#idk. I don’t want to draw angst anymore. I don’t want to draw two eyes. I fucking hate having to draw 2 eyes

[quotidianish]

If I had a nickel for every time I drew something about projecting the anguish someone have caused you onto a doppelgänger of said person I’d have 2 nickels. Love LOSES. war and hate on the planet eart

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

masterlist

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[goldfades]

★ dancing phantoms on the terrace; are they second-hand embarrassed, that i can't get out of bed? cause something counterfeit's dead; it was legendary; it was momentary; it was unnecessary ─── PB⁵

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and paige have always danced around each other—an intricate waltz of unspoken words and fleeting touches, each step pulling you closer to the edge of something you both feared to define. but when your feelings finally bubble over, paige’s silence cuts sharper than anything you could have imagined. in the wake of her denial, you vow to let her go, but it’s hard to sever the bond when she keeps lingering in the corners of your world, drawing you back like gravity. what happens when you can’t be friends, but letting go feels impossible?

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst w/ no happy ending. weird fwb, cheating (kinda?), toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, unhealthy attachment, and cycles of miscommunication and unresolved feelings.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this is lowkey just a word vomit... idk how to feel about it. i've been on an angst kick lately and i'm apologizing for this fic right now, it's EMOTIONALLY DAMAGING. um anyway, don't even ask how i am right now... enjoy?

The gym smells like worn leather and ambition—Paige’s favorite cocktail, if you had to guess. The echo of bouncing basketballs fills the cavernous space, and there she is, effortlessly commanding the court like it’s her birthright. You’d think the sight of her—golden hair slicked back, sharp focus slicing through the room—would dull with time, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s worse.

You don’t mean to stare, but when it’s her, you always do.

“Hey,” her voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but with a rasp that’s always felt like a secret shared just between the two of you. Paige jogs toward you, her smile easy, but her eyes? Complicated. Like she knows. Like she’s always known.

“Hey,” you manage, though your throat feels tight, your body betraying you with a spark of something you’ve tried to douse for months.

She stops just short of you, close enough that you can smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Thought you were too busy to come by anymore.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but the weight of her gaze makes it impossible. “I’m not staying long. Just… passing through.”

It’s a lie. You’ve never been able to just pass through when it comes to her.

Paige grins, wiping sweat from her brow with the hem of her jersey. It’s a fleeting movement, but it leaves your pulse racing, and you hate yourself for it. She doesn’t notice—or maybe she does, and that’s worse.

“You’re a bad liar,” she says, her tone teasing but gentle. She tilts her head, like she’s reading something written on your face. “You okay?”

It’s such a simple question, but the weight of it threatens to shatter your resolve.

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly. Too sharply.

Her brows knit together, but she doesn’t push. Paige never pushes. It’s you who always falls, silently hoping she’ll be there to catch you.

But you’re tired of hoping.

“I should go,” you mutter, turning before the cracks in your chest start to show. But her hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait.”

It’s a single word, but it roots you in place, her touch burning like truth against your skin. You turn back to her, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breath and the ache of everything you’ll never say.

And Paige, looking at you like she wants to say it too.

SIX MONTHS AGO

The party was already half a blur when Paige walked in, but her presence made everything snap into focus. You hadn’t been looking for her—you’d told yourself you wouldn’t—but there she was, a magnet pulling every molecule of you in her direction. She wasn’t dressed for the occasion like everyone else, no glittering dresses or expensive heels. Just a hoodie, sneakers, and that disarming grin.

You were nursing a drink, not for the taste, but for the illusion of control. People were scattered across the house in little clusters, and you were tucked into a corner of the living room, balancing somewhere between tipsy and regretfully sober. That is, until Paige caught sight of you.

Her gaze found you through the crowd like it was the easiest thing in the world, and you felt it—really felt it. That invisible thread between the two of you, taut and unyielding.

“Hey, stranger.” Her voice carried over the low hum of music and chatter as she slid into the empty space beside you on the couch.

You laughed softly, but it came out more nervous than amused. “Stranger? I didn’t know you even remembered my name.”

She tilted her head, her grin shifting into something softer. “I remember a lot more than that.”

The comment shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did. Paige had a way of saying things like they were just words when they were anything but.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the red Solo cup in your hand.

“Yeah, well…” Paige’s eyes dropped to your drink before returning to your face, and it made you feel naked somehow. “Needed a break. Thought I’d find you.”

Thought I’d find you.

The words hung in the air, charged, and you couldn’t tell if she was teasing or telling the truth. Maybe both.

The night blurred after that, the two of you falling into a rhythm that felt far too natural for how often you tried to keep your distance. Drinks were passed back and forth, jokes were made, her laughter melted into yours. Every time her knee brushed yours, your pulse spiked. Every time her fingers lingered on your arm, your stomach flipped.

At one point, someone turned up the music, and people started dancing in the center of the room. You didn’t want to, but Paige grabbed your hand, her touch electrifying. “C’mon,” she coaxed, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

You followed, of course.

The two of you didn’t so much dance as sway, caught in your own little bubble amidst the chaos. Her hands found your hips, and she pulled you closer, so close you could smell the faint tang of beer on her breath. The way she looked at you—dark, intent, unflinching—made the air between you too thick to breathe.

“Having fun yet?” she asked, her voice low.

You nodded, though fun wasn’t the word for what you were feeling. It was something else entirely.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning in. Her lips brushed your ear as she spoke, sending a shiver through your entire body. “’Cause you deserve it.”

When you pulled back to meet her gaze, you saw it: the crack in her armor. That small, fleeting look of hesitation before she leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t shy. Paige kissed you like she’d been holding back for years, and maybe she had. Your drink slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your fingers found their way into her hair. The rest of the world vanished, the party, the music, the people. There was only her—her lips, her hands, the heat of her against you.

Somehow, the two of you stumbled your way upstairs, her hand firmly gripping yours as she led you to a bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly it was just the two of you, no distractions, no pretense.

You shouldn’t have let it happen, but you did. And it wasn’t just the alcohol, wasn’t just the heat of the moment. It was years of longing packed into a single night.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, the glow of the moon casting soft light across her face. Paige was quiet, her fingers drawing absent patterns on your bare shoulder. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat.

“I can’t do this,” she finally whispered, her voice breaking the fragile silence.

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face you, and the conflict in her eyes was enough to make your heart ache. “I’m… I’m trying to focus on basketball. This—us—it’s too much.”

Her words felt like a slap, but the way she looked at you—regretful, hesitant, almost desperate—kept you from walking out right then and there. Instead, you forced a nod. “Okay.”

“But—” she added quickly, her hand finding yours, “this doesn’t have to be it. We can figure something out. Later.”

It was a promise she had no right to make, and deep down, you knew that. But when she kissed you again, softer this time, you let yourself believe it.

That was the beginning of the end.

Paige had a way of engulfing your life without even trying, and the worst part was, you let her. She wasn’t yours—you weren’t hers—but she consumed you, seeped into the quiet corners of your world until there wasn’t a part of you she hadn’t touched.

She made it look so easy, too. Like you were the one complicating things.

Every time you tried to pull away, she’d reel you back in with a text, a glance, a late-night phone call that started with “I was just thinking about you.” It was never enough to feel like a relationship, but it was always just enough to keep you tethered to her.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need a label, that you could handle the messiness of it all. But then you’d see her with someone else at a party, her arm slung around a teammate’s shoulders, her laughter spilling over like champagne, and it’d feel like your chest was being hollowed out with a dull spoon.

Still, you stayed.

You stayed because of the way she looked at you when no one else was around, like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You stayed because of the fleeting moments when she let her guard down, her fingers lingering on yours a second too long, her voice soft when she whispered your name.

And you stayed because of the promises.

“I just need time,” she’d say, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You understand, right?”

And you’d nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, because of course you understood. What else could you do? Tell her no? Walk away? The thought of losing her entirely was worse than the slow, aching heartbreak of being caught in her orbit.

But it was exhausting, being held at arm’s length while she continued to live her life exactly the way she wanted.

There were nights when she’d come over, late and unannounced, her hair still damp from the shower after a long practice. She’d climb into your bed, curling into your side like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your stomach.

“I missed you,” she’d murmur, her voice drowsy.

And for those moments, you’d believe her. You’d let yourself believe that she meant it, that maybe this time things would be different.

But the mornings always came.

She’d wake before you, slipping out of your bed as quietly as she’d slipped in. By the time you stirred, she’d be gone, her spot cold, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering on your pillow. She never left a note, never sent a text. You’d see her later that day, laughing with someone else, like the night before had been nothing more than a shared dream.

It wasn’t fair. You knew that. But Paige wasn’t the kind of person who played fair, at least not when it came to this. She played basketball like her life depended on it, with precision and purpose, but with you? She was reckless, careless, and sometimes it felt like she didn’t even realize it.

“You’re overthinking it,” she’d say when you finally mustered the courage to confront her, her tone light, dismissive. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

And every time, you’d cave. You’d tell her what she wanted to hear, because the alternative—calling her out, forcing her to make a choice—felt too dangerous.

So you kept waiting.

For the next stolen moment, the next broken promise, the next time she’d pull you in and push you away all over again.

It was a slow unraveling, and you didn’t know how much more you could take. But as much as you hated yourself for it, you knew one thing for sure:

You’d keep waiting. For her love. For her to choose you. For something you were terrified might never come.

The gym was cavernous, every dribble of the ball echoing like a drumbeat in your skull as you stormed in. You didn’t stop to think. Logic and restraint had abandoned you the second you saw the picture. Paige, her hands on someone else’s waist, her lips pressed to theirs in a way that made your stomach churn.

Her laugh was unmistakable even above the squeak of sneakers and the occasional shout from her teammates. It grated on you now, sharp and mocking. She didn’t see you at first. She was mid-layup, her ponytail flying behind her, the sweat on her brow catching the fluorescent lights. The picture was still fresh on your phone, the brightness of the screen almost taunting you.

You didn’t care who was watching.

“Paige!” you barked, your voice cutting through the gym’s rhythm like a knife.

The ball thudded against the floor, rolling away as she froze mid-turn. The laughter stopped. Heads turned.

Her eyes found yours, widening slightly before narrowing. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face—then something else. Panic? Regret? It didn’t matter.

She jogged over, wiping her hands on her shorts. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

“What am I doing here?” Your laugh was humorless, loud enough for the whole team to hear. “What the hell are you doing, Paige?”

“Let’s talk outside.” Her voice was tight now, her eyes darting toward her teammates, who were whispering among themselves.

You ignored the way she grabbed your arm, the way her fingers pressed a little too hard against your skin as she dragged you toward the double doors. The moment you were outside, the cold air slapping your face, you yanked yourself free.

“I saw the picture,” you snapped.

“What picture?” Her face was the picture of practiced innocence, but her tone was wary.

“Don’t play dumb, Paige. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were kissing her!”

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes flicked away for just a second—long enough for you to catch it. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her voice measured, like she was trying to calm a storm.

“Not what I think?” You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your hands trembling. “You had your hands all over her. What is there to think, Paige?”

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“A bigger deal? Are you serious?” Your voice cracked, the anger spilling over, loud and raw. “You told me—no, you promised me—you weren’t seeing anyone else!”

“I’m not,” she shot back, her own voice rising now. “It was just a stupid kiss, alright? It didn’t mean anything.”

Your laugh was bitter, cutting. “It didn’t mean anything? Do you even hear yourself? You think that makes it better?”

Her frustration boiled over, her hands running through her hair as she paced a tight circle. “You’re acting like we’re in some committed relationship or something!”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as your breath caught. “So, what? This—us—it’s just nothing to you?”

“I didn’t say that!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the empty hallway. Her eyes blazed as she stepped closer, her finger pointing at you. “But you keep pushing me, and I don’t know what you want from me!”

“I want you to stop messing with my head!” Your voice cracked, raw and thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “You can’t keep pulling me in and then acting like I don’t exist whenever it’s convenient for you, Paige!”

She blinked, the words hitting her harder than you expected. For a moment, the anger on her face faltered, replaced by something softer, something you’d almost call guilt.

But just as quickly, her defenses snapped back into place. “I told you I needed space,” she said, her voice quieter but still edged with steel. “I told you from the start this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Easy?” You shook your head, a humorless laugh bubbling up. “No, Paige, this isn’t hard—it’s cruel. You’re cruel.”

Her face fell, the anger draining from her expression. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the words felt hollow, like a script she’d practiced too many times. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms, trying to anchor yourself in something, anything, besides the spiraling frustration.

“Yeah?” Your voice was low, trembling under the weight of restrained fury. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, Paige, but you knew. You knew how I felt—how I feel—and you kissed her anyway.”

Her eyes darted away, lips pressed into a tight line. “I told you this wasn’t... I told you I didn’t want anything serious.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound bouncing off the cold concrete walls. “No, you didn’t want anything serious, but you didn’t want to let me go either. You wanted me close enough to have whenever you felt like it, but not so close that you had to be accountable for it.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped, her voice cutting through your words. She squared her shoulders, looking at you like you were the unreasonable one, like this was all spiraling because you couldn’t control your emotions. “You’re acting like I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who stormed into my practice and made a scene.”

“A scene?” Your voice rose, the sharp edge of disbelief slicing through the tension. “You kissed someone else, Paige. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit at home, pretend it didn’t happen, and wait for you to toss me a few scraps of affection when it’s convenient?”

“That’s not what this is!” she shouted, the crack in her voice betraying her frustration. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, alright? I didn’t plan it! God, why can’t you just trust me?”

“Trust you?” The words tore from you, laced with incredulity. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you do things like this and then try to make me feel crazy for reacting?”

“I’m not making you feel crazy!” she fired back, but the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrayed her. She stepped closer, her hands gesturing wildly as if she could will you to calm down. “I just... I didn’t think this would turn into... into this.”

“This?” Your voice broke, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks in your anger. “Paige, I let you have all of me. You knew that, and you’re acting like I’m the one who crossed a line.”

Her face softened for a split second, and you saw the Paige you thought you knew, the one who made you laugh so hard you cried, the one who looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

But then she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t ask for this to get so complicated,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Complicated?” The word fell from your lips like venom. “You made it complicated. You wanted me enough to keep me on a leash, but not enough to—”

“Stop,” she cut you off, her voice sharp. “Just stop. You’re spiraling, and you’re putting all of this on me like you don’t have a choice in any of it.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your chest tighten, heat flooding your face. “A choice? Paige, I chose you. I keep choosing you, even when it hurts.”

For a moment, you thought she might say something—an apology, an admission, anything to make this feel less like a freefall. Instead, she just stepped closer, her voice softening. “You’re overthinking this. You always do.”

Your body went rigid, the casual dismissal slicing through you like a blade. “Don’t do that,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t make this about me being too much.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, her tone too smooth, too rehearsed. “I’m just saying... maybe we’re both a little out of line here.”

“Out of line?” You scoffed, the hurt morphing back into anger, fueling the fire between you. “You kissed someone else, and I’m out of line for calling you out on it?”

Her jaw clenched, her shoulders squaring as her frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I’ll never do it again? Because I can’t promise that, alright? I can’t promise to be someone I’m not!”

The admission knocked the wind out of you, the raw honesty of it cutting deeper than any excuse ever could. You stared at her, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And then, without thinking, you grabbed her face and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or tender—it was a collision of lips and teeth, anger and desperation crashing together in a way that felt like drowning and breathing at the same time.

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands found your waist, pulling you closer, her frustration melting into something else entirely. For a moment, the world disappeared—the hurt, the anger, the confusion—and all that was left was her, her lips moving against yours like she was trying to prove something, to take back control.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her lips brushed yours again, softer this time, almost apologetic. “I know,” she murmured.

But it didn’t stop her, or you, from letting it happen again. And again. And again.

This was the beginning of a vicious style. Paige would do something — something reckless or selfish or dismissive, something that cracked the fragile balance you were barely holding together. You would crash out, spinning into anger or heartbreak or desperation. Then, when the storm was at its peak, you’d collide in a mess of kisses and tangled limbs, pretending the hurt didn’t exist. And for a little while, it would work.

Rinse, repeat.

It was like a drug. The highs were euphoric — the way she’d whisper your name in the dark, the way her hands knew the map of your body like they’d been there a thousand lifetimes. But the lows were brutal. Paige wasn’t just in your life; she engulfed it. Even when she wasn’t physically there, she was everywhere — in your thoughts, in your chest, in the hollow ache that came from wanting more than she would ever give.

And yet, every time you told yourself this was the last time, she’d reel you back in.

It was always the same. She’d make promises she couldn’t keep. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I don’t want to lose you. They were just words, fragile and insubstantial, but you clung to them like a lifeline. Because even if Paige didn’t love you the way you needed her to, she made you feel.

But feelings weren’t enough. Not when the cycle kept repeating, each round leaving you a little more frayed, a little less whole.

Looking back, you didn’t see it at first. How could you? In those early days, it all still felt new, like you were learning each other in ways no one else ever had. The tension, the passion, even the arguments — it all felt alive.

But what you didn’t know then was that this wasn’t building toward something better. It wasn’t growth or healing or progress. It was just a loop, and the more you gave, the more it took.

And it all started here — in a practice gym with her teammates staring after you, with a kiss that should have been an apology but felt more like a warning.

This was how it was going to be. You just didn’t know it yet.

It was over long before she said it. That was the truth you’d been carrying for weeks, maybe even months, like a stone in your chest. The late nights tangled together, the whispered promises that never quite landed, the explosive fights that burned hot and fast — they were all just delaying the inevitable.

Paige didn’t love you. Not the way you loved her.

And even though you’d told yourself a hundred times that you’d walk away first, that you’d save yourself the heartbreak, there was a part of you that had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for her to finally say the words so you wouldn’t have to.

When she said them, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair messy and her lips still swollen from the argument-turned-kiss that had just played out like a broken record. Her voice was quiet, careful, like she thought if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt.

“I think we should just stay friends.”

Friends. As if that word hadn’t already been stretched beyond recognition between the two of you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t say anything at all. You just nodded, a single dip of your head that felt like letting go of a thousand unspoken words.

Because by then, you were too tired to argue. Too numb to care. You’d given everything you had to Paige Bueckers — your heart, your time, your trust. And in the end, she’d left you with nothing but empty promises and the ache of what could have been.

She watched you, her expression unreadable, maybe expecting a reaction. But there was nothing left to give. No anger, no tears, not even the kind of hope that had once kept you tethered to her.

And that’s when you knew.

It had been over long before it was over.

The first few days after Paige walked away, you told yourself you were fine. Numbness had a way of masquerading as strength, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believed it. You went about your routine mechanically, ignoring the ghost of her laugh that seemed to echo in every corner of your mind, or the phantom sensation of her fingertips trailing down your skin.

But it didn’t last.

The cracks began to show in the quiet moments, the ones you couldn’t fill with distractions. You’d see her everywhere — not in person, but in the lingering memories that clung to every inch of your life. The way she used to leave her hoodie draped over your chair. The playlist she made you that now sat like a ticking time bomb on your phone. Even the way the air smelled after it rained reminded you of her, of those late-night walks when the world felt small and it was just the two of you against everything.

Now, it was just you.

The nights were the worst. That was when the realization hit hardest, settling in your chest like a lead weight. She wasn’t coming back. And not only that, she seemed fine. Perfectly fine without you.

Social media became your own personal form of torture. Paige smiling with her teammates, Paige at practice, Paige at a party with her arm slung casually around someone else’s shoulders. She looked radiant, unbothered. And why wouldn’t she be? You were the one left unraveling, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had already been broken long before it officially ended.

You tried to bury yourself in distractions, in work, in friends, in anything that could occupy the space she used to fill. But nothing worked. Everywhere you turned, there she was, in your mind, in your heart, like she had embedded herself into the very fabric of your being.

The worst part was the silence. Paige hadn’t reached out — not once. Not to check on you, not to see if you were okay, not even to pretend that she cared. She had moved on seamlessly, like you were just a chapter she had finished reading. But you? You were stuck. Stuck rereading the same lines over and over, trying to figure out where it all went so wrong.

You hated her for it. And you hated yourself more for still wanting her, for craving the sound of her voice even when it was the last thing you should want to hear.

Sleep became elusive. You’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every argument, every kiss, every unspoken promise. Your mind refused to let go, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. But deep down, you knew better. Paige had already moved on. And she wasn’t coming back.

It was a cruel kind of clarity, realizing how little you seemed to matter to her now. While you were drowning, she was breathing just fine.

And so, you began to sink. Not all at once, but slowly, steadily, as the days turned into weeks and the weight of her absence pressed down on you. You stopped checking your phone, stopped looking at her social media, stopped pretending you were okay. Because you weren’t. You were a mess, and she was gone, and there was no fixing what had been broken.

For the first time, you understood what it meant to lose yourself in someone. Paige had taken pieces of you when she left, pieces you weren’t sure you’d ever get back. And as much as you hated it, as much as you hated her for making you feel this way, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You still loved her. And that was the hardest part of all.

The first time you saw the picture, it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. Paige stood there, her arm draped casually over a girl you didn’t recognize, her smile so effortlessly carefree it made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just the picture—it was what it represented.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

For months, you had clung to the idea that Paige’s reluctance to be with you had been about timing, about her career, about her focus on basketball. You’d told yourself over and over that it wasn’t about you—that she wasn’t ready for anything, not just you. But seeing her like this, so at ease, so perfectly content in someone else’s arms, shattered that illusion into a thousand irreparable pieces.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready. She just didn’t want you.

The realization hit you harder than any of the fights, any of the cold silences, any of the times she had pushed you away only to pull you back in. This was different. This was final. And it sent you crashing in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

The next few days passed in a haze. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, to sleep, to function like a normal person. Every time you closed your eyes, the image of her with that girl played on a loop in your mind. Her hand resting on her shoulder. The easy grin that you used to think was just for you. The sickening thought that this new girl got the version of Paige you’d always wanted but could never have.

Your friends tried to help. They texted, called, even showed up at your apartment uninvited, but nothing seemed to pull you out of the spiral. You were stuck, trapped in the memories of what could have been, haunted by the ghost of what never was.

And Paige? She was fine. She was more than fine. While you were unraveling, she was out there, living her life like nothing had happened, like you had never happened.

It wasn’t fair.

You replayed every moment in your head, dissecting every word, every touch, every promise she had made and broken. You thought about the nights she’d held you, the mornings when she’d whispered things you now realized she didn’t mean. You thought about the times she’d called you "important," like that word was supposed to mean something, like it was enough to keep you tethered to her while she gave you nothing in return.

The more you thought about it, the angrier you got. Not just at Paige, but at yourself. How had you let it get this far? How had you let her take so much of you, only to leave you with nothing?

But even as the anger simmered beneath the surface, it couldn’t erase the pain. Because no matter how much she hurt you, no matter how many times she let you down, a part of you still wanted her. You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth.

She was the love of your life—or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourself. And now, as you watched her move on so effortlessly, it felt like you had lost not just her, but a part of yourself.

You thought about the nights you’d spent together, the dreams you’d secretly dared to have, the way she had made you feel like the center of her universe, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You thought about the way she’d look at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the room, and you wondered if she ever looked at her new girlfriend like that.

The jealousy burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache of knowing you weren’t enough.

And that was the hardest part. Not the fights, not the breakups, not even seeing her with someone else. The hardest part was realizing that no matter how much you loved her, it was never going to be enough. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

But you still saw her everywhere. In the songs that played on the radio. In the basketball games you couldn’t bring yourself to watch anymore. In the small, stupid things that reminded you of her—like the way she used to steal the last piece of pizza or the way she’d hum under her breath when she thought no one was listening.

You wanted to hate her, to erase her from your mind and move on with your life. But how could you hate the person who had been your everything, even if only for a little while?

So you sat with the pain, let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the memories of a love that had never really been yours. And for the first time, you let yourself admit the truth: Paige had been the loss of your life. And no amount of time, no amount of distance, was ever going to change that.

PRESENT

You’re standing there, caught in the pull of her gaze, the space between you both charged with unspoken words. It feels like you’ve been here a thousand times before, standing on the edge, your heart teetering between wanting to stay and knowing you should walk away.

Paige’s hand still grips your wrist, and the simple touch feels like a tether. A lifeline. But you know better than to think it’s something more. She’s always been like this—holding on just enough to make you feel wanted, but never enough to pull you all the way in.

“Are you really fine?” she asks, her voice lower now, softer, like she’s trying to break through your walls. Her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles against your skin, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of the last few months—how everything has spiraled, how much you've tried to hold it all together.

You want to scream, to ask her why it’s always been this way, why she makes you feel like you’re the one losing the fight when you never even had a chance to begin with. But instead, you swallow it all down, pushing the rawness deep inside, out of sight.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, and this time, it sounds almost like a plea. A hope that if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it.

Paige doesn’t let go. She studies your face like she’s looking for something—some crack in the surface that would make everything make sense.

You hate how easily she does it. How she makes you feel like you could fall apart right here, and she’d still somehow be the one holding it all together.

But she’s not the one holding the pieces anymore.

“Don’t do that,” Paige says, her voice a little rougher now, her grip tightening just slightly. “Don’t close off from me. We’ve never been good at that.”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes you. “We’ve never been good at anything,” you snap, but the words feel too raw, too real for this moment.

She flinches, just barely, but you see it. You see the way her shoulders tense, the way her jaw clenches. It’s a reaction you’re so used to by now—the shift in her, the way she pulls back whenever you push too hard, whenever you force her to confront the mess between you two.

But this time, there’s something else in her eyes. Something you can’t quite place. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s regret. But it’s there, lurking beneath the surface, and it stirs something in you.

“I didn’t mean that,” you add quickly, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. But the damage is already done. The walls between you, the ones you’ve spent months building and reinforcing, are beginning to crumble.

Paige shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You never do.”

You don’t know what to say to that. The truth is, you’ve always known. You’ve always known that Paige was never going to be the one who could fix this. Fix you.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a beat, and the words hang in the air between you like a promise you both know she can’t keep.

It’s the same thing she’s always said. The same thing she said when she left. The same thing she said when she came back. And each time, it meant less and less.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow. Because it isn’t fine. It never will be.

Paige looks like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in, her lips brushing against your cheek in a fleeting, soft kiss.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

And just like that, everything falls back into place, if only for a moment. She pulls away, her hand still around your wrist, keeping you there, keeping you close—but not close enough.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way she makes you feel like you’re everything she’s ever wanted, or the way she makes you feel like you were never really a part of her at all.

You look into her eyes one last time, and for a moment, you see something there—something that makes you think maybe, just maybe, she feels it too.

But before you can get lost in it, she’s already pulling back, walking away. And you’re left standing there, once again, at the edge of it all.

The gym feels cold now. The bouncing basketballs echo through the space like the rhythm of your own heartbeat—distant, unsteady, and out of sync with everything else.

And in that moment, you realize something.

You’re never going to be okay with this. Not really.

But you’ll keep pretending, even if she has a girlfriend. Even if you've "moved on". Because that’s all you know how to do.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[frogserotonin]

Hii, could you do an Anthony lockwood x reader where they just have a nice chill day. They are together and have nothing to do so they just stay in bed all day sharing Stolen kisses, words of affirmation, cuddling, talking, bed hair, morning voice, makeout?

y'all don't understand this is so different from what i write on ao3 for my other fandom, i am an angst machine there, all of these fluff requests are terrifying bc idk how to write fluff 😭(/lh dw i still love writing them)

as long as you're next to me(just the two of us)- anthony lockwood x reader

(@citizen-01, @gibby31)

a/n: hope i could do justice to what u wanted!! was just listening to beabadoobee when writing this lmao warnings: none??? unedited, kissing ig, idk cursing?? ooc

Waking up in the morning wasn’t something you enjoyed all that often, the prospect of another day not that appealing when the Problem was still a prominent…problem issue. You’d never grow tired of waking up to the sight of Lockwood next to you though, limbs shot out in all directions-and yet always with an arm over you. Sometimes he’d have a little frown on his face when he was very deeply asleep that made you coo and smile so widely it hurt your cheeks. To be fair, who could blame you?

Waking up this morning was no different from most for you, a flash of disappointment at the world around you, and then giddiness at the realisation of Lockwood’s arm being slung around your torso and the most adorable fucking frown on his lips. You sigh happily, sitting up slightly, careful not to move his arm from its place. You glance at the clock on the bedside table-7:36am- dismiss it because it’s cold as shit, and weave your fingers into his hair, stroking his head and humming a song you don’t remember the name of. Today is a good day, a free day. Lucy will probably stay in bed until 9 and then make herself some toast, a cup of tea and then head back to bed and draw with the radio on. George won’t be up until around the same time, going to the kitchen to grab a pastry, make some tea and then bury himself in research about the Problem. 

If he could help it Lockwood would probably not awaken for another couple hours also. Unless you moved. He’d probably wake up to drag you back to bed to cuddle with him then.

You wouldn’t be opposed to that actually. 

Slowly you remove your hand from his hair, and then his arm from around you, letting out a small huff of laughter when he immediately moves it back, although still very unconscious. You swing a leg out from the quilt and place it on the (really fucking cold) floor, allowing for the majority of your weight to shift to that side. His other hand shoots out and grabs yours. For a couple seconds all you can pick up is incomprehensible mumbling, and then-

“Darling, come back.” It was a miracle you didn’t swoon, the nickname and the morning voice were a lethal combination. More grumbling and then he cracked an eye open and offered you a hopeful grin. “Please?”

Wow. How are you even alive anymore? It’s like your heart is simultaneously beating faster than humanly possible, and not at all. 

You feel his arms completely embrace you and drag you into them. He props himself up on one elbow and kisses your forehead, whispering a ‘good morning’ onto it and then attacking the rest of your face with lazy kisses, his other arm still securely hugging you to him.

“How’re you so pretty after having just woken up?” he asks, and it sounds so curious and genuine, you almost melt, right there and then. 

“I should ask you.” You try to play off how completely smitten you are by bantering with him, “Your morning hair is gorgeous dear.” you giggle at the hand that shoots up to try and smooth it down. It doesn’t work but you don’t particularly want to tell him, simply dragging his arm back down to cuddle you again. 

You lay together, you in his arms and his chin resting on the top of your head, for a little while, simply enjoying each other's presence. You turn around, burrowing yourself further into the blankets-because it really is fucking cold as balls, far out-and you wrap your arms around his middle. Neither of you are quite sure when you started kissing or who started kissing who but neither of you were planning on pulling away first.

Kissing Anthony Lockwood was many things. Sometimes it was rushed and breathtaking, like after a particularly terrifying case, when he’d push his lips to yours with a certain sort of vigour, reassuring himself of your stable and safe condition. Sometimes it was heated and intoxicating, deep kisses that doused you in gasoline and lit you aflame. 

These kisses are slow and idle, just the both of you enjoying the feel and existence of each other. You feel like you’re floating, tethered only by the feeling of his lips on yours. You’re infinite in his arms, your hands have found their way back to his hair, running your fingers through his hair. He pulls away and kisses the tip of your nose.

“You’re absolutely stunning.” His eyes lock with yours and his voice is hoarse and breathless from the kissing but still gravelly from having recently woken up. “You deserve everything and anything you so desire and I will go to the ends of the earth to provide you with that.” You kiss him again, just once, but it's hard and full of as much love as you can convey.

“I think that everything I want at all in this world is right here.”

“That is disgustingly adorable.” His smile is all the stars in a clear night sky.

“Thanks', I try.”

[crazyunsexycool]

Unbreakable

Chapter 9

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 6.3k

Warning: Some angst-iness, fluff, SMUUUTTTTTT, badly written smut, oral (fem. receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), implied depression (Idk if it's well depicted)

A/N: These two ugh!!! my heart can't take it. They finally take their relationship to the next (physical level). Also I hated that in the infinity saga no one checked up on Thor so I'm changing that too.

Series Masterlist

“I can’t believe you.” You look over at Lisa with a scowl. “I thought we were friends.” 

“I guess we aren’t anymore.” 

You scoff and look back down at the table. Lisa had never seen you upset let alone pissed off. She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. 

“Just take the cards, you drama queen.” Lisa urges you. 

“I can’t believe you stacked all of those draw twos against me.” 

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s just a game. Take your cards.”

You tilt your head to the side and look at Steve. “Just a game? I’ll have you know I’ve never lost a game of Uno before.” You say before you smile. “And I’m not about to now.” You add another draw two card to the pile. 

Steve groans but has to grab a total of ten cards. 

“It’s just a game, sweetheart.” You smile. 

“Who knew she was so competitive?” 

“All I know is we’re burning the Uno cards after this round.” Nat said before taking a sip of her beer. 

You had finally introduced Lisa and Cassie to Nat and the three of them had hit it off. So now whenever the five of you had a free night someone would host game night. This week it was Lisa and Cassie’s night to host. Their home was lovely, something you hoped to have one day. You saw the same kind of awe in Steve’s eyes as he took in the modern yet cozy living space. 

“You know what they say, if you can’t stand the heat.” 

Nat rolls her eyes as she places a card down. 

“I’m gonna take you down.” 

“Good luck Red.” You winked at her. Nat shook her head but smiled at the nickname. Something you’d started calling her when you felt more comfortable in your friendship. 

The game went on for a few more turns. 

“Uno.” You shout and soon enough you place the last card down. “Yes! I am undefeated.” 

You do a little happy dance while the others groan. This was at least the fourth game you’d won in a row. Cassie throws a balled up napkin at your head and you laugh. After picking up all of the cards and helping to clean up Nat excuses herself for the night. Soon enough you and Steve do the same with a promise of getting together again soon. 

**** 

“Thank you for coming tonight.” You tell Steve as you stand on the steps of your apartment building. 

“I wouldn’t have missed it. It was fun and I think Nat really needed it as well.” 

“Yeah,” you nod but your mood shifts. “I worry about her. If we don’t drag her out she’d stay at the compound or go out on missions forever.” 

“Some people are finding different ways to cope.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I was lucky enough to find the most amazing person to help me through my bad days.” Steve says as he places his hands on your hips and pulls you flush against him. 

You smile as your hands come up to rest on his chest. 

“Oh really?” 

“Really.” Steve mumbled before closing the distance between your lips and giving you a sweet kiss. When he pulled back you chased him for a couple of more quick pecks. “So listen.” He says once you’ve both been satisfied. “I was wondering if you could take a few days off in like a week or so.”

“Probably. What for?” 

“I am going to visit a friend and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.” 

“Oh,” you can’t help but feel giddy at the thought of meeting another of Steve’s friends. “I’ll see what days I can take and let you know.” 

“Perfect. Is Marvin good on planes?” 

You both look down at Marvin who was sitting by your feet patiently waiting for the night to end. “I don’t know, we’ve never been on a plane together before. But he should be ok. I’ll do some research to see what I can do to make him comfortable during the flight.” 

“Ok. Perfect, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Text me when you get home.” 

