#and this was definitely drama for the sake of drama | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aryaryxoxo · 16 days ago

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Six Times You and Bakugou Were Forced Together — and the One Time He Chose To Be. #katsuki bakugou x fem!reader ⤷ After six chaotic summers of ruining each other’s vacations, you thought you were finally free. But the joke’s on you—because now you’re classmates. Same school. Same dorms. Same explosive rivalry. Turns out, the universe didn’t get tired of the drama. It just leveled it up. (7.7k)

Warning: I KNOW THAT BAKUGOU’S KIDNAPPING IS THE REASON WHY UA IMPLEMENT DORMS FOR THEIR STUDENTS BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THIS FANFIC AND MY SANITY WE AREN’T FOLLOWING THAT TIMELINE. FHAJFHSKFJKAFJS TRUST ME OKE FJAJFJAJD THIS IS A PART 2, you can read this as a standalone but some parts need context ajksndajndasa miscommunication at its finest? pls dont hate me ;-; Bakugou being a stubborn bitc-

1st - Being seated right next to each other

Mother always said she and Father were soulmates. The red string theory��proof of destiny. They met when they were young, but one had to move away. Gran and Pops believed America was better for their family.

Mother and Father were devastated. But despite the miles and differences—culture, time zones, even oceans—they found their way back to each other.

So, if someone asked you if you believed in soulmates? You’d say yes.

But a soulmate for love? Hah. Absolutely not. Soulmate of hate? Yes. And his name is Bakugou Katsuki.

Well… last year, something changed. You actually wanted to see him again. You wanted to race him to the pool, ride the waterslide until you both threw up, fight over snacks, and maybe—just maybe—see if that tension between you meant anything more than glares and name-calling.

But then there was the emergency. Your quirk flared, something went wrong, and you landed in the hospital. Three weeks confined. The doctors ordered full rest and observation.

Mother and father are worried, they ordered no flying, no training, and definitely no UA.

You had to summon every ounce of strength—and stubbornness—to convince your parents to let you go to Japan. You fought. There was yelling. Crying. Accusations. But in the end, you won. Barely.

Still, through all of it, you kept thinking about him. Bakugou.

Did he wait for you at the pool? Did he wonder why you never showed up?

If only your pride wasn’t as tall as Mount Fuji. If only you had taken the number his mom offered you. You could’ve sent one text. Just one.

But you didn’t.

Now here you are. Standing in front of Class 1-A. “…You can sit next to Bakugou Katsuki, since you already know each other,” Mr. Aizawa said, his eyes barely flicking toward you.

And just like that, twenty pairs of eyes pinned you as you walked toward the blond boy sitting near the window, arms crossed.

He didn’t say a word. Just watched as you pulled out your chair and sat beside him.

Mr. Aizawa immediately launched into the course expectations. But you couldn’t focus—not when the person you wanted to talk to was a solid wall of silence right next to you.

When the bell rang, the quiet filled room suddenly burst into conversation, getting to know each other and such.

“OMG, how’s life in America?” a bright voice asked. You turned to see a pink-skinned girl grinning at you like you were already best friends. Two girls silently followed her from behind.

You smiled politely. “Hot. Crowded. But okay, for the most part.”

“Sorry—I didn’t catch your names earlier,” you added, stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry if I arrive late. I just landed last night. Jet lag’s killing me.”

“You should rest first before throwing yourself into hero school,” said the calmer girl with black hair. “I’m Momo. That’s Mina, and Jirou.” She pointed between them.

You gave them a grateful smile. “Nice to meet you all.” But something shifted behind you. You could feel it. From the corner of your eye, you saw him—Bakugou—heading toward the door.

Your heart leapt before your pride could stop it. “Bakugou, wait!”

You followed him out into the hall. “Bakugou, you damn well know I’ll follow you even to hell,” you snapped, panting slightly, steps quickening until you caught up and blocked his path.

He halted. Hands in his pockets, hair messy as always, eyes unreadable.

“I’m sorry,” you said, breathless. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I didn’t mean to just disappear on you. There was something that happened—”

“I don’t care,” he cut in flatly.

Your words caught in your throat. Something cracked in you.

“…What?” you asked, voice trembling.

“I said I don’t care,” he repeated. “Now get the hell out of my face.”

It shattered something else. What the hell were those moments between you, then? Him comforting you when you panicked after getting lost in the woods? His quiet, genuine smile when he finally went down that stupid tall slide and you are there, waiting at the bottom?

You thought they meant something. But this was Bakugou. Of course they didn’t.

He stepped around you like you were nothing.

“Asshole!” you shouted, eyes burning.

“I know,” he muttered without turning back.

Yeah. Soulmate of hate. And that soulmate of hate just became your seatmate.

2nd - dorms are right next to each other

"Mom, I told you, I’m fine. I can unpack by myself. You don’t need to come all the way here just to help me organize my socks," you huffed, balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek as you pushed open your dorm room door.

Your mother’s voice crackled on the other end, dramatic as ever. "I know, dear, but your father and I were thinking maybe we could help carry a few boxes... maybe set up your shelves, help you pick curtains—"

"Mother," you interrupted firmly, dragging a suitcase in with your free hand. "I’m here to become a pro-hero. If I can’t even move into a dorm on my own, what kind of hero would that make me?"

There was a pause. Then— "Oh my baby is growing up!" she wailed.

You sighed and let your forehead fall against the doorframe. “Okay, I love you, but I’m hanging up now.”

“Take pictures!” she shouted just before you ended the call.

You flopped onto your bed, face buried in the pillow, only to groan when you realized you hadn’t even opened the other suitcase. You sat up and—

SLAM

The door next to yours opened with a signature kind of violence you’d recognize in your sleep.

You froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head.

Sure enough, there he was.

Bakugou Katsuki.

You groaned into your pillow for the second time that hour. “No. Don’t tell me this is like the resort thing where you thought my room was yours.”

Bakugou, standing in your doorway like the world personally offended him, crossed his arms. “That wasn’t my fault. The receptionist gave me the wrong key,” he snapped, tone clipped. “And second—this is my room.”

You didn’t move. “You’re funny”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

You peeled yourself off the bed, grabbed your phone, and opened the email Mr. Aizawa had sent a few days ago.

“Mr. Aizawa said I’m in Room 401,” you said with confidence, scrolling quickly. “See? Right here. ‘Room 401.’ Boom.”

Still holding your phone, you stepped outside the room, ready to prove him wrong and compare the email to the number hanging next to the door.

But you froze.

There it was—right in front of you, nailed to the wall in bold, silver lettering:

Room 402.

“…Oh.” Your voice came out a little too small.

You turned your head to look at Bakugou, your pride deflating.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t yell. He just stepped into his room and dropped his stuff unceremoniously onto the bed, like he hadn’t just watched you dig your own grave in real time.

Good thing you hadn’t unpacked yet.

You quietly backed out of the wrong room, dignity dragging behind you as you made your way next door.

You muttered under your breath, “This doesn’t count as me admitting I’m wrong.”

No answer.

You shut your door and stared at the wall that now separated your room from his.

Oh yeah. This was gonna be great. Not only was Bakugou your seatmate—he was also your dorm neighbor.

If this was the universe’s idea of a joke, it was a really cruel one.

…

Bakugou couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned, the blanket tangling around his legs like it was trying to suffocate him. He growled under his breath, flung the covers off, and sat up with a frustrated sigh.

This is so damn stupid, he thought, rubbing a hand down his face.

Giving up entirely on the idea of rest, he slipped out of bed and stepped onto the narrow balcony connected to his dorm. The night air was cool against his skin, a quiet contrast to the firestorm in his head.

Above him, the stars spilled across the sky like someone had cracked open the universe.

He stood there, arms resting against the railing, jaw clenched tight. He tried to think of anything else. School. Training. Tomorrow’s lesson. But his mind betrayed him—because it kept circling back to you.

To your face when you saw him again. To the way your voice cracked when you said sorry. To the silence he gave you in return.

He knew he was a dick for ignoring you. He knew it.

But seeing you again, after you didn’t show up when you said you would… it made his heart twist in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

I need sleep, he muttered to himself.

He was about to turn and go back inside when movement caught the corner of his eye.

He froze.

Just a few feet away—on the balcony next to his—you were there too. Barefoot, arms leaning on your own railing, eyes lifted to the stars like they had secrets you were trying to unravel.

You looked so peaceful. So lost in thought. So… you.

And you hadn’t noticed him yet.

Bakugou stood there quietly, gaze locked on you, and for a moment—just a brief, silent second—he let his guard down.

Damn it, he thought.

Because no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, there was still something about you that pulled him in like gravity.

Bakugou reentered his dorm room, jaw tight, ready to sleep off the mess of thoughts spinning in his head. But then—he stopped. Something was sitting in the corner of his bed.

That stupid plushie.

Mr. Strawberry.

He stared at it for a moment, lips twitching in annoyance. Of course. Of course it ended up here. He could think of a million ways to get rid of it—toss it out the window, set it on fire, blast it into space. And yet… the first thing that came to mind was you.

How your eyes lit up when you held it. The way you hugged it like it held the entire world.

Bakugou groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Dumbass bear…”

Grumbling under his breath, he picked it up and marched out of his room. The hallway was quiet, moonlight slipping through the windows. He stopped in front of your door, hesitating just a second, before gently setting Mr. Strawberry down.

Not knocking. Not saying a word.

Just leaving it there for you to find.

3rd - somehow paired up for kitchen duty

“So, what’s up with you and Bakugou?” Mina asked casually, plopping down beside you at the dinner table, carrying a glass of water.

You froze, spoon midair. Of course she’d ask. Someone had to.

It’s been a month since you transferred to U.A.

A month since you finally stepped into your dream school you’ve fought so hard for. And a month since you saw Bakugou again. A month of him not saying a single word to you.

Despite sitting beside each other in class. Despite living one wall apart in the dorms. Despite brushing shoulders in the hallway, cafeteria, and training grounds.

It was strange. Uncanny, even.

Because every year during vacation, you’d see him. Like clockwork. You’d fight, race, dare each other to do stupid things by the pool. There was always something. Even last year—even when you didn’t show up—your thoughts still clung to him like chlorine on your skin. And when you saw each other again, in school of all places, you thought maybe… maybe something would’ve stayed. Would’ve meant something.

But now, you two were stuck in the same school for the next three years, and it was quiet. Too quiet.

You didn’t want to admit how bitter it felt. Didn’t want to acknowledge the tight knot in your chest every time he ignored you. Because he didn’t deserve your hurt. He was an asshole. Plain and simple.

You tried to explain yourself back then. You tried to say sorry and he just shut you down.

And the worst part? You still cared.

“Uh…” you finally responded, blinking out of your thoughts. “Nothing. There’s nothing between me and Bakugou.”

Mina raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of tension for nothing, girl.”

You forced a smile and took a bite of your porkchop. “Must be the air.”

“Okay, everyone!”

Tenya Iida, ever the earnest and booming class president, stood up from his seat, effectively cutting off your conversation with Mina.

Thank god.

You were grateful for the interruption. You needed any kind of distraction. Preferably one that didn’t involve Mina asking more questions about a certain blonde explosion boy.

“I have consulted Mr. Aizawa,” Iida announced, adjusting his glasses with dramatic flair, “and in the spirit of cooperation, balance, and fairness—we have concluded that there must be a sense of shared responsibility in this dorm!”

There were a few groans from the class.

“Therefore!” he declared. “Every day, there will be two pairs of students responsible for breakfast and dinner. Since we all have lunch provided at school, this will ensure a consistent meal schedule and reinforce teamwork!”

He held up a neatly folded list like it was the Holy Grail.

“I have already assigned these pairs, and I will now read them aloud in the order of rotation.”

Mina leaned toward you and whispered, “Watch me get paired with Sero and burn the kitchen down.”

You smiled a little, just as Iida started rattling off names.

“Kirishima and Kaminari! You two are first.”

“Aw yeah!” Kaminari fist-pumped. “Let’s make curry for breakfast!”

“Tokoyami and Shoji. Second.”

“…Understood,” Tokoyami said, mysteriously.

You zoned out a bit as the list went on, your attention drifting, until—

“Bakugou Katsuki and [Your Name]. You two will be the fourth pair. Thursday.”

You snapped back to reality so fast you almost dropped your spoon.

You turned your head slowly—and of course, he was already looking at you from across the room, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.

