#checking for signs of that light when hero’s not looking

[postgamevibes]

Will Smith x reader nurse, where he meets her on a visit to the children’s hospital and keeps going back to see her

Sorry for the late response, for some reason it didn’t appear in my inbox, but I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: Will wasn’t expecting much from the team’s hospital visit. Smile for the photos, sign a few sticks, keep it moving. What he really wasn’t expecting was you—a pediatric nurse with a quick tongue, warm heart, and a laugh that he can’t stop thinking about. One visit turns into more, and soon he’s making up excuses just to see you again.

Genre: Fluff | Soft Romance | Comfort

*********************************************************

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the kind of sterile hum Will usually associated with away-game locker rooms or long customs lines, but today, it echoed off white hospital walls and pastel-painted murals of cartoon animals holding balloons.

A nurse led the group of the Sharks players down the hall, each with a bag of signed mini sticks and plush toys. A few staff members walked behind, snapping photos for PR. Will hung toward the back, doing his best to stay present even though his mind was still half on their last game.

He didn’t hate stuff like this, he got why it mattered. It was just awkward. He never quite knew what to say to kids he never met before. They were braver than he was, fighting harder battles with smaller bodies, and he didn’t feel like much of a hero in comparison.

Still, he smiled signed a stick, took a picture with a kid in a Mario Kart T-shirt.

And then she walked in.

You.

Scrubs in a cheerful shade of lavender, lanyard with pins from the kids, including a glittery “Cool Nurse” badge. Hair pulled back, a few strands falling near your cheek. You were cradling a clipboard in one arm and talking gently to a boy in bed who couldn’t have been older than six.

Will froze like someone had knocked the wind out of him.

You noticed the group and turned.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived,” you said with a smile.

Your eyes landed on Will for a second longer than the rest, but maybe he imagined it.

“Which one of you is the one obsessed with Sour Patch Kids?” you asked, arms crossed.

That made Will blink. “Uh me?”

You nodded knowingly. “Mason here heard it on TikTok. He’s been talking about it all morning.”

The boy grinned shyly from the bed, holding up a small plastic bag of the candy. “I saved some.”

Will smiled and stepped forward, kneeling beside the bed. “You have excellent taste, Mason, we might be best friends now.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “That’s what he said about the cardiologist yesterday.”

The visit moved on, but Will lingered behind.

You were checking vitals, humming softly under your breath, one hand tapping against your thigh in rhythm.

He hadn’t meant to speak. He really hadn’t.

But he did.

“You’re really good at this.”

You glanced up, half-surprised he was still there. “Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said, softer now. “They love you.”

“They’re easy to love.”

He nodded. “Still.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Sour Patch.”

He laughed. “That’s going in my bio.”

A pause.

You tilted your head. “You sticking around?”

He shrugged. “Might.”

Will showed up again two weeks later.

This time, no cameras. No teammates.

Just him, standing in the pediatric hallway with a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a sheepish grin.

“I’m visiting Mason,” he said quickly when you spotted him. “Thought I’d check in.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock suspicion. “Uh huh. And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that the nurses just got a fresh coffee delivery from downstairs?”

“I’m hurt.”

“You’re predictable.”

You let him follow you through rounds, only half pretending it wasn’t the highlight of your week.

One visit turned into three.

Three turned into six.

And somewhere between the giggles of young patients and the quiet comforts of evening shift check-ins, you started to look forward to the sound of his sneakers in the hallway. The way he’d lean against the counter at the nurses' station. The way he’d wait until the end of your shift to walk you to your car, even if it meant sitting in the waiting room for an hour with nothing but a hospital vending machine and Property Brothers reruns.

“Why do you keep coming back?” you asked him once, voice low.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

“I like the company,” he said finally.

The seventh visit was different.

It had been a long day tough cases, short tempers, and a stubborn vending machine that ate your last five.

Will found you on your break, sitting on the floor in the staff lounge, sipping lukewarm tea with tired eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just sat next to you and offered a bag of candy.

You took one.

Then another.

Then leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever get that thing where your heart just feels… full?, but also heavy?” you murmured.

He nodded. “All the time.”

You exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because I’m listening.”

You looked up at him.

And there it was that quiet warmth in his eyes, that safety, that steadiness.

So you kissed him.

Just once. Soft. Testing.

But when he kissed you back, you forgot the heaviness entirely.

Weeks later, after the first real date (and the second, and the third), he came to pick you up from a double shift. You were running late and looked frazzled, but he didn’t mind.

He leaned against the hood of his car, watching the automatic doors slide open.

You stepped out, hair pulled up, cheeks flushed.

He whistled. “There’s my favorite nurse.”

You groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m serious. I think I’m injured.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh yeah? What is it this time?”

He stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “Heart-related.”

You tried not to laugh. Failed. “Sounds serious.”

“Very.”

“Well, Mr. Smith,” you said, slipping your arms around his waist, “good thing I’m certified.”

He grinned. “Think I need daily monitoring.”

You kissed his jaw. “You’re lucky I make exceptions.”

[driftingballoons]

Day 6: Farewell

Imagining it takes Partner a while to feel comfortable letting Hero out of their sight

@heropartnerweek

[witherby]

HI HI. SAME ANON :33anon here!!!

omg???? jfc christ? that was so good im shaking my cup for more 😭 i think the fact my ask is being used as a power shower is silly... i love it keep up the good work!

(side note ive done metamorphosis may i be 🎆anon.... i will be yapping at you on a later date o7)

Welcome to the club 🎆 I am smooching ur cheek

Hahaha...wouldn't it be so silly....if I used your ask again.....to post the second part hahahaha.....isn't that the silliest idea hahahaha.........

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 2 of 2)

Masterlist is Here!

"Let me make sure I've got this straight."

Everyone stiffens in their seats. When Batman says things like that, it means he is very, very close to yelling. Batman never yells unless his patience has reached its limit, his emotional threshold has bubbled over, or he hasn't slept in over six consecutive days. Given his usual activities, it could very well be a combination of the three, and the current situation is not helping.

"You —" he points a gauntleted finger at Manhunter, "— realized my child was showing signs of developing their powers six weeks ago, and told no one."

He turns to Superman and Diana next, talking through clenched teeth.

"And then you two, today, realized the same thing, indirectly told them they would no longer have a place in my home, and then they vanished under your cape."

He places his hands on the meeting table. Inhales. Exhales.

"No one attempted to reach out and express their concerns to me, the father, in either incident."

He slams his fists on the table. The wood splinters under the impact. Everyone flinches with it.

"AND NOW MY CHILD IS MISSING! DID I FORGET ANYTHING? DID I LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!?"

The silence afterwards is deafening. Bruce yanks his cowl off and slams it to the floor, running his hands through his hair.

"The Watchtower is under lockdown until further notice. We do not leave until either I find my kid, or I figure out how to track them down."

"Batman," the Flash chimes in, "I feel for you. This is a bad situation, but we can't all stay here; I have to —"

Bruce rounds the table and crowds Barry into his seat with near-inhuman speed. His eyes are wide and wild and his teeth are bared.

"We do not leave until I find them."

The lights briefly turn red and an automated voice comes over the intercom, alerting them that lockdown protocols have initiated. The heroes watch as blast shields cover the windows and the Zeta tubes deactivate, effectively blocking their only ways out.

Green Lantern re-enters the room from the observation deck with a determined expression.

"Checked the monitors and surrounding galaxy. Skies are clear, and earth-side we should be fine for at least a couple hours, so I went ahead and triggered the protocol."

"Hal!" Barry protests. "C'mon, I'm gonna be late to work again! It's not as easy for some of us to maintain our civilian covers, you know!"

"Well, then it sounds like we gotta find our missing Mouse fast."

Bruce presses a button on his gauntlet and pulls a small ball out of it, rolling it to the center of the table. A hologram screen pops up and shows a picture of you sitting in Tim's lap and enthusiastically looking at something on his computer with him. To the right of the image, a wall of text begins to appear, detailing observations made about your growth, health, and development of your powers.

"You already knew," Diana mutters, like the words have been punched out of her. Clark holds his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell us then, huh?" Oliver frowns. "Didn't think we could benefit from that information?"

"My child, my discretion," Bruce hisses. That shuts Ollie right back up. "This is everything I've been able to passively observe about their ability. They can latch onto any shadows in their immediate vicinity, up to a range of approximately one hundred feet, and until now has only used them for pathfinding, like solving puzzles or looking for small objects. What just happened today with Superman's cape is the first discovered instance of them being able to traverse into darkness itself."

"That's why the Watchtower is locked down," J'onn realizes. "If they can only travel so far with the shadows, chances are high that they're still in here."

"Yes."

"How do we pull them out if we find them?" Arthur speaks up, arms crossed. "Last I checked, no one else has shadow powers."

"Do what you can without risking injury to them or yourselves. If you can talk them out, that will be the ideal tactic. Any more questions?" Bruce waits a few seconds for anyone to speak up, then dismisses the holo-screen and rises to his full height. "Then everyone fan out, cast some shadows, and get to work."

--

Arthur is having no luck. He checks the furniture that was already casting shadows, like tables and beds and appliances, to no avail. Calling to you and feeling around those dark spaces isn't gonna get him anywhere.

Clark and Diana had picked up his cape and hunkered down under the fabric, gingerly asking you to please come out, Uncle Clark and Auntie Di are very sorry they implied what they did, they never meant to scare you, please please please come back.

Barry is zipping around the whole tower, checking high spaces and low, calling for you with a mixture of urgency and concern.

Ollie uses his body to cast a shadow under the fluorescent lighting and Dinah crouches in the space of it, patting the ground gently and urging you to appear. She insists everyone is worried and looking for you because they want you to be safe.

Bruce is frantic. He's visually very composed, but Hal can see the tremble in his hands as he slowly and methodically checks every single shadow he can find or create for signs of you.

"Bruce," Hal mutters, watching him check his cape for the fifteenth time in just as many minutes. "Bruce, sit down and breathe for a bit."

"Don't mention breathing," Bruce snaps. "This is unprecedented. I'm working with zero useful information and three of my teammates contributed to this situation in the first place. Can they just exist in darkness forever, or is there a limit before they get spit back out? Can they even get back out? Is there oxygen wherever they are? Are they safe or in any kind of distress? If you don't have answers to these questions or haven't found them yet, I don't want you talking to me."

He turns to check his cape again and almost runs right into J'onn.

"There was a shadow moving in the training room," he noted. "When I approached to investigate, it melted away. I found it important to tell you that Flittermouse seems to be active and uninjured judging by the ease in which that shadow moved."

The Manhunter leaves them again, phasing through the walls to continue searching for you. Bruce pulls his gloves off and rubs his face, sighing.

"Hal."

"I forgive you," comes the immediate reply. Hal places a hand on Bruce's back and offers him a thin smile. "You're a dad who's scared for your four-year-old kid. I think you're entitled to a little bit of bitchiness."

Bruce hums.

"Just a little bit, though. Like fifteen percent more bitch than your baseline. Which is to say, if you talk to me like that again I'm going to make a giant cartoon hammer and beat you to death with it."

Both men hear you giggle. Their heads whip around in the direction of the sound, and find a small, child-shaped shadow moulded into the corner. It's a strange thing, to look at a shadow with no source. It would be frightening if it wasn't you.

"Mouse?" Bruce immediately calls, stepping towards you. The giggling stops and the shadow shrinks. He crouches down, palms extended. "No no no! Don't go, don't go anywhere, please. Can I talk to you?"

You don't respond. Bruce isn't entirely sure if you can, in your current form. You haven't run away yet, however, so he inches just a bit closer.

"I'm...there's...." He stops and starts, searching for the best words to use. "Mouse, there was a misunderstanding. No one is making you leave. I'm not going to give you up or send you away, I promise."

"...m e t a h u m a n..." you mutter. Both Bruce and Hal shiver. It sounds like darkness itself whispering directly into their ears, faint and echoing and all-encompassing.

"Yes, that's what people with skills like yours are called," he confirms.

Your shadow doesn't move for a while. Bruce shuffles closer, palms extended, and is about to ask you to come out, but then your entire form wobbles and starts shrinking even more.

"...n o m e t a s i n G o t h a m..." you say, and the sadness in your voice is so potent Hal has to brace himself against the wall.

"No!" Bruce says, pressing his palm against the wall just a second too late. You dissolve and disappear. "That's not — ffffffuck."

He presses his forehead to the wall and closes his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to avoid screaming. It takes a while.

"They're not going to talk to me," he eventually says. "They're scared of me, of that damned rule I —"

He cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

"You have to do it."

"Me? Specifically?" Hal asks.

"You're their favorite uncle." Bruce pushes himself off the floor and rests his hand on Hal's forearm. "They adore you. They ask when you're going to visit Gotham again all the time. If anybody's gonna get them to understand that they're not in any trouble or danger of losing their family because of something I did, it's gonna be you."

"Whoa. No pressure," Hal says. He knows it's true though — you absolutely adore Hal, and the feeling is mutual. You feel almost like his own kid. He's just as scared as Bruce is about your current situation. "Okay...alright, I got this. Listen, tell the others that Mouse probably isn't gonna come out for 'em. Go hang out in the meeting room and gimme an hour alone. I'll bring them back."

Bruce nods, but he seems hesitant to leave the part of the hall where they spotted your shadow. Hal gives him a small nudge and he eventually turns away, his boots clocking softly against the floor.

Hal inhales slowly, holds it, then exhales for a count of ten.

He's got this.

--

He does not have this. Hal walked into an empty corridor and flicked all the lights off, choosing to sit in the darkness and try calling out to you for almost thirty minutes. There's been no luck.

He sighs and uses his ring to construct a small bear, illuminating the immediate space around him in green, and makes it walk around.

"Y'know you used to love playing with my constructs," he murmurs. "We had this game I made up, where you would chase after whatever toy I made as fast as you could and try to catch it. I let you win a lot."

He makes a construct of you as a much smaller infant, not yet able to walk, crawling eagerly after the bear.

"You'd grab the little toy and hug it tight, and then come show me you got it. And I'd scoop you up and give you a cookie before we did it all again. We had to really tone down the cookie part because you got sick one time. Bruce made me sleep on the floor for a week. Not even one of the million couches in the manor. The floor. It was the worst."

He hears the surrounding darkness around him giggle. Hal leans against the wall and heaves a large, relieved sigh.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "S'good to hear you."

You don't respond. He tries not to feel discouraged, instead seizing the opportunity presented.

"I'm not gonna ask you to come out, but if you don't mind...I'm kinda lonely. D'you think we could play that game again?"

Hal vanishes the constructs and makes a new one — a small, stuffed bat toy. He makes it flap its little wings and flop in circles.

"Think you can catch it? This one's a bit feisty."

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Hal feels himself growing nervous, and he's about to abandon the idea and suggest something else, but then the bat just vanishes. The construct is sucked up into the shadows, like darkness itself came up and hugged it into the void. A knot in his chest comes undone.

"That," he says, "was awesome. Okay, here's another one. Even feistier than the last."

This goes on for a while. Hal makes something for you to chase, you emerge from the dark just long enough to pull it in with you, and the process is rinse and repeat. Eventually, though, you come out of the shadows more and more, staying out of it longer and longer to chase around the conjured toys, until you're just tossing them into the shadows with gleeful little cheers.

"Got it!" You cry, jumping up to reach another one, this time shaped like an owl. You're panting from exertion and grinning widely at Hal, just standing and hugging it to your chest. "I win?"

"You win again," Hal agrees, expression painfully fond. He adores you wholeheartedly. "C'mere and get a victory hug, kid. Don't have any cookies on me, but we'll do a raincheck on that."

You go to him easily, practically collapsing in his lap, and rest your head against his chest while you idly pet the glowing owl toy. The area is bathed in dim green, enough to see each other without strain but still casting more than enough shadows for you to hide in again if you wanted.

"Fantastic job," Hal murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nuzzle into his chest even more, hiding your face. "We definitely have to do that again some time. Don't you think?"

You start to nod, but the motion is jerky. You hesitate, then shrug, hugging the toy tighter.

"Oh, Mousey," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You didn't think your powers would make Uncle Hal stop wanting to play with you, did ya?"

You slowly nod again, curling in on yourself.

"Well, that's just plain wrong. I love you, honey. Everybody loves you, y'know? You're smart, and adorable, and soooo much fun to be around," Hal insists, giving you a quick squeeze. Your mouth twitches like you're trying not to smile. "And it's gonna be way more fun now that you have cool shadow powers! Hide and seek might get a little challenging, but we'll make it work."

"...and Daddy?" You mutter. "Will he...want to play, too?"

"I know Daddy would love to play any game you wanted," Hal swore. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. And you know what else?"

"What?" You ask, lifting your head. You look at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, hanging onto his every word.

"Sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. Like creating dumb rules he shoulda broke years ago."

You look away, snuggling further into Hal.

"What if...Daddy don't wanna break the rule?" You whisper.

Hal curls around you almost protectively, kissing your head again.

"Then he's a big, smelly dummy, and I'll take care of you instead," he promises. "You can live at my house, and I'll still bring you to the Watchtower to hang out with everyone and play games, and maybe, if you're extra good, I'll take you on vacation in outer space. I'll show you things you've never seen, like planets with four moons, and people as tall as skyscrapers, and space food that turns your hair all different colors. It'll explode your tiny head!"

"Nooo!" You giggle, grinning. "I don't want a exploded head!"

"Hmm...you drive a hard bargain kid," Hal says. "Okay, I won't give you explodey-head food. But only because you said so."

He lets you get your laughter out, then gently pats your back to regain your attention.

"I know you're very scared," he says, "but I promise this doesn't change the fact that you are so, so incredibly loved. I bet if you gave the others a chance, they'd be more than willing to prove it. Especially your dad."

You tighten your grip on the owl in your arms, bottom lip wobbling for a moment.

"Could you give him a chance, Mouse?" Hal asks. "If you don't want to, that's fine. We can work an arrangement out and always try again a different day. But I know he would be really, really excited to see you again."

You stare at Hal, face tight in contemplation. He waits patiently, continuing to rub small circles in your back.

His patience is rewarded when you bury your face in his chest again, nodding.

"Want daddy," you whisper. Hal settles you more securely in his arms and immediately rises to his feet, relishing the burst of satisfaction and relief in his chest.

He takes you back into the meeting room. Bruce immediately stands up from the table when he spots you curled up in Hal's embrace, hands twitching like he wants to hold you himself.

He moves with all the carefulness of someone approaching a wild animal. His face is uncharacteristically open, broadcasting his worry for you and relief that you're unharmed.

"Hi, sweet pea," Bruce mutters, silk-soft, and that's all it takes to make you start sobbing and reach for him. Your father doesn't hesitate, sweeping you up and giving assurance after assurance that you are just as treasured and loved as you've always been, that he is so happy to be your dad, that you belong in Gotham and that will never change no matter what.

The lockdown gets lifted from the Watchtower. Several heroes, after conveying their relief and gratitude over your safety, take their leave. Diana and Clark stay behind to apologize profusely, both to you and Bruce, for implying that you would ever be unwelcome in your own home just for being different. It's easy for you to forgive them, but Bruce is grinding his jaw a bit, so they excuse themselves for the night and take their leave.

"Well." Hal claps his hands together and yawns. "I'm ready for a drink and a bed. What do we say we hit the road, huh? C'mon, B, let's get Flittermouse back home. I've hit my daily quota for adventure."

Bruce nods, walking with you back to the Zeta tubes. You've already nodded off in his arms, drained from your stressful day.

"Thank you, Hal," he says, preparing to warp home. "Come by after the kids are in bed. Let me repay you properly."

"Y'know, normally I'd be all over that," Hal smirks, "but I'm seriously beat. Can I cash my reward in tomorrow?"

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Whenever you want. Come by anyway, if you like. We don't have to do anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then." Hal crosses his arms and relaxes against the corridor wall, smiling down at your dozing form. "You take care. Both of you."

Bruce thanks him again, disappearing in a flash of light. When Hal drops by later that evening, he finds his boyfriend asleep with you in his arms, clinging to his shirt and drooling on his chest as you coast peacefully in Dreamland.

Before joining the cuddle pile, he finds that sitting on the nightstand, written in a combination of pen and crayon, is a contract holding both yours and Bruce's signatures:

The rule against Metahumans in Gotham is hereby null and void forever and ever.

Signed by: Daddy & Mousey

[xichilie]

Mydei x (fem)reader x Phainon

The training grounds were unusually quiet for a place that had just hosted one of Mydei and Phainon’s legendary competitions. A few scattered weapons lay forgotten in the dirt, the telltale signs of yet another impromptu duel between the two warriors. And right in the middle of the chaos, Phainon lay sprawled out on the ground, one arm draped over his forehead like a fallen hero.

The culprit? Mydei, according to Phainon.

When Y/N walked in, her footsteps light but quick with concern, her eyes immediately fell on the dramatic scene before her. Phainon, unmoving, save for the occasional twitch of his fingers, and Mydei standing over him with an expression that was caught somewhere between frustration and complete indifference.

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she rushed forward, kneeling beside Phainon. "What happened?" she asked, voice laced with worry.

Phainon, with all the grace of a seasoned performer, lifted a weak hand and pointed directly at Mydei. "The culprit… is him."

Y/N sighed, already knowing that the two had likely been at each other's throats over something incredibly stupid. Still, she was nothing if not caring, and seeing Phainon so pitifully sprawled out on the ground tugged at her sense of concern. She gently reached for his wrist, checking for any injuries, then brushed his hair from his forehead. "Are you hurt anywhere?" she asked softly.

Phainon peeked one eye open, barely suppressing a smug smirk at Mydei before shifting his expression into something far more pitiful. "Everywhere… Mydei was ruthless. I barely stood a chance."

Mydei scoffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. "You lost because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know when to quit."

Y/N shot him a disapproving look, one that made Mydei’s jaw tighten. She turned her attention back to Phainon, who took the opportunity to let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. "I don’t know if I’ll ever recover…"

Mydei exhaled sharply through his nose. "Oh, give me a break. You were fine two seconds ago."

Y/N, ignoring him, gently helped Phainon sit up, her hands steady on his shoulders. "You should have told me if you were training. I could’ve made sure neither of you got hurt."

Phainon grinned through his supposed agony. "That’s why you’re the best, Y/N. Always looking out for me. Unlike some people."

Y/N smiled softly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Meanwhile, Mydei’s fingers twitched at his sides, his patience hanging by a thread. His jaw clenched as he glared at Phainon, who was now leaning comfortably into Y/N’s support, milking every ounce of sympathy he could get.

Then, just to drive the dagger in deeper, Phainon turned his head slightly and shot Mydei a triumphant smirk.

That was it.

Mydei’s eye twitched. He gritted his teeth, barely suppressing the urge to throw Phainon right back onto the ground where he belonged.

"Oh, come on," Mydei finally snapped. "He’s faking it! He’s not hurt. He’s just putting on a show so you’ll dote on him."

Y/N frowned, looking back at Phainon with concern. "He looks hurt."

Phainon sighed dramatically, resting his head against Y/N’s shoulder. "I appreciate you believing in me, Y/N. Some people just don’t have a heart."

Mydei let out a low, annoyed growl. "I swear to—"

Y/N turned back to him with a pointed glare. "Mydei, you should be more careful. You’re both strong warriors, but that doesn’t mean you should be reckless."

Mydei groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t used to being the one scolded, let alone over something this ridiculous. Meanwhile, Phainon basked in the moment, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Fine," Mydei muttered, looking away. "Next time, I’ll let him win."

Phainon snickered. "You say that like you could."

Mydei’s eye twitched again.

Y/N sighed, shaking her head as she helped Phainon fully to his feet. "Just promise me you two won’t go overboard next time."

"Of course, Y/N," Phainon said, flashing a charming grin. "Anything for you."

Mydei resisted the overwhelming urge to tackle him right then and there.

As they walked off, Phainon still leaning against Y/N for support, he took one last glance at Mydei over his shoulder and mouthed, "Jealous?"

Mydei exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm.

Next time, he was definitely throwing Phainon into the dirt—whether Y/N was watching or not.

[holyblonded]

strawberry swing | always sunny in australia

pairings: sam kerr x teen!reader

summary: the story of chickie

warnings: foster care, social workers, abandonment

notes: before anyone accuses me of fucking trauma porn again (smd) most of my characters backstories reflect my own experiences. so leave me alone 😀

Your birth is a mystery.

There’s no hospital certificate, no photos of a baby wrapped in a blanket with proud parents smiling beside her. No recorded time of birth, no gentle whispers of a name chosen with care. You were surrendered at a fire station in Perth just a few days after coming into the world—tiny, blinking up at the fluorescent lights, swaddled in a blanket and left in silence. The only thing anyone knows is the date you were found: September 3rd.

So that became your birthday. You’ve never celebrated the actual day you were born, but September 3rd became a symbol of something different, survival. Existence. The day someone, somewhere, decided you deserved a chance. And so, when you started playing football, it was only natural to wear the number 3. Not because it was lucky. Not because a hero wore it before you. But because that number was yours. A reminder that you made it. That you’re still here.

You were placed in foster care right away. At first, everything was a blur, faces came and went. Families with different smells, different rules, different ways of making dinner. You learned not to unpack too deeply. Not to leave your clothes in drawers. Not to get too comfortable with anyone’s pets or start calling someone “Mum”. You learned how to adapt, how to nod when spoken to, how to keep a tiny part of yourself locked up and protected.

But then came the Patels. Mr. and Mrs. Patel were older, their children grown and long moved out. Their home was warm in the way that made your shoulders drop as soon as you walked in. The first night you stayed with them, you were so quiet that Mrs. Patel brought you warm milk with honey and sat next to you on the couch without saying a word. Mr. Patel gave you a bedtime story and called you “little one” with such affection it made your throat ache.

You were five years old, and for the first time, you felt like a child.

They never treated you like a charity case. You weren’t just a number in a file or a check from the government. You were their kid. Mr. Patel taught you how to garden, even though you pulled up the carrots too early. Mrs. Patel showed you how to make roti, guiding your little hands with gentle patience. They gave you a bedtime. They taught you to fold your clothes. They came to every parent-teacher meeting.

And when they saw you running circles around the backyard with a half-deflated ball tucked under your arm, Mr. Patel chuckled and said, “We’ve got a little footballer on our hands.”

So they signed you up.

You still remember your first match. You were wearing hand-me-down cleats that were a little too big, shin guards that kept sliding, and a jersey two sizes too long. But you were buzzing with excitement.