Steve gives you another kiss. “Always.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too sweetheart.” 

You’re all smiles as you walk into the building and up to your apartment.

When Steve said you two were taking a trip you thought it would be on a commercial flight. Instead the two of you, and Marvin, were in the jet Nat used for missions. The plan was that she would take you to your destination, stay unless she was needed for a mission, and come back to pick you up. It wasn’t what you were expecting but you appreciated the privacy. 

“Are you ready for take off?” Steve asks as he double checks your seatbelt. 

“Yeah. How long is the flight?” 

“A few hours.” 

“Ok, cool. Are you going to let me use you as a pillow if I fall asleep?” 

Steve smiles as he sits next to you. “Of course you can sweetheart.” 

“Are you two ready?” Nat turns her head to look back at you. 

You and Steve nod.

“Alright. It should be a few short hours so strap in lovebirds.” 

****

It was an almost 9 hour flight. Marvin was the first to hop out of the jet in order to stretch his legs. Steve grabs your bags while you walk around with Marvin and then head down to the village you’ll be staying at. You were surprised when you saw the sign that said New Asgard. Steve and Nat had both told you about Thor and how he had brought his people to earth when their home was destroyed. 

“Captain Rogers, Black Widow.” A woman met the three of you at the village entrance. There were people working and walking around, their attention going to the four of you.

“Please call me Nat.”

“I’m Steve. This is Y/N, my girlfriend.” He introduced you. “And that’s Marvin.” He points towards the dog sitting at your feet.

“Are you an avenger too?” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m only here for moral support.” 

“I’m Brunnhilde. C’mon I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.” 

The three of you follow her until you get to a cottage. Brunnhilde lets you in and hands over the key. 

“You should settle down for the night. I’ll take you to see him tomorrow but you should know that he isn’t doing well.”

You say your good nights and start to settle for the night. Nat takes one room and Steve ushers you to the other one. 

“I’ll take the couch.” He says as sets your bags down just past the doorway. 

“What? Why? The bed is big enough for the two of us.” 

“I know but I didn’t want to assume you’d want to share a bed.” 

You smile up at Steve and wrap your arms around his midsection. “Thank you for your consideration but I would like it very much if you stayed with me.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Very sure.” You reach up to give Steve a quick kiss, one he accepts happily. 

“The bathroom’s free.” Nat calls from down the hallway. 

You and Steve each take a shower, have a quick dinner and head to bed for the night. 

You were sitting at the kitchen table with Nat and Steve just having breakfast and talking over the plans for the day.

“I think the two of you should go ahead. Thor might not want to meet anyone new.” You said before taking a sip of your coffee. 

“I don’t want you to be here alone.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Marvin and I can go explore the village center. You two go see Thor and we can meet here in the afternoon.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks as he stands to place his plate in the sink. “I’m more than ok if you join us.” 

“I’m sure. Now go.”

With Nat and Steve gone you finish getting ready yourself. Double checking that you have everything in your bag you grab Marvin’s leash and head out. 

****

New Asgard was beautiful. There were still things that needed to be done but the Asgardians had accomplished so much in the time they had been on earth. You took a stroll around the village center and ended around the rocky shore. It was early and vacant enough that you took off Marvin’s vest and leash to let him run around freely. You grabbed the ball you always carried in your bag for him and threw it far enough for him to chase. Of course it wasn’t as far Steve could throw it so he came back quickly. Marvin wagged his tail as he followed your movements to grab the ball again and throw it. 

“How are you enjoying New Asgard?” You turn to see Brunnhilde walking up to you. 

“It’s beautiful. I’m sure it’s not as beautiful as the original though.” 

She looks back and nods. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine losing my home like that.” 

She gives you a tight lipped smile before her eyes move to look at something behind you. “Marvin, right?” 

“Yup.”

Marvin walks past you and lays the ball at her feet. He sits back and waits patiently for the ball to be thrown again. Brunnhilde takes it and launches it further than you had and Marvin is one happy dog as he runs full speed in order to find his target. 

“So do you work with Steve and Nat?” She asks as the two of you decide to sit and wait for Marvin. 

“No. I could never be an avenger.” You shake your head. “I don't think I’d last a day in the field and I’m probably a bit high maintenance.”

“High maintenance?” 

“Yeah, I don’t think I could go days without a working bathroom. And you know the whole getting shot at or beaten up. I’m here for moral support and taking care of Steve and Nat when they come back from their missions.” 

“Well that role is just as important.” Brunnhilde says with a smile. 

“I mean I can kick some ass. They’ve taught me self defense.” 

“Really?” She raises a brow and has a smirk that says trouble. 

“Yes.” 

“Would you like to spar? I promise it will be an easy round. Maybe I can teach you something too.” 

You smile and nod. “I’d love that.” 

“I’ll meet you at the cottage in 15 minutes then.” She says and leaves.

You call Marvin back and head to the cottage and change into more athletic clothes. 

****

By the time Steve and Nat finally get back to the house you and Brunnhilde have finished your impromptu training session and are sitting side by side talking and drinking some water. 

“What were you up to while we were out?” Steve asks as he walks in through the front door. 

“Sparring. I learned some new moves.” 

Steve nods, impressed that you wanted to learn more. “You sure you don’t want to be on the team? We could use all the help we can get.” 

“Nope. I’m fine being your cheerleader and nurse.” 

Steve smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes and you notice immediately. 

“I’ll see you later.” Brunnhilde excuses herself and leaves the three of you alone. 

“I’m assuming things didn’t go well with Thor?” 

Steve sighs as he takes the seat next to you while Nat makes herself comfortable in an armchair. 

“I wasn’t expecting him to be the jovial person he was when we first met but seeing him like this was heartbreaking.” Steve says. 

“Initially he didn’t even want to see us. It took us a few minutes to get him to open the door. When we finally got inside he didn’t want to listen to what we had to say.” Nat adds.

You placed a hand on Steve’s back and moved it up and down in a soothing manner.

“I’m sorry guys. But we’re here a few more days right? You can try again. All you can do is let him know that he isn’t alone, even though he feels that way.” 

“Yeah, I know. It just feels a bit hopeless.” Steve murmurs. 

“You’ll figure it out and I’m right here to support you in whatever way you need.” You turn to look at Nat. “Both of you.” 

Nat gave you a tight lipped smile. She’s been under a lot of pressure lately. Most of it she put on herself. It was wearing her down, you could see it. 

“I’m gonna go shower. I’ll be right back.” 

****

Just as you’re done getting dressed Nat knocks on your door. You open it and see her dressed in her uniform.

“You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah, Rhodey needs some backup.”

“Is Steve going too?” you ask, suddenly anxious about being left alone in another country.

“No, but he’s going to walk me to the jet. He’ll be right back.” 

You nod and give Nat a hug. 

“Be safe and come back.”

“I will. Have fun will you?” She steps back and smiles. “See you in a day or so.” 

After spending a great afternoon together, you and Steve settled down for the night. He was sitting in bed sketching while you stared at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You took in a deep breath and tried to calm your nerves. This was supposed to be what you hoped was the next step in your relationship. You apply some lip gloss and make sure you look your best before walking back toward the bedroom you were sharing and stand at the doorway.

“Hey sweetheart, are you ready for bed or were you going to read some more?” Steve asks without looking up from his sketch. 

“Nope.” 

At your reply Steve looks up and drops his pencil and his jaw. You were wearing a light blue silk slip with lace trim that barely made it to the top of your thigh. Steve’s eyes moved all over your frame and he shifted to try and adjust the quickly growing tent in his pants. It would be a lie if Steve said he hadn’t thought about the physical aspect of your relationship. He would never push you to do something you didn’t want to do but he also craved to be close to you in this way. So his eyes were glued to the sway of your hips. His mouth parted slightly in awe that you were standing in front of him looking so beautiful. 

Steve swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his legs spread enough so that you could stand in between them. He moved the sketchbook to the nightstand as you placed your hands on his shoulders but he couldn’t stop thinking about touching you, how you clouded his senses in such a mesmerizing way by just being close to him. Slowly Steve brought his hands up to rest on your hips. The scent of your perfume was as delicate and intoxicating as you were and Steve couldn’t help but take in a deep breath in hopes that he could remember it forever. 

“You look beautiful.” He finally manages to say as he looks up at you. A bashful smile and a pink tint make their way up to Steve’s face as he compliments you. 

You stared at each other for a moment, neither of you moved a muscle. It was obvious what was about to happen. Your heart was thrashing against your ribs as nerves got the better of you. 

“Hey,” Steve squeezed your hips. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

You gave him a questioning look and he smiled.

“I can hear your heart beating like crazy. You’re in control ok? We stop when you say stop.”

You smiled and nodded then cupped his face. Steve closed the small distance between you both and kissed you. There had been a few make out sessions in the past but compared to this kiss those were tame. In a bold move you would have never done before you straddled Steve’s lap. You were chest to chest as Steve finally moved his hands respectfully to your low back but then he grabbed your ass. He kneaded your flesh before pulling you closer causing you to moan into the kiss. 

“So beautiful.” Steve murmured between kisses down your neck and toward your chest. 

His hands move along your thighs until he reaches your slip and starts taking it off. Your breath hitches at such a moment of vulnerability. Steve had never seen you naked so he’s never seen the scars and it scares you that he will be disgusted by them. When he feels you tense against him, Steve stops. 

“Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” 

You run your hands back and forth on his forearms. 

“Could we maybe turn off the lights?”

Steve tilts his head slightly to the side as he studies your face. “If that’s what you want. But why?” 

“I have scars.” 

“You think I won’t want you because of that?” He asks and you nod before turning your head to hide your embarrassment. “Sweetheart, I could never do something like that to you. You know that right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then let me show you how you make me feel. How much I love you.” 

You finally look back at him and see the sincerity in his eyes. “Ok.” You say softly and are rewarded with a beautiful smile. 

Steve grabs the hem of your slip and slowly drags it up your body and over your head, leaving you in only a pair of lacy underwear.  

“Just as I thought.” Steve murmurs. “Perfect.” 

He kisses your lips before moving back down to your chest where the first scar is. The one that represents how you almost died. Steve places a kiss there before he gives your breasts attention. A hand kneading one and his mouth on the other, tongue swirling and flicking your nipple. You moan and arch, pushing your chest closer to him. It startles you when Steve stands while still holding on to you and gently places you on the bed. His eyes are filled with lust and love. With every move he makes Steve checks in with you to make sure you’re comfortable and it warms your heart. 

Steve starts by kissing in the valley between your breasts. Every scar he finds he kisses, and there are many. His hands are gentle as they caress every inch of your body they can reach. Steve’s hands sit at your hips, playing with the edge of your panties. There’s a bit of embarrassment that you were already so wet and that Steve could see the mark of your arousal in the form of a wet patch on your underwear.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks. 

“Yes, please Steve, I want to be with you. I trust you.” 

Steve smiled at your words and he slowly pulled down your panties. Now you were laying there completely bare for him. It made you want to hide but you also wanted this, more than that you needed him. And with the look he was giving you, you knew he felt the same. Steve doesn’t waste any time and settles between your thighs. His lips start a trail on your inner thigh before moving to the other. Steve places a kiss on your mound and you whine before propping yourself on your elbows and looking down at him and finding a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Stop being a tea-ah.” Your head falls backwards as Steve licks a long stripe from your dripping hole up to your clit. He groans as he finally gets a taste of you.

Steve takes his time with you. He swirls his tongue around your clit and gives you just enough attention to push you to the edge but not over, not yet. Then Steve begins to tease your entrance with a finger before pushing in. You moan and buck your hips against him looking for more of him. Steve adds another finger and continues at a steady pace. Your hands fist the bedsheet the closer you get to your first orgasm.

“So close. Please…” You whimper and roll your hips. 

“Let go for me, sweetheart.” Steve says as he curves his fingers and adds pressure to your g-spot, his lips wrapped around your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You gasp and tense as Steve pushes you over the edge. Steve helps you through your high. When you open your eyes you’re met with his smiling face. 

“Hi.” You whisper and he chuckles. 

“Hi. How are you feeling?” 

“So good.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s eyes are bright and so is his smile.

“Yeah.” 

You caress his cheek and pull him down to kiss him, moaning when you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands move over Steve’s chest and wrap around his midsection. Muscles tense and relax under your touch as he moves to hover over you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t have any protection.” 

“It’s ok. I’m on birth control and I’m clean.” You murmur between kissing his jawline. 

“You’re sure you want this?” 

You smile. “I am.” 

Steve pulls away from you to undress. He first takes off his shirt and you bite your bottom lip as he continues to undress. Steve smirks when he sees you press your thighs together as he slides his sweats off staying in only a pair of boxer briefs. You sit up and reach out to touch him. Your hands lands on his abs, just above the elastic of his underwear. He takes your hand and plants a kiss on your knuckles.

“Steve I want to-“ 

“Maybe next time. Right now it’s about you.”

You shake your head. “It’s about both of us.” 

“Sweetheart, trust me when I tell you that just being here,” Steve pushes you to lay back down. You spread your legs and let him settle in between them. “with you like this, is more than enough for me.” He kisses your neck again and moves up to your jaw. “I want to make love to you, show you how much you mean to me.” He murmurs as he pushes his boxers down. 

You look in between your bodies and your jaw falls slack. Steve is big, and although you had assumed he would be, now you weren’t sure he would fit. 

“We’ll go slow ok?” Steve says as if reading your mind. 

You look back up at him and nod before your lips are on his again. Steve takes himself in his hand and moves up and down your slit. The head of his cock putting pressure on your sensitive clit. Steve groans as he collects your slick and then spreads it along his hardened length. You tense as Steve lines himself up with your entrance and looks at you one more time. He can see the momentary panic in your eyes and stops. 

“Sweetheart.”

“Hhmm.” You look up at him with wide panicked filled eyes. 

“It’s just you and me, nothing else matters. I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You said but Steve could tell that you were still tense.

He pulls back and pulls you up with him. Steve moves to sit against the headboard and has you straddling his lap. He gives you quick kisses before looking at you. 

“You’re in control. We do what you feel comfortable doing. Take what you want, sweetheart. I’m all yours.” 

That made you want to melt into a puddle. You moved closer to him, eyes trained on his lust blown ones. This was so much better and although Steve could overpower you, you knew he would never do that. With a new wave of determination you slip your hand between your bodies and take his hard, throbbing cock in your hand. You slowly move your hand up and down collecting the precum already at the tip and spreading it. Steve groans at your touch and wills himself not to thrust into your fist. 

“Now who’s the tease?” He murmurs. 

You smirk and line yourself up. Slowly you start to lower yourself on his length. A small gasp falls from your lips as your hands land on Steve’s chest. His hands are on your hips as he helps you slowly move up and down until you're fully wrapped around him. 

“So full.” You mutter through shallow breaths. “Feels so good.” 

Steve smiles before kissing you. He’s gentle and loving and the delicious stretch as he You focus on Steve and his expression of pure bliss as you flutter around him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me, baby.” Steve kisses you.

You slowly roll your hips slowly and gasp. With every gentle kiss, every praise that falls from his lips, Steve washes away any negative thought and insecurity you had. You relax more and soon you begin to really enjoy this moment. Steve’s mouth is on your breast and his attention to your pebbled peak combined with a roll of his hips has you digging your nails into his chest. 

“So fucking tight.” Steve says with a grunt. “You feel so good.” 

You can only moan in response as you continue to bounce on his cock. There was nothing but the sound of skin against skin, wet sloppy kisses, whimpers and groans of pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm. Steve did that, he gave you everything you didn’t know you needed in such an intimate and vulnerable moment. He lets you find your rhythm in your pleasure without forcing you. His words were somehow filthy when he praised you for being his good girl but also tender. He pushed his own needs and wants to the side to make sure you were happily satiated first. With his hands on your hips he helps in your movements.

“You’re so close, sweetheart. I can feel it, they way you’re gripping me.” He murmurs in your ear and that sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is so low when he tells you that you can let go.

 You can’t help but to do as he says while Steve slows down to help you through your high. When the haziness finally begins to fade and you blink away the stars behind your eyelids, you focus on Steve and cup his face. 

“Your turn.” You murmur. “Fill me up, Stevie. I need it.” 

Steve flips you in your back and sits back on his haunches, his eyes are lust filled. With his hands on your hips Steve pulls you closer to him, leaving only your back and shoulders on the bed. Steve picks up his pace and as he pistons into you he starts to rub tight circles around your swollen clit. Your hands grip the sheets as Steve finally cums with a grunt of your name. You follow close behind him. 

“Fuck.” Steve lowers himself hovering you again and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You move your hand up and down Steve’s back in a soothing manner. 

After a  minute or so Steve pulls out and then turns to lay on his back bringing you to lay on top of him. You can’t help but sniffle and cuddle closer to him, hiding your face against Steve’s chest.

“Sweetheart? Are you ok?” Steve asks, concerned. He could feel the tear drop on his skin. “Oh no, did I hurt you? I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to.” 

Steve turns again so that you’re laying on your back again and he can check for any injuries. 

“No, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cry and ruin all of this.”

“You aren’t ruining anything, sweetheart but talk to me.” 

“These are happy tears, I promise.” You look up at Steve through tear soaked lashes. “You make me happy. I was just overwhelmed for a moment.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief and rests his forehead against yours. 

“You make me happy too.” 

The next morning had been a blissful one, waking up in Steve’s arms. He had been gentle then too. You had no fear in being with him again. It was your choice, every move you made and every touch was because you wanted to. There had been a part of you that had feared you’d never be able to be intimate with someone again but you were more than happy that it was with Steve. As much as you would have loved to stay in bed for longer, you had to take Marvin out for his morning walk even though Steve grumbled. He promised breakfast would be on the table by the time you got back. 

You head back to the beach area where you’d let Marvin run free the day before with the intention of doing it again. The Asgardians are already up and working to expand their village. Some smile and greet you as you pass by. Once you’re at your destination you take off Marvin’s vest and throw the ball you’d brought with you. After taking a few steps forward movement to your left gets your attention and you flinch. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

This was Thor. His beard had grown out, his hair was disheveled and he was starting to grow a beer belly but he was still recognizable. From all the stories Steve had told you though, he barely seemed like the god of thunder everyone seemed to admire. He was more like a shell of his former self. But you’d been there, in that darkness that pulled you apart and made you feel less than so you understood that he was struggling. It was why Steve and Nat wanted to come in the first place, to remind him that he wasn’t alone. 

“Don’t worry, I didn’t see you there.” You smile at him. Just then Marvin stops at your feet with the ball in his mouth. You take it and throw it again. “I’m Y/N.”

“Lady Y/N, you are who Rogers is courting then?” 

“Yes.” You smile just at the mention of Steve. 

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m glad he was able to find someone to settle down with.” Thor gives you a sad barely there smile before his eyes move from yours to the ocean.  “I should go.” Thor murmurs as he turns back towards the village.

“Join us for breakfast.” You say to him before he can retreat into his home. “Please.” 

“I couldn’t impose.” 

“You’re not. I’m inviting you. You don’t even have to talk about anything you don’t want to. Just breakfast with an old friend, and a new one.” 

Thor turned around to look at you. He was assessing the sincerity in your words before he gave a small nod. You smile and call Marvin. Much to his dismay you put the best back on and promise to come back to the beach later. You lead the way, walking silently side by side with Thor until you reach the cottage you’d been staying in. 

“Just in time sweetheart, breakfast is almost ready.” Steve called out from the kitchen. 

“We have a guest, hun.”

“Oh?” Steve pokes his head out from the kitchen and he smiles when he sees Thor. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll be right out.” 

“Sit, please.” You tell Thor. 

He takes a seat at the table, his eyes glued to it. You sit across from him just as Steve sets a mug of coffee down in front of you and another in front of Thor. Steve sends a wink your way and heads back to the kitchen coming in with three plates. 

Breakfast is rather quiet and awkward. Steve had tried to start a conversation with Thor but the latter would just give one word replies. 

“So Thor,” you say, trying to get anything out of him. “What’s Steve like out on missions?” 

That seemed to be the right question to ask as Thor finally looked up at you and began to talk about working with Steve and the other Avengers.  

**** 

It had been about half an hour later and Thor was chuckling with Steve. It was nice to see both of them look more lively. 

“And then as these men lined up I raised my hammer and hit Roger’s shield with it, sending a bolt of lighting right at them. We took about 8 men down in one blow.” Thor smiles. “Good times.” He says before his smile fades and that sadness you’d seen comes back. 

“They really were.”

“If we could only go back.” Thor murmured, his gaze distant. 

You look at Steve and tilt your head toward the small hallway, letting him know you’d be giving them privacy. Marvin gets up and follows you and you can only hope that Steve can somehow make Thor believe that what happened wasn’t his fault. 

Steve ran his hand up and down your arm as he called your name softly. Apparently between giving him and Thor privacy and reading the book you’d brought with you on the trip you’d fallen asleep. So when you blinked owlishly at him, Steve chuckled. 

“Hey there sleepy head.” He says softly. 

Some of his blond hair falling forward, blue eyes sparking just for you. It made you sigh happily as his eyebrow raised in amusement. 

“You’re so pretty.” 

Steve laughs but you can see him blush. You smile before sitting up and stretching your arms up above your head.

“How is your talk with Thor going?”

“It went ok. He left already.” Steve sighs as he lays down, placing his head on your lap. 

You start playing with his hair as he tells you about the conversation. It was obvious from what Steve told you that Thor blamed himself for everything. Just how Steve and Nat needed to hear that what Thanos did wasn’t their fault, Thor needed to hear it too. 

“But I don’t know, he seemed so defeated and I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“He has lost everything, including his immediate family. It couldn’t have been easy for him. Then he comes to earth and loses another battle. As long as you continue to be there for him, maybe come back and visit him, that’s all you can do.” You tell him. 

“That’s why you’re the brains in this relationship.” 

“And the brawns.” You add while lifting your arms and flexing your muscles. Steve laughs and you join in. 

“Definitely, but does that make me?” He asks, amused.

“Eye candy of course.” 

“So you’re only with me for my looks?” Steve clutches his chest. “You wound me.” 

“Of course I am. Have you seen your ass?” 

At that Steve turns crimson and he has to look away although he still smiles. After an easy silence settles between you two, you speak up.

“I’m glad I met you when I did because I was in the same place Thor is now. I don’t think you even realize how much you helped me out of it. That’s why I know you’ll be able to help him too. And sometimes all you can do is be there for him. So don’t feel like you failed Thor if he isn’t his thundery old self.” 

Steve sighs as he thinks about what you’ve said. He watches as you move around until you practically lay on top of him completely. You wiggle your arms between him and the mattress and give him the best hug you can. 

Steve wasn’t one for naps. But at the moment with how emotionally draining his conversation with Thor had been and the comfort of your weight and affection pinning him in place he couldn’t help but doze off. 

Too soon for your liking Nat had returned to pick you up. She was a bit bruised but nothing she couldn’t handle. So Steve grabbed your bags and together you met her at the jet. Surprisingly Brunnhilde was also there having a conversation with Nat. 

“Thank you for receiving us.” Steve says as he shakes her hand. “I hope I can come back soon.” 

“You’re always welcome here. I think it was good for Thor to see you.” 

Steve gives a small nod and her attention moves from him to you. You smile brightly at her. 

“I hope to see you again as well.” 

“Definitely, maybe we can even spar again.” 

“Absolutely.” Brunnhilde nods before she pulls something out of her pocket. “For you.” She holds out a pouch in her hand. 

“What is it?” 

“A blade of course.” She opens the pouch to reveal a small dagger in its leather holster. She grabs the hilt which was made of gold and pulls it out to show you a slightly iridescent blade. 

“A dagger?” You say as you take it and look at it closely. The blade had writing carved into it and the hilt was extremely comfortable. “It’s beautiful, thank you.” 

“It is a weapon used by the Valkyrie. It’s made of the highest quality of Asgardian metal.” 

“I can’t keep this, it’s yours.” 

You look at her and hold the blade out for Brunnhilde to take back. She holds up her hand and waves you off. 

“It should continue to do its job.” 

“Thank you, again, for everything. I’ll keep in touch ok?” 

Brunnhilde smiles and brings you in for a hug. Surprisingly Thor shows up just before you, Nat and Steve get on the jet. They share a private moment as former teammates, a friends, before Thor turns his attention to you. He gives a soft, sad smile and thanks you for your visit. You inform him that there’s a place for him to stay if he wishes to visit New York. Then much to Steve’s faux annoyance Thor takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles. 

“Safe travels, M’lady.” 

“Thank you Thor, I hope to see you soon.” 

With a final wave goodbye you move to get on the jet with Marvin. Steve sits next to you and you both settle for the flight back home. All in all you would say it was a rather successful trip. 

Ch. 10

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[sanccharine]

when you're not around | ju

pairing: ???!jiu x ???!reader genre: angst word count: 0.8k

warnings: mentions of dead body, blood, smoking

summary: 

a/n: wrote this in the last hour, idk what this is but it was fun to write :] also thanks @eternallyghosting for jumping on to check at lightning speed, also i will add a banner and summary when i can, when im not lazy,,,if i remember lol

The sigh you release was a deep one. It arrived from somewhere deep in your stomach, carrying all the tension in your back and up your spine until it escaped out of your throat. It filled up your lungs with that stuffy feeling, as if they were already pushing at your rib cage, unable to expand anymore. Not that this body was ever a problem. 

When you opened your eyes, you took in your surroundings. Even so high up in the apartment complex situated in the middle of the city, this home was depressing. It was barely homely. 

Blank walls. 

Empty shelves. 

Ugly couch.

Dead body. 

You shouldn’t have come here.

Just as you were about to release another shaky sigh, something white caught your sight. 

Curtains by the balcony, beside the glass door you’d opened to come in, ruffled as the wind picked up. 

It wasn’t a windy day…

Stepping over the body, you fished for your cigarette pack in your pocket. The pack was feather-light with only one last cigarette left. You don’t even know why you smoke these. You’ll have to get more later. 

You stepped out into the balcony just as your two-fingered hold of the cigarette stopped by your lips. 

“Humans say smoking is bad,” she says as a greeting. Her voice feeble with her back to you. 

“Do they?” you asked, voice just as feeble, delicate even, but from unuse. Humming, you throw a glance at the body in the home before taking your place next to her. 

Not right next to her. Not too far away from her. More near the balcony and her atop the railing. But she was only an arm’s length away, just enough so you wouldn’t reach out to her… just enough that she could… if she wanted to. 

Plopping the cigarette between your lips, you patted your jacket pockets to find your lighter. 

Just when you located it, you halted.

Minji’s index finger hooked underneath your chin, tilting your head up. A touch so soft, so gentle, it took all of your restraint to not lean into her warmth, to turn and witness her in all of her divinity.  

You didn’t move. You didn’t, not even when the pad of her thumb followed a line from your cheek to your lips. Even the smallest of her touches was heady, warmth transforming into a blaze and boiling your blood. 

“It really is a bad habit,” she said softly.

And when you let out a shaky sigh, her nail grazed your bottom lip, setting alight the cigarette for you. 

Barely in your hold, the cigarette tipped and instantly ignited completely. Only minute flecks of glowing embers and the stubborn odour of smoke left in its wake. 

Minji drew her hand back and resumed its position on the railing. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, finally looking at her. 

Minji was dressed in an ivory frock—lightweight and shoulderless, flowing and swaying as she swung her legs. You couldn’t tell what fabric it was, but it was inviting, tempting to run your hand and feel its softness between your fingertips. Even in the moonless night, she was shining, that inescapable warmth of hers. That glow she radiated, lighting a giddiness in you, in everyone, whoever had the fortune or misfortune of basking in her presence. That warmth draws you in, pulling you closer until it is too late to realize that you’ve flown too close, until you’re burning alive. Her features are soft, subdued. The picture perfect image of innocence. Angelic. 

“And you shouldn’t either,” she retaliated, though there was no fight to her tone. To her, this was just any other conversation. 

“So what, you’re keeping an eye on me now?” you asked and folded your arms, pushing further away from her. 

“I don’t know,” Minji confessed, her eyes on the ant-sized cars many many floors down. You wondered if she was tempted to just tip over, attempt a wingless flight. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Don’t you have to go report this now?” you ask with no malice in your tone. “Is this the report—?”

“What are you doing here,” Minji finally looked at you, then glanced at the body, then back to you, “really?” 

“What I was ordered to do—”

“This is not your job—”

“Well, it falls under the description, doesn’t it—”

“Are you doing this—

“No, I’m not doing this because of you, Minji!” Your words came out in a rush, heavy with finality. Scrunching your eyes again, you located the tension growing up your chest. You let out another shaky sigh. “I do what I’m told, and you do what you’re told. That’s how we work, right?”

She stayed silent. Her face bore nothing of the turmoil you knew was swirling in her mind. That’s how she’d fooled you for the longest time, how she’d pulled you into her burning embrace. 

“I will have to report this.” 

“Right,” you nodded and turned back into the home, leaving Minji seated on the balcony railing. 

The last thing you heard was the wind again, the only sign of her surreptitious arrival and exit.

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: what does everyone think they are, no wrong answers :] hope everyone has a good day/night !

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli 

[rosy-mocha]

summary: Things have been getting pretty lonely on the Plane. (Especially for a certain subway seat.)

notes: subway uses he/it prns, takes place after one 18, angst, hurt NO COMFORT (also subway centric. others do appear briefly)

ao3 link below if u wanna read there idk

*Click click, tap tap*

The faint sound of keyboard keys could be heard throughout the Plane. Everything has been the same for the past few… days? Or was it just a few hours? It couldn’t have already been days, but it was hard to tell by the constant blaring sunlight that covered the entire place.

Everyone was out of view, doing whatever they were. Scenty was probably with ‘Bryce’ (That’s what Soda Bottle said what his name was, it was a nice name Subway thought), and Moldy was probably back near the pool.

And of course, Subway Seat sat near two objects though he only focused on one particular one. The blue, round container of whipped cream.

In all honesty? He didn’t know what he felt right now. Everything had happened so fast, barely anytime to process anything. They had pulled out the plug, only to have it put back in by Airy, then suddenly Backpack— Liam— somehow got into the place where Airy hosts, and now Airy’s dead?

Subway didn’t exactly know what happened between the two. Liam wasn’t exactly descriptive with his words, and he didn’t want to upset Liam any further, so he mostly kept his mouth shut. All that he knows now is that Liam is trying to learn how to teleport all of them out of the Plane using a computer. It certainly interested Subway, it wanted to know more about what was outside the Plane. (Though it’s not like Liam was going to say anything. He has been just as quiet as the others.)

He kept staring at the inanimate object. It felt strange seeing him like this now. He didn’t think he had seen Whippy Creamy’s inanimate form ever since the drawing challenge. Subway Seat frowned, would this have even happened if Airy hadn’t decided to make Bryce rejoin?

It thought about when Bryce was so… full of emotion when he had rejoined.

—

“Soda Bottle! You-You’re back!” Scenty yelled out.

Soda Bottle turned around with wide eyes. He couldn’t tell what emotion he was displaying all over his face; was it shock? Fear?

Everyone surrounded Soda Bottle tried to speak to him, but it was clear that the bottle wasn’t listening. “Liam…” he whispered, not saying another word. Liam? Who was Liam? Subway Seat soon shook off that thought once he suddenly heard a familiar monotone voice from above, “I have to go... Think of a new challenge. Go… uh… Welcome the rejoiner.” There was a sound of a microphone shifting around before it went quiet.

“Soda Bottle, I’m so—” Scenty spoke again before she was cut off by Soda Bottle facing away from them and stomping through the grass. Moldy took a step forward, “Wh- Soda Bottle! What are you—”

“Don’t call me that! My name is Bryce!” He turned around sharply, “I’m not letting Airy do this anymore!” He screamed out.

“Soda—” Moldy paused, remembering the name that he told her, “Bryce. There’s not much you can do to stop him.”

Scenty widens her eyes, “The plug.” she uttered.

“What? What about the plug?” Moldy questioned.

“That plug is definitely connected to this place. Maybe if we can unplug it, something will happen!” Scenty’s mood suddenly shifted, almost yelling out her words.

Doubtful looks were given to each other. “That may not be a good idea. We don’t even know what that plug is connected to. Plus, there’s no way we will be able to unplug that thing, it’s massive.” Moldy argued.

“...Show me where that plug is.” Bryce said.

Moldy staggered, “What? You can’t be serious about this.”

“Liam and I were so close to figuring this out! I’m not letting Airy take me another step back! Don’t you guys care about any of this? About being treated like some kind of toy?” Bryce raised his voice, “Airy has taken a part of my life, and I was just willing to just forget it! Pretend it never happened, but I don’t want that anymore!”

Bryce took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, “I’m sure you guys feel the same way. Please— we all have a home to go back to.” Bryce looked towards the ground, “Whatever this plug is, I know that it’ll help us. It has too.”

Dead silence. They all stared at Bryce in shock. Moldy sighed, “Okay, fine. Let’s do this.”

Scenty now stared at her, “Moldy? I thought you—”

“I will admit that I was doubtful at first, but you’re right.” Moldy took a deep breath, almost hesitating before continuing, “I… can’t keep staying here. I already know what’s going to happen if I do, and even if that wish is true, I don’t think I want to stay in this god-forbidden place anymore. Not any longer.”

No one else objected to that. They stayed silent for a while. “Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s show Bryce the plug.” Moldy started walking away from the group.

“Whoa! Wait— are we actually doing this?” Whippy Creamy spoke out for the first time.

“I don’t think we have any other choice. This could bring us back home! All of us! Don’t you want to at least want to try?” Tray exclaimed almost in an excited, hopeful tone.

“I agree,” Subway Seat chimed in, “If there’s any chance of escape, I think we should take that!”

Whippy didn’t look convinced, but after some time, he sighed, “...Alright, fine.”

Moldy and Bryce had already started going toward the plug. Subway Seat watched as Whippy Creamy and Tray tried to catch up to the two. He was going to come with them as well until he noticed that Scenty was still behind him. “Scenty? Aren’t you coming with us?” It asked her.

Scenty stood in silence for a couple of seconds before looking at Subway face to face, “Yeah… Yeah, I will.” she finally started walking, going in front of Subway, “We got to catch up now. Let’s go, Subway.”

They all felt so hopeful. That there was a chance.

But… it got dragged right away from them.

There was no celebration. There wasn’t even a second of cheer as the plug that they were trying so desperately to pull was shoved back into the Plane.

Subway Seat hadn’t even seen what happened, but he certainly heard.

The group, exhausted, just stayed silent for a moment trying to process everything that happened. Eventually, Whippy Creamy spoke.

“All that… for nothing?”

Subway Seat immediately felt panicked, “Don’t say that! I-I’m sure we can try again, maybe we can—” Subway tried to rationalize the situation, surely there was another way, there had to be!

Whippy sighed, “Subway… Just stop. Please.”

