#i will get to other characters this time i promise

[spicymancer]

Are you going to draw the tag team fight?

I'm working on it!!! It has ah... ballooned a bit in scale and complexity from my initial intentions. I think it's suffered a bit from the compounding issues of wanting to do stuff with the characters and making the comic a worthy finale to the whole tournament arc thing, and now that it's taken so long it's got the additional concern of making it worth the *wait*. And since I don't want to just spend a bunch of time without posting anything I still want to have things to post in the meantime, meaning taking time away from the RvR comics to work on OTHER stuff that can be drawn and posted in the meantime. It's a good productive kinda stress, but I am genuinely sorry it's taking so long. But it'll get done! I promise!

[in-som-niyah]

hiii i hope you’re having a good day/night!!!

saw your inbox was open, may i ask hurt comfort w jason with lines like “you know i would die for you” “but i want you to live for me” or something like that (u can ignore the lines if you like)

love your works ♥︎

a/n: we're gonna ignore the fact that this was requested a yr ago ok thanks

Your phone has been left in your purse of the past 3 days and you refuse to touch it until it rings the specific ringtone attributed to Jason's number.

The last you heard of him was when you fought for the millionth time over him coming home fractured and barely together. You're grateful he told you that he's Red Hood and he comes to you when he needs to be put back together, but every bruise on Jason's body would chip away at your resolve. Every bleeding gash a reminder that someone is out to hurt him, and he barely got away.

It came to a head when he promised, he promised, he wouldn't overdo it anymore, he'll walk away when the reward is no longer worth the fight. His boots collided with your floor and he stumbled into your bathroom. Blood seeping through the hand holding his side, a harsh groan and whimper as he collapsed onto your desk chair. Blood was everywhere. He couldn't even hold a breath long enough to apologize for it.

Of course you patched him up; you grabbed the gauze and antiseptic and needles and all of that. You cleaned, stitched him and did everything you're supposed to do. You did what you're supposed to do and still. Still he's almost dying in your room.

It ended in yelling, biting comebacks and clothes thrown into bags. Neither of you are sure how it happened, or what was said. All you know is that it hurts. It hurts so much. You've learned to lean on each other when things got heavy, but soft hands have sharp teeth it seems.

You know he would die for you, but you don't want a funeral; why can't he understand that his beating heart means more to you than a casket?

---

Three days.

Three days of nothing.

You haven't seen or heard from him. You were worried for your relationship of course, but also for his health; he has a tendency to be more risky when emotionally volatile.

Is he bleeding out somewhere?

Is he scared?

Is he as distraught as you are?

Too many thoughts for a mind too far into exhaustion. You needed to pull yourself together. Work had to carry on. You're a nurse, helping people is what you do. Get a fucking grip.

It took 6 nights for Jason to show up again. You never gave him permission to come into your shitty apartment in the first place, he never asked anyway.

This time he was standing upright, bandages still on, but the wounds were no longer bleeding. His eyes delayed meeting yours, favouring instead to look behind you and into our apartment, looking as if he'll find someone else lounging in his place.

You looked at him, but really his injuries and lingering bruises. Jason stood in your doorway helmetless, coming to you as a person rather than a character. You appreciated this, but stunned at the intrusion.

"Look at me." Jason starts.

His voice is low, gentle. Nothing like it was a week ago. It carries concern, consideration and fondness. Nothing like it was a week ago.

You dare not look at him. Under no circumstances will you tell him how bad the past six days were for you. You will not tell him how your cell phone is still in your bag. You will not tell him how you can't pick it up for any other ringtone other than his.

"Please"

Jason sounds like he's choking. He sounds like you're strangling him and sucking the air from his lungs. He sounds like the world is in limbo.

A small droplet falls to your feet. You instinctually look up, and regret it instantly. Puffy eyes weighed down by eye bags collected from restless nights met your gaze. Looking at Jason was a gut punch, a twisting, winding, gut punch.

You didn't notice your own tears, but you managed to close the door behind you before you were pulled into his arms. Injuries be damned, he would rip a thousand stitches before he deprived himself of how you felt against him. The smell of your deep conditioner, the feeling of your soft curls against his shoulder, the tenderness of your body, the warmth of your skin. He remembers now.

Jason remembers why he loves likes you. He remembers why he broke through your window the first couple nights. He needs you, and he's a fucking idiot if he continues to put flinging himself into danger over you.

Jason ends up sitting in your doorway, arms around you, fists curled in your clothes. He held you as if you would disappear. He held you as if you would draw all his breath from him if you pulled away. He would never, never make that mistake again. Nothing on this godforsaken planet, in this shitty city is ever worth more than you.

Just as quickly as they came, Jason's convictions to his lifestyle came crumbling down. If any of his enemies were to hold a gun to his head, right here right now, he would go without a fight.

Though words evaded him, he was an idiot if he didn't at least try.

"I'm so sorry" you sob.

"I love you too."

---

a/n pt2: so this came out so much more angsty than i thought so im sorry for that!! im finally on a roll where i feel motivated so i'm gonna keep writing hopefully <3 thank you so much for ur patience and such a great ask <3

also im an idiot and just ran with this and just realized that you wanted quotes instead of just a general concept AFTER the fact that i wrote this so... yeah 🙂, this is going well 🙂

Also, i think this fits intot he fem!black!nurse!reader AU that i may or may not have made official so theres that <3

[nubiawrites]

chapter eight

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Original Character

Warnings: Slow burn. 18+. Smut. Sex.

Summary: As Aaron and Iriye's connection grows, old flames and new obstacles find their way between them.

Notes: I really love this chapter. But I'll let you guys be the judge of that. Comment, like, reblog, or send me asks. I want to hear your thoughts because I love responding.

MASTERLIST

Rules were simple enough to follow. Little things two people agreed on. Iriye and Aaron had decided to come up with that while spending a weekend at hers. 

“I like this. Us,” Aaron breathed against Iriye’s ear, him the big spoon around her as they cuddled on her couch, her TV playing a rerun of whatever TBS had to show.

“Oh, do you? I couldn’t tell,” Iriye replied, though she could feel his ever-growing length against her backside. “But I agree. I like my weekends with you,” She admitted, facing the full lips, trimmed goatee, and blueish-green eyes that had captivated her. 

They spent five weekends in a row at the others’ place, finding themselves wrapped up in each other. There was the occasional late-night run for groceries or anything they both craved. Glasses and a hat on for Aaron while Iriye did most of the picking out of things.

“I like seeing you during my weekdays,” Aaron spoke, pulling her in by her chin and throat for a kiss and her moaning into his mouth.

“You might get annoyed with me when we have to be around each other,” Iriye stated.

“I just want to kiss you even more.” He pecked her lips once again. “Maybe we can sneak into your office-”

“Where Nelly and Tamara could walk in at any time,” She pointed out.

“Or my trailer.”

“Let’s give a PA a show.”

“Your mind is in the gutter, love,” Aaron chuckled. 

“You’re not supposed to shit where you eat,” Iriye turned to face him fully, her hand trailing her fingers across his chest. “We’ve been seeing each other for a month, officially,”

“Two and a half but whatever you say,” Iriye raised her eyebrow at Aaron and he kissed her again. “I get you’re nervous,”

“I’m not," Iriye retorted.

“Okay, you’re not nervous. So what’s going on?” He asked, rubbing her side softly. She hummed at the touch.

“I just don’t want things to get too… complicated,” Iriye stated, the vulnerability feeling like it was choking her. “I like that it’s just us. That only we know. That we can just be Aaron and Iriye,” 

Aaron nodded along as she spoke, taking it in. But Iriye could see there was something else.

“I don’t want you to overthink this,”

“I’m not,” 

“Relax your brows then,” Iriye playfully brushed her hand over Aaron’s face, an inkling of a smile appearing from him. “We’re in pre-production for Paradise Lost and you’re on Lanterns still. I just want the both of us to be able to focus on our respective jobs when we’re at the lot. But when we’re not there, we can just focus on each other,” Aaron thought it over.

“We both can agree on that,” Aaron stated. “The lot is off limits.” He held up his hand for a pinky promise. “Deal?” Iriye returned her pinky giner to intertwine his.

“Deal.”

The rules were definitely broken. But Iriye liked to think that Aaron started it. 

Aaron had finished with filming, and Iriye was still on the lot, working on some things. It was an innocent meeting under the guise of discussing Paradise Lost. Even if Nelly gave Iriye and Aaron a knowing smirk as she left them alone in the production office.

Iriye kept things professional as she sat across from him on the couch in her office. They reviewed her changes to the Paradise Lost script after some execs had some minor notes. She was focused, but Aaron was focused on something else entirely.

At first, it started with Aaron wanting to make sure he got Iriye’s exact thoughts down for his journal, copying her notes verbatim. He had moved closer to her side of the couch, but she paid it no mind. But then his hand went across the back of her chair as he leaned in, and she caught a whiff of his cologne, causing Iriye to hum softly.

“You good, love?” He asked, smiling at her.

“Fine,” Iriye refocused. 

But it didn’t stop there. Aaron’s hand brushed against her back. His leg bumped into hers as he focused. His cologne was intoxicating her senses. If anything, he was walking temptation. But the real kicker was when he licked his bottom lip. It was over. Iriye was a goner.

With the door to her office locked and the blinds down, Iriye was in Aaron’s lap, crying to the heavens as he lifted her up and down his length. Her nails dug into his shoulders every time he made sure she reached the base of his length, whines and cries escaping her. A grin was on his face as she watched the faces and sounds she made as she was packed to the brim with his thick cock, moaning and groaning in response to her. 

Watching Iriye while Aaron fucked her was becoming a favorite past time of his. Seeing how she gave all of herself over to feeling. How she wasn’t shy about saying what she wanted. About letting him know when something was good. 

“Fuck Aaron,” Iriye moaned into his ear, her tongue moving to lick at it before she playfully bit it. That earned her a smack to her ass.

“You’re so wet. What made you so wet, baby girl?” Aaron teased, not letting up on fucking her on his length. He was playing with her under the guise of being calm and controlled.

“You…” Iriye moaned, her body trying to hold on, but the feel of his length inside of her was so good.

“I’m making you feel this good,” Aaron groaned. He slammed against her G-spot, and Iriye could swear she could die happily at just the feeling. “Answer me, Iriye.”

“You’re making me feel this good, baby.” Her bra-clad breasts were bouncing in his face, her shirt long gone. He let his tongue slither across the skin, a hand coming up to tug one of the cups out of the way and pull a perky brown nipple into his mouth. “Aaron,” She cried.

Aaron could feel her walls tightening around his length as he continued to fuck her and suck at her breast. He moved to her other breast, and Iriye whined.

“Fuck, you’re so tight love,” Aaron groaned into her breast, sucking on the nipple before biting teasingly. “You’re gonna make me cum,” Iriye squeezed her walls around him and that earned her a hard thrust up from him. 

“Right there,” Iriye cried.

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” Iriye followed his directions, Aaron drilling up into her and making cries and moans escape her body. 

“Oh god!” She cried out, her face pressing against his as she let him fuck the life out of her. His lips pressed feverishly to her skin as he continued his thrusts. Her nails dragged down his scalp, grasping onto him and his body as his stamina kept him fucking his length inside of her. 

“God, your pussy was made for me, Iriye,” He whispered into her shoulder. “Fuck baby,”

Iriye whined out as she felt her walls tightening around him even more. He thrust against her g spot a few more times, pulling more cries from Iriye.

“Just like that! You’re fucking me so good,” Iriye whined. “You’re gonna make me come,” Aaron pulled back to watch her face.

“Come for me,” Aaron slipped one hand from her ass, his fingers finding her clit and circling it to match the pace he was setting inside of her. Iriye had no room to go against him as she was helping him fuck her on his length, her hips meeting his as chased that end. “Iriye,”

Iriye cried out as she felt the waves crash down on her, Aaron still fucking her through it. Her hips bucked as her orgasm were intense, pussy clenching around him as she trembled in his arms. Aaron continued pounding his length into her, groans against her skin. 

Iriye kissed every patch of Aaron’s skin she could get to, their lips finding each other’s as Aaron cried out, his end hitting him hard as he gave into his orgasm, shooting into the condom he wore. Hearing him cry out her name into her mouth just made Iriye want to go again.

Chest heaving, Iriye buried her face into Aaron’s chest once she pulled away and she felt relaxed, her pussy still spasming ever so often around him.

“Didn’t expect that when I came in here for a meeting,” Aaron chuckled, placing kisses on her shoulder. Iriye pulled back to look at his handsome face and playfully rolled her eyes.

“Lies,” Iriye shook her head. Aaron placed a hand to his heart.

“I’m innocent,” Iriye just chuckled.

“Nothing about how you just fucked me is innocent,” Iriye pulled back, seeing her juices coating his condom covered length. “Glad to know these aren’t just for show,” She playfully squeezed his shoulder. Aaron chuckled, leaning in to kiss her softly. 

“Well if you’re in the mood for not so innocent fucking, we should probably go back to my place,” Aaron stated, his hand rubbing her bare thigh. 

“You’re absoutely correct, Mister Pierre,” She said in her best British accent. “How did I do?

“Eh,” Iriye playfully smacked his chest before he pulled her in for another kiss. 

“Let me go to the bathroom and freshen up,” Iriye moaned as she slid off of his length and found her panties and jeans. Iriye looked back at Aaron adjusting himself before heading for the bathroom.

Once she was freshened up, Iriye walked back to the production office but was surprised when she saw a familiar face about to reach for the handle to the Lanoire Production Office.

“Jay?” Iriye said, seeing the taller Black man at the production office door. Jay turned back to her and smiled, a smile that once had Iriye clenching in excitement now had her feel with sadness and dread. 

“Hey Iriye,” Jay tried to reach in for a hug while Iriye held out her hand, the two laughing at the awkwardness of the exchange.

“Didn’t think we would be like those white folks in a meet cute,” Jay stated.

“Well things are different now,” Iriye replied.

“Right,” Jay adjusted his backpack strap.

“Were you here for Tamara?” Iriye asked. “She left an hour or so ago,”

“Nah. I was coming by to check in on you,” Jay ran a hand at the back of his neck. 

“I don’t think it’s proper ettiquette to check in on the person who broke your heart, Jay,” Iriye stated.

“Yeah but we were friends before we were lovers, Iriye,” Iriye softened a little. “I miss my friend,” She could see the honesty in his eyes.

“I missed my friend too,” Iriye said. “But I meant it when I said I think I’m better off with having a friend than a boyfriend months ago,” 

“Yeah, it’s for the best.” Jay stated. “And look what the focus got you. Congratulations to you and Paradise Lost. You deserve everything and more, Iriye,”

Those words sent her replaying through her mind the last time they spoke, how things were left off. Before she could respond, the door to the production office opened and Aaron stepped out into the hallway.

“Hi,” Iriye said, trying to remained composed in front of both Jay and Aaron for two different reasons.

“I’m going to head out, but thank you for staying to talk through the script again,” Aaron said to Iriye, a mischief in his eye before turning his attention to Jay. “I’m Aaron.” He offered his hand to Jay.

“Jay Johnson.” Jay shook Aaron’s hand, a smile coming on his face. “My buddy works on Lanterns.”

“Cast or crew?” Aaron turned the charm on, and Jay returned the smile, Iriye trying to eye the situation carefully. 

“Crew. He’s on the best boy side of things. But he’s enjoying it,” Jay stated.

“That’s good to hear.” Aaron nodded. 

“Aaron is going to star in Paradise Lost.” Iriye gave a small smile over to Aaron, trying to keep it polite. 

“Tamara told me. You’re doing it, Iriye. I’m happy for you.” Jay had rose colored glasses on, and Iriye was nervous about Aaron witnessing it. “You have a future Emmy and Oscar winner writing you into her world, Aaron.”

“I’m grateful for the opportunity that she wants me to be a part of the cinematic world she’s created,” Aaron was trying to follow Iriye’s lead. Her poker face was good, and she noticed that about her when they were around others. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you, Jay,” He turned his attention to Iriye. “I’ll see you at the chemistry reading.” Aaron nodded before heading out. 

“He’s really that tall in person,” Jay said, straightening to his full six-foot-tall height. Iriye rolled her eyes. 

“I really should get back inside, Jay. It’s been a long day, and I gotta finish up some stuff,” Iriye stated.

“Yeah, I’ll let you go.” Jay leaned in, and Iriye hugged him, trying to keep it friendly while knowing that the feeling was something she would eventually get used to. Not being as close as they once were. A platonic love she felt for him instead of the romantic one he felt for her. When they pulled away, Jay left, and she was stuck with what it meant that she didn’t feel anything for him.

Iriye made it to Aaron’s place in record time, grabbing the overnight bag she had packed in case she would stay at his. She entered the building, made it to his door, and knocked. A minute later, Aaron was opening it up, and he pulled her in, kissing her properly once she was in.

“How are you feeling?” Aaron asked her as she entered.

“I’m fine,” Iriye said, dropping her bag by the door and kissing him softly. “You up for round two?” Iriye ran her hands over his neck and shoulders. He walked down to the couch and pulled her legs onto his lap.

“I meant about you and Jay,” Aaron said with a soft tilt of his head. Iriye looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?” Iriye wasn’t trying to play dumb, but she didn’t want to dig into her ex and the drama that came along with it. 

“You two are exes. I’m good at picking up on things like that.” He began removing her shoes, his hands moving to massage her feet. “Want to talk about it?”

“Aaron, you don’t need to be jealous of him,” Iriye flipped the script.

“I’m not. I have no reason to be," He stated. “I don’t want to push you, but I feel like you’re holding back with me.” Iriye moved her legs from his lap, sitting back against the couch.

“I’m not holding back. We’re both busy people. We haven’t even defined what this is,” Iriye ran a hand through her goddess locs, untangling some of her hair.

“Then let's have that talk.” Aaron turned towards her. “I like you. I like being around you. Spending weekends and weeknights with you over the past two months has been something I look forward to.”

“Aaron-“ Iriye sighed.

“Let me finish,” Aaron demanded. Iriye raised a brow at him before relaxing. “I want whatever you want from this. From me. For us. The ball is in your court. You make the choices. I want you.”

Iriye looked Aaron in the eyes, seeing the pupils of blue and green mixing as he stared at her. He was too gorgeous to be real. Her hand went to his cheek, feeling the light stubble on his chin. 

“I like us just figuring this out,” Iriye stated, stroking his chin. She leaned in to kiss him softly, her eyes shutting at the feel. She pulled back after she felt his tongue lick along the seams, begging for entrance. “None of that. We got the final chemistry read with Vivian tomorrow.”

“I know,” Aaron continued to kiss her, pulling her in his arms and leading her to his bedroom.

Two rounds later, Iriye laid out across from Aaron, both of them naked as the day they were born. His fingers traced the back of her leg, and she hummed softly, her eyes trying to fight sleep.

“What’s your biggest fear?” Aaron asked her, his fingers massaging the cramp he had caused from her third orgasm. 

“Hmm?” Iriye opened her eyes to look at him, the moonlight peeking in from the window, hitting his skin.

“Your biggest fear?” He asked, Iriye pulling the pillow closer to herself. Tiredness was seeping into her bones, especially as she felt Aaron crawl closer to her, kissing up her body. Iriye took a moment to try to gather her thoughts, Aaron’s kisses distracting her.

“People leaving,” Iriye whined when she felt him stop kissing her. “Don’t stop.”

“Why so?” Aaron reached her eyes, and she was overcome with shyness. The intensity of his gaze was getting to her, but she couldn’t escape it.

“Because you can never make them stay,” Iriye stated. “I wasn’t enough to make them stay.”

Iriye blinked several times, trying to fight the urge to sleep. She heard Aaron whisper words softly to her.

“I’ll stay, Iriye.”

Morning came, and Iriye shared the shower with Aaron, kisses shared between lovers. It was early, but she would take all the time she could get with him. Once they were dressed, more kisses were exchanged, and they went their separate ways.

Iriye couldn’t keep the smile off her face before the chemistry read. As she settled at video village, where she had her headphones, she saw the camera focusing on Vivian Kincaid.

“She is something.” Nelly handed Iriye a coffee, and Iriye thanked her.

“Maybe, but that something may not work for our film,” Iriye stated. She watched as Tamara set Vivian and Aaron up for their scene.

“You’re right. But they do look good together?” Nelly remarked.

“What?” Iriye raised a brow at Nelly.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” Nelly said as she sat beside her as Tamara returned.

“You guys ready?” Tamara stated. Iriye nodded, putting her headphones on.

Iriye watched as Aaron ran through the scene. Vivian could hang with him, but little things were still missing. 

Tamara called cut, taking a moment to think before she turned to Iriye.

“Can you give her the note?”

Iriye straightened up and tried to get through this without any interactions. But she had a role to play: the writer.

Iriye got up and approached Vivian as the makeup artist touched her face. Vivian smiled softly.

“I’m Ir-”

“I know who you are. Iriye Edwards,” Vivian shook her hand, a graceful smile coming onto her face.

“Oh, we’re on a first and last name basis,” Iriye was intrigued.

“I’m sorry. I just went down a rabbit hole after I read the script. When my manager got their hands on it and sent it to me, I knew I had to be a part of it.”

“Interesting,” Iriye stated.“Well, I just wanted to give you some insight.” She stated.

“Anything and everything is welcomed. Can I admit something? I’m nervous. Aaron is intense.” Vivian explained.

“Don’t I know it,” Iriye chuckled, knowing she had to get the woman to relax. “But he’s not Aaron. He’s Isaiah, and you’re Nora,” She said. “You’ve read the script. You know this character left and right.” 

“I do. I read the script so many times. I know everything.”

“Good. Now throw it all out the window,” Iriye could see the contemplation on her face. “You’re in your head. You need to be more present. Nora is a wildfire. She knows what she wants. She’ll go to all ends to do it. Now, show me who you believe Nora is and make me believe it.” 

Iriye watched Vivian take a moment to ground herself before walking away. Iriye smiled at Aaron as she caught his eye, him returning it. She settled back at video village, Tamara smiling.

“Not you trying to take my job,” Tamara teased.

“Me direct? Never,” Iriye chuckled. She watched Aaron come into focus as the camera operator took him in. Iriye took him in, and even through the monitor, he took her breath away. 

“Okay… action,” Tamara called.

All the executives were glued to the screen, and the moment was electric as Vivian followed her suggestions. Iriye could admit that both Aaron and Vivian looked good together, and the words and characters she created came to life. But it went to another level with Vivian grabbing Aaron right before her last line. She pulled him close, and both drew into it, Vivian kissing Aaron.

“And cut! We’re gonna take a ten,” Tamara called, going over to Vivian and Aaron.

And while everyone clapped, Iriye felt something she had never felt before: jealousy.

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[wvyik]

silent tears. d.w. ༉‧₊˚.

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; dean has been distant for weeks, pushing his partner away. after a tense argument, he breaks down, unable to accept her love, leaving her heartbroken when she wakes up to find him gone.

warnings; heavy angst, guilt and self-loathing, pre-established relationship, dean struggling with self-worth, past trauma, (not mentioned directly) tension and conflict, swearing, miscommunication, mental health issues, (especially dean’s feelings of inadequacy) emotional distance between characters, hurt/comfort, slow burn-ish, character growth.

notes; this one was really a tough one. such a sweet ending though, i promise. :/ take care of yourself lovelies! mental health is so important. make sure to surround yourself with people who love & support you.

words; 2467

Dean Winchester was always the strong one. He had to be. He was the older brother, the protector, the man who wore his confidence like a second skin and never let anyone see how fragile he really was. But somewhere along the way, the cracks had started to show. Slowly, imperceptibly at first. And now, it was as if everything that made him Dean; had begun to splinter, leaving only the remnants of the man he used to be.

For weeks, you had been trying to get through to him. To reach him. But it was like hitting a brick wall. The warmth he used to shower you with was gone, replaced by cold indifference. He came home late, never spoke much, and when he did, it was always clipped and distant. His eyes, once full of life and mischief, were empty, like he was looking right through you. You could see it. The exhaustion, the guilt, the pain.

But you couldn’t understand why. He wouldn’t talk to you. He shut you out, pushing you away at every turn. It was like there was a part of him that was completely unreachable now.

Tonight, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had tried so hard to pretend everything was fine, but the tension was unbearable. You needed him to open up to you, needed him to stop acting like you weren’t right here, beside him, ready to fight for him, no matter what.

“Dean, please,” you said, your voice quiet but full of desperation, trying to keep the tears at bay. “What’s going on? You’ve been shutting me out for weeks. What did I do wrong? Why won’t you let me help you?”

Dean didn’t look at you. His jaw was clenched, his face tight, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t even bother to make a joke. No sarcastic remark. No smirk. Just silence.

“Dean,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I love you. I love you, and I want to be there for you, but you’re pushing me away.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful. You saw him flinch, just slightly, but it was enough for you to know that something was breaking inside him. He didn’t speak right away, his gaze still fixed on the other side of the wall.

“Don’t,” he muttered, his voice low, almost bitter. “You don’t need to do this. You don’t need me dragging you down.”

Your heart dropped. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, panic rising in your chest. “I don’t care if you’re ‘dragging me down,’ Dean. I’m with you no matter what. What is it that you’re not telling me? Please… don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening even more around the wheel. He finally turned his head toward you, his eyes dark and heavy with something you couldn’t quite read. But in that moment, you saw it— the guilt. It was overwhelming, like it was drowning him.

“I’m not good enough for you,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “I never was. You don’t deserve this.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You shook your head, disbelieving. “What the hell are you talking about? You are good enough for me. You are good enough. You’ve always been.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders sagging with a weight you couldn’t see but could feel. “No, I’m not. I’m a mess. I’m broken, and I know what that does to people. I don’t want to drag you into my bullshit. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You were shaking now, both from the sting of his words and the confusion gnawing at you. This wasn’t the Dean you knew. This wasn’t the man who once held you close, who promised to always be there, who made you feel safe even when the world was crumbling around you. You could see him, feel him falling apart, but he wouldn’t let you in. He wouldn’t let you help him.

“You’re not broken, Dean,” you whispered, your throat tightening. “You’re just… you. And I love you. All of you. No matter what you think, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to fix everything. You just have to be here.”

He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and humorless. “You’re wrong. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what I’ve done, the things I’ve seen. I’m a monster. And I’m not good enough for you. Not by a long shot.”

You felt the sting of his words, but you refused to back down. You leaned in, your hands gripping his tightly, desperately. “Dean, you are not a monster. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still standing. You are good enough because you are you. I don’t care about the mistakes or the darkness. I care about us. You’re my world, Dean. Don’t you get it? I love you.”

But he only shook his head, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He was trying so hard to hold it together, but you could see the cracks—deep, jagged cracks that were threatening to break him wide open. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing you.

“I don’t deserve you,” he repeated, this time louder, his voice shaking with something raw and unspoken. “I’m not the man you think I am. I never was.”

“Dean, please…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the tears now slipping down your cheeks. “Don’t do this. You are the man I think you are. And I’m not going anywhere.”

But before you could say another word, Dean slammed his fist against the wall. The sound echoed in the small space of the room like a gunshot, and for the first time in weeks, he finally let it out. The dam broke, and the anger, the frustration, the fear, all of it came crashing down.

“I’m a fucking disaster!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and raw, the words burning with years of pent-up pain. “I don’t get to be happy. I don’t get to have a normal life. I’m not worthy of you. And the more I try to pull you into my mess, the more I realize how much of a fucking idiot I am for thinking I deserve you.”

The words stung, but the pain in his voice was worse. You had never heard him like this. Never seen him so broken. He was unraveling in front of you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, holding him, begging him to see what you saw. But in the end, he pulled away, shaking his head again.

“I need to be alone,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just… leave me alone for a bit.”

You wanted to scream at him, to shake him until he understood, until he realized that you were never going to leave him, that you weren’t scared of his darkness. But you didn’t. You just nodded, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision.

He wasn’t the same man he used to be. He was broken, shattered, and he couldn’t see how much you loved him. How much you needed him.

And as he walked away from you, disappearing into the shadows of the night, you felt your heart break. You loved him. And he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t understand it.

When you woke up, he was gone. And you knew. The man you loved was slipping away, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

The silence in the room felt suffocating. You had barely slept that night, your thoughts consumed by Dean and the anguish that tore through both of you. His words echoed in your mind, haunting you with their finality. But more than anything, you wanted to believe— no, knew— that he didn’t mean them. That Dean, in all his mess and brokenness, was still the man you loved.

But how could you reach him? How could you get through to him when every attempt seemed to push him further away?

You couldn’t let him disappear into the darkness, couldn’t let him believe he was unworthy of the love you had to give. You had to go after him. You knew deep down that if you didn’t fight for him now, you might lose him forever. And you couldn’t do that.

You spent the next few days retracing every step. You visited the places he loved, places where you’d spent countless hours together— his favorite diner, the road leading to the place where he once told you his deepest secrets, the motels where you had spent those rare quiet moments when the world felt a little less broken. But no sign of him. Nothing.

It was late on the third day when you finally found him. Your heart twisted in your chest as you spotted him leaning against the Impala by the old scrapyard. The same spot he used to go to when he needed space.

His posture was tense, shoulders slumped, as if the weight of everything was too much for him. His face, as always, was unreadable, but you saw it— the pain. His eyes didn’t meet yours as you slowly approached, but you could feel the pull. The distance between you both had been growing for too long, and you weren’t going to let it stretch any further.

“Dean,” you called softly, your voice trembling slightly. The words felt foreign, like they were too heavy to carry, but you said them anyway.

He flinched at the sound of your voice, his fingers tightening around the hood of the Impala. “What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, strained, as if the act of speaking was a challenge. He wouldn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“I’m here because I need you,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I need you, Dean. I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t need this. You don’t need me. You deserve so much better than someone like me.”

You stepped closer, trying to ignore the ache that gnawed at your heart. “That’s not true. It never has been. You are everything I’ve ever needed. And you’re not a mess, Dean. You’re my mess. And I love you. I love all of you—the good, the bad, the broken parts that you try so hard to hide. I love you, even when you can’t see it.”

He turned his face toward you, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Doubt, maybe. Or fear. “You don’t understand. I’m not the guy you think I am. I’m a walking disaster. I screw everything up. I push people away because I can’t keep anyone close. I don’t know how to do this.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice, the vulnerability he always buried so deep. “Dean, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have all the answers. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. I’m right here, waiting for you to come back.”

For a long moment, there was silence. The world around you seemed to stop, everything holding its breath, waiting for him to make a choice. You could feel him, the way his walls were crumbling, the way he was fighting to push you away even as his heart wanted to reach out.

Finally, his voice cracked. “I don’t know how to let you in, sweetheart . I don’t know how to fix this. I’ve hurt you.”

Your eyes softened, and you gently cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You didn’t hurt me, Dean. You never could. I’m not afraid of your demons, and I’m not afraid of you. I’m here to stay.”

And just like that, he broke. The walls he had built so carefully around himself came crashing down, and he let out a strangled sob, his face crumpling in agony. You caught him as he collapsed against you, his body shaking with the force of his grief. His arms wrapped around you as if he were afraid you might slip away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t know how to— how to let you in without destroying you too.”

You held him tighter, pressing your cheek against his, feeling the warmth of his body as it shuddered beneath the weight of his emotions. “You can’t destroy me, Dean. Not if we face this together. I love you. I’m not leaving you.”

In that moment, you felt it — the shift. The barrier between you was gone. His heart was finally open, raw and vulnerable, and yours was wide open too. You didn’t need words anymore to know that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

The weeks that followed weren’t easy. There were moments when Dean would slip back into old habits, retreating into himself, afraid of the love you were offering. But you refused to let him hide. Slowly, but surely, you helped him find his way back— not to the version of himself he thought he had to be, but to the man he truly was.

You let him lean on you when he needed to, and you never stopped showing him that you were there. No more pushing, no more pretending. There were times when he looked at you with that same hopelessness in his eyes, but you were ready. You knew how to calm him, how to remind him of his worth.

It wasn’t always easy, but the more you held onto each other, the more you grew stronger, not just as a couple, but as individuals. And bit by bit, Dean started to believe you— believe in you. He started to understand that love wasn’t about fixing him, but accepting him as he was.

Months later, you found yourselves sitting in the Impala, the radio playing softly in the background. Dean’s hand was resting gently on your knee, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your skin. His gaze was soft, not the hardness you had seen before, but something kinder, something more open.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“Always,” you answered softly, smiling at him.

And this time, when he looked at you, you saw it. The man who was broken, yes, but also the man who was willing to let himself be loved. The man who was finally beginning to believe he deserved it.

In the quiet of the night, you both knew that whatever darkness lay ahead, you would face it together.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[astracora]

Cold Metal, Warm Sensation

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc, Caleb x gn!mc (Caleb POV)

Warnings: Spoilers for Caleb's story.

Word Count: 3363

Written: 18th February 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. Ok I finally got this done, amidst the pain... This is pre Caleb joins Polycule fully, but it's post Caleb stops trying to lock MC in a box. (Unless they ask nicely). Polycule understand the agony of not being able to touch your loved one, lucky (and unlucky) for Caleb.

Now Playing: I'm With You, by Avril Lavigne

Masterlist AO3

The first time his arm comes up, is after he says goodbye to you one morning. You have a mission with Xavier in the Fusion No-Hunt Area, so as you say goodbye to everyone, Caleb takes your right hand in his own.

It's become something of a routine for him, or a ritual, he thinks. He can't feel the metal of your prosthetic against his unfeeling right hand, but he can squeeze without worrying about hurting you. He looks down at your clasped hands, and watches as you squeeze back. Your other hand goes to his cheek and then you press a kiss to his skin.

It's fleeting, and quick, as you release and race off to follow Xavier. Yelling a final goodbye behind you, Mephisto follows on a gust of feathers.

He sits back at the kitchen counter, staring down at his hand, raising it to his cheek, and exhales a sigh.

No matter how much he touches you, it never seems to be enough. Like he is always missing something. An unending yearning or greed he can't sate properly. He can touch you with his left hand all he wants, but he still cannot stop feeling the loss of emptiness in his right like an eternal agony.

"You should let me take a look at it, if it bothers you that much tin-man." Sylus speaks from the side, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads through some documents the twins have handed him.

Caleb is trying not to chafe around your polycule. He is, he tells himself. Even if he glares or huffs, faking smiles when you're around to not hurt you. They care about you, almost as much as he does, he supposes. So they'll do, for now. If nothing else than shields if things get bad.

If EVER want access to you, they can get through these four first.

Instead of responding to the N109's king, he turns away, grabs his coat and leaves.

He isn't their tool to experiment on. He's only ever a tool in your hands.

The second time it comes up is much later, he was injured in a fight, throwing himself in front of a Golem to protect you. Taking the things fist to his raised arm. He'd pushed through the pain, even as his arm was mangled in the process. Firing rounds into the thing's head.

As soon as it was felled, you'd pulled him to the side, furious and agitated. He'd laughed, "I'm fine." He promised, even as he felt the fever rising up through his body. His body failing him as the agony ripped through his system.

He vaguely remembers collapsing, hearing you call his name, and then talking to someone. When he wakes, he's back at your home. Their home. His home? In one of Sylus' rooms where he tinkers on Mephisto.

Spread out over the table, as the man works, humming along mostly in tune to a song Caleb has heard you singing to.

He feels like he's floating, and it's hard to speak, when his body feels so dreadfully heavy. The flash and heat of a soldering iron as parts are repaired, is familiar, though not comforting. Taking him back to cold lab walls, and agonising electrical storms through neurons.

It is one point of heat in his left hand, that tells him he's not there. Your head is on the table next to him, asleep as you grasp onto him like he'll disappear without your hand anchored to his.

Caleb thinks for a moment, that he probably hasn't given you reason to believe he wouldn't.

"They didn't stop crying until you stabilised." Zayne speaks as he enters the room. Mugs on a tray, as he places them down out of the way. "At least your recklessness hasn't changed, Caleb."

There's something quite disconcerting about the disapproval he sees in Zayne's cool eyes. There's a familiarity to it, one he's seen multiple times growing up, as the man had tended to wounds he'd gotten trying to impress or amuse you.

Climbing trees, jumping off a roof, trying to fly with his EVOL, standing up to bullies.

Any manner of reasons that had ended up with him with torn skin or bruises, that Zayne had then sat him down and tended to. Bandaged with careful, and far too steady hands for a child.

Zayne goes to hand him a mug, before realising he has no free hands, smiling softly down at you with warm eyes. Caleb feels his heart and chest twinge and twist. For all the ways he knows you better than he believes anyone else has, that he is the only safe harbour for you… he feels like he's banging up against the wall of realisation every day.

It feels like he's been sent out without coordinates for where his home base is. Waiting for you to walk away and leave him behind.

Not needing him, where he knows he still needs you.

Is he so easy to replace?

"You're thinking stupid things again, tin-man." Sylus speaks, pausing his work to reach over for his drink, and to tug Zayne down by his tie to place a kiss of thanks to his forehead, "Always staring like you're waiting for the doors to close in front of you. Loving someone isn't easy. It's a choice."

Caleb wants to snap, that he doesn't need lectures from a criminal, but truthfully what part of his hands aren't caked in blood that marks him one too. Battering against the realisation that every choice he has made, has made him someone you argue with, struggled with. That your heart is kinder than his is, because he only cares for you, and you care so much for so many.

Even though his heart aches, as he goes to pull his hand away from your tight grip, you stir. The three watch as you blink awake, one eye opening to look up at him. A sleepy, soft smile tugging scarred lips up into endearment, as you tighten your hand again. You exhale a 'morning', on an airy voice, and then nestle closer, "I'm glad you're ok Caleb."

He watches as your eyes close and your breathing evens out again, exhaustion clear in the lines on your face, but the strain softened by relief, and feels the deep urge to cry.