“Go, sweetie! Run, run, run!” Mrs. Patel called from the sideline, her voice high and delighted.

“To the goal! That’s it!” Mr. Patel shouted, jumping up and down like he was the one sprinting across the pitch.

You scored. It was messy, a bit lucky, and absolutely glorious. When you turned to the sideline, they were both clapping like you’d just won the World Cup. That moment was burned into your heart forever. Not the goal—them. The way they looked at you like you were something special.

But good things, you learned early, don’t always last.

By the time you were seven, Mr. and Mrs. Patel were struggling. Their age had caught up with them. Mrs. Patel’s arthritis made mornings difficult. Mr. Patel was having trouble keeping up with appointments. And the social worker gently, apologetically, told you it was time.

You didn’t say a word as you packed your things. Just a small duffel bag. The rest had always been borrowed.

Mr. Patel gave you a hug that lasted longer than it should’ve. Mrs. Patel tucked a little hand-stitched elephant into your pocket — “For courage,” she said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The drive away from that house was one of the longest of your life. You curled up in the backseat, forehead against the window, watching the world blur by. Michelle, your social worker, kept glancing at you in the mirror. You didn’t cry. Not then. Your chest felt like it had caved in.

But then you whispered, almost too softly to hear: “Wherever I go from here… I want to keep playing football.”

Michelle didn’t blink. She just nodded, voice steady. “I can do that for you.”

And she did.

No matter how many places you bounced around after that, she made sure there was always a ball at your feet. Always a field. Always something to hold onto.

You were small, and angry sometimes, and too stubborn for your own good. But you never stopped playing. Never stopped believing that maybe, just maybe, one day, you’d find another place that felt like home.

And until then, you had football. You had the number 3, you had yourself, and most importantly you had the fire to survive.

You were used to doing things on your own. By thirteen, you had already lived more lives than most kids your age. You had lived in group homes and in strangers’ guest rooms, unpacked your bag more times than you could count, and learned how to get to practice no matter the distance. If it meant walking an hour, hitching a ride with someone’s cousin, or kicking around in a parking lot with a half-flat ball, so be it. You didn’t complain. Football made you feel alive, like you were more than your case number, more than another kid shuffling through the system. It reminded you that you were good at something.

But when you were turning fourteen, everything shifted.

You were placed with Edison and Savannah Mulberry, a well-off couple in Perth with a house full of sunshine, a garden that actually looked like a garden, and the biggest flatscreen you’d ever seen. They reminded you so much of Mr. and Mrs. Patel it almost hurt at first. Savannah hummed while she cooked and called you “sweetheart” from the moment you walked in the door. Edison was the type to high-five you every time he saw you and blast music from the speakers in the kitchen while making pancakes.

And best of all? They were massive Tillies fans. Not the fake kind, not the people who tuned in once a year for the important and barely knew any names. No, Edison could rattle off stats for every player, and Savannah had a scarf signed by Lisa De Vanna from years ago. When they found out how serious you were about football, it was like Christmas had come early. They bought cones and pop-up goals. They cleared out the garage so you could store your gear. Edison went full soccer dad mode, showing up to every training, every match, yelling like he was the coach.

You were embarrassed at first. Then, you secretly loved it.

And one weekend, they brought friends with them to one of your matches. Roger and Roxanne Kerr.

You didn’t know who they were at first, just that they were really friendly, smiled a lot, and seemed to know everything about football. Edison was buzzing with excitement, talking you up before the match like you were already a professional. You tried not to let it get to your head. But you did what you always did when you stepped on the pitch: you balled out.

You scored two goals. Assisted another. Broke ankles. Ran the game like you were born to do it.

After the final whistle, Roger and Roxanne came up to you, all smiles.

“That was brilliant,” Roger said, giving you a little clap on the shoulder.

“Seriously, you were everywhere,” Roxanne added. “So much composure for someone your age.”

You muttered a quiet thank you, looking at your shoes, trying not to blush. Edison, of course, was already grinning like he won the lottery.

“I told you she was good!” he said, practically bouncing. “She’s got something, doesn’t she? The instincts, the footwork, the mind for it!”

They smiled, nodded, clearly impressed. You didn’t realize how important their opinion was. Not until you got home.

Because Sam Kerr, the Sam Kerr, their daughter, happened to be visiting that week.

Over dinner, Roxanne casually said, “You should come to her next match, Sam. The kid’s got something special.”

“Really?” Sam asked, half-interested as she chewed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

You didn’t know she was going to be there. You didn’t know Tony Gustavsson, coach of the Matildas, would be there too.

You were just playing. And again, you crushed it. Another goal. Two assists. Dominating the midfield like it was your backyard. You played with joy, freedom, and a touch of feral hunger, like you had something to prove and nothing to lose.

From the stands, Sam leaned over to Tony.

“We need her,” she said. “She’s a freak. But she’s only thirteen.”

Tony didn’t take his eyes off you. “She’s fourteen in a month,” he said with a smirk.

That was the beginning of it.

Sam wasn’t someone who half-did things. If she believed in you, she believed in you. She spent the next month in Perth during a break from club and national duty. And instead of resting, she spent it with you.

She started by casually showing up to your training sessions. Then she offered to play one-on-one. Then she took you to this corner café you loved, where they had killer sandwiches and live acoustic music on Fridays. You opened up slowly, walls still high, trust still tentative, but she didn’t push. She just stuck around. She teased you when you tripped over your own shoelaces, taught you how to loft a ball with your laces perfectly, listened to your favorite playlists. You even made her watch some dumb rom-com you liked, and she didn’t complain. Much.

One afternoon, you showed her your favorite view of the city, up this trail behind the local park. You told her about the Patels. You told her about walking hours just to play. She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then she said, “You’re tough as nails, huh?”

You shrugged. “I just love the game.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. I can see that.”

By the end of the month, she had gotten your favorite cookies, these fancy ones from Sydney that were nearly impossible to find, and gave them to you on your birthday.

“Happy fourteenth,” she said, grinning. “Now come play for the national team.”

You hesitated. But something in you trusted her. So you said yes. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

Until it wasn’t. Just weeks before your official call-up, Edison had a sudden heart attack. He survived, but it was serious. Savannah was overwhelmed, struggling to keep up with his care, and social services stepped in.

You were going to be moved again. It was a gut punch. After everything. After hope. After belonging.

You sat in the office, arms crossed, bracing for another round of disappointment, when Sam stood up out of nowhere and said, “She’s not going back into the system. I’ll take her.”

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

“I’ll take you,” Sam repeated. “You’ll stay with me.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “You’ve got enough going on. You’re— You’re Sam Kerr. You don’t have time to—”

“I’m not letting this happen to you,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to keep starting over. Not this time.”

And just like that, she became your legal guardian.

You cried when you signed the paperwork. Sam pretended not to see, just ruffled your hair and said, “Alright, let’s get you packed. You’ve got a debut coming up.”

You never said it out loud, but in that moment, you stopped surviving.

And for the first time in your life… you started living.

[peachversace]

fashion killa

chapter two ; and fall into you

[nsfw] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 20,014 — read on ao3 — read part one on tumblr

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, kirishima eijirou is a good friend, not beta read!

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple-walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan's most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse-and the worst part? You don't hate it.

notes:

the final chapter is here! thank you so much for all the love on the first chapter—it really means a lot to me. this was supposed to go up on sunday, but i didn’t like the ending, so i changed it last minute lol. i hope you guys like it and that it lives up to your expectations. thank you in advance, and happy reading!

enjoy! :D

Things get stranger after that night, but not in a way you could have anticipated. 

You and Katsuki seem to grow closer, slipping into each other’s lives with an ease that feels both natural and unsettling. It's not what you expected. You thought things would stay casual. But there’s a shift now—something in the way you reach for your phone more often, his name lighting up the screen with more frequency.

It starts with simple things. He calls you more, which surprises you because Katsuki’s never been one for chit-chat, but his voice on the other end of the line feels steady, grounding. You catch yourself waiting for those calls, anticipating the sound of his gruff voice grumbling about some villain he had to deal with or asking how your day went. It's not just calls either. Texts come in, pictures too. You send him photos of you in a photoshoot, all glammed up in haute couture, and he replies with short, dry comments, ‘Looking good,’ or ‘Too fancy.’ But you can tell he's looking, really looking. You send pictures from the gym, hair tied back, sweat glistening on your skin. And in return, Katsuki sends you his own pictures. They’re blurry sometimes, like he doesn’t know how to properly frame a shot, and he always scowls in them, half his face obscured. 

He grumbles, “Ain’t good at this photo crap,” but you can see the effort. It’s adorable, especially when he sends you pictures from bed, messy hair and bare chest, a hint of vulnerability in the way the camera captures him. You wonder if he realizes how soft he looks.

You start spending more time together too—more than you’d planned for. It’s not always about the sex now, though that’s still a big part of it. But there’s a sweetness in how you share space. Sometimes, it’s cooking together, and he’ll stand beside you, watching your every move with that sharp focus he has for everything. Other times, it’s movies, the two of you sprawled out on the couch, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. Katsuki’s not great with words, not in the way some people are, but he doesn’t need to be. His actions speak for him—whether it’s making sure you’re comfortable or tossing a blanket over you when you doze off mid-movie.

The softness between you is unexpected. You’ve seen his gruff, explosive exterior, the way the media paints him as some sort of untouchable force. But here, with you, he’s different. He’s cuddly, something you never would’ve expected from him. He pulls you close without hesitation, his arms firm and warm, always keeping you near. You don’t question it, but it throws you off. This wasn’t what you signed up for—this quiet intimacy that feels more like a relationship than something casual. He’s not supposed to be so sweet, so soft.

One thing that surprises you most is how much he enjoys taking pictures with you. 

You’d never have guessed the gruff, no-nonsense Pro Hero would indulge in such a thing, especially when he’s always grumbling about media shoots and press. But when you’re in one of his hoodies, and you tug him down to take a selfie, your hand gently curling around his jaw, he leans in without protest. There’s this small, content smile that tugs at his lips—subtle but real, and it lights up his face in a way that makes your heart skip. You snap the picture, and he’ll grumble, “Didn’t ask for this,” but you catch him later, zooming in on the photo, his thumb lingering over the screen. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at the two of you together.

He’s not one for skincare, either, but when you do face masks or anything remotely involving pampering, he sits there and lets you do it, his face a picture of calm contentment. His quirk may have blessed him with great skin, but he indulges you, letting you push his wild hair back with a fluffy headband, revealing his sharp features. You prep his face, and he just watches you with half-lidded eyes, relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before. He doesn’t even protest when you lean down and kiss him in the middle of it, his lips curving into a small, lazy smile. It’s cute how unbothered he is, how he lets you do whatever you want to him.

You’ve gotten more comfortable with each other in general.

More touching, more kissing, and sex has become something deeper. It’s no longer just an outlet, no longer just physical. It’s a way for the two of you to connect, to be closer. There’s a vulnerability in how he touches you, how his hands roam your body with a quiet reverence. When he presses against you, his skin flush against yours, you feel it—the way his guard drops, the way he lets himself need you in those moments. Your head will fall back, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck, his mouth warm and insistent, before his firm hand finds your face, guiding you back to him for another kiss. You feel like you’re floating in those moments, lost in the press of his body, the sound of his voice, and the way he holds you as if you’re something precious.

One night, after several rounds of unraveling each other, Katsuki does something he’s never done before—he opens up. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he starts to talk about the Final War. You weren’t prepared for the weight of it. He tells you about being sent to the frontlines as a child soldier, about how his heart ruptured, the physical agony and the fear that came with it. His right arm, crushed beyond recognition, left him scarred—inside and out. He talks about rehab, about how long it took him to get his arm functioning again. 

And then, in a softer tone, he admits something that surprises you: “I still wanna be number one... but I’m content, y’know? With where I’m at right now.”

You’re lying beside him, his hand heavy on your waist, and you look up at him. His face is dimly lit, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that makes your heart twist. “I think you’re amazing,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure, your fingers reaching up to gently curl around his jaw, pulling him down for a kiss. It’s slow and sweet, and when you pull away, his cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping across his skin.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, embarrassed, but you can see the small, content smile tugging at his lips again, the same one he gives you in those quiet moments when his guard is down.

You smile back, your heart swelling in your chest as you kiss him again. There’s a softness to this moment, to him, and it feels like something has shifted between you. Something you can’t quite put into words yet, but it’s there, lingering in the air, unspoken but undeniable. 

But then there’s a pause, a hesitation. Katsuki’s expression changes, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter. "You’re the one that’s amazin'," he repeats, his voice low, almost like he’s afraid to say it too loudly. The way his words hang between you makes your heart do a strange little flip. You can feel the weight of them. 

You tilt your head slightly, giving him a teasing smile to ease the tension. "What, for walking in 120 mm heels or for letting you do facemasks with me?" you whisper, fingers brushing the scar on his cheek, tracing the jagged line that’s become so familiar to you now. 

He huffs, but there’s a flicker of something more behind his eyes. "Nah," he says, shaking his head. "For bein’ you. For workin’ hard as hell, doin’ all this stuff, and still bein’ able to… to put up with me."

The words hit you harder than you expect. You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You hadn’t realized he saw it that way—like he was a burden, like being with him was something difficult to endure. There’s a vulnerability in the way he avoids your gaze, his usual cocky demeanor gone, leaving just Katsuki—raw and exposed in front of you.

"You’re making it sound like I’m putting up with someone from hell," you say, your voice softer now, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.

He grumbles again, that same frustrated sound, but he still doesn’t look at you, and that’s when you realize just how much he doubts himself. How much he carries with him—his past, his insecurities, the weight of being a Pro Hero. And for the first time, you see how deeply it cuts him, how much he worries that he’s too much for anyone to handle.

"Hey," you whisper, your hand gently guiding his face back to you. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his eyes, reluctant at first, finally meet yours. "I like putting up with you. You always think so bad about yourself. Stop doing that. Sometimes people just want to be around you, to spend time with you. It’s not weird, and I like spending time with you."

Katsuki’s cheeks flare up with a faint blush, his ears turning a little red at your words. He scoffs again, the sound almost automatic, like he’s trying to shake off the embarrassment. "You’re fuckin’ clingy," he mutters, but the bite in his tone is weak. His eyes flicker with something softer, something grateful.

You grin at him, laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Says the man that’s clinging to me like glue." You lean up on your elbow a little, your smile widening. "I have the pictures to prove it, by the way."

Before you can react, he’s turning his head and biting lightly at your fingers where they rest on his jaw, his teeth just grazing your skin in a teasing nip. It sends a small jolt through you, and you laugh softly, falling back into the pillows, your chest rising and falling with quiet giggles as you look up at him.

Katsuki’s grinning now, a real grin that lights up his face, his usual intensity tempered with affection. He leans down closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you can feel the way his body relaxes against yours. There’s no distance between you—no walls, no masks. Just you and him, sharing the space in a way that feels... real.

"What?" you whisper, still smiling as you reach up to smooth a hand through his messy hair. "Is my skin glowing or something?"

Katsuki scoffs lightly at your teasing, though there’s a small tug of a smile at the corner of his lips. His crimson eyes stay locked on yours, searching your face with an intensity that always makes your heart race. The heat of his body radiates against you, and even though you’re joking, there’s a flicker of something deeper in the way he holds your gaze, something vulnerable he’s still not used to sharing. 

"Yeah, sure, your skin’s glowin’," he mutters, his voice rough but soft, leaning down closer. "From all those dumb facemasks you make me do." His lips brush your temple, but the grin on his face betrays his usual gruffness.

You laugh, a light sound that melts between the two of you in the dimly lit room. "Dumb facemasks that you enjoy way too much," you fire back, playfully nudging him. "Don’t think I don’t notice how relaxed you get."

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, but there’s no real bite behind it. His hand, rough from years of hero work, trails absentmindedly along your side, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, sending tiny shivers down your spine. His touch is softer than you ever expected when you first got involved with him, but now it’s familiar—comforting in its warmth and weight.

His eyes soften as he looks down at you, the usual fire in them dimmed into something warmer, more intimate. "Maybe," he mutters, his voice low. "But I like you better without all that makeup anyway."

The simplicity of the statement, the raw honesty of it, makes your heart squeeze. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking your head slightly as you press a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before pulling away, his forehead resting against yours.

There’s a stillness in the room now, a sense of peace that settles between the two of you. It feels like the world outside doesn’t exist, like all the noise and chaos of your lives as pro heroes and public figures has melted away. In this moment, it’s just you and Katsuki—no expectations, no pressure. Just the quiet, simple warmth of being together. 

"You're an idiot," you whisper playfully, breaking the silence as you tap his chest lightly, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. 

"Yeah," he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your skin as he presses another soft kiss to your forehead. "Guess I am for you."

Katsuki's words make your heart skip a beat, and you have to bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to break through. The way he says it—so casually yet so earnestly—makes warmth bloom in your chest. You’re not used to this side of him, this softness that he reserves just for you.

“What are your plans tomorrow?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the peace between you.

You think for a moment before replying, "Well… I have Pilates in the morning, and then I’m getting my nails done. Do you have any suggestions?" You stretch your arms lazily above your head, watching him with a playful glint in your eye.

Katsuki shrugs, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh as your fingers instinctively move to scratch his scalp. The sound he makes in response—a low, content rumble—reminds you of a cat purring, and it makes you smile. He presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips warm against your skin, before mumbling, “Dunno. Whatever makes you feel good.”

You grin, already knowing what will get a reaction out of him. “So if it’s an ugly purple color, you’ll be okay with it?”

As expected, he makes a face, his brows furrowing in clear disapproval. The corner of your mouth twitches in amusement as you roll your eyes. "Don’t worry, I’ll probably go for a nude pink," you murmur, leaning in to nuzzle your nose against his. The closeness between you feels so natural now, like a second skin. "And then I have a meeting with my agent about being a brand ambassador for an upcoming label, but I’m still thinking about it. That’s all."

He hums, a low sound of acknowledgment vibrating through his chest, and then you return the question. "What about you?"

"Got the day off," he says after a beat, his voice a little hesitant as if he’s testing the waters. "Thought… thought maybe I’d cook for ya or somethin’." His fingers brush against your lower back, the warmth of his touch drawing you even closer. It’s so subtle, the way he pulls you in, but it feels like he’s trying to close any remaining distance between your bodies. "Make ya those sushi rolls you liked. The ones you had in the US."

The way he remembers something so small, something you mentioned offhandedly during a trip, makes your breath hitch slightly. It’s not just the gesture itself—it’s the meaning behind it. How vulnerable and open he’s become with you, how he always wants to do things for you, to make sure you’re comfortable. His actions say what his words sometimes struggle to—how much he cares, even if he’s not always good at expressing it.

You swallow, the emotions swirling inside you making your chest feel tight in the best way possible. "You don’t have to do all that, Katsuki," you say softly, your fingers tracing small circles along his shoulder, feeling the strength and warmth beneath his skin. "But I’d love it. You know I’d never say no to your cooking."

He grumbles, his usual tough exterior showing through even in moments like this. "Yeah, well, don’t expect it all the time," he mutters, but the way his fingers tighten slightly on your back tells you he’s already looking forward to it. He likes taking care of you, even if he’ll never admit it outright.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering there for a moment. His skin is warm, and the simple act of affection makes him relax even more against you, like he’s letting go of something heavy he’s been holding on to. 

"I’m looking forward to it," you whisper, and the sincerity in your voice seems to catch him off guard. He looks up at you, his usual sharp gaze softened by the quiet intimacy of the moment. There’s something vulnerable in his eyes, something that makes your heart ache in a way that’s both beautiful and terrifying. 

"Yeah," he says, his voice rough but tender. "Me too."

And in that moment, with the quiet warmth of the room surrounding you, it feels like everything is exactly as it should be. The casual arrangement you once had has blurred into something deeper, something more profound. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the way he speaks to you, in the way he cares for you. 

You never expected this to happen, but now that it has, you’re not sure you want it to stop. Katsuki has wormed his way into your life in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and it scares you, just a little. 

But when he’s this close, when his touch is this gentle, and when his words are this soft, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting to let him go.

It’s like stepping into a high-end restaurant when you walk into Katsuki’s apartment the next day, after finishing up your schedule. 

The moment you enter, the smell of freshly prepared food hits your senses, and the sight of the spread on the dining table takes your breath away. He’s really gone all out—sashimi platters laid out beautifully, with slices of the freshest fish you’ve ever seen; multiple types of sushi from nigiri to uramaki and temaki, each piece looking meticulously crafted. The fried dishes, like ebi furai and karaage, are golden and crisp, making your mouth water at the sight of them.

It’s a lot. More than you ever expected from him, especially after how shy he seemed about cooking this for you. 

But what really catches your attention isn’t the food—it’s the bouquet of flowers sitting at your usual seat.

Your breath hitches as you step closer, reaching out to touch the delicate petals. The bouquet is a stunning mix of roses, lilies, orchids, and carnations, all in varying shades of pink. The arrangement is soft but vibrant, delicate yet full of life, and you can’t help but be completely charmed by the gesture. You pick it up carefully, the scent of the flowers filling the air as you lift the bouquet closer to your face. The blend of colors is beautiful, and it makes your heart flutter.

With the bouquet in hand, you turn to look at him, your expression softening into a teasing but warm smile. "Flowers, huh?" you murmur, your voice light with affection, though there’s an underlying sense of surprise too. You’d never thought Katsuki would go this far, to do something so thoughtful and gentle.

Katsuki stands a few feet away, looking a bit out of his element, his usual confidence slightly faltering. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign of his discomfort with this kind of vulnerable gesture. His eyes flick to the flowers in your hands, and then back to you. His mouth twitches like he’s about to say something, and after a beat, he murmurs, almost bashfully, “It’s the same color as your nails.”

You blink, and then you realize—he’s right. The delicate pink flowers are nearly an exact match for the nude-pink shade you’d mentioned getting done at the nail salon earlier that morning. It’s such a small detail, something you didn’t even think he’d remember, let alone match. It’s thoughtful in a way that makes your chest tighten and your heart swell.

You think you might just melt right there. He’s always been sweet in his own gruff, awkward way, but this? This feels different. This feels like he’s trying to show you something more, to express something he doesn’t have the words for.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, your voice a little breathless as you take a step toward him, the bouquet still in your hands. You want to say something else, to tease him maybe, but the lump in your throat won’t let you. Instead, you just stare at him, feeling the warmth in your chest grow, spreading like wildfire.

He looks away, clearly uncomfortable with the attention, his lips curling into a small scowl. But there’s no bite behind it. If anything, he just looks a little embarrassed. “Don’t make a big deal outta it,” he grumbles, though the way his eyes flicker back to yours betrays his nerves.

But you can’t help it. How can you not make a big deal out of it? He went through all this trouble just to match a detail as small as your nails with the flowers he picked. He cooked an entire feast for you, filled with dishes you love. And all of it—all of it—is done with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that makes your heart ache in the best way.

You set the flowers down gently on the table and step closer to him, your hands reaching for his. You feel the callouses on his fingers as you intertwine them with yours, and he stiffens slightly before relaxing, allowing you to pull him closer. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you whisper, your voice soft and tender. “But I love it. I love everything. Thank you.”

Katsuki’s gaze flickers down to your hands, then back up to your face, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out how to respond. He shifts his weight, looking uncharacteristically shy. “S’nothin’. Just wanted to do somethin’ nice.”

Your smile grows, and you can’t resist the urge to stand on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin flushes under your touch, and you feel the way he holds his breath for a second before he relaxes. “Well, it means a lot to me,” you murmur against his skin, your lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

When you pull back, his gaze locks onto yours, and there’s a softness in his eyes you don’t often get to see. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the world feeling a little smaller, a little more intimate. The bouquet, the dinner, the way he remembered something as small as the color of your nails—it all feels like more than just casual affection. It feels like he’s slowly, hesitantly opening himself up to you in ways he’s never done before.

And it makes your heart race.

“Now, come on,” you say, breaking the silence with a grin as you tug him toward the table. “Let’s eat before this masterpiece gets cold.”

He huffs, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Sit down already.”

As you take your seat, you can’t help but feel a little giddy. Katsuki takes his seat across from you, and for a moment, the two of you just sit there, surrounded by the feast he’s prepared. There’s a warmth in the air, a sense of quiet happiness that lingers between you.

And as you pick up your chopsticks and dig into the meal he made just for you, you realize that whatever this is between the two of you, it’s something more than you ever could have imagined. Something real. Something that’s growing in ways neither of you expected.

That night feels like a memory already etched into your soul, a moment you know you’ll never forget. 

The signs were all there from the start—the flowers, the dinner, the shy glances exchanged between the two of you over the table. There was a softness in the way you spoke to each other, a quiet warmth that lingered in the air, charged with something more than just affection. 

It was inevitable, the way the night would unfold.

Now, the room is filled with nothing but the quiet creaking of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin, and the breathless, intimate sounds you and Katsuki make together. Your hands grip the pillow beneath your head as his strong hands hold your thighs, keeping them folded around his hips. He moves with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. There’s something deeper in the way he touches you tonight—something tender and almost reverent.

Through the haze of pleasure, your eyes blink up at him, catching the intensity of his gaze. It’s overwhelming, the way his molten eyes lock onto yours, filled with an emotion so raw it almost makes your chest ache. You can’t help but tug him closer, wanting to feel his warmth, his skin against yours. He obliges, his forearms coming to rest on either side of your head, bracketing you in. Your legs instinctively tighten around his waist, your ankles crossing at the small of his back, pulling him even closer.

“Katsuki,” you gasp, the word slipping from your lips in a whisper. It’s a plea, a confession, everything wrapped in one. He answers you not with words but with a kiss—soft, slow, and wet. His lips press against yours with a tenderness that belies the strength of his body, and it makes you shiver with how gentle he’s being. There’s something different in the way he’s moving, like he’s trying to tell you something he can’t quite put into words.

Then, his voice breaks the silence, low and vulnerable. “Say my name,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck.

The need in his voice makes your heart stutter. You feel his vulnerability, the rawness of him asking for something so simple, yet so important. So you do—you say his name over and over, like a mantra. “Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki…” Each word is punctuated by a kiss, your lips brushing against his in fleeting touches. His name feels sacred on your tongue, like it’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His eyes darken, flecks of gold and violet swirling in the molten depths of his gaze. It’s like he’s seeing straight through you, into the deepest parts of you, and it makes you feel bare, exposed. But in the best way. You’re not just giving yourself to him; you’re sharing something far more intimate, something unspoken but understood. The two of you are drowning in each other—in the kisses, the warmth of your skin pressed together, the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

He’s exploded you, just like his quirk, and in his touch, you feel like fireworks—bright, burning, alive. Every time he moves, you feel like you’re breaking apart in the best way, only to come back together, more whole than before.