He shut up.

—

Subway Seat doesn’t understand why they haven’t come out yet. Liam was going to help, right? It knew that they were still able to hear what was happening, so why aren’t they doing anything? The object tried to come up with things to say, but every time he opened his mouth it closed back. However, it decided to just suck it up and tried to speak to them.

“You guys must be really upset over that plug thing, huh?” It said, “It's okay! I mean— I was too! But someone is helping us get back now!” He tried saying in a cheery tone.

Oh, who is he kidding? Of course, they would be so upset over this! He couldn’t just forget the way all of them had tried pulling, trying so desperately to finally end everything. He didn’t even know how long they were trying; it felt like hours clawing away at the plug, hearing Bryce scream all those words and the aching pain in its arms. Remembering it all… Subway doesn’t want to think about it anymore. It was probably the first time he felt so, so hopeless.

He fidgets with his thumbs, “Uh… It’s getting pretty quiet around here. I haven’t talked to anyone other than Atom. No one seems to… want to talk much.” It’s understandable, they probably need to rest their voice after all that screaming anyway.

“Uh, Whippy?” Subway Seat asked even though it knew that Whippy Creamy wouldn’t answer back, he still held onto that small sliver of hope, “I would really like to talk to you again… It was nice! Wasn’t it?” It smiled.

It kept staring at the container with optimism, but nothing happened. “I mean, it’s alright if you still need some time to rest! Just… think about it, okay?”

Subway turned around. He knew that staring at inanimate objects wouldn’t help. It pained him to even look at them. Why did he keep coming back here? He didn’t want to think about this anymore.

Subway Seat lifted himself with his arms and ‘walked’ away. There wasn’t much to do on the Plane, but surely there was something that could fill in the time! Talking to others was a big no. It didn’t mean he didn’t like the others, he liked talking to people! But his mood had deteriorated. It just wasn’t the right time to talk to others right now.

While trying to do anything, he found himself back at the spot again. It sighed, was there really nothing else here? It felt like a sudden wave of grief had hit him. Was this really all there was here? He had never felt so alone before, there has always been company it could rely on in the Plane, even before the competition the subway was always busy and he could hear all the conversations happening all around him.

Ever since he went to the Plane, he really got used to being someone. An actual person! Having limbs, having a face, expressing emotions… that felt pretty good! But of course, it would be lying if he didn’t want to go back to the subway. It was cramped, sure, but it was something he could call home.

Maybe… it could feel a bit more at home that way. The way the two objects stood still, it was a familiar feeling. Subway sighed and shook his head. It needed to be patient. He still had hope for Liam getting them all out, and it was sure that he would be able to do that very soon.

He gazed over at the objects again.

“We’ll get out of here. I promise that.” It smiled.

[kiitsunekuro]

In the Neon Lights | One

Bakugou Katsuki x Exotic Dancer!female reader

WARNINGS: alcohol use, drug mention, mention of past abusive relationship, injury (no gore), some angst, fluff, smut, dom bakugou, sub reader, oral (both receiving), fingering, spanking, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding kink, degradation, praise. Bakugou prolly says some variation of ‘fuck’ too much. Idk it’s my first time writing for him.

Summary: Bakugou meets a pretty exotic dancer(reader) during Izuku’s bachelor party, but you’re hard to get to know.

Roughly 14.3k words. Quickly proofread.

No beta. We ball. I’m tired of looking at this so I’m posting it before I start to hate it.

18+ ONLY. NSFW. MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Don’t see why I have to go.” Bakugou growled, crossing thick arms over his chest, glaring at his red haired friend who sat across from him on the couch in the break room of their agency.

“C’mon, man. You don’t even have to stay the entire night.”

“No, fuckin’ hate clubs.”

“It’s for your best friend's bachelor party,” Kirishima protested, then sighed, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Look, one hour, and I’ll cover your patrol for you anytime you need me to, no questions asked,” He thought for a moment, before holding up two fingers, “Twice.” He crossed a finger over his heart and smiled as Bakugou growled his reluctance between gritted teeth, relenting.

“I’m not getting him any fuckin’ gifts.”

“You don’t need to-“ but his sentence was cut off as Bakugou stalked out of the room and slammed the door behind him. ‘Small victories’, Kirishima told himself. ‘Small victories…’

Bakugou groaned, smashing his face against his palms, rubbing his temples roughly. Sure, he wanted to support Deku on his day, it had been a long time coming, but the bachelor party everyone had planned to throw for him sounded ‘fuckin’ stupid’, in his own words. The whole idea of taking someone to a strip club for a ‘last night of freedom’ rubbed him the wrong way to begin with, add to that his disdain for the general club environment and it wasn’t getting any better. He was gonna have to get drunk to make it bearable, he decided. Maybe he’d even show up a few drinks in.

An hour at most, and then he’d be out.

———-

The club was a designated spot for pro heroes to attend without drawing media attention- all the staff and dancers had been vetted and were under strict NDA’s, so that was a small weight off of his shoulders. His already volatile public image didn’t need anymore controversy. Especially not after the incident with the reporter two weeks ago that had ended with dozens of articles with titles like “BAKUGOU: HERO OR MENACE?”

Bakugou hadn’t even done anything wrong, in fact he had saved the guys’ life. But that didn’t sell as many papers or draw in as many clicks.

It was a higher end club, catering to the wealthier crowd who wanted a more luxurious experience and prided themselves on their ability to provide top-notch service. Nobody clamored for his attention, nobody was taking photos or asking for his autograph.

Still, as he shouldered his way inside, already a little tipsy, he squinted his eyes against the bright strobing lights and obnoxiously loud music and sat down off to the side of his friends, turning to the bartender.

“Whiskey, neat.” He practically yelled over the din of the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Denki drunkenly hanging around an attractive brunette talking too loudly. Deku seemed to be politely but awkwardly enjoying himself, as he pried a girl's hand away from his thigh as she tried to whisper something into his ear that caused a blush to color his cheeks, and he laughed nervously.

Bakugou smirked to himself, he fuckin’ knew this was a bad idea.

“What kind?” The bartender interrupted his thoughts, pulling his attention back to her.

“Whatever, top shelf.” Bakugou muttered dismissively. She turned to grab a bottle of expensive looking liquor, and he swiftly caught her wrist in his hand. “Make it a double.” She nodded, pulling out of his grasp. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands and pulled several large bills from his pocket to tip her- his nervousness felt out of character, out of his element, and he wasn’t used to this. He cursed himself for grabbing her, he was pretty sure that was frowned upon.

The hand of a dancer traced along his shoulders, she had seen him open his wallet, thick with money, and closed in on him like a predator.

“Hey baby,” she cooed, leaning against him with her breasts pressed firmly against his back. “How are you tonight?” Her painted lips curled into an inauthentic smile that made his skin crawl.

The bartender set his drink down in front of him, and he quickly pressed several bills into her palm, muttering some kind of apology and her furrowed brows softened a bit into a smile before she motioned to the girl beside him.

“Did you want to buy a drink for Angel?”

He gave an exasperated sigh as he pulled another bill from his wallet to hand to the dancer, standing up and turning his back to her he stalked over to his friends with his whiskey gripped tightly in his hand.

He seated himself beside Denki who was now tipping the same girl he’d been talking to as she danced, and drank heavily from his glass.

The DJ began to call the next dancer to the stage, voice booming obnoxiously over the speakers. The girl that had just finished performing grabbed her bra as the floormen used what looked like some kind of long squeegee to sweep the money from the stage and into buckets.

“Having any fun yet, Bakugou?” Denki practically yelled over the noise, leaning close to him and swaying drunkenly. Bakugou could smell the liquor emanating off his breath.

“Fuck no. Seems like Deku loves it, you really know ‘im.” He rolled his eyes, sipping his drink and Kaminari glanced over at a very uncomfortable looking Midoriya. Bakugou was about to add something snarky when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the next dancer walking along the stage.

You looked stunning in the outfit that you’d chosen for the night, baby blue with gold lace trims and diamond jewelry glittering around your neck and wrists, flashing under the lights. For a moment, everything else faded into the background, the way he’d only seen in bad movies he’d been forced to watch.

You gave him a sweet smile as you started your set, heavily aware of his crimson gaze that settled onto you as you danced. Usually that wouldn’t make you nervous, but this time it did, weighing heavily on your psyche.

His attention toward you didn’t go unnoticed by Denki, who raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously as he leaned forward on the stage, several bills gripped in his hand. Bakugou’s eyes raked across your frame, hypnotized by the way your hips swayed as you walked toward the two of them and he felt his mouth go completely dry. His cock twitched in his pants watching you lean over, breasts still caged by your bra, soft and alluring. Denki said something to you and he narrowed his eyes, watching him hand you a wad of cash and you giggled, a perfect, gentle sound that made his heart jump a little. You made eye contact for a moment as you nod at something the yellow haired man is telling you before he sits back down, leaning back into the chair with a drunken smirk.

“What did you do?” Bakugou growls, tightening his grip on the crystal in his hand.

Denki shrugged, holding his hands up by his head.

“I’unno what yer talkin’ about, Bakubro.”

“What the fuck d-“ he can’t even finish his sentence before the same brunette from earlier walked up behind Denki and grabbed his hand, helping him to his feet. He turned for a moment to shrug sheepishly at Bakugou before being led behind a curtained room, leaving Bakugou to fume as he finished the rest of his whiskey and flagged a waitress down to ask for more.

She took the orders for the rest of the group, his attention now returning to you, watching as you danced, elegant and sensual. The movements of your body drew him in, almost making his mouth water. Your gaze settled on him as the second song began, and you slowly slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders and he felt the heat in his cheeks begin to grow unbearable as he looked away.

“Don’t just stare, Bakugou!” Kiri called out “Give the girl her money.” He laughed as he tossed a handful of bills onto the stage. Bakugou swallowed thickly and leaned forward to set the money on the stage in a small stack, as you blew him a soft kiss and mouthed a ‘thank you’ at him, moving your hand from your lips and out in sign language for the phrase. You reached behind your back to unclasp your bra and Bakugou revelled in the way your tits fell and bounced without the support, willing his cock not to harden as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply.

When he opened them again, the waitress was back, handing everyone their drinks, a sparkler lit in a bucket of ice next to a champagne bottle as she set it down next to the bachelor, Deku. Bakugou lifted his glass in a half-hearted cheers for his friend before returning it to his lips. He nearly spit it out when he noticed that you’d seated yourself next to him and he choked, coughing and sputtering into his arm.

Your eyes flew open in mild surprise and genuine concern, moving your hand to his back,

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to surprise you,” You laughed softly and it caused his stomach to twist in knots, shaking his head, shrugging as he wiped his face with a beverage napkin.

“I’m fine.” He snapped, a little more rudely than he intended and finished his drink in one large swallow.

You nod, brows still knit together as you watched him pensively.

“Um, your friend, Denki?” You try, a bit apprehensive and he rolled his eyes.

“He didn’t say anythin’ stupid did he?” His nose scrunched slightly as he studied you through narrowed eyes, alcohol making its way quickly through his system. You smiled, shaking your head and it made his face burn hotter, certain his face must be flushed an obscene shade of pink between how flustered you made him and the alcohol raging through his veins.

“Ah, no. He bought you a few dances with me in the back room.” You motioned toward the curtains.

His stomach dropped and his hand gripped the arm of the chair he’s sitting in tightly.

“Fuckin’ bastard.” He growls, low enough he’s sure you can’t hear.

“Did you want to go now?” You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, offering him your jewelled hand.

‘Fuck it,’ he thinks, standing and gripping your hand in his, marvelling at how much smaller and softer it feels against his. He watched your ass as you walked slightly ahead of him, leading him to the designated lap dance area and pushed aside the blue velvet curtain to reveal a plush couch and ornate side table. You motioned for him to have a seat, and he fell back into it rather unceremoniously.

His eyes glued to your frame, taking in your features in the low lights and how they illuminated the high points of your nose, cheekbones, brow bone. He almost wished he could paint, just so that he could have this image of you forever, a vision in lights of neon pink and blue.

You approached him slowly, sliding onto his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands found their home on your waist, and he caught the scent of your perfumed hair, feeling dizzyingly high, heightening his drunken euphoria.

“You’re s’beautiful,” his speech slurred a little as he pushed some hair away from your face and you smiled, cupping his face gently with one hand.

“You’re pretty handsome yourself.” You murmur against his ear, adjusting your position so that you’re straddling him. He cleared his throat, hyper aware of the bulge in his pants as your ass brushes against his clothed thighs and your cleavage came tauntingly close to his face. It’s all he can do to hold himself back, fingers digging into the plush of your hips as his head empties of the blood rushing to his groin.

Slowly you roll your hips against him in time to the music, the intensity of your eye contact driving him into a frenzy.

“What’s your name…? I’on’t think I got it.” He seems almost shy and it endears him to you, to see a man so strong and powerful practically worshipping at your feet.

“Aria,” You tell him your stage name instead of your real one, and he narrows his eyes, knowing full well it isn’t real- but he doesn't press you for it.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeats, unable in his drunken state to stop himself from praising you. It wasn’t just your physical beauty he was drawn to, or your attentive, sweet demeanor. There was a sharp intelligence to you, something with your eyes- that intrigued him and made him want to pry you open and understand you, to know you better.

You tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled his hand up to your breast with the other, moving it against you, prompting him to massage it and he groaned.

“Fuck, I can’t do this.” He throws his head back and it hits the wall with a dull thunk and you jump, cradling his head for a moment,

“You alright?”

“Yeah, s’fine, don’t worry. I gotta- I gotta go.” He helps you off of him but pauses for a moment, reaching for a napkin and hastily scribbling his number down and handing it to you, coupled with a large tip, without looking you in the eye. “I don’ like places like this,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “That’s f’you though, if you- y’get it,” He grumbled and tossed the curtain aside with a bit too much strength as the fabric billowed around you. “An’ don’ fuckin’ sell it!” he called angrily over his shoulder, which is hunched up as he waved a dismissive goodbye to his friends.

You stand, watching him go, still frozen in place as you held the napkin and the tip in your hand before you can shake the interaction off. It wasn’t unusual at all to get numbers from clients- hell, you’d had people full on propose to you a couple times, but something about this interaction felt different in a way you weren’t entirely sure how to describe. You shake the thoughts from your mind and crumple up the napkin before tossing it in the trash and shoving the bills into your bag.

You doubted you could make someone like Dynamite into a regular, especially with how eager he had seemed to get out of the club just now. And you didn’t date clients, especially not pro-hero clients. That was one lesson you had learned the hard way that you weren’t eager to repeat.

You heard Denki and Kirishima calling you as you made your way to the bar for some water and turned to smile at them, waving.

“He wasn’t awful was he?” Kiri pouts, looking at you with sweet almost puppy dog like eyes, swimming from the alcohol.

“Oh, not at all.” You dismiss their concern with a wave of your hand, “He just seemed a little drunk and overwhelmed.” You laughed a little and handed the bartender a few dollars for your water.

“Katsuki? Overwhelmed?” Denki raised a brow in confusion. “Guess he must like ya,”

“You got some kind of aphrodisiac quirk?” Kirishima jokes, laughing and thanking you for taking the time to spend with them. You assured them it was a great time before they’re being dragged away by the other dancers, shooting you dirty, possessive glances.

For the first time since you’d started this job, you feel your stomach twisting in nervous knots, thinking of the handsome man you’d just had in the back room. For a moment, you close your eyes, breathe deeply, and bury the feeling before turning to meet your next client.

————-

Bakugou awoke the next morning with a blistering headache, groaning loudly at the light that streamed in through the window and spilled onto his bed, sheets tousled carelessly.

“Fuck,” he grunted, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He turned one eye to his phone, lighting up on his nightstand, rubbing sleep from the other. Snatching the phone from its resting place, he quickly unlocked it and scanned the numerous messages that his friends had sent him through the course of the night after he had left.

Shittyhair: dude, you left out of nowhere, everything good?

Kaminari: broooo i paid for more songs than that, you owe me

Kaminari: and you should probably apologize bro, she looked real confused

Oh god.

He struggled to piece the night together, blurry memories of lights and dancers and alcohol. Then he recalled that he had met you, and he was pretty sure he had unceremoniously shoved his number at you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, louder this time as his head fell. “No more fuckin’ clubs.” He promised himself, no matter whose bachelor party it was.

And another thing that was for sure, was that he would never have one himself.

Still, for some reason he couldn’t shake the memory of you as he undressed for the shower. The ghost of your touch still lingering on his unwashed skin, the residual scent of your perfume on his clothes from the night before. He felt his cock twitch slightly at the memory of your legs spread over his lap, and his desire to lean down and run his tongue across your skin and taste you. He palms himself through his boxers for a moment, wondering what you’d feel like under him.

Shaking himself aggressively he turned the water on, eager to wash the events of the previous night from his mind.

How stupid could he be? Giving a random dancer his number like that? He figured he’d have to change his number, the same way Denki was onto his fourth one for the year as he had made a. habit of drunkenly giving his number out to women at bars and clubs. Jesus christ, he didn’t want the embarrassment of telling his agent why he’d have to change his number. Maybe he’d get lucky though, and you wouldn’t try to sell his number or maybe he’d written it down incorrectly- he was pretty drunk.

Maybe, though, you would text him. The thought made something stir deep in his chest as he scrubbed himself with body wash, wet hair sticking to his forehead in uneven spikes.

He would apologize to you though, he decided, and maybe try to mitigate any damage he had caused in the process. After he got off work, he would stop by the club to see if you were there again tonight if you still hadn’t texted him by then.

————

The end of the work day can’t come soon enough as he’s embroiled with petty crime, even getting bitten once by some low level villain with a poison quirk. It was more of an irritating itch than anything debilitating.

He wraps a bandage around it carefully, making eye contact with Kirishima as he rounds the corner to get ready for his own patrol.

“Bakugou!” He claps a hand against his back, “How ya feelin’?” He ignores the question,

“Do you know if uh, I could call that club to see if someone is workin’?” There’s a pained expression on his face. Kiri scratches his head briefly.

“Sounds like more of a question for Kaminari,” he laughs half-heartedly, “but I think generally, no? Crazy exes, stalkers and the like,” he adds as he catches a glimpse of the rising irritation in his friends eyes.

Bakugou feels his stomach lurch at the notion of stalkers. Did that happen often? He cursed under his breath and hoped you wouldn’t put him in the same category.

“Is this about that girl last night? Aria?”

“None of your business, shitty hair,” He growls, pulling his keys from his pocket and shoving past him.

“It’s fine dude, she was pretty, there’s no judgement-“

“It’s not fuckin’ like that,” he rounds on his friend, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Kirishima holds his hands up in front of himself,

“Alright, alright,” Bakugou relaxes and turns to leave again.

“Don’t mention this to anyone.” He grumbles, leaving the room with a slam of the door.

Bakugou’s still fuming as he gets into the driver's seat of his car and begins the twenty or so minute drive to the club. It looks strange in the dying light of the day, before all the neon lights had been turned on. It seemed out of place like this, as if it should only exist after the sun had gone down.

Shouldering his way through the doors, a girl at the front greets him with a smile.

“Good evening, Bakugou.” Of course she knew his name.

“I’m just here to see someone for a sec,” he glances around nervously, peering into the main room to see if you’re there. “Is Aria working?”

“Um, I don’t think so,” She scans the sign-in sheet at her podium. “It doesn’t look like it. She usually doesn’t work until Wednesday or Thursday,” He quirks an eyebrow at her, “She has school, I think? But she’s almost always here on Thursday.” She smiles up at him and he sighs, thanking her as he walks out of the door.

It was still only Sunday, and the anxiety eating away at his stomach would persist until then. He’d come on Wednesday, on the off chance you’d be back.

To his surprise (and though he wouldn’t admit it, his delight) you were in fact there when he returned late Wednesday night, still smelling like smoke and fire, walking briskly through the crowd.

You jump a little when you see him, heart pounding in your chest, taking you by surprise before youre able to pull yourself together for a smile,

“Bakugou!” You wave, “It’s nice to see you again.”

He wordlessly grabs your wrist and pulls you off to a quiet corner and sits at a table, pushing a chair out with his foot for you to join him.

“What’d you do with my number?”

No beating around the bush here.

“Oh, I uh, I threw it away. You were pretty drunk and I try to be respectful of people’s boundaries, yannow it’s just-“

“What?” His heart aches and his stomach drops and he’s not sure why. “Ya didn’… sell it or anythin’?” You shake your head. He scratches the back of his head, looking up at the ceiling, you awkwardly pick at your nails in the silence.

“It is nice to see you again, though,” You admit, and a warmth spreads through his chest. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, you left in such a hurry.”

“Ya didn’t text me.” He reminds you.

“You were drunk.”

“I’m not now.” You blush despite yourself.

“I don’t sleep with clients.”

“I didn’t say anythin’ about fuckin’.” His eyes narrow, vermillion eyes flickering like flames beneath the lights.

“I don’t… date clients. Or pro-heroes.” You add quickly.

He drums his fingers on the table top, eyeing you curiously. You suddenly seemed nervous and he didn’t want to pressure you into anything.

“Bad experience?”

“Something like that.” You play with a strand of your hair between your fingers.

“What if,” he breathes heavily through his nostrils and leans forward on his elbows, “Can I come see you here, then?”

“That’s fine.”

“Could you text me when you’re working? I don’t have all the free time in the world.” You laugh a little, relaxing and nod, giving him your number.

“Don’t spam me, and don’t get mad at me if I’m not always available,” you poke him in the chest playfully, “I’m pretty busy.”

“Door girl said you’re in school, hah?” He pushes your hand down, but rests it in his lap beneath his larger palm.

“Mhm.” You nod, feeling your mouth go dry at the subtle intimacy of his touch. “I’m a biomed major, so it can get intense sometimes.”

“D’ya ever get to relax?”

“Do you?”

He laughs, a rough and low sound that has your stomach doing flips.

“Fair enough, princess.” The pet name has your thighs clenching slightly, and you worry that your hand is shaking under his.

If he could give you time, provide a safe net for you to relax and study without working in this place, he would in a heartbeat.

————

Bakugou: workin tonight?

you: I am! :) I’ll be in by 8pm.

Bakugou: I’ll be there.

Bakugou: got something for ya

You: oh?

Bakugou: you’ll see when i get there

You: I can’t wait! <3

You set your phone down with a shaky breath as you got ready for the night. You never got nervous to see anyone at work, but even the sight of his name on your phone had your body trembling, and you wondered if this was sustainable.

It wasn’t good for you to keep a regular you might have feelings for, it complicated things and kept you from focusing in your day to day life.

For now, you’d let things continue to play out.

At work, you pulled off your street clothes and got ready for the night, lacing up thigh high boots with heels that made you a good seven inches taller. They were some of your favourites as they made pole tricks a bit easier, and you’d been working on a few new ones.

A couple other girls walked in, whispering behind you and shooting you some dirty looks.

Most of the girls were nice, but a few had developed some resentment toward you since you seemed to have the number four pro-hero wrapped around your finger. It didn’t bother you, usually. It was easy enough to brush off and there were plenty of other heroes with plenty of money that would come to spend their money on them.

Signing in at the front desk, you made your way to the bar.

“Could I get my shift drink, please?” You asked, hoping it would quell the nervousness in your chest. “Tequila soda?”

“Sure thing, sweetie.” She smiled as she poured you a hefty amount of liquor, tipping them well will do that. Bringing in a top ten hero would definitely do that.

You sit at the bar awhile, wincing at the bitter taste of liquor and shudder. Was there any soda in that?

You open your eyes wide to assess your level of intoxication, when you spot the large figure of Bakugou coming through the front door with a medium sized gift bag in hand. You stand up to hug around his neck and he bends down slightly, awkwardly wrapping one arm around your waist. You inhale deeply, drunk on his scent of burnt caramel and vanilla, the tinges of smoke and cinder.

He had to stop himself from kissing you on the cheek and cleared his throat, shoving the gift bag at you and averting his gaze.

“Here.”

You lead him again to the table that’s become your regular spot by now, haphazardly pulling out the box from within the bag. It’s black with a burnt orange ribbon, colors you recognize as being from his pro hero outfit, and you narrow your eyes at him quizzically.

He’s leaned over with his elbows on his knee, bouncing on the ball of his foot, impatiently waiting for you to open it.

Inside the box is a stunning set of lingerie in shades of black and shining rust colored lace, a dark green ribbon threaded through it, leading to a bow tied delicately in the middle. On the panties, the ribbon is on the back. There’s also a set of new heels inside in complementary colors.

“Oh, wow…” You breathe softly.

“D’ya like it?” one side of his nose is scrunched up, gaze half hidden behind spikes of messy blonde hair.

“Oh, I love it.” You ran your fingers along the sheer fabric. “Did you want me to put it on now?”

“Fuck yeah, I do.” He smirks, already imagining how you’d look. “Had it made special for ya.” Your face is burning, and your limbs are shaking as you pull yourself to standing to go and change,

“I’ll be right back,” you promise as you grab the lingerie and shoes before disappearing into the dressing room.

Bakugou sits back, ordering his regular drink and avoiding eye contact with the other dancers vying for his attention.

“Hey handsome,” a pretty red head he hasn’t seen before saunters up to him.

“I’m waitin’ for someone.” He sips his drink without looking at her. Her lips part to say something, but it’s interrupted by the harsh sound of his chair being pushed back over the tile floor as he stands up, awestruck as you walk out of the dressing room, peeking over at him from behind the curtain.

He takes a few long, purposeful strides toward you, pulling you into him, heavy palm on the small of your back.

“Ya look fuckin’ perfect,” his eyes search yours, flashing to your lips and imagining his pressed against their softness, the way the lingerie shapes your breasts into perfect mounds, the bow near your ass begging to be untied. “I wanna fuckin’ ruin you,” he growls against your ear, the heat of his breath sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh…” you can’t stop the soft, breathless moan and he feels himself getting hard, closing his eyes tightly. It was relentless, and pathetic just how often he found himself fucking his fist to the thought of you now, at times unable to wait until he got home, fisting himself in the parking garage across the street.

He desperately wanted to meet you outside of here, to take you somewhere nice and get to know the real you. He wanted to give you everything, but he’d start small. He didn’t know how long it might take, but he had promised himself that he’d find a way through the emotional walls that you had built up, thick and seemingly impenetrable.

“Can I get a dance with you, princess?” He murmurs, lips a hair's breadth from the shell of your ear, you can feel him smirk when goosebumps dimple your flesh.

“Mmm,” You hum, leading him slowly to the back room so that he can watch the way your ass moves as you walk.

In the darkness of the back room, you turn to face him, raking your nails along the outside of his jeans and pressing him back into the couch by his shoulder. You sidle into his lap, and move the pull the straps off your shoulders but he stops you with a quick hand.

“Ya don’t have to do anything,” His crimson gaze is steady on you, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, “I just wanna be here with you.” He rasps, pulling you so close to him your noses brush against each other. You wrap your arms around his neck and hum contentedly, forgetting yourself and pressing a kiss against his jawline that makes him shudder.

“You’re too good to me, Bakugou,” you whisper against his ear, and he closes his eyes tightly.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he growls, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. There was a harsh pang in his chest at your insistence on using his last name, desperate to hear you breathlessly moaning ‘Katsuki’, and he swore to himself he would some day.

He revels in the way your fingers trail along his well muscled arm, stopping when they feel the broken skin of a new injury and your face twists into an expression of concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, s’fine,” He smirks, “I’m one of the best, princess.” Your smile is bittersweet.

“I know.” Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, “I worry about you sometimes, when I watch the news,” He raises an eyebrow.

“Me? I’m the one that should be worried about you, workin’ places like this.” You pull away slightly, tilting your head.

“It’s just a job.”

“Nah, not like that,” he shakes his head, holding your hands in one large palm. “Friend of mine mentioned stalkers, n I’ve met enough unsavory types to know what kinda people are out there.”

You nod, understanding.

“I’ve never had an issue with a stalker or a villain, but I did-“ you stop yourself, catching your words before the alcohol in your system let them go.

He pulls you closer to him by the curve of your hips.

“Y’can’t start somethin’ like that and not finish,” he warns, voice low. You worry your lower lip between your teeth, debating whether or not it would be too much to share. Your general role was to play therapist, entertainer, a momentary fantasy girlfriend. A modern day geisha.

You didn’t want to worry them with your own problems, which often seemed trivial in comparison to many of your clients.

“Hey,” he taps your forehead with a calloused finger, “what’s goin’ on in there, hah?”

You sigh, pressing your face into his neck, breathing lightly.

“It’s nothing, not really a big deal,”

”I’m sure I could handle it, then,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I uh, dated a pro-hero last year.”

“Somethin’ happen to ‘im?” He fidgets uncomfortably beneath you. You shake your head, staring at nothing in particular, anxiety rising in your chest.

“Just wasn’t a great guy.”

“That why you don’t date pro-heroes?” His eyes narrow, assessing your reactions.

“Well, that, and the whole constant worry about whether or not they’ll come home every night.” He says nothing. “Then the whole… job thing. It’s generally frowned upon to date guys from the club.” You add with a half hearted laugh.

“Didn’t stop you before,” he points out.

“Lesson learned,” your expression is solemn, and he sighs, pulling you into him tightly and wished he could let you know that he was different. That he wouldn’t hurt you, and he’d do everything in his power to keep you safe and happy. That he was one of the best fuckin’ pro heroes and he’d always come home to you.

Instead he just holds you against him, memorizing the curves of your body until it’s time for him to go.

You walk with him to the door, sharing one last hug before he squeezes your hand goodbye and leaves.

In the dressing room, you slowly remove your dance shoes with an exhale of relief. Another dancer you know as River rolls her eyes at you, glaring at the lingerie that you’re wearing.

“How’d you do it?” A slight sneer plays on her lips, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the lockers.

“Do what?” Your voice is laced with impatient agitation.

“You just really good at suckin’ dick?” You balk a little at this, mouth agape.

“I don’t fuck clients,” you snap, tossing your shoes into you bag.

“You fucked Shindou.” Her eyes exaggeratedly wide, cocking her head to the side. You hiss something through gritted teeth before averting your gaze and pulling on your street clothes.

“That was different.” You mutter, hints of shame weighing your voice down.

“Sure it was.” She rolls her eyes, standing up straighter. “Look, I don’t care what you do, but you’ve got a lot of girls in here pissed at you.”

“Sounds like a them problem.” You retort dryly.

“We’ll see.” She shrugs before leaving the room, and the rage that had been building in your chest unleashed itself as you slammed your fists down on the counter, breathing heavily. You wipe the tears from your eyes, checking yourself over before throwing your bag over your shoulder and heading home.

———-

The next couple days are busy ones for both you and Bakugou, him with hero work and you with school. He’s accepted the fact that you won’t text him unless it’s related to work, and he has to stop himself from asking you how you’re doing every few hours.

He worries about you when he doesn’t hear from you for a couple days, but it’s always just

Bakugou: working tonight?

You: no, I have some really important tests coming up.

He can’t help but wonder if you actually have a boyfriend that you keep secret from him and if that’s the real reason you won’t meet him outside of the club. Or why you’re opposed to phone calls, or even friendly conversation.

It didn't bother him too much, he liked to think of himself as a good judge of character and he’d seen your organic chemistry books and the massive amounts of anatomy and physiology notes you lug around with you in your bag.

What bothered him more than any of that was the thought that some other hero had beat him to you, and seemingly turned you off of them forever. It drove him almost crazy, wondering just what your type was and what they’d done to you.

If he’d had your actual name maybe he could have done some more snooping and figured it out, but he didn’t even have that. Tonight though, he had been pressured into going out to a quiet bar with his friends- he’d been spending more and more time away from them for reasons he kept to himself.

But tonight, at the bar, after a few beers he leans over to Kirishima, a thoughtful expression etched on his face.

“Hey, shittyhair,” he taps him lightly on the back of the head. “How well d’you know Aria? Said she dated a pro hero awhile ago,”

“Oh, is that where you’ve been?” He wore a shit eating grin on his face, “be careful with those girls, they’re masters at taking your money.” Bakugou scowled.

“Ain’t like that, fuck face. An’ that ain’t what I asked.”

Kirishima shrugged.

“I don’t know much about her, I’ve only met her a few times. She’s never mentioned that.” Bakugou grumbled, sitting back in his chair and sipping his beer. Kirishima signed, patting his friend on the shoulder lightly.

“I wouldn’t count too much on her, a lot of them are liars and-“

“Shut it, y’don’t know her. Only thing she’s lied about is her name.”

Kirishima treads carefully with his words, picking them out with discretion.

“In fairness, neither do you. I’m just lookin out for ya, bro.” He smiles, a pitying smile that makes anger boil in his chest. “But you could be right, it’s not like it’s never worked out for anyone before.” He shrugs, gulping from his own bottle hungrily. “If you really like her, it’s worth a shot.” He smiles again, genuinely this time, and Bakugou snorts, sipping his beer.

A few hours later, he’s drunkenly stumbling into his apartment, pulling off his shirt and collapsing back onto his bed, thinking of you. There’s no thought process as he pulls out his phone and begins to text you,

Bakugou: I miss you

Bakugou: Hope you're okay

When you don’t respond right away, apprehension nibbles at him and prods him to send another.

Bakugou: sorry for messaging, just had some drinks with friends and cant stop thinkin bout you

Bakugou: wish you coulda come with tonight, be better company than fuckin shitty hair

He palms the semi hard on he has in his boxers, a darkening spot where pre had begun to gather. Groaning, he pulled out his cock, wrapping a large hand around it, giving a few half hearted pumps and running his thumb along the tip spreading the pearlescent liquid, imagining that it’s you instead. He wondered if your hand would even be able to fit around his girth.

He wished he had pictures of you he could look at, but he didn’t even have that- just memories of you washed in the strobing neon lights of a dark club. The shine of your lipgloss and the smell of your hair haunted him, following him home on unwashed clothing. God, what he’d give to see that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around his cock, his hand pressing down on the back of your head as he thrust his hips up into your throat.

His hand moved quicker, filling the room with lewd sounds as a low moan ripped through his chest.

The ghost of your touch, the thought of your hips hovering over his as he pressed the fat tip of his cock into your tight entrance. Imagining the way your head would fall back in violent pleasure as he filled you completely.

Fuck, the way he wanted to hear you screaming his name, his first name, under him while his cock split you in two.

He reached his other hand down to grab at his balls as they tightened, nearing his orgasm, grunting, chest heaving as hot ropes of cum shot across his stomach, glistening globs of it clinging to the fine hairs scattered across his abdomen.

Collapsing in the twisted sheets, he waited for his breathing to even out before he grabbed a towel to clean himself off. There’s a soft light as his phone alerted him to a new message.

He hastily unlocked his phone, and saw that it was from you, your name at the top of the screen making his stomach churn.