"Maybe you should give us a chance to help you. Instead of continuing to close doors on yourself." Zayne offers, indicating where Sylus has resumed his work, fixing Caleb's arm.

Despite himself… the man's work is clean, and careful.

He files it away to think about, but not now. When your hand is so warm in his.

The third time, is when he's watching Rafayel paint your prosthetic. Occasionally, you flinch under the brush, laughter spilling out. When he questions it, you smile at him, mismatched eyes twinkling. "It tickles."

He watches as the fish gets gleeful at this, dipping it back into the metal-safe paint and swirling it up and down your arm. Your laugh escapes you in a boom, and you pull away from him, "Raffy, stop!"

Xavier's head is jostled out of your lap, and you fling yourself forward, to take the brush from the man's hand, painting over his nose, then his cheeks, then his throat. When you're satisfied, you pull away and nod, "What a good piece of art I've created." Sticking your tongue out at him.

Rafayel pouts and pokes your nose in retaliation, taking his brush back to draw a heart and then a fish on your cheek, "But you've smudged my masterpiece." He indicates the smeared paint on your prosthetic.

Caleb has watched this routine several times, every now and then, you need to get the casing of your prosthetic properly cleaned, not just wiped down. When this happens, the 'decoration' Rafayel paints on, has to be replaced. You say this like it's of the utmost importance, and he doesn't really understand.

He would never have thought about decorating his own, hiding it away often, because that's easier. It's better. If he doesn't see it, maybe he doesn't have to think about it. Even if the abyss of sensation reminds him every moment.

Still, he has seen you look down at the finished paintings, turning your arm to smile at them, and the way your eyes soften.

So that day he asks why, why is it so important? While Xavier complains about being disturbed, and finds his way to Rafayel's lap, who uses one hand to brush through his hair, and the other to clean up the mess of your arm.

You look at Rafayel, then back at Caleb, reaching out with your left hand to brush strands of hair away from Xavier's eyes.

He watches the way you tilt your head, the way you flex your fingers, and then the way you turn to look back at him. Serious, and considerate. Like you'd never actually put it into words before, just felt it.

"I didn't like it originally, my arm. It was a reminder of failure, a reminder that I was different." The words ache in Caleb's chest, like a dagger through the heart. He wants to pull you into his arms, tell you you're perfect, but he watches how carefully you hold your arm for Rafayel's work and stills himself. "When Raffy first painted it, it looked pretty. I wanted to look at it." Caleb watches, as the fish takes your metal hand in his and places a kiss to the wrist, before resuming his work.

The brand has gotten softer over time. Less painful.

He doesn't grate and ache and burn, to watch them hold you. He's not sure when he changed so much.

"Over time it just became a routine, it made me like it more. Like my body more, to decorate it. Now I can look at it without the art and not hate it, but I still like to see Raffy's art on my body." You kiss the man in question's head.

"I have a good canvas, cutie."

Xavier nods against Rafayel's lap, "Pretty." is mumbled against his legs.

You look over at Caleb then, eyes bright, hopeful. Warm. He's always likened you to the sun, and every moment you grace him with your presence is a moment he's too lucky, too blessed and too spoiled. "I bet it'd be nice on yours too?"

He notices the fish's eyes flicker to him, sees the careful observation, and forces a laugh through a tight throat, "Maybe." Is all he can offer.

Because truly, wouldn't it be too good for him, to be given the right to love the thing that helped make him a monster.

The fourth time, he brings it up himself. He's watching the stars on the balcony, as Xavier and Sylus play a game of kitty cards they're both far too competitive with. As Zayne reads and Rafayel sketches.

You're in his arms, staring up at the sky, eyes flickering closed as you become more and more drowsy.

As Caleb looks at you, he reaches his right hand, to entwine your metal fingers with his own. Running his thumb over your hand, the ache deep in his bones to do it with his left hand so he can feel it.

He wants to feel it with both. He wants to hold you in both hands and feel complete again.

Instead of staring and willing himself to suddenly know the heat of your skin under his right hand again. Instead of seeing agony in your face when he's in pain, and that's the only time his right hand responds to the sensation of you.

His throat is tight, when he speaks, turning his head slightly to the others, "If you can fix it, then do it."

Caleb is not used to asking for help, or letting anyone see his weakness. He has always been told all through growing up to protect you, that you need him to be strong, that you need him to keep you safe. If he was weak, how could you ever want to rely on him?

He's had to learn through yelling matches, and doors closed in front of you. Through bitten off insults and frustration. Through you leaving and threatening not to come back. Through days of struggling to get himself to breathe, to see you again. To listen to what you were saying, before he could let you walk next to him.

Even if his heart still won't relax. Even if he still thinks about that maze he wants to build, that world just for the two of you.

He doesn't want to capture the butterfly and watch it die in his hands.

He thinks if that happened, he truly would hate himself.

When eyes turn to him, including yours, blinking in disbelief, he turns to face forwards. "If you can, anyway." His voice steady, he forces his heart to be stable, his emotions to stay level. Every part of him is trembling under the weight of being watched by people who see more than he wants them to.

"Sure tin-man. You can trust us." Comes the chuckle from the side.

"I'll get in touch with some specialists." Zayne adds, placing a bookmark in his page and leaving the balcony.

You turn in his arms, so you can sit facing him, hands releasing his, and moving up to hold his cheeks. He's sure there's a blush colouring his cheeks at the way you lean in, small smile twisting and press your lips to his forehead. "You can trust them." You affirm, nestling against his neck, when he finally wraps arms around you. A lump in his throat he fights back, "You can trust me."

He knows, above all other things in this world. Caleb knows he can trust you.

He always has.

He sits through testing, but instead of the kind of tests he'd faced with the Fleet and EVER, you are there. A warm familiar presence that reminds him he's not a lab rat. A weapon. A tool. He's Caleb, he always remembers he's Caleb when you're there.

He sits there while you talk to him, and he follows along with the specialists Zayne has called in, while Sylus and Xavier work on his arm.

Both far more adapted to technology than he'd have known.

It's a slow process, as they adapt and change his circuitry. He sits and he tries to be patient, gritting his teeth through when the pain is clawing, and tries to remember what he's aiming for.

It's always easier when you're holding his hand.

During the time he grows somewhat used to the more constant presence of the others.

Zayne seems to fall back into old habits, of taking care of his childhood friends, though you often now sit him down to make him tea, instead. It doesn't stop him asking questions, 'Are you alright', 'where does it hurt most', 'do you need anything?'. The guilt at how he'd reacted to Zayne on their reunion bites at him most when he sees real warm concern in the man's eyes.

He's been offered snacks by Xavier, while he sits through tests. While it had never crossed his mind to question the safety of them, it was odd being offered the kindness. He isn't sure when he last was.

Rafayel mostly pokes his head in to snipe at Sylus as he works, and occasionally comments on Caleb's 'really bad poker face', as he tries not to respond to the taunt. He always comes with some water though, shoving the glass into Caleb's available hand, and then leaving.

Sylus' idea of comfort is singing while he works, and Caleb often wants to remind the man that doesn't comfort anyone but himself. You sometimes join in though, and he bites back the retort. It's not that out of tune, anyway.

He finds himself face to face with a lot of things, he doesn't feel he has the capacity to process in these moments. Pushing them down to deal with when the agony isn't great, and he's tired after long days.

On the day they finally finish, he feels as though he wants to sleep for weeks afterwards. He's drained and worn and though the tests and the refittings had been nothing as bad as under EVER's hand, it is tiring nonetheless to be changed.

Despite himself, however, he is glad for the careful hands. Though he would never admit this too loud to them.

When Xavier and Sylus step back, putting tools down and do one last check over with the screen next to them. You sit nearby, your leg shaking up and down as you wait, none too patiently.

He's seen you like this before, excited, nervous and stressed. Waiting and waiting and waiting. All the energy built up, ready to be released.

He can't say he doesn't feel the same.

"Ready?"

He nods, but he cannot make himself speak. He's waiting for this moment for too long. When the electronic voice rings out with 'rebooting', he doesn't feel anything. No change, no adjustment, his arm doesn't feel any different.

There's a drop in his stomach, like he's waiting for the realisation that it's failed, that nothing can help, that he'll never feel like anything but a robotic tool for EVER again-

Then there's warmth, as a hand slides into his, squeezing.

His heart jumps, and his throat becomes impossibly tight. Eyes moving to where your hand is inside of his. He can feel the pressure, and as he goes to squeeze, he has to remind himself to be careful, because you're flesh and blood. Warm skin, soft and real against his metal.

You're familiar and you're warm and you're there.

And he can feel you. The weight and the reality.

You wrap your metal arm around him to pull him closer and he cannot release your hand no matter what, because he finally, finally, finally, feels you. Careful cool fingers wipe the tears spilling from his eyes, as you hold him, smiling against his cheek as you pull him as close as you can, as he hiccups.

When he finally releases your hand, it's only so he can run his fingers over every part of you, letting you adjust yourself onto his lap, so that he can run fingers through your hair, over your cheek, your nose, across your lips. When you part them, to exhale, the gust against his hand makes his shoulders jump.

So he places his hand around the back of your neck, and kisses you. Salted tears and gasping desperation, as he traverses metal over the column of your throat, absent through the air he's stealing out of your lungs. Over your arms, that steady yourself around him, over your ribs, feeling every dip and every roll, he squeezes at your thighs to feel the weight in his hands, and gasps. Pulling away only because he needs to, as he rests his forehead on your shoulder.

You run fingers through the back of his hair, over his neck, as he tries to stop shaking. To stop shuddering at all the feeling of you in his arm, your skin against his hand. It's overwhelming and too much, and everything, but never enough. Like his brain could short circuit and he'd die in bliss.

Like he finally found everything he wanted again.

Like he feels whole.

He's acutely aware for the audience, as he sits overwhelmed on the table, so wrapped around you, he doesn't want to ever be two separate people again, and this time when he looks at his metal arm. Where his hand rests on your skin, where he can feel you alive and under his touch, where he sees the flesh give under his grip and can feel it once more.

Maybe he understands why you love to have yours painted.

Maybe he thinks about how he'll let Rafayel paint his own, if he wants.

Maybe he chokes out a thank you to the people he isn't sure he hates anymore.

Maybe you've led him back home once more.

[cometjuice]

A Collection of Will Solace Headcanons

Because Will is my favorite character, I have decided to compile a bunch of headcanons I have for him (and Nico but mostly him)

Will is an introvert forcibly turned extrovert. He still prefers to be by himself a lot of the time. When he was younger he used to be a very shy kid, not talking much and sticking to Lee's side like a leech. After his and Michael's deaths, he was forced out of his shell.

Will has been a year round camper for nearly ten years. His mom is a traveling musician and couldn't protect him properly while on the road. She sends him postcards every week.

Will is deaf/hard of hearing. He didn't learn how to speak english until he was about nine years old, being dropped off at camp at seven and a half with a sign with his name on it and his age. He was always quiet, but the Hephaestus cabin made him a pair of hearing aids. They still help him out when they break.

Will and Annabeth have known each other for a long, LONG time. They weren't really friends, but Annabeth was always nice to him. She did think he was kind of odd.

He has a morbid obsession with body parts and taxidermy. He used to ask his brothers to get him a pig heart in a jar for him to look at. Kinda freaked them out for a while...

Despite Will's usually very chill demeanor, he's INCREDIBLY neurotic when it comes to certain things. Like when he eats breakfast, how long he showers, his morning and evening routines.

Nico and Will first bond over their interests in human anatomy. The first time Nico raised a skeleton to try and scare Will off when he was being annoying, Will thought it was extremely cool and asked Nico if he could keep it in his room. Obviously he couldn't, but he did give Will a jar of wrist bones so Will could practice assembling and naming them.

Will HATES needles. He has no problem working with them and using them as tools, but if he gets stuck with one? He faints.

Will has set up a "crash pad" in the infirmary; aka, a pile of pillows on the floor under his desk where he passes out for an hour during long stints at the infirmary. No one except Kayla and Austin (and now Nico) know about it.

Will made his siblings promise that if he ever got hurt in battle and was out of commission, they would hide him in a far cot away from everyone else. He says it's so no one freaks out at him being hurt.

Will's dream is to own a vintage Chevy pick up truck. A true Texan at heart.

Will was effectively mute before he came to CHB. His mom couldn't afford to buy him hearing aids, so she only spoke in sign language to him growing up. It wasn't until he was taught by Chiron that he learned how to speak English, along with Greek.

Will prefers cats over dogs. He likes their independence (maybe also that he can lean on them emotionally a little). He wishes he could have one.

Will can hide his expressions like a PRO. He has an iron clad grip on his emotions, and only started to break down and learn to accept how to be angry and sad when he and Nico got into a fight and Nico forced him to face how dishonest he's been with himself. Since then, Will has become more open towards him. He still needs to work on becoming more open in general.

Will has plague powers (as explored in TSATS) and Nico helps him harness them. Once, he gave Nico chicken pox by accident and refused to come out of a self-imposed isolation for two weeks. It took Percy breaking down the office door to finally drag him out. That's all for now! I will have more!

[aggieharkness]

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Pairing: Joan Ramsey x reader

Summary: love can never be evil. Love should never be cruel or selfish but listen and comfort. Love could never have a form or fit in a mold as it is a feeling so deep that it shapes one's very soul. Love was at Joan's feet and she was cradling it, on her knees.

Warnings: religious trauma, mentions of murder and death, grief, child loss, isolation, buuuuut things get better cause there's fluff

Author's note: I'm sorry it has taken me so long to post this, but I wanted it to be good because it's a Joan story and she's a really complex character. I hope you all like it and I do hope that you can all see it as a Valentine's story. Special shout-out to @bravewithacapitalb for being my Beta Reader when she's got her own thing going. I love you girl. Sorry @delusionalforolderwomen but it's not Libby (don't be mad 🥺) . As always, do tell me how it looks, if you all like it or if there are things I need to change. I accept constructive criticism. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Joan Ramsey but curse the writers for not giving us more scenes with her. If she evil why shaped like such a cutie pie?!

Happy Valentine's!

Words: 12 K (No comment)

A garden of sorrows shall bloom into hope.

Say you’ll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset. The radio never ceased its incessant pour of songs, most of them speaking of love and romance and futures that held no pain, only promises. Lies, all lies. Joan couldn’t help but scoff as the words went on, a goodbye to a loved one, someone who had meant something and who still held a special place in the singer’s heart, she thought, a foolish message that would fall on deaf ears. Or dead ears. The house was cold, silence creeping around every corner, making the wood creak and whine under its weight, curtains drawn and windows closed, not even a small breeze breaking into the house. She had no one to remember her by, not a soul left in her meaningless life that would hold her at night or sign with her in the kitchen while she cooked, only bitter memories and regret at her actions. The almighty had forsaken her, abandoned her in a vast land of sins and pain that she couldn’t escape from, and in the centre of all that fire and destruction that had become her life, she stood alone.

She laid in bed each night hoping she would not open her eyes the next day, unable to cope with everything that had happened, with the thoughts that she once had had a husband and son that she had loved more than herself and now only smoke was left, swirling in between her fingers, unable to grasp them, unable to fix what was broken. Joan barely ate, what little appetite she had vanishing every time she stepped into the house hoping to hear Luke, to even hear her late husband speaking on the phone to some client or other, only to be met by silence, that deafening noise that seeped into her bones. And today, was no different. She sat at the head of her oak dining table, a glass and bottle of red wine sitting in front of her as the radio played in the background trying to fill up the room with something that wasn’t the brutal sorrow that had overtaken her body. Her hair was piled on the back of her head, held by a black claw clip that dug onto her scalp, her bangs brushing her eyelids each time she blinked, but she showed no sign that it was bothering her, a few short random strands framing her face.

Months had passed since she had lost Luke, since she had let her own madness take him from her, the Devil’s work she had thought back then, and she was no closer to getting over it than the oceans were to drying up. No matter how much she tried to find an excuse, a reason as to why she had done all she had she could not, and it frightened her how lost she was, how little the scriptures she had once held onto as if they were oxygen to her meant to her now, only words in a worn book that brought no comfort. When had she stopped walking the path of the Lord? She had been His humble servant, and he had only put stones on her path that as the years went by, she had more trouble climbing, winning each trial he set before her with more difficulty each time. Had he been testing her faith all along or had he never cared for her? She was one of his children, and he cared for all of them equally and yet she felt… alone. Even when she had first gotten married she had felt alone, sitting in an empty house waiting for her beloved to walk through the front door to a warm delicious dinner and the sweetest, loving smile she could muster on her face. He had never truly seen her, pushing her aside without her noticing, or perhaps she had been aware, and she had been far too terrified of being left behind that she had let him.

The wine in her glass was sweet, her favourite kind, and it tinted her rosy lips as she took a sip, but as it slid down her throat it became sour, bitter on her tongue. Nothing tasted right anymore, the air around her didn’t smell as fresh as it once had, dusty, perhaps even musky and it clashed with the aroma of her perfume and shampoo, vanilla and sandalwood, in a nauseating manner that didn’t help her empty stomach. The song had ended a while ago, something different playing, raking in her ears like nails on a board, but she had no desire to stand and turn it off. She could not face the silence once more, it was poisoning her, killing her as the minutes passed by, the clock on the wall ticking in a perfect rhythm. So I'll dance with your ghost in the living room and I'll play the piano alone. What ghosts? The ones that she had caused or the ones that haunted her every second of every day? Could your eyes be considered a ghost? She had seen you arrive a few months ago, shortly after the incident with Luke, and as Joan’s big brown eyes had settled on your form, through the living room window, she could not help but admire the agility and grace with which you moved. It was a change from the way the girls in that school flaunted themselves, and in her heart, she felt a pang of sadness imagining how different you would be in only a few weeks. Probably condescending and with an air of superiority taught to you by Fiona, losing everything that made you so unique. She was proven wrong.

You had been warned about Joan, told about what she had done and how you were supposed to steer clear of her, but you didn’t. It had taken you several days to warm up to the idea of knocking on her door, a tray of homemade cookies in your hands, hoping your new housemates and teachers wouldn’t give you detention for breaking their rules, but there was something inside you that was curious, drawn to this unknown woman everyone seemed to hate. There were questions no one had ever bothered to ask to get the whole picture, and you intended to gather your own information and form your own opinions about her before you condemned her, after all she was nothing but a name to you. The instant the doors had opened your mind erased all preconceived ideas. She was beautiful, her perfectly straight hair framing a face of prominent cheeks and plump lips, a most exquisite pink hue tainting her skin, her features unique and utterly breathtaking. She had observed you quietly for a moment or two, curiosity glazing her eyes and she had not expected anyone to come knocking on her door, much less you, the new girl, but she could not say, not even now, that she was displeased by having another human being speak with her.

And it had taken her completely by surprise just how kind you were, how softly you spoke to her, and how unbothered you seemed to be by what she had done. Perhaps you hadn’t known? No, she had seen the hesitation at first in those beautiful eyes of yours, the way you held yourself at a prudent distance as if she could cause you harm, but when she had greeted you, Joan’s voice hoarse from not having spoken a single word in days those doubts had melted into nothing, ice under the sun. Of course, she was aware of what you were, of the power you held within you, and she had been wary of what you might do to her if you changed your mind about how you felt about her in the middle of the conversation, but that never happened, not for an instant did your interest sway from her and only her, no past tainting your ever-growing opinions. After she took the plate of cookies, a quiet thank you slipping from her rosy lips, the aroma of chocolate and sugar making her mouth water, your semblance took on a more sombre aura and with the utmost respect words of sympathy left your mouth, falling of the tip of your tongue like rain on a desert. And for the first time she felt as if someone actually cared about her pain, as if someone who could see her grief and sorrow and not just the actions that had unleashed it all. Tears had gathered in her eyes at that, only managing a nod as a lump formed in her throat preventing her from speaking, barely hanging on by a thread, and thankfully you understood. As you turned around to leave, your hand brushed over Joan’s wilting roses and like magic they blossomed once again, soft pink petals gleaming under the warm sunlight.

That first time she saw you haunted her to this day, the way your hair shone under the golden light of the full sun, how your flowy dress swayed in lazy waves around your legs in the warm breeze, the way your eyes had instantly bewitched her with their honesty and their caring gaze. You had known nothing but horrible things about her and yet you had had the courage of meeting her and treating her with kindness. She hadn’t known such a feeling since she was a young girl, not even her church acquaintances had bothered to show her an ounce of mercy and care when everything had unfolded before her, when hell had broken loose in her life. If God was supposed to love her, why had he closed his eyes at her pleas and let her wander into a dark path that had no exit? Each day became unbearable, long, dragging out until her tired body could not remain awake a moment longer even if all she had done was sit in her living room and let her guilt pushed her to the ground and stomp on her. The only moments of joy she lived were when you made it your own personal mission to get her to walk out onto the porch of the garden, her dressed hugging her frame looser every time you saw her, her skin losing that healthy glow that had adorned her that first time. It broke your heart just how everyone had cast her aside without asking why. Things were so much more complicated that she let on, you could sense it, but you never pushed her into spilling her secrets to you, highly doubting she had faced those terrors since they had happened.

You were indeed the only ghost she ever wanted in her life, floating through the halls of her house and whispering her name in her ear as soon as the sun set on the horizon, her bedroom bathed in the cool like of a full moon. But she had pushed you away, like the coward she was, afraid of what was blossoming in between the cracks of her broken heart, shards of red glass spread inside her chest. She had never thought anyone would be able to pick them up and put them together again, that someone who take an interest in a lost woman like herself, and as you had held her hand for the first time a week ago Joan had crumbled like a house of cards. She had melted into your touch, your smile lighting up the entire city as you pulled her out of her house and down the street, laughing and talking a thousand miles per minute about nothing and everything. She had listened to your every word, the sound of your voice a balm for her wounds as she let you to take her to the ends of the world, but when she had realised what was happening, that she had fallen for you she had pulled her hand from yours, forcing you to halt your steps and turn to her with a confused look on your face. Had you said or done something wrong? Why did she seem so upset all of a sudden? Without a word she had taken a step back from you, horror painting her features before she had run back to her house. She had refused to turn back as you called out her name, each time with a more pained tone, because if she had she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have kissed you right there on the street, and she couldn’t be in love with someone like you.

What a joke it was now to think she had been so terrified of having something with you when the “Good book” was nothing more than a paper weight on her dining table. Verses about love sounded empty, just as hollow as was the void in her chest, the accusatory sermons she had heard over the years about what was supposed to be a happy marriage, how love should feel and look nothing more than poppycock as they echoed in her mind. I'm so scared that the moments we shared won't happen again. I don't want this to end. The radio had changed yet again, and it seemed to Joan as if it was connected to her, expressing what she could not bring herself to voice, terrified that if she opened up her heart all those verses that had been carved into her very being would crush her, punish her for not being who she was taught to be. But how could she carry on lying to herself? The Joan that had been blinded by God’s words had done things that should have made you run away, and yet you stayed, came back to her whenever she needed you without expecting anything but a smile in return. The Joan that now sat all alone in her big empty house, filled with demons brought by her own hand, could feel nothing knowing that the only chance at redeeming herself had been right there, in the palm of her hand and she had run away from it. You could have been the star that made her retrace her steps to the beginning of the road.

Like a leaf that falls from a tree, the cold breeze of winter making it sway from side to side, its broken edges slicing through the air, a single tear fell from her eyes, the crystal drop sliding down her cheek. It fell on her lap, sour and full of regret, and the once delicious wine tasted like a vile concoction the instant it touched her lips, but she forced herself to drink as if it could numb the pain of her past while her soft eyes stared at her bleak future, clouds only getting darker. No, it wasn’t God who punishing her, it was obvious he didn’t care enough about her to even do so, she was flagellating herself as if that could make the blood she had on her hands vanish, refusing to let anyone love her, crushing her own feelings as if she didn’t have the right to find happiness once again. She who is without sin, cast the first stone. The words stung her skin, fingers gripping the glass harder to the point where her knuckles turned white, the thin crystal cup threatening to shatter and splash wine and shards everywhere, but she didn’t stop. She could never pick up said stone, she could never throw it unless it was at herself, because she had done nothing but commit sin after sin thinking that they were justified, that she was being a good Christian woman when in truth she had strayed from the path long ago. Who was she following now? The Church? The Devil? Perhaps there was no one on the other side of those empty words preached every Sunday. Ain't it funny how time shows you, you know nothing.

The song finished, leaving a few seconds of complete silence to fill up the room, the flames of a few candles Joan had lit an hour ago or so the only source of light, casting wavy shadows onto the wood. When had everything gone wrong? With a silly voice the person doing the program on the radio spoke about the playlist they had ready for the next forty-five minutes, every song a message of love for everyone who celebrated this special holiday. Another scoff fell from Joan’s lips; it was Valentine’s Day, of course. She had barely left the house in the last three days, she had not seen the millions of flowers and balloons that filled up the stores, not the way your frame had been glued to your bedroom window hoping to get a glimpse of her, wondering why the sudden reluctance and fear of you. She hated the holiday, it felt frivolous, cold to her, and she hadn’t really had anyone to celebrate it with since Luke had been a child, her husband always busy, always emotionally unavailable, the house waiting for a bouquet that never arrived, a ring that remained at the store, a box of chocolate that went stale on the shelf where it rested. She had been s deep in thought that it took her a couple of minutes to hear the doorbell, the shrill sound almost making her ears bleed. She only wanted to be left alone so she could get drunk in her own sorrow until she could no longer breathe, but whoever was on the other side of her front door was not giving up, and after switching between knocks and that horrid bell for over five minutes Joan stood, the chair scraping angrily over her wooden floors.

She was angry at the interruption, and it showed in the way her heels echoed as she made her way to the door, grabbing the knob and throwing it wide open, the glass rattling as it hit the wall. Whatever she was going to say to whoever was on the other side faded into the ether as her eyes were met with the sight of a sea of flowers at her feet, a rainbow of colours gleaming under the soft light of the full moon that shone high up in the night sky. There were dozens of roses of every shade imaginable sprawled over the white pine wood, tulips, sunflowers, and what seemed a thousand more flowers resting in between. She was no stranger to gifts, small things that didn’t mean much like an old perfume or a silver bracelet in which her name was spelled wrong, but this was a whole new level. On the stairs, kneeling before Joan, you looked up at her, a lovely white dress subtly hugging your figure while a blue box rested on the palms of your hands. You had never looked so perfect before, smiling kindly up at her as your eyes held her gaze, something she couldn’t quite recognise dancing like stars on your irises, sparkling with a life that pulled her towards you like a magnet. Her brown heels took one single step forward, the wood creaking under her weight, her hand falling slowly from the doorknob and coming to rest on her side, her lips parted in surprise, a slight red colour lingering from the wine.  

-Y/N? – her voice sounded so raspy and raw, as if she hadn’t used it since the day she left you, and perhaps she had. No one had come to visit her ever since you had moved in next door, it would be no surprise, but that didn’t mean it was a pleasant thought.

-Hello, Joan.

-What are you doing here? What’s all this?

-121 flowers. One for each day I’ve known you, and all of them as an apology for whatever I did wrong the other day.

-This must have cost a fortune. – her feet brushed the soft petals of a purple tulip as her body moved closer to yours of its own accord, almost as if your skin was calling out to hers, her heart racing against her ribs nearly painfully.

-That doesn’t matter, you are worth this and much more, Joan.

-But why? – she had never felt so conflicted before, wishing you would take her in your arms and never let her go but knowing that whatever this was, if it was ever something and not just a hallucination of her mind, wasn’t right. But then why did she feel like you were her saviour and guide? Part of her would follow you blindly like Mary had followed Christ, sharing your burdens and kneeling at the foot of your cross ready to gather you in her arms. But the other held her back, keeping her in a prison that was her own mind, prejudices that had been taught to her all her life making her feel as if what her heart was saying to her, whispers spoken from in between the cracks, would condemn her to an eternity of pain. But wasn’t she already living like that? You had stood from your spot on the stairs, analysing the sadness that had laced her question as you stepped closer to her, barely a foot separating you, the blue box you had been holding now resting on the floor next to your feet.

-Because you don’t deserve what you are going through. I don’t care how many times Fiona tells me you are dangerous and that I can’t see you. I know you would do me no harm. I have heard your story on a loop from mouths that weren’t yours for months and it doesn’t seem fair. They have no right to tell your story.

-But they do, and people listen to them. Do yourself a favour Y/N and go home.  

Was she really about to give up on the only thing that had made her truly happy in years? Her hand hesitated to touch you, knowing it would be even harder to let you go the moment her touch starved soul caressed yours, but she indulged herself, at least one last time, and took your hand in hers, her thumb rubbing your soft skin. All the way from the dining hall a new song played, and it couldn’t have been a most perfectly cruel choice. Don't you know I'm no good for you? I've learned to lose you. Joan truly fought to keep her composure, to not break down before you had walked away, but you didn’t move and with the way you were looking at her as if she was the sun, the moon and all the stars combined her carefully crafted walls collapsed. Tears fell down her cheeks in quick succession, burning her flesh, and she almost expected you extract your hand from hers and leave her standing there drowning in her own grief the same way everyone else had, but your warmth never left.

You had never known of anyone who deserved love more than Joan, and at the sight of her tears, her very soul conflicted with who she was at this point in her life, unsure of what she wanted and what she felt she had the right to ask for, all translated into the tears that fell like sharp diamonds all the way to the cold hard wood under her feet you threw caution to the wind and gathered her in your arms. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the palms of your hands on her back pressing her against your warm body, a sea of flowers and fallen petals in a circle around your feet, the sweet aroma enfolding her as much as your embrace did. Her thin dress was no obstacle for your heat to seep into her bones, easing all the aches that had settled deeply within her, listening to the way your heart beat slowly, almost in a perfect rhythm. But it was the touch of your lips, soft and tender, on her temple that had her sobbing into the crook of your neck. She could not do it, she could not watch you slip through her fingers after all the pain she had gone through, your presence the only thing she ever wanted in her life. My love, my love, my love, my love. Won't you stay a while? 

You would stay for all eternity if that’s what she wanted, if it meant healing her and seeing her smile as you shared the smallest of things, watching her find her own path, her own light and purpose out of all the teachings that had turned her into a woman she hadn’t recognised when standing in front of the mirror. Your fingers traced lazy patterns in between her shoulder blades as your other hand held her gently against your frame by the back on her neck, her tears leaving wet patches on your dress, though you cared very little about it. A chill drifted under the roofed porch, riding up Joan’s spine and making her shiver but she didn’t move, the grip her hands had on your gown making her knuckles turn white. If loving you, caring about you was such a horrible thing, a temptation from the Devil, why did it feel as if she was walking the heavens now that she was in your arms? Was she willing to risk eternal damnation in exchange for a lifetime with you? You had come back to her even after her fears and doubts had made her run away, and you had brought her a flower for every single day you had known each other; no one had ever done such a thing for her, she could not even recall the last time she had been given a single lilting flower, let alone 121.

-You don’t need to be so strong all the time Joan. Let yourself grief, I will be here to hold you and take what you can’t carry. Don’t believe for an instant that you are undeserving of love or understanding. Those who have not lived it all in your skin cannot see and feel the truths hidden in your mind. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Your voice was calm, soothing as each word fell from your lips like rain after a long draught and it filled every cell in her body with a sense of peace that halted her sobs and made her lift her head from your shoulder, red, puffy eyes locking onto yours. Were you an angel sent to her to return her to the rightful path, to the road built in the truths that were never written and therefor never changed, each stone an action that had no other witness but Him? There could be wrong in the way her heart raced as your words sunk deeply withing the cracks, no evil clouding her mind, making her stray for she was now exactly where she was meant to be, and your touch was nothing but glorious, a rejoicing song against her skin. Her face was only inches away from yours, your eyes counting every freckle that adorned her nose and cheeks, such an intimate position reminding her that that was the closest she had been to another person in years. The traces of a life she didn’t want to go back to lingered in everything she did and everything she said, habits that would take an entire lifetime to erase and yet she was willing to do so, as long as you were right beside her, reassuring her that everything would be alright every time those demons that haunted her came to claw at her free will, tempting her to fall back into the darkness she currently resided in, regret and fear her only companions.

Her chocolate eyes hid thousands of secrets, of untold stories that you wanted to hear, but not because you were a curious person or a gossip, which you supposed you were to a certain extent, but because they were simply hers and everything that belonged to her was, everything that was her, meant the world to you. You did not fight the feeling of your heart jumping a bit as you held her gaze, falling down rivers of sorrow and happiness that run underneath long oak bridges, their path taking you to where Joan’s broken soul laid, cracks running deeply from side to side as the light within her quivered dimly under the weight of everything that had happened. Your gentle hands could not heal the ill nor make the dead rise, but they could hold her steady as the wounds stitched themselves together, no more blood pooling in that void that had formed in her chest. The late-night breeze carried the words of song Joan didn’t know, sweet notes that danced in between specks of dust, floating lazily, twirling in a waltz that no one saw. And even though she was unfamiliar with the music, it somehow made your eyes glint under the silvery beams that bathed the pavement, moonlight casting a spell over the city, away from the yellow lights of the streetlamps. Now, I've thought it through. Crawling back to you.     

Over glass and burning embers, you would crawl on your hands and knees back to her, even if the world turned against you, even if there was nothing else worth living for, she would be the only reason you drew breath every morning as dawn broke through the horizon and as the thick veil of night covered the sky. The petals scattered on the floor glowed under the pearly beams, reflecting on Joan’s sun-kissed skin, translucent rainbows lingering on her cheeks, dripping over her full lips like honey, slow and perfectly sweet. Her hands didn’t want to release your dress, afraid you might vanish before her eyes and her brain realised that all this had been nothing but bitter dream induced by the lack of sleep and the wine, another punishment she was inflicting on herself, but she still did it, her fingers stiff as they released the warm fabric, discomfort building in her hands at the hard grip she had had on you. Your touch lingered for an instant longer, but when her arms fell to her sides you understood the moment had passed, and as much as your words were still echoing inside Joan’s mind, your fingers tenderly brushed the skin of her neck one last time before cold meet the spots where your warmth seeping from your palms had been.

It was a most odd sensation to feel a shiver running down her spine at the lack of your touch on her, wishing your hands were still on her. She could hardly recall when had been the last time her husband had held her hand, let alone kiss her on the cheek or look at her they way your eyes did, no fear or disgust shinning over them. She could not remember if anyone had ever bothered to go to the extents you had to show her they cared, to do something with a meaning, not just to fill up the purpose of the holiday and get her off their backs, and make her feel like perhaps there was hope for her. Standing in separate circles once again, you took the opportunity to kneel at her feet and pick up a single flower, a most perfect pink lily that Joan hadn’t noticed before, a little trick you had had up your sleeve, and in the most gentlemanly manner you could muster bowed and handed it to her. Her lips broke into a giddy smile, unable to stop it even if she had wanted to, her slender fingers taking hold of the stem and bringing it to her nose, the rich floral accents that fell from its petals, bright and deep pink tones painted on the inside with the utmost care as the edges stood out in a pristine white, never overshadowing the other, only blending to perfection as pastel pink dots laid scattered over the soft floral leaf, filling her lungs.

-Its beautiful Y/N. Thank you. – her timid smile was partially hidden by the flower, resting gently over her rosy lips, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t seen it or hadn’t noticed the tint that was spreading over her cheeks, a most enchanting shade of red complimenting her doe eyes.

-I’m glad you like it, but I’m not done yet. I have a few more things planned for us. That is of course, if… you want to be my Valentine.

-Your… your Valentine? Me?

-Yes. There’ no one else in the entire planet that I would rather spend this day with than you, Joan. Not a soul. – you had rendered her speechless for a moment, the thought of you actually asking her such a thing never having crossed her mind, which was foolish really. You had done all this because you wanted to spend this holiday with her. She was aware that her smile was that of a shocked by lovesick teenager now, her heart fluttering like butterflies trapped in a cage begging to be released, using the lily as a shield to hide her ever-growing blush from your piercing by kind eyes.

-I… I think I would like that. Very much.

-Then please, take this as a token of my affections for you.    

She had completely forgotten about the blue box that rested next to your feet, a white ribbon tying it closed so its contents wouldn’t be spilt all over her front porch, Joan’s eyes watching as your body quickly bent over to pick it up. She still held the flower in between her fingers, cool under its touch, as you presented yet another gift to her, curiosity peeking for the second time that night, but she didn’t want to let go of the lily, and so with quick hands she placed it on the side of her head, the smooth petals caressing her temple as the she secured the flower by threading the stem in between a few locks of hair and the claw clip that held the silky strands on the back of her head. She would wear it all night long and put it in a vase with water next to her bed when the day was done and sleep began to creep up on her, wishing to close her eyes to its sight and wake up to it as well, the gesture forever engraved in her mind. With both hands now free her fingers made quick work of the bow and ribbon, the rough material resting over your palms, and with shaky limbs, anticipation building quickly within her, she pushed the top off.

-Oh, Y/N! – wasn’t it a most melodious sound to hear her laugh? Those loud tones, unapologetic as they echoed in the night, sweet as happiness poured out of them in quick succession, her smile only growing bigger as sparks shone in her eyes. One thing was to hear her chuckle, maybe even be granted the honour of hearing a soft laugh pass her plump lips, and another far more magical and sublime was to hear that rumbling sound sliding with easy from her throat, being you and only you the cause and the benefactor of such a sound. There were no gold necklaces or platinum bracelets resting over expensive layers of velvets, no seas of diamonds or rubies that could adorn her collarbones or her fingers, not even a unique bottle of scotch waiting for her inside that box, and yet what was presented to her held a much deeper meaning and an aura of love and care that she appreciated far more than all the jewellery money could buy. Twenty small doughnuts were neatly placed on top of a pink sheet of parchment paper, white melted chocolate displayed on top of the spongy dough as red icing spelled “ Happy Valentine’s Joan”, purple, red, white and pink sprinkles decorating each pastry to perfection, the last doughnut of the batch being the only one shaped as a heart, covered in ruby chocolate and with what looked like some sort of jam spilling from its insides.