And then, Katsuki slows his movements, like he’s trying to savor every second of this. His thrusts become deep, deliberate, each one dragging out the moment as if he never wants it to end. There’s something reverent about it, like he’s worshipping you, wanting to memorize the way you feel, the way your body responds to him. It’s so intense, so real, that it almost overwhelms you. 

You can’t help but moan softly, your body arching into his as he moves within you. The sensation is slow, building like a crescendo, and you feel like you’re on the edge of something greater than either of you. You’re not just feeling pleasure—this is something deeper. His touch, his kiss, the way he holds you, it all makes you feel like you’ve become something otherworldly, like a star burning brightly in the night sky.

His lips brush against your ear, and in the quiet between breaths, you hear him whisper, “You’re incredible.” The words are hushed, almost like a secret, but they hit you hard, sinking deep into your heart. He’s never been great with words, but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be. The way he touches you, the way he holds you, speaks volumes.

And just like that, you feel yourself slipping, falling into that blissful oblivion, with Katsuki right there with you. The world outside disappears, and all that exists is this—the two of you, tangled together, lost in the feeling of each other. Time slows, the space between each breath stretches, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not just two people anymore. You’ve become something greater, something inseparable, something you never want to let go of. 

As the two of you finally find release, together, it feels like the stars themselves have exploded inside of you, leaving you breathless, weightless, and utterly content.

It’s close to dawn, and the first hints of light peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. 

You’re completely spent, bodies tangled together, exhausted after countless rounds of pleasure, yet it’s not just the physicality that keeps you close. It’s the warmth of his touch, the familiarity of it, the way his body instinctively presses against yours. Katsuki is holding you like you’re something precious, his lips brushing over your skin—your jaw, your neck, your shoulders—leaving behind tender kisses in his wake. His hands glide over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, tracing your curves with a gentle reverence that makes your breath hitch. There’s something so intimate in the way he touches you now, not just as a lover, but as someone who’s cherishing every moment.

You nuzzle closer, your head resting against his muscular bicep, pressing a soft kiss to it with a smile. His warmth surrounds you, and you can feel his chest rise and fall with every breath he takes. The silence between you is comfortable, peaceful, only filled with the sound of your shared breaths and the occasional rustling of the sheets.

In a teasing, hushed tone, you break the stillness, “You never told me what you think of my nails.” 

Katsuki huffs a quiet laugh against your cheek, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Idiot,” he mumbles, the insult carrying no real bite. His teeth sink into your skin teasingly, making you let out a startled squeak, but you laugh when you feel his lips press a soft kiss in the same spot. His voice is a little rough, but warm as he admits, “They look good.”

You smile at his response, feeling the warmth of his approval as it spreads through you. “Good,” you whisper back, your voice soft in the quiet room. You let the moment drift into comfortable silence once again, enjoying the simple pleasure of being close to him, his body still pressed to yours. The bed shifts slightly as you both move, adjusting your positions to be closer, your limbs lazily draped over each other.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, cutting through the silence, and you instinctively reach for it. You scroll through a few messages before opening the camera, catching your reflection on the screen. There’s a faint flush to your cheeks, and you can see the small marks he left on your skin—little love bites trailing down to your collarbone, proof of the night’s passion. You look at yourself, and you can’t help but smile.

You’re glowing.

Before you can dwell on it, Katsuki shifts beside you, slowly leaning in to rest his head against yours, his weight a comforting presence. Your smile softens as you press the button on the camera, capturing the two of you in the frame. He doesn’t protest—he never really does when you take pictures anymore—and there’s a softness in his eyes, a quiet contentment that’s so different from the sharp, hardened persona he shows the world. Here, with you, he’s just Katsuki, sleepy-eyed and tender, his face relaxed in a way that makes your heart swell.

You click on the video option, and still, he says nothing, just watches as you record. He leans further into you, his body language loose and easy, completely at peace in your presence. You lift your hand to his jaw, gently scratching at the stubble growing there, and he blinks lazily, his eyes half-lidded as he leans into your touch. His vulnerability is on full display, and it’s something so personal, so special, that it makes your chest tighten with affection.

Without thinking, you turn your head and press a soft kiss to his lips. He lets you, meeting your kiss with a slow, sleepy response, his lips warm and slightly chapped. The kiss is tender, and when you pull away, it leaves behind a small, wet sound that makes you smile. You press another, quicker kiss to his lips before glancing back at the camera, capturing the quiet intimacy of the moment. 

On the screen, you see him with that small, almost shy smile curling at the corners of his lips. It’s a rare expression, one that he only seems to show when he’s with you, and it makes your heart flutter. There’s no mask here, no front, just him—content, soft, and utterly at ease with you.

And in that moment, you realize how deeply you’ve both fallen into this. How much you’ve come to mean to one another. His presence feels like home, like something you’ve been missing all along. 

There’s something deeper here, something you didn’t expect, and now it feels terrifyingly real.

And that thought scares the hell out of you.

You avoid him after that night.

It’s dumb; it’s stupid; it’s insane, but after that night, the intimacy had shaken you to your core, and you’re not ready to deal with the weight of what that means. The soft way he touched you, the vulnerability in his voice when he asked you to call him by his name—those aren’t things that fit into your neat little box labeled casual. And you don’t want to face the fact that whatever this thing is between you and Katsuki, it stopped being casual a long time ago.

So, you pull away. You don’t call him, don’t text back as often, and when he tries to reach out, you tell him you’re busy. It’s not entirely a lie. Work is busy. You’ve been booked back-to-back with photoshoots for Vogue China, campaigns for Kintsugi and Chanel, and appearances for Tsukiyo. Haute Couture Week is just around the corner, and you’re drowning in preparations. 

But the truth is, it’s easier to hide behind your schedule than face the reality of what’s happening between you and Katsuki. You bury yourself in work, hoping the distance will clear your head, will give you time to sort out your feelings. Because you’re not sure what you want anymore. Do you still want something casual? Or has it become something more? You’re not ready to answer that question, not ready to confront the feelings that have begun to creep up on you.

And then, late one night, the consequences of your actions come knocking—literally.

It’s around one in the morning when there’s a knock at your door. The sound startles you, breaking the quiet of your apartment, and you instantly know who it is. You hesitate for a second, your heart racing as you walk over and pull the door open.

Katsuki stands there, still in his hero gear, covered in soot and sweat, fresh from patrol. His eyes are sharp, but there’s a softness in the way he looks at you—something like confusion, or maybe even hurt. He doesn’t waste any time.

“You avoidin’ me or somethin’?” His voice is gruff, but there’s a vulnerability in it, the kind that makes your chest tighten.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. Your voice sounds high, and you can’t even convince yourself. “No, I’ve just been... busy. You know how it is.”

He narrows his eyes, his expression hardening. “Busy, huh?”

You nod, trying to hold his gaze, but your heart is pounding in your ears. “Yeah. Work’s been crazy lately.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares at you with that intense, unreadable look of his, and you feel the guilt crawling up your throat. You expect him to yell, to snap at you, but when he finally speaks, his voice is low, hesitant.

“Did I... do somethin’ wrong?”

The question hits you harder than you expect. You see the hurt in his eyes now, the way his jaw tightens, like he’s bracing for something. Your chest tightens, and you want to reach out, to reassure him, but you hesitate. You shake your head quickly. “No, Katsuki, you didn’t do anything. It’s... it’s not you, it’s me.”

His entire body tenses at your words, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

You take a step back, rubbing your arms nervously. “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” you say quietly, almost like you’re hoping he won’t hear you.

He takes a step closer, his voice firm, almost demanding. “Do what?”

You swallow, trying to find the right words, but they stick in your throat. “This... us. I wanted things to stay casual, you know? Casual but serious? But now... everything feels different… and I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship.”

He’s silent for a beat, his jaw clenching, his fists tightening at his sides. “So avoidin’ me was your solution?” His voice is sharp now, tinged with frustration and hurt. He’s not yelling, but his tone cuts through you.

“No, it’s not like that. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Didn’t know how to what?” He interrupts, his voice rising slightly, his eyes flashing. “Didn’t know how to tell me I’m just some fuckin’ fling to you?”

“No!” you shake your head desperately, stepping forward, but the words feel stuck, like no explanation is good enough. “It’s not like that, I just—”

“Then what?” His voice cracks, and for a moment, you see something raw in his expression. He lets out a shaky breath and takes a step back, his shoulders slumping as he runs a hand through his messy hair. The usual fire in his eyes dims, replaced with exhaustion—emotional exhaustion. He looks tired. Tired of fighting for you. “Y’know what? Whatever. Do whatever the hell you want.”

You freeze as he turns, his back to you, and walks toward the door. Your mouth opens to stop him, but no words come out. You watch helplessly as he reaches for the door handle, his movements slow and heavy, like he’s waiting for you to say something—anything. 

But you don’t. 

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

You stand there, your heart pounding, staring at the empty space where he just stood. The weight of the conversation, of everything you didn’t say, settles in the pit of your stomach, and for the first time, you realize just how badly you’ve messed up. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But it does. And now, you’re left standing in the aftermath of your own avoidance, the silence of the room echoing with the absence of him.

And for the first time, you wonder if it’s too late to fix things.

────────────────────────

The weeks after your... breakup? Was it even that? You still don’t know how to label it, but whatever it was, it’s hard. It hurts more than you thought it would, more than you ever expected it could. You don’t cry easily, you’ve never been the type to fall apart over someone, but Katsuki—Bakugou—was different. His absence feels like a missing piece of your life, a hole that you can’t seem to fill no matter how much you try.

You find yourself crying at night, tears slipping down your cheeks as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s a quiet kind of crying, the kind where your chest aches and your throat tightens, but you don’t make a sound. It’s unexpected, this grief, this sense of loss. You hadn’t realized how much he meant to you until he wasn’t there anymore. Until the warmth of his presence, his gruff voice, his touch was gone, leaving you cold and hollow.

But you push through it. You force yourself to keep going, to focus on your work, because that’s what you do. You’ve always been good at throwing yourself into your career when things get hard, and this time is no different. Even if your heart feels like it’s been ripped out. Even if you feel like you’re walking around with this empty, aching space inside you. 

Even if it feels like... love.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on that thought. You shove it down, deep inside, where you don’t have to deal with it. Instead, you work. You focus on your job, on the constant demands of your schedule. Haute Couture Week in Paris comes quickly, and you’re on a plane before you even realize it, throwing yourself into the chaos of the fashion world.

Paris is as hectic and glamorous as always. You’re swept into a whirlwind of fittings, castings, and shows. You walk down runways draped in the most luxurious fabrics, you pose for countless photoshoots, you attend brand events where everyone looks perfect, where everyone seems to have it all together. On the surface, you look the part—you’re poised, composed, radiant. But inside, your thoughts are consumed with him.

Every time you stand still for more than a second, your mind drifts back to Katsuki. To the way he looked that night at your door, the hurt in his eyes, the way he walked away. You think about the nights you spent with him, about the softness in his touch that you hadn’t expected, about the way he kissed you with such intensity that it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. 

You miss the way he would scowl when he was embarrassed, the way he’d flick your forehead when you teased him, the way he’d grumble but still pull you closer when you were lying in bed together. You miss him, and no matter how much work you bury yourself in, that feeling doesn’t go away. 

And you do bury yourself in work. 

You walk runway after runway, your legs aching from the hours spent in heels. You attend fittings, standing perfectly still as designers adjust fabric on your body, their hands moving with practiced precision. You barely eat, following the strict diet that keeps you in shape for the shows, even when your stomach growls in protest. You push through photoshoot after photoshoot, your face a mask of calm professionalism even when your head feels like it’s going to burst from exhaustion.

By the time Haute Couture Week ends, you’re exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. But there’s no time to rest, no time to stop and process the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since that night with Katsuki. September is coming fast, and with it, the next fashion month. Castings have already started, and of course, you’re booked solid. Tsukiyo, Ryūmon, Dsquared2, Dior—they all want you, and you don’t have the luxury of slowing down.

You tell yourself that this is what you need. That keeping busy is good, that focusing on your career will help you forget. But late at night, when the city around you is quiet and your hotel room feels too big, too empty, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting back to him. To the way he said your name, his voice rough but soft at the edges. To the way he held you close after everything, his hands gentle on your skin. To the way he looked at you, like you were more than just some casual fling, like you were something that mattered.

And that’s what scares you the most.

Because deep down, you know it was never just casual for him. You saw it in the way he touched you, in the way he let you call him by his first name, in the way he always made sure you were comfortable, that you were okay. You could feel it in the way he held you close, even when he didn’t say the words. Katsuki was serious about you, and that terrified you because you hadn’t let yourself believe that you could be serious about him too. 

But now, lying in your hotel bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, you wonder if maybe... maybe you were serious about him too. Maybe this wasn’t just some casual thing for you either. Maybe you let your fear get the best of you. Maybe you pushed him away because you were scared of what it meant to feel this way about someone.

Maybe... it’s too late to fix it.

You first meet Kirishima Eijirou at the brand event for Yūgen, a high-end luxury brand that’s slowly carving its name into the industry. 

The event is bathed in understated elegance, the kind that makes everything feel weightless, like an ethereal dream. The fragrance of Yūgen lingers in the air, soft but pervasive, the scent weaving in and out of your senses. It’s a haunting aroma—woody, floral, with a touch of something mysterious that stays with you long after you leave the room. The brand’s aesthetic mirrors that feeling, subtle craftsmanship and poetic beauty all wrapped in quiet luxury.

You’re wearing one of Yūgen’s finest designs: The Moonlit Silk Gown, a floor-length masterpiece in pearlescent ivory that moves like liquid moonlight against your skin. The cherry blossom embroidery is so delicate, it looks as though it might dissolve at any moment. The backless design leaves a trail of silk down your spine, each movement making you feel like a walking work of art, fragile but powerful. You look flawless—because you have to—but inside, you’re far from it. 

It’s been a long week. A long month, really. 

Physically, you’re exhausted. Every photoshoot, every runway, every campaign pulls energy from you in a way that leaves you hollow by the end of the day. But emotionally? That’s where the real toll is. It’s been weeks since you and Katsuki—Bakugou, you remind yourself, like a bad habit you need to kick—had your falling out, and despite throwing yourself into work, the ache hasn’t dulled. 

A vacation sounds tempting, but the thought of having time—time to rest, time to think—is too much. You don’t want to think. Not about what happened, not about the way you avoided him, not about the hurt in his eyes that still haunts you late at night. So you bury yourself in everything else—work, events, anything that keeps you moving forward without looking back.

The event is in full swing, and you’ve spent hours mingling, moving through the crowd like a ghost, smiling, nodding, talking to people whose faces blur together after a while. Celebrities, designers, businessmen, all wanting a piece of your attention. You’re good at it—the small talk, the easy charm, the graceful way you handle yourself. But by the time you finally find a moment to sit down, you feel like you’re about to collapse.

Your feet ache from the heels you’ve been wearing all night, sharp pains shooting through your legs with each step. Your head pounds from the constant hum of conversation, lights, and the weight of it all. You take a deep breath, trying to center yourself, to focus on anything other than the discomfort coursing through you. You consider finding an excuse to leave early, to escape the noise and the pressure, but before you can even act on it, a voice cuts through the noise around you.

“Hi, may I sit here for a moment?”

You blink, looking up, surprised to find a tall figure standing over you, smiling. It takes you a second to place him—Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Pro Hero Red Riot. 

He’s famous, one of the top heroes in the country, known for his kindness as much as his strength. You’ve heard about him before, mostly from Katsuki. Despite Bakugou’s endless grumbling about Shitty Hair this, Shitty Hair that, you could always tell there was a lot of affection there. Kirishima is one of Bakugou’s closest friends, a bond that goes back to their high school days. 

It’s odd, meeting one of Bakugou’s friends now, after everything that’s happened between you two. You’ve only met Kaminari and Ashido briefly, and that was back when things with Katsuki were... different. Now, you don’t know where you stand with him, let alone the people in his life. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Not after how things ended.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you say, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, though inside, you feel the familiar tension creeping back up your spine. You watch as Kirishima sits down beside you, his broad frame filling the space with a kind of easy warmth. He’s dressed in a sleek black suit, the fabric perfectly tailored to his muscular form. A golden chain hangs around his neck, catching the soft light of the room. 

He doesn’t feel overwhelming, though. Despite his large frame and the unmistakable air of strength he carries, Kirishima exudes a kind of gentleness that puts you at ease almost immediately. His presence is the complete opposite of the tension that’s been gnawing at you all night. 

“Long event, huh?” Kirishima says, his voice light, but there’s a genuine empathy in his tone. It’s the kind of voice that invites you to relax, to drop the mask you’ve been wearing all night.

You nod, offering him a tired smile. “Yeah. It’s been a long week, actually.”

He chuckles softly. “I bet. These things can be exhausting, even for someone like you.” His eyes flicker down to your gown, admiration clear in his gaze. “You look incredible, by the way. That dress... it’s something else.”

You let a tired smile curl around your lips. “Thanks,” you say softly, though the compliment feels weightless. You’ve been hearing it all evening, and the words don’t really touch you anymore. 

Kirishima smiles back, but his expression carries a hint of concern now. His easygoing demeanor is still there, but there’s something more perceptive in his gaze. 

There’s a pause, a moment of silence between the two of you, as the murmur of the event continues around you, but Kirishima doesn’t seem to mind the quiet. “You seem overworked,” he says after a moment, his voice gentle but probing.

You shrug, taking a sip from the champagne in your hand. The bubbles fizzle, but even the sharp taste of alcohol does little to break through the numbness you’ve been carrying all night. “I am,” you admit.

He raises a brow, clearly concerned. “Why don’t you take a break then?”

The answer comes to you immediately, almost on instinct. “I don’t want to,” you say flatly. “Taking a break means having time for myself, and that’s the last thing I need right now. Plus, I can’t.” You gesture vaguely, feeling the weight of your schedule already pressing down on you. “Fashion Week is in two months, and my calendar’s already packed. There’s no time.”

Kirishima hums in understanding, but there’s something unsaid in the air between you. His gaze softens as he looks at you, clearly mulling over his next words. The silence stretches, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he knows about you and Bakugou—if Katsuki ever mentioned you to his friends. Did he talk about you? Did they know you were… something, once? The thought makes your heart flutter, but it’s quickly followed by the familiar ache. You feel a lump rise in your throat as you try to push it all down.

Before you can dwell on it further, Kirishima finally speaks. “You know, I have a friend,” he says, his tone casual but laced with something deeper. “He kind of reminds me of what you’re going through. Recently, he went through something… rough, and it’s been hard on him. He’s been burying himself in work, and honestly, he’s not the same as he used to be. Not as happy, not as... alive. Like, something’s missing, you know?”

Your breath hitches. You know where this is going, but you can’t stop yourself from listening, from feeling every word sink deeper.

“The funny thing is,” Kirishima continues, his voice softening, “he never really told us about it. We found out by accident, actually—one of our friends snooped through his phone and found a picture.” He chuckles lightly, but it’s a sad sound. “He was pissed, obviously, but he didn’t stay mad for long. I think it’s because back then, he was still happy. Whatever he had, it made him content. But then… things happened.”

He turns to look at you, and his smile is sympathetic, almost knowing. “I think you understand.”

Yeah. He definitely knows. 

The weight of his words settles in your chest, heavy and suffocating. You feel the guilt rise up, thick and choking, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. You don’t want to show just how much it’s affecting you. “I hope your friend is doing okay,” you manage, though your voice comes out quieter than you intended.

Kirishima shrugs, his eyes flickering with a sadness of their own. “He says he is, but… I know him. He’s not.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. It’s all your fault. You can feel it—deep down, you know it. You’ve hurt him, and now he’s suffering because of it. The thought makes your chest tighten painfully. “I bet that… something he had misses him, too,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe they didn’t realize how important he was until it was too late.”

Kirishima smiles, but it’s tinged with that same sadness. “Yeah. That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it? We don’t realize what we’ve lost until it’s gone.”

You let out a small, bitter chuckle, nodding in agreement. The weight of the truth in his words is almost unbearable. You didn’t realize. Not until it was too late. And now, you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of what used to be.

Kirishima watches you carefully, as if weighing his next words. “But, you know,” he says after a pause, “my friend, for all his gruffness… he’s pretty forgiving. He’s changed a lot since we were kids. He’s softened, in his own way.”

Your heart stutters at his words. You feel the lump in your throat grow bigger, making it hard to breathe. “Do you…” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Do you think he’d forgive that something? If they tried to make things right?”

Kirishima shrugs, but there’s a softness in his gaze as he looks at you. “I think he would. He misses them more than they probably realize. But… they won’t know unless they try.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and before you can say anything else, Kirishima stands up, offering you a kind smile. “It was nice talking to you. And hey, think about that vacation. It might be exactly what you need.”

You nod, too overwhelmed to say much in response, and watch as he walks away, his presence fading into the crowd.

The second he’s gone, your mind spins in a thousand directions. You sit still, your thoughts a jumbled mess of guilt, regret, and longing. You think about what Kirishima said—about Katsuki, about how he misses you, about how he might forgive you if you reached out.

Is it possible? Could he really forgive you? After everything?

Your heart races as you play the conversation over and over in your head, and slowly, a realization starts to settle in. You’ve been running from your feelings for weeks, but now… maybe it’s time to stop. 

Maybe it’s time to try. 

That’s when you make your decision. 

You’re done hiding; done avoiding the truth.

The commute to his apartment is hell. 

Everything that could go wrong, does. There’s an accident on the highway, forcing your driver to navigate the congested streets of Musutafu. The city is thick with humidity, and a summer storm has turned the streets into rivers. The rain pounds against the car windows relentlessly, and every drop seems to mock you, making you feel like the world itself is pushing back against this decision.

A few blocks from Katsuki’s apartment, the road is blocked by construction. Of course it is. Because, why wouldn’t it be? You’re so close, and the frustration bubbles up inside you until it spills over. Without thinking, you throw the door open and leap out of the car, pulling off your heels and clutching them in your hand. The rain immediately drenches you, soaking through the silk of your gown. 

But you run. Barefoot through the city streets, you run.

By the time you reach his building, you’re a sight—your silk dress clings to your skin, the once-elegant fabric now heavy and dripping, your hair plastered to your face. Your heels, still in your hand, are soaked through, and your feet slap against the slick pavement as you take the final steps to his door.

You knock, and it only takes a few moments before the door swings open. Katsuki stands in the doorway, his body immediately tensing as his gaze sweeps over you. His eyes go wide, and you can see the confusion—maybe even concern—flicker in them as he takes you in. 

You probably look like a drowned rat, soaking wet and panting from your sprint, but that’s not what gets to you. It’s him. It’s the way he looks. He’s tired. So tired. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, and the bags under them make it clear he hasn’t been sleeping. His broad shoulders are hunched, his usual fire subdued, and that alone breaks something inside of you. 

You did this to him.

“What the fuck—” he starts, his voice rough, but you cut him off before he can get any further.

“No. You listen to me.” You step forward, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath coming in shallow gasps from your run. “I want to talk. I couldn’t do that last time.”

His mouth snaps shut, and he blinks, clearly thrown by the intensity in your voice. He nods, just slightly, a gesture so small that most people wouldn’t even notice it—but you do. He’s listening.

You take a breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling inside you, and then you begin. “I never meant to avoid you,” you say, voice shaky but determined. “I just… wasn’t ready to deal with the weight of what happened. I wasn’t ready to confront the feelings that you—” You swallow hard. “—the feelings you gave me.”

Katsuki’s eyes stay locked on yours, and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he’s trying to keep himself calm, to hear you out.

“I always thought I wasn’t ready for a relationship,” you continue, feeling the words start to spill out faster, as if you need to get them out before you lose your nerve. “I thought I wanted something casual. But you… you changed that. You made me realize how wrong I was.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you force yourself to keep going. “I miss you. I miss you all the time. I miss your warmth, your kisses, the way you hold me close, the way you always make sure I’m comfortable, the way you’re grumpy but always so sweet… I miss everything about you.”

His breathing picks up, a faint hitch in his chest, and you notice the way his hands flex at his sides, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

“You were never just a fling to me,” you say, your throat tightening with emotion. “And I’m sorry I made you feel like you were. I’m sorry for everything. I was scared, and I didn’t know what I wanted, but now I do. I want you.”

You see him stiffen at those words, his expression shifting, but you press on. You have to say it all, everything.

“Today… today made me realize just how stupid I’ve been,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know what I had until I lost you. And I’m��” You choke slightly on the words, but push through them. “I’m in love with you.”

He inhales sharply, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet hallway, but he doesn’t move. His eyes widen slightly, but you can’t stop now.

“I think about you all the time,” you continue, your voice shaking with every word. “I feel like such an idiot, because I had everything—you—and I screwed it up. I was scared, and I—I let you walk away, but I don’t want to make that mistake again. I want you, Katsuki. I’m choosing you.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, each one carrying the weight of everything you've been too scared to admit, too scared to confront. The hallway is quiet, save for the sound of your uneven breathing and the faint drumming of rain against the building outside. Katsuki is still standing there, his broad frame taking up the entire doorway, but he's utterly still. His eyes are locked on yours, wide and unblinking, as if he's trying to process every single word you’ve just thrown at him. 

And you know Katsuki. 

You know him in ways most people don’t. He’s strong, stubborn, and often explosive, but beneath that tough exterior is a vulnerability that he hides from the world. He doesn’t let people in easily, not really. His sharp edges and brash attitude are a shield, a way to protect himself from the constant pressure, the overwhelming expectations. He’s used to people seeing him as a weapon, a force of nature. But never as something to be chosen—never as someone who could be the safe place for someone else.

So when you stand here, drenched in rain and raw emotion, telling him that you do choose him, that you’re in love with him, it shakes him to his core. You can see it in the way his breath catches, in the way his body tenses like he’s bracing for impact. His eyes, usually so full of fire, are now filled with disbelief, as if he’s trying to convince himself that this is real, that you're real.

His lips part slightly, but no words come out. It’s like he’s frozen, caught between wanting to say something and not knowing how to. Bakugou Katsuki, the man who always has something to say, who always knows how to react, is speechless. 

