#hushed up abuse

[furiousgoldfish]

I found your blog last year and I have been reflecting a lot on your posts, when it comes to my own memories.

it was last year that triggered me to remember some things that I'd disassociated completely on purpose. and even accepting those led to a landslide of remembering many more other incidents. I live with my parents and I can usually convince myself that we are fine as a family.

but I'm not able to do that anymore. I keep thinking and remembering and questioning all of their behavior. but they don't really do that anymore. my mother still yells at me occasionally but my brother doesn't hit me and my father doesn't yell at me or taunt me like he did when I was a kid. my brain often tells me that I shouldn't get so sensitive over the past but what im feeling is simply horrible and doesn't go away. does it still count? even if we have a better relationship now?

It counts, yeah. These are all things that happened, and they have affected you permanently. You'll never be able to have a family that didn't hurt you in the past, in fact, they still do hurt you, just to a lesser extent. You're having to actively dissociate from certain memories just to be able to still live with these people. You learn from the past, the experiences they've put you thru have taught you that they're not safe, that you can't relax, that you have to always be careful and monitor what they do to you, that you always have to be ready to absorb more abuse.

Usually families stop the worst types of abuse when the child is a bit older and capable of telling, capable of reporting it, recognizing it, memorizing it, and holding them accountable. It's not because these people 'changed' or 'want a better relationship', they realize now that some acts of abuse would have consequences for them, so they only do the ones they can get away with – that being yelling and more subtle type of abuse that you can't so easily recognize and prove.

That feeling you have is correct, these people did hurt you, and are expecting you to just be okay with it and forget it, and the pressure is so big, that you're here wondering if even thinking about it makes you 'too sensitive', even though it was so bad you actively had to suppress memories of it in order to keep living with those people.

It's fairly common to have this type of situation, where day-to-day, you can convince yourself it's all normal, but inside you're festering with painful and traumatic memories, and these go neglected, unacknowledged, and you're supposed to be okay with the fact that nobody cares about what they put you thru, they only want you to shut up about it and act like it didn't happen. They're supposed to care what your experience of childhood was. They're supposed to provide you with love, safety, connection, care and happiness. Not only they failed, but they put you in a state where you have to watch your own reactions and your own feelings, not to show how badly they traumatized you, and you're forced to blame yourself and find things on yourself that you can blame (likely it's them who suggested you were 'too sensitive' in the first place.

I'm so sorry anon, I know this must be hard. It's ultimately up to you how far you want to think on this, and if you want or can do anything about it. It's okay to just forget it until you're ready to deal with it, we often need to do this in order to function. Maybe you didn't want an answer that would make things more chaotic and painful for you right now, and if that's the case, please disregard it. Only know that you are not too sensitive, that your experience matters, and that feeling the way you do is normal considering the situation. Your feelings are important too, and you're right to say them and to want to talk about it. I can't promise that the horrible feeling will go away, but one day you will be able to figure out why it's there, and how to deal with it.

[cult-of-dollbabies]

why was Jake forgiving his dad while mid baseball swing necessary again

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

having a lot of allie X and similar in my hoard of songs that inevitably end up going in my playlists for abusive ship dynamics is wild, because then you get haunting high-voiced trauma pop but it's just like, scranky scooby doo villains. anyway pericky blast

[littlepetbee]

cannot relate to anyone who willingly tells authority figures things. or who just...volunteers information to them without being asked?? bitch if they want to know anything, they can come to me. this mouth stays closed unless it's forcibly pried tf open and even then the words are shoved through eight different filters before they come out, perfectly form-fitted to whichever Person With Power Over Me is fucking asking. be smart about it! grow up!

[dwarrowdams]

Me, looking through my old posts on Insta: lmao remember when I only took two pills a day?

[b0mblover]

Hate, in Every Sense of the Word.

By: J

major tws for; suicide mention, domestic abuse, abuse, sexual assult mention, murder mention, (really just alot of violence tbh) self harm mention

uh, sorry? that theres so many tws, ig also minor tw for mention of sex too.

uh haha i uh, can you tell what happened tonight? it wasnt even the worst one, just, im tired of it.

talk abt living out of spite bc mannnn, thats all i been going off of for a good while now!

i uh, i really wanna make a certain food bc um. (LOOK I WANNA MAKW A LESS OILY FUCKER OKAY) but my father is awake meaning my mother will be too soon but im scared to even go out of my room bc theyre prob gonna fighttt.

hhhrbd okok ill shut up for now, go ahead and read the angry jirou bullshit ig 😭

(oh yea, if it wasn’t obvious. im talking about my mother in this.)

——————————

yknow,

you havent been a great person

or a good one even.

yet you still question as to why i dont love you

or like you,

maybe you have an idea of how much i hate you.

maybe not

i dont really care about your feelings.

at all.

not now.

i put up with this for fucking 14 years.

my entire fucking life.

ive put up with your shit.

but now?

now im done.

you have no idea how badly you fucked up.

when he said that “im sorry im a fuck up” 

yknow.

he mightve not been right for what he did.

but,

it was just a mistake.

it was a goddamn mistake.

you have any idea how many times ive uttered those words too?

how many times ive repeated them?

how many times i fucking meant it?

just because you “had it bad” doesnt mean shit to me.

you have no goddamn right to treat others the same way.

dont give me that “i dont know how else to act!”

bullshit.

bullshit you dont.

you treated your damn boyfriend just fine!

you had a goddamn kid

you had two goddamn children.

with this man that you fucking DESPISE.

you knew it back then too.

you told me you did.

you fucking told me.

almost nothing can compare to the anger i feel to you right now.

nothing.

you have no right to act like that.

no.

you have no goddamn right to hit another fucking living being.

for such a simple mistake.

i dont care if he talked about it since friday.

i dont give a fuck if he talked about it for months.

you.

you as a goddamn human.

have no right.

none.

in the slighest.

to hit another living being.

for talking about something in your eyes “too much”

or making a mistake.

youre a hypocrite.

need i remind you?

you said that after you broke up with the man you were having an affair with.

that youd be a better person.

stop the fights.

stop the beatings.

stop all of it.

and everything would be okay!

.

i didn’t believe you for a goddamn millisecond.

youre a liar.

just how you said i was.

you didnt quit.

you didnt stop.

hell two months after you hit him again!

you threatened to kill him and yourself!

cmon.

dont you get it yet?

i fucking despise you.

maybe to a degree i feel shocked.

but.

i really dont think thats it.

youre the root of my problems.

every single last fucking one.

——————

need i remind you as how i had to learn to cook, because you were too busy with your damn boyfriend to help me?

.

need i remind you how when i tried to show you that i was fucking cutting myself when i was 9 you only talked about how it looked ugly?

.

need i remind you about how many times you said that you didnt care if i hurt myself as long as no one can see it?

.

need i remind you about how you ignored the rope burn on my neck god knows how many times?

.

need i remind you how you denied fucking multiple peoples sexual assault because “it couldntve been like that”?

.

need i remind you of how many times i almost had to be hospitalized because of your neglect?

.

need i remind you of how many nights i spent alone, in the cold, in the dead of winter, just because you wanted to fuck your boyfriend?

.

need i remind you of what you yelled at me so many times?

.

need i remind you of what i seen?

.

need i remind you of how many times you blamed your abusive behaviors on medication?

.

need i fucking remind you of my entire purpose?

.

i dont care about your feelings anymore.

i gave up years ago.

but now.

i dont feel just numb for you.

i hate you.

in every sense of the word.

.

i dont care of what you or anyone else thinks of me.

.

i dont care about what you think of my appearance.

.

i dont care if you think im too thin or fat or whatever word youll use next.

.

i dont care about what you think because you’ll hate me no matter what.

.

you thought id stop being xxxx when you broke up with him.

you yelled at me.

no.

you fucking screamed at me for weeks.

im tired of even putting in the slighest effort of acting as if i fucking care.

i dont give a fuck about you.

and yknow?

if.

no.

if it would work.

if it was possible.

id fucking kill you.

id stab you.

right here.

right now.

to end my suffering.

to end his suffering.

all of it.

id end it all.

i dont care if its wrong.

because i know no one else knows about whats going on.

yknow.

only one person around here knows what youve done to him and me.

and i havent even met her in person.

yknow.

the people i used to be close with from school.

only just learned you had an affair.

i know that.

the police are do-less.

since you know them.

and hes a man.

not a woman.

it wouldnt be taken seriously.

that he should just fight back.

yknow.

youve ruined what life he has left.

his parents beat him.

his ex wife beat him, and cheated on him.

and here.

youve done the exact same thing.

yknow.

he’ll never get to see how love truely is.

because of you.

because of what youve done.

i cant say i really like him either.

but.

that doesnt give you the right to ruin his life.

.

yknow whats worse?

how i know the only reason that so far youve never dared to lay a finger on me.

is because ive proved that i won’t hesitate to beat the fuck out of you right back.

i know i joke about that night.

but.

really.

hitting you for doing that was the best decision i couldve made.

its kept me safer than i wouldve been for years. 

and even now.

if you were to as so much to touch me.

while in a fight.

id do it all over again.

you maybe 100 pounds heavier than me.

but you dont know how to fight against someone who wont just sit there and take it.

i wont forgive you for what youve done.

even if he will.

.

i want nothing to do with you.

get out of my life for good.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon/dubcon, angst, unwanted pregnancy, blackmail, ish-baby trapping

PART ONE only avaliable on AO3 due to Tumblr restrictions

fem reader

You went cold and forgot how to breathe.

When you got to the kindergarten, they told you his father had already come and collected him early. All looking at you as though you were crazy, assaulting the daycare workers with your hands in a bruising grip, shaking her by her shoulders—demanding she tell you where he took him. 

She spilled the name of some family restaurant down the road and said he’d wanted you to join them there. The poor thing was on the verge of tears when you let go.

Rushing out, you all but ran down the streets before pushing yourself through the doors—cold-sweating and swivel-eyed—in a panic, scanning faces with his name coming out weak under your breath. 

With your vision spinning, you felt faint before you heard it.

“Mommy! Mommy! You’re here! Look! I’m King of the castle!” he shouted, and your peeled eyes snapped to see him up high in a bright red plastic tower.

But before your shoes could hit the soft foam of the playground, you were intercepted by something larger.

“He’s fine,” he said under his breath, catching and stopping you in your beeline, holding you by the waist. “I need to talk to you.”

Something old and instinctive didn’t bother paying him heed—as if forgetting how to speak, you just ignored him in favor of pushing past him, eyes glued to the sight of your son blissfully unaware, playing with other kids with an oblivious smile on his face. But his grip was stronger than your instincts, firm enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt you, even when you tried twisting yourself free.

“Come on,” he urged.

You were about to sneer something, finally looking at his face—that face you hated—but the bark of curse words got held back.

“Look around you. Let’s not cause a scene.” The wild animal within went silent while your eyes flickered around at the surrounding picnic tables where families were having their dinner. “We can talk outside. My assistant will look after him.”

You didn’t feel much inclined to listen, but still, even though it made you hate to fold on his behest—reluctantly, you accepted the sense of what he was saying. Looking back at your son still laughing up in his tower with cinched brows. You didn’t want to scare him when he didn’t know what was going on, even though you felt the need to scream at the very top of your lungs.

You allowed him to lead you outside, but as soon as the fresh air welcomed your rigid state, you were at once whipping around and pushing him away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” snarling at him. “How fucking dare you?!”

“Calm down. He might still see us,” he hushed, hands raised in halfhearted surrender, casting a nod to the glass walls separating you from the frivolity inside. “Let’s just talk rationally.”

“Rationally?!” you scoffed in a shout, eyes still manic. “You fucking kidnapped my son, you psycho-”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls,” he snubbed. “He’s my son too-”

“Fuck you,” you interrupted to return the favor. “If you fuck with me on this, I swear I’ll ruin you.” You had a finger raised at him, breathing furiously—looking down-right mad—sweaty and disheveled from your run with your face twisted with such a state of frenzy. “I’ll tell everyone how I got him in the first place!”

Despite the threat, he didn’t seem all that fazed. 

“Think about it…” he said calmly, much in contrast to you. “Who do you think people will believe? A teenage mom abusing her son for a paycheck or his estranged father wanting to provide for him?”

You blanched, and before anything else made it out—whether it be more rage or something else, he was already further silencing you.

“Not to mention… the trial would be gruesome, and Junior would have to grow up with it always hanging over his head—is that really what you want?”

You look at him, and you still can't believe it. How could it have turned out like this? You’d been perfect only a month ago before he’d shown up at your apartment.

You thought you’d sent him on his way for good that day, but only now did you realize he had no plans to leave you alone.

“Come, let’s talk in the car. It’s cold, and you’re not dressed,” he ushered, taking your arm again where you stood, stunned and still, trying to wrap your head around his threats. Letting yourself be led into the black vehicle standing perfectly parked in its neat white rectangle.

You both got in the back with enough room to battle your homey sofa nook at home.

“I don’t want this to get ugly,” he started anew—his voice still so irritatingly calm, unfairly so. “I just want to see my son-”

“He’s not yours,” you croaked, feeling the situation slip from your fingers—battling a drumming heart, shifty breaths, and the mean sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you try and keep him from me, I’ll sue for full custody. And given I’m the only one out of us who isn’t a pro-bono case and the only one with any future that isn’t managing a register, I’d say I have a pretty fair shot at winning.”

You can’t keep from bursting out crying then, overwhelmed by the fear of losing the only thing that mattered and the pure disgust of the man who’d given it to you. It felt like everything was tearing—your whole life—crumbling before your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, his hand coming to drape your hunched shoulders where you held your tears. “I don’t want to take him away from you…” His attempt did little to comfort you, but the next words had your heart grasping for what little hope they offered. “And I’m not going to either.”