-I made them myself. The first batch burned because I didn’t hear the oven go off, but I think these ones turned out pretty good. I hope you like them.

-They are wonderful. And beautiful. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for me you know?

-It’s no trouble, at all Joan. Anything that I make for you is never a chore or a task. I enjoy it, trust me. – she did, she could not find a single reason not to do so when your intentions shone as pure as snow, no hidden requests or lies masked as innocent compliments. There was no venom in your smile, no evil behind your beautiful eyes, only genuine care for her that made her all warm and fuzzy, a feeling she had forgotten about, a sensation she wondered for a moment if she had ever truly felt. You took one step towards her, the edge of the box barely an inch from her bosom, the chill breeze that had been lazily twirling around the both of you now picking up slightly, goosebumps and shivers making you shake on your spot. -Could I come in? It’s getting colder and I still have one more thing to give you.

-Another present? Greed is not a friend that one should engage with Y/N.

-It is not greed, I assure you. I did not buy it, and in truth it’s more of a necessity. – her narrowed a little but her smile never faltered, not for a minute, the lily in her hair matching the blush that painted her cheeks.

-Alright, come on in. – she took a few steps back until her heels clacked over the wooden floors of her entryway, watching as you made your way to her door carefully as not to crush any of the flowers under your feet. She would figure out tomorrow morning what to do with them all, for now, she liked to think they were simply guarding her home. You picked up quickly on the musty smell that floated in the air, clinging to the drawn curtains, darkness spreading through every room like a wildfire, a pang of sadness slamming you on the chest as you made your way to the dining room. The candles Joan had lit hours ago barely had any wax left, the flames dimming with each passing second, the lonely bottle of wine along with the half-drunk glass resting and glistening under the flickering light. You had no taste for such a drink, but it was obvious that the burgundy liquid was a common guest in Joan’s house, a hint of shame in her eyes as you looked at her over your shoulder. Carefully not to make the glass tumble and ruin both the table and the floor you left the box of doughnuts beside one of the silver candlesticks, white wax embedded in the crevasses of a swan engraved in the metal, checking that the pastries were all still intact before turning to face Joan, a bright smile on your face to overshine the downcast look that had taken her hostage.

-Wait here a moment. I’ll be right back.

Like the perfect summer breeze your perfume caressed her face as you walked past her, your hand brushing hers, fingers timidly kissing each other for an instant that ended too soon, leaving a tingling sensation on her skin that travelled like electricity up her arm to her elbow. Watching you walking back to the front door, your dress flowing around your knees, she stood in the poorly lit room, cursing herself for the way the house betrayed her and screamed silently about her state of mind, long curtains refusing to let the cold breeze of February in. Hoping you didn’t think less of her she rushed towards the closet window, pushing the heavy fabrics to the sides and unlatching the frames, pushing the glass upwards until the cold wind of the night burst in unannounced but not unwelcome. Shivers ran down her spine, but she pushed through, repeating the motion for the other two windows that were left, that stale stench she had mentally complained about not that long ago losing the fresh crisp air that was now filling the room. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cleaned the house in months, she still woke up every morning with a task to fill all those dead hours that lay ahead of her, but she had neglected certain aspects that would have clashed with her mood, the need to keep herself secluded, detained in her own home as much as she was by her mind, preventing her from enjoying the simple sight of the sunlight breaking through her front door, or basking in its warmth by the window with a hot cup of tea cradled in her hands. She had no right to such simple things after everything, she thought.

But now the room was bathed in perfect waves of silver and platinum, strings of pearly dust floating along to the sweet voices that still played on the radio, the wind that now rushed through the house kissing the flickering flames goodbye as one by one they vanished into rivulets of smoke. Standing in the doorway your eyes raked over Joan’s frame as moonlight rained over her, her deep eyes holding your gaze, sparkling under its silvery touch. Never before had a person been more beautiful than her, her blue dress like an ocean enfolding her curves, her hair shining under the glow of the pink petals that caressed her temple, the soft breeze that came from the windows kissing her skin and twirling around her like currents, transparent foam around her feet. It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time. Heaven is a place on earth with you. Words had never spoken bigger truths. All for Joan, so she would grant you entrance to the Heaven that clung to her skin, your lips begging to worship the ground she walked on, the air she breathed, the clothes she wore and hoping that one day you would be able to cross the threshold on her bedroom and lay beside her in that bed that claimed her holy body each night. With slow steps you made your way to the table once more and placed two paper bags gently over the wood, eyes never straying from her form, fighting not to blink should you miss a single thing about her.

She walked towards you, her gentle movements a sight for sore eyes, approaching you as if she hadn’t noticed the way your sight lingered on her and drank her in, and perhaps it had been so. Joan was unused to being the object of people’s affections, it would be no surprise if she had mistaken your actions for nothing more than admiration, but inside the woman’s chest, her heart slammed against her ribs with each beat, a million butterflies fluttering inside her, thanking the darkness of the room that had kept her blush at bay from your beautiful eyes. Without a word each of you worked on a bag, a comfortable silence accompanying your actions as the song carried on softly in the background, a few containers with food lay on the table after a few minutes, the delicious aroma of well-cooked and homemade dishes reaching Joan’s nose, making her mouth water as she turned to look at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude painted on her face. It had been far too long since she had had something that hadn’t been a premade meal, her constant internal battle and continuous self-sabotage leaving her drained and unable to do one of the things she loved the most. Lifting one of the lids, the smell of rosemary filled the room, her eyes as wide as saucers as slices of a rotisserie chicken stood out from under what she was sure was a delicious sauce.

-You made and brought me dinner? That’s the surprise you had for me?

-I know it’s not as grand or greedy as a night in town or a diamond necklace, but I thought this would be much better for you. I’ve made enough so that you’ll be able to eat for at least a week.

-Y/N… I… You don’t know how much this means to me. You really are a blessing. – her hands rested tenderly on your cheeks, her smile as big as the entire universe and so bright that she could light the whole house, but her palms didn’t remain on your skin for too long, and you didn’t stop her when they left a cold spot over your flesh. It was obvious things would have to be done at her pace.

-I’m happy you like it. Why don’t you bring some plates while I open the rest?

Her steps were quick as she made a beeline for the kitchen, leaving you in charge of everything else. A most exquisite sea of aromas overwhelmed the crisp air of the dining room, salty condiments along with tomato and herbs dancing in perfect unison as you placed the main dish of the night, baked parmesan chicken on a bed of angel hair pasta with green beans and roasted potatoes as sides, beside the glass of red wine. You truly hoped to steer her away from the burgundy drink before dinner started, but at the same time you didn’t wish to make her feel self-conscious about it, as if she was doing something wrong when she was a grown woman who could make her own decisions. But there was no time to indulge in that train of thought as she came back with two plates and cutlery in one hand while she juggled two glasses and a pitch of water in the other. Of course, you rushed to her aid and were thanked with the sight of that tender smile she seemed to have reserved just for you.

-You really have outdone yourself.

-Thank you. I had the kitchen all to myself today, so I was able to prepare everything with all the care in the world. Where do you keep your candles?

-It’s okay, I’ll get them. – the radio rested on top of a set of drawers, Joan heading its way and pulling the first one open before returning to the table, two long white candles in her hand that she exchanged for the old ones. Just as she was about to head back to the kitchen, to get matches, you thought, your hand shot out to grab her wrist, the sudden touch making her whip her head towards you, a wary veil of confusion covering her features.

-Let me. – without letting her go, the grasp on her skin never too strong, allowing her to pry her hand away should she wish to, the fingers of your right hand touched each wick, observing happily how in less than an instant the warm light of a flame bathed the room, colliding with the cool tones that they moon cast inside the house, orange and silver fighting as they reflected on Joan’s pink cheeks. Her big eyes shone under the orange light, like melted chocolate that called out to you, her gaze glued to the candles as the flames flickered steadily, amazement hiding behind her perfect irises. You could not say that you were not proud to have rendered her speechless once again. She was no stranger to what people called magic, but the way you used it, you seemed to have a relationship, some sort of understanding of your own abilities that she had never seen before, didn’t make her feel fear anymore. She felt curious about what else you were capable of, but was too worried about you taking offense that she didn’t ask and simply basked in the beauty of such a domestic task. – Now we can eat. Are you okay Joan?

-What? Oh, yes, perfectly alright. Before we have what clearly looks like a delicious meal I was wondering if we could have one of those doughnuts you brought.

-Of course. Which letter do you fancy?

-I was thinking we could share the heart. One half for you and the other for me, if you are agreeable.

-Absolutely.       

 The cardboard made a scratching sound as you lifted the top, and with careful fingers you pried it from the parchment paper and placed it on one of the plates she had brought, the knife slicing through the middle as if it were butter, stains of pink chocolate and red jam over the metal. Joan took her half of the pastry, muttering a thank you, and slowly took a bite savouring the fluffiness of the dough and the sweetness of the chocolate, the flavour removing the bitter aftertaste the wine had left on her tongue. But the calm moment didn’t last for too long, the acidity of the jam hitting her as if she had just been run over by a car, not because it was too strong or bad, but because it was raspberry jam. She could recall as if she had done it that same morning, going down to the market with little Luke grasping her hand, holding onto her and looking up at her with his big adoring eyes, asking her if he could have some ice cream, the wicker basket she had in her other hand heavy with all the food she had bought. Every Saturday morning would be the same. She would get up and get ready for the day before heading to her son’s room, opening his teddy bear curtains so the sun could come through the window, drool falling from his mouth onto the pillow as he slept, one of his front teeth missing.

Getting him up and ready was her first task of the day, his groggy form sagging against her chest and shoulder as she picked him up and took him to the kitchen, a bowl of cereal waiting for him as she made herself a cup of coffee. She could hear his rumbling as the radio played, talking a thousand miles a minute about whatever he had done in school the previous day, mentioning his friends and teachers and speaking of how elephants were big and grey and hamster so small, cupping his tiny hands as to make his point clearer to his mom. Those morning watching him be so utterly excited about the most mundane of things lingered in her mind, memories that she had revisited so many times as her boy grew, feeling as if she was losing him, as if those moments had vanished into nothing. She would have done anything to go back to all that, to stumbling up the stairs to help him dress as she told him gently that he needed to pick up his toys, brushing his unruly hair before walking out the door with her basket, Luke trailing behind her sometimes with his fish plushie and sometimes not, her attention having to drift from the pavement to her boy and his friend Nemo. They would walk between each stall and Joan would tenderly answer and explain everything that her beautiful boy asked, not caring how many hours they spent out in the streets as long as Luke remained by her side, the warm sun rising higher and higher in the sky.

The feeling of his little fingers, soft and smooth against her palm, lingered on her skin still, as if she could look down and see him standing there with scraped knees, begging her to kiss his pain away, cheeks pink and fat tears falling from his eyes, after taking a tumble with a rock. She could almost feel him pulling on her arm as his eyes landed on his favourite stall, pounds and pounds of raspberries waiting for him, the boxes a few inches above his head. His excitement was always contagious, his toothy smile matching the one on her lips as they made their way towards the grocer. The first time he had seen them his eyes had been wide as saucers, pointing at the red fruits, amazed at the quantity and hadn’t stopped asking to have one until finally Joan had given in and bought a pound of them, knowing that even if Luke didn’t like them, she could still use them and eat them herself. He had fallen in love almost instantly and when they got home the bag had barely lasted more than a few days, so the next Saturday she had purchased more had told her boy that they would make jam with some of them as a treat for how well he was doing in school. He had been so excited that that night he had woken her up almost every hour to ask her if it was time, his thrilled tone preventing her from scolding him, strands of his hair sticking in different directions and his body dressed in a pair of yellow pyjamas with a big giraffe on his t-shirt.

A onetime thing soon became a habit, a special moment they shared every Saturday once they were done at the market, his steps jolly and bouncy as they walked down the street, Luke pointing at every single thing his curious eyes could see as if Joan wasn’t to used to them already, and she indulged him, because he was her little boy, her everything. And now she only had those, the bittersweet memories of a happy life that had turned into dust all because of her own selfish wants and needs, because she could not heal from a broken heart and let her grief and sorrow lead her in life. She had been so sure she was doing the right thing for Luke, following the scriptures her priest had provided her with, telling her that the only way Luke would grow to be the man she wanted him to be was by making sure temptation never entered her house, keeping him secluded with her and following the Lord’s teachings without question. She had not doubted that man’s words, too distraught to even consider that that was not the way, that God was love, not fear, that he was everyone’s father and loved each of his children without expecting anything in return. And yet she had followed him blindly, losing herself in the process and ruining her boy with each day that she punished him for not doing what she had been taught was right.

She had tried so hard to keep him safe, paranoid that temptation hid in every corner that she had forgotten who God was and what his son had preached, stealing Luke away from Nan as if she was the Devil herself all because she had a gift no one else she had ever met had. She had driven her son away, lost that little boy who used to fall asleep in her arms as she sang lullabies and with whom she used to make raspberry jam. The pain that crawled under her skin was beyond anything she had ever felt, as if millions of daggers were stabbing her, blood pouring out of each wound as tears fell down her cheeks, fire burning her flesh, guilt and disgust poisoning and rotting her blood in her veins. She had killed her boy, her reason for being alive, her very soul, because to her there had been no other truth but that of the “Good book”, her narrowminded thoughts having turned her into the biggest hypocrite and selfish woman she had ever known, refusing to believe her actions had been wrong until now. Her baby was gone because she hadn’t wanted him to be with someone like Nan, a girl she had called a servant of Satan, an abomination that walked the Earth, and who had taken her life now that Luke was no longer there with her. She wished to rip her skin off, to escape this agony that crushed her under its inevitable weight, but there was no way out.

How wrong she had been, her own mind betraying everything she had ever loved and cherished and turning her into a monster. How could you be there with her, speaking of love and bringing her gifts when she had killed her son? Her Luke. The name escaped from her lips as realization fell harshly over her, the fact that she was here with you, a woman, her feelings betraying everything she had ever known and been told about love, a most needed but agonising wake-up call. She had put her son through Hell in the name of a God that had forsaken her, that had abandoned her and left her in the dark when she had needed him the most, bringing forth a side of her that had not hesitated to claim her own son’s life so that the secret of her husband’s death would never be brought to light and to ensure that her perfect boy’s soul remained pure, untainted by the girl he had fallen for. How could pain be so raw, so overwhelming and vast that it caused one to want to rip their own heart from their chest? She had carried him, birthed him and held him to her as she told him that love would find him when the time was right, only to refuse him the gift of a happy life with her own bare hands. There wasn’t enough air in the entire planet for her to breathe, her throat refusing to swallow not even an ounce of oxygen, her lungs begging for it as sobs rocked her body.

A thousand emotions had rushed through her eyes the instant she had taken that first and only bite. One moment there had been the sweetest of the smiles gracing her lips and the next tears had begun to pour as her gaze became lost in a world of her own, the atmosphere clinging onto the regret and sorrow that seeped from her body. And then her son’s name had fallen from her lips and the last piece of the puzzle was finally in its rightful place. You had stood as fast as your body had allowed you and wrapped your arms around her trembling frame, the pastry forgotten on the ground by her feet. These tears were different from the ones she had shed a few moments before, they were harsh and sharp as daggers and they were accompanied by the grieving sound of a mother who no longer had a child, a mother who would never get to see her baby become an adult and have a life of his own.

-It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here.

-I… did it… Y/N… - her voice was muffled by her head hiding on your chest, hands gripping the neckline of your dress in despair.

-I know, Jo, I know.

-I didn’t… I didn’t want to… He was my baby! My only baby… - had the Devil taken reign of her senses and clouded her mind with false verses? She would have never laid a single finger on her little boy, not even to discipline him and yet she had caused him harm far too many times to count. She could not escape this pain, this feeling that she had no right to feel anything but grief, to let it consume her. Undeserving of your love and your kind words. Underserving of having you in her life, your mere existence bringing forth a happiness that she had denied to her own flesh and blood.

-I know, my darling. Let it out. There is nothing you could do that would make me leave you, so grieve. You have lost your son, there is no greater pain than that.

You had never heard a sound so frightening and yet so heartbreaking slip out of someone’s throat like the scream that was ripped from Joan’s chest. It came from so deep within her that it made her entire body shake and tremble, rattling her very soul, the sound vibrating through your skin like a thousand needles. It was blood curling and hellish in execution, so full of anger, regret, and pain that it mixed into the most agonizing sound a human could ever produce and yet should never hear. Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer emptiness that coursed through her veins, for the way she wanted to claw at her own skin to make it all stop hurting, begging in between sobs to turn back time, to return to how things had been once upon a time, when it had been her and Luke against the world. Before her mind had been poisoned by false words and her entire life had lost its meaning. She could have carried on screaming for all eternity, blood filling her lungs as she choked on her own remorse, but she was too broken to even hold the sound for too long, and after a few moments it blended back into sobs. It had been four months since she had lost the most precious thing in her little universe and it was only now that she was feeling all that anguish for the first time, all the grief slamming onto her at full force, knocking her off her feet and making her tumble and crumple to the floor.  There would be no more helping him with his math work, no more cuddling him to sleep when he was sick, no more Saturdays at the market. No more raspberry jams.

Her tired body melted slowly in your arms with each passing second, her tears pooling in the neckline of your dress leaving a cold spot on the skin underneath that the breeze was not gentle with, shivers running down your arms as it sliced through your flesh. You could not imagine what thoughts swirled in her head, what memories were haunting her as her boy’s name fell from her lips over and over, as if that simple action could bring him back, but the house remained quiet, cold, and empty, even the light of the candles seeming to have lost all its warmth as the flames flickered gently. The only sounds echoing against the bare walls, empty frames hanging over the floral wallpaper, were Joan’s sobs, or at least the only sounds you were paying attention to, rubbing comforting circles on her back as your other hand caressed her soft hair, for the radio carried on playing. I wish that Heaven had visiting hours, and I would ask them if I could take you home. The words floated around Joan’s head, begging her to listen, making a lump form in her throat as her heart bled inside her chest, the crimson liquid puddled on the floor under the shard of her completely shattered life. But a glimpse of light shone amongst all the darkness, your voice hushed and tender as you spoke the last verse of the song against her temple, the lily slightly crumpled but nevertheless beautiful.

-And I will close the door, but I will open up my heart. And everyone I love will know exactly who you are. Cause this is not goodbye; it is just 'til we meet again. So much has changed since you've been away. - An entire lifetime had happened since she had lost him, and not once, not even for an instant, had her boy left her thoughts. She almost expected still to see him walking down the hall or stealing a bite before dinner, to find him in his room playing that horrible music she despised so much as he did his homework, but he wasn’t even a ghost haunting her. She would have given her soul, as blasphemous as she knew that was, for one more day with him, to explain, to look at his face and engrave the colour of his eyes in her mind for all eternity. With tears still streaming down her face she lifted her head to gaze upon yours, a question on the tip of her tongue that she couldn’t bring herself to say. Would he forgive her if she could talk to him one last time?

-Y/N…

-What? Talk to me, Joan.

-Luke… I… Would he… - why was it so hard? Why did those words seem to weigh like a thousand rocks? Her grip was even stronger now, her eyes pleading for you to understand, to look deep inside her and pry the question from the very essence of her being so she would not crumble at your feet once again. Your voice did not hesitate to respond.

-He would. He would listen to your every word, and at first, he would be mad, furious even, but it wouldn’t be for the reasons you think. He would be angry because you were so deeply hurt, so broken, that your pain made you ask for help from people you trusted only for them to deceive you. He would not diminish your doings, and he would be upset at the extent of your own actions, but with time he would have understood that you only did it because you thought it was the right way. You are his mother and always will be, and you have repented for what you did.

-But what I did was evil, something so brutal that I fear has no possible salvation. I killed my own son, Y/N.

- “For you became sorrowful as God intended and so were not harmed in any way by us. Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret”. You have walked this path alone Joan, you have grieved and cried in remorse for what you have done, and He, who cares for us all has seen it and has forgiven you. Luke would do the same, because you are his mother and he would not want to see you like this, broken and battered by your own hand.

-But I deserve it. I am no better than all those people who drove me to this point and then abandoned me.

-You are Joan, you are the most wonderful person I have ever met, and one that needs to heal from all the horrible things that have happened to you. You are free from them, from the chains that held you down with false hopes and lies dressed in empty promises, and it is that, and only that, that would make Luke forgive you. You are deserving of love, and you must not think that your little boy would not be thrilled to have the mother he so loved back in his arms. “Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy”.

Your words, coupled with the tender, caring tone you used soothed her pain like nothing had ever before, and for the first time in years, she felt as if she could breathe, as if the air filling her lungs wasn’t rotten anymore. She would be forgiven. Her precious baby boy wouldn’t look at her like she was the worst human in history, pointing accusingly at her while telling her that it was all her fault, that she had brought this agony onto herself. There was hope for her to find happiness once again, to let the gentle rays of sunlight burst through her windows and for her to not run away as if her skin would blister at the feeling, the warm light bathing her house, the silence that had settle so deeply in each beam and wall fading as the sound of birds chirping and voices coming from the street filled each room. Her eyes glistened under the flames, orange and yellow tinges caressing her perfect chocolate irises, so full of hope and dreams she had not even dared to think about before, tears no longer falling but leaving wet paths over her cheeks. With a tender touch your thumbs wiped them away, and with that motion, your fingers ripped the weight that had been crushing her from her flesh, guilt and shame fading into acceptance and understanding as her penitence ended. She had taken accountability for her actions and in return she had been granted a second chance. She had been gifted with your presence and your love.

This time she didn’t let go of you, not caring if your face was only inches from hers, if she could breathe your sweet perfume, a blend of berries and vanilla, deep within her, its soft tendrils enfolding her essence the same way your hands were cradling her face. It would have been so easy to kiss her, to brush your lips against hers, but if you were going to do this, if you were going to walk this path with her, hand in hand, you could wait until she was sure, until her body spoke to you and asked in a silent plea for your touch. The radio was silent for a moment, only the sound of Joan’s sniffles filling up the room, her warmth seeping under your skin, and in an instant her hands released your dress, disappointment crossing your eyes, only to be delighted and surprised as she place her palms over the back of your hands, her heat wrapping around you like a blanket, shielding you from the cold that was breaking through the windows. At that moment in time, there was nothing but Joan and the blossoming lily in her hair, no past, no future, just her. Joan, wrap me up in all your, I want you in my arms.

Her hands were in yours, and with a gentleness she could not get used to you lifted her from her seat, pulling her body away from the table and into an empty spot where the carpet covered the wooden floors. Coming to stand next to the windows she let you do whatever you wanted, take her to the ends of the world if you so desired, because under the silvery beams that swayed in the night, she knew she would give you everything you asked from her as long as you never stopped looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Your hands guided hers to your shoulders, her fingers feeling the cotton of your dress around your neck, strands of your soft hair teasing her knuckles as your arms snaked around her waist, the gap between you vanishing as each of your bubbles became one, you in her personal space and Joan in yours, no fear or reservations clouding her mind. Oh, let me hold you. I'll never let you go again like I did. Never would you leave her, never would she have to face the world on her own, never would you let her go as long as your body drew breath, and your soul belonged to her. Slowly your feet began to sway from side to side, Joan’s frame molded to yours and following suit, her gaze never straying from your enchanting eyes.

Dancing lazily with her made your little heart leap with joy, a petal suddenly falling all the way from the tall ceiling, oscillating gently as its pristine white colour shone under the moonlight, blending into the same shade of pink Joan’s lily wore as it touched the ground. Then another fell as you pulled her closer, her chest against yours, her fingers twirling your hair in between them as the palms of your hands held onto her waist, a soft touch of sandalwood reaching your nostrils as her hair brushed against your check, her head coming to rest on your right shoulder. Her chin dug gently onto your flesh over the cotton of your white dress, her eyes watching in amazement at the way the room filled with the floral aroma of roses, petal after petal filling the room, a most perfect sight to match a most perfect you. A couple of flower leaves soon turned into a gentle shower of them, dozens swaying in the chilly breeze as the two of you danced, the top of her head resting against your cheek, the moonbeams never faltering in its glow, the flickering flames never ceasing to shower the room with their warmth as a sea of petals laid at your feet. In your arms Joan came to one last conclusion: God had never forsaken her, he had seen her lost in the dark and had sent you to her, to guide her and love her the way she had never been before, to return her to the right path with you by her side, her son’s forgiveness her banner and your love her shield. From now and for all eternity.  I would never fall in love again until I found her. I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into".

[yubellia]

Tales of a traveling Creator…. „Am I an author now?…“

Imagine that we, the creator, finally made it back home. Back home to Teyvat that is. „Because this is where you belong, your grace!~“…. Yeah… great.

Actually, life is pretty sweet. Sure, there are certain things we don‘t have in Teyvat but… we can look past that. Mostly.

The characters don‘t know that for us, all of this was a game. Literally a video game. And there were many others too.

Now imagine how it must feel to never see your favorite show or cartoon again. How it feels to never play your favorite games again. (Especially if you know that a series would get a new game or season soon…. Gosh the horror!)

One day, you notice how your memories of these things start to fade. You forget the name of a character. Small things. But it’s scary enough to make you do something. You do the next best thing.

„Somebody bring me empty notebooks and writing tools! Hurry!“ Your always loyal followers almost run over each other to get what you requested.

And so starts the time period of none stop writing. Really. You carry notebooks everywhere. You start to write down the plot of your favorite games, shows, movies. You name it.

Until one day, because it had to happen, someone asked you where this enthusiasm came from. You and some of the other archons were having tea and snacks in inazuma. Ei insisted that you had to come for a visit again. Zhongli, your loyal shield („shield for what?“ „better be safe than sorry.“), Nahida was there too. Naturally considering that she is pretty much your daughter. Ei brought Miko with her and that’s when it happened.

„Your grace? I heard you always carry these notebooks around these days. Would you be willing to share your thoughts with us? Hm?~“

Zhongli gave Miko a slightly stern look but you shook it off. „sure. Why not. You see, i noticed that i started to forget certain things. Books I read in the other world.“ (you had to think on how to put this.) „stage plays I saw, songs and the adventures I had in…. Other worlds.“ „you visited other worlds too? Like the traveler?“ „yes. I did. Just like with the traveler or you guys, I used…. ‚Vessels‘ and guided them through their adventures. And i started writing things down so that I won‘t forget.“ You showed them a picture. „I even used my powers to create images of the characters.“

Miko‘s ears started to twitch. „Oh my…. Would you mind if… I took a look at that?“

„Sure…. But wait. Not this one. Here. This story is finished.“

You take another notebook from your pocket and hand it over. Miko promises to take very good care of it and the others look on in jealousy.

That was a few weeks ago. You continued. You did everything you could. Even create pages with character sheets and detailed descriptions.

One day, there is a long line in front of a book store. You could hear the owner talk about the newest story.

„Witness the the tale of a chosen hero in a distant world! A fight between good and evil. An innocent child chosen by destiny and the gods! One of their graces many vessels in another realm. This is The legend of Zelda. Ocarina of Time.“

For a moment, you just stood there with your mouth slightly open… „Miko…. Why? Zhongli can you believe it?….. Zhongli?“

You didn’t get an answer because instead of next to you, Zhongli was waiting in line for a copy of the book…..

„Oh hello your grace! The people of Inazuma and Teyvat as a whole love the adventure of the young hero and the princess…. When I read it, I just new it would be a hit.“

You didn’t have it in you to be surprised when Miko showed up. Oh and Zhongli returned with a copy of the book soon after that.

„So… I am an author now?“

„Well, it would be a shame to keep you loyal readers hanging no? Also, I heard some people discuss the criteria for becoming someone worthy of your guidance.“

„Well fortunately Link and Zelda have enough adventures. And i visited enough worlds…..“

Once Zhongli is next to you again, you grab his sleeve and pull him away before others see you.

(Heaven forbid I tell them about Kingdom hearts. The legend of Zelda has enough lore to keep them busy.)

[meizimao]

Rhapsody in a Rainy Night

Main Pairing: Jason Todd(Red Hood) x Reader

Secondary Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader, Tim Drake x Reader

All pairings end in a bittersweet or tragic ending (BE).

You can also read this on my ao3🌹

Warning: Major Character Death

“Darling, can you grab the ketchup for me?” You shot a glance at Jason, sprawled across the sofa without even a twitch of effort. This guy was useless sometimes.

“Jason~ I really can’t get to the fridge right now~” You stretched the last word out, hoping for any sign of life. Still nothing. With a soft sigh, you padded over to the other side of the kitchen, only to catch sight of him glued to the TV, furiously mashing buttons on his controller.

“All you ever do is play games…” you grumbled under your breath, your frustration bubbling up as you returned to the stove.

“Dinner’s ready. Come eat while it’s hot.” The slight edge in your tone was unmistakable, but your actions betrayed you. You heaped Jason’s bowl with spaghetti, nearly overflowing it, as if worried the bottomless pit that was Jason Todd might go hungry.

“So, aren’t you going home for Thanksgiving?” You sat across from Jason, twirling a forkful of spaghetti. A bit too salty.

“I’m not going back.” Jason’s reply was flat. He poked at the pasta a few times before setting down his fork. “Too salty. I don’t want it.”

“Hey! You—” You stared, stunned, as Jason pushed his chair back and walked off. The door slammed shut before you even registered what had happened. “Wait… you…”

By the time the reality hit you, your cheeks were already wet with tears. You sat motionless, gazing at the empty chair across from you, watching steam slowly curl from the spaghetti.

“You said you wanted spaghetti…” You muttered under your breath. He had dragged you into the kitchen earlier, all excited, saying how much he missed your cooking. Now? Now he was gone.

You quietly finished your plate, while Jason’s untouched bowl sat cold and forgotten. You wrapped it in plastic wrap—it would make a decent lunch tomorrow.

Washing dishes, drying them… everything became a mechanical routine. Your mind wandered back to Jason, to how he used to insist on helping with the chores. He’d smile as he grabbed the dish towel from your hands, teasing you for being too slow. And now? Now, he was nowhere to be found.

Sliding down to the floor, you leaned against the closed door, your head thudding softly against it, again and again. He could hear you. You knew he could. Jason would come out. He had to come out and stop you.

“Tim, Y/N’s hurting herself again,” Tim said into the comm, his eyes glued to the screen. He had been watching you all night—watching you cook, watching you talk to the empty air, watching the tears stream down your face. No one could understand how much it broke him. He never should have let you go to that bastard. Promises of forever? What a joke. Jason had left you all alone.

“I’m on my way.” Dick Grayson tucked his Nightwing suit carefully beneath his shirt. You didn’t need Nightwing tonight—you needed Dick.

He’d been standing outside your door all day. He hadn’t planned to see you, but fate had other ideas.

Did he want to see you? Of course he did. But not like this. Seeing you in so much pain felt like someone carving deep wounds into his heart, one tear at a time.

Ding-dong— It had to be Dick, right? He was the only one who ever showed up at your door. You wiped your tears quickly, trying to compose yourself, before stiffly getting up to open it.

“Hey.” The door opened just a crack, and sure enough, it was Dick. “What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way home from work and thought I’d stop by to check on you.” The lie slipped off Dick’s tongue easily, though the truth was he hadn’t been to work at all today. He just didn’t want you to worry. He gave you what he thought was a comforting smile, but before he could say anything else, it quickly faded away.

“You’ve seen me, I’m fine. You can go now.” You gently but firmly rejected his request to come in. “Jason’s not in a good mood today. You should leave.”

Jason. It always came back to him. But Dick couldn’t bring himself to confront the truth that Jason was dead. The last time Tim tried to explain it to you, he told you that the “Jason” you were seeing was just a figment of your imagination. But that revelation had driven you into a frenzy, leaving you to harm yourself. Tim had held you tightly, but you couldn’t stop screaming and shouting. In the end, he had to use medication to make you fall into a deep sleep.

When you woke up, you seemed like a completely different person. From that point on, Jason’s death became a taboo subject, something no one dared mention. Tim had been cast aside, labeled an “unwanted guest,” turned away at the door. Even when you saw him, you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

At least Tim could still be near you, talk to you. But Dick wanted more than that. He didn’t just want to be around, he wanted to hold you, to comfort you in any way he could, to soothe the brokenness in your heart.

But you wouldn’t let him do it.

“Alright, take care of yourself. I’ll come back tomorrow,” Dick said, his voice soft as he stepped back from the door, watching helplessly as you disappeared from his sight. He had hoped to stay on the rooftop across the street, keeping watch over you, but duty called in Blüdhaven. He had no choice but to leave Gotham.

Meanwhile, in the Batcave, Tim sat in front of his computer, his eyes bloodshot from countless sleepless nights, finally finding the answer to the question that had haunted him. His fingers trembled as he pressed the play button on the security footage.

Time rewound—the fateful night, the day Jason had sacrificed himself.

In the footage, the man and woman stood in the rain, neither of them holding an umbrella. It seemed like they were arguing about something. The man was holding the woman’s hand, trying to stop her from leaving, but in response, she slapped him hard across the face.

The man appeared shocked, not expecting her to hit him. He stood there, motionless, watching her walk away.

He remained rooted to the spot for a full ten minutes, the rain blurring the camera lens, obscuring his expression. Then, he bent down and picked up the red helmet that the woman had thrown on the ground. He dusted it off, placed it on his head, and turned to leave.

That was the last time Tim saw Jason.

The rest, as everyone knows, was history—Jason died, and you fell gravely ill. When you woke up, it was as if you didn’t even remember what had happened. You were convinced that Jason wasn’t dead. Every day, you would cook for him, setting the table as if nothing had changed, speaking to the empty room as if he were still there.

Bruce called in magic experts to examine the situation, but they found no traces of any ghost or supernatural presence. The conclusion everyone arrived at was simple: you were sick.

Y/N, why did you get sick?

It was a question that Tim couldn’t stop thinking about, a question that gnawed at him day and night. But it wasn’t until he watched the footage that the answer hit him like a cold wave.

Y/N, were you punishing yourself? Were you blaming yourself for that slap? The thought made Tim’s heart race, his hands shaking as he quickly rewound to your home’s surveillance footage. But what he saw was nothing—just an empty room and an open window.

For a moment, Tim’s breath caught in his throat. Without wasting another second, he jumped from his chair and rushed out, but not before alerting Dick.

“Dick! Y/N’s gone!”

It started to rain, the wind howling fiercely.

You pulled your black coat tighter around your neck, but your mind kept wandering to the figure walking ahead—Jason. Would he catch a cold in this weather? But then you reminded yourself, he was one of Gotham’s toughest vigilantes. A little chill wouldn’t bring him down.

“Jason, where are you going?” You asked, but he had just tossed you a “follow me” before heading out the door. No matter how many times you asked, he wouldn’t answer. You had no choice but to quicken your pace, fearing you might lose him.

As you walked, the path beneath your feet started to feel eerily familiar. It was as if you had walked this same road countless times before. You glanced at the street sign nearby—

“Gotham Cemetery.”

“Jason?” You hesitated for a second, but by the time you looked up, the tall figure in front of you had vanished without a trace. “Jason? Where are you?” Your voice cracked with desperation, like a lost soul searching for its love.

You ran into the cemetery, frantically looking for the familiar figure, weaving between the cold, lifeless tombstones. But no matter how hard you searched, you couldn’t find Jason. Exhausted, you collapsed to the ground, crying in the pouring rain. As you lifted your head, you saw the familiar name.

“Jason Todd.”

When Dick and Tim arrived, they found your frail body lying next to your lover’s grave. The wilted white roses intertwined with the black coat, blending into the rain-soaked ground.

You would never be apart again.

The end.

Hello everyone, this is a translation of my own work. The original was written in Chinese, and since I am not a native English speaker, I hope the translation isn’t too difficult to understand. I hope you enjoy my work ❤️

[strawberry-nugget]

Pairing: Kirishima Eijiro x Reader

~You swore you were done with Eijiro Kirishima when he shattered your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. At Mina’s birthday party, her and Ochaco are desperately trying to get you to avoid him. This is what happens when both of you you let your feelings linger though; you find each other no matter what. And, not surprisingly, you both give in.

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, kitchen sex, shower sex, dr*g use (reader and Kirishima smoke together), alcohol, slight angst througout, Ex!Kirishima, dacryphilia

All CHARACTERS ARE 20+

Word Count: 25.5k

One last look at the screen of your phone is all it takes before you decide to tap that dreadful post button. 

It’s an itch you can't scratch, the nervousness you feel now that you’re posting on your story with only one person in mind, but you tell yourself it's only partially because of him.

Kirishima is the type of person that needs to be punched into next year and certainly not to have someone post a hot story for him on instagram. You indulge, first and foremost, only because the thrill of being able to tell your friends you got him back is exciting.

Definitely not for any other reason.

There's incoherent screaming from the girls all over their apartment and the sound of blow dryer eventually comes to a halt when Mina marches in the bathroom, angry about the time her phone screen displays.

“Just tell me you'll be ready soon”

“I’ll be ready in five” 

Mina curses under her breath at Ochako’s response. 

Tonight is her party, after all, and she's at least an hour late so by now it really doesn't matter that she's having it at Sero’s place; it's much bigger than the apartment she shares with Ochako, much bigger than yours and it has a rooftop. Who wouldn't want to host their or any party there? 

“Ugh whatever, what. Ever.” She shakes her head, bopping her pink ponytail from left to right. “How much time ‘till you're ready?”

You eye her, lip gloss in hand, frenzied about the lipliner you're sure you did not just lose in this mess of a sink you've created, searching left and right, bumping into everything in your way.

“Girl, how can you post a fucking story on instagram when you’re not ready?”