The silence stretches on, and with each passing second, your heart feels like it’s being squeezed tighter and tighter. You’ve laid everything out—your heart, your soul, your fears—and the silence in return feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your throat tightens, making it hard to breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears finally start to spill over. You can’t stop them anymore. They fall freely now, mixing with the rain still dripping from your soaked hair and clinging to your skin. “Please.”

Katsuki’s eyes flicker, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting some internal battle. He’s never been good with words—he’s never been good with feelings—and you can see how much he’s struggling right now. The vulnerability on his face is something you’ve only seen a handful of times, and it cuts through you like a knife. 

Finally, he exhales sharply, a sound that’s more like a growl than a breath, and he takes a step forward. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before he cups your face, his palm warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin. His thumb brushes away a tear from your cheek, the gesture so uncharacteristically gentle for him that it makes your heart ache even more.

“You… fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters, his voice rough and thick with emotion. There’s no anger in his words, though—just a kind of raw frustration and something deeper, something more vulnerable. His crimson eyes are locked on yours, searching your face as if he’s trying to make sure this is real, that you’re not going to disappear on him again. “You think… you think I didn’t fuckin’ want this? That I didn’t want you?”

You blink up at him, the tears still blurring your vision. His voice is cracking in a way you’ve never heard before, and it hits you just how much this means to him. 

“I wanted you,” he says, his hand still cradling your face as he leans in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Fuck… I still want you.” His voice is raw, the vulnerability bleeding through with every word. “But you…” He swallows hard, his other hand coming up to grip your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer. “You pushed me away. You made me think… I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t worth shit to you.”

The pain in his voice is palpable, and it makes your chest ache in a way that feels almost unbearable. You shake your head, your own voice cracking as you try to get the words out. “No. No, Katsuki, that’s not—”

He cuts you off, his grip tightening just slightly, but not in a way that hurts. It’s like he’s holding on to you for dear life, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear again. “You don’t get it,” he mutters, his breath hot against your skin. “No one… no one ever fuckin’ chooses me. Not like this. You think I didn’t want you to come after me? You think I didn’t want you to fight for me?”

His words hit you like a freight train, and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips. He’s right. You did push him away. You made him feel like he wasn’t worth it, like he didn’t matter as much as he should have. And now, seeing the pain in his eyes, hearing the hurt in his voice, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Katsuki. I was scared, and I didn’t know how to handle it, but I… I love you. I love you so much, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to find the truth in your words. Then, slowly, his expression softens, the hardness in his gaze melting away as he exhales a shaky breath. His thumb brushes over your cheek again, wiping away the fresh tears. 

“Shitty timing,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. In fact, there’s something almost tender in the way he says it, like he’s trying to hold on to his usual roughness, but it’s slipping through his fingers. 

You let out a shaky laugh, your tears still flowing, but now there’s a warmth building in your chest—hope, maybe. You can feel it in the way he’s holding you, in the way his body is slowly relaxing against yours. He still wants you. He still cares.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The rain continues to fall outside, the world around you moving on without care, but in this small space, it’s just the two of you. Just Katsuki and you, standing in the doorway of his apartment, soaked to the bone and hearts laid bare.

Finally, he pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace that leaves no space between you. His chin rests on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart beats against yours. 

“Don’t run from me again,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but laced with something soft, something tender. “I won’t fuckin’ let you.” 

You nod against his chest, your arms wrapping around him as tightly as you can. “I won’t. I promise.” 

He’s warm and so familiar, and you pull away from the embrace slowly, your fingertips grazing the sharp edge of his jaw as if grounding yourself in the solidity of him. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and there’s a slight tremor in his breath, a vulnerability that only you get to see. With your hands framing his face, you look up into his eyes—those deep, crimson eyes that burn like embers in the dim light of the hallway—and you murmur, “I love you.”

The words are soft but sure, slipping from your lips like a secret, and they hang in the air between you, filling the space with something fragile yet undeniably real. Katsuki’s breath hitches, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrays the storm brewing inside him. His hands, which have always been rough, steady, and unyielding, now grip your waist gently, like he's afraid you might vanish if he holds too tightly.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, letting the weight of your confession settle inside him, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that you rarely get to see. It’s raw, unguarded, and it steals the air from your lungs. His head dips, and with a shuddering breath, he captures your lips with his own.

The kiss is tender, a slow unfolding of everything unsaid. It’s not rushed or frantic—it’s a return, a homecoming. It feels like stepping back onto familiar shores after being adrift for too long. His lips, warm and firm, taste of all the things you missed, of safety and fire, of passion restrained but not diminished. His kiss is like the first light of dawn breaking across the horizon, soft yet full of promise. It’s the summer sun that melts the tension from your bones, the serene hush of winter’s first snow, the gentle bloom of spring flowers, and the quiet fall of autumn leaves—all of it wrapped into one. A constant rhythm, pure and right, grounding you in the moment.

Before you realize it, he’s pulling you into his apartment, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. Your heels clatter to the floor in the genkan, forgotten as his strong arms wrap around you, lifting you with effortless grace. Your hands find their place again, cradling his jaw, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips seek yours with a fervor that leaves you breathless. You’re weightless in his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he guides you down the familiar hallway, each step measured and deliberate, leading you toward the sanctuary of his bedroom.

The scent of him surrounds you, filling your senses—sharp and smoky, like burning embers, mixed with something inherently Katsuki. You missed this. You missed the way he feels against you, the steady pulse of his heartbeat as it thunders beneath his skin, the way his presence alone fills every corner of the space with warmth.

He lays you gently on the bed, the mattress sinking beneath your weight, and for a moment, he pulls back. The loss of his warmth is brief, but you feel it keenly until he’s tugging his shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, every scar etched into his skin like a map of battles won and lost. His body tells stories—of strength, of endurance, of survival—but all you see is the man who holds you now, the man who wears his heart hidden beneath layers of gruffness and fire.

Your hands move instinctively, tracing the familiar lines of his chest and shoulders. Your fingertips ghost over each scar, each ridge, as if memorizing him all over again. His skin is hot beneath your touch, and your hands curl around the back of his neck, pulling him back to you. His mouth meets yours once more, but this time the kiss is deeper, more urgent, the heat between you building with each passing second.

He welcomes you back like the dawn welcomes the night—slowly, but with an inevitability that feels like fate. His touch is reverent, as if you’re something sacred, something to be cherished. His hands, rough and calloused from years of combat, move with a surprising gentleness as they begin to peel the wet fabric of your dress away from your body. It clings to your skin, soaked through from the rain, but he is patient, his fingers working carefully, unwrapping you from the silk like a gift.

His touch is molten, a slow burn that spreads through you, lighting up every nerve. It’s like molasses—thick, slow, and deliberate—filling the space between you, pulling you deeper into the moment. Katsuki is fire, fierce and untamed, and in his hands, you feel like molten gold, soft and pliable, shaping yourself to the heat of his touch. He moves with purpose, his gaze never leaving yours as he strips away the last barrier between you, leaving you bare beneath him.

When he finally presses his body against yours, skin to skin, it feels like everything you’ve been missing. His warmth envelops you, his presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. His hands roam over you, tracing every curve, every line, his fingers mapping out the soft planes of your body with a tenderness that contrasts with the fire that burns in his eyes.

There’s something unspoken between you now, something that doesn’t need words. His touch is a silent claim, his fingers skimming over the dips of your waist, the arch of your spine, the softness of your thighs. He knows every inch of you, and yet it feels new all over again, like he’s discovering you for the first time. His hands are steady, but there’s a quiet desperation in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this moment might slip away if he lets go.

Katsuki’s breath is hot against your skin as he lowers himself down, pressing kisses along your collarbone, down to the hollow of your throat, each one a promise, a vow. His touch is deliberate, a slow, deliberate worship of your body, as if he’s reminding you of everything you are, everything you mean to him. His hands glide over your hips, his fingers brushing the tender skin of your inner thighs, and you arch into him, your breath hitching as you feel the weight of his love in every movement, every touch.

In his arms, you are safe. In his arms, you are whole.

He is fire and strength, and you are his, claimed by the fierce heat that only he can bring. You are molten gold, shaped and refined in the crucible of his love, and together, you burn brighter than the stars.

His lips press against yours, fueled by a newfound hunger, a kind of urgency that pulls a gasp from your throat, a soft whimper that escapes into the space between you. His hands roam your body with a heated reverence, fingers tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips, until one hand dips lower, slipping between your legs. When his finger slides inside you, the sensation is immediate, raw—a sharp intake of breath echoes through him as he feels you clench around him. You’re so warm, so wet, and it sends a shudder down his spine.

You can feel the tremor in him, the restraint, the overwhelming desire bubbling beneath the surface as his forehead presses against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness of the room. Another deep pant leaves him as he moves his finger inside you, the motion making you arch into him, your body responding to him as if you were always meant to. But before you can even catch your breath, he pulls away, eyes burning with a fire that ignites something deep inside you, and in one swift motion, he’s pressing his hips against you, rutting the length of his cock against your slick heat.

His body trembles with restraint as he teases you, but soon enough, he can’t hold back. His hand grips your thigh, pulling you closer as he lines himself up, and then he slips inside you—slowly at first, the feeling of him stretching you, filling you, taking you inch by inch until he’s seated fully within you. The world stills, and for a brief moment, it’s just him and you—joined together as one, moving in a rhythm older than time itself.

It feels like floating—weightless, untethered, as if you’re both suspended in the space between worlds. He rolls his hips, a slow, rhythmic tide, and you meet him, each thrust a push and pull, the two of you locked in a quiet dance. It’s like the meeting of the sea and the bioluminescent sands, glowing with heat and light, each touch sparking something deep and primal within you.

You murmur his name, “Katsuki…” your voice breathless and needy, and he responds with a kiss, his lips soft but insistent as they claim yours. He thrusts into you, achingly gentle, his movements precise but tender, each one filled with care. His hips move steadily, his hands cradling your body as though you’re something delicate, something priceless. To him, you’re precious—a masterpiece he’s lucky enough to hold, a delicate thing that he handles with reverence. Every time he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are filled with something deeper than desire—something raw and unspoken, something that ties the two of you together in ways words never could. 

Your hands drift over the hard planes of his chest, tracing the scars that mark his skin—testaments to battles fought and won, to the life he’s lived. Your fingers explore the rough edges of his body, skimming over the taut muscles that ripple beneath his skin, and the stubble along his jaw that scratches lightly against your fingertips. Each touch is full of reverence, because to you, Katsuki isn’t just a work of art; he’s a force of nature. He’s beauty in its rawest form, an Adonis sculpted from lava and tempered by explosions. He’s the embodiment of power, but beneath it, you feel the vulnerability he only ever reveals to you.

Your hands continue to explore his body, memorizing every part of him. You thumb the scars along his shoulders, fingers dancing along the ridges of his abs, and as you do, you marvel at how someone so strong, so unyielding, can be so gentle, so loving. He moves inside you with reverence, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath hot and heavy against your lips. His body presses down against yours, the heat of him sinking into your bones as he thrusts deeper, driving you further into the mattress. His movements are unhurried but deliberate, each one building on the last until the tension in your body coils tight. 

And then it snaps, the pleasure washing over you in waves, pulling you under as you come undone beneath him. His name is the only thing you can manage, whispered over and over like a mantra, like a promise, your hands clutching at him as though he’s the only thing anchoring you to this moment. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, not from sadness but from the overwhelming emotion of it all—of being with him like this, of feeling loved, cherished.

Katsuki follows you into that blissful fall, his own body trembling as he reaches his release. A broken moan escapes him, raw and guttural, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he holds you close, his thrusts slowing to a stop. His breath is warm against your skin as he cups your cheeks, tilting your face toward him for a kiss that’s softer now, full of unspoken words and emotions too heavy to name.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting gently against yours, his eyes flicker open, and you see everything in them—gold, violet, amber, the brightest and most precious colors shimmering in the depths of his gaze. It’s as though he holds the universe within him, and all of it is focused on you. His lips brush against yours, the softest of touches, and he whispers in that deep, gravelly voice, “I love you too.”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over, but they’re happy tears, and you blink them away as you smile. You press another kiss to his lips, your heart full, knowing that whatever happens next, you’ve found your way back to him. 

And that’s all that matters.

The aftermath is a world all its own—silent, untouched by the chaos that exists beyond the walls of his bedroom. 

Here, in the quiet glow of the moonlight, everything feels simple. The unspoken tension and complicated emotions that usually color the spaces between you seem to fade, leaving only this moment. It’s just you and Katsuki, wrapped up in each other, connected by something deeper than words could ever capture.

You’re cradled against him, his body solid and warm beneath you. His fingers trace slow, languid lines up and down your side, a repetitive, soothing motion that makes you feel grounded. Your own fingers mirror his, lazily drawing circles over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths under your touch. The scent of him—burnt caramel, cloves, sandalwood—wraps around you like a familiar blanket. It’s intoxicating and comforting, a part of him that feels so deeply etched into you now, as permanent as carvings on an ancient tree.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The stillness is sacred. But then, as if the weight of everything unsaid finds its way to your lips, you break the silence. "You know," you whisper, your voice soft as it brushes against the darkness, “today I realized that I deserve to take a break. To stop running away from everything.”

Katsuki’s fingers still for a moment on your skin, but then he leans down slightly, a silent acknowledgment that he’s listening. His hand rests at your hip, grounding you both.

“And… and you do too,” you continue, your voice growing a little stronger, though still fragile. "Your mom’s always on you about taking a vacation, right?" You feel his chest rise sharply beneath your head, his body stiffening just slightly. You take a shaky breath, pushing forward with the thought that’s been growing in your mind. “So… I booked two tickets. In the car. On my way here. To Indonesia. A luxury vacation. The plane leaves tomorrow morning.”

For a second, the world pauses. Katsuki freezes, his hand stopping mid-motion, his entire body going still as if he’s trying to process the words. Slowly, he leans up, propping himself on his elbows, his gaze searching your face with a mix of disbelief and confusion. His fingers find your chin, tipping your face toward him so your eyes meet. “You did what?” His voice is low, rough, not quite angry but edged with a bewilderment that you rarely see from him.

You lean into his touch, your heart swelling at the feel of his calloused fingers against your skin. “I want to go away with you,” you say, your voice steady and honest. “I’m tired, and you’re tired, and I just… I want to be with the man I love. To take time for us. Away from everything.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing. His chest rises and falls beneath you, each breath coming in measured, as if he’s trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to break through. His jaw tightens, muscles clenching as he looks at you, something raw and vulnerable flickering in his gaze.

It’s like he can’t believe it. Like he’s struggling to understand that you, here in this moment, are choosing him. That you’ve made this grand, impulsive decision for him—for both of you. His eyes dart away, unable to hold your gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. You watch the way his emotions twist inside him, how they tangle up in his mind like a storm that he can’t quite put into words. You can see it all—the disbelief, the hesitation, the way this feels too good to be real for him.

He doesn’t speak, but the weight of his silence says everything. For someone like Katsuki, someone who’s spent his whole life being told he’s too much, too harsh, too aggressive—it’s hard to let himself be wanted like this. To be chosen. And it breaks your heart a little, knowing that this is how deep his vulnerability runs, how much he’s carried on his own without ever asking for anything.

Gently, you reach up, brushing your thumb along his jaw, guiding his face back toward yours. “You deserve this too, Katsuki,” you whisper. “You deserve to take a break. To just… be with someone who loves you.” Your voice softens, a faint crack in the quiet. “Let me love you.”

His breath stutters at those words, his eyes meeting yours again, this time filled with something deeper—something fragile. His hands tighten on your body, and for a moment, you think he might say something. But then, he just exhales shakily, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

You can feel the tension slowly leaving his body, the weight of his resistance melting away as he allows himself to accept what you’re offering. He doesn’t speak, not yet, but his lips brush against yours in the softest of kisses, and you know he’s heard you.

It’s a moment of surrender, not just to you but to the idea that he can have this—that he’s allowed to be loved like this. And as you both lay there, tangled in each other, you realize that this is the start of something new. 

Something real. 

Something that, for once, feels like it’s yours to keep.

There has to be someone sabotaging Tsukiyo, you think. There’s no way this could happen two Fashion Weeks in a row—the final outfits not fitting again.

It’s déjà vu. Minase looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. The tension in the room is thick as assistants, stylists, and tailors dart around like bees in a hive, scrambling to fix the chaos unfolding before them. You’re sitting in the same spot you were last time, watching the chaos but strangely calm, Amanai seated beside you. The familiarity of it all is almost comical.

“This can’t just be bad luck, right? Someone has to be sabotaging the brand,” you muse aloud, watching Amanai get her hair touched up while your own makeup artist carefully layers shimmer onto your eyelids. 

Amanai snorts, tilting her head slightly as the stylist adjusts a stray curl. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But at this point, I’m almost used to it. Minase will just do what she always does. Cut some outfits and make sure the important ones fit. These are summer pieces anyway—more skin showing means less fabric to worry about.”

You chuckle, a tired sound that mingles with the hum of panic around you. The Spring/Summer collection is about fluidity and celestial romance, staying true to Tsukiyo’s ethereal identity. You’re supposed to embody that dreamlike essence, but right now it feels more like a fever dream than a romantic one.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. She always manages to pull something off.”

Like clockwork, Minase’s voice cuts through the frenzy. “We’re cutting some outfits!” she announces, her voice laced with an edge of barely-contained frustration. “We’ll focus on the most important pieces. It’ll shorten the show, but it’s all we can do.” She turns to one of the stylists, rubbing her temples with a groan. “At least The Celestial Ripple Dress still fits,” she mutters under her breath, almost as if she's trying to convince herself that this won't be a complete disaster.

You exhale, grateful that your outfit isn’t one of the ones causing trouble. 

With hair and makeup done, you’re hurried to the fitting room, where the assistants and tailors usher you into your first outfit of the night: The Sakura Veil Jumpsuit. It’s an airy, pastel pink piece, with floral appliqués floating on a sheer overlay. The deep V-neckline glimmers with crystal embellishments, catching the light as you move. You feel the soft iridescent embroidery brush against your skin, mimicking the delicate movement of petals in the wind.

It’s snug, but the tailors make some quick adjustments, and soon enough, you’re able to walk comfortably in it. With one final touch-up to your hair and makeup, you prepare yourself for the runway, the whirlwind of activity swirling around you like an unseen storm.

Amanai and Hanari are already at the curtains, peeking out at the venue. Amanai is dressed in The Moonlit Nomad Ensemble, a layered kimono-inspired blazer in misty gray, paired with fluid silk palazzo trousers that make her look like she’s gliding. Embroidered constellations shimmer faintly on the blazer, cinched at the waist with a metallic indigo belt, adding a regal structure to the otherwise ethereal look. 

Hanari is draped in The Ocean Mirage Dress, a sky-blue gown made of sheer layers of chiffon that ripple like water. The bodice is structured with wave-like 3D elements, flowing seamlessly into a skirt of cascading ruffles edged with micro-crystals that glitter with every movement.

Amanai turns to you, her expression calm despite the chaos. “So? Ready?”

You smile wryly, adjusting your boots. “I think so. Just hope I don’t face-plant. These boots are a little slippery, and I don’t think I can handle the embarrassment of falling in front of everyone.”

Hanari snorts, barely suppressing her laughter. “Just make sure to fall gracefully, then. That’ll still fit the theme, right?”

You all share a brief moment of amusement, but soon enough, it’s time to get serious. The smirks and giggles are quickly replaced with the practiced poise of professionals. 

Time to focus.

One by one, you step onto the runway. Hanari goes first, her gown flowing like liquid, followed by Amanai, whose ensemble glints subtly in the soft lighting. Finally, it’s your turn.

The second your foot touches the glossy floor of the runway, the world condenses into a singular moment. The backstage chaos falls away like a distant memory, and all that remains is the rhythmic click of your boots against the floor and the steady pulse of your own breath. The lights are blinding, but you keep your gaze forward, your body moving with effortless grace. You’ve done this a hundred times, but tonight, there’s something sharper about your focus, something more intense.

The audience fades into the background, their murmurs barely registering in your mind. Each step feels deliberate, every movement controlled. You feel the fabric of your jumpsuit shift against your skin, the weight of the crystals on your chest catching the light as you move. The shimmering appliqués float as if alive, and you become a part of Tsukiyo’s dreamscape—an ethereal figure, moving through a world of starlight and fluid beauty.

As you near the end of the runway, you pause, turning slowly to give the audience a full view of the outfit. You hold your head high, projecting an aura of quiet confidence. 

You turn on your heel, making your way back down the runway with steady, deliberate steps, the sound of your boots echo with each click, vibrating deep in your chest. There’s a practiced grace to your movement, but every step feels charged with a weight that goes beyond the runway. You remind yourself to stay poised, to let the outfit speak through your body, through your calm. The audience’s eyes are still on you, but their murmurs barely pierce your bubble of focus.

When you finally step off the runway, a quiet exhale of relief escapes your lips. You feel your muscles relax, but only slightly. There’s still one more outfit to showcase—the most important one of the night. As you slip into the organized frenzy of backstage, assistants swarm you with quick, precise hands, ushering you toward the fitting area for the final look: The Celestial Ripple Dress.

The jumpsuit slides off with ease, and in its place, the assistants fit the silk of the Celestial Ripple Dress against your skin. The fabric feels like liquid, molding to you as though it’s alive. The iridescence of the material shifts between hues of lavender and warm peach, flickering like the first light of dawn. The architectural collar frames your neck and shoulders, delicate patterns flowing from it like lacework, lending you a regal air. The beaded obi-style belt cinches your waist, and as you glance down, you admire the laser-cut lace at the hem, each detail a testament to the craftsmanship of the design.

It’s a vision, a dream, and as you catch your reflection, you feel like a celestial being. But the reality of what’s about to come slams back into you with the controlled chaos around you—stylists pulling at your hair, makeup artists adding touches of shimmer to your already glowing skin. You still carry a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia two months ago, and the subtle golden tone contrasts beautifully against the soft tones of the dress.

Before you can fully immerse yourself in the calm before the storm, Minase appears at your side, her energy frantic but precise. She adjusts a few last details on the dress, her fingers working quickly.

“Listen,” she starts, her voice low but urgent. “Remember what I told you. Confidence. You need to own this moment. Make sure every single person in that room sees you—sees the dress. And that final pose?” She gives you a meaningful look, her eyes wide with intensity. “It has to be perfect. You need to look like you’ve stepped straight out of the stars. When the lights dim, and you see those white LEDs flicker, that’s your cue. Got it?”

You nod, giving her a reassuring smile despite the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

Minase’s eyes flicker with a mix of tension and trust, and she nods before stepping back to allow the final touch-ups. The makeup artists dab a bit more highlighter on your cheekbones, and the hair stylists smooth out the last few tendrils framing your face, ensuring everything is in place.

As you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, the assistants guide you toward the runway entrance. Your pulse races, but the adrenaline is steadying, sharpening your focus. Around you, the backstage murmurs grow softer, almost muted against the steady beat of your own heart. Several people wish you luck as you pass, but their words blur into the background as your mind narrows into a singular focus: the final walk. Amanai and Hanari catch your eye from the side, their reassuring smiles grounding you in the moment. You return the smile, grateful for their support, but you know that no amount of encouragement can ease the pressure bearing down on you.

The runway lights begin to dim, casting the space into an ethereal shadow. The energy in the room shifts—hushed but charged with anticipation. A shiver of excitement runs through you as the white LED lights flicker, signaling the start of your walk. 

Here we go.

You step onto the runway, and the moment your heels hit the floor, every pair of eyes in the room locks onto you. The dress catches the dim light, shimmering like a pool of liquid starlight, and with each step, the fabric shifts between hues, casting soft reflections across the room. The collar frames your face, a delicate extension of your own elegance, and the beaded belt accentuates your silhouette, guiding every movement with a subtle grace.

The world seems to fall away again. It’s just you, the runway, and the audience. You walk with the kind of confidence Minase drilled into you—a confidence that commands attention, yet exudes an effortless air. The hem of the dress whispers against your legs as you move, the intricate lace catching the softest hints of light with every step.

You hear the faint click of cameras, the subtle murmurs of awe from the audience, but it all blends into the background. In this moment, you are no longer just a model walking the runway; you are the embodiment of Tsukiyo’s celestial dream, a being that belongs to the stars.

As you approach the end of the runway, you pause, turning gracefully to give the audience one last view of the dress. The delicate collar flares slightly as you move, and you hold your final pose—a celestial queen, untouchable yet mesmerizing. You feel the weight of the moment, the pressure, but also the thrill of it. The audience is enraptured, their eyes drinking in every detail, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to hold its breath with you.

And then you turn, gliding back down the runway with the same deliberate grace. The energy in the room hums, and you can feel the attention still on you, as if the entire space is caught in the glow of your presence. 

As you step off the runway, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders, and you release a deep sigh of relief. The adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins starts to ease, leaving you with a calm satisfaction. “Good job!” echoes from all around you, stylists and assistants offering you quick words of praise as you make your way further backstage. 

Minase rushes toward you, her arms enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, squeezing tightly. You return the hug, a wide smile spreading across your face. You know you did good tonight—really good. 

The look on Minase’s face is proof of it. 

You’ve done it again. 

The afterparty is in full swing by the time you arrive. 

The warm hum of low conversation and soft jazz mixes with the gentle clink of glasses. Dim lighting washes the room in an intimate glow, as glittering gowns and sleek tuxedos fill the luxurious space. The familiar click of your heels echoes against the polished marble floor, blending into the cadence of the night. Your eyes sweep the crowd, taking in the lavish surroundings, but you're instantly drawn to Amanai and Hanari, who are comfortably seated near the bar, their faces bright with laughter.

You’re dressed in a liquid gold slip dress that shimmers like molten metal with every movement. The delicate spaghetti straps highlight your shoulders, and the draped cowl neckline adds a touch of sensuality, balancing elegance and allure perfectly. The fabric clings to your body just enough to accentuate your figure before pooling subtly at your feet in a way that feels ethereal, otherworldly. Every step you take makes the high-shine metallic fabric catch the soft lighting, creating a fluid, rippling effect as though you’re a goddess dipped in gold. Paired with minimalist strappy heels, you feel the kind of confidence that only comes with wearing something that makes you feel utterly captivating.

But before you can reach Amanai and Hanari, you feel the familiar warmth of a hand sliding against your back. You already know who it is before you even turn around. There’s no mistaking the touch, the possessive yet gentle slide of a palm against your spine, the electric tension that runs through your body when he’s near.