You looked at him through the hurt of swollen eyes, tears still falling while he wiped them away with the course pad of his thumb—rubbing your cheek affectionately. In any other circumstance, you’d surely slap him, but right now, all you could do was listen.

“I’m buying a house,” he revealed, still holding your cheek and gaze. “Fit for a family. Safe neighborhood, good school district, giant backyard.” The list went over your head—it was all too surreal to register. You couldn’t even fathom what he was getting at until, “I want the two of you to come live there with me.”

Stunned, you remained completely silent until the tears dried, and he let go of your face. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” He reaches across you and fetches the seatbelt before coming back over you to click it in place. “I’ll go get Junior and drive you home. Just stay here.”

You do as suggested and stay seated as he pops his door open and leaves—feeling all but cemented in place as your thoughts go tumbling around and around as if caught in a rip curl. When Junior jumps in beside you, a farfetched smile is all you can offer. Thankfully, he’s so enamored by a toy he’d gotten to notice much of your state.

When your door opens again, you’re led out and onto your neighborhood street. The fresh air does little to clear your mind. Feeling all but feverish as you hold Junior's small hand in yours while the man of your nightmares smiles all too fondly at the two of you.

“I’ll come pick you up after your shift on Monday.,” he says decidedly—cheerfully as he ruffles Junior’s hair enough to make him giggle. “Bring the rascal with you, and he can pick his room first.”

You weren’t planning on staying. You were never planning on staying—certain you would leave the second the opportunity to skip town arose—you just need to scramble the money together first. 

But the house was huge… nothing you could ever dream of, and while it made you desperate with grief, you couldn’t deny it either… Junior really loved having a dad.

It nearly brought sick to your throat to call him that. It was a shot through the heart every time you heard Junior’s boyish call, squealing with giggles, saying “Daddy, daddy, daddy-”

None of it seemed right to you. Seeing his bright smile, now at the age where a new tooth fell out every other week—looking so goofy as he proudly shows the two of you the new one he’d just knocked out playing soccer at school. “Mommy, Daddy, look!”

What’s worse is that you can't even deny how good the man you hate is at it all—spoiling him with gifts and making him laugh—giving piggyback ride after air-plane flight after tickle-fight and a game of tag and hide’n’seek. 

And it’s not just the easy stuff. He’s good at the shit that used to make you go crazy—putting him to bed, getting him dressed, making him eat the right stuff, and not just scuffle down candy. It’s as if the two of them have developed a secret language you’re not a part of. If Junior weren’t a toddler, you’d even suspect he’d been bribed and told to do his best to make you lose your mind. But no, it’s just reality.

The man you live with drives and picks your son up from school as if he’d done it since he was born, goes with you to meet the teacher if and when he gets into trouble and helps the two of you pick out the right shoes—shoes that you can now afford, thanks to him.

“I thought I might sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” He says, leaning against the frame in the doorway.

You’d been living there a month now. He’d been generous enough to sleep in the guest room up until now.

You don’t know how to deny him. It feels as if anything you might say would just be ignored or threatened until you eventually took it back. You didn’t want him in your bed—you didn’t want him in the same house—in fact, preferably, you’d want him to be six feet deep in the dirt.

You end up not answering. But he’s used to that by now. 

“I get it…” he says, taking steps into the room you’d wrongfully thought was your safe space. “You don’t trust me.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches out across the sheets. You’re too late to pull your feet to yourself before he has one in his hand. He doesn’t do much but stroke it. “But you can.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes you want to gouge them out. It’s all been some cruel joke ever since you moved in—all the pleasantries and presents, as if trying to distract you from the past. Your wardrobe is chockfull of it, and so is Junior’s room—filled to the brim with lies.

“I’m never gon’ hurt you.” Another lie. “I did you wrong once, and I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for it.” 

You want to shake your head, laugh in his face—anything to reject it. But you’re terrified of what he might do if you didn’t play along. The threat of losing Junior is enough to make you cooperative.

“I know I’ve not been fair—pushin’ you into all of this so fast.” He gets down on his knees on the floor as if praying, right down beside you. “I took advantage of a vulnerable situation ‘cause I’m an impatient asshole—but I promise you—” He takes your hand in both of his. “If you give me the chance, I’m gon’ make our lives together like somethin’ outa’ a fuckin’ fairytale—all that happily ever after shit and more, just like you always wanted.”

The kiss he presses upon your knuckles beckons goosebumps to rise all across you. All his words feel like a bad script read by an even worse actor—in fact, this whole thing feels like a prank. And still, it doesn’t surprise you—he’s been laughing at you ever since you were children.

And now, laughing still, only with a fucking ringbox in his hand.

“I want Junior to see us as a united front. I don’t want him askin’ question why we ain’t sleepin’ in the same bed, why we fight behind locked doors, why you cry in the bathroom.” 

He pops the black velvet lid and reveals something so outrages it almost looks tacky lying there in a plush bed of red silk.

“I want us to be happy.” He picks the little thing out and holds it up between his thumb and index, still holding your hand in the other. “I want us to be real.” You can almost see your life flash before your eyes as it threatens your ring finger. “Let’s make us real.”

You don’t say anything as he eases the tiny hoop on, sliding it all the way back until it sits snugly right at your knuckle—dazzling in the dark. A tiny tear slips down your cheek—equally dazzling.

He played some with the digit—a smile on his face. 

“Looks good on you, Mrs.” As he calls you by his last name you almost shake the ring off as if it burned to wear, but it all gets lost when he rushes forward and locks his lips with yours.

You yelp against his mouth, kept from turning away by the large hand holding your jaw, threatening to seize your throat and squeeze. You remember how it had felt. You don’t want more of a reminder, so you intercept his tongue with yours before he forced it down your throat.

He groans at the warm welcome, and your entire body shudders in memory.

You hadn’t let anyone touch you since that time five years ago. It had left a poor taste in your mouth, and the hunger for it had never come back.

You choke it down now as he climbs on top. 

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[s-4pphics]

candy crush. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you’re too sweet, and ellie hates it. 

WORD COUNT: 4.3K

WARNINGS: recordshopmanager!ellie, crumblcookiebaker!oc, hurt/comfort, ellie’s a cunt, ocs too sweet, FLUFF?? FROM ME??? HUHHH, crushing, slight suggestive thoughts

A/N: idk where this came from lol

Ellie’s reorganizing the vinyl selection when a delicate hand lands on her shoulder. “I know your miserable ass doesn’t enjoy company,” Dina hisses in her ear, purposefully hushed, “But you got company.” 

Ellie’s eyebrow quirks with confusion, leaving the earplug that blasts Head like a Hole to dangle over her shoulder. Her eyes glaze over the semi-filled shop, narrowing in on every face until she locks eyes with you from behind the guitar displays. The eye contact only lasts about 1.5 seconds before Dina smacks her leg. 

“Don’t look. You’re gonna make it weird.” Dina quietly snaps from beside her, occupying her hands with some misplaced records. 

“You know her?” 

“I see her around sometimes. I think she works nearby,” Ellie catches her smirking from the corner of her eye, “… I think she likes you.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m dead serious. She’s been staring for the past 10.” 

“At who.” 

“At you, dipshit.” 

Ellie can’t help herself. She takes one experimental glance in your direction; discovers you typing away at your device with a black mask pulled down under your chin, bottom lip trapped between your teeth with worry. Your apron and tiny name tag indicates you probably work somewhere close by, but she can’t pinpoint where. You’re too far and her vision is failing.

“Get her numbe—“

Ellie’s head whips to face Dina, “If you don’t shut up, you’re fired.” 

“Abuse of power,” She snarks in return, “C’mon! She seems so—“

“D-Do you guys have any acoustics for sale?” 

You’re a ninja, for sure. Both girls' heads snap around to face you — who stands a bit too close for Ellie’s liking — phone desperately clutched to your chest and eyes wide as a doe. Mainly locked with Ellie’s before they drop to your name tag.

Crumbl. 2 shops down. 

Fuck. 

“Why, yes!” Dina says excitedly when Ellie doesn’t reply, “Most of ours have been used, but they’re still in great condition. Are you interested in renting or purchasing?” 

“Purchasing… I think.” 

“No problem. I can show you some that we have on display, and if you don’t like those, we have some stocked in the back!” 

Ellie’s forehead creases. Dina has never been this active in making a sale, let alone interacting with any customers. Ellie is always the one who’s forced to pick up her and Riley’s slack in the shop. She catches the light traces of disappointment that overtakes your expression at Dina’s interjection, but eventually, you’re led over to the guitar displays.

Ellie sighs in relief. 

That brief exchange gave Ellie everything she needed to know. She doesn’t find gratification in denying proposals at work, but after months of being hit on by a multitude of customers — the men particularly piss her off— she’ll be as stern as she needs to be to get the point of denial across. Sure, it makes her look like a cunt to the general public, but she’ll take that over being chased after on the clock. No questions asked. 

Ellie assumes that you’ve found what you needed because on your way out, persistent stares are thrown in her direction up until your departure. She dodges them with mastery. 

She would hate to have to embarrass a strip neighbor. 

Three days later, you stumble upon the record shop once more. Dina isn’t here to save Ellie this time, and Riley’s passing time in the break room. Your uniform is lightly dusted with white, presumably flour, and your mask is down, phone clutched to your chest like it holds all your secrets.

Your mouth drops open around a small smile when you approach the service counter, but Ellie interrupts before you can greet her. 

“What can I help you with?” 

She assumed her annoyance would be guarded by professionalism, but your smile drops at its corners at her tone. A light flinch that Ellie prays is enough to deter you from spending your breaks here. 

It doesn’t. Your eyes still shine like the star that you aren’t. 

“I, um… I actually wanted to talk to you. If that’s okay—“

“Is it regarding the purchase you made a few days ago?” 

Dina slid Ellie a notice on the down payment you made for your used dreadnought since you weren’t able to pay in full. The scolding she received about “taking care of you” whenever you returned made her teeth grind together. 

“N-No. I just—“

“I’d appreciate it if we kept the conversation about that,” Ellie uses the scribbles on her notepad as a distraction, “Did you have any questions regarding the instrument? Or if you’re interested in taking part in the lessons we offer, I could redirect you to Riley. She’s in charge of—“

“I just wanted to see if you were… interested in sampling out some cookie flavors I came up with? I’m a baking and pastry student and—“

“Look,” The tip of Ellie’s tongue sharpens into her cheek, irritation evident when you two are eye-to-eye. “I’m not sure where this proposal is coming from, but frankly, I’m not interested.”

The drop in your expression doesn’t stop Ellie’s relentlessness. 

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know why you thought I’d be a good candidate for… taste-testing, but I’ll politely decline. No thanks.” 

Her declination doesn’t sound polite in the slightest; quite snippy and condescending from your perspective, and it forces your windpipe shut. Only for a second before a strangled gasp leaves your lips. You’re not sure if it’s out of shock or lack of breath, but it aches in your lungs all the same. 

Ellie’s glare sends holes through your back as you rush towards the exit, the small bell singing through the store and alarming your leave. 

All Ellie can hope is that you got the message. 

It’s a new week, and therefore, a new Crumbl cookie line-up. Dina won’t stop raving about the carrot-cake cookie which doesn’t resemble a cookie at all. It's tiered and way too soft and stacked with icing that’s sweet enough to rot teeth from the gum. 

It reminds Ellie of you, for some reason; Somehow still managing to be a nuisance without trying. 

Even more so now since Dina’s been using her 45 to walk down and see you. To talk to you. Dina has yet to cough up what about — not that Ellie cares. It’s just weird that you two suddenly have so much in common after knowing each other for all of two days maximum. Whenever Dina clocks back in, she tortures Ellie with dramatic retellings of your stories. 

It’s Thursday; a quiet day for the shop that Ellie uses to her advantage when the sun is at its peak. Searching through cheap magazines and playing Candy Crush on her phone. 

What a time for you to come barreling in. The formerly enjoyable shriek of guitar suddenly sounds like nails on a chalkboard at your appearance. No longer are you in all black. You’re in a sundress. An orange one. You look like a popsicle. 

And you bear gifts. Ellie’s mood turns even more sour when she sees two bright yellow gift bags with smiley faces on them and a tray filled with coffee stuffed in your hands. 

“Good morning!” 

You’re smiling, gleaming, and Ellie’s nose turns up. She plucks one of her earplugs out and closes her graphic novel. 

“How can I help you?” 

You set your bag down on the display case of her prized arch top, and she sighs in exasperation. Annoyance sparks when she notices one of the bags has her name on it, flowers and hearts and sparkles surrounding the tag. 

“Can you not put your belongings on the displays, please? I’d have to clean up after you since none of my employees will.” 

You’ve already moved your bags and exclaimed apologies before Ellie could finish her sentence. She’s seconds away from shoving her earplug back in to tune you out, but you’re fast. Persistent. She hates it.

“I’m really sorry about that,” You say gently, and Ellie shrugs you off, “I, um. I-I came to, uh…”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “If you’re here to apologize for last week, don’t bother. It’s not needed.” 

“Not at all! Well, I’m just… I wanted to drop by and—“

“You’ve gotten quite comfortable with just… dropping by. Have you realized that?” 

Ellie’s squint is harsh and scrutinizing, and sorrow overshadows the light in your pupils. 

“Since it’s obvious that you’re not understanding me, I’ll put it like this,” She leans a bit over the counter, front fully pressed against the glass and palms resting on the stainless steel, “I’m not interested in anything you have going on. Stop using your breaks as an excuse to come see me. I don’t wanna go out with you. And I don’t want to do a taste test. Drop it already.” 