You: Hey, Bakugou, sorry I’ve been so busy. I hope you had a good time with your friends!

He huffs, leaning back onto his headboard as he typed his response, closing one eye to focus his blurred vision on the bright screen,

Bakugou: would have been more fun with you

Another few minutes go by without a response. He taps the call button, trying his luck.

After a few more rings, he’s about to give up when the line clicks to life on the other side.

“Bakugou?” He hears your voice and his heart nearly skips a beat. His mouth goes dry as he attempts to swallow.

“S’right, I uh… wanted to hear from ya.” He curses himself, wishing he had something better to say. You giggle a little.

“Are you drunk?”

“…Maybe a little.” He admits.

“Mmm, I hope you got home safe.”

“You know I did, princess.” You smile on the other end of the line, pushing yourself back from your desk. There’s a few moments of silence before he blurts out, “D’ya not wanna see me cuz you got a boyfriend or somethin’?” He sits up, muscles tense as he waits for your response.

“Huh? No, I told you why, Bakugou.” He groans loudly, falling back on the mattress.

“Quit fuckin’ callin’ me that.” The whine in his voice is so unlike him, you laugh despite yourself.

“I’m just trying to be professional.”

“Fuck that,” he rasps, staring at the ceiling. It’s quiet again. “D’ya even like me?” Voice almost imperceptibly soft.

You’re quiet a little longer, unsure of how to answer. Of course you did, probably more than you should.

“I like you a lot, Bakugou.” You finally say, so quietly he almost can’t hear it.

“Who hurt you so bad you won’t even let me take you out for dinner?” His voice is a little more commanding this time, but not unkind.

“Maybe I’ll tell you eventually, it’s not that important.”

“It is to me, fucker’s not even around and he’s keepin’ me from the best thing that could happen to me,”

“I’m not that special,” Your voice is low, serious.

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? You have no fuckin’ clue what you do to me, and you better stop fuckin’ talkin’ like that about yourself.” His voice is almost a growl and it sends shivers through your body.

“Or what…?” You can’t help the tease that sneaks into your voice.

“Or I’m gonna have to do somethin’ about it.” He rasps.

Your fingers press against your clothed slit as it throbs with want. You try to play it off with a breathless laugh.

“Mmm that so?”

He hums lowly in response, and you can barely suppress a whimper building in your chest. You felt warmth spread from your center and ache for attention. Maybe after you hung up-

“Goodnight, Bakugou.”

“Night princess.”

There’s another moment of silence between you two before you finally hang up.

——

It’s nearly noon before you wake up the next morning, you’d been up incredibly late working on a paper and your body ached from the prolonged period of time you’d spent in your desk chair, hunched over your laptop.

Out of habit you reach for your phone, expecting it to be devoid of messages, but there’s a notification from Bakugou.

Bakugou: morning, sorry for last night. I was a little tipsy.

You: It’s okay, it was good to hear from you.

You put your phone down to get ready for the day, run some errands before heading into work for the night.

By the time you’re stepping out of the shower, there’s another message waiting for you.

Bakugou: hope I can see you tonight.

You: I’ll be there at 8 :) looking forward to it.

Bakugou: better be.

You smiled, shaking your head and went about your day. It was getting harder and harder to push thoughts of Bakugou from your mind, and you hoped beyond hope that you wouldn’t have to cut him off as a client because of your feelings, but it was looking more possible by the day.

Your anxiety raged in your mind with everything that could go wrong, and that had already gone wrong. What would happen if you fell helplessly in love with him? How bad would it hurt when he inevitably found someone who could love him back in the way he wanted? You couldn’t in good conscience string him along knowing how he felt, and cursed yourself for caring about him.

That was the other thing- what about when he got hurt? What if something horrible happened to him? You couldn’t bear the thought of it.

By the time you’re switching over your laundry to the dryer, the doubts had only grown, festering in your chest until the butterflies in your stomach turned into a noxious pit.

This wasn’t good, you were already catching flak at work for your relationship with Bakugou, and the history with Shindou still haunted you. You still caught whispers and snarky comments for it here and there, a poltergeist you couldn’t sage.

Nobody really knew the full details of what had happened, of how he’d been to you behind closed walls and how he had made you out to be a gold digging villain. Nobody knew how he’d hurt you and take advantage of you after getting you too drunk. Those details were always left out, hidden, covered up.

You slammed the dryer shut in frustration, resolving to end your work relationship with Bakugou, despite the clawing at your heart that begged to get closer. Shoving the feelings away, you reminded yourself that the last time you’d let someone in, it had nearly destroyed you.

You hadn’t picked the broken pieces of yourself back up and fixed yourself for no reason. You still had too much to accomplish to let another cocky pro hero derail you again.

By the time you’d returned from the grocery store, you had resolved to have a talk with Bakugou and try to end things amicably, it wouldn’t bode well for you to make an enemy of someone in such a high place, it was already hard enough to wash yourself of the reputation Shindou had branded you with.

You pull your phone from your purse and press the call button by Bakugou’s name and it immediately goes to voicemail. Trying one more time, it ends after a few rings.

Bakugou: at work, I’ll call you when I can.

Bakugou: everything alright?

You: yeah, I’m fine, just needed to talk.

‘Shit’. You wanted to rip the bandaid off, not let it fester longer. But you were running out of time, and had to get ready for work.

Even after you got there, your nerves hadn’t settled and every person that walked in had you jumping slightly in your seat. It’s after midnight before Bakugou gets there, smelling heavily of gunpowder and sweat.

“Rough day..?” you hesitated.

“It wasn’t too bad,” he assures you with a lopsided smile. You nod.

“Bakugou, I uh-“ He senses the reticence in your tone.

“This about why you tried to call earlier?” He interrupts you, suddenly serious.

“Ah, yeah.” your voice wavered under her vermillion gaze. “Listen I uh, I like you,” he turned his body to square yours, narrowing his eyes as his brows knit together in full concentration, “Too much, and I think it’s probably best if you… stop coming to see me.” You finish your sentence in a rush, staring at the bar counter as your eyes begin to water and your throat tightens into a vice.

Bakugou feels like everything had just come crashing down around him, lightheaded and confused, aghast at your confession.

“This about last night?” His voice a low rasp.

“No, I mean, kinda… no.” You add with more conviction. “I just can’t afford to do this again.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” confusion evident on his face. “This about the asshole you used to date? Cuz I told you I ain’t like whoever that fuckin’ jackass was,” he grabs your wrists, pulling you closer.

“I-I just, it’s still a lot, people at work still give me a hard time and I just started getting clients back after he ruined my name and-“

“Who?” His voice is deadly serious, eyes smoldering, burning into yours as he gripped your chin with a calloused hand and forced you to look at him. “He hurt you?”

You swallow and it feels like sand.

“Who the fuck was it, Aria?” The stage name feels like a knife in your heart.

“I’m sure if you ask around you’ll hear plenty of stories…”

He breathes deeply, pulling you into his chest forcefully, hand on the back of your head, tucking it beneath his chin.

“I don’t care about anything those dicks have to say,” He assured you.

“Please, Bakugou… please go.” Tears stream from your eyes as you push him away from you, his face flashing through a mixture of pain, confusion, and anger. You wipe your eyes delicately so as not to ruin your makeup, resigned to finishing your shift heartbroken. “Go, before I ask the bouncers to do it.” Your voice wavers, betraying you. He snorts,

“Like to see them fuckin’ try.”

Your eyes plead with him, not to make this any harder and his expression frantically searches yours, trying to ascertain your level of conviction before you look away from him, eyes downcast.

He stands abruptly, angrily shoving his chair back into the bar so hard it cracks and several people turn to watch the spectacle.

He slams the door behind him, and you’re keenly aware of the glances and whispers thrown your way. Fixing your hair and pulling yourself up straight, you snap at them,

“Don’t you have anything better to do? Or is your life that fucking boring?” Snatching up your bag, you chug your glass of liquor and hide in the dressing room for a while.

———-

“What the fuck, Bakugou?” Kaminari shouts at him over the sound of a crashing wall. A blast from him had just caused it to collapse and several bricks had narrowly missed their heads.

“Keep up, and it won’t matter,” Bakugou snapped, taking off after the small group of villains they’d been pursuing. Mina managed to trap one of them, knocking him unconscious with a kick to the back of his head.

“Just because you have a death wish doesn’t mean we do,” She seethed at him.

Bakugou ignored her, promptly cornering the remaining two villains until a flash of ice swept in front of him, freezing them in place. His head whipped around to see the scowling face of Shouto before him.

“I didn’t need your fuckin’ help, half n half bastard,” He glowered, sparks snapping around him as he seethed.

“Could have fooled me.” His calm demeanor did nothing to assuage the blonde. “You’re lucky I was nearby before you did any more damage.”

“Fuck off.” He snarled, shoving past him.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki called over his shoulder, “whatever this is about, you need to get past it. This can’t keep happening.”

“Yeah? You’re not my fuckin’ boss, last I checked.” Shouto sighed, greeting the police as they rounded the corner and he briefed them on the situation.

Mina and Kaminari had managed to catch up, breathing heavily.

“Dude, he’s right, you’re gonna get hurt.” Denki tried to place a hand on Bakugou's arm before it was promptly shoved away.

“We’re all worried about you, you know?” Mina admitted, still angry, but trying adopt an air of sympathy.

“I’m fuckin’ fine.” He practically snarled, before turning his back to them and stalking off.

“He’s going to get hurt.” The voice of Shouto startled them from behind, where he watched Bakugou leaving, expression unreadable. He had been witness to Bakugou's growth over the years, and seeing this side of him brought him back to their first year at Yuuei, and it didn’t bode well in the world of pro hero work.

“He’s hurting pretty bad,” Denki tried to sound sympathetic, but the knot forming on his head made it a little difficult.

Shouto looked him over wordlessly,

“If he can’t keep it out of work, someone’s going to get hurt. More than a simple bruise.”

Denki sighed, shaking his head. They all knew he was right, just not how soon it would happen.

It’s only three days later when Bakugou is head to head with another villain, this one stronger than any that had popped up in Musutafu area in recent weeks, his quirk gave him some kind of gravity control on living beings, and several heroes had already fallen behind in the rubble.

Bakugou had blindly chased him onto the roof of a skyscraper, bloodied and battered. One of his grenade gauntlets had started to malfunction. He took a step to leap forward when his foot suddenly felt like lead, and he was crashing through floor after floor of the building, unable to catch himself or stop his descent.

His vision got blurry as he faded in and out of consciousness, the sound of voices, and sirens faded into the background. He remembered being put into a stretcher, and everything else after that was black.

For a week after, he was in and out of consciousness. Flashes of angry fluorescent lights and the shrill, steady beeping of machines. Compared to these, the darkness feels welcoming.

Several friends came to visit him, Deku spending nearly all of his free time by his bedside, hunched over with his head between his knees.

Sometimes Bakugou muttered something unintelligible, and it's another few days before anyone can make out what he’s saying.

“You gotta get through this,” Deku murmurs, “we’re all rooting for you.” It’s a heavy few minutes that pass, the ticking of a clock as loud as thunder in his ears. “You gotta get fitted for your suit for my wedding.” His eyes started to threaten tears as he took in a shaky breath.

Bakugou’s eyes opened, blearily taking in the room around him, groaning as he tried to sit up, a mess of tubes and wires taped to his body.

“Fuckin’ nerd.” He grunted, voice hoarse.

“Kaachan?” Izuku’s head snapped to attention, kneeling by his bedside.

“Aria, where is she?” Is all he can manage before pain wracked his body and he collapsed back onto the bed. “Where is she..?” He opened one eye to meet Deku’s, who looked at him with brows knit in confusion. He thought the name sounded familiar, but it had been so long since he’d heard it that he couldn’t place it.

“Aria?” He repeats.

“The girl from your bachelor party,” he coughs, gripping his ribs tightly. “Her number is in my phone.”

“Oh… your phone got destroyed in the accident.”

“Shit.” He hissed through a clenched jaw.

“I can send someone to go find her?” Izuku suggested lightly and Bakugou nodded, closing his eyes before he fell back asleep.

———

It had been over a month since you’d last heard from Bakugou, and it hurt. It was your decision, so you really had no right to complain and instead buried yourself in work and school.

Still, you often found yourself unblocking him on your phone after a few too many drinks, only to block him again when you woke up sober, checking to make sure you hadn’t sent any messages.

Some part of you hoped that he’d burst through the doors of the club to come see you, demand your attention and refuse to leave.

But he didn’t, and your pride would never allow you to ask him to come back, so you dealt with the dull ache living in your chest.

After a few weeks, you had accepted that he wasn’t coming back and that it was nothing but a beautiful memory, content to leave it at that. Or at least that’s what you’d been telling yourself.

It isn’t even nine o’ clock when a red headed hero you vaguely recognize comes bursting through the front doors, still in his hero costume. Several patrons and dancers turn and chatter quickly erupts between them.

He searched the room, and the moment he made eye contact with you he froze, and beelined for you. Your eyes widened, taking note of the pained expression on his face and a thousand thoughts crashed through your mind.

“Hey,” He pants, a little breathless.

“Hi? You’re uh, Bakugou’s-“

“His friend, yeah.” He nodded, speaking hurriedly. “Listen, Bakugou had an accident and he’s uh, he’s been asking for you. He’s okay right now!” He added quickly, catching notice of your expression. “He’s awake and everything now.”

“What happened?” Your heart felt like it stopped, or like it had dropped into your stomach, or like you were about to throw it up on the floor- or maybe all of them at the same time.

You listen to him recount the situation and move to grab your things, but he stops you, placing a calm hand on your arm.

“You can stop by tomorrow,” You look at him like he’s stupid, shaking your head.

“I’m going now.”

“You can’t, visiting hours are over.” He sighs, recognizing the indignance on your face. “Look, he’s probably sleeping by now. We would have called you earlier but nobody had your number or knew your real name so…”

“So you had to wait to come find me at work.” You finish his sentence for him, regret twisting in your stomach. He nodded.

“So, tomorrow? If you need a ride one of us can come get you.”

“I can just take the train.”

“If you insist,” He doesn’t try to force you, but gave you his number to text you the details of the hospital and left you there to marinate in your remorse.

———-

You didn’t sleep very well that night, if at all, but the second you’re awake, you’re rushing to get ready to leave, unbothered with makeup or getting your hair done. You threw a small bag together and headed out of the door to make your way to the train station.

Your gaze is listless and glassy as you stand, hand gripping the support on the train, dread in your stomach growing until it felt like you had swallowed stones that sat heavy in your stomach.

The walk up to the hospital felt like an endless journey ahead of you, the sidewalk seeming to morph and stretch and grow longer with each step until you’re at the doors of his hospital room, reaching a shaking hand forward to push it open.

When you finally entered, he’s there, sitting up on a pillow and reading a book, all bandages and casts and tubes and machines.

“Bakugou,” You gasped, gripping your bag tightly. He turned to face you, expression softening ever so slightly. You raced over to him, gripping his hand in yours until your knuckles went white. “How do you feel?” You felt hot tears falling down your cheeks and you sniffled, reaching forward to place a delicate hand to his cheek.

“I’m alright, princess. Told ya, one of the best.” He grimaces as pain shoots through his side, but makes every attempt to hide it from you. You have the grace to pretend not to notice.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He shrugs.

“S’alright, glad you’re here now.” You attempt a smile through stifled sobs.

Wiping your tears, you grip the front of his hospital gown, trying to muster some kind of anger at him and failing.

“Why’d you have to go and do something so stupid?” Your laugh is choked with sorrow and it hurt him to hear it.

“Didn’t think you’d care so much, Aria.” He rumbled and laughed, raspy and comforting. The sound of your dancer name made you wince and you told him your real one. “Only gonna call you that if ya start calling me Katsuki.”

“Alright, Katsuki.” You nodded, promising him.

“Can I kiss you now?” He scrunches his nose, furrowing his brow and you giggle, leaning over him and for the first time your lips met.

His fingers card through your hair, pushing your head to the side to fit his lips against yours. Your lips move, softly and slowly against his, gripping the front of his shirt tightly.

He pressed himself more firmly against you, parting his mouth to swipe his tongue across your lips and beg for entry- and you let him in. His teeth graze against your bottom lip and a soft moan escaped you, and he smirks, swallowing it in his own open, hungry mouth.

It’s several minutes before you pull yourselves apart, lips bruised and swollen from the intensity of the kiss and you stroked his hair, admiring the shades of crimson in his gaze.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, thumb brushing against your cheek.

“I missed you, too, Katsuki.” Your admission has you both reeling, you buried your face in his neck and breathed him in. The smell is familiar and makes you feel like you were home again, bittersweet nostalgia like heroin in your veins. “Sorry if I look awful, I didn’t really take the time to-“

“Shut up,” he swats your head, “You really think I give a shit about that?”

“Guess you’re not really in a position to judge.” You giggle and he rolls his eyes.

“Alright, smartass.” He took in your visage a moment more, hoping to himself that this wasn’t a dream and that you were really here, standing in front of him. Instead of pinching himself, he flicks you on the forehead, and regains some of his snark.

“Ow,” you rub your forehead.

“Ya gonna let me take you on a fuckin’ date now.” You give him a half smile, eyes glittering behind tears.

“If you get better, then I promise I will.”

“You got it, princess.” He smirks, before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

—————

His recovery isn’t fast, but it isn’t necessarily slow, either.

You tell him about your quirk for the first time and about why you had chosen your area of study. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been curious about it, and getting to know all the little things about you was something he cherished, even if he teased you for it.

You told him that you’d use it to help him, but that it was considered unethical until you had your license. He wouldn’t say it, but it was something he admired about you and reminded him of the days before he got his hero license.

Even if sometimes he wished you’d use it to ease his pain just a little bit.

“You’re a lot shorter without those heels,” he remarked, mussing your hair on the top of your head, swatting his hand away.

There were some things you still wouldn’t talk about, like family and your ex- that he was careful to tread lightly around. You’d tell him when you were ready, he assumed.

You often came around during his physical therapy sessions, conversation helping to keep his mind off of how hard it was for him at times.

“Bet you can’t cook for shit,” He taunted through painfully gritted teeth as he stretched his body, one arm over his head, torso twisted and elongated.

“I could cook circles around you.” You retorted, watching as his muscles twitched and relaxed with each stretch. He was fucking beautiful, and it made you long to run your fingers over the fine lines and veins on his body. You wanted to place loving kisses over each and every scar and wondered about the ones you couldn’t see.

“Guess you’ll have to come over and prove it, then.” He smirked, watching your cheeks turn pink and you shrugged shyly.

“Maybe I will.”

He was allowed to leave the hospital about a week later, and you were there to meet him as he finished packing his things.

“Hungry?” You asked, smoothing the sheets over the mattress he had slept on for so long, he dwarfed it by comparison and seeing him stand you realized how much larger than you he really was now that he was able to pull his powerful frame fully upright.

“Thought you said you were gonna cook for me?” He slips his bag over his shoulder, looking you up and down as you stammer for words.

You were excited, terrified, at the prospect of being alone with him in his house. He snorted, swatting you lightly on the side of your head.

“I’ll cook for you this time, idiot.” You blushed, as he took your hand in his and led you out the front doors of the hospital. Anxiety gripped your heart as you anticipated a swarm of paparazzi to be waiting outside, but there were none.

Katsuki watched you from the corner of his eye and snorted.

“Don’t wanna be seen with me?” His voice was light, and teasing but your expression darkened and he tilted his head as concern colored his gaze.

“It’s not that.” You didn’t want to explain to him about the ghosts in your past that could resurrect at any moment, that you worried the second they found out about your new life they’d come back to ruin your happiness again. You’d done your best to leave them behind, but the past was never quite dead.

“Hmm,” He hums, squeezing your hand tightly. His car had been dropped off for him and he unlocked it, letting you clamber inside.

“It feels strange to be in a car,” You murmur, running your hands along the fine leather seats.

“You took the train here every day?” He asked, mildly surprised.

“Mhmm.” You look out the window until you realize that he’s still staring at you. “What? There’s nothing wrong with public transport.” He shook his head as he started the car.

“Did you need to stop at the grocery store first?”

“No.” He scoffs, “I get them delivered.”

“Oh.” Your voice is soft and it dawns on you just how different his life was from yours.

“Did you need anythin’?”

“No, I’m alright.”

You finish the drive in relative silence, listening to the radio as it played quietly and he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

When you pull up to the building you can’t help but gasp, mouth open slightly and he snickers, getting out and handing the valet his keys. It’s modern, and slightly grand and you feel a little out of place here, but he takes your hand in his again, rubbing small circles against your palm.

His apartment itself isn’t very opulent, minimal high quality furniture with subtle displays of wealth. Nice clothes, gaming systems, and a computer set up that looks like it must have cost a lot of money.

He tosses his bag down by the couch and pads softly into the kitchen, opening cabinets and pulling out various ingredients, pots and pans, and you seat yourself at the island.

“This is really nice.”

He shrugs.

“I get by.” You scoff, shaking your head and he smirks.

He begins prepping the food and you watch him, admiring the subtle ways he moves and the way his hair falls across his face. Your stomach twists and a feeling you can’t fully describe takes hold of you, something heavy and tangible in the air.

Being alone like this with him, the intimacy of domesticity was something you never thought you’d see from the pro hero, and it filled you with warmth.

The curry he’d made was already spicy, but you gaped at him as he added a significant amount more to his own.

“Jesus,” you breathed.

“Scared?” Your eyes narrow as you snatch the bottle from his hands and pour a hefty amount into your own and he laughs as your eyes water when you take a bite.

“S’good.” You manage and he nods.

“Better be.”

You help him do the dishes and dry your hands when you finish. He reaches up to a cabinet above the fridge and pulls down a bottle of expensive whiskey and two crystal glasses.

“A lot better than the shit you got at your club,”

You sip it, following him to the couch and sigh contentedly when he pulls you into his chest, warm and secure. You hum as you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, shuddering when he places a warm kiss against your jawline. You return the favor against the pulse point of his neck. You feel him hum beneath you, adjusting your body with his hands on your hips so that you’re facing him.

“You really are fuckin’ beautiful,” He murmurs, vermillion eyes holding you in place.

“You’re one to talk,” You mumble, watching as his chin tilts forward, he pushes the pleats of your skirt up over your hips and his hand draws back to land a harsh slap on your ass, pulling a strained whimper from you.

“What’d I say about talkin’ about yourself like that?”

Your eyes water as he slaps your ass again.

“I asked you a question, princess,” his voice is dripping with condescension and it makes your clit throb.

“S-sorry,”

“Sorry, what?” His hand lands against you again, pleasure blooming along side pain when his other hand pressed against your clothed slit, taunting you with light movements.

“Sorry, daddy?” You try, looking up at him for approval, eyes glittering with tears and a desire to please that leaves him breathless.

‘Good girl,’ he thinks.

“That’s right,” He rasps against your ear, moving his hand to press your hips down onto his half hard cock, rewarding you. You whine helplessly, grinding your hips against his, desperate for some kind of friction to quell the aching heat between your thighs.

He trails open mouthed kisses down your neck, biting at the sensitive spot near your collarbone, and you moan, fingers digging into his hair.

He holds you against him tightly, leaning you back, pressing himself on top of you, fingers finding their way to the hem of your shirt. He slips his hand underneath it, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe, light headed and unable to believe what was happening.

It felt unreal, to be here in his apartment, alone, and god he felt so good against you, his skin swelteringly hot and his weight was comforting as it pinned you in place.

You yelp a little as he shoves his hand under your bra, pinching your nipples lightly as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of your neck. You reach your shaky hands down to pull your shirt off and he helps you pull it over your head, deft hands reaching behind you and unclasping your bra.

He doesn’t waste any time closing his mouth around one of your sensitive nipples, sucking and pulling it lightly with his teeth while his other hand roughly massaged your other neglected breast, thumb rubbing circles over its stiffening peak.

You tried to grind your bare sex needily against his thigh but he swiftly halted your movements with one powerful hand on your hips.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he released your nipple and you shuddered when the cool air met wet skin. He leaned back, getting to his knees on the floor as he pulls your legs over his shoulders, placing kisses on alternating thighs, tauntingly close to your aching heat. He pressed one finger against your underwear, savoring the way it gathered your slick and grew dark with your lust.

“So needy,” He teased, biting near the apex of your thighs, hands holding your thighs apart as they fought to close around him. He hummed against you, breathing in deeply and you felt your walls spasming around nothing. He removed your panties in one fluid motion, nuzzling his face against your warmth, tasting you with small, rough licks that had you mewling and your toes curling.

He pulled his face away, running his ring finger lightly along your folds, gathering the slick that had your thighs sticky.

“God, you really are a messy little slut,” He growled, parting you with his finger and circling your entrance.

“Please, Katsuki,” your voice broke as you tried to grind your hips against his finger and guide them where you really wanted them.

There’s another sting as he slaps his hand against the side of your ass.

“Is that what you call me?”

“Daddy,” you gasped, feeling tears well in your eyes, “Please, daddy, I need you,”

“Need me, hah?”

He growled lowly, slowly slipping his finger into you and watched as your face contorted with pleasure, working you open slowly.

He joins it with another thick finger, scissoring them with agonizing slowness and dexterous fingers.

“Oh shit…”

Your whole body tensed when he licked a long, flat line up your slit, circling your sensitive mound and sucking on it softly, your nails raking against the fabric of the couch.

“Oh fuck, Daddy,” You whined, back arching and he hums against you, curling his fingers against that soft, spongey spot inside you that had you moaning an equal song of curses and praise, that made you abandon all sense and coherent speech.

His fingers picked up the pace and you felt the hot coil in your stomach tightening.

He watched you come undone, crimson eyes locking with yours, intent on bringing you over the edge.

“Daddy, please, I can’t- can I cum, please please please…” You whine, struggling to breathe, eyes rolling back into your head as he sucked harder on your clit, tongue moving expertly against it with a ravenous urgency. He hums his permission and after a few more harsh curls of his fingers he feels the tight walls of your cunt begin to flutter around them and you keen loudly, grinding your hips helplessly against his face as he helped you ride out the harsh waves of your orgasm.

He pulled away from you as you caught your breath, a darkening spot on his pants where pre had soaked through. He pulled you close to him, kissing you with more tenderness and care than you anticipated, tasting yourself on his lips. You take his fingers in his hands and suck on the softly, tongue swirling around them and closing your eyes.

“Holy fuckin’ shit, you’re gonna be the death of me,” He mumbled, picking you up in his arms and resuming the kiss as he carried you to the bedroom. He lay you down and your fingers fumbled with his belt buckle while he ripped his shirt off over his head. He stood before you now completely naked, all muscle and skin and sweat. Your breath caught in your throat and you moaned softly,

“You’re so pretty,” you murmured, trailing your fingers down the sparse hairs of his stomach to where his cock sat, thick and long and curved delicately upward, making your mouth water to taste him- and you do.

You trail the tip of your tongue from his balls down the underside along the veins, leading to the pink mushroomed tip, slipping it behind your lips and humming as he threw his head back with a groan.

He placed a rough palm against the back of your head as you took more of him, eyes watering when it hit the back of your throat. He pulled himself out before thrusting back in, holding your head with both hands as he fucked your mouth at a heavy pace.

“Shit, fuck, fuck,” He grunted, watching you, glassy eyed as you obediently sucked his cock, “Good fuckin’ girl,” he pants, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust. Your lungs are burning for air when he finally pulls himself away, cock thick and throbbing. He pumps his cock a few times, motioning with his chin, “Turn over,” and you do, ass in the air, waiting for him.

You feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he settles behind you. The sensation of his cock pressing against your slit has you pushing back against him, but he doesn’t give you any relief.

“Such an impatient little slut,” he coos, voice dripping with condescension as he ruts the length of his cock along your slit, spreading your slick. “God you really are a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He rasped, leaning his body over yours and you groaned.

“Please daddy, I can’t take it anymore,” You pressed your burning face into the pillows beneath you and he laughed cruelly.

“Poor little princess,” He ruts against you again, the head of his cock catching on your little bundle of nerves, sending jolts through your body. “How bad do you want me, hmm?” His voice lilts, taunting you.

“S-so bad, daddy, please… I’ll do anything.” Your eyes are watering now, driven mad by the anticipation building again in your body, impetuous hips pressing back against his length.

“Think you can take it, princess?” He practically spits the last word at you.

“Know I can,” you screw your eyes shut, gripping the sheets tightly. That answer seems to satisfy him, as he lines himself up with you aching center, slowly pushing the fat head of his cock inside you, reveling in the way your breath hitches and your body tenses up around him. He pulls away slightly before giving shallow, deliberate thrusts into your taut muscles.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, angel,” His voice is strained, “Chokin’ my fuckin’ cock with your perfect little cunt, takin‘ me so well,” You whimper, adjusting to the stretch as he manages to bury himself into you entirely, stilling his movements for a moment. His cock is heavy, and you feel so fucking full, brain devoid of any thoughts that aren’t Katsuki.

He pulls back, feeling the way your silky walls try to suck him back into you, thrusting forward and pulling your hips back in time with his movements and you keen loudly as his cock presses against your cervix.

He sets a moderate pace, eyes half lidded as he watches you writhe beneath him, babbling incoherently.

“F-feels, feels so so good, daddy,” you whine pathetically.

“Y-yeah, baby, fuckin’, fuckin’ know it does,” He pants as he picks up the pace slightly, cock dragging along your walls, a white ring of cream building in his coarse hair. He fucked you forecully, hips snapping into yours as he held you up against him, pulling your back flush with his. He slows his pace, roughly massaging your breasts as he moves languidly in and out of you, leaving just the tip of his cock buried each time before canting his hips forward again.

“Oh, f-fuck,” The pleasure was unimaginable, and when he pressed a heavy palm against your abdomen you felt your body begin to shake. He brushed a rough thumb over your clit and you moaned, high pitched and breathy,

“Too much, daddy, I-I s’too much, please,” Tears began to flow freely down your cheeks as he bit down on your shoulder, pain blurring with pleasure.

“Such a good little slut for me,” He mumbles against your throat before pulling out of you and flipping you onto your back, setting himself between your folds, forcing your legs up onto his shoulders. He doesn’t wait to shove his cock back into you, and a scream dies in your throat as he fucks the air from your lungs and the only sounds are skin slapping against skin.

“Made to take my cock,” he breathed against your ear.

He pressed his weight down onto you, breath coming in ragged pants as sweat coated his brow from the effort of his movements.

“God, fuckin tight little cunt, feel s’fuckin’ good,” The filth falling from his lips made your body burn.

“D-don’t stop, daddy, please don’t stop,” Your breasts bounced from the ferocity of his thrusts, bed frame slamming against the wall.

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ stop, never wanna leave your fuckin’ cunt,” he grunted, feeling his own orgasm draw dangerously near, “Fuck you into the shape of my cock, my good girl.” He emphasized the possessive, pressed every inch of himself into you with deliberate thrusts, abdomen brushing against your clit and any thought that wasn’t him was gone from your mind- all you could manage was a string of

“Daddy, daddy, please, fuck me,”

“Gonna fuckin’ cum on daddy’s cock?” He rasped, gripping your hair in his fist, pulling back on it roughly when he felt you clench tightly around him. “Wanna cum again, you greedy thing?” All you could manage was a choked sob and nodded in response as he fucked you into the mattress. “Cum on my fuckin’ cock, then, come on,” His thrusts were becoming erratic as he got impossibly hard inside of you and you reached shaking fingers down to rub messy circles against your swollen clit.

You keened loudly as your orgasm ripped through you and you dug little half moons into his back with your nails, sobbing as the waves of pleasure washed through your body and he fucked you through your second orgasm. You’re still dizzy, vision blurred from the mixture of tears and pleasure as his muscles tensed. He moved to pull out but you tightened your legs around him,

“Katsuki, please, cum in me,” His expression darkened, eyes a conflagration of lust hearing his name, a breathy moan on your lips.

“Want me to breed your slutty little cunt?” He groaned loudly, and it made you ache and throb around him, “Dirty fuckin’ slut wants me to breed her, hah? That what you want?” There’s an urgency to his movements now, his desire to mark you as his, overrides every other thought and it’s enough to send him over the edge as he spilled inside you with a low growl, movements slowing into deep, purposeful thrusts, fucking his cum deeper into your sex.

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” he breathed, and you stiffened a little, caught slightly off gaurd. Was it just the haze of sex, the post orgasm dizziness that made him say… that?

He lay on top of you, both of you panting and struggling to catch your breath, placing hot, wet kisses against each other's bodies. His lips crashed heavily against yours, teeth clicking and noses pressed roughly together. He pulled away and your heart ached at the lack of contact as he pulled his softening cock from you with a lewd squelch.

“Katsuki?” You murmured, just barely a whisper.

“Hmm?” He stood, grabbing a towel to clean the both of you off.

“Did you mean it?” He studied your pensive expression.

“That I love you?”

“Mhm.” He closed the distance between you, taking your jaw in his hands and forced you to meet his gaze, hot coals glowing with emotion.

“Yeah, I’m in love with ya,” He says, sincerely.

“I… I love you, too, Katsuki.”

He leaned down and kissed you tenderly, before tapping your ass lightly and pulling away, holding your hand in his.

“Let’s take a shower, you’re all fuckin’ sticky.”

———————-

There’s a few days where you’re blissfully, indescribably happy. There really isn’t much that could be done to ruin your mood. You went through the day, feeling light and as if the ground beneath you were made of clouds.

But of course, it can’t last.

Of course, the past you’d been running from would catch up to you as soon as you’d stopped to appreciate the life you’d built around you.

It’s a simple text message from an unknown number that reads,

Unknown: does your new boy toy know about us? does he know what a slut you are?

Unknown: maybe he should get a look at the videos I have.

Your heart sinks, and you quickly delete and block the number, hands shaking.

It’s nothing, can’t mean anything, it’s just someone messing with you, certainly.

It isn’t until you’re checking out of a grocery store when a magazine cover catches your eye, and you freeze, squinting at the pictures plastered across the front.

They’re of you and Katsuki, walking out of the hospital, and another of the two of you walking into his apartment building.

Your mouth goes dry as you pick it up with shaking hands.

The cashier waves, calling you forward, and you put it back, hiding it behind a different magazine.

“Oh, sorry,” you fumble with your wallet as you pay and grab your bags, rushing out of the store.

‘This can’t be happening.’ You wanted to cry, to throw something, to disappear into the earth.

None of which happened, and you were still standing outside, mind reeling as a storm slowly began to roll in.

[thiccchurro]

Trust Me

✦⋆⋇Anonymous said:⋇⋆✦

heyy could you write with shoto todoroki a scenario where him and his s/o are in a argument (for any reason it's up to you!), things got heat up and he says something that he regrets, like something really mean idk haha i crave for angst this times thank you

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Thank you for the request luv! I’m not very experienced when it comes to angst, so i hope it turned out okay!