A slow smile curls onto your lips before you even look over your shoulder, and when you finally glance back, your heart gives a small flutter as you meet Katsuki’s gaze. His expression is amused, eyes glinting with that familiar intensity you know so well. The edges of his mouth are curved slightly upward, a rare smirk tugging at his lips as if he’s just as aware of the magnetic pull between the two of you.

“Hi,” you breathe, the word barely a whisper as you turn fully toward him.

Without a second thought, your hand comes up, fingers curling lightly around his strong jaw, guiding his face down to yours. The kiss that follows is soft, slow, and searing. There’s something intoxicating about the way his lips move against yours, the way he holds back, teasing, yet still letting you feel the depth of his affection. When you pull away, you press another quick kiss to his lips, something playful. His eyes are half-lidded, lazy but brimming with affection, a softness in his expression that only you ever get to see.

Katsuki presses a kiss to your thumb, his lips warm against your skin. You wipe the smudge of lip gloss from his lips with your thumb, a soft chuckle escaping you. “You didn’t answer my texts,” you say quietly, your voice carrying a playful edge. “I didn’t know if you’d already arrived or not.”

He lets out a tch, glancing over his shoulder toward the back of the room where his friends are lounging. “Came with Shitty Hair and the others,” he mutters, nodding toward Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and Mina. They’re grinning and waving at you like a bunch of excited kids. You smile and wave back, but your focus quickly returns to Katsuki.

“You did good out there,” he says, his voice almost too soft for him, but it’s laced with pride. It sends warmth flooding through your chest.

“You think so?” you ask, searching his face, feeling your heart swell when you see the genuine admiration in his eyes.

He hums, nodding slightly. “Yeah.” His tone is gruff, but the sincerity is clear.

You tease him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “So, I looked good then?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in that familiar way of his, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. “You always do,” he mutters, his hands slipping down to rest on your hips, his thumb brushing the fabric of your dress. There’s an understated affection in his touch, like he’s always more comfortable showing his feelings through actions rather than words.

Your fingers smooth over the fabric of his blazer, admiring the sharp, tailored fit of his all-black ensemble. He looks effortlessly handsome, dressed in a sleek black blazer with subtle metallic details that add an edge to the classic silhouette. The buttoned-up dress shirt underneath enhances his sharp jawline, and the wide-leg pleated trousers give him a sense of casual elegance. He looks sophisticated, polished, but still undeniably him. 

Your Katsuki.

“Well, you look pretty good yourself,” you say, your smile widening as you take in his appearance, your hands lingering on his chest. “Real handsome.”

He scoffs again, but you catch the faint blush dusting his cheeks, and it makes you smile even more. He always does this—acts tough, but you know how much your words affect him. His fingers flex against your waist, a small tell that he’s pleased.

He still has a faint tan from your trip to Indonesia, and the memory stirs a warm ache in your chest. It's hard to believe it's been two months since that whirlwind adventure. You can still picture the lush rice fields, ancient temples, breathtaking sunsets, traditional villages, and those perfect beaches.

Indonesia had been like a dream. 

It was everything you both needed. The two of you sat down and talked, really talked, about your feelings. Katsuki had opened up in his own gruff way, admitting how he felt after walking out of your apartment that day—how he wasn’t sure if he was just a fling or something more. You shared your own fears, how you’d been too scared to admit to yourself how much he meant to you.

And in that moment, everything felt right. 

The rest of the vacation was a dream—relaxing on the beach, hiking through the jungles, trying local food, and, of course, spending every night tangled in each other’s arms. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his touch, his voice, until you had it again. Every morning and night spent wrapped in him felt like a piece of you had been restored.

And now, you’re dating. Officially; something you hadn’t dared to hope for before the trip, and the thought still makes your heart race sometimes.

“So, I look good now as well?” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes as you step closer to him, feeling the heat radiating from his body.

Katsuki raises a brow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His thumb brushes over the golden necklace around your neck—the one with the first kanji of his name as the pendant, a gift he gave you after the trip. His other hand remains firm against your back, his touch grounding you.

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles, voice low and steady, filled with that quiet, unspoken affection only he can give.

“Sweet talker,” you tease softly, your lips quirking into a smile as you gently smooth a hand down Katsuki’s chest. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his sleek black blazer, grounding you in this moment of intimacy. 

He raises a brow but doesn’t refute it, letting your words settle with that usual gruffness, though you can see the faint trace of a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “Let me say hi to the girls, then I’ll join you at your table, okay?” 

He nods and leans in, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips, and you can feel the possessiveness in the way he lingers for just a second longer than needed. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that feels almost out of character, but you know it’s him—Katsuki showing affection in his own way. You pull away and pat his chest, turning to make your way toward Amanai and Hanari at the bar. 

You glide through the room, feeling the eyes on you once more—not from the runway this time, but from the afterparty’s crowd. Your golden slip dress catches the ambient light, shimmering like liquid gold with every step. You’re in your element, but your heart is still wrapped up in Katsuki’s touch, in the way he looks at you like you're the center of his world, even in a room filled with people.

Greeting Amanai and Hanari doesn’t take long—just a quick exchange of hugs and a few words of praise for your performance on the runway. You laugh softly as they gush over your dress, the compliments filling you with warmth, but there’s an eagerness to get back to Katsuki. 

By the time you return to his table, he already has a drink waiting for you, of course. He always pays attention to the details, even when he pretends not to. As you approach, you quickly go around the group, greeting everyone with hugs and smiles. Kirishima gives you a bear hug, Kaminari’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Mina’s wide grin feels like a mirror to your own.

“You looked so cool!” Kaminari practically bounces in his seat, his eyes wide with admiration. 

Sero, his usual laid-back self, nods in approval while toying with an unlit cigarette between his lips. He smirks. “Yeah, you killed it out there. Not surprised, though.”

You settle into your spot beside Katsuki, his arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you lean into his solid frame. His presence is comforting—like a rock in the midst of the swirling energy around you. You smile and shrug modestly. “Thanks, guys. I’m just glad that starting tomorrow, I have a few days off. A mini vacation before the real work starts.”

It feels good to let that thought settle in—time to recharge before diving back into the hectic world of photoshoots and campaigns. You’ve been looking forward to this breather for weeks now.

Kirishima, always the supportive one, grins at you. “Good for you! You should take all the time you need.” His warm, encouraging tone is typical of him, and it only adds to the sense of relief that washes over you.

Mina hums in agreement, her bright eyes twinkling as she takes a sip from her drink. “Yeah, you deserve it. Fashion Week looked intense this year.”

You nod, feeling the tiredness start to creep in, but it’s a good kind of exhaustion—the kind that comes after you’ve given it your all. “It was, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s just… fulfilling, you know?”

Katsuki’s hand tightens slightly around your waist at your words, his quiet approval always there even when he doesn’t voice it. His presence beside you, even in these small moments, is grounding. He’s never one to shower you with compliments in public, but his actions—the way he holds you close, the way he’s always there when you need him—speak volumes.

Mina leans in, her smile mischievous. “So, what’s the plan for your mini vacation? You and Bakugou jetting off somewhere?”

Katsuki scoffs, his eyes flicking toward her with mild annoyance, but you catch the subtle way his hand remains on your back, protective and reassuring. You laugh softly. “We haven’t decided yet. Maybe something low-key. Relaxing.”

Kaminari nudges Sero with a grin. “Bet it’ll involve lots of… relaxing.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling at the innuendo, while Katsuki gives Kaminari a warning glare that shuts him up quickly. “Keep talkin’, Sparky, and you’ll regret it.”

“Jeez, I’m just kidding, man,” Kaminari holds his hands up in surrender, laughing nervously. 

You smile and lean your head against Katsuki’s shoulder, feeling his body relax under your touch. “Honestly, I’m just excited to spend some time with this guy. We don’t get enough of that these days.”

At that, Katsuki glances down at you, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll figure something out.” His voice is low, private, as though the two of you are the only ones in the room.

You smile softly, leaning up to kiss Katsuki’s cheek. The subtle gesture of affection makes his face flush slightly, but he keeps his composure by pretending to sip on his drink, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. It’s a small, rare show of his vulnerability, the way his cool façade slips just for you. Even though he’s trying to play it off, you can feel the warmth in his posture, the way his arm tenses slightly as if to pull you closer. 

His friends, however, are far from oblivious. Kaminari and Mina are practically glowing with grins as they exchange glances, amused by the way Katsuki tries so hard to act nonchalant. Kirishima's grin is wide and genuine, clearly happy for his best friend. They know this side of him, the softer side he shows only to you, and it’s a sight they cherish—though they’d never dare tease him about it, not seriously anyway.

“I just want somewhere with a beach,” you continue, keeping the conversation flowing as you sip your drink. “Maybe Okinawa. Maybe the Caribbean. I’m still figuring it out with our schedules, too.” Your voice is light, relaxed, but the longing for a break is evident in the way you speak. The whirlwind of fashion shows and shoots, though thrilling, has left you craving some time away—a place where you can unwind and just be.

Katsuki’s thumb absentmindedly strokes your waist as you speak, his subtle way of showing that he’s listening, even if he doesn’t say much.

“But I do know that I need a break,” you laugh softly, the exhaustion creeping into your tone, though it’s balanced with a sense of excitement for whatever comes next. “Something relaxing, somewhere far away from all of this chaos.”

Kaminari nods in understanding, his carefree grin softening into something a bit more thoughtful. “No, I get it. This whole thing is a lot, and you’ve been working hard. You gotta enjoy some time off.” His words are simple, but there’s an appreciation in his tone for the effort you’ve been putting in. Hero work, modeling, it’s all a lot, and sometimes people forget how much goes on behind the scenes.

You nod in agreement, grateful for his words, and the conversation begins to shift. Soon enough, they start talking about their hero work—patrols, training sessions, recent missions. You find yourself listening more than speaking, content to let the conversation flow around you. Your hand rests on Katsuki’s thigh, the soft fabric of his trousers warm under your palm. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers up and down, feeling the solid muscle beneath your touch. It’s a comforting gesture, one that feels natural between the two of you now, and you notice how it subtly relaxes him.

Katsuki, who usually has a sharp edge in his voice when he talks, is different tonight. His gruff tone is still there—because that’s just him—but it’s not harsh. He doesn’t bark his words or throw in as many biting remarks. When he speaks, it’s with measured authority, chiming in with his own thoughts on their hero work without dominating the conversation. He’s relaxed, at ease with you at his side.

You catch snippets of the conversation: Kaminari rambling about a recent mission that went awry, Sero and Mina debating the best techniques for urban rescue, Kirishima enthusiastically talking about new training regimens. Katsuki listens, occasionally grumbling an opinion or a sarcastic comment, but you can feel the quiet respect between him and his friends. They look up to him, even when they joke around, and he, in his own way, values their friendship deeply.

Every now and then, Katsuki’s hand moves to your back, brushing against your skin as if to remind himself that you’re still here, grounding him. It’s a small gesture, but it makes your heart flutter every time.

You gaze at him—really look at him—and it hits you: your boyfriend is like a supernova. His eyes, red but gleaming gold in the light, his messy blonde hair somehow still effortlessly handsome, and the way he fills out that sleek black blazer and those perfectly tailored pants. He looks absolutely irresistible.

And then, an idea starts to take shape in your mind.

You can’t help but grin mischievously, leaning further into Katsuki's side. You press a quick, feather-light kiss against the corner of his jaw when no one's looking, letting your fingers lazily trace patterns on his thigh. Your foot slides up and down along his ankle, a slow, deliberate tease that makes him stiffen slightly, his breath catching in his throat. For just a moment, his usual composure falters, and you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch.

A wicked grin spreads across your face as you lean in close to whisper, your breath warm against his ear, "Meet me in the bathroom from last time."

Katsuki’s sharp inhale is barely audible, but you hear it, and it only makes your grin widen. His reaction is perfect—a mixture of shock and anticipation. He tries to maintain his cool, but you can feel the tension radiating off of him, his grip on the glass in his hand tightening just slightly.

You pull back as if nothing happened, your expression innocent as you stand up. "I’m just heading to the bathroom," you tell the group with a casual smile, and no one bats an eye. But Katsuki knows better. His gaze follows you, smoldering, even as he tries to act unaffected.

With a teasing sway of your hips, you walk away, knowing full well that he's watching. The sounds of the party fade as you make your way to the more secluded part of the venue, the quiet settling around you. There’s a pleasant thrum in your body, the buzz of alcohol adding to the heady anticipation that builds with each step. You move through the hallways with ease, your heart pounding just a bit faster as you turn the familiar corners.

Slipping inside the private bathroom, you take a moment to check your reflection. The liquid gold of your dress shimmers under the soft lighting, clinging perfectly to your curves. You snap a few mirror selfies, the excitement bubbling up inside you, and even take a moment to fix your makeup. 

A few minutes pass before you hear the door creak open behind you. Katsuki slips inside, his presence filling the small room immediately. His face is flushed, his usual scowl more pronounced, but you can tell he’s fighting it—his embarrassment, his frustration at how easily you get to him. It makes you laugh, a soft, teasing sound that fills the space.

"Don't look so grumpy," you tease, turning to face him fully. "You're about to get the best head ever, honey."

His ears turn an even deeper shade of red, the blush spreading across his neck, but all he can manage is a low, unintelligible grumble. He looks almost flustered, which is rare for him, and it only makes you smile wider. Before you can say anything else, he steps forward, wrapping his arms around your waist, his body pressing against yours from behind. His breath is warm against your skin as he buries his nose in the crook of your shoulder, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss there.

The warmth of his mouth on your skin sends a shiver down your spine. His lips linger for a moment, soft and deliberate, before he pulls back, resting his head against yours. He’s relaxed now, his earlier tension melting away as his eyes become heavy-lidded, the earlier scowl gone. His hands stay firmly on your waist, holding you close, and you can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

You smile at both of your reflections in the mirror—Katsuki looking uncharacteristically soft, his gaze half-lidded and affectionate, while you’re practically glowing with warmth. It’s moments like this that remind you of why you love him so much. Despite the brash exterior, the sharp words, and the gruff demeanor, he’s always so gentle with you. He’s always so careful, so loving, in a way that makes you feel treasured.

"I love you," you say softly, turning your head to press a kiss on his cheek. He lets you, his lips curving into a faint smile before he tilts his head to capture your lips in a soft, whispery kiss. It’s slow, tender, and full of unspoken affection, his way of saying what he’s never been good at putting into words. 

"Love you too," he mumbles against your lips, the words barely audible but sincere.

The simple exchange fills you with a sense of warmth, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face next. "Now, let’s get down to business," you say, your voice light with amusement.

Katsuki snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a trace of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah," he grumbles, his tone playful, "let’s get down to business."

You laugh softly, your heart swelling as you realize—this is your life now. Moments like this, the quiet intimacy, the teasing, the shared affection—it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. 

With Katsuki, it’s always exciting, always a perfect blend of passion and tenderness. 

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

final notes:

thanks for sticking around and for reading! this was such a fun story to write, and i hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i did.

here is my ko-fi :) as some of you may know, i’ve been sick and haven’t been able to work as much, so any support would mean a lot. no pressure, of course!

again, thank you so much, and until next time!

[sea-lanterns]

PSYCHO

synopsis: (slasher! AU) you find yourself at a creepy inn in the middle of nowhere.

featuring: hu tao

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom character, stalking, peeping, perverted character, yandere-ish character, ooc character, peepholes, mast.urbation while peeping, breaking and entering, usage of a se.x to.y, fin.gering, shower se.x, degradation, obsessive character, not proofread.

art credits: my hero academia

The rain was heavy and loud, beating down against your windshield as your wipers fought furiously to keep your window clear. Driving out late at night in the middle of a storm was not ideal, however you really wanted to get to your destination soon without having to sleep on the side of the road again, so you continued to press on.

As the minutes passed by, it appeared the rain wasn’t letting up anytime soon, forcing you to seek refuge at any of the nearby motels in the area. Though you were literally driving through the middle of nowhere, your eyes spotted something flickering in the distance; a beam of red light that was unmistakable for a sign. You drove closer, pulling up to the sign and reading it through your watery windshield; “Wangsheng Inn” it read in big bold letters, a beacon of safety in the raging storm around you. 

“Ah…screw it.” You grumbled to yourself, pulling into the parking lot of the motel so you could rest for the night. This would definitely take a small dig into your wallet, but at this point anything was better than driving in the storm.

You parked your car and got out in the heavy rain, immediately getting soaked under mother nature’s downpour. You hurried to grab your bags from the trunk and drag them to the dimly lit check-in office in the corner. Through your hurry to get inside as soon as possible, you failed to notice the shadowy figure watching you from behind the curtain, watching as you scrambled across the parking lot to get to the office.

‘Cold cold cold cold’ you mentally cursed yourself and opened the door to the office, the warmth of a nearby radiator hitting your face and making you sigh with relief. Ah…that was better. You hurried inside and shut the door behind you, letting the warmth and dryness of the indoors seep into you while you walked up to the front desk.

Huh, that’s strange. There was no one there. You waited a few moments before looking over at the bell on the counter, underneath a sign that read “Ring for Service.”

So, like any other functioning adult, you tapped it once. Twice. Until finally you heard footsteps shuffling in the room behind the office, the door finally opening and revealing a young woman with a cute smile. 

“Ah, hello there!” She greeted rather cheerfully, her demeanor already coming across as cute. “Didn’t expect anyone to be out in this weather. Quite a storm huh?” 

“Uh, yes. It really is.” You were taken aback by how energetic she was so late at night, but you chalked it off as just her doing her job. “I would like to check in for the night.”

“Just one night?” The woman smiled peculiarly. 

“Ah…yeah. Just until the storm goes away. I’m kind of in a hurry.” You glanced at your watch and noted it was almost 9pm now. 

“Awe…I see.” The woman sounded almost…disappointed. “Well in that case, you can have Room 1! It’s right next to this one and it’s vacant, like all our other rooms…” 

She laughed off her small joke and extended her hand while she flipped through the guestbook. “Anyways, I’m Hu Tao, proud owner of the Wangsheng Inn.” 

“I’m (Reader)” you responded calmly, giving her a small handshake in return. She smiled when you took her hand, seemingly enjoying the feel of your hand around hers. “(Reader)…that’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” 

You smiled nervously at the compliment, wondering if she was flirting with you or not. You wouldn’t mind usually, but right now you were tired and just wanted to take a hot shower and lie down in a warm bed. “Yes…thank you. Uhm, may I get the key to my room?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!” She hummed nonchalantly, grabbing a key off the wall. “You must be exhausted, please make sure to enjoy all the luxuries our rooms have to offer.”

She winked at you and handed you the key, its small weight pushing firmly against your palm. You held it securely in your grip, nodding as you let her escort you to the room next door. The rain outside poured heavily still as you dragged your luggage behind you, opening the door to Room 1 and turning the lights on inside. 

Hu Tao soon followed suit behind you as you took in the warm hospitality of the room. Like the office, it was warm and well lit, a comfortable place to stay the night while you waited out the storm. “Here it is, our famous Room 1 suite!” Hu Tao exclaimed jovially. “Does it accomodate to your tastes, ma’am?” 

“It’s lovely for such a bargain price. I am surprised you didn’t charge me any higher,” you hummed in astonishment, setting your luggage down on the floor. 

“Well, no one really drives through these parts. The Wangsheng Inn is off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I have no choice but to make the rooms cheap,” she smiled softly, looking at you. “Though, I was quite surprised to see you tonight. Out in the storm in the middle of nowhere, what exactly were you doing out there…?”

She leaned in close to you, her face just inches away. Your breath hitched and you felt the hairs on your neck stand up on end, a little creeped out by how prodding she was being. 

“Erm…please don’t take this the wrong way but that is my own business to worry about,” you responded firmly. Hu Tao chuckled and took a step back, raising her hands up in surrender. “Right, I apologize. I shouldn’t have been so nosy.” It seemed that no matter what the topic was, Hu Tao always had a smile on her face. Though it was slightly unsettling, you chalked it off as just being her personality. “It’s alright, though…I would like to unpack for a bit. My clothes are soaking wet, so I’d like to change.” 

“Of course ma’am. Let me know if you need anything, my office is right next door.” She grinned and walked out of your room, shutting the door behind her. Now alone, you stood in the middle of the quiet room, taking a deep breath and shaking off the unnerving feeling you felt after encountering the manager. 

‘What an odd woman…’ you thought to yourself, beginning to unload your luggage and dig through your clothes. ‘Quite attractive…and somewhat charming, if not for being so nosy.’

You sighed and pulled out a few clothes from your suitcase, wondering what to wear to bed before hopping into the shower. 

“This should do…” you murmured to yourself, pulling out a pair of pajamas and setting it on the bed. Slowly, you began stripping out of your wet clothes, your skin glistening from the moisture of your clothes, beautiful and refined. As you were busy changing, you suddenly felt as if you were being watched, a feeling of unsettling fear rising in your chest. 

…That can’t be right though. You were alone in your motel room, surely your paranoia was just playing tricks on you. 

You shrugged off the feeling and began taking off your underwear, eager to step into the warm shower and wash away the grime of today. 

In the office room next door, inside the back room where only Hu Tao was allowed to enter, she breathed heavily and watched you through the peephole hidden behind her picture frame, eying the way you slid out of your undergarments rather sensually. On the surface, Hu Tao appeared as a quaint and spry young woman, effortlessly charming with her bright smile and casual demeanor. However, underneath it all; she was just a huge pervert, fingering herself to the sight of you blissfully unaware that you were being peeped on by the innkeeper next door.

‘God…how beautiful,’ Hu Tao thought to herself, unable to contain her sleazy grin as she pressed her fingers deeper against her clit. Her thighs buckled with each forceful motion of her fingers, drooling over the sight of your beautiful body just out on display for her. ‘It’s not often that a pretty lady like her shows up…goodness, I’m a mess.’ 

Hu Tao stifled a whimper as she pushed her fingers further up her cunt, feeling her velvety walls clamp tightly around her digits. She was a complete mess just watching you, her pants pulled down to her knees while she touched herself imagining various fantasies with that stunning body of yours. The loneliness and isolation of running a roadside inn was really catching up to her as she craved to feel another woman against her body.

“Turn around…” Hu Tao whispered to herself, lusting for the sight of seeing your breasts and full body on display. “Oh fuck please turn around…” 

She eyed you hungrily before watching as you turned around to grab a towel, her pussy throbbing at the sight of you exposed before her. 

“Nnnh…damn.” Hu Tao licked her lips and fingered herself faster, watching as you went into the bathroom to shower. She didn’t have a peephole to look in there, but she could imagine the warm water cascading down your body, the room all hot and steamy as your body grew slick from the moisture. Hu Tao couldn’t take it anymore, her thoughts were growing stronger and her body’s needs were becoming more urgent. 

She slid another digit in, closing her eyes and trying to urge herself to release. No matter how hard she thrusted, or added another finger, or ground against her hand it still wasn’t enough. She needed to have the source right in front of her. 

“Well…looks like I’ll be using that spare key after all…” Hu Tao mumbled to herself, sliding her slimy fingers out of her folds and pulling her pants up. 

Turning on the shower head, you let out a sigh of relief when you felt the hot water run down your body. All those hours of being cooped up in your old car left your body cramped, an ache present in your muscles as you stretched them out to get them working again. “My back is killing me…” you grumbled, arching your back to hopefully sort out a few knots that have gathered. You took some soap and lathered your body up, relieved at the sensation of being clean again after so long. 

Your eyes fluttered shut under the shower head, so lost in your pleasant shower that you failed to hear the sound of your bathroom door slowly opening. Each footstep fell onto deaf ears as the shadowy figure in front of the curtain drew closer, raising something in their hand that looked strangely long and pointed.

The shadow continued to stand there, almost as if they were admiring your silhouette showering like a creep. They stood there for a few more moments of silence, before suddenly yanking the shower curtains open, causing you to open your eyes abruptly. 

You let out a scream once you saw the figure in front of you, covering your chest and backing up against the wall. The hardness of the tiled wall hit your back with a cold slam, adrenaline spiking in your veins once you saw who had broken into your room. 

Hu Tao? The innkeeper?! 

She stood there with that same, chilling smile like always. “I figured your body was quite sore after your journey, so why don’t you let me deal with that for you…?”

Her eyes went half lidded, obsession swirling in her eyes before she raised the object in her hand. Your breath hitched and you immediately let out another scream, raising your hands to shield your body and face from the knife you thought was in her hand. What you expected for pain and bloodshed did not come, however. Instead, only the soft chuckle of Hu Tao’s amusement rang out, causing you to hesitantly open your eyes. 

In her hand…wasn’t a knife, no. It was long… but definitely not sharp. Far from it in fact. 

Heat rose to your cheeks and you let out a confused whimper. Was…that a sex toy? 

“Didn’t think you’d be so terrified of a dildo…” Hu Tao giggled, stepping into the shower with you, still fully clothed. You felt adrenaline spike in your chest as she backed you further against the wall, pinning you there. For a few moments, Hu Tao just stood there, admiring your naked form as the hot water dripped down her face, her wet hair sticking to her skin. If not for how utterly psychotic she looked, you had to admit that her hair all wet really added to her physical appeal…

“Oh, looks like you’ve finally quieted down,” She giggled, slowly tracing the tip of the sex toy up your thigh. “Good girl, can’t have you screaming in fear when you should be screaming in pleasure.” 

…Did your pussy just throb? You had no idea what your body was doing right now, a mixture of fear and arousal pooling at your core. “Wh…What are you doing here?” Your voice trembled greatly, unsure if you should fight, flee, or freeze. 

“As the innkeeper of Wangsheng Inn, it is my duty to make sure all our guests’ needs are met,” she licked her lips and leaned closer, her breath tickling your own. “Especially for the pretty women we so rarely get.” 

She giggled and traced the tip of her dildo a little higher, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as it got closer to your core. The steamy bathroom was not making your desire any less stronger, but although you were already trembling in fear, a part of you felt your knees buckle at the curious temptation Hu Tao had to offer…

“Let me show you a good time…” she purred, the lust glistening in her eyes. It was clear she was heavily attracted to you, “I promise I won’t hurt you…if you don’t want me to.” 

You should not have gotten as turned on as you did, but that longing inside you was curious to know just how good this innkeeper really was.  Unconsciously, you found your head tilting downwards in a nod, before Hu Tao immediately moved forward to kiss you. Her tongue immediately darted in between your lips, catching you off guard before sliding her fingers up to cup your already wet cunt. 