Great. Cooking. Together. In a kitchen. For everyone. With knives.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Excuse me?” you raised your hand slowly. “How long are we paired up for breakfast and dinner?”

Iida didn’t miss a beat. “Until next term.”

You stared.

“Until… next term?” you repeated, voice rising half a pitch.

Iida smiled, utterly unaware of the quiet panic blooming behind your eyes. “Correct! I believe consistency will help build better cooperation and minimize confusion. That is the goal, after all!”

You sat down in slow motion, hands flat on the table.

From across the room, you could feel the weight of Bakugou’s stare, hot and heavy and already annoyed.

What could possibly go wrong?

(Everything. The answer was everything.)

…

Thursday came. Oh, how the days had flown by—fast, merciless, and leading you straight into doom.

You were enjoying the last shred of peace you’d know before the battle came storming in.

It was 6 a.m. The sky was still yawning. Your soul is already crying. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, hyping yourself up like you were about to face a villain instead of eggs and toast.

You took a deep breath, left your dorm, and stepped into the elevator. When the doors slid open to the communal kitchen floor—you saw him.

Already there. Already prepping. Already ignoring your entire existence.

He had the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up (which you totally didn’t find it hot, totally), a pan already sizzling, and that signature why-are-you-breathing-in-my-space scowl planted firmly on his face.

Of course he didn’t consult you about what to make. Why would he?

It’s not like this was a pair assignment or anything. Or not like communication was key to teamwork. Nope.

You walked in and cleared your throat.

He didn’t even look at you.

“Good morning to you too, Gordon Ramsay,” you muttered.

“What?” he barked, barely glancing your way.

“Nothing. Just admiring how we apparently live in your kitchen now.”

“Tch. Just don’t get in my way.”

You rolled your eyes and walked over to the fridge. If he wanted to act like he was running a five-star restaurant, fine. You’d start prepping the side dishes. At least someone had to make sure the toast didn’t turn into charcoal.

He didn't thank you. You didn't expect him to.

But as the smell of breakfast filled the dorm and the sun peeked over the horizon—you both moved around each other, wordlessly in sync.

It was annoying. How natural it felt. You hated it. (You didn’t.)

You were setting the table, carefully arranging plates, utensils, and the food you helped finish (even if he barely acknowledged your existence during it). The scent of grilled fish and rice was comforting, and for a moment, you almost forgot you were cooking with Bakugou.

Almost.

You turned around to grab the napkins—

—and walked straight into him.

“Ah—!” you yelped, recoiling as the side of the miso soup pot brushed your arm.

It didn’t spill—thank god—but the heat still licked your skin.

Bakugou barely flinched. His reflexes were too sharp, too quick. He gripped the pot tighter, steadying it before it could tip.

“Dumbass,” he muttered sharply. “Watch where you’re going.”

You hissed through your teeth, shaking your arm. “I did—I didn’t know you were right behind me! You didn’t announce you were carrying—who the hell carries boiling soup around like that?!”

He glared. “People who actually do something instead of pretending to be useful.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

He moved past you, setting the soup down roughly on the table.

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered under your breath—but loud enough.

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

Your arm was still stinging a little, but you didn’t let him see it. He didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t.

But when everyone started filtering in for breakfast—complimenting the food and surprised it wasn’t a complete disaster—you noticed something odd.

Bakugou didn’t sit down right away. He hovered in the kitchen a bit longer.

Then, when he finally took his seat, he slid something across the table toward you without a word.

A small pack of burn ointment.

You blinked.

He didn’t look at you. He just shoved rice in his mouth like nothing happened.

You stared at the ointment. Then at him. Then back down.

Maybe, just maybe, this day was successful.

4th - you and Bakugou both end up in detention

You’re not a violent person. Really, you aren’t.

You bow to elders. You pour their tea with both hands like your mother taught you. You accept when you’re wrong. You apologize when you make a mistake. You don’t raise your voice. You don’t raise your hand.

...Well. That’s a lie. A small one. With two very specific exceptions.

First, there was the time a certain blonde menace with a god complex and an anger issue decided it was perfectly acceptable to grip your beloved stuffed toy—Mr. Strawberry—by the neck like he was squeezing the life out of it.

You had warned him. You had politely asked, "Give him back". Bakugou didn’t listen. So you launched yourself at him, tackling him like a linebacker.

Second, and more importantly, was the reason you were now in detention.

To be fair—you warned that guy too. The random jerk from Class 1-C or whatever, who thought it was funny to call Mina names. Said she looked like a clown with skin problems. Said she was a “failed science experiment.” Then he turned on you. Called you “transfer trash” and said Bakugou must be so unlucky to be stuck with you all the time.

You gave him three warnings. Then you gave him a fist to the eye and a knee to the groin.

"Again, Mr. Aizawa," you said with your hands folded like a model student, "I only hurt him twice. One in the eye. One in the manhood. That’s all."

Mr. Aizawa didn’t blink. "Then explain to me," he deadpanned, "why he's in Recovery Girl with a broken nose and fractured wrists?"

Your eyes widened, scandalized. "I said I didn’t do that!" you yelled at your teacher.

Okay. Maybe a third exception.

But before you could argue back—really argue back—the door burst open.

And in walked your first exception.

Bakugou Katsuki, looking just as pissed off as you were. Maybe more. Jaw tight, shoulders tense.

He didn’t say a word. Just marched over to the unoccupied chair beside you and dropped into it.

Mr. Aizawa barely lifted an eyebrow. "What did you do this time, Bakugou?"

Before Bakugou could answer, Snipe entered, striding in like he just finished dealing with a forest fire. "Not only did he arrive late for my class, he also kept provoking everyone. Ignored direct orders. Nearly set off an explosion indoors," Snipe rattled off with the tone of someone who's been through this many times before. "That's a third strike. I'm formally requesting detention."

Bakugou scoffed, arms crossed. "They were talking shit first."

"And you decided to answer with grenades," Snipe shot back, dry.

Mr. Aizawa sighed the sigh of a man who regretted all his life choices. "Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed." Then he looked at both of you. "You two. Same time. Same place. One week of detention."

You blinked. "Together?!"

Bakugou snapped his head toward you. "What the hell are you doing here?"

You glared. "Serving justice with a side of righteous fury."

"Sounds like assault," he muttered.

"Sounds like shut up," you snapped back.

Mr. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. "If either of you speaks again, I’m extending it to two weeks."

Silence.

You leaned back in your chair, arms folded. Bakugou mirrored you—same posture, same scowl.

Yeah. This was gonna be fun.

…

“Mr. Aizawa, what are we even doing here?” you groaned, dragging your feet behind him like a ghost with sore legs. “I literally can’t feel my arms from training. Pretty sure my spleen filed a complaint.”

Aizawa didn’t look back. “Because,” he said flatly, “you two are going to clean up the mess you made earlier.”

You blinked. “What mess—” Oh. Right. You and Bakugou managed to destroy four punching dummies and one reinforced wall panel during your totally accidental sparring match-turned-world-war.

(Okay. Maybe you threw the first kick. Maybe Bakugou exploded it.)

You glanced at Bakugou, who had the audacity to look proud.

“I need this entire training room spotless by tonight,” Aizawa said, stopping at the entrance of Gym Gamma. He turned to you both, his voice level but threatening. “Floors scrubbed, gear cleaned, the storage shelves reorganized. And no fighting. If I hear so much as a grunt, it’s another week.”

Then he walked off like the drama king he was.

You turned to Bakugou. He turned to you.

And at the same time, you both muttered, “This is your fault.”

Some time later, you were off in your own little corner of hell, surrounded by dust and mess. Boxes were scattered all over the training room, and for some reason, it had become your job to stack and organize them—because Bakugou was somewhere else, doing god knows what, probably blowing something up.

You huffed and wiped your forehead. Your arms were jelly, your legs were shaking, but your pride? Still intact. So you grabbed another box. Heavy as hell. Probably filled with gym weights or metal, because of course, your luck sucks.

You staggered forward, muscles screaming, vision blurring slightly from exhaustion.

Almost there.

Almost—And then your arms gave out.

Crash.

The box came down hard—slamming against your shoulder, the edge smacking into your cheekbone on the way down. You hit the floor with a thud, breath knocked from your lungs.

“Shit,” you hissed, clutching your face as your eyes watered. You weren’t sure what hurt more—your pride or the throbbing burn spreading across your cheek.

Footsteps thundered behind you. “Oi—what the hell was that?” Bakugou’s voice rang out, sharp and angry. But when he turned the corner and saw you crumpled on the ground, his expression shifted for a split second—just long enough for concern to flash in his eyes before the scowl came back twice as strong.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered, crouching beside you. “You could’ve brained yourself, dumbass.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, sure. Tell that to your face.” He reached out before you could argue and tilted your chin slightly, inspecting the red, already-swelling mark on your cheek. His hand was rough but careful, thumb grazing your skin like it might crack if he pressed too hard.

You blinked at him, stunned. Was he... worried?

He stood, brushing the dust off his pants, and stomped away.

You expected him not to come back.

It made sense, didn’t it? After all, you were the one who never showed up that day. You were the one who made him wait. If he left you here now, it would’ve been fair. Predictable, even.

So when the familiar sound of his boots returned just seconds later, your head snapped up in surprise.

He dropped to one knee beside you again, avoiding eye contact as he shoved a cold pack into your hands.

“Next time, don’t be stupid,” he muttered.

You stared at him. The cold pack in your hand. The way he wouldn’t look at you.

“…You came back.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked toward you for a second—just a second—then looked away like he’d been burned.

“Shut up,” he said.

But he didn’t leave. He just sat there, beside you, legs stretched out on the floor, arms crossed.

The air between you was fragile. Like something about to break. All the bitterness, all the tension — it hung between you like a string pulled taut.

You wanted to speak up. To explain. To finally say why you didn’t show up at the resort that day.

“I didn’t—” you started, your voice soft. “That day, I—”

But before the words could fully leave your lips—

“I thought I was going to see you two for another week,” came Mr. Aizawa’s dry voice as he appeared behind you, arms crossed. You and Bakugou jolted slightly at his sudden arrival.

“Looks like I was wrong,” Aizawa continued, raising a brow. “One busted cheek, zero broken furniture. That’s progress. Go see Recovery Girl.”

He turned, already walking away. “Detention’s over. Try not to destroy anything or someone else.”

You looked down at the cold pack still pressed to your face, then over at Bakugou.

He was already looking at you. And this time, he didn’t look away.

5th - you and Bakugou were to compete against each other during the sports festival

"Now that’s an explosion if I’ve ever seen one!" Present Mic’s voice echoed through the roaring stadium. The crowd was electric—but none of it mattered to you. Not right now.

You needed an entrance. And fast.

It was the U.A. Sports Festival. The entire school had been preparing for this moment, training endlessly. But if you were being honest with yourself, you were more prepared than most.

Because for you, this wasn’t just about school spirit. This was a declaration.

A chance to prove—to the world, but especially to your parents—that you deserved to be a pro-hero.

That you were enough.

You could still hear their words, sharp and unyielding, echoing in the back of your mind. “You’re not cut out for this.” “You’ll just get hurt.” “You’re not like the others.”

You clenched your fists, forcing those memories down, locking them away. Not today.

Another explosion cracked across the field. The stadium shook. Your heart did too.

Of course, it had to be him.

Out of everyone you could face in the finals… it had to be Bakugou Katsuki.

You’d scraped past Todoroki in the semis—a narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless. You earned your place here.

But now you stood across from Bakugou, the embodiment of raw power and intensity. And he looked like he was ready to burn down the sky. He was charging toward you like a storm, feet pounding against the arena floor, eyes locked on you with that explosive determination only Bakugou could wear.

You were near the edge of the line, counting silently—one, two—calculating every breath, every beat. If you timed this just right… And you did. Just before he could strike, you twisted your body out of reach with perfect precision, grabbed his arm mid-motion, and used his own momentum against him.

You shoved him toward the edge, and for the first time, he hesitated. You saw it in his eyes—the sharp realization that he was cornered. You raised your arm, ready for the final blow that would win you the match.

But then it hit—that memory so vivid it stole the air from your lungs. You were at the dinner table, the scent of your mother’s cooking curling in the air, laughter echoing, your dad teasing you over a too-full bowl of rice.

It was warm, familiar—too familiar. Then, suddenly, the laughter faded. The food soured in your mouth. Your skin began to burn, your body overwhelmed from the inside out. Your quirk spiraled out of control. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream.

