Guess that one’s on me as much as it is you.” 

With a light cough, Nanami spins away from his position against Gojo’s shoulder, ducking towards the ground for another, “hh’RRSHHhaa! hk’EYIESHhhaa! Pardod be, agaid."

“See! Those sound like allergies.” 

Nanami turns back to Gojo, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “You’re sayigg by sdeezes soud differedt whed I’b sick?” 

A smirk meets the question, Gojo’s eyes glistening with mischief. “I’ll record them sometime. Show you what I mean.” 

“If you ever-” 

He’s interrupted by Itadori calling out, the words lost in the distance. Glancing up from behind his tissue barrier, Nanami catches sight of the frantic waving. Megumi’s leaning against the doorframe behind him, attempting to feign indifference. As their eyes catch, Nanami offers a slight nod, Megumi’s posture notably relaxing. 

“Nanamin!” Itadori calls, rushing over to them with a giant smile. One that feels deeply inappropriate for this level of exhaustion.

Still, Nanami attempts to react with one of his own as Itadori continues rambling on. “Oh wow, you look rough! I mean, Megumi warned me, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.” 

As the words continue flowing out in an almost endless stream, Gojo leans over, voice at a volume only they can hear. “Payback time.” 

He then leans back, calling out to Itadori, “Yeah, he’s real banged up, right? Oh, hey Itadori! You remember that thing Okkotsu taught you?” 

Nanami raises an eyebrow, sending Gojo a suspicious glance before a deep sigh breaks forth at Itadori’s enthusiastic response. 

“Oh right! Bless you! It’s an English custom for when someone sneezes, right Sensei?” 

“hhENCHH’shaa-!” 

“Bless you, Nanamin!” 

It’s gonna be a long hour.

[snippy-tano]

See now I'm having a thought about Medic!reader who is on the tram with them and sees Tech fall. When they all wake up and Hunter ushers everyone to the ship, they stay behind and go looking for Tech and find him alive but seriously injured and unconscious.

They find a small cave and they hide out there until they know it's safe to comm someone to come and get them. Maybe Rex or Echo or Riyo🥺❤️

I just need reader softly taking care of Tech and him waking up like "you were supposed to leave."

And they say "I could never leave you."

Your choice whether the relationship is established or it's just hidden feeling that come out here❤️❤️❤️

Prooooooooooo

Thank you for this. This was incredibly therapeutic. I may have gotten carried away and y’all should let me know if I should continue this as like an actual fic. Because oooooh boy is it tempting.

Anyway, I hope you like it! And I hope this helps you just as much as it helped me lol

WARNING SPOILERS! THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR TBB S2 FINALE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK :')

Masterlist is here!

Taglist is here!

Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life; @marvel-starwars-nerd; @mackstrut; @dissapointingpancake; @ahsokatano-thetogruta; @welcometothepedroverse; @fractiouskat; @mandaloriandin; @bantha-shit; @badbatch-simp24; @katelynnwrites; @s1st3r; @leotatombs; @torchbearerkyle; @rain-on-kamino; @the-navistar-carol; @bombshe77; @arctrooper69; @social-mockingbird; @littlebluebatbrat; @get-wr3ckered; @dangraccoon

————————————————————————————————

Falling

Everything happened so fast, you almost thought it was all a dream. Or rather a nightmare.

One second you were helping provide cover as Tech worked to get the tram moving. The next he had fallen and Wrecker was working to pull him back up aboard the train.

“Don’t you do it, Tech.”

It was the pleading tone in Wrecker’s voice that had you turning from where you had taken cover. You were moving towards the back of the tram before anyone could stop you. You stopped just behind Omega and looked down to see Tech raise his head before raising his blaster.

A pit formed in your stomach as you began to panic.

No no no no no no no no

“When have we ever followed orders.”

Then he fired.

And you screamed, loudly and gutterly.

The tram jerked upright and took off, you stumbled against the wall, blinking slowly. You could hear the batch screaming at each other, but weren’t making out any of what they were saying. You only held onto your trembling hands, feeling like the edges of your vision were darkening rapidly.

You only caught the shout of needing to brace yourself, your instincts numbly forcing you to comply.

Then your vision really did go black.

When you came to, everything in your body ached. Your ribs protested every breath and you knew you were in rough shape. You gingerly lifted your head, seeing yourself surrounded by smoking wreckage.

Omega’s voice had you turning just in time to see her collapse. With a groan of effort, you climbed to your feet, hand pressing against your side. You met eyes with Hunter and he hesitated.

Please Hunter, I have to go back. You practically begged in your mind, hoping he would understand.

It looked like he was going to protest, likely saying that he couldn’t lose anyone else, but you couldn’t let him choose for you. You had to do this.

So you turned and ran as fast as your ribs would let you into the woods. You could hear Wrecker and Echo yell for you, but you didn’t stop. You’re honestly not sure how you managed to move so quickly and for so long, although you figured it was probably the adrenaline.

Eventually you fell to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut as a way of hopefully shutting out the pain. You had bacta patches in your med pack, but you refused to use any. If you found Tech and by some miracle of the Force he was alive, you knew he would need every patch you had.