Ellie watches your lip quiver with a harshness exclusive only for people like you, tears welting in your eyes and your fingers pinching at the hem of your sundress. Insecurity is practically seeping from your pores, and your gaze drops shamefully to the floor. 

Ellie’s just about to tell you to kick rocks when the STAFF ONLY door swings open and exposes Riley. Her break ended 20 minutes ago. 

“Hey! You’re early!” 

Ellie scoffs, “No, you’re late—“

“Not you. Be quiet,” She waves her off and smiles at you, who’s smiling back at her with guised genuity. A complete 180 from the you seconds ago. Since when were you and Riley on speaking terms? Friends?

She jogs from behind the stand, “Dina told me you weren’t coming til 3!” Riley throws her arms around your shoulders, and your hands tremble where they rest on her forearms. “Are those the goods?” 

“Yeah!” Your voice sounds heavy. Like you’re guarding a breakdown, “I-I had some time so I stopped by a little early.” 

“I got some to spare til Dee gets here. Hang out with m—“

“Actually!” You intervene shakily, “I have some other drop-offs to make. I really appreciate you guys doing this for me.” 

“Are you sure you can’t stay? Watch me get my Food Network judge on?” Riley suddenly points in Ellie’s direction, “Who knows. Sourpuss might even pop a grin once she tries one.” Ellie’s cheeks run red-hot.

“Sorry, Riley. Maybe next time,” You’re already wobbling towards the exit, “But, please call and tell me what you think! Dina, too! Any feedback is appreciated!” 

“I’m sure they’re delicious, Monster!” Riley compliments playfully, “Text me when you’re home!” 

When the door shuts, Ellie sees Riley’s back stiffen at the sight of you frantically wiping your face through the glass. 

“What the fuck did you do.” 

“I didn’t do shit. She’s loitering.” 

“Lo— Oh my fucking god, you’re an embarrassmen—“

“No, she is. Taking up space for no fucking reason to come and see me. She’s loitering—“

“You’re blowing a fuse over fucking cookie samples?” Riley stares at her like she’s nuts, “And not to burst your self-centered bubble, but I told her to come. She’s been asking all the stores on the block if they’d like to taste ‘em.”

Ellie pauses, expression softening only slightly when Riley continues, 

“I told her you don’t like chocolate, so she made a peanut butter version for you.” Riley shakes Ellie's special, slightly smaller bag as a means to taunt her, and the freckled girl’s face burns red. Glows even harsher when her friend throws in, “You cunt. She’s a sweetheart. Not everyone is fucking obsessed with you.” 

Riley leaves Ellie to simmer in her discomfort, slamming the break door shut. The day seems to drag on longer than usual. 

-

-

-

Ellie’s organizing the break room when she comes across her small baggie that Riley left behind. She would’ve expected her friend to take them home after Ellie’s dramatic blow up, but there it sat on the counter, untouched and jeering. 

Tempting enough for her to rest the broom against the counter and inspect its contents. Wafts of cinnamon and peanut butter hit her through the small opening of the bag, and her heart gives a squeeze. The cookie is iced to perfection — an entire scenery on the light brown canvas. So many flowers and trees and the blue hues of the sky; almost too much detail. It looks printed on. 

You’re artistically talented and the cookie smells divine. 

One nibble wouldn’t hurt. She’s sure the damage she caused is already irreversible. 

But when she cradles the carefully swaddled cookie, a small note falls from beneath the bunched cling wrap. She knows she shouldn’t. She should really, really leave the neatly folded piece of paper where it lays. Down the cookie. Trash the bag. 

She takes the cookie and the note back to her seat at the table. The cookie isn’t what she unravels first. 

“thought I’d make you a separate batch. Riley gave me the heads up about your chocolate disdain. I’m too paranoid to ask for your number in person, so I thought I’d use bait instead. I hope it’s convincing enough. Please let me know if it’s decent. Thank you for tasting.”

Signed with your name and a smiling heart with wings. Ellie’s heart shatters, remaining shards dangling from the rim of her ribcage. She can already see her friends glaring through her chest when they visit the apartment to berate her tomorrow morning. She already knows what they’re going to demand from her, but she’s three steps ahead. 

She ate the entire cookie in two bites right where she sat. It was delicious. Almondy, not too sweet, gently spiced. Probably the best she’s ever had.

Ellie has never been to Crumbl before. 

The viral spot is always bustling — too crowded and filled with loud teenagers with a sugar rush for her taste. Plus, she’s already on the clock when they first open. But the record shop is closed on Fridays. 

She put an extra bit of care into her appearance. She doesn’t recall the last time she did her hair. Half of it is pinned up and her button-up is neatly pressed. Jitters rustle in the pit of her stomach and her forehead is a bit damp, mainly because she can see you through the goddamn window. 

In uniform, you stand at the register with the same beaming smile from last week, talking and giggling with your coworkers, and Ellie instantly feels guilty. Your day seems off to a great start, and here she is… About to ruin it. She almost turned around at the thought. 

But the small bell above the door blares loud, and your bright smile drops once you recognize her, and with that, her stomach. Ellie mentally notes the bags forming under your eyes and the tension in your shoulders. It looks like you haven’t rested for days. Her heart squeezes. 

Your movements turn robotic; stiffly perched on the sides of the iPad stand as your thumb works on the screen. You haven’t looked Ellie’s way since. She approaches the counter with her tail between her legs, fidgeting with her middle finger. 

“Um… hey.” Ellie’s quiet. Out of place. Afraid. 

“What can I get for you?” 

Even with the stiffness, you somehow still manage to sound as soft as a cotton ball, but Ellie’s body locks. The scenario hits her like a brick wall; she’s doing exactly what she accused you of doing to her last week. Bothering her at fucking work. She should’ve never come to your place of business to coddle her ego. She feels like a hypocrite. You certainly see her as one. 

“Um… A cookie?”

“… What flavor.” 

“Uh… peanut butter?” 

You swallow thickly, voice hollow, “That’s not on the menu for this week,” You point towards the display of cookies that were big enough to feed a family, “These are the six we’re serving until Sunday. You can also look at the menu on the screen.” 

Ellie follows your pointing finger. How the fuck does this place work? Weekly flavors? What the fuck does that mean? She quickly examines the names of cookies that flash across the screen: raspberry cheesecake, pink velvet… Mom’s recipe? Odd name for a dessert but she lets it slide. 

“W-What’s your favorite?” 

You’re a baker, for fucks sake. You’d have better taste than anyone, better than her, she’d painfully admit. 

She watches your fingers clench around the screen, tapping mindlessly. 

“Um… raspberry cheesecake.” 

“I’ll get a dozen.” 

“O-Of the same flavor?” 

She shrugs like it’s obvious, “… Yup.” 

You give her one skeptic look before tapping at the screen. “It might be a little wait. About 15 minutes. Do you mind?” 

“No.” 

“Cash or card?” 

“Card, please.” 

More tapping, “That’ll be $41.65. Swipe or tap whenever you're ready.” 

A financial dent over a box of cookies was not on her bucket list. You hand her the receipt, and before you can rush to the kitchen, Ellie exclaims, “When’s your break?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“W— um, when’s your break?” 

Your coworkers are suddenly very interested in Ellie, all four of them eyeing her like venomous hawks. Her cheeks burst into flames. 

“Um… I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” 

And you’re right. Anything involving you is short on Ellie; it was never her business, but a burning in the pit of her stomach desires to learn. Needs to catch you at the right time to give you a proper apology even though she doesn’t deserve the time of day. She doesn’t know what to say. 

You use her floundering as a scapegoat and hustle behind the slamming doors. Just as Ellie rushes to leave empty-handed, one of your employees — Abigail reads across her name-tag, keeps professional, but Ellie’s skin burns with the fire in her eyes. 

“We’ll have those right out for you,” monotone, but gruff. It makes Ellie wonder if you told any of them about her — she doesn’t doubt it. 

“You can wait outside.” 

One stiff nod, and Ellie’s booking it until her feet plant on the packed sidewalk, nearly bumping into a couple with interlocked hands. It takes 25 minutes for the box of cookies to be rigidly placed on the lounge table by another employee. Ellie scurries into her truck with a boiling face and pulls out into the road. 

When she makes it to her apartment, she eats three mini cheesecakes in one sitting.

She sees why they’re your favorite. 

The following week was filled with glares and curses from Dina and Riley — your newfound friends, evidently. They have a way of making Ellie feel like a worthless dunce. They both have rubbed in the tales of you being a thrill to be around; the life of the party whenever they hang out. 

It makes her nauseous. And sad. 

But her sadness swiftly shifts to bewilderment when she catches you smoking near a lamppost after closing. Still in your uniform with a bag over your shoulder, pants dusted in white, proof of your labor. It’s dark out, the only illumination coming from the light stood tall above you and the orange gleam of your cigarette. The sight shocks her. You didn’t seem like the type. 

Maybe that’s where Ellie went wrong with you: constantly assuming… who you are. Your desires, your intentions with her, her friends. She’ll admit her wrongs, of course. 

But it has to be to you. 

Ellie scares you when she approaches, inhaling the nicotine a bit too roughly because you start heaving. Shoulders hunched and jumping with every cough. 

“Uh — fuck, I’m sorry! I-I thought you could see me coming! I didn’t mean — fuck —“

You’re still choking, but you hiss in between, “What the fuck do you want!” 

“I’m just — I’m sorry about —“

“You’re not — cough — you’re not sorry! You made your point clear. I don’t why you keep — cough cough — following me. I left you alone like you wanted!” 

“I DON’T WANT THAT!” Ellie shrieks in panic. 

It’s a heavy-handed admission. A weighted confession that was said too aggressively given your flinching away from her. She takes an instinctive step forward. 

“Your cookies… tasted fucking incredible. I’m also an asshole.” 

The drag you take from your cig while she rambles is almost comedic. Brows cinched at the middle of your forehead, gauging her. You’re not convinced, but you’re not fleeing like the first time. She takes a leap, and a large step towards you. 

“I feel really… really bad,” Ellie’s much quieter, eyes unwavering and the softest she’s ever shown you, “I shouldn’t have… said all that. To you. I’m just so used to being harassed at work. I’m sorry.” 

Maybe nicotine calms you. Your body language isn’t as taut compared to when Ellie first initiated conversation, and your eyes soften at her reasoning. 

The rasp from your timbre melts her skin like butter. “I didn’t know you went through that. That sucks.”

Ellie shrugs, “I didn’t know you were… nice.” 

She made the mistake of attempting playfulness, “Maybe ‘cuz you wouldn’t let me talk.” You snark while ashing. 

“I’m sorry.” Ellie implores. 

You take one last drag before stomping out the flame. “Me too. For bothering you.” 

Ellie cringes at your choice of words, but nods in acceptance. “Are we, uh… okay, now?”

A small smile grows on your face. It’s cute. Makes your cheeks puff out like a hungry squirrel. 

“We’re good.” You extend a fist out to her, and she connects her own at the knuckles. 

When they drop, Ellie nervously stares at her shoes, “Do you want a ride home?” 

“I’m alright, thanks.” 

“C’mon, I don’t want you waiting out here by yourself.”

You pause before asking, “What’s the catch?” Your brow arches mischievously.

Ellie doesn’t hesitate, “More of those cookies.” 

A giggle escapes you. Soft and airy like a feather. Ellie feels a tight clench in her chest. A thumping from her ribcage. Has your smile always been this vibrant? She mentally kicks herself for not noticing before. 

Ellie escorts you to the passenger's side of her passed down pick-up: opens the door for you and makes sure you’re buckled in before starting it up. She learns you’re a metalhead when she cranks the radio to the highest volume. 

… How quickly can crushes develop? 

Two months. Ellie’s spent two months finding every excuse to spend time with you. She welcomes your visits to the record shop and silently thanks the heavens above when you call after her shift to talk about your day. Listening to your rambles about customers and their weekly cookies has become the highlight of hers. 

She’s also found comfort in watching you fail at playing guitar. You’re adorable whenever you strike an incorrect chord or break a string. She’s more than willing to guide you through your trials: late-night invites to her apartment to practice. One of your goals was to learn how to play the entire Vanara soundtrack. 

Ellie assumed she simply enjoyed being in your space. She does, but something shifted between you during one specific session. It was past midnight, and Ellie could tell you were getting tired. She innocently suggested for you to spend the night so you wouldn’t have to Uber at such a late hour, and you graciously accepted her offer. When you started to get comfortable on the couch, she tuts in disapproval and invited you to share her bed because it was more comfortable. 

What a mistake. 

After showering and changing into comfortable clothes, you both crawled into bed and swiftly drifted off. When Ellie’s eyes opened the following morning, her heart immediately traveled up to sit in her throat. If anyone told her she’d wake up with you completely sprawled out on top of her with your warm breath hitting her neck and her arms wrapped around you, she wouldn’t have believed them. She was completely frozen beneath you, but not for the reason she’d assumed. 

Ellie was scared to wake you up. Ellie was scared you would move away from her. 

She was pulled between waking you up and pulling you even closer. You were soft and warm and you smelled like her cinnamon body wash. A literal human cookie. She caressed your back as delicately as she could, and you nuzzled into her shoulder with every swipe. She hoped the harsh thrashes from her heart wouldn’t disturb you. 

They didn’t. 

You took a piece of Ellie when you left her apartment that morning. She’s not sure which part you stole, but she hasn’t felt the same since then. A pull towards you that’s electric, sparks her to life, keeps her up at night. Whenever you’re away, at work, not next to her, she’s desperate to pull you close. To breathe in the natural scent of you. 

Evidently, crushes develop rather quickly. 

“I thought baking was supposed to be fun.” Ellie huffs from where she lays on her bed. 