⚘ Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x reader

⚘ Warnings: angst

⚘ Summary: Todoroki has trouble displaying his emotions and you just want to comfort him.

⚘ A/n: UmM. I have a hate/love relationship with this fic. Didn't know how to end it.. :/

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“Y/n, leave.”

“No Shou-”

“Y/n, I don’t need you to solve my problems. I can live without you, and I will deal with myself, myself. Stop being a whiny little brat and go.”

Shouto has these days.

He’ll come home from work, extremely on-edge, and push you away for the rest of the night.

He doesn’t even sleep in the bed, he stays on the couch.

And it breaks your heart, every, single, time.

Whenever you come home in an off mood, Shouto will sit you down, he’ll make some tea, and you’ll chat by the fireplace. He’ll let you just stare off into the flames while you list your problems one, by one. If you need it he’ll draw you into a hug, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, while you sob into his shoulder.

But the problem with Shouto, was that he wasn’t you. He dealt with all his problems on his own, he closed himself off from everyone when he needed a shoulder to cry on. He closed himself off to you. And you were afraid he didn’t trust you, that maybe he never would.

So, as Shouto stomped into your room, and motioned for you to leave so he could have a minute, you decided it was time to put an end to this.

“Shouto, do you.. do you wanna come sit by the fire with me?”

He shot you a look as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt.

“The fire that I’ll have to start? I’ve had a long day love, why don’t you go work on dinner”

“But Shouto..”

You fidgeted with you hands, nervously, leaning your weight on one foot, then the other.

“You know you can talk to me right?”

“You know now is not the time for this, right?”

He moved to the bed to start slipping his shoes off.

“I’m serious, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Neither can I, that’s why you should go.”

“Stop! Stop pushing me out, I want to be there for you! Just let me be your S/o and for once in your life talk to me!” You could hear your voice crack and you desperately tried to hold back your tears.

Shouto gave you and cold look and nodded his head.

“Your raising your voice love, why don’t you go make dinner.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! I love you! Don’t you trust me?”

You mentally cursed at yourself as tears began to spill out of your eyes,

“When I come home you always make me talk to you, I don’t get a choice. You need to talk too! To be taken care of!”

“I’m sorry your the weaker one in this relationship.”

“Shouto! being able to bottle up your emotions is not a strength!”

“Being a clingy little leech who can’t go two seconds without suffocating someone isn’t a strength.”

“Shouto just talk to me.”

“Y/n, leave.”

“No Shout-”

“Y/n, I don’t need you to solve my problems. I can live without you, and I will deal with myself, myself. Stop being a whiny little brat and go.”

You sniffled a bit, and grabbed a fresh change of clothes.

“If that’s how you really feel, then I’ll go.”

You dragged yourself to the kitchen, reaching to grab the car keys. Unzipping your purse you dug around for your phone and wallet, just to double check.

“I’m ordering you some cold soba, then i’m going out!”

You ordered the soba and left, tears blurring your vision as you drove to the nearest hotel.

He really didn’t trust you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When Shouto groggily rubbed at his eyes, and rolled of the couch, he expected you to hear the noise and wake up.

He put his bowl from the night before in the sink, for you to scrub along with your own. But there were no other bowls there.

He couldn’t remember much from the previous night, but he assumed you hadn’t eaten, and where probably hungry. So, he made you some waffles.

He hummed a tune as he whipped up the batter, waffles always made you feel better.

He decided to tie on his ‘kiss the cook’ apron, witch you had given him for his last birthday, to make you smile, and tip-toed over to the room. He opened the door, careful to keep it from making a clicking sound.

“Rise and shin-”

He set the tray of food down when you weren’t in your bed.

“Y/n?”

He combed through the house, struggling to find you.

“Hey Siri. Where’s Y/n?”

“Y/n, is at a hotel ten miles from here. Would you like directions?”

Oh...

OH..

He tried to call you a few times, but they all went to voice mail. He remembered all the things he had said last night, about being a suffocating leech, about being a whiny little brat.

Thank God for Siri.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You sniffled, burying your face further into the stuffy you had bought at a gas stop last night. You hadn’t been able to sleep a wink.

You where startled out of your thoughts by a man outside your door.

“Ma’am, there’s a pro-hero here to see you. We have to let him in, there may be vital evidence towards his err- investigation in here? I’m sorry.”

You grabbed your stuffy and sprinted into the bathroom, hiding in the corner just as the door unlocked.

You heard it close.

“Y/n?”

Shouto sighed when he found your hiding spot.

“I’m sorry for all the stuff i said..  None of it’s true.”

You stood up, and the half and half hero pulled you into himself, burying your face in his chest. He rested his head on yours and sighed, as you weakly attempted to pull away.

“sh-Shouto.” You sobbed “I need to comfort y-you!”

“I’m sorry, but right now you need to be comforted.”

You pushed away from his chest slightly, and looked up at him.

“N-no you don’t trus-ust me.”

“I know, I’m working on it.”

“I think we-we need to take a bre-break.”

“From hugging? Sorry, i didn’t mean to suf-”

“No, from us..”

Todoroki backed away. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“Are you sure?”

You sniffed again and rubbed your nose on your sleeve.

“Yeah, I’ll come over to pack some stuff. I just n-need a break.”

[Unedited]

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Black

Prompts: After POF, Roman takes over the abandoned color black. He becomes the hated side that Virgil used to be. By most, anyway. Janus and Virgil are concered. Patton chooses to ignore it. Romans room is really cold? and boy is he touch starved - anon

(Sanders sides Prompt) Any one of the sides is touch starved. fluff. (You dont have to do this just thought I might ask) - anon

Hello there!! I just wanna say that I love your work and I think you’re such a talented writer. Idk if this is a weird ask but would you consider writing Roman angst with the song “it’s OK I wouldn’t remember me either” by crywank as like inspiration? Thank you so much <3 -anon

buckel up babes this one's a doozy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/reference self-harm by way of self-negligence, pretty intense self-hatred and neglect that could verge on suicidal, but NO ONE DIES, everyone's fine at the end, we don't break shit and not fix it in my house

Pairings: it is platonic found family hours

Word Count: 5697

Do you know what no one ever tells you about the color black?

It’s seamless.

There are no cracks, no tears, no imperfections, because everything’s so dark you can’t tell what’s a trick of the light and what isn’t. Everything blends together. At first, second, even third glance, it’s perfect. Pristine, even. It hides absolutely everything. It’s intimidating, honestly, that level of deception. The way it can make anything look like it’s meant to be there, as if to live the colorless and lightless life is all it was ever destined for.

Darkness has always found a way of feeling like home, even to the ones who are afraid of it.

You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding. He didn’t want to go, but it’s what Patton wanted. It’s what Thomas would’ve wanted. If Roman hadn’t been so loud. But it hurt, it did, when they said that they shouldn’t go to the callback because there was such a slim likelihood of Thomas winning. Because Roman couldn’t win. But Roman wasn’t supposed to be the villain and do something bad so he sent Thomas to the wedding.

Bruises were supposed to be yellow, or green, or purple, not black.

But if he had yellow, green, or purple bruises, he would’ve blamed a yellow, green, or purple Side. And that was bad.

So he hid them, because as he learned, no one was looking for them anyway. Patton cared when he didn’t show up to the video and then he was there and oh, having someone there, even if they only cared a little, was like rainfall in a desert, it was wonderful, Roman would’ve sung if he thought it wouldn’t make everything worse. But Roman was good, so he never complained, and he did his job to the best of his ability.

But what if his job was bad?

But there are two Creativities, a Roman and a Remus. And no one else liked Remus, because Remus was bad and Roman was good. But Remus isn’t bad, he’s just the opposite of Roman. And Roman didn’t want to be Remus because Remus was bad. But Remus isn’t bad.

Creativity isn’t bad.

Bruises aren’t supposed to be black but they can’t be red.

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain but what else do you call someone who laughs at vulnerability, who scorns people’s earnest attempts to help, who single-handedly ruins someone’s life?

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain, but bruises aren’t supposed to cover every inch of his skin unless he deserves it.

His skin burns. It crawls and aches and screams and darkens into bruises. His throat aches from the wordless screams and the horrible things he’s said to everyone. He’s been so selfish, he’s tried to make everything go his way, tried to make it about him, not about Thomas, because everything they do is supposed to help Thomas, help Thomas, that’s what they’re supposed to do, they’re supposed to help Thomas, not themselves, why is he doing this, why is he doing this?

Because he’s the villain.

Roman cries.

What else is he supposed to do?

He cries until the tears grow thick, sluggish, oozing out of his eyes until he can’t see anything but them, until his breath grows thick and his chest heavy. He cries until he has to struggle to open his eyes because of how swollen they are, how globulous the tears have become on the ends of his lashes. He cries until his head splits and his chest wails from the pain he isn’t supposed to have but deserves, deserves every little bit. He cries until his body is consumed by the bruises.

His costume is a straightjacket. He needs it off. The white hurts now, it burns his arms and cuffs his wrists. He doesn’t deserve it so he rips it off. Every seam that he ruins is another bruise. The rips are so loud they burrow into some soft part of his brain and live there. The white is still imperfect because it’s on him.

Only when his costume lies in tatters around him, his sash torn off and thrown away, far away, does the white look pure.

He cries himself to sleep with a smile on his face.

Far, far away, a black hoodie is tugged back into the Conscious Mindscape.

When Roman wakes, his head is full of static.

His lungs inflate and collapse on autopilot, driven by the merciless pump of some distant machine, turning the crank to draw air in and out, in and out.

His hands are numb, fingertips rubbed raw and inflamed from tearing relentlessly at fabric. He turns them slowly and it’s like watching himself in a video game.

His face is cold. He paws at his cheeks and feels sticky residue, etched into his skin. His eyes stick slightly when he blinks and he doesn’t know if that’s just his face or if there’s something else.

He is swathed in black fabric, an old threadbare hoodie that has gone years unloved, untouched, unseen. It’s selfishness that makes him tug it closer, feel a faint bubble of pressure on his screaming body.

He should get up, he should go make sure he hasn’t hurt anyone else with his tantrum again, he should apologize.

But…what would be the point?

Like Patton asked, does there come a point when someone keeps apologizing so much that you just have to admit they’re bad?

Roman isn’t good. Has he ever been?

Something interrupts the pleasant numbness and it shoots from his chest to the soft points at the base of his wrists, making his hands tingle. He decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it. He wants everything to stop.

He’s selfish, they all know that, he’s just going to end up hurting them anyway, so why bother trying to fix it?

Apathy, his tired brain supplies when he lies there, unmoving, on the ground, for hours and hours and hours, unwilling and uncaring to fix things.

But that can’t be right. Roman is here because he cared too much, he did too much, he was too much. How can he now be the epitome of not caring at all?

If only he never cared, if only he wasn’t so attached, if only.

If only he had been Apathy, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hurt.

His pride got him here. His pride, his wants, his his his. He wanted everything and burned down the things that would’ve helped him get there because he couldn’t do it right. He is the villain and villains always have too much pride.

Pride. Apathy.

Prapathy.

Apride.

I’m not Creativity anymore, he thinks to himself as he lies there, still on the floor as his chest aches and his eyes sting and the sticky residue drips down his cheeks onto the bruises. He stares and stares and stares at the wall and a faint part of his mind that exists outside of the static realizes he never did get around to fixing that crack in the baseboard.

Pride, apathy. It doesn’t matter. There’s a much easier word that he can use to describe both of them.

Wrong.

—————————————————————

“I don’t know, Thomas,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that’s a valid solution either.”

“But it makes sense,” Virgil protests, shoving his hands into his pockets, “all we have to do is not talk to anybody else—“

“But that will hurt their feelings!”

“But we won’t hurt ourselves.”

Janus and Patton look at each other for a moment before Patton sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“I—I don’t know, this…this feels weird.”

“None of us are happy about this, Padre,” Virgil mutters, “but it’s the best solution we’ve got.”

“Real high bar we’re setting there, isn’t it?”

“Listen, Snake Face, if you’ve got a better idea—“

“Virgil, enough.” Logan shakes his head. “We need to keep thinking.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour, Logan,” Thomas says cautiously, “I don’t know what else you think we’re gonna get to.”

“We’ve already passed the optimal point for productivity, yes.”

“Oh, well, we can’t just give up now!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “I’m sure if we just keep at it for a little longer—“

“You said that half an hour ago, Patton.”

“And I’ll say it again!”

“Because that’s going to make everything go much easier.”

Thomas sighs as the Sides fall back into bickering. Normally, this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary—pretty much all they do is argue back and forth—but Logan’s right. They’ve made almost no progress. He finds himself staring at the TV.

Why is he staring at the TV?

He frowns, tilting his head. It’s literally just his TV. Why is he so fixated on it right now? It’s not like it’s gone anywhere, it’s sitting right where it always is. He stares at it most of the day, why is it so weird that he’s looking at it now?

Wait—

“Guys,” he interrupts, still staring at the thing he’s not supposed to be able to see like this, “where’s Roman?”

The room pauses. Then Logan sighs.

“Oh, of course, that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time coming up with solutions, we don’t have Roman.”

At Virgil’s side-eye, he glances around to see similar looks of disbelief on the other’s faces.

“What?”

“Did you…did you just admit we need Roman?”

“He is Creativity, it makes sense that if we are struggling to be creative, he isn’t here.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Virgil shakes his head. “Thought you were admitting he was important or something.”

“Please, his head is big enough as it is.”

Janus hides a snort.

“Why didn’t he show up earlier,” Thomas asks, “he’s normally one of the first of you to get here.”

Virgil shrugs. “I dunno, I haven’t seen that much of him lately.”

“Is he…okay?”

“Who the hell knows, he’s Roman.”

“My guess is he’s been in his room,” Logan says, glancing at Roman’s usual spot, “I haven’t seen him either.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the way Janus and Patton glance at each other. “If you two have information now might be the time to share it.”

“Roman…hasn’t come out of his room,” Patton says after a beat, “not since…”

“Wait, he hasn’t come out since the wedding?”

Janus shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen him open his door.”

“That doesn’t…normally happen, does it?”

“No,” Patton says, “and, uh, he doesn’t normally ignore us either.”

“Ignore you?”

“We’ve tried knocking. It doesn’t work.”

“Perhaps Thomas can summon him,” Logan offers, “you have more power than any of us do, he’d have to answer you.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Creativity!”

Someone pops up in front of the TV.

Someone in a white costume with green embellishments and a mustache.

“Remus?”

Remus glares at them, his Morningstar at his side, his costume white, pristine, and light.

“What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

—————————————————————

It’s been weeks.

The fans have accepted Remus as Creativity. They think that the videos are better than ever. They think this was Thomas’s plan from the beginning.

There is one end card where the Sides are watching a movie and some of them spot a dark figure in the corner. Who could this be? Is this the mysterious orange Side everyone has been waiting for? Is this the Side that’s been hurting Thomas so much?

Zoom and enhance. It’s Virgil’s old hoodie. They’re sitting where Remus used to sit. They’re not staring at the screen, they’re looking at the others. What could this mean?

Someone spots the faint outline of a tiny crown perched atop the figure’s head.

And then, well, then it all makes sense.

There was always one Side that messed up everything, that made everything more complicated. There was always one Side that, if you thought about it, you could trace everything back to. There was always one Side that was told he was making the bad choice and yet, never seemed to learn.

They start to put together timelines, evidence, essay-length meta posts on how of course, this is the plan, why didn’t they see it before? Those that had disliked him from the start crow about how they were right, how everyone doubted them but look who’s laughing now. They point out how he’s become a Dark Side, maybe he was always a Dark Side, and how incredible would that storytelling be? To warn against the pressures of society’s expectations, the idea of good versus bad, or authentic versus forced. How of course, they’re wearing Virgil’s old hoodie because they’re the hated Side now. How they’re not looking at the screen because that’s not what they want, they want to be a part of the famILY.

Vitriolic rants. Accusations. Vent fics. The unsympathetic tag is overflowing.

Because who else could the villain be?

—————————————————————

Roman lives in the cold now.

His fireplace isn’t lit anymore. The door to the Imagination doesn’t work anymore. The blankets on his bed aren’t thick enough anymore. He drifts through a haze where only the emergency systems in his brain are online, where only the awareness needed to sleep, breathe, and move the little bits he needs to move are present.

He doesn’t know that there’s nothing behind the red door anymore, that when Janus and Virgil come to knock on it, worried, or when Remus storms through the Imagination and tries to knock it down by force, there’s nothing for them to find.

He doesn’t know that a new door, a black door, leads from his room to the hallway, far away from any of the other rooms. He doesn’t know that it’s so dark back here that no one would be able to tell there was a door if they didn’t put their nose right up against it.

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

A new kind of ache settles in his bones now. Pain is an old friend, but he’s yet to give suffering a proper handshake.

He misses when he could go and ask someone for help.

He misses when Patton would turn to him without any judgment in his eyes, without any ‘well, you know, kiddo—‘, without any ‘let’s start off with—‘, just the soft words of I’m here, I’ll help you. He misses being able to walk up to Patton’s door and knock on it and know that he would be safe on the other side.

Patton would open the door and soften, his mouth curling up into a small smile as he says hey, kiddo, come in. He would sit Roman down on the bed and press a glass of water into his hands. He would rub his back as he drank, taking the empty glass gently and cupping Roman’s face in his hands. He would ask what’s wrong, sweetheart, what can I do? And Roman would say he just wants a hug, he just wants to not be alone for a bit. And Patton would smile and coo about how Roman was always welcome here, sweetheart, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you. And Roman could fall asleep with his head on Patton’s chest and believe that everything was okay.

He misses when he could walk up to Logan and ask for help and he wouldn’t be scoffed at or turned away, he wouldn’t be looked at suspiciously and asked what he really wanted. He misses when Logan could come to him too and just spend time together.

Logan would knock on his door and ask if you have a moment, would you like to walk with me? And Roman would smile and say, of course, he always has time for Logan, and they could go somewhere in the Imagination and just talk. And Logan would say that’s an interesting idea, I wonder if—and they would walk and talk for hours. And Roman could bustle up to Logan’s door and say I’ve just thought of something, and Logan would open his door and be happy to talk with Roman and it would be okay.

Roman curls up tighter and feels nothing.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Virgil. He wishes they could have bonded over their love of Disney, their want to talk about the things they’re interested in, or even the need to just have someone else in the room with them for a bit. He wishes their relationship wasn’t just spitting barbs at each other, each hoping to hit the bullseye first and knock the other one out of the race. He wishes he could’ve done better.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Janus. He wishes they could’ve done this right, that they could’ve bonded over the want to keep Thomas safe but also have him be himself. He wishes that he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t scorned, hadn’t fallen back on his pride to keep himself safe at the expense of Thomas. He wishes that maybe, just maybe, if he had been a better puppet, then he wouldn’t have been dropped so suddenly.

But as it stands now, more than anything he wishes he could hear them when they say the things they say about him because then he could figure out which bruises were theirs and take comfort in knowing that they still touch him in some way.

The bruises are a constant now. From the online hate to the casual remarks from the others to the way that Patton hasn’t even tried to come find him anymore—he can hear that, you know—he can’t turn over without landing on a new smattering of bruises. The hoodie helps to cushion the blow a little bit.

He misses Remus.

Remus was…

…Remus was everything.

Roman misses his other half. Roman misses his brother. Roman misses his Creativity.

When they were small they would curl around each other as if they could fuse if they focused hard enough. They would wrap their arms around each other so tightly that it would be a pleasant ache when they woke, never minding because they were tighter. Remus was always so warm and Roman hoarded every single bit he could get.

Roman was cruel to push his brother away and now he understands how it feels.

He misses Thomas.

He misses when he was allowed to go and see Thomas. When he could talk to Thomas. When his presence was celebrated or at the very least, tolerated. He misses it. He misses helping.

But he’s helping now, by staying away.

He’s cold.

He’s so cold.

—————————————————————

do you remember what it felt like

to be touched?

press of fingertips against shoulders

bump of a forehead against yours

palms meeting and parting a mere second later

in days gone by

do you remember

warm?

humans thrive off physical contact,

we’re not built to hold each other

at arms’ length.

infants will die

if they aren’t held enough.

and I am so

so

cold

—————————————————————

Something is wrong and even Patton can’t ignore it anymore.

The Sides shuffle uneasily in front of the red door until Remus raises his hand to knock against it.

“Roman?”

Silence.

“Roman, please, please, just—just say something.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you, Roman?”

“Don’t yell,” Logan mumbles, “you’ll make him think we’re angry at him.”

Remus takes a deep breath.

“We’re not angry, Ro-bro, we’re just—just please make some noise.”

Silence.

“…we’re coming in, Roman.”

But they can’t. Because as Remus turns the knob on the door, it falls forward. The entire door comes off just to reveal—

A blank wall. With no sign that there was ever a room behind it.

Thomas can hear the scream.

—————————————————————

Roman hears the scream and can’t move. But he can close his eyes and reach out and see what’s going on. After all, he hasn’t done anything, so something must be wrong if someone else is screaming.

He feels something in his chest twist and snap.

“Re?”

Across the Mindscape, Remus’s head jerks up.

“Ro,” he breathes, getting to his feet and rushing off down the hall as the others hurry after him, “Ro!”

“Remus, what’s going on?”

“Why isn’t Roman’s room there anymore?”

“Where are you going?”

They barrel into the hallway and smack into a black door. Logan’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“Roman’s become a Dark Side,” he says, fingers scrabbling where the door meets the wall, “he’s—he’s really hurt, we have to help—“

“Move, L, I’m gonna break the door down.”

“You’re not gonna do it without me.”

“Roman!”

Roman turns his head to look at the door. Are they…here? The hoodie rasps against his undead skin and he winces. There are still bruises.

“Roman!”

The door shudders its frame. He could open it. He could. He just has to reach out and—

“Ro!”

Remus.

The door unlatches and his brother pours into the room, letting out a wail when he spots Roman in the bed.

Janus hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold, this room is freezing. It feels as if no one’s moved for years inside, as if the heat has been sucked out entirely. His gaze flies to Remus, who’s over on the bed, his hands scrabbling at something in black material.

Roman.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, horrified, “no, no, no—“

“We have to get him out,” Logan orders, startling Remus into action as he scoops Roman into his arms, “we have to get him warm. His core temperature is too low.”

“Shower? Bath?”

“No, if we shock his system we could make it worse. Janus, I need your heating pads, Patton, something warm to drink.”

Janus and Patton vanish.

“Virgil, weighted blankets, Remus—“

“I’m here.” As Virgil ducks away as well, Remus helps Logan cradle the limp and freezing form of his brother in their arms as they begin to rush out of that horrible, horrible room. “You thinking bathroom?”

“Get him to Janus’s, that’ll be the safest place.”

“Got it.”

Sure enough, Janus has no objection and sweeps them inside, setting down the heating pads as Patton bustles in with two thermos flasks and a mug. Virgil pops back with thick blankets as they lay the cold form on the ground. Roman’s eyes blink sluggishly as he stares up at Remus.

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Roro, it’s me, I’m right here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster.”

“What’s…wha’s going on?”

“You’re too cold, Roman,” Logan says gently, “we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oh…”

“It will be easier if we take a few of the layers off,” he explains, still careful to keep his voice low and even as the others scurry around, “is that alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to unzip the hoodie.” Logan works slowly, patiently, stopping when any flicker crosses Roman’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing very well, I’m almost done.”

By the time he’s coaxed the hoodie off of Roman’s shoulders, there’s a little bit of color back in his cheeks.

“Very good, Roman, you did well. Virgil’s brought a few warm blankets and Janus has heating pads for you, do you think you can sit up?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you’re doing alright.” Logan glances up at Janus.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, sitting by Roman’s head, “if you can sit up, I can sit behind you and help warm you up, does that sound alright?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sweetie, we’re going to sit you up now.”

Logan and Janus sit Roman up slowly, only to pause when the long sleeves of his shirt fall down.

“Roman,” Logan asks, trying frantically to keep his voice calm, “are you hurt?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back the fearful response and patiently asks where, how bad, can he see?

“Everywhere.” Roman lifts his arms weakly. “’S all bruises.”

“…can we see?”

“Okay.”

Logan’s hands begin to tremble as he works the shirt over Roman’s head. He wasn’t kidding when he said everywhere.

There’s barely an inch of skin that doesn’t look bruised black and blue. Patton stifles a cry as he drops to his knees next to them, looking at Roman like he’s never seen it this bad before.

Oh, Roman, how did they not know? How could he just ignore him like that?

“Get him covered,” comes Virgil’s voice, “he’s still too cold.”

Janus grabs one of the blankets and wraps it carefully around Roman’s form. It should help distribute whatever pressure they apply so it won’t aggravate his injuries too severely. He takes one heating pad and scoots forward, bracketing Roman’s legs with his own and wrapping one pair of arms around him to press the pad to his chest.

“Can you feel that, sweetie,” he asks softly, “is that too warm?”

“No.”

“Good, good, little prince, you’re being very brave.” He turns away to reach for another and so misses the little shudder that goes through Roman. “Do you think you can handle another if I press it to the back of your neck?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try, little prince, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Here we go, sweetie—“ Janus presses it carefully to the base of Roman’s skull, just at the edge of the blanket— “there, does that feel okay?”

“Mm.”

“Good, sweetie, you’re doing so well, so good for us, that’s it, you relax now.”

Roman starts to tremble.

“That’s alright,” Logan soothes, “you’re warming up, it means you’re going to shiver a little more, you’re alright, Roman, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

It certainly doesn’t seem that way once Roman’s breath starts to come in gasps. Virgil nudges Patton out of the way and sits, gently calling Roman’s name until his gaze snaps to Virgil’s.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says slowly, “you gotta stay with me now, okay? We’re right here, no one’s angry, nothing’s going to hurt you. Just focus on me.”

He ignores the startled noises when Roman starts to cry thick, black tears.

“Eyes on me, Princey, that’s it, stay here. We’re just gonna sit here and breathe for a moment, okay?” Roman nods and Virgil starts to take big, exaggerated breaths. “Good. That’s it, Princey, you focus on me and you breathe. It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just stay here.”

When the viscous black liquid slows, Virgil reaches out and begins to tuck Roman’s hair back. A moment longer and he pauses, noting how the scratch on Roman’s face is covered in the thick black tears.

“Princey, can I clean your face off for you? You’re doing really well at breathing, I’m proud of you. Can I help you with the rest of it?”

“O-okay.”

There’s a bottle of micellar water and a pack of cotton circles pressed into his hands. He moves in slow, careful strokes, changing out the circles as often as he needs to. A pile of them grows beside him as he works, doing his best to get all the black off of Roman’s face. Roman just cries.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs when Roman’s cry gives way to a wail, “it’s okay, you cry all you need to, we’re not going anywhere, it’ll be alright.”

“We have you, sweetie,” Janus says against Roman’s neck, “we’re here.”

Remus lets out a broken noise.

“Oh, Roman, you didn’t…”

Logan’s head whips sharply around to scold Remus only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Remus’s costume is bleeding too. The same black that drips down Roman’s face is slowly coloring Remus’s costume again, back to what it normally looks like. Remus’s mouth is agape, staring horrified at Roman.

“Oh, Ro—“

“What’s going on?”

“Check the bruises on his neck,” Remus orders as Janus pulls back the blanket, “are they still there?”

“They’re here, but they’re…lighter, how is that—?”

“Roman is the Ego,” Patton mumbles, “he gets bruised when—when—“

“Oh, shit,” Virgil curses, before quickly hushing Roman’s discontented mumble, “and with all the hate that’s been gunning for him—“

“Oh, sweetheart—“

Roman lets out another sob and the tears run clear.

“The Ego is kept healthy by positive attention,” Logan says softly, scooting closer and rubbing Roman’s shoulder through the blanket, “you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

“He’s not cold because he’s hypothermic,” Remus blusters, “he’s touch starved.”

“It’s still not safe to introduce him to direct contact all at once,” Logan warns when Patton and Remus look like they want to rip the blanket off, “we have to take it slow.”

“So what do we do?”

Janus just leans down and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. “You’re so brave, sweetie, you’ve been so strong.”

They watch as Roman’s tears begin to wash away the black.

“We love you, sweetheart, you’re so important to us.”

“Stay with us, Princey, we need you.”

“You’re doing very well, Roman, we’re very proud of you.”

Roman cries, ducking his head into Virgil’s waiting hands as Remus’s costume colors itself black again.

After a long while, when Remus looks like he normally does, Roman shakes his head and looks up at them.

“Where am I,” and he sounds like Roman again, “what’s happened?”

“You were starving, sweetheart,” Patton mumbles, “and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“O-oh,” Roman blinks, “is that…is that why I’m so cold?”

“You’re touch starved too,” Virgil adds, “and we, uh, L said it wasn’t a good idea to try and shock you out of it.”

“Try and drink something,” Logan says quickly as Patton reaches for the mug, “you’ve been crying for a while and you’re dehydrated.”

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Your favorite, kiddo.”

Remus sits down at Roman’s side as he drinks, staring at him like he’s not seen him in ages. Which, well, none of them have, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeats, looking sheepishly at all of them, “I, uh, well, the last video I messed up a lot. I, uh, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name, Jan—where are you?”

“Right here,” Janus mumbles, giving him a gentle squeeze, “and you’re forgiven.”

“Oh. Uh, that was easy…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Yes, it wasn’t great of you to do, but I’m not exactly blameless either and…”

He squeezes him again.

“…you’ve been hurting enough.”

“Logan, you too, I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Roman, but I agree. It’s alright.”

“Why are you all forgiving me so fast?”

“Because,” Remus mumbles, cupping Roman’s head and resting their foreheads together, “this happened.”

They all watch as Roman shudders as Remus shows him what happened.

“Oh—oh—I—oh no—“

“It’s over now, sweetie,” Janus reassures, “we’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“C-can I have a hug?”

“Of course, honey, come here—“

“Let’s get the blanket out of the way, L, is he—“

“It should be safe now, yes.”

“Remus, I—oof!”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“It’s still—I’m still—“

“Patton, grab that end of the blanket.”

“This one?”

“That’s it, yes.”

The Sides end up swaddled in the blanket, their heads poking out, as each of them pulls a little bit of Roman into their arms to warm up. Janus and Remus wrap around his upper body, mindful of the few bruises that haven’t been healed yet. His legs are in Patton’s lap, as Logan and Virgil each hold on to his hands. The poor thing is still shivering, still shaking, still a little overwhelmed.

But Janus coos into his ear as his head lolls back, Remus holding him tightly. Logan’s thumb strokes over his palm as Virgil lets him squeeze as tight as he needs to. Patton makes sure he’s off the cold tile and he’s warm.

They’re going to have to work out what to do about the fans, about the videos, but right now they need to worry about Roman.

Speaking of Roman—

“I—I need to apologize to Thomas.”

A cry goes up as he says so, Patton reaching up to pat his knee. “You don’t have to do that right now, sweetheart, rest, it’s okay—“

“I won’t—he won’t be able to rest until he knows what’s happened.”

As if he can hear them, they feel the familiar tug of one of them being summoned. A quick glance around shows that if one of them is going, all of them are, so they appear on the floor of the living room, swaddled in the blanket.

Thomas’s mouth drops open and he rushes to their side.

“I was gonna ask if you found Roman, but I—Roman, buddy, are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, “but I’m sorry.”

“For what, buddy?”

As Roman begins to apologize, for being away, for hurting Thomas, for being selfish, Thomas just shakes his head.

“No, buddy, that’s not all on you. You—yeah, okay, some things happened, but it’s not entirely your fault. You don’t need to think of it like that.”

“Well said,” Logan mutters, “now help us get Roman to rest.”

“So what Disney movie are we watching and how many pillows do we need?”

A lot, as it turns out, is the answer. And they have to bite back laughs at the way Thomas makes a noise when he’s swept into the blanket too. But Thomas is warm and Roman is still cold and the movie plays on the screen.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my hero.”

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[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 317: My Boy Was Just Like Me

Previously on BnHA: AFO randomly blew up Lady Nagant as a good reminder of why you should never make a deal with this fucking guy, smdh. Hawks was all “well if it isn’t my two best friends, Deku and Lady Nagant, both of whom I respect and love tremendously.” Everyone was all “??” and Horikoshi was all “shh... just pretend” because it was too embarrassing for him to admit that he forgot to write a couple of set-up flashbacks I guess. Anyway so Hawks got Lady to tell them where AFO was hiding out, and everyone said goodbye to her and Overhaul, who never did get to see his boss (sorry buddy, I’ll send you a vial of my tears in the mail), and headed out to a house in the woods. AFO was all “hello Deku :) :) it sure is fun making you suffer :) :) :) anyways this is a trap”, and blew up the house. Yeah, we all here are getting reaaaaaaaal tired of your shit, AFO.

Today on BnHA: The Hawksquad and Edgeplatoon meet in a warehouse and are all “what should we do about the fact that everything sucks?” Mt. Lady is all “here’s a thought, what if we tried battling AFO with more than six people.” Hawks and Endeavor are all “great initiative, but just a friendly reminder that our friends also suck and would probably betray Deku which would suck further still.” Shouto is all “ANSWER THE PHONE DAD” and Endeavor is all “[IRONICALLY DOESN’T ANSWER THE PHONE].” Meanwhile over in Sadtown, capital of Sadland Prefecture, Japan, Deku is all “All Might, as you can clearly see I am completely fine and good, never been better in fact, definitely not caught up in the throes of an epic mental breakdown which is shutting me down emotionally, anyway so on that note I would like to leave you now goodbye!!” All Might is all “[can’t actually form any words because he’s too distraught].” Fandom is all “o(╥﹏╥)o.” Horikoshi is all “(*＾-’) 乃 [pew pew finger guns and barrel rolls into the darkness].”

sweet jesus lord

this literally doesn’t even look like Deku anymore?? this looks like Dark!Deku who shows up to fight you in that one room in the Water Temple. he looks like he’s about to crawl out of my television set and murder me with his psychic powers good lord

holy shit lmao Horikoshi is really just shrugging his shoulders and resolving last week’s cliffhanger with a single line of dialogue

fire is no one’s weakness. idk what other options you’ve got, AFO, but you’re gonna have to go back to the drawing board. maybe try bees or something. I’m just saying. we’re all expecting fire at this point but nobody is expecting bees

anyway so now they’re all sitting in some warehouse somewhere chatting about it I guess. shoutout to Horikoshi for finally giving my man Edgeshot some more dialogue at long last

well, Edgeshot, to answer your question, she exploded. so naturally she’s fine

nah just kidding, Hawks says she won’t be able to help them out much because she’s recovering from being exploded. this is the part where we all ignore the fact that Hawks got set on fire for like a full ten minutes back during the War arc and was only in the hospital for a day. anyways enjoy your temporary plot hiatus Nagant

man there’s a lot of dialogue here and I’m trying to figure out where to insert commentary but it’s kinda difficult lol. basically, Edge and the others are saying that they should gather up the other remaining heroes and get them all caught up on the whole OFA situation. which, hmmmm

like on the one hand, these guys definitely aren’t going to cut it on their own, so it’s a reasonable suggestion on the face of it. but on the other hand, do we really want to entrust the OFA secret to a bunch of other people, most of whom shat the bed during the War arc to be quite frank? is it really worth the additional risk? especially given that any one of them might go spilling the beans to the public -- or worse, betray them to AFO??

also just a quick side note here, Mt. Lady’s character development never ceases to delight me. she’s become so committed to her responsibility as a hero these days, and it fucking suits her. I genuinely consider to be one of the elites now. I mean it doesn’t hurt that all the other elites are fucking dead lol but still

wait what? Death Arms retired??