And in the present, right there in the arena, you felt that same terrifying flare building in your chest. Panic clawed at your throat—this was bad. One blow and you could hurt him—really hurt him. And the thought of that—of hurting him—made something inside you shatter.

So you did the only thing you could. You turned and ran. You ran from the edge, from the crowd, from your victory. You ran from Bakugou—because you couldn’t lose control. Not with him standing that close.

…

Bakugou was pissed—no, furious. What the hell was that? One second you had him cornered, about to land the finishing blow, and the next… you ran. Straight out of the arena. It didn’t even feel like a win—more like a slap in the face.

The moment the match ended and they declared him the victor by default, his blood started to boil. He didn’t want a win like that. He wanted a real fight, a real answer. So he stormed down the hallway, heading straight for the changing area where he knew you’d be.

His footsteps echoed sharply off the walls, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat, erratic with frustration. But just as he rounded the corner, he heard it—someone from another class, laughing too loud, too smug.

“She ran because she was a pussy,” the idiot sneered. That was the final straw.

“You!” Bakugou barked, voice slicing through the air like a grenade going off. The kid froze. “She made it to the finals, and you couldn’t even get past the first challenge. So shut the fuck up.” He didn’t even wait for a response.

The student stood frozen, confused and stunned, as Bakugou shoved past, storming toward the changing room with every intention of getting answers—from you.

He kicked open the door with a force that made the whole room shake, and there you were—sitting silently, staring straight ahead like you were trying to disappear. When you finally turned to look at him, the weight of everything hit him all at once. His voice cracked with frustration and pain as he blurted out, “What the fuck was that?!”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling but steady as you said, “I’m sorry.”

But that only ignited something fiercer inside him. His eyes burned with anger and confusion, and before he could think twice, he snapped, “Do you think you’re better than me? That you can just run away like that? Or are you that desperate, huh?!”

The moment the words left his mouth, his chest tightened with regret. He hadn’t meant to say it like that—he didn’t want to hurt you. But the damage was done.

A suffocating silence filled the room, thick and heavy like a storm about to break.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with tears you were trying so hard to hold back. Your voice, once soft, now held a sharp edge as you fired back, “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Bakugou. So maybe you should shut the fuck up before you embarrass yourself.”

Then, almost breaking, you whispered, “What did I do to you?”

Your question hung in the air, raw and aching—an echo of all the pain neither of you wanted to face. But you didn’t wait for an answer. You turned away, each step heavy with heartbreak, leaving him standing alone in the room, the silence swallowing him whole.

And in that moment, Bakugou knew—he had fucked up, and this time, it felt like he might have lost you for good.

6th - getting kidnapped together

This was hell. Scratch that—this was worse than hell. If Bakugou had known the “training camp” involved team-building games, getting partnered up with other extras, and fake survival scenarios in the middle of nowhere, he would’ve exploded his way out before they even packed.

Bakugou gritted his teeth, arms crossed as he stood in the clearing surrounded by trees and idiots. Mina was bouncing around with a box of paper slips like it was a party game. “Partner draw time!” she called out, way too excited for his liking. “Everyone pick a name!”

“Tch.” He didn’t even try to hide his irritation. “This is so damn stupid.”

“Aw, c’mon man, just go with it,” Kirishima said, slapping his back like they were best friends or something.

Bakugou sighed through his nose and grabbed a slip of paper. His eyes scanned the name—and his whole body immediately tensed.

It was yours. After the whole debacle at the sports fest, you two weren’t talking anymore—scratch that, you weren’t talking to him. Which, honestly, he didn’t blame you. It was kind of funny how the tables had turned.

Across the clearing, Bakugou caught sight of you staring down at your own slip of paper. You looked so pissed off. Then your eyes lifted—and locked onto his. Neither of you looked thrilled.

“Wait— you two?!” Mina’s voice cut through the quiet, full of shock. She was well aware of the strange shift between you and Bakugou.

“It’s okay, Bakugou, I can take—”

“It’s fine, Mina. It’s for the sake of this camp,” You interrupted, voice low but firm.

The two of you started walking down the dark, barely lit pathway. The air between you was thick with awkward silence—neither of you said a word.

The mission was simple: work with your randomly assigned partner, use a crappy map to reach your destination, and avoid any “ambushes” set up by the teachers. Easy. Tedious. Pointless.

But then it all went sideways.

The ground shook. There was a loud bang in the distance—too real, too raw. Someone screamed. Smoke poured through the trees.

“Shit,” Bakugou muttered, yanking you behind him as his palms flared with heat. “That’s not a fuckin�� drill.”

It wasn’t. A real villain showed up—one who’d warped in through some kind of black mist. The two of you fought hard, but there was something in the air. A gas. His movements slowed, your limbs heavy, his vision doubled. And then, everything went dark.

...

When Bakugou woke up, everything ached. His head was pounding. His wrists were bound behind his back. The air was damp, heavy with mold and dust.

He was on the cold floor of what looked like a storage basement. Concrete walls, broken light above. Dim. Quiet. Except for the sound of breathing next to him.

You.

You stirred, groaning softly as you sat up, only to realize you were tied too. Your eyes widened when you saw him, and he hated the way your face tensed in fear for just a second before you masked it.

“You okay?” he rasped. You nodded slowly. “Yeah… I think so. Where are we?”

“No idea.” He shifted, testing the ropes. Tight. Bastards knew what they were doing.

You looked around, gaze sharp despite everything. “Did they say anything? Do anything?”

He hesitated. “No.” Then, muffled voices came from outside the door. “You said we only needed the boy,” one of them said. “Why did you bring the girl too?”

Bakugou froze. Every muscle in his body locked. They didn’t even mean to take you. You were an accident. A casualty. And it was his fucking fault. “I’ll handle it,” another voice replied coldly.

Then silence.

Minutes ticked by. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. But he counted. 1,829 seconds. He knew because he needed something—anything—to keep control.

He broke the quiet first.

“I’m sorry for saying those words,” Bakugou said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. “There was too much going on and I took it out on you”

“It’s okay,” you reassured gently. “You didn’t know what was going on.”

Another silence settled between you, heavy and tense.

Then, gathering his courage, he broke it again—this time asking the one question he’d been dying to ask but had been too cowardly to voice, too scared of the answer.

“Why didn’t you show up?” His voice was low, almost cautious.

Bakugou saw you inhale shakily, struggling to hold yourself together. “I was eating with my parents. One last meal in our house before we headed to the airport and went to the resort. Then—out of nowhere—my quirk just spun out of control.”

A tear slid down your cheek. Bakugou wants to reach out and wipe it away.

“It hurt. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t do anything but watch it control me. I—” Your voice cracked. “I hurt my parents. And then I passed out.”

You sniffed, your voice breaking as you continued. “The doctor told me there’s little research about quirks turning on their own users. My parents were scared. They told me I wasn’t going to attend UA anymore. That I wasn’t going to be a pro-hero.”

Another tear slipped free.

“I was so mad. I’ve spent my whole life working my ass off, trying to get strong enough, trying to be good enough for UA. And then just like that… one night. One freak accident. And it was all gone.”

You let out a bitter laugh—short, sharp.

“I had to beg them to let me come. Had to scream, argue, cry. I pulled everything I had left just to get on that damn plane.”

Bakugou said nothing, but he didn’t look away either.

“But I’m also scared… because what if they were right? What if I’m not fit to be a pro-hero? What if my quirk turns on me again? What if I hurt—” You choked on your words, tears spilling freely now, full-blown crying.

He shifted closer, just enough that your shoulders nearly touched. “Is that why you didn’t use your quirk?” he asked quietly. You nodded.

“Hey,” he said, voice low but firm, “ You’re way stronger than before. Hell, you’re stronger than all those extras combined.”

He paused, watching your face carefully, making sure you were listening. “You fought to be here. You survived everything. And that’s why you’ll be a pro-hero.”

Bakugou wanted to wrap his arms around you, to hold you tight—anything to make you feel whole again, to remind you how much you mattered.

“I’m sorry—,” he muttered, but you cut him off. “Bakugou, I said it’s okay,” you smiled gently, trying to ease the tension.

“For making you do detention,” he continued, finally meeting your eyes. You could see the hesitation in his gaze, and your confusion only deepened.

“What are you talking about—?”

“I’m the one who broke that asshole’s— the one who insulted you and that pink-haired girl—his nose and wrist.” He said it quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid. “The reason why you got detention.”

Your mouth dropped open as the realization hit you like a slap. “Oh my god— is that why you were late?!?” You didn’t even realize you’d leaned into him until your shoulder bumped against his, playful but full of disbelief.

“You idiot,” you breathed, stunned, but a laugh bubbled up anyway—uncontrollable and light.

“Why did you do it?” you asked, your voice cracking between a whisper and a giggle. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh too loud.

Bakugou looked away again, needing to— you were too adorable trying to hold back your laughter. His jaw tightened, and his cheek twitched.

“Well,” he muttered, “he was a dick.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking your head.

“He kept running his mouth even after you kneed his—uh, you know. Then he said something about you. Something really shitty. And I saw red. I punched his face again.” He paused, remembering how furious he’d been when he heard what that bastard said about you, how he couldn’t control himself when he threw that first punch. Then, quieter, he added, “When he tried to swing back, I broke his wrist.”

He could feel you staring at him, your laughter now mixed with something warmer—admiration, maybe. He finally looked back at you, wanting to see your face again.

His chest tightened at the sight of your smile.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, still smiling as you leaned your head back against the cold wall.

He didn’t say anything, just stared a second longer.

“Thanks,” you added softly, almost afraid to say it out loud. “For sticking up for me. And for Mina.”

This time, he didn’t shrug it off. He just muttered, “Tch. No one talks shit about you.” And he damn well made sure of it.

But this moment—this happiness—was brutally short-lived. The door slammed open with a harsh, unforgiving bang that echoed through the cramped room. Two men stood silhouetted in the doorway—one wearing a cold, expressionless mask, the other with no face at all, just a swirling black mist where his head should have been.

Without hesitation, the masked man strode forward and yanked you roughly by the arm, dragging you away from Bakugou. You stumbled, struggling to resist, but his grip only tightened, unforgiving and strong.

Meanwhile, the black-mist figure knelt beside Bakugou and, with an effortless motion, loosened his restraints as if they were nothing.

They didn’t say a word as they led both of you out of the cramped room and into what looked like a rundown bar—dimly lit, thick with dust, and lined with flickering neon signs that barely clung to life. You twisted your wrists desperately, trying to break free, but the masked man’s hold squeezed even tighter. A sharp yelp escaped you.

Bakugou saw red—his blood boiling hotter than ever.

“Hurt her, and I’ll kill you!” Bakugou’s voice exploded through the room, fierce and unwavering, cutting through the tension like a lightning strike.

I need a plan. Fast. I need to get her out of here, Bakugou thought, heart pounding. He had to get you out of danger. He could blast them all—no problem—but that prick was way too fast.

Ding!

“Pizza delivery!”

One Time He Chose To Be

Bakugou stood outside your hospital room, gripping Mr. Strawberry in one hand as he stared at the door like it might bite him. After the heroes rescued both of you from the League of Villains, you had suddenly collapsed in his arms. The doctors said you inhaled the majority of the gas—it wasn’t lethal, but it was enough to knock you out.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and finally pushed the door open.

This was the second time he’d seen you since then. The first was… chaotic. Nurses, his teacher, and a few classmates had practically dragged him out of the room, needing a crater’s worth of force just to pry him away from your side.

Now, the second time.

He had gone all the way back to the dorms just to grab that stupid plushie you wouldn’t sleep without. Had to practically do parkour through campus and dodge paparazzi like a ninja to avoid answering their invasive questions.

And now—there you were. Sitting up in bed, wrapped in blankets, watching cartoons on the hospital TV. You smiled at a joke on screen, soft and unguarded. His heart thudded a little too fast.

Sensing him, you turned, lowering the volume.

“Bakugou! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” you asked, carefully shifting your body to face him.

He stepped closer and extended the plushie toward you. “I’m here because I know you can’t sleep without him.”

You blinked, touched. “You went all the way back for Mr. Strawberry?”

He shrugged, eyes darting away. “Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

But it was a big deal. And the way your fingers curled around the plushie, the way your eyes softened, told him you knew that too.