“It is fun! My favorite past-time, actually,” She watches you pace around her bedroom, guitar still strapped securely around your shoulder, “It’s just stressful when you have chefs constantly breathing down your neck. It’s so hard to be creative because they nitpick everything.” 

Creating a menu is much harder than Ellie assumed. She’s become the person you’ve come to whenever you’re fired up from classes, ranting and raving about the apparent dickheads that judge your creations. After testing your recipes for as long as she has, how could anyone turn down a dessert from you? 

You’re such a hard-worker. Focused, determined… pretty when you’re brainstorming. Pretty when you’re talking… Pretty when you’re smiling. Standing. Staring off into the distance. 

“Hm.” 

It’s all Ellie can say. She’s been trying to mask her rampant stares at your bare thighs for the past… however the fuck long. They look so soft. So pliable. So easy to stretch and pry and yank at— 

Her guilty pleasure went from collecting Pokémon cards to gawking at your legs whenever you wear shorts. 

Ellie’s definitely crushing. 

Crushing very, very hard. 

[honeybunluna]

If one more person asks me to lower my voice I’m going to throw a fucking fit. I’m speaking at my normal talking voice in my own fucking home. Sorry if you think I’m “yelling” but that’s not my problem. If I’m disrupting you, you can fucking walk away. I shouldn’t have to constantly modify my way of life just to please other people, especially when they don’t offer me the same courtesy.

[papiliotao]

INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader

content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences

summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.

a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.

ACT I.

As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.

So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.

It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.

Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.

With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.

The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.

It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.

You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.

With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.

Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.

But not lightly enough.

It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.

The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.

A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.

A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.

“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”

Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.

As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.

He’s still scared.

“It might sting a little.”

Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.

“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”

The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.

“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on. 

He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.

Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.

“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.

The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.

Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.

And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.

“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”

Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.

“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”

The boy shakes his head frantically.

“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.

“Just stay for a few more minutes?”

Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.

“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”

It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.

“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.

No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?

His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.

“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”

“I guess you could say so…”

For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.

“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.

“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”

“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.

Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.

“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”

ACT II.

Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.

This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.

Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.

It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.

But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.

It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.

He asks if there has been any news of his mother.

At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.

So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.

Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.

And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.

As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.

Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.

There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.

Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.

So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.

The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.

On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.

ACT III.

Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.

Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.

Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.

It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.

As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.

Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.

He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.

The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.

Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.

Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?

As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.

When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.

“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.

Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.

“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.

“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.

“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”

Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.

It’s… new. Everything is new with you.

“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”

You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.

Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.

“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”

Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.

“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.

You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.

Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.

He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.

To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.

“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.

He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.

Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart. 

But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.

“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”

Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.

But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.

“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”

ACT IV.

Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.

Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.

There is, however, one exception.

You.

Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.

You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.

In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.

But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.

You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.

Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.

As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.

You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.

Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.

He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.

Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.

“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”

With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.

Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.

However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.

So much for hunting.

Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.

“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.

His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.

“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”

Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.

He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.

Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.

ACT V.

The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.

It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.

The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.

However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.

“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.

“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”

Kinich shakes his head.

“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”

Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.

“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”

You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.

Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.

“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.

Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.

When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.

“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”

Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.

The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.

“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.

You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.

“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”

Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.

“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.

Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.

“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.

Kinich feels his heart flutter.

You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.

This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.

“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.

“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.

“You said it was cold though.”

Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”

“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”

Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.

“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.

Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.

So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.

You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.

When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.

He’s in love.

ACT VI.

It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.

“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”

“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”

“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”

The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.

Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.

As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.

“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”

Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.

“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.

“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”

Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?

“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”

“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”

A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?

Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”

You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.

You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.

“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”

To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?

“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”

Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.

“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.

Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.

“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.

A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.

“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”

You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.

“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.

You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.

“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.

“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.

You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.

“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.

You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.

On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.

They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.

“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”

ACT VII.

No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.

Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.

Relenting would mean never seeing you again.

(And that’s the last thing he wants.)

Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.

Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.

He never got to tell you that he loved you.

Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more. 

Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.

His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.

Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.

So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.

Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.

As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.

A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.

He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.

He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.

And he thinks of you. His everything.

The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.

Kinich can’t let you down now.

A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.

This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.

Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.

ACT VIII.

When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.

To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.

“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.

“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”

The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.

“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”

“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”

Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.

You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.

“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.

Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.

“Fine.”

Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.

“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”

“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.

Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.

ACT IX.

Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.

You could be in danger.

If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.

Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.

That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.

And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.

No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.

When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.

He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.

Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.

“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”

Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.

“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”

Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.

“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”

“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.

Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.

You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.

Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.

Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.

As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.

However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.

“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.

The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.

Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.

As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”

“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.

Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.

“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”

Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.

“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”

The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.

Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.

“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.

You nod vigorously.

“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”

ACT X.

The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.

“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.

“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.

Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.

“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”

Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.

Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.

“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.

A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.

“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”

You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.

This is your flawless elysium.

“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.

Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.

Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.

As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.

“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”

You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?

“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.

Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.

“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”

FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3

[sleep-0-deprived]

Toji x male Himbo reader nsfw thoughts

Female aligned dni, 18+ only content below

Toji who bends you over the kitchen counter roughly fucking your eyes into the back of your head because you were wearing a pair of shorts that he said where “too revealing”

Toji who watches ever movement you make and every slutty action you do with that dumb doe eyed look on your face making him wanna press his cock to your lips, forcing you to suck until tears while you press your crotch against his leg trying to get some friction for your painfully hard bulge

Toji who sees you in your revealing shorts during summer, hugging your curves and body in public making him only stare at you coldly just to push you into an alley making you yelp in confusion before pushing you against the brick wall degrading you calling you “fucking whore, I bet you wanted this?, wanted me to fucking use you like the slut you are boy?” He grins and whispers in your ear while pulling your shorts down as the fall down to your ankles and he rough fucks you against the alley wall, your thighs around his hips as he holds you fucking you harshly until you can’t think straight just to make you pull your shorts up afterwards like you aren’t leaking his cum from your abused hole feeling your bloated stomach from his seed earning a grin as he licks his scar

Toji who fucks you stupid, your face pressed down in the pillows your lips parted wide as you brokenly moan his name earning a harsh slap on your ass while he degrades you calling you “personal whore, cock drunk slut, and his boy” while your eyes hazily roll into your head and tear up from pleasure not being able to think straight while he roughly fucks you

Toji who reaches down and strokes your cock while he takes you from behind, his large fingers teasing your sensitive tip as it leaks pre cum all over yourself earning a whorish whine from you making him slap your ass in the process

Toji who grips your thighs to the point of bruising as he hangs your legs over his shoulders forcing you into a mating press while his other hand running up your chest squeezing your pecs and twisting your nipples telling you hushed words like “such pretty breasts, boy” he whispers in your ear such feminine names for you while you brokenly plea “n naht bre sts~” only making him grin and fuck you harder degrading and feminizing you until you can’t moan any words

Toji who makes you suck his cock after his work outs, placing hid leaking tip against your pouty lips smearing his pre cum as you look up at him making you part your lips as his heavy cock sits on them forcing a few cat licks on the tip before he shoves it fully in your mouth, his rough hand in the back of your head as he bobs your head up and down on his cock pressing it all the way to the back of your throat forcing your face pressed into his groin as you sloppily suck him off with your drool running down your chin looking up at him with lidded eyes feeling desperate for him to bend you over again

Toji who after fucking you leaves you whining and twitching in overstimulation your cock all red and puffy with cum staining your stomach and plump pecs while your hole twitches trying to clench around the air while his cum leaks out of you down your thighs making him lick his scar and press his tip back against your leaking and abused whole as he pushes back in again leaving your jaw slacked and your face ruined

[sunsetsimon]

“keep these legs closed tight, baby,” simon whispers, helping you push your weak legs together.

his cock impales you with ease, your gummy walls sucking him in to your hot, wet pussy. he shudders as he pushes deeper, his tip kissing your cervix so perfectly. your fat cheeks squish against his pelvis with each thrust, the smack of your skin echoing throughout the room.

your face is pressed into your pillow, a small wet stain in the cotton fabric from your tears of pleasure. his lips graze your ear, nippling on your lobe, your focus bouncing between your quickly approaching orgasm and the way his stomach feels pressing into your lower back, filling the curve with his chub.

"y'r so fucking wet, lovie. keep slippin' right out," simon breathes against your ear, hand reaching down between your bodies to grab his cock, thrusting against your puckered hole, his fat tip threatening to slide right in. he notices the way you gasp, your hands gripping the sheets, hips lifting slightly to allow him access to you. huffing a laugh, he slowly pushes into your pussy, groaning as each groove suffocates his cock in pure ecstasy.

“you want it, huh?” he asks, voice ragged, pushing himself up just enough that he can rest on his knees. his huge hands grip your cheeks, pulling them apart to expose you entirely. he gathers some spit in his mouth before dropping it onto your hole, rubbing it in circles with his thumb.

your body twists with an intense cry, shocked by the sudden new sensation, “mmph, si! that feels so good.”

he had never touched you like this before and it felt so fucking good. his cock bullying its way into you, his body weight pushing you deeper into the mattress. your mind spins, attempting to focus but its blank, your thoughts swirling with simon’s thumb as he teases your little asshole.

“gonna cum-“ you whine, so overwhelmed you feel dizzy. there’s sweat covering every inch of your body, the soft sheets sticking to your skin. simon pushes deeper, his tip ramming against the spongey patch in your walls, nearly fucking you into oblivion. he’s mumbling jumbles of nothing to you, or maybe it makes sense but you can’t even think when you’re gripping him so tight, orgasm washing over you like a wave.

“mm- fuuuck! s’ fucking tight-“ simon moans, following closely behind. your walls are so puffy, swollen with arousal and from the abuse his cock had been putting you through for the last 20 minutes, so drenched in your own wetness and cum that it’s seeping out into your inner thighs.

he’s pussydrunk, so fucking close to coming but an idea pops in his mind, withdrawing from you slowly. the sudden emptiness makes you whimper, only wanting to be filled up by his cum.

“how bout i fuck this pretty little ass, huh, baby?” simon asks, his tip nudging against your puckered hole, glistening at him, ready to be fucked.

“wait-“

“shh…” he hushes you, “i’ll make it feel good, promise.”

[littlelamy]

toxic!rafe x sweetheart!reader ; mdni

"you're my princess, baby," rafe says, stroking your sides with his rough hands as he sits behind you with your back against his bare chest. "no one, and i mean no one, will be able to do what i do for you." he holds you close with a strong grasp, kissing your neck.

"of course rafe," you lean back giving him more access to your neck. "i'm all yours and no one can compare," you sigh at the pleasure. you being the little kook princess that you are, knew that rafe wasn't the best person to give your attention to. his cursing, drug abuse, and anger were too much to handle with his other girlfriends, but not with you. you saw a soft side to him. you were there when ward left, when everyone was against him; you were with him.

rafe looks at the clock, which reads 11:20 pm. taken back at how late he was for his "errand" with Barry, he slightly pushes you off. "princess I have to go," he kisses the side of your face and getting off the bed. "i'll be back in an hour. make sure you're in that pink set i love before i come back." he smirks pulling up his pants. "if not ill give a punishment."

"yes sir," you moan back to him, annoyed with the change of plans. "where are you going anyway? i thought topper was in Vail with his parents," you pout with soft eyes. what would be more important than rafe bringing you the intimate climax he always promises?

"just a little after-hours deal thing," rafe says, hushing you up. "don't you worry your pretty little head about it," rafe leans in at your face. "when i tell you something you do it. so just wear the set and ill handle that pretty little body when i get back." rafe commands with a sloppy kiss.

"kay," you moan, trying to kiss him more. but rafe already late, doesn't want to piss barry off even more, gives you one more messy, spit-filled kiss before leaving.

[cardigan-ns]

BATHE ME CLEAN

Father Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY - You came to him about your awful home life, how badly your parents and sibling treat you. He sees this as discrimination on him, and takes care of it for you. But you’re too vulnerable to notice his sickening ways.

WARNINGS - abusive parents, murder, blasphemy, father Charlie being unhinged as hell.

NOTE - Listened to a but-load of Ethel cain while writing this - “Family Tree” to be specific.

Father Mayhew’s eyes weakened as you sat there vulnerable and ripped open beside him, it was very late, so late that nobody was there, the sky had gone pitch black and there was nothing outside but the banshees and the looming creatures in the forests. You had on a pale pink dress and red heels, as if you’d just slipped them on and ran down the cobblestones to speak to him. And here he sat with you on the pew, watching you pour your innermost to him.

A sniffle came from your nose and your eyes faltered from the alter to his red boots, to your red shoes. The taint of the red carpet, as if you were drowning in a haunting memory you cannot let go of. “How long has this been going on for?” Father Mayhew swore to keep his anger in check as you, a beautiful girl, wept infront of him about how your father had hurt you, and your mother added salt to the wound by throwing your psychology books in the river behind your house. Your mother called it demons work, how you were figuring out the mind of the insane and sinned. Father Mayhew always credited you on it, when you’d come to him with awards and test scores you acccomplished, after every Tuesday mass. When he found out your mother shamed your academic passion, a wave of impurity took over him, he wanted to hurt her, so very badly.

“Since I was a little girl, maybe 5.” You breathed out as if that’s all you’ve ever known. Father Mayhew closed his eyes in pain at how your father had always hit you. He was a stern and troubling man, Charlie always clocked that everytime he walked through those wooden doors. But he was a good actor and he always played the role of the proud father who funds her education and always puts a smile on her face. “And yet you cannot escape them in college?” You shook your head at his question, your parents, for the sake of convenience and so they wouldn’t murder eachother while you went to a different state for university, forced you to pick a place closest to home, 5 minutes walk away. You couldn’t breathe with how trapped you felt.