After your vision cleared, you forced yourself back to your feet and continued walking in the direction of your best guess as to where Tech fell. You weren’t running anymore, but you kept a good pace, knowing that the Empire would be out looking for Tech very soon.

If you found him, you had to move quickly.

Eventually, you found what looked like wreckage from the tram. Your heart began to pound as you began to pick through it, looking for any sign of Tech.

Then you saw it. Armor.

You swallowed your nerves and forced air into your lungs as you stepped over the smoking debris. The running of water nearby and the sound of your own haggard breathing was all you could hear. You knelt beside Tech, hand hesitating. His helmet was gone and he definitely looked like he had fallen from a great distance, but it was hard to tell if he was still alive.

You pressed your fingers against the side of his neck, praying to every god or deity you knew about, begging them that he would be alive. For a few agonizing seconds, you felt nothing.

And then you felt it, the very gentle thump of his heart beat. It was weak, incredibly so, but he was alive. You almost burst into tears right then and there, but you knew the Empire was on their way if not already almost here.

You had to move. Now.

Tech was bigger than you, but you had to move him and fast. You stripped off a few pieces of armor, tossing them closer to the large river that you were near. Maybe the Empire would think he fell into the water and go searching further down the river. It would hopefully buy you both some time. Then you sat him up, placed his arms over your shoulders and stood up.

He was by no means a small man. He may be the “skinniest” in the Batch, but he was still built like a soldier, which meant that he was an incredible deadweight. Your legs shook from the effort, but you managed to hold him steady.

His helmet and goggles were missing, but you didn’t have time to go looking for them. Your sole focus was getting the both of you out of there and to a relatively safe location as fast as you could. Tech had injuries that needed to be tended to immediately. In any normal situation, you wouldn’t have moved him for fear of a neck or back injury. But you didn’t have that option.

After a quick feel of his neck, it didn’t seem like anything was broken, which was good enough for you.

You moved through the clearing, stepping around debris as best you could. Thankfully the ground wasn’t wet or muddy, so the likelihood of footprints being left behind were small. But still, you zigzagged as much as you dared, stepping where there were already indents in the grass in an effort to conceal your path.

You were two klicks away when you heard Imperial ships zoom just above the tree line over you. For one horrifying second you thought they were going to spot you, but they continued on, heading the direction you had just come from. The burning in your ribs became background noise as you tightened your grip on Tech’s arms and began to move faster.

You had been walking for what felt like hours. Every inch of your body was burning with effort and breathing was becoming more difficult. But you somehow kept going. You knew Tech was still hanging on because you could feel his soft puffs of breath against your neck. It was honestly the only thing keeping you going.

The way you carried him was far from ideal. There were many other ways that are better for medic carries in a situation like this, but considering Tech was fully unconscious, the odds of getting him up across your shoulders were small. This was the best you could do in the situation you were presented.

The elevation began to increase and the burning in your legs only intensified. You stumbled once, your heart leaping into your throat. But you managed to keep a hold of Tech and when you could breathe again, you continued walking.

As the light in the sky started to dim, you stumbled across a cave. It was hidden from the air from all the tree cover. You almost didn’t see it from the ground due to the high bushes and brush covering the entrance. It was far from ideal, but once again, it was likely the best you could do.

You only hoped there were no creatures inside who had the same idea you did.

The bushes cut into your pants as you forced your way inside, but those were minor scrapes, you had much more pressing injuries that needed tending to on Tech. You moved further into the cave, hoping to get far enough that when you started a small fire, it wouldn’t be spotted from outside. The cave had a bend and you rounded it, blinking in the darkness. Your eyes quickly adjusted and you could see that the cave continued on to the right, but there was a wall running along the back. It would do well for hiding the two of you.

Your legs shook from overuse as you carefully kneeled, turning Tech so you could gently place him on the ground. For a few seconds, you hunched over, breathing heavily.

Your entire body ached, from both the crash and the effort of carrying so much deadweight as far as you did. Your ribs made every inhale and exhale remarkably painful and you breathed as even as you could to try and lessen the pain.

When you were sure your vision was cleared, you yanked off your medpack and began to pull everything out. You pulled out a small orb and hit it, bathing the corner of the cave in a soft light. You grabbed a small flashlight and leaned over Tech, lifting up his eyelids and flashing the light. His pupils dilated as they should, which was a good sign.

You set the light down and began to search him for injuries. You scanned him and found he had a lot of broken bones, but thankfully no internal bleeding. It was a relief.

You fell into an easy trance, pulling off his armor and placing bacta patches on his worst injuries and splinting where you needed. You very quickly ran out of bacta patches, but still did your best to set everything so the bones would heal properly. When you were truly out of supplies, you covered him up with a shock blanket, placing your jacket underneath his head.

You brushed a hand across his cheek, beyond thankful that he was alive and you had been quick enough to find him.

Your troubles were far from over. You were still trapped on this planet with a severely injured trooper and your own injuries. You couldn’t stay here until you both healed, but neither of you were in any shape to fight your way out right now. You could try to call for help, but there was always a chance of it being intercepted and you both being caught anyways.