“Thank you… for bringing him,” you said softly, hugging Mr. Strawberry close as you looked at him. “You should be the one getting comforted, you know. The League of Villains is after you, and yet here you are… comforting me instead.”

You tried to tease, but both of you knew there was truth in your words.

You shifted to the side, making room. “After all the crap you’ve been through, you’re the one who deserves to be comforted.”

Bakugou got the message, wordlessly sitting beside you. “I know you’re probably sick of me apologizing, but I want to say sorry again—”

He didn’t finish. Because your lips pressed against his, gentle but certain.

When you pulled back, a smile tugged at your lips. “I think that’s the best way to get you to stop apologizing.”

Bakugou stared at you, stunned for a second. You watched the flicker of emotion cross his face, his jaw clenching slightly—not in anger, but in something raw and overwhelmed.

“I think,” you continued softly, “us getting stuck with each other, ending up together every vacation… I think the universe is trying to tell us something.”

Bakugou dipped his head down, resting his forehead gently against yours. His voice was low, almost a grumble, but the softness in it made your heart skip.

“That, don’t be stupid… and just get together already.”

You let out a breathy laugh, teasing, “Together already? Maybe ask me on a date first?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

“Then…” he said, clearing his throat. “Would you go out with me?”

“Bakugou—” you started, but he cut you off, voice lower than usual, almost gentle.

“Call me Katsuki.”

Your lips curled into a slow, genuine grin, the kind that reached your eyes. You didn’t miss a beat.

“Of course, I would go out with you,” you said softly, letting the name roll off your tongue like it belonged there. “Katsuki.”

...

A/N: so umm, the fanfic writer curse (idk what the name) is true, bcs why tf am i writing this in the ER, almost die—TWICE (this is separate from the er. My mother is finally getting the help she needs :>) and i’m having imposter syndrome BECAUSE IM ACTUALLY BEING APOINTED AS THE EDITOR IN CHIEF ?!?!?!?!?!? FUCK

Taglist: @theysaidhush @magicalrainbowfish @watu2ka @rixiieee @shewki @bugg777 @d4wnyjlk @biodegradablevagina @suksatoru @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @bruleecream @badslittlemuffin @mewwccury @blueemochii @iris-nights @well-yeahs-blog @rikidaze @ayoulookingfine @gina239 @lvc-lv @getosh0e @intimidaid @jealousmartini (just comment if you want to be added on my taglist >⩊< )

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki fluff #bakugou katsuki angst #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x yn #katsuki fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #mha bakugou #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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rayesgenesis · 10 months ago

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protector — b.f

who? ben florian x daughter of tiana and naveen! reader

summary: you and ben get tired of hiding your relationship

warnings: there might be some spelling mistakes or things like that, english is my third language soo yeah also there’s like one swear word

a/n: i was supposed to post a whole other oneshot but i couldn’t tie it all together to save my life— ANYWAYY reminder that my requests are OPEN 😭 this is just an oldie that’s been sitting in my other acc’s drafts for a while

wc: 2k-ish

you and ben had been successfully dating in secret for a little over four months now, with little people knowing about you two. of course, belle sniffed you both out. turns out, she’s an expert in body language too, amongst other things. when it came to telling adam though, her mouth was sealed shut— per her son’s wish. he didn’t feel like telling his dad just yet.

your boyfriend made sure to make his intentions clear with you from the start. his only desire was to be with you, whatever form that took. needless to say, it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to keep your relationship a secret.

and you would have to squeeze it out of him— he would never admit it to you — but the idea pained him at times. he didn’t really like secrets. especially when it came to you, how could he keep you a secret?

still, sneaking around was fun. at least for you it was. the secret handholding, the foot nudges under tables, the secret makeout sessions in secret spots.. feelings of being limited on time aside, you liked it. though, after a while, it started to feel like you focused more on convincing yourself that stolen moments tasted better. and as time went on, ben noticed how you kept finding ways to make your situation enjoyable.

as if it was perfectly sustainable in the long run. as if you were forcing yourself to.

ben, on the other hand, found that it got old quick. he wanted the world to know that you were his, and he, yours. he kept going for your sake, but ben couldn’t wait to show you off any chance he’d get. in his opinion, you deserved nothing less. remind him why you had to keep it a secret again?

i mean sure, when you suggested that the two of you should date in secret, you mentioned how you were scared of your parents’ disapproval. not because they wouldn’t like him, who wouldn’t, but because they were cautious about bringing attention to their kingdom.

your parents and grandparents were careful to not ruff anyone’s feathers. a quality that naveen slowly acquired with age, even though there was always the occasional mishap. it was something that his parents lectured you about multiple times, not that you needed it. you understood how hard it was already, being one of the most recently established royal houses in auradon. they had enough drama when your daddy was prince.

if anything, you couldn’t blame ben for not being understanding about this. except now, even you had to admit that it got old. you would’ve told everyone all about the two of you by now, if it wasn’t for you lying to your parents for the past two months.

because yes, you and ben spent most of your summer together almost secretly. it was definitely hard to explain to your parents how come you went from basically being a homebody to going off to all types of places every other day, but they didn’t do much complaining in the end. you were almost eighteen, it was time you had some off-duty fun. either way they trusted you.

key word, trust.

somehow you blinked and summer was already over, which was the most freedom you had felt in months. as if you had finally gotten your head out of the water after so much time spent under it. while being careful, you both had found a way to enjoy yourselves. you could breathe again. guess you hadn’t even noticed how exhausting it felt to keep the secret up.

when the school year started though, you felt that the 'going back to normal' process was harder on you than you had expected. you started feeling suffocated all over again except you really felt it now that the excitement from sneaking around had gone over.

this probably would’ve been easier if you were with a guy that you liked half as much, you often thought. but this is ben we’re talking about. he constantly fulfilled every expectation you had and more. besides, he was so nice about the whole secret thing. you were pretty sure the boy would fold backwards if you asked him to.

it goes without saying that the opportunities for you and ben to hangout outside of school became rare, so you jumped on any and every excuse to spend some time together. hence the three lunchbreaks you had, this week, in the peaceful haven that was his office. which, looking back on it, might be a bit excessive — given what each of your schedules allowed. at least it helped the two of you keep your hands off of eachother in public.

either way, your time with ben was limited, and you were going to make the most of it.

for this third lunchdate, your boyfriend managed to get meals prepared for the both of you, instead of the burgers you were starting to get used to. it was a sweet gesture which you appreciated and you made sure to tell him all throughout your time together.

when you both had finished eating what was on your plates, you helped him clean around and place the plates back on the cart they came in. laid back, you were perched on the edge of the desk watching ben clean the last plate remaining, with a slight smile on your face.

after ben came back from washing his hands, he made his way over to you.

"come here, i feel like i haven't seen you in forever." he murmured, his voice a low whine. his arms snaked around your waist, as a way to bring you closer. you chuckled.

"ben, we just spent a whole hour together." you looked up at him, amused. your hands found their way on his shoulders. that boy didn’t have a serious bone in his body, you thought.

"not enough." he groaned, tightening his arms around your waist. you started to make some space in between your legs for him to stand in. then, you noticed ben becoming serious. his breathing slowed down. he felt like he was slowly boiling up inside and yet, could blow over any minute now.

"look," he began, all the while tracing small circles on your sides. he was anxious about having this conversation with you. "i’ve had a really hard time hiding us lately", he admitted.

you took a deep breath and your eyebrows slightly shot up. ben took it as a sign to continue.

"what if we stopped hiding? i’m tired of avoiding everyone's questions and trying to come up with excuses to spend more time with you." he looked in between your eyes. "i want to be able to call you my girlfriend in front of everyone. and to kiss you whenever i want, without having to hide away in here." his eyes were fixed on you, observing your facial features.

you sighed and suddenly you couldn’t look ben in the eye. you had been thinking about it a lot lately and the fact that he had to bring it up, told you something needed to change. problem was, you were torn between finally giving in or keeping up with the lie still which, clearly made you miserable. the more you thought about it, the more your chest tightened. you took another deep breath and closed your eyes, your head a bit more lowered.

"i’m tired of it too, believe me ben. now more than ever." you chuckled lightly but there was a strain to your voice, a sign that you had indeed been suffering as well. "but my parents…" your voice came out as a whine, not that you meant it to.

was it your parents? or rather the fact that you got caught up in a lie you can’t seem to get out of? because now you had to tell them the truth about why you were having so much fun all summer. and that was terrifying. besides, you could already hear them: it’s that auradon kid that got you lying to us like that? with beast’s son? sweetie, why? she’s not seeing him again- you’re not seeing him again. tell him whatever you got going on stops now.

they could force you to stop seeing him. they wouldn’t do that. they wouldn’t, right? after a prolonged lie like that, it’s the only way your mind could imagine how they’d react.

ben cut you off in your internal spiral, "i know, i know." he was well aware of how you felt about your parent’s reaction. but still, he couldn’t help but feel like you shouldn’t give up so easily. you had to try. because for him, this was torture.

the brunette searched for your gaze and when he found he had no success, he took a deep breath of his own. his hand came to rest on your forearm and he gently began to trace small circles on it with his tumb. "but, don’t you think it’s time?"

with this, you lifted your head up to look at him. you had to admit that he was right. it wasn’t fair to him and the situation was clearly taking a toll on you too. clearly, not telling your parents about dating ben wasn’t worth the trouble you went through anymore.

what cut through the silence was the piercing sound of the bell. you groaned, and both of your hands left your boyfriend’s shoulders to cover up your face as you thought about how stupid all of it was. it’s not like you were doing anything wrong. fuck all of this.

you let out a dry laugh, out of frustration, and ben looked at you with some surprise. it was sudden.

"ughhh", you shook your head still in your hands, "this is- you’re right. it is time, i don’t know what took me so long to realize that." ben removed your hands from your face to hold them in his. you looked in his eyes, a vibrant oak color. like one that would’ve been left in the sun for a minute too long. a smile spread across his face.

"hey," he added softly, "i’m right here with you. i know, it’s scary but we’ll get through this. together." he squeezed your hands, as a way to back up what he was saying. "we’ll talk to them together and, i’ll be here to defend us with you. you don’t have to worry."

you snorted softly. "you don’t need to protect me"

"i want to." he stated positively.

a soft smile appeared on your own face. you found it cute how ben got protective over you. turns out, he wasn’t much different from your parents. the thought made you smile. all of a sudden in a hurry, you picked up your bag and lunged for the door in a couple swift movements without telling him. you needed a break from the seriousness this conversation brought. besides, ben was starting to get used to your antics.

you were already out the door and in the hallway when ben held you back by the wrist.

"hey," he giggled as he closed his office’s door, "where do you think you’re going?" he was surprised at how quickly you ran out of his office.

"you didn’t hear the bell ring? we’re going to be late for first period, ben." ben chuckled again. you acted oblivious on purpose and he could tell.

"no i know, but you could at least kiss me goodbye." his hand slowly slid up your arm as he got closer.

"not in the hallway, people could walk by-"

"i don’t care" ben simply replied before he brought your lips to his. you initially gasped then relaxed into the kiss, and ben kept a hand over your curls to bring you closer, and another on your waist.

he barely even checked to see if there was anyone around you this time. your chest warmed up all over again when you thought about it later on.

a/n #2: i forgot who wanted to be tagged when this came out i’m sorry 🫣

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deadlysoupy · 7 months ago

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my take on who gets most props with caterina in a romance with lucanis, based on rook's faction. (rook de riva gets a free pass, at least she'd be familiar with their family members, but any other rook? there's going to be... some friction) (open to discussion! i have not played many factions i'm just basing this on my experiences)

gray warden rook might not be too bad. i think she'd respect someone in their position, constantly facing death and fighting against evil. it'd be a little bit too "knight in shining armour" for her and she'd still be sceptical, but they'd be off the hook for now. tolerable

shadow dragons aren't too fucked either since minrathous' been taken over by venatori, i'd say she'd even sympathise with them. same goal. raised by the military? also not bad, probably knows discipline

mourn watch rook is also an interesting case. sure, they're freaky, necromancy is definitely not caterina's soft spot, nor is any mage business, and this is where the tables start to flip. they aren't from a noble house, (i think) they don't have much to their name, they're a Crypt Baby, which is very funny but also so unapproachable to caterina. if they're sophisticated and smooth like emmrich, though, i could see her warming up to the idea. very slowly

veil jumpers??? whoo boy let's go into an uncharted territory. dealing with anything magic- or fade-related would probably set her off so much, i think it would take years, if not decades, for caterina to come to terms with that. they're an enigma she can't figure out. their job is dangerous, but they do it for free?? what is it that they even do??? 3\10 she wouldn't recommend

(my personal favourite) lords of fortune come last. where do i even fucking START. she would be absolutely FURIOUS to find out her beloved grandson thrashed in bed with rook laidir. are you kidding me. those no-good treasure hunters? i wouldn't be surprised if one of them stole something from the crows, possibly even house dellamorte. they have no privileges, they have no estate, they're a pirate, their leader is Isabela, for Maker's sake, they collect gold because Shiny, they killed a noble for threatening to take over the country. there's no winning here. no matter how you look at it lof rook would be her least favourite. i think they'd get a lot of support from teia and viago (well, more teia) but it still wouldn't win them a lot of favours. she might even try to separate them at some point. imagine the drama

#uehueheeuheueheeh #dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #rookanis #rook x lucanis #lucanis x rook #dragon age rook #uh. do i tag each rook #eh fine #rook ingellvar #rook mercar #rook aldwir #rook thorne #rook laidir #lucanis dellamorte #caterina dellamorte #mine #soups walkie talkie

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kitkatt0430 · 9 months ago

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Been in a Batfamily (in all it's fucked up drama) mood lately and thinking...