“You aren’t going home tonight.” He was stern but soft with his eyes and the way his hand touched your knee, you slowly gazed to your side to see his somber tone, how he was adamant you don’t return home, a dead-of-night runaway. “Where will I go? I haven’t exactly got a good relationship with my older sibling.” Father Mayhew clocked your brother was a deadbeat, had a child young, and “supposedly” killed his girlfriend. You mentally disowned him, yet your parents praised him to the nines.

“Stay here, at the church, with me.” After every passing syllable his charm worked on you like a touch of an all powerful God. You were too struggled to think about the underlying connotations to his invitation. You just needed freedom. “Is that allowed?” His firm hand squeezed your knee, giving you a rush, and giving him the possession he needed to have you right where he wanted you. “Nobody will have to know.” His evil lips curled into something sinister, his eyes dark with sinful thoughts. “Plus I could use a little helper around the church. The nuns are on an exhibition in Rome, leaving me to my own devices.” He was convincing, you wet your bottom lip as it had gone dry from the crying, and you nodded, another small tear couldn’t help but fall. “Thank you.” You mumbled.

Father mayhews eyes became caring and wholesome once more as his thumb left your knee and reached up to your eye to wipe the stray tear away. “Hush. no time for tears. You’re in safe hands now.” His voice was husky as he whispered lowly, words barely audible by how nurturing he was being. You were so painfully wrapped around his finger, painted in his charm. You’d run to a werewolf down a darkened alley if it walked to you slow enough, ready to tear you apart limb from limb as you mindlessly apologise for being so easy to kill.

“I want you to go home and pack a bag. Silently, do not be seen or heard, are you listening?” The thumb that was wiping your face, now cupping your cheek, he felt protective over you, even though he was only a few years older, how dare your family hurt such a sweet and loving girl, all you ever wanted was to understand what made them the way that they are, and now you’re left in shambles under his touch. “I’ll be right back.” You shakily do what he tells you and you touch the hand on your cheek that heals you piece by piece. Your mind wasn’t even going to how touchy he was, just that a noble man like himself was seeing you truly without the mask on.

He watched you stand now, his eyes pained to watch you go, he knows you live walking distance away, you’ll be back quick enough but he can’t stand the thought of watching you walk so openly in the pitch black, any psycho could come and swoop you away from him, and the thought of never seeing you again brought a great darkened root pain to him. “Watch where you’re going now, my dear.” He stood and opened his arms for you to feel his full embrace, his big arms clothed you, capturing you in his sanctity. “I’ll be here waiting.” He kissed the top of your head and rubbed your shoulder for you to go.

While you made your secret venture back home, Charlie walked into his office, opened the wooden cabinet and opened a wooden box at the base of it. “The sinners of the world will feel the sickening vengeance of my wrath, as I heal the do-gooders of their demons.” He muttered to himself as he beheld the large blade he kept for emergencies, untouched, except for when it needed some care after sitting in a box for so long. He was going to christen this knife with the blood of the damned. All for his sweet angel.

As he thought out a plan he paced around the room, practicing the ways in which he was going to perform his slaughter. He himself was damned, but he would never hurt you the way your parents do. The way your brother’s envy masks the true beauty of your soul. He needed you to be loved, and he’d done that silently for the past year. He muttered verses to himself to delude himself he was the saint. Throughout his planning you’d come back, and you knocked on his office door, he quickly placed the knife back in its box and shut the cabinet just in time for you to make your entrance. “I’m back.” He smiled a glowing smile, seeing your back and how it seemed to be filled to the brim with things, he walked towards you. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying, follow me.” He locked arms with you and took your bag off your shoulders, you shouldn’t carry the weight of it, he put it over his own shoulder and walked you to his convent flat, he pat your soft hand as you walked.

He opened the door to his living area and shut the door, he wanted you, in every way, but you needed to settle first, and for that, he’d make you the safest you’d ever felt. You looked around and took in how plain but wonderful it looks, he seemed like a total neat freak, nothing was out of place, except the rather strange book choice he had on the coffee table. You shook your head and figured everyone was allowed some guilty pleasure. “It’s wonderful.” You smiled adoringly to the man who gave you a new start, and he gave you a proud huff, “it’s really nothing, if it were up to me, I’d have much more colour.” He clasped his hands together and rocked back and forth a little, “shall we get you to bed?” Your eyes perked up at the thought of slumber, and you nodded with a hum.

As you followed him down the short narrow hallway, you noticed this area was quite empty, you thought a convent would look bigger. But this wasn’t the convent, this was his quarter, but how were you to know the difference. “There’s only one bedroom, I hope you don’t mind.” Your brain spaced at his words, why on earth would he offer you to stay if he only had one bed. But his eyes were so inviting and innocent that they trapped you. “That’s okay. Where will I sleep though?” You figured he had a couch in the room. “Beside me, of course, I’m not going to banish you to the floor, don’t be silly.” He laughed a little to himself as he opened the door, your eyes landed on the bare room, white bedsheets, with a cross above the bed. You yawned at the sight of the bed, and Father Mayhews eyes graced your tired expression, he had such a soft spot for you it was making him weak. “Go lay down, my dear.” You ushered to the bed, and you obliged.

As your back hit the bed you closed your eyes, as heavy as they felt you opened them once more to see Father Mayhew at the end of the bed. His hands reached towards your heels and he slowly slipped the red heels off of you, patting your ankles when he took each shoe off. “Sit yourself up a second.” He spoke and you listened, back against the headboard as she pulled the duvet back and placed it over your body, almost poetically. His hands then touched your legs over the blanket. “Now rest, dear. I’ll come to bed in a while, I just have a few things I need to take care of.” His grin made you believe he was up to holy things, priest activities, like blessing the church for another safe night. But “take care of things” could also mean something that he was actually going to do, murder your family.

“Goodnight, Father.” You mumbled as he blew out the candle that was illuminating your sweet face. “Goodnight, may the angels rest your weary head.” He spoke as he kissed atop your head, and left you alone.

You heard a loud crash and bang that shocked you awake, it was coming from the living area of Father Mayhews quarter, you rubbed your forehead as you sat up, you didn’t know what time it was but that it was still awfully dark in your room. “Father?” You whispered a little scared, the noise was terrifying. Charlie threw his head back as he stumbled in and hearing your call made him curse to himself. “Fuck, I woke her up.” He thought.

“It’s just me, angel.” He called out from the living room, he decided he must come in and soothe your fears. He opened your bedroom door and his silhouette lingered at the door, he wasn’t dressed how he usually was, nor in pyjamas. He was in dark leather trousers, a black shirt, and something over his head which looked lack a cloth mask, but it was pulled up to his hair, a few stray strands peeking out messily. “You gave me a scare.” You mumbled from the bed, now sat up, he only tilted his head and smiled, flicking a miraculous medal in his hand, he shoved it in his pocket and took brisk steps to your aid, his firm hand touching your arm, the light of the open door brightening your face. “It’s safe now. You’re safe now.” He mumbled to you, as if assuring himself what happened in your childhood home was right and just, and you were none the wiser and would continue to be.

The more you looked at his darkened features you noticed a small speckle of blood on his nose, you reached your hand up and wiped it away, his eyes gazed at your touch and his mouth parted slightly, feeling dirty and guilty, having a touch so pure on his disheveled core, made him sick. But also gave him the impression god forgave him, by how welcoming your touch was. He then gained up the force to push your hands down to either side of your head, your eyes felt under watch, and trapped. “Father?” You questioned what he was doing, and his eyes lingered on yours for a little too long. He wanted you, that wasn’t unclear, but he’s drowning in guilt, having you after he’s sent your parents to hell…that’d be one hell of payback for them, it’d fill him with an ungodly amount of ego. But you looked so concerned for him, and then you uttered words he knew he couldn’t dampen. “Come lay down. You’re exhausted.” You expected he’d taken a midnight run, and that’s why he was so cold and worked up, the adrenaline was there but not because of good willed exercise. “I am.” His grip loosened on you and he sighed, he ripped the mask from his skull, and kicked his boots off.

“Close your pretty eyes.” He alerted you as he was about to undress. “Can’t have you tainting a priest, now can we?” He huffed a quiet laugh and you rolled over and let him get his sweatpants on. Once he was decent he laid down beside you and facing you, his hand cupping your cheek and your eyes consumed him whole, you felt like you still owed him every ounce of you, and he’d let you. But tonight was about seeking refuge, and you both had what you wanted, you had a safe home and he had someone to protect.

[clownwritesfanfic]

I Could Be A Good Mother, and I Wanna Be Your Wife

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Summary: Class 1A is given the surprise task of caring for baby dolls. Everyone is randomly paired up in two’s, and it’s just your luck that you get your crush as a partner.

Warnings: Bakugou may be a little ooc but I don’t care

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 6,512

Disclaimer: Reader is kept as diverse as possible but wears a skirt, uses the girls locker room, has long enough hair to run fingers through, calls herself ‘mother’, being able to birth a child, and was originally written with a fem aligned person in mind. This is safe for poc, and plus size readers. The majority of the fic is also safe for trans women readers but the bonus at the end is not. (Y/N) is used only once.

Important info before you read‼️

This fic was written originally with an OC of mine in mind, however, most people don’t read Canon x OC and while I normally wouldn’t care and wrote one anyway, I am very proud of this and want as many people to read it as possible and hopefully enjoy it. So with that in mind, I took out any describing factors and her name but I did keep some of her backstory and her quirk. If that bothers you, you can move on but I hope you read it anyway because I’m very proud of this.

Also, there is another OC of mine in this story, Usagi. She’s not integral to the plot and has no speaking roles. I had to add her to keep the class even, otherwise someone would’ve been a single parent.

Any feedback is very welcome and appreciated!

Title is inspired by ‘not a lot, just forever’ by Adrianna Lenker but the fic is unrelated.

———————————————————————

It was a Monday, a few weeks after the majority of Class 1A got their provisional hero licenses when Midnight and Recovery Girl entered the classroom. Aizawa had taken it upon himself to snuggle up in his yellow sleeping bag and take a nap after introducing the two women, leaving them to explain what today’s class is.

The students expected Midnight, considering she had taught a few of their classes before, but there were murmurs of why the school nurse was there.

“Listen up boys and girls! We have a very special and unique class for today!” Midnight announced as she raised her hand in the air, her leather whip clutched in her hand, catching the attention of everyone (who was awake) in the room.

“Today isn’t about hero work or everyday schoolwork. This lesson is special, it will help you all later in your lives if you choose this path. The path being….PARENTHOOD!” She exclaimed while striking an enthusiastic pose.

“Wait, what?!” “Seriously?” “What do you mean?!” A series of voices could be heard throughout the classroom.

“Settle down!” Midnight got the attention of the students. “This lesson is the most important lesson anyone can learn. Whether you want to become a parent or not, learning how to care for babies and children is a vital and selfless aspect of life.”

There were a couple hushed protests among the class but Recovery Girl talked over them. “You will have one week to care for these babies.” She explained as she pulled out eleven baby dolls of various genders and races. “These dolls are specially made for things like this. These babies will cry, make noises, “sleep”, “eat”, and soil its diaper like a real baby. They’re also able to record and grade you based on how quickly you can figure out and resolve its problem. And be careful what you say around it and how you say things. They can detect anger and verbal abuse which will drastically affect your score. Now…any questions?”

A bunch of hands were instantly raised. But that didn’t matter since Bakugou stood up and slammed his hands onto his desk and yelled. “WHAT THE HELL DO WE HAVE TO RAISE SOME DUMB BABIES FOR?! THIS IS THE HERO COURSE NOT A NURSEY COURSE!”

“Sit down.” Midnight said sternly. She took over the conversation. “While this lesson isn’t exactly meant to play into your hero work, this knowledge can be beneficial out in the field. For example, in some rescue operations, it can take hours for a child to be reunited with their family. Most of the time, medics will take the child and work with police to try and reunite them with their parents, but there are times where a hero must step in and care for and comfort the child. With older children around three to five years old, they’re easier to calm down. You can talk to them and explain the situation and reassure them. But babies and younger children are harder to console in high stress situations. If you learn these things now, you won’t be stressed if you ever get caught in a situation where you’re in charge of a small child. A lot of heroes are inexperienced with child care unless they are a parent themselves or have young family members. Think of this as getting ahead of a problem before it even starts. Make sense?”

Bakugou grumbled and sat back down.

“Eeeee This is going to be fun! We get to take care of cute babies!” Ashido squealed.

“I don’t think it will be that fun, Mina. Babies are a lot of hard work and dedication.” Asui chimed in, a finger lifted up to her lips. She had two younger siblings, so she knew a thing or two about raising kids.

“Correct you are, child.” Recovery Girl said. “The infant stage is one of the toughest stages of child rearing since they can’t communicate their needs and wants with words. It’s a lot of guessing and paying attention to their body language. However, these dolls do not move so you will have to rely on audio cues to guess what the child needs.”

Midnight spoke up. “You will be split up into groups of two all determined by a random draw. Because there are more boys than girls in this class, some of you will end up in a same sex partnership. You do not have to act as a real couple so don’t freak out if you’re partnered with someone you don’t have romantic feelings for. What’s important is teamwork on taking care of the baby. You are in charge of the child for the rest of this week, including the weekend. You may chose to either take turns or to split responsibility evenly. You will be given all the supplies you will need, if you end up needing more, Recovery Girl will help you. At the end of the week you will return the dolls and we will tally up the scores and see which couple has the lowest score. The lowest score is the winner since each mistake is marked based on how severe of a mistake it was. The higher the score, the worse you did. Any more questions?”

Iida quickly raised his hand. Midnight gestured for him to speak. He stood up and loudly asked “If we are to have the baby all day for the rest of the week, what do we do with it while training? You can’t expect us to take the baby with us! That’s highly dangerous and immoral and I would expect better from such a prestigious school!”