Death Arms as in the guy who was too afraid of a little fire to try and save a terrified 14-year-old kid who was slowly suffocating right before his eyes?? that Death Arms???? color me surprised. shocked, I tell you

...okay but holy fuck

Death Arms. bro. my expectations for you were low but holy shit. like I’m sorry, but I don’t even have it in me to try and pretend like I feel the slightest bit of sympathy for him or Old Man Samurai or any of those other guys today. thanks for a whole lot of nothing my dude. good riddance

(ETA: so I’m rereading this the next day and realize this comes off as kind of harsh, so let me just try to clarify. it’s not the fact that he’s quitting that bothers me, to be honest. it’s the fact that he’s quitting specifically because he feels like the public is being mean to him. that’s it.

seriously. it would be one thing if he was quitting because he was scared, because now that is human. nobody wants to die, and I doubt any amount of training can ever fully prepare someone to go up against that fear. but the thing is, he never once mentions that, or talks about the danger aspect. instead, I got the distinct vibe from this speech that Death Arms is one of those people who only became a hero because of the limelight. and I just don’t have any patience for that. if all you care about are likes and subscribes then go become a fucking youtuber or some shit. nothing wrong with that! but you didn’t; you signed up to be a hero and protect these people. they gave you their respect and admiration because they trusted you to protect them. and now that they’re no longer in the mood to worship and applaud your every move on account of them being scared shitless because they’re living in the literal end times, you decide to dip. so like okay, fine then. don’t let the door hit you on the way out. anyways lol sorry for the rant.)

anyway so yeah. perfect example of why I don’t exactly have a ton of faith in most of the remaining heroes out there lol. also let me just once again give a shoutout to my best girl Mt. Lady whom I suddenly find myself appreciating all the more

“please calm down makeste. drink some water and enjoy this fresh new jeans pun” listen Horikoshi don’t tell me what to do dammit

fine. it is a nice pun, I guess

-- damn so now Endeavor’s saying that the media is already being fed info by the retired heroes. so for some of these guys it wasn’t enough for them to abandon all the people they swore to protect and to leave their fellow heroes out in the cold; they decided they might as well actively make things worse for them while they were at it, huh. like I get wanting to spill all the dirty secrets from your old job that you just quit, but this isn’t Jeff Bezos you’re screwing over, this is a sixteen-year-old kid

-- like, yes!! this, right here!!

exactly!! let’s not forget that there are already two prior instances of this happening. Endeavor arguably deserved it, but Katsuki not so much

huh. Endeavor seems to have a more optimistic outlook regarding this than I do lol

I mean, this is the same public that didn’t hesitant to blame a kidnapped child for his own kidnapping, and then later on for being the downfall of the Symbol of Peace. but okay then

anyway so blah blah blah, more talk about how they need to use Deku as bait, which basically puts them back at square one, and then they’re all just trailing off into silence and sitting around in the dark lmao this is getting very depressing

SKDJFLSDKJ:LFKJ

SHOUTO?????

NOOOOOOOO ARE YOU KIDDING ME

OH HOW THE TURNTABLES OMG. THE GHOSTER HAS BECOME THE GHOSTEE. Endeavor you petty son of a bitch. and what a brutal cut to that flashback too. “let’s stop Touya together” nah Shouto I’ve got a better idea why don’t I abandon you in U.A. and sally off with Hawks and Jeanist to found the “let’s pretend like we’re doing something to help Deku” club, which basically consists of us sitting around making terrible decisions all day long

Shouto, honey. you deserve better my little Coca Cola can. .........but if you really do have something important you need to tell your dad you could just text it to him. all the love and support, hugs and kisses, you’re doing amazing sweetie. but if you need to pass on any vital information you can just write it down and hit send honey that’s all I’m saying love

now he’s getting another call?? -- or, no, Hawks is getting a call from All Might

ARE YOU FOR REAL HAWKS OMFG

so while you all were sitting around talking about how useless you are, the kid you’re supposed to be protecting was battling another hired gun. I see. please pardon me for one second, I have a phone call to make. the phone call is to RockLockRock and Manual. the reason for the call is to apologize for calling them the worst bodyguards ever back during the War arc. the reason for the apology is because it turns out I WAS SEVERELY MISTAKEN OMFG

JESUS CHRIST DEKU DID YOU JUST KILL THIS MAN LMAO

shoutout to Horikoshi for offscreening this fight. we get it, lol. Deku strong and scary, villains ineffectual and feeble, and AFO... [checks notes] yep, still a dick. the angst arc continues

-- the angst arc continues, SIR

jesus christ I may have to rethink all of my opinions about Deku being framed for murder in movie 3 lmao. never mind. he did it, your honor

holy fucking shit Deku. “he might blow up, so please be careful” fdlskjflk jlskdjflk lwkejflk anyway so I’ve decided the explosion running gag can stay, actually

DEKU WAIT YOU FORGOT YOUR LUNCH!!

lol why do I get the feeling some serious shit is about to go down. ALL MIGHT NEVER MIND BACK OFF I THINK HE NEEDS HIS SPACE

OH MY FUCK I GASPED OUT LOUD

NO NO NO. I KNEW THIS WAS COMING GODDAMMIT BUT NO. NEVER MIND, I CHANGED MY MIND ABOUT IT, I’M NOT READY TO CRY TODAY

shit. shit shit shit shit and OF COURSE all I can fucking think about is that stupid fucking prophecy and gahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Deku please. please please please if you really are going to leave All Might here, please be so very careful in choosing your farewell words to him now because have this sudden horrible fear that this might be the last time you ever see him alive and oh god. oh god oh god

DEKU NO, YOU’RE REALLY NOT!?!?

I HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYONE LESS FINE IN MY LIFE, ACTUALLY????

holy shit. and the fucking callback to the prophecy now. just in case we forgot. WHICH FYI, WE DIDN’T. but that’s basically confirming that this is all still very much on the table and HORIKOSHI NEVER FORGETS oh my god someone please hold me

and the fact that Deku’s flashing back to it now too, though?? because he never forgot either, because of course he didn’t, and now all this stuff is happening, and AFO’s words are getting to him, and this is literally his worst fear come to life and so of course he’s distancing himself from everyone, and now it’s finally come to even this. even the person he admires most

-- OKAY NO, FUCKING COME ON ALREADY I CAN’T TAKE THIS

I GET IT OH MY GOD, I ALREADY UNDERSTAND THE EMOTIONAL IMPACT OF THIS MOMENT WITHOUT ALL OF THE DEVASTATING FLASHBACKS THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!! YOU ACTUALLY DO WANT ME TO CRY, HUH, IS THAT IT. THIS MAN THAT HE THINKS OF AS A FATHER, THIS MAN WHO HAS BEEN EVERYTHING TO HIM SINCE HE WAS A VERY YOUNG CHILD. EVERYTHING THEY’VE BEEN THROUGH, JUXTAPOSED AGAINST EVERYTHING DEKU IS UP AGAINST, EVERYTHING THAT’S AT RISK. LET’S JUST PUT IT ALL SIDE BY SIDE. LET’S JUST PILE ON ALL OF THE FEELS

(ETA: just a quick note that even though some of the posts I’ve read have described these as All Might’s flashbacks, I’m pretty sure they are Deku’s. most of these are scenes that only he was there for, so yeah. even though All Might is the one thinking the thoughts on the next page, the flashbacks are what’s running through Deku’s mind right now, and so we’re getting that emotion from both of them, which makes it extra devastating lol.)

wait, what???

WHAT??? do you really think that’s why he’s been so determined to protect you this entire time?? simply because you’re his successor?

-- oh no wait lol I think I got that mixed up, this is All Might saying that Deku feels the need to protect him. well that makes more sense lol

oh my god I cannot

his last words. his last words to him. and we can’t even see if he is smiling, like All Might always encouraged him to do. but what are the odds he can’t actually bring himself to do it. what are the odds he’s actually crying. oh god this scene is going to rip my heart out and STOMP on it in the anime isn’t it. Deku’s VA is going to full on murder me with emotion. not that there’ll be much of me left to murder after the thorough job that Horikoshi has already done here

YOU’RE CRYING. DEKU IS LEAVING ALL MIGHT AND IGNORING HIS OUTSTRETCHED HAND AND YOU’RE CRYING. AND BY “YOU” I MEAN “ME”, FUCK

nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope nope no words just feels just a big ol’ pile of feels. I do not have the strength. future me... [broadly gestures] good luck with all that

(ETA: LOL, WELL THEN.

what breaks my heart here is All Might. All Might, and everything he’s been through, and history repeating itself, and forcing him to live this moment from both sides because he wasn’t strong enough to fix things.

Toshinori had only just turned eighteen when Nana died. like, I feel like we don’t mention this enough. the All Might we know is a sixty-something-year-old man, and so everyone always talks about him like he’s basically been an adult forever. but he was a child when he met Nana. and he was still just a child when she died. barely a year older than Deku is now. younger than Mirio was when we first met him.

and we don’t talk about that. we don’t talk about how devastating that was for him. and we don’t talk about how the reason he grew up to become so reserved and withdrawn -- for all that he always tried so hard to outwardly project the image of a bold, confident, smiling hero -- was specifically because of what AFO did to him. because AFO targeted him in the exact way that he is now targeting Deku. because that’s what he does. he goes after every new user of OFA, and he finds out what’s most important to them, and then he destroys it. and for Toshinori, that was Nana. if you’ve read All Might Rising, you know that AFO basically killed her in front of him (and only killed her, while letting Toshinori and Gran get away). Toshinori (while crying) later says she was like a mother to him. and interestingly enough, during this same conversation, Gran tells Toshinori that he can see “that madness in [his] eyes” when Toshi talks about becoming strong enough to defeat AFO. madness in his eyes. sound familiar??

what’s happening to Deku now is the exact same thing that happened to Toshinori when he was a boy. AFO tried every bit as hard to break him as he’s trying with Deku now. “the path you’ve chosen is a thorny one. every battle grinds away at your soul with no end in sight.” we don’t talk about how Toshinori experienced this same thing for forty fucking years. and all the while isolating himself, exactly like Deku is doing now. pushing people away, exactly like Deku. because he never had anyone who was able to reach out and pull him back. and those words that he now finds himself frozen and unable to speak -- “don’t push yourself”; “you can rest” -- are the same words that no one ever said to him until decades later, when it was already far too late to make any difference.

everything that Deku is experiencing now is what Toshinori also went through. and it’s only now, as he watches it happen to his student, the boy he loves like a son, that he’s finally starting to realize the full extent of how wrong it was. you shouldn’t have to fight alone. you shouldn’t have to bear that kind of enormous burden alone. you shouldn’t have to push yourself, and you can rest. you can rest.

but it’s too late. just as he’s finally coming to understand it all, it’s all too fucking late. and he can’t say the words, he doesn’t know how to say the words, and then just like that, Deku is gone.

and he’s alone. again.)

I can’t. this can’t be their goodbye. I’m not ready. for this to be how they finally part, and then they never see each other again except in OFA. how is that fair. how is that fair. how is that fair

fuck me. lol. how many pages are left in this thing. let’s just wrap this up lol. so now of all the times for this fucking guy to finally show up

I can’t believe Stain has been here literally this entire time hiding behind this random wall and cutting onions. that was you who was cutting the onions, right. no need to answer that we’ll just say it was

HORIKOSHI JUST END THE CHAPTER PLEASE I’M OUT OF SPOONS. YOU HURT ME SO GOOD AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT BUT YOU NEED TO LET ME GO NOW SO I CAN BEGIN THE PROCESS OF TRYING TO PUT MY LIFE BACK IN ORDER HERE. SO WHERE ARE WE CUTTING TO NOW WHAT IS HAPPENING

Stain did you also let AFO give you a new quirk. what’s with you guys. do you like blowing up

oh nvm lol because they were talking about THIS GUY ohhhhhh my fucking god

THAT’S BECAUSE HE’S SAD, LINDA!! jesus

omfg. and so yes, good, the chapter is ending here now on page 15. for once I am FULLY on board with that lmao

anyway so tune in next week for more adventures of Werewolf Deku!! that is, assuming we don’t finally cut back to U.A. at long last, which is actually a strong possibility considering that this chapter will likely mark the end of volume 31. it sure wouldn’t kill Horikoshi to start giving us some hope after everything he’s just put us through lol. KACCHAN COME GET YA BOY

[petersnya]

SOMETIMES PT.2

---NOT MY PIC--- PETER PARKER X FEM!READER

Warnings: SMUT, Fluff, Angst?? Idk lol

Word count:2145

COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THE STORY AND WANT ME TO CONTINUE! SHOULD I START WRITING FROM PETER OR Y/N’S POV?

[A/N]Heyyy! Soooo this is part of this series (I’ll link part one). Hope you guys enjoy it! PLEASE COMMENT AND TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK AND IF YOU WANT YOU CAN SEND ME MESSAGES AND ASK QUESTIONS I'LL ANSWER LOL. Anyway, I had fun writing this chapter so I hope you like it! -J.T.S xxx

PART ONE

During physics class, Peter was working on an upcoming project with Ned, but he spent most of his time sleeping. He was basically sleep deprived from patrolling the town and stopping crimes.

“Late night huh Pete?” Ned asked, nudging Peter's arm that was supporting his head in the palms of his hands as his eyes got heavy, starting to close. 

“Yeah, had to stop some petty theft last night,” he began, a yawn interrupting him, “took longer than I thought.” 

The bell rang, dismissing the students to their after-school activities, if you had none you would just go home. Peter and Ned gathered their things and headed to the school’s front doors- MJ catching up with them how she usually did. 

“Man, you look terrible,” MJ said with a slight chuckle. 

“Wow, thanks. You're such a great friend.” Peter retorted sarcastically. Ned wasn’t riding the bus home today, he had to go with his mom for something he refused to share with anyone but Peter; so Peter just decided to ask MJ to walk home with her. 

“Sorry Parker, Y/N is picking me up today. You’re welcome to ride with us if you want though.” 

Peter didn’t respond for a while, debating if it was worth the anxiety attack of being around her. Y/N was the only thing that was on his mind now. His attraction grew even more when she wore those glasses. He zoned out for a while till MJ snapped her fingers in front of his face. Blinking rapidly, his vision focused on MJ who was now reaching out to grab the handle of a car door. Y/N’s car. His breath hitched in his throat once he saw Y/N wearing those same glasses from last Friday, her hair in the messiest high-ponytail he had ever seen- but it was cute to him.

“Ya coming lover-boy?” Y/N said, looking Peter right in his wide brown eyes. He blushed at the nickname before answering. 

“Yeah… I’m coming.”

The three teens got into the car and started on their way. “Hey losers, wanna go shopping?” 

“Y/N you only wanna go to the mall to eat,” MJ said to Y/N who was now laughing loudly, throwing her head back in agreement with her. Suddenly, in the middle of her laugh, she let out a loud snort. The car went silent as Y/N covered her mouth with her hand. MJ and Y/N burst into laughter, Peter soon joining. They all joked and sang to the songs that played on the radio all the way to the mall. 

///

“Dude!” 

“Jeez Y/N, you scared me! What is it?” MJ said to her, clutching her chest from being startled. They all had gone to the food court and were now just walking around the mall and into random stores. 

“There's a Build-A-Bear Workshop here!” she exclaimed excitedly, pointing at it like a child. Peter couldn't help but smile at how adorable she looked freaking out over a child’s store. 

“Let's go in,” Peter said to the two of them. Y/N looked at him wide-eyed with a goofy smile on her face. Her eyes looked like they twinkled with excitement. She shoved her drink into MJ’s hand, fixed her glasses, then grabbed Peter’s hand while running into the store. 

“Oooohh, I should get an H.P-themed bear!” Before Peter could even answer, Y/N dragged him to one of the workers, asking if she could get a custom bear. They went over to the station and started to build. 

As Y/N was finishing up the bear, she turned to Peter, “Ok, I have a very serious question. What accessories should I get?” they were standing in the Harry Potter section, looking over all of the things they had to decorate the bear. Peter shrugged, but then, he had a great idea, “I-I think you should get the uh, the glasses. The ones like your dads…” he said in an unsure tone. Y/N looked at him with a soft smile on her face. She couldn’t help herself, she had no idea what came over her as she pulled Peter into a tight embrace. Peter hesitated before putting his arms around her waist- her arms draped over his neck. 

At that moment, Y/N inhaled Peters sent heavily. She felt so… safe in his arms. Like nothing bad could touch her. She never wanted to break away- MJ’s voice brought them back to reality.

“You guys done, I need to get new converse,” she said with a smirk plastered across her face. Y/N quickly pulled away from Peter, a million thoughts running through her mind, but only one seemed to overpower the rest. 

I would be in his arms forever if I could.

“Ma’am, would you like to add a voice to your bear?” the lady said to Y/N, causing her thoughts to disappear. 

“Actually,” Y/N paused looking at Peter and MJ, “yes, I would.” She grabbed the recorder from the worker’s hand and sent her a small smile. She looked at the curly-headed girl and the brown-eyed boy was on either side of her. She explained her plan, “Ok, I want all three of us to say ‘Mischief Managed’, ok?” 

“What does that mean?” Peter questioned, looking at the two girls. They both sent him a deadly stare. “Nevermind,” he mumbled. 

“Ok, on three, one… two… three…” 

“Mischief Managed!” the trio yelled, causing some customers in the store to turn their heads and stare at them. They all mumbled small sorry’s as they laughed. 

///

“Ok, Peter what's one thing you hate?” MJ asked, turning to face him. They were all sitting in the car at a drive-in movie. Peter was now in the front seat while MJ was in the back. They all decided to just talk because the movie was pretty boring to them. 

“Uhh, I can't stand sleeping with socks on.”

“I don't think anyone can Parker,” Y/N said, laughing slightly. 

“Well what about you then?” he asked her, turning his full attention as he anticipated her answer. 

“Easy, liars. Ugh, I hate liars! What’s the point? It’s not like I’m gonna judge you,” Y/N answered confidently. “See, that’s what I like about you, Parker. You are very honest,” she said with a genuine smile. Peter just loved her smile, the way it lit up her whole face.

“Welp imma go get some pizza from the stand back there,” MJ said as she got out of the car. Y/N and Peter sat there in silence for a moment- comfortable silence. 

Y/N was the first to break the silence, as usual, “Hey, Pete. I just wanna thank you for the whole glasses thing last Friday. It really helped me realize that I should’ve worn the glasses the moment he gave them to me. It’s like I have a part of him with me now... And I love Harry Potter, obviously. Ya know, I took a quiz and found out what house I’m in! Can you believe that I’m in-“

“You’re welcome, Y/N” Peter interrupted her rambling, sending her a small smile. They stared into each other's eyes for a while, admiring one another. Peter got this warm feeling inside and had that same surge of energy he had when he first met her. Before even processing what he was about to do, he grabbed her hand without breaking eye contact. He fiddled with the ring she had on her thumb. 

Y/N breath became shallow as her heart pounded at her chest. 

“I’m in Slytherin,” she said randomly, looking down at how Peter’s hands played with hers. He let out a breathy chuckle. Their eyes met once again. 

Y/N gathered all of her courage and quickly reached out her hand to grab Peter’s cheek, pulling him into her. Their lips were centimeters apart. She ran her thumb along Peter’s bottom lip, slightly parting it as she leaned in closer, catching his lips with hers. Their lips interlocked and it felt like heaven to the both of them. 

They pulled apart from the soft kiss and slowly opened their eyes, starting again into each other's eyes searching for the words that weren’t said. Peter couldn’t contain himself anymore. His large hand grabbed the back of Y/N’s neck, pushing his lips into hers in a lust-filled kiss. Just like the one he had imagined. 

This was the moment he had dreamt of and it was finally happening. 

He ran his tongue over her bottom lip, begging for an entrance. She gave it to him without hesitation. His tongue slowly slipped into her mouth while her tongue ran into his. 

Peter snaked his hands to her waist, lifting her from her seated position in the driver's seat. She complied and started to adjust to where she was sitting in his lap. His hands ran from her waist to her butt and gave it a tight squeeze.

Y/N let out a soft moan into Peter’s mouth. She slowly started to trail kisses down his neck as he massaged her thighs and ass. 

Y/N hands got tangled in Peter’s brown curls. She began to suck on Peter’s neck, wanting to leave a mark. Peter let out a low groan at the sensation of her soft lips and wet tongue on his skin. 

He lifted her head and connected their lips together once again. His veiny hand slipped between their body making its way down to her core. 

Peter never did stuff like this, and neither did Y/N. all of this was new to them but their connection was so strong that they were willing to push the limits.

As Peter’s hand reached Y/N core, he placed two fingers right on top of where her clothed clit was. He began to draw circles against it. Y/N started to rock her hips over his fingers, yearning for more friction. She started to let out moans uncontrollably, whimpering at the euphoric feeling of his fingers pressed against her dripping core. 

“Peter,” Y/N breathed out trying to catch her breath. Peter hummed in response while moving his lips down to kiss her neck. 

Suddenly, Peter snapped out of the trance that he seemed to be in. This moment was the best moment of his life, but his damned mind couldn’t help re-play Y/N’s words on a lope: I hate liars. Why? Before they went to the movies and were still at the mall, Y/N had asked Peter about his Stark’s internship. And, of course, he couldn’t tell her the truth. So he just lied. Y/N looked so intrigued in the conversation but Peter couldn’t bear lying to her over and over again. He felt so guilty...

“Y/N,” Peter let out. “Y/N, we can’t do this.”

Y/N head snapped up, her glasses left crooked on her face. She looked stunned by his words. Her shoulders slumped as she started asking questions.

“What? Why? Am I not a good kisser? I’ve only kissed one person before but I don’t even really wanna count that. Does my breath smell bad? Ugh, I knew this was a bad idea- wait no! I didn’t mean it like that, I just knew you didn’t like me how I liked you… I’m so stupid.”

After Y/N was finished rambling, she put her face in her hands, trying to avoid eye contact with the chocolate-eyed boy. 

Peter was speechless. He didn’t know what to say, because what he wanted to say was: no Y/N that’s not it at all. You are the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, I- I lied to you… 

No. he couldn’t say that it would absolutely crush her and he couldn’t bear to hurt her. Peter put his hands on her waist, making Y/N jerk her body in shock. She let a small smile spread across her face, thinking Peter was going to hug her or make a cute gesture or even continue what they had started. He lifted Y/N and slid her back to the driver’s side.

Her smile dropped from her face and she pushed herself the rest of the way to the driver’s side. Peter sat there awkwardly, praying she wouldn’t say anything. It killed him to see the gloomy look on her face as she fixed her glasses. 

“I’m back with pizza!” MJ announced as she made her way into the backseat. “Woah, hey, cuz what’s wrong?”

“We’re going home,” Y/N replied with a cold tone of voice. This shocked Peter and MJ. Y/N was usually so smiley, even after her dad passed. She always tried to find the light in every situation. But something was different with this. One thing Peter knew for sure,

I fucked up…

[A/N] HEY GUYSSSS SO I HOPE YOU LIKED PART TWO. SORRY, IT WAS UP A BIT LATE, IVE BEEN HAVING INTERNET PROBLEMS. ANYWAY, SORRY FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES (IM GONNA GO BACK AND FIX THOSE) 

-J.T.S XXX

@love-granger​

[theoreticslut]

O’ Captain, My Captain // s.r.

steve rogers x reader

requested: no - # 2/7 for my 2k writing challenge where I used all of the day’s prompts!

summary: A stealth mission gone wrong leads to some injuries and an accidental sharing of feelings. 

word count: 2.8k

warnings: mentions of fighting & injuries, very slight angst if you squint, fluff

A/N: I debated posting this tonight bc I already posted a fic, but you know what? fuck it. I don’t want to wait forever to post this bc I like it. I’m pretty sure this si the first marvel fic I’m posting?? I know I’ve got some that I’ve started before this one, but I don’t think I’ve posted any yet?? Idk. I hope you like this!! Xx

“Would you be quiet?” You huff, shaking your head at the blonde man walking beside you.

For someone who has supposedly done stealth missions before, you’re questioning how he ever managed. You swear that since you step foot in the base, he hasn’t stopped talking. Honestly you’re not sure how you haven’t been found out or caught yet.

“At this point, if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“We won’t get caught, y/n. Settle down.” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.

As soon as the words leave his lips, you hear a loud clang from somewhere behind you, although it could be in front of you as the hallway you’re currently in is awful echoey. 

Senses heightened, you find yourselves surveying the entirety of the hallway before even considering moving.

“Won’t get caught, huh? Say that again and I’ll try to believe you.” 

“Just stay alert. I’m not going to let you get caught, but that doesn’t mean anything if you don’t make it out of here.”

“Got it. Stay alive.” You quip, not able to keep your sarcasm at bay.

~.~

“Cap!” You shout as one of the bad guys sneak up on his backside.

You had managed to get through the hall, and even all the way to the basement laboratory before the two of you encountered hydra goons. 

It would have been fine, if you had paid attention when they first attacked you. Instead, you twisted your ankle and fell backwards when trying to dodge their advances because you hadn’t paid attention to the layout of the room. This meant that Steve had to help you up before helping himself, leaving him open to attack.

“Got it. Are you good?” He checks, glancing back at you as you get your footing, your ankle already screaming at you.

“Yep. I’ve got it. Let’s take care of them.” You reassure, ignoring the pain in your ankle as you ready yourself for combat.

Dodging an attack from some short, dark-haired hydra agent, you sweep your leg out to trip him, pinning him to the ground with a few simple jabs at certain pressure points.

You catch sight of Steve fighting off a handful of agents himself, but before you can even think of helping out you’re being cornered by two new agents.

It doesn’t take you too long to take them down, but as soon as they're taken care of there’s more advancing. 

You honestly can’t tell how long you’ve been fighting now. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, but time passes differently when you’re trying to survive.

In all honesty, you’re getting worn out, but you know that the second you let it fully take over your body will be the second you fall. That means that even though your muscles are burning and you’re hardly able to take a deep breath anymore, you keep pushing and fighting.

“Y/n, look out!” Steve shouts, spotting a stray agent getting ready to attack you.

You don’t register his words in time though as you get thrown back by the agent, hitting the wall with more force than you had expected. It’s not until he’s stalking towards you do you realize that he must have been another test subject of theirs - gaining super strength at the cost of his humanity.

You attempt to get up to fight back, but the combination of being tired and hitting the wall has your head spinning. As soon as you’re attempting to push yourself up, you’re stumbling down again and dozing off.

~.~

Coming to, the first thing you make out is the small room you’re in. You’re guessing it’s a hotel of some sort by the setup - a small table with a coffee maker, a single dresser with a TV set on top of it, and one sole full-sized bed. The second thing you notice is just how tired you still feel, along with the ache in your entire body.

You groan as you try to sit up, but as soon as you do you begin feeling lightheaded.

“Oh, you’re up. How are you feeling, y/n?” Steve asks as he comes into sight, carrying a couple bags in his hand.

“Sore...those hydra agents were relentless.” You groan, still attempting to push yourself up to a sitting position which is proving to be more difficult than it should be.

He catches you wince lightly, frowning as he sets the bags down on the table to help you.

“Let me help.” 

You sigh, nodding lightly as he carefully wraps an arm around your waist, giving you his other one to pull on.

“Thank you.” You murmur, resting your head against the wall as you shut your eyelids.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah...yeah. Just a little lightheaded.”

He nods, pursing his lips in a frown, watching you take a few breaths to steady yourself.

“You hit that wall hard, after you had already hurt your ankle. I’m sure you’re going to be sore for a few days at least.” He tries to console. He may be good at pep talks, but he’s never been all that great at comforting people.

“Just get me some ibuprofen and I’ll be fine. When are we heading back?” You question, opening your eyes enough to look at him.

“Not for a day or two at the very least. You need to heal some before I’ll even think about getting us back.”

Before you can even register or question his words he’s continuing.

“You might just have a twisted ankle and some soreness here and there, but I doubt it. You’ve got a broken ankle and a concussion at least, on top of various bruises from fighting.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“I’ve seen broken bones and concussions on the battlefield enough times before to have a pretty good idea that you’ve got the same.” He deadpans, but cracks a smirk nevertheless when you roll your eyes.

“Alright Rogers, whatever you say.” 

“I’m really hoping those bags you were carrying contain food. I know for sure that I could eat.” You blatantly hint, drawing a chuckle from the blonde man.

~.~

You can’t stop the yawn that wants to escape your body. It’s been hours now since you woke up to Steve returning, and you are thoroughly exhausted.

Not that you’ve done anything to warrant such exhaustion - since he returned the two of you ate, he tended to your injuries, you both changed into lounge clothes he had picked up, and then watched some tv and chatted.

It’s certainly been nice, but it feels wrong all at the same time. Sure it’s been lovely having the entire evening to hang out with Steve, but you can’t help but feel like you should be doing something. If you’re not trying to get back to headquarters, then you should at least be trying to gather information on the hydra operations you’re trying to take down.

Instead, the two of you have just been laying around, talking and laughing. You’ve watched some rather boring tv before you found a movie that interested the both of you. You can't lie and say it's been torture, because in all reality, it's been more like heaven. 

You never really had a chance to get to know Steve aside from missions and running the Avengers. You had obviously heard stories from some of the other members, but you didn't really know him. 

You've always found him pretty attractive, but he was older than you - even ignoring the 70 year time period that he had been frozen. That, and he was your superior in a way. You knew that you would never have a chance no matter how much you hoped for one.

That's partly why you never got to know him. Sure, you've been dying to every day since you met the man, but you figured that the best way to keep from continually falling for him was to avoid any unnecessary socializing.

“Are you tired?” Steve asks softly, catching you yawning. 

He can’t help but admit to himself that it’s rather adorable seeing you so sleepy, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“A little bit.” You admit, another yawn escaping your body as tears line your waterline.

“Get some rest then. It’s been a long day, y/n.” 

You nod lazily, carefully adjusting yourself to a more comfortable position. 

You hiss, wincing as you put just a bit too much pressure on your ankle and twisting your torso more than you should have. Immediately Steve is checking you over, trying to figure out what happened.

“What happened? Why are you wincing?” He asks, eyes bouncing all over your figure  - from your pained expression to how you're holding yourself tensely.

“I moved the wrong way.” You hiss, trying to breathe through the pain as tears brim your waterline.

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, features relaxing slightly. He had tried his best to tend to your injuries, but there’s only so much he can do here without the proper education or equipment.

“My ribs and ankle.” You sigh, gently relaxing yourself as you attempt to lay down in the bed more.

He nods, pulling the blankets back to grab ahold of your leg to prevent you from applying pressure to the ankle as you wiggle down into the mattress.

Once you’re settled, he helps you get your leg situated so you’re comfortable but the ankle won’t hurt. Then he pulls the blankets back up over your body, tucking you in with a little smile.

“Good night.” He murmurs, starting to walk away from the bed.

“Wait! Where are you going?” 

“Just to the chair over here.” He chuckles, pointing towards the piece of furniture as he watches you pout slightly.

“You’re not sleeping there, are you?”

“Yeah…?” 

He watches your frown deepen, wondering why you’d care. He didn’t want to spend too much on a room, which is why he just got a single. He had already planned on you taking the bed, not thinking it’d matter to you.

“No. That’s going to be so uncomfortable, Steve. You need a bed too.” You pout, watching him as he watches you, confusion plastered on his face.

“….but there’s only the one bed.”

“So? I don’t mind, and I mean, I-“ you stutter, warmth blossoming in your cheeks as he watches you with furrowed brows. 

“You….what?”

“I don’t want to be alone.” You mumble, watching as it finally clicks in his head that you want to share the bed with him.

He mouths a little ‘oh’ before smiling and making his way back over to the bed. You watch with bated breath as he pulls the sheets back again only to crawl in beside you.

“You okay?” He asks, smiling lightly at you, taking in how beautiful you are as he does so.

“Mhm. Are you?”

“I’m perfect. Now get some sleep, y/n.” He chuckles, pulling the blankets over himself.

You whine but nod nonetheless, situating yourself the tiniest bit before you’re closing your eyes, hyper aware of just how close Steve is next to you. If you were brave, all you needed to do was wiggle back about six inches and you’d be curled up in his side. As much as you’d like to, you figure it’s probably best to keep that little bit of space, opting instead to just try to fall asleep.

~.~

Steve groans lightly as something hits him in his sleep. Rubbing his eyes he looks around, frowning when he doesn’t find anything out of the ordinary.

He finds that he fell asleep to the tv playing, some irrelevant sitcom playing on the screen. Sighing lightly he goes to find the remote, finding that he can’t move.

Looking down, he can’t help the groggy smile that fills his face. Somehow in your sleep you had turned onto your other side from which you fell asleep on, entangling your legs with his while your arm was thrown over his stomach in a hug. He could feel his heart swell as he admired your sleeping form. 

There was no denying that you were attractive. He himself had been attracted to you since you first joined the Avengers. The sole reason he never made any moves was because he could tell you were trying to keep your distance from him. It hurt, but it’s not like it was the end of the world. He figured that you had your reasons for staying away and he wasn’t going to push it.

Now that your body is practically on top of him, though, he can’t help but wonder what the exact reason is for you keeping your distance. He’s tired of it in all honesty. He thought that maybe he could get over his little crush if you were going to stay distant, but his feelings have only grown tenfold.

He can’t walk into any common area of the compound without wondering if you’d be there or if you’d walk in. He’s constantly wondering if you’re thinking the same things of him. He’s always watching you whenever you’re in sight - including during battle, which isn’t the best thing to be doing, but he can’t help it.

“I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” He murmurs, going to press a kiss into your hairline.

“We’re going to get your ankle all fixed up and then I’ll make sure your concussion is getting better. I promised you that you wouldn’t get captured, and I’m promising you now that you’ll heal up just fine.” 

As he talks, he mindlessly plays with the ends of your hair, gently waking you in the process.

“I’ve never broken a promise to you before, and I’m not planning to now. I care for you too much to ever think about hurting you. God it killed me when you passed out. There were still so many hydra agents and I-I just couldn’t let them hurt you. I think I blacked out myself, honestly” he rambles, chuckling lightly, not noticing that your breaths are deeper against his chest.