Jason gets into town, starts establishing his Red Hood persona, screwing with the Bats and taking over Crime Alley. He intends to use the new Robin to screw with Batman and manipulating Black Mask into reporting the new Red Hood back to the original. And as planned, Joker does not respond well to 'some upstart' using his old moniker.

Except when Joker breaks out of Arkham he can't help but be distracted by Batman and his shiny new Robin. (Has Joker been out while Tim's been Robin at this point? Let's say no for the sake of fanfic purposes.) Now Harley made Joker promise no more killing kids after what happened with the last Robin, made it clear that was a hard boundary for her and she'd leave him for good if he want after any more kids.

Of course, his promise that of course he wouldn't kill anymore kids was a total lie but it got Hartley to go all soft and agreeable for him again and that was what mattered. Besides, he doesn't want to kill this Robin. He wants to see what Batman sees in having child sidekick and take one for himself.

So Tim gets kidnapped by the Joker before Bruce can send the poor kid somewhere not Gotham for his safety. And Joke unmasks Tim because of course he does. And Harley sees how young Tim is and watches Mr. J start electrocuting the kid because surely the brainwashing'll stick if they fry his noggin' a bit first...

And Harley decides this is a boundary for her too. She can't be a part of this and even if it kills her, she's going to save this kid. She knows she can't do it on her own and her first thought is to go find Batman.

Of course, she quickly nixes this idea. Batman isn't ruthless enough and sure maybe he'll make it all the way through Joker's henchmen - admittedly as per usual - and rescue the kid. But then Mr. J will go back to Arkham and even though Harley doesn't want Joker dead... she also kinda wants him dead for this one. For using his promise to her not to kill kids as an excuse to torture children instead.

Next choice is Nightwing but he's out for the same reasons as Batman. Nightwing is somewhat more likely to kill the Joker and could live with it in the way Batman couldn't, but it's not a guarantee and Harley wants this kid to know that the guy who did this to him will never be able to do it ever again.

And then Harley remembers. Red Hood. Who definitely picked that name not as an homage but as a taunt. Who clearly hates the Joker and all he stands for. Who will... probably kill Harley, let's be honest, but she's not sure she wants to live without her Mr. J even as she's mentally planning out the man's death. So.

Harley makes an excuse to leave. Joker says something about mom doing the grocery shopping to the kid he's electrocuting and hands off a list of random stuff to Harley. She takes it and skedaddles. Heads all the way to Crime Alley. Stands outside it for a long moment. Thinks about the kid Joker's gotten his hands on. The way he screamed and cried and begged for Batman to come save him after the bravado of Robin quickly wore off.

She steps into Crime Alley. And then she does random acrobatics down the street, waiting for the Red Hood or his men to show up.

And they do. The Red Hood's henchmen are quick and efficient in grabbing her and presenting her to their boss. There's a gun in her face and she should be terrified and she is but...

She tells Red Hood about the kid. She drops the fake accent she put on for Joker and let's herself be, for just one last time, Harleen instead of Harley. The doctor who cares and not the killer Joker molded her into. "So kill me or whatever, I know I deserve it for believing Mr. J's lies again. But you have a code. You don't hurt kids. You don't kill kids. And maybe I'm asking too much, but I wasn't there and didn't save the last one. So I'm begging you to save this one."

Jason sees green. He has Harley take him to the Joker's hide out. He tears his way through the Joker's goons and doesn't hesitate to kill the Joker because he's too deep in the pit rage at the man who murdered him to care about his convoluted plans to try and force Bruce's hand, to make Batman finally kill Joker.

On the bright side, killing the Joker himself clears up some of Jason's lazarous pit related anger management issues. On the spot. The down side however is that Jason now has a traumatized Tim to deliver back to Batman - which he'd rather not, Batman cannot be trusted not to weaponize children - without being blamed for the state Tim's in.

He makes this Harley's problem - explain this to the Bats yourself, it's your punishment, Harley - and decides he needs a new plan to say 'screw you' to Batman with. He's gonna win over Robin 3.0 and get the kid to willingly abandon Batman to join the Red Hood Crew. How hard can it be, anyway?

Meanwhile Tim has absolutely figured out Jason is the Red Hood because he's absolutely connecting dots he should not be capable of connecting and formulating his own plan to try and lure Jason back home. Because why would Tim focus on healing from his own trauma when he could prioritize someone else's and compartmentalize the hell out of his own problems. Which is definitely the healthy thing to do and not at all going to bite him in the ass with depression and miscommunications down the line. (They all need so much therapy.)

So now the Joker's dead, Harley has delivered Tim safely back to Batman, (Ivy is about to get an unexpected visitor,) and the Bats are about to start playing four-d chess with each other to try and achieve various goals. Jason is trying to steal Tim from Bruce. Bruce thinks maybe saving Robin means the new Red Hood could be saved from himself after all. Tim is trying to lure Jason back to the manor for Alfred's cookies and oh is that a long overdue conversation with Bruce that is also sprung on him like a trap??? And Dick would just like to thank Red Hood but somehow winds up drunk confessing to the definitely-a-hallucination-of-Jason the whole didn't find out his little brother was dead until after the funeral when Dick got back from space thing and how he's so grateful to the Red Hood for saving this new kid who's just the neighbor's kid but also rapidly looking brother-shaped and why is he so bad at protecting the people he cares about???

(Jason rapidly going from 'drunk Dick is funny' to 'drunk Dick is clingy and cries and oh god he's getting emotions all over me make it stop')

#fanfiction #fanfic ideas #the batfamily #batman #the red hood #harley quin #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #Tim - *waving a cookie in front of Jason and then taking a bite* Mmmmmm Agent A's cookies are the best.#Tim - And you who definitely has no idea what you're missing out on... want one?#Jason - *dying inside - again - because he wants one so badly he misses Alfred's baking* N...no.... yes. Dammit. Give me a cookie.#Tim - *stage one success*

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genericpuff · 3 months ago

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I don't remember if you answered a similar question already, but will Apollo be as bad as he was in LO ? I feel like it was the easy way out to make the ""popular god"" the bad guy, and his character was misused (like Minthe!) just in order to make a plot line for Persephone and Hades. He's not loved by the mortals and gods for no reason (also Hermes was really reallyyyy popular as was his cult but I'm getting off rails). Wanted to tell you as well that I like the version of Apollo you did so far !

Without spoiling anything, the best way I can sum it up is:

Apollo has problems.

Hades has problems.

Minthe has problems.

Kore has problems.

This isn't a story that's gonna focus on one person as the "root of all evil". Rather, every core character within the plot has deeply-rooted issues that externalize themselves through their actions, and much of the conflicts within the story are driven by those actions.

When it comes to Apollo specifically, I feel like LO definitely dropped the ball on connecting his internalized sense of self with his external actions. By the end it was just "he was evil!" and it barely explored how someone like Apollo could exist, and justify his own actions.

While LR Apollo isn't gonna try to resurrect a primordial god just for the sake of rigging an election, he's definitely gonna have an ugly side that I'm fully planning to explore as the plot goes on, mostly entrenched in his insecurities and externalized narcissistic tendencies. He has both an extremely high opinion of himself but also a lot to prove as a godly (but bastard) creation of Zeus and it's gonna make for some pretty intense (and also fun lmao) drama in time ;0

#lore rekindled ama #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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marimeeko · 10 months ago

Text

Katsukis PR team smacking their damn heads when suddenly Katsuki starts really giving a shit about the ranking because Izuku has his suit and they are competing(flirting) in the field now. And they have realized that he was sabotaging his own ranking the entire time, on purpose.

Their shock when, after Izuku joins the Heroes again, Katsuki doesn't treat fangirls/boys and paparazzi like leeches(as much) and they have to clean up less messes and do a little less damage control, and he just seems in a better mood overall.

Their abject horror as they now have to worry more about explaining the optics to Katsuki of how intense his competition with Hero Deku is(it looks Hella fruity and people are starting to talk).

Their sighs of defeat when Katsuki makes it clear he doesn't give a shit about the optics, and continues making public proclamations about him and Deku being the top heroic rivals ever seen, and how now nothing will stop him from becoming No. 1 now.

Their redoubled shock when it comes out that their client, Katsuki Bakugou, was a major contributor to the state of the art suit that Hero Deku is now wearing in his unprecedented comeback. And that Katsuki confirms the rumors without so much as a chat with the PR department first.

The way they just give up all together when the pieces come together that this whole time they have been running PR with a man so singlemindedly concerned with giving his childhood friend/partner/Boyfriend?? a leg up JUST so they could compete together, and how obnoxiously obvious they both are now that they are both in the public eye.

The hindsight that every move Katsuki Bakugou, GEMG DynaMight, has ever made in his career was for the sake of a future where he and Izuku are running the show together.

One day, one of them is definitely going to earn the rights to write a behind the scenes biography about Katsuki because it has the makings of an insane romance story on top of a big drama about GEMG DynaMights early career. It'll come out right after Katsuki and Izukus marriage lmao.

#theyre not beating the Hella Fruity allegations anytime soon #theyre so LOUD about it #bakudeku #bnha spoilers #therapy fpr that whole department #they think its endearing if it wasnt so stressful to go through #Katsuki doesnt need to have a statement on Izukus suit written for him #he spent 8 years on that thing OF COURSE he is going to confirm it at the drop of a hat #there is no bureaucracy that can hold Kacchan back #pro hero partners bkdk #bakugou katsuki #post epilogue bkdk #there will be books written about izuku and katsuki i totally believe it

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occasionalsnippets · 6 months ago

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Hello! I have an ask for your family dissonance au. It’s a scenario I’m curious about that you mentioned in one of your writings. What would happen if reader needed up in an alternate au that doesn’t have her in it dressed as Robin because she was filling in? (In like a Yandere way btw). Would she be able to hide, would she reveal herself? What would the Batfam she was originally with do when they notice she is gone??? And for drama sake what if Tim in the other au she falls into was in the time period he was banned from being Robin for his safety due to Redhood just appearing? What would Redhood do about another Robin?

I hope you have a wonderful day!

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream, @shirp-collector-of-fixations

---

When you aren't acting as Robin, everything is fair game.

If you don't land near a bat, you're not likely to reveal yourself or go to the manor until you do some information gathering. You play it careful, avoid getting caught on any cameras and head to a safe house. Disabling all the hidden mics and trackers is child's play and the safe house is stocked enough for you to get your bearings.

First things first, the internet. Doing a quick search reveals the current state of Gotham, its vigilantes and rogues. Pretty standard stuff. Your plan is mainly to just bunker down until you're found. There's nothing stopping you from doing so and sooner or later, your family will find you.

Those plans are ruined deep into the night by someone else breaking into the safe house.

Red Hood stumbles in, trailing blood all over the place. You're already categorizing his injuries by the time he drags himself over to the couch. Several bullets. Dislocated shoulder. Some kind of fear toxin. All things you can fix if you choose to get involved.

You might as well. Jason will live whether you do or don't but you would feel bad about leaving him. He's not all that there while you're treating him but he's definitely more lucid after getting the antidote.