“Yes, you’re right. We don’t expect you to keep the doll with you while training. That’s why each of you will have to figure something out. One of you will have to sit out of training unless you can find a better option. Leaving the child in your dorm and hoping for the best is not an option and neither is bringing it to training and leaving it off to the side. It’s like real life. One of the parents has to stay home and care for the child. Sometimes they will get a babysitter but that is not an option for you since the scores need to come from you and your partner only for you to pass. If you really want to train that day, you’ll either have to talk it through with your partner, or train later in the day during your free time.” Midnight answered.

“Thank you very much for clearing this up.” Iida said, bowing deeply before taking his seat.

Midnight clapped her hands. “Alright! With everything out of the way, let’s draw for your partners.” She held up a blue plastic box. “In this box is twenty-two coloured tokens. There are eleven pairs. Each one of you will reach into this box and pull out one token, when everyone has a token, you will be given time to find the person with the same colour token. They will be your partner for the rest of the week. You may not switch partners. Each colour is already assigned to a baby as well, so you don’t get to chose that either.” As she finished explaining she walked around the room letting everyone reach in and pull out a token. When the box was empty she returned to the front and allowed the class to find their partners.

Midoriya and Uraraka had the yellow tokens, Shouji and Asui had the purple tokens, Mina and Kirishima had the red tokens, Kaminari and Jirou had the orange tokens, Hagakure and Yayorozu had the light blue tokens, Sero and Mineta had the black tokens, Usagi and Tokoyami had the dark blue tokens, Todoroki and Ojiro had the pink tokens, Iida and Aoyama had the green tokens, and Satou and Kouda had the white tokens.

You looked down at your brown coloured token and looked back up to scan the room. All your classmates were already paired up and either happily talking about how it would be to raise a baby together or complaining about their partner. You could faintly hear Mineta crying about not being paired up with a girl. You look across the room at Bakugou who was still sat at his desk, glaring at his token.

Upon closer look, you could see that it was the same colour as yours. You sighed, already accepting that you’ll basically be a single parent as you can’t imagine he’d want anything to do with this. You reluctantly stood up and made your way across the classroom to him.

“Um…hey. Looks like we have the same colour. Guess we’re partners for the week.” You said, gently.

“I can fucking see that. I’m not blind, dumbass.” He retorted.

Ah, it seems he’s decided to take on the verbally abusive and absent father route already. You’ll have to do your best to make sure you get a low enough score. You’ve never taken care of a baby before. You had baby dolls as a kid but they’ve never graded you before. This was a whole new challenge and you could feel the anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“Right…well. We should talk about how we want to do this.” You started. “I think we should take turns each day. I could take it today and you take it tomorrow and repeat. I know you probably don’t want to skip a day of training so I can take it during training even on your days. There’s not much really for me to train anyway so I can afford to lose a week of it.” You let out a weak laugh.

Bakugou growled. “Do whatever you want but don’t be stupid. You can train on the days I have it. Don’t stop your training over some dumb doll.”

“But…you would be stopping yours if you-“ You get cut off by the blonde.

“I’m already the best in this whole class! Missing a few days of training isn’t going to do anything. Besides, you’re weak and you need to be at your strongest so I can beat you and prove that I’m the best in this entire school!” He yelled. You think that was a compliment albeit he put it weirdly.

“Ha…yeah…okay.” You replied. Just then the bell rang and everyone started to put their stuff away. You went over to your desk to do the same.

“Please return your tokens to the box! And before you leave, pick up your baby with the matching colour onesie and the bag of necessities. You have the rest of the day to yourselves.” Said Midnight.

You slung your bag onto your back and walked to the front of the room and dropped your token back into the box. You waited for your classmates to fizzle out a bit so you could get your baby. The dolls were all lined up in car seats. You found the one wearing a brown onesie, a girl with blonde hair. You chuckled to yourself at the resemblance to your partner.

You grabbed the handle of the car seat and went to grab the big duffel bag next to it when someone grabbed it before you. You look over to see Bakugou standing over you, glaring off to the side.

“Move it.” He gruffed out as he slung the bag over his shoulder.

You left the classroom with Bakugou trailing behind you, still scowling. You turn around and start walking backwards to face him and hold out the car seat so he could see the doll nestled inside.

“Look. She looks like you.” You giggled. He glanced down at the blonde doll and huffed.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot.” He grumbled. You rolled your eyes and turned back around and followed your classmates to the dorms.

———————————————————————

Back in the dorms, everyone was changed out of their school uniforms and gathered in the common room with their new kids. Everyone of course…except for Bakugou, who very grumpily went to his room after dropping the bag of things off at your room.

You had went through the bag and found loads of diapers, clothing, a carrier that strapped to your chest, bottles, a pacifier, and some baby toys. You weren’t exactly sure why you would need toys, considering the baby isn’t actually real, but you guessed you’d find out the reason sooner or later.

You decided to change her out of her boring brown onesie so you picked out a cute outfit from the ones provided. You undid the buckles holding the baby in the car seat (why it came in a car seat when you don’t even know how to drive a car, you will not know) and gently and carefully lifted the little girl out of the seat, making sure to support her head.

As you laid her on the ground and started to undress her, she started making cooing noises.

“Oh! Hello….you must be awake now I guess.” You spoke to the baby as she cooed in reply. “Ha…I guess you are kinda cute.” You felt as if you were talking to yourself.

When your new daughter was dressed, you decided to go to the common room since you thought everyone would be there, and right you were. As you went down the hallway you could hear the excited chatter of your classmates getting louder. When you were in sight, Mina noticed you and waved you over.

“Hey! Come over here! We’re all showing off our babies!” She excitedly exclaimed. As you walked over, Kirishima stood up from his spot beside Mina and offered the space to you. You thanked him as you sat down and readjusted your baby in your arms.

“Course! What kinda man would I be if I didn’t offer a seat to a lady with a baby!” He replied. Ever so chivalrous, he is.

“Ha! That rhymed.” Kaminari pointed out.

“Awww you got a girl? How lucky!” Mina squealed. “Kirishima and I got a boy. We named him Kenji.” You looked down at her lap where the doll was laid on its back.

“You named it?” You asked.

“Well yeah! We can’t just keep calling him “it” and “the baby”.” She explained as if it was obvious.

Iida then chimed in, his baby tucked securely in one of his arms. “Yes, I suppose it would be beneficial to name the child. This is supposed to be taken seriously and we can not leave a child unnamed!”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room as everyone talked with their partners on what they should name their baby. You looked down to the small blonde doll in your arms that let out another coo and softly smiled.

“Riki…” You thought to yourself. “I’ll call you Riki.”

———————————————————————

“Riki?” Bakugou gawked. “You gave it a name?”

Bakugou was helping with making dinner, well, it was more like he forced everyone to let him do most of it because “no one was doing it right”. You were stood out of the way but within talking distance, your newly named baby in one arm and holding a bottle up to her mouth as she “ate”.

“First off, she’s a she not an “it”. Secondly, everyone in the class named their baby. We have to take this seriously and I’m not going to call her an “it” the whole week. Besides…I thought Riki would be a good name. It means “strong”….and since she kinda looks like you, I figured you’d want your kid to be strong like you so…” You trailed off looking down at the doll in your arms. “We can change it though if you really don’t like it.”

Bakugou huffs. “No…call it-…..call her whatever you want.” He continues to cook in silence. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks. You smile softly at him. Maybe you won’t have to do this alone after all.

———————————————————————

The first day goes by smoothly. You had a bit of a learning curve with changing the diaper but you managed after help from Yayorozu. Who knew she’d be so good at something like that?

You had just settled down into bed after putting Riki to “sleep” and were scrolling on your phone. It was about 10pm, most people were still awake but you knew the person you wanted to talk to most more than likely wasn’t. He went to bed at 8:30pm every night, even on weekends.

You stared at your screen open on Bakugou’s blank private messages page. UA made an app for the students to contact each other and teachers with. It worked like a regular texting app, every class had their own group chat and you could private message each other, even students from other classes. All of them were accessible to staff if needed though.

You didn’t know if you should even bother asking him if he’s still going to take Riki tomorrow. Plus you didn’t want to wake him up. You were about to turn your phone off when you got a message from Mina. You open up her message and see a picture of Kirishima with his hair down, asleep on one of the couches in the common room with their baby on his chest. You laughed quietly to yourself and responded with a cute reaction meme. You thought they would make an interesting pair for this project.

You turned off your phone and plugged it in to charge and set it on your bedside table. You got comfortable in bed and closed your eyes. It would take you a while to fall asleep so you started to let your mind wander. You realized that tomorrow Bakugou will miss out on training if he takes the baby. He already told you earlier today in class not to worry about it and to focus on your own training…but you genuinely couldn’t think on how training would benefit you.

Your quirk has always been more of a supporting quirk rather than one that could do well in a fight one on one. Your quirk is called Cheer, by speaking words of encouragement to someone, you can make your target stronger both physically and emotionally. The reverse also works, if you berate someone it makes them weaker. You can use it on more than one person but its effects get weaker the more people you use it in at once. There’s also a major weakness to your quirk. Anytime you berate someone, you gain confidence, but when you encourage someone, it takes away your confidence. Because of this you feel inferior to everyone else in your class. Even Mineta has a more useful quirk in combat than you do. You’re basically forced to sit on the sidelines and watch people fight. It helps in rescue operations but you still wished you could fight like everyone else. You only managed to get into the hero course because you racked up enough rescue points and got lucky with a three pointer.

It’s ironic that someone with an inferiority complex got paired up with someone with a superiority complex. It’s even more ironic that you managed to gain a crush on the bastard too.

———————————————————————

It was now Tuesday morning and Bakugou was sat in his room staring at the doll in its car seat.

You had entered the common room already dressed in your uniform with Riki in the seat. Hero training was the first class that morning so anyone who was in charge of their baby that day stayed behind and would join everyone later for normal classes. Your tie wasn’t done yet and your skirt was pulled up a little too high, showing off more thigh than you usually do, as you were in a rush since Riki wouldn’t stop crying and you couldn’t figure out why. She had finally managed to settle down when you gave her the included pacifier.

You weren’t much of a breakfast eater, especially if you were training in the morning so you didn’t go to the kitchen. You noticed Bakugou sat on one of the couches drinking something out of a mug. He was wearing a simple black tank top and sweatpants.

“Oh Bakugou! There you are. I’m guessing since you’re not in uniform you’re still taking Riki today.” You sat the car seat on the floor near him and started doing your tie. You knew you were just going to have to take it off soon to change into your hero costume but you still wanted to show up looking like you at least tried. “So I figured out that she makes different noises depending on what she wants. Most of the time she just wants to be held or given a pacifier so she makes really whiny sounds that almost sound like a cry. She was just crying now and the only thing that made her stop was the pacifier so she might start up again soon. I made a smaller bag of her things like diapers and her bottle just so you’re not carrying a big ass duffel bag later.” You were almost rivalling Midoriya with how fast you were muttering, you didn’t mean to but you didn’t want to be late and you kept fumbling with your tie.

As you were smoothing out your front, you felt a pair of hands grab the bottom of your skirt and start to pull down. You shrieked and smacked the hands away and turned around to see (to the best of your ability) Hagakure behind you.

“Oh my god, Hagakure! I had no idea who was behind me! You scared me thinking it was Mineta pulling at my skirt.” You laughed and grabbed onto the girls arms.

“Ahhh I’m sorry! I just noticed your skirt was up a lot higher than normal and you almost showed off a bit too much.” The invisible girl explained as you fixed your skirt. “Come on, we got to get to class!”

“Right, yeah, I’m coming.” You responded as Hagakure held your hand. You quickly turned to Bakugou again who once again had a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “You sure you’ll be okay? I know it’s only for an hour before I see you again so if you want to pawn her off to me next class then that’s fine.”

“Tch…how incompetent do you think I am? Of course I can take care of some stupid doll for an hour!” He barked back at you.

You felt Hagakure pulling you towards the front door. “Ok, well…see you later then!” You said as you finally took off with your friend, leaving Bakugou and a few others scattered around the common room.

“Heyyy, Bakugou! You get stuck on babysitting duty too?” Kaminari taunted, his baby settled in a carrier strapped to his chest.

Bakugou growled. “It’s not babysitting when it’s your own kid you idiot. And you look dumb with that thing on.” He stood up and grabbed the handle of the car seat and went off to his room. He could hear Kaminari complaining as he left.

Now here he was, in his room having a staring match with a doll. He wasn’t sure what to do for an hour, let along with a baby. He glanced up at some math homework left on his desk and decided to finish it up so he was ahead of everyone else in class. Ten minutes past when his concentration was interrupted by whining. He looked over at the car seat that was faced away from him at this angle and sighed. He reached over and turned it around.

“Jesus. She didn’t mention how fucking annoying it would be.” He muttered to himself as he undid the straps and lifted the baby out. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” He asked, surprisingly not as loud as he normally would. He thought maybe she was hungry and remembered you said something about a small bag with her bottle in it. He looked around but couldn’t find it. In fact, he didn’t remember seeing any bag with the baby anyway. He grumbled as he picked up his phone and opened up the messaging app and sent you a private message.

In the locker rooms you heard your phone buzz and decided to look at it as you were changing. You saw a notification from Bakugou and quickly opened it.

Katsuki Bakugou: hey, dumbass. she’s crying but I can’t find that bag you were talking about

You winced as you remembered that you never actually grabbed the bag in your rush to get downstairs.

You: damn I must have forgotten it in my room, sorry. feel free to go and grab it. my room code is 6678 it should be on my desk. you know which floor I’m on right?

Bakugou scoffed.

Katsuki Bakugou: yes I know. I’m not stupid.