“Uhm”

“No okay,” she shakes her head again, silently rejecting her nerves, truthfully promising herself that she's trying to stay positive “uhm, what shoes are you wearing?”

You glance at her, before Ochako manages to slip once more into the bathroom as well, crowding the space just enough so that you feel pressured to answer both her questions. Chest heaving and breasts almost slipping out of the front of your dress, you open your mouth, words ready to bubble out, when Ochako asks you to move enough so that she can put on her own lipstick.

“Uhm.. heels?” you gulp. “And I'm ready, I just.. I can't go there without that lipliner and you know that.”

Mina stares at your feet and you're so sure she's going to make a comment any second now. Yet ever so sweetly, she opens her lips with a response so peculiar that she doesn’t ever let out. She presses them together instead like she never flapped them open to speak, eyes fluttering close for a second that's enough to make your heart want to jump out of your chest.

Is she on to you? What does she know that you don't want her to know?

“Sero has been calling nonstop. That's all.” she sighs. “We’re supposed to be throwing my party and I'm late. I hate to be late.”

“I know,” You mouth it quietly. Carefully. Even if it's Ochako’s fault for running late to show up, you feel guilty. Even more so that your secret goal of the night is to get back at -or with- Kirishima. 

“So please just get ready, you can post to your heart's content when we’re there. ‘Chako, you too baby girl.”

“Nah, I don't need to post anything tonight, Izuku will be the first to see me either way since he’s picking us up!”

Damn you’d actually be happy too if you could say that so casually. But Ochako and Izuku have been dating since high school, so they’re not flaunting anything—other than the fact that she’s crazy and head over heels in love with her man since her teens. Mina has been perfectly adjusted to her beloved city girl life. Wanted by everyone, touched by none. She doesn’t need to be in love to have a good time, unlike you. And in a way, you're too jealous of both. 

In a nice way nonetheless. 

“I did like your story. I'm sorry I keep mentioning it like that. You look hot.” Your friend smiles at you as she's fixing her ponytail in the mirror next to Ochako. 

You go to thank her, as you see her feel just a bit of guilt, past Ochako and the perfume that she’s spraying, when your phone goes off and your screen lights up with the first notification of the night since you posted. Both your eyes and hers land on the notification, as your phone lay in front of her on the sink. 

You feel amber orbs are on you, horrified, perfectly overdrawn lips pursing in agony. You try to mouth something like ‘sorry’ to her, but your excitement is too hard to hide.

How do you explain to your best friend that the man who dumped you over someone else, asked you for space and had you bedridden for like a month with all your crying, the man you blocked on all socials and whose phone number you deleted—the man you swore on your life you wouldn't take back even if he came crawling, whom you were supposed to avoid at all costs tonight, just reacted a fire emoji to your story? 

“Oh my god.” She speaks, too quietly for your own sanity. She's fuming. “You don’t actually want to come to my party. You want to meet the founding father.”

Ochako turns her head and cocks an eyebrow.

That horrible, heavy feeling is back in your chest again. They're so going to kill you. Your friends are actually going to murder you. 

Over still being head over heels and absolutely down for Kirishima that is.

“Oh you mean this lipliner, i just found it,” Ochako shoves the lipliner in your face and Mina instantly gets the chance to snatch your phone. You latch onto her immediately “What founding father are we meeting… When did we decide to go to church?”

Both you and Mina look at Ochako and shake your heads, still fighting over your phone.

“Please, Mina listen,” you cry out, trying to get a grip at your phone. “He's the one. I'm telling you–”

“Kirishima?” Mina scoffs, "Are you insanely delusional? After all that’s happened?”

“Wait, who's the one? God’s the one?”

“Chako what the actual fuck! Lock in please. Kirishima just messaged her!”

Ochako yelps your name. “Oh my god. No!” Mina shakes her head, simply to agree with her and you pout, almost -almost- embarrassed that they found out. They've done their absolute best to keep you away from Kirishima, from hangouts to parties, they've been splitting the group for months to keep the two of you away and up until now they've been very successful. 

But definitely not successful enough so that you don't find out Kirishima has broken up with his girlfriend. They've tried to be slick. They've tried to keep it a secret kept away, so very well and so far away from you, but you inevitably overhear it—Mina doesn't know how to work on her apartment's new intercom yet, and you have good ears, when you want to. 

All their efforts to keep any information about Kirishima’s break up go to the deepest level of hell, on vacation, and they take you with them because when you hear it slip out their mouths your heart skips so many beats that you think you're actually dying. 

You unblock him on Instagram. You make your profile public. You manage to post a story the next time you meet with your shared friends and tag them and they all repost it. And Kirishima adds you again. 

You haven't thought of even mentioning it to your friends because you're supposed to never, ever take him back, but it ultimately comes down to tonight. Your phone in Mina's palms. 

She's probably going to shove it down your throat. 

Instead of actually fleeting to the most brutal and criminal action one can come up with though, Mina hands you your phone, sighing. Her fingers linger on the back of your hand. 

“We'll keep you away from him. Promise. ‘Chako we have a mission”

“You have no actual mission. I'm a big girl. I can take responsibility.” you say, and Mina almost holds back her laughter. 

“Honey the responsibility shouldn't be having to apologize for sleeping with him, but rather it should be avoiding him. You won't do that. So me and Ochako are going to do it for you.”

As. If

You pucker your lips when Ochako nods, happily. The next ten minutes are spent on wearing shoes and running down the stairs from the third floor in heels. Mina forgets to lock and curses under her breath as she reaches for her keys and runs back up. 

Ochako settles in the passenger’s seat of Izuku’s car and you settle right behind her, strapping yourself with the safety belt while greeting an Izuku who already has a mouth stuffed with his girlfriend's tongue. He greets back, politely, slightly flushed; his hands haven’t even left the steering wheel but Ochako’s are palming his cheeks.

Mind you, she practically lives with him. 

Before you even have the chance to cringe, or have a whole back arching shiver run through your whole body, Mina slams herself right next to you and her door follows asuit. Izuku complains with a muffled “Please, slower.”

“Oops, im sorry”

Sero’s house is a 15 minute drive from Mina’s and for the first 5 minutes of it, the atmosphere in the car is unbearable. Mina is frantically typing on her phone and thanks to her privacy screen you can't peek -not that you’re not sure what's going on- and Ochako is fixed on holding Izuku’s thigh while his muscles flex everytime he presses the gas to his car. You’re too scared of Mina’s murderous face, so you keep staring at her, back and forth, while trying to get your mind off how nervous you are.

Your thoughts of being salvaged are cut short at the next red light. Izuku’s hands on the steering wheel flex, thumbs only holding onto the leather cover for a second and he eyes you through the mirror.

Uh, oh.

“So.. Kirishima, huh? You haven't seen him in a whil-”

Mina is quicker than his mouth, his words, even his feet when he steps on the gas again and the light that turns green. You simply flinch when you somehow find yourself with muffled ears, eyes wide, hearing almost impaled apart from the fact that you can hear her screech. 

“Oh my god! NO! Kirishima does not exist to her. Absolutely not, she's not seeing him!”

“Mina calm the fuck down!” you yell, ripping her hands off your ears while Ochako purses her lips together awkwardly to stare at Izuku.

“Izuku baby, he messaged her”

He stares and stares and stares, with wide eyes and mouth open wide enough or a fly to crawl in. And then he blinks like he’s never blinked again. Rapidly.

“Girl you invited him.” you say, mimicking Ochako’s awkward smile, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

Your friend doesn't respond, she too blinks like it's her first time blinking and you feel that awful feeling that Kirishima is to you and your close friend group as it creeps up to your chest. It bubbles and boils like tea in an electric kettle, it messes up your stomach so much that the one shot that you and Ochako had before leaving is about to leap up your throat like it needs to jump off a cliff. 

But it’s not like you said something out of lane. What you said was more than justified, because you don’t understand why everyone still hangs out with Kirishima after how he treated you —you do; he’s an amazing friend, truly— but you've long come to accept that you would eventually have to show up to parties you were both invited to.

There’s not a second in which you think that Mina didn’t actually want you to come to her party and only invited you out of sheer pity, just so you wouldn't get mad at her for leaving you out of it.

She loves all her friends and wouldn't discriminate, you tell yourself, but in this case had she really been serious about you avoiding him, she could have skipped inviting Kirishima.

Nonetheless, by the time Izuku parks his car outside of Sero’s house, Mina is looking at you only with kindness. Izuku mentions something about Bakugo cooking to the three of you and Mina assures him she’s going to thank him first things first.

You hesitate as you step out of the car; the hot night air brushing against your skin raises peculiar goosebumps and your nervousness is through the roof. Mina loops an arm around your shoulders, her grip firm. Just enough to remind you she’s not letting you out of her sight. Ochako bounds ahead with Izuku, hand-in-hand and all bubbly, and you're sure they're off for her boyfriend to manage to greet Bakugou first, leaving you alone with Mina’s quiet resolve.

“This is going to be fine,” she murmurs. It’s almost convincing. “you’ll ignore each other and it’ll pass in no time”

You just wish you had her certainty. Instead, your phone burns in your hand like a live wire, and despite yourself, you unlock it and open Instagram for the upteenth time tonight. Kirishima’s notification still oozes in anger, like he’s mocking your very own resolve to momentarily act indifferent towards it. You lock your phone as fast as you open it and Mina has never been happier about an action of yours tonight so far.

“Do not let him ruin this for you,” she says firmly “Tonight is about me, not you thirsting over bad decisions.” and then she laughs, like it's the only thing she could actually do after such a sentence. 

“Thirsting is a strong word,” you mutter, but it’s too late. Mina’s already dragging you toward the front door, where the bass from the party’s music thuds so loudly you can feel it in your chest. “It's more like, i really, really love him”

She laughs again, not wide eyed, but out of sheer embarrassment for you. She shall not get angry at you just yet. Perhaps it's just your pregame speaking. For the annoyance and disgust for those feelings you just uttered for the world to hear and hold are too much, too unnecessary.

The moment you step outside, the energy of the party hits you like a wave —music blasting, bodies moving, laughter ringing out from every corner. Sero’s place is lit up in string lights and cheap party decorations, a mix of chaotic vibes and casual elegance that only he could pull off. You wonder if he decorated the place with only his own personal preferences or if Mina actually had anything to do with it, since it’s her birthday party after all.

It seems like everyone is immediately stuck on her like glue, pushing different sizes of bags into her hands while hugging her. You greet everyone you can lay an eye on, politely, like your typical best friend at a birthday party. It's just too fortunate you know most people in here, it’d be an awkward pain in the ass if you didn’t, especially with how everyone is trying to get as much of Mina as they can.

It’s soothing to see that she’s so loved.

“Hey, you made it!” Sero Screams over the music, a red solo cup in hand and a broad grin on his face, grabbing both you and Mina by the waist—god, that mustache he grew has him thinking he’s smoother than water. “Looking sharp as always.”

Mina kisses both his cheeks while he plays with her ponytail and you notice a strange tension in the air that you don’t want to admit. She looks like she was just swept by his waterfall.

In turn, you muster a smile as you hurriedly look for Ochako in the crowd, hoping it’s enough to mask your nerves. “Thanks”

Mina asks him where Bakugo is by whispering it in his ear and covering her mouth with her hand, yet Sero is neither smart nor sober or subtle enough to do such a thing as she does, so he points at the blond with his finger.

“Thats rude, don’t point at him”

“Huh?”

“Ugh whatever” She sighs and fortunately the tension between her and the ravenette spreads thin, slowly. “You! Stay put with Sero”

You swallow hard as your sweaty hand is momentarily left to your own premises, empty of hers, as she’s off to find Bakugo too, just like she announces and you're left alone with Sero, scared to even look at the direction that she’s heading towards. But only while she turns to look back to check you. 

He who shall not be named, is right next to his blond friend. Your stomach flips. He looks good —extraordinary good, with his red hair, that white fitted t-shirt and that stupidly charming grin that’s burned into your memory. He’s looking like you couldn't get enough of him even if you had a mouthful. These thoughts are, though, forbidden. So you avoid even batting an eye at him. It’s infuriating how easy he makes it look, existing in the corner of a rooftop that you are also on, at your best friend’s party, so casually. 

Sero, who’s obviously noticed the trail of drool running down your mouth at the red head's sight, leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice to speak to your ear. “Heads up. He was asking about you.”

Note to self. Avoid Sero for the rest of the night! 

Before you can spiral further, Mina reappears, slipping a drink into your hand. You smell it subtly, recognizing the scent as cognac. “Sero, leave her alone. She doesn’t need your running commentary.”

Nonetheless the topic of conversation is changed faster than light, and you share a laugh or two with Sero, you grab another drink, then Mina wants you to help her with putting away her gifts, then you're off to grab another drink.

Bad idea?

No, not really.

Not when your third drink is going to be just beer. You absolutely will not get drunk this way because in your case, beer should be considered a chaser for the two drinks of cognac you had. 

So, you don't even trip on your way to the makeshift bar. 

On the other edge of the table that serves as a bar, Kirishima and Bakugo are hot on a conversation and you edge closer when you notice the redhead looking at you, ever so aware of your presence. 

Bakugo greets you, Kirishima doesn’t, so you greet Bakugo back before he somehow, immediately disappears into the bunch of the people that are at Sero’s rooftop. Typical. The two of them have this uncanny, wordless way of communicating, and it’s more than likely that this sudden departure is part of some unspoken plan. 

You try not to care, shake it off, try to focus on your drink, but your head buzzes too loud, whether it's because you're so close to Kirishima for the first time tonight or the cognac, you don't even know. 

When you turn to look at Kirishima again, he's not at the spot he was seconds ago and assuming he's gone like his friend, you sigh in relief, for that was so close. So narrowly avoided.

Just when you feel like you can get your drink and run towards Ochako, life slips away from your poor body. It's him, closing in, muttering something. To you? Yes, to you and god you can’t hear him over the music or the sound of your heart palpitating and spilling all your stress to block your eardrums. 

You're sure you look like an absolute clown —this isn't even a Halloween party thus it's so not justified, your clownery is woefully out of place— with your wide eyes and pursed lips. Hadn’t you baked your lip liner you're sure with all the pursing you’re doing you could actually be able to look worse. Oh great. Now he's towering over you, he’s just so close that you can't ignore him anymore even if you want to. 

You’ll have to be forced to speak to him. And you shouldn’t have worn these heels because your knees are wobbly -jello even- and your breath is short. On top of that your head is ringing and that really sharp pain under your left breast is trying to poke right through your dress like a blade. Perhaps this is what a stroke feels like. Or, or, a heart attack. 

You shouldn't be feeling like this. You should be thinking of all the times you’ve cried over him, the times you’ve laid on the floor of your bathroom asking yourself what you did so wrong in telling him you love him that he never said it back. You just shouldn’t be thinking that he looks fucking good, while he’s looking at you like you’re his pray.

Maybe Mina should have killed you in her bathroom, or in the car. So you wouldn’t be anticipating every step that led Kirishima to you in this very instant.

“Bakugo made the canapes so you should-”

Kirishima’s hands are almost hovering above your naked waist, you’re almost a puddle and the world is seconds away from disappearing underneath your feet when Mina stomps in between you. She hip bumps him away with a gracious sway and a devious smile.

“Excuuuuuse me” She laughs, you giggle too, while being dragged away from him. 

One breath in and one out eventually make your heartbeat normal. Even while stalling soundly after your friend, your feet are dragging like dead weight.

You will be just fine; Mina will not leave your side, even when you try to slip away. For how dare he approach you without a warning on casual intentions. How could he not even inform you that you're at the basis where you ignore the last few events that have occurred between you? 

At least Mina has some common sense when looking out for you. 

You look at her and she looks back at you and she’s got that disappointed motherly facade that's painted on her features that you can’t bring yourself to like. 

Come to think of it, whether you had or hadn’t wished she could come to your saving there’s a coil spinning ever so slightly in the pit of your stomach about it— it’s fixed by her expression right now. You can't even begin to describe the feeling inside you, can’t still place it in the rage of emotions you recognise. But you're willing to let it simmer to a simple boil in the pits of your stomach for now. Tuck it away until you find a word to title it with. 

A chit-chat with someone else, a smoke with Sero and a swirl on the side of the rooftop that everyone uses to dance and Mina corners you on the edge of the railing between Izuku and Ochako before disappearing into the crowd. Beer in one hand and Ochako clasped in the other you dance awkwardly to a pop song that she knows all the lyrics to. Mina still looks sour, maybe a little less than before though. 

She whispers something to Ochako and you know who it is about, without even having to guess. A thoughtless, drunk mind such as yours right now can only be occupied by facts such as the one before your eyes. The one being whispered about you amongst your friends and another fact that is standing a few feet away from you. 

Desperate eyes fall on desperate ones and you share a look with Kirishima -all you can do apparently- that Ochako doesn’t notice, though she's turned in your direction, as she closes her eyelids and shoots her hands in the air to dance, draggin your poor hand with her. 

This is a plea to dance, but you stand motionless like a wooden pencil. Balanced. You’re not going to dance when Kirishima watches you, because you don’t quite enjoy looking ridiculous in front of him. 

Your stomach takes another twist when you sip some more of your beer. 

He shoots you a silly expression, one you’re accustomed to, one you’ve seen so many times. Averting your eyes, refusing to ruin your mood further, you’re back to your setting; Ochako, Izuku and a Mina that’s back with shots that she obviously shouldn’t have carried on her own, because they’re spilling everywhere. You don't know when she left to go get them, but a glass is shoved in your hands hurriedly. 

You down it and your hands are sticky. 

It’s so hot outside that your skin feels heavy, your dress is sticking to you in the most overstimulating places on your skin.

You find Kirishima watching you when you comply with the itch in your chest to just check on him again and your stomach is doing flips about it—coils that were previously burning in it be damned and all. He’s. Watching. You.

You wonder if it’s just the alcohol, the summer weather, or if you’re genuinely burning alive under Kirishima’s gaze. 

It's almost unbearable, really, that he’s close enough to breathe the same air as you, and yet here you are, locked in this tug-of-war with your own impulses. Fight or flight, or just stand there, paralyzed, pretending you have better things to do with your friends than simply admire the way his stupidly perfect jawline catches the light. It has to look like you’re having fun.

If only you could manage to slip away from your friends, bent on this newly found desire within you to properly greet him. 

You want to play in the scenario of ignoring everything that's happened so far just to fake being kind to him. The shot you had isn't helping at having any clear thoughts at all. 

A good excuse to leave on your own would be to ask for more shots, but you doubt that three people would go fetch them, they'd either take you with them or they would just send the less drunk right now to do so. In this case, Izuku. Which leaves you with two people sworn to keep you away from your red headed target. 

It seems like every plan you come up with sounds absolutely useless before this cerberus that your friends have formed into, transforming your gaze into a deeper level of despair with every thought you throw away from your brain. 

Mina will absolutely not let you leave on your own, unless, if it's to see someone else. You try to think fast, past the buzz inside your head. 

Maybe Jirou, since she's the DJ for tonight. Why wouldn't you want to request a song at your best friend's party? 

Seeing that your new idea is so brilliant you're off without announcing it, slipping through people, shot glasses that clank against each other and a yelling Bakugo who serves as a beacon for Kirishima’s location. Can't lose your favorite man if his best friend is so loud. 

They're so close to where Jirou is, right next to her booth and they're chatting with Kaminari, so until they notice you charging to their direction you straighten your pose and run your hands up and down your dress, in case you need to smooth any wrinkle. It’s not like your walk is as proud as you're hoping it is, given the fact that you have a buzz and there's a ton of people that you have to slip in between, but at least every step gets you closer to your target's location. You'll keep the hot girl facade on as long as you can, though. 

The first sign of your arrival -even if you yourself consider the distance between you too big, still- is that Jirou smiles when she sees you and instantly yells your name. Kirishima, Kaminari and Bakugo look at you at the same time, but it's only Kaminari that smiles along with his girlfriend. 

Jirou hits him softly with her elbow, signing to him to step in the booth so she can come to you and he immediately plugs his headphones in the aux the same time Jirou pounces on you. 

“I haven't seen you all night! How are you?”

“I'm okay” You say, opting to glare at Kirishima for only a second. “I'm on Minachako arrest!” He stares back. 

“Ohh,” She pauses to think, and her thoughts land her just behind her back “Eiji?”

All your friends know you. Too well for your own good. It's almost making your skin crawl. 

“Yeah”

Jirou looks at you like she actually understands you. With lips pressed in a thin line on the side of her face and eyebrows furrowed in what resembles pity; she places her glance back and forth between you and the redhead. 

“You could talk to him”

“Oh absolutely not, it's okay, we did greet each other”

There it is; your million dollar, Oscar worthy performance. You pretend to be so nice about it, yet, you speak loud enough so that Kirishima cocks an eyebrow in your direction, smacking his lips. You need to smile in triumph now that your plan has worked.

“But” She pauses, unsure if what she wants to tell you is correct “he's right there. Come on”

“It’s complicated,” you mutter, turning back to Jirou and taking a long, burning sip of your drink.

“Complicated,” she repeats, deadpan. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Right,” she drawls, rolling her eyes. “like it's totally normal behavior to stare at someone like you want to eat them alive but not actually say anything. Y'all need to grow up. Both of you”

Your eyes dart to Kirishima before you can stop yourself. He’s still there, still looking, and it feels like the moment freezes when your gazes collide. The playful smile that tugs at the corners of his lips is like a match to a gasoline-drenched nerve.

You look away first.

‘Grow up.’ That's such bullshit. You're both all grown up. Grown ups make humiliating choices all the time. 

You deadpan Jirou, pouting your lower lip. She raises her hands in mock surrender, but there’s a knowing glint in her eyes that you hate.

“I just wanted to request a song though”

“Kay! Denki! Song request!”

You don't dare tell her you only used her as an excuse to get to Kirishima and you definitely can't tell her you're so glad you found him there. So you turn to Kaminari, looking somewhat like a wet dog, as if he would ever let you leave this down had he not been drunk and tell him the first song that comes to your mind. 

Your request is a transition away and your body is pressed next to Kirishima's faster than you can process. Should it actually feel so awkward to be a winner? 

Despite the eternally painful awkwardness of your body language, you could kiss Jirou on the mouth for playing devil's advocate right now. She simply smiles in a way only she thinks is subtle, because truthfully everyone sees, but you're so past the embarrassment of your intentions being known. 

In a way that's smoother than water, she grabs Bakugo and pulls him to her, for a hug, and both you and Kirishima chuckle when he whines and tries to throw her hands away from him, to no avail. 

Had you been Kaminari, you'd cry your eyes out daily at how good a relationship she's got with Bakugo. 

“He's still acting like this?” You ask, for no one but Kirishima to answer. He's the only one who listens to you nonetheless. 

“Well you do hang out with him, you know him.”

Ouch. 

You've expected a remark like this from him, coated in irony so it's not like he catches you off guard with his tone. It's the context in which he speaks his words that's infuriating. Your face grows sour, in realization of his complaint, lips pouting when you think you also hate it that the two of you share most of your friends. 

And yet, instead of actually barking back like you'd always do, you roll your eyes at him, completely consumed by that well known feeling that is him making you mad. The shaking, the weak knees, the empty feeling in your stomach; you've not felt that in so long that it seems like you're able to experience emotions again. 

Εven if that's not something you want to dwell on, given that there are a thousand negative emotions and a lot of crushed healing journeys hidden behind it, you choose to only look at him again - since that’s the only thing you can both physically do for the night, back turned against Jirou and Bakugo, finally, so you can inspect the people dancing on the rooftop, once you decide Kirishima is not a sight for sore eyes.

He meets your eyes with a tilt of his head even if his body is turned facefront and towards his friends. None of you notice how quiet Jirou, Denki and Bakugo are, and even if you did, you both would consider that it’s only because you can’t listen to them over the loudness of the music.

There's a peculiar shift in the air between you, something that screams for salvation like a prey, trapped in a beast's sharp mouth. It's just the nuisance of the two of you, the tenderness of a moment that shouldn't exist outside of shared memories. 

Yet here you are, same as him, totally engulfed and engrossed in the twilight of it. 

The nature of the pull that's still evident between the two of you blooms and spurts seeds of painful flowers in your lungs. 

You lick some of your lipgloss, longing for a taste that's sweeter than the bitter feeling in your chest and it's no use; the poison that’s dripping within your insides is contributing to the ignition of a fire that no cherry flavored lip gloss can put out.

You put so much effort to just say “I won't do it anymore then” just for his voice to overlap yours. 

“Dance a little”

Your dislike for what he spurt out is too evident in your face, but your expression softens when he wiggles a hand underneath the railing your chest has weighted on, to pull you closer to him.

Does his hand have to feel so warm?

You’re stuck side to side with Kirishima and your small audience is left speechless; Bakugo averts his eyes, mouth all wide before he shoots Jirou’s hands off him, ready to walk away again, but you don’t notice, you wouldn’t even if you could, not when Eijiro’s palm wraps so smoothly around your waist. There’s nothing to see, not even for Jirou, in your small corner. Your lack of interest in your surroundings confirms that.

He gives you a shake, the smallest one, to just introduce some movement to your body and you follow his lead blindly as he handles you in front of him, back pressed against his chest. It’s so smooth that you let yourself go, ignoring that silly voice in the back of your head that tells you you’re going to embarrass yourself if you dance with him.

Big hands rest on where your hips start, at the curve of your waist but they don’t apply pressure. He sways with you, bobs his head when you do and you don't seem to remember that he never dances either, hell you don’t even remember you don’t.

It feels so good to just link your body like this with his, with his breath cooling your neck. If it wasn’t the middle of the summer and you weren't dripping in sweat you would dare to move even more. For a few more moments, you let him move your body the way he pleases as the music moves him.

Your buzz is delicious right now, so much that you can’t even decide if what's going on is actually true. Your hips work, finally, beyond his hands and you’re grinding against him, before you even realise it.

The monster that resides deep within your thoughts awakens your lust and eats away every possible thought that could lead you to rejecting his touch.

The tips of Kirishima’s fingers dig into your hip bone, snatching a handful of satin clothed skin and he presses you impossibly onto him. You whine your hips to his, eyes closed, ignoring the twitch between your legs when he rests his forehead to the crook of your neck just so he can muster up the courage to move his hands in exploring a body that’s so well known to him.

In a big effort to try and show him that you want him too, you wrap one arm around his head, touching his face, the back of his neck, the dimple on top of his shoulder through his shirt. 

From that moment on it's like you’ve unleashed a beast.

The thin, elastic band of your underwear softly snaps against your skin -is this too fast?- and you can't think of anything other than how firm the pads or his fingers are -were? always have been?- over your dress. Your stomach sinks inside your skin and bones.

This is you slowly giving in to him again. Empty headed. Teary eyed. Pressed onto him for dear life.

You barely feel the vibration of your phone, too engulfed in this moment of finally getting what you want and for a while it’s easy to ignore it, like it doesn't happen. It never even rang. But your eyes shoot open when you come to your senses, a few more rings in.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Mina.

You split yourself from Kirishima so fast, it could actually sound like ripping paper in half. Like velcro on shoes. 

“What?” He asks, brows furrowed. He looks like a child whose christmas gift has been ripped away from his hands by his sibling. His hands even maintain their hold on you. 

“Fuck i gotta go! Mina will kill me”

“You could—wait! I wanna talk!”

You look at him exactly how he deserves with the nonsense he’s speaking, in disbelief and confusion. Talk? Even if you did stay to talk, Mina would find you, anywhere. You’re still contemplating whether this girl has made you eat an airtag without you realising and the fact that you’ve even managed to slip away from her for this long is remarkable.

It's as simple as this; Ochaco may not get mad at you if she catches you with Kirishima, she might just give you ‘a talk’, but Mina will absolutely murder you.

Rightfully so. You're hidden away from the friends that want nothing but you to be well, with the only person that is able to send you to psychosis in the case he decides it's so funny to break your heart again. And you danced with him, in front of your friends.

Everyone must think you’re an idiot. And Kirishima, he just might know it for sure. Talking is nothing but an excuse to get you to hook up with him.

You shake your head instead of responding ‘no’ to him and wiggle yourself away from him, ready to run to Mina.

_________

As you weave your way through the crowd, you’re hyper aware of everything—your pounding heart, the lingering warmth of Kirishima's touch on your skin, and the faint scent of his cologne that still clings to your dress. The guilt gnaws at you with every step, but it’s drowned out by the electric buzz in your veins. Mina is going to tear you apart, but somehow, the bigger fear isn’t her wrath; it’s the thought of looking back and seeing Kirishima standing there, watching you leave again.

When you finally spot Mina across the rooftop, she’s mid-laugh with Ochaco, drink in hand, her head thrown back as though she hasn’t a care in the world. Relief surges through you.

When you think of it, there's no possible way in the whole known and unknown universe that Mina and Ochacko don’t know where you had been for all the while you were gone. No matter how much you fix your dress, your hair, no matter how much lipgloss you reapply, you reek of Kirishima's heavy cologne, or so you believe, and your heart has ceased to exist. 

Their eyes look nothing but innocent, deprived of any mean thoughts concerning you and the redhead, hell you're not even sure they could imagine you would find ways to facilitate a plan to just get some time alone with him. 

It's so splitting, they're not stupid enough to believe this. The issue is they probably trust you enough to not do such a thing. 

You steel yourself, pulling your best ‘everything’s fine’ expression onto your face and saunter over as casually as you can muster. But Mina’s sharp eyes catch yours almost immediately, and her smile falters just slightly. 

“Where have you been?” she asks, her tone deceptively light but laced with the edge of suspicion. You are not surprised.

“Just… talking to Jirou,” you reply, keeping your voice steady as you point in the vague direction of the DJ booth. It’s technically true. At least for a moment.

Mina smiles at you, warmly this time, Ochako smiles at you again but your head is buzzing. You're too nervous, almost blurting everything in a tone of denial. I definitely didn't dance with Kirishima while I was at it.

“Thank god, I thought you were with him again. I started to get so worried”

Your stomach drops, and the heat rushes to your face. Did she see you?. Mina always sees and it's nerve wracking to wait for confirmation on her part.

“I wasn’t-" You try to deflect, but her raised eyebrow silences you. Lying would only dig you deeper into the hole you’re already in, but you do it anyway “I'm a big girl, Mina, I told you.  Just went to request a song from Jirou.” Technically, that is true.

You glance at Ochako, whose gaze softens when she meets yours. She offers you a small smile, and you feel a twinge of guilt. If anyone is going to see through your facade, it’s her.

“Did Jirou play it yet?” Ochaco asks, sipping from her cup and you nod in response.

“Did you see Kirishima over there? Bakugo’s being his usual loud self, so I bet they’re hanging out by the booth. He’s hard to miss.”

Your stomach twists at the mention of his name, but you keep your face neutral, shrugging casually. Mina raises an eyebrow at you, her grin turning sly. “You sure you didn’t go over there just to sneak a peek?”

Ochaco gives her a light nudge. “Mina, leave her alone. She’s probably just trying to enjoy the party.”

“I am enjoying the party,” you say, forcing a lightness into your tone, bopping your head to the side like it's the most natural thing in the world.

There's anxiety running in your bloodstream with every spoken word, making your hands shake. Even when you want them to believe you, you're not entirely sure they do and your tummy is churning. 

“Great, just don’t stroll off on your own!”

Ochako smiles and places her hand on your shoulder “Mmh, Mina relax, the night is young”

“OCHAKO!” Mina screams “m'not leaving her outta my sight” 

She's warmer than the hot summer air when she wraps her arms around you from behind, excited to place a lipstick stained kiss over your hair, right where your ear is. 

In any other scenario you wouldn't feel so suffocated. But you lied to her, slipped away from her and grinded against him for no other reason than giving in to your carnal desires when she just wants to desperately keep you away from someone who’s been cruel to you. Secretly, dizzy in your buzzed out state, you hate the remembrance that it's fine when she goes back to her exes. 

Whatever it is you feel, you don't speak on it once you realize that the churning pit in your stomach is your need to pee -such a relief- and you inform your friends you are going to the bathroom, in case you can escape the back and forth movement of Mina's sway while she's got you in her arms. 

“Kay i’m coming with you” Mina says and lingers her fingers in between yours.

You roll your eyes, laughing along even though the tension in your chest refuses to ease. “You don’t have to, I'm not going to see him there too.” 

But she comes, nonetheless, almost skipping the steps downstairs and through the hall of Sero’s house. It’s too hot inside, it’s too humid outside and yours and Mina’s sticky hands merged together are almost giving you a sensory hell; Perhaps it was a good idea to let her come with you to the bathroom, so both of you can wash your hands from spilled booze and gathered sweat. 

Every step you take is frenzied, and she notices, being the better alcohol handler that she is in comparison to you. Your mind is a warzone, flashing images of Kirishima's hands on your waist, reminding you of the way his forehead pressed against the curve of your neck, the heat of his body against yours. You shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. Mina doesn’t know. She can’t know. If you act normal, everything will be fine.

The bathroom is your personal oasis, a sole chance of salvation, to tuck yourself away from everyone for even a few moments. 

You go in first and in seconds you’re done, allowing Mina to go inside after you. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror, scared to see anything in your makeup that isn’t perfect. You’d rather not be aware of something you ultimately can't fix. 

With your back against the wall, you find some of the coolness of it almost soothing. For a moment, you almost feel normal, safe, like you can forget the whirlwind of emotions threatening to pull you under.

Almost, because concrete drinks up the heat worse than a sponge does water, almost, because that red haired devil announces himself to you all of a sudden again. It'd be silly to think you can actually escape him when you've infiltrated his mind. Assuming you've managed to rile him up. 

He wouldn't have followed your tail to the bathroom had you not done so. Right? 

Nonetheless, your heart stops as Kirishima’s voice cuts through the muffled music in the distance.  He’s closer than you expected, leaning casually against the doorframe at the far end of the hall. His eyes meet yours, warm and intense, and you feel your throat tighten.

This time he greets you casually again, with “Mina’s in?” 

Oh dear god how you wish to escape him. 

You shoot him what you can only hope to be one of your most murderous looks and reply. “Yeah” 

“Cool. I’ll wait”

Panic flashes through you. Mina is just a few feet away, the bathroom door closed but the lock undone. She could walk out any second and catch the two of you like this. Your brain screams at you to do something -anything- to put distance between you and him. But your body betrays you, frozen in place.

There’s so much effort put into being silent or not looking at him that you think you’re going to burst. Whatever cool girl persona you’re trying and failing to put on is just… so, so bad. You wonder if there’s anything you can do, or say, to just ease this. Ask him how he’s been? Anything? No? You did grind the entirety of your ass against his groin just a little while ago. So you're not sure it's really appropriate to casually ask anything like that. 

“Listen i-” He speaks first, like he can read your mind but this time you are the one to overlap your voices.

“What are you doing here?” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper but still authoritative.

Kirishima tilts his head, studying you for a moment before answering. “Looking for you.” He clears his throat before he continues “I wanted to say.. I hope you’ve been okay”

You huff in response.

“Don’t want to talk to me? That’s fine” he pouts. And you suddenly think you can forget that time you thought you could die from how much you had been crying about the heartbreaker that he is. “You did dance with me though”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you hiss, glancing toward the bathroom door.

“I know,” he interrupts, stepping closer. Not enough to breach your space entirely, but enough that you feel the heat of his presence. 

You want to tell him a drunken dance isn't enough to have the two of you on casual terms again. But while studying his face, you come across realities you just need to ignore. 

His lips are so plum, his nose is so delicate, the strands of hair that fall from his low bun are so magical. It’s really no wonder what you've ever liked in him. You’ve liked everything. It's so infuriating. He shouldn’t really be doing this to you. Because every minute MIna takes in the bathroom is a minute that you forget the past. And you look at his chest so you don’t look him in the face but he looks so soft. It could actually kill you—but It just makes you mad instead.

“Why do you care how I've been?” you ask.

He leans on his bicep, right onto the wall, right next to you. 

His hair is so wild. The carmine of his eyes is too piercing for that expression that’s adorning his face. And oh dear god his arms are huge. You're so ruined by him and it kills you to realize that you already knew that and you're still choosing to engage with him. 

Eijiro Kirishima looks soft— he’s so far from it. Alas, for some reason you mimic him so much that you’re standing face to face. There’s not an answer to your question, not a direct one at least and you tell yourself it's because he does care about you. Just not in the way you care about him. 

The two of you stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, lips tucked tightly under teeth and crossed armed. One is determined to break a wall, the other trying to crawl up that wall with blood, sweat and tears.

“You know i-”

“No i don’t” You cut him off and he leans in impossibly closer. “Don't say it”

You’re suddenly aware of how long his eyelashes are and this party isn’t fun anymore. 

The tension between you could snap the air in two. Kirishima’s gaze locks onto yours, heavy and unyielding, and your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. Every nerve in your body screams at you to push him away, to step back, to run—but you don’t. You can’t. His presence is magnetic, pulling you into his orbit against all reason.

The bathroom door creaks slightly, and both your heads snap toward the sound. It’s still closed. Mina’s still inside. But the reminder of her so close, the precariousness of this situation, sends a wave of panic crashing over you.

“Go,” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. “Before she comes out.”

You move your hands as in to go and push against his chest when ultimately, you decide not to— and so you awkwardly stand with your hands hanging mid air. You’re unsure of what to do with them.

Kirishima, however, doesn’t budge. He stays exactly where he is, his arm braced against the wall beside you, his body a shield between you and the rest of the world. His lips part, and you think he’s going to argue, but instead, he says something that takes your breath away.

“I miss you.”

You try to hold on to your anger, your hurt, but it slips through your fingers like specs of sand. It doesn’t matter that you can’t fall for this again. His bluntness, the way he speaks it like it’s a given fact that you should absolutely know on your own, kills you.