"So," you hum as you dig bullets out of his flesh, "do you specifically want Batman to kill the Joker or do you want to kill him yourself or are you okay if anyone kills him."

He mutters something you can't hear. The blood loss is probably getting to him. By the time you're finished wrapping him up, his breathing has slowed and become steady. You pat his smooth helmet. Even if it's part of his brand, it kinda makes him look bald.

"Sleep tight, Hood."

By the time he wakes, you are gone and the Joker is dead.

I'm not really sure how to spin the rest of it in a yandere type of way since you don't stay long enough in the universe to really trigger anything.

Jason's helmet probably has some kind of recording thing though so there's evidence of you in the universe before you disappear. Plus in your quest to commit murder, you run into a couple other bats too. The bats in that universe might end up spiralling trying to find you though since a. you killed the Joker, b. you patched Jason up, c. you look like Tim, and d. you broke into a safe house too easily.

Maybe they'll find where you came from, maybe they won't, but regardless, they're sure to have questions.

---

On the other side of the coin, what is going on with your batfam?

They notice within probably 10 ish minutes or less that your trackers are down. In less than half an hour, their facts are confirmed. You’ve gone missing. Like any good detectives, information gathering comes first and conclusions drawn from evidence last. Despite that, they’re actually pretty frantic in their search for you.

Most resources are diverted solely to finding you, everything else is dealt with quickly and efficiently so they aren’t wasting time. Once they narrow things down to magic, fixing everything is actually quite easy. Thank goodness you’re not difficult to find. If it took any longer, you probably wouldn’t want to know the lengths they’d go to for you to be back home and safe.

—

There are three Robins in Titan’s Tower. One current Robin, one former Robin and one not-Robin. It is, in summary, a Spider-Man pointing meme situation.

There’s a lot of yelling and fighting and “you’re ruining my plan” and “well I wasn’t trying to” but it doesn’t end with any major injuries.

Tim and Jason definitely think it’s a time travel thing where future Tim came back to the past to fix something. You don’t have enough energy to correct them. Either way, you stall long enough for the big Bat and Nightwing to come crashing into Titan’s Tower for an early reveal.

You’re gone by the time they get back to the topic of your presence. Hidden away, waiting to return home.

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months ago

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The Calm After The Storm

Sylus x gn!Reader

I know it isn't Christmas anymore but the vibes persist in my notes app

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, Christmas, alcohol, drinking, kissing, cuddling, some family drama

Word Count: 834

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You scrub a hand down your face, as if it could wipe away all the stress and overwhelm from the last few days. Booking flights, packing bags, wrapping gifts, dealing with your parents' nagging and your extended family's... whole deal. You can't wait to go back home.

Sylus sighs as he settles down beside you. His arm immediately wraps around your shoulders, drawing you into his side where you belong.

He's been your rock through all of this. When you start to lose your head to the holiday season, he's there to reel you back in. It was a real catch 22, though. He could be there to block your family's questions and interrogations, but that only brought more questions to the surface.

How did you two meet? How long have you been together? When is he going to propose? Will we finally have some grandkids? Why isn't he with his family? How big is he? (Asked by your great grandmother, utterly shamelessly.) And on, and on, and on.

For all the headache it brought you, he didn't seem too phased by the excitement. With all the grace of a businessman, he deflects, redirects, and obfuscates just enough to satisfy their questions without giving them too much of a rope to tug on.

Now that you've finally got a moment to yourself - all your relatives gone, your parents off to bed - all you want to do is sit on the couch and come down from it all.

Sylus is quiet. You know it's for your sake, to give you all the (metaphorical) space you need. All the power is in your hands to start a conversation. All he does is hold you close, rub circles into your arm, and offer you the wine glass in his other hand.

You grin wryly as you accept it. It's fruity, sweet - definitely not to his tastes. "Is this the one my nana got you?"

"Mhm," he hums. "It's a nice gesture."

You chuckle. "She had no idea what to get you. I mentioned that you like to drink, but she's... Well, she tends to gift other people things she likes."

You settle deeper against him, cradling the glass to yourself as you lean your head against his shoulder. He presses a tender kiss to your head.

"Is it always that chaotic?"

"No." You tilt your head up to look at him. "It's usually a lot worse."

He chuckles lowly. "I'm glad they were on their best behavior for me, then." He brushes his nose against yours, drawing out the peace of the moment just a while longer. He's had to severely cut back on how affectionate he gets to be with you to avoid encouraging even more marriage and children questions; he really wants to savor this for as long as possible.

The lights of the Christmas tree in the living room dance across the planes of his face. Every now and then, the red catches on his iris. Or the gold does, and gives him a draconic look. He's beautiful. Ethereal. Your cousin took one look at him, at his arm lazily wrapped around your waist, and gaped in awe at you. The only reason she couldn't get a chance to get Sylus alone and try to steal him is because he was too insistent on staying by your side through it all, whispering teasing remarks in your ear and making sure you weren't about to have a panic attack.

It felt really good being able to put her in her place at dinner, when she purposefully vied for the seat beside Sylus's. He'd ignored her the whole time, save for a politely dismissive phrase or two. After she stole your boyfriend from you in 9th grade pulling the same stunts that she tried tonight, you had no sympathy for the teary-eyed pout she pulled on her way out the door.

You lean up that last little bit. He ducks his head down to ease the strain on your neck, meeting you in a honeyed kiss. Sweet, warm and unhurried. You taste like the wine, hints of the bitter alcoholic sting softened by the fruity sweetness clinging to your lips. This may be his new favorite wine, if only for the way it tastes on you.

You pull away slowly. He leaves a few chaste kisses on your lips, chasing after the lingering sweetness, before finally humming his satisfaction. As soon as you both get home, he's going to make up for all the lost time. For now, he tucks your head under his chin, holds you in front of the tree, and basks in his first Christmas spent with you.

"Merry Christmas, Sy."

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." He can't wait to celebrate with you again next year, crazy family and all.

You take a slow sip of the wine, basking in the silence for all of one minute. “Sy?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re taking the jet back home. I can’t be sat sandwiched between two screaming babies again.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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danacaptus · 5 months ago

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𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑!𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 .ᐟ

kinda dark, kidnap, ex!Michael x reader, short

Boyfriend!kaiser who got dumped by his girlfriend for getting too aggressive and scary :o

kidnapper!kaiser who couldn't move on :(

ᡣ𐭩.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹ The cold of the floor sent chills up your spine, The punishment was definitely working, because you were feeling a bit of regret right now. Maybe If you hadn't tried to escape this wouldn't be happening :(

When you broke up with Kaiser you were genuinely scared. You just packed up and left his place when he was in his practice, went to your apartment and texted him a simple message saying that he was getting a little bit "too aggressive" and that he was scaring you off. But you didn't expect him to freak out so much─ You hoped that maybe he would apologize, maybe beg a bit? But that was just a hope, and he clearly wasn't begging for your forgiveness in his replies. You were acting like he beat you up, like─ maybe he slapped you sometimes, and a time or another he punched you... But he didn't use all his strength─ at least no most of the time! You were just exaggerating

"???"

"the fuck?"

"You are a drama queen, im going home right now."

Oh, he was ready to show you how stupid you were, to slap some sense into you─but then, you weren't at home, and none of your things were here. He hopes this is some kind of joke because now, he DOES feel like beating you up. He is definitely not panicking!

"Where are you?"

"Now you're going out without even telling me?"

"Where are your things? What is your problem?"

"."

"Reply, bitch"

It actually made you a bit sad to see him all confused while spamming you messages, so you decided to reply one last time, for the sake of your new old relationship

"I told you we breaking up, im sorry"

With that, You muted his messages and let him spam. You really thought that was the start of a new stage in your life; even when you missed him everyday, everytime he showed up to your apartment you ignored him; then you changed the lock of your house, letting him bang your door till he was fighting with a neighbor who told him to stop making so much noise in a apartments complex.

Kaiser couldn't believe this, you were LEAVING him? You told him you would love him forever even with his small flaws, in fact, he thought he had you thinking that you were the one with defects in the relationship; everytime he hurt you was your fault, you were dumb and annoying, even when that was exactly how he wanted you to be. But now you were acting like you were too clever, you should have known you were lucky to have someone like him, someone who put up with you even if you were an idiot. And he would never find someone like you, and realizing that even more everyday was killing him. You were his, you would always be. So he didn't think that lockpicking your apartment door at night is a big deal, and tying you in his room is not a big deal either, after some weeks he even let you walk around the rooms the house! Obviously not out the house though.

But you didn't know how to appreciate his kindness, and thats how you ended tied in a dark empty room; hungry, dressed only in your underwear, an AC blasting freezing cold air and a ridiculously thin but warm blanket threw teasingly in the other side of the room, out of your reach. He left you here after last night he caught you red-handed─ He was kind enough to let you go wander around, but you had to try to open the window and leave, You couldn't just stay there, waiting for him─ He took the time to give you a few hits before leaving you in that room.

You just hoped that it was already getting later, that michael would finally arrive and forgive you, take you out from this room. Your eyes were fluttering shut; daydreaming about going out here, eating a delicious meal and putting on some warm clothes. You were almost asleep when Kaiser finally burst in, the warmth from outside and the sudden sound of the door waking you up.

"M-Michael!" You felt strangely glad, inmediately trying to go to him when the ropes yanked you back, leaving you like a whining mess. "M-Michael! Please, forgive me! Im not trying to scape again" you sniffed, wiping the tears away from your eyes to see him clearly, he could save you from here even if he was the one who put you in this situation. He was still annoyed but he held back a smirk, bending down to untie your ropes. You tried to hug him, to make him forgive you, but he just pushed you away. "You are a pathetic bitch, trying to scape and then acting like this. I hope you learned a lesson" he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the room, closing the door behind him. "You better be glad i just locked you up here, if you make something like that again i doubt you'll make out alive" he lied, he obviously would never kill you on purpose. You just needed a little scare.

"Y-yes, Michael... Im sorry" he dragged you to his bedroom, throwing you some clothes. "Yeah, whatever, i forgive you. Get dressed and make me some dinner, quick" he said with arrogance, condescension dripping from his voice. He was happy that you were finally noticing that you shouldn't be stubborn with him

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝓑𝗒 @lil-liaa

#bllk #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x female reader #dark content #fanfic

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movingmusically · 4 months ago

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hiiii, i just wanted to say i read all of your austin fics and is unbelievable how good you write him!! like, it feels so real and so loyal to him and it made me fall even deeper for him.

I especially loved Feyd’s Darling and I was wondering if you could write a similar fic with actress!girlfriend but this time is austin who visits the set of HER movie and is present when she is filming and reminds her how proud he is of her 🥺 thank you <3

Word Count: 5,657

Masterlist

No Doubt, It’s Funny

You were barely through the door when your phone buzzed with an email notification, the familiar name in the sender line making you pause mid-step.

That’s weird.

It wasn’t unusual for actors to keep in touch after working together, but you and Paul Rudd had never been more than friendly colleagues—occasional social media likes, a warm greeting at industry events. You’d filmed together once, a drama, and you had always admired his work, but it had never gone beyond that.

Curious, you tapped the email open.

SUBJECT: I Think You’d Be Perfect For This Hey Y/N, I know this is a little out of the blue, but I just finished working on a script with some people I really trust, and I kept thinking about you for one of the lead roles. It’s different from what you’ve done before—more comedy than drama—but it’s got a lot of heart, and I think you’d absolutely crush it. I’m attaching the script—give it a read when you get a chance. No pressure, but I’d love to work with you on this. Let me know what you think. Paul Rudd

Your stomach fluttered with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. A comedy? That was definitely new. You loved a well-done comedy, but you’d never seen yourself in one—your career had been built on dramas, character-driven films with heavy emotions and intense scenes.

Before you could overthink it, you hit the download button and opened the script. You’d just skim a few pages.

Except, you didn’t stop skimming.

By page five, you were biting back a smile.

By page ten, you were laughing under your breath.

By page twenty, you were fully cackling, hand covering your mouth as you collapsed onto the couch, phone balanced on your knee.

The dialogue was fast, witty, smart. It had all the beats of a great comedy, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity—genuine heart threaded between the humour. It wasn’t just a joke machine; it meant something.

And the lead female role?

You loved her.

The character was a mess in the best way—sharp-witted but emotionally guarded, with a tendency to deflect with sarcasm. There was a moment in the third act, a shift from all the laughs into something real, that hit you so hard you actually felt your throat tighten.