Though her fingers were on the smaller side, they were quite lithe and flexible, gently pinching your clit before rubbing tight circles around your heat to get you to relax. You found yourself bucking up against the innkeeper’s fingers, the hot water amplifying your sensitivity while Hu Tao drooled over how your walls spread so easily for her.

“Nnnnh fuck, you feel even better than I expected…” she purred, getting lost in the feeling as she speared your warm folds further apart. “Gettin’ so wet for me already…how naughty. Did you touch yourself in here thinking about me? You can’t be this wet and pathetic~”

You grumbled and shook your head no, causing Hu Tao to grin and degrade you further. 

“Well…you’re gonna be touching yourself a lot more after this. Gonna have this needy pussy craving to be filled by me everyday.” She laughed and pushed her fingers deeper, filling you up while she thrusted at an uneven pace. Hu Tao was getting so wet and pent up already just watching you, and she knew she had to get to the main event soon if she wanted to climax tonight. 

‘Damn…I wanna see her take the toy. She’d be so hot trying to take it.’ Hu Tao bit her bottom lip as her perverted thoughts made their way to her brain. The more she felt her fingers get squeezed by your cunt, the more she longed to see you squeeze the toy she chose for you as well. 

“I think you’re wet enough. Let’s move on to the big one, alright?” She stifled a giggle and slid her slick-covered fingers out of you, not bothering to clean them off in the shower water as she stuck them in her mouth instead. “Mmmmpf.” Her eyes filled with lust as she moaned at the taste of you, suckling her fingers rather lewdly to emphasize how much she was enjoying it. 

She took her sweet time in cleaning off her fingers, her warm tongue sliding over each digit and making direct eye contact with you while you squirmed under her body. How…deranged this woman was being, and yet you couldn’t help but find her mannerisms extremely attractive at this moment. 

“Come on now…let’s get those pretty lips wrapped around the toy…” Hu Tao purred, helping your lower lips slide over the tip before slowly pushing in. “Oh…oh. Look at you taking my cock so well. I picked it thinking of you, you know. I figured a girl like you would prefer more…natural colors.” 

She giggled and drooled at the way her realistic-looking dildo sunk deeper into your hole, making you arch your back against the cold tiled wall and moan. In the closed space of the steamy bathroom, your moans echoed in a rather beautiful way, making the sicko moan too with how much your noises pleased her.

“Ahh…moan like that again…” she whined, pushing the toy deeper and watching as it speared you open, slick juices starting to gather at the handle and coat her hand currently holding it. She bit her lower lip and couldn’t resist the urge to push her pants down to finger herself to the sight of you, throwing her head back as she too, was getting lost in the throes of pleasure. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a girl so close to me like this…” she gasped and began thrusting the faux cock at an even faster pace, “I want to keep you to myself. You can’t leave tomorrow, you simply can’t!” 

You tried to say something in retaliation to that, but all that came out was a choked out moan, her thrusts growing harsher as the toy inside you began making you grind your body against her hand. Hu Tao complied with your silent needs, grinding her palm against your clit and making you bottom out on the cock so easily. 

“Live with me at the inn, yeah? On that old house up on the hill, where it’s just the two of us and the inn in the middle of nowhere…”

Hu Tao moaned as she found herself coming closer to her climax, that same spiraling obsession starting to show in her eyes again. 

“…No one to bother us. No one to interrupt.” 

She groaned and bucked her hips harder against her own hand, her other hand slamming the toy cock brutally against your hips, almost bulldozing with how hard she was thrusting. 

“Just you and me, forever, (Reader).” 

She grinned, a small trickle of drool leaking past her lips before you both came at the same time. Hu Tao’s hands were absolutely coated in both your guys’ cum, as well as a combination of the shower water that still rained on top of you. As you panted and came down from your high, your body collapsed into Hu Tao’s, causing her to hold you up in her arms and pull you in for a desperate kiss.

In the bathroom, the echoey moans and wet slaps ceased, with only the sound of the shower water hitting the floor bringing interruption to the silence. 

“Poor girl…you must be exhausted…” Hu Tao pouted, reaching over to turn off the faucet as you both stood in the bathtub together, enveloped in each other’s embrace. “Let’s get you dried and dressed up, hm? I can’t wait to tell grandfather that I’ve finally found myself a woman.”

She smiled that same, chilling smile, carrying you out of the tub bridal style and making her way out of the bathroom. The storm had long stopped outside the motel, but for you, the effects of the storm will forever linger at the Wangsheng Inn. As you would soon find yourself not staying for one night like you thought, but for every night for the rest of your life. 

[kaciebello]

Offspring garden

Masterlist Luke Castellan x Demetre! reader (fem) Summary: Luke and the reader are the unofficial parents of the camp, whether they like it or not. Warning: Non, no use of y/n author note: English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ ) Requested! word count: 1.2k

“LUKE CASTELLAN” A yell could be heard throughout the whole camp. The boy in question lifts his head from his sword to look for the source of the noise. Only to see a familiar girl with an angry scold on her face. He stands up when he sees her, dragging two familiar boys behind her. He just signs and makes his way to them.

“Hello, honey.” He says, hoping to de-escalate the situation. She just huffs and points a finger at him before turning to the two boys who were now looking at the floor in shame.

“Don't you even dare to sweet talk me, Luke?” To him this was comical. The Stroll brothers often did something they shouldn't, they however did not get caught that much. No, seeing them being scolded by a girl who’s just a few years older was funny. She resembled a mom giving a lecture to her children She turned to him again.

“Keep your siblings in check, because if I catch them again in my garden-”

“You're gonna what?” Luke says, coking his head to the side with a smile.  Her eyes narrow at him as she steps closer. The boys yelp out a little ‘ sorry, mom’ teasing tone in their voice, as everybody noticed some of the younger kids calling her that by accident during the campfire last night. She ignores them and takes our step to Luke. He secretly waves his arm at the boys and they scatter away as quietly as they can, although few giggles leave them anyway.

“Don't try me today Luke, we have so much to do and I don't have the time or the patience for this. And you, you are- Luke where have they gone?” She says her eyes flipping between him and the place where the boys were standing a minute ago. Luke just shrugs and smiles. The girl sighs placing her shaking her head.

“You can’t just let them go, I brought them here for a reason.” She says kicking a stone with her foot. Luke took her hands in his, wrapping them around his neck. Now that he had her undivided attention he rocked them back and forth.

“They're just kids.”

“Cheeky, that's what they are.” Luke just laughs. Leaning in, their noses brush on each other. Before Luke could continue, a pair of giggles were heard before the water fell on them from the top of the Hermes cabin. In shock, the pair steps away from each other and look up. There they were, the Stroll brothers, with two buckets of water having the time of their life.

“LUKE!” He's not sure he can get them out of this one.

—

Being the counselor of their cabin did give them an advantage. Granted, it was more work than the normal ‘training to be a hero ‘ thing. The older campers however did not mind, because it meant they got to call light out. Now the Demeter cabin went to sleep almost as soon as the sun set, not fans of the dark. The Hermise cabin, however, is quite the opposite. If they had to pick they would switch the whole camp to night one. 

However, it was not unusual to see the Demetre cabin counselor at the Hermes cabin after she called light out on her own. Not that Luke was having a problem with his cabin, no. Well kinda, it's always hard for the new kids, and he and his siblings are more mischief than anything else. The friendly face of the Demetre kids makes them calm down and fall asleep despite the noise.

He was leaning on the doorframe, his eyes glued to the girl reading kids' stories. He was supposed to keep an eye on his siblings. That was their deal. But he only started to pay attention to them when a shirt was thrown in his face. Taking it down and looking up to try and find a culprit, he finds Chris with a smirk on his face. Luke just rolls his eyes and throws it back. Making his was the girl who was tucking in the last camper. His hand lands on the small of her back as she straightens.

“ All done?” He whispers although it is useless when he hears his sibling laugh at full volume. The girl looks up at him and nods. Turning and making her way to the cabin door. Luke follows her very close by.

“Will you walk me back?” She asks, playing with his bracelets. 

“Why? Scared of the dark?” He cocks his head to the side. Only receiving a glare from the girl. Before she can answer one of the Hermes girls pipes in.

“You have the same conversation every night, You are boring as an old married couple with kids.” She says before letting her head hit the pillow. Both Luke and the girl look at her. The Demeter girl shakes it off before he does. Letting off his hand and clearing her throat.

“Alright, that is enghou, lights out!” She said, making sure everyone could hear her. Some kids listened right away and some hesitated before laying down too.

“But you not our-”

“I SAID LIGHTS OUT.” The light switch was flipped to the end she said. All that could be heard was the cabin door opening and closing, indicating that the two counsellors had left on their adventure.

—

They were both sitting on the floor. Her back was pressed to his chest as she sat between his legs. Watching Annabeth, Percy and Grover fool around the arena. Luke insisted they needed training, although he was not teaching them anything. The girl opted to read her book, as this is as quiet as it gets around the busy camp.

“What do you say we go on an adventure next summer,” Luke says catching her attention enough to listen but not enough to put away her book.

“Chiron is not letting us go on a quest Luke.” She says nonchalantly. Luke just shakes his head and his hand goes to play with the corner of the book.

“No, I meant like, go and have a trip, Europe maybe.” He finishes and the girl chuckles. Turning over a page before finishing her chapter. Make sure she places a bookmark before closing the book and putting it aside. She leans even further onto him before answering.

“ As if Mr. D is gonna let us leave. We basically run the camp for him.” She says and Luke laughs. His arm now resting across her chest, both watching the trio who were playing some kind of game. It looks like a twisted version of Marko Pollo as Annabeth kept going invisible to confuse Percy even more. Luke leans down and kisses the girl on the forehead. She looks up at him with a smile before reaching to pat his head and tug at the base of his curls.

In bliss they sat, soaking in the sun. A quiet day where they get to be teenagers. All, however, comes to an end when someone yells out ‘Mom’ and all heads turn to her. The girl can just groan before getting up and following the sound. Flowers blooming in her hair out of frustration. Luke does not stay that far behind

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

Part 1. Part 2.

YOUNG HERO ;; In which you're a hero that wants to make a difference, but compassion can only push you so far. A deep dive into the life of a hero. Hurt/No comfort.

04.04.25 Masterlist

You knew you were doing well. The shining image of a bright, young hero. Everyone around you admired your dedication, your charm, your hard work—they cherished your presence. You held on to that feeling like a lifeline. It kept you going. It reminded you that this was all worth it.

But the weight was starting to wear you down.

The job was brutal—unforgiving. Every other day felt like a test of endurance, and more often than not, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Just more tunnel.

After each battle, you'd find yourself still, waiting—for the GDA, for other heroes, for orders or cleanup or something. During that quiet, your mind wandered. First, to who you saved. Then, to who you didn’t. Third was always the collateral. Then more thoughts followed, each one circling others. All of them selfless.

And once you ran out of things to worry about, only then did you remember to check in on yourself.

You’d remind yourself it was worth it. That your life, in the grand scale of things, was an acceptable sacrifice if it meant others lived. You had to be selfless. Being selfish felt like betrayal—like greed.

So you kept going.

You wore the mask of someone whole. Someone strong. But lately, you were starting to slip. You could feel it. And you were pretty sure others could too.

Cecil and Donald had begun treading lightly around you. Calm, composed, professional as always—but worried. You could see it in the small things.

You ignored it. You didn’t want their pity. It belonged to the ones who lost their loved ones, not you. You just had to do better. Try harder. Even if one life was lost while thousands were saved, it meant your work wasn’t done.

"Kid."

A voice pulled you from the spiral. You blinked, snapping back to the present.

You were standing tall amidst the aftermath—collapsed buildings, scattered debris, the aftermath of your most recent battle. Everything around you told a story of destruction.

You glanced at a cracked sign buried in rubble: Brew Haven. A small, family-run coffee shop. Gone now. Just another casualty in the long list of losses. You couldn’t help but think—

“Kid!”

You blinked again, slower this time. Turning toward the voice, you met a familiar face.

Cecil Stedman. Director of the GDA. Your boss. One of the few people you respected without question. He was the kind of man who held the world together from the shadows, never wanting credit or glory.

“Director,” you murmured. Your voice was dry. Your vision, for a second, blurred at the edges.

“You did good,” he said, his expression weighed down with something you didn’t want to name. It almost looked like sorrow.

You didn’t answer. Your eyes drifted to the GDA agents moving around the area like worker ants, precise and relentless.

“Go to med-bay, kid. You need to rest.”

Your head snapped to him, your mouth opening without control, like a fish desperate for water.

“No, I–” The words caught in your throat. Your mouth tasted bitter—metallic. “I still have things to finish. I’m fine. Really.”

Cecil’s gaze softened further.

Before he could respond, you kept going, rushing to stay useful, to stay needed. “You don’t have anyone else right now. So... I think I should stay on duty. Just for a little longer.” You forced out the words in one breath. Sweat ran down your cheek.

You looked desperate.

“You think so?” Cecil asked, his eyes drifting to something just past you.

You followed his gaze.

That’s when you saw the paramedics.

They were crowded around you, their uniforms soaked in blood. At first, you didn’t understand. There weren’t any civilians left.

And then it hit you.

It was your blood.

That bitter taste in your mouth—your blood.

The sweat dripping down your face—your blood.

You had been bleeding this entire time, and you didn’t even notice. You were so used to it, your brain had just... tuned it out.

The medics worked like machines, trying to stabilize you. Their gloves red, their faces tense.

You made a quiet promise: next time, notice. If they’re working this hard for you, you should at least be aware of it and acknowledge them.

“Look, kid.” Cecil’s voice was calm. You didn’t look at him. You were still processing all the pain you’d ignored. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk after.”

No one wanted to say it—but everyone knew.

Cecil saw it clearer than most. You were unraveling right in front of him, bit by bit. Each day chipped away at you, dragging you deeper into the void. He could see it in your eyes—the growing distance, the exhaustion that never quite left.

He wanted to speak up. To pull you out of the field, tell you to take a break, to breathe. But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t. The world always needed a hero. Always.

And it needed you.

His guilt festered every time he gave the order to deploy you again. After every mission, every near-death scenario, it only grew heavier. He had sent you straight into the lion’s den more times than he could count—and not once had you resented him for it. You didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. You’d just blink slowly, detached from it all, and ask for the next briefing like you hadn’t just survived something lethal.

You could’ve been left bleeding out alone in the dirt, your body ruined beyond comprehension, and you’d still look up at the sky like it didn’t matter. Like that was just another part of the job.

You reminded him too much of who he used to be—back before the title, back before the weight of the world settled onto his shoulders. And every time you called out to him—

“Director?”

It cut a little deeper.

Most heroes eventually broke. They cracked under the pressure, snapped from the expectation. They stopped calling him “sir” or “Director” and just used his name. Cecil. Like they were above him. Like they were untouchable.

But not you.

Even as your body failed, even as your mind frayed at the edges, you still stood there, obedient, loyal. You took every mission. Followed every command. Never questioned. Never hesitated.

And he hated it.

Because he knew—God, he knew—he was using you. Working you like a dog. Pushing and pushing, waiting to see when you’d finally break.

Cecil always accepted that he wasn’t a good man. That being morally gray came with the job.

But this? This felt worse.

A/N ;; I wanted to write something more like pure anguish, LOL! But I do intend to expand on this way more, I want to improve my writing on more deep moments.

[enbyenvy666]

May I request an a/b/o hitoshi shinso x cismale reader? They're all aged up, and a hero Shinso meets civilian reader. Just some fluffy interactions of shinso courting the reader, with a fluffy'n'smut ending? Thank you for your time!

wow this took so long to write lol

honestly i just took this idea and ran with it so i hope the wait was worth it ! also i haven't written for Shinso before so hopefully he isn't too ooc

(also he doesn't have a cannon hero name so i tried to get around that by the reader giving him a nickname instead)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, a/b/o, alpha!Shinso, omega!reader, slight scent and breeding kink, knotting, mating press, reader is a paramedic, reader treats shinso's minor wounds, fluff n smut, no beta we die like men w/c - 3.7k

Red and blue flashing lights made Shinso’s head hurt, straining his already tired eyes. Police cars and ambulances surrounded him and his fellow heroes, showing up after a particularly rough takedown. He had a couple of scrapes and bruises, but the paramedics wouldn’t let him leave before they assessed him. The only problem was, that there were others with more severe injuries than his own so it was taking a while.

As he sat on the curb, fiddling with his capture weapon, two work boot-clad feet entered his view. His purple eyes trailed up their legs, noticing the deep green uniform they wore with the paramedic shield embroidered over their chest pocket which held a couple of pens.

“Alright Mr. Hero, it’s your turn,” you grinned down at him, waving him towards one of the empty ambulances. He stood with a groan, feeling one of the cuts on his arm burn and sting. You climbed into the back of the ambulance, guiding Shinso to sit on the stretcher. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you as you fluffed around his, slipping a sphygmomanometer around his arm and a pulse oximeter on his finger.

“Any pain anywhere?” You asked, and if he wasn’t looking at your lips he wouldn’t have noticed.

“No,” he muttered, watching how you gently inspected the cut on his arm. Even through the latex of the sanitised gloves, he could feel the warmth of your fingertips. Just when the band around his upper arm felt like it couldn’t get any tighter, it slowly deflated. You looked at the reading and smiled.

“Blood pressure is good.” But when you read the result of the oximeter, you frowned a little. Shinso didn’t like seeing you frown, and he wanted to do anything to see you smile again.

“Pulse is a little high,” you mumbled. If it was possible, he would’ve slowed his pulse at that moment, just to make this stranger happy. Readjusting the device on his finger, you also squeezed his hand in yours absentmindedly as you typed in his results onto your little laptop.

“I’ll keep this on a little longer, but otherwise you’re in good shape! I’ll just clean up your wounds a little and you should be good to go.” Finally, that smile was back on your face, showing off your pretty teeth while you changed your gloves.

The alcohol used to disinfect his cuts and scrapes stung, every time he would wince you would softly apologise. One by one, you tended to his wounds and with each bandage he felt himself growing more and more infatuated. As you softly dabbed an alcohol-soaked cotton pad over the smell scrapes near his hairline, he spotted something shiny under your uniform collar.

It was a scent-coating collar, torn and ragged around the edges, clearly old and worn out, but as he inhaled, he could smell the faint scent of you.

“You’re an omega,” he mumbled. You chuckled nervously, movements stuttering for a moment before you leaned away from him.

“Oh, yeah, guess I need a new one huh?” You joked, referring to the band that circled your neck. With a bandage in hand, you leaned back over Shinso and softly pressed it over the scrape, smoothing the edges down with your fingers.

“I’m just gonna check your eyes for any signs of a concussion,” you explained as you pulled out a pen from your pocket, clicking the small button on the side of it. The end lit up, and you pointed it towards his eyes.

“You should be fine… just making sure because you did hit your… head.” You trailed off, too concentrated on the way his pupils contracted and expanded. The way you bit your lip made his heart flutter, and he almost got worried the oximeter would read too high again. But that would mean he would get to stay with you longer so maybe it wasn’t a bad thing.

“Just keep staring at my nose.” Gladly. The light flickering in and out of his vision irritated his eyes even more, so he was thankful when you pocketed the pen and smiled.

“Alright, you’re good to go!” He almost wished there was something wrong just so you would stay with him, but alas, he left the ambulance. All of the other ambulances and police cars were gone, leaving just you, him and your partner.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“No problem, Mr. Hero,” you grinned back.

“It’s-“ The walkie on your belt started barking out codes and addresses, to which you grimaced. Must not be good.

“Shit, gotta go,” you muttered, quickly turning and rushing back into the passenger seat of the ambulance. Your partner got in the driver's seat, and just before they turned on the lights and sirens, you leaned out the window and shouted goodbye to Shinso. He couldn’t stop his lazy grin as he waved back at you, watching you zoom away, off to save someone’s life, he presumed.

He didn’t realise how much of an impact you made on him until he had another rough take down and you weren’t one of the paramedics that showed up. He felt disappointed, and the way the paramedics tended to his injuries wasn’t as gentle as you were. He wasn’t sure why, but he missed you.

It took some searching, but eventually, he found you at an ambulance station during one of your few breaks from being on the road helping patients. As you were taking stock of the inventory in your ambulance, Shinso’s messy indigo hair.

“Hi Mr.Hero,” you greeted happily, climbing down from the back of the ambulance, clipboard in hand.

“What can I do for you? If you’re looking for medical assistance I’m required to tell you to go to the hospital, I can take you there if you need?”

“No, I’m okay,” Shinso denied. While your eyes flashed with confusion, the same gentle yet gleeful smile stayed on your lips.

“I just wanted to thank you.”

“Oh! There’s no need, I’m just doing my job,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand. It looked soft, and he wanted to hold it, brush his thumb over your knuckles, or maybe his lips. To stop him from grabbing your hand and doing just that, he fiddled with his capture weapon, just like he was doing when he first laid eyes on you.

While he didn’t like you denying your hard work as ‘just part of the job’, he understood where you were coming from. He often has the same mentality when it comes to being a hero, and that makes him feel closer to you.

“I also wanted to,” he hesitated, feeling an unusual anxiety bubbling up into his throat. Why did this feel so difficult?

“Ask you to dinner.”

Your smile dropped, and so did Shinso’s stomach. Your cheeks grew warm as you looked away from the hero, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your giddy grin. If you had a tail, it would’ve been wagging at the speed of sound. Composing yourself, you looked back at Shinso, but nervously couldn’t meet his hooded eyes.

“I’d love to.”

The weight on his shoulders lifted, and he quietly sighed in relief with the faintest smile. But as soon as you started to organise when to go out, you both realised that your schedules didn’t align very well. Shinso kept on his stoic appearance even as he felt his hopes crumble. Was this really how it ended, before it even started, all because of conflicting schedules?

But finally, there was a night when you and him were free. It was a month away, but at least it was something. That date is what carried him through work. On tough days, he would remind himself of his dinner with you, counting down the days until it finally arrived.

He couldn’t believe how nervous he felt, but at least his stoic demeanour didn’t betray that fact. The flame of the candle on the table flickered and swayed, Shinso’s purple eyes watching its every move. Time felt like it was moving too slowly. What felt like ten minutes of watching the flame dance was truly only a minute, but every second of it made him more and more anxious.

The longer he waited, the more he fretted that you weren’t going to show up. Perhaps the month's wait had given you enough time to change your mind. Tugging on his sleeves and collar didn’t help to cool him down, but it was the only sign that he was upset. Just as he was about to get up and leave, the chair across from him was pulled back.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” How could he be mad at you? Your skin glowed in the candlelight, your lips parted in an apologetic smile that showed your beautiful teeth (even with any imperfections). You sat down before holding up a single rose in your hand and handing it to him.

“As an apology.”

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” you explained sheepishly, hands nervously fiddling in your lap under the table.

“Don’t worry, it’s perfect,” he smiled softly. Thankfully dinner continued without a hitch, except for when a fan wanted a picture with Shinso. He was annoyed until he caught you stifling a giggle across the table. He loved to see you laugh.

When dinner was over, he didn’t want to say goodbye, even as you stood outside the restaurant, a cab waiting, he didn’t want to let go of your hand. It just fit so well in his. As you turned to him, looking up into his tired eyes, you smiled.

“I had a really good time,” you admitted, squeezing his hand. Lifting up onto your toes, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. While it was only quick, to Shinso it felt like an eternity. Your soft lips on his skin, your scent clouding his senses, your palm on his chest to steady yourself. It took everything in him to not sweep you off your feet at that moment and claim you as his omega. But alas, you stepped away, with a final call for him to text you before you climbed into the taxi.

He was more infatuated than ever, finding more and more opportunities to visit you at the ambulance station. After learning your favourite snacks, he would drop them off for your lunch or dinner if you were working later. Sometimes he’d even leave flowers and on a Valentine’s Day when you were working, he left chocolates and a stuffed bear.

On nights when it was too late for a date but you were both free, you would talk on the phone for hours.

“And then she tried to hit me when I tried to check her blood pressure! I get that no one likes it, but come on! There’s no need to get violent,” you ranted.

“I know what you mean, I feel like old ladies just want to let their anger out at anyone who cares. One time I got a lady's purse back from a robber and she yelled at me for swinging her purse around too much,” Shinso replied with a soft chuckle. You bit your lip when you heard the sound. It was melodic.

“I mean, we’re just trying to help, aren’t we?” You agreed, rolling onto your stomach, legs idly swinging behind you.

“How did you go after the handoff today?” Shinso asked, running his fingers through his soft hair as he also lounged on his bed. Earlier that day, he caught a man in a hit-and-run who didn’t quite like being held accountable. He was claiming he had chest pains which meant an ambulance had to be called, and Shinso was super happy when he saw you climb out of the vehicle.

“He got worse once you and the cops were gone, the asshole even ripped off my collar,” you grumbled. Shinso felt possessiveness and anger at the thought of that guy putting his hands on you and harming you.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” He asked.

“I’m fine, my partner managed to subdue him until we got him to the hospital.” It eased his worries to hear you were unharmed, but he was still worried about you.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” He asked, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Your hum through the speaker sounded like a soothing drone, he could use it as white noise if he wanted to.

“Don’t think so, why?”

“Do you want to come over? Dinner and a movie at my place?” Your legs kicked behind you like an excited teen, butterflies swarming your stomach.

“I’d love to.”

Both you and Shinso slept with grins, excited for the next evening. Work felt like a breeze, nothing could get you down when you knew you would be seeing Shinso when your shift ended. He felt the same, if not more excited and anxious.

Before you knew it, you were standing on his doorstep, fist raised shakily to knock on the door. As soon as your knuckles hit the wood, it swung open, revealing Shinso. He must’ve been waiting on the other side of the door.

He invited you in, to which you graciously accepted. You didn’t miss how he held one arm behind his back, but you were too distracted by looking around his home to say anything. It was cute, and you noticed the cat toys strewn about. Shinso cleared his throat, your attention now trained on him.

“I got something for you,” he mumbled, revealing the box he was keeping hidden. He seemed nervous, which made you feel anxious in return. With ginger touches, you took the box and opened it enough to peek inside. It was a collar, amethyst in colour with shining silver metal on the buckle. A definite upgrade from your last one.

“Shinso!” You gasped, picking it up from the box. The inside of it was soft so it wouldn’t irritate your skin, and you could smell that slightly chemical scent that would cover yours.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Do you like it?” He still asked, wanting to quell his anxiety.