“Kirishima,” you start, your voice sharp but still wavering. The bathroom door clicks open before you can have a chance to reply, to even weave a coherent sequence of words with your weakened thoughts, and Mina steps out, immediately clocking the two of you. Her eyes narrow, suspicion flaring to life as she takes in the scene. You push yourself off the wall, putting some much needed space between you and Kirishima.

You look at her with your mouth agape and your hands still dance awkwardly before your chest.

Mina swoops her hand and locks her elbow into yours in the right -or rather wrong- time and you’re dragged away from Kirishima again. He, in return, chuckles in amusement like he knows better and as the music starts to become loud and clear in your hearing and you’re drifting away from him, watching him as he turns smaller and smaller with your every step you realise— this party can be fun again. 

Your friend is furious this time, though, muttering something like “you cannot be left alone for a second”. That horrible coil in your stomach is back “You’ll just stay by me the whole night”

You’re tossed on cushion and if your heart trying to jump out of your chest wasn’t enough to make your whole body shake, Mina plops right next to you, imprisoning you to your seat. 

Thus, you find yourself trapped, like a highschooler on detention, with half your heart up your sleeve, on one of the couches that are on the rooftop, squeezed between Tetsutetsu and Mina, blinking at their conversation about a recent paper they had to finish for one of their shared classes. You’re so naturally bored out of your mind and drunk and all you can think about is the way Kirishima looked at you outside of the bathroom.

The words he spoke. 

Your first instinct to make this wave of boredom -and these poisonous thoughts- wash away from your mind and body, is to open your phone and scroll through Instagram, refusing so profoundly to even acknowledge the only conversation you get to hear at a party in the middle of the summer is about university.

Quick and as instinctively as it gets, you glance at the pink and yellow gradient of Instagram story icons, and you tap at the screen fast, pretending you haven’t seen Kirishima's icon lined up at the top of your homepage, bright green adorning it. 

Mina sees. 

Strike one.

You tap out, faking a small scroll on your homepage as you swipe the screen, carefully, eyeing the conversation with Kirishima that screams unread. You're sure, if this notification could speak, i’d be screaming at you to open it like a caged and hurt tiger cub. 

Naughty fingers linger just above it and you wish you too had a privacy screen right now, like Mina, because all you can do is sink into the soft pillow of the couch, elbows close to your waist. You almost think you have shielded yourself away from her.

Eyes scanning the area, you manage to spot Kirishima. And he spots you instantly. You don’t smile at each other, you don't wave, there’s nothing you can do to cover for what he said to you a few minutes before because Mina made it awkward. 

You just blink at him, slowly and he eyes you up and down. Legs, hair, face, shoulders, the phone in your hands and then your eyes again.

Both Tetsutetsu and Mina see. 

Strike two.

He reaches for his pocket, frantically searching for his phone—perhaps he's not as clueless as they get, after all. With a quick lock of gazes that speak in the same, delinquent language of lust, you open the chat while he unlocks his phone. 

Strike three. 

Mina snatches your phone. 

Tetsutsetu looks at you apologetically but your furrowed brows and your perked ears shoo him away from even steering a word. You're angry, mad, furious, that your best friend is treating you like you're her property. Like you should hereby follow her orders like they're vital. 

“This is so not funny. Give me my phone” You yell, even if the music is louder than your voice and extend your open palm to her, expecting your device to be handed to you.

“Absolutely not. You’re gonna text him.”

“And what’s it to you? Why do you care so much?”

Your friend widens her eyes in confusion, anger, sadness. You know you shouldn’t have said that, with how much she’s been by your side all this time but her behavior tonight is crippling you. It's suffocating you. If you want Kirishima and he wants you, then there’s absolutely nothing that your friends can do to stop the two of you. You wanna have your heart ripped out again and have the pieces fed to you by force? Fine—not fine, really, that heartbreak almost killed you, but it should be your choice!

You want to scream. You want to yell at her, at Tetsutetsu, at the universe for orchestrating this whole damn night against you. Instead, you grit your teeth so hard you can feel your jaw tighten and pull at your temples.

Mina’s holding your phone like it’s the nuclear launch codes, her lips pursed into a line that’s both furious and disappointed and her ponytail bops. It’s not a look you’re unfamiliar with tonight, but that doesn't make it sting any less. And there’s Kirishima, somewhere in the periphery, probably wondering why you haven’t texted him yet, silently demanding a response from you- probably thinking about that goddamn dance and how easy it is for him to pull you back in and make you nervous with his confession.

Your chest heaves as you force yourself to take a breath.

“I’m not a child, Mina,” you say, your voice barely above the music, but it’s sharper than glass, intended to be mean. 

Mina crosses her arms, holding your phone to her chest like she’s guarding your entire future. “No, you’re just acting like one. What’s your plan here, huh? Just let him screw you over again?”

Tetsutetsu shifts awkwardly beside you, eyes flicking between the two of you like he’s waiting for someone to call timeout. It gets worse when you think that he’s friends with the person you're fighting with Mina about.

“This isn’t about you!”

Mina yells something incoherent back and you decide you can't just ruin her party because you want that red devil to eat your heart out. You are not a bad friend. But the frustration and heat of the night makes your blood boil. “Why do you care so much if I want to talk to him?”

“Because you’re my friend!” Mina snaps, stepping closer, her voice trembling just enough to let you know she’s holding back from bursting to tears. “Because I saw what he did to you last time. Because I care about you more than that asshole ever will!”

It feels like she’s just punched you in the chest. It pains you more than the notion that you’re the terrible friend that’s making her cry on her birthday. And maybe she has a point—maybe she’s entirely right- but you’re so tired of everyone else deciding what’s best for you, like you’re some fragile thing that’ll shatter if you make one wrong move, just because they’ve all watched you break once doesn't mean they can stop it from happening again. It’s your own heart that’s to decide if the need to shatter again is or isn’t vital.

“But you’re friends with him!”

“Uh, maybe we should all just, you know, calm down?” Tetsutetsu interferes awkwardly, glancing between you and Mina.

Her face twists into something unreadable because you’re right, and for a second you think she’s going to throw your phone off the rooftop just so you can avoid him. But she sighs, loud and sharp and shoves the device into your hand. There's no real winning when he's in the same space as you. Whether you have your phone or not, it's pointless. 

“Fine. Whatever.” She turns away, her arms folded tight across her chest “Do what you want.” She yells, finally, and your eyes are too watery to notice hers are a mirror of yours.

You don’t move at first, your heart still pounding, the weight of the phone in your hand feeling like it might just crush you. Tetsutetsu mutters something about grabbing another drink and slips far away, leaving you and Mina in silence, the distant bass of the party the only thing keeping the moment from completely unraveling.

“Go ahead. Text him. Meet him. Fuck him all you want. Let him stomp on your heart all over again. But don’t say I didn’t warn you and don’t come crying to me afterwards either.”

Her words sting more than you want to admit, it’s evident in your face when you mutter that you want to go home.

Mina softens her eyes immediately at that. Maybe you both took it too far, but there’s no satisfaction in the kindness she tries to show you when she goes to hug you. She’s not the one who looks like she’s going to burst into tears anymore. You are. And you avoid her open arms, choosing to back away.

You take a step back, avoiding her touch like it burns. The lump in your throat feels like it might choke you, and the tears threaten to spill over. “I can’t do this right now,” you say, your voice trembling. “I need space.”

Her hands drop to her sides, and her face falls, stricken. “I didn’t mean-” she begins, but you shake your head, cutting her off.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, though you’re not sure if you believe it. “I just need some air.” backing away further. The music, the party, the noise; it all fades into the background as you turn and weave through the crowd, desperate to escape. Desperate to breathe.

You don’t know what makes you look up, but when you do, before you storm off the party and leave Mina to have her fun without having to look out for your excuse of an ass,  your eyes find Kirishima again, like they always do tonight. He’s still standing there, leaning against the edge of the rooftop with one hand in his pocket, his head tilted just slightly as he watches you.

You wish this was one of the times you could confide in him about the problems that you’re facing, as you’ve done so a lot of past times, but it’s so hard to want him when he’s not even willing to do that anymore. You’re not sure you can trust him with your heart again. Part of you just wants to behave to Mina’s advice. You just want to be a good friend.

You fall victim to the ghost of stomping off at parties every time you’re invited to one and to think that this would be different would be a false hope. The worst is that this time everyone is here to witness it. You’re gone, slipping past the crowd and toward the stairs, your heart pounding louder than the music.

______

If you could physically cool down in the middle of the summer, from that nasty attitude of yours to your best friend and that need for a douchebag that will chew you and spit you again, you would. The trick of sticking your open back to any concrete wall is so banal by now. Your legs are shaking. The cigarette you’re smoking is almost out -halfway- and you feel so emotionally tired that you don’t even want to light it up again.

You want to go home, somehow, even considering getting yourself an Uber so you can get out as fast as you can. Mina is everywhere watching over like a tyrant and so is Kirishima. They've been hot on your every step.

But Kirishima's too good at finding you when you're not even trying to hide. 

He finds you -hidden this time- on the outside of that small kitchen door that leads to the backyard of Sero’s house. Although he doesn’t ask you if you’re alright, your lips are pouted, your eyebrows scrunched into a line in the middle of your forehead. He knows that you're mad since he's inflicted anger on you a thousand times before. 

“Shoo. I'm not supposed to talk to you” You almost bark, not even looking at him, yet, he simply ignores it. He wants to talk to you and there's nothing you can do to stop him. 

“Mina doesn’t allow you to? huh”

You cringe at his chuckle and he giggles again. It's almost hard to believe they were such good friends all these years ago. But you do confirm what he asks when you don't reply. You're so tired of wishing it was different and you really want to go home. Avoid all this trouble, avoid him, avoid getting swooned by him. 

“Ahh, you know-”

It's just a few syllables and you're locked in his eyes, heart palpitating as red fills everything in your vision. Whether it's him or the hotness of your feelings.

The coil in your stomach is back—finally, as if it ever left- revealing itself as dread and anger for everyone. Anger for Mina trying to force you to act a certain way, anger at Kirishima for not leaving you alone, anger at yourself for giving him a chance to make you fold again. You choose to bark when you can't bite. There's no universe in which you win a fight over Kirishima. 

“You look like you want to say something,” he says softly, stepping closer, his tone both curious and coaxing.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you try to steady yourself. The ache in your chest sharpens as the weight of everything presses down on you. You can’t hold it in any longer. You’re so angry and confused.

“No, fuck you. Go back to the girlfriend that you love so much”

For a moment, his expression flickers. Surprise, then hurt, flashing so quickly you almost miss it. Then his lips curl into a smirk, the sharp edge of it cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Awww..Thought you knew we broke up, when you unblocked me and all”

Oh so he’s playing you. Great. 

Your stomach churns. The way he says it, so casual, so smug, choking on a little laugh while he’s at it, makes your blood boil. You cross your arms, leaning against the cool brick wall as if it could shield you from his presence.

“You think this is funny?” you snap, glaring at him.

“Not at all,” he says, his smirk softening into something more genuine, something more infuriatingly earnest. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“Interesting?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders moving effortlessly, the motion somehow both casual and loaded. “You’re still this angry. Still... passionate.”

“Passionate?” you echo, the word sour on your tongue. Had you been passionate about it he still wouldn’t be seeing the end of it. You thought he knew you like that. “I’m pissed. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” His voice is calm, maddeningly so, as he leans a little closer. “But I think you’re pissed because you still care.”

His words hit like a slap, the kind that stings and lingers long after. The kind that leaves an angrily red handprint after. You want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words won’t come. Instead, you press your palms against the wall behind you, your nails scraping against the rough surface.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter. It lacks the venom you wish it carried, because you hope he does the opposite of what you’re saying.

He doesn’t back off. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s trying to read a book that’s just out of reach. “You ever think maybe I’m still bothering because I care too?”

That shuts you up. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. The weight of his words hangs heavy between you, thickening the already charged air.

Is it more embarrassing that he knows what exact action lies behind your thoughts or that he’s calling you on it? He could have stayed silent and spared you of this uncomfortable notion that finally answers to his name and you could have tried not to speak any venom at him with your words. You’ve always found yourself unable to, alas, even when you told him you love him, it was meant to hurt him, more than it meant to take that weight off your chest. So why hold back now of all times? 

“I meant what i said before. And I know that you meant that you loved me when you said it.”

Standing face to face with him is inevitable at this point. He’s not so keen on pushing his back against the wall anymore, seeing that you don’t turn to face him again, not even once, and he’s determined to face you. You look at him tired, by blinking into his eyes and you’re so thankful for the safety distance he puts in between the two of you. 

For the first time tonight he’s looking at you apologetically and he even waits until you put out your cigarette to open his arms in front of your very eyes.

It’s a welcoming invite which you receive with disbelief, but he doesn’t ask if he can hug you. He just does. Two fucking seconds is all it takes until you’re burying yourself into him. The crook of his neck. That soft spot that emits his scent the strongest. It’s too tender against your nose. Perhaps he's tender too. 

You’re melting; Whether it's sweat or a tear that you’ve tried so hard to contain in your lower eyelids, there's something about him that’s turning you into a puddle. Right here, right now. Perhaps, your soft spot for Kirishima is really so physical. That devil of a man moans into the crook of your neck and you know he’s smiling without having to witness it to make sure. 

It’s refreshing in such a twisted way to know you can’t get away from each other.

An eternity later, when you pull back, with empty arms, he reaches for his pocket, sweetness emitting from the expression on his face. Thick fingers idle on a bent roll of a cigarette that's too big to just be filled with normal tobacco. 

“Wanna smoke with me?” He asks and plops right next to you on the wall -his and yours original spot- to which you shrug in response. What’s the worst that could happen? 

You had a drag or even two a little while ago, in the presence of Sero and there’s not enough alcohol in your system -you think- to make you spiral. Even if the blunt that Kirishima is holding is fatter than the ones you would normally smoke with a whole bunch of people, there’s really no harm in just a little. It'll help you unwind, just so you don't choke him with your bare hands at the cost of your heartbreaks. 

Your lighter is used to light the blunt in between his lips and everything around you suddenly smells like sativa. Kirishima takes a long drag, his eyes slipping shut “Ahh, that’s the stuff” He says and moves his hand accordingly to pass it to you.

So generous. You could cry.  For a moment, you forget how much you hate him. It’s in the way his lips curl around the blunt, casually unbothered, like he has all the time in the world to figure you out. “What?” he asks, tilting his head like he doesn’t already know the answer. 

You glance at the lit end as he offers it to you. The unspoken invitation hangs in the humid summer air. You take a drag and pass it to him again, careful to let the smoke linger in your lungs as you count the seconds before you exhale. 

Fingers touch and stay there. It’s enough to send a jolt through your already frayed nerves and you try not to ponder over the question on whether his hands are hot because of you or the hot summer weather. Closing your eyes for a second, you decide to open them in his direction just to find him already staring at you.

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“You gonna let me smoke this whole thing by myself?”

The smoke burns going down, but the buzz hits almost instantly, and you let out a shaky breath. “I’m not doing this because of you.” You snatch it from him. He laughs, low and quiet, like he’s savoring some private joke you’ll never be in on.

“Sure you’re not.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. That idiot thinks he knows all about you, even the unspoken. That's so far from your own truth. 

Everything around you is so muffled and peaceful. The party is an eon away and Kirishima doesn’t utter a word. Heaven. But it lasts so little, now that your thoughts are dizzy again, every minor word you could jab at him is woven and hidden under your tongue. Your heads are itching to get closer and closer.

You turn to look at him again but you can’t hold a laugh in. The situation is hilarious on its very own when you think about it. You’re hidden away with the only person you’re never supposed to acknowledge ever again and he’s laughing back at you for laughing in his face. You danced with him, tried to message him, you stared at each other too much, like you're both insane. 

There's no normal, or humane way to approach anything that has to do with the two of you together and it would be a lie if you said you hadn't missed this. 

The more smoke enters your lungs the more you feel like you're loosening up, stiff shoulders finally relaxed.

This new point of view is fun; foreheads almost clashing, crossed staring. You'll try to keep away from him as much as you can, but he breaks that uncomfortable silence that's otherwise only broken by the occasional sound of inhaling. It’s the way he leans his head back against the wall, exposing the line of his throat, the way his hair falls just right even when it’s sweaty and unkempt. You hate it. You hate him. He’s so unexpected.

The silence between you stretches again, heavy and loaded, but not suffocating this time. You let yourself look at him—really look at him-and for a moment, you see the Kirishima you used to know. The one who made you laugh until your sides ached, who held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“I hate you,” you mutter, though there’s no venom in your voice. It’s a feeble attempt to guard yourself, to keep him at arm’s length.

He chuckles softly, and the sound is warm, familiar. “I know.”

You shake your head, your lips twitching into a reluctant smile despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “But you still haven’t walked away.” The sound of exhaling echoes before he speaks again “Why’d you unblock me?”

You freeze, the blunt paused halfway to your lips. It’s not like you hadn’t expected this question, but you thought you’d have more time to come up with an answer. “I don’t know,” you say. Big lie for a topic you don’t want to actually talk about. 

Kirishima shifts, turning his body toward you just enough to make you squirm, his forehead still on yours even if the laughter has died  “Bullshit.”

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it anymore. “Maybe I was bored. Maybe I wanted to see if you’d embarrass yourself trying to message me.”

He smirks, but it’s softer than usual, like he’s trying not to scare you off. “And? Did I?”

You roll your eyes. “You were predictable.”

“To think I almost didn't come because I didn't want to see you.” In any other instance this phrase would hurt like a bitch. “Bakugo said I shouldn't act like a dick tonight.”

You're not sure if he's referring to you or the party, but you choose to test him, pretending to be oblivious to his advance. 

“Mina won't forgive you if you're a shitty friend to her again”

“Mm I know” He giggles “never meant to be like that”

You don't reply out of nothing but embarrassment. It was you who would kept in contact with Kirishima when Mina had a fight with him, and you acted like a fool, telling her everything about him when he messed up. Something she just didn't do for you when she was friends with him and the two of you were a casual thing. 

Hell, you didn't even know they were this close again before she announced that he'll be at the party. 

Perhaps right now you don't find it in you to give a damn about their friendship. Whenever she's in the middle of you there's only disaster. You'd rather only count on yourself to ruin things with him. 

“I just… I don't care. Treat Mina however she allows you to.” This would usually make him bite, just enough so you could feel sharp canines, but now that he's intoxicated he just smiles softly. How long has it been since you've seen that expression on him? 

“Damn you're so harsh again”

Closed eyes, smile from one ear to another; you have to show him and his stupidly beautiful face that you're not the person he once knew. Your forehead sticks to his with a muffled sound. “Then what'll you do to make me soft?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Suddenly you come to realize, that getting Kirishima back is the easiest thing in the universe. Which just isn't a very good sign, at all. 

Α curious hand travels to your cheek, pushing back a loose strand of hair away from your face and you convince yourself you wouldn’t have accepted this touch if it wasn’t for another reason -no- but he cups the left side of your face so smoothly, your faces still stuck together, that the world is reduced to this hidden part of Sero’s backyard. To just the two of you. 

He’s so not good for you, damaged goods, been with other people that aren't you, you tell yourself in a last frail attempt to pull away, yet your body does not comply with any negative comment about him your mind has to offer to restrain you.

He chuckles for another time and it’s downright annoying how much you want him “I think i'm getting the munchies” 

You’re sold on every single word.

______

Under any other circumstance you’d avoid anything edible in Sero’s fridge given the fact that he owns a snake as a pet. There’s a plateau filled with canapes, there’s soda and there’s beer neatly placed in the vegetable drawer and that’s about all you can see from behind Kirishima’s back. He’s searching frantically for something while you hate how loud the music sounds now, your stomach growls much like his and he obviously hears it. It’s so loud even that he gives one of his searching hands a break and extends it to you, to pull you next to him. Tucked underneath his bicep you’re now met with the heavenly chill of the fridge.

You look up at him while he roams through the fridge, tongue out and lips pressed into a line. This isn’t a hidden place anymore; anyone can walk in and see you hugging. Yet and ever so fortunately your friends seem to have forgotten about the menace of the two of you being together apparently.

Kirishima pulls back from the fridge and closes it, taking the needed chilly air away with the stainless steel door. There’s victory in his hands. An unopened pack of prosciutto and a squeeze bottle of honey. Seeing that you don’t really get a chance to wiggle yourself from his arm, he swings you so that your back is facing the cabinets, your ass hitting the wooden countertop as your dress hitches slightly upwards. 

Big breath in. Slow exhale. His naked knee is in contact with your thigh.

He struggles with the packaging for a second but it doesn’t put up a long fight. With a stomach so viciously hungry his hands win for the second time this evening. With every movement you’re pressed further onto the countertop, but still not on it yet.

A small bite of prosciutto goes onto the tip of his finger and he finally sets his eyes on you. “Mouth” he orders and you open almost instinctively, taking the finger into your mouth. You whine at how salty it is but he’s got the solution for you, trapped in that golden squeeze bottle.

When he has his own share of the delicatessen he drops just a golden bit on the same finger and puts it in your mouth. Finally past your surprised lips, you suckle the honey, gaze fixated on him while his thumb brushes against your upper lip.

So long lip combo. You will not be missed.

“Great idea” You tell him ever so content. Everything is so balanced in your little bubble right now. Even the way he sucks the same finger into his mouth.

One more round of prosciutto means one more round of honey and you almost wonder if he came up with this on the spot, or if he’s ever done this before. You’ve never seen him with such menace in his red eyes. He’s just so evil.

Even more so, when he squeezes more honey on his finger and smears it against your lips. For a sinister moment everything goes completely silent and static. Your tongue dances on the tip of his finger as he pushes it further and further into your mouth, stroking your chin and your cheek when his hand moves in a circular motion.

“Fuck” He hisses, licking his lips and pulling his finger way from your mouth. The popping sound it makes is enough to get him riled up just enough, so that he grabs your face with his hands. He takes the smallest leap towards you, given the fact that you’re not that far away from each other, smacking his lips on yours.

With a heart that’s heavy as a rainy cloud, you moan at how rough his are. There’s nothing but neediness in his movements, from how he bites your lower lip between his teeth to how his hands just won’t let the sides of your face. You couldn’t even get yourself out of this situation with a written petition.

And when he feels and tastes like everything you remember, you can’t find it in you to kiss him back with the same burning fever. You want to be mean.

You push him away, whispering “Kirishima. Don’t kiss me” but your own hands are on his face too.

“Eijiro” He corrects you, like he hasn’t heard the second part of your words. “Now's not the time for my last name” His thumbs stroke your cheeks, so gentle it makes your chest ache. You hate how good his touch feels, how much you want to lean into it even as you tell yourself you shouldn’t.

He simply doesn't understand your inner turbulence.

“Don’t call me by my last name when I’m about to fuck you”

You’d hate to call him that; Kirishima is nothing but himself and he’s definitely not ‘your Eijiro’ even if you might as well have always been his. There’s just no way of showing him how much you want him while you absolutely hate him. Tonight was never meant to end up like this. you weren't supposed to land on Sero’s kitchen counter, trapped by him, kissing him. You were supposed to be having fun.

So long is the distance between fun and the notion of you doubting everything that’s happening to you at the moment. So short is the route in your brain that combines Kirishima’s behavior that is lust driven to the one you assume is him getting what he wants and chewing you and spitting you out for anyone to have his leftovers.

You count on him to put the invisible block between these two thoughts, to put an end at your turbulence. In the way his nose nuzzles to yours, in the warmth of his body against your own.

The tension is thick in the air between the two of you, and for a moment, his hands linger on your face like he’s memorizing the shape of it. His red eyes are half-lidded, drunk on the moment or the haze of the evening-or maybe just on you.

“Don’t kiss me,” you repeat, but this time it’s weaker, softer, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward, but he doesn’t let go either. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, so gentle it’s maddening. Your own lips are barely brushing his and despite what's coming out of your mouth you almost kiss him yourself. 

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “But you’re not pulling away.”

Your hands are still on his face, and it’s infuriating how good his skin feels under your palms. Warm, alive, familiar in a way that makes you want to scream.

There's so much nuisance in your bloodstream that you kiss him, ignoring whether he can respond or not. It’s not gentle, not sweet—just messy, desperate, and filled with all the things you can’t bring yourself to say. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and the world narrows until it’s just him. Just you.

There’s no logic anymore, no reason, just the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the roughness of his hands as they grip your thighs and push the hem of your dress higher.

Its decided then, by both of you, when your nails scrape against the nape of his neck desperately, that it's no use in denying each other. The feeling that use to dying both of you to pull away is faint now, reduced to something that resembles burnt out charcoal, ashes of a hateful fire. 

It's a whirlpool of emotions that's pulling you both in after that. It was a mistake to ever think it'd be okay you smoke with him or let him feed you, because your hands move on their own accord, pulling him as close to you as possible, chest heaving and eyes so heavy with teardrops that never dare fall. Your hands grip on everywhere and anywhere on his neck, face and hair that you can land them on. 

Every breath you take through your nose is hitched, like the sniffle of a crying session, but you refuse to part with lips that move in sync with agony. You forgot how good his lips feel on yours, you'll forget once again. Soon enough. 

For now, you block the angst of him and you away and instead, you feel dizzy like you're drowning. In an ocean so vast and dark that it's impossible to try and reach the surface for air. 

There's no word spoken, no other sound, no warning when his hands hitch under the skirt of your dress, angry and desperate to finish what he started when the two of you were dancing all this while ago. The pads of his fingers examine the band of your panties, as if they can tell the color just through that and for a second he stops kissing you, to hiss, breathe and whimper at how soft your skin feels against him. 

You run your fingers through his hair. A disheveled ponytail that finally comes to ruins is the outcome and his revenge is pulling your hips towards him, fingers laced between your panties, barely touching the skin of your ass. 

This time, you hiss. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You should. You know you should. This is dangerous, reckless, teetering on the edge of something you can’t take back. But instead of pulling away, you find yourself leaning in, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I’m not stopping you”  you admit, your voice soft and uneven. 

You kiss him.

That’s all the encouragement he honestly needs.

He pulls away from your lips with a smacking sound that's louder than the actual music and he tries, he tries to link his forehead against yours when smoking hot hands press against your tummy, just so his thumb can rub a painfully firm swipe across your throbbing clit and you don't let him have this moment in silence. 

You squirm at how delicious his touch is, and you're embarrassed that you feel this way about him still. Since it's just this time, you'll manage. 

You buck your hips into his thumb and squirm, your knees shaking like you’ve been hit by thunder. Embarrassment surges through you.

“Don't look at me” You whisper and throw your legs off the counter to stand on your feet. 

A hand on your waist and a furrowed brow is all that you get in response. After that, you're spun around the counter, released of any control in your own movements. Your right knee is thrown onto the counter, your neck is interlocked in his left hand, your back is stuck to his chest. 

He's smarter than you are, sometimes. 

You can feel how hard his heart is beating against your back, through tons of muscle. He's shaking, but you're not one to judge when you’re in the same position.

The fingers that held your knee against the counter top have already ordered your bones not to move and they're running up the side of your thigh. Grabby and needy as he is, he places a kiss at the crook of your neck when he feels the skin of your cheeks spill through his fingers. 

The departure of his hand upsets you only in the seconds before he gives you a small slap. 

You try to adjust yourself better against him so you don't feel your back hurting as you're stuck on him but it's no use, he applies pressure to your neck in response and hooks his pointer finger under your panties to pull them to the side. Your chest hitches a breath like he stole it from you. 

He's steady with his ministrations, catching some of your slick with his thumb from your entrance and drags it across your slit, landing to your clit, just to rub a few slow circles there. His lips find your shoulder and even though the stubble he has as a goatee hurts when it's poking you, the kiss he plants on your skin is hot- too sensual. 

He keeps rubbing circles against you, gradually introducing a few pinches to your clit when he traps it between his fingers. 

You groan and you yelp; it's unprovoked when his ring finger enters you, too sudden as he keeps rubbing you with his middle one. He's moving freely, in courtesy of how long and thick his fingers are and you're all but at his mercy. A whimpering mess that refuses to plead with him to move faster, or show him any ministration on how to please you most. 

He is aware of how to do exactly that. 

He is aware of every single detail; from how fast he can make you cum, to how much time he needs to prep you for simply the size of him, and you'd be insane to stop him now. One, because you'll die from your own lust if he leaves you empty even for a second and two-

“Fuuuck, don't stop” You whine, only because your head isn't working anymore, your thoughts are gone as he pulls out his finger for only a second. 

You don't see it, with your field of vision being a dark lit image of Sero's toaster on the counter you're on, but you listen to the sound of a finger getting sucked in Kirishima’s mouth. Albeit, you almost moan at the notion that he can't get enough of you. 

He works a second finger inside of you, introduces it with a few circles around your entrance and the sound of a hiss falls from his lips when he does so. He scissors his movements and everything applies pressure to that spot inside of you that has your knees shaking. 

That devious coil in your tummy is back, but now it's much lower, just under the spot where your skin is pressed on the edge of the counter. You're reduced to being a moaning mess of an orgasm that's building up, high off the feeling of Kirishima's fingers pistoning inside of you feverishly. 

He bites his lips hard enough to draw blood at the mere sight; but the faster he works to prep you, the worse it gets for him. His cock is twitching so hard between his legs, tugging uncomfortable at how it's tucked inside his underwear and cargo shorts. Every little moan of yours when he lazily flicks at your clit with the top of his pointer finger,  gets him impossibly harder, to the point he can't just ignore it anymore. 

“What are you-” You almost turn around to eat his heart out when he pulls his fingers out of you, so he can work on his button, his zipper, on the waistband of his underwear. Begrudgingly, your eyes rush to his side and you're too cocky with the anger of a ruined orgasm. 

Despite that, the sounds of his undressing, you respect. Until his palm grasps at the nape of your neck, to force your head to land next to the toaster again. 

“You said you don't wanna look at me, didn't you?”

His cock springs free, just as big and thick as you remember and not a single whine of yours is enough to make him get him to come closer. 

“I said,” You pant “I don't want you to look at me”

With one hand grabbing at his base, jerking himself slowly in a hammer motion, he lets the weight of him slap on your naked ass as he moves to completely bunch up your skirts around your waist. He ignores what you said as it's deemed impossible; there's no way in the whole world he will tear his eyes off of you right now. It's laced in his confession. 

“Fuck, I'm missed this view, so, don’t care. Don't look at. Me.”

You whine as his palms kneed softly at the soft skin of your ass, through layers of your muscle, thumbs so firm they're almost digging in holes on the two spots they've landed so he can spread you open even further. 

His cock moves like it has a brain of its own, leaving trails of precum against your ass and he thrusts his head across your slit a few and agonizingly slow times. You should speak up, tell him how much you love it, tell him you can just cum on the spot from just his cockchead rubbing against your clit like that but you don't want him to have that satisfaction. You don't need him to know he’s making you feel this good when he's barely done anything to you.He's cocky enough already, engrossed in his actions as his tip lines up exactly to your entrance. 

He teases you with his tip again, like he’s gonna torture you until you beg—which you’re not gonna do. Though your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of him slapping his dick against your folds. He slides against you again, hips stuttering out with a simple, muffled, motion of a hold back and just like that, when he’s spent on the feeling of squeezing his base so he gets even harder he lines up with your soppy entrance.

He slips right in. No warning, no effort. Your pussy pulls him in.

A guttural moan escapes you, coming from the depths of your chest as he thrusts his head in. The pain of being split open hits you like a wave. It hurts, like every single time you reconcile with him. You always forget that the girth and length of him are too much to not take in gradually. 

But he knows that too. 

“Babe,” he whimpers “Can I move?”

You wince at the desperation in his voice, the use of the nickname paired with it, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. ‘Babe’ how can such a simple word make your stomach twist into a knot? 

“Please-” It's nothing but a whisper, but it comes out of your mouth without much thought. It's needy and silent and full of guilt. 

“Oh fuck I like the sound of that. Say it again”

You hesitate for a moment, hips bucking towards him to take a little more in but he pushes your head down again. 

“Please Eijiro”

“Please what,” He pressures “say it”

“What? No!” 

“Then I could just pull out”

The sound of your mumbling is almost choked by his palm on your cheek, he's not letting go- he's not hurting you either- the pressure is just enough to get his point across because, frankly, the stuttering of his hips doesn't match his words. Had you not been pressed on the counter, you would have bucked away from him to teach him not to play boss with you. For now, you just whine as he pulls completely out of you.

“Eijiro- fuck, please”

“Fuck what?”

“Shit. Fuuuuck”

Eijiro presses his hand on your waist and pins you down, getting a hold of your hair in his hands—fuck, fuck, fuck, the word’s a mantra right now. Fuck it’s so hot, you’ve never even thought you could get this wet over a few motions. 

He growls when he yanks your head just a little upwards and your walls pulsate around nothing.

“Want me to turn you over and fuck your mouth? Huh?”

“N-no” you shake your head.

“Then speak”

You take a mental note; you’re going to chew his head off for this later on. When did Eijiro even learn how to dirty talk like that?

“Me! Fuck me, dammit” You hiss, cheeks are once again trapped between his palm and the cold counter. 

He places another kiss on your shoulder at that, giving your ass an encouraging slap as he chuckles. “There you go”

You feel the head of his cock press against your entrance once again, and despite yourself, you whimper. His hands squeeze your hips tightly as he begins to push inside of you, inch by slow inch. The burn of pain mixed with the heat of desire, making it almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. You grit your teeth against the sensation, trying to ignore the way his cock stretches you open.

You’re so full if him that you could explode.

His voice is so low in his throat, so needy when he says "That's it, baby.”

Then be, once more again before he starts going at a steady pace, bucks his hips time after time, ever so slowly. Had you not been unadjusted to the shape of his cock by now you'd be screaming at him to go faster, but for now, this tortuous pace is as helpful as it's driving you insane. 

It's just the beginning, but the weight in your chest and your heart are starting to be felt. 

“Eiji” You say, eyes closing as you try to hold on to the counter top to no avail. He moans in response, rubbing his palm along the length of the leg that you've bunched up on the surface. 

You've no mind to consider the soreness you'll be feeling tomorrow, really. 

He tries to hook his other hand on your steady knee and you yelp, scared that you're going to fall, that your strength isn't enough to hold your weight in the strange position that you're in right now. 

“Let go of your leg” He pants giving the back of your thigh a few encouraging slaps “give it to me”

You slowly let go of your leg, exhaling shakily in fear of not feeling the ground under your foot anymore. Eijiro takes this as an invitation, his grip on your hips tightening as he helps you wrap your leg awkwardly around him just so he thrusts deeper into you. The sensation is almost overwhelming, too mouthwatering; you can't help but want to arch your back in response, despite being almost unable to.

Hick dick kisses your cervix with every movement, every roll of his hips.

Your breath, despite having been knocked out of your chest, with each of his thrusts, is loud, always conveyed into a moan or a yelp and that’s about all the encouragement Kirishima needs for his thrusts to source more force, more speed. 

His hips slam against yours in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. You cry out in that delicious mixture that’s pleasure and the pain of him splitting you open, your body arching to meet his.

You are evil, sinister, malevolent for both you and him when you plead “Go faster”

He pants, half sober, half drunk as he digs his fingernails into your love handles and bottoms out again. Eijiro's thrusts quicken, his body shaking with the effort to keep up the pace. You can feel his cock pulsing inside you, head hitting every wall inside you as he drives deeper. Your breath comes in short gasps, and your body feels like it's on fire. This is new territory for both of you.

You've never had sex raw before, not even at the start of any session. So every time you squeeze around him, you can feel his veins and he can feel you get wet—wetter. It’s so sloppy, so messy, like it should have been happening all the time, like you two are made just for this.

Both of you whimper. Whether it’s the angle, the pace or the way he slips his hand, ever so subtly to rub lazy circles on your puffy clit, you absolutely cannot control your noises just as much as you cannot find it in you to care about whether you’re louder than the actual music on the party that's happening above.

You try and buck your hips towards him some more, yielding a moaned out version of his name in the process. Everything is just too much and you’ve never been this desperate to cum.

“Fuck babe, you feel so good” Kirishima hisses and your legs tremble 

“Yo-you too” 

“‘Pussy feels s’good, fffuck yeah work those hips for me”

You stretch your hand, in an effort to try to reach him, touch him. Anything to ground yourself to stop the shaking in your legs, but you ultimately cry out in disdain when he grabs your wrist to stop you, pining it on the small of your back. He holds it there for a moment, when his thrusts become slower, rougher, just enough to elicit louder moans from you before he finally lets go, running his hot palm on your back.

“Making me want to fuck you raw forever”

“Ei-” 

The only response you get is a whimper. Half lid eyes that look at your back with so much lust that it should be considered a sin.

You wish you could see his face, to land your eyes on that whiny expression that adorns his face when he’s inside you, but his hand is quick, too hot on the skin of the ape of your neck; he grabs your hair, lifts your head in the process.

“Take it” He whispers and you realize you haven't, in your dizzy state, even sensed him leaning on you to bite on your shoulder. The action alone makes you wince but Eijiro, ever so tender, immediately suckles the spot between his lips, hoping to soothe you, but your legs start shaking even more. “I'll give it to you slow then? ‘kay?”

“Ei” You’re so spent, so unable to call out anything other than his name, gooey walls clenching around him as his thrusts slow down even more. 

You’re so impossibly wet and tight, fluttering and squeezing and tightening around him. Mere seconds away from letting the beast that's gnawing inside you burst into existence. Like a flaming hot explosion. “'M gonna come” You manage to whisper and your stomach twists in an impossible way when Kirishima replies

“Can you wait for me baby, I want us to— fuck— come together”

And as much as you love the sound of that being whispered in your ear, you're not sure you can obey him. He feels that too, suddenly starting to quicken his thrusts while letting go of your hair, pushing it off your face. It's only now that he's so desperately chasing his own release, as you’re clamping impossibly around him, hips working faster than ever. 