You: never said you were <3 have fun lol

You didn’t realize you sent the heart. It was muscle memory from texting with your friends, but it sent Bakugou for a loop.

After he had quickly made his way to the second floor and grabbed the bag you mentioned, he went back to his room where he had left the baby on his bed. Her whining had turned into crying by now.

“Alright, Alright! I got your damn stuff.” Bakugou sat on the floor and settled the doll into his arm. He removed the pacifier and held the bottle up to its mouth. He felt relieved when the crying stopped. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He thought out loud.

He rested his back on his bed and started to drift off in to thought. Why did you send that heart? Did you mean to do it? Was it a reflex? Were you making fun of him? No…that couldn’t be right. You were one of the few that took him seriously. Sure you teased him sometimes, but not as much as the others. He thought back to a time where he accidentally overheard something he probably shouldn’t have that still made his heart feel weird.

———————————————————————

Bakugou was making his way to the kitchen to get something to drink. He could hear you and the other girls of Class 1A giggling and talking about random shit.

He was going to ignore the group when something made him stop in his tracks right before he would be seen.

“Sooo, who do you like?” Mina asked with a teasing voice.

“Who, me?” You asked as Mina nodded. All eyes were on you and you felt yourself blush. “Well…I guess I kinda have a thing for Bakugou…” You answered shyly, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“What?!” “Wait, Bakugou?!” “Really?” The girls cried out in unison.

“Why is that so shocking? You guys seriously don’t think he’s at least a little bit attractive?” You inquired.

Bakugou stiffened at the confession and he felt his heartbeat speed up. You…had a crush on him? Someone actually was interested in him romantically?

“You don’t think all his yelling and name calling is a turn off?” Uraraka asked.

“Hm…not really. Sure he says some mean stuff but…he doesn’t actually mean it.” You reasoned.

“I don’t know…he always seems to be serious about it. I mean he doesn’t even know our names.” Jirou huffed.

“Yes he does!” You laughed. “He’s not stupid. He’s a lot smarter than I think any of you give him credit for.”

“He is in the top our class academic wise as well as hero wise.” Yayorozu chimes in.

“Exactly. Have none of you realized that a lot of his plans actually work? He may seem like he’s rushing into things but it’s obvious he’s put clear thought into his plans. And the fact that he can make one up that quickly is impressive. He’s also more compassionate than you’d think.” You said, leaning back on the couch.

“Well I think you’re wrong with that.” Tsu replied.

“Because you guys are only seeing the surface level. You’re not reading in between the lines. For example, remember when we just moved into the dorms, the talk Mr. Aizawa had with us outside?” They nodded. “When Mr. Aizawa left, you could feel the uncomfortable tension in the class at being reminded of what happened. Bakugou grabbed Kaminari and made him go all dumb because he knew it would make everyone laugh. And it did! The tension was gone instantly! Bakugou really does care, he just doesn’t know how to show it like other people. And remember the school festival? He totally could’ve refused to play the drums but he did it anyway! That’s what I like about him. He’s not a cold hearted asshole, he just wants you to think he is. I use to be like that too.” You trailed off, looking ashamed.

“Wait. YOU were an asshole?” Mina prodded.

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, back when I first got my quirk. I realized that putting other people down gave me a lot of confidence. I went on a power trip and started bullying everyone. I started to realize that the “friends” that I did have were only my “friends” so they could escape my words. Made me feel like shit when I found out. Now I hate using my quirk like that unless absolutely necessary. But yeah….I see through Bakugou’s walls and I guess it just made me fall for him.” You changed the subject.

“Wow…you’re whipped for him, aren’t you?” Mina teased.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don’t tell him that. I don’t need him on my ass about it.” You blushed and waved her off.

“You sure you don’t want him on your ass?” Mina teased again.

“OH SHUT UP!” You threw a pillow at her as the girls laughed.

———————————————————————

Bakugou had zoned out at that memory. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it’s your fault for being so damn loud and talking about him in the first place! It’s been a few weeks since that and it’s still fresh in his mind. Did he like you back? He wasn’t sure. On one hand he was pissed at how you managed to figure him out so easily, but on the other hand…he felt comforted knowing someone understood him and didn’t make fun of him for it. He will admit that you weren’t that bad looking or as stupid as everyone else. He did wish you would see the potential you had with your quirk, though. He could feel his cheeks start to heat up and he scoffed, snapping out of his thoughts and looking back down at the doll in his arms.

“I guess…she’s not so bad…” He said softly to Riki.

———————————————————————

Training had finished and you and the rest of your classmates were on your way to your next class.

Upon entering the classroom you noticed everyone that had skipped out on training standing around, babies either in their arms, strapped to their chest, or in the car seat. Bakugou was sat in his spot, chin in his hand looking out the window to his left.

You had a few minutes to spare before class started so you walked up to your partner. “Hey! How’d it go? Was she fussy?” You asked as you squatted down to see Riki, who was in her car seat on the floor next to his desk.

“Tch, no. I told you I know what I’m doing.” He grumbled.

“I’m pretty sure none of us know what we’re doing but it’s nice to know that you’re taking this seriously.” You replied standing back up.

“HA? YOU THINK I WOULD’NT? YOU THINK I’M NOT CAPABLE OF THIS?” He yelled as he let off small explosions.

“Course not. I did kinda think you would end up leaving most of this to me though. But it’s nice that you’re playing along.” You smiled sincerely.

Iida started ushering everyone to their assigned seats as class was about to begin. You patted Bakugou on his shoulder and left to your seat near the back of the class.

He clenched his fists and glared down at his desk, he could feel his heartbeat going wild again.

———————————————————————

A few days had passed and it was now Friday night and you were at your wits end.

It was your day with Riki and she had been crying non stop for thirty minutes now. You were pacing your room with her in your arms as the doll “sobbed” louder and louder with each agonizing minute. You had no idea what was wrong; you tried feeding her, changing her diaper, holding her, giving her a pacifier, you even tried the toys that they provided but nothing was working!

You were close to tears yourself as you thought about how this would affect your grade and how pissed Bakugou would be if you ruined it. The whole week went by just fine, it never took this long for her to settle down. You had gotten lucky with the baby you were given as she was so easy to care for, but this moment right now was proving difficult.

Feeling like you had no other choice, you left your room with your still wailing daughter in your arms and quickly made your way up to Bakugou’s room.

You knocked on his door while still trying to shush Riki. When Bakugou opened the door, he looked like he had just woken up which made you start ranting.

“Bakugou, fuck, I’m so sorry to bother you right now I know you like to go to bed early but she’s been crying like this for like thirty minutes now and I’ve tried everything but she just won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do and I’m probably gonna make us fail cause I can’t get her to fucking stop and I just…” You panted “…can you please help me?” You nearly whined.

“Give her to me.” Bakugou reached out as you transferred her into his arms. He walked away with the crying doll, leaving his door open. You decided that was an invitation so you slipped into his room and gently closed the door behind you. You watched as Bakugou gently bounced the doll in his arms and started petting its blonde head.

You stared in awe as Riki started to finally quiet down until she was silent. You breathed out a sigh of relief but tears started to quickly gather in your eyes. Bakugou had opened his balcony door and stepped outside to the cool air. You ran a hand through your messy hair and followed them out onto the balcony. The not quite freezing but cold air nipping at your skin. It felt nice as you didn’t even notice that you were sweating from the stress. You bent over and rested your elbows on the railing and placed your head in your hands, trying to hold back your tears.

“She had been crying for so long…I tried everything but nothing worked. But the minute you have her she finally stops. What the hell am I doing wrong? Why am I such a bad mother?” You muttered more to yourself but your partner could hear you anyways.

A minute of silence went by as you tried to not let your tears fall when Bakugou finally spoke up, surprising gently. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you barely know how to handle.”

He leaned his back against the railing next to you. His arm barely grazing against your shoulder, his way of trying to comfort you. You sniffed and dropped your arms from your head and looked forward out into the dark courtyard.

“She’s been perfect this entire week. Nothing I couldn’t handle…but she just had to act like a total brat tonight.” You sighed.

“Hey.” Bakugou said sternly. “Don’t call our daughter a brat…that’s my line.”

You laughed at that, completely overlooking the fact that you called the doll “our daughter”. Bakugou softly smiled at your laugh, also not realizing exactly what he said. But her certainly felt his heart flutter as he looked down at the baby in his arms.

Bakugou decided he’d take her for the rest of the night so you could get some sleep. It was his turn tomorrow anyway.

———————————————————————

Monday had come by quickly, thus, ending the project. Recovery Girl had collected the dolls, and you couldn’t lie, you felt a little sad at the fact that you won’t have Riki around anymore. The class waited in anticipation to see whose grade was the lowest.

When the results came in, Midnight stood at the front of the class once again and started to call out the grades.

“Coming in last place is Sero and Mineta with a sixty-five.” Mineta started screaming about how unfair it was and that they got a faulty doll. “Todoroki and Ojiro have a score of thirty-four, Kaminari and Jirou have a thirty, Iida and Aoyama a twenty-seven, Usagi and Tokoyami with twenty-five, Shouji and Asui with twenty-one, Hagakure and Yayorozu with twenty, Mina and Kirishima with an eighteen, Satou and Kouda with a fifteen, Bakugou and (Y/N) with a score of eight, and lastly, coming in first place with the best score is Midoriya and Uraraka with a three! Good work everyone. I hope you all learned some valuable lessons from this experience!” Midnight finished.

There were high fives and cheers coming from the people with the lower scores and talks of what they could’ve done better from the people with higher marks.

You stared down at your desk smiling. Eight wasn’t so bad, right? Much better than what Mineta got.

At the front of the class, Bakugou has turned his head back to look at you and softly smiled to himself when he saw your relief. He turned back around to look down at his hands as he played with his pen. He could hear Midoriya and Uraraka being congratulated for the lowest score and for once in his life….he didn’t mind coming in second.

———————————————————————

Bonus:

Twelve years later, Bakugou had established himself as the number two hero with his own agency. You worked along side him as his number one sidekick. You both grew a lot since high school and grew closer from the experience. You managed to get rid of your inferiority complex and become more comfortable with using your quirk against villains rather than standing by and cheering on the heroes. You can also hold your own in combat pretty well now and you have a slew of support items to help.

But instead of kicking ass on the street you were laid out on a hospital bed after the longest 7 hours of your life. You were sweaty and exhausted, but it was all worth it as you looked at the little bundle in your arms. A head of blonde hair was peaking out of the blanket.

“What should we name her?” You whispered to the person leaning over you with their hand on your head and looking lovingly down at the newborn.

“…..Riki.” Bakugou said softly.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part two)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

After Rafe leaves, you make sure every door and window in your home is shut and locked.

You don’t know if Ty would do something as crazy as break in. But there was a time you’d laugh in disbelief at the thought of him hurling insults at you and that was all he did by the end of your relationship, so you’re not taking any chances.

Beneath the fear he impales you with lies a sense of betrayal. He was so good at pretending to be kind. Only a monster could put on such a convincing act just to break your heart.

When you tell yourself he’ll move on soon, you hate that it feels like false hope.

You text Sarah to let her know you made it home and that you’ll see her at tonight’s beach party. Even though Ty will probably be there, you don’t want him having any more power over you than he already has.

You’re determined to have fun. To have a life. Especially because you have someone protecting you now.

Rafe is unnerved as he stands on the beach under the starry sky that night, surrounded by the guys he parties with all the time.

The crowds and the conversations are all the same, but everything is different now. Because he’s looking out for you and it gives him something he hasn’t had in a long time. Purpose.

It’s disorienting to Rafe, going from avoiding you to keeping his eyes on you so persistently. From afar, he watches you laughing with your friends and now that he has a reason to, he takes you in completely.

He’d be an idiot not to admit that you’re beautiful. But he always knew that, no matter how hard he pretended not to notice you.

You slowly drift further away into the crowd. Rafe continues checking on you, keeping you in his sights.

Later on in the night, you’re in deep conversation with Sarah. Being three years her senior, you were much closer to Rafe when you were kids, but now you’d consider her a good friend.

When her eyes widen at something behind you, your body goes cold, expecting the worst. You turn to see your ex approaching you, a nearly empty beer bottle in his hand.

“Where’s Rafe?” you ask Sarah, hushed.

“Rafe?” she echoes in confusion. While she knows all about your ex, you haven’t had a chance to tell her that her brother is helping you put on a farce. You’re sure she’ll be in disbelief when you catch her up.

“Hey,” Ty says gently, his hand at the small of your back. The sensation you once welcomed makes you sick. “Can we talk? Please? I’m sorry about last night.”

It’s no surprise. You’re used to him yo-yoing between belittling you and putting on his nice guy act.

“No,” you respond, twisting so that his hand slips off of you. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?”

The booze in his system slows him down, but Rafe treads through the sand to you as fast as he can the second he sees Ty talking to you.

Suddenly, Rafe’s broad back is in front of you, a wall separating you from the man who’s tormenting you. When Rafe’s there, you realize Ty doesn’t scare you at all.

“Fuck off,” Rafe mutters.

Ty drunkenly staggers back, creating several feet of distance between you. His face contorts with annoyance.

“You know you’re just a bullshit rebound, right?” Ty calls. You look back at Sarah, who’s watching the exchange in confusion.

“I can’t hear you when you’re running away from me, pussy,” Rafe taunts.

Anger churns inside you at Ty’s words, prompting you to grab Rafe’s hand. You know Rafe couldn’t care less - after all, this relationship is all an act - but Ty calling him a rebound, insinuating that he’s meaningless to you, bothers you.

You pull him away, cupping his fingers with both hands.