“I love it,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist, and pulling him into a tight hug. He quickly reciprocated, head tucked into your shoulder. Without the old collar, he could smell your scent entirely. It was sweet, intoxicating. You pulled away and turned your back to him while holding up the collar.

While he wished you didn’t have to cover your scent, he still complied, clipping on the collar, wanting to do anything to make you happy. Using your phone as a mirror, you admired how the piece looked around your neck, unable to hold in your excited squeal.

Pulling the hero in for another hug, you muttered repeated thank yous. He held you in his arms as you pulled back to look up at him. Shinso’s smile was soft, but it was enough to make you feel jittery. With your gaze locked on his, the world around you fell silent.

Slowly, he leaned down, lips meeting yours in a kiss so passionate it made your knees weak. But you weren’t worried, you knew he would catch you. His hands groped and tugged on your body, palms rough from years of hero work. Your hands found his hair, threading through the soft strands. Everything grew heated, clothes striped and initial date plans pushed to the side until you were finished.

The rest of the night felt feather light, and like there was a warm glow around Shinso, the edges of your vision tinted in rose. Dinner tasted like magic because he cooked it. And the movie was perfect because he picked it. Everything about him was amazing. You were on cloud nine, even as you went to bed alone in your home.

But that all changed by the next morning. Your body felt hot, coated in a sheen of sweat, and struggling to breathe. Stumbling out of bed and making your way to the bathroom, you could feel the slick between your thighs and realise how hard you were. Your reflection showed your sweat-dotted face and messy hair. Your cheeks didn’t cool even after you splashed cold water on your face, so all you could do was slink back into bed.

Your encounter with Shinso last night must’ve had more of an effect on you than you thought, leaving you in heat and needing more. Even as your hands shook, you managed to dial the man in question.

“Hello?” He spoke into the phone. His voice made you whimper, which he heard.

“‘toshi,” you whimpered.

“Is everything okay, baby?” He asked.

“Need you. So bad,” you panted, unable to resist the temptation of palming yourself through your underwear.

“What’s wrong?” The concerned tone in his voice was noticeable.

“In, ah, heat.” You swore you could hear him fumble the phone.

“I’ll be right there okay? Just hold on for me.” He hung up, much to your chagrin as you wanted to keep listening to his voice. It felt like an eternity before he finally showed up. You met him at the door, almost tackling him the second the door opened. He managed to get you back inside, even as you tried to climb him like a tree.

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, he carried you back inside, trying to ignore the way your scent made his body react. He felt himself growing hard, and a hot flush washed over his body. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you right then and there, but he needed to wait a little while longer, then he could have you. Carrying you to your bedroom was the easy part, but getting you to let go of him was another level of difficulty.

You ended up just dragging him onto the bed with you, desperately clawing at his back to keep him close, to drown in him. His hands shook, his grip on you wavering as he fought his urges. As much as he wanted to breed you, he wanted to make his omega as comfortable as possible. 

Finally unlatching you from his body, leaving you to whine and squirm on the bed. Hitoshi shrugged the duffle bag off his shoulder, one you hadn’t even noticed. Blanket after blanket, he pulled them from the bag and placed them around you on the bed, creating a nest for you. 

“I wanted to bring pillows but I didn’t have enough room-” your lips collided with his, arms pulling him close till your body was flush against his. 

“It’s perfect,” you whispered between kisses, slowly pulling him down to the bed. Desperately needing air, he parted from your kiss as your back hit the mattress. You looked like a god below him, the sweat dotting your skin made your body glow. Your hands cupped his face, warm palms on warmer cheeks. 

“Please Hitoshi, make me your omega, be my alpha.” All self-control left him when he heard those words fall from your sweet lips. Capturing your lips once more, his needy hands started pulling on your clothes, desperately wanting to feel your bare skin against his. He couldn’t get them off fast enough, almost resorting to tearing them off when your lips trailed down his neck. Your scent had flooded his senses, his vision clouded fuchsia and all he could think about was you, you, you. 

The moment your underwear was pushed down enough, your hand travelled down between your thighs, fingers collecting the slick around your hole before gently but eagerly pressing them inside. You couldn’t wait for Hitoshi to undress himself, and the sight of you preparing yourself for his cock was something he never wanted to forget. As soon as his clothes were off, his fingers prodded your entrance. Reluctantly you removed your fingers, but you were given little time to dwell before his thicker digits fingered you. 

You occupied your hand by jerking your cock, the wetness on your fingers helping your hand glided smoothly. There were practically hearts in Hitoshi’s eyes as he watched your face contort with pleasure, your eyebrows knitting together when he added a third finger to your wet hole. 

He couldn’t wait any longer, retracting his fingers and hooking your knees over his shoulders. Using your slick as lube on his cock, he pressed his tip to your tight ring of muscle, biting his lip to hold in a hiss of pleasure when he slowly thrusted himself inside you. You, however, moaned unabashedly as his cock carved itself inside you, making it fit perfectly like two puzzle pieces. 

Hitoshi was quick to start an even pace, pressing your knees to your shoulders so his cock could thrust even deeper inside you. You couldn’t grab him in this position as much as you wished you could, instead twisting his blankets in a white-knuckled grip. Your eyes rolled back, swearing he was rearranging your guts at that very moment. Hitoshi couldn’t stop his groans as he felt your walls cling to his cock, pulling him back in every time his hips pulled away. 

Precum dribbled from your tip, leaving glistening droplets on your stomach. The purple-haired man above you leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours to inhale your scent, angling his cock to hit your prostate in the process. Each thrust against the spot sent shockwave after shockwave of pleasure through your body, making your fingers and toes tingle. 

Groans turned to growls as Hitoshi felt his peak building, his knot beginning to swell. He rut could only rut himself inside you, letting go of your knees to wrap his arms around your arched back instead, bodies pressed together. Your ankles quickly locked behind his back, preventing him from pulling out, as if he even wanted to, nails leaving red marks across his shoulder blades. Hitoshi tucked his head between your neck and shoulder, teeth brushing against your skin, but not yet biting down. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he growled over and over, his voice straining and growing in pitch until he reached his peak, ropes of cum coating your insides as his teeth finally sunk into flesh. The feeling of him filling you with his seed, his knot locking you together, and him officially making you his omega brought you to orgasm. Hitoshi’s hips finally stilled, panting against your neck as you both came down from your highs. Your fingers played with his soft hair, unable to stop a smile from gracing your lips. 

Hitoshi pressed a soft kiss to the bite mark on your shoulder before lifting his head. He smiled softly, threading his fingers with yours as he kissed you deeply. 

“My omega.”

-----

i hope you enjoyed :) also writing the next chapter of personal pornstar so stay tuned ;)

[marksbear2]

Stalker Mark Hoffman x Ex male reader

I just rewatched a few Saw movies and it kinda just hit me abt like why this is my fav franchise in the first place.

Warnings ⚠️: Possessiveness, obsession, mild stalking, dark psychological themes, emotional manipulation, references to past trauma, tension, angst.⚠️

“Every Piece of You”

The city never slept, but you tried to. In your one-bedroom apartment on the fifth floor, behind locked doors and drawn blinds, you told yourself it was over. The late-night knocks, the subtle notes tucked under your door, the uncanny feeling of being watched—it had been a few weeks since the last sign.

You almost believed he’d moved on.

Almost.

Mark Hoffman wasn’t someone you could easily forget. When you first met him, he was magnetic—sharp eyes, slow smile, and a presence that filled any room. A hero on paper, a detective, a man who said all the right things but always carried something darker under his skin.

You never expected the weight of his love to crush you.

You left him. Not cleanly, not easily, but you left. Packed a bag when he was gone on a case, changed your number, got transferred to a different precinct. You didn’t leave a note—just silence. You figured that was the only thing he might understand.

But Mark always finds things he wants. And he never, ever lets go.

⸻

It started again with the coffee mug.

You walked into your kitchen at 7 a.m., sleep still clinging to your limbs, and there it was. Sitting on the counter. Black ceramic. “#1 Detective” in red lettering—the mug he always used at your place. The one you threw out after the breakup.

Your hands trembled when you touched it. Warm. Someone had used it that morning.

You searched the apartment top to bottom. Nothing. No signs of forced entry. No notes.

You called the landlord. He said no one had been in. You told yourself maybe you forgot it, maybe you imagined throwing it out.

But deep down, you knew better.

⸻

Three nights later, you came home and the apartment smelled like his cologne. Faint. Faint enough to make you question reality. But you froze in the doorway, bags still in hand, because your bedroom door was open.

You never left it open.

And on the bed, folded neatly, was your old hoodie. The one Mark used to steal and wear around your apartment, acting like it was his. He’d been in your space again. Unseen, unheard—but there.

A note this time, slipped under the pillow:

“You left too fast. Forgot who you belong to.”

You burned it. You didn’t call the cops.

You knew what Mark was capable of. And worse, you knew no one would believe you. Not against him.

⸻

A week passed.

You started checking behind your shower curtain every night, locking the window twice, triple-checking the door. You took different routes home. You left your lights on. But you still woke up in the middle of the night, feeling his breath on your skin, hearing his voice in your dreams.

It wasn’t until you found him in your apartment—actually there, sitting on the couch like he owned the place—that you realized how far he was willing to go.

“Hey,” he said like nothing had happened. “Did you miss me?”

You stood frozen in the doorway. Your keys fell from your hand.

He didn’t move, just watched you with that unreadable calm he always wore. But his eyes—those were full of hunger. Not lust. Need.

“Mark,” you finally breathed. “Get out.”

“Why would I do that?” He leaned back, spreading his arms across the back of the couch. “You didn’t really want me gone. You were scared. That’s okay. I forgive you.”

You stepped backward, hand reaching for your phone.

“Don’t,” he warned. His voice dropped, sharp and cold.

And you stopped.

Because you remembered the last time you saw that look in his eyes. It was when he came home from a case, blood on his hands, rage humming under his skin. He never raised a hand to you—but you knew what he was capable of.

“I gave you space,” he said, standing now. Slow steps toward you. “I let you run. I let you think you could leave me.”

You backed into the wall. “We’re over, Mark. You don’t get to—”

“We are never over,” he snapped, and the mask slipped. His calm shattered into obsession, raw and wild. “You are mine. I know every scar on your body. Every little sound you make when you sleep. Every weakness. You think you can just erase me?”

He was inches away now. You didn’t dare move.

“I’ve watched you,” he whispered. “For months. You look so lonely. So tired. You don’t eat right. You don’t sleep. You need someone to take care of you.”

You turned your head, refusing to meet his eyes.

He cupped your jaw, gentle now. Too gentle. Like you were glass, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said. “I just want you to remember what we had. What we still have.”

You finally looked at him—and you saw it. The madness. But beneath it, you saw grief. Longing. He’d turned his love into a cage, but somewhere inside him, he still thought this was what love was supposed to be.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t fight. You just said, “You need help.”

And that, somehow, seemed to crack something in him.

His face twisted—rage, pain, fear. “I need you. That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

He pulled you into a crushing hug, burying his face in your shoulder. You didn’t hug him back. But you didn’t move.

You didn’t know what else to do.

⸻

He didn’t leave that night.

He made dinner. Talked to you like it was normal. Slept in your bed, arms wrapped around you like chains. Whispered promises in the dark.

“I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“You’re safe with me.”

You didn’t sleep.

⸻

You don’t know what the future holds now. Whether you’ll find a way out. Whether you even want to anymore.

Because part of you still remembers the man he used to be. The way he kissed you in the rain. The way he protected you. The way he made you feel seen.

But that man is gone.

And in his place stands someone who will burn the world to keep you close.

Because Mark Hoffman doesn’t love.

He claims.

The end

[felinecyan]

Wonders of the Skies

[Keigo Takami x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When he finds himself bored, stressed, or tired… he seeks comfort in not only the stars, but his favorite spot to relax, right on your balcony.

WC: 3634

Category: Fluff, Pre-Rise of Villains arc

Since my other fics are filled with angsty drama (and my birthday is officially four days away 🗣️), I decided to be nice and drop one that’s full-on fluff. Enjoy ☺️

『••✎••』

The stars being out should've been his first sign. The clouds were thin, the night sky clear of any smog, and the wind was still. A beautiful night. The perfect night for such a tiring day.

He was all over the place with his schedule. Between patrolling his section of Musutafu, taking reports from his informants, and training his little fledgling, he could barely catch a breath. Not to mention, he had to deal with the paperwork that came from the Hero Commission.

So he was exhausted. He needed a breather—something to make his body relax after being worked so hard. So, wishful thinking and a bit of insomnia were the perfect excuse for him not to enter the warmth of his apartment.

And there you were. Standing on your balcony, leaning against the railing as the soft breeze of the night blew. The moon's soft glow reflected against your skin and hair. The way the light framed your face and illuminated your skin was nothing short of beautiful.

You had no idea he was there, standing on the rooftop just above your apartment building. He always did this. On nights when he felt the weight of his responsibilities too much, he would come to you.

Your apartment was one of the tallest buildings in his area. It gave him a bird's eye view of everything below, the perfect vantage point for him to keep a watchful eye out for anything suspicious.

It was just an added bonus that you were here.

The first time he came here, he only stayed for a couple of minutes before returning home. He was just checking the place out and getting familiar with the area. Then, he found you.

He saw how you leaned on the railing of the balcony, gazing at the night sky and humming along to a tune only you knew. It was something he was familiar with, something that soothed his mind, but he couldn't figure out where he had heard it before.

So, he asked you in the most subtle way possible.

"What are you humming?"

And the reaction you had was enough to make his forced smile genuine.

Thinking back on it, he probably shouldn't have popped up like a damn jack-in-the-box. You were peacefully enjoying the night sky until you looked up into his upside-down face and nearly had a heart attack.

His first meeting with you was definitely memorable.

He remembered the look of absolute shock and fear as you stared into his face. And then he remembered the moment your expression shifted into one of irritation as you scolded him for scaring the hell out of you.

You, scolding the number three hero for scaring you. You had some serious guts to do something like that.

That's what intrigued him about you in the first place. It was a nice refresher when comparing you to his... "fanbase."

But he was getting off-topic.

As he gazed at you from the rooftop, he felt his eyes soften. It was odd how you had this effect on him.

Just looking at you made him feel relaxed. Not to mention your voice, how sweet and comforting it sounded. Even if you were just humming, you still held his attention.

He could listen to your voice all day.

He let out a quiet sigh as he leaned on the railing of the roof. From up here, you seemed so small, almost insignificant compared to the size of his city. But, in his mind, you were much bigger than the city itself.

He couldn't quite explain why, but there was something about you that made him feel comfortable. Your presence alone was enough to make him feel at peace.

With one final sigh, he hopped down from the rooftop. He wasn't properly wearing his headpiece, but it was fine. He didn't mind the whistle of the wind in his ears. It was only for a few seconds, anyway.

In no time at all, right before he hit the ground, he snapped open his wings and caught the wind. He watched as you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his boots thudding against your metal railing. You spun around, looking like a deer caught in headlights, only to glare at him when you realized who was the cause of your heart stopping.

"Jeez, Hawks," You placed a hand over your chest. "A warning would be nice."

He chuckled as he landed in front of you. His wings were open wide, the tips of his feathers brushing against the edges of the railing. "But then I wouldn't get to see that adorable look on your face."

You huffed and crossed your arms, your glare still in place. It didn't seem like you were really mad, though. There was a twitch in your lips that made him smirk.

There were some things he could really struggle with, but deciphering all the emotions and expressions on people's faces? That was easy. It was something he needed to learn when he was younger, and while he might not use the skill often, he was still happy to have it.

It helped him get a read on people, and more importantly, it helped him know villains and criminals.

And, occasionally, it helped him figure out what the hell you were thinking.

"How was work today?" You asked, already forgiving him for scaring the shit out of you. "Busy?"

"Eh, the usual," he waved off. "Patrol was a breeze. A couple of muggers were caught stealing purses, but that's about it."

He watched as you tilted your head, your brow raised. "You're not telling me the whole story."

"Well, what can I say?" He shrugged, finally hopping down from the railing. He stretched out his wings and folded them against his back. "I'm a man of many talents. Gotta keep some of the fun parts to myself, right?"

You scoffed, opting to stare at the city below rather than give him a response. He didn't mind, though. He liked looking at you, whether it was your face or the scenery.

"What about you?" He asked, stepping beside you. "How was your day?"

"Good." You sighed. "I'm happy it's Friday. I needed this break."

He chuckled. "Don't we all?"

Though, he never really took breaks. Well, not proper ones, at least. The closest he got to a vacation was going undercover for an extended period of time. But that was far from relaxing.

"I had to set up a surprise party for one of my friends," you said, a tired smile on your face. "Well, technically, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. He's been through a lot recently, so I thought it would help lift his spirits a bit."

"Sounds like a fun time," Keigo mused, a smile on his face. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, his birthday," you answered, your gaze shifting back to the city. "I've never celebrated his birthday, so this is the first time I've ever thrown a party for him. I'm honestly a bit worried that it won't be good."

Keigo hummed and turned to face the city. "I'm sure he'll love it. It's the thought that counts, right?"

"Yeah." You laughed quietly, looking at the sky. "I just hope he'll enjoy it."

For a few moments, silence enveloped the two of you. A comfortable one, but still silence. It gave him the time to appreciate the view in front of him.

Sure, the city lights were bright, and the air was a little stuffy, but the moon's light and the stars' glittering made it worth it, especially when they were reflected in your eyes.

You looked ethereal.

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly," you said softly as if the sound of your voice would disturb the stars. "What it would feel like to soar through the sky. Just imagine the view."

He looked at you, watching your expression carefully. You didn't notice his eyes on you. Instead, your attention was on the sky, your gaze full of wonder.

He hummed, a mischievous smirk on his face. "Want a demonstration?"

You snapped your head towards him, your eyes wide. "What?"

Without saying a word, he removed the headset against his neck and slid it back where it belonged. He turned his body towards yours and spread his wings, stretching them out. He then reached his hands out to you, his smile growing wider.

"What are you doing?" You asked, eyeing his hands cautiously.

"What do you think?" He retorted. "Come on, take my hands. I won't drop you."

Your expression didn't change. If anything, your wariness grew.

"What?" He teased. "Scared? You don't trust me?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You know, it's times like these that make me question our friendship."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, his smile remaining. "Just take my hands. It'll be fun."

For a second, you continued to stare at him. And then you let out a sigh.

"Okay, fine," you muttered, grabbing onto his hands. He figured you probably thought you'd have time to relax and prep yourself, but no. He couldn't be here for too long, and this bird never liked being cooped up.

He only waited long enough to ensure you wouldn't fly out of his arms. Then, with a mighty flap of his wings, he pushed the two of you into the air.

The look on your face was priceless.

He'd seen fear before. Hell, he'd experienced it plenty of times. But seeing it on you? It was hilarious.

Your grip on his arms tightened, and your legs flailed around in a desperate attempt to find something to hold onto. And even though he couldn't hear you, the way your mouth opened was enough to tell him that you were screaming.

His stomach hurt from how hard he was laughing. He wanted to look at your face again, but he didn't want to kill the two of you. So, he opted to keep his focus on the sky above and the city below.

He made sure to avoid the clouds and kept his wings steady. You wanted a demonstration, right? Well, a demonstration you'd get.

He glided through the sky, letting his feathers do the hard work. And while he had been in the air countless times, this felt different.

Usually, when he was flying, it was because he had to save someone. He didn't have time to appreciate the view or take in the fresh air. And even when he had some spare time, he would spend it napping or taking reports from his informants.

But now, he could relax. No emergencies, no patrols, no paperwork, and no informants. It was just him, the stars, and you.

And for once, he felt like a regular guy.

He wasn't Hawks, the number two hero, or the kid with too many feathers and not enough time. He was just a regular guy—someone who could fly and who could show the wonders of the skies.

"You can open your eyes now," he called out, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard. Of course, he wasn't completely sure they were even closed in the first place, but you were clutching his arms pretty tightly, so he figured it was safe to assume they were.

Slowly, he felt your grip loosen. Your legs stopped moving, and your head turned away from him. Your eyes were closed, and he watched as you hesitantly cracked them open.

He didn't say anything as you stared at the sky, your eyes wide. The look on your face was one he would treasure forever.

Your mouth was parted slightly, your gaze was full of wonder and amazement, and your expression was a mixture of surprise and joy.

It was like a child seeing a new toy.

"Woah," you breathed out, your grip loosening more. "This is... wow."

"Right?" He laughed. "Oh, here, let me lend you some help."

Before you could ask what he meant, the pair of visors against his head detached themselves and flew in front of you. As quickly as they were removed, they were replaced, and he smiled at the gasp that left your lips.

"The wind gets annoying," he explained, a smirk on his face. "This makes it easier to enjoy the view."

"Don't you need them? To see, I mean."

Aw, concerned for his safety. How cute.

"Nah," he waved off, "I've done this plenty of times. My eyes are used to the wind."

You hummed, and then your arms moved up and rested on his shoulders. Your legs stopped flailing around, and your body leaned closer to his. He was glad you did. You were starting to slip.

"Is this better?" He teased, a grin on his face. "No more screaming, I hope?"

You glared at him, though there was no heat behind it. "You know what? Yes, it is. Now, can we please focus on the view?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. We can."

After a few minutes, your gaze finally left him and settled on the view. He took the chance to look at you, to memorize your features, and to burn the image of you in his mind.

He didn't need the view you needed; he's seen it plenty of times. Instead, he wanted the view he'd never get a chance to see—the one where you were enjoying yourself.

He wished the moment would last longer so that he would have more time to put a smile on your face, but the time flew by. Plus, he needed at least two hours of rest, and it was already close to midnight.

So, he slowly descended back onto the balcony, landing softly and gently. Disappointment was clear on your face as you gave him back his visors and looked at the sky longingly.

He understood. It was the same feeling he had whenever he landed. It was nice being in the sky. It was nice not having a care in the world.

It was nice being free.

"Thanks for that," you said, turning to him with a small smile. "That was amazing."

"You're welcome," he smiled, taking off his headset and resting it against his neck once again. "Hate to ruin the mood, but unfortunately, duty calls."

"Already?" You frowned, "At least stay for some tea."

He would love to, but he really shouldn't. He was already pushing his limit as it was.

"Sorry, doll," he sighed. "Another time, okay?"

You let out a quiet hum and looked at the city. He followed your gaze, and for a second, the two of you stood in silence.

He couldn't believe it's been three months.

It felt like yesterday that he found you on the balcony. Now, you were standing in front of him, offering him a drink, and he was about to reject it.

But he couldn't, not today. Today, he needed to leave.

With a sigh, he turned towards the railing and stretched his wings. His boots scraped against the metal bars as he climbed up, his feet finding purchase on the railing. He looked back at you, his wings twitching as he prepared to take flight.

"Wait!"

He froze, his body turning towards you. He cocked his head to the side and watched as you walked towards him.

"Before you go," you said, a hand reaching into your pocket. You pulled out a key, its surface shining brightly from the moon's light. "I wanted to give you this."

He felt his heart drop as he took the key. He looked down at it, his fingers grazing over the metal.

"That... surprise party I mentioned earlier? I'm going to change it to a dinner," you said, giving him a gentle smile. "I feel it aligns with your schedule better; more of a chance for you to drop by, you know?"

He felt his eyes soften, and a small smile formed on his face.

"Why change the entire birthday party because of me?" He asked, raising a brow. "Shouldn't it be what your friend wants? Since it's his special day and all that?"

"Well, yeah, but—" You hesitated. "I mean... don't you look at dates? You know what date it's going to be in... I don't know, five minutes?"

He raised a brow, the smile on his face widening.

"It's going to be the 28th of December."

"Yes, and...?"

You blinked.

"What do you mean, and?"

"Do you want the exact time and minute, too?"

Your lips were parted, and your eyes were wide. He couldn't help but laugh at the look on your face. You looked so shocked, so surprised.

"I can't believe it," you mumbled, your mouth finally closing. "So, you're telling me that it is so insignificant that you can't even remember the date of your own birthday?"

That smile of his... faltered.

His heart dropped.

His stomach twisted.

His blood turned cold.

What did you just say?

"My birthday?" He croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. Oh, how his voice shook.

"Yes, your birthday," you replied. "When's the last time you celebrated it?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mind was blank. He couldn't remember. Of course, he knew what tomorrow was; he always made himself aware of the date, but what about the day itself? He didn't have a clue.

He'd never celebrated his birthday, not since the Commission took him. There wasn't a reason to, and there wasn't a need for it. You had asked him when it was three weeks ago, and he remembered every conversation and figured it was plain curiosity.

He thought you'd forgotten.

"Are you okay?"

His eyes snapped towards yours, and the concern in them almost made him fall. Almost.

"I... got it right, didn't I?" You whispered, taking a step towards him. "I didn't just mess up your date, did I?"

"No, no, you didn't." He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "It's just that... well, I haven't celebrated my birthday in a long time. I... honestly didn't think I was missing out on much."

You hummed and nodded to the key in his hand. "Well, how about we start now?"

He looked down at the object in his hands. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface. It felt warm against his skin, almost as if it were inviting him.

"Tomorrow, we'll celebrate your birthday," you continued, your voice soft and comforting. "Whenever you can. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to make it, and I'm okay with that, but if you can, then that's great."

"I—" He looked at you, his eyes shining. "How'd you know I'd visit tonight?"

You snorted, a small smile on your face. "You always visit on Tuesdays. I didn't have high hopes, but I'm glad I did it anyway."

He was stunned. Speechless, even. He didn't even realize every time he visited was on a Tuesday. Hell, he didn't even know he had a schedule.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" You nudged him gently. "Go home. Get some rest. Stop by tomorrow if you can, or just enjoy the day. Either way, happy birthday, Hawks."

His wings twitched, and a warmth filled his chest. His eyes softened, and his lips curved upwards.

"Keigo."

You faltered, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"Huh? You want me to leave?"

"...What?"

"You said 'okay go' so—"

"No, no, that's not what I—" He let out a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm saying, Keigo. Call me Keigo."

"...what?"

He was starting to regret this.

"My name," he clarified, looking at you. "Keigo Takami. That's my name. You don't have to call me Hawks, not if I can call you by your name. Just... uh, don't go around calling me that, you know? Keep it a secret. Between us. Yeah?"

He cringed. God, he sounded so awkward.

But it didn't matter because you evidently didn't hear the stutters and the hesitation in his voice. Or maybe you did and were nice enough not to point it out.

Either way, a wide smile was on your face, and your eyes were bright.