“Can I cum in you? Fill you up?” The sound of skin clapping and your squelching with each buck of Kirishima's hips filling the kitchen. Hes’s frantic when you’re deprived of a reply, circling your clit, slapping it, gathering all of your mixed juices and rubbing at you again.

You yell out his name again like a mantra, your orgasm starting to blur out your vision as the top of his cock kisses all the right spots inside you. 

“Please say yes”

You moan.

“Say yes, wanna fill your pussy up.”

You moan again.

It feels so good— his hand on the small of your back, his scent, the notion that this is the worst thing that could happen tonight it all adds up to you finally coming to release all that's pent up tonight. 

—Clank!

From the corner of the kitchen, you hear a loud, unmistakable clatter, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. Both yours and Kirishima's heads snap to the direction, his name being cut short from falling from your mouth as terror washes through both of you. 

White. 

Hot. 

A voice, too familiar, yells out in a burst of laughter and shock. 

“No fucking way!” Sero’s voice rings out, too high-pitched, way too obvious. “what the fuuuuuuck”

Kirishima locks eyes with him first, taking the first pinch of realisation in his gut, hands doing nothing of sort to shield any of you. There's no initial reaction that can be performed. He's just as deep in mud over this as you are. 

“Dude!” Sero paces his eyes between you and Kirishima as if to point out the profanity. Helaughs again, holding his stomach, never prying his gaze from the scenery in front of him “you guys are impossible. Get a room ‘cuz I want some more beer.”

Your eyes land on him, turn just in time to see his figure disappearing around the corner

heading straight to the direction he just came from, and you whine— both for your ruined orgasm, more so for the fact that you've been caught.

The wave of shame that should be washing over you is nowhere to be seen or felt. 

“No.” You don’t even realize you’ve said it until the words slip past your lips, but the panic that flares in your chest feels real. “No, no, no—he’s not— He's gonna tell— fuck!”

Kirishima swears under his breath, a hand running through his messy hair as he looks at you, his face caught between guilt and desperate frustration. “Shit—”

The two of you stand there, his cock still inside you, despite it starting to go limp, your leg still bunched around his back. Both of you too unsure of what to think, or do, in such situation. 

Seeing that the moment is ruined, that none of you have had enough self control to stop earlier or restrain yourselves, you lower your lifted leg to the ground. 

Kirishima takes the hint immediately. Patting your ass with both his palms for just a little leverage— like he needs it anyway and actually pushes out of you with a loud pop. He tucks his cock in his pants and zips them up in fast movements and actually makes an effort to make you look somewhat presentable too. 

Panties drawn to their initial position, even if they feel ruined and wet behind salvation, and dress smoothed nicely over your ass before he signs you to lift your head up. He guides you still, hand on your head, so you don't manage to land a hit at the cabinets over your head. 

For the first time in a while, you look at him again. He’s disheveled; red hair tousled and messy, lips burning a red as fiery as his eyes. There's a tiny remembrance of his quirk on the left side of his eyebrow. 

In an unfair and very beyond and out of character reaction for you, you reach to smooth it over with the tips of your fingers, pushing the red strands of hair away from the spot. He mumbles something that's beyond the realm of speech and you don't make an effort to understand as your hand slips to the side of his face, cupping his sharp jawline. 

You don't speak just yet, whether it's out of panic or because you're really not in a mental position to take in what just happened. Thus, you too, don't say a word when he brings both hands to your face. One to mimic your own hold, the other, to wipe some of the sticky residue of honey and some drool that has gathered in the corner of your lips. 

When your legs wobble on top of the heels that you just remembered you're wearing, the warmth of his hands on your face travels to your waist. It's only then that he talks. 

“Easy there, babe”

You let out a laugh “You did this to me, by the way”

“Well, I don't think I can hold myself when I'm around you. That's why I've been avoiding it.”

And that's exactly when it hits you. The party, Mina, every memoir of your past with him. You hate to be fucked silly to the point of no thought by him, never have an orgasm in his presence and then live in regret. You have to put an end to this. Mina was right. No one's gonna pick up your pieces ever again. 

You're looking dazzled, confused and out of your mind. The room starts to blur. 

You’re so out of words, it’s painful.

The tension hangs in the air as Kirishima grabs your hand, his grip firm but careful, and whispers hurriedly, “This way.” 

He leads you out of the kitchen, his eyes darting around the room like a predator looking for an escape route. You barely have time to register the shift in pace before he’s guiding you down the hall.

Your heart races—not just from the rush of adrenaline, but from the lingering haze of your interrupted moment. You’re still reeling from the intensity of it, your mind a chaotic blur of heat, panic, and something dangerously close to longing. Your hand, clasped inside his burns, like the very core of your being.

“Where are we going?” you hiss, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is following.

“Bathroom,” he mutters under his breath, his jaw tight. “We need a second of privacy”

Before you can protest, he’s already nudging open a door, ushering you inside with a quick glance down the hallway. The bathroom is as small and dimly lit as it was a while ago and the hum of the party muffles the moment the door clicks shut behind you.

The lock makes a noise of pure solace; Eijiro twists the key hurriedly but doesn’t pull it out of the lock. He opts to rush to you, even if you’re just a few literal feet away from him. 

Your poor heart is thudding. You’ve been cataclysmed with emotions of all kinds. The betrayal to your friends, to yourself even, the guilt of how a part of you feels joy, the panic of experiencing being found out. The embarrassment. Tears well in your eyes like silky beads. Head in your hands, you land on the semi wall of the bathtub and sit down. 

Eijiro follows, much dizzy and still high like you, and plops on the marble right next to you. 

He turns his head in your direction despite knowing full well you’re trying not to let the faucet in your eyes flood your face, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stand there and watch you like this. He only does what he knows better. 

Huge arms are wrapped around you and he’s pulling you close. Part of you wants to beg him to let go, too afraid of what happens each time you’re in this position with him and your heartstrings are being pulled— despite your sniffles and in between your thoughts and your guilt you can’t find any strength to push him away.

You melt into his chest, the very second his palm presses your head against him. 

“Shhh” the redhead finally speaks “Sero’s going to forget this in seconds, even faster”

First and foremost and most foul of all, Eijiro thinks you’re only crying because you’ve been caught. That’s as much as you gather from his demeanor. 

“No, I-” Another wave of tears hits you before you get a chance to respond.

“Please tell me how can I help”

You loathe the fact that he sounds so willing. It’s the twist of the knife to your wound, why is he only willing when something’s in for…

“…you?”

Oh, oh no! You spoke that aloud. Cursing under your breath you decide you would rather swallow your tongue and die forever. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re still high, but had you realised sooner you wouldn’t have spoken this. It’s prone to cause turbulence.

“What? You really believe that?” 

There. There he is looking as confused as ever and he’s peeling you away from his chest just to lock eyes with you. 

“I just…” he pauses “I don’t know how to act, I’m sorry”

It’s… excruciating that he apologises over something he knows can’t be helped. Even when not intended to excuse him you just know he’s a person that reeks of insecurities, inner turmoil be damned and all, but so are you. Apologising for himself does absolutely nothing to you— he probably knows so as well.

But you breathe in his scent and his apology stops being one of manipulation. The man before you is nothing but himself. With roots such a deep shade of brown that just isn’t black, lashes that are full but not too long… he lacks in things that he’s so full of; Maybe if you had been more kind and understanding you and him would have worked. You wouldn’t have to cry in his arms after a catastrophic night. You wouldn’t get carried away by each other, rather, you’d get carried away together.

You don’t answer to him, but tears well in your eyes and they’re for him. So you cling onto his shirt and avert your eyes, not being able to bear another glance at him.

A few, new sobs in and he manhandles you onto him. You never protest —His lap is more comfortable than the marble, much warmer too. And you don’t need to be cool anymore.

“Baby” he whines and a hand is wrapped around your head, engulfing you in that huge bicep of his. His fingers linger on your face again but this time he holds you; one thumb brushes lightly against your wet cheek and the other wipes the teardrops that run down one of your eyes “Did I— Am I making you cry?”

You nod.

In response he kisses your forehead. A secret part of you wishes he’d never done that despite the fact that you find solace in the comfort.

“I’m sorry, I’ve made you cry a lot, haven’t I?”

You nod again.

This time he doesn’t continue on with words. He kisses your forehead again, then your wet cheeks, your nose, your eyes lids and your chin. You’re so lost in the moment, dizzy still. You lean into him, edging closer and closer to his face. Your body moves on its own against your better judgement.

“It’s not fair” you say as your lips hover right under his.

“I know”

Thus, this time, when you kiss, it’s not needy or desperate; it’s comforting. Your lips move in sync against each other and its numbing; his mouth feels just perfect against yours. He pecks your lower lip and you suck on his softly. 

Of course, you know that he knows. But neither of you pull away.

Kirishima's hands tremble slightly where they rest on your waist, like he's unsure if he should pull you closer or let you go before it’s too late. The way his lips move against yours—slow, deliberate, reverent—makes your stomach twist. This isn't rushed or reckless like before. It isn't an act of desperation or lust. It's something else. Something worse.

It’s a plea. A question. A confession.

And the moment you realize that, you break the kiss.

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you stare at him, his forehead still resting against yours. His eyes—soft, carmine and burning all at once—search yours, waiting for an answer you don’t have.

His fingers flex against your hips, but he nods. “I know….” He pauses “I never got to tell you that I love you too”

Even if this confession is the end for him, he doesn’t let go. Neither do you.

You sit there, tangled together in the dim light of the bathroom, the party outside a distant echo compared to the roaring silence between you. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, warm and steady, and for a fleeting second, you let yourself imagine a world where this could be simple. Where you could have him without all the chaos, the guilt, the inevitable heartbreak.

Αll you’ve ever wanted was for this to be your world.

“Then why do you punish me for it?”

Reality settles between you like an unspoken truth, thick and suffocating, making it hard to breathe, hard to think—hard to do anything but exist in this moment that shouldn’t have happened.

You’re nothing but truthful and honest. He’s punishing you because he loves you but you’re just no better —you’ve been doing nothing but the same.

Kirishima’s grip tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid that if he loosens it even a little, you’ll slip away completely. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you will. Maybe you don’t love him anymore and you have every right to. After everything he’s pulled, why on earth would you reciprocate his feelings?

Just take his heart and tip in two already. It’s either that or it’s just going to burst.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath them. It’s fast. Just as fast as yours.

You force yourself to pull back, just enough to see his face fully, to take in the way his brows pinch together in something like frustration. Or sadness. Or both.

You don’t trust yourself to speak. If you do, you’re not sure what will come out—anger, regret, longing. Maybe all three. Your words hurt more than a villain's attack.

But he speaks first.

“I don’t wanna let go,” he admits, voice low, barely above a whisper. “Not yet.”

The confession cracks something inside you.

You inhale sharply, closing your eyes for a moment before forcing yourself to move. You reach for his hands, prying them gently from your waist despite the way your entire body protests. He lets you, but his fingers linger, brushing against yours until you finally pull away completely.

The warmth of him is gone too soon, and you hate how cold you feel without it.

“Eijiro…” His name feels heavy on your tongue, like it’s not meant to be spoken in this way, not meant to carry this weight.

He shakes his head before you can say anything else. “I know” he repeats, but this time it sounds different. Defeated. And some stinky, dreadful part of you hates to see him this way.

You must be out of your head tonight—in a different dimension, this is another you from another reality. 

Kirishima is as surprised as you are, really. But your lips are on him when his eyes envisioned you leaving him cold, completely. 

After that, it’s clothes being thrown into bathroom tiles and the heavy sounds of kissing. It’s different from the one in the kitchen; there’s no fight for dominance, no physical rattling in battle. It’s just him and you, in the most uncomfortable spot in the world, naked, working together to walk on that tight rope that the love of you is.

This is the first time you’re making love. In sero’s bathroom. At Mina’s party. 

And you could die from how delicious it all feels.

It’s either that fact or something very guttural that’s gotten you feeling this way because the more Eijiro rams into you, the more you tighten around him.

Soft, gummy walls flutter around him, drenched in desire. It’s like you’re moulding the shape of him, every vein, every slope, every inch of him is moulded into you. And at the ache you whine your hips up and down, desperately, like you’re picking up where you left it off in the kitchen.

You’re finally aware that it’s summer again, when you realise your sweat is hot against your skin.

Kirishima holds you like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re real. That this is really happening. His hands wrap around you completely, like he’s got you in a headlock and you’re chest to chest.

You can feel his heartbeat once again, against the skin of your chest and it feels so animalistically intimate. Everything burns and you could just die. You could die like this, right here and right now!

The way your clit rubs on his navel eagerly, makes your whole body numb and in need of release. You set on screaming— his name becomes a mantra for every second passing.

Both of your hips work slow, in sync and he curses against the nape of your neck. You never make out what he says as you’re so drunk on him the second he starts placing open mouth kisses all over your neck.

You hiss in pleasure and your body jolts back—it causes Kirishima to twitch and tighten his grip around you, even now that your chest has departed from his. He looks at you like you’re a prey again; it’s one, two, three kisses on your neck before he travels lower, trapping the skin of your chest between his lips and teeth.

For better leverage, one of his hands grabs on your ass and guides you on your previously steady pace on him. You’re reduced to moaning, like a pornstar on set, when he hits it from this angle. His tip kisses the right spot inside you, repeatedly with an agonising pace and when you turn to look at him he’s kissing down your breast- right above your nipple.

The moment you lock eyes, he takes the hardened bud into his mouth and sucks. You can’t even rip your eyes away from him and oh my god you’ve never had your eyes open during sex like this. Not being able to shake the embarrassment of the action, you wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes still following your every movement, you plant a kiss to the top of his head.

The hand on your back turns as soft as good. And you hold, hold onto his neck like he’s any steady at all. Like the distance between you that closed the second you parted.

It’s all too much and not enough at all— his kisses on your neck and chest, the aching up and down and the sound of skin clapping. A coil forms at the lowest, deepest part of your stomach and you set on chasing it.

In a dazed state, you grab at Eijiro’s hair, right at the nape of his neck, just so he looks up at you and right when he does you kiss him, full force.

The movement makes both of you tilt to the back, but his dick slams inside you in such tremorous manner that you yelp into Eijiro’s mouth.

He moans too, feverishly, but moves his lips on yours. You dare to be the first to pull away, to lock his forehead with yours before you lean in for another kiss.

Again you depart with a smacking sound.

And then you kiss him again.

Through heavy breaths, you fail to acknowledge how long the two of you spend kissing like that, but your eyes wet again at the feeling of him.

He kisses your tears, like he’s trying to make them disappear, like if he presses his lips to your skin enough times, he can rewrite the stinging pain woven into this moment.

You feel him trembling beneath you, his hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to brand the feeling of you into his memory. And maybe he is. Maybe you are too.

Because no matter how much you try to pretend, no matter how much you tell yourself this is wrong, that this can’t be anything more than what it is—it doesn’t stop you from wanting it to be.

The tension in your stomach coils tighter, electric and overwhelming, your body moving on instinct, chasing the high you’ve been denied one too many times tonight. Every thrust, every kiss, every desperate gasp that falls from Kirishima’s lips sends you spiraling deeper into something neither of you can name.

You whisper his name, not as a warning or a plea, but as a confession to match his.

And he hears it.

Because his arms wrap around you tighter, because his forehead presses to yours like he’s holding onto you for dear life, because his breath hitches when he murmurs back, “I got you, baby.”

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“I love it when you cry for -huh- me” he says between jagged breaths, while he kisses the tears that are running down your cheeks— why is he getting unbelievably hard at them?

It feels like he’s kissing away every mess that you’ve both made, like he loves seeing you this broken for him and vulnerable.

Your body tenses, nails digging into his shoulders as you come undone around him, a shuddering, whimpering mess in his arms. And when he follows, burying himself deep inside you with a groan that sends shivers down your spine, you swear you feel something break.

Not your heart—not yet.

But something close.

You’re only ever aware of the digging of your nails on his soft skin, like you’re aiming to draw blood as that white hot pleasure bundles in you again.

It’s a few more thrusts too long when you come, a few more that are absolutely pushing it before Eijiro comes too. 

He comes inside you; hot, spurting cun paitining your insides and slipping down any gap that’s between him and you —impossible— and overflows with gravity, right onto his lap.

He twitches inside you. Once. Twice. 

Your breath is knocked out of you relentlessly as he fucks both of you through your orgasms, slowly.

You flutter around him, sore and even more right from the overstimulation. Eijiro plants a few more kisses to your numb jaw before he attacks both your lips with a smack. He hopes to soothe you, let you know that you can breathe now, that he can breathe, but instead you hyperventilate. His mouth has engulfed yours wholly.

You’re kissing like there’s no tomorrow, no next time and your hands run around each other’s body, roaming, grabbing, digging in skin until your skin is itchy and irritated. He bites your lower lip so hard that you think he’s trying to draw blood. And in response you try to part away from him. 

Your mouth is still linked to his teeth but when it slips away it remains that way, through a string of saliva— he falls apart on you shortly after, pulls you impossibly closer to him.

Eijiro’s breathing is heavy against your skin, warm and steady, grounding you in a way that feels more dangerous than comforting. His arms are still wrapped around you, holding you like he doesn’t want to let go, like maybe if he keeps you here long enough, the rest of the world won’t come crashing in.

Slowly, reality starts to settle around you like an unwelcome guest. The muffled bass from the party outside, the distant chatter, the fact that anyone could be looking for either of you right now—Mina, Sero, anyone.

You swallow hard and finally, finally, force yourself to pull back just enough to look at him.

His face is flushed, red eyes lidded, hair a mess from where your fingers had been tangled in it. He looks beautiful in a way that makes your stomach twist, makes your chest ache with something dangerously close to regret.

But when you move, he follows.

His hands slide down your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. Like he knows you will.

“Eiji” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes snap to yours, something raw and unreadable flickering in them. He knows what you’re about to say. 

“I wanna go home. I want you to come with me.”

“I know,” he says first, just like before. “Wanna hold you in my arms tonight”

But this time, it’s not enough.

Because knowing doesn’t make this any easier. It doesn’t change the fact that this—whatever this is—is bound to hurt you both in the end.

You take a shaky breath and move to get off his lap, but his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s debating stopping you.

Like he wants to.

“Don’t fucking lie to me” 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets you go, lets you shift off of him even though it feels like something inside him is breaking as you do. And maybe something inside you is breaking too.

The silence is thick, suffocating, as you fix yourself—pulling your dress down your body, smoothing over the fabric even though it feels wrong now. You just want to be naked in his presence. 

Kirishima tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand through his hair, but doesn’t stand up.

He watches you. Just watches.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What could you even say? That this was a mistake? That it wasn’t? That it didn’t mean anything, or worse—that it did?

Kirishima exhales through his nose and rubs the back of his neck before finally speaking.

“I really want to. I don’t want to sleep alo— I wanna hold you.” His voice is rough, hoarse from all the things he isn’t saying. He’s chewing the words like anything could be taken wrongly “Say yes, just for tonight. Babe, you can hate me all you want tomorrow”

You nod, because that’s all you can do. You don’t want to hate him tomorrow.

“Kay then, imma drive, I think I’m good. You okay with that?”

You nod again.

Kirishima lingers for a second longer, like he’s waiting for you to take it back—to say you’ve changed your mind, that this is stupid, reckless, wrong. But you don’t.

When he finally moves, pushing himself up from the bathtub’s edge, you follow.

The party outside is still alive, voices rising and falling over the heavy bass of the music, laughter spilling through the cracks beneath the door. It feels too loud, too real compared to the quiet that had settled between you both.

Kirishima hesitates before unlocking the door, turning to look at you one last time, searching your face for something—permission, reassurance, maybe even regret. But whatever he finds, it’s enough. 

You just want to grope on him again, kiss him, squish his face with yours.

He opens the door, and the world comes rushing back in.

No one is standing outside waiting for you, no god of fury Mina, no traitorous Sero, no one watching with knowing eyes. But the paranoia still lingers in your chest, coiled tight as Kirishima takes your hand again, intertwining your fingers like it’s second nature.

When you step outside, the hot air hits you hard. You inhale deeply, trying to shake the tension that’s clinging to your skin.

Kirishima’s truck is parked a little way down the street, away from the cluster of other cars. His grip on your hand is steady as he walks you there, thumb rubbing small circles against your skin absentmindedly. It makes your chest tighten.

Once you’re at the passenger door, he lets go just long enough to open it for you, waiting until you climb inside before shutting it gently. You shoot him a glance that falls apart in seconds. You don’t need him to open the door for you, but the fact that he did because he wanted to.

Perhaps he cares for you as you care for him.

The driver’s seat creaks when he settles in, and for a second, neither of you speak. The air feels different now, heavy with something unspoken.

“You remember where my house is?” You ask, voice barely anything but a whisper.

“Yeah” Kirishima exhales slowly, his hands gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His jaw is tight, eyes fixed on the road ahead even though he hasn’t started driving yet.

You steal a glance at him, at the way his brows furrow just slightly, at the way his chest rises and falls in measured breaths. He’s thinking. Hard. And so are you.

The weight of what just happened—what’s still happening—sits between you like a living, breathing thing. It presses into your ribs, wraps around your throat, makes it impossible to speak.

But the silence that follows once again is unbearable.

So you say the only thing that comes to mind.

“Kiri.”

His grip on the wheel tightens for a second before he forces himself to relax. He finally turns his head, meeting your eyes with something unreadable. “Yeah?”

You don’t even know what you want to say. Do you ask him if this is a mistake? If it means anything? If it means too much?

Instead, all that comes -ever so raggedy- out is, “Drive.”

He nods once, turning the key in the ignition. The truck rumbles to life, headlights cutting through the darkness as he pulls onto the road.

Soon, the city stretches out before you, neon lights casting strange reflections on the windshield. The hum of the engine fills the space between you, but it doesn’t drown out the thoughts racing through your mind.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. You’re not sure. Wasn’t your house a 20 minute drive from Sero’s?

You’re not sure, not quite sure until you arrive, when the lack of Eijiro’s hand on your thigh is unbearable.

The moment he locks his car, both of you move in a rush.

Practically running up the stairs to your apartment, tripping over each other in a frantic, heated blur. Lips, tongues, hands pulling, pressing, taking.

You barely make it to the shower before you’re both tangled up in each other again.

The second the door swings shut behind you, Kirishima’s hands are on you again—steady, grounding, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

Neither of you speak as you move toward the shower, exhaustion finally settling in now that the night is behind you. The rush, the panic, the guilt—it’s all faded into something quieter, something heavier. You barely fight for the space, stepping inside together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The hot water soothes your skin, washing away the remnants of the night, but not the tension clinging to your chest. Kirishima stands behind you, arms wrapped loosely around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. His breathing is slow, deep, and for the first time in months, you feel yourself start to relax.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.

You nod, leaning back against him. “Yeah. Just a little sore”

“Mmm, I can fix that”

He presses a lazy kiss to your damp shoulder, his grip tightening just slightly before he exhales, long and heavy. Neither of you move to leave, letting the water rinse away the weight of everything; said and unsaid.

Fix what? The sound of your beating heart, or the ache in it for more of him? Both?

His hands wander, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding lower, pressing warm and firm against your stomach. A quiet, needy sound escapes you when he reaches your thighs, his touch featherlight. His lips find your neck, dragging lazy, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, like he’s memorizing the taste of you, like he can’t get enough.

And then, just when your body melts completely into his, his fingers slip between your thighs.

The first touch is teasing, the softest graze of his fingertips against your clit and folds, but it sends a shiver straight down your spine and your lower stomach. You gasp, your head tilting back against his shoulder as he circles, presses, works you open with patience, practiced ease.

“Want your pussy on my mouth, right now”

The moan that spills from your lips in response is inevitable, breathy and wanting, and Eijiro smiles against your skin, his voice a quiet rumble against your ear before he presses another kiss to the spot that's closer to your lips.

He shifts you just so he can kneel before you and place a kiss to your aching clit. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace up the plush skin of your leg, slowly, just barely grazing where you need him most.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. He retaliates by pressing his tongue to your aching heat, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“Eijiro—” His name slips from your lips in a breathless plea, but he only responds by dragging his tongue up again, his fingers sinking into your skin like he wants to claw your skin off. You hiss at the pain, but get high of the roughness of it.

One of his hands slides higher, palm pressing hard against your stomach before trailing lower again. He curls his tongue against you, circling it on your clit. He absolutely looks and sounds as if he’s devouring you. And you just can’t get enough.

Then, when he has you completely pressed against the wall, his fingers join the torturous rhythm of his mouth, slipping between your folds, teasing, pressing, pushing until your head falls back. Guttural noises swallowed between your thighs, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he enters you with two fingers.

Dazed by how good it feels, you stop caring about the temperature of the water anymore, you buck your hips against his mouth. Chasing a release.

His licks get sloppy, his rhythm too and he opens his eyes to look at you. 

“Want you to come on my fucking tongue” he says between smacking sounds, like he’s drunk on you. 

He sucks your clit, licking at it again as he twists his fingers inside you. Your legs start shaking like earlier, but you don’t get embarrassed about it this time. Eijiro, as if he doesn’t want you to pressure yourself even a bit, shrugs his shoulder on your leg, signing at you to hook it over his shoulder. You do it, wordlessly.

This new angle has him feral on you. He nibbles and licks, either with the flat of his tongue or with the tip of it. 

You’re lost in the sensation, every nerve alight. You can feel the rawness in the way he moves, while he’s completely focused on you, as if the world has disappeared and it’s only the two of you left.

You jerk under his ministrations; it’s a warning. A telltale sign that you’re going to come soon.

And when you finally do—when your body tenses, then shudders with release—he doesn’t stop. He rides it out, dragging every last wave of pleasure from you until you’re left breathless, completely at his mercy.

Only then does he pull away, his lips slick, his eyes dark with something unreadable as he looks up at you. For a moment, neither of you speaks—just a silent understanding that passes through the air.

By the time you dry off and slip into bed, the exhaustion is impossible to ignore and he hasn’t fixed any soreness, if anything he’s made it worse, but you don’t dare to point it out to him. He plops onto your bed and pulls you close without hesitation, tucking you against his chest like it’s instinct, like it’s where you’ve always belonged. You coo into the touch, set on using the air conditioner for tonight, just so you can let him warm you up.

You kiss the middle of his chest, and he almost flinches at how soft the action is.

Eijiro’s fingers trace slow, absentminded patterns on your back, the warmth of his body lulling you into something dangerously soft, dangerously safe. You’re not sure you’re ever going to fall asleep without being in his arms ever again, but your kisses on his chest, his collarbones and neck, don't stop.

“You’re not leaving, right?” you murmur, barely awake by now. Desperate for anything that’ll let you be at ease to fall asleep.

His arms tighten around you. “Not tonight.” He says and he kisses the top of your head.

It’s the last thing you hear—or feel, before sleep pulls you under, his steady heartbeat the only thing keeping the rest of the world where he’s in, at bay. Just for tonight.

You’ll deal with Mina and Heartbreak Co. Tomorrow.

_______

When the morning comes you realise, you want to be domestic. Casual. Just like this.  

When you wake up curled under his enormous bicep, long red hair sprawled messily all over his chest, mingling with yours, with you, there's a false notion as to why he's here still. Though you can't dive into it right now, with your eyes begging you to shut them close again and the bigger part of your brain begging you to fall back asleep. But you can't..

That itchy corner in the back of your mind won't let you.

Because Eijiro is here. Holly fucking hell, Eijiro is sleeping right under you.

You've never seen him asleep -the time you slept on each other for a good 30 minutes doesn't really count- and you're itching to lay your eyes on him. To steal a glance, to imprint the image in your brain. To create a memory because you're not so sure youre gonna see him again after this, utterly convinced last night was a petty fuck to the result of being high and drunk at Mina's party. 

Then again that's Kirishima for you. 

But, despite the fact that you feel angst in your soul, looking at the way the sun reflects on his skin makes you think that anything he did last night is just so sweet of him. To give you a dose of something so addicting, just when you were getting over him. something to grab onto so you dont forget him, so you remember him. 

You're not sure you've slept this well in ages. You already know you'll spend endless sleepless nights staring at your ceiling wishing you could rest like this again, or maybe wishing you hadn't slept at all, so you could savor every single second with him.

You’re gonna miss this moment terribly and you know it. But then again, you'll miss something that doesn't exist. You crave days like this, their non-existence. It's what makes them more desirable. you want what you cant have and it's killing you. 

Your throbbing head and the heavy blanket that sleep is, condemn you unconscious again, the second you feel warm and safe once more. A heaving chest that won't stop hurting is nothing compared to how tiring the previous night has been—it's nothing before the continuation of that dream that you were watching. In desperation to continue it, you melt in the only embrace that makes you ignore the sunlight so you can fall asleep again. 

When Kirishima opens his eyes it's like reality comes crashing in. He pays little attention to you, such as to lift you off of him and stand on his butt, in search of his phone, nervously and just so keen on not waking you up still. 

‘Good morning’ you utter, so lightly that you're not really sure he can hear it, he's not sure you understand what you're uttering either. 

‘Good morning babe’ he smiles, lightly. 

There's a kiss planted at the top of your head and had you been awake you'd either coo at its healing properties or chew him out. Both of these outcomes are too scary for him though, but perhaps, one is more slightly manageable than the other. 

A quick ramming of your fridge for anything edible follows; He’s rushing to the kitchen after he kisses you, the rustling sounds dragging you from the edge of sleep. You groan softly, stretching beneath the warm sheets, but you don’t open your eyes. Not yet. You want to savor this—just a few more seconds of pretending. Pretending that this is normal, that this is real. That mornings like this aren’t borrowed time.

Kirishima hums under his breath as he moves around your kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the quiet space. You should probably get up, but instead, you burrow deeper into your pillow, inhaling the faint scent of him still lingering on your sheets.

Maybe you’ll just never wash them again, right? So they’ll smell like him forever…

You don't know how long you lay there, stuck in that limbo between wanting to hold onto this moment forever and knowing you can't. Eventually, though, curiosity wins. You shuffle out of bed, padding barefoot toward the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

He's standing by the counter, shirtless, hair messy, flipping through his phone with a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. The sight of him in your home, in your space, like this, makes your stomach twist. Because this… this is just what you want.

Domestic. Casual. Just. Like. This. 

He glances up when he hears you, grinning around the toast. “Mornin’ again, babe.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your chest tightens at the nickname. “You found food?”

Kirishima shrugs, handing you the second piece of toast from his plate. “You don’t have much, but I made do.”

You take it wordlessly, biting into it as you lean against the counter next to him. Like he counts your bites for his own personal enjoyment, when you swallow your last bite, he’s suddenly leaning into you. Perhaps, for a kiss, if you would have it.

His movements are slow, deliberate—like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see if you’ll pull away. His eyes flicker to yours, searching, but you don’t move. You don’t stop him. You don’t stop him when he traps your chin between his fingers.

Instead, you hold your breath as he leans in, the warmth of him so close, the scent of soap and something uniquely him filling the space between you.

It’s not hurried or desperate, not like last night. This isn’t a kiss born from impulse or alcohol or the reckless heat of a party. This is something softer, something that lingers. Like those ones in Sero’s bathroom.

His lips brush against yours, featherlight, hesitant—giving you the chance to change your mind. But you don’t. You tilt your chin up, closing the distance, and the second your lips fully meet his, something inside you melts.

Kirishima exhales against your mouth, a sound almost like relief, like he’d been hoping for this, waiting for this. His fingers brush against your hip, not holding, just resting there, as if grounding himself in the moment.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, like he wants to savor every second. You let yourself do the same.

When you finally pull back, he’s still close enough that his breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes flicker open, warm, red as rubies and full of something you can’t quite detect.

You swallow. “What was that for?”

Kirishima grins, small and easy, like this is the most natural thing in the world. “Felt like the right thing to do babee.”

And when he leans in again, you don’t stop him.

“Don't call me that”

When he cocks his head to the side to look at you and he looks so cute at that, like a puppy, confused and with glimmering eyes, that’s when he laughs too, perfectly and and oh—you hate him by the way.

“Kay then” he kisses you and takes another bite of his toast before he chews his nexts words out “check your phone, Mina has been calling you non stop”

You groan, dropping your head against his chest for just a second before sighing and peeling yourself away. His warmth lingers, but the real world is creeping back in, persistent and unwelcome.

Your phone is face down on the counter, screen lighting up with yet another call from Mina. Just in time. You hesitate, glancing at Kirishima, who watches you with a strangely adorning expression, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world.

“You gonna answer?” he teases, nudging your hip with his, almost mocking the way Mina hip bumped him away from you last night.

Secretly, he wishes you don’t pick up. Just let him have a moment of comfortable silence with you.

You sigh dramatically, pouting, your shoulders almost drawn to your ankles, looking like a wet cat, before swiping to accept the call. “Mina, before you start yelling—”

‘Put her on speaker’ he mouths, but you ignore him.

“Oh, hell no!” Mina’s voice nearly bursts through the speaker, loud and full of chaotic energy. “Don’t you dare act like I wasn’t gonna start yelling! Where the hell are you? You left!—no text, no nothing! And guess who else was missing? Kirishima! Sero said he saw you and I didn't believe him and oh my gooood, girl, no!”

Kirishima snorts, completely unbothered. He steals the toast from your hand and takes a bite, cheeky as ever. You shoot him a glare, but he just grins and mouths busted over and over again.

“Relax, Mina,” you sigh. “I’m fine. I’m home. I just woke up.”

“Oh, I know you’re fine.” She gasps dramatically. “Wait, are you with him right now?”

You pause for half a second too long.

“You totally are!” Mina shrieks, and you have to hold the phone away from your ear. Kirishima just laughs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He towers beside you, tilting his head toward the phone. “Morning, Mina.” His voice is all lazy amusement, like he’s enjoying this way too much. Like he won.

“Oh, hell no, don’t ‘morning, Mina’ me! What the hell happened? Wait, don’t answer that—I don’t wanna know. Or maybe I do? Ugh! I’m having an existential crisis about your love life, what is this?”

You groan, covering your face with your hand. “Mina, I swear, it’s not a big deal—”

Mina’s voice explodes through the speaker, sharp and furious. “Are you kidding me right now?!  I was worried! What was I supposed to think when you just vanished with him?! I’ve been losing my damn mind trying to figure out if you were dead in a ditch somewhere?!”

Kirishima snickers, leaning in slightly.

“Ughhhhhh, I’ll see you later, Mina, Byeeeeee” you say quickly before hanging up, not giving her a chance to interrogate you further.

The moment you set your phone down, Kirishima is already grinning at you. “Busted,” he repeats playfully.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms and pout. “I hate you.”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

[soulidarity]

Hello! So I just read the one where reader is insecure about wearing a bathing suit, and Raf asking "are you afraid of me?" inspired me, so...

Can I please ask for a scenario with - separately - Rafayel and Sylus (and if you feel like it, throw in the other non human bois too) where (fem or gn) reader actually IS a bit scared of them after finding out that they're Lemurian/dragon/etc, and like they're conflicted because on the one hand they still are in love with the boys, but on the other the fact that they're non human is... intimidating. And the boys catch on to that and try to confront or reassure them? 🥺 Tysm

(also if reader can be not MC pls)

afraid

She walked in to rafayels home, sneaking around, she had come back early from a buisness trip and wanting to surprise the artist told him the flight was delayed.

Through the window, she caught his purple hair on the pool. Quickly making her way towards him, she started to make out a fin coming out from the pool. Weird, did he buy new pool toys? Getting closer, she noticed it was moving. She picked up her pace, standing at the side of the pool, getting a full view of rafayel resting with his eyes closed and a big tail instead of his legs. On his face and neck, scales were scattered around.

"What the fuck?!" she screamed, dropping the present. Startled, the lemurian went underwater briefly before popping up with a big, nervous smile, his teeth unnaturally sharp.

"Cutie!"

In a fight or flight response, she bolted out of the home, quickly getting in her car and driving away. She could Rafayel grunting and getting out of the pool, trying to follow after her. Due to the time it took to detransform, he was too late.

In the safety of her home, she locked the door, the window, closed the courtains and locked herself in her room. What was that? What was he?

the phone was ringing, she ignored it. a part of her wanted to block him, but this was her boyfriend.

the texts started flooding in

[please]

[please pick up i dont wanna do this over text]

[please, i am begging you]

another call. after the third ring, she picked up

"...hello?"

"oh thank god! Look I promise it has an explenation and like, i didnt think youd get here so soon! you didnt tell me!"

"rafayel, i dont know what i saw but i know that that is not normal. im trying to trust and believe you right now after seeing the sharpest teeth i have ever seen and youre making it kinda hard"

"youre right... youre right... you know lemuria?"

"the linkon version of the atlantis myth?"

"well its not really a myth more so an ancient civilization..."

"rafayel. i just saw you in a monster form, please get to the point"

silence

a light sob is heard on the other line

"im... im not a monster... I swear... I swear I'm not"

"oh! raf thats not- im sorry i didnt think it through I'm just scared..." she took a deep breath in "can we restart?"

a shaky exhale is heard before he continued "I'm lemurian. When you're away I like to shift into my natural form since keeping up the glamour of being human can be... exhausting"

"i see..."

"Im not dangerous-! well, I'll be honest. I can be dangerous but I swear on everything that I will never hurt you... not again"

"again?"

"I- I meant like you getting scared! yeah, that."

she chuckled "can i come over?"

"id like that very much"

○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○

okay so! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REQUEST! i MIGHT write sylus version later but as my pinned explains i write xav and raf, however i really like this idea and maybe i should get out of my comfort zone and write other characters.

that being said, i found this one hard lol.