You wanted to play her.

The thought was immediate, instinctive.

And terrifying.

Because you had never done anything like this before.

Your mind was already filling with doubt, What if I’m not funny enough? What if I ruin it?, but before you could spiral, a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Alright, what’s got you giggling like that?”

You looked up to see Austin, freshly showered from the gym, his hair still damp and a towel draped over his shoulder. His expression was amused, but there was something softer in his eyes—the kind of curiosity that came when he knew something had gotten under your skin in a good way.

You hesitated, then held up your phone. “I just got sent a script.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly as he walked over, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “It’s a comedy.”

Austin didn’t react at first—just reached for the towel on his shoulder and ran it through his hair. Then he glanced at you sideways, lips twitching.

“…And?”

You sighed, staring at the screen in your hands. “And I kind of love it.”

Now that got his full attention.

Austin sat up straighter, eyebrows raised. “Wait. Really?”

You nodded. “It’s so funny, but it’s not just comedy for the sake of it. It actually has heart, you know? And the role—it’s different from anything I’ve done, but I can see it.”

Austin grinned, already excited. “Babe, that’s amazing. Who sent it?”

You told him, watching as his eyebrows lifted in recognition. “Oh damn, Paul sent it? That’s huge. He’s a genius with this kind of stuff.”

“I know,” you murmured, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Which is why I’m freaking out a little.”

Austin frowned slightly. “Freaking out why?”

You exhaled slowly, tapping your phone against your knee. “Because I don’t do comedy, Austin. I don’t have that thing comedians have. I don’t know how to deliver a joke. I don’t—”

“Okay, pause,” Austin interrupted, holding up a hand. “First of all, yes you do.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Austin.”

He just grinned. “No, I’m serious. You’re hilarious.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “That doesn’t count. You laugh at me when I don’t mean to be funny.

“Which is exactly why it does count,” he argued, nudging your leg with his knee. “You don’t try to be funny, but you are. And that’s what makes it work.”

You shook your head, not convinced. “It’s different on screen.”

Austin tilted his head, considering you. Then he reached for your phone. “You want me to read it?”

You hesitated.

Then, with a deep breath, you handed it over.

You watch as Austin leans back against the couch, phone in hand, scrolling through the script with an unreadable expression. His brows furrow slightly in concentration, lips twitching at certain moments, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh as he reads. You try not to fidget, but the longer he stays silent, the more antsy you get.

“Well?” you press, unable to hold it in any longer.

Austin doesn’t look up immediately. Instead, he swipes to the next page, humming under his breath. “Hold on,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the screen. Then, out of nowhere, he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

You sit up straighter. “What?”

He turns the phone toward you and points at a specific line of dialogue. “That’s what.”

Your eyes skim the line—the character delivering a dry, exasperated remark after a ridiculous situation unfolds.

“Oh, sure. This is fine. I always wanted to be covered in spaghetti in the middle of a funeral.”

You roll your eyes. “What? That’s just—”

Austin grins. “That’s you. That is exactly something you would say.”

Your mouth opens, ready to argue, but then you remember last week when you spilled an entire smoothie on yourself right before a press event and muttered something very similar. Austin had laughed so hard he’d had to sit down.

You groan, flopping back against the couch. “Okay, fine. But that doesn’t mean I can actually do it.”

Austin shifts closer, nudging your knee with his. “Babe. You are doing it. Just reading this, I can already hear you in the role. The way the humour is written—it’s natural, it’s quick, it’s sarcastic but in a way that’s not forced.” He taps the phone. “You don’t have to try to be funny. You just have to be you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, staring at the ceiling. The part of you that fell in love with the script wants to believe him, wants to think you can pull this off. But that nagging voice in your head keeps whispering that you’re not built for this, that you’ll fall flat next to someone like Paul Rudd, who could deliver a joke in his sleep.

Austin nudges you again, softer this time. “What’s stopping you?”

You sigh. “I just—I don’t know if I have comedic timing. It’s different when you’re doing drama. With drama, you just feel it, you know? But comedy—comedy’s like this whole other skill set. And Paul Rudd? He’s—he’s Paul Rudd, Austin.”

Austin smirks. “I am aware.”

You shoot him a look. “I mean it. He’s been doing this forever. He’s so fast, so sharp. I’ll be up there with him, fumbling, and it’ll be painfully obvious that I don’t belong.”

Austin studies you for a moment, then sets the phone down and shifts so he’s facing you fully, his knee brushing against yours. “Okay. You remember the first time I told you about Dune?”

You blink. “Yeah?”

“And remember what I said? How I told you I didn’t think I could do it? That I wasn’t sure I could be Feyd?”

You nod slowly, already seeing where he’s going with this.

Austin tilts his head. “And what did you tell me?”

You huff. “That you were already him, you just didn’t know it yet.”

His lips curl. “Exactly.” He leans in a little. “And guess what? I was terrified. I spent months overthinking every detail, worried I wouldn’t measure up, that I’d make an ass of myself. But you were right. I was him. I just had to get out of my own way.”

You sigh, arms crossing over your chest. “So now you’re throwing my own words back at me?”

He grins. “Absolutely.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. He knows it, too.

“Look,” he continues, gentler now, “Paul Rudd—yeah, he’s a legend. But you know what makes him so good? He’s reactive. He plays off his scene partners. He’s brilliant at making other people better.”

You exhale, your walls slowly cracking.

Austin moves even closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t have to walk in there and be the funniest person in the room. You just have to be real. And I’ve seen you—hell, I have been on the receiving end of your one-liners when you’re annoyed. Your comedic timing? It’s already there.”

You chew your lip, fingers drumming against your knee. “And what if I suck?”

Austin shrugs. “Then you suck. But at least you tried something new. And knowing you? You won’t suck.”

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of doubt. But there’s none. Just that steady confidence, that quiet certainty that somehow makes you feel like you can do anything.

Slowly, you reach for your phone, scrolling to the email from Paul.

Austin watches as you hover over the reply button, still hesitating. He reaches out, lacing his fingers with yours, squeezing once. “Come on, baby. Take the leap.”

You inhale deeply.

Then, before you can overthink it again, you type out a quick reply:

I’m in. Let’s do this.

And hit send.

Austin whoops, pulling you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile creeping up your face. “If this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

Austin just grins. “Deal. But when it goes amazingly right? You better give me all the credit.”

You shake your head, heart pounding, a mix of fear and excitement buzzing under your skin.

No turning back now.

You just agreed to star in a comedy with Paul Rudd.

And for the first time, instead of feeling terrified…

You feel ready.

The moment you hit send on that email, the real work begins.

You’ve never prepared for a role quite like this before. Usually, your pre-film ritual involves weeks of research, emotional deep dives, and long, introspective walks where you try to fully embody your character. But this time?

This time, preparation involves watching people trip over things on purpose.

Austin walks into the living room one evening to find you curled up on the couch, notebook in hand, staring at the screen in deep concentration.

His brows furrow. “Is that… Dumb and Dumber?”

You shush him, scribbling down something in your notebook. “Yes, and it’s important.”

Austin blinks, then grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

And it is—for him.

For the next few weeks, you dive headfirst into comedy. Your watchlist expands to include everything from When Harry Met Sally to Anchorman to old-school screwball comedies. You analyse timing, delivery, the way physical comedy blends with dialogue, the effortless way comedic actors lean into the absurd instead of shying away from it.

Austin? He’s thrilled.

Because suddenly, he gets to turn your living room into an improv class.

“Let’s do a scene.”

You groan, burying your face in a throw pillow. “Austin, please.”

But he’s already standing in front of you, dramatically rolling his shoulders like he’s about to step onto Broadway. “Nope. You want to get better? You gotta practice. Now.” He clears his throat, then delivers the most over-the-top, melodramatic line imaginable:

“I never meant to fall in love with you, Delilah, but the way you butter toast has changed me as a man.”

You deadpan. “Austin. What the hell.”

He points at you. “React. Go.”

You glare at him for a long second.

Then, with the flattest voice possible, you say, “I hope you and the toast will be very happy together.”

Austin collapses onto the floor, clutching his chest like you just delivered the most devastating monologue of all time. “You—you monster.”

You chuck a pillow at him. “This isn’t helping.”

But secretly? You love how much he believes in you.

He gets you out of your head. Helps you stop taking yourself so seriously.

And when you start rehearsing with Paul Rudd, you need every ounce of that confidence.

The first table read goes fine. The second rehearsal? Less fine.

Paul is effortless. Annoyingly effortless. He can take a single line and turn it into comedy gold with the smallest inflection, the tiniest shift in expression. You watch him riff with the other actors, improvising new lines that somehow land even better than what’s on the page, and you feel like you’re watching a masterclass.

And then you step in.

And suddenly, your brain is a void.

You deliver your lines, but they feel stiff. Like you’re trying too hard instead of letting them flow naturally. Next to Paul, you feel sluggish.

By the end of rehearsal, you’re convinced you’ve made a huge mistake.

That night, you flop onto the couch with a groan, burying your face in Austin’s thigh.

He barely looks up from his book. “Rough day?”

You mumble something unintelligible.

Austin sets the book down and pokes your shoulder. “Try again. In English this time.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back so you can look up at him. “Everyone else on set is so funny. I feel like the unfunny kid in a class full of comedians.”

Austin tilts his head, considering you. “You do realise that’s not true, right?”

You scoff. “Austin, I spent an hour watching Paul Rudd improvise lines better than the script itself. Meanwhile, I sounded like a malfunctioning robot trying to keep up.”

Austin shifts, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing absent circles over your knuckles. “Babe. You don’t have to be the funniest person in the room.”

You exhale slowly, still unconvinced. “Feels like I do.”

Austin shakes his head. “No. You just have to be you in this story. That’s what makes it work. They cast you for a reason. You don’t have to out-joke Paul Rudd—that’s literally his job.”

You bite your lip. “What if I just… don’t have it?”

Austin squeezes your hand. “You do. And the second you stop trying to be ‘funny’ and just be, it’s gonna click.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any trace of doubt. But—of course—there isn’t any.

There never is.

You sigh. “Okay.”

Austin smiles. “Okay?”

“Okay,” you confirm. Then, after a beat—“If I do crash and burn, you have to promise you’ll still love me.”

Austin grins, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Babe, if you bomb, I’ll be first in line to make fun of you for it.”

You groan. “You suck.”

He laughs. “But you love me.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand anyway.

And even though the nerves are still there, somehow—somehow—you feel lighter.

You’re running your lines in your head, hands clenched into fists at your sides as you pace the soundstage floor. The scene you’re about to film is one of the trickiest in the entire movie—fast-paced, rapid-fire dialogue, overlapping lines, physical comedy and emotional stakes all rolled into one.

Basically, it’s a damn minefield.

You love this movie. You love this character. But this scene? This scene is making you reconsider every life decision that led you here.

“Okay, places!” the first AD calls out, snapping you back into reality.

Paul flashes you a reassuring smile from across the set. “You good?”

You inhale deeply, nodding. “Yeah. Just… you know. Hoping I don’t completely humiliate myself.”

He grins. “That’s the goal, though. Comedy is humiliation.”

“That’s comforting,” you deadpan.

The director chuckles from behind the monitor. “Alright, let’s run it.”

You move into position, heart hammering in your chest. The scene is simple enough on the surface—your character and Paul’s are stuck in a ridiculously awkward situation, trying to talk their way out of it, but everything they say just makes it worse.

It should feel easy. Fun.

But all you can think is: Don’t mess up. Don’t kill the momentum. Don’t—

“Action!”

You open your mouth—

And freeze.

Because standing just behind the monitor, half-hidden behind the director’s chair, is Austin.

What the hell—

He catches your eye and grins, that wide, boyish smile of his lighting up his entire face, his cheeks bunching up just slightly, the way they do when he’s genuinely delighted by something.

Your stomach does a full gymnastics routine.

The momentary distraction lasts less than a second, but Paul sees everything. He follows your gaze, spots Austin, and his grin turns downright wicked.

“Ohhh,” Paul drawls, smirking. “This just got interesting.”

You shake yourself out of it, shooting him a warning glare. “Paul.”

“I’m just saying, I feel like I should adjust my performance now,” he teases, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Amp up the charm. Really make you flustered.”

Laughter ripples through the crew.

Austin, still grinning, tilts his head and leans against the nearest set piece, resting his forearm on it like he’s settling in to enjoy the show. “Please. Like you could possibly fluster her.”