Rafe was an inch away from chasing Ty and swinging at him. If it wasn’t for the alcohol blurring his senses, his fist would be aching right now from driving it into Ty’s jaw.

His entire body is stiff with rage, but for once in his life, the tension is dissolving instead of building up onto itself. It’s from the way your hands feel on him.

“What an asshole,” you say. Even though you should probably let go of him, you can’t.

Your touch is so warm. Rafe wants to ask why you reserve kindness for him after he shoved you out of his life. He wishes he could wipe it from his memory, the look on your face after he denied your every effort to talk to him. You grew up, but the disappointment in your stare never changed.

But he doesn’t know how to say all this. He doesn’t talk like that. With anybody. He couldn’t even talk to the therapist his father took him to see after it happened.

Maybe if he had asked him why he couldn’t so much as look at her, Rafe would have told his dad that the therapist’s blonde hair and gentle tone reminded him too much of his mother.

But after she told Ward that Rafe “wasn’t responding to therapy”, all he did was angrily yank his son out of the office, his grasp tight and painful.

Once they made it home, Rafe tearfully rushed to his parents’ bed to try to smell his mother on her pillow even though the sheets had been washed.

He spent most of his childhood pretending he was bigger than he was, eager to grow up. But he remembers nuzzling his head into her pillow that day, hyperventilating and thinking he was too small to know his heart could hurt this bad.

It felt like no time had passed when Rose came into the picture. Rafe knew his parents weren’t in a happy marriage, but he didn’t expect Ward to start seeing another woman so soon.

Rafe angrily confronted his dad, as if a ninety-pound kid could be any sort of threat. It was the first time Ward slapped him. He’s certain that it wasn’t the first time his father wanted to hit him, but his mother had always been his defence. And then in an instant, Rafe didn’t have her anymore.

You reach the shore together, far away enough from the crowd. You pull your hands away from Rafe and cross your arms, gazing at him under the moonlight.

“I wish he’d just stop already,” you say, shaken from Ty’s sudden approach. “Thank you. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Rafe says flatly. But he doesn’t walk away from you. He simply looks out at the dark sea with his hands in his pockets.

The waves crash beside you, the water climbing and retreating over the sand, threatening to wet your shoes.

The last time you stood together looking out at the water like this, you were kids skipping stones over the ocean’s swells. And because he’s not leaving, you take the opportunity to see if he’ll let you in, even just a little bit.

You crouch to pick up a small, smooth stone and try to skip it over the water. It immediately falls straight below the surface. You breathe a short laugh.

“That sucked,” Rafe says. His tone is lighter than what you’re used to.

“It’s been a while,” you retort. “And that rock wasn’t very flat.”

“Sure.” Despite himself, he cracks a smirk.

You can’t remember the last time you saw happiness on his face. He has his mother’s smile.

“You were better at finding the flat ones,” you say.

“I was better at everything.”

“And still so humble about it.” You haven’t joked around with him like this in so long that it feels new. “Prove it, then.”

“What?”

“That you can do better than me,” you say. “Get two skips, at least.”

Rafe keeps his hands in his pockets, looking down at the stones scattered atop the sand. The wind whips around you, threatening rain.

“We’re not kids anymore,” he rasps. If you want to take a walk down memory lane, you can do it alone.

He steps back, inviting the distance that lived between you for years to return. Yet another dismissal.

You step back, too. Your arms are not so much crossed anymore; you’re practically hugging yourself now. You need the comfort and he certainly isn’t going to give it to you.

“Did I do something wrong… before?” you impulsively say. Now that you have his attention, you find a shred of courage to ask him what’s been turning in your mind for years.

Deep down, you’ve always feared it wasn’t just the shock of what happened that made Rafe shut you out. Maybe you did or said something that deemed your friendship not worth keeping. Maybe you were too pushy. Or not pushy enough.

Rafe’s throat tightens. He never planned to have this conversation. He never wanted to.

You see his jaw clench. His silence is loud enough. It’s obvious he’s done speaking.

“Nevermind,” you say dejectedly. You turn, but his deep voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his protective instinct kicking in again.

“Back to my friends,” you say.

“He’ll just bother you again,” Rafe states. “Come on.”

He tilts his head towards the side of the beach he was on. Looking at the group of the same rowdy guys you always see him with in the distance makes you frown.

No matter how much you’ve missed him, you know that standing silently next to him while he jokes around with his friends will just be a painful reminder of how he chose them and not you.

“I’ll be fine,” you say.

“It wasn’t a question,” Rafe snaps abruptly.

For the first time since you started speaking again, the compassion you always feel for him is overpowered by anger. You know he’s helping you, but his domineering tone reminds you of how Ty speaks to you.

“I’ll be fine,” you repeat. The cold tide reaches your feet, soaking your shoes.

Irritation pricks Rafe’s skin. For years, you’ve been trying to force conversations with him, and now, when he’s inviting you to stay by his side, you’re shutting him down?

As you walk away, the feeling of rejection screws a hole into his chest. Then he realizes that this is the cold, empty way he’s been making you feel for years.

“I know,” you say when you see Sarah, acknowledging her puzzled expression, linking arms with her.

You’re about to tell her this is all a game of pretend, but the risk of Ty finding out from anyone overhearing or her accidentally mentioning it to someone is too scary.

“What was that?” she says with a disbelieving laugh.

“Rafe and I… started talking again. The other night. And we’re seeing each other now.”

“Wow,” is all she can say. She glances across the beach, as if looking at Rafe will offer any sort of clarity.

You haven’t spoken much about him with Sarah. Years ago, you’d often tell her how much you wished he’d just talk to you again and she’d tell you he doesn’t talk to anyone anymore.

She knows your relationship with him is strained and basically non-existent. You feel bad for lying to her, but your fear of Ty is too big to take any risks.

As the night carries on, your ex stays away from you.

Before heading home, you separate from your friends for just a moment to throw out your cup when you see a figure approaching you.

Goosebumps grow across your skin as Ty passes by behind you, his keys jingling in his hand.

“You planning on hiding behind him forever?” he asks. “What’s gonna happen when he’s not around, huh?”

You stare at him with a scowl, hoping your face isn’t showing just how frightened you are.

To your relief, Ty continues on his way, crossing into the parking lot. You remember him picking you up in the car you watch him sit in now and how he acted like such a gentleman, all the while hiding who he really was.

He succeeded in scaring you. His words left you unsettled, tears pricking your eyes, your breath shallow. The thought of going home and sleeping alone fills you with dread.

Maybe it was just an empty threat. But maybe it wasn’t.

You need someone to stay with you tonight. You rush back onto the sand towards the other side of the beach.

Rafe’s gaze is fixed on one of his friends telling a drunken story. But then you appear, crossing the distance with a fear-struck expression.

“What’d he do?” Rafe mutters, his body tensing. “Where is he?”

“He left,” you respond. Your anxiety pushes you to hold his forearm for some stability.

“What’d he do?” he repeats.

“He… said some stuff,” you say, voice shaking. “Can you-”

“I told you to stay with me,” Rafe interrupts. He’s seething. This could have been prevented if you had just listened to him.

But the way you’re breathing and holding onto him, as if you’re lost at sea and he’s the only thing keeping you afloat, makes him regret snapping.

“And I didn’t listen because you yelled at me just like he does,” you mumble quietly, letting go.

The comparison stings. He shouldn’t blame you. He knows that. And now that the booze has worn off, he’d love a shot at Ty with nothing slowing him down.

Some of his buddies are watching you two in confusion. They’d never seen you together and now you’re clearly in a heated conversation. Just like a couple fighting.

“What were you gonna ask me?” Rafe says, wishing he hadn’t interrupted you.

You’re unsure if you should ask. But even with your home’s security system in place, who knows how long police would take to arrive after a triggered alarm? You need someone already there in case Ty is crazy enough to break in. Someone you know can protect you.

“Can you stay at my house tonight?“ you mumble. “I’m scared of being alone.”

Rafe falters. He agreed to pretend to be your boyfriend, and staying with you is a boyfriend thing to do, but the pressure of being in an empty house together after years of avoiding you makes him uneasy.

Yet, at the same time, the prospect of being completely alone with you gives him a sense of home that only adds to the confusion that’s been clouding in his mind.

“Did you drive here?” he finally says.

You know next to nothing about Rafe these days, but you do know that he does almost everything alone. He never arrives or leaves parties with people. It’s always just him on his motorcycle.

“I came with a friend,” you reply. “But I can wait until you’re ready to leave.”

His muscles lose some of their tension. You’d be willing to stand here and wait for as long as you’d need to just so you don’t have to be on your own. You’re desperate.

Rafe stays out until he’s exhausted. It’s how he makes sure the second he’s in bed, he can take a shot or do a line and fall asleep right away, giving no opportunity to be subjected to his thoughts.

But guilt is a powerful opponent and this is a fight he knows he’ll lose.

“Let’s go,” he sighs.

After you let your friend know you have a ride home, you make your way to Rafe’s motorcycle with him in silence.

He grabs his helmet from the boot, thoughtlessly about to put it on. But then he remembers he’s not alone for once.

He holds the helmet out to you. You hesitate, about to ask him if he has an extra for himself, but why would he?

“You sure?” you ask.

“Take it.”

“You don’t have to,” you say. Rafe sends a groan towards the starry sky.

“Goddamn it, do you have to be so difficult?” he mutters. The edge of his tone is cutting. You’re fed up.

“I know you’re doing me a favor, but could you stop being so rude about it?” you say.

Rafe exhales in frustration. Shit. He’s sure he’s acting just like your asshole ex again.

“Isn’t the whole point of this to keep you safe?” he says, softness in his voice. “Can you just put it on?”

You look up at him through your lashes. His forlorn gaze extinguishes the fire of your irritation and you relent, accepting the helmet, the shell cold and hard in your hands.

Rafe swings his leg over the bike, turning on the engine. He glances back at you as you put the helmet on.

You steady yourself and straddle the sputtering motorcycle. It’s nerve-racking placing your hands on Rafe’s hips.

With his feet on the ground, he drags his big hands over yours and guides them up to his abdomen.

“You have to hold tighter,” he half-shouts over the engine. You obey, your chest pressing against his back, your arms wrapping around his torso.

You wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is pounding. His t-shirt is so thin. His body is firm and warm.

You appreciate that he gave you his helmet, but you wish it wasn’t in the way now so that you could lean on him and press your cheek between his shoulder blades.

Your mind has run away from you. It’s odd craving someone who doesn’t seem to like you all that much. You still don’t even know why he’s helping you.

As Rafe drives out of the lot, slower than he usually would, he hates that he likes the feeling of you wrapped around him this much. He’s been pushing this sort of closeness away for so long. He didn’t know it could feel so good.

As he drives beneath the glowing streetlights, he can’t remember the last time he felt proud of himself like he does now. The relief that washed over your face when he told you he’d stay at your house is replaying in his mind.

While he’s the one protecting you, you’re giving him something, too. You’re pulling him away from the sense of aimlessness he lives in every day.

Rafe goes to his place first, stuffing the things he’ll need to sleep over into a duffle bag and draping it across his chest, before driving to your house.

When you step through the front door together, he watches you quickly enter your code into the security panel, then rush to shut and lock the door.

You’re clearly still so terrified. Rafe needs to know exactly what Ty did to make you act like this.

“What’d he say to you?” he breaks the silence, dropping his bag into his hand. “Tonight. What’d he say?”

You lean against the door, hands tucked behind you as you look up at him. It’s odd, Rafe being in your house. You never thought he’d be here again.

“He asked me if I’m gonna hide behind you forever and what I’ll do when you’re not with me,” you say. It makes Rafe want to kill the idiot with his bare hands.

“I’d call the police,” you continue, “but they don’t help unless he actually does something. Or if there’s proof that he’s planning to. I just hope he gets tired of it so you don’t have to keep doing this.”

Rafe wants to tell you he’ll be here for you for as long as you need him. It’s a shock that his knee-jerk reaction is to make a promise to anyone, let alone to you.

But it’s no surprise that your focus is on how this is affecting him. He still can’t figure out what could possibly make you think he’s worth the consideration.

“Where am I sleeping?” he asks, settling for the easy way out of the conversation.

You lead him upstairs to the guest room a few doors down from your bedroom. Rafe’s eyes travel over the family photos organized in a neat grid on the hallway wall, watching you grow up through every image.

His heart lurches at an image of four people on the beach. It’s you two as kids, surrounded by your smiling mothers. He hasn’t looked at a photo of his mom in years.

You notice the sound of Rafe’s footsteps stop and you look back to see him staring at a photo. You’ve memorized the wall by now, knowing exactly which one he’s looking at.

What can you possibly say? That you miss her, too? You can’t come close to understanding his grief.

His forehead crinkles, his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow, and you swear you see him stop breathing for a moment. Then his gaze darts off of the photo and you silently lead him the rest of the way.

Rafe enters the room you take him to and swings the door behind him without a word.

You get ready for bed and settle under your covers. Knowing you’re not alone helps you doze off within minutes.

You’re in a deep sleep when a loud clang pulls you into consciousness. Immediately, you fear it’s Ty.

But once you hear the tapping on the window, you realize it’s storming outside. A roll of thunder is what woke you up. You check the time to see it’s nearly two a.m.

Thunder rumbles again as you slip out of bed. Your survival instinct is beckoning you to go check on Rafe, to make sure he’s still here in case you need him.

You turn on the hallway light and see that the guest room door is just slightly open. And the bed is empty.

Before you can jump to conclusions, you hear a laugh track spilling out of the television downstairs. He didn’t leave.

You’re pretty sure Rafe doesn’t want you disrupting his solitude. But you need to know why he’s doing all this for you. It’s been tumbling in your mind since he agreed to it. That’s what gives you the push to go downstairs and find him.

(part three)

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