[starly-amazing]

Siffrin Needs a *Hand*

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Siffrin asks Isabeau for some "help"

Tags: Asexual Sexual Intimacy, Hand Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Canon, First Time, Porn with Feelings, Asexual Character, Siffrin Has A Penis.

archiveofourown org/works/63051979

--- --- ---

Siffrin doesn't feel sexual attraction.

He doesn't. They never did. Not even towards Isabeau. Their boyfriend of... how many months?

They do, however, have certain urges sometimes. Not often.

But they're just physical, not directed at anyone.

Isabeau's beautiful. It's in his name for star's sake. He's gentle, and funny, and kind. They love him, yes. So, so much. They would do anything for him—well, mostly anything. Obviously not the sex, but—

Isabeau sighs against Siffrin in bed and pulls them closer to his chest. His warmth radiates through their entire body. It's... almost too much.

He mumbles something incomprehensible into their ear and hums as he squeezes the hand he fell asleep holding.

They'd be lying if they didn't feel something right now.

It started as it usually does; some annoying pressure began building between their legs earlier that day. Usually, they'd just steal off somewhere and deal with it as quickly as they could just to get it out of the way. But today was jam-packed with activities with their family so they never got the chance.

Ignoring it didn't help much either.

So now they're here, curled up in bed with Isabeau lying flush against their back.

He's so warm.

And they can't get the sensation to go away.

They bite back a groan and shift their legs to get some sort of relief.

So inconvenient.

Maybe they can just sleep it off. Isabeau's way ahead of them on that front.

They squeeze their eye shut and take a deep breath, but the more they try to ignore it, the harder it becomes.

Maybe they can just slip out of Isabeau's grasp and hide away in the bathroom. If they're quick they can just say they needed to go if he happens to wake up.

But... a thought tickles at the back of his mind that doing that would be entirely unfair to Isabeau. Wouldn't he want to help?

He's right there, after all.

They've denied this to him for so long, so how would he feel if they did this behind his back?

On the other hand, he's asleep so it would also be unfair to wake him up.

Siffrin bites his lip.

No, no. They squeeze their eyes shut harder. What would Isabeau say if he knew Siffrin is thinking this?

He would be very upset with them if they did this for his sake only, and that is not good!

But...

Maybe they want him to help. Maybe they want to try it, just to know what it's like.

Siffrin slides his hand down slowly and touches the base of his penis. He flinches at the sensation.

But again, he's still asleep, so it's off the table.

Stars, why does this have to be so complicated?

Isabeau shifts in bed and starts rubbing slow circles on Siffrin's chest. His breathing is still slow and even. Still fast asleep.

Stars, this is not helping.

His mind keeps flicking to the image of Isabeau's hands sliding further and further down.

And, of course—as if the Universe listened to their thoughts—Isabeau stretches out and relaxes, his hand now dangerously close to their groin.

Stars.

Just ignore it. It's fine! It's only this bad because you won't stop thinking about it, creep!

They let out a squeaky exhale and rub their legs together.

Isabeau mumbles something and stretches again.

"Sif?" he asks blearily.

"Mmm, Isa?" They force their voice to sound equally sleepy and calm.

"You okay?" He stops rubbing their chest and presses his palm to their tensed side.

Of course, he's barely awake and he still notices!

"Yeah, yeah. I just um... "

"Are you sure?" Isabeau sits up and coughs a little to clear his throat. "Talk to me, Sif. I'll help out in any way I can."

Wouldn't that be nice?

"It's not bad—I mean—It's just that—" They shift their legs together more.

Isabeau leans over to look at Sif's face. They turn away from him.

"Sif?"

"I promise it's not bad!" they almost snap. Isabeau flinches. "Sorry, just... give me a second."

"Okay." Isabeau relaxes and settles in closer.

Oh stars, he's awake and now they've promised they'll tell him.

They promised.

They just need to.

He needs to...

Ugh, blind it all.

"I uh... " They swallow hard. "Feeling a bit... uncomfortable... down there."

"Down—ohhh." They can hear his breath hitch at the realization. They're both quiet for a minute or two. Siffrin's tension steadily grows, as does Isabeau's.

"D'you want me to leave so you can take care of it?"

"No!" they blurt out and feel their face heat up enough to fry something.

"O—okay," Isabeau's cheeks darken to a similar shade. Or at least Siffrin imagines they do, as it's still too dark to tell.

Another long silence. Neither of them have moved an inch.

"So uh," Isabeau begins, his voice a bit strained.

"So uh," Siffrin parrots.

Isabeau's hands twitch at their sides and a bead of sweat pours out where their bare skin touches.

"Do you... want me to get you some water or something?"

Siffrin shakes his head. "I'm fine—I mean—" They shut their mouth with a clack of their teeth.

Isabeau finally moves... only to shift his lower half away from Siffrin.

He twitches his head toward Isabeau and gives him a confused look for a brief second before turning back.

"S-sorry, uhm," Isabeau trails off. His fingers keep twitching every few moments. It's getting a little overstimulating for Siffrin so they move around a bit.

They try not to imagine one of those hands wrapped around his—

He blinks away the thoughts as soon as they pop up...

But why, though?

Why torture himself and confuse Isabeau when he can just... ask... for help?

Just to know what it's like.

Just to get the tension out—and then they can pretend it never happened!

He should just ask, he has to ask.

But no, they don't have to ask! They can still choose to ignore it and eventually, they'll both fall back asleep. Maybe they can talk about something boring, like...

He thinks.

His mind comes up blank.

Stars, this really is taking up all his brainpower, isn't it?

Gross.

Gross!

Why is it like this?

The curiosity burns almost as much as the arousal.

He can just ask once. And he knows Isabeau would be ok with stopping if he doesn't like it.

But what if his expectations are very different than Siffrin's? What if he wants them to... put it somewhere..?

Ew.

No, no it's fine, again, as long as they say what they want Isabeau will be fine!

It's just that saying what they want is the problem.

Isabeau is also making faint strained noises.

The grip on Siffrin's side is getting slightly tighter with each passing moment.

"Hey Sif,"

They can hear something in his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Uhhh."

Stars. Neither of them are good at this. They're gonna be stuck there forever waiting for the other to say it at this rate.

They know he wants to. They've been out of the loops long enough to be able to figure these things out—at least sometimes.

But they've also not been out of the loops long enough for Isabeau to have completely gotten over his fears of asking them for affection—and obviously, neither have they.

"You want to ask me something," they state, not ask.

Isabeau swallows and nods.

"I uh... want to ask you something too."

Isabeau goes even more rigid.

"Y-yeah?"

"Maybe we can... say it together?"

"Yeah sounds good but... if it's not the same question?"

"Pretty confident it is," they wheeze.

Isabeau gasps. "But what if it's not?"

"Then uh... let's just go to bed and pretend this never happened?"

"I—" His shoulders shake from uncomfortable laughter, "that's probably not the healthiest choice but... sure."

Not as unhealthy as bottling it up. Siffrin takes a deep breath. "Okay, on three... one, two, three."

They both blurt out louder than they wanted:

"Can you help me with it?"

"Do you want me to help you?"

And then, with a little more enthusiasm than either of them expect:

"YES!"

They both sputter and choke out some childish giggles. Siffrin feels some tension flow away just from that. Maybe if they keep laughing they can get over it that way, but they already asked so it's too late to back out now.

When the laughter dies down a bit, Isabeau coughs out a shaky "Really? You really want me to help?"

Siffrin nods. "Yeah, I uh... " He carefully puts the words together in his mind and less carefully translates them into speech "I don't really feel any different about the uh—" they pause. "You know."

"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific, buddy." Isabeau chuckles.

Siffrin whines. "You know. Like. The attraction part. You know. Once in a while I still do get the... urges. But it's not really, er—it's just the physical feeling and I just try to get it out of the way as fast as I can so it stops bothering me but now I'm here with you and I love you and trust you and I'm kind of curious and think it'd be mean to make you leave or to go off on my own and I kinda wanna know what it's like to have someone else touuuuuu... touch me there with hands—hands only no butt stuff but also I don't know if I'll like it I'm just curious and I don't wanna lead you on or anything this might be a one-time thing I don't know but if you're okay with that then I would—"

"Sif."

"Eep!" Their heart does a flip. "Yeah, Isa?"

"I'm okay with anything you're comfortable with. If you want to do this just once and never again, I'm perfectly fine." His breath is heavy on their neck.

They exhale, long and slow. "Okay," his voice shakes. "Then um." He doesn't move. He's not sure how to start.

He can feel Isabeau's breathy chuckle against his neck. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know. I never thought I'd get this far."

Isabeau stifles another laugh. "Do you want to face me?"

"I—uhm... I don't—I think I want to stay like this, for now."

Isabeau hums and nods against their neck. "What can I touch?"

Isn't that obvious? "My... " Oh, stars they forgot the word. HOW CAN HE FORGET THE WORD? "Thing."

"Your penis? Dick? Cock?" Isabeau pauses and they can sense a smirk grow on his face. "Your willy, dingle, knob, hot rod."

"Stop!" Siffrin sputters. They bite back a laugh. "Yes. my... penis."

"What about your balls? Or Bollocks, nuts, huevos rancheros."

"Not! Not those, just the peeeeeenis."

"Okay," he hums, "and just hands, right?"

"Yes! Hand! Just... hand, for now." He briefly thinks about asking for a hand but doesn't know when to slip it in.

Isabeau nods. "Do you want me to do anything else first? To work up to it?"

Siffrin feels as if he's going to explode if they don't start right now. They shake their head violently. "Just start, please."

Isabeau nuzzles into the back of Siffrin's neck. "Haha, you sound eager." His breath is hot on their skin. "Okay I'm going to touch your thigh and work my way up, is that okay?"

Siffrin nods. The pressure is getting intense. They can't tell if it's the anticipation or just what happens if they wait too long. They've had to have waited longer at some point in the past. But again, the circumstances are a bit different now and he has been ignoring it for the past few hours and it hasn't gone away on its own.

With Siffrin's help, Isabeau slowly slides their pants down as far as he can reach. The fabric brushing against their sensitive cock sends a shudder up their spine. Isabeau's fingers come to rest lightly on their inner thigh. He waits a moment when Siffrin whimpers before sliding his hand up to the base of their penis.

"This okay?" he breathes.

"Mhm," Siffrin whines. His face is so hot. Their chest is so hot. His—really, his everything is so hot and Isabeau's touch is not helping with it.

"I'm gonna touch it now."

Siffrin nods.

Isabeau slides two fingers up their shaft—

"Aah!" Siffrin jumps as a jolt rushes up their body. It's—definitely not the same as touching themself, that's for sure!

"You okay?" Isabeau stops.

"Yeah," they pant. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Isaaaa," they wheeze.

"Okay, okay, just making sure," he hums. "Going to start again." He presses his fingers at the base of their cock and slowly slides them up again.

They don't flinch that time but the sensation is still so strong. Warm. It's so warm. And a bit sweaty. Scratch that, very sweaty.

It's... a lot, but... nice.

"Ah!" he hisses as Isabeau's fingers brush against the head.

"You okay?"

"Mmm," they nod. "Just... sensitive."

"Do you want to show me how you do it?"

"Er... well I kinda just, you know—" they do a furious jerk-off motion, "to get it over with."

"Aww, that's no fun," he teases. Siffrin can only let out a small whine. "Tell you what." He shifts around a bit to get comfortable. "I'll start slow and speed up and you tell me when it feels right. You can put your hand on mine to guide me."

"Okay."

Isabeau places his palm on the top of their penis and slowly curls his fingers around it. They twitch against him and have to shift their legs a bit to adjust.

He's completely surrounded by Isabeau, in more ways than one. They put their hand on top of his and slot their fingers together so that they're both touching their penis.

Isabeau gives them one slow, gentle stroke. Their fingers clench and relax. Still a lot, but not quite as overwhelming. They exhale slowly.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

They both still for a moment and wait.

"Sif?"

"Huh? Oh, right." They're supposed to be guiding, after all. "Sorry, forgot."

"Haha, it's okay."

Right, just—they slide it up, and down. Nice and slow, at the same rhythm of their breathing. It's nice. Close.

It's harder to hold on to with Isabeau's massive hand there too. They have to flex their palm to fight off a cramp already forming.

They continue that speed for a minute or so before taking one more deep breath and picking up the pace.

It's good. It's good. The warmth and tightness is wonderful. The soft sounds Isabeau is making into their hair is doing... something to them. It's so much. It's—

"Aah—" Siffrin chokes out and slaps their free hand over their mouth.

"Sif?" Isabeau stops.

"Sorry!"

"About?"

"The... noise?"

Isabeau snorts. "Sif that was cute! Why apologize?"

Cute!? "Because uh... I... "

Isabeau gives their dick a little squeeze and he squeaks out another sound.

"Cute."

Siffrin can only whine.

"Sif, it's okay, it's normal for people to make weird noises during this. It means you're enjoying it." He flinches. "I mean, you are, enjoying this, right?"

"Yeah, yeah it's nice," they pant.

"Do you want to keep going?"

"Please," they beg. They want to be surrounded by him forever. They want to be held and cared for and paid attention to and just... be selfish and not feel bad about it for once.

Isabeau starts moving his hand again before their thoughts start to spiral.

Immediately Siffrin lets out another keen and manages to stop himself from covering his mouth.

"That's right Sif," he breathes into their ear, "Ah, I want to hear you. I want to know how good you're feeling." He takes Siffrin's free hand and intertwines their fingers.

They can only manage a squeak in affirmation.

"Do you touch yourself anywhere else when you're doing this?"

Siffrin pauses. Do they? "Maybe?"

"Can I—ah... explore?"

They give a short nod and bite their lip.

"Anywhere off limits?"

He pauses again, "I don't think so? I'll—I'll tell you if you touch something I don't like."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Super duper promise?"

"Isaaa."

"You gotta say it, Siiiif."

They jerk their head back and lightly bump Isabeau's nose. "Super duper promise."

Isabeau starts stroking them again, almost as slow as the start at first but picks up the pace faster than before. His other hand starts sliding across their taut stomach. Their fingers are still intertwined. Siffrin isn't sure what he should do, so he lets his arm go limp and get dragged along for the ride.

"Mmm," Isabeau pants. "When I do it to myself I usually just touch all around and pretend it's... ahh." He shuts up.

"Pretend it's what?"

"Erm, well—I mean—I don't want you to get the wrong impression or think I'm going to try anything you don't like or put any expectations on you based on my fffffantisies or something and well—" he swallows. "Sorry. Sometimes I pretend it's your hand."

"Oh."

"S-sorry! I should have kept that to myself."

"No, it's okay," Siffrin smiles. "I don't mind."

"Really?"

They shake their head. "It seems... pretty normal to me. I think? Why would I try to stop you from your own thoughts?"

"Right," Isabeau sighs and relaxes back against Siffrin. His breath rolls off their neck, hot and heavy. "Just wanted to make sure I don't make you uncomfortable." He squeezes at the bit of pudge that's grown on their belly since they started eating more than a few bites each meal.

"You're not. I promise." Siffrin hums and turns toward him. They can barely see his face from where they are but they kiss at the air and hope the attempt counts. Isabeau responds by kissing the back of their neck. "It's kind of cute. I guess. Like—" You love me so much even though I don't want sex and you're okay with that and work with it instead of leaving me and finding someone more compatible.

Nope, too honest, not ready to say that out loud yet.

"Like, you love me, a lot, and stuff," they mumble. Good enough for now.

Isabeau makes a small noise. "Aww, Sif."

"Anyway, uh," Siffrin grunts and bucks his hips forward a bit.

Isabeau laughs softly. "Eager, are we?"

"Shush," they chide and start guiding Isabeau's hand back into action.

They're getting close, they think, despite all the interruptions.

Still overstimulating, Still so much, but they...

They need more.

He starts to slowly buck into their hands.

It's clumsy at first. Hard to get a good rhythm—but the motions seem to help them fight off a bit of the overstimulation.

They let out another warbling keen as Isabeau's finger brushes against their nipple. They shift their chest forward which causes their hips to slide back until...

Something jabs into their ass. Isabeau lets out a whiny grunt and pulls back.

Oh, right. That's why he shifted away earlier. They did that.

They did that.

"Sorry," Isabeau pants and stops stroking. "Just did that on its own."

Stopping again? He wants to scream! "Why?"

"Ah? I mean, well. Because all of this is... hot, and I can't really help it."

They blink. "No, I mean why sorry?" They tug slightly on their dick but Isabeau doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh!" Isabeau sighs. "Haha, right. Yeah, I just want to be sure I'm not doing anything to make you uncomfortable."

"Isa." Siffrin turns back to him.

"Yeah?" He bites his lip.

"You won't. I promise."

"But I might, and we both know how bad you are at setting boundaries."

He's got you there. They frown and turn away slightly. "Right, sorry."

"Nu-uh! You're not allowed to apologize either!"

Siffrin whines.

"Isaaa, I already promised I'll tell you if you do something I don't like." They tug again. "So, please,"

"Oh!" Isabeau finally gets the message and starts again. It's building back up. They're close.

Isabeau brushes against their nipple again. They cry out and squirm under him.

"D'ya like this?"

"Yeah," they swallow.

"Good, ah, good." He keeps at it. "Let me hear you, Sif." He gives it a little pinch and drags out another high moan from Siffrin's throat.

His strokes get a bit more sloppy as he focuses more on their chest, so Siffrin has to take the lead with his own hand.

"You're doing so good, Sif. So good."

They start to curl over as the tension becomes blindingly hot. They speed up and get louder, and louder. It's a lot, it's good, it's too much, it aches, it's wonderful, it's everything all at once. Isabeau abandons his ministrations on their nipple in favor of holding on for dear life as they buck into their joined hands and keep going and going until—

"Sif, I love you so m—"

With one last cry, they come everywhere. The release of pressure was enough to have them go limp with relief but Isabeau isn't quite ready to stop. He picks up rubbing their nipple again and keeps stroking.

"Oh, oh Sif, you did so well." His voice is so strained.

Siffrin stops bucking and basks in the warmth of Isabeau still rubbing him. But it quickly becomes too much as their dick softens. The feeling of their cum on their hand doesn't help either and they find themself unconsciously wiping it on the blankets, dick still firmly grasped.

Ew.

"Ah—" their other hand parts from Isabeau's and flies to their crotch. Isabeau immediately stops.

"Too much?"

"Yeah, uhm," they let out a long sigh and stretch out. "S'okay now."

"Did I help? Do you feel better? Do you feel good?"

"Mmm," they hum and kiss his hand. His other hand is still intertwined with theirs around their penis but it doesn't seem either of them are ready to let go just yet.

They like the hug.

They love the closeness.

The care.

His voice.

His words.

Even if it was a bit much at times.

"Thank you, Isa," they pant. He's just a hot, sweaty mess at this point. As Isabeau pulls them closer to him, they can tell he is too. "I love you, too."

Isabeau lets out a choked grunt and squeezes them. He's still so tense. His breathing is still labored. He still won't press his lower half against them.

"Isa," they say after a long pause.

"Yeah?"

"Wwwwant me to help you too?"

They can hear his breath hitch in his throat. He swallows with some effort.

"If you're okay with it," he breathes," please."

Siffrin's heart flutters at the desperation.

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Ah... maybe just... what I did for you? If that's okay."

Siffrin nods and hums.

"But first, I uh... " He tugs at their shoulder and they turn to face him.

"I wanna look at you for a sec," he sighs and tilts Siffrin's chin up. It's still pretty dark but they can somewhat make out his features. His skin glistens faintly in the moonlight, his hair is wild and much of it is slicked against his forehead, he is smiling, so so softly... at them.

"So pretty, Sif. You're so pretty."

Siffrin whines and buries his face in the bed.

"Nooo," he whines and carefully gets them to look at him again.

"You have the prettiest eye and the prettiest hair and it's so soft and nice and fun to brush and I love how you kept the dark tips so I can see how much you've grown it since we first met and—"

Siffrin squirms and covers their face with their hands.

"And you're so nice and kind and brave and always willing to try new things and are getting so so much better at being honest about your feelings and—"

"Isaaaaaaa,"

He chuckles and kisses their sweaty forehead. "Haha, I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I just love you so much, Sif."

Siffrin feels another twitch in their groin again as if just saying that could push them into another orgasm. "I love you too, Isa, so much. I uh—" their head feels heavy and words will not come easily.

"Pretty too, and nice, and funny, strong, good man." They try to kiss his forehead but can only reach his chin.

They feel Isabeau's laugh flow through them and relax more. They can probably fall asleep just like this. He closes his eye.

"Aww, sleepy Sif," he coos.

Wait!

He jerks up and almost headbutts Isabeau in the chin.

"Not yet!" They push at his shoulder. "Your turn!"

"Haha, okay," he hums and gives Siffrin another hug. They shift their leg forward and brush it against Isabeau's still-hard cock, making him shudder and squeak.

Isabeau lets go of Siffrin to turn around. They have to maneuver themself a bit in order to be able to reach, but they manage after a moment. He's too low to kiss him on the neck, although he does try and manages to plant a smooch between his shoulder blades. Isabeau seems to like it either way.

"Okay," Siffrin breathes.

"Okay," Isabeau copies. He hooks his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and waits for Siffrin to copy. They both tug at his pants and slip them down just enough to free his erection. He lets out another harsh pant as the fabric slides across his skin.

Isabeau's hands cup around Siffrin's very lightly. He follows them fluidly as they retrace their steps. Fingers against his inner thighs, slide up to the base of his cock, wait for him to stop whimpering, brush their fingers up his shaft, wait for him to stop whimpering again.

"Sif," he wheezes, "Oh, Sif." He shifts his legs a bit.

"Sif what?" They smirk. They pull their hand up a bit away from Isabeau's penis and take note of the small bit of resistance that wasn't there before.

"Sif, please."

"Please what?"

"Please. Grab it... " After a small pause. "If that's okay."

Ohh, they might actually enjoy this a lot more than they expected. He's just too good.

"Grab what?" He smirks and squeezes Isabeau's thigh a bit

"Grab m'penis, please."

"Sorry, I don't know what a m'penis is."

"Siiiiffff."

They snort, "Sorry, sorry." He grabs the base and Isabeau violently bucks against him.

"Ah! Sorry!" he stammers. "It's just... wow."

Siffrin can't help but feel a little proud at the reaction. Though, If one touch was enough to do that, then they worry his heart might not be able to handle much more than that.

"Do you always get this—er... like this?"

"N-no. I—" he wheezes. "Never this much, I just uh... you... I didn't think I'd ever get this far with you... and now it's all kinda... I don't know."

Cute.

Siffrin gives him another stroke, a bit harder and faster this time. Isabeau lets out a choked grunt and slaps his hand over his mouth, still gripping Siffrin's.

Super cute.

They try not to laugh. "Hey, what did you just tell me about that?"

Isabeau whines but pulls his hand away.

"I want to hear you, too."

Another whine escapes him. "Okay. Okay, I won't hold back for you, Siffaroo."

They start slow but pick up the pace a lot quicker than Isabeau did for them. They feel how his hand trembles above theirs, how his thumb rubs at the tip of his penis every time he can reach, how each stroke gets a tiny bit easier the slicker it gets. They're still not sure about the feeling of his... fluids on their hand, but it seems like a fair price to witness Isabeau coming undone with such a simple gesture.

"Nnf, Sif. Sif." His voice is much higher than normal.

"You like that?" Siffrin purrs.

They can feel him tugging more against their hand, willing him to go faster.

"Aahh, yes, yes, I like it, I love it Sif, please more."

Siffrin tries to play with Isabeau's chest as he did for them but they can barely reach under him. He can only manage to wiggle his fingers around so he doesn't lose feeling in his arm.

"I'm—I'm close." Another harsh grunt escapes his lips and he squeezes down on Siffrin's hand and picks up the pace. He begins to buck his hips against their hands, just like they did.

And the noises; every exhale carries with it a soft sigh interrupted by the occasional louder moan.

Cute.

A thought pops into his mind.

"Isabeau," he murmurs.

He can only make a small noise in acknowledgment.

A sly smile grows on their face and they lean as close as they can to his ear.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he purrs, "I love you."

And just like that, Isabeau's whole body tenses as he comes into Siffrin's hand with a loud cry.

Ew. But Siffrin can't help but laugh at that.

"Hah," Isabeau pants, "don't make fun of meeee~!"

"But you are fun," they hum.

Isabeau whines and goes silent for a moment as he catches his breath. Siffrin continues to stroke slowly until Isabeau pulls his hand away.

"That was amazing, Sif."

"Aww, was it nut the best experience you've ever had?"

Isabeau snorts so loud it sounds like it hurts.

"Don't get too cocky now!"

It's their turn to snort as Isabeau shifts back around to face them. They rest their wrist on his side, unsure what to do about their soiled hand. He takes his clean one and brushes his boyfriend's sweaty hair from his brow.

He's beautiful. The way he looks at them with such adoration that they can tell even in the dimmest light how he's feeling. The way his mouth parts slightly as he catches his breath. Everything.

"That was really nice."

They feel a rush in their chest.

"Yeah." They nuzzle into him. Now that the high is wearing off, they let relaxation take its hold. They haven't felt this calm in a long time.

Isabeau puts his arm against Siffrin's back and pulls them closer. Isabeau's penis brushes against theirs and they both jump.

"Sorry!" Isabeau chirps.

"S'fine," they sigh. "Just surprised."

"It's not too sensitive, or anything?"

They shake their head.

"Good, good." He goes silent for another long moment. "Hey, Sif," he pants, "Can we put our... dicks together? Against each other? Just to touch. I won't do anything else. Just want to feel you against me. And it's okay if you don't want to, I won't push you to do anything more if you—"

Smiling, Siffrin shifts forward and slips his knee between Isabeau's thighs. His breath hitches in his throat as they slide their penis up against his. It doesn't feel like anything special in particular now that he's prepared, but it is warm. Comforting, almost.

Like holding hands with no fingers.

They scrunch their nose. Probably not the best comparison, but Siffrin can't be bothered using their brain to search for anything better.

He pushes the thought aside and inches forward. Isabeau lets out a long, deep sigh.

"Thank you, Sif."

"For what?"

"For wha—? For everything. For trusting me enough to ask for this. For being gentle with yourself and not letting me do more than you're comfortable with. For doing this for me too, for wanting to do this for me too. And for wanting to be with me in general."

"Oh," was all they could manage.

"Was that too much?" Isabeau tries to look at their face but they bury it deeper into his chest.

"No, I just... don't know what to say." He traces lazy circles around a small scar on Isabeau's back. "In a good way."

"Aww, Sif." He squeezes them and they let out a tiny squeak. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. That's enough for me." He kisses the top of their head. It's hard to feel under the tangle of hair they should probably take better care of, so they lean up so their forehead is just visible and push it toward Isabeau's mouth.

He gets the hint almost instantly and plants another soft kiss right at their hairline.

They kiss him back, right on the collarbone.

"Is this," he pauses and digs his fingers into their shoulder. It feels nice, "something you might want to do again?"

Siffrin thinks.

Isabeau's fingers twitch against them. "Really, it's okay if this is a one-time thing or you just need to think more."

"I think... maybe?"

"Really?" Isabeau gasps.

"I—it was a lot to handle, but it did feel good and I liked how excited you were and I liked making you happy, too."

"Aww, Sif." He squeezes them. "But this isn't just about me, you know."

"I know," they hum. "I still liked doing it for you. It's kind of like that time we went into that room with a bunch of mirrors. It was a lot and a bit disorienting, but still fun, and I just... really loved seeing how happy you were, making all those poses and trying—" they lower their voice to almost a whisper, "and failing," they cough, "to not run face first into them."

Isabeau chokes out a giggle at that. "Siiif, you're not gonna let me live that down, are you?" he teases and boops their nose.

"Tee hee, nope!" They boop him right back. "But anyway, it was like that. Except more intense... and messier."

"That's good to hear," Isabeau sighs. "And I'm sure if you don't wait as long to ask me when you're feeling like that, it won't be quite so overwhelming."

"Ah, right." Of course, they're supposed to share their feelings before something nearly explodes. "That's probably a good idea," he chuckles.

"I'm full of 'em," Isabeau smiles. He squeezes them and starts combing his fingers through their hair. They almost immediately melt at the sensation. He rubs against Isabeau's chest. Still sweaty and a bit sticky where his arm is bare, but nice. They flex their fingers and realize it's still covered in drying fluids.

Oh, and so is the bed.

"We should probably clean up."

Isabeau groans. "Don't wanna move."

Siffrin pouts. "Then—" he wipes his hands on the back of Isabeau's shirt.

"Gross," he huffs, "but also kinda hot."

Siffrin scrunches their nose and sticks their tongue out at Isabeau before burying themself right back against him.

"I love you, Sif," Isabeau sighs.

Siffrin whines into his shirt. "Loveyoutooisa."

"I really, really do," he hums and ruffles their hair.

[marvelstars]

There´s always a price to pay

Anakin Skywalker

Anakin didn´t have an attachment problem before his mother died. In fact Anakin became attached because his mother died and that lead to his fall in ROTS when he tried to keep Padme alive by any means neccesary. Anakin didn´t get his balance back until ROTJ.

I see a lot of fans, especially anti-anakin fans talk about how his "attachment" problem was the main reason why he could never be a good Jedi, they usually go back to George Lucas commentary about him being fearing for Padme in ROTS because he was attached but if this is their inspiration they are unaware or forget Lucas comments about Anakin on EP I and EPII.

Because Anakin pretty much had to "let go" of his mother in slavery on EP I when he was 9 to become a Jedi. At 9 Anakin wasn´t just compassionate, he was self- sacrificical as well, he did that out of love for his family and for his friends. His only problem was the he loved too much(acording to lucas) and to the Jedi Order eyes.

Anakin was asked to leave his mother behind and never contact her again as the price to become a Jedi, that was what he was asked to do, to truly become a Jedi and he did it.

Anakin wasnt "attached" to his mother, Anakin LOVED his mother just like he loved Padme, that´s different but Jedi teachings didn´t approve of love, you can have "compassion" (even when I can´t remember any Jedi in the actual movies made by Lucas having compassion for anybody in particular, except Luke and Anakin) but you can´t love, that always has been part of their beliefs and fandom needs to remember that, because that´s central to the story.

EP II: Anakin discovers that this singular action of doing everything the Jedi way cost his mother her life, because he wasn´t there to protect her, she got herself a loving family for herself but she was left vulnerable to Tatooine´s dangers while her Jedi Son wasn´t allowed to contact her for 10 years. THIS was the beggining of Anakin´s "attachment issues" THIS was also the beggining of Anakin´s fall to the darkside when he killed the tusken raiders who kidnaped and tortured his mother for weeks in revenge.

Acording to Lucas commentary this singular event unbalanced Anakin for the rest of his life right until Return of the Jedi.

Because from Anakin´s perspective being a Jedi lead to him abandoning his mother and letting her die, that was a mistake he wasn´t willing to allow again. He became fixated on keeping Padme, Rex, his soldiers, fellow padawans, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Palpatine, whoever was under his care alive by any means neccesary and he no longer cared about being the pefect Jedi because being that killed his mother. Still a lot of his efforts were not enough to keep them alive especially during the clone wars, which convinced him he needed to become more powerful to keep them safe, which was the trap Palpatine put to make him fall "Help me destroy the Jedi Order and I will teach you how to save you wife and keep the galaxy at peace, we will have peace" It was a faustian exchange and Anakin agreed, just like he agreed to leave his mother behind so many years ago.

In both the clone wars series and official novels, other characters including Sith like Count Dooku made the comment there was a growing darkness in Anakin post EPII and the reason for this was because he was already using the darkside at the time of the clone wars but he didn´t fall fully into it until ROTS, he used it when he tought he needded it to protect his loved ones or end more quickly a battle in the clone wars.

You know how Lucas enjoys making his narrative ryhme? and both Luke and Anakin stories were made to ryhme.

Luke was presented with this same choice, stay, sacrifice your friends lifes and become a Jedi or leave to rescue your friends. Luke choose to rescue his friends even if it cost him his hand, promising he would come back. Because he feelt more free to do so as a young adult than Anakin at 9. Luke wasn´t the perfect Jedi in Yoda and Obi-Wan´s eyes because he cared for his friends and family but for Luke that was alright because that was the right thing to do.

Luke was presented with another choice, kill your sith father and his master the Emperor to truly become a Jedi. Luke choose to save his father and have compassion for him because for him doing the contrary was cruel and a sure way to fall to the darkside.

This doesnt mean Luke didn´t have doubts or darkside temptations, remember when he force chocked Jabba´s guards and told Jabba he was going to kill him? remember when he almost killed Vader to protect Leia? he was using the darkside to save his loved ones, just like his father did at his age. The difference was that having friends around who supported him unconditionally, not because of duty but because of love, helped to ground him. This gave him the idea that if this worked for him, it could work for his father as well, if only anyone showed him compassion again, not because of duty, not as a quid pro quo but because of plain unconditional love.

This action was enough to awake in Vader himself the desire to have compassion and love again, for his child and for the galaxy, this was the reason why he became self-sacrifical again, just like when he was young and he was willing to throw away his life and the last person he loved, the Emperor, to their deaths if it meant Luke´s Jedi ideology survived everyone. He could not let that die.

So if the fandom is going to talk about how Anakin was "evil" from the beggining and twisted using Lucas arguments about the difference between attachment and love, it would be nice if once in a while they didn´t erase the commentary Lucas made about the real origin of Anakin´s attachment.

[kikyoupdates]

Crushed Velvet ⭑˚🥀⭑ 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎 𝑓𝑢𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

Your parents are thrilled to have secured an engagement for you with the royal family. Your suitor, the crown prince, has agreed to be wed to you. It seems as though your entire future has been assured, so why is it that from this moment onward, your life starts to fall apart at the seams?

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“What took you so long?”

Typical. You’d only just arrived five seconds ago, and Xeno was already making a fuss. You’d spent the better portion of the day running around to try and pick out something just for him, so you were really not in the mood to be snapped at.

You pressed your lips together, incapable of hiding your scowl. “My apologies, Prince Xeno. I was just out in town looking for a treat to bring along with me. I didn’t know what your preferences were, so it took me a while to find something.”

“You were… picking something out for me?” he blinked, eyes darting down to the box in your hands.

“Yes,” you nodded. “I was lucky enough to stumble across a patisserie. The lady working there told me you were rather fond of strawberry shortcake, so I brought a few with me.”

“Strawberry shortcake?!”

His tone rapidly spiked, and an excited glint passed through his eyes. Looking at him right now, he was sort of like a hyper puppy. It almost made you forget his previous rudeness. Almost.

“You’re welcome to help yourself once we’ve sat down,” you smiled.

Xeno nodded eagerly, grabbing the box out of your hands and taking long strides through the foyer. You followed behind him, trekking corridor past corridor, until he finally stopped in front of a door. Honestly, you weren’t quite sure how the royals managed living here. The palace was beautiful, there was no question about it, but it was just so needlessly massive. It must be so tiring having to walk all over to get where you needed to be.

It was a different room than the one you’d been in last time you were here, quite a bit bigger and with large windows that allowed for plenty of light. There was a tea set already laid out on the coffee table by the seating area, which would pair perfectly with the sweets you’d picked out.

“Grab a seat,” Xeno told you, and you happily obliged. It was a welcome respite after walking through town for hours.

He wasn’t paying much attention to you, much more in favor of opening the box and staring down at the pastries with a sort of childlike awe. It looked like the lady working the counter certainly hadn’t lied to you. It was actually rather cute how excited he seemed. You watched, a bit mystified, as he completely disregarded the cutlery beside him and popped nearly half of a whole pastry into his mouth.

“Pfft!” you couldn’t help but giggle, and immediately, Xeno was glaring daggers in your direction.

He flashed you an accusing look. “What? What’s the problem?”

“N-Nothing,” you chuckled. “I’m sorry for laughing. I just thought you seemed to be really enjoying it. You tried to shove the whole thing in your mouth…”

“They aren’t that big,” he insisted, growing a bit red in the face. “They’re easier to eat this way.”

“I suppose it just caught me by surprise. Do you eat like this when you’re in public as well?”

“You’re implying that I have no manners.”

“What? I would never!”

Xeno’s blush showed no sign of disappearing. You were probably being a little rude by teasing him, but it was the first time he’d ever let his guard down around you. You wanted to savor the moment for just a bit longer.

“I wouldn’t eat like this if there were other people around,” he scoffed. “But it’s only you.”

“Oh. Am I not important enough?”

“You know what I mean.” He paused for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “The first time we met, you seemed to be quite nervous. But now you’re more than happy to make fun at my expense.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you grinned. “I’m done now. I promise.”

“Are you?”

“I think so. Probably.”

He sighed, shaking his head. Maybe it was just your imagination, but he didn’t look as annoyed as he normally was, even considering your light banter. Those strawberry shortcakes were practically a godsend. Now that you aware of one of his weaknesses, you would most definitely be abusing it in the future.

Truth be told, you’d been kind of looking forward to having some of these desserts as well, but seeing the way Xeno kept scarfing them down with that innocent expression of his made it a little difficult to do so. Well, it was fine. If they made him this happy, you could leave him the rest.

Mid-bite, he glanced over at you. “Aren’t you going to have some?”

“I’m alright,” you politely refused. “I do like them, but I don’t want to steal your favorite dessert from you.”

“You’re leaving the rest for me?”

“Well, I did pick them out for you anyways. If I ever get a craving, I can just buy some for myself another day.”

“So I can have all of them?”

“Yes, of course.”

He looked even more pleased now. And was that a hint of a smile you noticed creeping onto his lips?

“This was a good choice,” Xeno said, and you realized that was probably the closest thing you would get to a thank you. It made you feel a little proud of yourself. Maybe he would be a bit nicer after this. You would bribe him with strawberry shortcake from now on if that’s what it took.