“I remember watching you pass out and worrying that they’d hurt you while you were out, and then, I don’t know. It’s like I woke up and all the hydra agents were taken care of.”

“All I knew was I had to make sure you were safe. We may not be close, but god do I wish we were. I get that you have your reasons for wanting to keep your distance, but I can’t keep pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. I just wish I could say that to you awake…”

You can feel him sigh, and you can tell he’s frowning without even looking at his face. You can’t help but smile lightly, a small blush covering your cheeks as you bury your head into his chest slightly.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” He mumbled after a moment.

You nod lightly, gently lifting your head to look at him as he chuckles and shakes his head, his hand rubbing at his temples.

“I have feelings for you too, Steve. That’s why I put distance between us. I-I didn’t think I had a chance….” You admit, looking away from him as you continue your thoughts.

“I thought that having some distance between us would help me stop falling for you.” You chuckle.

“Did it?”

“Not at all.” You laugh, blushing wildly as you look up to him to find a large smile on his face.

“Good.”

With a smile he leans down, capturing your lips with his in a near mind blowing kiss. Years of pining and hidden feelings are finally brought forth, and it’s more than you could have ever dreamed. You swear it felt like fireworks were going off throughout your body - your stomach twisting, your heart racing, and every nerve hyper aware of his touch.

Pulling away you can’t help but giggle, giddy off of his touch. He smiles, tucking some hair behind your ear before pressing kisses all over your face.

“I really like you, y/n.”

“I really like you too, Steve. I’m glad that you were there to make sure I was okay.” You giggle, pressing one last soft kiss to his lips before settling back into bed beside him. 

Making sure that the tv is off, Steve wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his body so there’s not an inch of skin without yours upon it. Of course he makes sure you’re comfortable first and that you’re not hurting anywhere. As soon as he’s sure that you’re okay, he presses another kiss to your hairline, whispering sweet words and promises to you as you drift off to sleep once again.

As he feels your breaths become shallower, he can’t help the content smile on his lips. Playing with your hair as you sleep, he drifts off for the night with you.

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[hopeless-ro-simptic]

The Artist and The Dancer -Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab

This is my submission for @pleasantanathema ‘s 10k followers collab! Please see the masterlist here and give the rest of the creators some serious love! We’ve all worked hard on this and are so proud of @pleasantanathema for making it to 10k! 

Aged up! Edgar Degas inspired Shinso Hitoshi X Female reader

Word Count: Just under 10k! 

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal fingering, not safe sex, not super historically accurate, they fuck in a bathtub, references to loss of sight and repeated mentioned ankle injuries, angst, fluff, quirk use in a sexual manner, kind of body worshiping, praise. IDK how to tag stuff for warnings. It’s pretty tame. 

Quick background before we start: Degas is a well known impressionist painter from the 1800s, he’s super well known for paintings to do with ballerina’s, women bathing, and horse races. He also has a degenerative eye disease that I referenced as well. In this little...long? fic of mine, quirks are still a thing but heroes not so much. Shinso’s quirk is only mentioned twice, but reader has a quirk that allows her to make music from her body when she dances. This can be read as any body type/description of reader but it is mentioned that she is a ballet dancer, has some sort of hair to grab onto, and someone out there can lift her up. Also I tried to put breaks where sometime has either passed or we’ve gone back in time, and I tried to make it clear but hopefully it makes sense. We’ve got quite the backflash going on.

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Smack. Smack. Smack.

The telltale signs of a new pair of point shoes. No other sounds in the room other than those of ballet flats scuffing the floor, the bending and breaking of their fresh soles, and of tull swishing about with the movements.

Shinso truly loved these sounds, his eyes flickering from the blank canvas he set up in front of him over to the ballerina sitting in the middle of the floor, a frown tugging at your lips as you bend the new shoes in half, flexing them back and forth before smacking them harshly against the floor again.

No words were spoken as the two prepared, Shinso setting up his brushes and paint, getting comfortable on the rickety stool under him, the you finally deciding your shoes were to your satisfaction before you pulled them on, expertly tying the ribbons that you had painstakingly sewed on, before you started in on your stretches.

The light from the large windows that were set into the sloping ceilings of the attic gave the two plenty of natural lighting. Dust particles swirling in the air capturing Shinso’s attention as he shifted his lazy glance away from the stretching ballerina, picking up his paintbrush and getting to work on filling in the background of his canvas. His eyes flicking around the room and back to his canvas taking everything in at once.

There was a soft huff coming from the you that drug Shinso’s eyes over to your form, watching as you pushed yourself off on the floor before you stepped into first position, your eyes staring at the floor before shaking your head and switching to what Shinso had heard you refer to as fourth position, your eyes hovering just above his head for the briefest of moment before you dropped into your dance.

Music flowed through the room as you moved, entrancing the painter for several moments as the music lived and breathed in your movements. Dipping when you dipped, lifting as you jumped, swirling around the space like the perfect partner.  The string instruments that lived just under the your skin, filled the space with melodic tunes sounding like a live symphony was playing in the small attic that just held the two of you.

Shinso watched the dancer with awe for several moments before he forced himself to look away, picking up his paintbrush again, grabbing paint and smearing it across the canvas, letting the music flow in him and dictate his brush strokes as he captured the ballerina in front of him. He worked as you danced, his paint brush dancing along the canvas to your melody, filling in the empty spaces with a thick layer of paint, his eyes barely looking at his work as they trailed your steps across the creaking wooden floor, enchanted with your movements, with the way that your skin shimmered with sweat, how the tutu resembled flower petals reminding him of a fantasy creature that was too beautiful for the real world.

The discordant sounds of strings snapping melted into silence as you thudded to the ground with a curse had Shinso jumping from his chair, knocking his paint over onto the floor in the process. You were bent over yourself in the fetal position, clutching your ankle that was already swelling, the skin bruising as the moments ticked by. Shinso crouched down by you, hands hovering above you before they finally rested on your shaking shoulders, the sight of tears dripping onto the wood underneath you had his stomach clenching.

“Are you okay?” He had barely whispered the words when you snapped your head up, slapping his hand away, anger clear on your face as you glared at him a hiss on your tongue.

“I’m fine, don’t touch me.”

He sat back on his haunches, watching with concern as you struggled to get your breathing under control, sitting up, adjusting the ribbons on your shoes before you forced yourself into a shaking standing position, hesitating to put weight on your foot as you looked down at him.

“Well are you just going to sit there? Go back to painting.” Your eyes were harsh, your words like a whip that stung Shinso’s cheek as he looked up at you from his position, a frown settling on his lips as he pushed himself off of the floor backing away from you, his eyes shifting down to your swelling ankle. Annoyance at you burning on his tongue. Still he understood how important this was to you. How dancing was the reason you breathed, just as his art was his.

He couldn’t ignore the thoughts in his brain though as you stepped back into your dance, music swirling around you for several seconds, the notes sounding shaky and pitched only for you to drop back down to your hands and knees again when your foot couldn’t support your weight, the music ending harshly.

Shinso hesitated by your side, hovering as he watched you slam your fists into the wooded floor below, a scream of frustration echoing through the small attic as you crumpled onto yourself, shaking with the force of the sobs leaving your lips, the movement activating a soft hum from your quirk. It wasn’t until your fists grew bloody and you sat up with fevor, reaching for your ankle and yanking at the laces angrily did he finally step in.

“Stop… stop… Y/n I said stop!” Your eyes glazed over momentarily, your movements halting as the tired artist activated his own quirk, crouching in front of you, his grips on your wrist tight as he regarded you tensely before releasing his quirk, your shoulders slumping slightly.

“Y/n…”

“Leave me alone, please, it’s not worth it.” Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to quiet your sobs but failed, hiding your face into your palms ignoring the sting from where your knuckles were split.

“What are you talking about… y/n –“ His words were cut off as she weakly lashed out at him again with her own, her voice cracking as she cried.

“This is my third repeated injury in a year. I can’t dance anymore Hitoshi, I can’t – They replace dancer’s for less. You should just find a different muse, there are plenty of dancers at the theater, they already replaced my role for-.”

His grip on your wrists grew tighter as he pulled them away from your face, peering into your eyes as he did so, frustration so clear in his eyes as he regarded you.

“My muse, what are you even talking about? I will never replace you. You think I paint you because you are a dancer? I paint dancers because they remind me of you. Just the same as the horse races I paint because you love them so much.”

“But I can’t- my stupid ankle- I’m usele-“

“You are not useless! So what things aren’t turning out exactly how you want it to! You can still do this! You just need to-“

“To what? To what Hitoshi! What am I supposed to do if I can’t dance! What am I supposed to live for!”

“Me! Live for me.”  His own voice cracked in frustration, and you could see his eyes becoming glossy as they shifted around your face.

“Hitoshi… I-“

His lips were on yours before you could finish your statement, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips as you tensed in his grasp, only for him to pull away before you could react. His grip on your wrists loosening until he dropped them altogether, eyes focused on a chip in the wooden floor between the two of you as you gaped at him, your mind screaming at you to say something, to do something, anything to change the look of torture on his tired face.

“I’ll draw you a bath.”

And he was gone. It wasn’t for several seconds that you finally noticed the tape he had placed into your lap for your ankle, but the pain in your ankle had long been forgotten your eyes latched onto the stairs descending into the rest of the artist’s house.

--

Your fingers wandered along the clouds of bubbles, your mind lost in thought as you sunk lower into the warm water, your injured ankle resting gingerly on a towel on the edge of the bath. By the time that you had finished wrapping your ankle and had made your way down the stairs to the bathroom, Hitoshi was already gone, a note hastily scrawled out and left on the chair next to the bath.  

He had gone out.

Short, simple, practically no explanation for his disappearance.

It was his brevity that had you clenching your teeth over and over, your mood shifting from frustration to confusion to something else that you tried to ignore as you thought back to how this all started.

--

You had been working with the artist for almost two and a half years now, after having met him at the theatre. You had been in the corps at the time but was quickly becoming a favorite of the director, Aizawa Shota. To the point that when he had allowed the young artist to watch a rehearsal at his request, to study the movement of the human body as he had explained, he had pulled you aside and introduced you to the purple haired man as one of the options for the Prima for the next show. You had been elated at the time, noting the slight up tweak of the director’s usual frown as you tried to keep your own smile from splitting your cheeks open.

Aizawa had suggested that you work through your practice routine, allowing Shinsou to watch and sketch away on the sidelines, as long as he didn’t distract you. You prided yourself on your ability to focus and block out everything when you worked, but you couldn’t help but notice the way the young artists face shifted into amazement when music started to flow out from your movements, no instrument in sight. The way that he had all but dropped his pencil out of his hand, his eyes glued to your every movement, his previously bored face suddenly filled with complete enchantment.  

At some point in your practice, he had finally picked his pencil up and ended up with over half of his sketchbook filled with renderings of you. You had asked to see his drawings when you had finished, and this time the artist got to see the way your own face lit up at seeing his work, constantly drifting back to one sketch in particular where you had been suspended in mid-jump, the way he had captured you made it truly look like you were flying.

It wasn’t until you had gotten back home late that night and unpacked your bag that you noticed at some point before the artist had left, he had slipped the drawing in your bag with a note attached stating that he would love nothing more than to capture more of his ‘muse’.  

He had visited the theatre almost every day after that, Aizawa allowing the artist to watch from the sidelines, some form of art medium in his hands at all times, as long as he didn’t interrupt.

Several of the other performers at first had flocked to him with high pitched giggling as they asked him to paint them, or offering to preform for him themselves, but the artist practically ignored them all, acting like they weren’t there until Aizawa would step in and the girls would scatter in fear of being reprimanded or worse. At first you had wondered if Aizawa would get annoyed and ask the artist to leave, clearly it was affecting the others, but then you wondered if the dark haired director had a soft spot for the young man, spending a lot of his time around the him, and even cracking a few smiles at things that he had said. You swore that hell had froze over when you had heard the deep chuckle that was Aizawa Shota’s laugh for the first time.

When you had found out that the artist was the director’s nephew, you weren’t at all surprised, the similarities too obvious to not notice.

Days had turned into months, and it was no longer shocking to see dark lavender hair waiting in the wings, the others growing used to him as well and treating him as practically nothing more than a stage prop. The two of you didn’t speak much, if at all some days, conversations for the most part only pertaining to mutual admiration for each other’s work. But somedays the conversations would linger longer, questions of other interests such as food, music, and even sports coming in to play. That was when you had told him of your love of horse racing, how your aunt had owned horses that were famous for their champion bloodlines and how you had always enjoyed dressing up to go to the races, flouncy hat included.

Hitoshi had told you that he had never been to the races, and while you had been fake appalled and teased him mercilessly the rest of the day about it, you had assumed that would have been the end of the conversation, that much like you the artist would completely remove it from his mind and move on with the rest of his life outside of work. It wasn’t until the following Monday when he had waved you over to show you his sketchbook filled with drawings of horses and jockeys that you realized the artist in front of you had actually been interested in what you had been saying. The feelings stirring in your stomach at that realization had been… kind of nice.

Not even a week after that was the first incident. True to his word Aizawa had chosen you and one other girl to work on the Prima roll for the next ballet they would be preforming. You both would be learning the part, and he would decide along the way which one of you he wanted to go with, the other would be placed back into the corps. You had barely been on time that day, skirting into the wings of the stage and dropping down into hasty stretches, Aizawa shooting you an icy glare at interrupting his instructions he had been giving the group, that had melted a little at the end as you shoot him an apologetic one back. You never were late, and he could show mercy… occasionally.

Minutes later you were on the stage, running through the first number, allowing the orchestra to take their time setting up as your quirk worked it’s magic, the music flowing through the air as you ran through the movements with practiced ease. You knew your steps like the back of your hand, knew the timing of the music like it was your own heartbeat.  You knew that the next step, your partner would be stepping up behind you, lifting you up into a jump and gracefully bringing you back to the ground to move into the next series of foot work that ended in a pirouette.

But the pirouette never came, instead the sound of strings snapping, and shrill notes filled the air covering the sound of a body hitting the ground. The series of gasps and whispers sounded quiet in your ear compared to the sound of your own heartbeat, matching the throbbing in your foot. You could feel the tears springing to your eyes, refusing to open them even as shadows fell onto your form. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand grip your shoulder gently coaxing you over did you finally force yourself to look up into the dark eyes of the director, his brow furrowed as he examined your foot along with one of the trainers that helped take care of the dancers.  You could barely hold back a scream as they guided you to move your foot, your vision blurring as the two shared a look between them that only made your insides churn.

Before they had wheeled you off to the local doctor, you had caught sight of lavender hair, a grim look on his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

You were beside yourself, wallowing really. A sprained ankle. A sprained ankle had you locked up in your small apartment, staring off into space trying to think of anything to distract yourself from what you really wanted. Aizawa refused to let you even step foot inside the theater until you were signed off on by a doctor. Insisting that you stay home and rest. Heal up. Get strong again so that you could come back and work. Because he expected your recovery to be swift. That’s what he told you. That he expected this to just be a minor setback and that you would be back in time to still vie for that Prima position you so badly wanted. That if you really wanted to be Prima, you needed to take care of yourself now so you could work later.

But you had seen the looks, heard the whispers of the others. A sprained ankle… for most would be a temporary setback, but for a ballerina it could be career ending.

Still, you forced yourself to look on the bright side, to focus on Aizawa’s words, to force yourself to remain in bed with the ice pack on your ankle even as you felt so antsy that sitting still one more minute might actually drive you mad. You can’t say you weren’t beyond excited when there was the softest knock at your door that had you immediately perking up.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.” You had had a few friends from the theater and otherwise come to visit, and while it was frustrating to listen over and over about how they wanted you to get better soon, it was still nice to have some sort of company.

But you hadn’t expected that a mop of lavender hair would peak its way through the door, a sheepish look on his face as he took in the room, eyes settling nervously on you.

“Shinsou… I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”

He stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him slightly probably as to affirm to your oh so nosey roommate that nothing scandalous was happening. He pulled a set of flowers from behind his back, clearing his throat as he looked around the room for a place to set them.

“I uh… brought you these, but I see that I wasn’t very creative with my get well present.” You glanced around the room, taking in the dozens of bouquets that were scattered across every possible surface. He’s not wrong. Flowers weren’t exactly the most unique, but still you felt something stir inside at the thought of the moody artist picking flowers out at a stand. You didn’t fight the smile spilling onto your lips as you regarded him.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you for your lack of creativity today.”

He chuckled softly at that, looking at the floor and studying the wood grain, his eyes not meeting yours a smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank goodness for that, I think I’d be beside myself if my muse didn’t forgive me.”

His muse. The thought repeated like a mantra in your head for the next several weeks, somehow giving more reassurance and comfort than anything anyone else had told you over the course of your healing process. The artist had come by a couple more times since then, bringing sketchbooks filled with drawings and paintings of racehorses and a couple of the ballerinas at the theatre, asking questions about different poses that he had captured the ballerina’s in, wanting to know the technical terms and just talking to you about random daily life.

Before you knew it you were getting signed off by the doctor, a smile on their face as they let you know that you healed up wonderfully but still to take it slow and make sure to stretch your ankles properly before and after dancing.

Then everything went back to almost normal. You were back at the theater six days a week, though they had you slowly getting back used to the dance routines, refusing to let you do any jumps for the first several weeks until you were cleared again by the doctor at your follow up. One thing was different though.

Shinso came to the theatre less and less, and when he did he was growing more and more moody and frustrated. More noticeable still was the way that his art started to change, the way that he was less focused on making a clear and crisp rendition, the subjects growing blurrier and with abstract brushstrokes. Colors no longer having defined areas and being used to blend across the entire canvas in ways that you hadn’t seen before.

The young artist was also growing in popularity as well, though that didn’t mean he was any more friendly than before. In fact, you had seen him turn down many a parties and dates with a level of tact that was more than lacking.

At first it was just towards other people, the few straggler dancers that still vied for his attention, people that would get in his way when he was walking, random people that annoyed him at the racetracks when he would join you to watch the horses because they were breathing wrong.

Then he started to grow colder towards you. At first you thought he was just having a bad day, trying not to let it affect your own mood. But one bad day turned into two, then three, and the next thing you knew, you barely could be around the hostile artist without feeling like you were going to blow up yourself.

It was a particularly bad day. You had been avoiding Shinso all day, refusing to talk to him and trying desperately to focus on your role for the upcoming decision date that Aizawa had set. But with how loud the artist was growing with his yelling it was hard for even you to ignore. Even more so when someone brought to your attention that the argument was with none other than director Aizawa himself.

Still, you forced yourself to dance harder, to make your music louder and to block out the artists shouts. You blocked everything out as you dipped down, the music following the flow of movement from your body as you moved into a succession of spins and leaps. You were halfway through your routine, your solo, feeling good about the way your movements flowed across the stage, the music in the air sounding light and airy. Like you were flying.

But with the sudden slam of a door flying open and into the wall, the shouting of the young artist grew significantly louder breaking into your bubble of solitude making you fall out of your third spin, silence growing heavy as your music died down and you turned to watch the angry man storm through the theater space.

“Hitoshi, come back here and let’s talk about this rationally.”

“No, I’m done! I’m done! It’s useless! I’m useless! Everything in this world is fucking useless!”

“Hitoshi-“

“No, fuck you! Fuck you, fuck this place, and fuck -… fuck this.”

You watched in a mixture of shock and dread as Shinsou tore apart his sketch book, flinging pages into the air, yanking his portable paint pallet out of his bag and snapping it in half tossing it across the room and into the wall, paint splattering everywhere as pieces of the pallet shattered off in different directions. Shinsou tore his bag off of his body, the strap snapping as he did so, throwing it to the floor before turning and leaving the theater with a slam of the door.

The silence that followed was uneasy. Only broken by the whispers of the crew members and some of the dancers. You turned to Aizawa who was running his fingers through his hair, a look of distraught on his face as he kneeled down and started to pick up some of the scattered drawings littering the floor, his voice rough as he spoke.

“Rehearsal is over for today. Go home and get rest. I want everyone back here early tomorrow.”

You looked around watching as everyone collected their things, chattering quietly and sending glances back to the director and you as they left the theater. You felt frozen in your spot until you noticed a drawing near your feet, a drawing of you.

Bending down to pick it up you examined it, a frown pulling at your lips as you realized it was a quick sketch of you. Messy, compared to his usual work, but it mostly focused on your face. If you didn’t look for specific details it looked like you were laughing, holding onto what looked like it could have been a hat that you wore to the racetrack weeks ago, the wind blowing your hair in your face. The only thing that was actually clear in the drawing was your smile, the attention to detail in the way your lips quirked up had you pausing. It was different than the rest of the drawing, all focus being pulled to the one point, whereas the rest seemed almost blurry, vague.  

“He drew it from memory.” Aizawa’s voice had you jumping, looking up at the director, a blush creeping onto your face at your reaction. You had completely forgotten he was there, but the director didn’t seem to notice as he lightly tapped the drawing in your hands, his face pulled into a sad frown as he regarded it.

“Is that why it’s so blurry?” You took a deep breath, handing the director the drawing to allow you to start your cool down stretches. He didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to lock the theater up, nor did it seem he minded you staying for company. The last thing you wanted to do was cause another injury because you weren’t taking care of yourself after practicing so hard.

But the director just gave you an odd look, a crease appearing between his brows.

“… would you mind doing me a favor when you leave here? I have some things to take care of here and I’m afraid it will be much too late by the time I’m done.”

“Yea of course,” You tilted your head giving him a look of confusion.

An hour later you were standing here, staring up at the house in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel the anxiety creeping in as looked back down at the note in your hand, shifting the full and heavy bag on your shoulder. While you didn’t mind helping out the director, this wasn’t exactly something you wanted to deal with right now. But you agreed. So with a heavy sigh you rapped your knuckle against the wooden door three times, waiting, silently chewing your lip for a response.

“I told you to fuck off- oh… y/n?” He was squinting at you for a moment his frown turning to look of confusion, peaking his head out of his door and looking around the street for something.

“Aizawa asked me to bring this back to you.” You stood tall, pulling on the inner ballerina and forcing a face of bravery, ignoring the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach. This was the first time at his place, and the sight in front of you had you fighting to keep the blush out of your cheeks, a fight you were sure you were failing.

He looked absolutely wrecked. His coat was long gone. His usually crisp button up was opened, hanging loosely off of his frame, untucked from his pants. His belt already undone, shoes missing. Not to mention his regular ruffled and messed up hair was sticking out at odd angels and looked more bedhead like than normal.

Sure, you had seen the tired artist show up at the theater and even your home when you were out with the injury a few times looking a little sleepy and rumpled, the sight always making it hard to keep your eyes off of him, but this… this was a whole other level. He was gorgeous.

His eyes hovered on your face for a moment, only making your cheeks redder, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything, his usual snarking teasing gone as his eyes shifted down to the large bag on your shoulder his expression turning sour as he reached out and took it from you.

“You really didn’t have to… should have just thrown it all away. Or use it for kindling.”

“Don’t say that.” Your voice came out harsher than you expected, and you immediately caught yourself, biting you lip and hoping you didn’t piss the moody artist off even more. You did not want to argue right now.

“It’s true. It’s all junk-“ He tossed the satchel onto something inside the house, maybe a table or a chair, or probably just the floor given his attitude.

“I think it all looks beautiful.” You stated like it was a matter of fact.

His eyes looked up back towards your own, shifting around your face several times as he spoke his next question, squinting ever so slightly like he was having a hard time deciding what to focus on. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“Do… do you want to come in? I want to show you something… I know you don’t have a chaperon-“ He brought his hand up to scratch at his neck, looking back into his house as he spoke.

“Yes!” You flinched at how quickly and desperate that sounded, but the words were already out, and it was worth it when the artist in front of you let out a soft chuckle, giving you a slightly bewildered look before stepping back and allowing you in.

If your mother knew what you were doing right now, going into a man’s house, a single man’s house without a chaperone, she’d faint right there from shame. But you choose not to think about that as you stepped in, the door closing softly behind you as Shinso guided you through his home.

His home that was littered with art. Every surface, every wall, everything was covered with canvases and sketch paper. The floor even had some strewn along it, like it fell off the over piled surfaces and he never bothered to pick it up. Some of it you even recognized from seeing it before. Drawings upon drawings of horses and ballerina’s and even several portraits all along the place, some barely started, some halfway done, and so many that looked completed.

You saw oil paintings, gouache, charcoal sketches, even some wax figures. There were pieces of pastel chalks all over the place, paint brushes in water jars and coffee mugs, sketch pads everywhere you looked. What you easily counted as at least four different easels.

You felt like you were in heaven, your eyes skirting all throughout the room, taking in anything and everything. You felt like you were stepping into the mind of the artist in front of you, and you couldn’t help but gape in awe. But the artist didn’t stop, gesturing you to follow him as he walked back through his hallway, skipping straight past a set of stairs that led to what you assumed was the attic with the large windows that you could see from outside. Instead, he walked directly back to the house, opening a door, and letting you step inside. Leaning against the door frame, he nodded to the easel in the center of the room.

You felt giddy, a smile on your face as you skipped over to the easel, beyond excited to see what the artist was working on. You looked back towards him once more, to which he only solemnly nodded in response, making your expression drop slightly.

“Go ahead, I want your opinion on it.”

You just wanted him to smile and were tempted on making a snarky comment that would get at least some sort of response from him, even it didn’t last for more than a second. Instead, you turned back to the easel, gingerly lifting up the sheet that was covering it until it unearthed what was underneath, the sheet slipping to the floor as you stepped back, taking in what was in front of you.

You were silent for a long moment as you took it in. It was clearly a painting of a ballerina, as so much of his work was, but this painting, was by far the most abstract that you had seen. The colors all blended together, none of the shapes having a specific outline, the ballerina not even having a face, just blotches of color where you assumed the shadows somewhat outlined vague features.

But for some reason, it was the most beautiful work that you think you had seen. The way that everything blended seemed to invoke a feeling in your that you just couldn’t pinpoint to one emotion.

The ballerina could have been anyone, and the lack of facial expression and the fact that the only thing that was clear was that she was wearing a tutu reminded you of how it felt to be invisible back in your days in the corps. How you were just another background dancer. Mediocre in the sea of talent. So easy to blend into the background and be forgotten.  

But looking further into it she was gorgeous. Her pose was clearly one of a graceful jump, frozen in time, she looked like she was flying, the tutu making her look like a bird, the way her limbs extended and pointed just perfectly. She looked ethereal, like she wasn’t of this earth. She looked… free.

“Well damn. I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You startled, looking over to the painter who had the weakest of teasing smiles on his lips, like he was trying to make a joke but wasn’t sure if it was actually a joke or not. That’s when you felt the cool air stinging your cheeks where your tears had wet them. Reaching up you brushed your tears away a soft laugh leaving your lips as you looked back to the painting in front of you sniffling softly.

“It’s… I don’t even have a word for it.”

“Ugly, horrific, putrid? Maybe vomit inducing? That’s the same isn’t it?” You shook your head, pushing the artist’s shoulder softly as he came to stand by you, crossing his arms, as he regarded the painting seeming to search for a word to properly describe.

“Magnificent.”

His eyes shifted back to yours, his lifts quirking up into a smile slightly as his eyes shifted around your face again, trying to memorize your features. You smiled back, his eyes focusing on your lips for a moment before his own frowned and he let out a sigh looking back towards the picture and taking a step towards it as if to see it better.

“I’m going blind.”

You froze for a moment, staring at him in utter confusion, your eyebrows pulling together as you listened to him speak.

“That’s why everything is so… blurry, unpronounced. I’ve always painted what I saw, and this... this is what I see.” He gestured to the painting, your eyes flipping back to it and looking at it in a new light. Your brain working a mile a minute as things started to click in your mind.

The clumsiness. The way his art was growing more and more abstract, less defined, turning to simple brushstrokes of color. The way his eyes never seemed to focus very long on any one thing, his squinting.

His hostility.

“I don’t want to give up being an artist… I love it more than anything. It’s my passion, but I don’t see how I can keep going if I can’t even find my paintbrush half of the time.”

“Shinsou…”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not giving it.”

He turned and regarded you, looking hesitant, guarded. All you wanted to do was give him a hug, but from one artist to another… you remembered what you felt like when you hurt your ankle. The fear of not being able to do what you love. He needed someone to push him, to show him he still can. Not someone to coddle him.

“This…” you gestured to the painting, stepping towards it and tilting your head as you looked at it. “This is amazing Shinsou… this isn’t just a picture. It’s not just a rendition of life. This shows emotion. It impacts someone. This …This is art. If someone doesn’t like this, if someone tells you this is trash, or it isn’t art or you can’t be an artist. They are a fool. A complete idiot. And they are just jealous because even with full sight they can’t make something half of amazing.”

Turning back to the purple haired artist, you expected an argument, a protest, some lame excuse as to why he thought it was awful. But instead, he just looked at you for a long moment, before turning back to the picture, hiding a smile as he hummed a soft response, his voice cracking as he did. “Whatever you say my muse.”

From that day on, Shinso was back at the theater, back to painting you, a little less moody than usual. After your second injury, days after Aizawa had given you the role of Prima, which he had to give to the other dancer, Shinso had come to visit you daily, helping you around as you healed. Some days he would paint, sometimes he would bring a hoard of pencils, once he even brought just paper, taking time to fold up so many little figurines for your bedside table. After you had healed enough to start lightly dancing again, the two of you had decided to work out of his home. Allowing you the freedom to dance, without disrupting the theater, and allowing him to create art as he watched.

-Present Day-

The creak of the door had you glancing up from your bath that was starting to run cold, the bubbles still piled high more than covering your body from the artist who hovered at the door, ever the gentlemen and averting his eyes as he leaned against the door frame, staring at the floor with his hands in his pocket. The two of you had grown very comfortable with each other, to the point that outsiders would be appalled, but he was your closest friend. You were his muse.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You noted the blush that was creeping up on his cheeks as he kept his eyes on the floor, your silence making him uncomfortable as he cleared his throat and started to speak again.

“I can call for a carriage to take you home, but you really need to get that ankle delt with first, at least let me wrap it for you.”

“Hitoshi…”

You watched him tense up, like he was waiting to get slapped even though you were across the room. The sight had your gut clenching, not in a good way.

“Come here.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wavering but focusing on your own in bewilderment as he choked on his own spit, reaching up and straightening his vest. But you just nodded your head, affirming your words, a slight smile on your lips as he hesitantly stepped towards you until he was hovering at the edge of the bathtub, his eyes focusing on your face, his stance relaxing as he recognized you weren’t mad at him.

You lifted up your hand, your smile widening as he took it in his own, rubbing his thumb across your soft skin, seeming mesmerized by the way your fingers curled around his own.

“I wish…” He started, his eye brows pulling together for a moment as he paused in thought, only for him to start up again. “I wish I could see you dance for the rest of my life.”

“Hitoshi…”

“I want to be with you y/n… I want to hear your music, and make you smile, and I want to draw you until I have no more paper, and even then I’d paint you on the walls. I want to be able to hold you and tell you how amazing you are and to get to see you live your dreams and fly like the angel you are. I want to be able to touch your face whenever and to memorize it that way because I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to see your eyes or those lips. God those lips. I want the first thing I do every morning and the last thing I do every night to be kissing those lips.

I want to go to the racetracks with you every weekend and enjoy how relaxed and carefree you are, and to hear your little squeal when the gun goes off for the race to start. I want to be able to go get breakfast with you from that little café three blocks down and sit in the park and listen to the birds. I want to take late night strolls with you and feel the warm summer nights. I want to dance with you under the moonlight while we make our own music.  I want to stay up all night just listening to you talk about literally anything, and I want to see what you look like when you first wake up in the morning when I bring you breakfast in bed.

You’re not just my muse for my art… y/n you are the reason I continue to live and breathe. You are the reason I can still paint. You are the reason I get up in the morning and frankly the only reason I get dressed enough to go out in public, just so I can see you. You are my muse in all senses of the word.

Y/n… I.. I love you.”

You were stunned into silence, eyes wide as you regarded the man in front of you. This moody artist. Who constantly looked tired, and whose sense of humor was dark and sometimes a little rude and self-deprecating. Who you were pretty sure could draw you with his eyes closed because he had already done so thousands of times. Who stood by you even though you weren’t able to do the one thing you were good at anymore.

You barely even registered what you were doing yourself, but one moment you were looking up at the young artist in front of you, your fingers wrapped in his, and the next you were yanking his hand, pulling him into the over-sized bathtub on top of you, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pressed your lips to his.

The sound of water sloshing about was drowned out by the sound of protest that came from Hitoshi at getting wet, which was quickly replaced with a sigh of satisfaction as he eagerly answered your kiss with his own, his hands resting on either side of the bathtub to help him keep himself up.

You separated your lips from his, a cheeky smile on his face as he moved to pepper kisses across your cheeks as you giggled trying to get a word out.

“I love you too”

“Yea? A grumpy artist? That never sleeps. And half the time doesn’t remember to eat. You sure?” He moved his hand to cup your cheek, which you leaned into rolling your eyes, before he leaned in and kissed your nose, moving back down to your mouth, pressing himself further against you.

You let out a content sigh in response, arching up into him, bring attention to the both of you that you were very much naked. You felt your cheeks heat up as his gaze flickered down towards your chest, leaning back slightly to get a better view as he let out a hum in thought.

“We should get you dried… dressed… should really deal with your ankle.” Even as he spoke the words, his hands slid under the water, hesitating on a little before they softly caressed your sides, one moving to grip onto your hip, the other resting on your rib cage, thumb dangerously close to brushing your breast. You watched as the man above you chewed on his lip, seeming distracted by the sight in front of him. You wondered what it looked like to him. You wished he could see it all clearly.

“Toshi… come here.”

“Hmm? I’m right here.” His focus never wavered from taking in your body, his own eyes seeming to glaze over as he kneaded circles into your flesh with his thumbs, his tongue running across his lips only to be replaced once again by his teeth.

“Toshi..” Your whispered out the nickname, your fingers lacing behind his head tugging him closer to you until he relented, pressing his lips against yours once, then twice, then groaning as he went back again for a third time, his grip tightening on your hip as his other hand reached up and tangled into your hair, water sloshing out onto the ground from his movements.

His lips were soft and plush against your own, moving a little clumsily at first but quickly getting his footing as he pressed further against you, angling his head just right, slipping his tongue against your lips asking sweetly for more.  You momentarily forgot how to breathe as you let him have access, a moan vibrating your throat as he swirled his tongue against your own, coaxing you back into his own mouth before sucking on your tongue lightly groaning in response to you.