You’d have to wait for Tech to wake up to call for help. Hopefully he would be able to think of ideas on how you can get out of your predicament. But for now, you both needed to get some rest.

You wanted to lay down, but you knew once you did that you were not getting up again for a while. So you climbed to your feet and grabbed a small silent alarm you kept in your med pack before heading to the mouth of the cave around the corner. You gathered some wood from just outside the cave and set the alarm before pushing through the brush and fluffing it back up once inside.

The small fire you made didn’t take long to start.

You would have to go out for more wood very soon, but at least for now there would be some warmth for the both of you. You found a spare roll of gauze at the bottom of your pack and got to work pulling off your own armor until you were only covered by one layer of clothing. Painstakingly, you wrapped the gauze around your abdomen.

It wouldn’t do much for the broken bones, but at least you had some support. They were crudely wrapped, but it was the best you could do for now.

When you finished, you eased yourself onto the cold cave floor. Your entire body hurt and was trying to lull you into sleep. But with Tech still unconscious, you knew that someone had to stay awake.

So you started talking.

At first you talked through medical triage. You walked yourself through your training manual that you basically had memorized at this point. Then you talked through a few specific procedures you had learned along the way as a combat medic. Then when you ran out of that, you started to talk about your life. You talked about your home planet, your family, how you grew up, your hopes and dreams then, your hopes and dreams now, how you ended up joining the GAR, your first mission with the Batch and how quickly you’d come to love them like family.

You were just beginning to talk about a holodrama you and Omega were in the process of watching when you heard movement.

You stopped talking and looked over at Tech. He wasn’t awake yet, but he was starting to stir. As quickly as your ribs would allow, you sat up and moved over to where he was laying. You adjusted the blanket covering him and hovered, watching as his eyes slowly flickered open.

His eyes widened and he started to sit up, but you placed your hands on his shoulders and forced him back down.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, relatively speaking. But you have a lot of injuries, so you shouldn’t move.” You said and he blinked, taking a few deep breaths.

“You are correct. I will take your advice and remain from moving.” He replied and you let out a breath, relaxing ever so slightly. You reached forward, pulling the blanket so it more fully covered him.

“You were supposed to leave.” Tech said quietly and you let out a sigh.

You knew he was going to bring it up eventually, you had just hoped it wouldn’t be almost immediately after waking up. It shouldn’t surprise you though, this was Tech you were talking about.

You played with a seam on your sleeve that had torn in the crash. “I could never leave you.”

Silence fell for a moment and you let out a breath. Everything about this mission had gone wrong from the moment you set foot on this planet. More than anything you wished it had played out differently, but that is not what the galaxy had planned for you.

You knew Tech would likely scold you, saying the rest of the Batch’s wellbeing outweighs his own life. You knew that he was likely correct in that thinking. The needs of the many often outweigh the needs of the few.

But with Tech, you tended to throw all that out the window.

You had never admitted it to anyone before, but you’d always had a soft spot for him. It started out harmless enough. When you were assigned to work with the Batch, he was always the one that never really seemed to take care of himself. So as a medic, you took on that responsibility. You did it for all of them really, but Tech seemingly needed it the most.

Very quickly after that, your motives changed from just doing your medic duties to doing it because you cared. Then it shifted again to just plain affection. You had no idea when that grew into a crush, but it eventually did. You never said anything, and you never planned on saying anything. Your lives were all crazy enough as it is that there was no time.

And if today was any indication, it was too dangerous. Anything could happen to anyone.

Tech cleared his throat and you closed your eyes, waiting for him to tell you that you made the wrong choice.

He surprised you by placing his hand over yours.

Your eyes snapped up and you met his gaze. “Thank you. Without you, I shudder to think at what would have come of me.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. His hand gave yours a squeeze and made no move to let go. Not that you were complaining.

“How are you feeling? What’s your pain level?” You asked and he thought for a moment.

“I am feeling like I fell off a train.”

“Tech.”

“Apologizes. My pain is manageable. Thank you for providing me aid. Have you treated your injuries?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes. I have.”

“You shouldn’t lie to me, cyar’ika.”

You averted your eyes as your heart thumped in your chest. “I did what I had to do. Don’t worry about me, my injuries were minor. Now you need to get some rest. The more you sleep, the quicker your injuries will heal.

“I am not tired. I have been unconscious for some time now. You, on the other hand, need to rest as well. I will wake you in a few hours, I promise.” Tech insisted and you tried to formulate an argument, but you also knew if something happened, you would also need to be rested, especially as the one currently in the best health.

He must have sensed your resistance fading because he gave your hand another squeeze. “Get some rest. Please.”

You found yourself nodding before you could say no. Tech seemed pleased with himself, but you were too tired to care. You tried to hide your wince as you sank down to the floor, but it was hard to keep your face passive. Tech didn’t comment on it though, which you appreciated.

“Two hours Tech. Wake me up in two hours.”

His hand found yours again before giving it a squeeze. “I promise.”

You tried to fight your exhaustion, but it all hit you at once. You drifted to sleep with Tech’s warm hand tightly holding yours. You didn’t know what would happpen when you woke up, but Tech was alive and so were you.

And that was enough.