While Xeno continued stuffing his cheeks, you helped yourself to some of the tea that had been laid out. It was a delicious blend, though you’d expect nothing less from royalty. Although you were fairly hungry, watching Xeno eat with so much enthusiasm was satiating in its own way.

He eventually finished, and cleared his throat, his stern expression returning. It was a little difficult to take him seriously though, on account of the leftover whipped cream that had collected just above his lip. You considered telling him about it, but you didn’t want to embarrass him. It was also quite funny.

“I understand that you took the time to bring me something to eat, but try not to be late again in the future,” Xeno frowned. “You should plan out your day better so that these things don’t happen anymore.”

It appeared as though his good mood was only present whenever he was consuming strawberry shortcake. Duly noted.

“I will make sure that it never happens again.”

“Good.”

Xeno didn’t say anything else, and silence soon filled the room. Besides focusing on the little froth of whipped cream on his face, there was little you could do to keep from fidgeting uncomfortably. Although you knew that he was an intelligent, capable young man, you wondered how he’d managed to maintain his reputation given how terrible his social skills were. Granted, nobody ever described the Crown Prince as being kind and charismatic, but for the most part, they didn’t speak ill of him either. Or maybe they were just too afraid to.

You offered him a smile, desperate to fill the silence. “Um, Prince Xeno? I was hoping to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”

“What is it?”

“Well, forgive me if I’m prying too far, but I was wondering what you were trying to say when we met for the first time. You described your former marriage candidate, Annalisa Tybalt, as being filthy. What did you mean by that?"

You were honestly dying to know, especially since she’d glared you down the day of the engagement announcement and had most likely been spreading those rumors about you. She was clearly jealous of your position, you understood that much, but you wondered what she’d done so wrong that Xeno seemed to despise her so much.

“Oh,” Xeno scoffed, his nose scrunching up in distaste. “You’re asking about her. There isn’t really much to explain. I meant just what I said. She is a filthy, vile person. She came in that day wearing thick, pungent perfume that still couldn’t hide her nauseating scent. Her pretentious tone and even the look in her eyes… all of it was just disgusting,” he shuddered. “To be honest, I would really rather not talk about this any longer. I’m starting to feel sick.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.”

He was either lying and not telling you the full story, or he’d really been that repulsed by her. Come to think of it, he’d turned down countless marriage candidates up until now. You wondered if they’d all been given the same treatment as Annalisa, and if so, what made you different from the rest of them?

You wanted to ask, but you held back from doing so.

“There’s no need to worry,” Xeno mumbled, as if reading your mind. “I don’t feel that way about you. You wouldn’t be sitting here with me if that was the case.”

“Ah… yes,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I’m tolerable. Right?”

“Yes. You are.”

Oh, what a way he had with words. This was exactly the type of romance you’d been dreaming of all your life.

Xeno suddenly stood up, thankfully surprising you enough that you stopped from rolling your eyes. “Just a moment,” he said. “I think I’ll go bring out one of my chess sets. You will play with me.”

There was clearly no room for debate, but even now, you couldn’t keep from staring at his upper lip. The whipped cream was still there, bobbing in place every time he opened his mouth to speak.

“Um, Prince Xeno?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“There’s just… uh, what I mean to say is…”

“Well? Out with it already.”

You sighed and stood up beside him, then reached out to pick up the dollop of cream with your index finger. “There was some leftover from the shortcakes,” you said, holding up your finger so that he could see for himself. You then proceeded to lap your tongue over the pad of your finger, relishing in the feel of the sweet cream melting in your mouth.

“Yum,” you said simply.

Xeno was gaping at you, a violent blush rising to his cheeks. “Did—Did you just—?!”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t get to eat any, so…”

His lips moved soundlessly, incapable of forming any words. He turned away from you almost right away, muttering something under his breath while searching for the chess set in a clumsy, robotic manner.

You snickered, very pleased with yourself.

The rest of the meeting was predictable enough. After your little whipped cream stunt from earlier, he’d gone completely icy, refusing to make practically any small talk. You didn’t really mind it because it essentially meant that you’d won. You would never be able to forget that indignant, flustered look on his face.

When it came to chess, however, you certainly did not win.

Xeno was far too skilled for you to even stand a chance, and you considered yourself to be—for the most part—a fairly clever person. Needless to say, that didn’t stop him from beating you in back-to-back games. You wondered if you were even entertaining him somewhat, or if it was like playing against a toddler.

“You’re certainly mastered this game,” you remarked, a bit frustrated with your string of losses.

Xeno just shook his head. “There is always room for improvement.”

“Oh, of course. I just meant that you’re much better than I am. I will try to practice before the next time we meet up, so that I might improve a little.”

“You will need more than a bit of practice to hold a candle to me,” he muttered. He stared at you for a few moments, then let out a begrudging sigh. “But, yes… there is nothing wrong with trying to learn and better your skills. With some discipline, you can certainly improve. I’ve met far worse players than you before, in any case.”

Another compliment! Well, Xeno’s version of a compliment, at least. You would take that for now. In addition to acing Lucius’ next test, it looked like you were going to have to add improving at chess onto your to-do list as well.

“I’ve gotten quite bored though,” he shamelessly admitted. “You aren’t very good yet.”

“Ah. Right.”

“I think this is a good stopping point for today. I still have a lot of work to do, so you are free to leave now.”

And then he was practically shooing you, waving you off with the back of his hand. It sort of felt like a slap to the face, considering you hadn’t even been here very long yet and you’d spent half your day picking out his strawberry shortcake, but he certainly had a way of depleting your energy. It was probably for the best.

“Thank you for having me,” you said, bowing your head politely. “I enjoyed spending time with you, Prince Xeno. I hope you did as well.”

“It was fine.”

“Right… well, then. Please enjoy the rest of your day.”

You flashed him one last smile before stepping out the door, letting out a sigh the second it closed behind you. Great. He hadn’t even sent you off with any servants to help escort you around the palace. You were going to have to find your way around this massive place all by yourself.

“It was fine, he says,” you muttered under your breath. “Coming from the guy who was practically drooling over the strawberry shortcakes I brought him. And who nearly had a panic attack after I wiped whipped cream off his face with my finger.”

You spent the next few minutes quietly bitching about him, all the while trying to figure out where the hell you were going. A couple of times you did see a few maids leaving the rooms they’d been cleaning, but they turned the corner just as you were about to ask them for directions.

Come on, now. I may be directionally challenged, but I’m sure I can figure this out.

You let out a spirited huff, determined to find your way. Of course, five minutes later, you found yourself staring at the very same door you’d first come out of.

A chuckle filled the corridor. “Are you lost?”

You turned around, finding yourself face-to-face with Hyatt. He was smiling, the way he always did. You still weren’t all that familiar with him, but he’d been very nice to you the evening of the engagement announcement. He’d helped bring you food. Anyone who did that was a good person in your book.

“Hello, Prince Hyatt,” you smiled back. “Yes, I regret to admit that I am in fact lost. Would you mind showing me the way out of the palace?”

He frowned. “Hey, didn’t I tell you that you didn’t need to bother with all those formalities around me? Just Hyatt is fine.”

“Oh… okay, Hyatt. Could I please have a moment of your time?”

“You’re leaving already?”

“Well, yes. I got here a while ago to spend time with your brother.”

“And how did that go?” he mused.

“It was… interesting.”

“Ha-ha!” He quickly placed a palm over his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Judging by your expression, it sure seems like it.”

You nervously glanced towards the door. “It wasn’t that bad. Plus, I brought along some strawberry shortcake and it was quite amusing to see how excited he was about it. I’d rather not go into detail about it right here, though. I’m worried he’ll hear me gossiping about him and get angry.”

“Okay, no worries. Just follow me.”

You smiled appreciatively. It really was amazing how completely different two siblings could be. Never mind their contrasting appearances, but even their personalities couldn’t be more polar opposite to one another. At first, you assumed that Hyatt was the one you’d be getting engaged to. While there was certainly no changing the past, you couldn’t help but feel like things would be a lot simpler if that was the case. Besides, no matter how thrilled your parents were about you one day becoming the Queen, it wasn’t exactly something you’d been dreaming of. You already led a good life. Between power and love, you would happily choose love.

“[Name]?” Hyatt frowned. “Is something wrong?”

You blinked. “Oh, no. Sorry. I was zoning out for a bit.”

“I guess my brother really did a number on you.”

“Like I said, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Right,” he chuckled. “It was just interesting, for lack of a better word.”

“No, there are plenty more suitable words, but I would certainly get in trouble if I was to use them.”

Hyatt laughed again, and you realized that you’d finally made it back to the main foyer. You let out a sigh, thankful that this tiring day had finally come to an end. You would enjoy a nice bubble bath the second you got home.

“Thank you for leading the way,” you smiled, bowing your head slightly. “I know you said to act less formal, but I’m sure you had better things to do than help me find my way back. I appreciate it.”

“It was my pleasure,” he reassured you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright. I should be heading out now then.”

You started waving goodbye, but just as you were about to turn and leave, you felt a hand clamp down on your wrist. You glanced back at him, brows furrowed.

“Yes? Was there something else?”

“Ah, my bad,” he chuckled, quickly letting go. “I just had a sudden thought. I’m actually going to be free later this week, and I was wondering if you might want to go on a little date together.”

“A date?”

Surely you must have heard him wrong. He did know you were already engaged to his brother, right?

“Oh, maybe that wasn’t exactly the right wording,” he realized, contemplating what he’d just said. “I meant that I was going to be going out into town, and was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me. Just as friends,” he quickly added. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

You weren’t exactly friends, either. This was only your second time speaking to him. He was clearly a very friendly person, but you weren’t sure if going out alone with him would reflect well on yourself and your family.

“I don’t know if that would be such a good idea,” you admitted. “I mean… even if it’s just to spend some time together and get to know each other a little better, people would talk. I am engaged to your brother, after all. I’m just not sure it would be proper.”

“But that’s exactly the thing,” he insisted. “We’re brothers. Why wouldn’t I want to be on good terms with my brother’s future wife? We’re going to be family one day. I don’t see what’s so wrong with it.”

“I guess so, but—”

“Seriously, I promise that you have nothing to worry about. Xeno wouldn’t mind, and my parents certainly wouldn’t mind either. It’ll be fun! So, what do you say?”

His big, blue eyes were staring at you so expectantly. You didn’t really have it in you to refuse. He was right, anyways. You were practically family. You’d definitely feel a lot more comfortable having a close friend around the palace as well.

“Alright,” you conceded. “But only as long as your family is okay with it.”

“You have my word.”

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[bobthetacocat]

There's a note on the ground...

This is something I wrote for google-drive-submit, the final capstone in the Susie ARG project, posted on my Tumblr by request. It's a collection of a few thoughts that had crossed my mind since the project ended that I wanted to share. This is something I could talk about for a lot longer, so I promise to not take up much of your time.

I think this is obvious, but the vast majority of things discussed in the Susie ARG do not relate to CCC 12 at all. Susie says as much herself.

This naturally brings up the follow-up question: why do this at all? If none of this matters to the canon, why put so much time and effort into it? And I guess that's a question you can realistically ask of all of SiIvaGunner. Rips take time to become as high quality as they are, right? Why do it at all?

The artistic process is kinda mean like that. It's a lot of hard work for something that feels so… ephemeral. Dust that falls through your hands when moved wrong.

Susie had a few things to say about the channel, the overarching canon, and its people. She said almost everything she desired to say… except she left one straggler she didn't wrap up in time. Kind of a shame really, I think it's one of the more important ones. It's hard to say what that piece would've looked like if it was finished, but after consulting with Susie, I'm sure it would've looked something like this:

"My father said to me that that things tend to repeat themselves, given enough time. Sentience creates understanding, and understanding creates symbols, repetition, abstraction into things we can understand. How fitting, I suppose, that there are plenty of quotes like this…

Have you ever thought about where that lighthouse shows up? It's different every time. To SiIvaGunner it's a landmark of his home, to the AI universe it's a connection to the AI mainframe, to all those other little universes it's one thing or another; and of course, to you it's iconography, a picture to be adapted. Endlessly exploitable, as the deftest symbols tend to be.

I can't help but notice these types of things everywhere… somebody says a random phrase here - "intriguing", "nice", "reverb", there's a million examples - and it manages to travel across the universe and back again. A character talks over here, and their idea shows up somewhere else. Mr. Rental exists in one world, and a place is named after him a universe and half a planet away. Ideas conglomerate, and reform, and repeat; and one domino can add onto what anything means if it's the right time. This isn't a unintended side effect of the system, that's just how these things are here, a world of repeating and combining ideas together.

Then again, in the real world - your world - SiIvaGunner himself is a repetition of symbol, no? His better half. And he, in turn, is a repetition of someone else, who probably was inspired by someone else… so I suppose this was inevitable, in a way."

Out of a morbid curiosity, I decided to go back and look at my first reaction to the release of Prologue and Episode 1 of the CCC in 2016, since I'm lucky enough to still be in that Discord server. It was the kind of reaction you would expect from a 13 year old: making jokes, making unrelated jokes, bad jokes, jokes, so on. But don't misunderstand me - I was excited, and I was glued to the screen.

Fast forward, now - it's 2024. I just turned 21. Episode 11 has finally released, and it's a stellar job, genuinely. I'm in the middle of conceptualizing the Susie ARG, a project dedicated to the nuances of this thing that's been a part of my life for so long... and here I am, making the worst joke ever about how Haltmann couldn't just get Susie with a piano from Super Star Symphony. And putting it onto my pitch document! What am I doing?! Am I stutipd??? I feel like the "what would you tell your past self" thought is pretty cliche, but I'm not sure how I would tell my past self that I'm just doing a higher caliber of the same stupid shitposting he was. I think he'd find it funny, though.

SiIvaGunner's lore has never been the most popular thing on the channel. It feels almost condescending to explain the main reason why in detail - SiIvaGunner's main export is high quality rips. People aren't really coming for the story. But I think there is a second reason worth addressing: SiIvaGunner lore is hard to follow. This is also obvious, but I think the reason it started getting hard to follow is more nebulous and interesting. My current reasoning is that the characters stopped having predetermined story arcs and started living lives, if that makes sense.

Wood Man is patient zero of this. His defection from his predetermined box was relatively simple - an offscreen penchant for movie making. This turned Wood Man, an otherwise dumb side character completely fabricated for the sake of his master's bidding, into, like, a guy. Wood Man & Robbie Rotten turned him into a more complex person, with something from him that we hadn't seen before and he hadn't told anybody. He discussed the time dilation, and everything that implies, and how the world's time moves along. Then he got teleported to The Lost Rip, and the whole predetermined box fell apart completely. He escaped being a dumb side character, and got to do his own thing. He started knowing people offscreen, he started filming more movies, having the chance to hang out and be somebody and mature. He started living. Until… well, you know.

Wood Man's whole deal is emblematic of the tricky thing with the wielding of the passage of time in correlation to real life - the longer time has gone on, the more opportunity our side characters in the SiIvaGunner world have had to live their lives outside of the script and break their boxes. Dr. Andonuts spent so much of his time working, being a character behind the scenes, until he was compelled to come into the light. Joke-Explainer probably spent years wandering Grandiose, doing her own thing, living her life, interacting with people; checking in once a couple of years until we caught up with her for channel host. Haltmann had way more time than he would've to become committed to finding his daughter, and Susie had pretty much her entire existence as a Figment to watch from behind the scenes, until… well, you know.

And it's like, how do you condense that? If your 6 year old nephew turned 15 when you weren't looking, how do you compartmentalize the hundreds of off-screen stories in your brain? You don't, right? These type of things reward being around from the beginning, in a story that has broken its predefined end, and with characters that have had the chance to live autonomously. And that's probably bad for some of the newer viewers, but maybe that's better for some of the characters.

By the tail end of the project, I realized I was a lot like Susie. Not in the literal sense, duh, but in the metaphorical, as a watcher of the story with a lot of opinions, who suddenly got to have those opinions known on the grand stage.

Susie started to sound more and more like me as time went on - or maybe I started to sound more and more like Susie? I'm not sure - as the character got situated in her place. I hope that hasn't been too obvious as you've been reading this document, but it probably has.

Susie and I don't agree on everything. We probably disagree on most things, realistically. But here we had one shared goal - to walk forward with this thing we've been watching for so many years.

All we had to do was try and find the right words.

[mybworlds]

All gone (the promise)

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: You, after a very long trip alone across the country, arrive in Jackson. Joel is a very lonely man and after Ellie broke up with him, he's even more alone and grumpy. Tommy and Maria decide that you're going to stay at Joel's house for a while, at least until more houses are built. Will your cohabitation be easy? Or will it be more complicated than everyone thinks?

Warnings: use of you, use of alcohol, loneliness, suicidal thoughts, suicidal attempt, a short story about sexual assault that occurred in the past I won't go into details, another SA in the present days, violence, blood, lots of sexually explicit content, use of petnames, dirty talk, fluff elements, mutual pining, the main characters spy on each other for a while, the image of the female character has the sole purpose of representing the character, but you can imagine her however you want, no physical description of the female character except for long hair often gathered in a ponytail or braid, she wears a bra and jeans (most of the time).

Extra warnings for this chapter: spoilers about the TLOU2.

I hope I haven't offended anyone's sensibilities if I've made certain personal choices.

I chose this title because if you know you know.

Masterlist

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Thx for the dividers @saradika-graphics

Joel sees you almost collapse on him, your head completely abandoned on his chest. He closes his eyes savoring that completely new contact between you.

He likes it.

He didn't think he would appreciate such contact with you.

He caresses your back and your hair gently, you press yourself even more against him if possible and he thinks that, despite everything, he fell for it again. He feels stupid, he had promised himself he would never warm up to someone again because then things always ended up falling apart and he was destroyed. And instead life brought him someone else.

He sighs, staring at the ceiling, and then he looks at you. You look so peaceful, he wants to caress your face, but he doesn't have the courage.

You're beautiful.

He gently moves away from you and then covers you with a couple of thick blankets. Although he's not completely sober, he decides to make himself a coffee.

It's the first time in a long time that he decides not to remain in a state of drunkenness, but to regain control of his thoughts and himself.

He feels so confused and at the same time filled with a feeling similar to happiness and excitement. It's a good feeling that is spreading in his chest.

He doesn't know why he kissed you or why you did it, what feeling confused your mind. Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

He smiles. Despite the events of the evening, he smiles. And that's not something that happens often anymore.

Coffee helps him recover from the alcohol that dulls his mind. When he regains almost full control of his actions, he goes upstairs and goes to his room full of animal carvings, guitars, sheet music and thinks back to when he taught Ellie to play the guitar. He felt good and experienced a sensation very similar to peace.

He touches the guitar and finds himself smiling before picking it up and going out onto the porch to play a little.

When he's fully in control of his actions again, Joel begins to strum. The music that comes out has that right rhythm so much so that Joel finds himself moving his head and a leg in time. Then, a movement and a noise catches his attention. It's Ellie.

“Hey.” he greets her with a husky voice. Ellie approaches him almost hesitantly, approaching the porch railing. Joel reaches her, putting his guitar aside and bringing it up to her side holding his cup in his hands. He approaches her hesitantly as if afraid to say or do too much.

“What are you drinking?” she asks just looking at his face.

“Coffee.” he answers looking straight ahead.

She looks at him sideways and nods, “Where’d you get that?”

“Um, those people that came through last week.” he answers “It’s not bad.” he adds sipping his coffee.

For a while neither of them says anything, there is only the silence of the night as a backdrop to their conversation.

“I had Seth under control.” she whispers.

“Yeah, I know." he replies in a low voice.

“And you need to stop harrassing Jesse about my patrols.” the girl scolds him in a low voice.

He lowers his head and just nods, “Okay.”

He suddenly realizes that she is no longer the little girl with whom he crossed half the country, she is a woman and has the right to be treated as such.

“Dina,” Ellie freezes in place “is she your girlfriend?”

Ellie starts to get agitated as if embarrassed and Joel would like to hug her more than ever and tell her that there’s nothing wrong if she likes her, but Ellie denies, “That was just one kiss. It does mean anything. She... I don’t know why she did.” then turning her head away as if to hide her embarrassment.

“You do like her.” Joel states and the long silence that follows is a silent confirmation for the man “Look, I have no idea what that girl’s intentions are, but... I do know she would be lucky to have you.” he says.

Ellie stiffens again, “You're such an asshole.”

“I’m not trying to…” he wants to clear things up with her right away. He doesn't want to regain her trust by telling her this.

“I was supposed to die in that hospital. My life would’ve fucking mattered. But you took that from me.”

Joel remembers that day very well, the things he did, how many lives he took just to save the life of the only person he had learned to love like a daughter. He had never regretted his choice and if he could, he would do it again. Exactly all over again.

“If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment... I would do it all over again.” Ellie certainly didn’t expect to hear these words from him. In fact, her expression becomes that of someone who is absorbing the words she has just heard.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.” she says giving Joel another beating “But I would like to try.” she adds almost trembling.

Joel couldn't ask for anything more than another chance with her!

“I‘d like that.” he tells really hoping so.

“Okay. I'll see you around.” she says.

“Yep.” so, there is a faint hope and he can only really hope and commit himself to making things better between them. Joel hints at a smile even though Ellie has already turned her back on him.

The next day you feel completely upset, you have blankets over you and you still smell Joel's strong scent in your nostrils. You are still wearing Dina's dress which has now almost completely ridden up exposing your legs and thighs. You adjust yourself by sitting back down and thinking about the previous night.

From what you remember, you exchanged more than one kiss and you touched each other, not in that way, but you touched each other nonetheless.

You talked. A lot. Even if you don't completely remember everything he said to you or the things you said to him.

He's not here, but maybe it's for the best. You wouldn't know what to say. Or how to look at him. You just know that you would probably feel embarrassed or almost certainly just avoid his gaze or his mere presence.

You look out the window, it's snowing heavily. It's very cold.

You shrug and make yourself some hot tea as you think about what happened last night. You close your eyes and sigh. You remember the strange intimacy that was created. It gave you such a strange hot cold feeling. You don't even know how to describe what you experienced.

Since you left the Boston QZ, you’ve been alone. Or rather, almost always alone. You avoided people as much as possible, well aware that no one is the same as before. Neither do you.

You close the fire and pour your tea. Its warmth is so pleasant that you warm up in no time. As you recover from sleep, you remember that you have to go on a patrol today too, so you go upstairs to get dressed. You quickly put on a sweater, jeans and then a coat, hat, gloves, bow and arrows. Then, you hide in your boots a dagger that you have been wearing since you began to run away and wander from one place to another.

You know you're going to meet Joel. You wonder how you should behave, you wonder if you should pretend that nothing happened or if you should tell him something. What you remember from last night is a bit hazy and almost seems like it happened in a dream, to tell the truth you're not even entirely sure if you kissed him or if he touched you or if you just dreamed it.

You think it's been a long time since you felt this safe in someone's arms knowing he wouldn't hurt you. It certainly won't happen again, but it was nice to feel protected and, even if only for a moment, to feel that unknown warmth that warms your heart.

Your thoughts go to Ralph, oh how you liked him! The way he smiled at you, the way he hugged you, it seemed to you that there was nothing wrong in what he did or said, then that night changed everything and you understood who he really was. You thought he was your Prince Charming, but that nighttime he revealed who he really was.

You had another experience after that and immediately your thoughts go to that young man with whom you ran away for a while, what you experienced, what you saw, but.. that's another story.

Your mind wanders back to Joel and the night before, and you find yourself thinking that whatever happened was just the alcohol's fault. There’s nothing between you and there never will be.

You sigh sadly and then leave the house and go to Tipsy Bison to look for Dina or Jesse, but when you are there you only find old Seth intent on taking down the lights from the party the night before and railing against the arrogant young people.

You approach him greeting him and asking him if he had seen your two friends, he mumbles a sort of greeting and then tells you that they went out on patrol at the first light of dawn.

"And Joel?" you dare ask him.

“That cheap drunken piece of shit!” he spits "He and his brother are also patrolling. I hope an avalanche hits him!" you don't comment on this last sentence, you turn your back to him and reach out Jackson's stables.

The horse you have ridden before is here, you take the bridle and take it out, then after having placed your backpack you get on the saddle and leave.

There is a storm going on so the horse is having a hard time moving forward, you feel a sudden disturbing foreboding. You hope Joel and Tommy have taken refuge somewhere. Who knows where Jesse and Dina are!

Maybe you shouldn't have ventured out alone, not that it scares you, in short you've come a long way alone so it's fine. You don't even know why you rushed out there: Dina and Jesse are sometimes rushed, but prepared. Joel and Tommy are two grown men who sure they can manage just fine without you.

However, the further the horse advances, the more an incomprehensible anxiety grows within you.

In the distance you hear the screams of infected people, they are close. You gulp. Your heart rate increases. Your senses are on high alert and you are ready to take up your bow and arrow. Then, you see them all crowded together against a net. The horse gets angry and is about to turn back, but you stop it.

A couple of them notice you and run towards you and try to pull you down, but you manage to push one away with a kick to the face and another receives a kick from the horse's hooves.

You tighten the reins and look around, other infected are approaching, you quickly look around "JOEL?! TOMMY?!" you call them, but you still only hear the screams of the infected and a few moments later an explosion.

The horse gets crazy, but luckily you manage to hold on to the bridle and avoid falling. You give a thrust of your spurs and manage to free yourself from the infected that were surrounding you.

While the horse laboriously advances through the snow and towards an unspecified destination, all of a sudden, you notice a house with a pitched roof. It's on Joel and Tommy's path, maybe they're there. At first glance it seems like a place like any other, but what strikes you is the closed gate in front, full of infected that are burning. Joel and Tommy never had bombs or anything like that or anyone in Jackson, so it can't have been them, but that house is on their path and there are too many infected.

Something’s wrong!

When you are close enough, you hear the shot of a gun and that's when your senses become fully alert. The Millers may be in danger!

You leave the horse at such a distance that no one sees you, nor raiders nor the infected. You move quickly being careful not to attract too much attention and then you approach the wall that separates the house from the path and climb over it with some difficulty.

As soon as you step onto the ground, you hear a voice shout “OVER THERE!” you barely have time to look up and hide before at least a dozen bullets are fired your way.

“AND NOW WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?!” a second voice blurts out.

“You just shoot!” you hear the first voice say.

You crouch and then move to the left, take off your bow and nock an arrow, then aim in a flash and shoot.

You hide, you hear that you hit him because the other voice exclaims “YOU SON OF A BITCH! NOW YOU’LL GET YOURS!!!”

You take another arrow and then you stand up and shoot, the other one also shoots. Your arrow hits him right in the eye, killing him instantly, but his shot wounds you in the shoulder.

You grit your teeth and, making sure there's no one else out there, you enter. The house is abandoned, or so it seems. For a moment you think that those two guys were alone, and you are about to leave, then a scream of pain stops you.

You listen, no it can't be the guy outside. That groan of pain comes from inside, perhaps someone else is injured and therefore took refuge here. You move forward and hear yet another grunt and then voices.

What the fuck.

“Go look.” you hear a voice again, it comes from what appears to be a cellar.

You crouch next to some stairs that go down, the door opens and three more men locked and loaded appear. You nock one arrow after another and shoot. Not a single one is missing. The three guys fall lifeless on the stairs.

“ABBY, WE HAVE TO GO! END IT NOW!” you hear yet another voice and then a desperate voice “Please, don't...”

You go down at breakneck speed recognizing Ellie's voice. When you open the door, you find what you never expected. Three of your people are on the ground and at least six people standing towering over them.

Your arrival seems to have charged the air with a terrifying electricity. Nobody moves. Your bow is drawn and your arrow ready to be shot, “Let ‘em go.” you command, “Or you are dead.”

“You're at a disadvantage, little girl.” says one who approaches you “We don't want to hurt you or your friend or the other one. We just want him.”

Your eyes run first to Ellie who has a split lip and a desperate expression, to Tommy who is unconscious and then to Joel.

The air feels like it's been sucked out of your lungs and out of the room.

Joel is almost an unrecognizable mask of blood, in fact for a moment you think it's not even him. For a moment you think the guy is making fun of you, but then you recognize his build, his hair. He's lying on his side, his hand full of blood abandoned next to his swollen face covered in living blood.

“Let him go!” you hiss turning to a young woman with an angry and grim face, she's big and has a golf club full of blood in her hands.

“No!” she exclaims, raising her club again, and then your arrow is fired and pierces her wrist. She lets go with a scream the improvised weapon, bringing her other hand to the wrist and bending over on herself.

She’s joined by another girl, while you are immediately attacked by two others who make you lose your bow and make you fall to the ground.

You don't even know how hard you kick and escape the grasp of one of the two and with one movement you take out the knife you've always kept hidden in your boots and hit him in the jugular. The blood gushes profusely, dirtying your face and the hand with which you hold the knife.

“NO!” the two women scream in despair “You damn whore!” sobs Joel's attacker gritting her teeth in pain and anger.

You quickly pull out the knife, freeing yourself from the man's weight, and get on your knees. Two more guys try to hit you, but you avoid their shots and hit a second one, stabbing him in the wrist and pinning him against the wall. You grab his gun and shoot, freeing Ellie.

Only the two women remained, the girl you hit now has a sleeve full of blood “Go away.” you threaten by pointing the gun at them.

“I'm not finished here yet. I'm not leaving,” the woman who was hitting Joel says through gritted teeth, “You, Mel, go.”

“But...” the other you don't know who she is, but you honestly don't care “I stay.”

“Don't be stupid,” she hisses through her teeth.

“What should I do?! I'm not like you.” you see the other tremble.

“You won't do anything. You are a good person. Think about your child now.” you hear the first one say.

“Come with me, please.” She begs the other girl. Abby shakes her head, her eyes narrowed with a serious expression.

The girl with the short hair runs away, the other with a big braid and looking strong as a bull glares at you as if she's memorizing your features, “You are not my target!”

“I know, but I can't let you kill him!” you hiss, holding the gun out towards the woman.

“He's a murderer and today he will die,” having said this she takes the golf club again and is about to hit him, when Ellie throws herself at her with all her strength.

You see the two fighting so fiercely that you don't know how to help Ellie who is succumbing to the punches and powerful slaps of the other girl.

“Let her go!” you scream throwing yourself on Abby pulling her hair and scratching her everywhere.

The girl lets go of Ellie, but to free herself from your grip, she goes backwards, making you crash violently into the wall behind you, once, twice, three times. You let go and slide to the ground, ending up underneath her.

The blows she inflicts on you are so heavy and violent that they almost make you faint. You taste blood in your mouth and maybe it's dripping from your nose or maybe from your cheekbone, you don't know. Your vision is completely blurred when a gunshot echoes through the room. Abby stops and almost looks surprised before looking down at her chest. The shirt quickly gets soaked in blood and falls on you, making you almost scream in pain.

You can't see anything. You struggle to move the woman's lifeless body. Ellie helps you, grunting with effort. You take a deep breath and then roll onto your side and try to regain some control.

“Joel,” Ellie moans reaching him, while you catch your breath “Joel,” the girl sobs, you can see her wanting to touch his face, but she doesn't even know where so much his face is swollen and bleeding.

“Ellie,” you gasp, crawling and reaching it with difficulty and then grabbing her shoulders, “lemme see.” you say, looking at him. Last night you caressed his cheek and his hair and he smiled at you and you kissed, you remember this well, now he doesn't move and he lies abandoned on his side.

“Joel,” you murmur breathlessly, fearing that he's dead and that you will never be able to hear his voice again.

Joel lets out a long moan of pain, his lips tremble, blood flows from his mouth as he tries to say something, he doesn't open his eyes, he murmurs first Ellie's name and then yours, you place your hand on his “I'm here, Ellie is fine, don't worry. Now I'm going to call for help.”

Joel mutters your name again “Take care of Ellie for me,” a deep anguish spreads through you, suddenly it's as if you've gone under the ice hearing those words of his.

“Joel, you will live. Hang on.”

Moments later, you and Ellie hear more noises. You both reach out for your weapons fearing that the escaped girl may have called for reinforcements, but shortly afterwards Dina, Jesse, Vasquez, Fraser and Smith appear at the top of the stair.

"We need help!" you shout. The little group rushes in and they see the disaster that has happened down there in that room.

Joel has been in that room used as an operating room for hours. He needed various transfusions, you also offered to give him your blood, but the doctor told you no as you have already lost a lot of blood.

You, Ellie, Dina, Jesse don't leave the makeshift hospital even for a moment. Tommy wanted to do the same, but Maria and the doctor ordered him to rest and above all to avoid standing for many hours. He recommended it to you too, but after the first two attempts he gave up.

Your wounds have been dressed and your shoulder bandaged. You washed your hand as best as you could, but nevertheless your hands remain reddish.

Ellie looks contrite, her eyes clouded with tears, she sniffs trying to act strong, but she's giving in. Her face is swollen as if she's been slapped and you imagine your face isn't too different from hers.

You approach, sitting next to her, you're not sure where to start. You want to be encouraging, tell her that everything will be fine and that he will survive, but the truth is, you don't know either. You don't want to delude yourself or give vain hopes to a girl who is probably even worse off than you. You just clasp your hands convulsively and wait in silence.

His last words echo inside you, making you gasp for air.

He can't die.

You bite your bottom lip feeling a sudden sour sensation in the pit of your stomach. You close your eyes while breathing deeply. Your head is spinning.

You promised yourself never to get attached again, to live only for yourself, but instead.

You failed.

You also care about another person and with the result of feeling bad and fragile for him.

Fifty.

Fourty nine.

Fourty eight.

Forty seven.

Fourty six.

Forty five.

The air around you has become unbreathable. You want to scream for help, but you don't want others to know how you feel. A gasp escapes your lips and you place your hands on your knees trying to breathe deeply.

Forty four.

Fortythree.

Forty-two.

Fourty one.

Forty.

“You okay?”

You gasp, “Huh? Yes. . .” you moan, hearing your own voice come out strangled. You don't look at Ellie, if you look at the girl's face you know you would completely explode. The last time Joel held you close and reassured you, he gave you the strength not to suffocate.

Thirty-nine.

Thirty-eight.

Thirtyseven.

Thirtysix.

Thirtyfive.

You feel your hands shaking. There is a lot of coming and going from the room used as an operating theatre, you hear the sound of the monitors, the close beeps. Your heart does somersaults with fear.

He can't die. He must survive.

You have never believed nor will you today, but if there is Someone, let this Someone have mercy on him and spare him.

Thirty four.

Thirty three.

Thirty two.

Thirty-one.

The doctor comes out of the operating room, you struggle to get up, not least because of the tiredness, but because of everything you are feeling, but also because of the terror, the anguish.

“He's alive, but he lost a lot of blood. We have to wait for him to wake up, but I'm confident he will wake up soon. His recovery will be long and painful. The important thing is that you never leave him alone and has maximum rest.”

Ellie nods, “Okay. Thanks.” she gives you a quick glance before hugging Dina and Jesse, Fraser later says, “I'm going to tell Tommy.”

You're about to collapse and you would have if Jesse hadn't hugged you and lifted you in mid-air making you giggle for the first time that day and feel light as a feather.

“If you hadn't found ‘em in time…” he says, as you rest your head on his shoulder.

You try to hold back the sobs that shake your chest. You breathe deeply, burying your head in Jesse's neck.

You want to see him.

You need to.

You don't even know where this need comes from considering how he treated you since you've been in Jackson.

You release your grip from the boy to turn to the doctor, “Can we see him?”

“In a little while we'll move him to the post-operative room and you can do it from behind the glass.” the man informs you.

You nod before to notice a movement beyond the doors. You don't have a hard time understanding that they're moving Joel.

You and Ellie follow the movement as best you can from the other side of the corridor and then find yourself in front of a glass and there you see him: he is connected to some machines, a ventilator and is still receiving a transfusion.

Your heart sinks, Ellie places a hand on the glass. You don't know what expression she has, but you're sure it's identical to yours.

Now that Joel's face is clean of blood, you notice how the features of his face have been disfigured and distorted. His cheekbones are puffy and black, his eyelids are closed but they are so swollen they look like two tennis balls, his lips are split in several places, on the cheeks there are numerous cuts, some more subtle and others evident and deep.

The face of the man you caressed and kissed last night is no longer there.

“Joel,” you sob under your breath before you realize it.

Ellie looks up at you, she squeezes your hand tightly, “He'll make it. We have to believe that he will. He'll wake up,” she says, looking back at the man.

You're cold, you should take a painkiller. It's been several hours since you took it. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, it hurts, but you don't want to leave Joel.

Ellie was practically dragged away by Dina to eat. They tried to do the same to you, but you fought back with all your strenght and the result was that you got a sandwich there.

You think about when Joel made you tea, when he brought you food, when he held you close in the throes of that panic attack. It's true he was an asshole and he didn't always treat you well, in fact on several occasions he made you feel like an intruder, but what's the point of thinking about it now? He's now in that bed, still intubated. The third transfusion is now nearing the end. He's sick.

You are so tired. You need a break. A break where you can relax, not be afraid for yourself or for those who, willingly or unwillingly, have entered your heart. Even if on tiptoe.

You fall asleep immediately on one of those chairs in that makeshift hospital. You dream of being in Joel's arms again, you dream of dancing to Pearl Jam in his living room, you smile at each other and he has such a warm smile. How stupid and sometimes so trivial dreams are, but how comforting they can be!

You wake up with a start hearing a distant insistent noise coming from a monitor, you barely have time to sit up when you see a doctor and two nurses surrounding Joel. The monitor says there is no heartbeat, you jump up placing your palms against the glass, as you see the doctor performing cardiac massage and injecting him something. That noise from the monitor almost seems to pierce your ears.

Fuck.

No, Joel.

Please, fight.

Don't give up, you find yourself praying.

You don't know what drug they injected, you just see the doctor shaking his head and looking first at Joel and then at the monitor. You see him shake his head again.

No.

No, please, don't give up.

Please.