You gasped, feeling his hips roll against your own, his wet clothes pressing against you just right, making your skin sensitive to the point that you were arching into him. Feeling your pebbled nipples rub against the scratchy fabric of his vest, the seem in his pants sliding along the space just above your clit, making you wonder what it would feel like if it just moved down slightly.  Separating your lips, he shifted so that his lips were against your ear, softly speaking to you, his voice growing husky as you felt him pressing against you, the bulge in his pants bigger than you expected for the lean artist.

“Y/n.” He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower as his fingers at your hip shifted towards your thigh, moving closer and closer to the apex. “Let me take care of you, my muse. Let me make you feel as beautiful as you are to me.”

You nodded, barely containing a whimper as you felt his tongue run along the edge of your ear, his breathe hot against your skin, his fingers delving between your thighs, coaxing them apart so he could shift to be between them. His fingers splayed across you, sliding between, and separating your folds, his middle finger making a languid circle against your already swollen nub. His voice strained like he was trying to hold back groans of satisfaction as he breathed his words into your neck, pressing hot open mouth kisses to your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met you.” He buried his face against your skin, letting out a groan as you whimpered softly in response to his fingers slow and purposeful touches, fingers sliding easily across your bundle of nerves, circling and circling, from the water surrounding the two of you. “I’ve wanted to worship you until you realized just how amazing you were.”

Your own hands drug across his back, coming around to pull the buttons of his vest apart with trembling fingers as you pressed yourself up into his touch, trying to remove all boundaries between the two of you. He slowly sped his ministrations up until he found the perfect speed that had you mewling at his touch, grinding up into his fingers to get more pressure and relief, whispers begging for more leaving your lips like they were your mantras.

He focused all of his attention on your clit, lightly tugging it with the pads of his rough fingers from years of using them to blend out chalk and charcoal. His lips moving from your neck to your ear only to whisper soft encouragements and praises into you.

Finally, after what felt like too long you yanked his vest off of his shoulders, it pooling in the water, trapped on his arm, and quickly made short work of his button up shirt, cursing the fashions of the day and whishing there was an easier and quicker way to undress. As soon as you had access to his chest your lips were on his skin, pressing kisses, your teeth snagging against his neck pulling soft moans from the man on top of you as you sucked on the skin leaving marks.

“Please Toshi more. More.”

“Fuck darling..” his fingers left you for the briefest of moments, making you cry out in frustration only for his to sit up and tear off his shirt and vest, tossing them into a wet heap of fabric on the floor, the sound sounding just as obscene as the noises leaving your lips. His hands shifting to his pants, quickly untying them and pulling them off only for them to follow the rest of his clothes allowing you to see him in his full glory for the first time. He didn’t give you time to appreciate him though, his lips sealing against your own, forcing your eyes closed as his fingers returned to their new home between your legs, his hips rolling down against you making you moan with the heat that was coming from his dick rubbing against your thigh.

You nipped at his tongue, drawing more noises of pleasure from him as he coaxed you up and up, rubbing his length against you sensually as he shifted closer and closer to your cunt. You were both panting at this point, dizzy from the lack of air, but not caring as you pressed closer to each other, long forgotten the water splashing out onto the floor making a mess of his bathroom.

Your fingers dragged down his chest, nails leaving marks that he leaned into as you searched for your own toy to play with, finding it took both hands to hold in your grasp. You didn’t have to do much work, his thrusts doing practically everything as you guided his tip up and down your slit, surprised to feel the distinct difference of your own wetness compared to the water, his own fingers in the way occasionally as he strummed you closer to the finish line.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that echoed through the house when his tip dipped inside of you and pulled back out, your eyes rolling back as you lifted your hips up to his own, forcing him further inside until he was practically at the hilt, your hands moving to grip his ass and pull him closer to you, legs wrapping around him and trapping him in place, his hips thrusting into you as he cursed against your lips.

“Fuck. So god damned perfect darling.”

He didn’t move for a moment, instead focusing on making sure you were comfortable in your positions, his lips devouring your own, a smile on his face as he whispered soft praises between kisses.  But that moment quickly passed, you being the first to roll up against him, dragging a curse out from his lips, him dipping his face to press it into your cleavage, a groan leaving his lips as you ground up into him with a whine.

Lips attached to your nipple, one hand still swirling your sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to cry out, the other pinching the other nipple between two fingers, rolling it in perfect unison as he suckled on you, tongue laving back and forth, the heat of his mouth making you want to scream.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, dragging himself almost all of the way out of you, your walls clenching as he did to get him to stay, only for him to press back into you, bottoming out and pressing against your cervix with each thrust.

With one more flick of his finger against your clit you were gone. His name leaving your lips in short breathy cries as you arched up into him the pressure feeling too much as you clenched down around him, your grip tightening and trying to hold him in place. But he didn’t stop there, his fingers continuing to slowly circle your clit, helping you ride out the wave as he pistons in and out of you, your own name being said as a prayer.

He released your nipples as you came down, shifting his lips back up and slowly moving up your neck, sucking and biting on the skin as his voice reverberated around the room.

“You are so fucking gorgeous. So perfect. My beautiful muse.”

You could feel him starting to speed up his thrusts, making more and more cries leave your lips as you tried to keep up with him, already feeling pressure building up again.

“Toshi.. please, please… Toshii… pleaseee.”

“I know darling, I know. Fuck you feel so good. I’m not gon-“

His voice was cut off with a groan as he pressed his forehead to yours, fucking into you relentlessly as your walls fluttered around him. A hot huff, before he groaned out your name again pressing into you, his thrusts growing sloppy.

“Toshi please, I wanna cum again. Please.”

“Fuck- nng… Fuck. C- haa-“ He couldn’t finish his words, plowing into you, feeling the waves of what little remained of the water crashing against him, perfectly level with your clit making you arch back up into him with a whine as you tried to find a second release.

“Fuck. Darling… Kitten… cum for me.”

He buried his face into your chest, a long-drawn-out moan leaving his lips, sounding broken as you felt hot spurts of liquid squirting into you, your mind exploding with pleasure as his quirk snapped on, making you scream out his name, feeling aftershocks hit you wave after wave as you collapsed against the back of the tub, panting harshly, your mind hazy as you came down.

The two of you sat there for several moments, gasping for air, your legs shaking form tensing up for so long. After a moment or two, Shinso glanced up at you, his cheeks red, hair sticking to his face from sweat, an exhausted but content expression on his face.

“Are you okay my muse?”

You let out a snort, and a short nod in response, leaning into his hand as it cupped your cheek, him leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips a smile on his.

“You’re magnificent.”

“Hmm.. I bet you think so.” You leaned back, looking at the ceiling with a smirk feeling your body relax only for your attention to be brough to your still swollen ankle as you shifted it, pain shooting through your leg.

At seeing your face, Hitoshi sighed softly, shaking his head before pressing another kiss to your lips, pushing himself up and into a standing position, leaning over to grab a towel, his still impressive length swinging practically in your face making you blush.

“We really need to take care of your ankle. I’m serious this tim- Oh fuck kitten..” his fingers gripped your hair, his head dropping back as he closed his eyes, his dick twictching back to life as you ran your tongue along it slowly, a snarky laugh leaving your lips at his reaction.

“Kitten?” You tilted you head back, looking up at him a question in your eyes, his face turning scarlet as he looked away from you biting his lip, hiding a sheepish smile.

“Please let me take care of you… stop distracting me.”

You huffed a pretend sigh of annoyance, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes.

“Fine, if you must. But I’m continuing that later.”

He rolled his own eyes at you, stepping out of the bath and drying off before moving to also grab you a towel, helping you out of the bath as well, taking extra care to dry off every inch of you, making you lean your weight against him and not on your foot before he scooped you up, shuffling off towards his bedroom.

“I don’t want your injury to get worse. You still want to dance don’t you?”

You hummed a soft acknowledgement, wistfulness lacing your tone as he slowly placed you into his bed, helping set up his pillows to accommodate your leg better. He would get the two of you settled then call for the local doctor to come look at you. He just hoped you didn’t want to go home soon.

“As must as you still want to paint.”

His smile was filled with understanding as he brought over one of his shirts to you, helping you into it but leaving your bottom bare, covering it with a blanket before dressing himself only to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes latched onto yours with a look of adoration you had seen so many times and mistaken for something platonic.

“You know, I’d love to paint you bathing sometime. You truly look like a goddess then.”

You blushed at his words, shaking your head laughing, a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you realized just how much things had changed so quickly.

“The scandal Mr Shinso! What would the papers say about us? My honor was already sullied months ago just by being here, but now you want physical proof that you’ve seen me without my knickers?“ You were joking for the most part. You didn’t care about honor. Scandals. Most girls would be ashamed to be rumored to have even kissed a man that wasn’t their husband in this time, but you loved him, and you knew nothing wrong could come of that.  Who cared what anyone else thought?

“Then marry me.”

You froze, staring at the artist who looked more sure of himself than any other time you had seen him. His face completely serious, shoulders relaxed, as he gazed at you like you were his entire reason for living.

Your lips split into a smile without you even realizing, your cheeks almost hurting from how wide it was as you looked down at your lap for a brief moment before meeting his eyes once again when his hand reached out to take yours, thumb rubbing soft circles.

“Yes. Yes I’ll marry you.”

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[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

If requests are still open: Scar in 3rd life, now that he's on red, goes full-on evil. Grian refuses to do something and so Scar murders him in cold blood. IDK I just feel like some Scar/Grian angst and that is what my mind came up with. ^^;

calling it now: Scar’s gonna be responsible for one of Grian’s deaths, one way or another /lh

...

  “Grian!” calls Scar.

  Grian quickly places his bed down in its new location and goes downstairs to find Scar standing outside, looking out towards the edge of the desert. “Yeah, Scar?”

  “It’s time we finally act against Ren. He’s been top of my list for a while and I think we’ve left him stewing long enough.”

  Grian blinks. “Oh, wow. How are you gonna do it?”

  “Oh, not me.” Scar turns to Grian, a half-malicious half-mischievous grin on his face. “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. If I go over there, he’ll be on his guard. But he knows you. He trusts you, at least more than he trusts me. Go over there and plant some TNT traps under Renchanting. Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get Martyn too.”

  “I-.” Grian finds himself shaking his head. “No, Scar.”

  Scar frowns. “What?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Grian, you’re supposed to do everything I say!” Scar snaps. 

  “Scar.” Grian holds his voice steady. “I said I’d draw the line at killing for you, and that includes doing something that will directly lead to someone’s death. As long as I’m green, I won’t do anything to hurt or kill anyone else.”

  Scar gazes at him with an odd but perceptibly dangerous expression. 

  Finally, he speaks, his voice cold as ice: “Then let’s do something about that.”

  With that, he stabs Grian straight through the stomach with his sword. 

  Grian gasps out, his eyes widening with shock and pain. His shaking hands automatically fly to the sword still in his stomach, but deep down he knows there’s nothing he can do to survive here. 

  Sure enough, the second Scar pulls the sword out…

Grian was slain by GoodTimeWithScar

…

  Across the server, everyone stops what they’re doing to gawk at the notification on their communicators. They can hardly believe their eyes; in fact, most of them have to look twice to make sure they read the message correctly. 

  Scar killing Grian? There has to be some mistake, surely. Or it must be an accident. Yes, that has to be it. It was an accident. Right?

  Grian sits bolt upright with a gasp, finding himself back at spawn. His fuzzy brain takes a moment to process what just happened and why he’s here, but he quickly remembers that he must have forgotten to set his spawn after he moved his bed. 

  What a stroke of luck.

  He scrambles to his feet and runs as fast as he can, heart pounding. The scenery around him is familiar by now but in his disoriented state, he can hardly register where he’s going. Every instinct in his body is pushing him onwards; he just needs to get away. Doesn’t matter where he ends up, as long as he’s far away from Scar.

  Finally, he stumbles down a hill and ends up tripping at the bottom. His hand lands in water and he realises he’s managed to make it all the way to the swamp. 

  “Grian!” shouts a voice suddenly. 

  Through his hazy vision, he spots two figures rushing towards him. 

  “Grian, oh my god, are you okay?!” gasps Impulse, gently lifting Grian to his feet.

  Grian’s mouth opens but he can manage no words. Instead, his knees buckle and he sags against Impulse, who lifts one of Grian’s arms over his shoulder, supporting him.

  Etho, who is at Grian’s other side, does the same with his other arm, and the two half-carry Grian towards their half-finished castle. They lie him down on their bed in the only finished room.

  “Grian, what happened?” Impulse asks. “We all saw the message, but…”

  Grian hesitates, blinking back tears. “Scar… tried to get me to go kill Ren.”

  “What?!” gasps Impulse, exchanging a shocked look with Etho. 

  “He wanted me to place tnt at Renchanting to kill Ren.” Grian’s voice cracks. “I refused.” 

  “And he… he killed you?” Etho asks slowly. 

  Grian can only nod, squeezing his eyes shut. 

  Etho glances at Impulse. “I’m gonna go keep watch.”

  He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. 

  “Impulse…” Grian clears his throat, trying to regain his voice. “Scar, he… I think he wants to make me red so I’ll join him.”

  “But surely now you’ve lost your first life, you’re released from whatever contract you had?” 

  Grian takes in a shaky breath. “Yeah I am, but I- I don’t think Scar cares.”

  A chill runs down Impulse’s spine, but he ignores it and clasps Grian’s hand. “We’ll protect you, G.”

  “You don’t understand, Impulse. Scar is… He… He doesn’t care about anything anymore. I won’t be safe until he’s gone.”

  Grian feels awful for saying such a thing. Scar is one of his best friends; he shouldn’t be hoping for his death. But part of him, a significantly large part, is. He just can’t help it. Scar isn’t really his friend anymore. 

  “Then we’ll keep you safe until then,” says Impulse determinedly. “No matter what, I vow to protect you until Scar is gone from this world.”

  Grian stares at him. “Y-You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. G, you don’t deserve this.”

  “But I-I took his first life.”

  “And he took yours,” Impulse responds. “The difference is you did it by accident. Scar murdered you in cold blood. You’ve more than atoned for your mistake, Grian. Don’t punish yourself anymore. Please.” 

  After a moment, fresh tears spring to Grian’s eyes and he hugs Impulse, who holds him tightly back. “Th-Thank you, Impulse.”

  Impulse simply holds Grian and says nothing back.

  He doesn’t need to.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

As soft as silk, as strong as iron

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: I (kind of) put together two requests, “Sub Ivar but in a modern setting” and “Something vulnerable/fluffy with Ivar. It can be about anything, but I love seeing those few moments when his walls break down.”

Word Count: 4.5k (me going overboard doesn’t surprise you anymore, does it?)

Warnings: 18+. Smut, D/s dynamics (sub!Ivar), bondage, orgasm control/denial, sensory deprivation (just a blindfold tho). Fluff, a little bit of angst. This is probably OOC. If I missed anything, please let me know.

A/N: I’m so sorry it took me this long to get this request(s) out! I am still trying to find my way through writing smut, and I tried my best but idk if this is any good lol. Hope you enjoy and thank you!

Your body still trembles in the aftershocks as you come down from your high, and your hands grip tightly at Ivar’s still, fingers intertwined.

You open your eyes, and the first thing you see is the contrast of his hand on yours, and the red silk wrapped tightly around his wrists, keeping his arms tied to the headboard.

The sight is enough to send another little shock of heat through you.

And when you lower your gaze, find him licking his lips chasing the taste of you, the same red silk covering his eyes and leaving him vulnerable to you and whatever you want to do to him; it only makes you want him even more, even if he just made you come with his skillful mouth.

You move further down his body, putting your hands instead of your thighs on either side of his head.

To see him like this, surrendering and yours, it will never cease to amaze you, to send a pang of pride and heat through you, to leave you dazed and content.

Because…Gods, he was made for this, for submission. The perfect angle of his jaw as he tilts his head back surrendering to the pleasure you give him, the curve of his throat under your hand as he chokes back a moan at the feel of you, the strength of his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths as you make him yours over and over.

The soft little sounds he lets out even at the softest of kisses, the way his perfect lips form around please, the hoarse and desperate sound of his voice as he calls out your name in ecstasy.

Perfect, all of him. And made for this, for you.

You turn your head to press yet another kiss to the heated skin under your cheek, smiling up at Ivar from your place laying on his chest.

There’s still the faint redness on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, and you still find it disarmingly adorable.

“Still blushing, love?” You tease softly, and Ivar offers a smile that is still part embarrassed and part overwhelmed.

He swallows thickly before answering, “I…It was…interesting, fun, how you…”

“Took charge?” You supply, tilting your head to the side, “You like it when I order you around, love?” You tease, but in the way his eyes widen just a fraction, in the way they fall from yours and his lips part looking for an answer before he fails to give voice to any, you realize the truth. Excited, overjoyed, you whisper, “Oh, you do.”

Ivar frowns slightly, apprehension making his body -previously relaxed and pliant under your touch- tense up.

There’s a slight tremble in his brows, the tell of gritted teeth, when he questions, “Is that…wrong?”

“What? No, of course not,” A small nervous laugh leaves your lips, because Gods, it is not wrong at all, it is so, so right. Your fingers trace the side of his face as you continue, “Ivar, I-…remember what you told me when we went on that first date?”

“The Gods made us to fit together.” He tells you quietly, not missing a beat. You smile.

“Well, in more ways than one it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

Throwing caution to the wind, you sit up and follow the path of your fingers as they go over the marks you left on his neck and collarbones, a small smile on your lips as you ask, “How do you feel about letting me tie you up?”

Perfect lips part in a small little ‘o’, and a gasp leaves him. Ivar’s eyes search yours, looking for the lie, the trick. When he finds none, he smiles, eager and happy.

Being intimate with him, sharing your body with Ivar and, more importantly, maybe, having him share his body with you, has always been something you both had to work for. It took months for him to even let you see him naked without anything covering his legs, it took even longer for him to feel comfortable letting you touch them, or keep him from touching you, or take his sight from him.

It took time, and trials and fails, a lot of talking and honesty, and a lot of adjustments and a lot of trust; but getting here, to this point where he can surrender and offer himself completely to you, you wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“You were so good, love,” You coo softly, though there’s a deviousness in your smile as you move down his body, straddling him and keeping both of your hands on each side of his head. “And you look so perfect like this, tied up and helpless and mine.”

It is at the last word that he makes this soft little sound, tilting his head back and baring his throat to you. Oh, and you want to give in to that siren song, and mark his neck with bites and kisses, and put your hand over his throat tight enough to make him let out the most delectable sighs and moans.

But you resist, keeping your hands off him for the time being.

“If you want me to touch you, Ivar,” You start, a pointed roll of your hips over him. At the feel of his hard cock dragging between your folds a shiver runs down your spine, but it is nothing compared to the tremble you draw out of him, and that is what you focus on. So you do it again, and again, coating his cock in the same wetness that you could still taste on his lips. A whine of your name, and you concede with a light chuckle. Leaning closer, you continue, “You have to beg. You were so good for me, you deserve to feel good, you deserve to come for me, but you have to ask.”

“Th-Thank you.”

“So polite,” You coo, giving in for a slight second and lifting one hand off the mattress to run through his loose hair. He leans into the touch, and you melt. “Now beg, love.”

A barely-there second where you think he will fight, resist. Uselessly as it always ends up being, sometimes he likes pretending he wasn’t made for this, for submitting.

But Ivar’s lips part, and his chest rises and falls in a couple of sharp breaths, before he starts, voice hoarse, “Please, touch me. Please.”

Hearing that simple little word on his voice will never cease to make you lose focus for a moment, and you grind against him again, making Ivar let out a choked shout that once would have been your name.

Deciding to indulge, since he has been so good after all, you let your hands trail over his shoulders, his chest, his sides, greedily taking in the way his breath quickens and his skin flushes at the solace of your touch.

Your mouth trails over his exposed skin too, switching between soft kisses and sharp bites, as you move down his body.

One of your hands stays on him -an old ritual of the two of you by now- as the other grips onto his thigh, and moves his leg to make room for you between them. You always keep watchful eyes on him when you have him like this and decide to touch his legs, for it is still something he struggles with, especially when he can’t see or touch you.

There are days when the pain is worse, and you don’t mean the ache in his bones. And in those days he can’t stand to have you touch them, or even look at them; maybe because he can’t.

You always keep a watchful eye, cautious of those days.

But today isn’t one of those days, and there’s barely any tell in Ivar’s body that shows you he notices -or is bothered- by it.

You settle between his legs, not able to keep yourself from giving the faintest of licks over the tip of his cock, feeling the knot in your core tighten at the salty taste of him.

With your hand wrapped around the base of him, you wait patiently, knowing you don’t need to give him a command now. You do hate repeating yourself, and he knows better by now.

“Please,” He asks, voice hoarse and head falling back against the pillows. You hum, and lean forward the few inches you need to. Your tongue traces the underside of his cock, from base to tip, drawing the most wretched moan out of him. “Gods!”

“I want your words, love.” You insist, letting him feel your faint breaths on his sensitive skin.

Ivar swallows thickly, licking his lips and opening his mouth a few times before he manages any words.

“Please…take me in your mouth, please, please, I-…”

His words die in a hoarse shout, and Ivar’s back arches off the bed when you finally take his cock in your mouth.

The red silk is striking against his wrists, and it keeps him in place dutifully. Still, as a reminder, your hand travels from his hip to the center of his chest, and you push him back with as little strength as you need.

Ivar falls back obediently, breaths fast and desperate, chest rising and falling so quickly under your hand you feel a pang of heat go through you.

And now you don’t bother teasing him, your head moving up and down expertly, drawing pleas and moans and whimpers from him. Your jaw aches a bit, but you continue, trying your best to take all of him; and you go on for long enough that his head lolls to the side and he can only tremble with each expert move of your head, lips parted and a broken litany of hurried breaths leaving him.

Another drag of your nails over the sensitive skin of his chest, and he complies with your wordless command.

“Please…”

You hum around him, and Ivar threatens to rise off the bed with the arch of his back, and he shouts your name. He is getting close.

But you pull away.

“No!” His head turns, searching blindly for you, and he tugs helplessly at the bindings on his wrists, “No, no, no, please, I-I want to come.”

“And you will,” You promise, biting your lip as you take him in. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hands are curved into helpless fists and still kept immobile by the red silk, his perfect lips are parted and gasping. You don’t bother resisting the urge, and as you crawl your way back up his body you kiss and bite at the skin you find, before claiming his mouth, tasting yourself and letting Ivar taste himself too. He surrenders so easily, so pliantly, so obediently to your kiss, that it makes the knot of heat at your core tighten. When you pull away, you finish, “But after I’ve had my fun.”

“Please,” He intones, head falling once again back against the pillows. And as your hand settles comfortably at the base of his throat, Ivar only swallows, and his breathing becomes more labored, if possible. And you delight yourself in moments like these, where the only words he can remember are please and your name, where he surrenders completely to you, when you have him completely yours, mindless and overwhelmed and desperate. “Please, I-…please, love.”

You cannot help yourself, and you lean forward and kiss him, sealing his pleas against your lips. Ivar moans against your mouth, and it sends a pang of heat through you to hear him wordlessly beg, to hear how desperate he is for the pleasure only you can give him.

There’s still the taste of you in his mouth, and you taste it when your tongue demands entrance to his mouth, that he freely gives, as freely as he gives all of himself to you.

You part from the kiss, and he tilts his head as if trying to chase the feel of your mouth. You chuckle, and decide to take pity -or torture him further, you don’t think there’s much of a difference between them right now- and trail your mouth over his skin.

You trail down his jaw as your hand settles on his chest that rises and falls sharply, and stop near his heart, feeling its quickened beat with a dark pride surging through you. You did this, you make him feel like this.

You bite down softly at the sensitive skin of his neck as two words ring in your head, sounding like Ivar’s own hoarse and pleading voice: only you.

Still, you had a point to make, and after letting your tongue run a slow path up towards that spot under his ear that makes him shiver, you whisper, “Slow down, love, I am nowhere near done with you. You need to calm that breathing of yours.”

Ivar huffs, somewhere in between a laugh and a whine.

“You’re not making it easy,” He quips. Your previously soft touch turns sharper, and you drag your nails down his chest, making sure to get close enough to his nipple to make him arch off the bed, “Ah!”

“Don’t talk back,” You warn sternly, but you betray a smile at the way he swallows thickly, a choked moan kept at bay by stubborn lips that press together. You grab his chin in your hand, and force his lips to part. “And don’t keep any of those pretty sounds of yours from me, Ivar. I want to hear you.”

After a tremulous breath, he asks, voice quiet, “Why?”

You know him well enough to know when he is not-so-subtly asking for praise, and while at any other time you would make him use clear words -and pretty pleas- to earn that praise, tonight you indulge.

“Because I love the sound of your voice,” You tell him softly by his ear, taking his earlobe between your teeth for just long enough to make him shiver, “All those lovely sounds you make for me, they make me so wet, make me want you so much.

You notice his breathing slowed down a bit, and the smile that curves his lips is almost bashful, almost boyish. The gentle warmth of being praised, of being reminded of how wanted and loved and desired he is.

So, you continue, softly, lowly,

“You’re so perfect, love, and you sound so good when you beg, when you moan my name,” As if compelled, as if under a spell, Ivar says your name, a prayer leaving his lips in a low sigh. “I always want to hear you.”

He takes in your words, parted lips that still sport the faintest of smiles.

“I…I want you,” He tells you, and your eyes are drawn to his arms where they strain faintly against the bindings that keep him from touching you. Ivar insists, “Closer. Please.”

“How close, love?” You tease, even as you move to straddle him again, feeling the insistent press of his cock against you. His breathing starts becoming labored again, and you smile, “You want to make me come, Ivar? You think you can?”

“Fuck,” He groans through gritted teeth as you hold yourself over him, one hand low on his stomach, aching to grab a hold of him and guide him inside you. “Y-Yes, I can. I…I want to.”

You offer no words, but with painful slowness, that tortures both you and him, you take him inside you. Feeling the satisfying stretch of his cock inside you, you start moving, slowly at first.

Before long the pleasure builds, and as you move faster and faster above him, you lift one hand from his chest to use your fingers where you’re connected to bring yourself closer to the edge.

Even though he can’t see you, knowing you’re touching yourself as you ride him makes Ivar strin agains the silk bindings, and his breathing shakes and trembles as it leaves his lips.

“T-Tell me, what you’re doing, I-…please.” He begs, one last whisper of please following the low moan of his name you let out before answering.

“You like knowing I can make use of you to make myself feel good, don’t you?” You taunt, your words interrupted by a moan of your own. Your breathing is fast, and your thighs tremble, but you still talk, voice rough and low, “You like it when I have you helpless underneath me, and I make myself come using your body however I want,” Muttered curses and low moans of affirmation are his answer, and you continue, “Hmm, and I like having you for me to do as I please, mine.”

Ivar’s voice raises with a mix of pleas and desperate calls of your name, and seeing him lose himself in you, in the pleasure only you give him, makes you go higher, higher, until you lose yourself.

The aftershocks that travel through you like electricity leave you frozen in time for a few breaths, heart beating fast in your ears and your head tilted back, still feeling him deep inside you, desperate for release.

You start moving again slowly, but before long you pick up the pace, and your hands that previously soothed and caressed now are the sharp but still gentle drag of your nails over his skin, making him shiver and whimper.

“Come for me, Ivar,” You order, a sharp movement of your hips, a conscious tightening of your muscles around him. He gasps, “I want you to come for me.”

His body is pulled tight, a show of restraint in more ways than one, and he still has it in him for one last plea,

“Kiss me.”

The moment your lips press against his, a desperate moan rumbles its way through his chest, and you tighten further around him.

Your mouth moves softly over his, the sharp contrast of your fast movements above him, and with a sharp cry of your name he parts from your kiss, brow pressed against yours, breaths almost one.

Greedy eyes rake over his features as Ivar’s face contorts in pleasure, as perfect, kiss-bitten lips form around the shape of your name over and over as he lets go.

And it is in this, in the way he gives all of himself to you, in the way he surrenders, in the way he becomes yours, in the way he gives in to the pull of the current ant trusts you to take him safely to shore; that you lose your breath, your thought, your heart.

One of your hands stays intertwined with his, the other finding purchase on his chest to keep you moving. And your movements slow down as he comes down, your kisses become more reverent as his body relaxes further and further.

In between soft presses of your lips, you whisper your praise, your reassurance of how well he did, of how happy he made you.

He offers half-formed responses and smiles that look a little mad, but he still sighs your name when you promise I love you against his lips, and that is enough reassurance for you.

Keeping as much of you pressed against him as possible, you reach up and tug on the fastening of red silk, his arm falling limply to the bed, now that there’s no bindings keeping it up. You smile, and reach for the other one, repeating the same steps.

One of your hands runs back and forth over his upper arm as you press a few kisses to the side of his jaw and under his ear.

Ivar hums, happy and content, and you smile against his skin.

“You good, love?”

He hums again, blindly turning to you and tilting his head, expecting the kiss you readily give. You kiss him, softly and lovingly, your hand still absently running over his skin, touching him wherever you can reach, a comfort for him as much as for you.

You tell him quietly that you are going to remove the blindfold, and Ivar nods, a small mumble of thanks to your warning.

“I want to see you,” He demands, and this time when his voice trembles it only makes you cold. You freeze and lift your hands off of him. He sucks in a sharp breath when he doesn’t feel you against him anymore though, “D-Don’t, don’t l-leave me here, don’t-…love, I-…”

Your hands cup his face, and you quieten his panicked words with your touch. Your heart beats wildly in your chest and you hope he doesn’t notice how your hands tremble.

“Ivar, I’m here. Not going anywhere,” You promise, fingers reaching up to skim over the edge of the blindfold, “Do you want me to take this off?”

He nods, a little frantically, “I want to see you. I don’t…I-I can’t know what you’re thinking. You can see me and I, uh, I can’t know what you’re-…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You whisper, your hand reaching for the back of his head only to be stopped by his own hand gripping onto your wrist.

Wide eyes look at his hand and find only reddened skin, the rope dangling uselessly from the headboard. Ivar’s grip on you is not too tight, but it still speaks of urgency, and you choose not to focus on how easily he broke past your bindings, instead leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the back of the hand that now holds on to you.

“Tell me you love me.” He asks, voice trembling even as he grits his teeth.

Your heart lurches in your chest, and past the need to reassure him, past the instinct to soothe and keep safe you feel a dreaded seed of fear at the tip of your stomach.

“I love you, Ivar, of course I do,” You whisper vehemently, a caress of your free hand on the side of his face, “Nothing changed since I put this on you, sweetheart. Let me look into your eyes and prove it to you.”

You take off the blindfold, and there’s the faint trace of moisture on the corners of his eyes, and your chest pulls tight. But you hold your ground, soft touches as you bring him back to you, back to the certainty and the steadiness of just the two of you.

Pale blue eyes blink a few times before focusing on you, and you cannot stop yourself from making them fall shut once again by leaning close and kissing him, softly and slowly.

A small sound leaves Ivar’s lips as you pull away, somewhere between a complaint and a moan.

“You did so well,” You tell him, a kiss over the corner of his mouth, “This was so fun,” Another kiss, this time on the old scar on his cheekbone. Leaning a bit further back, enough to meet his eyes and smile at him, you tell him, “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to the bathroom to get everything in order, and on the way back you grab a bottle of water, taking a few grateful sips as you walk back to the bed. You hand it to Ivar when you return, and he thanks you with a tilt of his head.

You allow yourself to relax against him after he discards the bottle on the nightstand, sighing against his still heated skin.

A small hum of contentment, his hand falling over the arm you draped over his chest, in the barely-there tightening of his grip on you a request for you to get closer.

When you do, Ivar closes the distance and kisses you again, intensity behind the press of his lips on yours even if there’s the undercurrent of being satiated and too-tired to start over in each of his movements. And yours, if you’re honest.

“Thank you.” He tells you quietly, and it is for more than it seems, so you only smile and shake your head.

“Thank you, love.”

He huffs a laugh, turning on his side and you do the same. Ivar lifts one hand to move your hair away from your face, and your eyes are drawn to the faint marks the silk left on his skin, seeing them as yours as the bite marks on his neck and chest, as the trails of pink your nails left on his skin.

“I love you.” He tells you, quietly. It always is a secret, the way the three words leave his lips. Thankfully, long gone is the fear of rejection that used to coat the admission at the beginning, but there’s still a hesitation to it, a shakiness.

And so he always says it like the last words before a dream is to shatter, like the unwavering promise that still carries the irrational fear of happiness is nothing.

“And I love you.” You tell him, moving even closer and accepting the request his hand at the back of your head insists on, tilting your head back and meeting his kiss again.

You lose yourself in the soft and languid feel of Ivar’s kiss, quiet and content and finding solace in the simple feeling of each other’s skin. When you part you are on your back, and he holds himself above you on his elbow.

With one last kiss and a soft press of his brow against yours, Ivar leans his weight on you, moving so that his head rests against your chest, his arm secure around your waist.

With one hand absently tracing his back and the other going up and down the arm that he wrapped around you, you lose track of time.

“You are…” He stops, adjusts himself on his place, before trying again, “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? And I don’t mean because of this, I mean…” Ivar sighs, a barely-there moment where his arm holds you to him a little tighter, and confesses, “I had never known what it was like to feel…safe, loved, before you.”

“Ivar…”

He lifts his head slightly, looks at you, offers you a smile that is a little crooked, as if he isn’t making your heart tremble in your chest.

“You know this already, it shouldn’t surprise you. And you know me, and you love me,” There’s an edge of wonder in his voice when he says that. He looks into your eyes, and promises quietly, “I thank the Gods for you, ever since that first day,” His smile turns surer, a little mad, “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, woman.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And what about what I want?” You tease, fingers running through his loose hair.

He goes along with your game, and there’s a shine in his eyes that speaks of familiar defiance.

“Contrary to what you seem to think, princess, I don’t like being denied.”

“I never deny you,” You retort, a light chuckle on your lips, “I just…delay.”

“Hm, I don’t like delays either.”

“I know, you’re too impatient. That’s why I have those.” You motion with your head to the red silk ribbons that hang from the headboard.

Ivar chuckles quietly, but says nothing against it, dropping his head against your chest again and sighing.

Your smile doesn’t dim, even if it becomes softer, move lovesick. You press a kiss over his hair, and with the solid but comfortable weight of him against you, you close your eyes.

____ ____ ____

Hi, thank you for reading! I hope this was okay! Would love to hear your thoughts on this one! Love ya!

Btw, the title is in reference to Fenrir’s Binding with Gleipnir, which is supposed to  be “soft and smooth as a silken ribbon, but (..) sure and strong” (Gylfaginning). I took it to mean the underlying aspects of submission, especially with a gentler domme (how when you tie him up with something he can break easily, it is something stronger than that silk what’s keeping him from breaking free. Same thing with any act of submission, it doesn’t necessarily have to involve bondage of course), and also to refer to the Ivar himself when in that submissive position. Anyway, yes, for that heretic take the Gods probably frown down upon me.

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