"Happy birthday then, Keigo."

Oh, he wasn't used to this. Hearing his name was a new experience. It's been so long, so, so long since he heard it. Honestly, it's been so long, and his brain was trying so hard to connect his name to him.

He missed hearing his name.

He loved his name.

"Thank you," he smiled, and it was the most genuine smile he's ever made.

And then he jumped. His wings spread, and he took off into the night. But unlike the other times, he didn't go straight home.

Instead, he went higher, higher, higher. Until he couldn't, and then he stopped, his gaze fixed on the sky.

There were so many stars, and the moon was big and bright. The wind was harsh, but he didn't mind. He was used to it, after all.

But what he wasn't used to was the warmth in his chest. It was foreign and strange, but he liked it. He liked the way it made him feel, and he wanted to keep it forever.

And so, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And, without a doubt in his mind, he said the words that were stuck in his throat for so long.

"Happy birthday to me."

Because not even two minutes after he left, on the 28th of December, 00:01 AM, he received a text from you:

The key wasn't your actual gift, by the way, so make sure you eventually swing by, whether it be tomorrow or next week.

Again, happy birthday!

And then warm feeling in his chest only grew

[villainousauthor]

The hero wrinkles their nose at smell of antiseptic wipes, at the cold feel against their skin, as the villain prepares to draw more blood. They've lost count how many vials Villain has taken at this point.

Hero winces, trying to flinch away at the inevitable sharp pinch, and Villain digs their fingers into their arm some more. They press hard, cold hands keeping them still. "If I mess up, I'll have to stick you again." They warn, voice level. Paper crinkles under where Hero sits, the soft sound filling the silence.

Hero keeps their gaze downward, the bright florescent lights over head giving them a headache. You think with how long they've been here, they would have gotten used to the ugly, artificial glare, but they miss the sun.

They look up at Villain through their lashes, who's currently too focused on their current task to notice, eyebrows pinched together as they seem deep in thought.

"I doubt you're even certified to be drawing blood in the first place." Hero ribs, voice quiet, the words light but the humor just quite not there.

Villain snorts, as they finish and pull the IV out gently. "I've seemed to be able to do it fine all these weeks." They apply the cotton bandage to the area, securing it in place, though it's honestly not necessary, the small wound already likely healed.

Hero knows they shouldn't be trying to make Villain laugh, or trying to lighten the tense air that surrounds their every interaction. They should be attempting to escape, should be fighting tooth and nail against the strange experiments their arch nemesis insists on trying, but so many failed escapes and so many weeks without the presence of any other person has them weak for any human contact they can get.

They've almost begun to mistake the way Villain grabs their arm when taking blood, the way Villain's cold hand holds their face still when swabbing their mouth, the way they stand close when checking their vitals, as misplaced forms of affection.

It's pure delusion, Hero knows this, but they crave another persons touch so much they can almost believe it. Thinking about it too much makes their head hurt more than even the obnoxious overhead lights do.

Villain takes their silence as a sign to continue speaking. "Soon enough, I'll find the secret behind how your regenerative abilities work and then I'll be unstoppable." They say cleaning up, and placing the three tubes of blood they took on the tray to their left. Hero's head swirls as they watch the swishing of the dark red liquid.

Facing them again, still standing close, Villain's eyes finally meet Hero's and their voice softens slightly when they say this next part. "I won't have to poke and prod you so much when I do." Their voice is gentle enough that Hero wants to believe them, to trust them.

Hero licks their dry lips, voice cracking slightly. "Will...will you finally let me go once you do?" The question Hero has been avoiding asking this whole time.

The question gives Villain pause, as they seem to consider it for a moment. They step closer, placing their hands on either side of where Hero sits, bracketing them in. "I could...I probably should.." Villain's voice is whisper quiet as they stand inches away, breath fanning over Hero's ear.

"But I think prefer keeping you for myself."

[boosnotes]

can i request maybe neo metal sonic x an engineering/programming reader who once helped repair him when he was injured as normal metal sonic? although his motor abilities were shut down during the process he still remembers how innately intimate the act of painstakingly restoring him to perfect condition: smoothing out the dents in his metal, replacing wires that were damaged, even going over the chipped paint to make him shine…

he still remembers these things (as robots tend to never forget) and has this strange cloying fondness for the reader. even in his plans for world domination he quietly carves out a spot for them by his side. the fondness he feels is conflicting as it goes against all logical sense but he feels compelled to do so. he is not very good at processing love.

maybe the reader is a bit apprehensive about joining on account of being one of the heroes, but neo wants them by his side.

Give me your hand and I will make you a monarch

Neo Metal Sonic x reader

Warnings: kidnapping, hostage situation, the end of the world, just metal sonic stuff in general, gun/weapon use Genre: fluff? Ig? A/n: omg this is my first request, hope you like it anonymous person on the internet, you made me so happy. I checked the sonic x reader tag and saw another person literally requested the same thing, but I haven't read it yet so let's hope it's different, probably it was the same person thinking I was taking long. Sorry for the wait, I just need to be sleep deprived to write things that I like, tho thanks to you I have a couple of drafts of metal x reader, so you will be feed nicely for a bit

The blue light of the monitors shined the room, even though your view was upside down, it forced you to see the suffering of your people against Neo Metal Sonic hands; badniks destroying cities, capturing civilians, harming people. You felt hopeless and so stupid, this was all your fault, why did you take time repairing him that time? If you'd left him there, then he'd never be transformed into this. The guilt echoes in your insides, a mixture of wanting to look away, despite also forcing yourself to do it in a form of punishment.

The rope against your wrists hurt, the scratching of the material against your skin made it already uncomfortable, yet the tightness within it almost cut the blood circulation. The piece of cloth in your mouth was wet from all the drooling and the extended amount of time it had been in there, you felt how it spread beyond the knot against your head, the fabric hitting you at random moments on your back, making you spin around anxious a lot of times. At least the floor was just a plain floor, the cold metal made you stay awake, not in an unwelcome way, more like the cold side of the pillow.

You had been captured by badniks while helping your town folks find shelter, then you were thrown here and no one has appeared in hours. It was quite odd, not a cage in sight, you passed the jail area while being hauled here. You tossed around for hours, nothing occurring, no noise or signs of life apart from the computer. The yarns were too strong to break free from them, and they didn't leave much space for mobility.

You flinched after hearing the door abruptly opening, the sight of a flock of ruined badniks carried in a container by a different version of the Gamma robots disoriented you. What exactly is happening is beyond you, warily you stared between the container and the functioning robot. They unlace you, breaking the dreaded rope and throwing the cloth away, lamentably, before you'd think that they are another robot gaining free though, he shoves a pistol on your head.

"[F I X T H E M.]" They demanded, their monotone menacing voice made you not think twice about obliging as soon as they left the box before you. Your skilled hands reconstructed each part with no problem, you're used to working under pressure, you never had a gun pointing at you directly, despite repairing things mid-battle was fairly common. With your peripheral view, the modernized version of Gamma lingered near you, never lowering the weapon, they made sure you'd actually fix the broken badniks, with no tricks up your sleeve.

Like that, one after the other came out of the room in new condition, slowly building a smooth rhythm, mending them was second nature to you, like cleaning dishes or playing a rhythm game. You hold machines near your heart, they've become so advanced they're mostly sentient nowadays, it's only fair to treat them with kindness and love, that's your work philosophy, it has helped you to make the impossible possible. Your heart extended even to him, which you now regret, he was one of your best works while also the thing that kept you awake at night.

The door kept open for longer than usual, a long claw hand put itself between the doorframe and the automatic door. You comprehended immediately who it was, you spent a lot of time polishing those fingers if you squint hard enough, you were going to be able to see some carved designs you added in because of your boredom. He bent down a bit to pass through the door, his massive new form made it difficult to maneuver with the design of this ex-eggman's base. You didn't know if the Gamma model did that or not, but it seemed like they stiffened up and went out of the room, not waiting for any order of sorts.

You two stared in an awkward silence, the sense of familiarity behind both of you, yet never directly interacting made it difficult to traverse the situation. His red glowy eyes studied you carefully, watching you work and how you react to him were polar opposites, in his "coma", you talked to yourself carefree, but now your body language signaled you were closed off as ever.

He knew his feelings were not in line with Sonic's, that this was his wiring doing its job at processing his own experiences. He sought you, he needed you at his side, the only thing he could call his own volition, not as a trophy, but instead as a reminder that he was not him, but better. He was doing something you deserved, yet never had, acknowledging your true value. His time with you was incoherent, despite that, the way your hands treated him with so much care, or the way you apologized every time you had to replace a wire, it was so idiotic, somehow he ended up perfected far beyond Eggman's abilities.

Someone like you was a must have in his empire, sitting at his side as he made the world a more fitting place, feeling your touch every time you fixed him from his latest encounter. That's how things should be, efficient, satisfying. His eyes focused on your entire being, the way you preoccupied yourself by toying with your utensils, or the nearly invisible sweat coming out of your neck.

"Be by my side." Was the first thing he spoke, your eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. What? "Work for me and I will bring you fulfillment." His combination of words was more than strange, you were pretty sure his creator never intended for him to speak, it must be an error in his new programming.

"You need an upgrade to your system." You threw into the air, scoffing at his odd demand and looking away, your focus went back to the badnik in front of you. In your mind, Neo Metal Sonic was acting so out of character, you can't even argue that that is Sonic's feelings acting, cause he saw you purely platonically, his loveless ass was too free to own more than his pair of stinky shoes and gloves.

"You helped me once, you're now willingly helping me conquer the world." He pointed out that it was the most logical thing in the world, but you were far from logical, emotions usually made you do very questionable things. "I'm offering you the extension of your services, and great privileges when my empire settles itself, you'll be my right-hand man."

"I'm being held at gunpoint, that's not exactly willingly." You grumbled sarcastically, screwing harder than necessary, making it pop out again. You groaned frustrated, you didn't want this, you didn't like what he was offering, you'd rather die than go against your principles, hurting the people you grew up with and love was out of the question.

"Correct, nonetheless, you're still working as we speak." Fuck, you stopped moving your hands, leaving the tweezers on the ground. You look up at him, finally giving him your whole attention, a scowl decorating your face. "It is natural to seek protection from the strongest individual, who is myself at the moment."

You didn't respond to anything, making a silent protest, in some way, you were also considering his offering. The world was chaos right now, deep down you didn't want to die, Sonic and his friends were fighting against him, frustratingly enough, it was too much for them, no real change had been done since this all began, in fact, things only got worse. He could sense the doubt bubbling inside you, so with an extended hand, he confessed his deepest opinion about you.

"I see you as an equal." Your eyes widen at those words, your heart skipping a beat, not in fear, but in fondness. He appreciated your work, he still remembered all the little projects you distracted yourself with while revamping him back together, your skills were unique, your talent just needed a more organized approach, changing your style from a more abstract to a renaissance, more palatable for the ignorant eye. "Will you accept now?"

Your shaky hand accepted his, doubt and nervousness reflected your action, however, the way he firmly grasped it and pulled you up, made you think maybe, just maybe, you're making the right choice. Both your brain and heart were telling you this was the right and wrong choice at the same time, it didn't make any sense, even so, the utter confidence he had in you made you give in.

[sycamorelibrary754]

New Year, New Family

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Platonic Reader, Avengers x Platonic Reader

Summary: It’s been a year since Wanda Maximoff joined the Avengers. You and the team gather at the compound to ring in the New Year until the fireworks trigger past trauma for the young redhead. 

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, flashbacks, and death.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Happy New Year! This story is set after Avengers: Age of Ultron but before Captain America: Civil War. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Peter urged, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

You took a reluctant break from the carefully bandaging his wrist, lifting your gaze to meet his hopeful eyes. “No, Pete. I’m not a New Year’s Eve person, and I certainly can’t picture myself celebrating amidst Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, his persistence unwavering. “You mean your friends?”

“At work, sure, they’re friends,” you clarified, “but at one of Tony’s over-the-top parties, with a guest list longer than the Great Wall of China, they become Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” 

“But this year is different!” Peter countered, showing you the invitation. “There’s no extravagant bash planned! Ms. Potts convinced Tony that those wild parties were a distraction. It will just be the team, I promise. Please, Y/N?”

With a heavy sigh, you relented, “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Yes!” Peter beamed, his grin contagious. “I’ll let Ms. Potts know you’re coming!” And in an instant, he darted for the door, barely avoiding a collision with your desk as he sprinted out, an unmistakable smile plastered on his face.

*^~^*

"Office hours.” That was the nickname you came up with when the Big Green guy was off on one mission or another, leaving you in charge of his lab. After the chaos with Ultron, Bruce vanished without a trace, slipping entirely off the grid. As a result, office hours have become a permanent feature. You clung to the hope that he would return. Your eyes were glued to a microscope when a familiar voice broke through the moment. “Knock knock.”

You turned to see Wanda framed in the doorway, her fiery red hair glinting in the light and a hand pressed against her left ribcage. “Hey, Wanda, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She stepped inside with a hint of urgency in her voice. “I was wondering if you could look at my side. The last mission was brutal—I took a hard fall, and I think I might have cracked a rib. The Med Bay is packed to the brim, so if you're busy, I totally understand, but…” 

“Wanda,” you interjected, concern creeping into your voice. “Just sit down for a moment.”

“FRIDAY, could you check Ms. Maximoff’s vitals and run a full body scan, please?” you requested, you tended to the visible injuries that marked her skin.

“Certainly, Dr. Y/L/N,” FRIDAY responded promptly. “Vitals are strong, with no signs of internal bleeding detected. However, a hairline fracture of the sixth rib is present.” 

“Looks like you got lucky, Maximoff,” you smirked.

“How do you figure?” Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent slipping through ever so slightly as she winced. 

“You came all the way down here instead of heading to the Med Bay. Luckily, we have that extra Regeneration Cradle that Dr. Banner uses right here. Just thirty minutes in there, and you’ll feel as good as new,” you said, your voice filled with encouragement.

Wanda's eyes lit up with hope. “Are you sure Bruce won’t mind?”

You offered a solemn grin. "I'll handle the fallout when he returns. For now, let’s make sure you’re taken care of."

As Wanda reclined on the cradle bench, you leaned in, determined to distract her from the pain. “So, tell me, are you enjoying being an Avenger? Well, minus this moment, of course,” you added with a playful grin.

She glanced up at you, a smile tugging at her lips. “It’s been a mixed bag,” she admitted. “But honestly, it’s gotten easier over the past year. Being part of this team, being here—it means a lot.”

“Has it been a year already? It feels like time zooms by,” you mused, shaking your head in disbelief.

“It does,” she replied, her expression turning thoughtful. “Still, some things linger… they never truly fade away.”

As you promised, the Cradle worked its magic, and within half an hour, the sharp pain plaguing Wanda completely faded away. Her rib knit back together as if it had never been injured in the first place. She had to remember this thing was down here more often, tucked away as it was in the corner of the lab.

“Feeling better?” you inquired, your voice laced with genuine concern.

“Completely, thank you,” Wanda replied, her smile relieved. 

You waved her off with a grin, “Anytime, Maximoff.”

As she slipped her coat back on, a curiosity caught her eye, drawing her attention to Peter's glimmering invitation to the New Year’s Eve celebration carelessly left on your desk. With a flick of her wrist and a flourish of her red magic, the card gracefully soared through the air and landed in her hand.

“Are we going to be graced by the honor of your presence on New Year’s Eve?” Wanda teased, a playful smirk dancing on her lips.

You rolled your eyes at her playful banter. “Yes,” you confirmed, your tone light but resigned. “Only because Peter is annoyingly persistent.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” Wanda urged as she stepped closer. “I’m not one for big, noisy parties either.”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “It’s a far cry from a typical Tony Stark party.”

“Consider it a refreshing change of pace,” she replied, giving your shoulder a friendly pat as she made her way past you, her vibrant energy trailing in her wake.

“See you later, Y/N,” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing with a playful lilt as she left the lab.

*^~^*

On New Year’s Eve, you quickly stopped at the charming little store on the corner. Your eyes were drawn to a stunning purple orchid. Next to it, a bottle of bubbly champagne caught your attention, the golden label glimmering under the soft store lights. 

It felt peculiar to buy a gift for someone who seemed to have everything, yet your mother's words echoed in your mind: Never show up to a party without a host gift. Besides, you knew Pepper would appreciate the thoughtfulness behind your gesture.

As you stepped into the bustling common room of the Avengers Compound, the savory aroma of sizzling burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air. Steve was at the helm of the indoor grill, flipping patties and bratwursts. In one corner, Thor animatedly spun tales of wild Asgardian New Year's Eve celebrations, his booming laughter echoing around the room. Nearby, Natasha and Clint were locked in a tense game of pool, their playful banter peppered with competitive jabs.

“Y/N!” Pepper called out, her eyes lighting up as she spotted you across the room, with Tony following closely behind. “What a stunning orchid! Thank you so much,” she exclaimed, graciously taking the plant from your hands.

“Even better, what about this gorgeous bottle of champagne?” Tony chimed in with a playful grin. “Let’s pop it!”

As Vision extended his hand to take your coat and scarf, Peter dashed over, his excitement radiating as he presented a vibrant, multicolored party hat. “See? I told you it would be just the team!” he exclaimed.

Looking down at the hat, you chuckled and asked, “Do I have to wear this?”

“Yes,” Sam declared confidently, while Rhodey firmly asserted, “No,” at the exact moment.

The warm, inviting aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wrapped around you like a cozy blanket as you entered the kitchen. There, in the heart of it all, was Wanda, standing under the soft kitchen lights as she expertly arranged a tray of cookies.

“Hey, Maximoff. Happy New Year’s Eve!” you called out.

“Thank you, Y/N. Would you like to try one?” She held out a cookie, the chocolate chips glistening from the oven's heat. “It’s my special recipe, just baked.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. Snatching one from the tray, you took a hearty bite, the soft, chewy texture melting in your mouth. “Wanda, this is delicious!”

“I know,” she said with a playful smirk.

After indulging in a lavish New Year’s Eve dinner featuring perfectly grilled steak, vibrant roasted vegetables, and creamy garlic mashed potatoes, everyone gathered outside on the Compound dock to watch fireworks.

The night sky over upstate New York twinkled like a jewel-encrusted canvas, each star shining brightly against the deep indigo backdrop. Wrapped snugly in the fluffiest blanket, you nestled closer to Wanda, feeling a warm cocoon of comfort between the chilly air and the soft fabric. Tony pulled up the live stream of Times Square, the bustling energy of the crowd pulsating through the screen. The iconic ball began its descent as you started the countdown.

“3, 2, 1, HAPPY NEW YEAR!” everyone shouted. 

In the distance, the night sky erupted with a brilliant fireworks display, each explosion painting the heavens with vibrant red, blue, and gold hues. The dazzling lights flickered and shimmered, casting a mesmerizing reflection on the tranquil surface of the lake below, where the water mirrored the kaleidoscopic bursts in a breathtaking dance of color. The crackling sounds echoed through the air as you and the team took in the spectacle. 

“Isn’t it beautiful, Maximoff?” you murmured, gently nudging Wanda with your elbow. But she didn’t respond.

Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, her eyes wide with a distant fear. You could see her breath growing shallow as panic began to creep in.

“Wanda, are you alright?” you asked, concern lacing your voice.

The rest of the team quickly noticed the tension, some exchanging worried glances, unsure how to intervene.

Before you could say another word, Wanda sprang to her feet, urgency radiating from her. “I have to go! It’s not safe here; the bombs are coming!”

“Red, listen to me,” Tony said cautiously, taking a few steps toward her. “You’re alright.”

“No! It’s your fault!” Wanda shouted at Tony, her voice trembling as she retreated, close to stumbling into the lake’s edge. “Where’s Pietro? I have to protect him!”

“Wanda,” Natasha called out gently, her hands up in a placating gesture. “You’re not in Sokovia anymore. You’re at the Avengers Compound.”

“Don’t touch me!” Wanda screamed, her hands igniting with a crimson glow, pulsating with the raw emotion that threatened to overflow.

“Wanda,” you said gently, stepping before your friend, blocking out the storm in her mind. “You’re having a flashback, but you’re safe now.”

As tears streamed down her cheeks, your heart ached for the redhead. You took a slow, steady step closer. “Let’s take some deep breaths together. Just follow my lead.”

With each inhale and exhale, you felt her breathing begin to sync with yours. “You’re doing amazing,” you encouraged, extending your hand toward her. After a moment of hesitation, Wanda took your hand, gripping it tightly as she breathed deeply.

“Can you tell me what you see around you?” you coaxed, keeping your voice calm and steady.

Wanda blinked away her tears and glanced around, her voice barely a whisper. “The lake, the dock… the compound… the trees… you.” 

“Perfect,” you reassured her, a small smile breaking through the tension.

"How about we head inside for a bit?" you suggested softly, reassuringly smiling.

"Okay," she replied, her eyes brightening at the idea.

With that, you wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder as you headed for the compound. 

“Take your time,” Sam urged, a reassuring smile on his face as the rest of the team nodded in agreement, their eyes filled with understanding.

You led Wanda into the room, gently guiding her to the couch. A hush enveloped the space as you sat beside her—an unspoken agreement to give her the time she needed.

After a heavy silence, she finally broke the stillness. “This has happened before, you know,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Loud noises, bright flashes. I’m ten years old again, curled under the table with Pietro, waiting for Stark’s missile to kill us. Just like it did to my parents.”

You listened with focused attention, every word resonating in the stillness. “Wanda, I’m truly sorry for what you’ve endured. I can't even fathom your pain. But please know this—no matter what your mind is whispering, you’re safe here.”

A tremor of regret laced her voice. “I ruined New Year’s Eve. I feel so broken inside.”

You leaned in closer, determined to comfort her. “Wanda, you haven’t ruined anything, and you’re not broken. What you’re feeling is your mind’s way of shielding you from past hurts,” you said gently. “Have you considered speaking with someone? Sam runs a fantastic group for veterans dealing with PTSD. I know he would welcome you warmly.”

“No group therapy,” Wanda declared with a determined look.

“Understood,” you replied thoughtfully. “But I’m sure Sam would be open to meeting with you one-on-one, or he could help you find someone else. And if you need to talk, I’m just down the hall.”

“Really?” Wanda’s gaze softened as she searched your face for sincerity. You nodded reassuringly. “Thank you, Y/N. Are you sure I wouldn't be a bother?”

“I’m practically all alone in the lab these days, so your company would be a breath of fresh air,” you replied, giving her a friendly smile.

Wanda tilted her head with curiosity. “You miss Bruce?”

“Very much,” you sighed, the weight of your words hanging in the air. “After finishing medical school, I had the privilege of studying under Dr. Banner. I’ve been a part of this band of misfits from the moment Natasha found him in that remote hut in India. My life has felt a bit empty without him around.”

Wanda’s expression softened, and she gently touched your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, appreciating her empathy. “And just so you know, I mean it when I say you’re always welcome to come and talk to me about anything.”

The redhead wrapped her arms around you in an unexpected embrace, catching you off guard. You instinctively settled your chin on her shoulder, returning the hug with warmth and gratitude.

As moments passed in this intimate bubble, the rest of the team filtered back inside, a rush of cold air swirling around them. You could sense their concern, their eyes darting toward Wanda, eager to check her well-being.

From that day forward, your lab door stood open for Wanda Maximoff—a welcoming space where she could let her guard down and start to heal. You felt a reassuring certainty that everything would be alright as long as she embraced her new family. What you hadn’t yet come to realize, however, was that the Avengers were your family, too—woven into the fabric of your life in ways you had yet to fully understand.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

little kid Charlie seeing a drawing of a unicorn and excitedly comparing her own cloven hoofs and long wiggle tail to it. Unicorns as her heroes, able to heal people and help them, symbols of all things good and bright and happy

little kid Charlie spending a few years convinced she must be part unicorn, finally asking her dad about it- Lucifer not getting context at first and being all "you can be whatever you want Char-char~" only to realize too late she's being serious and she's gonna be crushed so he just changes the subject whenever it comes up trying to let her have fun as long as she can

(he also doesn't tell Lilith, bc Lilith will tell the truth and Lucifer can already picture the sad little look on Charlie's face when she hears..)

Charlie growing up and slowly noticing that a unicorn's tail is soft and fluffy and tasseled while hers is leathery and jagged and sharp. Looking down at her cloven hooves and realizing they're blood red. Staring at both her horns in the mirror, neither of them fluted, nothing magical about them- just a sign she's throwing a tantrum today

Lilith finds her hugging her fav fairytale book and crying and Lilith listens when she stumbles through the whole unicorn thing, how Charlie thought she was one but she's just a monster instead

so Lilith tells Charlie older stories about other unicorns. Dangerous wild and powerful creatures who came in strange colors and weren't always soft or gentle but were still beautiful. she turns little Charlie sideways between the wall and the light and shows her how two horns can look like one from the right angle

little Charlie cuddling into her mom's arms feeling better because her mom thinks she's perfect

but it's still a heavy thing, bc Charlie doesn't want to be wild or dangerous. She likes the kinds of unicorns who frolic through flowery meadows and summon rainbows with every step. Nice ones no one ever thinks of as scary

years later Lucifer has shut himself away and Lilith has vanished and Charlie's slipping into bed with a sigh, picking up a book of fairytales to read until her buzzing thoughts are quiet enough to let her sleep

next to her in bed Vaggie is giving her spear a last look over before it's time to lean it against the wall within easy reach

the shadow of the spear falls across the bed and onto the wall and Charlie lifts her hands to make a shadow puppet horse's head without thinking, combining the two until the spear becomes a horn and the shadow horse turns into a unicorn

Charlie giggles and Vaggie turns, smiles, spends the next few minutes trying to figure out how to give the unicorn a body without dropping the spear

eventually they're both laughing to hard and the shadow unicorn collapses. Snuggling up for sleep, Vaggie murmurs off handedly "I've got the best horned and hooved lady right here anyway. Unicorns could learn a thing or two from you, sweetie" before drifting off

Charlie all grown up and thinking about how she bandaged her girlfriend's eye the day they met. How always on edge Vaggie can spend an hour before bed checking exits and her weapon, but then relax and fall asleep the moment Charlie cuddles her

It's a pretty good magic to have, all grown up Charlie decides, much better than just summoning sparkles or rainbows

(a few years on from this and she looks down at the woman who cut out her girlfriend's eye and feels her horns and hooves and the urge to break bones with them, and she is more close to being like the wild, dangerous unicorns of her mom's stories than she'll ever know)