You groan. “Can we just do the scene, please?”

The director chuckles. “Rolling! Take two—action!”

You snap into character, locking into the rhythm of the scene.

And this time, it clicks.

The back-and-forth with Paul is effortless—his deadpan delivery bouncing perfectly off your exasperation. The lines flow like second nature, your reactions sharper, your confidence higher. And when the physical comedy beat hits—your character trying to subtly grab an object without breaking eye contact, only to knock over an entire table instead—you nail it.

The set erupts.

“Cut!” the director calls. “That was fantastic.”

Applause breaks out. Paul slaps a hand over his heart like he’s just witnessed a masterpiece. “Ladies and gentlemen, a star is born.”

And then—

From behind the monitor—

Austin laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained, before clapping his hands together.

“Holy shit,” he grins, shaking his head. “You’re good.”

Your face heats instantly. “Shut up.”

“I mean it!” He’s already moving toward you now, closing the distance with that easy stride of his, his hand immediately finding your waist as he leans in slightly, like he just has to touch you. “I knew you could do it, but damn, babe. You belong in this.”

Your instinct is to brush it off, make a joke—Yeah, yeah, tell that to my impostor syndrome—but the way he’s looking at you?

It makes your breath catch.

Because there’s nothing patronising in his praise, no teasing behind his words. Just pure, unfiltered pride.

You duck your head, suddenly feeling exposed. “You’re just being nice.”

Austin’s fingers press just slightly into your waist, grounding you. “Babe. No.” His voice is quieter now, softer, full of something real. “I mean it. You belong in this.”

You exhale shakily, chewing the inside of your cheek.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re finally starting to believe it.

The high from nailing the comedic scene lingers well into the afternoon. Between takes, Austin sticks close, teasing you relentlessly about your “secret talent for slapstick” and how he’s “never letting you live this down.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, his praise sits warm in your chest.

Still, as the day wears on, the mood on set shifts. The crew moves with a quiet efficiency, the easy laughter from earlier replaced with hushed conversations, a different kind of energy settling in.

Because this next scene?

This is the big one.

The moment where the comedy falls away, peeling back the layers of humour and quick wit until only raw, unguarded emotion remains.

Your character has spent the entire movie cracking jokes, covering every vulnerable moment with deflection, keeping the people around her at arm’s length. But in this scene—the emotional gut-punch of the film’s climax—there’s no more running.

It’s just her, standing in the wreckage of a relationship she’s spent the whole movie pretending didn’t matter. Finally, she breaks.

And suddenly, you feel all of those doubts creeping back in.

Comedy was one thing—it had structure, rhythm, a pace to latch onto. But this? This is the kind of thing that can’t be faked.

It has to hurt.

You shake out your hands, trying to focus, trying to shake the nervous energy building in your chest.

Then you feel it.

A warm, familiar touch at the small of your back.

You turn to find Austin, standing just behind you, his fingers brushing absent circles over your spine, grounding you.

He leans in, voice low. “You okay?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah. Just… trying to get out of my head.”

Austin studies you for a second, then exhales softly. His hand slides to your shoulder, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to try to be in it. You’re already there.”

You meet his gaze, searching for something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of anchor. And, like always, he’s steady.

Like he knows you’re about to do something incredible before you even believe it yourself.

“Places!” the first AD calls.

You step into position, heart hammering.

The set falls silent.

“Action.”

At first, your character fights it.

She smiles through the hurt, makes a joke that doesn’t quite land. You feel the moment stretch, the weight of the silence, the tension building in your chest as she realises—maybe for the first time—that she can’t laugh her way out of this one.

Then, the dam breaks.

The words come out softer than you expected, like they’re unraveling her piece by piece.

She admits it.

That she’s scared. That she thought keeping things light, keeping things easy, would stop her from getting hurt. That it wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

And just like that, the scene stops being a scene.

It feels real.

The tears come hot and fast, the kind that shake your whole body, the kind that don’t need any forced technique or conscious effort. You feel the grief in your bones, in your breath, in the way you struggle to hold yourself together and fail completely.

And in that moment, it’s not just a performance.

It’s the best acting you’ve ever done.

“Cut.”

For a moment, no one moves.

No one speaks.

The air on set feels thick, like the weight of what just happened is still settling over the room.

Then, slowly, the spell breaks.

You hear a quiet, shaky exhale from somewhere behind the monitor.

A throat clearing. A muttered “Jesus.”

Then—

One by one, the crew starts reacting.

A few nods, exchanged glances, murmured words between the director and producers. A grip wiping at his face. The script supervisor blinking a little too fast at her notes.

Paul exhales sharply and shakes his head, letting out a low, stunned laugh. “Well, shit.”

The director looks from the monitor to you, then back again, before nodding once. “That… was perfect.”

Your heart is still racing, your body still humming with the ache of the scene, and it takes a second to pull yourself back. You lift a trembling hand, wiping at your damp cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt.

Then you see him.

Austin.

Standing off to the side, hand still covering his mouth, the other braced on his hip like he’s physically recovering from something.

His eyes are red at the edges, like he’s been holding back tears, but the shine is still there, still glassy.

And then—

He drags a hand down his face, sniffing, and lets out the smallest, most overwhelmed laugh as he walks over to you.

You blink, disoriented, still half-trapped in the weight of the scene.

“Did I just make you cry?” you ask, teasing but hoarse from the emotion still clinging to you.

Austin sniffs again, shaking his head. “You just made me cry in front of a whole-ass crew.”

You grin, even as your throat still feels tight. “Damn. This movie must be magic.”

Austin huffs out a laugh, still looking at you like he’s trying to wrap his head around what just happened. Then, without hesitation, he steps forward, cupping your face so gently it makes your chest ache.

His thumbs brush along your damp cheeks, like he can’t decide whether to wipe away the tears or just hold you there, exactly as you are.

“No,” he murmurs, forehead pressing lightly against yours. “It’s you. You’re the magic.”

And just like that—

Everything feels worth it.

By the time you finally make it home, exhaustion has settled deep in your bones—the kind that doesn’t just come from a long day, but from feeling everything so fully that it leaves you spent.

The emotional scene still lingers in your chest, but so does something else—something lighter.

Something like pride.

You can feel it in the way the crew looked at you afterward, the quiet nods of respect from people who’ve seen hundreds of performances but still seemed moved by yours.

You can feel it in the way Paul clapped you on the back, grinning as he told you, “You know, I’d be mad about you making me look bad if I wasn’t so damn impressed.”

But mostly—

Mostly, you can feel it in the way Austin hasn’t let go of you since you walked off set.

Even now, as you sit curled up on the couch in his hoodie and sweatpants—though really, they haven’t been his in a long time.

You claimed them ages ago, stealing them from his suitcase one night when he was away filming. They’d smelled like him, felt like him, and ever since, they’d become your go-to whenever he was gone for too long.

At some point, he stopped pretending he was getting them back.

Now, they’re just yours.

The fabric is soft and worn, the sleeves pulled over your hands as you lean into him, the weight of the day settling into your bones.

A half-eaten takeout container rests between you, forgotten. The TV is on, some mindless show playing in the background, but neither of you are really watching. You’re both worn down, full in a way that has nothing to do with food.

Austin’s fingers trace slow, absentminded circles over the inside of your wrist, like he’s still grounding you, still holding onto the moment.

You watch him for a second—how at ease he looks, how warm, his smile just soft enough to make your heart ache.

And suddenly, the weight of it hits you all at once.

“If you hadn’t pushed me,” you murmur, voice quieter than you meant it to be, “I would’ve turned this down.”

Austin looks over, brow lifting slightly.

You shake your head, swallowing. “I almost said no, Austin. Because I didn’t think I could do it. Because I was scared.” You exhale, fingers tightening around his. “And now? I think this might be my favourite thing I’ve ever done.”

Austin’s expression shifts—something softer, something almost knowing.

Like he’d seen this coming before you ever did.

Like he’d always known you’d get here.

He smiles, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to your knuckles.

“I never had a doubt.”

Austin doesn’t let go of your hand, even after his words settle in the air between you, warm and certain.

I never had a doubt.

You swallow, something thick and unspoken lodged in your throat. He always says things like that—things that knock the breath out of you, not because they’re unexpected, but because he means them. Every time. Without hesitation.

And tonight?

Tonight, you need him to know how much that means to you.

You shift, carefully moving the takeout container to the coffee table, then turn back to him, watching the way his blue eyes flicker with quiet curiosity as you move.

Then, before you can overthink it, you climb into his lap.

Austin’s hands settle on your hips immediately, like it’s instinct, like he was already waiting for you to be closer. His brows lift slightly, amusement flickering over his features, but there’s something else behind it—something softer, something deeper.

You press your hands to his cheeks, fingertips grazing the slight scruff along his jaw, and he exhales, his eyes fluttering shut for a second like the warmth of your touch just levelled him.

When he opens them again, his gaze is nothing short of devastating.

“Hi,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like it belongs just to you.

You smile, stroking your thumbs along the ridges of his cheekbones. “Hi.”

His hands flex slightly where they rest against your waist, his touch warm, steady, like he’s grounding himself just as much as you are.

For a second, you just take him in.

The way his hair is still slightly messy from earlier, the way his expression is so open, so unguarded, like he’s letting you see everything he’s feeling without saying a single word.

Like you’re his entire world, and he’s not afraid to show it.

Your throat tightens, and you trail your fingers from his jaw to his temple, then through his hair, combing it back gently.

“I hope you know,” you whisper, voice thick, “how much you mean to me.”

Austin blinks once, his breath catching so softly you almost don’t hear it.

Then, his hands tighten on your waist, just slightly, like he’s bracing himself for the weight of your words.

You shake your head, swallowing. “I know I joke about it—about you being my personal hype man, about how I’d be a disaster without you—”

Austin smirks slightly, but he stays quiet, letting you say what you need to say.

“But, Austin,” you continue, voice dipping lower, “you believing in me—really, truly believing in me—it changes everything.”

His fingers press a little firmer into your waist, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s memorising every word, like he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“You make me feel like I can do anything,” you murmur, stroking your fingers through his hair again, watching the way he leans into it, the way his breath stutters just slightly.

Austin swallows, and when he speaks, his voice is barely more than a whisper.

“You can do anything.”

Your chest tightens, a small, breathless laugh slipping past your lips as you shake your head. “You say that like it’s the easiest truth in the world.”

Austin tilts his head slightly, gaze unwavering. “Because it is.”

And God, he means it.

It’s all over his face, in the way his hands slip from your waist to your back, pulling you just that much closer, his thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin, like he’s telling you without words that he’s here. That he always will be.

Your breath hitches.

“Say it again,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Austin’s gaze darkens, softens, sharpens all at once.

“You,” he murmurs, lifting a hand to cup your face, his fingers brushing so gently along your jaw that it sends a shiver down your spine, “can do anything.”

A slow exhale slips from your lips, and you don’t realise you’re closing the distance until your forehead is pressed to his, your noses brushing, his breath warm and steady against your lips.

And then—

Austin tilts his head, his lips catching against yours in the softest, slowest kiss imaginable.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—it’s something deeper. Something meant.

Like he’s sealing every word, every promise, into the way he kisses you.

Like this moment, this feeling, this certainty has been waiting to be spoken into existence.

Your fingers slide into his hair as you kiss him back, slow and deliberate, drinking him in, pressing closer until there’s nothing left between you but warmth, but longing, but the quiet, unshakable truth that Austin Butler is the safest place you’ve ever known.

His hands move, one slipping beneath the fabric of your hoodie, resting against the bare skin of your back, pulling you flush against him, his warmth sinking into you like a promise.

And when you finally pull back—foreheads pressed together, breathing uneven, hearts racing in tandem—Austin smiles, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your jaw.

“You always talk about how I believe in you,” he murmurs. But, baby… you don’t even realise what you do for me.”

Your fingers curl against the back of his neck, breath catching in your throat.

“You make me feel like I can breathe,” he continues, voice low, steady. “Like no matter what, I’ll always have a place to land. Like I’m more than enough, just as I am.”

His forehead presses lightly against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You make everything make sense,” he whispers. “Even when nothing else does.”

Emotion swells in your chest, too much, too big, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

Slow, lingering, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling him closer, letting the weight of everything unspoken settle between you.

And when he kisses you back—deep and certain, fingers pressing into your skin like he never wants to let go—you know he feels it too.

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